Title: Dagger (2/2)
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general (post-Dogma)
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob/Mercy, Jay/Metatron
Rating: PG-13 for language, NC-17 for everything else
Status: New
You must send an email to me and let me know where you 
intend to archive. Private archiving allowed as long as you 
don't intend to publish. Behave.
Email address for feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequel: Sequel to the the Feather series, which includes the 
first Mercy story, "Have Mercy".
Disclaimers: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and the 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: This thing needs to be edited, and it's still uneven as hell, 
and I didn't run it past my beta-tester, so this may not be even 
close to its final form. But my goodness, am I tired of it wandering 
around my brain.
Summary: Jay and Bob meet Mercy again, when her past comes back to 
bite her. It is, sadly, part I of II, but I have no idea when I'll 
get part II written.
Warnings: Some for language. Het sex. Vampire sex. Angel sex. 
Historical references. Pain and near-death experiences. Jay 
torture. Bob torture. It's just a whole lot of no fun until the end.

"Dagger"
by Kelandris

She struggled to remain conscious. She fought to speak, but the pain 
was overwhelming. She desperately needed to articulate something, 
but she couldn't seem to think. There was pressure on a hand. She 
looked down, curious. Silent Bob was holding it. Jay sat next to 
him. Had she passed out? Warm wetness splashed her hand. She 
looked up again. Why was Jay crying?

It was so hard to think. She was so tired. She closed her eyes 
again, hearing Metatron say, "I'll probably be banned to Detroit for 
this..."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against him. 
Leaning down, he pressed his lips against her ear.

"This is going to hurt, Mercy, rather a lot," he said softly. She 
didn't understand. She already hurt. Why had she thought this was 
the only workable plan? She was getting sick of her innate need for 
martyrdom. It only got her hurt. She inhaled, coughing, still 
feeling the path of the blade sliced through her chest.

Metatron lifted one arm from her, a shudder passing through him. He 
hissed sharply. Mercy blinked, watching the world from her half-
tilt. Jay and Silent Bob looked horrified. She struggled to sit up, 
and Metatron prevented her from rising. Then he brought his wrist to 
her lips.

Something trickled through them. The scent of roses suddenly became 
overpowering, and the liquid filling her mouth in a slow trickle 
burned, burned as acid or poison going down. She fought, trying to 
turn her head away, but the angel wrapped his arm around her head, 
his fingers prying her jaw open.

Just as she realized it was his essence she was drinking, his essence 
burning her, the hunger seized her, the instinctive desire to 
survive. Both hands rose, seizing his arm in a white-knuckled grip. 
Without conscious thought, she tilted her head back, letting her 
fangs lock into place, and plunged them into his arm. He cried out 
but didn't pull away. She heard a fluttering of great wings, 
trembling and flexing, and she felt him shiver as he held her.

And all the time it was akin to swallowing glass--the fluids that ran 
in him were caustic to her system, razoring through muscle and sinew, 
shaking her apart in toxic increments. Pain built to agony, 
maddening and ferocious, a tiger with a slashed face. It built until 
she could no longer hold it in, wrenching herself away from him, 
screaming and howling, reaching up with hooked fingers to claw at her 
eyes.

But Bob was on one side, the angel on the other, and they held her 
hands. They kept her from harming herself while she fought and 
screamed and kicked weakly, cursing them in Egyptian and Aramaic.

Finally it ebbed, leaving her convulsing in Bob's wide lap, feeling 
him stroke her hair and hum brokenly. Shifting away, she pulled 
herself up. She looked dully down at her chest.

The shirt she wore would never be the same again, she thought, the 
grey silk drenched in scarlet turning brown. She raised stiff, 
clumsy fingers to the buttons, unbuttoning two with difficulty and 
spreading the sticky cloth away from her skin. The slash in her skin 
was slowly puckering closed, though her chest still ached. It took 
forever to heal bone, she knew from sad experience. But the center 
gash was closing, pulling together, filling in, until all that 
remained was a tender, bright red scar the length of her finger, 
covered in painful new skin.

