Title: Jersey Boy
Author: Kelandris the Mad (kel@crazysheep.net)
Fandom: View Askewniverse/AU, where none of the events of the four 
films sank in
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: NC-17, graphic m/m sex
Status: New
Archive: Yes if you let me know
Series/Sequel: Sequels "Fever"
Disclaimers: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and the View Askew 
crowd, I'm just borrowing them for a bit. I promise they'll be 
returned, unharmed, if slightly sweaty.
Notes: Forgot to bring over the coax cable for my VCR, and staring 
at the Dogma and Mallrats video boxes is somehow less than 
thrilling. Read through Barbara Hambly's "Ishmael" again, realized 
this time through she managed to work in both Patrick Troughton's 
Doctor and Tim Baker's Doctor as well as the Paladin. And somehow 
that led me to this. My brain needs to be dry-cleaned.
Summary: Strange things happen when Jay gets sick, part II.
Warning: Language, of course. Graphic m/m sex. Masturbation. 
Angst. Heavy Barbarella action (and despite this story, I actually 
do like that film a frightening amount.) Heavy conflict. Eye pain. 
And air guitar. And yes, I know, Barbarella is a much longer film 
than this. Back off. :>

"Jersey Boy"
by Kelandris

"Muh-nuh-nah-*nuh*! Muh-nuh-nah-*nuh*!"

When Silent Bob got home, Jay was standing in the living room, legs 
braced wide as if onstage, wrapped in a bathrobe. His long hair hung 
loose over his shoulders, and he wildly strummed an invisible guitar.

"Muh-nuh-nah-*nuh*! Yeah, I'm a Jersey boy-ee!"

With an ending flourish, he triple-flipped the transparent 
instrument, setting it on the floor and holding one finger against 
the top frets nonchalantly. Bob's eyebrows shot up. That was really 
good air work. He must be feeling better.

Carefully hanging up his trench, he walked over to Jay, looking the 
question at him as he felt his forehead. Jay slapped his hand away, 
looking cross. Damn, he was still burning up.

"Back off bitch, I don't need you pawing me right now." He stalked 
off to the kitchen, and Bob signed, shaking his head. Apparently he 
was still sick. Great. Another night of insults and homophob--

A quick flash of looking down and seeing Jay's mouth wrapped around 
his cock seared across his brain. He had to stop everything for a 
moment: walking forward, blinking, *breathing*, until his brain 
reset, and he could move again.

Jay looked out of the kitchen in that moment, one hand holding a 
beer, the other a butter-knife. He put the butter-knife down next to 
the sandwich he was making, so he could snap his fingers at Bob.

"Hey!" he called. "Lunchbox!"

Silent Bob looked up, irritated. He quirked his eyebrows. What is 
it now, O my Lord and Master?

"'S'just you look a little...odd," he said, his tone uneasy. "You 
think you got this too?"

"No," the bearded man said automatically. "We didn't--"

Bob's brown eyes flew wide, wishing the words unsaid as he saw 
suspicion creep into Jay's narrowed blues. *This* was why he didn't 
speak, this *exact* kind of shit. Words would fuck you up worse than 
hammers to the head or gunshot wounds. Words, he thought, meant 
*nothing*.

Save for poetry.

And Jay.

Who was now staring at him while he carefully put his beer down.

"We didn't *what*, Bob?"

Ooh, the claws had come out. He used a Real Name. Sarcasm didn't 
help him, though.

"You were delirious," he said softly. He walked to the couch, 
tapping out a cigarette and lightning it. Click, lighter opens, 
click, flame burns, inhale, cig catches, click, lighter closes. 
Clean, simple, efficient. Looking up, he held up two fingers, 
gesturing towards Jay.

"*Fuck* if I'm gonna bring you a beer, man! What happened when I was 
fucking delirious?"

Now he sounded scared. Odd. Did he remember after all? Or maybe he 
was scared of the possibilities inherent in those two little words. 
We didn't...what? Kiss? Fuck? Chase camels down the street whilst 
escaping from the Foreign Legion, armed only with bananas and Spam? 
We didn't. We didn't.

Bob puffed on his cig, shrugging. **We didn't do much of anything, 
actually. And you don't seem to remember.** Oddly, that thought 
made him sad.

"You said some things," he temporized. He shrugged again. Things 
happened. No big deal. We're cool, my friend. He poured all of 
this over a thick layer of bland innocence, hurling it with the 
accuracy of a javelineer from the warm cocoa depths of his eyes.

