Title: Addict
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: Um, definitely adults only. NC-17. Or higher.
Status: New; posted 12 Septus 2002
Archive: Drop me a note and it's yours. And on that note:
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequels: Part one of, um, at least two.
Disclaimers: Everything belongs to Kevin Smith, blah blah blah, no 
intent to infringe copyright, yada yada yada, powers that be, purely 
intended as fan tribute,. Whatever. Rave on, rave on. Save the 
Empire.
Notes: I have no idea on this one. This came into my head in 
sections somewhere between getting the black mushroom and giving it 
to Adria the witch, and figuring out what I want to wear today for a 
day of possibly-going-outside-and-walking-around-in-sunlight. My 
JayMuse is saying something, but he's too far away to hear. Plus, I 
read through the EvilFic today, in case starla actually has the balls 
to ask--me personally, hoping she doesn't, I like her sane--and this 
sort of spun off that, in a refreshingly non-lethal way.
Summary: Bob tries to purge Jay of the drug of the moment.
Warnings: Homosexual sex, homosexual confusion, occasional homosexual 
panic; lots of drug conversation; the return (in a non-lethal way 
again) of Dylan and Taylor. Some implications of the non-
consensual. Sort of.

"Addict"
by Kelandris


*ring*
*ring*

*ring*
*ring*

Come on, idiot, pick up. Come on. Don't make me find someone to 
drive me out there.

*ring*
*ri--*

"H'lo?"

The voice sounds sleepy, tired, groggy beyond all measure. And 
young. But Dylan always sounds young. I check my watch. A little 
past four in the morning. Well, he quite possibly sold the shit, 
it's deserved.

"Need a favor," I say. I know he'll recognize the voice.

There's a moment of dead silence on the other end of the line, and 
then the phone is lowered away from Dylan's mouth. I hear him scream 
distantly, "Tay! Coffee!" I wait. Seems like I have time to wait.

At my feet, there's whispering. At my feet there are spider-thin 
fingers tracing over and over my calves. It almost tickles. It's 
frightening.

"'kay, gimme a minute here..."

I hear a clink of china and a slurp, again distant, like he's placed 
the phone on a side chair or something. I wait. A hand creeps up my 
leg, cups me briefly, disappears before I can slap it away.

I will remain calm. I will not shudder. I will get Jay through this.

"Oh�kay," Dylan says heavily. "What's the problem now?"

"Jay's on something."

"This is a surprise to you?"

I sigh. Words. They're so fucking imprecise, they never say what I 
want, they're never as lyrical as the shit I hear in my head. It's 
no wonder I stopped talking in grade school. What was the point?

But I try again. For the owner of the spider-fingers, now curling up 
against my legs.

"Jay is on something that you, quite possibly, sold him."

There's another moment of silence while Dylan processes this. Jay 
arches up, tongues me through the thin black sweats, and I inhale 
sharply, stepping back. Shit. Shit, it's getting worse.

When Jay came home, he had dead black eyes and a dazed smile. I'd 
seen him this way before, and always regretted not accompanying him 
to whatever party it'd been that fused his brain this way, but this 
seemed�different, somehow. I wasn't sure how, I just knew I'd been 
very uneasy as I stepped out of the doorframe.

He'd knocked, rather than just opening the door. That was one odd 
thing.

The next was, he smiled this unnerving, wavery smile, and collapsed 
against me. I was in the act of trying to prop him up when he fell 
bonelessly to his knees. That was the first time he tongued me 
through cotton, made me gasp.

I backed up, mind on instant freak. Shit, fantasies are one thing; I 
was adult enough to know that the people we see every day are 
generally the ones we fantasize about. Common psychological trait. 
So yeah, I must have gay tendencies, because I did fantasize here and 
there about my roommate. But, as Bobcat said, the emphasis is on the 
word *tendencies*. I liked girls, wasn't about to stop liking girls 
any time soon, and frankly, most girls were less frustrating even on 
an occasional basis than Jay was, day in and day out.

But this was different. This was Jay. This was homophobic as hell, 
scared of male-male sexuality, conflicted, confused, repressed Jay we 
were talking about. Boy couldn't deliberately go gay if he was on 
fire, and the only way to save his life was to fuck the fireman. 

