Title: Addicted to Bob
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: Songfic, NC-17 for implied and actual homosexual sex; 
language.
Status: New
Archive: Drop me a note and it's yours. And on that note�
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequels: Unless I want to play in Jay's head more than this 
once, just a one-shot.
Disclaimers: All parts of my fannish being are enriched by the 
presence of Kevin Smith, Jason Mewes, Jason Lee, Ben Affleck, and all 
the merry characters at View Askew Productions (including their 
current master, Miramax,) save for that pesky financial part of my 
being, which receives no compensation whatsoever for these tawdry 
little tales.
Notes: Have no idea. Jay jumped in my head and took my fingers for a 
drive. Fun at times, but getting him to spell things right is a 
challenge.
Summary: Jay's in love, and he's not dealing well with what that 
means.
Warnings: Homosexual sex, implied homosexual sex, two men kissing 
each other, lots of self-referential childhood abuse stuph.

"Addicted to Bob"
by Kelandris


*I wish I didn't have this nervous laugh
I wish I didn't say half the stuff I say
I wish I could just learn to cover my tracks
I guess I'm not concerned about getting away*

There you go again, that fucking wounded look. Motherfuck. Do you 
even know how that stabs through me? If you did, you wouldn't do it, 
I think. Then I think, yeah, but if I really cared about you half as 
much as I think, I wouldn't say shit to you that made you hurt. I 
don't wanna hurt you. I don't wanna hurt anyone but the fuckers who 
need to stay away from me anyhow.

And here we are, pat fucking pattern. The look. The sigh. The look 
away. And now you light a cigarette and try to pretend I didn't just 
say the fucking stupid thing that made you hurt in the first place. 
And half the shit I say, man, I completely don't mean. It's all 
bullshit. It's all raver's madness, staving off the screaming in the 
dark. I know it. You should know it. But sometime along the way, I 
think you forgot.

And you know, normally that wouldn't be a bad thing. Like I care 
what you think, like I care what any fucker thinks. I'm in this for 
me, man, grab what I can, get the fuck out, get on to the next one.

`Cept it's not like that anymore, is it? Shit.

*'cause every time I try to hold my tongue
it slips like a fish from a line*

I wish I had a timeline I could point to, one of your fucking graphs 
so I could say, okay, here I was fine, and here I was normal, and 
this over here, this Thursday the 20-fuck of something, this is right 
where I fucking lost it. It'd be nice to know. `Cos I have, man. I 
have completely fucking lost what mind I had. Spendin' too much time 
wonderin' what you're thinkin', wonderin' what you think of *me*, 
when I should be wonderin' when's the next time I'm gonna bone some 
P.Y.T. and make her scream my name.

Only, shit, even that's no fun anymore, `cos the only sluts I seem to 
want have dark brown hair, and dark brown eyes, and some are even on 
the hefty side, you know? I mean, it takes all kinds, and I like `em 
short an' round as well as tall an' thin, but lately...aw, shit. 
Lately I'm just pickin' up girls that look like you. And that's 
fucked up, man.

Have you even noticed?

*they say if you want to play 
you should learn how to play dumb
I guess I can't bring myself to waste your time*

And man, things couldn't be more tense at the crib if I'd started 
draggin' guys home. I'm watchin' you all the time, all the fuckin' 
time, and I can't seem to just re-fuckin'-*lax* all of a sudden. I 
wanna just kick back, see where the fuck this thing is goin', but I'm 
all nervous around you now. And shit, the mouth is goin' fifty miles 
an hour, and I'm the only one who seems to know that's `cos the 
wheels are stuck in this rut I've created. This rut called, wanting 
my fucking roommate. Fucked up, man, fucked *up* beyond all dreams 
of fuckedupness.

And still I can't stop watching. It's worse now than last week. 
Last week I was fine if we watched some porn together, had a nice 
little jack-off, and I could watch that freaky thing grow you pull 
out of your pants, dream over what that monster would do to me. But 
this week...shit, I'm crossin' all the lines. I keep hangin; out 
near the bathroom, hopin' for a glimpse of some nakedidity, and so 
far nothin' more than you lookin' at me funny. Probably `cos of the 
stupid hopeful look that's probably plastered on my face.

Shit, I am so screwed here.

