Title: Fool the Morning After
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse (post-Mallrats, but otherwise indeterminate 
in time)
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Status: New
Rating: PG-13 for language and angst; some NC-17 for remembrance.
Series/Sequel: Sequels "Fool in Motley", "Fool in Denim" and "Fool 
in Leather". Yes, it's a trademarked four-part trilogy from Kel!
Disclaimer: Yes, practically everything I write involves characters 
originally created by other people. Those other people will 
hopefully feel flattered. Fans make the world go round.
Warnings: Bob is at his frustrating best here, sorry. Jay is in 
Prime Idiot Mode. It'll all end in tears. (Actually, I `m hoping 
Jay snaps out of it finally.) Oh, and "rescusitating" might be 
misspelled. (I know, like you care, but it's bugging the shit out 
of me.)
Notes: Written to the Batman Forever Soundtrack (especially 
U2's `Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me', Brandy's `Where Are You 
Now?', Nick Cave's `There is a Light' and the Flaming Lips' `Bad 
Days'). Jay can*not* seem to catch a clue here. I'm beginning to 
worry if my JayMuse somehow damaged his sorry ass.
Summary: Jay wakes up with a hangover. And if he thought last night 
was bad...


"Fool the Morning After"
by Kelandris

*He pulled him down just enough to fasten on those perfect lips, kiss 
them open, kiss past the teeth and find Bob's tongue, sliding his own 
into Bob's mouth while Bob's breathing sped up.*

"Ughh..." Jay groaned and threw his arm over his face. God *damn*, 
but the sun was bright this morning. And there was something nagging 
at the edge of his brain, something that had brought him, as wide-
eyed as he could be, to wakefulness. Something he'd done last 
night? Shit, whatever it was, must have been some party--his mouth 
tasted like things he didn't even want to *think* about, and his 
*head*...

*Jay pulled off Bob, earning other whimper, and shucked off his jeans 
as fast as possible. And Bob pulled him close, rubbing against him, 
rubbing their cocks together. They were both so hard, and it was so 
good to move against Bob, to thrust against him, grind into him...*

*Fuck*, that was the mother of the mother of all headaches. He 
barely wanted to move, but something was dancing behind his eyes. 
What was it? Everything was too fucking bright. Thoughts were all 
jumbled in his head, dreams about flying, and dreams about heaving, 
and dreams about kissing Bob...

**What??**

Obligingly, his brain tossed him a third memory:

*Bob fastened his hands on Jay's hips, driving up into Jay, the sound 
of their breathing harsh in the still room. And Jay was filled, Jay 
was full of Bob, Jay was full of Bob's *cock*, and his eyes bugged 
out. He twitched, all over, clamping down, and Bob hissed air out 
between clenched teeth.*

**HOLY FUCK!**

He must have whimpered aloud, because suddenly Bob was at the door. 
Concern was his expression of the day, and he held out a cup of 
something that smelled like coffee. It turned Jay's stomach as much 
as it made him thirsty, and grimacing, he gestured Bob forward. Bob 
walked to the edge of the bed, handing him the cup, and Jay took a 
cautious sip.

Coffee. Heavy cream. Heavy sugar. Exactly how he hated it, but it 
slid down his throat easy. Just like...

*Motherfuck*, had he blown Bob? Panicked, he looked up at Bob, but 
Bob just looked down at him, saying nothing as fucking usual, but 
there wasn't anything he could read in his eyes. Just like him, big-
brained fuck--keep all those thoughts bottled up inside, where they 
can't ever get out an' play. How motherfuckin' boring, is what Jay 
always said. Take a little risk. Jump at the chance. Do what you 
wanna do.

**Yeah, blow your best friend while you're at it..*

Jay whimpered again, turning away from the thought, from the 
memories, from what he thought had been dreams of last night. Bob 
didn't so much make a sound, as make no sound very distinctly, and 
turned to go.

"Wait," Jay whispered. He blinked, turning away from the light, and 
focused all the attention he could spare on Bob's face. A sudden 
attack of memory caused him to shift uncomfortably under the sheet. 
When he turned he'd realized he was wearing shorts, and he could have 
sworn at least some of last night he'd been starkers. Starkers with 
Silent Bob. So Bob had to have had the attack of modesty and put him 
back in shorts for the night. 

"Last night..." he said hoarsely. Fuck, this was hard, with Lunchbox 
just standing there, suspended by his words, waiting for him. 
Waiting for something, anyway. What?

*Jay blinked at Bob. "Yeah," he finally said. "Like I'd take it up 
the ass for anyone but you."*

Fuck, not that... He blinked again, looking back at Bob's face. 
Composure. When did that fucking crack, he wondered. And what would 
happen if it did?

