Title: Favor Won
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: NC-17 *only* by 2.5 millimeters Other than that, it's 
strictly R territory, for language, sexual content, m/m sexuality, 
and adult themes.
Status: New
Archive: Drop me a note and it's yours. And on that note...
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequels: One-off as far as I know. :>
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: Carried this story around in my head all day without being 
able to write it down. Hope it sounds as good as it did this 
morning. Also, I really, really tried to make this a heavy-smut 
story, and it fought me. So okay, it won. I did everything I could 
to get them into bed by the end, but they were having none of it. If 
this keeps up it's Jay of Sunnybrook Farm, I am *not* friggin' 
kidding.
Summary: Bob is suspicious when Jay won't tell him what's going on.
Warnings: Jay is Mean To Bob. Yes. Bob Gets Hurt Feelings. Awww. 
But it all works out. "Probally", by the way, is not a typo--it's 
how I wanted Jay to say it. And as usual, this morphed on me. This 
was supposed to be, max, a three-page awwfest. But Jay was more 
cutting than I expected, Bob took it harder than I wanted him to, and 
now it's all about processing, not plot. Shit.

"Favor Won"
by Kelandris


It's not often that drug dealers get vacations. In fact, it wasn't 
often that dealers of Jay and Silent Bob's caliber could get much of 
anything in the way of benefits--medical care was out, stock options 
were laughable. But Bob had decided he needed a break, and Jay 
thought it might be cool to just hang for a week or so, no pressure 
to sell, no pressure to succeed by driving force of will.

But the first day of their vacation, Jay elected to stay home. Bob 
shrugged, wanting to catch a movie at the mallplex, and decided, what 
the hell--he could, and probably would, spend the rest of his life 
with the little sonic boom, so some peace and quiet might be a very 
good thing. Jay didn't seem to mind, and off he went, indulging in a 
rare feature that lacked the mile-a-minute commentary of his roommate.

When Bob returned to the apartment, he saw Jay reading on the couch. 
It was a big book he was poring over, and on a brief glance was not a 
comic book, nor was it porn of some kind. The harvest-wheat gold of 
his hair fell in a sheaf of glittering strands across the page, and 
his lips were moving silently as he peered down.

Bob's eyebrows went up, and he silently walked over to the closet, 
hanging up his coat. When he turned around, Jay was looking at him.

"What--" he began softly.

"None of your fuckin' business," Jay snapped. He looked profoundly 
irritated. "Gimme a fuckin' beer."

Bob stared at him blankly, considering and discarding several 
responses in the space of a few seconds.

**Get your own damned beer, I'm not your fucking slave,** he 
thought. **Sorry, we're out of beer for assholes. Kitchen is 
closed, motherfucker. Maybe you need to get off the damned couch for 
a while and get some air. Yeah, beer sounds good, why don't you go 
out and get some?**

He sighed, walking into the kitchen, getting two beers from the 
fridge and twisting the caps off. He wasn't called Silent Bob for 
nothing. If he could say what he wanted, when he wanted, he wouldn't 
have such a problem speaking, now would he?

Damn, though. Jay loved to push his buttons. It was like he didn't 
care whether the reaction he got would be good, or would knock him 
into the wall, as long as he got that reaction. Classic insecurity, 
but even so, Bob was getting heartily sick of it.

By the time he came back, Jay had put the book away anyway, and Bob 
just shook his head, sitting down. Who knew why he was so touchy 
some days? One of the great mysteries of the Jayverse. He tried to 
make the rest of the night normal, but Jay was twitchy, sullen, and 
paranoid as hell, and he finally gave up, throwing away the beer 
bottles and heading for bed.

He didn't know what was wrong with Jay, but he was more than willing 
for Jay to solve it his own damn self. Sighing, he pulled off his t-
shirt, stripping down to his shorts, and Jay opened the door to his 
room.

Bob's eyebrows went up.

