Title: Strain Author: Kelandris the Mad Fandom: View Askewniverse Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob, sometime after JSBSB but not mentioning direct chronological events Rating: With any luck, NC-17. Status: Wanted this to be a Valenfic, but I'm a day late, by two hours and nine minutes. Alas. Archive: Drop me a note and it's yours. And on that note... Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net Series/Sequels: Dunno, really. Will it? Won't it? Will ren pick it up and run with it? Your guess may, in fact, be better than mine. Disclaimers: Kevin Smith came up with the universe; I just play in the adult sections. All credit is reserved to View Askew and the merry cohorts there. Notes: I am deliberately and with flagrant intent cribbing something ren said a while back. It's not that I don't have ideas of my own, but she's not writing this one fast enough, so...there you go. If she hates it, it's all my fault. If she likes it, hey, maybe it'll inspire something back. Summary: Jay asks for something new, and Bob tries to comply. Warnings: Whips, chains, handcuffs, BDSM, muscle tension, panic attacks, flashbacks, sweat, nervousness, and all-naked, all-nude, all-male fuc...did I mention this was slash? Do I have to? "Strain" by Kelandris "Tighter." A blink. A cock of a dark-haired head. A measuring look. Brief caress of spatulate fingers against fragile-boned wrist, oddly tender considering the setting. An aggravated sigh. "Look, fucker, I said tighter, I meant fuckin' tighter, what I gotta do, draw you a fuckin' diagram or some shit--" The strap around Jay's right wrist cinched tighter and Jay breathed out, tight little coil of tension in his belly curling, curling. He leaned his head back against the wide rubber straps he lay against, half comfortable, half waiting for the inevitable twist when it all went wrong. Sooner or later, everything went wrong. And he was just the fucker who had to push it, most of the time. Yeah. So now was maybe the time. And Bob was the moron he could talk into any fucking shit on the planet. Which is why he was laying flat out on an arrangement of black rubber straps that would make a leather daddy weep, getting strapped down before getting chained up. And then...and then... **And then...we'll see.** Yeah. Yeah. That was the whole fucking point. Maybe things had been going too well. Maybe they'd been too comfortable. Maybe Bob hadn't rolled his eyes enough, or flicked his cigarette to the side in that 'you imbecile you' fashion he had down to a tee. Maybe everything had been too smooth, too easy, and something under Jay's skin had itched to take it apart and make it not work, make it grate against itself, so maybe he could say it had been fucked up all along. His own damn fault, maybe, they'd been somewhere in Chicago, stuck at yet another fucking comics convention, when he'd had the idea. His own damn fault that the idea had struck on a back street, when he'd really just been scoring idly for fresh weed, and he'd stopped in a store that looked like a likely prospect, and it'd turned out to be a fetishist's wet dream. And he'd ended up having something over three hundred bucks of weirdly strapped equipment delivered to the hotel, in gift boxes, that he told Bob to leave the fuck alone on pain of no more fucking fun. Bob, now...fuck, Bob believed him or some shit, 'cos Bob, he left 'em alone. Which left Jay to gnaw at the idea, poke at it, get nervous and aroused and terrified and exhilarated in turns. He just didn't know how it was going to go, frankly. But he did know it had a higher than normal fuck-up index. He'd made sure of that in the goddamn store. "Fucking Christ, tubby, I don't wanna get *loose* inna middle of this--*you* want me to get loose inna middle of this? Shit, boy, you *ever* done this before? Tighter on that wrist, mofo!" Dark eyes, nearly black now, turned to him, measured him in a glance, gathered him up and held him close without ever touching him and every inch of him feels warmed and chilled at the same time. He blinked, one of those hugely expansive blinking maneuvers that seemed to take ten years to fully complete, and then he shrugged, just a slight lifting of his shoulders. He tightened the other strap. Bob moved to Jay's feet, and he tightened the straps there, without another word, and then came up with the last item, the one he was most concerned with when Jay had unpacked it--a bright red ball gag on a black leather strap. Jay licked his lips, opening his mouth. Shit, might as well start the silent treatment now. Tubby motherfucker was going to be lip-reading for two, now. Least for the next hour or so. Bob quirked an eyebrow, but shrugged again, the motion somehow more complex. Carefully, he lifted Jay's head, smoothing the fall of long blond locks behind him, over the edge of the straps. He buckled on the ball gag, pushing against Jay's lips, and shit, he bought one of the one-inch diameter balls, but it feels fuckin' *huge* in his mouth now. He breathes out carefully, adjusting to the pressure, and nods. **Okay. Okay. Now we're in this shit for real.