Title: Portrait
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: NC-17 PWP, no redeeming social graces whatso-fucking-ever. Status: posted to the list in 2004
Archive: The traditional places. If you don't know what the traditional places are, you might want to write and ask. And here's how:
Feedback: Kelandris
Series/Sequels: Should be original, unless someone wants to take on The Tales of Flannel Jay as an ongoing series.
Disclaimers: Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, Jason Mewes and Scott Mosier have creative control and ownership of Jay and Silent Bob, not me.
Notes: This is all starla's fault. And I know, most cases of mono are not handled this simply. Hey, it was the first ailment that my brain thought might work. And did I mention this is all starla's fault? And I gotta give props to my boy Joss Whedon, from whom I willfully and without apology steal a line. I suppose I could drop a line in here about anyone who reads this going to see the Firefly movie, make up for my plagiaristic indiscretion...but would that be over the top?
Summary: Jay wears flannel. Bob catches a clue. Boyfun with known characters. (Yeah, it's pretty much a PWP, I said. What, you wanted a plot??)
Warnings: I gave Jay a disease! Whee! Yeah, that's about it to warn you about, other than the usual boykissing scenes, the boygroping scenes, the boyfu--well, you get the point. I'm also cribbing from myself here--I just like the idea of Jay spinning variants of 'Say my *name*, bitch!' Oh, yeah, and this is not a safer-sex tale.

by Kelandris the Mad

The problem, Bob reflected, as he wearily climbed the stairs, was not that he had a job. He'd had jobs before. Before Jay. No, the problem was that he didn't see nearly *enough* of Jay. Which was why he'd originally agreed to the little motormouth's 'biznatch idee' in the first place. He wanted to spend time with Jay. Dealing was a reasonably safe, semi-comfortable way to reach that goal. He tried not to complicate his life with figuring out exactly *why* he wanted to spend time with Jay. That way lay madness and sweaty palms.

He fumbled the key out of his coat, leaning his forehead against the battered wooden door for a moment. The *problem* was, he thought again, that Jay getting mono kind of killed their nicely profitable home business for a while. Bob had pretty much had to go out and get a job, and he was pretty lucky the warehouse that his uncle owned needed an extra hand. It was out of his way, about an hour by bus both ways, but he was pulling in $25 an hour for the forklift stuff, and $15 an hour for the heavy lifting. That worked out to some pretty significant change at the end of the five-day week.

Especially considering Uncle Saul was paying him under the table.

He was, to be honest, more than a little concerned over Jay. When they'd gone into the clinic, to find out why Jay was sleeping all the time, he'd been diagnosed with mono. Told he needed to rest, if he could, bed rest better than just hanging out on the couch, spend as much time as possible away from work, away from social interaction. Of course Jay had pulled his customary shit, hearing that. The boy spent any length of time in a hospital, or around doctors, and he flipped them seventeen different grades of hell to get them to back off. But it didn't go down that way. It was the weirdest thing. All the doc had said, halfway through the last tirade, was that Jay could give mono to anyone else he kissed, or slept with, and suddenly, Jay went quiet.

"Okay," he said finally. "Whadda I do?"

And the doctor, seemingly as mystified as Bob, had run down a standard care list, handed him a print-out and an initial dose of antibiotics, and sent him on his way with a handful of prescription slips. And off they'd gone.

And, Jay being Jay, he'd been pretty good about it, all told. Scarily good, in fact. The bitching had gone up by a factor in the hundreds, because Jay was pretty much laid up in his room, or-- against doc's orders--on the couch, most of every day. And when Bob came home, if Jay was on the couch, Jay talked to him for a little while, and then pulled away, back into his room. Otherwise Bob brought him some juice or soda, sat on the very edge of Jay's bed, talked with him for a while, and then went quietly away. It was frustrating for both of them--Jay'd said so himself, another sign of worrisome behavior--but Bob figured *he* was the only one with the junkie cravings. Jonesing for Jay, how was that for fucked up? Which he most carefully and deliberately was *not* thinking about. And only about twenty times an hour anyway.

But two months ago, two months before the mono, Bob had been able to spend time with Jay, for one thing. Hang out with him. Listen to that agile mind gleam through the haze of drugs and contradictions, from time to time. Jay was endlessly fascinating, and frankly, those times he wasn't, he was damned pretty to look at.