Jay shrugged. "Yeah, I know, I said I was gonna stay up, but... I dunno...
I yelled atcha earlier, and I'm sorry, `kay? Can we fuck and make 
up?"

**Psychotic but cute,** his brain whispered, and he ignored it, 
sighing. He opened his arms and Jay moved into them, leaning down 
slightly to kiss him.

And it was just as good as it was confusing. Kisses trailed like 
broken promises across his collarbone, fingertips stroked lines of 
misdirection onto his skin. When Jay's mouth finally opened wide to 
swallow him whole, he didn't know whether to encourage him with 
endearments or applaud his performance. The blond was frenetic, 
driven, the tension beneath the action something entirely unrelated 
to what his body was doing.

And after hearts quieted, and breathing returned to normal, Bob was 
left with the unsettling feeling that he'd just been played. Well 
played. And he could not, for the life of him, understand why.

The next day, Jay again elected to stay home. Now Bob was definitely 
suspicious. He left, for cigarettes, coming back to the apartment 
only an hour after he left. Jay was...

No. Couldn't be. Jay was on the couch, *sewing* What in the *hell*?

This time he didn't bother to speak, just stood there, staring at 
Jay's bowed head over the project. He couldn't make out what Jay was 
sewing, because he was pretty effectively body-blocking his line of 
vision.

"You could go do somethin' else, ya know," Jay murmured. 

Bob shrugged. "Like what?"

"Like whatever the fuck it is you do when you're not buggin' the shit 
outta me. Quit fuckin' botherin' me. " 

Bob didn't move. He thought he might be in some calm state of 
shock. 

**He's yelling at me,** he thought. **A-fucking-*gain*. What the 
hell is *wrong* with him?**

Jay looked up then, frustration and anger warring on his face.

"Din't you hear me? Fuck the shit off!" And he looked down again, 
hunching over the fabric, until Bob went away.

**'Fuck the shit off'... ? You consummate bastard.** 

Fuming, Bob stalked into his room, carefully shutting the door. He 
was trembling as he leaned his forehead against his side of the cool 
white surface. Why was he putting up with this? Sex could be had 
anywhere; companionship was harder, but could be acquired; he 
certainly wouldn't miss Jay's less than charming attributes, like 
this snap-on-a-dime mentality he'd developed. Was it just the fact 
that he was beautiful? Was he that fucking shallow?

He never came out of the room, preferring to stay behind the door. 
He got online for a while, but it became more of an irritant than 
Jay, so he shut it down and played Civ 3 for a bit, moving pieces at 
random to see what would happen. About the time he shut down the 
system, Jay walked into the room.

He cast his eyes heavenward. On top of everything else, Jay could 
*not* seem to learn to knock when doors were closed. Whether they 
were his or not.

"Bob, I... I wanna talk."

Bob swiveled around in the comp chair, staring at him.

**Oh, this should be *prime*.**

He waited, eyebrows expectantly raised.

Jay squirmed. "It's nothin', really. I just wanned to, I wanned...
Listen, I got a lot on my mind right now, `kay? I'm lettin' it get 
to me, an' I shouldn't. An' I'm sorry."

Bob just blinked.

"What?" Jay asked desperately. "I said I was sorry!"

Bob stared at him, sighing. Thoughts crowded him, words he couldn't 
say. 

**You hurt me, you stupid little boy. I love you, and you're 
shredding me this week. I thought this week was supposed to be our 
week off, do all that typical dating shit... go out to movies together, 
go out to eat, take long walks in the fucking park. Whatever. But 
no, you have to be secretive, and paranoid, and fucking irritating as 
hell, and you seem to have no fucking idea of how badly it hurts me 
to be completely excluded from the life of the man I love. Stupid 
shit, aren't you? You really have no idea.** 

But he couldn't say it. He couldn't say anything. His eyes 
narrowed, and he stood, walking to where Jay was in the room. This 
time Jay didn't flinch back, but he watched him warily, until Bob 
pulled him into a wordless hug, followed by a barely-connecting swipe 
to the back of the head.

