Title: Slingshot
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, post-Dogma (no real spoilers)
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: Graphically NC-17. Hubba hubba.
Status: I have no idea when this was posted. Sometime in the 2001-2002 range.
Archive: Yes if you tell me.
Feedback: Kelandris
Sequel/Series: I have no idea. Story challenge answer. Either that, or put this somewhere towards the end of the big bad Feather/Dagger/Tunnel gang.
Disclaimers: Mercy's my creation, Jay and Silent Bob belong to Kevin Smith and View Askew. Good thing, too, considering the horrors I visit upon them on a daily basis.
Notes: How this morphed into the answer to Scorpio's lost-her-mind challenge, I have *no* idea. This started out as a simple let's-make-Mercy-move story--that did *not* feature Jay and Silent Bob.
Summary: Bob reflects on the abnormality of the common mall.
Warnings: Graphic m/m sex. Mercy gets hurt again, like that's uncommon...Car explosions. Weird devices. And I swear to God, this had an actual smut-free plot at one time. The boys are getting out of hand.

by Kelandris the Mad

The problem, Silent Bob reflected ruefully, was that malls were essentially unpredictable. Oh, the stores were stable--until they closed--and the patrons were always there--save when they weren't. But more often than not, a group of days would drift by, between food court stops and pet store visits, and he'd forget that anything other than this same creeping sameness could happen.

And then something completely bugfuck would come in, rip all the established complacency to shreds, and exit through a wall.

Riding home on the bus, arm snugged tight around Jay's waist under his jacket, he mused on this essential instability. Turning a corner, he noticed a boy holding a broken mirror and a dead mouse. His eyebrows went up. Maybe it wasn't just malls that every so often went nuts. But malls were more spectacular about it.

Take last week, for instance...


He and Jay had gone down to the mall to grab a couple of pretzels and Cokes. Other than Jay's Coke being flat, it had been another normal day--some friends, some fun, some smokes out the back door in the parking lot. There were a lot of sales going on; everyone from that Magic Eye booth to Walls of Socks to Burning Flesh had wanted a piece of the action. Banners everywhere, half-off posters, come-buy-here enticements around every corner, which Jay and Bob managed mostly to ignore.

On their way out to the back lot, both men had stopped, though, struck dumb by the double set of tits attached to two short, stacked redheads. The one on the left wore a black t-shirt straining over her melons and wrapped tight around her midriff. It said in big yellow block-print letters, *UPPITY WOMEN UNITE.* Her companion's shirt was pale blue, and printed in block letters over her endowments were the words, *GOD I WISH THESE WERE BRAINS.*

Jay started snickering, but both women only smiled, laced their hands together, and continued down the walkway. Jay elbowed Bob, pointing after them, and Bob shook his head, pointing out the door to the back lot and holding up an unlit cigarette. Shrugging, Jay followed him--though not without a long, yearning look--and they went out and started in on the second pack of the day. So far, it had been a pretty average day, incredibly stunning redheads notwithstanding.

Then they came back in and walked into chaos. The mall was alive with people whispering and pointing, not moving silent and drone-like through the daily grind. And the reason for all the excitement was a black blur racing around the upper level, being chased by six other black blurs.

The six men in black cornered whomever it was, reaching out and yammering, and the unknown runner promptly jumped for the big banner advertising the shoe sale that month at Best Foot Forward. The figure swung over the gaping patrons of the food court like Luke Skywalker crossing the impenetrable central core of the Death Star. And as the figure swung by overhead, arms wrapped tightly around the words "HALF OFF", Bob's wide brown eyes connected with the figure's startled violet ones, and he choked back a yell.

Jay hit his arm.

"Dude, was that who I think it was?"

Bob could only nod. Mercy Wallis was back in Red Bank, no angelic sidekick to be seen--but a lot of black-clad wolves hungry on her trail.

"Lunchbox, we gotta help," Jay said gravely. "Damsel in distress, an' all that."

Bob nodded. Damsel in distress, possibly. Damsel in danger, definitely. But just what could they do? He looked around for a suitable distraction, seeing nothing nearer than a large potted palm, a scrap of tinfoil twined around one of its more wilted leaves. He walked past it, watching her leaping from ceiling beam to skylight struts, dropping like a dark stone when two of the men pulled weapons and fired. That's when people began screaming and running; when one of the greenish-gold energy beams struck a clothing store, a rack of blue and green ties inside vaporizing along with half the window, it was anticlimax to the horde already running for the exits.

