Slip of the Tongue
folder
zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] › Tucker Carlson
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,324
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] › Tucker Carlson
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,324
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the television series that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Slip of the Tongue
Author's Note: Hey! Thanks to my one reviewer from last time hehe. I'm back with yet another pointless slash fic starring Jon Stewart and Tucker Carlson ^-^; paired together for no point other than the fact that I find them adorable (although Tucker's still a right-wing douchebag in my book, he's still a cute one) I hope no diehard OTP Stephen/Jon fans attack me for this - I'm working on a fic with that pairing too! Really I am! X_X *kills exams*
Disclaimer: I do not own Tucker Carlson or Jon Stewart. They are real people, the first affiliated with MSNBC and the second with Comedy Central. I make absolutely no profit off of this.
"You know Carlson, you're still a dick."
"Heh, I don't recall you saying that earlier this evening. In fact, I believe the word you used was 'God.' As in an omniscient, omnipotent deity often worshipped by..."
"I know, I know, you don't have to spell it out for me." Jon rolled his eyes at the snobby (albeit rather adorable) tone of voice. He let his hand play over Tucker's fine chestnut locks, twisting and untwisting a strand around the end of his finger.
"You'd lower your dick factor if you got rid of that bowtie of yours." Reaching over, Jon tweaked the bow around the other man's neck - this one in particular was pink with bright red stripes running across it. "I mean, Valentine colors? Where DO you get these things?"
"Hey hey, hands off." Tucker sniffed in mock disdain and proceeded to rearrange the piece of fabric fussily, straightening each crease as if his reputation depended on its perfection. "You can play with anything else, but don't mess with my bowtie."
"Oh...anything, is it?" A wicked grin spread across Jon's face.
"Wait, what I meant was - "
"Tuck, Tuck, Tuck, you still haven't learned to think before you speak." With that, Jon slipped a hand into the other's pants, languidly tracing the curves of Tucker's inner thigh up to the hot arousal he knew was there. Carlson flushed crimson at the sudden turn of events, torn between pushing away in embarassment and surrendering to his lover's skilled touch.
"I...this...isn't it a little early to - "
"Well, we'll have to see about that, won't we?" Jon tightened his hold on the other's length, smiling to himself at the moan it elicited from a very much aroused Tucker. Whatever protests may come, the pundit couldn't deny he was enjoying every moment of this game. Working along the shaft, Jon stroked rhythmically to the beat of the other's breathing...quickening his pace with every gasp...coaxing further with each thrust. As Tucker neared release, he suddenly stopped, fingers fluttering temptingly around the tip, but never quite enough to bring climax.
"Ahh...wh-what are you...waiting for?" Jon snickered at Carlson's obvious discomfort, drinking in the sight of heated skin and wet, parted lips. His tongue flicked out briefly to taste the moisture at the edge of the other's mouth - salty and warm, but not unpleasant. An apt description of Tucker, really.
"Now, what were you saying about God?"
"Th-that was..." The pundit gave up trying to articulate his case and simply grasped the other's arm, moving it in a crude gesture of what he desired. Laughing, Jon acquiesced - a few more rapid strokes, then the sound of Tucker's throaty cries as hot seed engulfed his hand. Spent, Carlson collapsed heavily against him, breath still coming in short pants. Jon smirked with satisfaction.
"So. How about that bowtie?"
Disclaimer: I do not own Tucker Carlson or Jon Stewart. They are real people, the first affiliated with MSNBC and the second with Comedy Central. I make absolutely no profit off of this.
"You know Carlson, you're still a dick."
"Heh, I don't recall you saying that earlier this evening. In fact, I believe the word you used was 'God.' As in an omniscient, omnipotent deity often worshipped by..."
"I know, I know, you don't have to spell it out for me." Jon rolled his eyes at the snobby (albeit rather adorable) tone of voice. He let his hand play over Tucker's fine chestnut locks, twisting and untwisting a strand around the end of his finger.
"You'd lower your dick factor if you got rid of that bowtie of yours." Reaching over, Jon tweaked the bow around the other man's neck - this one in particular was pink with bright red stripes running across it. "I mean, Valentine colors? Where DO you get these things?"
"Hey hey, hands off." Tucker sniffed in mock disdain and proceeded to rearrange the piece of fabric fussily, straightening each crease as if his reputation depended on its perfection. "You can play with anything else, but don't mess with my bowtie."
"Oh...anything, is it?" A wicked grin spread across Jon's face.
"Wait, what I meant was - "
"Tuck, Tuck, Tuck, you still haven't learned to think before you speak." With that, Jon slipped a hand into the other's pants, languidly tracing the curves of Tucker's inner thigh up to the hot arousal he knew was there. Carlson flushed crimson at the sudden turn of events, torn between pushing away in embarassment and surrendering to his lover's skilled touch.
"I...this...isn't it a little early to - "
"Well, we'll have to see about that, won't we?" Jon tightened his hold on the other's length, smiling to himself at the moan it elicited from a very much aroused Tucker. Whatever protests may come, the pundit couldn't deny he was enjoying every moment of this game. Working along the shaft, Jon stroked rhythmically to the beat of the other's breathing...quickening his pace with every gasp...coaxing further with each thrust. As Tucker neared release, he suddenly stopped, fingers fluttering temptingly around the tip, but never quite enough to bring climax.
"Ahh...wh-what are you...waiting for?" Jon snickered at Carlson's obvious discomfort, drinking in the sight of heated skin and wet, parted lips. His tongue flicked out briefly to taste the moisture at the edge of the other's mouth - salty and warm, but not unpleasant. An apt description of Tucker, really.
"Now, what were you saying about God?"
"Th-that was..." The pundit gave up trying to articulate his case and simply grasped the other's arm, moving it in a crude gesture of what he desired. Laughing, Jon acquiesced - a few more rapid strokes, then the sound of Tucker's throaty cries as hot seed engulfed his hand. Spent, Carlson collapsed heavily against him, breath still coming in short pants. Jon smirked with satisfaction.
"So. How about that bowtie?"