Wayback Machine http://allmyfault.org/jay7silentbob/full_moon_remix.htm NOV DEC FEB Previous capture 07 Next capture 2006 2007 2008 2 captures 07 Dec 2007 - 06 Feb 2008 About this capture Title: Full Moon (Claws Remix) Author: Kelandris the Mad Fandom: View Askewniverse Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob Rating: R shading, fer as I know now Status: New Archive: The traditional places. If you don't know what the traditional places are, you might want to write and ask. And here's how: Feedback: kelandris@insubordinate.net Series/Sequels: Answer to the Remix Challenge; ren's "Full Moon", my version. Since Charles is an wicked wicked man. Disclaimers: Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, Jason Mewes and Scott Mosier have creative control and ownership of Jay and Silent Bob, not me. Notes: This is all Charles' fault. I get this note from our Fearless Leader, since I volunteered for this remix-y challenge thing. He gives me ren. He gives me ren the magnificent to remix. Yeah, gee, no insecurity complex here. And her safe story? You won't believe this. "Tunnel Vision". *Tunnel Vision* is her *safe* story. Which is still making me giggle, because me, I *already* remixed that one! So now I have to remix the ren to the best of my ability. Good gods. And may I repeat, this is all Charles' fault. Summary: Jay gets bit. Long story short. Warnings: More of the supernatural invasion of a mostly non-supernatural world. Blood, pain, scars, all of them Jay's for the most part. More cursing than is usually seen in a Kel tale. What the fuck, we're all adults. For the most part. Also, I am going against fanon and giving Jay a longer dick than Bob. Deal with it. "Claws" ("Full Moon", the Shatterglass Dub) by Kelandris "OWWW! MOTHERFUCK!" Bob had heard the fight going before the scream. By the time Bob managed to fight his way through the crowd at the bar, the fight he'd been so worried about was all but over. The rangy kid he'd seen Jay with had grabbed him, shaken him, and punched him three good hits for every one Jay struck. Bob had been genuinely worried for a moment. What really made him leap from the barstool was when the kid hauled off and *bit* Jay, and Jay had screamed. Bit. *Bit* Jay. Bit him, like an animal. *Nobody* bit his Jay, for any fuckin' reason. And he was off, running like the wind he in no way resembled, running for the man with Jay's arm in his mouth. Blood poured in slow motion from the wound and Jay was cursing the man's name, even tossing in a smattering of Russian here and there that Bob had been trying to teach him. Blood was still streaming down Jay's arm, down the kid's chin, and Bob was practically throwing people out of his way at this point, *growling* until the crowd cleared a path for him. But by the time Bob reached Jay's side, the kid actually looked *embarrassed* about biting him. He was standing there apologizing, and fishing out his wallet. "Lemme make it up to you, hey?" he said. Bob was still huffing, and growling, and leaning forward. Fighting his natural instincts that *really* wanted to reach forward, wrap those huge hands of his around the kid's skinny throat, and pull his head one way and his shoulders the other until the two parted company. The kid's eyes grew a little wide, as if sensing the course of Bob's dangerous reflection. Widened even more when Bob reached up without a second thought, tearing his t-shirt off, wrapping Jay's still-bleeding arm in carefully torn strips of soft black cloth. He glared daggers at the boy, while Jay punched his arm lightly. "Yo, Bob-o, 'm fine. Lemme the fuck alone." Bob turned narrowed eyes on Jay, checking out the swelling under one eye, the scrapes across his knuckles where his knuckles had grazed over the kid's teeth. He watched blood moisten the black cotton stretched across Jay's pale skin. His lip curled back. He hadn't been this mad in *years*. "Damn, Bob. Fat motherfucker. Chill the fuck out already. Jus' got a li'l, mm, outta hand. You know. S'all cool." That's when Jay turned to the kid, smiling as wide as he could. The kid froze with money pulled half out of his wallet. Bob did a quick inventory, his eyes flicking down. A hundred, two twenties, a fifty…scattered glimpses beneath the main bills, could be a handful of tens or ones…Kid had cash, that was one thing. What the hell had they been fighting over. He looked up at Jay and almost laughed out loud. Jay smiling very wide was not a common occurrence, primarily because of his bone