My Love is Just Waiting To Turn Your Tears To Rose

by Emono

At a rock concert, Evan gets into a brawl and his friends leave him. Who finds him? SLASH! Under the Rose 'Verse, people.

Title: My Love is Just Waiting To Turn Your Tears To Roses
Author: Emono
Rating: FRM
Fandom: Wrestling
Pairings: Chris Jericho/Evan Bourne
Series: Under The Rose series
Summary: At a rock concert, Evan gets into a brawl and his friends leave him. Who finds him?
Disclaimer: The WWE is not mine nor are any of it's child branches, it is the 96% property of the McMahon's and God bless the bastards that work for them. I respect the sexual preferences and identities of all the wrestlers on WWE roster, and who they share a bed with is really none of my business.
Warnings: Slash, D/S, violence, mob, music

AN: I flipped a nickel whether I'd start this or write the next chapter of Nitro's story. So here's the fan-requested one-shot of how Jericho found his Evan. It's not a full-on story like Ted, Cody, kinda-Nitro, or Miz/Punk. Ta-da!

---

2001

Evan had gotten his loser group of friends to listen to Fozzy. Luckily, they loved the sound of the band and were up for a road trip. Any excuse to go to a concert and got smashed, really. He hated all of them, but he needed the ride. At eighteen, he still didn't have his drivers license. His parents wouldn't let him use the car, so he couldn't get any practice in.

The band was playing on an outside stage, it was late and everyone was already half-drunk. The roadies were setting up the equipment, but music was blaring out of the speakers to keep the growing crowd occupied. Kegs were scattered all over, crowd rails set up a few feet in front of the stage and way out. Fozzy liked to give these types of concerts out in the open for the rowdier fans. As a heavy metal group, things could get pretty wild.

Evan had gotten away from the others, taking a few moments to breathe in the crisp night hair. He hissed and winced, sighing out sharply as pain shot up his torso. He looked around for anyone who would call him out, then lifted the hem of his tight Fozzy t-shirt. There were two raised, crimson welts along his flat belly. He could feel the two across his back aching, still fresh from this morning. His pale fingers skimmed across the hot flesh, his sigh was much softer this time.

"He did it again, didn't he?"

"Fuck, Corey" Evan spat, shoving his shirt down "What do you want?"

Evan was usually all sweetness and light, but he had little patience for his stupid emo friends. They were just so damn depressing all the time! He didn't have the best of lives, but he didn't go around bitching about it to anyone who would listen. Corey, for example. He had this bushy brunette hair that reminded Evan of a helmet, he was plump around the middle and had an awkward gate. He was an arrogant know-it-all, the kind of person that would correct your joke and suck all the "fun" right out of it. He had his hands shoved into his hoody, the bulky material hiding his fat.

"Your dad hit you again, that's too bad" Corey wheezed "My dad's dead, so I've never had that."

"Shut up" Evan ran a hand over his eyes, he didn't feel like dealing with it anymore today. Hours in a car with the group of them and he was all ready to kill himself.

"What was it about this time?" Corey inquired boredly, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"I dunno" Evan shrugged, it wasn't a lie.

Why was he acting all depressed? He was at a concert, he was going to see the Chris Jericho in person. He looked to the stage with a smile, eyes glazing over as he thought about what was to come in the next few hours.

Corey was complaining about something, but Evan couldn't be bothered to listen.

/The Chris Jericho/ Evan nearly swooned at the sight /He's going to be up there, singing!/

Evan would freely admit it, he was the biggest fan boy for Jericho. He'd watched every match he could find with the man in it, even some underground Mexican matches where he was known as the Lionheart. He'd gone to arenas, seen the matches live, and listened to every song Fozzy had ever produced. He'd fallen asleep with End of Days ringing in his ears.

And now, he was going to see Jericho up close.

But first, he had to secure a spot in the front.

xXxXxXx

The moment the first guitar chord was struck, the fans wouldn't shut up. They were roaring madly, banging their heads and singing back the lyrics with a drunken slur. The band was amazing, all heavy bass and rough lyrics. Evan had wormed his way to the front, away from his "friends" and in a much better spot right in front of the stage. He could see Jericho clearly from his spot, and he couldn't take his eyes off the man even as he himself danced and head-banged with the rest. He didn't care who was watching, the music was flowing into his veins and demanding all sorts of things from his body. The people around him were going nuts, but he couldn't be set apart from them from the way he was moving.

