This requires a bit of explanation. About the time Jay headed into serious panic mode, one of the Upstairs People dropped a bowling ball in their bedroom. Yes, really. Which is right over our computer room. Big loud booming noise amplified by the basement aspect of the room, and then the sound of it rolling off along the floor, nearly *exactly* the sound of thunder rolling off. They'd been cleaning the closet, you see, and one of the bowling balls in there rolled out.

And half an hour later, they did it again. When they discovered that both the bowling balls, not just the one, were out of their carrying bags.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, both times, and even two hours after I finished the story, I was shaking from reaction. Got waaay too into the tale this time. Whee. Art becomes reality.

Title: Whole New Thing
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: Was gonna be R, but this is NC-fuckin'-17.
Status: posted...2001?
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 origin story.
Disclaimers: To the best of my recollection, this is intended as a work of satire and/or fannish devotion, with no more weight against the Powers that Be than a feather. I make no direct income from these stories and I explicitly reserve all rights to all View Askew characters to Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, Jason Mewes and Scott Mosier.
Notes: Oddities abound. Originally, this was titled "Dodge", and was brought into being by something entirely unconnected. There's a line in the work "War for the Oaks" by Emma Bull that goes, "I can stand the dodging around. It's the smug tone of voice that gets me." For some reason, that line went into my head tonight and emerged dragging a full-blown bunny. It started with one line--"I could fuckin' care less about the sex; it's the not talkin' that gets me," Jay muttered-- but, stories being what they are, it morphed into something that couldn't possibly contain that line. Which is sad; I really like it. But it doesn't matter, because I'm happier with the way this turned out without the line. :>
Summary: Jay searches for a distraction from the storm.
Warnings: Partial hell-ride, folks. This one's got (brief) references to incest, heterosexual sex, beatings, and drugs. (One *really brief* reference to heroin, goblin--no details, nothing but a mention.) Some heavy Jay fear. Traces of Jay in utter panic mode. Bob gets hit. And from there the usual--homosexual interaction, homosexual sex, boykissing. You know the rest.

"Whole New Thing"
by Kelandris the Mad

It was a dark and stormy night.

So yeah, that's the prime fuckin' cliche from alla dem books, but it was. It was like someone had dumped crude oil on the windows, it was that dark out. 'Cept for when the lightning crackled across the sky, sudden silver blows against the senses. And the thunder followed it, loud, booming bursts like mortar fire, like God was wearin' steel-toed boots, moshin' and kickin' Skins. Big bad noisy storm, and me caught in the middle of it, like standing in downtown Beirut while the guns went off around me.

And I had this thing about storms. No clue why. Seemed I always had a fear of the noise and the light that went with the hands in the dark when my dad had come in and--


Like I said, I hated fucking storms. It was just a thing. And most of the time I was able to deal, y'know? Cope with it, ride it out. Fuck, pull my head under the blanket sometimes, or shit, *hide* under the goddamned *bed* if I had to.

Tonight shoulda been no different. Save my roommate was home.

My roommate. What a fuckin' stupid thing to call him, I know. He's more than that. He's my friend, for one, one of the few friends I got fuckin' left who ain't killed themselves or run off somewheres or died of some drug or some gun or some shitty disease. And he's my Muscle, my bodyguard, that wall of monolithic power that stands behind me when I get stupid. And hey, I know, I get stupid.

Sometimes, just his glare's enough to make the bigger boys run for cover, and he's got some kinda weird Russian connection, something about his family runs somethin'. Maybe New Jersey, I don't fuckin' know. And believe me, I don't fuckin' care. Alls I know is, he's on *my* side. Plus, he looks damn fuckin' good in that leather trench I bought 'im.

It ain't that he's that fuckin' tall--shit, he's littler than me, he's always been littler than me. It's just somethin' in the way he carries himself, like he don't care how much you hit on him, he's gettin' that ass up and takin' your ass *out*. Whether you fuckin' like it or not. And he stands like he ain't never gonna move 'cept when he wants to. And he lets me put my arm around him when I need to--

*back up*

Anyway. We been together for, what, ten years now? Shit. Dealin' two years in, working shitty crack-wage jobs the two years before that, and been friends since, like, birth and all. Only thing is, the storm. The storm, man, the fuckin' noise and the boomin' that shakes the walls and...shit. He's home now. Usually I find my way to some chick, some club whore, what Bob calls the 'slut o' the moment'. An' I hang out with her, be as cool as I fuckin' can with the sky lit up like it's on fire and the clouds rollin' in. 'Cos it's easier if I can lose myself in some soft, scented flesh, just part those long legs and run my tongue along her twat and make her scream my name. Takes my mind off things, you know? Memories and shit. And the storm.

