Title: Gag Order Author: Kelandris the Mad Fandom: View Askewniverse...um...sometime before J&SBSB? Definitely after Mallrats. Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob Rating: NC-17, if I'm any judge of things 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: kel@crazysheep.net Series/Sequels: Nope. This bunnied from another one-shot and should be, itself, in single story turf. Disclaimers: Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, Jason Mewes, Scott Mosier, and Miramax have creative control and ownership of Jay and Silent Bob. I am just an insignificant slasher who wants the boys to have fun now that they've retired. I'm not even charging them. Notes: Oddly enough, this was bunnied off Ember's first offering, "Say Goodnight". The passage in question goes: ` "What the fuck are you doing in here?!? I know yous want my man meat pretty bad but that don't give ya no right to invade my privacy and come running all up in my room while i was...i was.." And the sobbing began again. ' I got to thinking, what if Jay really wanted to control that smart mouth of his? What would he do? Summary: Bob fights with Jay, and Jay comes up with a really innovative way to end the argument. Warnings: Homosexual sex between two media icons, a little bondage, a little angst, the usual. Bob gets a little talkative at the end. "Gag Order" by Kelandris **It's quiet. Too quiet.** The movie quote ran through Bob's head and out again, with only Bob's peripheral awareness to guide it on. Most of his thinking process was occupied with the fact that it really *was* quiet in the small apartment. No Jay on the couch, where he'd left him to go grab some smokes and something for dinner. No television. No music. And no lights. He walked softly to the closet, removing his leather trench and hanging it up, flicking a speck of road dust away from the sleeve. He ran a hand through his dark hair, on the limp side after the day's oily rain, and rolled his shoulders, trying to relax. Where the hell was Jay? Bob cocked his head to one side, listening. Somehow he knew Jay was in the house; he didn't know how he knew, and didn't care, but he knew Jay was there. Bathroom? He listened. No sound of showering, not there. He walked to the closed doorway of Jay's room, raising a hand to knock, and stopped there, large fist hovering in mid-air. There was a note on Jay's door. "Bob," it read in Jay's looping, childlike scrawl, "Sorry I argued wit ya--" And it all came flooding back. *** For the third week running, Jay had been in his face, taunting him. How stupid he was. How gay he was. How fucking stupidly gay he was. Rubbing his crotch and sneering--"yeah, you want this, I know you do, you fuckin' fag!" Dancing around him, wiggling his hips. Dropping his pants to reveal his ghostly pale abdomen, a glittering trail of gold-dust hairs barely visible. Or dropping his pants and bending over, his narrow ass-cheeks waggling, yelling at Bob about his love of the brown-eye. The trouble was, he did want Jay. Not necessarily for sex--though Bob was now to the point of admitting, he did want to have sex with the blond. (Not that he'd admit it *to* the blond; shit, Jay would crucify him!) But more, he'd come to realize over their years of association, how much he valued the rare flashes of insight that Jay let escape his media-stuffed brain. There was a brain there, and Jay did use it on occasion--when he didn't blow out its circuits with the drug of the moment, or put it on hold for the slut of the week. And that was another thing. Jay had a real gift with people. Sure, Bob could look at a random machine, break it open, suss it out, take it apart--and in half an hour he'd have it back together and running better than it had before. But machines weren't people. He had no knack for people. Jay did. Jay could get any girl, anywhere, into his bed. And even people they argued with, even people who saw Jay and automatically crossed the street to come beat them up, sometimes wouldn't, because of the things Jay said. He had this odd talent for walking the razor's edge--insults and catcalls and taunting, shit spawned freeform from his yapping maw, and then he'd turn on a dime and somehow, mysteriously, change the scene. People coming to gut him for his taunts would buy him beers and bitch about *other* people. Bob had seen