TITLE: "Mood Change"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (catslash33@yahoo.com)
DISTRIBUTION: Lessee here. My page ( http://www.crosswinds.net/~catslash/home.html). The 
DamonAffleckSlash archive, if it qualifies. Movie_Slash archive. The KSslash archive. And 
that'd be about it. Anyone else wants it, they gotta ask.
RATING: NC-17 due to m/m sex (Shannon Hamilton/Brodie Bruce), complete with elements of 
non-consensuality. If it ain't your bag, or you're too young (*you* know if you are), then go 
read something else.
SUMMARY: Sequel to my fic "Dangerous at Times," 
(http://www.crosswinds.net/~catslash/smith/dangerous.html) but could stand more or less alone. 
Explores what might have happened after the camera cut away from the beatdown scene in 
"Mallrats."
DEDICATED: To everyone who actually read and liked "Dangerous at Times:" I used to keep a list 
because so few people had read it, but all of a sudden there was an explosion in my readership, 
so I gave up. So thank you all. And a special mention goes to Charles for being the only other 
writer to try this pairing, and whose story finally inspired me to finish this damn thing. 
Yaaaay, Charles!
DISCLAIMER: "Mallrats" belongs to Kevin Smith, long may he reign. In fact, the entire first 
segment and part of the last belongs to Kevin; I just novelized them. But I think you'll be 
able to tell where Kevin stops and my perversion (which is making me no money) begins. ;) Oh, 
and the Sweets Shop is an actual store in my mall. I couldn't bear the thought of trying to 
think up a name for a freaking candy store. 


"Mood Change"

There he was. Harrassing the employees at the Mooby Ice Cream stand. Sure, they were just 
minimum-wage burger-flippers, but still. At least *they* were there for a reason. Had regular 
fucking employment. It was high time somebody taught Brodie Bruce a little respect, and that was 
exactly what Shannon Hamilton intended to do.

Shannon made a beeline for him, and was deeply gratified by the alarmed expression on Brodie's 
face when the fucker managed to register his presence. Immediately - almost reflexively - Brodie 
held out that stupid fucking Dixie cup.

"Want a sip of my soda?"

Shannon was strongly tempted to take that cup and shove it into certain unmentionable places, 
but he restrained himself. He had better plans. He settled for smacking the cup out of Brodie's 
hand instead, then grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him into the access tunnel just 
behind the ice cream place. The manager there owed him a favour; she'd make sure that no one 
went out back to investigate any noises they heard.

He slammed Brodie against the wall and followed it up with a good hard punch to the stomach; 
Brodie grunted in pain, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. No attempt at a reprisal; 
probably knew it would be useless. Looked like he knew how to take a beating, Shannon concluded 
as he stripped off his jacket so it wouldn't get in the way. Probably had plenty of chances to 
learn in grade school.

"Smartass ex-boyfriend. Now, I got two things to tell ya. One: I don't like you. I see you every 
week in this mall. I don't like shiftless lay-abouts. You're one of these loser fuckin' mallrat 
kids. You don't come down here to, to work or shop; you hang out all day, act like you fuckin' 
live here. Well, I have no respect for people with no shopping agenda."

"Is this what's known as motivated salesmanship?" Physically passive, but big-mouthed. < We'll 
see about that. > Quick hard kick in the back for that smart remark, sending him the rest of the 
way to the floor. Shannon leaned down toward him to murmur in his ear,

"Rene told me to leave you alone, but - she's fuckin' clueless." He hauled Brodie to his feet 
and hit him again, backing off slightly to give the bastard room to double over. Then he stepped 
forward again, leaning against the wall, invading Brodie's personal space. This time without 
even touching him. "You see, Bruce, I like to pick up girls on the rebound from a disappointing 
relationship. They're more vulnerable, in much more need of solace, and they're, uh, fairly open 
to suggestion. And I use that, to fuck them someplace fairly uncomfortable."

"What, like the back of a Volkswagen?"

Cute. Shannon stepped back and gave Brodie his most insufferable smirk, doing his level best to 
goad the little creep into doing something besides mouthing off. Beating the shit out of him was 
fun and all, but the game was always a little better when the victim fought back.

"Nope. Like, uh, someplace girls dread."

Bingo. Fury crossed Brodie's face; he forgot all about the passivity-equals-survival code that 
he had been demonstrating so well up till now, and lunged at Shannon. Shannon fended him off 
effortlessly - "Hey, whoa!" - and laughed, punching Brodie in the face. "Bruce, man, you have 
no idea," he remarked, watching as Brodie, apparently determined to retain his cool, casually 
began going about the business of attending to his now lightly bleeding nose; Shannon's aim had 
been a little off.