But there ain't no girl here now. Just him. Just fuckin' him and there's another roll of thunder comin' soon `cos I'm counting. Two, three, fou--

Shit. It's getting' closer. Oh, man, what the hell am I gonna do?

"Jay," he says softly, and I want to pull him down next to me by the dark thread of his voice. Just latch onto it and pull him, pull him down on the couch. I look up, suddenly all resentful, wantin' to lash out, and fuck if I know why.


Ooh, all sullen street cred now, back off back off, don't fuck with me. Like he even notices but to raise one fuckin' eyebrow and tilt his head. Fuckin' Silent Bob. All my fuckin' life, it seems like. And what's he got to be so quiet for? I know he's got a mind up there--sometimes I see what he comes up with and I have no fuckin' clue how he invented that shit. I mean, okay, that big burning brain kinda dimmed a bit when we started dealin'--and smokin'--but shit, that just backed him down from god to genius level. I mean, this shit still belongs to Mensa as a pothead, you get that? Fuckin' shit.

Like he's heard some of this, he gives me a shy little half-smile, shrugs, hands me the beer he's brought over. Beer. Yeah, beer's good, bud, but man, I need somethin' harder if I'm gonna get through tonight alive. I need vodka, man, rum, bourbon, Everclear, maybe a little pot and a little X and a little H...

Or even my fuckin' roommate turnin' to me and talkin' for once. I take a big swallow of the bottle, splashin' cool down my throat, and start firin' questions at him. And some he shrugs answers to, some he just smiles to, one or two he just looks at me. Like, you fuckhead, you should know better, like I'm gonna say shit to you. Man, it's like the Titanic, you know? He's in the lifeboat, gettin' farther and farther away, and I'm on the big fuckin' boat goin' down. Trust me to be down in the cargo hold with alla them fuckin' dancers, an' now I gotta find some fuckin' way off this' I know, I know, if I could just get Bob to turn around and talk to me, fuck, like I'd mind goin' down into the icy waters while the band fuckin' played on.

But he ain't never talked. And tonight, man, the storm...shit, pullin' a conversation outta Bob takes you a fuckin' week for ten sentences and I don't got that kinda time. Sometimes I piss him off just to hear him yell at me, and once or twice, okay, I went too far, and he got really angry, kinda angry that on other shits would mean me in the toilet wipin' blood off my face. But he ain't never hit me. I know he's been tempted, but he ain't never done it. Some kinda fuckin' restraint. I couldn't do it, livin' with me. Wait, I do live with me. Well, if I was livin' with another me.

Aw, man, that was another lightning strike. I inhale shakily and start the count. One--

The boom, when it comes, shakes the glass in the windows and actually knocks a videotape offa the TV. Shit, it's right overhead! Fuck! I am so fucked here, I am so very very very fucked--

I yelp, I can't help it, an' I jump across the couch to where Bob's sitting and I burrow into his side. All I can see suddenly is black cotton, and I'm shaking, I fuckin' hate this but I'm shaking, and suddenly, he's Mr. Concerned. Yeah, like he forgot how storms affect me.

His arms wrap around me, and suddenly, I'm all warm, and I relax a little, glad he fuckin' remembered. Then I tense up again. No. I never told him. I always found some other place to be when the storm got bad, so no, he ain't never seen this before. Shit, I gots to tell him, and I open my mouth to tell him, and the thunder booms again.

"Make it stop, make it stop make it stop make it stop, *please*..." I hear this scared little voice whimper. It takes a second or two before I realize it's mine. I clap a hand over my mouth, clenching my eyes shut. Shit. Much more o' this shit and I'll be tellin' him *why* I fuckin' hate storms so bad! Mother*fuck*!

But he don't say shit, he just holds me, and that's good, okay, that's good, havin' his arms around me, and keepin' me safe like he always does. But it's still so fuckin' *quiet* in here. `Cept for the fuckin' thunder, and there goes another one, and I yelp again.

