Title: Rave On
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, probably Mallrats-era
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: Songfic. And NC-17.
Status: posted to the site 5 October 2004
Archive: Drop me a note and it's yours. And on that note...
Feedback: Kelandris
Series/Sequels: Maybe one. If I'm not out of my mind writing this one.
Disclaimers: All parts of my fannish being are enriched by the presence of Kevin Smith, Jason Mewes, Jason Lee, Ben Affleck, and all the merry characters at View Askew Productions (including their current master, Miramax,) save for that pesky financial part of my being, which receives no compensation whatsoever for these tawdry little tales.
Notes: I have no idea why this is a Jay song, but it is *such* a Jay song, and now I have to crowbar it into some kind of story. I can't guarantee that this is going to work. But there's this essay I read a while back, that laments the use of songs that the characters in a slash story wouldn't listen to, in songfics. Well, believe me, he probably owns all the Rob Zombie catalog of albums, our Jay. Zombie is Jay's guy. I have this feeling.
And have I mentioned yet how much I love the movie Empire Records? Just a thought that occurred whilst I was writing this.
Summary: Jay goes to a rave and gets a doze of something he doesn't expect.
Warnings: None beyond rampant homosexuality, drugs, loud music. The usual. Kind of a lack of angst, for those who expect it. :>

"Rave On"
by Kelandris the Mad

*mud bath, acrobat, a midnight drive
everybody's slippin', everybody survive*

The dance dub shredded his bones, shattering him into tiny bits that still kept dancing. His hair, limp now with sweat, swung in circles as he leapt, he dove, he swung his hips and moved his body. Move, move to this, the music commanded, and he was only too happy to obey.

Rave on, rave on. And Jay was.

*radio talk show try to project
everything you need when you gotta connect*

Getting here had been insane, though. Rave in the woods, right? What a tweaked idea. Like the oil and chemical refinery state had any wooded areas. Okay, so okay, he was lying, there were a few, but they were mostly state parks, *and* nowhere near Red Bank. But fine. He talked Bob into it. And then he'd talked Randal into it. Randal with the car.

And Jay had been practically vibrating on the front seat as Randal drove there, wheels slipping in unexpected spring mud, ground drenched with early rain. Bob had been calm enough. Hells, he'd been fucking *reading* in the back seat. *Ivanhoe*, of all things. Jesus Christ.

*blacken the sun!
what have I done?
I feel so bad, I feel so numb, yeah!*

And then they were there, and Jay was dancing. Dancing, dancing, moving his brains out, shimmying until the shimmy was done. Dance his bones to dust if he could, move until his muscles were jelly, yeah. Get rid of some of this fucking tension and just dance it, dance it out, dance it long and strong and proud and--hey.

Jay looked up, scanned for Bob. Coolness. He was over by the food, talking to some gothed-out chick. Killer. He turned back to the little chicklet that had caught his eye, and she smiled brilliantly back at him.

"Open wide," she cooed.

"Hells, baby, I was born with my mouth wide open."

"Now, there's a line you don't hear every day." And she dropped a thin wafer, stamped '679' on one side, a smiling face on the other, into his open mouth. He licked her fingers as they pulled out and she just giggled, moving through the crowd and waving at him over her shoulder.

*blacken the sun!
what have I done?
I feel so good, I feel so numb, yeah!*

The dub changed, picked up speed, and he picked up with it, picked up and moved to the new groove. Jiving, stepping, jumping, brushing up against other ravers, everyone moving in a big sweating mass of flesh and emotions and drive. Yeah. Yeah. Heart of the dance floor, swing your hips, baby, show them titties, fuck yeah.

And everything spread out, began to shimmer, began to glitter, and he smiled so much he thought his face was gonna crack. His t-shirt was torn, now, something he'd done, or brushed up against, or someone he'd pissed off--he honestly couldn't remember. He tore off the rest of it, flinging the strips to the ground, and dancing them into the mud, churned up by a thousand raving feet. He noticed Bob on the periphery, tracking him and standing in place.

Yeah, Bob. See me, Bob. See me dance. Fucker. What the hell was his problem, anyway?

*sugar sweet brainiac on your neck
get in to tomorrow, man, I gotta reflect*

Beat changed again, drum dub, heavy on the air, and he turned away, dancing. Shit, he'd have to break soon for something to drink; it was thirsty work dancing until dawn. He looked around, head craning on his long extend-o-neck, and couldn't see Randal anywhere. But the glitter was fading. The shimmer was leaving the world, leaving it a muddier, darker place, and Jay looked down, looked around, past the gleaming spirals on his chest, past the flicker-growing-distant of the movement of his hands.

