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Title: Polyamorous Love-Knot Within; Cleaner Required
Fandom: Askewniverse (follows on from Clerks II)
Characters: Becky, Randal and Dante.
Summary: "Becs, I love you, but we're not fucking for your amusement," Dante said, and ruffled her hair.
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex, m/f sex, and m/f/m sex and all variations therein. Also, swearing. Lotsa swearing. You've seen Kevin Smith's movies, yeah?

A/N: Why did I write this? I have no clue. But suffice to say it practically wrote itself, the sex parts included. Kudos for Jeff Anderson for managing to drag me back into a fandom that I thought I'd long since left behind. Also, has anyone seen the new and improved Mewes?? He's all grown up and shit, and is looking slick and sober - and frighteningly buff. It's not natural, I'm telling you. I've still got a coupla pictures of a wee teenaged Jay dressed up as a girl, complete with lipstick and truly horrendous eye make-up. Seeing him look fuckable is just wrong and disturbing. *aherm* Where was I? Oh, yes. The plotless porn.

Feedback is exceedingly welcome, of course.

*



Part I

*

Becky thinks that maybe she should get a sign. Polyamorous Love-Knot Within; Cleaner Required. She's not sure what that says about her, but Dante would go nuts. Randal would fucking love it.

See, in Becky's life BM - before Mooby's, as she thinks of it - she had classes and post-braces perfect teeth, and a rack most girls would kill for. Oh, yeah - and she didn't have to work in some fucking dump because the insurance company stiffed her uncle. But that's life, isn't it? You fucked people over, or you got fucked over yourself. You can tell which category she fell into by her stint at Mooby's.

Still, Becky thought that she was different. Becky had handed in her notice to the head of the local franchise the moment her bump started to show (or the moment her uncle's remission was confirmed, if you want to look at it that way). She handed in her notice, and packed her bags, and turned up on Dante's doorstep. And Dante - now, most guys would have freaked out to have their girl turn up with their shit in a bag and a swollen belly, but what did Dante do?

Dante got her a footrest.

So, there she was: knocked-up, engaged and living with her fiancé. It was like some fucked-up fairy tale, and any minute now she'd turn into a 50s housewife: hair curlers, that sort of shit. Man, those are some fucked up goods and Becky is most definitely not buying.

She doesn't know why she picked up the phone that day. She honest-to-God doesn't.

"Randal? Yeah, it's me. Can you come over?"

*

It wasn't supposed to be a fix-it, or whatever. Certainly it wasn't her trying to fuck things up, whatever Dante thinks. But she's not living in 50s-postcard-land either; one of those conservative fucking assholes that think ass-to-mouth is some crazy taboo thing.

Most especially when Randal is scowling at her and marching to the door, and Dante…

Dante lets him.


*

The first time that Becky managed to get all three of them together was when they hit the mid-way mark in her pregnancy, and Dante brought home a bottle of cheap-assed bubbly to celebrate. The store would be opening any day now, and he seemed to have patched things up with Randal - and she certainly wasn't going to be finishing off any champagne in her condition - so the three of them ended up spread across the sofa, drinking pop and beer, and toasting fuck-knows-what. "It is a kinda hot idea, you know," she said again, and snuggled further into Dante's arms. "You know, two guys together."

"Becs, I love you, but we're not fucking for your amusement," Dante said, and ruffled her hair.

Randal's expression was darkening again, and she wriggled out from between the two of them. Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck fuck, she was getting sick of this. Plus, her bladder ached, and, really? She wanted to get to sleep as soon as humanly possible. "Who the fuck said it would be for my amusement?" She rubbed her bump contentedly. "I could give you a whole speech about the love that dare not speak its name -" they looked at her blankly, and she sighed. "Oscar Wilde? Irish fag?" Nothing. "Never mind, I'm going to bed."

