Title: Welcome Home
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating:  Touches of NC-17, for mention of body parts and thrusting,
but mostly heavy R
Status: Weirdly, not new--I wrote this for Southern Gathering in June
of 2001, and just now found a print-out tucked away in a box.  I don't
think I ever sent it off to the list.  If I did, sorry...here's
another dose of nostalgia from the Kel-brain.
Archive: You must send an email to me and let me know where you intend 
to archive. Private archiving allowed as long as you don't intend to 
publish. Behave.
Email address for feedback: kel@crazyheep.net
Series/Sequel: This should be a stand-alone, but you know how I get...
Disclaimers: I forget all the usual babble I put in here. I grovel at 
Kevin Smith's feet to feel flattered by this, not litigious. (Not a
bad position, must be said, though his wife would probably beat me
soundly for letting the idea cross the forebrain.)
Notes: This was written the same long week that "Twitch" and a few
others were; they all show a similar overly imaginative style.  I'm
not saying that's a bad thing.  Of course, I'm not saying that's a
good thing, either.
Summary: Bob comes home.
 

"Welcome Home" 
by Kelandris

*The door, when it opens, sounds much louder than usual.  Or maybe
it's just that he's not breathing as he pushes the door open with one 
slightly trembling hand.  There's someone sitting in the center of the 
ratty carpet, wrapped in a dark blanket.  Just for a moment, between 
the harsh orange halide streetlights outside, and the darkness in the 
apartment, he's blinded, but the warm glow of the candles sitting on 
the end table soon bring his eyes back into focus.*

As the door opens from the back alley, Moll instinctively looks up
from polishing glasses at the bar.  Outlined in red from the dim bulb
above the door is a stout dark figure, leather coat dripping scarlet
light.  

Her eyes cut over to her bouncer, who raises his eyes, waves, and goes 
back to scanning the bar for sources of trouble.  **Must be Bob,** she 
thinks.  **Jan's not worried.**  She purses her lips, giving the glass 
in her hands one final swipe, and leans forward onto the bar,
gesturing the young man forward.  **Philadelphia must've gone well.**

*Just for a moment, he stands on the threshold, taking in the figure
on the floor.  He watches, mesmerized, as the blanket slowly falls,
the golden candlelight limning planes and angles on skin that never
sees the sun.  It takes as long for the blanket to fall as he does to
slowly fill his starved lungs with air, watching the dark drape slip
from slender shoulders, down thin arms, down over the bony jut of hips
and ankles.  Slowly exhaling, he watches the young man on the floor
toss his long blond hair back over his shoulder.  The sound it makes
he obscurely connects with the sound of wind through wheat fields, a
sound he's only rarely heard.  It's not a sound that should be linked
with this sullen street kid, this foul-mouthed braggart, this abusive
tyrant of morality and conscience.

*This man he loves, he thinks, and smiles, stepping inside and kicking 
the door closed with one booted foot.*

Silent Bob slowly walks to the bar, hand reaching into his pocket as
he does.  As she fills a pint glass with beer, aromatic with hops and 
darker than chocolate, his hand pulls something wrapped in crinkling 
plastic out of his pocket, tossing it lightly onto the bar.  It lands 
nearly soundlessly, and Moll's fingers dive for it.  They graze the 
surface of the plastic and then pull back as if burned, her eyes 
darting to Bob's still face.

"Everything went--I mean, you had no problems, you didn't have to--not 
that I would've minded if you would've--I mean--"

A quirk of a smile is all he gives her, silencing her, then he nods.

"Fine," he says softly.

She releases the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Okay, then," she says.  She swallows.  She smiles herself now, and if 
it's a little quavering, a little tentative, she knows he'll understand.

He does.

*The sound of the door closing isn't quite as loud, but maybe it's 
because he's inside now.  He can't look away from Jay, and he's having 
problems breathing again.  He watches as Jay rises on those long, long 
legs, smiling loopily at him.  He shrugs off his coat, and lays it 
across the arm of the couch, stepping forward, his eyes nearly leaving 
marks as they travel endlessly over all that pale bare skin, all those 
revealed places Jay usually hides.

*"Took you long enough to get back, fat ass.  What, you fucking walk 
all the damn way?  You're just fuckin' lucky it was you opened the
damn door and not some hot young pizza *chica*--"

*Bob just shakes his head, pulling Jay into his arms.  Muscles he 
didn't realize had tensed up relax in him, and he feels Jay
convulsively wrap his wiry arms around him, holding him tight.*

Slower now, Moll unwraps the plastic, and reveals the Zip-Loc bag 
inside.  There's a crumpled paper package inside the bag, and her 
fingers slip inside the unzipped opening, slowly drawing it out.  Her 
fingers unfold the layers, looking at the arrangement of sparkling 
rhinestone alphabet letters, the bug-eyed crocheted-wire-and-bead set 
of birds, the offensively red poinsettia pin.  She turns over various 
objects; her eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears.  A brooch of 
hematite and baroque pearl resembling nothing more than iridescent 
pigeon excreta; an articulated pine tree decorated with small beads
and miniaturized brass-wire tassels that nods back and forth with the 
weight of the small lead star at its tip.  A small section of abalone 
carved to resemble a fat woman bending over to water a flower, the 
water chips from the can chips of blue topaz.  A bracelet of heavy 
silver links, from which dangle strange, surreal charms--a silver and 
gold peapod, a red-enameled tomato, a chipped purple eggplant, a 
plastic peach high-heeled doll's shoe.