it. Baffling phenomenon. And it worked, it worked like a golden charm, with anyone but him. He got insulted *all the fucking time*. And some days, it got *real* old. Sometimes Jay would change, support him in odd and wonderful ways, but for the most part...Fag. Cocksucker. Fairy freak. Fuck, but he was sick of it. It had gotten really bad. Three weeks of bad. And everything had come to a head when Jay had danced just a little too close, and suddenly grabbed his face, bringing his lips in and kissing him. Bob remembered that moment--though he'd have been surprised if he hadn't. Two hours ago, it had been, and he'd been sitting on the couch, reading a book. Or, at least, pretending to, because Jay had been dancing. One of his Rancid CDs had gotten cracked, and they'd trooped down to the mall earlier, grabbed another copy. Jay and Brodie had shot the shit in the food court, now that Brodie was back in town, and they'd gone on home. And immediately, Jay had set the CD spinning, and began dancing. His style was an odd combination, Bob thought--street moves and rap moves combined, with his hands waving in the air in odd imitation of Michael Stipes. Worked for him, though. Shit, worked for Bob, because later on, he couldn't have repeated a single word of the page he was reading, over and over, in an effort not to watch Jay dance. Jay must've caught on, though, because he danced over to the couch, swaying and twitching, and Bob steeled himself for another insult. When it didn't come, he put the book down, relaxing, and that's when Jay pounced. The blond straddled him, grabbing his face and pulling him forward. Before Bob could react, before Bob could tense up, Jay was kissing him, and his brain short-circuited. Lips. Lips on his. *Jay's* lips on his, and now they were beginning to move. A bare whisper of a moan escaped Jay, and now his tongue was fighting its way into Bob's mouth, and something--some hard, tensile thing that Bob had been clinging to fast--melted away. Bob raised his arms, holding the blond close, and kissed him back, opening Jay's willing mouth with his own tongue, the tip darting inside to dance across Jay's palate, earning another moan. Jay's hips bucked forward, and Bob dropped his hands, pulling those narrow hips in tight. God, Jay felt good in his arms. And there was no mistaking the hardness in Jay's sweats, hardness that matched his own, as he thrust up against Jay, pulling at him, hands clenched in fabric. And Jay broke off the kiss, swaying against Bob, his hair mussed and his eyes dazed. Just a moment of unguarded lust was all he got, though. Then that fucking sneer was plastered across those narrow features, and Jay snorted laughter, pushing back and rising from the couch. His erection, tenting out the front of his pants, made Bob ache, uncomfortably aware of his own. "I knew it," Jay said throatily, shaking his head. "Fuckin' fag, all along. Freak." **`Pork rind?' `Pork rind.' `Kitchen?' `Kitchen,'** his head told him, and Bob rose, and grabbed his coat, and opened the door. As hard as it was walking with the steel rod between his legs, it would have been harder staying, and even Jay yelling behind him didn't stop him. "An' where the fuck *you* goin', fat ass?" "Smokes," he muttered, and slammed the door. *** He stared at the note on the door, remembering. He'd gone outside and walked through the back lot behind their apartment building, walked through the underbrush and the thornbushes until he had several thin slashes on the backs of his hands. It had taken a good fifteen minutes of walking back and forth in the scrub until walking was easier, and he was no longer so violently aroused. Then he'd gone to the Quick Stop, grabbing some smokes, some more rolling papers, and a couple bake-at-home pizzas. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what he'd said, but he'd actually talked--talked!