** Jay had elected to get undressed before getting strapped down, only fair, he thought. He left it up to Bob to decide whether or not to strip off his gear. It'd be a motherfuckin' shame if he didn't do it, if he just hoisted him up and let him swing for a bit. He kinda thought that wasn't going to be the order of the day, but then, he also didn't see Bob as the Whipmaster of Leonardo, either. He focused on the ceiling, panicking just a little as Bob moved out of visual range. He heard the chains creak, watched where they looped over the four new little pulleys in the ceiling over Jay's bed, and felt Bob carefully begin to pull him into place, suspended...it felt like about a foot, maybe two, over his bed. He couldn't seem to get enough air, he was gagging a little, and maybe starting to thrash a bit, and okay, now he was losing his cool, and yeah, this was a fucking *bad* idea, and-- Bob came around, staring down at him. A finger trailed over the ball gag and Jay pulled calm from somewhere. He shuddered a breath through his nose, trembling, and Bob nodded. **Yeah. Okay. Yeah.** Okay. Okay. So. Going too good, he knew that was part of what got his ass in the air, and yeah, maybe there was some little bit of it that was maybe therapy, like that chicklet from Indiana had been telling him...what the fuck had been her name? Delinda? Delia? Fuck, something like that. Something like, you hadda go through the bad experience, sometimes, with a new tour guide pointing out the shit you didn't see the first time through, or maybe go through it again just to see if you liked it with the right person, or maybe...shit, he forgot. He lost sight of Bob again and there was that panic, hitting him huge like a hammer. He was sweating now, tasting salt on his tongue, and he realized he was crying, he was fucking *crying* like a little kid, and shit, this was stupid, this was stone *stupid*, why'd he *ever* gone into that dumb-ass store anyway? Why'd he thought Bob would be into this crazy-ass shit, fucking *hell* he wanted to get down but fucking *now*-- He could see himself in his mind's eye now, and the image seared him--skinny little speed freak, still got the junkie body years off the junk, hair tangled around the gag and eyes kind of wild and staring. Tears ran down his face, yeah, he could taste them worming their way underneath the gag, and that big gag, that fucking *huge* gag that felt like a three-inch diameter ball shoved between his teeth now, fuck, why had he *ever* agreed to this-- --and then Bob ran one big warm hand up the inside of his thigh, and that was it, that was all it took, he was hard as diamonds, hard as stone, hard as anything. Harder than he'd ever known, and he was thrusting against empty air, screaming against the gag, thrashing his head from side to side. One touch. One fucking touch. He remembered it started with one touch when he got the idea, too. Like, months ago, the first idea, really. They'd been at home, just average, watching the tube and messing around on the couch. And he'd been crazy, he'd been on something that just made him crazy, and they'd started out slow but he couldn't take the pace. He couldn't stay slow, he couldn't, not even with Bob's lips on his, not even with Bob kissing him like it was all he ever wanted to do with his life. No, he'd been crazy, just kind of out of his mind on...shit, like he could even remember. Something. And it pulled him all over Bob, shimmying on Bob's big lap, just...moving, *needing* to move, moving 'cos he *had* to move. Moving because if he didn't move he thought his heart was going to burst in his chest and then he'd *still* have to move to pick up the fucking pieces. And Bob took it for a while, because really, Bob had the fucking patience of a saint most of the fucking time. And then there was a gleam in his eyes, this dark little shine, and he grabbed Jay's hair, held him fast, held him *still*, and there was suddenly all this restrained power in those large hands he'd never thought about. Oh, sure, he knew about it, knew Bob was big and strong and fast, yeah, faster than anyone thought a fat boy could be, and *agile*, mother*fuck*, but--it was that mental leap, somehow. Between 'boy is strong 'cos he can beat up on them other fuckers' and 'boy is strong, he could *hurt* me'. Yeah. *Big* fuckin' difference. So they'd been kissing, with Jay held in place, and Jay had started pulling, just a little, just the smallest bit, against the grip in his hair. And he'd watched Bob almost smile, and arch against him, and then, fuck, suddenly there were too many clothes between them, clothes almost acting like more hands, and it was nearly more than he could take right there. All