But Silent Bob noticed she'd dropped *as* the beams zotted out, clearing the area before any of the beams found her. She seemed to pivot in midair as one of the men went down, pierced by crossfire, vaporizing in crumpling sections like the neckties had not.

Her hair was a dark halo around her as she fell, and Bob was mesmerized for a moment, watching as her hands shot out and grabbed the railing, jackknifing under the bottom rail in seeming defiance of all rules of physics.

Almost immediately Mercy rolled forward, her legs kicking out and sweeping the second man off his feet. His legs bucked and he fell with a scream, topping over the railing and heading for the floor. It wasn't that far to drop, but he was fighting with the slim black cylinder he held, trying to aim it behind him at Mercy, who had now vaulted over the railing and was falling towards him. He landed on top of the weapons tube, and there was a loud crack. The smell of singeing flesh soon followed, as an electrical discharge flickered quickly but briefly over the fallen man. Smoke drifted up from his dark clothes as Mercy fell gracefully beside the man's still form.

Bob nodded. Nice maneuvering. Two down, four to go. He watched as she took off, in a dead run on the lower level, passing him with a pained expression. The four were hot on her trail until Bob stepped in their way, dull expression on his bearded face, black leather trench swinging around him like a cloak.

All four looked alarmingly similar, as if they were the same person poured into four separate shells. Bob didn't have a problem with that--he knew cloning of human beings had already happened, he'd seen that Joey Lawrence show.

He stepped forward into the pack, the men whirling and tumbling over him, around him, arms flailing in the air. As soon as he went down, the first man rolling over his back, Jay stepped in, whaling on random limbs clad in black--though not black leather, Bob was terribly grateful about that. And snarling, slipping, slapping at the two young men, the four in now rumpled black suits sought their quarry, gaining their feet and staring around suspiciously.

Bob and Jay backed off, doing a well-honed imitation of two stupid stoner fucks standing in a mall. They were assessed, sneered at, and dismissed in the same moment. Then all four tensed, raising their weapon tubes, while one gestured outside, pointing and yelling. It was at that point that Silent Bob realized he didn't understand what language they were speaking.

All four ran outside, and he followed surreptitiously to the mall doors facing the back lot. Peering out, he and Jay watched Mercy's attackers outside. The men in black ran as a unit to a black Mustang, looked like a 1961, in cherry condition. They clustered around it, waving their arms, then all four stepped back as one, yelling.

And the car exploded. A single fireball of red and orange and actinic yellow rose from the tarmac, gleaming. Just like that, between one breath and another, the four men, and the remains of the Mustang, were gone.

Bob's eyebrows rose high, thinking.

"Be ever mindful of the Living Force, young Padawan," he murmured.

"Yes, my Master," Jay replied sarcastically, and Bob's eyebrows rose higher. Then the blond in the knit cap looked around.

"Fuck, dude, this place is dead," he whispered.

Bob looked around. Jay was right. He set off for the mall doors and Jay hit his arm again.

Silent Bob looked at his arms, looked pointedly at Jay, and shook his head warningly.


He shook his head again. "Mercy," he said.

"Yeah, okay, but shit, Bob, how often are we gonna find a completely cleared out mall? I mean, this kinda shit only happens one in a--no, fuck that, this kinda shit only happens *once*, *now*, and we don't take advantage a'this...well, you 'n me might as well go get LOSER tattooed on our foreheads, y'know?"

Bob just looked at him, but said nothing further when Jay quickly rifled through the collection of Tunes 'R Us, emerging with a handful of CDs and a pleased look on his face.

"Snootchie bootchies!" he said happily, waving his haul. Bob smiled, quickly looking away, and motioned for him to catch up.

Now they made their way out the back door in earnest, following the same path Mercy had taken. They looked around, seeing sky, asphalt, concrete and the blasted black circle in the distance where the Mustang had been. But no Mercy. She wasn't there.

"Not...exactly true," said a winded voice, panting. Both men whirled. Mercy leaned against the wall by the door, breathing unsteadily.

