Title: Runaway
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: Songfic.  R shading--only by context--to NC-17.
Status: posted to the list 2002?
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: One-shot, but damn, how it seems to tie into every
friggin' thing I've been writing of late.
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:  I've noticed this tendency only to write poetry when I'm
chronically depressed.  Same thing goes for writing, sort of--the more
stressed I am, the more I write.  Well, rent was due today, it's still
not paid, we live under the shadow of possible eviction, and the grant
that's been solving (sort of) the problem of neither my love in life,
nor myself, actually holding down a job right now, ended in January. 
So, yeah, you might say I'll be writing TONS.  Hooray for, erm,
inspiration?  Or the kind of pressure most beings would only find on
heavy gravity planets.
Summary:  Jay kisses Bob.  Bob freaks.  Jay freaks.  Jay takes off
running.
Warnings: There's something about running fics.  Hell, there's
something about running, no matter what the impetus--the feel of wind
on the skin, the sound of the night air, the feel of feet on solid
earth or solider pavement.  So here's one for that drive to be
free--Jay, pounding out his heartbeat on tarmac.


"Runaway"
by Kelandris


Bass beat still thumped in the distance, and Jay wandered at a side
tilt through the crowd.  Something he couldn't quite get his fingers
around was scratching at his brain, he couldn't think about what it
was.  He was moving from room to room, searching something down,
vaguely interacting on his way to the back rooms.  Something, driving
him on.  Something, pulling the movement out of him.

Jay thought he'd pulled a good chick magnet outfit from his capacious
closet.  He'd always been something of a clothes hound, just never had
the money or time to really invest in shit.  Now, he could dress
down--which he usually did, because it was hella comfortable--or dress
to the nines, for those rare occasions he actually needed a tuxedo. 
Or a hand-beaded dress and stiletto pumps.  Whichever.

Now, he wore some kind of a hybrid between the two states.  He wore
polished Doc Martens, shining like midnight in New York, and black
tights underneath them, form-fitting against his muscular calves.  A
pair of black cut-off sweats completed the waist-to-floor attire.  But
above his waist, it was much more interesting.  He wore a tight-weave
long-sleeve black mesh top, wrapped with black electrician's tape
along the arms, and across the torso in asymmetrical
diamond-and-diagonal bands.  Scattered across it were a handful of
chrome safety pins, and a smaller brass safety pin was poked through
the hole in his nose.  Even his hair was tied back with a loop of the
tape, pierced through with several more chrome pins.  (But it was
true, a spate of dancing earlier had pulled loose several long strands
that he now kept tucking behind his ears.)

Though he was getting fuckin' sick of being called Eric.

He'd had some grain belt beer, downed in a solid swig early on, and
something clear in a test tube, and some extravagantly painted
chippie's sunset-colored confection in a martini glass, while she
purred into his hair and left bright metallic crimson streaks on his
neck.  He had some pink dots patched on his collarbone, some blue
diamonds in a half-circle around his navel, and two bright yellow
smiley faces that sat on either side of the inside of his wrist.  He
was fairly sure those two were just stickers.

Plus, he'd had some X and some pot and some coke and a little bit of
someone's hash stock, lying in a dim back room while someone licked
him in distant reverie.  Or maybe he'd just added that in about the
time the coke hit the X and began the tug-of-war using his lower
intestine.

And now he was walking farther and farther until he reached the back
set of rooms.  Damn, had the apartment always been this big?

"The problem with relational spaces in 3-D is that you have to create
the perimeter of the space you need before you define the actual
mathematics of creating that space," said a familiar voice, and for
all he knew, Bob might as well have been speaking the Russian he spoke
as a native.  He had no idea what the hell that meant.

Ambling into the room, he hung out by the door, wearing what he
thought was a patient expression.  The looks he saw from the guys Bob
was talking with ranged from horrified astonishment to pity, so Jay
thought, as usual, he had no concept of what his face was doing out
there in the world.  Shit.  He tried to wave at Bob, fade back into
the party girls and party boys, and Bob just sighed, grabbing his arm
and leading him out of the room.  He looked frustrated.  He also
looked amused.  Of the two, he'd prefer amused.

Then Jay pulled back a little, really looking at him.  He didn't look
bad, he thought.  Clean brown shoulder-length hair, the color of
chocolate--the good stuff, not Hershey's shit.  Glossy black leather
trench he'd bought for Bob, what was it, three Christmases ago? 
Something like that.  Before that the boy had worn a denim duster,
originally black but bleached to charcoal grey by the time December
rolled around, and Jay had desperately wanted his Muscle better
protected from the cold.

Rest of the outfit was even simpler, a black t-shirt, black sweats,
enough like in tone that they didn't clash with each other--and don't
let 'em lie to ya, Jay thought, blacks *can* fuckin' clash.  Only
plaid was a neutral, after all.  Cardinal rule of punk.

