Title: Shall We Dance?
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse/Chasing Amy (post)
Pairing: Silent Bob/Holden McNeil, some Jay/Silent Bob (UST)
Rating: NC-17. Maybe higher. GRAPHIC male/male sex; I didn't think I had it in me!
Status: posted 2001?
Archive: You must send an email to me and let me know where you intend to archive. Private archiving allowed as long as you don't intend to publish. Behave.
E-mail address for feedback: Kelandris
Series/Sequel: Damned if I know. For that matter, where they keep coming from is baffling me as well.
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: Just wanted to get Kevin Smith and Ben Affleck together at last, I guess.
Summary: Bob finds a friend to alleviate some boredom.
Warnings: Graphic male-male sex. Emotional pain. Weird hairstyles. This wasn't beta-ed, either.

"Shall We Dance?"
by Kelandris the Mad

The music pounded at the man in the black leather trench, shredding thought and will under the driving beat. People jumped, dived, shimmied in front of him, lights arcing in many colors around him. He wanted a cig desperately, but it was a no smoking club. Sighing, he leaned against the wall, looking for a particular shade of blond hair.

This afternoon, they'd gotten a call from one of Jay's contacts, telling them the meet was at this downtown club. They'd never heard of it before, and even now, he couldn't remember the name. All he knew was they'd jumped on the bus, Jay assured of his friend both meeting them and giving them a place later to crash, and off they went. Now he stood here, feeling profoundly out of place. He didn't dance much. It took Jay egging him on to get him to move; most of the time he just watched Jay. And fifteen minutes ago Jay thought he saw someone in the crowd he knew and danced off.

Danced off...Shit, like that had helped. Watching that ass move to the beat had made him clench his hands in his pockets from wanting to run after him, whirl him around, and kiss him until he begged for air. Or more. **But no. Not today,** he thought bitterly. No Jay, no cigs...This was going to be a long, *long* night.

"Bob! Hey!"

He whirled, but it wasn't Jay's voice. To his surprise, Holden McNeil was walking away from the bar, holding a tumbler of amber and ice.

"Holden." He nodded, wishing again for a cigarette, just for something to do with his hands.

"The one and only Silent Bob," Holden said cheerfully. "I didn't know you were in town. Haven't seen you since the comic died. You here for the con?"

Bob shook his head. "Business," he said briefly. He looked around the club, eyes narrowing. Somewhere, somewhere in that strange moving mass...He picked out a girl with all of her hair stuck straight up and wound with gold wire; she wore a dress the exact color and consistency of cicada wings.

There was a blond dancing next to her, but it wasn't Jay. The other guy that looked like Jay--had the hat, had the attitude--had spiked his bangs forward, Bob saw when he turned around, each of them a miniature spear dyed rose and gold. No Jay.

Holden looked good, but drawn, he thought. Blue jeans, just starting to fade, an oversized black t-shirt with some silver-and-green dragon logo on it, windbreaker jacket. He scanned the crowd again, then recognized something in the quality of silence beside him. He turned his attention back to Holden.

"You?" he said, realizing he hadn't answered. He looked more closely at the artist, realizing there was genuine pain here, killing pain. He saw Holden weave on his feet, and that decided him. Walking over, he put an arm around the man's waist, and led him through the club. Somewhere there had to be a quiet place to talk. Holden went with him, that was the funny thing, didn't ask where they were going or anything, just walked with him. Trusting. Bob thought about that. Either he was more drunk than Bob thought, or he just didn't care anymore. Or both.

They passed through a beaded curtain, dark beads interspersed with bells. On the other side, though they could still hear the pounding music, was a room littered with a few chairs, two nonfunctional ice machines, and some old, cracked signs bearing three different names. He led Holden over to the back of the room, leaned him against a wall and took down two chairs. He turned one around backwards and sat down, resting his arms on the chair back. He gestured to the other one.

"Sit," he said quietly. "Tell me."

Holden laughed, sounding like he was on the ragged edge of hysteria.

