Title: Needs Author: ren E-mail: humbleren@hotmail.com Fandom: Kevin Smith's Askewniverse Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob Rating: NC-17 Series/Sequel: Hell no Disclaimer: I am but a humble ren; I kneel at the feet of Kevin Smith and occasionally, when he's not looking, I play with his characters. I make no money only words. Summary: He told himself that before rolling away that night, Jay's arms had tightened, embracing him very slightly. Notes: Written for the The Booze Fuh-Q Fest, angsty sweet drunken fuck-fic. Notes 2: This was supposed to be plotless sap. But nooooo, Jay had to be difficult. Also, it's been a while since I've written anything, and it shows. Be gentle! Notes 3: Many drunken kisses for Kel, who helped me make this story beta - I mean better. Archiving: Boozefest, Jay and Silent Bob Slash ---------------------------------- NEEDS 1. In which Jay finds himself a convenient scratching post The first time it happened, they had both stumbled home from a party, and Jay had been complaining loudly about the lack of willing pussy. "I'm a *man*, Silent Bob," Jay had told him solemnly, breathing warm bourbon fumes into his face. "And a man has *needs*." Afterwards, he had mumbling something approximating thanks and passed out face down on the bed, snoring wetly into the pillow. The next morning he had rolled out of Bob's bed with a groan and staggered into the kitchen, and by the time Bob got up the motivation to follow him, Jay had woken up enough to fix him with a practised look of hungover bewilderment and ask how the fuck they'd gotten home last night. "Dude, I musta been wasted. I can't remember a fucking thing." The message was unsubtle, but effective: We were drunk. I remember nothing, you remember nothing, and therefore there is nothing to remember. He could live with that, he thought. Until a couple of nights later, coming home from Stan's Weekly Hash Meet, when Jay had followed him into his room, stripped without a word, and wrapped Bob's hand around his dick. It became almost routine after that, unspoken but expected, comfortable and bizarrely comforting; Bob liked order in his life, and Jay wasn't likely to catch a disease or a blunt instrument to the skull if he was busy coming his brains out in Bob's fist. It wasn't exactly a hardship after all, being pinned beneath his friend, watching Jay's face flushed with alcohol and exertion as he ground his hips sweatily against Bob's. He didn't hate the feel of Jay jerking against him as he came, or the soft, surprised- sounding "oh" as he spent himself. It wasn't like he had to force himself to suffer through the quiet moment between Jay's satisfied collapse and his rolling onto the mattress beside him. It was only a few seconds, after all, a couple minutes at most, and Jay did nothing more obnoxious than sprawl limply on top of him, warm and pliant and breathing in soft exhalations against his shoulder. He wasn't deluded enough to think that it was only for Jay, this nighttime routine. Not anymore, at least, not since he'd made the mistake of mentioning it one quiet afternoon, sprawled in the living room with cartoons and a bowl of Very Fine Weed. Jay had blinked at him once before his face shut down completely and he rose from the couch, stalking into his bedroom. He emerged wearing layered clothing and shoes, and left the apartment without a word. He'd returned later that night, disturbingly sober with some pretty young redhead in tow, and proceeded to have noisy heterosexual sex until four in the morning. Bob had lain awake and listened, shivering, the bedspace beside him uncomfortably cold. The next night they had gone out, come home drunk, and Jay had rocked a little desperately against his thigh, coming with a shudder, and the relief had almost reduced him to tears. He told himself that before rolling away that night, Jay's arms had tightened, embracing him very slightly. Now though, he suspected it had been some kind of muscle spasm. Bob sighed, peering down at the mess Jay had made of him, and used his own hand to bring himself to a quick, sharp release, adding his own contribution to the fluid already drying sticky in the hair of his belly and chest. There was a strange, hollow feeling in his gut and a pressure behind his eyes that he didn't want to think about too closely. Jay had rolled to the side as usual, curling up and away from him, and Bob had only barely managed to stop himself from reaching out and asking him to stay close, or at least face him while he slept. *A man has needs*, he thought to himself, a little bitterly. *I guess that makes me the bitch. Jay just wants to get off, and I want to...snuggle.* The sheer horror of that thought caught up with him a few seconds later, and he cringed. Obviously, a few things needed to change. Bob closed his eyes, and inched just slightly closer to the sleeping form beside him. Change, he decided. Definitely. Starting tomorrow. 