Title: Slingshot (2/2)
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, post-Dogma (no real spoilers)
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: Graphically NC-17. Hubba hubba.
Status: New
Archive: Yes if you tell me.
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Sequel/Series: I have no idea. Story challenge answer. Either that, 
or put this somewhere towards the end of the big bad 
Feather/Dagger/Tunnel gang.
Disclaimers: Mercy's my creation, Jay and Silent Bob belong to Kevin 
Smith and View Askew. Good thing, too, considering the horrors I 
visit upon them on a daily basis.
Notes: How this morphed into the answer to Scorpio's lost-her-mind 
challenge, I have *no* idea. This started out as a simple let's-make-
Mercy-move story--that did *not* feature Jay and Silent Bob.
Summary: Bob reflects on the abnormality of the common mall.
Warnings: Graphic m/m sex. Mercy gets hurt again, like that's 
uncommon... Car explosions. Weird devices. And I swear to God, this 
had an actual smut-free plot at one time. The boys are getting out 
of hand.

"Slingshot"
by Kelandris

"We're out of lube," he whispered.

"Fuck, no!"

He nodded, tossing the empty tube of lubricant aside and working the 
last dollop into Jay, stretching him a little more. Fuck, he was 
hard. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Jay, balls and 
all, and fuck him for the next week solid...

"Sounds like a plan, dude, let's go," Jay whispered.

Bob's eyebrows danced around the ceiling. Jay kept doing that. Was 
he reading body language, or was he, like Mercy, actually reading his 
thoughts? That posed an interesting intellectual exercise--

"*Does it fucking matter?!?*" Jay screamed. "*Quit fucking around 
and nail me! Fuck!*"

One eyebrow lowered, the other stayed quirked up, and an evil grin 
pulled one side of Bob's mouth up. He grabbed Jay's hips, driving 
inside him in one massive thrust, and Jay yelped again, hands 
scrabbling on the satin.

"FUCK!" he screamed. "Fuck! *Fuck!* Oh, *shit*!"

And the blond arched up, hands wrapped around his cock, jetting cream 
over the top of the floor model.

"Shit, Lunchbox, I came," he whispered.

Bob laughed wickedly, wrapping his arms around Jay and pulling him 
close enough to lick Jay's ear, hearing him moan in response. One of 
his lube-slick hands wrapped around Jay's limp organ, squeezing 
softly.

"Don't worry," he breathed, biting Jay's neck and hearing him yelp 
again.

"Three times in one day? Fuck dude, I'm young, but I'm not Superman!"

Bob just shook his head, nibbling up Jay's jawline, back to his 
incredibly sensitive ears. Slowly, he began thrusting, moving in 
small increments out, then filling him completely on the return 
thrusts. Jay cried out, tilting his head back against Bob's 
shoulder, and Bob licked his throat.

"Fuck, yeah, love your mouth, Bob, love your cock, yeah," he 
whispered. "Love it, love what you fuckin' do to me, love you..."

**Yeah,** Bob thought. **I know.** And the cock in his hand began 
to swell.

Biting his lips, he threw Jay back on the mattress, growling again 
deep in his throat. **Mine**, the thrusts said now, fucking Jay hard 
and fast, driving the air from his body. *Mine*, said the hands on 
his hips, pulling him onto Bob's cock over and over again. **MINE, 
MINE, no one else can do this to you...**

"*Fuck* yeah, man," Jay moaned. His hands now wrapped around his 
cock, working it in jerking spasms. "Shit, my dick's gonna hate me, 
uhh..."

It still wasn't deep enough. Bob's eyes cast around, seeing a big 
bin of pillows beside the teal mattress on which they knelt. He 
pulled out quickly, hearing Jay squawk, and pulled him up, grabbing a 
couple of the pillows and moving to a Sealy Posture-pedic covered in 
a big yellow rose print. He threw the pillows down and threw Jay 
down onto them, back on the mattress, ass propped high.

"This throwing me around shit has got to stop," Jay began 
resentfully, then Bob aimed his thick, purpling cock in his 
direction, veins visible and pumping along the length. Jay licked 
his lips.

