Title: Ten Minutes Over the Line
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, probably post-Mallrats-ish. SERIOUS AU!!
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: R for language, NC-17 in spots for flashbacks and sexual 
action. Songfic.
Status: New
Archive: Drop me a note and it's yours. And on that note...
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequels: This sequels "Dangerous Territory" and "Dangerous 
Ground".
Disclaimers: Still making zip, zilch, nada writing about other 
peoples' creations. Jay and Silent Bob belong to Kevin Smith and 
View Askew Productions. And hell, at this point, though it's a side 
credit, to Miramax.
Notes: Argument pas deux: It's not us this time, it's the landlords 
arguing, and this time they're screaming at each other. Of course, 
my love and I are so busy walking on eggshells it's difficult to 
speak at all, let alone mediate for them. I got to thinking, where's 
the middle ground between throwing dishes and being afraid to move?
Summary: Ten minutes after the alcohol removes all control, Bob gets 
to find out what happens when he opens his mouth.
Warnings: Alcohol abuse. Recollections of hair abuse. Fight 
action; fists, bruising, blood. Sharp things. Really masochistic 
Jay. And no idea where the hell this is going. More evil badness, 
folks; hang on.

"Ten Minutes Over the Line"
by Kelandris


*So scream you, out from behind the bitter ache
You're hanging on the memory, that you need most
You still want love--love's ugly, smooth and delicate
But not without affection, and not alone*

Bob felt it coming on, like drowning in honey. A flush suffused him, 
warming every inch of skin, making his breath quicken as he blinked. 
Sharp, sudden inhale, tightening of the muscle bands across his 
abdomen, prickling of the tender skin lower. He exhaled, feeling his 
lungs collapse, feeling the rush of air pass his lips. Oooh... .That's 
it.

Blinking again, he raised his eyes to Jay, watching the play of light 
across his cornsilk hair with greater interest. Jay was ranting 
about something... What? Like it mattered. He leaned over, raising a 
strand to his face, inhaling the scents of balsam and orange that 
were in his conditioner. He pressed the strand to his lips, feeling 
the separate lengths of hair move across his fingertips.

"Have you *lost* your fucking *mind*?" Acid, the words, acid, razor-
filled, and hurt rose in him. What the hell was his boy's problem? 
All he had done--

And the hammer hit him. Pushing Jay against the wall. Pulling him 
back by his hair. Bending him over.

"*Fuck* what you want," he heard again, engraved in memory. *His* 
voice--low, growling, guttural. And "What? You're gonna *fuck* me 
to death?". Jay's voice. Said in a tone he'd never before heard 
from his Jay, laced with strychnine fear, pale and quaking.

And earlier--"What? You'll rape me in an alley but you won't drink 
with me?"

Whimpering, he backed away from Jay, shaking his head. The room swam 
but he kept doing it, wanting it gone. Wishing it gone.

"Oh, so *now* you wanna say you're sorry? Gee, *that's* gonna work," 
Jay said sarcastically.

And anger rose in him, sharp-edged, glistening in the wan light. He 
raised his head, one lip curling. 

*And instead of wishing that it would get better
man you're seeing that you just get angrier*

"Oh, yes," he said, his voice so low a whisper would be louder. "I 
am sorry. I'm sorry I can't spend time with you without being shit 
on for it. I'm sorry I can't care for you without having to suffer 
for it. I'm sorry I have to resort to *force* to get some kind of 
fucking honest statement out of you, about what I am to you. About 
what we are to each other."

"We ain't *anythin'* to each other, I thought that was the fuckin' 
*point*--"

In a rush of movement, cloth against cloth and leather, Bob reached 
out, yanking Jay forward by his shirt. One fist spun the fabric 
tight and the other clenched underneath Jay's collarbone, the 
knuckles pressing through the thin material.

"Say you don't love me." Obscurely, his voice was reasonable. Calm, 
even, though his arms were shaking with repressed force. Jay 
trembled in his arms.

"Fuck you," Jay hissed.

"Did that once. Didn't seem to work. *Tell me* you don't love me."

