Title: Too Much of a Good Thing Author: Kelandris the Mad Fandom: View Askewniverse, general Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob Rating: Um, definitely adults only. NC-17. Or higher. Status: New; posted 14 Septus 2002 Archive: Drop me a note and it's yours. And on that note: Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net Series/Sequels: Part two of, um, I hope two, the first of the two being "Addict". Disclaimers: Everything belongs to Kevin Smith, blah blah blah, no intent to infringe copyright, yada yada yada, powers that be, purely intended as fan tribute. Whatever. Rave on, rave on. Save the Empire. Notes: The title is definitely intended to convey the full meaning of the Mae West quote. (For those who may not know it: "Too much of a good thing...is wonderful.") And this is going to spawn a third, damn it. Excuse me, let me rephrase that. DAMN IT!!! Summary: Bob's still trying to reset Jay (without rupturing something in the process). Warnings: Homosexual sex, homosexual confusion, occasional homosexual panic; mention of drugs; Some limited implications of the non- consensual. Sort of. "Too Much of a Good Thing" by Kelandris All I can smell is Jay. Somewhere around the countdown to three hours, the room gets hot. The scents of our bodies rise like incense in the still air. His sweat, my sweat, flows, commingles, runs down our joined forms, melding us into one thrusting, striving flesh seeking union, seeking release. And maybe a fucking *cane* after this, because the muscles in my legs feel like melted gummies, all limp and rubbery. I bury my head in the pillow again, trying to stave off the screams, because Jay...still...hasn't...STOPPED...and now the fucker's giggling, and saying my name, rolling it around on his tongue like a gumball. Shit. Now what? His thrusts pick up speed, and now I don't care who hears me. My head is thrashing, my face is buried in the blankets that smell like Jay, my hoarse cries and moans echo in the small room. My hips, the hips I thought were dead to the world, gone forever, thrust back against him, pick up a rhythm of their own, not coincidentally rubbing my still-hard cock against the polyester weave. I feel my eyes roll back in my head. This is too much. This is too much of a good thing. This is-- He tenses behind me, suddenly, his hands digging into my shoulders, then, with a single yelp, I'm released from the bruising grip. I'm almost afraid to breathe; he's stock-still, buried hilt-deep in my ass, and he's *not breathing*. What the-- "Oh, fuck, fuck fuck fuck," I hear him whisper, on a long exhale. "I'm tripping, I gotta be tripping, oh, man, oh, motherfuck...Bad trip, man, bad bad bad trip, baaaaad trip--" Great. He thinks I'm a hallucination? Three-D Sensoround and real live sweat, what the hell does he think this is, cable? Oh...God...he pulls out of me, pulls out slow, and still it feels like a surgical separation. I can't count the amount of times we've both come, and parts of those tender organs are, well, stuck together. I gasp as the sticky flesh parts and he freezes again. "Motherfuck, motherfuck," he whimpers, in this high, strangled voice. Tremors rip through his frame. "Oh, God...all a dream, man, all a bad fuckin' dream, oh, fuck Bobby, why you have to feel so *good*..." Shit! I'm nearly convulsing with the effort not to breathe hard, but he's halfway out of me and now I can feel how fucking sensitive all this...extra activity...has made me. I felt every single millimeter of skin wrapped around Jay's cock as he slides out, and even now, he's only out halfway. The half that's still inside me...my eyes cross, shuddering, at the thought...is twitching, trembling, and I'm fighting the effort not to clench down. His hips buck forward, I *think* involuntarily, and he slides back in by an inch. I can't help it; I gasp again and clench down, thrusting my hips back to capture another sweet inch of him if I can. My body has a mind of its own. As it were. He screams, thrusting forward, thrusting in deep, and another of those high, strangled moans escapes him. I feel his hands tentatively gripping my hips. "Fuck," he whimpers. "Play along, right? Play along an' we all gets to go home, back to normal, right? Motherfuckin' normal, that is *all* I want right now..." Define normal, kid, I think dourly. Normal flew out the window when you came home stoned on the pink stuff. Normal is-- Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah, yeah, *yes*--oh, God, yes--um--normal is *definitely* not what you're doing with your hips right now--and don't stop, my God, Jay, don't ever stop, don't--ah--yeah--just--like- -that-- And just like that, we're both coming, coming like our souls are stitched to strings and they're being painfully pulled out of our flesh. But there's a sweet ache to it, the ache centered in the tired balls, the groin, the muscles I'm going to feel tomorrow when I wake up screaming for painkiller. And Jay pulls out, shuddering, twitching, gasping. I feel his cock spurting, not hard driving hose bursts, but slow ebbs, little drips, almost. He pulls out of me, one hand on my ass, and spurts a little come on my thigh. At this point, sprayed liberally inside and out, like I'm going to complain about another drip of fluid. Shit. "Fuck, I gotta lay down...Shit...Motherfuckin' shit..." Right. And I'm in the middle of the bed. With as much grace as I can manage, I turn on my side, flopping on my back bonelessly. I'd stare at him but the ceiling has captured my complete and undivided attention. Mostly because I can't move my head. God, I am so fucking tired. I don't think I've *ever* been this fucking tired. I'm drenched in sweat and he's drenched in sweat and our hair is hanging in damp, completely unflattering strands, and as he comes over to the side of the bed, looking down at my slack