**Idiot.**

Then he went to bed, turning off the light. After a few moments, he 
heard Jay shuffle off his clothes, and climb in next to him. He was 
in no mood for anything Jay might do, but even his resolve melted 
away when Jay began to nip the back of his neck.

It wasn't enough to hurt, nor even to bruise, but it made a decided 
impact. After a few moments of Jay breathing, sending fever-hot 
puffs of air through the hairs at the nape of his neck, he turned 
over, kissing Jay desperately. And once more, he felt like he was 
being handed a hat that held rabbits. On the one hand, Jay was 
intent on the task at hand, devoted to Bob's pleasure over his own, 
making sure that each gasp followed another, in steady procession 
from the last.

But it felt programmed, like Jay was only using half his head to 
achieve results within par. His movements were mechanical, his eyes 
shuttered tight, and not even Bob could penetrate the opaque blue 
screens over Jay's soul.

And after it was over, he wanted to cry, wondering what could be so 
wrong that Jay wouldn't let him in.

The next morning went badly from the moment he woke up. He could 
barely look at Jay, going through the motions of breakfast, eating 
quickly, shrugging into clothes. The phone rang, and he raced to get 
it, grateful for the interruption. Jay hadn't exactly been 
forthcoming, with *anything*--not that Bob could just come out and 
ask--and he just wanted to be gone.

"Hey," he said quietly. He listened for a moment. He handed the 
phone to Jay.

"RJ," he said quietly. Jay jumped from the table, grabbing the phone 
and jabbering animatedly into it. Bob just slumped into the couch, 
depressed. It hadn't been RJ's call--RJ had been cool, asking how 
they were, asking if they wanted to go to a party that night. It 
might be fun, even--RJ was a quiet young man, studious expression on 
his face most of the time, in the third year of acquiring his 
bachelor's degree in chemistry. Which made the full Liberty-spike 
mohawk he wore most of the time incongruous as hell. 

He settled in, wondering if he shouldn't just go back to bed, sleep 
some of the frustration away. Something sharp poked him in the 
back. He jerked, wincing.

**What the--**

Turning, he reached into the couch, pulling out a needle attached to 
thread.

**OF all the stupid fucking things...** It seemed attached to 
something else. He tugged experimentally, and Jay shrieked.

For a moment his mind freaked completely. **It's attached to *Jay*?
** Then Jay came over, pushing him aside, digging into the corner of 
the couch. He pulled out something, hands covering all but a wisp of 
the fabric he remembered from yesterday, and glared at him. Like 
*he'd* done something wrong.

That was it. He grabbed his coat, and he left. He just walked, 
aimlessly, not even sure where his feet were taking him, until he 
found himself standing in a public park. He found a bench, sitting 
down, and pulled his trench tight around him. It wasn't that cold 
out, but it was a comfort, and he was desperately in need of comfort.

His mind spun its wheels aimlessly. He loved an idiot. He loved 
someone who didn't love him. He loved someone who didn't know the 
meaning of love. He loved someone who would never change, no matter 
how much Bob wanted him to be a better person. He tried not to want 
Jay to change, but it didn't matter anyway. And all the patient 
wearing down of those high, spiky walls meant nothing, because the 
gutter rat was back. He'd been so fucking sure Jay had left those 
days behind, when he'd rather flip shit at someone than risk his 
heart.

Especially in this situation, when he knew there would be substantial 
return. Because Bob would never hurt him. He couldn't hurt Jay. 
Jay held his heart.

**Yeah, but apparently, he has no fucking clue what to do with it.** 

The sun spun overhead, the late morning advanced to late afternoon, 
and Bob was still trying to figure out what he'd done wrong. Or was 
it Jay? Maybe it was just how he was relating to the world right 
now. Vestiges of get-away strong in his matrix. 