Bob unlocked the door, taking several deep breaths. Nope. Not going there. Madness. Sweaty palms. Arguments. Not going there. He liked Jay as a roommate. No other roommate--female, male or potted plant--had lasted as long with him. Hells, he'd thought it out when Jay'd first gotten sick, and he thought they were pulling up on five years in the same space. Five *years*. That was...almost unheard- of. That was...

...almost a marriage.

He walked in, carefully closing the door, focusing only on not waking Jay up. He should be getting better pretty soon, the doctor had said, and Bob was really, really looking forward to getting back into their comfortable little routine. Nothing else needed to intrude on his tired, overworked brain. Just close the door quietly, turn and look for Jay on the couch...

...where he wasn't.

Huh? Wait, maybe he'd gone into his room. Bob nodded sagely, quietly taking off his coat and hanging it up in the side closet by the bathroom. He went into the kitchen, pouring a glass of juice, and carried it across the floor to Jay's room. He gingerly opened the door...

...and saw the bed empty.

Okay, now, this was just getting freaky. He put the glass down on the little end-table by Jay's big bed, pushing aside the eternal litter of crumpled cigarette packages and empty candy-bar wrappers to do so. Carefully closing the door behind him, he shook his head.

He must be tired, he thought. His brain was on hold because of the warehouse work. Jay had probably gone out, that simple. Against doctor's orders, against Bob's careful repeated instructions, he'd found someone, somewhere, throwing some party, and he'd gone out to shake some ass. Or take some. Couldn't really blame him, Bob thought sadly. After all, he'd been cooped up in one room for most of two months.

Shaking his head again, he opened the door to his room, and stopped breathing. He literally couldn't take a breath for a moment, couldn't walk over the threshold, couldn't...fucking...*move*.

Jay was curled up on the center of his bed. His long, narrow, very bare legs were tucked underneath him. He wore a pair of heather grey jockey shorts, worn enough to be comfortable, low on the hips. He had one of Bob's flannel shirts, red and grey plaid, wrapped around his body. It almost looked like a short robe, Bob was so much bigger. He wore nothing else.

The streetlight outside lanced golden-orange through the blinds, and Jay was striped in glitter and shadow. His long hair was brushed, but wasn't pulled back, and over the past few years he'd finally grown out the buzzed-low patches, so everything was pretty much the same length. Long falls of honey-gold cascaded down his shoulders, across the sliver of pale chest Bob could see, from the curve of his bowed head.

God, he was beautiful. He was like a breathing portrait, posed in the center of Bob's black rumpled sheets. Holy fucking hell.

**Come on, Bob,** he thought a little frantically. **You can do it. Just inhale. Just one little inhale. You'll feel better.**

Nothing. He still couldn't breathe. His hand felt like a hammered claw wrapped around the door handle, he was gripping the brass that hard. His chest was burning, and he still hadn't pulled the door closed, or stepped into the room. Any more time, not breathing, and he thought he might just have to pass out. In fact--

Jay raised his head.

"I missed you," he said softly. For a moment he huddled into the shirt, tucking his head against the flannel-wrapped curve of his shoulder. And Bob inhaled, a deep pull of breath, shuddering.

"I useta think," Jay said, looking down at his hands, "that we just hung out together. You know? Just guys. Just...*roommates*," he finished, almost savagely. "*Fuck*. Like most guys, they live together, they sleep in the same place, they eat together, but it don't mean nothin', you know?"

Bob thought he tried to nod. He thought what Jay saw was kind of a spastic head movement, a set of disconnected muscle jerks. But he didn't think Jay cared. Taking another careful inhale into his still outraged lungs, he was able to release the death-grip on the doorknob and step into the room. Jay's eyes flickered with some emotion, too buried for Bob to really see it, and nodded once, tucking his head back against his shoulder.

"But I been stuck here. Two fuckin' months, man. You ain't been here, 'cause I'm not bringin' in no dough. Two *fucking* months of goin' out of my *fucking* skull, starin' at the walls. Thinkin'. Thinkin' about you. Thinkin' about a lotta shit."

Bob turned away, swallowing, to pull the door shut, so he was completely unprepared when he looked up again and Jay was standing there. Standing, Jay looked painfully thin, the months of apartment confinement and fatigue melting pounds off him. Pounds he could ill afford to lose.