No. Didn't make sense. I pulled him to his feet, shaking him, and a 
little cellophane packet fell out of his hand. It had contained some 
pinkish, vaguely glittering powder, and stamped on the cover was a 
red winged heart.

Dylan. Fuck. Dylan sold to him again. Dylan was going to be slowly 
dismembered if he actually sold this shit to Jay.

So I called. 

"Jay�took something of ours?" Dylan asked, beginning to breathe 
hard. I think I growl in response.

"Okay, now, wait, before anyone does anything stupid�We weren't out 
last night. Tay was feeling a little...out of sorts�and we didn't 
sell anything. Not even door traffic, okay?"

I don't say anything. I'm waiting.

He sighs, swallowing. I hear it over the phone.

"Okay. How do you know it's ours?"

"Your insignia," I tell him, looking at the plastic. "Small clear 
packet, pink powder, your logo in red."

"...in red?" he asks. His voice is very small. I think I growl 
again.

"Okay, lemme think here...Pink powder?"

I nod. Thankfully, he seems to expect that.

"Tay, get me the combo book...no, not the reagents, the...yeah, that 
one. And the red one. Yeah."

I hear pages shuffling. Dylan's talking in an undertone, seemingly 
mostly to himself.

"This is new, I know that...think we only made one tester batch, and 
we sold samples to the usual suspects..."

I hear Tay in the background. "Lisette. And Tony-O. The Bobbsy 
twins."

"Yeah," Dylan muses, "Fuck-up and Li'l Bastard, how could I 
forget...wait. Where was Jay last night?"

"Party. Echo's, I think. Or...Marc's?" Damn. I wasn't sure 
suddenly. And Jay is in *no* condition to respond. Currently, he's 
rocking back and forth on his knees, eeping. Great.

"Yeah...wait. Echo?"

Dead silence on my end. Echo, the man born with no brain. Great. 
Why didn't I think of him first? Because I didn't find a packet 
saying "Echo did this", I found a packet saying "Dylan and Taylor 
have fucked Jay up again". Shit.

"You sold to Echo?"

Dylan sighs, long-suffering. "Yeah. Knowing that drain on the 
lifeforce of humanity, he probably gave away some as free samples. 
Man, we *told* him, but does it *ever* sink in..."

Free samples. Shit. Just Jay's style. Or not, I thought. Jay had 
gone with about a half-pound of weed, packaged in various amounts. I 
bend down, rifling through his jacket quickly.

"Mmm," he says, rubbing his head against my neck. Would you 
just...Jesus. Here. Five little rolls, and one baggie full of 
rolled bills.

"Trade," I say sourly. "Jay's stash for Echo's."

"Figures."

"Now what?"

"Okay, does he have any color in his eyes?"

I pres the `phone against my chest, kneeling and peering at Jay. He 
giggles, leans forward, kisses me, and falls over, laughing his ass 
off. Well. At least he's happy.

"A little. Just barely."

"Okay�Sounds like it's been in his system about an hour, has a half-
life of two--"

I blink. Dylan gives his drugs *half-lives*?? But he's still 
speaking.

"--say, three hours total. So you gotta exercise him."

Just for a minute my mind flashes crazily to Jay strapped to a chair, 
an old priest and a young priest chanting over him, while he spits 
pea soup over the room. I shake my head. No. Jesus. *Exercise*, 
not *exorcise*. Now *I'm* hallucinating.

"How?" I ask.

"Sex works," pipes in Taylor. Another country heard from.

"Shut up," said Dylan. I stop breathing.

"What?" I say weakly.

"Anything that gets his heart rate revving," Dylan says patiently, as 
if he's speaking to a skittish animal. Maybe he is. "Run around 
with him, or see if he'll do pushups, or...scare him..."

"Or sex..."

"Or sex, hey, but I *really* don't think you're that interested in 
that suggestion. Just make him burn as many calories as possible. 
Then let him sleep it off. Force fluids down him for the next day or 
so. And keep him away from Echo for a while."

There are a lot of ways to finish this call, I think, but everything 
jams up in my throat. I open my mouth three times, trying to say 
something. Anything. Finally, I give up, nod, make some 
noncommittal noise, and hang up.