"You know, it's the funniest thing, you're gonna laugh, I can virtually guarantee it--"

"*Holden*," Bob said, his voice stern. "*Tell me.*"

Holden sat down, draining the glass in his hand. Bob reached out and took it before the other man could let it drop, placing it in the rest of the rubble of chairs. Holden just shook his head.

"I don't know where to start...You remember that day in the diner, when you were talking about Amy?"

**Amy,** Bob thought. **Oh, yeah, I remember *that* chick. Otherwise known as Jay. But like you'd understand if I told you about that.** He just nodded, wondering if he could get away with lighting up in here.

"Well, I took your little story to mean that I needed to be on her level, before I could really cope with her past. Fuckin' stupid move, but I thought I was right at the time. So I got them both together, and I told them I wanted a three-way."

Silent Bob's eyebrows hit the ceiling. He shook his head warningly.

"Fuck, I know, man! But I thought it would be perfect. And Banky...God," Holden said, clenching his eyes shut, "Banky said yes. He said, 'Sure'. And I really thought everything was going to be fine."

He swallowed, eyes liquid with unshed tears. He gave another small, scary laugh.

"And then I turned to Alyssa, and she had me figured out. She knew what I didn't--that Banky really loved me, I mean, *really* loved me. And she knew that I thought this was just a way to get her back, so we could ride happily off into the fuckin' sunset."

He put one hand up, stroked it through his short brown hair, shaking his head. "And I thought it was, too, that's what kills me."

Bob thought about it, looking over the chair-back at the floor, at Holden's feet in neat loafers. Man still knew how to dress, at least.

"So what happened?"

"What do you think happened? Alyssa slaps me, *twice* if you believe that, and Banky storms off, thinking I've thrown him over for Alyssa. The next day all of Banky's stuff is gone and a couple days later, I get a notice from our lawyer, saying Banky wants to split Hold-Up into sections. All nice, neat and legal. It felt like a divorce."

**It was,** Silent Bob thought, but didn't say anything. He just stared at Holden.

"So I sold the loft. I got out of the biz for a while, put all my artwork into auctions to sell. I've been painting since then, taking some risks, getting my stuff out in galleries."

"Sounds good."

"Fat lot *you* know," Holden said bitterly. "I can only sell one in three canvases. Everything I paint, turns into Banky's face."

**You're in love,** Silent Bob thought. **Shit, welcome to the fucking club.** He shook his head, glancing at the beaded curtain. Disconnected bits of the conversation fell through his head, images, single frames, words. He turned back to Holden.

"But you're here at a con."

Holden looked up at the ceiling, smile shaky but there. "Yeah, well, I did this one-shot a while back. What happened between Alyssa and I, and Banky, just to sort it all out. I wasn't going to publish. But I thought, what the hell, there's Alyssa's book, 'Idiosyncratic Routine', you know? It sells a few...So I dug around, found a small press, funded 500 copies. No big deal. But I came to the con with one of 'em. Banky pointed Alyssa out to me, and I dropped her the copy. Told her if she wanted to call me..."

Holden dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders jerking.

Silent Bob swallowed hard, fighting his impulses. Finally he shook his head, pulling his chair closer to Holden's, taking the taller man in his arms. Holden began sobbing, just full-out, wracking sobs, the more painful because they were nearly silent. Bob held him, smoothing his hand down over his feathery hair, letting him cry himself out. When Holden was just breathing against his shoulder, Bob leaned in close to his ear.

"You think she'll read it?"

"I know she'll read it," Holden said. "I don't think she'll call, though. I don't think I'm going to hear from her again." He lifted his head a little, looking at Bob, his cheeks wet from tears. Then he leaned forward and kissed him.

**What the--** But he knew the worst thing to do right now would be to pull away. Give the man all-new trauma to deal with, that was *not* Bob's style. So he kissed him back, and it was nice. It was good. It felt good, just sitting there, leaning on him, kissing Holden.

