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.
"Portrait"
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--"
"What?"
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?"
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.
"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.
"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.
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.
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.
"No--Jay--just--don't--"
"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."
"Mmm."
"Yeah, don't think we were supposed to do that."
"Mmm."
"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."
"Shit."
"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.
"Hmm?"
"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.
END
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
flannel bunnies, they'll gnaw on ya