structure. He suddenly seemed to be sporting more teeth than most sharks. The kid actually flinched and took a step back. Bob fought another urge to smile. "Right? No big? This's my Muscle here, Silent Bob. You heard those rumors about that kid, works for the Russian mob, 'cause of his family and all?" The kid nodded, one spare movement, his deep grey eyes flicking between the two of them, unsettled. "This's the dude. Dude." The kid swallowed. His hands trembled, holding the wallet. Jay reached out calmly, snagging a hundred. Kid didn't seem to care. He pressed two little crumpled baggies into the slight gap inside the wallet, and the kid flinched again. "So. We cool? We good?" "We're--we're good, man, we're *real* good, really--" "Good. Bob, this's Shawn. He din't want me to deal in this bar. I tol' him I was gonna." "And he bit you," Bob growled, before he could bottle the words back. Both men's eyebrows shot for the ceiling. "I thought you said he didn't talk," Shawn whispered. "I said his name was Silent Bob. Din't say he couldn't talk. What, you think he's some kinda freak or somethin'?" Jay reached out, grabbing the kid in his long arms, bringing him forward. "We gonna hafta throw down again? Do I hafta tear you apart to make you get outta my face?" "No," Shawn squeaked, "I kinda think that's *his* job." Bob said nothing, just stood there and cracked his knuckles. He started a count in the back of his head. Five. Four. Three. Two. O-- Shawn pulled away from Jay, shaking his head, running for the door. "Later, dude--do what you want! I'm out of it!" Good. Exit one waste of oxygen. It wasn't until three days later, the first night of the next full moon, he realized they might have a problem. *** Jay had been twitchy all afternoon, and considering Bob lived 24/7 with the Human Speed Machine, that was fucking saying something. But Jay hadn't been able to sit still. Kept circling the apartment, kept tilting his head to one side, looking around. Kept *smelling* things, and about the third time he pressed up against Bob, making sandwiches in the kitchen, and leaned in and smelled his hair, Bob had just about had it. "What?" he asked, his voice soft. Just the one word, but there was a wealth of other meaning rising behind it. Questions like, *Why the hell are you so jittery?* and *Will you for fuck's sake calm down?* and *Can I do anything to help, what do you need?* Mostly it was that last one, standing high in his forebrain, attached to neon spikes. Because the last time he'd seen Jay anywhere near this crazed, he'd been coming down from some bad dose at a party, and it'd taken Bob a good two weeks to straighten him out again. Damn, he did not want to do it again, if he could at all help it. But he couldn't remember Jay being out of his sight long enough, today, to get dosed with something semi-lethal. He sighed, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Currently that was melting slabs of yellow cheese dabbed with mustard across the weekend's remaining roast beef slices. In a day or so, they needed to go shopping. Or maybe, hell, he'd just take Jay out for a burger or something. Not like the kid couldn't stand to eat a few more meals. Amazing he was able most of the time to make Jay input anything beyond Sno-Balls and pot. After the cheese was nicely reduced to goo, he planned to slap the beef-n-cheese squares onto grilled white bread slices, crispy from the oven. He'd only had to pull from the crust little bits here and there, where he'd found dots of green mold. Sort of open-faced grilled…somethings. He thought for a moment, watching the cheese melt. Maybe a little more mustard. Or, wait, did they have any steak sauce? Or maybe some of that *chipotle* Tabasco sauce…? He could've sworn he'd gotten some, last trip out. Jay pressed in again, for a moment just rubbing his face against Bob's neck, and Bob stiffened without even thinking about why. Jay flinched back as much as he could, jittering against the counter. "Dude, I dunno, I just…I dunno," he said, nearly quiet himself. Which was suddenly a terrifying thing. Bob snuck a look under his thick dark lashes, and found Jay staring at him, like he wanted to lean in again for another sniff. What the fucking hell? Had he only hallucinated his shower this morning, or something? Even for Jay this was around the bend. And he was the man used to being dry-humped in the middle of the afternoon, used to having his ass grabbed and squeezed, used to Jay absentmindedly grabbing his dick instead of Jay's longer, thinner one, when they watched porn together. He flushed, suddenly, remembering the last porn flick, and what had happened after, and how vehemently Jay had insisted it didn't mean he was gay. Or that Bob was. 