"Of?" Brodie pretended that the prompt had been his own idea and not simply a matter of feeding 
Shannon the line that he was demanding. < Plays the game like a pro. >

"Of how long I've been wanting to do this," he answered. "Of how long you've fuckin' deserved 
it. Just think, a little more respect to the gainfully employed could have saved you some pain."

"Pain? What pain? You not only have a girl's name, you hit like one, too." Even as he spoke, 
Brodie tensed in preparation for another blow.

Shannon refused to rise to such pathetically obvious bait. "See? No respect. You gotta score 
points off me even when you know you're gonna end hurting a little more for it. What's with that 
sad little compulsion?" He slipped an arm around Brodie's shoulders. "You should be thanking me, 
not mocking me. I'm teachin' you some respect here. Keeping this little session in mind could 
save you some pain in the future."

Teaching him some respect.

Abruptly, Shannon recalled the previous night with that weird book-writing bitch - the hell was 
her name again? - and the boiling over of his frustration with Brodie Bruce. It had probably 
been a stupid idea to say all that shit. Oh, well. He'd worry about that later. What he was 
interested in now was *how* he'd wanted to teach Brodie.

'Fuck him hard, make him yell, make him come so hard that I'd have to prop him up against the 
wall when I was done with him.'

'Yeah. I bet he'd want it. He'd probably even like it.'

Shannon slid a thoughtful glance down at Brodie. He was carefully not looking at Shannon, 
pinching his nose shut to stem the flow of blood.

Yeah.

In spite of all that loud-mouthed bravado, Brodie was scared. Shannon had the little fuck 
exactly where he wanted him. He wouldn't put up a fight.

Not that Shannon had any plans to commit out-and-out rape; if Brodie did fight back, or simply 
froze like a deer in fucking headlights, he'd back off and go back to kicking his ass instead 
of trying to fuck it.

But if there was even the smallest sign that Brodie was remotely interested . . . well, God help 
him then.

"Bruce."

"What." Brodie's voice was flat, uninflected, and slightly muffled behind his hand.

"Are you listening to me when I'm talkin' to you? Am I gonna have to try some other way to get 
your attention?"

Brodie looked up at him now in alarm, presumably concerned by the phrase "some other way."

"You're comin' in loud and clear," he said, and Shannon really liked the sound of the slight 
tremor to Brodie's voice.

"I don't know, somehow I'm just not convinced." Christ, he was hard already. Anticipation: The 
world's best non-chemical Viagra. He cupped Brodie's chin in his hand and, pushing his hand 
away from his face, tilted his head up, forcing Brodie to meet his eyes, maybe see a glimpse of 
his intentions in them before he leaned in for a kiss.

And astonished himself by making it gentle, licking and nibbling at the shocked, parted lips 
before delving inside. Maybe it was shock, maybe some vestige of intelligence rising to the 
surface, but Brodie didn't so much as try to bite him. Preferring not to push his luck, Shannon 
withdrew fairly quickly, lingering on Brodie's lips for a brief moment before backing off 
altogether and waiting to see if Brodie would be able to manage a smart remark now.

Brodie looked a little pale - though that could be a reaction to the beatdown, or possibly 
these lousy flourescent lights - and his eyes were wide, disbelieving.

"As attention-getting antics go," he said rather weakly after a few beats passed, "that was a 
highly effective one."

So far, so good. No panicking or trying to get away. Time to test how long that would hold. 
Shannon placed his free hand on Brodie's chest and began sliding it downward, slowly, giving 
Brodie plenty of time to register its intended destination. Brodie's eyes widened further, and 
he swallowed hard, but that was it. No attempt at interference or anything like that. Shannon's 
hand slid home, gently but firmly gripping Brodie's crotch, and now it was his turn to be 
surprised. He raised his eyebrows at Brodie with a smirk.

"Well. Do we have any little secrets we'd like to share, Bruce?" He loosened his grip on the 
semi-hardness he'd found so that he could massage it lightly, bringing it to full hardness. 
Brodie drew his breath in, his body paradoxically both tense and relaxed, blank gaze fixed 
somewhere on the floor in front of him.

< He's totally into it. > This was going to be more fun than Shannon had thought. He took his 
arm from around Brodie's shoulders and moved so that he was standing in front of him, hand 
still working his crotch, and kissed him again.