"Why is it," she asked, holding a hand to her side, "that every time...I see you I'm...wounded? It's not a...good sign."

Jay scrunched up his face, smiling crookedly.

"'Cause you're always in trouble, Mercy-lady. That's a fuckin' no-brainer."

One corner of her mouth twitched in amusement.

"I am a shameless agitator," she said softly. Then she winced, inhaling. Bob squinted at her, alarmed at the spreading wet patch on her dark shirt. She took her hand away, grimacing, and he saw her palm was red. Sighing, he walked over to her, hanging his cigarette from his lip, and pulled at her shirt. She frowned.

"Give over, Bob, I'm fine."

His eyebrows rose as he pulled up her shirt and revealed a paler than usual expanse of flesh, weeping red from a jagged slice in her side. He stared at her, the expression on his bearded face grim, yet concerned.

**Sure you are,** it said.

"Our youth we can have but today," she said formally. "We may always find time to grow old."

"Not if you keep pulling shit like this," Jay said.

"Quite possibly true, pet." She watched with interest as Bob, shaking his head, reached into his pocket, taking out a folded pocketknife. He turned to Jay, gesturing for his jacket, and unthinking, Jay handed it to him. Bob carefully folded it over one arm, then reached for his grey tee. Before the blond could react, he cut into the fabric, tearing it all the way around, removing the bottom six inches of length.

Jay shrieked, clutching his shortened t-shirt and stepping back.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Stupid fuck, you are *so* lucky this isn't my Forked Tongue shirt, man, I'd hafta *kill* you!"

Mercy rolled her eyes. Bob did likewise. Jay muttered something about ungrateful bitches and stalked off across the parking lot to look at the char marks on the ground where the car had been.

Bob allowed a moment to appreciate the graceful line of Jay's lower back, now revealed above his worn and faded jeans and his perpetual Docs. Then he cut the length of material he held again, tearing the bottom hemmed inch away. He folded the remaining cloth into a thick square, pressing it against her side. She grimaced, but stood there while he tied the inch-wide strip around her, holding the makeshift bandage in place.

He gestured towards where Jay stood, peering with interest at the blast pattern on the asphalt. The meaning was clear. Just who *were* those guys?

Mercy sighed, closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall.

"Oneirons. They've been chasing me since Tuesday. Once they target someone, they backflip their quarry through that person's...personal history. Which is fine if someone's a homebody, but you know me," she said bitterly. "Always on the go.

"I could have lived without seeing Mongolia again. And Novosibirsk this time of year is desperately cold--especially in this outfit."

His brown eyes wandered over her black silks for a moment, agreeing. Then he tossed around the various implications of what she'd said as he pulled her shirt down and stepped back.

"So they're still chasing you?" he asked carefully.

She giggled, then opened her eyes, trying to assume a sober expression.

"No, actually--they finally made the mistake of keeping their machinery in the same area as they were. While you were--occupying them--I wired their travel unit. That's why the Mustang exploded, after all."

Oh. He blinked, folding his arms. He nodded his chin towards the wound. You should have that seen to, the gesture said.

She smoothed a lock of dark hair back from his forehead, smiling warily.

"I will," she said. "But first I need to get back to England. There's a young girl there these fellows locked up. I doubt they'll have set her free in the interim of flipping me around the globe and back again. Obscurely, she's how all this started..."

Jay walked back in time to hear these last few statements. He shook his head, looking doleful.

"What, not even a blow for old time's sake?"

He grabbed his crotch, wagging his hips suggestively. Mercy stared into his grinning face, shaking her head.

"Doesn't your darling play with you enough, child?"

"Hells," Jay said happily, "that tubby bitch could fuck me 24/7, and I'd still want action."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Carefully she stepped forward, hugging Bob. Then she looked over at Jay, holding out her arms.

"Come here, you infuriating boy. It's the least you can do."

Jay swaggered forward, long blond hair swinging, grinning so hard Bob thought his face might split. He hugged her hard enough to get a yelp, more of surprise than of pain. Then he grabbed her head and planted a kiss on her lips that made her eyes cross. She pulled back after a long moment, her eyes gleaming wickedly.

"Really?" she murmured. She grabbed Jay, fisting her hands in what was left of his shirt, kissing him until he was moaning against her, hands clutching her shoulders. Then, laughing, she set him on his feet again, scooting him towards Bob.