"Man, I can't get enough of that shit," Jay said. 

Mercy glanced at him and looked down again, realizing Bob still held 
her hand. Her thoughts skittered like water droplets in a hot 
skillet--they sizzled in her head, and wouldn't slow down enough for 
her to see any of them clearly. She picked one up at random, holding 
it up to mental light: Metatron. Metatron did this. She looked 
over at him, struggling to focus clearly. There was something she 
wasn't thinking about, off in the distance, that she needed to 
understand. What was it?

Then a different kind of hunger swept over her, burning in a new way, 
and she grabbed the angel's shoulders, pulling him forward and 
kissing him. Metatron made an uncomfortable noise--in a bird it 
would have been an offended squawk--and his wings arched up, 
scapulars ruffling. Mercy watched as Jay reached out, stroking the 
upper primaries, and Metatron gasped, breaking the kiss as he 
inhaled. His eyes were wild and dark, ringed with raptor gold, and 
in their centers she saw a reflection of orange shimmer from her 
whirling eyes. 

"You've ruined me," he whispered. She wondered what he meant, 
watching as he bent his forehead to the carpet, his body wracked with 
small spasms. The angel's breath shuddered out of him in small 
whispers and cries. His injured wrist still leaked the scent of 
roses. Jay bent over him, touching the place between his wings, and 
Metatron arched up again, screaming.

"My God," he wept. "I did not know, You did not tell me..." He 
sounded as if he were both praising and cursing God. Then he buried 
his face in his hands.

"Please," he moaned, jacket and shirt dissolving like mist. The 
angel's chest was smooth and colorless, unmarred by hair or 
nipples. "Please, touch me again."

Mercy leaned back against Silent Bob, her fingers reaching up to 
tangle in his beard. Stroking along his jaw, she smiled vacantly 
when she heard him inhale. She dropped her hands to Bob's chest, 
running the tips of her fingernails between the curls of dark hair, 
listening to him gasp. She watched again as Jay wrinkled his face, 
looking confused.

Hesitantly, the blond reached out, gently touching the base of the 
wings, stroking along the scapulars and coverts. Metatron's hair 
fell over his face as the hands came down, knotting in carpet.

"Ahhh..."

"Lunchbox, this is fucked," Jay said in a small voice. "Is this like 
angel sex?"

Bob shrugged, the muscles in his chest moving against Mercy's back. 
She turned, lightly licking the line of his jaw, down his neck, 
listening to his breathing stagger. She turned her head back to 
watch the angel and Jay.

Jay had now moved forward, rubbing the taut muscles on the angel's 
shoulders, listening to the small cries his hands caused. He ran his 
fingers down to the base of the spine, then moved them up again, 
rising to the nape of the neck. Metatron whimpered when Jay's wrists 
came in contact with the scapular feathers again. Jay ruffled 
through the feathers lightly, watching avidly as they twitched under 
his hands, then moved once again to the base of the wings, where 
feathers became flesh. He leaned forward, reaching out with his 
tongue to lick the cool skin.

The angel screamed once more, an oddly lyrical tone, and his wings 
flexed to full attack extension, shooting past Bob, who wrapped an 
arm around Mercy's waist and ducked to one side. Bottles shattered 
as he spasmed, gasping, his wings sweeping the air into frenetic 
movement. 

Without being aware she was going to move, Mercy rose, pulling 
herself off the ground and pulling Jay up with her. Her muscles 
wouldn't stop shaking. She imagined she and Metatron were in similar 
shape. She clung to the kitchen counter, panting, while Jay's face 
took on a genuinely angry color.

"Bitch, you better have a *damn* good fucking reason for stopping me, 
or I'm gonna pop you one."

She reached out slowly, fisting a hand in Jay's shirt, pulling him 
closer to her.

"Stop," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're torturing him."

He shrugged her off, though she still held onto his shirt, her arm 
shaking from the effort of it. When he spoke, he sounded resentful.