Find the girl. Find the girl. The girl with the thrill pills, yeah, her, find her. Find her find her find her.

He danced to the edges of the crowd, looking, and saw her gasp, touching her throat, then fall below vision.

Oh, shit. Dream girl down! Come on, people, move your skanky asses, what's she doing? Jay pushed through the crowd, seeing a twitchy little surf-punk back away rapidly, run into the crowd. Fuck him. He looked down at his feet, at the girl. Was it really her?

*a blue world dream girl up the street
gotta wake her up I don't want her to dream*

Damn, the chicklet with the '679' tablets. It was her. She didn't look like she was breathing. He leaned down, feeling for her pulse, like he'd seen on tv. Someone brushed him aside gently, and before he could rip into them, he realized it was a Bob someone, and cool, that worked, 'cause Bob knew CPR.

He watched, leaning against a tree as Bob deftly unbuttoned her top one-handed, exposing a sliver of rosy belly and a tie-dyed bra in pink and red. He started breathing for her, breathing into her mouth, breathing air into her lungs. After a few minutes, just when he was moving to start compression on her chest, she coughed, sitting up. The crowd gathered around them cheered, but she shook her head.

"Someone...took...inhaler," she gasped. Oh, shit. Jay scowled, looking around, and someone at the back of the crowd yelped.

"Motherfuck, stop *pinchin'* me!" A scrawny kid, patchy skin, patchy- dyed orange hair, was pushed forward on a wave of indignation, and he proffered the inhaler with a sigh.

"Fuck, like I knew what was in it!"

"Then why'd you take it, numb nuts?" Jay snatched it from his hand, pushing him back into the crowd, and turned to the girl.

"Hey," he said softly. "Here."

There was no question it was hers; it had swirls of rose-pink and metallic red up the plastic case.

*blacken the sun!
what have I done?
I feel so bad, I feel so numb, yeah!*

Quickly, she inserted the inhaler, depressing the switch and drawing in one long, gasping breath that hurt to hear. She leaned back weakly against Bob, and he nodded up at Jay. She'd be fine, in Bobspeak. He released the breath he was holding and turned to the crowd.

"Okay, she's fine, now, back the fuck off, return to party mode, 'kay? Come on, people, let's *move*!"

And the DJ spun another disk, this one apparently a mix of wolf howls and tiger snarls and crashing cymbals. Weird-ass music. But it spun down soon enough, and the heavy drum dub returned, this time with added little chuckles of liquid piano work. Impressive, actually.

Rave on, rave on. Back to dancing, man. Back to chest-heaving, exhilarating, sheer love-to-do-it movement. He twirled, he leaped, he boogied in place, and there she was at his elbow.



"I wanted to thank you."

"Baby, my pleasure. And Lunchbox's."

"Whose?" she asked, struggling not to laugh.

"Silent Bob. Guy in the trench. He's all over that big-time hero shit."

"I wondered." She leaned up then, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

"Thanks again." Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it lightly, and moved back into the crowd. The dancers parted obligingly, and as obligingly closed behind her, one impenetrable wall of pink and tan and brown.

*blacken the sun!
what have I done?
I feel so good, I feel so numb, yeah!*

Holy shit. She'd dropped three of the wafers into his hand. Well, hell, can't pass up that action, huh? He dropped two into his face, licking them so that they'd dissolve faster, and felt the warming flush start, the world returning to shimmer, five minutes later. He was about to drop the third one in, when someone tugged his arm.

He tugged it away, turning to curse out some stupid someone, and it was Silent Bob.

Hey. Silent Bob. He looked down, looked at the wafer in his hand, then looked back at Bob. Bob pulled him out of the crowd, over to some trees, and looked at him sternly.

*jingle jangle comin', gonna crush your back
well, everybody want it, gotta take it back*

"You know you're still on parole," he said softly.

"Fuck that, man," Jay said. "Gotta move, gotta groove, right? Rave on, rave on, rave on."

"You get caught--"

"I know, man, I know--they throw me in jail again. Do not pass Go, do not collect fuckin' two hundred dollars. I know already."