"I'm sure you can think of something to do with that," she said, then waved and walked around the side of the building.

**Exit Mercy, stage left,** thought Bob, feeling rather dazed. Then he froze as Jay stepped forward, pressing his lips against Bob's ear.

"Yeah," he breathed, "I think I got an idea." And he grabbed Bob, thrusting his hips against the larger man while he dug through the trench's oversized pockets.

"Lube, lube, where's the--ah!" he muttered.

Bob was still dizzy from the feeling of Jay's lips moving against his ear. But Jay wasn't wasting any time. He whipped out his cock, tongue half-sticking out of his mouth as he coated the length with the slippery stuff. Then he pulled down Bob's shorts and Bob's eyes flew wide, staring in shock and horror at the empty parking lot.

**My God,** he thought, **anyone could walk by, absolutely anyone--**

"Yeah," whispered Jay, grinning maniacally. "Anyone could see us, so we gotta hurry. Turn around."

Shaking, Bob did, the inside of his head screaming *too risky, we'll get caught, danger, danger--*

Then Jay popped inside his tight hole, sighing, and it hurt because he wasn't ready, but it hurt in such a *good* way. Oh, yeah. And now Jay was moving, was stretching him, stretching him good as he pushed inside, his hands slipping under Bob's sweatshirt, reaching up to pinch his sensitive nipples. Bob gasped, all his muscles clenching, and Jay yelped.

"*Fuck*, you're tight, Lunchbox! Shit, maybe we should do this more often...fuck...shit...feels so fuckin' good, so fuckin' *good*..."

Jay was driving into him fast now, and he leaned forward, pressing his cheek against the blocks of concrete and tightening and releasing the muscles in his thighs and ass. Jay was moaning behind him, breathing hard and thrusting fast, and Bob fought the impulse to bring himself off. He had something else in mind.

But it was hard, *he* was so hard, and Jay was whispering into his hear, pressing close against him and thrusting, thrusting so fast into him. Suddenly the blond yelped again, then screamed his name, bucking against Bob. Bob shot a hand down, pressing his thumb and fingers together around the head of his cock, squeezing hard. He shuddered all over, but he didn't come. He waited, trembling, while Jay slid out of him, turning to face Jay in the same moment as both men pulled up their pants.

"Inside, Jay," he said, trying to find a comfortable position for his rock-hard erection.

"What?" Jay asked. He blinked dazedly, smiling.

"Inside," Bob said again. He opened the door to the mall, pushing Jay through and walking him through the empty food court. They walked past a bank of broken telephones, all their cords sliced clean and dangling, and turned the corner, entering World of Sleep. One hand in the center of Jay's back propelled him face first onto a teal satin pillow-top floor model.

"What the fuck?"


Jay turned to look at him and his eyes bugged out. Bob stood, stark naked save for his leather trench and Mooby ball-cap, and he was as hard as Jay had ever seen him.

"Holy fuck, Bob, you're gonna kill me with that thing--"

"*Lube*," Bob said again. There was a dark gleam in his eyes.

"But, Bob, shit, we don't have the fuckin' time for this--"

Bob growled, holding one hand out imperiously. "LUBE!" he commanded. "And strip," he purred in a low voice.

Now Jay was shaking, but he stripped out of his gear, watching as Silent Bob lubed up. Bob knew when his eyes glazed over, he had him, but still pushed him flat against the mattress as if he'd been resisting. He pushed one of his lube-slick fingers inside Jay, just one, and felt all of Jay's muscles trembling. Lovely.

Spreading his lover wide, he poured more lube onto his cock and positioned it against Jay's puckered entrance.

"Uhh, Bob, don't you think--"

Bob only growled again. Slowly, he pushed against Jay.

**I'll huff, and I'll puff, and--**

"*Ah!*" he cried out, when the head popped in. Jay twitched on the mattress.

"Oh, fuck, oh fuck, don't move, oh God, oh fuck, ohfuck--"

Shivering ran through all his limbs, and he whimpered.

"So fuckin' *huge*, Bob, oh my God so *big*, how the fuck..."

Panting, he trailed off, spasming around the tip of Bob's cock. Bob began to twitch, wanting to thrust very, *very* badly.