"I ain't done nothin' he didn't want me to do--"

"You've done everything he didn't want you to do," she said, trying 
to make him understand. "As did I, only I did it first." She shook 
her head, still full of thoughts on the wing. Dear gods, she wanted 
to kiss someone. Anyone. What, exactly, was in angelic fluids?

Meanwhile, Jay waggled horned fingers in her direction. "Nah, you 
pulled that Dracula shit on him, laid the angel *out*. I just did 
what he asked--"

"Because he had no other choice!" The volume she'd forced through 
her lungs dropped her like a stone to the floor, and she clung to the 
barstool she'd landed beside, panting.

Metatron knelt beside her, clad once more in the green jacket and 
simple shirt. She looked up as he smoothed a hand over her face, 
wiping away the dried traces of red tears.

"I didn't know I could have an effect on angels," she said 
brokenly. "I have never tasted any divine presence. What I do--what 
happens when I drink--"

She broke off, frustrated at her inability to articulate. She 
pressed both hands to her temples, needing to make him understand and 
not knowing how.

Metatron shook his head, standing to look at Jay. "This might help," 
he said bleakly. "When she bites someone--anyone--all their nerve 
endings conduct--pleasure. Their entire body becomes a tuning fork 
for joy. Mine, apparently, included."

Bob looked over at her, lifting his eyebrows. She shrugged, 
nodding. When she turned back to look at Jay, he looked confused.

"Wait, hold up for the blond. I don't get why this is such a fucking 
*bad* thing."

Metatron sighed, shaking his head. "I can't believe you've forgotten 
already. I'm not exactly anatomically correct."

"Yeah," Jay said sarcastically, "you and all the other dickless 
flyboys. So?"

"Let's put it in small terms you'll understand. She bites you. It 
feels wonderful. Better than that wench you dubbed Raven, whom you 
hold in your mind as the 'second perfect fuck.' Better than Bob, 
whom you hold in your mind as the first."

Jay blushed, not looking around, and Mercy watched Bob's eyes grow 
wide.

"What I'm telling you, is you feel a strong urge to--finish things, 
are you still with me?"

"Fucking and sucking, my two favorite things," Jay crowed. "You and 
your fuckin' euphemisms, shit." He shook his head, staring at 
Metatron, and Mercy watched him, intrigued as comprehension sunk in.

"Wait," he said. "You mean, all this time when she was--" 

Metatron nodded. 

"And after you were--"

He nodded again, wings slowly smoothing down.

"And you really needed to bust a nut, but you don't have any, so you 
asked me to--"

"Pure desperation on my part, yes."

Jay looked horrified. "*Shit*, man, I am fucking *sorry*!"

Quietly, Metatron stepped closer, taking Jay's face between his 
hands. He kissed him softly on the lips.

"No specific harm done," he said smiling ruefully. His eyes turned 
to Mercy. "But I think I must have a talk, creation to deity, when I 
get back." And in a swirl of dark sparkles, he was gone.

Jay looked down at the woman at his feet, at Bob sitting on the 
carpet, shirt still off, eyes wide. A mischievous look crossed his 
face, and he knelt down beside Mercy. Her thoughts still chased 
after each other merrily, making her tire with the effort of 
concentrating.

"So, was Metatron right?" he asked softly. She shook her head, 
failing to comprehend. He leaned closer, flipping his long blond 
hair over his shoulder, baring his neck. She blinked slowly, licking 
her lips.

"I wanna know," he whispered.

Any other day Mercy would have hesitated, not the least because here 
she was again, interfering in their relationship. But today, she 
felt herself lean forward, running her tongue along the pulsing vein 
in his neck, feeling him shiver.

"Jay," she heard Bob call warningly.

"What, I can't be fuckin' curious?" Jay asked. "She turns an angel 
into a sex fiend, I am *not* supposed to think about how it might 
feel, she gets all fangy on me? Just as long as that's all it is," 
he told her sternly. "I don't wanna sleep in a coffin or nothin'."

"Mmm," she said, her hands rising to pull his head further to the 
side. She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. She felt 
her fangs slide through oversensitive channels, making her whimper. 
Meanwhile, her fingers were busily trying to remove Jay's shirt, and 
laughing, he slid out of it for her. Light touches at his hips and 
belly urged him to rise, and she pulled down his sweats an inch or 
two until he realized she wanted him naked.