The flush crept up to his face. Ooh. He felt like he was on fire. Absently, he rubbed a hand over his crotch, and realized what he was hot for. He turned, ready to plunge into the crowd again, a muff- seeking missile, and Bob's hand on his arm stopped him.

What? What? No. What? I don't know. What the hell you want? I didn't do it. I didn't--

He blinked, suppressing the traditional round of what's-my-excuse, and pushed Bob deeper into the clearing. Pushed Bob up against a tree, took the second wafer, placed it on the tip of his tongue, and kissed him. Passed the wafer to him, licked it until it started to dissolve, and licked everything else he could reach as Bob instinctively swallowed.

And, ooh, what the hell was this? Bob's hands, tangling in his hair. He pressed in, suddenly realizing this was more than another episode of let's-get-Lunchbox-stoned. Ooh, yeah, he was all lovely hard against him, and Jay rocked his hips forward, meeting his hardness with his own. Jay danced his hands along Bob's sides, and broke off the kiss to angle his lips down to Bob's neck.


Oh, yeah. Talk it, baby. Talk to me. His lips and tongue traced patterns on the skin of Bob's neck as Bob moaned and thrust up against him. He tugged the collar of his shirt away from his chest and licked underneath, earning another moan, and this time, wandering hands.

Fuck, yeah. Better than muff-diving. Bob-diving. Fuck, fuck, fuck. In fact--

He worked his way down Bob's body, until he was kneeling on the muddy ground. Bob gasped, looking around, looking panicked as anything. Oh, that was too fuckin' funny. Too fuckin' funny by half--hello. Holy Mother of GOD, hello!

*rain trash porn slash what is why
look into forever, revolutionize*

Unzipping Bob's pants was a revelation, a revolution, a fucking Monument to Cock. Shit, he wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't seeing it, rising before his eyes like one of those hypnotized snakes he saw in old movies. He bobbed his head towards it, tentatively licking the tip, and was rewarded with a low, gutteral growl.

Okay, so that's Bob. Bob, meet Jay. Fine, then. Now we suck.

Jay fastened his lips around the head, pulling it in by the force of suction, and Bob gasped overhead. Jay slid his lips down another inch or so, the length and width of him ensuring that he was going to have a sore jaw tomorrow. Still. Might be fucking worth it, right?

Then he shuddered once, all over, and Bob looked down.

"What? What is it?" he managed to gasp.

"Just--thinkin'," he said softly, pulling his mouth away. He looked up, eyes wide, blinking.

"You ever killed anyone with this thing?"


"Killed someone. You know, you're getting' 'em all ready for ya, and then you drive in, an' they split in half and die?"

Bob gaped at him for a long time, then violently shook his head.

"Fuck, no! I can't believe--"

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I said, I'm just thinkin'" The thoughts raced on from that point without words, Bob behind him, Bob's hands on his hips, Bob growling like he had earlier, as he thrust all of this big monster mass inside Jay--

"Uhh!" Jay gasped, rubbing at his crotch again, and swallowing as much of Bob as he was able. He worked at Bob, sucking, nibbling, drawing him deeper, and it wasn't until Bob's hands were in his hair again, pulling his face forward violently, spearing his mouth with his cock, that they both heard Randal.

Shit! Jay looked up, pulling off again. Bob whined, shaking his head.

"Shit, man, Randal wants to go home now."

"Fuck--no--so close--"

"Yeah, uh-huh, you want some fuckin' clerk roundin' the corner, seein' your meat in my mouth?"

Bob's eyes narrowed and Jay stood, folding in as much as he could of Bob and zipping up his pants.

"Hey. I ain't sayin' I don't want you. Fuck, I want you doin' things to me you only ever read about. Shit, I want you doin' things to me *I* only ever read about! But we can't do shit with Randal lookin' over our shoulders, right?"

Bob shuddered out a long breath, resting his head for a moment against Jay's shoulder. Then he stood, biting his lip.

"Yeah. You're right."

"I fuckin' *know* I'm right. Now come on. We gotta get *home*."

In his mouth, the words took on an entirely new meaning, and Bob shivered all over for a second time.

*blacken the sun!
what have I done?
I feel so bad, I feel so numb, yeah!*

And Jay vibrated in the car all the way back to Red Bank, itching to get Bob alone.

*blacken the sun!
what have I done?
I feel so good, I feel so numb, yeah!*

(Song is Rob Zombie's "Feel So Numb". Still immortal and strange.)
Kelandris the Mad
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