I pull away from Bob, start pacin' the room. I can't, I can't, I can't stay here, an' I can't go out, not now, not with the fuckin' storm right fuckin' overhead, an' I can't call anyone to come over and save me 'cos I don't wanna get near the fuckin' phone right now, I have *heard* those fuckin' stories, an' man, all I want, all I need, is a little skin-on-skin action, somethin' to sweep my senses away, you know? Just a little sex, 's all I'm askin', is that so fuckin' much? Shit. *Shit*. An' now there's more fuckin' thunder and Bob won't fuckin' say anything and now he's fuckin' standing beside me and he's lookin' at me and he's got those big brown eyes and...and...

*SHIT!* Fuckin' storm, I hate this shit! I feel every muscle in my body get tense, and fuck, I'm gonna break somethin' at this rate, maybe me, man, shit...I catch a glimpse of myself in the window as the next flash dies down and I almost laugh at myself--my hair's kinda flyaway with all the fuckin' ozone in the air, and my eyes are all whites almost, an' I look...crazed...

Aw, *fuck*, man, when does the thunder fuckin' *stop*? My voice is shakin' near as much as I am an' I'm not even listenin' anymore to the shit I'm sayin', I gots my own damn problems, 'kay? I gotta...I gotta...fuck, I gotta get outta here. I turn to the door, I'm runnin' now, nearly, I'm racin' to the door and I touch the doorknob just as another flash of lightning sheets silver across the windows--

An' there's this little spark that arcs from the doorknob to my palm.

It's such a stupid little thing. Fuck, Bob's explained it to me thousands o' times. I gots this high body field, or some shit, so I can't wear wristwatches, and sometimes I interfere with radio reception, an' I build up static like a motherfucker. I know all this. But right now, right *now* it's like the lightning found a way into the room, and the little blue spark is the storm reachin' out to get me.

Reachin' dad useta...

An' just like that, I'm screaming. I can't move, I can't step away, I can't even drop my hand. I'm just standin' there like a fool, screamin' my guts out. I'd laugh, but there is nothing even remotely funny about this. Stupid as it is.

And then Bob's grabbin' me, pullin' me back from the door, he's sayin' somethin', shit, man, he's actually *speaking* for once, get that shit, only I can't make out what he's sayin' 'cos there's this screaming that's going on and on and on and ON--

And suddenly, there's silence. And man, am I the slowest fucker on earth today, it even takes me a moment or two to figure out why. My roommate's kissin' me. Silent Fucking Bob has one hand on each of my shoulders and he's *kissing* me. It's light, you know, it's just him pressin' his lips on mine, no spit, no tongue, no nothin'. But it cut the scream off. It brought my brain back.

So of course, havin' my brain back in action, I gotta get stupid with it. Seems it's all I know how to do.

I break off the kiss, step back, and glare at him. My hands knot into fists at my sides.

"Fuckin' fag, I *knew* it," I snarl at him, and then I pop him one, *bang*, right across the mouth. The left corner of his lip splits and his head rocks back with the blow, and I watch the blood trail down to his chin.

An' then it dawns on me. Shit. He was kissin' me. An' I couldn't even hear the storm. Fuck, that don't even happen with the chicks I spend time with. Even in the midst of *everything*, man, I still hear the lightning and the thunder.

But not with him.

Oh, man, dude, I am so fuckin' sorry--shit. Like he'll even listen. Like he'll ever listen, man, I just hit him, and the reaction is just now dawning in his eyes--

Okay. So don't give him fuckin' time to react. Right. Gotcha. Maybe we're thinkin' for once.

An' I pounce on him, kiss him back, harder than I want to but I'm fuckin' scared here, almost more of him knockin' the shit outta me than the storm, or worse, him leavin' me here with the sound of thunder.

Which I can't hear right now, really, 'cos all I hear is his breathing, and his surprised gasp as I tackle him, droppin' us both to the floor, and my hands push up under his sweatshirt and slide up his chest and flick across his nipples--

And two arms like steel cables wrap around me, hold me so tight I can't hardly breathe, and now he's kissin' me back, an' his tongue's snakin' across into my mouth, and...fuck...lemme breathe, dude, lemme...oh...fuck it, like I care if I breathe again...