*

The next morning she came back down, and they were both fast asleep on the sofa bed, beer bottles and the one lone bottle of champagne strewn around them. She rolled her eyes. Randal had managed to go as far as losing his cap somewhere, although the rest of his clothes had remained firmly on, albeit worse for wear. Dante hadn't even loosed his tie, the dolt. There were no telltale signs of sex or even attempted sex, and since neither man sported anything resembling beard-burn, she figured that kissing hadn't even entered into it. So, yeah - she didn't know what they'd said to each other; figured that it was none of her business. Still, results are results, and that night, Randal slept over.

*

The first time they were together was virtually platonic. Kinda. Randal was awkward about her pregnancy, and also about looking at her in any way that could possibly be construed as sexual. What the fuck was all that about, she wondered. So, yeah, whatever. "How about I just sit over here for a little while?" And she wrapped herself up in one of Dante's big sweaters, tucking her knees up as she settled into the corner armchair 'til only her toes were visible beneath.

"This is so fucked up," Dante said hoarsely, and then Randal kissed him.

It was - weird. Well, Dante was hers, right? But he was also Randal's, in a way, and heaven help the hapless cunt who tried to break that up! Look what happened to poor Emma - no matter what Dante says, she ain't buying the whole 'let's get married' thing as a change of mind. No: Randal convinced him to stay, plain and simple. And for that, isn't she grateful?

Well?

Dante has large hands, broad and long-fingered. He rested them uneasily on Randal's hips, rubbing a little at the juncture of jeans and T-shirt, his thumbs slipping beneath to touch skin. She could tell when he did touch skin, because Randal hiccupped a little, almost convulsively, and brought his hands up to rest on Dante's shoulders, holding him steady. "Jesus," Randal hissed, all staggered sibilants so it came out slurred - Seeeesus, - and opened his mouth in an aborted moan.

He's not chewing gum, she thought, surprised. What's wrong with this picture?

One of them was whispering - maybe it was both of them? Fuck it, she can't move closer now, it would completely blow the whole thing - and all she can hear are, fuck, fuck, jesus-fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over again, as Dante kissed the side of Randal's jaw and she saw the muscles there working, working, working, as Randal swallowed convulsively. Randal's hands clenched and unclenched where he had rested them on Dante's shoulders, and he started to pull them back a little hesitating.

"Don't you fucking dare," Dante said, and Randal's eyes widened in surprise.

"Did you just fucking order me?" He asked, his voice hitching up. He tugged his hands away; tried to take a step back.

Dante was faster, grabbing hold of his wrists and yanking him back so he was flush against Dante's body. "Because you're freaking out," he said, so reasonably. "Now get on the fucking bed."

From across the room, she could see the slow flush spread across Randal's cheekbones.

*

So. That's how it was. Romantic, huh? It ended in a sweet way, though, with Randal pinned to the bed by Dante's weight, and them sticky and tired, gasping for breath. They hadn't even actually managed to remove their clothes, but had simply rubbed against each other while she watched. And, yes, she did watch. None of this 'falling curtain' crap for her - she wanted to see what she was getting for her money! And what she got was awfully sweet, all things considered. She couldn't really see much other than Dante's back - she had really picked out the most God-awful spot for voyeurism - but the sounds really more than made up for it. The exact moment that Dante first touched Randal's cock, for example: Randal's voice rose sweetly in that oddly vulnerable way he had, and Dante immediately shushed him, shifting position and doing something out of sight that made them both groan. Fuck, she thought, watching Randal's hand rest across Dante's shoulder, rubbing a little. Oh, holy Jesus fuck.

So, yeah, she watched, and rubbed her belly, and did not a Goddamned thing about the wetness between her thighs. Because if there was anything that Dante had taught her, it was that anticipation was a damn fine thing.

*



And this also qualifies for a [livejournal.com profile] 100fandoms slot, I think - #70 'settle'.

(And, no, I am not back from the depths of horrendous work, I am simply refusing to acknowledge the huge pile of work I need to do. Ho hum.)

Date: 2007-01-25 08:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] brandy-took.livejournal.com
Wow... that was excellent. I loved it, Becky initiating things, Randal's responses, they were all so perfectly in character.

Very, very good.

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