Jericho looked amazing. His hair was a dark gold, naturally falling in ringlets along his shoulders. His plain black t-shirt was ripped at the sleeves, showing his thickly muscled arms. He was singing passionately into the mic, a rawness to his words that made you just connect with the whole aura. Tight jeans showed his chorded thighs, thick cuffs laced along his forearms and a chain around his neck. Evan could see the shine of expensive grunge earrings, bright against the tan skin.

He was beautiful.

Evan was really getting lost in the music, two hours into it and he was still dancing fast and loose. Someone screamed, like really screamed. He turned to look for the source of the noise, only to have a fist fly out of nowhere and deck him right in the jaw. His head jerked back, and all he saw was sky until he slammed into the man behind him. That movement spilled the man's drink on other people, which pissed everyone else around them off.

Before Evan could gain back his senses, he was shoved again into more of the crowd. He was a small guy; he didn't have a lot of muscle. He was too easy to throw around, and these fans were strong and rather burly (their blood-alcohol content didn't help.) He could feel blood pour hotly down his face, he clutched at his nose with a cry of anguish. Before he knew what was really going on, a violent mosh pit had started all around him. He smacked against the crowd rail, letting out a whimper before he was sucked back into the chaos.

Something told him to duck, and he obeyed - the taste of his own blood filling his mouth as he collapsed into the grass.

Panic took over his senses; he silently prayed not to be trampled alive by these huge people. He didn't register that the band had stopped playing, nor that security was swarming to break apart the pit. A boot crashed down on his hand, causing him to yelp and draw the injured limb into his chest.

Someone knelt beside him, wrapping their strong bare arms around his legs and back before picking him up bridle style. Evan thrashed in the man's grip, screaming to be put down, before he looked up into the face of his hero. A strong jaw, fierce azure eyes…a waterfall of dark gold locks. Evan gaped at the lead singer, going limp as he was carried past the fan wall to the cool of the grass space between the stage and the rail. Jericho knelt again, easing him down to sit on the grass and staring into his face. Jericho's own was filled with concern, keeping one of hands along the boy's shoulder blade.

"Hey, you okay, kid?" Chris's voice was smooth, enticing you to hear more.

"I'm fine" Evan tried not to squeak.

"You don't look it" Chris reached out, brushing back the boy's unruly raven hair "I saw that mob swallow you up."

Evan looked nervously from the stage, back to the blonde, "You jumped down to…?"

"Save you?" Chris gave the boy a full smile, dark gold tresses falling into his eyes "Yeah. Call me dramatic."

"You didn't have to…I'm sorry that I…I could've…" Evan tried all those words, but none felt as right as his next whispered ones "Thank you."

Jericho's personal body guard came up beside them, towering over Evan by almost two feet.

"This is Paul" Chris helped him stand, wincing as he saw that the ravenette was still bleeding "He's going to take you back to my bus and get you some stuff to clean yourself up with. He'll refund your money, too."

Evan blinked up at the golden Adonis, "Why?"

"Because you're too cute to have your good time ruined" Jericho touched his face again, a gentle caress with the back of his knuckles along the boy's smooth jaw "I'll be back when I wrap it up here. This crowd is getting a little too drunk for my taste."

Evan didn't know what to say, so he just nodded instead.

"Okay then" Jericho carefully handed the boy off to Paul, almost reluctant to release him from his care "Have whatever you like, but get that blood off your face. You're too pretty for that."

Evan blushed profusely, but he obeyed and let Paul lead him off. After a moment, his brow creased, but he didn't question out loud.

/What does he mean?/

xXx

Oh, now he knew what he meant.

Evan stood in Jericho's personal tour bus's bathroom, staring at his bloodied reflection with wide eyes. The light was harsh on his pride, revealing all his flaws to the polished surface. Paul had let him inside, offered him a first aid kit, then left him to himself. He was standing right outside, though, guarding the door.