Suddenly Holden stopped, leaning back, staring at him.

"What the fuck am I doing?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion. No anger, thankfully, just hurt and pain and confusion.

Bob thought a few answers out, deciding on the simplest. "Hurting," he said.

"Yeah but, you--"

"--and Jay," Bob finished. "Like you and Banky."

Holden blinked. He looked stunned, on more than one level.

"So, you--don't hate me?"

Bob looked at him scornfully, shook his head. **How the fuck I'm gonna hate you, if I don't hate myself for wanting Jay? Be real.**

Holden looked down at his hands, blinking away tears.

"Would you--kiss me again?"

Bob licked his lips, looking at Holden. Even in collapse, tearstreaks on his face, he was easily one of the prettiest men Bob had seen. Including his bright-gold Jay. He thought it over, then leaned forward, placing one hand on each side of Holden's face. He brought his lips in slowly, then grabbed Holden's lower lip with them, sucking on it for a second or two.

He moved up to Holden's cheeks, kissing tears from them, tasting salt, then moved back to his mouth, kissing him slowly and thoroughly, until his mouth opened and Bob slid his tongue inside.

Holden was learning fast. It wasn't as if Silent Bob was the world's expert in these waters, but Holden, hesitant at first, was picking up speed and skill. Now he leaned forward, pulling off the leather trench, draping it over a pile of chairs, and slid his hands under Bob's sweatshirt. They were a little cold, and that made him gasp--but Holden's hand on his nipples made him stop breathing.

**Shit, I hope he knows what he's doing. Or he's too drunk to remember what happened the next morning!**

Bob wasn't about to stop, though he knew he'd probably regret this tomorrow, too.

One of Holden's hands kept toying with his nipples, playing with the chest hair in between, and the other one moved down to slide underneath the waistband of his sweats. Bob was already half-hard, and the other man's hand on him finished the trick--when Holden released him he felt like hammered steel.

The artist pulled back a bit, looking at him.

"Bob--is this okay?"

Bob looked at him, cocked an eyebrow. **Okay for whom?**

"I mean, you don't mind? Fuck," he laughed shakily, "like, if you minded, you would have told me before this, right?"

Bob nodded. Holden looked around then, spying an empty space behind the chairs. He grabbed Bob's coat and headed back for it. Shrugging, Bob followed him, bemoaning his inability to walk normally with an erection. Holden laid Bob's coat on the floor, kicked off his shoes, and knelt on the leather. He pulled Bob's sweats down, staring up into his eyes.

Bob swallowed. Shrugged. It was all he was capable of. The thought of Holden wanting to suck him off...fuck, if this could happen, maybe Jay could be persuaded! He watched, entranced, as Holden brought his lips closer, kissing the tip, running his tongue along the shaft, growing more confident by the minute.

**Shit, you're really getting good at this,** Bob thought, strangling a giggle. It felt too good to laugh about, though--he bit his lips, feeling Holden's hands come up and work what didn't fit in his mouth, squeezing and pumping in turns.

**Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck...** He whimpered, closing his eyes for a moment, wishing it were Jay. Jay with his mouth on Bob's cock, pulling him inside out like Holden was doing now. Just the thought was enough, it seemed--his hips jerked forward, and his mouth opened in an O, wanting more than Holden's sweet mouth, wanting to fuck, needing to.

"Gonna...Holden, gonna come, please, gonna..." The words strangled on another whimper, and he grabbed Holden's head, holding him there while Holden's tongue wrapped around the head of his cock, tugging, pulling, slick with spit and pre-cum. All too soon he bucked against the artist's lips, and filled his mouth with warm fluid, which Holden tried to swallow.

Some ran out, and the sight made his cock twitch again, still inside Holden's mouth. Finally Holden pulled away, breathing hard, and looked up.

He licked his lips and Bob fought back a moan.

"Lie down," he said, his eyes sparkling. Bob knelt, and Holden pushed him forward onto his hands. He knelt, his hands on Bob's hips, and suddenly Bob felt his tongue push between his ass cheeks and start tonguing him.