*'cause we both know what I've been doing
I've been intentionally bad at lying
you're the only boy I ever let see through me
and I hope you believe me when I say I'm trying
and I hope I never improve my game*

I wish I weren't so fucked up. I bet this happens all the time, and 
all them other fuckers know what to do. Yeah, they didn't have their 
dads beatin' on em at noon and beatin' em off at midnight. They can 
just look around and say, hey, yeah, I'm attracted to guys, I'm gonna 
go get me some hardbody and fuck their brains out. `Cos I bet they 
just know.

Me...fuck, I don't know shit. Never have. Between my fuckin' dad, 
and my fuckin' mom, and a whole handful of creepy-ass bastards my mom 
brought home after my fuckin' dad died, it's not like I had a 
chance. I fuckin' know that. But sometimes...shit, sometimes, the 
light on your hair, the look in your eyes...fuck, or just watchin' 
you with your hand on your--

Man. Is it too late to fuckin' move away?

*yeah I'd rather have these things weighing on my mind
and at the end of this tunnel of guilt and shame
there must be a light of some kind
there must be a light of some kind*

"Jay."

"What the fuck you want now, fat ass?"

"You're staring."

Yeah, I am. I am staring. I am staring right at that glorious piece 
of Bob-meat and I want to, I want to *right* *now*--HOLY FUCK!

I wrench my eyes away suddenly, and now I'm panicking. I wanna look 
back at the movie, I can still hear the slut on the screen moaning 
for it. But I can't look back at the movie, `cos she's got all this 
dark hair and these dark eyes that drill through your soul and fuck, 
I can't be thinkin' about this right now or I'm gonna come screaming 
your name. So I don't look at the tv, I look at you, and shit, now 
that's a different problem, because I'm now lookin' in *your* eyes, 
that *are* drillin' into my soul, and...oh...fuck...

"Jay."

Don't say it, don't say shit, don't say fuckin' anything, don't look 
in those fuckin' EYES...Shit. Too fuckin' late. Aw, man, you're 
gonna kill me.

"...yeah?"

You open your mouth, those perfect little lips, and fucking God, but 
I wanna kiss you right now. Fuck. *Fuck!* Did I mention this is 
beyond fucked up--

Why are you leanin' forward?

*in the end the world comes down to just a few people
but for you it comes down to one
but no one ever asked me if I thought I could be 
everything to someone*

Holy...fucking...God...I can't move, I can't breathe, I can't 
even...you're kissing me, holy fuck, my fucking roommate is KISSING 
ME...and there's this second, this second that lasts forever, where I 
can't fuckin' think what to do, whether to shove you away or slap the 
shit out of you or, or, kiss you back--

My bod apparently has other ideas. `Cos suddenly I'm scrambling over 
the couch, scrambling into your lap like a puppy, and pressing 
against you and moaning. Fucking *moaning*, I can't believe this 
shit!

And somehow I forgot that there we were, dicks out and jammin', `cos 
now I feel how hard you are, and I feel how hard I am, and shit, my 
hips are moving, thrusting forward, and I can feel your cock on mine, 
and--

Shit, I think I'm gonna pass out.

What's fuckin' worse is the kiss is even better than feelin' your 
dick humpin' mine. Shit. Kissin', it's not even fuckin' foreplay, 
you know? Kiss some slut, give her some deep tongue action, it's not 
like it means shit. It's just, y'know, somethin' to do before the 
crop top comes off and the capris come down. Or maybe it's some 
ghetto girl with a cap just like mine and pants big enough for three 
of her. Doesn't fuckin' matter. It's just a kiss. It's not even a 
feel.

But this, man...shit, it's like you're some kinda drug that I been 
jonesin' for, and that...that's just fuckin' cracked, man. That is a 
crackhead idea. People ain't drugs, people don't need each other 
like...

Oh, fuck, don't stop, don't fucking stop. Oh, yeah, I feel your 
hands in my hair--

Shit, there's too many clothes now, fuck! I wanna feel you. I wanna 
feel you all over, want you against my skin, shit shit shit...I tug 
on your sweatshirt, an' it's trapped, all I can pull up is the 
front. So I do, I run my hands over your chest, tweak your nipples 
on the way by.

And suddenly you're archin' off the couch, moanin', whisperin' my 
name an' shit. Fuck. Who saw *that* comin', let's see some raised 
hands. I run my hands across the curling hair, feeling it brush over 
my palm. Makes me shiver, man, and there's another thing--my fucking 
*palm* is an erogenous zone now? Or is it just `cos I'm touchin' you?