-- for a good ninety minutes with Dante, and he seemed to remember they'd had a good time discussing�whatever it had been. Then he'd slowly walked home, thinking. Thinking what a dick Jay was, yeah, that had been in there. And how much it fucking sucked sometimes, being his friend. And how the scars his childhood had given him--some of which Bob knew about, some of which he never wanted to know about--weren't ever going to go away, no matter what Bob did. Ultimately, he thought a lot about how much it sucked to be in love, especially with some shitty blond who didn't care about anything but his strong right hook. "--wit ya," the note read. He turned his attention back to the crumpled piece of paper. "You know I don't mean shit by it. And I'm sick of sayin shit that hurts ya." There was a new one, huh? Jay apologizing for the shit he'd been saying, not just the fight they'd just had. He smoothed a hand down the surface of the paper, feeling how indented the letters were. Jay had nearly hacked each letter of this into the notebook paper, rather than simply written it out. The soft sussurance of his hand down the front of the door earned something in return--a soft, nearly whimpered moan from behind Jay's door. So Jay was in his-- Bob's brain froze. Moaning? Why--? He saw his hand moving for the doorknob, wrenched his eyes back to the note, scanning it for any horrible surprises. His brain wouldn't process the rest of the words for him, absolutely wouldn't translate them into a language he could understand. Only the last phrase leapt out at him, larger and even more indented than the rest. "When you read this, COME IN," it read. And the door was opening, opening, and he walked into Jay's room. The first thing he noticed was the light. The lights were off in here, too. Only the blue glow of halide filtered in through the blinds, striping everything in black and silver. Jay's glossy ceramic bong was segmented into gleaming black and shadow-black strips. The edge of the bed looked crosshatched, from the stripes of light and shadow falling over the stripes of black and white on the sheet. Jay's exposed skin seemed to glow on its own, between the stripes of shadow across his chest, across his belly, across his legs. Bob's brain froze again. He could see Jay's abdomen, Jay's thighs, Jay's chest. Even in the half-shadow. Jay was� "Mmph," Jay said. **What the hell--?** Jay kicked his feet--or rather, drummed them against the mattress, and Bob involuntarily looked down. And stopped breathing. Jay's feet were strapped to the wooden slats of the bed, with�Bob peered for a moment, and then sharply inhaled. His belts. The little fuck had taken his belts and-- No. No. Jay wouldn't do this, would he? Maybe someone had broken in and-- His mind flashed crazily back to the day they'd returned from one of their New York jaunts, and Jay had suddenly decided they needed real furniture. They'd ditched the ratty old chintz couch Bob's sister had given them, and bought a black leather one, the grain of the leather fine and smooth under Bob's hands. And Jay had bought a bed, a simple, carved wooden bed, with Mission-style slats in the headboard and foot. Bob remembered how Jay had caressed the wooden slats, a dreamy expression on his face, then looked up, eyes bright as a kid's on Christmas. "This one, Lunchbox," he'd said softly, and Bob had bought it for him. Anything he wanted, that had been Bob's motto for a good five years now. Whatever he wanted. And he wanted this--? "Mm mmph," Jay said, and Bob's eyes jerked back to Jay's face. **Okay, at some point, you *do* have to breathe, you know that, right? ** Bob shook his head, denying something. He was never sure later what it had been. But the sight of Jay, legs tied to the bed, hands tied with knotted handkerchiefs--no, no, he hadn't been expecting this. Bob's mind caught at details to avoid what he already knew, but some of the details created worse complications. The band logos on the handkerchiefs--one said Korn, white on black. He remembered the concert he'd gone to with Jay, where Jay had talked about buying a black leather skirt, and didn't Bob think he'd look fuckin' hot? The cloth tied to his left wrist had an old Manson logo on it, red on black, the forked arrow in the circle, and Bob's mind flashed back to the time Jay had told him he'd fuck Manson, because he looked so pretty in a dress. And then he'd turned to Bob and said, "Noonch, you'd look shitty in a dress, dude." And the belts Jay had tied his feet to the bed with were black leather, Bob's dress belts. Just like their couch, black leather, the couch Jay had kissed him on-- The muscles in his thighs jumped, and Bob was suddenly, painfully aware of his dick, hardening inside his sweats. Oh, *fuck*. He took a single step forward and stopped, realizing two things: he'd just stepped into a patch of light, and now Jay could see *exactly* how aroused he was; and Jay had just shifted on the bed, bringing his bare, hard cock into view. For a moment, Bob seriously entertained the thought of passing out. **Gee, Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.