'Cos, shit, where'd he learn to kiss like this? Oh, I know, he's got powers I ain't even dreamed of where girls are concerned, and he never seems to care, just fuckin' shrugs it off...Shit, man, I'm out there pushin' my stuff nearly daily, seems like, and some weeks he still gets more pussy than I do, you know? Fuckin' fat man in a trench coat, wouldn't seem like anybody's wet dream, 'cept that he's so motherfuckin' *hot*. It's all about the attitude, you know, the attitude an' the shit not talkin', I think, but it's also about the deep dark eyes and the deep dark hair and the soulful fuckin' way he can look at you...

Oh, shit, man, I gotta get him outta these clothes.

Oh, and catch this shit, fucker's *laughin'* at me now. Oh, yeah, laugh it up, fat boy. Ain't *you* all hard against me, now is it? No, fuck no, why would that happen? No, and it ain't you kissin' all the air from me, either, huh? Fuck you. You could help a little, you bastard.

An' I guess he finally decided to take pity on a poor freaked boy, 'cos he sits up a little, and pulls his sweatshirt off, and I see this little bashful look on his face. I bite my lip, wonderin' if it would be worth anything if I apologized, 'cos I suddenly realize that's what I should be doin' steada yellin' at him for laughin' at me. Shit, I should be *happy* he finds this all so fuckin' amusing, steada beatin' the shit outta me for hittin' him. Fuck.

But he stretches out his arms to me, and shit, I could fall right in and get fuckin' lost forever in his eyes. Fuckin' hell.

"Jay," he says softly, and he's reachin' for me, and I pull off my shirt and scramble over, breathless. An' he's holdin' me now, all soft and shit, and brushin' hair outta my eyes, and lookin' at me. Shit, I feel like I swallowed a whole herpetarium or somethin', all them snakes all coilin' and slitherin' past each other inside me, an' I'm more fuckin' nervous than I think I ever been in my entire fuckin' life.

I dart forward, kissin' him, little peck thing, and he just smiles. Then his big hands come up, holding each side of my head, and he brings his face forward, kissing me back. Long before he's finished, I'm moanin', and wantin' him to go faster, and my hands are pullin' at him, strokin' up his chest, tweakin' his nipples again, an' I can't stand it, I cannot fuckin' stand it, how can he just sit there an' kiss me like this, all slow and soft and shit? I can't stand it!

My hands dive for his pants and start slidin' them down his hips, and I pull his shorts down, much as I can with him sittin' on his ass, and I slide my fingers underneath, reachin' for him. About when I first touch him, he breaks off the kiss, breathing hard, and there's this weird glow in his eyes, like he's about to turn green and take off after the fuckin' bad guys that've beaten up Bruce Banner. Just for a moment, my head spins with the thought of the Incredible Bob, all green an' shit, and growlin' low in his throat.

Fuck, maybe I ain't wrong, `cos here he is growlin' a little, and breathin' hard, and fuck, I realize I'm touchin' his cock and look down.

An' suddenly I'm all nervous again, and I'm dead silent for once, 'cos what I'm holdin'...shit, no wonder he's so fuckin' popular. I suddenly forgive Trish for everything. Who wouldn't leap at the chance for this monster?

Oh, but shit, he's gonna fuckin' kill me with this thing...I look up at him, and I can see my reflection in his eyes, all big Orphan Annie blanks starin' back his way. An' now *he's* all fuckin' nervous.

Before we both get too stupid, I force a smile onto my face.

"Stand up," I say. He just looks at me.

"Jay, I--" he says. I shake my head.

"Stand up."

Oh, man, is he gullible without his gear. I can't believe it, he does it. My fuckin' lucky day. I sit up on my knees so I can pull down his pants, an' he can kick `em off, an' then I grab his hips, an' lick around the head of the monster between his legs.

He gasps, suddenly, louder than thunder, and I feel his hands on my head. Yeah, Bobby. Gonna make you real happy, I think. Slow as I can, I lick along his cock, tasting sweat and salt and a little o' the green that drives through both our systems. He's still gasping, and I can feel the tension in his arms, he's tryin' so hard not to clench his hands in my hair. Shit, for this, I'd let him, I'd lose a few hairs for this, but I don't tell him that, 'cos you know, it's rude to talk with your mouth full.

An' man, am I outta practice, I can't even get alla him down my throat. I'm relaxed as much as I can, and suckin' on him, but I can only manage the first six inches, that's all. He don't seem to care, though. Now the muscles in his legs are trembling, an' I reach down, stroke across his thighs, stroke up and across his inner thighs, and then gently cup his balls, rollin' 'em in my hand. Oh, yeah, he likes that, he's cryin' my name now, fingers flutterin' on my shoulders, and now my head's bobbin' up and down at his waist, pullin' his cock into my mouth, pullin' off it, an' I still can't quite swallow the rest of him.