Evan wet a dark washcloth in the sink, the cold would stop the blood flow. He carefully wiped his face, clenching his eyes shut and hoping the end result wouldn't be so bad. His nose was a little tender, but it wasn't completely shattered. His hand and jaw, however, were throbbing. He cracked his eyes open once more, lowering the cloth to find his face wasn't so terrible. There was some early bruising on his cheek, but his nose had just been bloodied - not cut or broken. He sighed in relief, dropping the cloth rather carelessly back into the sink.

Evan was much too shy to just raid the bus, even though it belonged to his idol and he was the biggest fanboy ever. Instead, he went into the "living room" and wandered around, staring in awe at everything. On the table was the thirty bucks he'd paid for his ticket, all in a neat pile of straight bills. He couldn't stop himself from squealing when he saw Jericho's stereo, wallet, keys, or anything really personal. He resisted the urge to hunt down his hair brush - or, better yet, his bed. To lay in Chris Jericho's bed…to writhe upon the sheets that once held that man's gloriously naked body…it would be heaven.

Pure Heaven.

Evan shuddered, dropping his eyes to the carpet as he crossed his hugged himself tightly. Something inside him was shifting, firing up his nerves. No one knew where he was, he should've been nervous as hell. Yet, he found himself strangely comfortable in these surroundings. He was all but bathing in Jericho's scent, masculine and rich. He could feel it like a feather against his bare skin, tickling and arousing new feelings in him.

But could lust really be called 'new'?

The door rattled loudly, making him jump. He turned toward it, wide doe eyes showing their first hint of fear. Anyone could come in, and he was all alone. Somewhere inside him, in that stirring part of him, Evan knew that he was under Jericho's protection right now. The man wouldn't let anything bad come to him, not after that heroic act in the crowd.

Just like that, Evan wasn't scared anymore.

The door opened up, an echoed order filling the silence of the room, "Guard the door, I don't want to be disturbed. Tell the boys I need a rest."

Someone, most likely Paul, gave a grunt of reply.

Jericho climbed the steps of the bus, the first thing visible was his spill of golden tresses down his shoulders. He didn't look too happy, his t-shirt had been shed for a studded leather jacket with the sleeves torn off. He was wiping his face with a towel, sighing heavily into the cotton cloth. He tossed it aside, raising his face to catch the eyes of his young ward.

Evan couldn't stop the smile from splitting his face, showing off his pearly kitten teeth. In return, Chris's own lips turned up in a grin.

"See" Chris took a few steps toward him, stopping at the corner of the couch "You look much better without all that blood ruining your face."

The words were blunt, but well meant.

"Thanks" was all Evan could muster "For…before, ya know? You really saved my butt out there."

"I do what I want" Chris stated, strolling over to the mini-fridge and pulling it open to look for a cold beer "And what I wanted right then…was to save you from those heathens. They would've torn you apart."

"No doubt about that" Evan grumbled, reaching up and gingerly fingering the tender bridge of his nose.

"Beer?" Chris offered, holding up the one he selected for himself.

Evan flushed, dropping his hand and shaking his head, "No thanks. I don't drink. I'm not really supposed to."

The blonde quirked a brow at this, "How old are you?"

/Crap/ Evan tried not to visibly scowl. If the man knew his age, he'd send him out of the bus so fast his shoe would follow seconds after him. He didn't want to leave, he really didn't. But there was something in those sapphire eyes, something piercing. It was something that made him want to tell the truth, so he did.

"I'm only eighteen."

The older man looked him over, a flash of pink against his lower lip as he wet it, "So young…"

Evan didn't flinch from the appreciative gaze, not like he had from all the other men who'd given him a second glance. He knew he wasn't horrible looking. He was small, cute by most standards, and had a nice smile. He straightened his shoulders, rising to his full height in hopes that those bastards in the crowd hadn't spoiled what little looks he had.

Chris tilted his head, "I didn't catch your name."

"Evan" the ravenette replied simply.

"Well, Evan, you can stop trying to impress me" Jericho sat down with a grace upon his couch, popping his beer open with his thumb and enjoying a long pull from the bottle "Because you already have."

"Really?" Evan perked up, surprised by this.

"Oh yeah" Chris sighed as the brew soothed his raw throat "The way you handled yourself in that crowd? How could I not be? If you wouldn't have gotten down when you did…"

"What?"