Bob scrubbed at his eyes, pulling back wet knuckles, and for a 
single, startling moment, hated Jay with a burning passion. How dare 
he? How *dare* he reject the only person in his entire *life* who'd 
ever loved him, razor wire and all? How dare he get mad at Bob, 
who'd saved his ass more times than could be counted, who'd pulled 
him out of his mom's house, for God's sake, got him away from that 
craziness and away from people who...

He looked down at his shoes, then, sighing. It was no use. It 
wasn't Jay's fault he had no concept of love. That ability had been 
stripped away at a very young age, and all the time Bob had spent 
patiently showing him love, affection, human kindness--it all came 
down to the same thing: he didn't believe in any of it. And maybe 
he couldn't. Maybe that part of him had so badly atrophied, it could 
never grow back, never be strong.

Dusk settled heavily over the trees, and Bob sighed, pressing his 
hands against his burning eyes. Shit. Jay would know in a second 
what he'd spent the afternoon doing. And he knew it would be bad if 
he noticed, but it would *kill* him at this point if Jay didn't 
care. He couldn't take it, he just couldn't.

Then his survival instinct took over.

**Hey,** he told himself. **You've survived worse. If it's over, 
then it's over. It's not like he's going to stab you on the way out 
the door.** True. *That* relationship had hurt, and had sent him to 
the hospital. This... this was just a broken heart. Easy.

Inhaling, he rose, shaking his head, shaking his dark hair into 
place. Okay. Go home. Get the arguing over. Find out if there was 
any shred of relationship left.

Then he'd have the good cry and get Jay out of his system, one way or 
the other. If it was over, then it was over. He'd make sure of that.

He walked home, and if his step wasn't exactly light, it didn't drag, 
either. By the time he reached his apartment, he'd actually managed 
to firm up some resolve about the situation. He had a few initial 
conversations planned out in his head--what if Jay said this, what if 
Jay did that, what if this happened. He had an idea how to handle it.

Then he walked in, and all resolve flew out the window.

Jay was on the couch, looking down at something in his hands. He 
looked up when Bob came in, and his mouth dropped open.

"Oh, baby," he whispered. He got up, running to Bob's side. His 
hand trembled when he raised it to Bob's face. "I didn't make you 
cry. Tell me I didn't."

And Bob had no idea what to do. Anger flashed briefly in his eyes, 
frustration knotted his forehead, confusion made his lips tremble. 
Then everything stilled, went blank, and Jay looked hurt.

"I am such a fuck-up," he said quietly. "Can't even do somethin' 
nice for my baby without hurtin' him an' shit. Man, why the fuck you 
put up with me?"

Bob stood there, barely shaking his head. He was starting to tremble 
all over. And he couldn't answer Jay, the words were gone again.

**I have no idea,** he thought. **Because I love you. Because 
you're hurt and I have to take care of you. Because you're inside 
me, under my skin, and I never stop craving you. Because my life 
would be empty without you. Because you're the biggest challenge 
I've ever had in my life, and every day is as much joy as it is 
frustration, and I want that, I want it, I want you, for the rest of 
my days, and I don't want to give you up for anything. I love you. 
I love you. Even when you're the stupidest fucking moron on the face 
of God's earth.**

But he just stood there, and Jay finally sighed.

"Yeah. Shit, I'd probally be mad at me too," he said, and turned 
away. Bob touched his arm.

Everything stopped. Bob could feel air circulating in and out of his 
lungs. He could feel the crisp blond hairs under his fingertips on 
Jay's arms. He watched Jay turn towards him, the fall of his blond 
hair sweeping over his shoulder with a sound of silk brushing against 
cotton. Jay looked at him, really looked at him, open and hurting 
and honest, and it took his breath away. Then Jay swallowed, looking 
down at his hands. They were clenched over something. He opened 
them, and held whatever it was out to Bob.

"Here." A wealth of white noise behind that word--fear, pain, love, 
hope, yearning, traced over in thin black lines by despair and 
aggravation. **Here,** Jay had said. And Bob took what he was 
holding out, only then looking down.