Jay stared at him for a long moment, then filched a second beer from 
the case in the fridge. He carried the sandwich in one hand, the two 
beers clasped in the other, and ambled towards the couch.

"Dude, you are seriously on crack," he said. Then his eyes lit 
up. "Oh, *yeah*, man, that is *exactly* what we need!"

Silent Bob paused in the act of reaching for a beer, eyes bugging 
out. Ow. Had Jay gone stark raving--

"Fuck no, man, bong! Cone! Buzz!" He handed over the beer and 
plopped down on the couch beside his bearded friend, grinning 
loopily. He was also, Bob noticed, swallowing, not wearing anything 
under the bathrobe. There was...rather a lot of Jay showing.

Bob studiously directed his attention to opening the beer. He had 
become completely engrossed in a few seconds, listening to the little 
click the cap made when it popped off, the nearly infinitesimal 
sounds of tiny bubbles rising and dissipating, when Jay tapped his 
shoulder.

"Bong?" he asked softly. He batted his eyelashes. "Please?"

Bob leaned away from him, slightly curling his lip. **Right, that's 
it, either he's gone nuts, or I have.** Then he shrugged. Either 
way, getting stoned might help. He went to fetch the bong from Jay's 
room, cleaning it out and filling it and packing it with care--not 
because he wanted to, necessarily, but because it was another excuse 
not to watch Jay, who was rummaging through their vids, the robe 
gaping dangerously. He was humming, his fingers tapping each tape as 
he went.

"Hah!" he yelped, and Bob nearly dropped the bong. He turned on Jay, 
snarling. **Shit, man, do you *know* how close I came to dropping 
this thing? You know how long it takes for...** Then it dawned on him 
what Jay was holding and his eyes widened. **No. Oh, please no.**

Jay giggled, nodding, then cackled when he saw Bob's crestfallen face.

"Get you *back*, you tubby motherfucker, for all that Pretty in Pink 
shit you put me through." Still grinning, he slipped Barbarella into 
the VCR, settling back on the couch beside Bob.

"Light it, man," he said gleefully. Bob shook his head but clicked 
open his lighter, setting the cone on fire and stubbing out his 
cigarette. He snuck a look at the screen and winced. Jane Fonda on 
shag carpet. Could it get any worse?

Apparently, yes. Jay began singing the words of the opening theme 
song, and Bob left the couch for another beer, deciding once he'd 
reached the fridge that food sounded good. It took him a little 
while to find something he considered edible, as opposed to the 
peanut-butter-and-some-kind-of-meat-product Jay had eaten.

By the time he wandered back, Fonda was already being nipped by the 
dolls, and Jay was making these odd little eep noises every time they 
got her. Shrugging, he repacked and lit the bong again, inhaling the 
first solid puff of soothing smoke. He looked over at the screen 
again, baffled by why she didn't just kick them away with those nasty 
high heels and run, for fuck's sake. Shaking his head, he froze when 
Jay snuggled up to him, still making little eeping sounds.

**Now I'm overanalyzing. Jesus Christ, Bob, it's not like he's never 
done this before. Even in a bathrobe. We usually watch movies, most 
of the time he falls asleep, it's no big deal.**

**But after last night...** some treacherous little voice inside said. 
Yeah. Last night. What the fuck was *with* last night?

"Look," said Jay sleepily. "They're gonna start goin' roun' in 
circles..." And his head dropped to his chest, one arm flopping 
bonelessly into Bob's lap.

**That's my boy,** Bob thought, sighing. He sat and smoked in 
silence for a while, contemplating. His thoughts ran in an endless 
loop. What if. What about. What if. He looked at the bong. The 
second cone was ash, and he debated repacking it. He debated turning 
the film off. Both actions required movement, though, and he found 
he was happily content to just sit buzzed on the couch, listening to 
Jay's soft breathing in one ear and Barbarella's inane dialogue in 
the other.

"Essence of man," Jay said. "Mm-hmm," and Bob's eyes snapped open. 
He realized he'd fallen asleep, too. Briefly he was disoriented--a 
bunch of women sat around smoking, and he thought their apartment had 
somehow gotten larger while he was out. Then reality kicked in--it 
was still the movie, it was the scene with the guy in the bubble, and 
*what the hell had Jay said??*

Apparently Fonda had asked the same thing, because one of the women 
pointed to the guy under glass, purring, "Essence of man." She 
gestured with the pipe and Jay giggled breathily, nodding, which, 
which his head on Bob's shoulder, felt distinctly odd. Bob turned, 
confused, and Jay fell, still giggling, into his lap.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I know where to get me some of that." And Jay 
pulled down the front of Bob's shorts for the second time this week.

