Title: In Repose
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay / Silent Bob
Rating: G
Status: posted here 2002
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Email address for feedback: Kelandris
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.

"In Repose" by Kelandris

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.


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.

William Shakespeare)

Kelandris the Mad
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