He held a strip of white fabric, looking remarkably like linen, 
backed with what felt like chamois leather. It was attached to 
sturdy leather loops at the top. There was a pattern of wisteria 
blooms in blackwork on the front, and an intricate center design of 
ornately scrolled letters, curving inside a circle of ivy. He peered 
at it, tracing the letters with his eyes.

J... S... B. Blinking, he looked up at Jay. Jay bit his lip, looking over 
his shoulder at the door behind him.

"It's a favor," the blond said softly.

**It's a favor,** his mind repeated. Now he had no idea what to do. 
He didn't even know what to say. "What..." he attempted, but there 
was nothing to say after it. His fingers traced the texture of the 
favor again and again. He had no words. He had fewer words than 
usual. He was poleaxed, completely.

Jay shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

"Annalise, she tol' me, she said you were interested in that, what 
the fuck is that, the SDA?"

"S.P.A.," Bob gently corrected. He looked down at the favor again, 
soaking it in.

"Yeah, that. She said you were workin' your way up to royalty, that 
next weekend you were bein' knighted or some shit. She tol' me that 
chicks back then, they gave favors to the guys they really liked, and 
the guys wore `em to show who loved `em."

Jay quickly glanced up at Bob, then glanced down again, biting his 
lips.

"Bob, I--I know I ain't no girl, and you--you probally see someone 
there when you go, but--well, I just wanned to make you somethin'. 
You c'n wear it, if you want."

Bob inhaled slowly, fighting the impulse to crush the favor in his 
hands, just to hold it that much closer. Jay misread the sudden 
tension and took a step back.

And suddenly the words were there, exactly what he wanted to say.

"No, you idiot," Bob whispered. "Of course I'll wear it. I love 
you."

Jay shook his head, opening his mouth to protest, and Bob stuck his 
tongue in it.

**Mine,** he thought possessively, fingers tossing the favor to the 
couch, then efficiently stripping Jay free of clothes. **Mine to 
stay.** His mouth moved, kissing every inch of skin he revealed, and 
Jay was with him again, Jay was open to his touch, he traced love and 
want and desire onto Bob's skin with every caress. Bob pulled him to 
the floor, throwing clothes off in wild abandon, and gasped when 
their cocks brushed against each other.

**I love you,** he thought frantically. **I love you, I love you, I 
need you, Jay.** He pressed his mouth to Jay's, trying to press the 
feeling through his silence. Jay gasped, arching against him, and 
then whimpered.

**What?**

"NO lube, man, you don't think this is a crisis??"

Bob blinked at him. Everything that had happened over the past few 
days rushed over him, and suddenly, he was laughing hysterically, 
nearly weeping with the force of emotional release, and Jay pushed at 
him, frowning.

"What the fuck is so funny?"

**You, baby,** he thought, bent over with the force of laughing so 
hard. **You figuring out how to sew, how to embroider--** he 
remembered the book the first day-- **--and trying to hide it from me 
so I wouldn't know, and you, you were so occupied with being stealthy 
that it took all your brain to keep it secret, and I thought...**

The laughter trailed to a halt, tears springing to his eyes.

**I thought you were leaving me.** And Bob couldn't tell him, 
couldn't get one single word out. He shook his head, wiping tears 
away in frustration.

Jay watched all this, mouth hanging open, and then he got off the 
floor, sprinting for Bob's room. He came back, carrying lube, and 
dropped bonelessly to the floor.

"Dude, here, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I won't ever hide shit from 
you again, `kay? I'm so fuckin' sorry--"

And Bob kissed him, silencing the stream of words. He kissed him and 
uncapped the lube, rubbing slowly warming fluid onto his straining 
cock, rubbing the rest into Jay, watching him gasp and twitch, turn 
and moan. And now he had the words again, before he claimed Jay as 
his:

"I love you, you moron. Don't forget again, okay?"

"'kay," Jay gasped. "Now fuck me already."

**As you wish,* Bob thought, kissing him into breathlessness again.

END
*****
Kelandris the Mad
I've heard them chanting Kali Kali frantically