"I ain't sayin' *shit* to you, dude--"

Bob pulled him closer, cutting him off, and pressed his lips against 
Jay's. Jay whimpered, but kissed him back--frantically, mouth open 
and seeking, body stiff against his. Bob took his time, sucking on 
Jay's lower lip, sucking Jay's tongue into his mouth, vibrating his 
teeth lightly across the tastebud-studded surface. Jay's whimpers 
escalated to moans, and Bob pulled back, watching the dilated pupils, 
the flushed face, the look of frustration painted on Jay's skin. He 
nodded once.

"Now tell me," he said.

"*FUCK* you!" Jay screamed, pulling back. He corkscrewed a fist 
forward, panic written large in every muscle. Bob saw it coming, 
wondering if Jay really meant to follow through with it. He sent up 
an arm to block the blow, and Jay hissed. Get that, Bob thought, 
amazed. He actually *hissed*. And Jay tried to hit him again.

Bob chuckled softly. "Not your best idea, baby," and captured both of 
his wrists. Hmm. This had potential.

*And instead of wishing that it would get better
man you're seeing that you just get angrier*

"Lemme go!" Jay screamed. "Lemme the fuck go, fat ass, I ain't in 
fuckin' love with you! All right? Your ass *happy* now?"

Bob just looked at him, holding the straining young body, 
considering. Finally he nodded, releasing him.

"If you're not lying to me... yeah."

"Bitch," Jay snarled, and sent both fists towards Bob's face. He was 
screaming now, his face red, contorted; even his eyes were bugging 
out slightly.

"Fucker... You don't have the fucking right to... *My* body, *my* fucking 
soul...and you're messin' with shit you don't *even* understand..."

Snatches of what he was trying to say faded in and out. His chest 
was hitching, and he kept coming at Bob, even after Bob stopped 
blocking and started trading blows himself. Never direct, never to 
injure, but he made sure that what Jay hit was not soft flesh, but 
bone, or hardened muscle., or one of the silver rings he wore on his 
right hand.

"Fuckin' *stop* that! *Fuck*!" Jay cried out, pulling back another 
hand that had struck one of the rings directly. "Bitch better stop 
blocking me, `s'all I hafta *say*."

Suddenly Bob had had it. This was not constructive, this was not 
getting either of them laid, or sleep, or healed, and it was getting 
towards abusive. He inhaled, then screamed at Jay at top volume.

"Not until you stop trying to hit me, fuckwit!"

And they sat glaring at each other, breathing hard. Jay looked 
cornered, and Bob... Bob wasn't sure what he looked like. And frankly, 
he didn't particularly care.

*And it's good that I'm not angry
Well I need to be over, well, I,
I'm not angry, anymore*

"Huh," Jay said, blinking.

"'Huh', what?"

"'Huh', you can fuckin' use your voice when you want."

Bob shrugged, looking down. Ah. Whisky. He lifted the bottle, 
taking several deep swigs. Oh, that was very good. Hint of turned 
earth and sunlight filtering through the casking rooms. Smell of 
dust and age and oak, and the sharp burst of fire was rolling over 
his tongue, washing his throat in heat, stroking amber bliss through 
his system. He turned, carefully putting the bottle to one side of 
the couch.

"Ain't gonna save your ass, though."

"What?"

Bob snapped his head up just in time to brace for Jay's leap. Two 
punches to the stomach collapsed him briefly, and then he kicked the 
boy away. As Jay rose, he grabbed Bob by the arm, and pulled, which 
rocketed them both off the couch, onto the coffee table. Bottles 
skittered over the surface, tipping over, falling to the floor. The 
unopened bottle of Bacardi landed on its side, gurgling but sealed. 
The open bottle clinked off the Bacardi, cracking with a sharp sound 
and gurgling fluid onto the carpet. The sharp tang of new rum filled 
the air.

Bob was mystified, and growing angry again. He'd seen Jay fight; 
he'd seen him completely give in to whatever core of rage and pain he 
held inside, and fight like there was never going to be a moment of 
peace again. He wasn't looking forward to one of *those* fights, 
with him as the opponent. He also didn't want to bruise the boy, but 
*damn*, he wasn't going to sit and take it if Jay seriously started 
skull-cracking.

