Title: Luck o' the Bob Author: Kelandris the Mad Fandom: View Askewniverse Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob origin bit Rating: R for language, no actual sex, some kissing 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: Nah. What, we're gonna have Mistletoe II? Though this might lead into a follow-up around the holidays. :> Disclaimers: To the best of my recollection, this is intended as a work of satire and/or fannish devotion, with no more weight against the Powers that Be than a feather. I make no direct income from these stories and I explicitly reserve all rights to all View Askew characters to Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, Jason Mewes and Scott Mosier. Notes: It's the feast of Padraig, I'm cooking my brains out, I had to boot up the comp to access the Irish soda bread recipe I had saved here, and hey, *voila*, there was a quick little fairly plotless riff about the day. So happy birthday, ren. Post it when I can. Summary: Jay wonders about Bob. Okay, that's vague. Jay wonders why Bob took him to an Irish bar. Maybe that's vague too. Jay has a problem drinking green beer. Oh, who doesn't? :> Warnings: Language, some male/male action (kissing), some homosexual implications. That's about it. "Luck o' the Bob" by Kelandris "What the hell are we doing here?" Jay looked around, sneering. Even with the attitude, he felt horribly out of place. All around them, there was laughter and dancing, the bright sound of pipes and tapshoes, cheerfully drunken singing around large wooden tables. Nearly everyone had red hair or was wearing green. He was wearing black, and as usual, his blond hair was tucked under a black knit cap. Shit, Silent *Bob* fit in better than he did at the moment. Bob, sitting next to him, shrugged and pointed to the two beers on the bar counter. Jay looked at Bob darkly, then back at the beers. Both were a bright and horrifically vivid green. He sneered again, looking at the man in the black trench. "I ain't drinkin' that, Lunchbox. That shit is sick." The dark-haired man looked around, considering for a moment. He reached into a pocket, pulling out an enameled green pin in the shape of a four-leafed clover. He held it out, dancing amusement in his eyes. The blond's eyes darkened nearly to teal from their normal bright sky-blue. "Bitch, you wanna gimme a fuckin' clue, here? I thought you were Russian, anyway. What the fuck?" "Everyone's Irish on Saint Patty's Day, boyo, don't you know that?" The clap on the blond's back from the passing stranger nearly knocked him from the barstool, and he staggered his lanky frame up, clenching his fists. Bob placed his large hands over Jay's trembling ones, shaking his head. He tossed a couple folded bills on the counter, indicating with a head snap they should leave. "'Bout fuckin' time," Jay grumbled, as they pressed their way through the crowd. "Some days I just don't--" Jay yelped as Bob stopped dead, blinking, then turned, pulling Jay into a small alcove. It was out of the line of sight from the rest of the bar, and had a phone in the back, along with a phonebook that had seen better days. Bob pressed him against the back wall, pointing up. "What the--" Jay looked up. Hanging over his head was a dusty and bedraggled clump of mistletoe, leaves gone nearly grey with age. "Have you *lost* your fuckin' *mind*?" Jay hissed, looking around nervously. "A'sides, that's *Christmas*, dude, not St. Patrick's--" Bob didn't seem to care, leaning in and kissing him anyway. It was just a subtle contact, Bob's lips brushing his, but it seemed to light some fire inside Jay, that soon blazed out of control. Suddenly sweat burst out across his brow and he couldn't seem to stop trembling, and his hands were moving without his volition, moving to grab Bob and pull him closer. The worst of it was, Bob didn't seem to mind, and happily came close enough for Jay to scorch kisses across his lips, slipping his tongue inside to tangle playfully with Bob's. Damn, it would be easier if the bitch were hitting him, then at least he'd know where to put this. But it felt good. And Jay's motto always was, if it felt good, do it until it hurts. This was....this was wrong, though. Somehow. Somehow this was wrong. But he was fast approaching not caring. Airing one frantic moan, he threw his arms around Bob's neck, pulling him close, and burrowed his head into the warm, Old Spice-scented hollow beneath Bob's dark beard, kissing the spot frantically over and over. It hit him like a hammer that the scent of Old Spice wreathing around him was his Christmas gift to Bob from last year. Oh, shit. Too soon, both men were panting in place, bodies straining towards each other, and Jay was thinking uncomfortable thoughts about Bob, naked. About Jay, naked. About Jay's mouth on Bob's skin in places normally covered by clothes. With a strangled whimper, Jay stepped back, shaking. "Fucker," he whispered. Bob bit his lips, then shrugged. "I ain't gay." Bob shrugged again. "Okay, long as you get that..." He peered around the alcove's edge. The party seemed fine without them. For a moment he looked up, considering. Then he leapt up, snatching the mistletoe down with one hand, tucking it under the edge of the black knit cap he wore. "I think I can, um, tie this over my bed," he said, fighting not to whisper. Bob raised his eyebrows. "Oh, shut the fuck up and come home, already." And Jay stalked out of the bar, hands clenched at his sides again. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn he heard Silent Bob giggling behind him. END ***** Kelandris the Mad dance, slime mold, dance!