But the muscle was still there, the wiry pull of fibrous strands under the skin, defining his chest, his calves, his arms. Bob could tell because one shoulder of the shirt had slipped down, off his shoulder, down to his right elbow, and the muscles from endless street fights over the damn hair were still carved out under the pallid skin.

**God,** he thought. **God. Please. Let me be strong--**
Jay reached out, touching his chest lightly. Every nerve ending Bob possessed suddenly began there, and traced through the rest of his body like electrified wire. He jerked, but not away. He jerked into the touch. And Jay didn't seem to mind.

"See, guys don't wanna be around each other alla time," Jay whispered. "At least, not most guys. I mean, guys'll hang out, watch sports, skate and shit like that, but...man, no fuckin' guy *ever* has held me to get me warm. No fuckin' guy would curl up on the couch next to me, watchin' movies, an' fall asleep holdin' me. They don't--they don't think of--"

Jay sighed, stepping closer, shaking his head.

"Damn, Bob," he said softly. "Two months. Two months of you workin' and I can't take it anymore. I can't go to sleep without dreaming about you. I can't close my eyes without seein' your face. I can't-- I can't jerk off without you--without wantin' you--"

Bob thought he might have stopped breathing again, but it was hard to tell, because Jay clenched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.

"Shit," he said, and then leaned forward. Jay kissed him.

The first brush of Jay's lips against his was soft, subtle. 'Subtle' was not a word that anyone would associate with Jay. And the brief, light pressure was gone before Bob could truly react.

He swayed forward for a moment, blinking, and then opened his eyes.

"Jay?" he whispered. Asking. Asking what, he wasn't exactly sure, but he knew he was asking.

"Yeah," Jay said. "Yeah, Bob. Fuck. I'm here." And Jay kissed him again.

This time Bob grabbed him, sinking his fingers deep into that silky mass of honey-gold. Holding him fast so he couldn't slip away. Jay moaned, opening his mouth, and Bob licked along the warm fence of his teeth. Oh, man...this was so much better than dreaming.

Suddenly it was too much. Too much sensation. He broke away, leaving a slippery trail of kisses across Jay's jaw, smooth and unstubbled, and down where the pulse beat strongest, that elegant curve between his neck and his shoulder. He sucked there, not enough to leave a mark, but enough so that he could taste Jay on his tongue, sweet clean skin, salt of sweat. Also a faint trace of Bob's habitual cigarettes, the scent soaked into the fabric of most of his clothes. Jay tended to smoke whatever the hell he could get his hands on, but Bob was pretty brand-consistent. The fact that it *was* his brand, that extra little distinction, made him shiver, made him moan softly, and his suckling kisses turned to soft little bites.

"Fuck!" Jay cried out. "Fuck, Bob, fuck, man, you gotta...oh, *fuck*, you gotta lemme sit down..."

Bob pulled back, shaking the haze from his head. No. He had to be clear. This couldn't be another Jay-being-bored-to-shit game. Beginnings had to be right. He leaned back, just enough to see into Jay's eyes. He still held Jay's face in his hands.

"Are--" he started. He swallowed. "Are--you--"


Bob swallowed again, breathing hard. He could get through this. Shit, no, he couldn't. Because part of the reason he didn't talk was not that he didn't have the words, it was that he had too fucking many of them. They'd cascade from him in endless jabbering streams, nonsensical and ridiculous, if he didn't dam them up, hold them back. He got started and then he couldn't stop, and he'd had enough of being made fun of in high school to last three lifetimes.

Jay grinned a little, all on one side, staring at him.

"Dude," he said. He raised a hand, tapping Bob on the forehead. "Hey in there."

Bob looked at him, surprised. He blinked. He pulled his hands away, slipped them down Jay's freshly shaved cheeks, over his neck, onto his shoulders. He didn't want to let go. He didn't know if he could. This was every waking thought he hadn't let himself think for *years*.

"It ain't gonna work."

Bob swallowed again. Yeah. He'd been pretty sure of that, too. Because this was too good to be real. Any moment now--and it seemed like Jay had picked his moment--his erstwhile roommate was gonna come to his senses. Realize he had to go out and find something with more tits and less dick. Something more conventional. Something more fucking *straight*.