Even his shoes were new, Puma blacks, nearly sparkling under the
yellow hallway light.  Appreciatively, Jay looked his Muscle up and
down, nodding.

"Bad chick magnet, tonight," he said softly.  He wasn't sure Bob even
heard the comment.

Bob followed his eyes, shaking his head, looking back up and peering
close at Jay's face.

"There's no blue in your baby blues, kid," he said softly, and Jay
just smiled.  Without thinking further, he pushed Bob, and Bob
staggered back, through a door Jay had just noticed behind him, and
straight back onto a bed.  Jay pursed his lips.  Yeah, okay.

And he pounced.  He straddled Bob, pushing him down against the
comforter, watching his face.  He seemed surprised as hell, but not
angry.  Okay.  Good.  So now what?

Jay cocked his head to one side, completely part of the moment.  There
was no thinking here, just a series of connected impulses.  Nerve
sparks, that was all it was.  Nerve sparks, carrying his body forward,
leaning his head down, pressing his lips against Bob's.  The first
brush of his lips against Bob's was just that, a tentative pressing of
flesh against flesh, and then he rose, blinking.

"Jay?" Bob asked, the question defined in a single word, and Jay had
no good answer.  So he kissed him again.

This time it was deeper: he licked his lips, bending down, and pressed
his lips to Bob's, snaking his tongue forward to lick along Bob's
lower lip, pushing over it, pushing inside Bob's mouth.  Soft moaning
filled the room, and he honestly couldn't tell for a long moment whose
throat was making the low, urgent noises.  And after he knew, it no
longer mattered, because he realized how much he loved kissing Bob,
just kissing Bob, doing something he'd never done before.  Never dared
to do before.  No, never cared to do before, far as he knew.  Huh. 
Interesting.

And Bob--after the initial shock had worn off, he'd seemed into it. 
Jay felt Bob's thick fingers sink into his long hair, pulling his face
closer, and he obligingly leaned his entire weight on Bob as they
kissed.  And, ooh, that could get addictive, couldn't it?  Shit, how
many girls had he fucked, even just the past year, who complained he'd
been crushing them when he laid full-out on their perfumed softness?

And yet, Bob didn't complain, Bob didn't seem to care, Bob was big
enough to take it.  Huh.  Yeah.  That could get *too* good.

About the time the thought crossed his mind, and he realized that he
was hard for Bob--get that, hard for his Muscle, just from one fuckin'
kiss--Bob pushed him away, off the bed onto the floor, breathing hard.
 His eyes were wide, staring, and for a moment, he just stared at Jay,
not even blinking.  Then he opened his mouth as if to say something,
and there was a desperate yearning in the eyes, a pain and confusion
that speared Jay to his core.

And then Bob ran away.

*I'm lying here on the floor where you left me
I think I took too much
I'm crying here, what have you done?
I thought it would be fun*

And Jay, confused, wholly out of his depth, lay on the floor and
reached trembling hands up to his face, up to his eyes, feeling
wetness on his cheeks.  What the fuck?  First I kiss the Muscle, then
I want to...want to...what, exactly? with Bob, an' then, Bob runs
away.  Does this shit make sense?

And, cringing on the floor, he suddenly thought he did.  Oh, shit. 
Boy is straight.  How could I not have fucking known?  Of course he's
straight.  Straight arrow boy and absolutely not interested in my ass
and now Jay was curled up on his side, shaking his head, nearly
inching under the edge of the counterpane of the bed in his distress.

Oh, shit.  Fucking shit.  What do I do now?

*I can't stay on your life support
there's a shortage in the switch
I can't stay on your morphine
`cause it's making me itch*

Just like that, he was on his feet, pushing his way through the party
crowd, doing his best not to glimpse even one glimpse of that rich,
dark hair, those deep chocolate eyes.  He kept his head down except
when it was absolutely necessary for him to look up.  Five minutes
became ten, ten stretched into twenty, people in his way delayed him.
 But finally, he made his way to the door, looking around.  To the
right, porch, fence, sidewalk, streetlights.  No.  But to his left--

Perfect.  Park.  Hills in the distance, trees here and there, gazebo
something in the center.  He took off running.

*where I can run just as fast as I can
to the middle of nowhere
to the middle of my frustrated fears*

And he ran, he ran across the grass, still wet from watering, several
hours back.  The air was crisp, with the tangible tang of night air,
and he inhaled great lungfuls of it, only slightly tainted with diesel
from the main road two roads over.

And he ran, he ran, full out until his lungs were heaving, until his
heart was bursting, running to the far edge of the hills he could
barely make out.  Four packs a day dropped him long before he even
reached their shadow, and he dropped to a bench, panting like an old,
fat dog, resenting his betrayer body while he clung to the slats of
the bench.

