Title: Gin-Soaked Boy
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: PG for language. Angst piece.
Status: posted July 2002
Archiving: 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: Kelandris
Series/Sequel: Independent. Dunno if I'm going to sequel it or not.
Disclaimers: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and the View Askewniverse. If I really get into this, I probably will too. Or at least go into hock when I walk into a video store, go into rut, and buy all the DVDs at once.
Notes: For once, Bob plays the tough guy.
Summary: Jay needs to decide some things, and Bob helps him put it all in perspective.
Warnings: Language. Kissing. Slight hair action. :)


"Gin-Soaked Boy"
by Kelandris the Mad


you been lying to me
How could you crawl so low
with some gin-soaked boy
that you don't know

Jay couldn't sleep, and it was entirely Silent Bob's fault. Any other day of any other goddamn week and he would have slept right through it, thin walls and all. Or fucking joined in, matched him moan for moan, stroke for stroke. Tonight, though...it was as if every breath the fat boy made played over his skin like a static charge, and the moans sounded as if they were right in his ears. Too fucking close, and how the hell could he explain that one? Gee, Bob, ever since you kissed me, well, I can't seem to get you out of my mind? How the fuck would that one go over? Shit, one punch and he'd be down and bleeding, and Bob would stomp on his spine.

Another moan shuddered through him from next door and he curled up on his side. Or worse--there was the chance that his Muscle, being Muscle, would just stare at him, and not understand at all. And there it would be, six years' friendship down the drain, and it was not like he had the cash for his own place, way he went through the stuff. Shit...the thought caught in his throat, and he fought back a moan of his own. Life without Bob. Fuck, what the hell would he do? Screw dealing, what the hell would he do on a day by fucking day basis? Who else had he ever found, *ever* found, who would listen to him like Bob would, like Bob did?

He heard gasps, now, on the other side of the wall. Jay rose, pressing a hand flat against the plaster, then pressing his face against the connecting door. He heard strangled sounds, whimpers, heavy breathing, and just like that, he knew he had to get out for a while. Shit, it wasn't midnight yet, buses were still running. Or fuck it, he thought, shrugging into clothes, he'd grab a cab. Go down to that new place Holden-boy had mentioned, his dealing-with-Banky-club. Yeah, me and the boys gonna go have a time, he thought hysterically, adding a jacket and a knit cap to whatever it was he'd thrown on in the dark, and he left, before he heard anything else.

He shivered when the cold air hit him outside, and he was glad of the jacket. Walking to the bus stop, hands stuffed in his pockets, he thought about yesterday. What the fuck had that been? Bob had grabbed his face, pulled him forward, kissed him full out. Let him go with one of those 'you fucking imbecile' looks the bitch was so good at. Meanwhile Jay had just stood there, stunned stupid, jaw hanging off his face. There was no slot in his brain for that, he didn't even try to make it fit. And he'd been trying like hell not to think about it, but there it kept coming up and biting him in the ass. Bob's big hands grabbing him. Bob's breath, warm on his face, scent of tobacco and ashes and beer. Bob kissing him. Bob kissing him. *Bob* kissing *him*.

The bus pulled up to the curb with a sound like a dying beast, and he was able to shake a little of the mood as he swung aboard. But the miles whipping by with only his pale, reflected face for company didn't help. By the time he'd seen the club go by, and pulled the cord, he was back on that street again, Bob on frame by frame repeat. Bob's hands rising. Bob grabbing him. Bob leaning forward, leaning forward, pressing his lips to Jay's. Repeat. Repeat fucking repeat.

you said you goin' to your ma's
but where the hell did you go
you went and slipped out nights
you didn't think that I'd know
with some
gin-soaked boy that you don't know

Dazed, he paid the door charge and walked in, covered by a blast of sound and swinging lights. And this was a first, wasn't it, bad Jay-boy himself back in the club scene. Not that he'd ever walked around inside, mind you; just outside in the back alleys waiting for inevitable stragglers. Usually slumming, well-heeled stragglers. Fuck it, he thought, going up to the bar. Like I care at this fucking point. He pulled his hat off, running his hands through his hair, and thought about what he wanted. Other than just being here with the hardbodies, that was. Other than getting the hell away from Bob for the night. Other than...other than that, why the fuck was he here?

Just like that he felt someone else's hands tangling in his hair, and he whirled. The young man behind him smiled, tossing him a breathy giggle for the trouble.

"Ooh, boy is nervous, isn't he? And you would be?"

I would be shocked, if I hadn't seen it before, Jay thought, but *damn*. Standing in front of him was a dark-haired boytoy, cleanshaven and muscled, posed artfully. One of his hands still ran through Jay's hair lightly, brushing up against the back of his neck. He shivered, shaking his head, and blinked a sudden lightning flash of Bob away. Shit, he thought, live with the fuck 24/7, now I'm drowning in him tonight. I'm even seeing him here. His attention was drawn back to the boytoy tapping on his jaw lightly.