2. In which Silent Bob reclaims his penis The whiskey tasted good; sharp in his throat and expanding warmth in his belly, and he'd drunk just enough of it that things had started to soften nicely around the edges. He felt warm and cheerful, and he was wonderfully aware of Jay's confused gaze on him from across the yard. He had made a special point, once they'd reached the party, of not looking at Jay once the entire night. Every so often he'd a catch a few words, his friend's voice rising and falling in conversation, but Jay seemed distracted and early in the night the voice had faltered and dropped off. Now, as far as he could tell, Jay sat alone, giving off sulky, sullen vibes and watching every movement he made. It felt distinctly odd for a change, to be the show instead of the shadow. People seemed to sense the shift in dynamic, drawing closer to his side and engaging him in strange, one-sided conversations in which he nodded and smiled and occasionally graced them with a gesture or two to show that he was listening. Eventually, a dark presence at his side made itself known; he glanced at Jay, who stood there in uncommon silence with a scowl marring his face. "Hey Fat-ass, this party sucks dick. Let's get the fuck out of here." Bob raised an eyebrow and shifted slightly, considering the level of liquid in the bottle he held. Was he brave enough yet? There was beer at home, of course, and the sooner they got home the sooner he could... He shrugged, and nodded, and Jay's glare lessened a fraction before he spun on his heel and stalked away, assuming as always that Bob would follow. Which he did, of course, watching Jay's unusually steady gait with satisfaction; boy was as close to sober as he was ever likely to get. They walked home in silence, and Bob watched as Jay's anger fell away in stages; his fists unclenched themselves, his shoulders loosened, the glare softened first into a sneer, then a smirk, and from there into the slightly vacant look that Bob knew meant he was thinking about something. By the time they arrived home and let themselves in, the vacant look had twisted into relaxed good-humour, and Jay wandered into the kitchen for beer. They sprawled together on the couch in silence, not bothering to turn on the television, and Bob waited until Jay had finished his beer to stand up and shed his overcoat and shoes. Jay frowned at him. "Dude, it's early. There's beer left. What the fuck?" Bob smiled widely, and gestured towards his bedroom. "What do you mean it's time for bed, you silent bitch? No way you're sleeping now." Jay was confused and off-balance, and Bob let his smile widen very slightly as he directed his gaze to Jay's lap. Jay's eyes flew open as wide as they could go. "Huh? What the hell are you on about? What the hell were you drinking at that party? I ain't gay, so I know you're not saying what I think you're saying, know what I'm saying?" Bob raised an eyebrow, looked meaningfully at the empty beer bottle in Jay's hand, and began counting the seconds until Jay exploded. "What the FUCK, Silent Bob? I told you, I ain't gay and we've never fucked, you got that? And even if we did - and I ain't saying we did - it was because I was drunk and horny and I don't remember it. ANY of it, got that? Not the first time, not that time on the couch, not that time on the floor, not last week, nothing!" Bob watched in fascination. Jay's eyes were black with rage, his face flushed, his hands waving madly in the air. At some stage he'd gotten to his feet and started pacing in front of the couch, occasionally pointing a vicious finger in Bob's direction. "You want to suck someone's dick, Silent Bob, you go the fuck out and you find yourself some gay guy who likes feeling some guy's beard on his balls. I am all about the pussy, okay? And you know what? While you're out there getting some guy's dick shoved up your ass, why don't you -" Bob sighed, caught him on the next pass, grabbed him by the throat and kissed him. He held the kiss as long as he could, feeling Jay's fists beating against his chest and the unyielding hardness of Jay's lips under his, until he needed to breathe and pulled back. What he saw made him cold all over. His dick, which had been filling nicely, abruptly softened as all the blood in his body seemed to drain into his feet. Jay's eyes were flooded, and his face was streaked with terrified, angry tears. "Fuck you," he hissed. "FUCK you. I'm not staying here to get fucking molested by you, you got that?" His breath hitched slightly, and he bit down on his bottom lip, staring at Bob for a moment in absolute, chilling silence before turning and walking, straight-backed, into his bedroom and closing the door. Seconds later, Bob heard the unmistakeable sound of a lock being turned. He stood absolutely still for a long stretch of time, before walking slowly to the bathroom. Calmly, he leaned over the bathroom sink and vomited until he was empty. 3. In which Silent Bob isn't very happy When Silent Bob woke up the next morning, he had a headache and Jay was gone. There was a note at least, sitting on the kitchen counter in Jay's semi-illiterate left-handed scrawl: *Lunchbox. Went out to sell some shit. Meet me at Dannys place tonite hes haveing a party for his new cactuss.* Bob sighed, took some aspirin and went back to bed. He lay there in a depressed stupor for a while, staring at the ceiling, remembering the look of betrayal in Jay's eyes. He dozed for a while, on and off, fighting against the pervasive horniness that always accompanied his hangovers, until deciding the hell with it and taking himself in hand. He stroked himself half-heartedly, feeling himself grow hard and not really caring, letting his motions quicken through habit and feeling the slow throb of pleasure in a detached kind of way until he was ready to come. He closed his eyes and let it happen, squeezed and pumped and fucked into his hand until his dick throbbed and spurted onto his belly. For just a moment, the splash of cooling semen on his belly felt just like old times, until he remembered he was alone, and fell asleep again. 