** Jay rolled his eyes, then thrust his hips upwards. "Mm *mmph* mm mm, mm mm mmph mmph!" Sounded urgent, Wonder how long Jay'd been tied up. He'd been gone about two hours, and it usually takes about half an hour round trip for smokes from the Stop, so�assuming he didn't get this crackhead idea *immediately* after Bob left, he could have been tied up for...man. Easily ninety minutes. Immediately Bob reached for the gag, and Jay pulled his head aside. "Mmph mmph *mm*," Jay mumbled firmly. Bob's consciousness threatened to white out again from the possibilities in this situation, and he breathed carefully, in and out, for a few seconds. Ah. Air. Good thing, air. Okay. "You..." he started, and swallowed. He peered into the darkness, caught the glitter-flash of Jay's blue eyes. "You want the gag left on." Jay nodded. "You want the...um...ties left on?" For the first time, Jay looked nervous. He shrugged, as much as he was able to, and looked away. Bob big his lip, and forced the image of Jay, writhing in his bonds as Bob fucked him, mindlessly from behind, *out* of his brain. Breathing hard, Bob leaned down, touching Jay for the first time. He traced a hand down Jay's shoulder, down his chest, barely flicking the nipple as his fingertips passed by. Jay's breathing kicked up, and his cock bobbed in the air. Drawn to the motion, Bob moved his finger towards Jay's cock, watching all the while. Lower...lower still...Jay still isn't freaking out...Man, this is fucked up...*there*. Bob's fingers enclosed the cool flesh of Jay's cock for the first time, noting with a flare of sympathy how cold he'd gotten. He moved to lay beside Jay on the bed, still holding Jay's cock, and now Jay was arching off the bed, arching towards him. Barely breathing, Bob pushed him back, keeping his fingers in contact but keeping the rest of Jay flat on the bed. Jay whined, bucking up into the circle of Bob's fingers, and Bob closed his eyes, imagining what Jay would feel like inside him. Or how he'd feel inside Jay. That thought caused his hips to twitch, pressing against Jay's cold thighs, and Jay moaned again, nodding. **This is wrong on *so* many levels...** Carefully, not thinking about anything else, he untied Jay's right hand. He wanted to see what Jay would do, and Jay surprised him again. As soon as that hand was free, it flew to Bob's chest, tugging up his t-shirt, trailing down his belly to dive beneath the waistband of his sweats. He gasped, his eyes crossing, when Jay's fingers encircled his already half-hard cock and gripped him firmly. "Mm!" Jay yelled, tugging at him. Instinctively, he thrust forward, moaning despite himself, and he could have sworn Jay was smiling. "Mm *mm* mm mmph," the blond said. He sounded very self-satisfied and tugged at his other tied wrist. Bemused, Bob untied the Manson bandana, and Jay sat up partially, pulling up Bob's t-shirt. Bob sat up as well, lifting his arms and watching Jay, watching until his vision was blocked by black cotton, watching Jay again once the shirt was over his head. Jay seemed intent, and oddly serious, and completely devoted to the idea of getting Silent Bob nude. **Which is, let's make sure we're all on the same page here, *not* Jay's usual behavior.** Bob thought for a moment. **On the other hand, how often does he tie himself up while you're away?** Yeah. Not very often. His head spun with the idea of what else Jay did while he was out of the house, and just for a moment, he stopped breathing again. Jay slapped him. It was light, it was a very light slap, but it completely brought Bob back to the moment. Jay pointed at his chest. "Mm mmph *mm*, mm!" he mumbled through the gag. **Yeah. What you said. Uh...whatever you said...