Title: In Repose
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay / Silent Bob
Status: posted here 2002
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Series/Sequel: Independent poem-fic, but sorta-kind semi-follows
"Argument" and "Hurts To Cry".
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: Sometimes insomnia is inspiring.
Summary: Bob can't sleep, and reflects on Jay.
Warnings: Some male/male nudity, but that's pretty much it.
Bob lay in the bed that he and Jay now shared, staring at the
ceiling. He'd been doing this for at least an hour now, with
no end in sight. He'd tried remembering snatches of poetry--"
When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes..."; counting
various small animals; and finally, something he'd heard about
once but never tried, imagining a huge sky, stretching horizon
to horizon, and writing incredibly large, sky-spanning numbers
on it and reciting them aloud. Nothing had worked. The poetry
involved his mind, the animals wouldn't jump over the metaphoric
fences, and he topped out at 200 numbers in the mental sky
before he sighed, turning over to look out the window. He was
still annoyingly awake.
He propped his head up for a moment, looking at Jay. Jay, who
could sleep tonight, and was doing so rather efficiently for the
most part. The blond was lying mostly on his stomach, the left
side of his face turned towards Bob, and he had curled his arms
slightly around his pillow, his fingers tangled together above.
Sometimes sleep reveals a lot about a person. Sometimes it
hides them completely from view, as if their face is a mask
that only surfaces at night. Silent Bob wasn't entirely sure which
category Jay fit into, but he'd be willing to bet it was the
former. In sleep, Jay looked not only younger--most people
do--but more vulnerable. The patter silenced, the hard glaze of
ennui dropped from the shuttered eyes, the mouth unquirked, no
insult or invitation ready to be hurled at a moment's notice, made
the whole a much more gentle creature than the one he spent his
daylight hours beside.
The moon was full tonight, bright as a spotlight beaming through
their window, and by its blue glow he looked at Jay's face
carefully. There was a small scar riding in front of his left
ear, and he wondered at the acquiring of it--was the small oval
a casual cut, or someone's idea of marking Jay for some purpose
unknown? He touched it carefully, tracing the contours and the
dimensions, seeing how far it went into his skin, stroking down
the plane of his face.
Jay murmured sleepily, turning over onto his stomach, turning
his face away, and Bob carefully slid the sheet down the blond's
back. His hand trailed lightly over what he'd revealed:
shoulder blades, upper arms, back, spine. There were scars
here, as well--a smattering of small dings and clips, as
someone who fights a lot might have; he had heavily scraped
knuckles too, that were just now beginning to look like normal
hands. There were also long, deep scars positioned diagonally
across the shoulder blades, and he moved his fingers over the
raised skin, feeling the rise and fall across each one. These
were the scars that really intrigued him--these twin rows of
deep slashes across the shoulders, three on each side. When
had he gotten these? Who had given them to him? They looked
long-healed, but far too regular to be gotten in a knife fight.
How had he come by them?
Bob shook his head, reaching for the sheet, moving it back up to
cover Jay's supine form, and Jay turned, rolling onto his side,
throwing a sleepy arm around Bob. Bob smiled, brushing a strand
of hair back from Jay's forehead as he kissed it lightly. He
remembered the end of the poem he'd been reading mentally, and
leaned close to Jay's ear to whisper into it the final words.
"For they sweet love remember'd such wealth brings. that then I
scorn to change my state with Kings."
Still smiling, he pillowed his head on his arm, and, watching
Jay's face in repose, fell asleep.
END (SONNET XXIX
When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising)
From sullen earth, sings hymns and Heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with Kings.
Kelandris the Mad
yeah, but I'm not looking forward to walking through snow in