Suddenly, he's pullin' away from me, eyes kinda wild and staring, an' I look up from where I'm kneelin' on the carpet.

"What the fuck?"

"Bed," he says, in this lust-drenched voice. Harsh, man. I love it. But whose, I wonder. He pulls me up, and his cock's a hard urgent spear against my hip. Makes me shiver, and if my eyes are as hot as his...'cos, shit, he could light fires just by lookin' at things right now...Mmm.

But now his hands are pullin' *my* pants down, and shit, get that, I forgot I still *had* clothes on. Fuckin' hell. So I help him as much as I can, my hands still wantin' to wander back to his cock, his ass, his chest...We're both pantin' like dogs when I finally kick off my sweats and then he's lookin' at me.

Oh, fuck, what is *this* shit? Now I'm all scared again, and I *know* it ain't the storm, and I don't know what the fuck else it could be, but it's like he knows anyway, and he reaches out, grabs my hand, and turns, walking me back to his room. Shit, I seem to spend more time in his bed than in mine anyway, what with the fuckin' nightmares an' all, but there's somethin' different about tonight.

Oh, yeah. We're both naked. That could be it, ya fuckin' moron. Shit, things I fuckin' forget...

An' he lays me down, like he thinks the long hair means chick, and I get all angry again and try to sit up. An' he just rolls his eyes at me, and I lay back down, feelin' stupid and weird and seventeen other stupid things. My fingers pluck fitfully at the blankets an' he lays down beside me, shakin' his head.

Well, fuck you, dude, think this is fuckin' easy for me? I ain't never gone to bed with another guy before when I wanted to. Fuckin'--

*HOLY FUCK*...I. Can't. Breathe...He's...oh, fuck, oh, fuck, he's suckin' on me, those lips are wrapped around my cock an' he's suckin' on me, an' I think my eyes are crossed. I know my mouth's fuckin' open, an' ain't this some stupid shit, `cos I *know* I been blown before, it ain't like this's fuckin *new* to me! But...oh, my God, oh, my fuckin' God, why the fuck does this feel better'n any chick I ever been with? Shit, Bob, you got some fuckin' mouth on you.

An' I'm lookin' at him, an' he looks so...hmm...content, maybe. Well, his chest's heavin' an' he's sweatin' some, and he's so hard now, the skin's all fuckin' purple on his dick, but...content. Yeah. Man. Makes me twitch just thinkin' on it.

An' this thought flits across my brain, an' before I can track it down and see if it's somethin' that's gonna get me hurt, I just fuckin' do it. I lean forward all I can, kinda awkward angle, but shit, like I care, an' I take the head of his cock into my mouth again, runnin' my tongue along the little slit an' lickin' up all the salty goodness.

And he pops off my cock, yellin', and looks at me.

"What?" Ooh, yeah, Mr. Injured Innocence, here I am. Like either of us buy that at this point.

And he laughs a little, and then sobers up, the change so fuckin' quick it's shocking. Several things happen nearly at the same time-- he sits up, reaches into the drawer by his bed, pulls out this bottle of lube and a condom, an' he also leans over, moves up on the bed a little and pulls my legs apart.

"Hey," I say, hearing my voice tremble a little. "Whaddya think you're--"

"I need to be inside you, Jay," he says, and there's this wild yearning in his voice. Yearning. For me. Fuckin' junkie pothead me, get that.

"Okay," I hear myself say. Wait. Roll that back. Did I just fuckin' say *yes* to fuckin' Silent Bob? Literally? Him and that monster cock? I try to think it through, but all thoughts crash to a sudden halt and my brain lights on fire, '`cos Bob's got lube on his fingers now and he's pushin' 'em into me.

Now I'm moanin' again, I can't help it, I'm moanin' and archin' my hips up towards him, wanting more. More more more, yeah, don't fuckin' care, feels good, man, feels better'n I remember it feelin', an, oh, Bob, fuck Bob, yeah, fuck me more, Bob...

Fuuuck...He's wrapped one hand around my cock, and he's pumpin' me, just a little, just slow, but it feels so fuckin' good...Shit, everythin' feels so good, fuck, man, this's better than I ever had it before, and that's sayin' some shit.