"Never mind me, dude, do whatever you fucking want." He swallowed 
when he saw the look in Bob's eyes, but had no time to say anything 
else as he pushed Jay's legs wide and thrust into him.

**Oh, *yeah*...** *Fuck*, he'd never been this deep inside Jay, 
never. Every muscle in Jay's body ran with trembling, and he was 
making these lovely high sounds deep in his throat. His thrusts 
picked up speed until he was slamming against Jay, listening to the 
incoherent wordless moaning the blond was making, hearing his balls 
slap against Jay's ass, hearing sirens growing closer to the mall...

Sirens?? Bob's head shot up, eyes widening, and he heard voices, dim 
in the distance.

Jay looked up at him, scared.

"LaFours," he whispered.

Shit. He was probably right. But fuck if he was stopping now, he 
thought grimly. He'd explode or something, from sheer frustration. 
He kept thrusting, watching the fear and worry in Jay's bright blue 
eyes transform back into glassy lust. Yeah... if Jay thought he'd been 
thrusting fast before...

**Hyperspeed alert,** he thought hysterically. And he began 
thrusting hard enough and fast enough to shake the entire mattress 
across the floor. He and Jay were moaning in unison, panting, Jay's 
hands clenching hard on his muscled arms, his hips, his chest, moving 
over his body at speed.

"C'mon, c'mon," Jay urged. He dropped his hand back to his cock, 
pumping hard and fast. "Yeah, lover, yeah, c'mon..."

Bob felt his balls tighten, drawing up, and gasping, he plunged into 
Jay one last time, crying out just as he heard the sirens fade 
outside.

"Up there!" he heard, as he and Jay came together, shuddering on the 
flower print, sweaty and tangled and breathing hard.

**Shit!**

Scrambling off the mattress, they grabbed for clothes at random, Jay 
pulling on Bob's sneakers for a moment in sheer desperation. He 
looked down when his feet felt pinched.

"Oh, fuck!" he yelled, tossing them to Bob. Bob threw his Docs and 
his jeans at the blond, pulling on his sweatshirt and shorts, quickly 
shrugging into his trench and running for the maintenance tunnel to 
the back lot. He got a glimpse of LaFours' big broad back, boater 
hat crushed in his big hands, before they slammed the tunnel doors 
open, running for safety.

They kept running across the parking lot, until they reached the 
safety of the litter-encrusted field on the far side. Jay leaned 
over, hands on his knees, panting.

"I'll get you for that, you fuck," he wheezed. "Makin' me run like 
that after what you did... Man, you're lucky I recover quickly!"

"From what?" said a voice behind them, and Jay yelped, whirling. Bob 
peered, eyes narrowing. One of Jay's friends, what was his name...
Dean? No...

"Dylan," the boy supplied. He was shorter than either man, and 
looked 16, with that graceful choirboy appearance--wide grey eyes, 
rosebud mouth, pale blush on the slightly freckled cheeks, rusty-red 
hair. It was only when Bob looked into his eyes that he abruptly 
stopped comparing him to choirboys.

"Don't worry," he said, "everybody forgets. Listen, my car's just on 
the other side there, you wanna hang for a while?" He peered around 
Jay, watching as five cop cars skidded around the side of the 
building, racing through the empty back lot, and around to the front 
of the mall again. He seemed to find nothing odd in that, however, 
as he looked up and smiled.

"I scored some choice bud in New York, maybe you're interested?"

"Choice bud," Jay said gravely, straightening, "is always an option."

Bob shrugged, adjusting his lapels. If Jay trusted him... Sure, his 
head shake said. Let's go.

Which is how they found themselves sitting at a table in a club 
they'd never even *noticed* before, with Dylan and him impossibly 
beautiful ashen-haired friend.

"Tyler," he'd said in a high voice, when they'd first met him back at 
the car. The bud was good, the bud was fine, the joint they all 
shared on the way to the club created that kind of pure lucid high 
that Bob had come to associate with West Coast bud alone, Humboldt 
bud to be specific.

But the boys were that kind of instantly identifiable gay that got 
boys like them beaten to death in less tolerant communities. Not 
like Jersey on the whole was any kind of tolerant. Kind of why he 
and Jay kept a low fucking profile.