Jay shook his head and Bob leaned back, staring at him. What the--?

"No, dude."

"No?" he breathed, before he could stop.

"Nuh-uh. I'm gonna make you make some *noise*, motherfucker. End o' tonight, you're gonna be screaming my name."

That hit his ears, and Bob had to do something. Being the overcontrolling freak that he was, he couldn't just collapse on the carpet, like he really wanted to. Instead, he stepped forward, scooping Jay up, holding him close until they reached the bed.

"Fuck, yeah," Jay said, laying back. He slithered out of the flannel shirt, his hands reaching for the jockeys, and Bob shook his head. He lay down beside Jay, below him, leaning in, cupping Jay through the fabric. Jay yelped, and Bob smiled.

**Yeah. Who's gonna be screaming?** Bob thought. He lowered his head, mouthing the straining head of Jay's cock through the fabric, refusing to let Jay take them off.

"Motherfucker!" Jay yelled. He leaned up on skinny elbows, glaring at Bob. "What the fuck you think you're gonna--"

Bob's tongue wrapped around the end of his cock, pulling, his lips wrapping around the shaft, his whole mouth devoted to sucking the salt-musk taste of Jay, inhaling the rich scent of Jay getting *seriously* aroused. Hot damn. It'd been way the fuck back in college, and then only for a few months, but he actually still remembered a few tricks. Good to know.

He leaned up on one elbow, grazing an exposed hipbone with his teeth, and Jay bucked under his touch.

"Oh fuck--oh fuck--oh you fucker if you make me come--" Jay hissed, an urgent stream of words.

Bob looked up, cocking his head.

"You want this," he said softly.

"Fuck, *yeah*, I want this, tubby--you think I'd do this 'cause I'm *bored* or some shit?"

Well, it had crossed his mind. His bafflement must have shown, because Jay shook his head.

"Fuck, man. Look that good in your leathers, got those eyes that women want to walk into and never come out of, and *you're* thinkin' *I'm* doin' you some kinda charity favor. That's fucked up, man. That is *beyond* fucked up."

Yeah, Bob thought. Maybe. Shit. He'd gotten all caught up in Jay being the pretty one, him being the backup portly sidekick. It literally never crossed his mind.

Jay made a disgusted noise, and hitched his shorts down to his upper thighs.

"Li'l help here?" he asked plaintively.

Bob quirked a smile back at him, and pulled off the jockeys. The interesting thing about people who didn't like the sun was that they tended to have their non-tan all over. There was no discernable difference between Jay's pale chest and Jay's upper legs, lower waist. Jay's *cock*, on the other hand, was slightly curved, looked like a healthy six inches, red as cherries. Bob's eyebrows lifted. Mmm. Wonder if he'd ever have the guts to ask Jay to--


Bob looked up, his hands braced on either side of Jay's leaking cock, pausing just before the moment of touching it for the first time, skin to skin.

"Doc said, um, the chances were probably pretty damn low of anyone I, y'know, kissed or anything, gettin' this."

Bob nodded, pulling Jay's legs apart so he could crawl between them. Jay hissed air between his teeth.

"An', um, as long as we were, y'know, careful and shit, nobody gets too fuckin' acrobatic...I'd prob'ly be fine."

Bob nodded, his hands sliding around Jay's hips to cup his butt. Interesting sensation--the palms of his hands were filled with narrow muscled Jay-ass, but the backs of his hands smoothed over the flannel shirt. He closed his eyes, sliding his hands back and forth while Jay yelped.

"Fucker, would you *stop* that and fuckin' *do* something alread-- SHIT!"

Bob had leaned down, pulling the tip of Jay's cock into his mouth again. Sucking up each salted drop of Jay, essence of Jay, purity of Jay, source of Jay. Rolling it around on his tongue, the flavor, the taste, the spongy head. Jay yelped again. Yelped a third time as Bob carefully relaxed his throat, wondering if he could still do this, and pulled nearly all of Jay in, one long, slow swallow.

"Oh, fuck--Oh, fuck, fucking *God*, that is *so* fucking sweet--"

He bobbed his head, up and down, pulling his lips tight around his teeth. Springy gold hairs tickled his upper lip every time he got close to swallowing down to the base. His large, sure hands held Jay's hips down, and Jay was twitching on the bed. Or trying to, at least.