I palm your nipples now, flexing my hands like I got some small-titty 
girl in the back of her car, `cos I remember they like that. Way 
you're jumpin' around, you like that too, and fuck, yeah, say my name 
again, say it, motherfucker!

Nah, fuck that, just kiss me again.

Oh, yeah, that is the *shit*, man...Your lips are so fuckin' soft. 
Never thought a guy's lips would be so soft. Maybe it's `cos I'm 
addicted to Chapstick, `cos my lips crack so often. You keep tellin' 
me I need to drink more water, and I keep tellin' you water's what 
fish fuck in, and thanks, I'd rather drink beer. But fuck...if 
that's what it's like, I'm gonna drink gallons.

Oh, shit...No, no man, don't wanna come yet, don't wanna stop, don't 
wanna--fuck! I'm gonna, I'm gonna, I can't fuckin' *believe* this, 
I'm gonna come just from kissing some guy??

Fuck, so hard, so hard, wanna...wanna...FUCK!

I throw my head back, screaming, maybe your name, I do *not* wanna 
know. All I know is, I ain't never felt this good before. Not with 
any girl. Not with my dad, that's for *damn* fuckin' sure. Not with 
any of the losers who paid me. Nothin' like this.

Nothin' like you. Nothin', ever, like you.

I come back to earth, breathin' hard, and you're not sayin' 
anything. Oh, yeah, like *that's* some big fuckin' surprise, but for 
once it's good, it's right. I'm just watchin' you, strokin' my hands 
along your face, trailin' my fingers down your neck. You gasp, and I 
grin. There's another one. Cool.

"Jay," you say, and I frown. Shit, why can't we just stay here? Do 
we hafta talk about it? I don't wanna talk about it. I don't wanna 
fuckin' *deal* with it yet, okay?

*there's a crowd of people harbored in every person
there are so many roles that we play*

"Shower."

"Huh?"

"Shower," you say more firmly. Yeah. Shit, I guess so. Considerin' 
I just spermed up your pants, that's probably a good thing. I make 
to move off to one side, cannot believe how much I *don't* wanna do 
this, and you grab my arm.

"What?"

You look at me, and I twitch. Shit, I could get hard all over again, 
just seeing that hungry look in your eyes.

I look down. Shit. I have. I look back up, and you're smilin'.

"You could join me," you say shyly. 

I blink. Shower with a fuckin' guy. Oh, yeah, *that's* gonna 
happen. An' I'm also wonderin', what the fuck *you* have to feel shy 
about? Shit, I should feel all shy for comin' on you, just from a 
fuckin' kiss--

And then it hits me. Man, I am the village idiot today. You're 
offering me more than a fuckin' shower, aren't ya? Oh, yeah. Wet 
naked Bob, now *there's* some stroke material.

An' now I can't meet your eyes again. Shit, between the moanin' of 
the chick on the tape and what's goin' on with my dick and your 
intense fucking eyes, I got no chance here.

All I can do is shrug, and get off you, and watch as you cross the 
floor. An' it takes me all of half a second to race after you, 
throwin' clothes everywhere, `specially once I see you're doin' the 
same. I make to move past you through the door, start the water or 
some shit, and you press me back against the wall, and kiss me again.

Oh, fuck. And you're naked now. All pressed against me and I can't 
help it, I'm whimperin', I'm pulling your face closer, I'm tryin' to 
crawl under your skin, I think, `cos fuck, I want you. I want you to 
do things to me I never wanted before. And I'm not thinkin' beyond 
that, `cos I'll just get hurt tryin', I know.

Here is good. Here is fine. Here is...oh, God, your 
*tongue*...shit, yeah, lick me, blow me, slap me, I don't fuckin' 
care, just don't ever stop kissin' me...

*yeah I'd rather have these things weighing on my mind
and at the end of this tunnel of guilt and shame
there must be a light of some kind
there must be a light of some kind*

So maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it's not that I'm suddenly all 
gay. Maybe I'm just gay for you. Bob-o-sexual, yeah. Or maybe I'm 
addicted.

Huh. Jonesin' for Bob. Shit. Is there a twelve-step program for 
this?

END
(Song is excerpted from "Light of Some Kind" by Ani diFranco. 
Believe me, the song as a whole tells a radically different story, 
but I wanted the play-by-play of certain verses.)
*****
Kelandris the Mad
tell me a ghost story