Okay. I pull the boy to his feet, where he hangs in my arms as if he 
were crafted from lengths of boiled *perciatelli* noodles. I walk 
him around the room for a while, feeling like I'm getting the best of 
the workout--dragging his mostly dead weight around is kind of 
draining. Then there's the neck-nuzzling...Very distracting. He's 
giggling all the while until we reach the door to his room. 
Suddenly, he straightens up, gives out this high-pitched eep that's 
nearly the *exact* sound a Mac computer makes when it beeps, and 
takes off running. He circles around behind me, whooping like a 
madman, and then homes in on the door to his room.

He doesn't open it at first. He just crashes into it full-tilt. 
Surprised he doesn't break his damn nose, frankly. But he doesn't, 
he just drops to the floor, sort of stunned, and then reaches up one 
trembling hand, turning the doorknob. And he half-crawls, half-
lurches into the room.

He's giggling like mad when I get in there, pulling his clothes off, 
tossing them into the air and saying "Whee!" Man, how I don't love 
this�let me count the ways. Swearing under my breath, I sit heavily 
on the edge of the bed, watching his hands move. Gotta cut down on 
the cigarettes, I think. He is so fucking beautiful, I think. Two 
more hours of this shit, I think.

Wait. Back up. What was that middle one?

I blink, watching one of his hands trail over his nearly hairless 
chest, down to his flat belly, down to his slowly lengthening cock as 
his long fingers wrap around it for the first time.

"Ahhh..." he sighs. Huh. Beautiful?

He seems content just to idly stroke his pole, and for a moment, I 
just watch him, breathing like a bellows. Then I freeze. Oh, shit. 
Dylan said heavy activity. Make his heart pound. This is so not 
making his heart pound.

But I can't do much else, I think. Exercise worked for shit, and I 
really don't feel like tossing him down the stairs...How invaded will 
he feel if I just encourage him to masturbate?

Shit. The situations we get into. I don't believe this.

Shaking my head, I shrug off my coat, tossing it over against the 
door to my room. I lean in, slowly running a hand up his inner 
thigh. He twitches, grinning. I swallow. This is wrong on *so* 
many levels, I think. Shit, I think. His skin's really soft, I 
think. 

Shit.

Just a dusting of fine, golden hairs on his legs, catching the 
sunlight, tossing back gold glitter. My fingers inch up his thigh, 
and cup his balls lightly. I can't remember ever even fantasizing 
about a situation like this. I have no idea what to do. But he 
murmurs something appreciative, and I roll his balls in my palm, 
feeling the coarser, dark blond hairs here. They still feel soft on 
my palm.

His hips are bucking now, a little, and he's making these weird 
little yip noises as I run my fingers over his cock for the first 
time. For a moment, for one single moment, our fingers are nearly 
interlocked around his dick. It's...kind of cool. And then he opens 
his eyes--they'd drifted closed some time ago, I think--and looks at 
me.

Oh, shit. I am so fuckin' dead.

But he just smiles, and nods, or maybe it's a spastic twitch, and he 
lunges forward, nearly knocking me off the bed. I'm hanging on for 
dear life, tangled up in too much Jay, and suddenly he grabs me, 
pulling me onto the bed, laying me flat. He presses himself against 
me and kisses me.

Oh. Fantasies did not do justice to how good a kisser he is. Man. 
I've seen him kiss girls before, and it was always rushed, always 
just a little peck and poke, or a full-throttle, dislocate-her-jaw 
move, with the twitching tongue action and the added moans. Very, 
very little of finesse.

*This* is finesse. He teases open my lips, stunned into closing, and 
slides his tongue inside my mouth, so slowly it feels like torture. 
I reach up, latching onto him, feeling him writhing against me, but I 
can't think of much else because that agile tongue is in my mouth, 
counting teeth. Tentatively, I lick the underside of his tongue and 
he moans against me, shuddering. Wow. *I* did that? I made Jay 
moan?

But I have to...shit. I have to make him burn more calories. I have 
to make him burn this...whatever it is...out of his system. Fuck, 
how'm I gonna...

Fuck. It dawns on me. We have to fuck.

