Title: Runaway
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: Songfic. R shading--only by context--to NC-17.
Status: posted to the site 8 October 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: One-shot, but damn, how it seems to tie into every friggin'
thing I've been writing of late.
Disclaimers: Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, Jason Mewes, Scott Mosier,
and Miramax have creative control and ownership of Jay and Silent Bob. I am
just an insignificant slasher who wants the boys to have fun now that they've
retired. I'm not even charging them.
Notes: I've noticed this tendency only to write poetry when I'm chronically
depressed. Same thing goes for writing, sort of--the more stressed I am, the
more I write. Well, rent was due today, it's still not paid, we live under
the shadow of possible eviction, and the grant that's been solving (sort of)
the problem of neither my love in life, nor myself, actually holding down a
job right now, ended in January. So, yeah, you might say I'll be writing
TONS. Hooray for, erm, inspiration? Or the kind of pressure most beings
would only find on heavy gravity planets.
Summary: Jay kisses Bob. Bob freaks. Jay freaks. Jay takes off running.
Warnings: There's something about running fics. Hell, there's something about
running, no matter what the impetus--the feel of wind on the skin, the sound of
the night air, the feel of feet on solid earth or solider pavement. So here's
one for that drive to be free--Jay, pounding out his heartbeat on tarmac.
"Runaway"
by Kelandris the Mad
Bass beat still thumped in the distance, and Jay wandered at a side tilt
through the crowd. Something he couldn't quite get his fingers around was
scratching at his brain, he couldn't think about what it was. He was moving
from room to room, searching something down, vaguely interacting on his way to
the back rooms. Something, driving him on. Something, pulling the movement
out of him.
Jay thought he'd pulled a good chick magnet outfit from his capacious closet.
He'd always been something of a clothes hound, just never had the money or time
to really invest in shit. Now, he could dress down--which he usually did,
because it was hella comfortable--or dress to the nines, for those rare
occasions he actually needed a tuxedo. Or a hand-beaded dress and stiletto
pumps. Whichever.
Now, he wore some kind of a hybrid between the two states. He wore polished
Doc Martens, shining like midnight in New York, and black tights underneath
them, form-fitting against his muscular calves. A pair of black cut-off
sweats completed the waist-to-floor attire. But above his waist, it was much
more interesting. He wore a tight-weave long-sleeve black mesh top, wrapped
with black electrician's tape along the arms, and across the torso in
asymmetrical diamond-and-diagonal bands. Scattered across it were a handful
of chrome safety pins, and a smaller brass safety pin was poked through the
hole in his nose. Even his hair was tied back with a loop of the tape, pierced
through with several more chrome pins. (But it was true, a spate of dancing
earlier had pulled loose several long strands that he now kept tucking behind
his ears.)
Though he was getting fuckin' sick of being called Eric.
He'd had some grain belt beer, downed in a solid swig early on, and something
clear in a test tube, and some extravagantly painted chippie's sunset-colored
confection in a martini glass, while she purred into his hair and left bright
metallic crimson streaks on his neck. He had some pink dots patched on his
collarbone, some blue diamonds in a half-circle around his navel, and two
bright yellow smiley faces that sat on either side of the inside of his wrist.
He was fairly sure those two were just stickers.
Plus, he'd had some X and some pot and some coke and a little bit of someone's
hash stock, lying in a dim back room while someone licked him in distant
reverie. Or maybe he'd just added that in about the time the coke hit the X
and began the tug-of-war using his lower intestine.
And now he was walking farther and farther until he reached the back set of
rooms. Damn, had the apartment always been this big?
"The problem with relational spaces in 3-D is that you have to create the
perimeter of the space you need before you define the actual mathematics of
creating that space," said a familiar voice, and for all he knew, Bob might as
well have been speaking the Russian he spoke as a native. He had no idea what
the hell that meant.
Ambling into the room, he hung out by the door, wearing what he thought was a
patient expression. The looks he saw from the guys Bob was talking with ranged
from horrified astonishment to pity, so Jay thought, as usual, he had no concept
of what his face was doing out there in the world. Shit. He tried to wave at
Bob, fade back into the party girls and party boys, and Bob just sighed,
grabbing his arm and leading him out of the room. He looked frustrated. He
also looked amused. Of the two, he'd prefer amused.
Then Jay pulled back a little, really looking at him. He didn't look bad, he
thought. Clean brown shoulder-length hair, the color of chocolate--the good
stuff, not Hershey's shit. Glossy black leather trench he'd bought for Bob,
what was it, three Christmases ago? Something like that. Before that the boy
had worn a denim duster, originally black but bleached to charcoal grey by the
time December rolled around, and Jay had desperately wanted his Muscle better
protected from the cold.
Rest of the outfit was even simpler, a black t-shirt, black sweats, enough like
in tone that they didn't clash with each other--and don't let 'em lie to ya,
Jay thought, blacks *can* fuckin' clash. Only plaid was a neutral,
after all. Cardinal rule of punk.