"Fuck--" Jay cried out, over and over. "Fuck, Bob, *fuck*!"

He wasn't sure if it was a request or an exhortation. He wasn't done yet, anyway. His eyes still closed (because otherwise *he'd* come, just about any second now), he slid his hands up from Jay's hips, slowly. He trailed them softly over his sides, over his ribs, feeling more delineation than he wanted to, knowing he was going to devote the next month solid to packing food into the boy...and Jay whimpered when his fingertips circled around his nipples.

Bob sucked harder now, feeling more flow, more fluid coming from the fluttering tip. He could feel it, the little slit in the head, whatever the fuck that was called, opening and closing under his tongue. Great feeling. He'd nearly forgotten how great. He *knew* he'd forgotten who he'd discovered how great it felt, *with*. Some guy. Some dude. Didn't fucking matter now, because now he had Jay. Jay moaning his name and Jay twitching under his touch and Jay just about to come in his mouth. Fuck, yeah.

"Oh, fuck--oh, fuck, Bob, fuck--I'm gonna--I'm gonna--"

"Want you to," Bob said, pulling off only slightly to say it, and swallowed Jay again. Jay spasmed, hips bucking forward, and Bob felt the first salty jet hit the back of his throat. He swallowed as fast as he could, over-rich, salty, vaguely bitter in a strange organic way, and even so some dribbled from the edges of his mouth, down his chin. He pulled off Jay's softening cock, sucking down everything, and found Jay staring at him wide-eyed when he lifted his head.

Jay reached out a hand, wiping his thumb across the corner of Bob's mouth.

"Dude," he said, his voice hushed, awed.

Bob furrowed his brow, waiting.

"You swallow."

**Well, duh,** he thought hysterically. What did Jay think he was gonna do? Hand-jack him and walk out of the room for coffee and a donut? Fuck!

"Man, I only been with, like, six girls *ever* that swallow, dude. That's...that's fuckin' *amazing*."
Bob grinned, and Jay leaned forward again. He kissed him, just lips to lip. Real tentative. And then he leaned in, less tentative, kissing him openmouthed. He leaned back, shaking his hair back into place, looking, if possible, even more shell-shocked than before.

"You got on *way* too many fuckin' clothes," Jay said solemnly, and then he pounced, pulling Bob down on the bed, rolling him over.

"My turn," he said, his look maniacal. The look on Jay's face nearly required underlighting from a buried red bulb, it looked that evil. Bob took a breath, a little scared for the first time, and Jay started unzipping the black cut-offs he wore, the black hoodie he had on, pulling up the t-shirt underneath it. He pushed everything up to the shoulders or down to the waist, and Bob managed to squirm out of all of it without making eye contact with Jay.

Jay looked him over, eyebrow twitching. Jay's hands, his fingers, grazed Bob here and there--the waistband of his white underwear, his furred belly, his chest, his soft-skinned arms. Everything spiraled in towards the center of his chest, and he felt Jay's hands palm tit. He sneaked a look at Jay, who looked intent. He was also grinning like a madman.

"Yo, dude, you got some titties on you. Fuck."

Oh, shit, here it came. He closed his eyes. He'd been here before, and thank you, but he didn't want to see it. Hearing it was gonna be bad enough.

"Cool," the blond said.

**What?** Bob thought. He blinked. He opened his eyes. Jay looked-- caught. Enraptured. *Happy*, for fuck's sake. *Happy*??

"Are they--wait, lemme try somethin'."

Jay leaned down, capturing one of Bob's nipples in his mouth, rolling it over his tongue, nibbling at it with his sharp teeth. Bob arched off the bed, completely without intention, screaming at the burst of sensation.

"Oh, man...*totally* cool."

He worked on the other side, leaning down full-length on Bob, and if Bob had been hard before, he was a steel rod now, feeling Jay's skin against his, Jay's hands cupping his tits, Jay's mouth busy on his nipples. Fuck, for all he cared, Jay could stop right here and he'd be more than pleased.

Jay didn't stop, though. Jay just kept sucking, and Bob kept getting impossibly harder, and now lower urges were eroding his control, eating away at his self-possession.

"Fuck," he gasped, "fuck fuck fuck *yes*, oh yes, Jay, yes, fucking *yes*--"

He was mortified. Jay was giggling.