'Cause they were, you know, 'bad-ass happenin' chick magnets', seven days a week. Which was, admittedly, sort of true, at least in Jay's case. He hadn't seen the boy go home willingly alone in…damn. Weeks. Save for the last two nights or so. Now his brow furrowed as he slapped meat and cheese to bread and dug out a small bag of chips to split. On further reflection, he burrowed through the fridge, finding a little bag of those mutant mini-carrots, and carried them over to the coffeetable too. "Come on," he said. He jerked his head towards the couch. "Eat something." "Easy for you to fuckin' say, man, you don't mind bein' indoors on a day like this, like…like…" Jay twitched again, both shoulders lifting and falling, frustrated by his inability to articulate what kind of day it was. Which was, again, really worrying, because when had Jay *ever* not been able to find words? To describe *anything* he set his eyes upon? Shit. He did not need Jay and mental breakage right now. More concerned than he wanted to be, he set plates and cold beers on the table, plopping down onto the couch. He grabbed his beer, taking a deep swig, trying to find a way to broach the topic. And hey, was that a first or what? He was thinking of breaking the silence. Shit. Jay sniffed at the sandwich, took a couple cautious bites, and shook his head. "Dude. Meat's off. Or somethin'." Bob frowned, leaning forward, picking up the sandwich. Okay, granted, it wasn't *fresh*, for fresh you had to shop more than once a week. And for *really* fresh you had to shop at an actual *store*, not the fucking Qwik-Stop. But still, it shouldn't have gone off in just a week. Should it? He took a cautious bite, checking out Jay out of the corner of his eye. To his tastebuds it was fine. Now he was really worried. Maybe it was time to talk to Jay about the inevitable? Doctors, and hospitals, and all that shit? The sad thing was, it'd be a colossal fight to even get him in the fucking *door*, and *then* he wouldn't fucking stay. Bob had been there. He'd seen it. Boy had to be literally on Death's door, seeing the fucker on the other side with the scythe, before he gave in on the whole medical care issue. Jay leaned closer to him on the couch, rubbing his head against Bob's chest. Oh, shit, what the hell was this now? Bob leaned back, trying not to breathe too hard, and Jay inhaled deeply, scenting him again. "Fuck, man," he murmured, rubbing his face along Bob's shoulders, his chest, pushing against his neck. "Love the way you fuckin' *smell*…" **Thanks,** he thought, a little on the hysterical side, and nearly giggling, because Jay kept touching on these ticklish spots. Actually, they were just sensitive spots, it's just that nothing had been touched on him for so fucking *long*, his body was interpreting it as ticklishness. His body was also getting other ideas, and before Jay noticed that, he quickly stood up from the couch, wrapping his coat around him, trying to look stern. He thought he might be failing, but it was the best he could do right now. He was kinda distracted. Jay lolled on the couch, tilting his head back. He stared at him through lazy, half-lidded eyes. "Hey," he said, his voice thick, slow. "How 'bout we go out somewheres? You c'n buy me dinner. 'Kay? I'll be your date." Bob thought his eyebrows might have shot right off his face if they hadn't been attached. He'd nearly squeaked the word back at him. He took a step back. This was beyond bad. Now he was almost positive that Jay had gotten hold of *something*. Something experimental, something fucking dire, and this was the result. Any moment now he was gonna start bleeding out, or go into convulsions, or start reciting poetry. Something really fucking dire. Jay stood, ambling over. "I promise. I'm sober. Had a joint this morning, ain't touched shit since. I just wanna get outta the house." Bob stared at him. Peered into his blue blue eyes, leaning closer. Pupils looked fine. Color was a little intense. Yesterday he'd had grey eyes, and the week before he'd had green, which had been interesting at the last party they'd attended. Something about some chick freaking out because the guy she'd gone in with had had *blue* eyes, and when he rose up off her, he'd had these bright green orbs, and she'd