** Jay shook his head, pulling at the waistband of Bob's sweats, and after a moment, Bob got the idea, standing up. Jay shucked them off his body, moaning again when Bob's now erect cock sprang free, bobbing in the shadowed air. "Mmuh..." And without another sound, Jay tore the gag from his mouth, and dove on Bob, long arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. Jay opened his mouth, making a circle of his lips, and before Bob could do more than begin to think, no, Jay wouldn't do *that*, he'd done that, sucking the tip of Bob's cock into his mouth and moaning around it. Bob's eyes crossed again, and he got a little dizzy. He braced himself against the back wall, thanking the gods of interior design that Jay had placed his bed next to a support structure. Meanwhile, Jay was busily sucking him in, slurping noises and moans drifting up from Bob's waist, making him dizzy all over again. **And hey, while the brain's so nicely distracted, can we mention how incredibly *good* at this Jay is? My...dear...God...** Oh, fuck--he was getting close just from those lips, on his cock, those lips that had done nothing for the past three weeks, let alone the past decade or so, but insult him. And now, God, now those lips were dancing him close to the edge of madness, pulling him close to filling Jay's mouth with come, and suddenly, he was dying to know if, when that happened--*if* that happened--whether Jay would swallow or spit it out. As God was his witness, he had no fucking idea which Jay would do. Jay pulled back in that moment, as Bob was gasping, and leaned down to the foot of the bed, unbuckling the belts around his ankles. "Fuck me," he whispered, then bit his lips. The way Bob's cock was twitching towards Jay, it wouldn't take that much encouragement to go along with him, but for some reason, he had to make sure. He didn't know why, but he had to be sure Jay was serious. "Are you--" "Fuckin' A, man," Jay spat, sneering, "you can't take a fuckin' hint this big? You are such a fuckin' chick, I swear to God, you ain't got nothin' better to do but--" Suddenly the gag seemed a very good idea, and he was abnormally grateful to Jay for thinking of it. He grabbed it from the bed, tying it quickly around Jay's mouth, pulling the strands of long blond hair from underneath the knot in the back. He could've sworn the look in Jay's eyes was gratitude. So, yeah, he'd miss a few kisses, but hopefully, that could resolve later--later, yeah, that was a great word, that was a word that made him gasp all over again--and in the meantime...He dug around in the top drawer of the side table, peering through the semi-dark. Yes. There. Bottle of lube. And, how handy--a set of condoms in neat foil wrappers. Wonderful. He ripped open a condom with his teeth, grabbing the lube. Jay's eyes widened, and Bob shrugged. His gaze spoke volumes, and Jay nodded, shivering in the dark. He reached for the condom and, before Bob knew it, Jay had snatched it out of his hand, and was unrolling it down his cock. Bob twitched to the feel of Jay's hands on his hard flesh again, blinking his eyes. He tried to concentrate, popping the lid of the lube up and squirting a dollop onto his palm, but his hands were shaking. He took a few careful breaths once Jay was done, and managed to get more onto his hands than onto the seen-better-days shag. He looked down, thinking, and as if he'd heard the thought, Jay lay back on the bed, folding his legs up and out of the way, wrapping his hands around his own knees and watching Bob expectantly. Bob blinking, flummoxed for a moment. Jay was spread open underneath his gaze, his cock standing proud at attention in its nest of darkly gold hairs, his nearly hairless chest gleaming with a faint sheen, his narrow ass cheeks open just enough for him to see a puckered circle of dark flesh. **Okay. Try to keep breathing.** He lubed up his fingers, calling on his knowledge of countless porn tapes to get him through this, and reached down between Jay's legs, between Jay's cheeks, and probed. Jay hissed in air, twitching, and for a moment, Bob almost fled the room. **Breathe, damn it. He won't break. Shit, he might have even done this before, you don't know...