"Oh, yeah. Say my name again, bitch."


"Say it, say it, fuckin' silent motherfucker, gonna show *you*, fuckin' *say* my *name*!"

"Jaaaay!" he wailed, bucking on the bed, inches away from coming, just from Jay's mouth on his nipples. He knew, somehow, though, the blond, and he pulled back, pulled back and pulled Bob's underwear down.

Immediately Bob sat up, trying to keep them on.

"No, it's--really, you don't have to--it's okay, I don't want--"

Jay frowned. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"It's just--I--no, it's--um--"

Bob swallowed, hands fluttering over his half-revealed crotch. Jay's eyes narrowed.

"What, I can get naked and jump all over the fuckin' bed but you can't even show a little fuckin' skin for me? What the hell kinda..."

Jay's voice trailed off, and his eyes widened to about dessert-plate size.

"You're--this ain't a joke?"

Bob swallowed. Tears pricked at his eyes. He let his hands fall away, and lay back on his bed. He fought mightily against the urge to throw his arm across his face. Finally he just thought, fuck it, and did it anyway.

"Nope. No joke," he said, his voice quiet, flat.

Jay looked down for a minute. Then he shook his head, scrambling off the bed.

"I'm gonna need more lube. Hold on."

Bob sat there, feeling one sole tear creep down his cheek, knowing he'd driven someone else out of his bed. Shit, it always came to this, either one thing or the other. It was the weight or it was his fucking mutant size elsewhere, it was *always* one or the other. Someone'd measured him once, kinda as a gag, kinda seriously, and told him from the head to the base, that patch of terribly sensitive skin between his cock and his balls, he was a solid ten inches. And at least an inch and a half around, maybe two, if he got *really* excited.

No wonder Jay'd jumped from the bed. Fuck. Wonder he'd stayed in it for *that* long. And now he was gone, long gone. Never coming back. Going for more lube.

Wait. What? Bob's brain caught up with the last statement, and he sat up on his elbows as Jay came back in the room.

"Okay. Think this'll work, an' if it doesn't, then damn, we need to go fuckin' *lube* shoppin', get the monster size shit or somethin'. You know?"

Jay plopped back down on the bed, flipping the top of the lube open, and then looked at Bob.

"Dude. What the--you--cryin'?"

Bob looked away. Damn, this was so not what he'd not thought about. Every single time he'd not thought about it. It had so *not* been like this.

"Over--what you cryin' over, Bob?"

Fuck. How the fuck did he explain it? How the fuck could he explain it? He didn't even have words that could back up on themselves and cascade out, out of order. He just had this clenching pain in his chest, and the lump in his throat, and he stared up at Jay, trying to figure out what to say next.

Jay didn't seem to care. He leaned down, licking Bob's face, licking along the trail of the tear. Kissing his closed eyelids. Kissing his forehead. All of them these gentle, soul-burning kisses, and words that went along with them.

"Bob, it's okay. I ain't gonna hurt you. In any way I ain't already, I guess. I'm stupid, I'm a fuck-up, but I know how good you are. I see it. I see you. I don't fuckin' care what anyone else thinks they see."

Bob opened his eyes, staring at Jay's very close face. Jay's very close face leaned in, kissing him once more, one slow, solid press of lips against lips.

"Okay? Fuck 'em if they can't see it. *I* fuckin' see it. Okay?"

"Okay," Bob breathed, the only word he trusted himself to say.

Jay squirted an over-generous dollop into Bob's hands, pulling his black t-shirt out and over on Jay's side of the bed. Then Jay leaned back, resting his head on Bob's upper thighs, spreading his legs wide so Bob could look between them.

"Okay, so...I'm gonna go ahead and say this feels kinda fucked, but I wanna feel fucked, you dig? Not in a bad way. In a you-fucking-me kinda way. I want that."

Yeah. Bob dug. Bob smeared warming lube over his fingers one- handed, smoothing the other hand over Jay's ass, parting the cheeks, feeling muscles jump under his hand.

"Just...dude, don't fuckin' kill me with that thing. Fuckin' hell. If I'd'a known, I might *seriously* have suggested we watch *Pretty in Pink* or somethin'."