But then they walked into the club and both Bob and Jay stopped, 
staring in shock. Black-painted walls. Silver metal dance floor. 
Cages scattered around, each silver-barred cage filled with some 
oiled and writhing young man in a black leather harness and thong. 
Band on stage, playing guitars or keys or drums, not wearing much 
more than the dancers.

"Dude," Jay stage-whispered, elbowing him. "This is a *gay* bar!"

Bob shot a disdainful look at his roommate. No, Einstein, really? 
What fucking gave you the clue?

Dylan only laughed, pointing them towards a table and ordering a 
pitcher of beer.

"Don't worry," he said smugly. "I doubt anyone here knows you. 
Besides, dealers go where the fuck they want, right? That's why we 
have our Muscle, after all."

"Yeah," Jay said more confidently, then squinted. "Wait, then, 
where's your--"

"Sometimes," Tyler put in, "it's good to be underestimated. No one 
expects me to fight," he said in his high angel's voice.

"Yeah," Dylan added. "So no one expects it when he cracks through 
someone's chest, tears out their spine, and beats two other guys to 
death with it."

"More beer?" Tyler asked.

That sense of reality going bugfuck washed over Bob again. He 
swallowed, eyes searching for the exits. Jay shifted uneasily in his 
chair.

"Uh, look Dyl, we, uh, don't do the hard stuff, okay? Weed is good, 
natural green is all good, an' sometimes I deal a little shroomage, 
but like, noonch, man, nothin' that really fucks you up. No offense."

"None taken, I'm not trying to get you in my sales line. Frankly, I 
had this one-time offer of some pure Humboldt--"

**Damn,** Bob thought, **I was right!**

"--and, as nice as it is..." He trailed off, ruffling through Tyler's 
hair with a pleased smile. 

"Well, if it's not just a little hazardous to play with, you know me, 
I'm not interested."

Jay nodded, shaking his head, and Bob's eyes went up. Where the hell 
had Jay met these scary fucks??

Then Tyler leaned over, touching his arm lightly, just as the house 
band segued into something slow.

"You want to dance?" he asked.

Uhh... He looked over at Jay, who just shrugged.

"Sure dude, we need to talk some biz anyway."

**No, man, you were supposed to say, no, back off, he don't dance,** 
his mind wailed. But he took off his trench, folding it carefully 
over the back of the chair, and trailed Tyler out onto the dance 
floor. And he had to admit, the boy knew how to move, managing to 
make even Bob look graceful as he padded around the metal.

Some time later, the tempo picked up, and Ty guided them towards Jay 
and Dylan, where were now on the dance floor. Man, he hadn't even 
noticed. He'd been lost in a pair of flashing green, guileless eyes, 
and deft touches that guided him effortlessly across the metal.

Tyler moved into Dylan's arms, grinding against him in a wrenchingly 
familiar pattern, and Bob pulled Jay close, smiling.

**When in Rome...** And he dipped him, the blond's hair briefly 
touching the floor, then pulled him up into a kiss.

What the hell. Bugfuck occasionally worked.

***

Thinking back on that whole experience, Bob started laughing, 
snugging tighter against the blond, thinking of home. Home where it 
was safe, and (mostly) sane.

And where, if he played his cards right, he'd get to make Jay whimper 
again.

"Fuck, yeah," Jay whispered into his ear.

END
*********
Kelandris the Mad
hit me with your laser beams

(in order from the original list:

"Our youth we can have but today. We may always find time to grow 
old." -George Berkeley
"Be ever mindful of the Living Force, young Padawan."
"Yes, my Master." -Star Wars: The Phantom Menace

"Uppity women unite." *Extra points to whomever catches the source 
on the second tee, "God, I wish these were brains."*
"I am a shameless agitator."

switched boots (well, sneakers)
worn and faded denim jeans
blue neck tie (though not worn in this story)
leather (trench and harnesses)

broken telephone (bank of them, actually)
shouting into *sudden* silence

electrical short-circuit (on the newly-developed weaponry)
newly-developed weaponry (or at least beam weapons not seen in Bob 
and Jay's time)

guitar (though not played by one of the major characters)
dancing together

beer
flat soda

tin foil
broken mirror
(dead) mouse
sharp edged weapon
empty tube of lubricant