"A chair whizzed right by where you were" Chris's eyes dimmed for a moment "It would've taken your head off, I'm sure."

Evan's hand shot up to his neck, rubbing the delicate line of his pulse. It was too gruesome a thought to fathom, and he wished desperately for another topic.

"Did you like the show?" Jericho asked, sensing the boy's discomfort "You seemed to be enjoying yourself. I felt like I was performing exclusively for you."

His blush came back full force at the mention of his shameless staring and dancing, porcelain skin giving him away.

"That would be the best gift a silly kid could ever receive" Evan tittered, hating how childish he sounded but not caring. Chris smiled at this, setting down his beer on the side table. He curled his fingers at the younger man, urging him forward. Evan happily obeyed, walking over and stopping just in front of the older blonde. Jericho's eyes studied his features, his lithe body, noting the way he favored his ribs.

"Did they hurt you too badly?" Chris inquired, reaching out and seizing the edge of the boy's band t-shirt. Evan tensed, snatching the blonde's wrist and holding it still.

"Don't" it was a breathy, desperate request.

Chris tilted his head to the side, "Why not?"

"Just-" before Evan could give an excuse, the man gently rucked up the material to expose his torso. Chris looked upon the bruised ribs with a cool expression, the only sign of rage was the pursing of his lips. Evan blanched, averting his eyes. The discoloration told it's own story, he didn't have to say a word. He couldn't talk his way out of this clear injury.

Evan hated that Chris had seen what his father had done to him. If his age hadn't gotten him kicked out of this bus, this surely would. Jericho was a grown man, he didn't need these kinds of problems. Especially from a pathetic male groupie.

"Who did this to you?" Chris's voice was cool, but there was a hard undertone to it.

"It was an accident" the lame excuse poured from his lips before he could think of something better, the same dull tone he always used.

"You can't lie to me" Chris tisked, gently laying his open palm along the dark purple and crimson marks across the boy's ribs "Tell me, sweetling. Who could hurt you?"

There was that yearning again, the one deep in his gut. Evan couldn't deny this man anything, he wanted to tell him why he had bruises all over him. Could Chris feel the darkness inside of him? Could he see the real him shimmering atop the façade of innocence? The self he tried to keep concealed from everyone around him…the one he was ashamed of. A malicious, yielding self that yearned for this man.

"My father" Evan finally admitted, trying not to scowl too much.

"Your own father? Flesh and blood?" Chris seemed appalled by him, both savoring and seething at the heat beneath his palm from the wounds on this boy "What could you have done that would be worthy of such a beating?"

"I…have no idea" Evan's breathy whisper told his innocence, a far away look coming to his eyes "I don't know why my dad hits me anymore. I-I thought I had done something wrong, at first. I used to think it was the alcohol, or he was angry…but this morning he just…picked up a belt and…"

Evan couldn't finish, his throat swelling up with his emotion. He tried to swallow it all down, not wanting to show too much weakness in front of this great man.

"Who could hurt you?" Chris gently pulled the boy closer, leaning in and brushing a sweet kiss above his navel "An angel?"

Evan broke away from the older man, striding away from the welcoming touch and the sweet siren call of a master to his pet. He knew what he wanted, his body wanted, what his very heart wanted…but he couldn't take it. It wasn't his to take, it was his to receive.

/What's wrong with me?/ Evan put the back of his hand to his cheek, the heat there greater than his poor ribs /I can't breathe…I can't think straight…all I want to do is kneel at his feet and let him use me./

This thought brought another wave of lust rolling through his body, nearly rocking him where he stood. He could hear the heavy clunk of Jericho's boots across the floor, coming toward him, but he couldn't turn to meet him. The ravenette was torn, a painful rip in his very psyche about this decision. He could taste a whole other world here, he was on the precipice of something much greater than himself.

Evan yelped as he was taken by his shoulders, turned and slammed against the wall of the bus. His small frame was nearly hefted off his feet, pinned firmly against the wall. He looked up into the azure eyes that had endless depths, the ones he had seen in his dreams, the ones he had hoped that would on him one day. His handsome, tan face was filled with a solid determination. He looked him over with unbridled lust, but there was something else there as well. A kindness, a certain love…possessiveness.