This is *so* not what I had in store for today. I'm not even 
supposed to be *awake* now, I just got up because Jay knocked. Shit.

And the penny drops a second time. Shit. *He* has to fuck *me*. 
When he's like this. When all he has to do is sober up and catch me 
in bed with him and then that's it, end of fucking friendship, end of 
fucking *everything*. Shit, I'll be lucky if he doesn't kill me!

But if he doesn't take the active role, this�shit in him�won't clear 
out of his system. S'what Dylan said. Suddenly I freak out again, 
pushing Jay a little off me.

Shit, what if Dylan's lying to me? What if it's just a, I don't 
know, aphrodesiac or something and I could just go away and let him 
beat his meat in private? I mean, let's be serious here--it's not 
like he can actually say *yes* to any of this right now...Right?

My mind whites out as Jay thrusts against me, moaning in the back of 
his throat. Shit. Okay. Shit. I'll do it.

(If I'm wrong...)

(Shit.)

Carefully now, my hands trembling, I start removing my clothes. This 
seems to send Jay into some kind of mutant frenzy, and he's barking, 
and thrusting against me, and helping me undress. Well, he's trying 
to help. Mostly, he's just getting tangled up in my clothes, and 
then I have to pause and untangle him. He starts eeping again and I 
can't take much more of that so I kiss him again.

This one's not gentle, suddenly. This one goes hot and hardcore, 
molten lava on brainmelt, and he's shuddering in my arms, moaning 
again. Shit, *I'm* moaning, too. I'm reaching for him and his thin, 
warm fingers are wrapping around my cock, pulling me towards him, and 
I pause a moment, searching for some flicker of intelligence between 
the blue and the black.

"Don't hate me," I tell him.

Jay just purrs, rubbing my chest, sucking on my nipples.

Right. Okay. Him. Me. Yeah. Brain's not working, for some 
reason. What. Need something. What?

(Lube, you imbecile!)

Right. Forgot for a moment. I dive across Jay's bed, to the side 
where I know he keeps his porn, and yank the drawer open. There's a 
big bottle of lube lying across a stack of titty mags, and I lift the 
bottle, and freeze.

Beneath the bottle, on top of last month's issue of JUGGS, is a 
picture of me. And it's...I mean, it's *really* a picture of me. I 
remember one of my old girlfriends talked me into letting her take it.

I'm kneeling on the bed, my hair's darker and longer than it seems to 
be now, and my cock is ready for action. I'm looking at her like I'm 
going to eat her alive, not even leave the bones as evidence. It's 
kind of scary. I never looked at it that way before.

I look over at Jay, putting the photograph back in the drawer. My 
hands are shaking even more now. Jay took it from my stuff, I 
think. Jay did that. Because...why? In a drawer with the lube and 
some stroke mags. Nude pic of the fat boy. 

I blink. I'm either on the edge of a paradigm shift or a nervous 
breakdown. I'm not sure which. Then Jay starts licking my ass and I 
white out again for a bit.

When I come back from�wherever it was...I'm on all fours and I hear 
the squelch of lube between Jay's moving fingers. My eyes bug out 
when those fingers push into me. Jay's grunting, the head of his 
cock grazing my inner thigh over and over, leaving quickly cooling 
streaks of pre-cum on my skin. I flinch a little and then grimace.

(Moron. He's about to anally enter you, you're about to let him, and 
I doubt either of you thought far enough along to track down a condom 
while we were off freaking, and you're gonna let a little fluid freak 
you?)

(Well, I...)

(Get over it. Now. Because just about now, he's about to--)

Oh, fuck...He's in. Jay is inside. Me. In. *Me*. He's pushing, 
thrusting, and he's panting, and I'm trying to stay focused on 
getting his heart rate up, getting him breathing hard, and it's 
getting difficult to do anything but moan, and whimper, and beg for 
him to take me harder...This is so fucking humiliating. I shake my 
head, clenching as I do so, and Jay whimpers behind me. He speeds up 
the pace, his hands grabbing my hips, and my eyes cross.

I lean on my arms, panting myself, and rock with his thrusts into 
me. I hear his balls slapping against my ass and his voice is 
strained, garbled-sounding, odd. Then he picks up speed again and 
oh, fuck, it hurts, but it hurts so *good*...Fuck, now I know why 
gays like this so much.