Ohhh...I feel my eyes roll back in my head, cos he's pushin' more fingers inside me, turnin' them around and movin' 'em in an' out. An' I'm tremblin' now, shakin' all over, cos my head's flashin' forward to something else movin' in and out, somethin' big and purple and attached to Bob--

"More," I gasp, blinking, back to panting. My hands alternate between clenching in the blankets or the pillows and reaching out for Bob. "More, more more, harder, harder, Bob!"

He shivers when I say his name, and his eyes could brand when he looks at me. Shit, I nearly hear flesh sizzle, and I lick my lips, looking at him.

"C'mon, please?" Shit, much more of this an' I'm gonna be beggin' him. No fuckin' shame left, 'cos it feels so fuckin' good. Shit, when I think of all the time I fuckin' wasted in the past ten years when I coulda been feelin' like this...fuck, I am *beyond* stupid at this point.

"Bob," I say again. "Sugar. Fuck me. C'mon, baby. C'mon."

His eyes could light nations on fire now, I'm not fuckin' kiddin'. An' he's givin' me all these deep possessive looks, all these looks that say mine mine MINE MINE MINE, and somethin' in my responds, wanting to be HIS HIS HIS...but fuck, I hope he ain't the jealous type. Still, if anything could fuckin' convince me to give up chicks, he could. Shit, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna fuckin' die right here.

"Don't tease me," I whimper. Shit, what's it gonna take? "Bob. Bobby. *Robert*. Baby. Lover--"

And he growls, pouncing, moving so that he's right between my legs, and the tip of his cock is right where I fuckin' want it, but he's not fuckin' thrustin' *inside*, he's just kissin' me again, which is nice, motherfuck, it's better than nice, but *man*...I know it ain't my fuckin' thing, but suddenly, I am cravin' some deep-dick action here, and he's not helpin'.

I'm archin' my hips off the bed, squirming around, an' I'm so hard, rubbin' against his belly even feels good, warm and furry and soft over hard muscle, and fuck, fuck, when you gonna split me in half with that thing already??

*MOTHERFUCK*! Oh shit, oh shit, he pushed inside, shit shit shit, he's inside me, Bob's fuckin' IN...SIDE...Before I think about it, before I think what a fucking stupid idea this is going to be I arch my hips up again, and that pushes him in another few inches and I start screamin' again, but it's good this time, I hafta, 'cos shit, I ain't never had anything so fuckin' big in me before--

And he kisses the screams away for a second time, and I just melt, just fucking melt, layin' there on the bed. His arms are cordin' up again, the muscles showin', he's bracin' himself over me like he's afraid of crushin' me under his weight or some shit. An' I tell him, fuck that shit, I pull him down on top of me. I don't care, man, I ain't some fuckin' weak-ass girl who can't take it. I can take it. I wanna take it.

And he's warm and furry and heavy and everything I want, and now, yes, now, took you motherfuckin' long, he's thrustin', this almost funny look of concentration on his face, but shit, I can't think about that, because he's so huge it hurts, but it hurts in that freaky good way, you know? An' he's all the way in, all the way in, an' now he's pullin' out, and shit, if I pass out now he'll kill me, but shit, I might hafta anyway, 'cos it feels so good.

Man, how he fuckin' puts up with me...In between kisses I'm just babbling, I swear to fucking God. Some of it's moanin' his name and some of it's encouraging him and some of it's shameless begging. Most of it's just sounds, just syllables strung together when what he's doing removes English as my primary language. Talented boy. How come I never knew? So fuckin' clueless and baby, baby, lover, don't ever fuckin' stop. Don't ever fuckin' stop.

An' I wrap my arms around him and ride him on down. Fuck the storm, I gots what I fuckin' need. Hearing him gasp and cry and shudder against me and moan my name, yeah, that does things to me too. I pump my hips up, and my legs are so far apart I ain't gonna be able to walk without feelin' it tomorrow, but fuck that, what he's doin' to me, thrustin' so fuckin' deep, I may not be *walkin'* tomorrow, *period*. Which would fuckin' work for once--all day in fuckin' bed, fuckin' Silent Bob. Seein' what else gets him talking, other than sex. You know?

Shit, man, I think we may have a whole new thing here.

Kelandris the Mad
call the police and call the press, but please, dear God, don't tell my friends (BNL)

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