And under everything else, still in its stained silk pouch, the prize 
of the collection: a diamond-studded gold Tiffany pin, in the shape of 
an octopus, tentacles wildly waving.  It was still here.  It was all 
there, all back, everything she'd lost.

*Just for a second, Jay trembles all over, head buried in Bob's neck.  
"Missed you," he whispers, over and over.  "Missed you, missed you, 
missed you--"

*Then he steps up, that loopy grin back again as his hand slides down 
to Bob's crotch, folding suggestively over the growing bulge inside
his jeans.  He rubs his hand over the bulge, over the fly, back and
forth while Bob bit his lip, struggling to breathe for a different reason.

*"Wanna know how much I missed you?"  The hand moves up to the snap
and the buckle and the belt, and Bob braces himself to keep from
falling to the floor as the sounds of unbuckling, unsnapping,
undressing fill the room.  He kicks off the puddle of underwear and
pants, briefly cursing under his breath as they snag on his boots, and
pulls his tee shirt over his head.  Instantly Jay's hands stroke up
his torso, stroking his nipples, and the hot flash of heat that surges
through him nearly sends him tumbling to the floor again.  His hands
tangle in that bright mass of hair, sliding through the cornsilk
strands, steel through silk.

*He can't fight back the moans now, trying to moan without words, but 
hearing one or two slip out.

*"Yeah, fuck yeah, talk to me baby."  Jay's speaking, moaning,
occasionally humming against his skin, and Bob shivers in delight as
his eyes flutter closed.*

Moll swallows again, looking up at Bob, calmly sipping beer.

"You know, it's all pretty much junk, but...these are all I have left 
of my mom.  She died in '84.  She collected some really weird stuff
but it's all I have left of her.  It's like home, you know?  Like
having her here still.  When those punks broke in--"

Bob nodded, looking at her.  Then he glanced toward the door, smile
half-quirking on his face.  He pushed the glass back towards her, one
swallow left.

"Gotta go, Moll.  Gotta get home."

Moll smiled, gesturing expansively.  "Go, already.  With what's at
home for you, why the hell are you still in my bar?"  She watched as
he nearly laughed, but instead tugged down the ballcap he wore and
strode to the door, gesturing to one of the ever-present cabbies
lurking at the end of the alley.  Then the door closed and she scooped
everything up, putting it back in the bag and into her pocket.  She
was safe again, she thought, shaking her head at the absurdity of the
thought.   She had her mother's love back.  **Welcome home, Mom.**

*And Bob just wants to let it go, he wants to let Jay scorch kisses
over his torso and down his hips, but he's pulling back even now.  He
wants to look down and watch that active tongue wander, that blond
head swallow the cock that's tapping impatiently against Jay's hips. 
But, inhaling, he pulls Jay up by his shoulders, now sheened with a
light film of sweat.  His blue eyes are glazed, and Bob shudders,
knowing the glaze of drugged pleasure is just from touching him.  Just
from Jay touching Bob.  Fuck, yeah.

*He leans back, peering into Jay's eyes.  He shakes him lightly.

"Fight over?" he asks cautiously.

Jay's fists clench, and rage floods those sapphire orbs as Jay steps back.

*"What the fuck d'ya *think*?" he rages, shaking his hair back.  "I'm
sorry, okay, fuckhead?  Jesus *Christ*, you can't let any fucking
thing go--"

*Grabbing his shoulders again, Bob pulls him close, kissing him
savagely.  His tongue licks at Jay's curled lips, licks them open
while Jay watches, moaning.  Licks the roof of his mouth and that
seeking tongue and the bow-curve of ivory teeth, kisses him until
neither man can breathe and Bob can barely stand.

*He pulls back, realizing in that moment that they're both standing
naked in the living room.  Their hips are pressed together, and Jay is
still moaning, thrusting against him, all hard angles and soft warm
flesh in his arms.

*A quirk of a smile as he finally takes his cap off, sailing it over
to land on the back of the couch. 

*"Okay, then," he whispers, leaning down to kiss Jay once more, and
slide him to the carpet.  It was good.  Jay forgives him, he's back in
his lover's arms--and wasn't that a lovely phrase, his *lover*?--and
it was good.  It was so good.  Leaning down, he captures one of Jay's
earlobes between his teeth to tease, feeling him gasp and arch up
beneath him, and the laughter bubbles over, laughter like the feather
kisses he's leaving along Jay's neck.

*"What the fuck you laughing at, Lunchbox?"

*And out of a thousand replies, the only one that seemed to make sense
to him wouldn't to Jay.

*"I love you."  Brown eyes deep as the dark beer in Moll's bar caught
Jay's sapphire gaze, reflecting the gold of the candle flame.

*But for once it didn't matter, as Jay's hips shifted, his legs
spreading so he could thrust up against Bob's cock once more.

*"Welcome home, Bob," he said softly.

*Yeah, wasn't that the truth?  Only good thing about leaving Jay was
coming back home to him.  Welcome home...Silent Bob smiled, hiding the
smile against Jay's neck, and kissing wherever his lips met skin.  It 
was good to be home, in Jay's arms, where he belonged.*


END  
*****************
Kelandris the Mad 
stuck in a basement with Suzanne Vega