Title: Anything
Author: Kelandris the Mad 
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay / Silent Bob
Rating: PG for language only.
Status: New
Archive: wherever you want, full permission, just lemme know about 
it. No, I don't believe grabbing it from the list requires a note. :>
E-mail address for feedback: kel@crazysheep.net 
Series/Sequel: The inevitable...Hairbraiding III! Sequel to Gold and 
Samson. Song-fic.
Disclaimers: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and View 
Askewniverse. If I really get into this, I probably will too. Or at 
least go into hock when I walk into a video store, go into rut, and 
buy all the DVDs at once.
Notes: I still blame this whole concept on Tay, and Alex gets credit 
for his evil part in it.
Summary: Jay wants Bob to kiss him, but settles for some hair action 
instead.
Warnings: Some for language. No sex. Lots of repression and angst.

"Anything"
by Kelandris


"Okay what is it tonight?
Please just tell me what the hell is wrong.
Do you want to eat, do you want to sleep, do you want to drown?
Just settle down, settle down, settle down."

Jay couldn't sit still. He felt Bob's eyes on him as he rose from 
the couch again, and he resolutely turned his face away. He went 
into the kitchen, scanned the cupboards, scanned the drawers, checked 
the fridge. He walked back into the living room, sat down, watching 
the next few reels of the film before he was up and moving again. He 
walked back to his room, looking at the bong by the bedside, checking 
out the drawer with his favorite poetry book, looking at the vast 
collection of weed hidden in plain sight. Sighing, he walked back 
out, sitting down again.

Bob was giving him one of Those Looks again, he could feel it, he 
didn't have to look over. He thrummed a rhythm on the coffee-table, 
humming something he couldn't remember the words to under his 
breath. By the time he had moved on to ticking out a glassine 
accompaniment on the collection of beer bottles, Silent Bob had 
turned to face him.

There went that eyebrow again, just like clockwork. He waited, 
looking blank, bobbing his head from side to side, and there it 
came. The exasperated look, the soft sigh. He tapped the flat of 
his hand against the couch back, badda-badda, badda-boom, and waited, 
moving his shoulders to the imaginary song he couldn't quite recall.

"What?" Bob finally said.

"Dunno," he said lightly. "Just, you know, wanna get out, wanna 
move, tired of this place. Let's go somewhere," tapping out a bottle-
shaking rhythm on the side legs of the coffee-table, "let's get out, 
let's do the what's-up thing, huh Bob? Go grab some tunes, snatch 
some food, whaddya say?"

Thing was, he didn't want to leave, he just couldn't sit there 
anymore, pretending to watch the tube when he was watching Bob. 
Fucker wasn't dumb in any sense of the word, and sooner or later, it 
would occur to his Muscle that the blond boy was thinking of him in a 
way that did not involve some little sparrow with huge tits and a 
willing mouth. As fun as that type was, he wanted something else. 
Something he'd never get.

Man, if Bob ever found out...Just the thought was enough for Jay to 
sprint from the counch, nearly, walking into the bathroom and getting 
his hairbrush. Give him something constructive to do at any rate, he 
thought. Almost savagely, he brushed out his hair, relishing the 
pain where hair pulled, but being careful not to snap any off. About 
halfway through, he realized Bob was watching him again.

He brushed slower, not wanting to look over but not being able to 
avoid it. It was like driving past a car wreck�-you don't wanna 
look, you gotta. So he kept sliding his eyes over and Bob kept 
staring. At his hair. Fascinated.

Finally, he handed the brush over. "I don't know why the fuck you 
get off on this, but you jones after it so much, *you* brush it out. 
I'm sick of it." He meant the words to wound, and the flicker in 
Bob's deep brown eyes did show he'd nicked him. But it was a wound 
he could apparently ignore, as he just nodded, motioning Jay to turn 
around.

And Bob began brushing his hair. Jay had managed to get out the bulk 
of the tangles, but there were still little snarls here and there 
that sprang out of their kinks with little sparking noises. There 
was a lot of static in his hair now, he could tell, because it lifted 
every time Bob brought the brush close. Then Bob put the brush 
down. Jay watched him walk over to the kitchen, frowning. What the 
fuck?

Then Bob came back with a mug of water, setting it down on the table, 
and dipped his fingers in it, rubbing the water over his palms. 
Starting at the crown, he dragged his hands lightly over Jay's hair, 
removing the static and smoothing it down. He repeated this twice 
more, lifting the hair once to get underneath, and hooking his wet 
fingers the last time, pulling them slowly through. Jay's eyes 
crossed, and his breathing grew unsteady.

Then Bob deftly parted his hair into sections, braiding it again, so 
by the end he had one long braid down the back and two side braids 
descending from each temple. He secured them with bands taken from 
the handle of the brush and sat back, handing the brush to Jay. When 
Jay turned, stealing another look, Bob seemed insufferably pleased 
with himself.

His attention wandered back to the film after a while, though--
nothing could pull him out of a good John Hughes flick. Jay leaned 
his neatly braided head on his hand, just staring at the line of 
Bob's jaw.

**Someday,** he thought, **I gotta braid your hair, see what it does 
for you.** Smiling, he turned his attention back to the flick, 
putting the brush down, and relaxing for the first time that night.

"I'll give you candy, give you diamonds, give you pills,
give you anything you want, hundred dollar bills.
I'll even let you watch the shows you want to see.
Just marry me, marry me, marry me."

END
(Song snippets from "Anything Anything" by Drama-Rama)