4. In which Silent Bob is very happy The next time he woke it was dark, and he could hear the front door being none-too-gently closed. Jay was home from Danny's party, then; the party Bob was supposed to have met him at, and for a moment he toyed with the idea of just rolling over and going back to sleep. That option became an impossibility when his bedroom door swung open and Jay stalked into the room, stripping as he went. Bob sucked in a sharp breath of air, barely stopping himself from exhaling in a moan. Jay was drunk and horny and alone, and nothing had changed after all, and at this stage he couldn't even decide if that was a bad thing or not. The bed dipped as Jay crawled in beside him, then settled on top of him with a strange, stiff awkwardness he'd never noticed before. The lips that brushed hesitantly against his mouth were dry and cracked, and he pushed out his tongue to moisten them before he realised, with a quick, surreal kind of jolt, that Jay was kissing him. Jay was kissing him, tasting like cigarettes and chocolate and nothing even remotely alcoholic. Bob's eyes flew open; Jay's gaze was sober, lucid, and absolutely terrified. Apparently something had changed, after all, not least of which was the shy curve of Jay's roughened fingers around his cock, rubbing him gently into fullness. The warm press against his belly told him he wasn't the only one hard, and he smiled, thrusting slightly into Jay's grip, hissing softly when it tightened. "Is this...?" Jay's whisper trailed off, his eyes flickering down then up again in a quick movement. "This is okay, isn't it? I'm doing it right?" Bob let his hands close over Jay's hips in response, pushing up against him with a wordless murmur. Jay stiffened slightly, his hips bucking down, a hot pulse of fluid running onto Bob's skin. "Good," Jay breathed, "for me too." His hand shifted, moving faster; Bob groaned deep in his chest, and it was like moving up a gear because Jay leaned down and kissed him properly this time, tongue pushing into his mouth, grinding his hips helplessly against Bob's, his hand squeezing tighter and jerking Bob off in perfect hotsweet rhythm. He felt it coming, the sweet ache tightening his balls, making him swell in Jay's hand and grunt harshly into Jay's mouth and then he was there, hips shoving mindlessly, spending himself in quick pulses over Jay's fist and both their chests. Jay breathed harshly through his nose and went rigid against him, thrusting once more and then shuddering, coming in a wet gush before collapsing in a sweaty, satisfied heap onto Bob's chest. They lay in silence, then, and Bob closed his eyes, feeling the warm puffs of air against his collarbone, relishing the slickness between their bodies and the occasional twitches of aftershock that moved through them both until Jay stirred, yawned, and rolled off his chest to sprawl on the mattress beside him. For a moment the disappointment was almost too much to bear, until he realised that the warm weight against his skin wasn't entirely gone. Jay's arm was still draped across his body in a loose almost- embrace, long fingers spread and resting at the very centre of his chest, and when he shifted slightly Jay's hand pressed very faintly down, anchoring him in place. 5. In which Jay has one last question It was very early, around oh-fuck-me-thirty, when Silent Bob was rudely awoken by a sharp, persistent jabbing in his side. "Hey," came Jay's hissing whisper in his ear, counterpoint to the finger prodding his ribs. "Heeeey! Silent Bob!" "I'm awake," he muttered, or at least tried to. It sounded more to him like "Mrrgmph." Jay gave up on the whispering and spoke to him in a remarkably conversational tone of voice. "I was thinking, Silent Bob. I was thinking Deep Thoughts, you know, and then I got this awful, fucked up idea and it wouldn't go away." Bob froze. He was having second thoughts. He was going to leave and go into his room and lock the door again and - "This don't mean you're only gonna fuck me when we're sober, does it? 'Cause Silent Bob, just because I get ass-faced doesn't mean I don't love you and shit, it just means I like getting ass-faced. Besides, if I stopped drinking altogether people'd get worried about me, like they did last night. Danny kept feeling my forehead like I was sick, and everyone kept looking at me like my dog died, if I had a dog, and hey Silent Bob? Maybe we should get a dog. One of those ugly fuckin' things that - " Bob sighed, rolled out of bed and made his way blindly out of the room and into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he pulled out a six pack of beer and carried it back into the bedroom, dumping it onto what he guessed in the dark must be Jay's lap. " - and I kicked his ass, Silent Bob, you shoulda been there. Oh, hey, thanks." Bob crawled back onto the bed, closed his eyes, and waited. Heard the sharp hiss of a beer being opened, the soft gurgle of liquid, and then a contented silence. "You're welcome," he said, and went back to sleep. ______________________________________________ Hey, that's the end. Stop reading now. ______________________________________________