"Uhh," Bob moaned. "Gotta...move, Jay, need to...need to...need you..."

"Yeah, yeah, hold the fuck on..."

Gingerly the blond moved, spreading his legs wider and raising his ass in the air. He leaned forward at the same time, resting his face against the satin and breathing hard.

"Okay," he breathed. "*Okay*. Fuck, yeah. Go."

Bob grabbed Jay's hips and thrust, pulling Jay forward at the same time. He sank in a few more inches and Jay screamed. Fighting every impulse, Bob stopped, gasping, and stroked Jay's pale hair.

"You...okay?" he asked. "You good?"

"Fuck yeah, I'm good," Jay said breathlessly. "You're, God, fuck, *big*, dude, big, *huge*, bigger'n ever! Want you in me, *want* you, but *fuck*, you're...gonna split me in half, you...keep this up!"

Even as he spoke, though, Jay was moving against him, clenching around him, hungry for more, hungry for Bob. The bearded man bit his lip, pulling out slowly, Jay thrusting back against him as he did.

"Noo, Bob, come back," he moaned. "You gotta...uhh...want you in me, *in*...*side*..." His back arched, sheened with sweat, and he whimpered again.

"Fuck, Bob, *please*," he whimpered. His eyes fluttered closed as he rocked on the bed. "C'mon, fuck me, *fuck me*, don't fuckin' tease..."

Breathing hard, Bob squirted more lube into his palm. His eyebrows went up.

"We're out of lube," he whispered.

"Fuck, no!"


Kelandris the Mad
c'mon, I'm talkin' to you

"Slingshot" (part II)
by Kelandris the Mad

"We're out of lube," he whispered.

"Fuck, no!"

He nodded, tossing the empty tube of lubricant aside and working the last dollop into Jay, stretching him a little more. Fuck, he was hard. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Jay, balls and all, and fuck him for the next week solid...

"Sounds like a plan, dude, let's go," Jay whispered.

Bob's eyebrows danced around the ceiling. Jay kept doing that. Was he reading body language, or was he, like Mercy, actually reading his thoughts? That posed an interesting intellectual exercise--

"*Does it fucking matter?!?" Jay screamed. "*Quit fucking around and nail me! Fuck!*"

One eyebrow lowered, the other stayed quirked up, and an evil grin pulled one side of Bob's mouth up. He grabbed Jay's hips, driving inside him in one massive thrust, and Jay yelped again, hands scrabbling on the satin.

"FUCK!" he screamed. "Fuck! *Fuck!* Oh, *shit*!"

And the blond arched up, hands wrapped around his cock, jetting cream over the top of the floor model.

"Shit, Lunchbox, I came," he whispered.

Bob laughed wickedly, wrapping his arms around Jay and pulling him close enough to lick Jay's ear, hearing him moan in response. One of his lube-slick hands wrapped around Jay's limp organ, squeezing softly.

"Don't worry," he breathed, biting Jay's neck and hearing him yelp again.

"Three times in one day? Fuck dude, I'm young, but I'm not Superman!"

Bob just shook his head, nibbling up Jay's jawline, back to his incredibly sensitive ears. Slowly, he began thrusting, moving in small increments out, then filling him completely on the return thrusts. Jay cried out, tilting his head back against Bob's shoulder, and Bob licked his throat.

"Fuck, yeah, love your mouth, Bob, love your cock, yeah," he whispered. "Love it, love what you fuckin' do to me, love you..."

**Yeah,** Bob thought. **I know.** And the cock in his hand began to swell.

Biting his lips, he threw Jay back on the mattress, growling again deep in his throat. **Mine**, the thrusts said now, fucking Jay hard and fast, driving the air from his body. **Mine**, said the hands on his hips, pulling him onto Bob's cock over and over again. **MINE, MINE, no one else can do this to you...**

"*Fuck* yeah, man," Jay moaned. His hands now wrapped around his cock, working it in jerking spasms. "Shit, my dick's gonna hate me, uhh..."

It still wasn't deep enough. Bob's eyes cast around, seeing a big bin of pillows beside the teal mattress on which they knelt. He pulled out quickly, hearing Jay squawk, and pulled him up, grabbing a couple of the pillows and moving to a Sealy Posture-pedic covered in a big yellow rose print. He threw the pillows down and threw Jay down onto them, back on the mattress, ass propped high.