"Fuck, this is more like it," he said. The grin was evident in his 
voice. She leaned back, mouth trembling, to see him revealed.

It was not a displeasing sight. A fine dusting of pale hair could be 
seen on his legs and arms. His chest was nearly hairless, a trail of 
fine hair thickening down his flat belly to the tangled thatch of 
gold framing his now half-erect penis. He was slightly longer than 
Bob, but thinner. Her eyes drifted back up to his, and the look in 
them unmoored her for a moment. Curiosity, nervousness, anxiety, 
excitement, all things she shared.

She held out her arms, moving away from the barstool. Her hands 
gestured to him, and he knelt next to her, his hands reaching for her 
waist. She shook her head, placing her hands on his shoulders and 
moving him so that he faced Bob, his back to her. She licked the 
nape of his neck, feeling him shudder. She watched Bob shiver in 
sympathy.

"What, Drakulina, you gonna watch from there?" His voice sounded 
breathy and hesitant. She smoothed the hair back from his neck 
again, bringing her lips close to his skin. Warmth poured from him 
in waves, and his heart beat strong and sure in the still air. Tiny 
muscles jerked under his skin, and he began to fidget.

Her hands traced spirals on his young chest, tracing over nipples and 
ridges of muscle, and listened as both men gasped in synchronous 
harmony. She brushed her lips down his earlobe, down to his neck 
again. He stopped breathing for a moment, gasping instead. She 
liked the reaction, closing her eyes and sending the tip of her 
tongue out to trace along the vein, moving up to curl behind his 
ear. He reached out, trying to grab her for a kiss, and she eluded 
him, humming along the corded muscles in his neck and shoulders.

"Lunchbox," Jay gasped. "Make her stop teasin' me...*please*..."

Bob cast a stern glance her way, even as he smiled, lifting one of 
Jay's hands then the other, kissing the palms. Jay twitched, 
breathing hard.

"Bitch, I *swear* I will hit you, you don't do somethin'!"

She shook her head, smiling, then tilted his head to one side, 
plunging her fangs into him fast. He cried out, hands reaching out 
and clenching on Bob's shoulders. The first swallow of his blood 
filled her mouth, reminding her obscurely of smoke and electricity. 
There was a faint citrus tang, an overlay of high-sugar acid, orange 
and lime flavors commingling, and she wrapped her arms around his 
chest, taking long, slow, sweet swallows. He bucked, crying out, 
screaming her name and Bob's.

"Fuck, fuck, Bob, *please*..." One hand dropped to his cock, 
wrapping around the organ and pumping hard. After a long pause, Bob 
knocked it away, leaning down and taking Jay in his mouth. Jay cried 
out again, his hips bucking against Bob's mouth, shuddering in 
Mercy's arms as she fed from him. Oh, this was much better. Already 
she felt her thoughts stop their ceaseless circling, slowing long 
enough to pick out individual ideas.

Like the one where she found herself appalled at the situation in 
which she found herself. Was it only a few months ago she had been 
in this very room, recovering from feeling like a horror of the 
modern age in their arms? Base use, unworthy of her *and* them, yet 
welcome�until the next morning when she stood contemplating how much 
damage she'd have to do to herself to die.

She flinched away from that thought, and hard on it rode another. 
Reckless behavior, this one said in a stern mental voice. Reckless 
and dangerous--great gods, she'd even told Bob some of her history! 
Not even all of her long-term friends knew when she was born, or 
where. Yet Bob did. And, and--

"Fuck, Bob, I'm gonna, I'm gonna come, gonna come so hard--"

She pulled her fangs from him, licking her lips, and he screamed, 
thrusting forward, hands tangled in Bob's rich brown hair. She 
leaned back against the barstool, humming happily under her breath, 
which lasted about as long as it took Jay to look over his shoulder. 
The look in his eyes...