"No one should ever touch you like that" Chris stated firmly, leaning in capture a kiss. Evan turned his head away at the last second, only a hairsbreadth away from a full kiss. A ruddy stain bloomed across his pale cheeks, giving his face some color as the lust and embaressment heated his blood. Chris's lips brushed said cheeks instead, the contact sending a spark down from his skin to his very heart.

The heat between them was unbearable, hearts heavy with excitement as they struggled to breath. Master and subordinant both identified one another in that moment, Chris all but laying against the younger man.

"Why did you turn away from my kiss, little one?" Chris murmured, mouth brushing jugular that was bared before him like an offering.

"I…I dunno…" Evan whispered, eyes still closed. A small furrow of his brows showed the battle that was taking place inside, his virtue battling with these new feelings of submission. He chewed on his lower lip, a small cry escaping unbidden as the older man brushed his hand across his abdomen.

"Does it hurt terribly?" Chris inquired, a certain gleam in his eyes.

Evan nodded sharply, just the simple pressure made his ribs throb, "Y-Yes."

"There should only be one person who should decide whether you're in Heaven or Hell, my little angel" Chris stated, cupping the other's jaw and forcing their eyes to meet, searing those doe eyes with his own "And that'd be your master."

Evan couldn't reply, a calloused thumb tracing his lower lip.

"Do you have a master, Evan?"

Evan lowered his eyes obediently, "No."

Jericho dipped his head down once more, this time brushing a kiss just below the ravenette's ear, "Would you ever want one?"

Evan couldn't stop the little moan that escaped him, "Yes."

xXxXxXx

Three days later, a letter was delivered to Evan's father telling him that he would no longer would have to worry about his son. He'd get all the training, love, and education he would ever need. Five hundred dollars was his price for silence, and he kept it.

A week later, Evan found out what it was like to be worshipped upon soft sheets. To be loved, and kissed, and touched in pure pleasure. He found a man who wanted to protect and guide him. Neither were concerned for their age difference, they only knew that there was a bond between them.

Evan gave his body over willingly, receiving more bliss and comfort than he could ever imagine. There was never any pain, never more than a few marks left on him afterward. The first time Chris gave him a hickey in the heat of passion, he crooned over him for ten minutes before Evan soothed his guilt. Chris didn't like to mark his little sub, he felt like he was abusing him when he did.

Evan didn't care to talk to his family, once every two weeks or so was okay…and even that diminished over time. His mother, who in her own way was a sub in the way she put up with her husband's abuse and still loved him, was glad that he'd gotten away and was starting his own career.

It was true. Chris had showed him a path that he'd never known was open to him. With his size and his potential flexibility, he could be what they call a 'high flyer.' It sounded more appealing than any deal he'd heard in his lifetime.

Chris was there when he cried in frustration, or when he hurt himself during training. When he got sick, or tired. But it wasn't just the bad times, it was the good times as well. When he perfected the Shooting-Star Press, Chris was right there cheering him on and hugging him when he got out of the practice ring. When he got a new video game, or felt like a hug…Chris was there to fill in the void in his heart. He quickly replaced his father, and in that gained a lover.

Evan entrusted his life with this man, and he wasn't going to be disappointed.

*LINE*

I think the ending is nice, but my best friend wrote a much better ending:

Disregard everything that has been written before, the truth of it all is this, that Jericho and Sheamus ran away from the WWE so they could be wed in Canada and raise two beautiful children. Evan admitted his love for Big show and they are still dating

HAHAHA! I love her. I created this two months ago, so it's about time I finished it. Now all I have to do is finish the main story! No more stalling.

All stories in this verse are (in order to be read):

"And Don't Forget To Let Your Heart Beat" - Cody's Story

"I'm A Match Burning Out" - Ted's Story

"My Love is Just Waiting To Turn Your Tears to Roses" - Evan's story

"Far Too Pretty To Be Giving It Cheap" - Nitro's story

"This Fire Burns All The Way" - Miz and Punk's story

"So Happy I Could Die" - Edge and Christian's snippet

"Under the Rose" - The Court's story, the main story

"I Don't Need No Heaven or Hell" - Kevin Nash/Chris Sabin/Alex Shelley story

"My Submission is Your Addiction" - Alex Riley/Justin Gabriel story