Title: Shut Up and Kiss Me
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: Dogma/View Askewniverse
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob, Jay/Azrael
Rating: NC-17. Some graphic m/m sex.
Status: New
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: Inevitably, part of the Feather/Dagger/Tunnel/Mercyverse
series.
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.
Spoilers: for Dogma. Not that anyone here hasn't seen the
film.
Notes: I still think this needs more sex. And Bob talks more
than usual. How'ver. this is where the single LONGEST story arc I've
ever friggin' written begins. This is the start of the
Feather/Tunnel/Dagger lunacy that I still haven't managed to
tie up!
Summary: Azrael thinks of an interesting way to get what he
wants.
Warnings: Some graphic sex, some angst, some (emotional) pain.
No one dies.
Parting Remarks: Don't mind me, I'm just sitting here, writing
about sex...
"Shut Up and Kiss Me"
by Kelandris the Mad
Three weeks ago:
The doors closed with a resounding clang, even though they were
made of wood. The sun shone brightly on the threesome standing
in the inner courtyard of St. Michael's, staring around dazed at
the bright green grass and the flowers blooming where moments
before had been devastation, body parts, and a great deal of
angel blood.
"So that's it," Bethany said. She still wore a dreamy look on
her face, and her hands were clutched possessively around her
belly.
Silent Bob shrugged, reached into his pocket and grabbed the
pack of cigarettes. Flipping the top open, he looked inside,
one eyebrow raising. Two remaining. He nodded once, lit one,
passed it to Jay, then lit the other. Jay took the offered cig,
inhaling deeply and looking around. Something white drifted
past on the road and Jay walked out to see what it was.
"Huh." Jay leaned down and picked up a feather lying discarded
on the road. "Hey, check it out, tubs, that hottie left
somethin' here!"
"God," Bethany corrected.
"Whatever. Look!" He held the feather up, glittering in the
sun, the shaft long and even and gleaming like pearl. "Flyboy
feathers," he mused. He looked around, smiling like a child on
Christmas. "Hey, help me find more!"
Bethany shook her head. "C'mon, guys, let's go. I want
something to eat."
Bob looked around, jerked his head at his younger companion.
Jay nodded, one of those full-body nods he was capable of
producing.
"Hell yeah," he said. "Grab some more cigs, grab some protein
for the preggo, find a motel room--" He leaned towards Bethany,
his eyebrows waggling. She just smiled.
"How about instead, we find a place to eat then I go home?"
Bethany turned, looking down the cross-street. "How about down
there?" she said, pointing.
"You buyin'? 'Cause me and Silent Bob here, we got kinda tapped
out in the strip club."
Silent Bob whacked him, and he whirled, looking hurt.
"What? Bitch, we spent a lot of money in there, and we gotta
bus home, you telling me you haven't thought of that? We're not
exactly flush on product, you know!"
Silent Bob just shook his head. Bethany stopped, looking at
Bob, then looking at Jay. Finally she shook her head, still
smiling.
"Sure, guys. Whatever you want."
"Awright, that's what I'm talkin' about!" Jay walked down the
road, shadowboxing the air. Bethany exchanged a look with
Silent Bob, who shrugged, took another puff on the cigarette,
ground it out with a brisk movement and sauntered after Jay.
She looked up at the sky for a long moment, gesturing towards
the two prophets, as if to say, "See, guys? See what I'm stuck
with?"
But the mood didn't last. Smiling again, she walked behind
them, staring at everything as if she was seeing it for the very
first time.
Two days ago:
"AAAAGH!"
The man in the white suit grabbed the kid at the keyboard,
shaking him roughly. The kid's black eyes glared at him with
hate, and there was a brief buzzing sound, as if flies were
batting against an unseen window. The man released him,
snarling at the room in general.
Azrael was pissed. He stalked around the room, yelling at
random, picking up things and throwing them against the wall.
Unfortunately, all the really breakable bits had been broken
when Loki and Bartleby had not walked through the arch after
all. It had taken him a solid week to figure out how to escape
Hell again, and then to come back to a world unchanged, still
perfectly ticking off the days in order, was infuriating. It
had been the work of an hour, tops, to summon the Triplets and
find a new house. Which had been promptly semi-demolished in
his anger at finding out both Bartleby and Loki had died.
Bethany was no longer on the radar; someone was hiding her very
well--another thing which irritated him. Probably Loki and
Bartleby; it would be just like God to set them to watching the
girl. And he could find the prophets, but what good would that
do? They were probably being watched too, or had some other
stupid blessed item just hanging around, and...Oh, it just
didn't bear thinking about.
Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, and he would
have to give up and go back to damnation, one of his informants
had told him that one of the may-they-burn-under-his-watch *prophets*
was seen carrying around an angel feather. An *angel*
feather. It wasn't much, but it could be used--if he could just
find the right person to get it for him, and the right person to
get the spell ingredients. And he'd found her, using some
resources in Hell that might come back to bite him later. Weeks
of effort, weeks of spellwork, and now--as he looked at the
computer screen--she had written back that she was currently
'unavailable.'
"Unavailable!" he screamed, kicking the couch. He whirled,
panting, looking for more stuff to throw. The remaining
Triplets cowered against the back wall.
**Best 'special investigator' the Vatican has, my ass.
Unreliable, lazy, foolish -- HUMAN!**
"She takes a week to get back to me," he hissed, his small horns
beginning to steam, "and then says she can't come at all. Well,
*fuck* her!" He ran hands through his short, dark hair and
sneered. "I've had it. So what if she's the best tracker in
the business! It's not like she does commission work for demons
anyway. What was I thinking? You can't trust an intermediary
for work like this."
He glanced down at his three helpers, gesturing towards the wall
of the living room, now bare of the bric-a-brac and lacy frames
that had been there earlier.
"It's been fun, boys, but until I need you again--"
Three expressionless pairs of black eyes stared at him, then one
sliced through space and time with his hockey stick, and all
three slid into the glittery slash like spat seeds. Azrael
nodded, rubbing his hands. He put his hat on, straightening the
brim.
"Yessss," he hissed. "I'll get the damn feather myself."
Today:
It had been a good day, Bob mused. Bethany was packing up her
apartment, planning on moving into the building, so he and Jay
could keep an eye on her--and the new Scion. It would be
decidedly different being godparents--at least of a sort. He
wondered if he should get a real job, then sighed and looked
around, shaking his head. He liked his job now. He liked being
Muscle, he liked hanging out, and he liked the opportunity to do
what he wanted, when he wanted--all things he'd lose in a
traditional nine-to-five environment. Let alone the humiliation
of the outfit--tie, white shirt, no trench...no chance.
He listened to Jay singing off-key in the shower for a moment,
barely smiling. Then, he thought to himself, there's Jay.
**Jay who would go nuts if I left him alone that long.** Jay
who would probably get himself killed trying to sell in the
wrong neighborhood if he wasn't along to be intimidating. Jay
who...
**Who am I fooling? Jay whom I love. Jay, who I can't stand
to be away from. That's 'Jay who'. Fuckin' lovesick idiot. **
He shook his head again, dropping an empty beer bottle on a
black table already cluttered with them, and heard a light
knock at the door.
**Bethany? But she isn't due back for--**
Shrugging, he opened the door to see Azrael.
"Sometimes the simplest ways are best," Azrael said, then
cocked back his fist, swinging fast.
Fist--face--darkness. His last panicked thought was a
prayer--hoping Jay would still be alive when he woke up.
Azrael quickly dragged Silent Bob inside, cursing at the
weight. He walked down the hallway, hearing Jay in the
bathroom, and smiled. Good, let that occupy the twit for a
while. At the end of the short hallway were two doors to the
right, and he kicked the nearest one open. Large bed, grey
comforter, grey carpet, comics everywhere, books everywhere,
computer in the corner with stacks of game boxes to one side.
Azrael shrugged--it could be either Jay or Bob's room, and
frankly he didn't care. He lugged Bob over to the concealed
side of the bed and dumped him, stepping quickly past and back
out. Nothing resembling a feather here, but he'd be back to
check later if he didn't find it somewhere else.
He looked up, confused for a moment. Door out--open. Door
open in room--revealing clothes, hats, some boxes shoved
haphazardly on upper shelves. Door across room--closed. **Hmm.
What's behind Door Number Three? **
He opened it quietly, peering around the corner. It was nearly
the same arrangement--big bed, big grey comforter, grey carpet,
comics everywhere. This one might be Bob's room, Azrael thought--the
silent ones always read more, and this room was wall-to-wall
bookshelves. And the bong on the side table beside the bed
could belong to either of them. Quickly he looked around, not
disturbing anything, but not seeing a feather. He snarled
silently, then walked back to the living room. He began to
lean forward, to start the search in here, when he paused, bent
over and looking under the table. In his mind he saw the two
rooms again, decorated simply in a similar style, both large,
and both connected by a door. A *connecting* door. Slowly, he
smiled, standing up, looking towards the back of the apartment.