*and I swear you're just like a pill
instead of making me better
you keep making me ill
you keep making me ill*

Now he had the time to go over everything in his mind, in ruthless,
obsessive detail.  What the hell had happened?  We came to the party
and everything was fine.  I went...somewhere, wherever the hell I go
at these things, off to find the nearest slut with a secret and a
handful of candy.  And I kept moving, going from room to room, taking
a little here, a little there, passing out bud as I went.

Okay.  That I remember.  Pat pattern and it's not like it ever
changes.  But then...I ran into Bob.  And I thought he looked good. 
And I kissed him.

**Fuck, he hates me.**

And, okay, so we've never had that kinda relationship, we've just been
friends.  Roommates.  Dealer and the dealer's hired help.

*lovers without the love, all the way back to one*

Nah.  Not possible.

Jay sat up on the bench, inhaling hugely, looking over to the other
side of the park where he could dimly hear the overdriven bass. 
Party's still in full swing.  Okay.  So more time to think.  Hanging
his head in his hands, he began to force his thoughts into a
better-lit place, so he could look at them.  At the same time, his
fingers moved to his belly, picking off the blue diamonds on his
abdomen, reaching under the shallow scoopneck of the mesh shirt to
pull off the half-moon of pink dots.  For good measure, he pried off
the two yellow stickers on his wrist, too, and just sat there, large
hands dangling between his legs, breathing.  Breathing in the night
air, breathing out particles too big to aspirate.

So I pushed him onto the bed, pushed him down and straddled him, and--

**got hard right then, fuck the kiss, I wanted him in that moment, I
wanted him naked and open and screaming for me--**

No.  Absolutely not.  He'd kissed Bob, sure, but he hadn't gotten even
a little wood until he'd felt Bob--

**At the least, Jay-boy, don't fuckin' lie.  There's only you and you
here.  Be honest at least.**

Okay.  Shit.  Okay.  He'd wanted Bob.  He'd wanted one of Bob's ankles
in each hand and he'd wanted to kneel at the edge of the bed and
thrust in and out of Bob as he cried out his name.  Yeah.  Cried out
Jay over and fucking over, as he slid in and out of Bob's hot, tight ass.

Yeah.  Fuck, that still sounded good.  Had he lost his mind?  Or had
the chemical mix taken it away instead?

*I haven't moved from the spot where you left me
it must be a bad trip
all of the other pills, they were different
maybe I should get some help*

Shit, maybe he was getting too old for this.  Getting to the age where
he'd have to go to parties and just drink beer like an old guy.  Shit.

He watched the house, propping his head on one fisted hand, and sat
bolt upright when he saw a familiar head of dark hair, atop a familiar
black trench, emerge from the house.  Bob looked left and right, going
through what must have been a similar decision process, and started
off walking into the park.

*I said I tried to call the nurse again
but she's being a little bitch
I think I'll get out of here*

Oh, shit.  And just for a minute, Jay was seriously tempted to take
off running again.  Just run and run and run until his heart burst and
he wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath of kissing Bob, which was
Bob calmly walking over to the bench he sat on and calmly dismantling him.

Which was something, he freely admitted, he wanted no part of.  He
rather liked being mantled, or whatever the fuck that was--at the
least, not torn into confetti-size pieces for Bob to scatter on the
ground.  Shit, what was Bob thinking?  Fuck, like Jay ever knew.  He
shook his head.

Quick, decision time.  Run?  Or stay?

Ah, fuck, it's not like he knows where I am, right.  Big fucking park.
 Lots of benches.  It's not like he can--

Bob looked up, nodding once, and reoriented so now he was on a beeline
to Jay.

**Motherfuck!  How does he fuckin'--Oh.**

Jay looked up in frustration, registering the spotlight effect on him
from the park light situated directly behind him.  Yeah.  Right. 
Well, shit.

*where I can run just as fast as I can
to the middle of nowhere
to the middle of my frustrated fears*

And Bob looked pretty fuckin' calm as he walked up and sat down,
flipping the edges of his trench between his legs as he did.  He
looked over at Jay, peering into his eyes again.

Jay scowled.

"What the fuck is it now?"

"Just checking for blue."  Bob shrugged.

"As in, what, I was inca-fucking-pacitated when I--when we--in there?
 Like, I had no fucking idea what I was doing?"

Bob considered for a long moment, looking down.  When he looked up, he
was very carefully not smiling, but amusement danced in his dark eyes.

"More, I was wondering if you were still high enough to want to kiss
me."  And he waited for that statement to sink in, Jay could tell
because of the total air of anticipation surrounding him now.

Shit.  This was gonna get `em both killed, he thought.  And then, he
pounced, knocking both of them off the bench.

*and I swear you're just like a pill
instead of making me better
you keep making me ill
you keep making me ill*

Shit, Jay thought.  If this is the sickness, man, let's hope they
never find a cure.  And he pulled in a massive gust of air, and
returned his lips to Bob's, and kissed him like he'd just then figured
out what kissing was for.

END
(Song is most of Pink's "Just Like a Pill")
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
what have you done, o what have you