"Oh, *fuck*," he breathed, shuddering all over. He'd never felt *anything* like it. He felt his knees and his arms getting weak, and he heard himself moaning, over and over. His cock got hard again, and he reached underneath, stroking himself as Holden fucked him with his tongue.

**Jay...Jay...** the back of his brain said, like a litany. **Oh, God, if I could...**

Holden rose, kissing the small of Bob's back, and Bob felt the head of his cock pressing against his ass. He bit his lip, but pushed against the invading head, eyes crossing when it popped in. He was trembling now, shaking all over, he couldn't stop. It hurt, a little, but shit, it felt too good to stop for a little pain.

Moaning again, he pushed back, pushed for more of him, and Holden grabbed his hips, pushing forward, groaning.

"Oh yeah, Bob, yeah," he whispered, slowly moving in and out. Bob was struggling to keep breathing, and he could feel Holden trembling too. He nearly came again, at the thought that he'd made Holden tremble...He'd made another *man* tremble. How cool was that?

Then Holden leaned forward, shuddering, and his thrusts picked up speed.

Bob stroked himself faster, hearing the beat pounding outside this room like Holden was pounding into him, and it all seemed connected--the music, Jay dancing, somewhere, Holden, him...

"I'm--com--ing!" Holden cried, and thrust deep inside him, and Bob whimpered again, curling his finger under the head of his cock and pinching a little, and he felt hot come splash over his hand just as he felt himself filled from behind. Holden was breathing as if he'd been running for ten miles, and he curled around Bob, wrapping his arms around the larger man's waist.


Bob crouched where he was, afraid to look up. Holden's head shot up, startled. From what Bob could see, there were two legs that seemed to go up forever, clad in shiny red pumps.

"Hey, guys, this is *not* that kind of club, okay?" the girl said, laughing. "Y'all need to go find a room somewhere."

She exited in a flounce of beads and Bob thought he could just about manage to curl up and die right there from the embarrassment of it all. He peered over his shoulder at Holden, who'd turned bright, beet-red. He started to laugh a little. Holden reached up, patted his red face, and laughed in return. Suddenly they were clutching each other, howling in hysterics, nearly falling down with the humor of the situation.

Then they stopped, looking at the door.

"Shit," Holden said.


They scrambled into clothes, hurrying to get everything off the floor and out of the way before the woman came back. Then Holden stopped, looking at Bob. Hesitantly, he reached out, touching Bob's cheek with a fingertip.

"I think...Banky and I have a lot to talk about."

Bob slowly nodded, looking around.

"Yeah. I should go find Jay."

"Yeah." He smiled at Bob, and Bob turned to leave. He'd walked to the curtain before Holden spoke again.

"Hey, Silent Bob?"

He turned, adjusting the lapels of his leather trench, looking at Holden. His eyebrows raised.


Bob nodded.

"Just remember, love's the important thing. It's not how long you love--sometimes it's not even that you loved before--it's that you continue to love." And he turned, walking back into the noisy, dark bar.

Jay jigged over to him, moving his shoulders to the music.

"Well, it's about fucking time you showed up, you fat fuck," he yelled over the music. "Come on, Roy's lined up and waiting. The buy's gonna go down at his place--he says the owner knows him and he doesn't wanna piss her off. He's got a genuine need for the green, my friend!"

Jay cut through the crowd, Bob trailing behind him, and they'd nearly made it to the back door before Jay looked at him, frowning.

"Where'd you get the tee, man? I never seen that one before."

Bob looked down, seeing silver and green twining dragons on his chest. It was a little tight on him, rubbing against his sensitive nipples, and he wondered how he'd managed to ignore that as he walked back into the bar. He nearly laughed aloud at the thought of Holden trying to pull off his black, baggy sweatshirt with those trim hips.

Smiling, he leaned in close to Jay, breathing into his ear.

"I'll tell you later."

Kelandris the Mad
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