run screaming from the house. Jay arched his eyebrows, grinning like a maniac. And just for a moment, Bob thought *he* was the one losing his eyes, because a thin, glowing ring of gold circled the blue on the outside edge. Just for a moment--just for a *second*--but…something, *something* had happened. "Okay," he said softly, shrugging. Okay. They'd go out. And he'd watch Jay like a motherfucking *hawk* until whatever the hell this was resolved itself. Shit, he hoped it was soon. *** Two hours later, they sat in a bar. Jay'd taken one step outside, cursed vehemently, and dove back into their apartment for shades. Now, Jay wasn't exactly the sunbathing type, but wearing sunglasses wasn't his thing either. What, he was nursing a vampire now? Shit, he wouldn't be fucking surprised, for all that Jay came down on the punk/metal edge of the punk/goth debate. But here in the bar it was cool, and shady, and they had prime rib. Jay was on his third plate. Good thing they had some fucking dough to spare. Bob watched him eat, Jay asking on every new round if they could make it 'rarer', shaking his head in near disgust. Great. If he made it to plate four, he was gonna be asking for the prime *raw*, and then they'd toss both of them outta the bar. But after downing the the last scraps of the meat, and licking the blood off his fingers, Jay sat back, looking tremendously satisfied. He peered around, blinking, slouching in the booth. "Man, what the fuck is happening tonight?" **That's what I'd like to know.** "No, man, I mean, we gots any partying lined up? Anyone throwin' a bash? Somethin'. Fuck. *Somethin's* gotta be happenin'." Bob thought. Was a Friday, but that didn't guarantee anything. Well, save for T-Dog's eternal party. But at this point, he'd been partying pretty steady for six months now, maybe more, and the house…it was beyond recovery. If he hadn't owned it outright, he'd've been tossed in jail by now for vandalism. Bob shrugged. He threw some bills on the table, adding a hefty tip, and strolled to the pay phone in the foyer, the blond following. He dialed the first number by heart, tossing the handset to Jay. "H'lo?" Jay said, his voice sounding raspy from disuse. Someone made some happy, bright sound on the other end. Jay's face cracked nearly in half, smiling, and Bob relaxed by half a millimeter, leaning against the wall. "Yo, yo, Billie-girl, what you got goin'?" *** It seemed like days flew by over the next few hours. They stopped at Billie's, where the party was just starting. When Jay couldn't stand it any more--Billie did not so much *have* a back yard, *per se*--Gary drove them over to Malinka's. Bob was fairly sure Jay toked up in the back while passing out some party bags. But that left Bob and Malinka in the front of the house, and he got to hear her latest dissertation idea. Eventually that had gotten stale for Jay as well--Malinka had a back yard, but a really small one. So, inevitably, they'd ended up at T-Dog's, which was roaring at this point, but also on a really bad bus line to get back to the city. And Malinka, who'd driven them to Dog's, had left soon after--complaining to the Dog himself to get his shit in line. Wasn't a big reflection on their welcome, but Bob wasn't exactly comfortable with Jay around that many needle pushers, either. Though Jay did surprise him--he kept saying no, and glancing at Bob under half-hooded eyes. Had come up to him a couple times, even, throwing an arm over his shoulder, or squeezing his ass and chuckling. Something that had done *nothing* for his composure. Finally, it was around midnight, and Jay had picked up the threads of another party, this one thrown by Mary Lynn and Mary Francis, two barely legal college students who still wore their Catholic schoolgirl outfits now and again. Jay kept mentioning that. Plaid. Knee socks. Ponytails. Bob just shook his head, leading Jay out to the bus stop, about a block and a half away. And that's when the night got really weird. *** When he looked up, through the tattered trees, he saw a significant amount of water haze frozen around the moon. Gave it a red-ring glow, and the old saying ran through his head as if on autopilot. *Red moon at night, sailor's delight. Red moon at morning…* He looked over at Jay, scuffing his sneaks on the pavement. The only light was from the scarlet moon; the streetlight, he saw, had been shattered. Said shattering must have been some time ago, by the lack of glass shards on the sidewalk. Apparently the city didn't