Brodie made the first nonverbal sound he'd made since Shannon had taken this little game in its 
new direction. It was a soft groan against Shannon's mouth, and it made Shannon's hand tighten 
convulsively - but not too hard, fortunately. Brodie's hips arched against his hand and, much to 
Shannon's delight, he began to kiss back. Tentatively at first, clearly not trusting it not to 
be a trick of some sort. Not that Shannon could blame him, really, all things considered. But, 
when he didn't pull away to mock Brodie and resume less pleasant activities, Brodie got a little 
braver, responding more confidently.

Finally, though, Shannon was forced to pull away, if only to give the both of them the chance 
to breathe. He could taste the faint metallic aftertaste of Brodie's blood; he hadn't noticed 
it before. His own wanting was catching him off-guard with how strong it was, and he deeply 
regretted the fact that he had a limited time period to work with. He would have liked to have 
some serious time to spend with Brodie, to really work him over and find all the sweet spots, 
to . . .

Hey. He gave himself a quick inward shake. < Stop thinking and start doing, asshole. >

He looked at Brodie, who was watching him warily, the mixture of lust and mistrust in his eyes 
effectively cementing Shannon's plans. Shannon kissed him again - (and the thought that he 
couldn't remember the last person he had enjoyed kissing so much wouldn't quite go away) - and 
slipped his hands around Brodie and under his t-shirt to squeeze his ass through his jeans.

Brodie tensed, arching his body closer to Shannon's in an attempt to pull away from his hands, 
only to jump in surprise when he discovered Shannon's hard-on. Shannon smirked against his mouth 
and squeezed harder, pulling Brodie against him as he ground his crotch into Brodie's abdomen. 
Brodie backed out of the kiss, holding on to Shannon's shoulders for balance.

"Look," he began. "I, I don't -"

"Bullshit," Shannon interrupted. He kissed Brodie's neck, sucking hard to leave a mark, before 
he murmured into Brodie's ear, "Get rid of that hard-on of yours and then maybe I'll believe 
you."

"Touché," Brodie said faintly . . . and promptly went limp. The move took Shannon by surprise; 
when he tried to readjust his grip accordingly, Brodie slipped out of his hands, poised to run.

Shannon recovered quickly and tripped him, sending him crashing to the floor. He knelt behind 
Brodie and yanked him to his knees before he could try to get up, locking an arm tightly around 
him waist. He wrapped a hand in Brodie's hair and pulled him back so that he could speak softly
into his ear.

"If I thought for one second that you really wanted to get away, I'd let you go."

Brodie's ragged breathing was loud in the quiet access tunnel; Shannon released his hair and 
slipped his arm across Brodie's chest, holding him close, and continued,

"If it makes you feel better to pretend that this is by force, that's fine. But you and I both 
know that that's a load of crap. So, as much as I'd like to keep soothing your ego, I don't 
really have time if I'm gonna do this right." He let go of Brodie to reach down and briskly 
unzip his jeans. "And Brodie? Trust me. You want this done right." He thrust a hand into 
Brodie's pants to roughly fondle him through his boxers. Keep him from thinking too clearly 
about what was coming next. Brodie groaned, pushing up against him. Shannon fished through his 
own pockets with his other hand, finally finding the small tube of lubricant he carried around 
with him as sort of a twisted good luck charm. He opened the flip-top cap with his teeth and 
managed, somewhat awkwardly, to spread a dollop of lube onto his fingers. Before Brodie quite 
realized what was going on, Shannon pulled his hand out of Brodie's jeans and wrapped the arm 
around his waist, while simultaneously sliding h! is other hand down the back of Brodie's boxers 
and plunging a finger deeply into him. It was something of a bait-and-switch, and he'd gotten 
pretty good at it.

Brodie gasped and reflexively tried to pull away, but Shannon held him in place and started to 
talk to him quietly, using the mantra he'd used on any number of startled partners in the past.

"It's okay, just relax . . . take a minute and get used to how that feels . . . remember to stay 
relaxed, that's important . . . right . . . deep breaths, just stay calm . . . yeah, that's 
it . . ." And so on and so on and so on, ad infuckingfinitum. Holy Christ, he hated this part. 
It was so *fucking* boring. However. He'd learned a long time ago not to try and rush through 
it. Nothing ruined the mood quite like making your partner bleed. So he maintained an outward 
semblence of patience, talking quietly to Brodie while he worked on loosening the tight muscles,
and all the while reminding himself of how very worth the effort this was going to be.