*Cry when you cry, run when you run
love when you love
Will you now represent the ashes
that you leave behind?*

Jay was whimpering, or trying not to cry, and putting full force into 
the blows he was trying to land. Every time Bob grabbed a wrist, Jay 
pulled free, pulled away, and started hitting him again. It was like 
trying to wrestle a python, with several additional limbs. Gritting 
his teeth, he bucked Jay off him, sending him over the edge of the 
table. Jay screamed, hands flailing, and one hand found the cracked 
rum bottle. He brought it up, wielding it like a club, and struck 
one of Bob's hands with it. Braced as it was on the table surface, 
as Bob sat up, it caused the bottle to crack completely in half, and 
Jay was left holding the neck and about a third of the bottle curve, 
in a long, dangerous spike. Screaming, Jay swumg at him again with 
the spike.

*So instead of wishing that the road had shoulder
man you're seeing that you're sinking over time
And you're blind*

**Holy fuck,** Bob thought, and dove forward off the table. He 
didn't think Jay had realized yet that the bottle was broken; at 
least, he sincerely *hoped* he hadn't known. It hadn't been a 
gutting move, anyway; it had been a move that would have hurt him, 
maybe even numbed the arm when Jay hit it. As it was, he dove away 
from the strike, and the sharp edge just grazed him, cutting a thin 
line diagonally across his upper arm, through the sleeve of his shirt.

He grabbed Jay's arm from the floor, holding it sharply and knocking 
it against the table leg. First, deal with the weapon. Three slams 
and Jay cried out, jerking his arm away, and the bottle neck spun 
across the coffee table, landing between the table and the couch. 
Good. Now, deal with the person.

He brought his arm up fast, clocking Jay's chin with his elbow. Not 
deep enough for a throat strike, not hard enough to snap his neck, 
just enough to knock him back. When Jay fell back, he struck his 
head for a moment on the carpet. Bob watched the blond, split 
seconds stretching out like hours, and watched the rage change into 
dazed confusion. Also good.

Before Jay could react, he'd straddled him, pinning one wrist in each 
of his hands, using the weight of his thighs and hips around Jay to 
pin him down. And, oh, dear fucking God, didn't the mind race with 
ways to use *this* situation? Panting, and not entirely from being 
struck, he leaned forward.

"You wanna talk now?"

Odd half-sobs hitched out of Jay, and he turned his face away from 
Bob. He bucked his hips against Bob's, trying to dislodge him, which 
did *not* help matters. He felt the second swigs hitting, too, and 
God, now he was pressed against Jay, and it would be so much better 
if they were naked... Shit.

He sighed. "Well, you drew first blood anyway."

That brought Jay's attention back, *fast*. Wide, shocked eyes turned 
to meet his.

"Wha--wha'd you say??"

Bob pointed with his chin towards the arm, now leaking dark trails of 
blood to curve around his muscled forearm, trailing towards the hand 
that held Jay's right wrist.

"Oh fuck," Jay breathed. And suddenly he was wailing, sobbing for 
all he was worth, and trying to turn away from Bob, trying to curl up.

**Oh, *now* what?** Afraid to rise from Jay, afraid not to, he just 
sat there for a few moments longer, listening to someone else's heart 
break. Then he rose, leaning over just enough to slide off Jay, and 
the lovely friction made him grit his teeth. Then he was off, and 
leaning forward again, picking Jay up off the floor. Jay tried to 
pull away even then, shoulders hunching, and Bob just pulled him 
forward, pulling him into his arms, holding him. And that was when 
Jay said he was sorry.

*And it's good that I'm not angry
Well, I need to be over, and I
I'm not angry
Oh, it's dragging me under
But I, I'm not angry
Angry, yeah*

"Fuck, Bob, I'm sorry, God I'm sorry, I didn't wanna hurt you, I 
didn't, an' I did, an' I'm so sorreeeeee--"

Bob held him tighter, tears pricking in his eyes again. Hell of an 
evening, he thought, shaking his head. 

"It's okay," he said softly. "It's okay."

"It's *not* okay, it won't be okay, `cause I just want it back the 
way it was, I don't wanna be... be..." Sniffing, he raised his head, 
knuckling a hand into his eyes. It only made them redder, and Bob 
noticed with a smile he was trying to repress that Jay's nose was 
dripping.

"Be what?" he asked.

"In love with you," Jay sobbed, hanging his head. 

*I'm not angry it's never been enough
It gets inside of me, it tears you up
I'm not angry and I've never been above it
You see through me, don't you?