care if it was replaced. Which didn't really surprise him. Jay curled around the dead lightpost, wrapping a long, flexible leg around it. Bob swallowed, wishing there were an elsewhere to reasonably look, but they were the only ones on the street. Midnight, and a block and a half from T-Dog's the street was motherfucking *still*. What was *up* with that? Jay turned, and just for a second, silver glittershine moved across his eyes. Bob took a step forward. What…? The knife-edge of a smile pulled up the side of Jay's mouth, and he turned his face back to the lightpost, laying his cheek on the cold metal. His hips moved, undulating as if he were underwater, rolling against the pole. Bob broke out in a sweat. He lit a cigarette for cover, breathing hard. "Fuckin' bus," Jay said softly. "'S late again." **Yeah,** Bob thought, and wondered who'd slipped Jay what at Dog's. Should he check him for little glittersticks, bright shiny dots at the wrists, along the belly? Or maybe he'd said no to most of the offers, but he'd said yes to one. High up at the bend of the arm, maybe, little dot of dark blood. Problem was, he just wasn't sure. And while he would cheerfully have stripped the kid bare and checked him over with a magnifying glass any other night, tonight felt…dangerous. As if picking up on Bob's unease, Jay shot him another hooded look. His perpetual sneer seemed to be missing, replaced by a far more wistful expression. In fact, now it nearly looked like he was pouting. **Pouting??** The lower lip was slowly withdrawn as Jay stared at him. Jay snarled wordlessly, curling his lip back, turning away from the pole. "And what the fuck *you* staring at, bitch? You panting for my ass again?" Bob narrowed his eyes, looking at Jay. Oh, *now* what was going on…Like he needed more of Jay's accusations tonight. It wasn't that they were invalid, it was just that…well, shit, even on the best day, homophobia did not go over well with him. And to be fair, Jay wasn't homophobic all the time. Just…when it concerned him. Which sucked for Bob, all things considered. He said nothing, as usual, just lit a cigarette. Took a deep puff before the red burst of flame had stopped starring across his vision, allowed the smoke deep into his lungs. Relaxation by burning herb. Hey, it worked. Apparently not as well as he would have hoped, though, because Jay leaned back against the pole, slumping slightly to one side. He wore the most insufferably smug expression Bob had ever seen him wear. Almost made him angry, but then he saw what Jay was doing, and he dropped the cig. Jay's quick, clever fingers snapped open his jeans, practiced, one-handed. One hand toyed with the zipper, flicking the tag up and down so that small little 'clink' sounds filled the air. His hips cocked to one side as he licked his lips, and his mouth parted, looking moist and delectable. Young. *Edible*. If it weren't for the cynicism in his eyes, Bob would've moved forward. That cynicism froze him in place. Boywhore on display, the bodylang told him, his look that said he'd done this before, for who knew how many men, and it staggered Bob. Jay's whole posture was saying 'Name it, I'll do it, I can do anything, but you gotta pay me first…' Bob didn't know this Jay. This Jay could hurt him, *so* fuckin' bad…if he didn't step exactly right. And he didn't know how to make a *move* on this dance floor. The landscape had *definitely* changed. Then Jay smiled, that radiant sun-drenched look Bob saw only on rare occasions indeed. He leaned up, arching against the lightpost. A pale strip of flat belly was revealed when his t-shirt pulled up, and Bob swallowed again, taking a step forward. "Well, what the fuck *you* waitin' for? You gonna fuck me or not?" It broke something in Bob, hearing that. He heard himself squeak, nearly inaudible save for bats, and he couldn't stop. Three steps forward, his coat sweeping around him, brought him to Jay's side. His brain was screaming as he leaned against the boy, pressing against him, soft and hard in sections. Full body contact, and Jay didn't freak out. Bob moved nearly on autopilot, lifting one leg, pushing it smoothly up to part Jay's legs. He met no resistance, and rocked forward slightly, his raised knee grazing the crotch seam, the padding of balls he could just barely feel through the cloth. Jay shivered against him, throwing his head back. He wasn't asking any questions. He frankly didn't care, right now. He had this feeling he'd be hearing about this later, Jay's