Finally - finally! - he had three fingers in there, with a little space to move around in. 
Brodie was as ready as he was gonna get. Sure, he was still shaking, hands gripping Shannon's 
arm almost tightly enough to leave bruises, but that didn't bother Shannon. Brodie'd have to be 
fucking nuts not to be a little nervous. Besides, he was still hard - harder, even - and he'd 
moaned a few times, quiet sounds that had made Shannon trip over his words and pause for a 
confused moment before continuing.

Yeah. He was as ready as he was gonna get. And this was gonna be fucking good. Shannon already 
knew that, and he was sure that once Brodie figured it out, he'd relax.

He pulled his fingers out, wiping them on Brodie's jeans, and asked,

"You ready?"

"Was that a conscious attempt to ask the world's stupidest question?" Brodie's voice was 
breathless, pitched lower than usual.

"Still got the presence of mind to be a smartass. You're gonna be fine." Shannon unzipped his 
own pants and reached for the tube he'd dropped on the floor.

He couldn't resist taking an extra moment to slick himself up, just to draw Brodie's anxiety 
out that much longer. When he looked up, he found that Brodie had turned to watch him, and 
looked distinctly flushed.

"Like what you see?" Shannon asked with a smirk, expecting Brodie to get flustered and turn 
away.

Instead, Brodie's eyes flicked up to meet his, and didn't waver. It was Shannon who looked 
away, feeling unsettled for the first time since he'd started this thing.

"No," Brodie said simply, "I'm not ready, and yeah, I'm gonna spend the rest of the day 
wondering why I didn't just stand up and walk away right now. So are you gonna play with 
yourself some more, or are we gonna do this?"

Shannon stared at him for a moment.

"Turn around," he said finally. "And drop your pants."

He entered Brodie with a little more force than was perhaps strictly necessary, without his 
customary warning against the pain, and was gratified by Brodie's sharp grunt and the way his 
body instinctively tensed.

"You wanted it, Bruce," he hissed, "you got it."

He deliberately gave Brodie no time to adjust before he began to move. Not roughly, but a little 
faster and deeper than Brodie was ready for; Brodie had to press his hand over his mouth to 
muffle the strained cries that he couldn't quite hold back.

So fucking good, better than he'd thought it would be. Brodie was so hot and so fucking tight, 
not ready to be taken, but still giving in, still *his* . . . The pleasure dulled Shannon's 
temper, and he slowed his pace a little. Enough so that Brodie could relax and begin to move 
with him, body adjusting and opening to him. Shannon began to move faster again, but this time 
Brodie was ready for it, and the sounds he was stifling became urgent moans.

Shannon reached around underneath Brodie and started to jerk him off, stroking in rhythm with 
his thrusts. Brodie groaned something that sounded as though it was trying to be Shannon's name 
and came, and Shannon thought disjointedly that next time he would have to pay more attention 
to how aroused Brodie was before he came too, with a force he hadn't experienced in some time.

When he came back to earth, Shannon realized that he was holding Brodie tightly around the 
waist, his face pressed into the back of Brodie's jacket. Brodie was very still, his slow, deep 
breathing the only indication that he hadn't just frozen in place. Reluctantly, Shannon let go 
of him and stood - he felt as though he could have stayed in that position all day, but he'd 
already spent too much time back here. He wasn't interested in seeing how far he could push his 
luck before it gave way.

He fastened his pants and picked up his jacket, shaking it free of dust and wrinkles before 
putting it on. Brodie stood up more slowly and mechanically attended to his own clothing, but 
hit a snag fastening his jeans - his hands were trembling too badly to work the button. Shannon 
watched him struggle with it for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and reaching out to do it
for him. "Jesus. Here."

"I can do it," Brodie grumbled half-heartedly.

"Yeah, I noticed that. There you go." Shannon gave the secured button a quick pat and looked up 
at Brodie. Their eyes met, and Shannon paused. Well . . . one more minute couldn't possibly 
hurt. He slipped his fingers into the waistband of Brodie's jeans and yanked Brodie toward him.

There was no use denying it, had he been inclined to - the kiss was incredibly hot. Hotter, 
even, because this time Brodie was an enthusiastic participant from the start, one hand in 
Shannon's hair and the other gripping his shoulder. Shannon, never having been one to keep his 
plans if something better came up, mentally wrote off Rene. He'd think of some way to get rid of 
her that would make him look good in case he decided he wanted her later. This - this was what 
should be pursued. No way in hell was this going to be the last and only time he ever touched 
Brodie Bruce.

But he'd have to take care of Rene later. There was probably someone from the store out looking 
for him by now. He broke the kiss and told Brodie,

"I have to go. I got out at six. Meet me out back in the employee parking lot."