Even his shoes were new, Puma blacks, nearly sparkling under the yellow
hallway light. Appreciatively, Jay looked his Muscle up and down, nodding.
"Bad chick magnet, tonight," he said softly. He wasn't sure Bob even heard the
comment.
Bob followed his eyes, shaking his head, looking back up and peering close at
Jay's face.
"There's no blue in your baby blues, kid," he said softly, and Jay just
smiled. Without thinking further, he pushed Bob, and Bob staggered back,
through a door Jay had just noticed behind him, and straight back onto a bed.
Jay pursed his lips. Yeah, okay.
And he pounced. He straddled Bob, pushing him down against the comforter,
watching his face. He seemed surprised as hell, but not angry. Okay. Good.
So now what?
Jay cocked his head to one side, completely part of the moment. There was no
thinking here, just a series of connected impulses. Nerve sparks, that was all
it was. Nerve sparks, carrying his body forward, leaning his head down,
pressing his lips against Bob's. The first brush of his lips against Bob's
was just that, a tentative pressing of flesh against flesh, and then he rose,
blinking.
"Jay?" Bob asked, the question defined in a single word, and Jay had no good
answer. So he kissed him again.
This time it was deeper: he licked his lips, bending down, and pressed his
lips to Bob's, snaking his tongue forward to lick along Bob's lower lip,
pushing over it, pushing inside Bob's mouth. Soft moaning filled the room,
and he honestly couldn't tell for a long moment whose throat was making the
low, urgent noises. And after he knew, it no longer mattered, because he
realized how much he loved kissing Bob, just kissing Bob, doing something
he'd never done before. Never dared to do before. No, never cared to do
before, far as he knew. Huh. Interesting.
And Bob--after the initial shock had worn off, he'd seemed into it. Jay felt
Bob's thick fingers sink into his long hair, pulling his face closer, and he
obligingly leaned his entire weight on Bob as they kissed. And, ooh, that
could get addictive, couldn't it? Shit, how many girls had he fucked, even
just the past year, who complained he'd been crushing them when he laid
full-out on their perfumed softness?
And yet, Bob didn't complain, Bob didn't seem to care, Bob was big enough to
take it. Huh. Yeah. That could get *too* good.
About the time the thought crossed his mind, and he realized that he was hard
for Bob--get that, hard for his Muscle, just from one fuckin' kiss--Bob pushed
him away, off the bed onto the floor, breathing hard. His eyes were wide,
staring, and for a moment, he just stared at Jay, not even blinking. Then he
opened his mouth as if to say something, and there was a desperate yearning in
the eyes, a pain and confusion that speared Jay to his core.
And then Bob ran away.
*I'm lying here on the floor where you left me
I think I took too much
I'm crying here, what have you done?
I thought it would be fun*
And Jay, confused, wholly out of his depth, lay on the floor and reached
trembling hands up to his face, up to his eyes, feeling wetness on his cheeks.
What the fuck? First I kiss the Muscle, then I want to...want to...what,
exactly? with Bob, an' then, Bob runs away. Does this shit make sense?
And, cringing on the floor, he suddenly thought he did. Oh, shit. Boy is
straight. How could I not have fucking known? Of course he's straight.
Straight arrow boy and absolutely not interested in my ass and now Jay was
curled up on his side, shaking his head, nearly inching under the edge of the
counterpane of the bed in his distress.
Oh, shit. Fucking shit. What do I do now?
*I can't stay on your life support
there's a shortage in the switch
I can't stay on your morphine
'cause it's making me itch*
Just like that, he was on his feet, pushing his way through the party crowd,
doing his best not to glimpse even one glimpse of that rich, dark hair, those
deep chocolate eyes. He kept his head down except when it was absolutely
necessary for him to look up. Five minutes became ten, ten stretched into
twenty, people in his way delayed him. But finally, he made his way to the
door, looking around. To the right, porch, fence, sidewalk, streetlights.
No. But to his left--
Perfect. Park. Hills in the distance, trees here and there, gazebo something
in the center. He took off running.
*I said I tried to call the nurse again
but she's being a little bitch
I think I'll get out of here*
And he ran, he ran across the grass, still wet from watering, several hours
back. The air was crisp, with the tangible tang of night air, and he inhaled
great lungfuls of it, only slightly tainted with diesel from the main road two
roads over.
And he ran, he ran, full out until his lungs were heaving, until his heart was
bursting, running to the far edge of the hills he could barely make out. Four
packs a day dropped him long before he even reached their shadow, and he
dropped to a bench, panting like an old, fat dog, resenting his betrayer body
while he clung to the slats of the bench.
*where I can run just as fast as I can
to the middle of nowhere
to the middle of my frustrated fears*
Now he had the time to go over everything in his mind, in ruthless, obsessive
detail. What the hell had happened? We came to the party and everything was
fine. I went...somewhere, wherever the hell I go at these things, off to find
the nearest slut with a secret and a handful of candy. And I kept moving,
going from room to room, taking a little here, a little there, passing out
bud as I went.