**Oh, that's brilliant--and it's going to work!**
The demon heard the door to the bathroom crack open, and hurried
into the kitchen. There was a bright, writhing light.
Jay pulled the towel off his head, drying the tips of his long,
blond hair. He saw movement in the kitchen.
"Yeah, man, grab me a beer too while you're in there, huh?" He
walked over to the couch, sat down and picked up a remote from
between the beer-bottle array. He punched in five discs at
random from the changer, and leaned back, closing his eyes as
the music blasted all conscious thought away. After a few
moments, he felt the remote being taken from his hand, and a
beer put into it.
He nodded, grinning hugely, looking up at Bob.
"Shit, that's more like it, I could really learn to go for this
manservant gig," he said sarcastically. "Have you do whatever
the fuckin' hell I want, huh Bob?"
Bob looked at him for a moment, his eyes sparkling. They seemed
nearly black in the low light and Jay frowned. Then Bob smiled,
and sank to his knees, and Jay swallowed, pressing back against
the couch.
Bob put one hand on each of Jay's legs, just kneeling there,
looking at him. There was a long silence. Retorts spun through
his head, but his mouth wouldn't work.
**Look like a fuckin' beached fish here, Jay, good one. How many
fuckin' times you gonna open and close that mouth while he's
watching you?**
Finally, words came. They weren't the ones he wanted.
"Uh--hey, Bob?"
"Whatever you want, Jay?" Bob said softly. It didn't sound quite
like Bob's voice. Jay swallowed again, licking his lips nervously.
**Okay, this is fucking surreal. So you have these fantasies, they
don't mean fuck,** he thought. **It's just, he's sittin' there
waitin', and what the fuck do I do now, and...oh fuck...his hands
are moving!**
Jay squirmed under the glance of those dark, dark eyes, and tried
to put the bottle down. Then it struck him that he'd have to
lean forward, get closer to those unnerving eyes and that
unnerving half-smile and fuck, that unnerving *Bob* to do so.
So he held onto the bottle, but he just knew that if those hands
crept any higher--they were slowly rising above mid-thigh--he'd
just drop the damn bottle anyway. Fuck. *Fuck.* This was...
"Fuck, dude, if you can't take a joke--" he said, his voice sounding
strained. Bob looked up, and there were those eyes, those fuck,
damn, *black* eyes, and he started trembling. Then he looked
down, and Bob's hands were unzipping his pants.
"Oh God--"
"Not really," Bob said softly. He pulled apart the layer of
denim, and ran a hand slowly over the shorts revealed beneath.
The younger man's cock leapt at the touch and Jay squirmed,
shaking his head. Bob looked up questioningly.
"You want me to...?"
**Asshole,** Jay thought angrily. **It's all I've ever wanted
you to do since the moment I met you and now you have to go and
make me say it, like it's all my fuckin' idea and I have seen
the way you fucking look at me when you think I'm fucking not
looking and damn it, damn it, you think I'm going to have any
fucking answer but YES?!? Fuck you, Lunchbox!**
He jerked his head in what should have been a nod, but was more
a jerky, flailing motion--up, over, down. Great. He couldn't
even get a nod out right now. And then Bob was pulling down his
shorts, sliding his hands around to cup the top of his ass, and
his mouth was descending. It seemed to take forever, and Jay
had to remember to keep breathing. Then those lips, Bob's lips,
were on his cock, sliding down to suck along the shaft. Jay
inhaled sharply. Bob looked up, raised an eyebrow, then
swallowed him whole.
Jay couldn't breathe right. He couldn't catch his breath. His
cock was between those lips he'd wanted to kiss for more years
than he could count, and it was so hot, so wet, and hot,
and--and--*hot*...
*"Jesus!"* he cried out, hips thrusting forward, and Bob didn't
seem to mind at all. In fact, he seemed to be trying to smile
as his mouth wrapped pure sweet suction around Jay's shaft.
Jay's eyes crossed and he sagged on the couch.
"*Fuck*, yeah, Lunchbox, yeah, Bob...oh, God *yeah*..." His hips
shot forward, fucking that hot, sweet mouth, and every time he
looked down, he was captured by those dark, dark eyes, falling
into those eyes, drowning in them. He felt dizzy, his head
spinning, and he shook his head to clear it. **What the--?**
Then Bob's arms wrapped around him, like steel bands, and threw
him flat on the couch. He rose, straddling the younger man,
Jay's erect cock grazing the soft sweats Bob wore. He could
feel Bob's cock pressing against his, hard, hard as the hands
gripping his shoulders.
"Where's the feather, Jay?" That voice, rolling over him like
silk and acid, while he was pinned down by the black eyes as
much as by the steely grip.