"C'mere," he growled, reaching for her. He pulled off the silk 
shirt, buttons flying, and tugged at the waistband of her pants, 
finally finding the side zipper and sliding them down. She rose, 
less unsteady the second time around, letting her clothes tumble to 
the ground at her feet. He grabbed her hips, bringing her thatch of 
peacock-black forward, the curled hairs slick with her juices. She 
bent forward while he buried his face between her thighs, still 
feeling warmth rising from him, carrying the scent of his arousal and 
the expensive conditioner he used on his hair. Her hands stroked 
that glittering mass, twitching slightly over the gold strands.

"Stop," she whispered. "Stop, I'm going to fall down!"

He licked her upper thighs. "So fall already," he murmured leaning 
back and pulling her down, impaling her in a single stroke. She 
cried out, her eyes meeting Bob's, who, she realized unsteadily, was 
also naked.

He knelt beside Jay, his expression tender as he looked at her, 
wildly possessive when he looked at Jay. His wide chest was thickly 
furred with hair; his legs thick and muscled as he knelt, the lethal 
weapon he held in his hand pointed in her direction. She shook her 
head, looking down at the blond.

"No, I think we've done that already," she said softly. She pulled 
Jay up, rolling on her back onto the carpet in the same motion, and 
watched as he smiled, rising to walk into his room. He emerged with 
a bottle of lubricant, and her eyes widened. Then all thought fled 
for a moment as Jay began to thrust in earnest, filling her 
completely with each stroke.

Jay paused, gasping. She peered around his shoulder, watching as Bob 
reached down between Jay's legs. From the muscle spasms, she knew 
Bob was preparing his lover, opening him to his touch. She touched 
the blond's face gently, smiling at him.

"What?" he asked, dazed. She shook her head, kissing his lips 
lightly. He shrugged, his eyebrows dancing, and began to thrust 
inside her once more, stopping on occasion to cry out at Bob's 
movements behind him. Then he stopped breathing, his eyes bugging 
out. She saw both of the bearded man's hands on Jay's hips. Oh. 
**Poor boy,** she thought, smiling wickedly. **Better you than 
me...at least for now.**

"Ah!" Jay gasped. Bob, thrusting into him, thrust him into her--he 
had as little control under Bob's hands as she'd had with the cult, 
the last time she'd ended up in their apartment. What that man was 
doing with his hips--and Jay's--was making her twitch and gasp. It 
wasn't long before Jay was shuddering into her again, whimpering into 
her neck as he thrust avidly. Bob and Jay yelled at nearly the same 
moment, pumping their hips hard and fast. She felt hot fluid splash 
inside her just as she clenched around the blond man, shuddering, 
gasping both their names, eyes fluttering shut.

Blinking, she opened her eyes after a few moments, turning to slide 
off Jay as gently as she could. Her muscles spasmed around him as 
she did, and he moaned, twitching. She bit her lip, glaring at Bob 
when he laughed, and sat up, curling her legs underneath her.

"I need a shower," she said slowly, "then food, then sleep--in that 
order. Have you any objections?"

They shook their heads, smiling. She rose to her feet. They stood 
up.

"Oh, are we a threesome then?" She meant it sarcastically, but they 
exchanged serious looks, which made her eyebrows arch. Finally, Jay 
shook his head.

"Nope, but hey, any time you wanna come back--that is, as long as 
it's not another near-death experience--I think we'd letcha."

Bob nodded soberly, his arm snaking around to pull Jay close.

She nodded slowly, looking at the ruined shirt at her feet.

"I think there's something I can do about that," she said. "But the 
shower first, I think. Who wants to scrub my back?"

Jay grinned like a fool, and danced ahead of her into the 
bathroom. "Bitch, what makes you think you ain't gonna scrub 
*mine*?" Laughing, he started water running, and steam poured out 
through the open door.

Mercy looked at Silent Bob. Silent Bob shrugged. Mercy shook her 
head, trailing after Bob as he walked into the bathroom, wondering 
what on earth could go wrong next to bring her back to Red Bank. She 
hoped it was something simple, like a bank transaction. That would 
be a welcome change.

END
***************