Bob giggled, he couldn't help it. *Pretty in Pink* was one of the bones of contention between them. Jay kept saying he hated that fucking movie, but he watched it every damn time Bob popped it in the VCR. And he never said a fucking word when Bob rewound the part where Duckie lip-syncs to "Tenderness".

Bob reached out with the other hand, rubbing a finger in small, tight circles over Jay's hole. Jay hissed in air again, trembling a little. Bob laid a calming hand on his hip. Jay picked up on it.

"No, Bob, it's okay, jus' a li'l...nervous an' shit. You know. Firs' times an' all."

**First--oh, fuck!** Bob had *some* experience, even if it was long ago and far away, but Jay was coming into this a virgin? Unfucked virgin ass? Shit. That was a compliment bound around utter screaming terror, frankly.

Bob, *real* fucking careful now, eased a single finger inside. Released a lot of internal tension once he'd sunk it a couple inches inside without Jay hitting the ceiling and screaming at him to stop. Past that point he just murmured at him, mostly nonsense, but some about how this was gonna hurt, everyone did, but he'd go as slow as Jay needed, he was used to going slow, it was no fucking problem. About how he'd make this good for Jay. About how he *wanted* to make it good for Jay.

He realized fifteen minutes had gone by while he'd been loosening the guardian ring. He'd wanted to make sure Jay was relaxed. Jay was practically purring, and Bob had half his hand inside Jay. Shit. Boy got any more relaxed, he'd be in a fucking *coma*. Damn.

He kept Jay tilted on one side, lifting one of his legs into the air, wrapping it around the outside of his hip. Fuck, he was still so *hard*. He could feel his pulse throbbing at the end of his cock. And now that pulse, that throbbing beat, was going to beat inside Jay. Fuck, yes.

He pushed against the ring, knowing it was just muscle tension, pushed, slow as he could manage, until the head popped inside.

"Fuck!" Jay cried out, clenching, and that was the first time Bob nearly lost it. All that lovely heat and pressure, squeezing him, squeezing around him...He shuddered, hands clenched on Jay's thigh maybe hard enough to bruise, but he was fighting the urge to thrust. That was all his body wanted to do, right now--thrust, thrust *hard*, thrust *deep*, get *all* the way inside. All the way inside Jay.

Bob breathed through it, stroking Jay's leg, his hip, the side of his ribs.

"Okay?" he managed to say aloud.

"Yeah," Jay said. "*Fuck*, yeah, I am *fine*, dude. *So* fucking fine..."

Experimentally, he rolled his hips, and Bob cried out, feeling it.

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah, fuck me, Bob, c'mon, fuck me, *fuck* me..."

Jay's hands reached for him, trying to pull him closer, and Bob took another deep breath, pushing in by another inch. And, a few minutes later, another inch. And another inch after that. Jay was crying out now, tossing his head on the bed, reduced to incoherent wailing noises. Every time Bob tried to ask if he was okay, he turned shining eyes on him, and Bob felt his hands twitching, fluttering against his hips, his belly.

"Fuck, I'm fine," Jay would gasp, and go back to moaning, throwing his head back.

Six inches in, and he had this wild thought, this crazed desire--what if Jay could take more? Some women could, fewer men, but some could, and some few had, in the past. Bob rocked back and forth, little tiny thrusts, just a few inches in and out, feeling Jay breathing, Jay was so tight around him. He grabbed the tube and squirted some more in a thick cool line down his cock, and then pushed into Jay, pushing himself and more lube inside as he went.

Jay was gasping now, eyes rolled back, and Bob angled a little until he felt a little spongy knot inside Jay. He thrust up against it, and Jay went wild on the bed, pulling at him, legs wrapping around him, head thrown back, neck tendons corded like a Cardassian's. Oh, yeah, there it was. Jay's happy little prostate. Good to know.

"Fuck," he gasped, shivering, inhaling spastically. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh, so fucking good, so fucking *deep*--"

Jay nodded, nearly screaming. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't you motherfuckin' *stop*--"

Bob slid in another two inches, and both men screamed.

More careful little thrusts, and he could do this, he could stop here, he didn't need the whole thing, fuck, this was *plenty*. More than he'd had the last time he'd brought someone home, to be frank. She'd been skinny, and blond as he recalled, and only able to take about half of him, and then she looked like it hurt. Hells, *Jay* might've had trouble getting inside, now he thought about it.