"The feather?" **What the fuck is this, now? Bob doesn't know
where the fucking feather is, and he saw me bring it home...What
the fuck?**
Suddenly Jay's eyes widened, and he couldn't stop a whimper from
escaping his lips.
"Bob?" he said, his voice small.
The man over him smiled, leaning forward and crossing his arms
on Jay's chest.
"Not exactly," he purred.
**Holy shit! He's gonna kill me. And what the hell did you do
with Bob, you evil fuck?**
Then Bob--or whoever it was--leaned down and kissed him, and he
stopped thinking at all.
**It's dark,** Bob thought. **It's dark, and I'm lying on the
floor.** Fuck, but his jaw hurt.
"There's no time for that now," a gruff English voice said.
Metatron knelt beside him, propping his head up and staring
into his eyes. "You have to come with me, now. Jay's in
trouble."
Bob sat up, nearly braining Metatron as he struggled to his
feet.
"Where?" he asked.
Metatron gestured, walking across the room and opening the
door. "Living room."
Bob ran out, cornered on one foot and skidded to a halt, looking
at the couch. The Bob on the couch looked up from kissing Jay,
and snarled. Jay rose to his elbows, still partially undressed,
still *very* erect, as the other Bob moved into the center of
the room.
"So, *prophet*, we meet again." Bob's form melted and ran from
him, disappearing into the grey carpet as Azrael's token white
suit coalesced and horns rose from the high forehead. With a
roar of rage, Azrael leapt for Bob, who put up his fist, pulled
back, and clocked the taller demon, center face. Then he
stepped back, watching Jay out of the corner of his eye.
Giving one strangled sob, Jay leapt from the couch, running past
them into Bob's room. Azrael snickered, and Bob pulled back
again, when Metatron stepped between them.
"It's not like you can resolve this with a bout of fisticuffs,
my boy." Metatron grabbed the demon, tightening his grip.
"But I think we have something that will get through that thick
skull..." And both disappeared, though Metatron's voice could
still be heard apologizing.
"Entirely my fault--do explain it to Jay, won't you? We'll
keep a better eye on you from now on."
Bob heard whimpering and walked back to Jay's room, opening the
door slowly. He rubbed at the pain in his jaw from Azrael's
initial punch. He just made out Jay lying on the bed in the
dim light from streetlamps outside. He was saying something.
"...fuck no, just be Bob, man, just be Bob, I'm sorry I thought
anything, I won't ever do it again, I don't want anything to
happen, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just be Bob, okay, just be
Bob..."
Over and over he was saying it, curled around himself and
rocking. Bob reached out and Jay flinched away.
"Hey," he said softly. Jay looked over, one eye peering
mistrustfully from behind a curtain of blond hair. His chest
hitched and he looked like he was fighting back tears--then he
dove for the bedside lamp.
Yellow light poured over the room, illuminating Bob standing
next to the bed. It also outlined Jay, trembling on the bed,
with his pants unzipped and shorts pulled down and--
Bob looked away, swallowed. **I can handle this. No big deal.
He's my friend, and he's on my bed, and he's upset, and anything
else will have to wait.**
Gingerly, he sat on the edge of his bad, splaying one hand on
the comforter between himself and the younger man.
"Jay," he said softly. "You okay?"
Jay blinked at him, shuddering. "You--your eyes...they ain't
black. They're brown."
Raising an eyebrow, Bob nodded. Why the color of his eyes
suddenly mattered...Then he remembered Azrael. He opened his
mouth--to say what he never remembered--and Jay leapt from the
bed. Their bodies connected and both went down, Jay nearly
knocking him out again as he exuberantly pinned him to the
floor and hugged him.
"You're Bob, you're Bob, yourebobyourebobyourebob!" Jay said
over and over. When he ran out of energy, he just lay against
Bob, panting, his head curled against Bob's neck.
"Fuck, man, I was scared out there," he whispered. "Thank God
you're back, thank God it's you, thank God..."
Right about then Bob realized two things: Jay was laying on him,
hugging him like he'd never stop--and Jay's pants were still
down.
And Jay was still hard.
**Okay, I can do this. This is no problem. Jay is my friend
and Jay is upset and Jay is--**
Bob breathed out shakily. **Jay is really, really hard.** He
tried to shift a bit, give Jay some time to realize where he
was, and their hips met. Jay's hard cock grazed his through
two layers of clothing, and he was afraid to move. No, he was
afraid if he moved, he wouldn't stop. He'd strip out of his
sweats and shorts and move Jay back to the bed and flip his
legs up and--**Fuck,** he thought. **Now what?** He couldn't
seem to breathe. Jay lifted his head.