Okay. That I remember. Pat pattern and it's not like it ever changes. But
then...I ran into Bob. And I thought he looked good. And I kissed him.
**Fuck, he hates me.**
And, okay, so we've never had that kinda relationship, we've just been
friends. Roommates. Dealer and the dealer's hired help.
**Lovers without the love, all the way back to one**
Nah. Not possible.
*and I swear you're just like a pill
instead of making me better
you keep making me ill
you keep making me ill*
Jay sat up on the bench, inhaling hugely, looking over to the other side of the
park where he could dimly hear the overdriven bass. Party's still in full
swing. Okay. So more time to think. Hanging his head in his hands, he began
to force his thoughts into a better-lit place, so he could look at them. At
the same time, his fingers moved to his belly, picking off the blue diamonds
on his abdomen, reaching under the shallow scoopneck of the mesh shirt to pull
off the half-moon of pink dots. For good measure, he pried off the two yellow
stickers on his wrist, too, and just sat there, large hands dangling between
his legs, breathing. Breathing in the night air, breathing out particles too
big to aspirate.
**So I pushed him onto the bed, pushed him down and straddled him, and--**
**got hard right then, fuck the kiss, I wanted him in that moment, I wanted
him naked and open and screaming for me--**
No. Absolutely not. He'd kissed Bob, sure, but he hadn't gotten even a little
wood until he'd felt Bob--
**At the least, Jay-boy, don't fuckin' lie. There's only you and you here.
Be honest at least.**
Okay. Shit. Okay. He'd wanted Bob. He'd wanted one of Bob's ankles in each
hand and he'd wanted to kneel at the edge of the bed and thrust in and out of
Bob as he cried out his name. Yeah. Cried out Jay over and fucking over, as
he slid in and out of Bob's hot, tight ass.
Yeah. Fuck, that still sounded good. Had he lost his mind? Or had the
chemical mix taken it away instead?
*I haven't moved from the spot where you left me
it must be a bad trip
all of the other pills, they were different
maybe I should get some help*
Shit, maybe he was getting too old for this. Getting to the age where he'd
have to go to parties and just drink beer like an old guy. Shit.
He watched the house, propping his head on one fisted hand, and sat bolt
upright when he saw a familiar head of dark hair, atop a familiar black
trench, emerge from the house. Bob looked left and right, going through
what must have been a similar decision process, and started off walking into
the park.
*I can't stay on your life support
there's a shortage in the switch
I can't stay on your morphine
'cause it's making me itch
I said I tried to call the nurse again
but she's being a little bitch
I think I'll get out of here*
Oh, shit. And just for a minute, Jay was seriously tempted to take off running
again. Just run and run and run until his heart burst and he wouldn't have to
deal with the aftermath of kissing Bob, which was Bob calmly walking over to
the bench he sat on and calmly dismantling him.
Which was something, he freely admitted, he wanted no part of. He rather liked
being mantled, or whatever the fuck that was--at the least, not torn into
confetti-size pieces for Bob to scatter on the ground. Shit, what was Bob
thinking? Fuck, like Jay ever knew. He shook his head.
Quick, decision time. Run? Or stay?
Ah, fuck, it's not like he knows where I am, right. Big fucking park. Lots of
benches. It's not like he can--
Bob looked up, nodding once, and reoriented so now he was on a beeline to
Jay.
Motherfuck! How does he fuckin'--Oh.
Jay looked up in frustration, registering the spotlight effect on him from the
park light situated directly behind him. Yeah. Right. Well, shit.
*where I can run just as fast as I can
to the middle of nowhere
to the middle of my frustrated fears*
And Bob looked pretty fuckin' calm as he walked up and sat down, flipping the
edges of his trench between his legs as he did. He looked over at Jay, peering
into his eyes again.
Jay scowled.
"What the fuck is it now?"
"Just checking for blue." Bob shrugged.
"As in, what, I was inca-fucking-pacitated when I--when we--in there? Like, I
had no fucking idea what I was doing?"
Bob considered for a long moment, looking down. When he looked up, he was very
carefully not smiling, but amusement danced in his dark eyes.
"More, I was wondering if you were still high enough to want to kiss me." And
he waited for that statement to sink in, Jay could tell because of the total
air of anticipation surrounding him now.
Shit. This was gonna get 'em both killed, he thought. And then, he pounced,
knocking both of them off the bench.
*and I swear you're just like a pill
instead of making me better
you keep making me ill
you keep making me ill*
Shit, Jay thought. If this is the sickness, man, let's hope they never find a
cure. And he pulled in a massive gust of air, and returned his lips to Bob's,
and kissed him like he'd just then figured out what kissing was for.
END
(Song is Pink's "Just Like a Pill")
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
what have you done, o what have you