"This throwing me around shit has got to stop," Jay began resentfully, then Bob aimed his thick, purpling cock in his direction, veins visible and pumping along the length. Jay licked his lips.

"Hey, don't mind me, dude, do what the fuck you want..." He swallowed when he saw the look in Bob's eyes, but had no time to say anything else as he pushed Jay's legs wide and thrust into him.

**Oh, *yeah*...** *Fuck*, he'd never been this deep inside Jay, never. Every muscle in Jay's body ran with trembling, and he was making these lovely high sounds deep in his throat. His thrusts picked up speed until he was slamming against Jay, listening to the incoherent wordless moaning the blond was making, hearing his balls slap against Jay's ass, hearing sirens growing closer to the mall...

Sirens?? Bob's head shot up, eyes widening, and he heard voices, dim in the distance.

Jay looked up at him, scared.

"LaFours," he whispered.

Shit. He was probably right. But fuck if he was stopping now, he thought grimly. He'd explode or something, from sheer frustration. He kept thrusting, watching the fear and worry in Jay's bright blue eyes transform back into glassy lust. Yeah...if Jay thought he'd been thrusting fast before...

**Hyperspeed alert,** he thought hysterically. And he began thrusting hard enough and fast enough to shake the entire mattress across the floor. He and Jay were moaning in unison, panting, Jay's hands clenching hard on his muscled arms, his hips, his chest, moving over his body at speed.

"C'mon, c'mon," Jay urged. He dropped his hand back to his cock, pumping hard and fast. "Yeah, lover, yeah, c'mon..."

Bob felt his balls tighten, drawing up, and gasping, he plunged into Jay one last time, crying out just as he heard the sirens fade outside.

"Up there!" he heard, as he and Jay came together, shuddering on the flower print, sweaty and tangled and breathing hard.


Scrambling off the mattress, they grabbed for clothes at random, Jay pulling on Bob's sneakers for a moment in sheer desperation. He looked down when his feet felt pinched.

"Oh, fuck!" he yelled, tossing them to Bob. Bob threw his Docs and his jeans at the blond, pulling on his sweatshirt and shorts, quickly shrugging into his trench and running for the maintenance tunnel to the back lot. He got a glimpse of LaFours--big broad back, boater hat crushed in his big hands--before they slammed the tunnel doors open, running for safety.

They kept running across the parking lot, until they reached the safety of the litter-encrusted field on the far side. Jay leaned over, hands on his knees, panting.

"I'll get you for that, you fuck," he wheezed. "Makin' me run like that after what you did...Man, you're lucky I recover quick!"

"From what?" said a voice behind them, and Jay yelped, whirling. Bob peered, eyes narrowing. One of Jay's friends, what was his name...Dean? No...

"Dylan," the boy supplied. He was shorter than either man, and looked 16, with that graceful choirboy appearance--wide grey eyes, rosebud mouth, pale blush on the slightly freckled cheeks, rusty-red hair. It was only when Bob looked into his eyes that he abruptly stopped comparing him to choirboys.

"Don't worry," he said, "everybody forgets. Listen, my car's just on the other side there, you wanna hang for a while?" He peered around Jay, watching as five cop cars skidded around the side of the building, racing through the empty back lot, and around to the front of the mall again. He seemed to find nothing odd in that, however, as he looked up and smiled.

"I scored some choice bud in New York, maybe you're interested?"

"Choice bud," Jay said gravely, straightening, "is always an option."

Bob shrugged, adjusting his lapels. If Jay trusted him...Sure, his head shake said. Let's go.

Which is how they found themselves sitting at a table in a club they'd never even *noticed* before, with Dylan and him impossibly beautiful ashen-haired friend.

"Tyler," he'd said in a high voice, when they'd first met him back at the car. The bud was good, the bud was fine, the joint they all shared on the way to the club created that kind of pure lucid high that Bob had come to associate with West Coast bud alone, Humboldt bud to be specific.

But the boys were that kind of instantly identifiable gay that got boys like them beaten to death in less tolerant communities. Not like Jersey on the whole was any kind of tolerant. Kind of why he and Jay kept a low fucking profile.