"Pull out," Jay gasped, and Bob's attention returned to him instantly. "Pull out, pull out, pull out," he said, over and over.

Bob did, biting his lip, wondering what he missed, wondering where it had gone wrong. Because, fuck, he'd thought it had been so *good*--

"Lay down," Jay gasped. Bob didn't even question, he stretched out his legs and lay back.

"Fuck. Okay. Okay, fuck," Jay said, climbing on top. Suddenly Bob clued in and sat up, trying to prevent Jay, but the blond shook his head, batting his hands aside.

"Fuck you, you're too afraid you'll hurt me. I want you *in* me, Bob, want you in me *deep*. Fuck, if I thought I could do it, I'd want you in so fucking deep I could taste you on the back of my throat inna morning."

Bob swallowed. Fuck. Vivid fucking image. Couldn't deny it had an effect on him. Seeing Jay kneeling over him, positioned over his cock, didn't exactly hurt either. Neither did the incredible, pulse- pounding feeling of Jay sliding down on him, the ecstatic look on the blond's face just...perfect.


"Oh, yeah," he said, without meaning to. His hands rose around Jay's hips, holding him steady. The tip of Jay's tongue poked out from between his lips, and Bob smiled, seeing it.

"Fuck yeah, good, good, Jay, better than good, great...fuck...*perfect*..." Yep. Now he was babbling. Shit, it always happened. He felt the liquid slide of Jay around his cock, and realized too late Jay wasn't stopping at eight inches.


"Fuck, Bob...don't you ever shut up?"

They grinned at each other, feral heated smiles, and then Jay started to ride, breathing deep, tossing his hair. He turned so the trailing fan-tips of honey-blond would glide over Bob's chest, moving like silk threads back and forth. Bob was so aroused at that point he almost expected to see sparks arc from his tits. His hands clenched on Jay's hips, pulling now, pulling him down faster, and Jay paced him. Jay fucking *paced* him, taking every fucking inch he possessed, and somewhere along the way they both lost the ability to form words.

For Bob, this was actually kind of a relief. For Jay, it was something of a miracle.

Now Jay leaned over him, crying, almost, shuddering, clenching on his length. Moaning Jay's name, Bob thrust, and thrust, and kept on thrusting until he felt his balls draw up, felt all the muscles in his legs clench tight.

"Jay--" he gasped, reaching out, stroking his hair.

**God. Love you--**

"Fuck, yeah!" Jay screamed, and poured come over Bob's chest, spurt after spurt of it, feeling so hot Bob wondered if it would scald. Didn't fucking matter, though, because he pulled Jay down one last time, pulled him down as far as he would go, both men whimpering. And then one last scream, Bob's eyes rolling back in his head, and he thrust up, thrust up and came, coming until he felt like his soul had fled into Jay's body along with his come.

Jay lay, limp and drained, on his chest. Bob didn't move him. Bob didn't think he *could* move, let alone could move Jay. He just waited, the blond's weight uncomfortable yet comforting, waiting until Jay's breathing evened out along with his.

"Fuuuuck," Jay said finally. He turned his head to the side. "Think that was kinda on the acrobatic side."


"Yeah, don't think we were supposed to do that."


"I'll get better."

Bob opened his eyes, staring down at Jay on his chest, twining long fingers in his dark chest hair.

"Gon' kill me," he murmured, blinking.

"Nah. You'll jus' get better an' pace me."


"Heh." Jay pulled away from him, arching into an impossible, luxuriant stretch that Bob enjoyed watching far too much.

"Hey. Fat boy. He'p me to the bathroom."

Bob raised an eyebrow. **Why?** that eyebrow asked.

"'Cause we need to take a shower. Duh."

Mmm. Yeah. That. He rose, muscles protesting, rolling his shoulders. Jay leaned against him, watching him.


"Jus' wondered...will I drown if I blow you in the shower?"

Bob shuddered, orgasmic flashbacks ripping through him, and watched through narrowed eyes as Jay rose, naked as a baby, and strolled off to the bathroom.

**Oh, you'll get yours,** Bob thought darkly.

"Yeah," Jay called out from the living room. "Come in here and say that."

Laughing, Bob went to join him, see if there was any way to stop the kid from drowning. No way was he wasting any time spent with that mouth.

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