** Okay. Okay. He rubbed lube-slick fingers together, and extended one to worm its way inside Jay, inside Jay's incredibly tight, hot ass. Jay moaned, and Bob probed a little farther, moving inside Jay until he hit knuckle, and pulled out again. "Mmm..." Jay moaned. Yeah. He knew exactly what Jay meant. The next few moments were a blur, trying to remember how much a male needed to be stretched based on how few times he'd done this with a female. Shit, with his length and width, there weren't many women he'd known, *ever*, who'd wanted anal from him. He was kind of shocked that Jay did. But after a few minutes, Jay was moaning under his touch, bucking his hips up to meet his fingers, trying to get audible words through the gag. He hoped Jay was ready. Because he couldn't wait any more. He leaned over Jay, breathing hard, and Jay must've seen something of his intent in his eyes, because he started bucking towards Bob, urging him on with wordless moans, fingertip touches along his ribs, along his neck. Shit, the boy was hot. And he fuckin' knew it. That had been part of the problem, he thought. Then he stopped thinking as he drove inside Jay for the first time. Just the first inch or so, but Jay had clenched down, crying out, and Bob froze in place, chest heaving like a bellows. So tight. So tight, so hot. So fuckin' hot... Bob moaned, sliding in another inch, and Jay arched off the bed, his entire body shivering. He pawed at the gag now, trying to pull it down, and while he was distracted, Bob slid in another inch, maybe two. He was halfway in now, inside Jay, and now Jay pulled the cloth from his lips, staring at him with fevered blue eyes. "Fuck Bob fuck me fuck me Bob feels so fuckin' good Bob I never knew never fuckin' knew never want you to stop Bob fuck fuck fuck FUCK--" Bob leaned down, interrupting him with a kiss that opened Jay's lips and sent his tongue inside, seeking the moans that Jay eagerly fed him. He slowly pulled out, hearing the blond cry out inside him, making his skull vibrate, then drove inside for the first time. Jay screamed, his hips pistoning off the bed, pulling at Bob, breaking off the kiss for air and more words. "FUCK!" He tossed his head on the pillow, eyes opening and closing seemingly at random. "FUCK, feels so damn good, yeah Bob, yeah Bob, yeah, fuck me Bob--" Bob kissed him again, hitting a rhythm now, finding his stride, and fucking the lustful blond until he was gasping again, moaning himself, calling out Jay's name, saying things he just knew he was going to regret later. "Jay, fuck yes, Jay, feels so good, so *good*, love how you feel, love it, love it, love you, love you, Jay..." On and on, over and over, kissing his lips, the line of his jaw, his neck, his shoulders. Driving into him now, pinning him to the bed, Jay's hands long since stopped holding his legs apart. Now those legs were scissored around him, gripping Bob's waist firmly, urging him on as the fingers were urging him on. They trailed across the back of his neck, down his chest, across his nipples which felt like hard little pebbles glued to his chest. For one single moment, he actually forgot where he ended and Jay began. He was being gripped so tightly by Jay, inside Jay, legs and ass and burning blue eyes, that for a moment, just a moment, he was this conjoined eight-limbed sweat-drenched creature, twin bellies bumping against each other, twinned hips driving in sequence, feeling Jay's cock twitch against his abdomen at the same moment his cock twitched inside Jay. And he screamed, echoing Jay's cry, spurting fluid helplessly at the same moment he felt Jay spurt across his heated skin, and there was...there was...union. Slowly, he returned to himself, blinking, looking down at an equally dazed Jay as he pulled out. Jay nearly bit through his lip in an effort not to scream as he did, and Bob nearly drove back in, because of the fine little twitches and convulsive clenches that were shuddering through the blond. But finally, he was out, and he flopped down on his side on the bed, panting, looking at his roommate. Jay opened his mouth, and nothing came out. **That's a fucking switch,** Bob thought ruefully, then opened his. Surprisingly, words *did* come from him. "Got anything else stupid to say?" Jay carefully shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind? Not how fucked up this all is?" A shake. "Not how gay I am?" Another shake. His blue eyes widened a little, looking impossibly wide open in the semi-darkness. "Nothing," Bob said softly. "The motormouth has nothing to say." Jay peered up through long lashes at Bob, blinking slowly. He bit his lips again, and then shrugged. "I love you." And Bob opened his mouth, and nothing came out. END ***** Kelandris the Mad if I were a horrible affliction, I'd be rabies