At one point, when Bob was a child, he had wondered if it hurt the 
cartoon characters when their eyes bugged out. Now he knew. Yes, it 
fucking hurt. But he still couldn't stop. Just the image in memory 
had made him twitch all last night, and at random times today, and 
now here it was again, live action. Jay going down. Jay sucking 
cock. Jay sucking *his* cock, and oh, God, where had he learned to 
use his tongue like that?? He fought back moans as Jay wrapped his 
tongue around the head of his cock and tugged, swirling that agile 
muscle over and around, under and back, bathing him in that wet lava 
heat again.

Bob's eyes clenched shut, hearing the movie dimly in the background. 
*"My pretty-pretty,"* a low, dark voice said. Oh, yeah. Pretty-
pretty. Pretty Jay. Fuck, yeah. *Oh*, yeah. Oh, no--he snapped 
his eyes open, because the slurping sounds Jay was making, the hums 
of contentment, were just too intense. He looked down, the play of 
blue light from the television screen t urning Jay's hair platinum, 
and he felt his eyes bug out again.

Ow. That so had not helped. Jay was now holding his cock, his hand 
wrapped around it and pumping it, and he'd pulled his mouth off and 
was lapping at the head like a lollipop, like an ice cream cone. 
Some well-loved dessert, and he gasped at the thought, a sudden crazy 
image of Jay bent over the arm of the couch searing through him. 

*Jay's skinny ass in the air, moaning Bob's name over and over as Bob 
knelt behind him, licking him, tonguing him open and feeling his 
thigh muscles twitching underneath his hands. He saw himself 
standing, covering his cock with lube, rubbing it in one-handed as he 
parted Jay's ass cheeks and pressed against his tight little hole...*

**Fuck!** he thought hysterically. **I am not gay! When the fuck 
did all this start?!**

And Jay engulfed him between lips he had this sudden insane desire to 
kiss, just as Fonda began losing clothing left and right to the man 
playing her like a harp. Bob and Jane began moaning in the same 
instant, Bob too busy now fighting urges he'd never fucking suspected 
*existed*, and Jay only laughed throatily, sucking him in, sucking 
him hard.

**Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck I want to--*

And just the image in his mind's eye of them kissing, of him kissing 
Jay, just fucking *kissing*--that was all it took. Bob yelled, 
arching off the couch, and shudders ran through him when he heard Jay 
swallowing, still humming happily. And he hadn't even fully gone 
soft yet when Jay started snoring again, his cheek resting against 
Bob's bare stomach.

**This is certifiably psychotic,** Bob thought. Gingerly he lifted 
Jay, laying him out on the couch and pulling a throw over him. 
Moving as quietly as he could, he shut off the TV and stopped the 
film. Then he walked across the floor on legs that threatened to 
give out every step until he reached his bed, where he collapsed.

**Shit. Fuck. Shit. *SHIT*. What the fuck do I do now??** Was 
he gay now? Was Jay? Had Jay always been gay?

Had he?

Fuck. Fuck. Oh, *fuck*--he was getting hard again, just remembering.

Rubbing his eyes wearily, he reached under the waistband of his 
shorts, working his cock with the ease of long practice. His mind 
tossed him little flashes of Jay--Jay dancing, Jay snicking out 
invisible Wolvie claws, Jay outplaying Yngvie in the Ultimate Air 
Guitar Challenge. His breathing grew uneven as he realized his cock 
was still wet from Jay's mouth. Jay's hot, wet mouth, wrapped around 
his cock, sucking like he'd tasted heaven. **Oh, Jay,** he thought. 
**Fuck, yeah, Jay. Suck me. Suck me. Harder, yeah, ooh, like that, 
*like* that, Jay, *love* that...love that, love you, Jay, *love* you--**

Love--Jay??

His brain spasmed at the same time his cock did, and he whimpered, 
curling up in a knot of blankets. His cock still spat come onto his 
hand, but he was frozen back on one word.

Love. Love. **I--love?? I love--Jay??**

When the fuck did that happen??

END
*******
Kelandris the Mad
drinking hot sauce and wishing it were stronger