"Hey, sugar-hips, you in there?"

Boy's hair was seal-dark, and he wore a skintight metallic top, tight jeans, heavy black boots. He had a goatee that kind of resembled Bob's, just his fucking luck. The words were ever so slightly slurred, and as the boy brought up the tumbler he held Jay caught the unmistakable scent of gin and tonic. He really didn't need the curl of lime in the glass to verify it.

"Huh," he said aloud. "How many of those you had tonight?"

Goatee looked down, dipping a finger in his drink and slowly, so slowly, licking it clean. "Dunno, really. Five, six, maybe. Why? You wanna buy me a coffee?" He took a step back, cocking one hand on his perfect hip, pursing his full lips and waiting.

Bitch, like you have any idea...Jay stared at the goatee, eyes haunted, but when he finally looked up, he was smiling. He shook his head, taking the tumbler and taking a sip, then leaned forward and kissed him. The alcohol sparkled on his tongue, numbing it, but not enough so he couldn't feel the other man sucking on his tongue like it was candy. And still his mind replayed Bob. Hearing the moans tonight in the back of his head combined with the feel of someone's tongue in his mouth combined with the sight of Bob coming forward, step by step, grabbing his face, bringing him closer...Closer...Drowning in those honey-brown eyes, shit, he could not shake this.

well I'm on your tail I sussed your M.O.
from some gin-soaked boy
boy that you don't know

I am seriously losing it, Jay thought, pulling back from the boytoy, and that was when someone's strong hands spun him around from behind and he was face to face with...oh, *fuck*. **Sinners in the hands of an angry Bob**, he thought, trying not to giggle, knowing it would be out of complete fear of the situation. How the hell had Bob found him? Why did he look so angry? Or, what, he thought Jay was some faggot now, and he was going to pound him into jelly for it? Hate crime, here we come. Ah, fuck, let it happen. Get it the fuck over with, maybe they could all go on with their lives.

Bob grabbed his collar, ignoring the drunken calls of "Hey!" behind him, dragging Jay off to a shadowed corner. He turned, pressing him flat against the wall, his eyes on fire. For the longest time, he just stared at Jay, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Then one hand came up, twining around a strand of Jay's hair, peering at it, looking back at Jay. A jerk of his head back indicating the fellow in the crop top. **And what the hell was that?** it said.

Jay tried to push out of his arms, but Bob was having none of it. He took a step closer, close enough that Jay could feel the heat of his body, the brush of the leather against his tee, his sweats. He swallowed, the kiss on fast replay--step, kiss, look, pause. Step, kiss, look. Step, kiss--

"What the fuck you want from me, man?" he cried.

Bob looked around, looked back at Jay, shrugged. **This fucking club. Why are you here?** it said.

Jay sneered, pulling the tattered shreds of attitude around him like armor. Oh, you're so fucking good at that. Head shake means the world, eyebrow raise and you've said half the dictionary. Some time, something's going to happen that you can't answer with mystery and piercing eyes, and then what the hell will you do? He tilted his chin up, his own silent fuck you to the man in front of him.

Bob's hands clenched in his shirt and he pulled him slowly forward, until Jay caught the sparks of arc lights overhead reflected in Bob's eyes. He hazarded a single look down, and that scared him even more: Bob's hands were white-knuckled where they fisted in his clothes.

"Fuck this," Bob said. Jay jerked his head up sharply, just in time for Bob to push him against the wall again, take that one more step forward he could take, and plant his lips on his again. And Bob wasn't letting up this time. Jay pushed at him, squirmed, and all that did was bring their hips in closer contact, and things were happening, things he didn't want to think about just then, but it was kind of hard to ignore because it felt really, really good to have Bob kiss him, and...oh...fuck...

He kissed him back, opening his mouth to Bob's with a strangled moan, and throwing his arms up to wrap tightly around Bob's neck. Bob kissed him until his knees buckled, then Bob just threw an arm around his waist and held him up. Finally, Bob stepped back.

"Bitch, you pull a stunt like this again, I'll break your arm." And he turned and stalked away, trench fluttering like wings.

"Bob?" He had to fight the urge to laugh. All the puzzle pieces were dropping into place, and he was filled with a mix of exhilaration, joy, fear, remorse, excitement and pure, jumping nerves. "Hey, Bob, I'm sorry, hey, wait up...fuck, Bob!" And he ran out into the night, long hair flying behind him, after Silent Bob. Who had his fucking limits after all, didn't he? Who the hell knew, huh, surprises abound. Especially, Jay thought, in his life. Shit, this was gonna be *fun...*

END
(Lyric snippets from Tom Wait's "Gin Soaked Boy")
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
need a couple pennies for the ferryman


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