But then they walked into the club and both Bob and Jay stopped, staring in shock. Black-painted walls. Silver metal dance floor. Cages scattered around, each silver-barred cage filled with some oiled and writhing young man in a black leather harness and thong. Band on stage, playing guitars or keys or drums, not wearing much more than the dancers.

"Dude," Jay stage-whispered, elbowing him. "This is a *gay* bar!"

Bob shot a disdainful look at his roommate. No, Einstein, really? What fucking gave you the clue?

Dylan only laughed, pointing them towards a table and ordering a pitcher of beer.

"Don't worry," he said smugly. "I doubt anyone here knows you. Besides, dealers go where the fuck they want, right? That's why we have our Muscle, after all."

"Yeah," Jay said more confidently, then squinted. "Wait, then, where's your--"

"Sometimes," Tyler put in, "it's good to be underestimated. No one expects me to fight," he said in his high angel's voice.

"Yeah," Dylan added. "So no one expects it when he cracks through someone's chest, tears out their spine, and beats two other guys to death with it."

"More beer?" Tyler asked.

That sense of reality going bugfuck washed over Bob again. He swallowed, eyes searching for the exits. Jay shifted uneasily in his chair.

"Uh, look Dyl, we, uh, don't do the hard stuff, okay? Weed is good, natural green is all good, an' sometimes I deal a little shroomage, but like, noonch, man, nothin' that really fucks you up. No offense."

"None taken, I'm not trying to get you in my sales line. Frankly, I had this one-time offer of some pure Humboldt--"
**Damn,** Bob thought, **I was right!**

"--and, as nice as it is..." He trailed off, ruffling through Tyler's hair with a pleased smile.

"Well, if it's not just a little hazardous to play with, you know me, I'm not interested."

Jay nodded, shaking his head, and Bob's eyes went up. Where the hell had Jay met these scary fucks??

Then Tyler leaned over, touching his arm lightly, just as the house band segued into something slow.

"You want to dance?" he asked.

Uhh...He looked over at Jay, who just shrugged.

"Sure dude, we need to talk some biz anyway."

**No, man, you were supposed to say, no, back off, he don't dance,** his mind wailed. But he took off his trench, folding it carefully over the back of the chair, and trailed Tyler out onto the dance floor. And he had to admit, the boy knew how to move, managing to make even Bob look graceful as he padded around the floor.

Some time later, the tempo picked up, and Ty guided them towards Jay and Dylan, where were now on the dance floor. Man, he hadn't even noticed. He'd been lost in a pair of flashing green, guileless eyes, and deft touches that guided him effortlessly across the metal.

Tyler moved into Dylan's arms, grinding against him in a wrenchingly familiar pattern, and Bob pulled Jay close, smiling.

**When in Rome...** And he dipped him, the blond's hair briefly touching the floor, then pulled him up into a kiss.

What the hell. Bugfuck occasionally worked.


Thinking back on that whole experience, Bob started laughing, snugging tighter against the blond, thinking of home. Home where it was safe, and (mostly) sane.

And where, if he played his cards right, he'd get to make Jay whimper again.

"Fuck, yeah," Jay whispered into his ear.

Kelandris the Mad
hit me with your laser beams

(in order from the original list:

"Our youth we can have but today. We may always find time to grow old." --George Berkeley
"Be ever mindful of the Living Force, young Padawan."
"Yes, my Master." --Star Wars: The Phantom Menace

"Uppity women unite." *Extra points to whomever catches the source on the second tee, "God, I wish these were brains."*
"I am a shameless agitator."

switched boots (well, sneakers)
worn and faded denim jeans
blue neck tie (though not worn in this story)
leather (trench and harnesses)

broken telephone (bank of them, actually)
shouting into *sudden* silence

electrical short-circuit (on the newly-developed weaponry)
newly-developed weaponry (or at least beam weapons not seen in Bob and Jay's time)

guitar (though not played by one of the major characters) dancing together

flat soda

tin foil
broken mirror
(dead) mouse
sharp edged weapon
empty tube of lubricant

go back
wanna read another one
tired already

I'm watching.

I Watch over Dark Willow

Write me

pseudofluff 2.0 blue spiral button ghost of a smile blue spiral button the space between

Flaming Text

Brainy Betty's Graphics and Education Center