Brodie looked startled, groped for a reason to protest. "What about Rene?"

"I changed my mind," Shannon said dismissively, disentangling himself from Brodie, who stared 
incredulously.

"You *changed* your *mind.* You couldn't have done that twenty minutes ago, saved me a few burst 
blood vessels?"

Shannon ignored him. "Six o'clock, Bruce."

**********

TS Quint shook his head as he stared at his ex-girlfriend Gwen Turner. "So *that* was what 
happened that Christmas . . . did we ever get along?"

"Once or twice."

"So how come we went out so long?"

"You had cable," Gwen said blithely. TS winced. Ouch.

"So," Gwen continued, "are you gonna stay for the show?"

"Absolutely not," TS said firmly, cringing at the very thought. "As soon as he gets back here, 
I'm gone."

"TS Quint, where is your sense of chivalry . . . Oh my God, is that Brodie?"

Startled by the sudden change in her tone, TS turned to follow her gaze.

It was definitely Brodie, sitting against the foremost candy display in the Sweets Shop and 
looking rather bruised. Jay and Silent Bob were with him, Jay kneeling next to him and Silent 
Bob standing behind him with an expression designed to ward off any more potential assailants. 
The effect was somewhat marred by the small pink plush bunny he was holding, but the effort was 
definitely there.

TS and Gwen raced over to Brodie and knelt next to him.

"What the hell happened to him?" TS demanded, looking at Jay.

"The guy in the Easter Bunny suit kicked his ass!" Jay answered indignantly.

"I had it coming," Brodie muttered, dabbing at his nose with a bloody wad of toilet paper.

"Fuck all that shit," Jay declared, rising to his feet. "C'mon, Silent Bob!" Bob followed and, 
judging from the determination in their respective stances as they walked away, TS suspected 
that the Easter Bunny guy was going to be in a lot of pain very soon.

He wouldn't have put it past Brodie to have antagonized the poor guy past the point of no 
return, but not in the middle of his shift in front of a bunch of kids. "What *really* happened?"

Brodie sighed. "The proprietor of Fashionable Male beat a raincheck into my stomach."

Gwen snapped to attention. "Shannon Hamilton?"

Surprised, TS opened his mouth to speak, but Brodie beat him to it.

"The very same." He began to struggle to his feet; as TS and Gwen moved in to help, he 
continued, "Take me home, TS."

TS was so completely startled that he nearly lost his grip on Brodie. "Take you *what*?" He'd 
never known Brodie to run away after a fight, no matter how one-sided it was or how badly he 
got hurt. Running away meant that the other guy won, and from his earliest age, Brodie had 
never been one to stand for that.

Gwen, who had never known Brodie well enough to understand what an uncharacteristic decision 
this was for him, reached across Brodie and cuffed TS on the side of the head. "Jesus, TS! If 
he wants to go home, don't stand there and give him shit, take him home!" She kissed Brodie's 
cheek. "I'm late, I gotta go. Hope you feel better. Make him some ice packs when you get him 
home, TS." She took off, leaving Brodie, who understood TS's surprise, to look sheepish and 
defiant. Mostly defiant.

"Listen, TS. It hurts to sit, and it hurts to stand. I just wanna go home, take some aspirin, 
and lie down." He paused. "And you can let go now."

"What? Oh. Sorry." TS took a step back. "Well, if that's what you really wanna do . . ."

"Yeah. It is." Brodie looked down at the floor, his voice unusually quiet and sober. "Besides, 
he seems to expect me to stick around for more of the same. Y'know, so fuck him." Brodie looked 
up, meeting TS's eyes, and the expression in his own pleaded with TS not to ask any more 
questions.

"Yeah, okay," TS said. "Hey, you wanna stop at RST and pick up something stupid to watch?" His 
tone was casual, conversational really, a lighthearted subject change, in no way giving away how 
much Brodie's bizarre behaviour was scaring him.

Brodie smiled a little. "Your treat."

"Isn't it always?"

"Good point." Brodie jerked his head toward a nearby exit. "Let's go."

The motion, for some reason, drew TS's attention to Brodie's neck. He stopped cold as what he'd 
seen registered.

A hickey. It was, no question, without any doubt, a fresh hickey. And TS knew - he *knew* - that 
had not been there before, not even after Brodie's little adventure in the elevator. He would 
have noticed. Hell, Brodie probably would have pointed it out. So where the hell - ?

"Are you coming?" Brodie asked, annoyed. TS blinked.

"What? Yeah." He followed Brodie out of the mall, an uncomfortable thought developing in his 
mind:

What had *really* happened?