Bob nodded finally, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.

"I got drunk?" he asked. Careful, now, loud noises startle the wild 
animals.

Bob nodded carefully. Once.

"An' I... kissed you?" Careful, boy, careful, never let `em see how 
scared you are, or they tear you to fuckin' bits.

Biting his lip, Bob nodded again. One careful nod.

"An' we... umm... " He trailed off. He couldn't finish. And there was 
nothing, *nothing* in Bob's eyes; not panic, not anger, not even 
love, or caring, or fuckin' friendship. It was like looking at two 
dark mirrors; they only reflected whatever was looking at them, not 
whomever looked out of them. Fucked. This whole situation was...

*Shhh," Bob said, placing a finger against Jay's lips. He kissed it 
shyly, and then Bob's hands were tangled in his hair again, pulling 
him forward to kiss him savagely. He took Jay's breath away, then 
pumped up into him just as savagely, pulling heated cries out of the 
blond, over and over again.*

**Okay, okay, enough with the total recall, already, *fuck*... This is 
getting' out of hand.**

And Bob was still staring at him. Blank Man Walking. *Great.*

"You have any fuckin' thing to say, Lunchbox?" Jay struggled to sit 
up, and his head began pulsing like an open wound, hot and sore and 
heavy. He must have made some noise, because suddenly Bob was there, 
holding him, supporting him as he sat up. Before he took his arms 
away, he pulled two pillows from where they were half-wedged under 
the headboard, and tucked them behind Jay to prop him up.

And before he pulled his arms away, Jay slumped against him for a 
moment, the bits and pieces he could remember from last night 
drifting together, apart, mixing in strange new combinations. Now he 
wasn't sure of anything, between the pounding of his head, and the 
fragments of last night tearing at his brain. He was only sure of 
one thing, out of the haze: how safe he felt, with Bob's arms around 
him.

Hells, he thought grumpily. Like I need *this* shit. Slave to a 
fuckin' fat man, when there are all those fine titties in the world. 
Shit. Motherfuckin' *shit*.

"An' who told you to fuck up the coffee?" he said weakly, glaring 
with all the energy he had at Bob. "An' you coulda fixed me a steak 
while you were feeling all domestic an' shit."

One side of Bob's mouth quirked up. Thank *God*, Jay thought. Some 
fucking expression on that bearded mug.

"An' you could get me more while you're at it," he said, waving the 
cup. Bob barely caught it in time, setting the half-full cup on the 
bedside table.

"I live to serve," he murmured.

"Yeah, yeah," Jay muttered. He steeled every ounce of courage he 
had, looking over at Bob.

"I love you too," he said softly.

Bob just sat there. Didn't even blink. Oh, of all the fuckin' 
tricks to pull, Mr. Cool and Unaffected was *not* the one to... to... huh. 

"Hey." He leaned closer to Bob. Nothing. Open staring eyes, chest 
still, eyes glazing over.

**Shit, not *again*...**

"*Breathe*, man!" He lifted a hand, pounded on Bob's chest weakly. 
Bob caught his hand, holding it perfectly still so another blow had 
no chance of landing, and once again, Jay was humbly grateful this 
man was on his side. He'd hate to be pounded into jelly `cos he was 
some other streetmeat's Muscle.

Then Bob inhaled, blinking, coming back to himself. He shuddered 
once, all over.

"*Better* breathe, man, I ain't resuscitating your ass..." Jay shook 
his head, looking down at his hands. "And don't think this fuckin' 
changes things," he whispered.

The bed shook imperceptibly; Bob was nodding. Trust shit-for-brains 
to nod while he was looking down and expect him to catch it. Then 
Jay blinked. A'course, he had, hadn't he? Huh.

He leaned over, bracing himself against Bob's legs, and kissed him 
lightly. A shudder ran through Bob, and *there* was the wide world 
of expression he'd missed earlier! Want, and fear, and desire, and 
anxiety, and nervousness, and lust, and ooh, this was richer than 
chocolate, wasn't it? Better than a massage on X, yeah.

He couldn't resist saying it.

"You know you're mine, doncha? My boy." Pride filled him, pride and 
smug satisfaction; at least, until Bob stood up, hooking the coffee 
cup on one finger and walking to the door. He stopped only to look 
over his shoulder, and his expression was scary. Slightly superior, 
all kinds of distant, evaluating. Evaluating *what*, you piece of--

"We'll see," he said softly, and walked from the room.

**Shit,** Jay thought. 

END
*****
Kelandris the Mad
very little fruit is forbidden