God, he's a machine. Is he like this when he's sober? He's 
babbling, and somewhere in there I hear fragments that sound like 
words, and at least once I thought I heard my name, and I nearly come 
right then, thinking about my name on those lips. I'm sweating like 
a pig now, *real* fucking attractive, Bob, but I sneak a look at my 
watch.

Half an hour. God. That's some kind of Jay record.

Then the penny drops again. Shit. Too many pennies, man, that's the 
problem. This time it's the realization that there's ninety minutes 
to go. I will be *dead* in ninety minutes, frankly. How am I going 
to keep his activity up? Shit!

Then Jay changes his angle, pulling my ass tight against his pumping 
hips, and I think I don't care anymore. I'm just lost, thrusting 
back against him, feeling him pole in and out of me, and damn, but I 
could get used to this.

(What the fuck are you saying?)

(What the fuck *am* I saying??)

(Shit, I need another girlfriend.)

(No, shit, you just need more of *this*...)

(Who said that??)

Oh, God, I'm gonna come, *real* soon if he doesn't stop that rotating 
thing with his hips. His hands snake over my belly, under it, and 
start stroking my cock. Oh, fuck. That's it. I gotta...I'm gonna---

GOD!! Oh, yeah, oh, YEAH, that feels so fucking *good*...Wait. 
Wait. Jay, stop now. Jay? Jay, for Christ's sake. Jay...oh, God, 
Jay...

Oh, shit. Boy's on autopilot. What have I done? I'm thinking 
furiously, trying to figure this out, which is part of the problem 
because my gears keep slipping every time he thrusts into me. Fuck, 
that still feels way too good. Now Jay's hands have crept up to my 
shoulders, and he's thrusting into me, pulling me back with his 
hands, and I'm shuddering, I'm begging, I'm spreading my legs wider 
than I thought I could, and he's still not deep enough.

(This isn't me.)

(Sure it is. You just had some unrealized homosexual tendencies.)

(Yeah, *tendencies*! *Tendencies* don't mean you go out and *do* the 
things you dream over, it means you *dream* over them!)

(Yeah, or wait until you get the opportunity for some real-life 
fantasy action, and figure out a plausible way to act on it...You've 
*always* been good at talking the boy into stuff. You know that.)

(Yeah, I know...)

Yeah, but now he's not *stopping*, man, he's not *stopping*, those 
hips are just...grinding me into powder...My arms tremble out the 
last of their strength and I collapse on top of Jay's blankets, and 
Jay just snickers behind me. He leans forward, pulling out nearly 
all of himself to do it, and I whimper, pressing my face into a 
pillow.

Jay snatches it away from me, rolling me over to one side and shoving 
it under my hips. Great. Now what? Now my ass is in the air and 
Jay's shoving my legs apart and this is about the most ridiculous 
I've ever felt in bed in my entire adult life, which says something, 
believe me, and...fuuuuuck...He's in. Again. He's in *deep*. 
He's...oh, God. This is...really, really, good.

"Yeah," he whispers, and those jackhammer hips start up again. Holy 
fuck. I'm dead. I'm dead. This is it. Forget him waking up 
tomorrow and killing me, he's going to kill me right here, right now, 
with his cock. He's not going to stop, he's just going to fuck me 
until I can't breathe anymore, and then that will be it.

(Even knowing this I find myself arching back towards him, raising my 
hips as much as I can, feeling the sweet burn as he drives in, 
scraping over my prostrate, making me shudder, making me 
*his*...because, if I have *any* honesty in my soul whatso-fucking-
ever, I can't just pick up chicks after this. I'll be comparing 
every girl I ever meet for the next twenty years to *Jay*. Right 
here. Right now.)

I blink sweat out of my eyes, trying to concentrate on my watch. 
Numbers slowly resolve, meaning joins them, and I count off another 
half hour. Shit. One hour left. He is going to *kill* me with that 
thing!

"Fuck yeah fuck yeah *fuck* yeah," he chants. Shit.

Man, and I thought this was such a good idea...

END
***************
Kelandris the Mad
roses on his skin (lilanore)