**Oh. Shit.**

Bob licked his lips, and time slowed once more. He watched Jay's 
shoulders hunch, and that moment when the muscles moved across his 
shoulders, preparing to lift the head. And he waited for it, waited 
for whatever Jay was going to say. Jay's face came closer. Closer 
still. What the hell was he doing?

And the blond leaned forward, kissing him. Lightly at first, and 
then with another strangled sob, he threw his arms around Bob's neck 
and kissed him, hanging onto him like he was drowning and Bob was his 
only hope of reaching shore.

And Jay was kissing him, *kissing* him, and suddenly, Bob's jeans 
were way too tight, uncomfortably tight, and he pressed Jay to him, 
his own arms shaking. And Jay was still kissing him. Still kissing 
him. Jay's tongue in his mouth was heaven, and each of Jay's moans 
he swallowed up, begging silently for more. And Jay was still 
kissing him, tears mixing with saliva, and Bob swallowed both, 
wondering if this was it, if this meant they'd made up.

Jay pulled away, standing, weaving a little from the night's 
exertions. Bob stood with him, feeling woozy this far off the 
ground. He put his arms around Jay's waist, holding him loosely, and 
looked at him. Jay pursed his lips, sniffing a bit, looking around. 
He looked back at Bob.

"Y'okay?" he asked softly. Only a little quaver in the voice.

Bob nodded, after a brief internal inventory. Some strained muscles, 
some swelling bruises. The cut on his arm throbbed; he'd have to 
disinfect it later. 

"Good," Jay replied, and punched him in the eye.

*WHAM!*, and Bob saw painstars, and he staggered back, bumping up 
against the breakfast bar, sending two of the stools there crashing 
to the floor. Wide-eyed, already feeling his left eye beginning to 
swell and puff up, he stared at Jay. What the fuck?

*And it's good that I' m not angry
Well, I need to get over, and I
I'm not angry
Yeah, well, it's dragging me under
But I, I'm not angry*

Jay stalked over to him, his lips curling back again.

"I ain't a fag," he cried out. "Not for your pretty ass, not for my 
dad, not for any of his fuckin' friends. I don't *do* that shit 
anymore, I'm out of the fuckin' biz, I got my own biz goin'. You got 
that?"

Bob nodded, dumbfounded. Jay watched him, then nodded.

"Okay." And he dropped to his knees, flipping open Bob's jeans with 
practiced, professional ease, and pulled down his shorts. He slid 
out the still erect penis inside, looking it over. His eyebrows 
rose, then he shrugged, and began taking it into his mouth, inch by 
inch.

**Did not know whisky could cause hallucinations,** Bob thought 
frantically. **Must stop drinking.**

Then his eyes rolled back in his head as Jay cranked up to speed, 
sucking him down. Holy *fuck*... Jay was *there*, Jay was sucking him, 
and his mouth felt so good around his cock... But never in any fantasy 
he'd ever had, had Jay been on his knees sucking Bob for all he was 
worth, after telling him he wasn't going to do it. That chin clip--
had that knocked some sense *out* of Jay?

It was getting hard to think. He was bucking against Jay's face, and 
Jay was making approving sounds, urging him on. Bob's head was 
swimming, hormones and alcohol a heady mix at the best of times, and 
God, he was close, he was so fucking close... And suddenly Jay's tongue 
twirled over the head, and Bob cried out, coming in that instant, 
hips bucking forward as semen sprayed out of him.

And Jay swallowed everything, every drop, without a single 
complaint. His warm, pliant lips slid off Bob's still-twitching 
cock, and Bob watched him dazedly as he stood up.

Light caught the cold glitter in Jay's eyes as he sneered at Bob's 
state of undress. The blond shook his head.

"You want that to keep up, you'll think about lowerin' my rent." And 
he stalked off to his bedroom, cracking his knuckles.

Bob was still recovering from being quite expertly blown by his 
roommate. He shook his head.

"You make most of the money anyway!" he yelled. Jay didn't reply. 
Distantly, he heard the bedroom door slam, and sunk to the floor.

**Somebody tell me what happened. Anybody. Please?**

*And it's good that I'm not angry
Anymore*

END
(Song is Matchbox Twenty's "Angry". Words are from listening to the 
song, not from the lyrics printed in the CD booklet. In case you 
wondered.)
*****
Kelandris the Mad
this will all fall down