those layers, rubbing him in all those places, and he couldn't move, he couldn't *move* save to keep kissin' on Bob, and yeah, sure, that was fine, that was good, that was fuckin' *wonderful* but... Yeah. >From there to here, from the couch in the living room to straps and more straps. And now Bob was angling the chains and the straps attached to the lower section, and widening the angle on his legs. Fuck, he was still so hard, still *so* hard. He pushed his hips up as far as they could go, straining, feeling muscles burning, and Bob just held him down, held him down as if every muscle in Jay's body wasn't tensed up with the effort. "Fuck!" he tried to yell, or would have if the gag had allowed him. But all that came out was this muffled yelp, and then he yelped again when Bob swallowed his cock. Jay had this sudden realization of his position, and the name of that position is 'at Bob's mercy', and weirdly, it hadn't struck him before. But now it did, when Bob's mouth took him in, and that was another weird thing, because Bob could do any fucking thing to him, but he was blowing him. Just blowing him. What the fuck did that mean? And for once, Jay was overthinking it, Jay was overthinking everything, and fuck, that was not like him. But there was nothing else to distract him--he was sober, and he was tied down, and he couldn't talk, and he couldn't see anything but a scrap of Bob's dark hair, and...*fuck*... He remembered Bob unclenched his hands from Jay's hair when it seemed like Jay had calmed down a little, and they'd gotten back to the serious macking on the couch. Jay had straddled his big Bob, and pulled off the, like, five t-shirts and sweatshirts and hoodies they had on between them, shit, and they were just rubbing on each other, skin to skin, fuck, but it was warm. But his attention was caught by one of Bob's hands, just lying on the couch cushion. Clenching. Every time he thrust forward, it would clench, like Bob was remembering it being in Jay's hair. And Jay shuddered all over again, and thought about what it would be like to have Bob leaning over him, forcing his head back, holding him still, holding him immobile. Or, fuck, maybe better yet--hand fisted in his hair, holding Jay fast, forcing him to swallow Bob, inch by motherfucking thick inch. Just...on his knees, Bob's hand in his hair, neither man saying anything, just...there for each other, there *with* each other, and Jay being...forced... He remembered he came then, just came against Bob, like they hadn't been fucking already for two years or more. And Bob just smiled, and helped him strip down, and they went in and took a shower. And then they went to bed, and Jay got hard again thinking about Bob, and clenched fists, and long hair. Just like that he was back in his body, totally in the moment, because Bob was suddenly *everywhere*. There was a hand stroking up his side and a wet finger circling his hole and a hot mouth just sliding up and down his cock and sensory input was shutting every other thought down. Just when he was getting into getting a little finger action, it was pulled away, but before he had the chance to whimper, he felt it, along with a few of its brothers, sliding along his cock, into Bob's mouth, and Bob was soaking them with spit and pre-come. And then the other hand was gone and Jay fought back whimpers. An instant later, the wet hand returned pushing fingers against him, making him wiggle, squirm, writhe in his bonds. And the other hand was playing, too, they'd both gone and got lube all over themselves. They were twining around the fingers on the other hand, getting them all slicked up, and then...oh, fuck, he would have screamed if he could have, but that fucking gag was still strapped on. Bob always starts him with one finger, but now, shit, he couldn't tell him when to stop. So it was one finger, and that was good, and then it was two, and that was better. Then they were scissoring against each other, stretching him, and Bob was adding more lube, and yeah, that was it, that was fucking it. And then there were three, and that was good, that was *real* good, yeah, he was ready to go, he was ready for some serious deep dick action. But then Bob pulled everyone out, and pushed in just his thumbs, pulling his hole open, just rubbing along the rim, light little circles that are taking even the memory of functional thought away. Jay was breathing hard, great huge inhales like he'd been running up and down and up and down and up and down the stairs. And fuck, he was close, he was motherfucking close from the finger action and from Bob suckin' on him. Any minute now, any minute now, any fucking minute now-- --and Bob moved, reached out, tangled one hand in his hair and *pulled*, staring at him. "Come," he said, his voice low and dark and rich as chocolate. And Jay did. END *************** Kelandris the Mad if words could make wishes come true