voice loud and scared and wounded, words like 'violation' and 'rape' skittering across his skull like knives. Just now, though, he did not fucking care. They stood in a pool of shadow, encircled by deeper, darker pools. Still Bob protected Jay, pulling the sides of his trench out to figleaf them both. In the warm pocket of air generated by their bodies, moving against each other, he moved his hands down Jay's torso, down Jay's waist, pushing between them. He unzipped Jay's pants, lifting his cock free, filling his hands with Jay. He stroked along the satin skin briefly, hearing Jay's small, needy sounds. One hand shot back to the drawstring on his own sweats, pushing them low on his hips, pulling his cock out, just laying against Jay's belly, Jay's cock. Jay murmured something Bob didn't hear, closing his strange, silvered eyes, and Bob leaned forward. He felt Jay's fingers tap against his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles, before lacing into his hair. More small inaudible murmurs, and even now, Bob was waiting to be told to back the fuck off, 'cause Jay wasn't gay. Didn't happen. Bob leaned into Jay, harder now, his tongue tracing the pulsing vein from his shoulder to his pale ear. Pot and smoke and sweat and Jay, something indefinably Jay, taste on his tongue like candy. He moved, his lips grazing skin, breathing in Jay, learning what made him murmur, what made him hiss air in through clenched teeth, what made those hips luxuriously roll against him. There, yeah, there, right *there*… He pushed up with his knee, just a little additional pressure, and Jay yelped, arching against him. Strangled noises that could have been words emerged from the blond's corded throat as Bob reached down again, fisting both of them in two hands, rubbing their cocks together. He groaned softly, feeling Jay's heat, Jay's hardness, against his own, and his hands picked up speed. He looked up, saw Jay draped back against the lamp post, panting, hands loose at his sides now, mouth open. The moon shone full on his face, having moved from the cover of trees. His skin looked surreal in the light. Jay opened his eyes, and Jesus, Jesus God, they were *glowing*, the rim of gold he'd seen earlier taking over entirely. His mouth dropped open, but his hands never stopped. If anything, they sped up. Jay gulped in air now, Bob froze, shuddering, and they both felt spreading warmth between them, Jay coming first and covering Bob's trembling hands. Bob clenched around his dual prizes, pushing forward *hard,* lifting his other hand to Jay's face and pulling him in for a long, hard kiss. He moaned and shuddered, and on impulse he bit down on Jay's lower lip, biting down hard as he came. He split the skin, a rush of blood filling his mouth. Instinctively, he swallowed, and then pulled back, eyes wide, staring at Jay. The blood that trickled down his chin looked black under the moonlight, and he mimicked Jay's motions of licking his lips. Jay's bright, gold eyes opened wide, tinged with something close to awe, and then suffused with blue and happiness as he watched. He grinned, wiping a hand across his chin, licking the black blood from it. "Hey," he whispered. "Bob." Bob blinked, still tasting salt blood in his mouth, down his throat. Jay's voice was soft, caressing over him like fur. "Fuck the party. Let's go home. I think I wanna hear you *howl*…" He thought that might have been the longest walk home of their lives, not because they were so far from where they lived, but because Jay kept pushing him into patches of shadow, into the mouths of alleys, behind bushes. Anything that would give them cover. He kept stealing kisses, licks, nibbles, whenever he could. Not that Bob would have protested the thefts. Bob didn't fucking mind in the least. He was more than willing to be Jay's latest obsession. Maybe Jay's latest addiction. *** And the next night, Jay sprouted fur of his own, though by that point, Bob had pretty much figured it out. In fact, Bob kinda had a feeling he would too, next month. When the bright full moon rolled around. He thought about it, rubbing his hands through Jay's grey-gold pelt, listening to Jay pant, his new wide-toothed mouth grinning wide. He didn't fucking care. Truth be told, he was kinda looking forward to it. He got Jay, he could live with Jay as a werewolf. He got Jay, he could live with turning furry. Because, fuck, he got Jay. That was all he fucking needed in the world. END ***** Kelandris the Mad blue plate specialization