face, I still can't help but think he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Well. Barring Holden. But Holden's straight, after all. Mostly. At least, I'm pretty sure. I look over at Jay, blinking heavily, waiting for the boom to fall. I'm too tired even to laugh at the pun. I'm just waiting. What's he going to say? What he does ends up surprising me anyway. He doesn't say anything for a while, just strokes the hairs plastered to my forehead back, touching my temples lightly. "Hey," he finally says. I make some, hopefully noncommittal, noise. I blink heavily again. Who was it put the fucking lead weights on my eyelids, anyway? That's not fucking funny. I lie there, and peer into his eyes, back to stormcloud blue, and wonder. New territory in so many ways; where the hell is Jay's head right now? **flashback: half hour ago, when he slid up beside me on the bed and pushed me over and took me in his mouth for the first time...and that's the first time I remember screaming...and he shuddered, like the sound of my scream had wired him for current, or some shit. And I lie there, listening to slurping sounds, and little moans of approval, and I couldn't seem to shut up. *Girls* do not say this much in bed. It's embarrassing. But his mouth pulled it out of me, pulls all the endearments of eight years and all the times I wanted to compliment his clothes and never let myself and all the times I wanted to compliment his hair and never knew I wanted to and all the times I held him, wanting to tell him I loved him...and all the times after those times I carefully blocked everything out of my memory...it's like his mouth hit my cock and the floodgates opened and everything cascaded out, comments on technique and notes of approval and desperate urgings and heartfelt outpourings of deep emotion...everything. Everything, pouring out of me and onto the tip of Jay's tongue, flicking across my sensitive flesh. God.** I look up, twitching, and Jay grins at me quirkily, just a flash, before his expression reverts to dull confusion again. "So, um...did I..." And, unexpectedly, he blushes. Motherfuck. I don't think I've *ever* seen Jay blush. Not once, not in everything we've been through in eight years. And now he's looking away, looking down my body, and I can*not* believe it, my cock thinks it might actually get more. I feel the sated snake perk up its purple head, slowly rising like a lethargic cobra, and I hear Jay inhale and inhale and inhale. "You're all naked," he gasps. I blink. Yep. Seem to be, yeah. "An' you're here." I look back at him. Blush dying down, he's now wrenched his eyes away from my cock. Good. Maybe it'll go back to sleep on its own. And yeah, Jay. In your bed, in your room, naked. You gonna ask me why now? "An', um... I wasn't dreamin' right? That was, shit, that was, um, real?" What was real? "Me fuckin' the shit outta you," he whispers, answering the unspoken question. And he looks away again. This new embarrassment overlay onto the Jay I know and lo--errr, like a lot--is weird, and mentally deranging. I can't seem to do much more than blink again. Got me, kid. It's not like I planned this shit. **flashback to the first kiss--the one forever branded in my brain as the definition of `finesse'. He teases open my lips, stunned into closing, slides his tongue inside my mouth, caressing every inch of unseen flesh with the sharp-soft pointed tip of his velvet-covered, steel-hard tongue. He laves the inside of my mouth, so slowly it feels like torture. I reach up, latching onto him, feeling him writhing against me, but I can't think of much else because that agile tongue is in my mouth, counting teeth. Tentatively, I lick the underside of his tongue and he moans against me, shuddering. Wow. *I* did that? I made Jay moan?** Oooh. Not much more of that, man, something's gonna explode. Cock, heart, not sure at the moment, but something is definitely on the not- good-for-me-list here. "Yeah, um..." Jay steps back, shaking his head. "Shower," he says hoarsely, and runs from the room. Shower. Hmm. That sounds good. I move enough to swing my legs over the bed, and promptly tumble down to the floor, legs inarticulated rubber, muscles screaming in protest, ass aching like a sore tooth. **flashback--deep into the ride, remembering what he felt like inside me, remembering what it was like when *my* body hit autopilot. I remember arching back towards him, raising my hips as much as I can, feeling the sweet burn as he drives in, scraping over my prostrate. I remember shuddering and begging God never to let this stop and thinking, next to this soul-shattering, sweet-painful, loving--I can't call it fucking, not now, not with what he's doing to me, not with how intent he seems to be on making sure I'm feeling as good as he sounds like *he's* feeling--most of the girls I've run across are going to seem like second-stringers. I remember thinking, I'll be comparing every girl I ever meet for the next twenty years to Jay, Jay doing what he's doing, right here, right now, in this extended moment.** Jay. Fuck. We now have a fixation, Bobby-boy. Whatcha gonna do about it? I have no fucking clue. Get off the floor, for one. Swearing under my breath, I crawl painfully over to the door connecting our two rooms, and pull myself up on shaky, shaky legs using the doorknob. Remembering what Jay was doing, what Jay's *hips* were doing, makes me shudder as I cling to the doorframe, panting. At some point, Jay notwithstanding, I'm going to climb into that shower. More out of a genuine desire not to be covered in various extruded fluids than to further tempt myself with the boy. The naked boy. The naked *wet* boy. Shit, I may be standing here a long time. I hope there's enough hot water by the time I can walk again. END *************** Kelandris the Mad beaten to death from the inside (ren)