"Dude," Jay said softly. "You...uh...?"
**Fuck,** Bob thought again. **So much for the friendship.**
And he leaned forward, capturing Jay's mouth with his. Jay
tensed, shivering, and Bob closed his eyes, unwilling to see
disappointment in those sparkling blue orbs. But oh, man, this
was the answer to so many midnight sessions--fuck, forget
midnight sessions, how about morning and midafternoon? This
was feeding some part of his soul he'd managed to close off,
and it felt wonderful: Jay laying on him, pressing against him,
Jay's mouth on his, Jay's hands in his hair...
**Wait. Go back. Jay's hands in my hair?** He stopped and
pulled back, looking up at Jay.
"Don't stop," the younger man moaned, his hips starting to move
against Bob's. One hand dove between them, pulling back the
layers of the trench, the sweatshirt he wore underneath,
unzipped, reaching the t-shirt underneath that.
"Fuck, man, we have *got* to get you out of these clothes and
shit!" Jay leaned in closer, licking Bob's neck, and Bob
closed his eyes, reeling. Jay licked and sucked and kissed up
the neck to Bob's ears, which weren't that sensitive, but the
fact that Jay was licking them was making him shudder.
"C'mon, Bob, c'mon," Jay said, rolling off the man lying prone
on the floor. "Fun as this is, you gotta help me. I want some
nakedidity!"
Blinking, Bob sat up, shrugging out of his trench and leaving it
on the floor for once. He stood and Jay started pulling clothes
off, throwing them everywhere. Sweatshirt, back onto the chair
behind him. T-shirt thrown back on the bed. Sweatpants,
shucked down Bob's sturdy legs. Shorts pulled down halfway--then
Jay looked down.
"Fuckin' a, man, you're hung!" He glanced up, sheepish and
nervous at the same time. "Oh, man, it's too good, I gotta, you
gotta let me, I hafta--hold on, wait right there." And Jay
sank to his knees.
Jay pulled Bob's shorts off the rest of the way, running his
fingers through the hair on Bob's upper thighs and making him
shiver. He lifted one of Bob's legs and Bob kicked off his
shorts, his head spinning. He couldn't seem to get his thoughts
to run in one place long enough to figure out *what* he was
thinking. Then Jay--
He hissed in air, gasping, as Jay licked along his shaft,
reaching one hand underneath to softly fondle his sac, making
Bob gasp again.
"Mmm," he said softly. Then, with one nervous glance up at the
dark-haired man, he licked up to the head of Bob's cock, then
took him in his mouth for the first time. Slowly, he circled
his tongue around the head, licking up the drops of pre-cum
from the fluttering slit. Bob groaned above him.
"Jay, I--I have to lay down, my knees are gonna buckle..."
Jay looked up, letting Bob's luscious cock leave his lips.
"Uh, so the fat man does talk," he said, smiling. "Say
somethin' else." He ran his fingertips down the length of the
shaft and back again, before gripping him in his fist, pumping
his cock a few times for effect.
"Jay, please," Bob moaned. He leaned over, grabbing his
shoulders and pulling him up. Savagely he kissed him, plunging
his tongue into Jay's willing mouth, hearing the younger man
whimper. He walked him to the bed, nearly throwing him down,
and knelt beside him. Then one eyebrow quirked, and he knelt
carefully, sliding off the end of the bed and pulling Jay down
to the edge, parting his legs in the same moment. He leaned
forward, taking Jay in his mouth, and Jay's back arched off the
bed.
Then Jay looked down and froze. It was too similar, that
dark-haired head bobbing on his cock. He gasped, tensing,
tears starting in his eyes again. Bob looked up, concerned,
and realized what was going through Jay's mind. Instantly he
was off the floor, folding Jay into his arms, kissing his face,
his lips, his cheeks, his neck.
"Jay, I'm here," he said. "Jay, it's me, I'm here, I'm Bob.
You're safe." He held him until the trembling stopped, and Jay
pulled back, looking at him.
"Yeah," Jay said. "Yeah, I just forgot there for a moment, you
know? When that horned bitch had me...Man, all I could think
of was how much I wanted it to be you, and it wasn't."
Bob gulped, looking at him. The young blond grinned shakily.
"Shit, man, like you never fucking knew."
Bob swallowed, half-shrugging.
"I didn't."
Jay shook his head, laughing.
"Shut the fuck up, Lunchbox, and kiss me."
END
*************
Kelandris the Mad
former chewer of seaweed
