Author's Notes: This is the sequel to It Could Be Sunshine. That means that this story takes place after the Designer Genes stories in the comics. Each chapter will be written from Bobby and Jono's POVs and marked with a B or J respectively in the chapter title in the drop-down bar. (And yes, the perversion of that is intentional.)

Chapter One
I Love You (Prelude to Tragedy)

"The sweeter the kiss
The colder turn your arms"
-H.I.M.

Did you know there's a band called 'The Revolting Cocks'? No? Neither did I. But then, I've been learning all sorts of new and interesting things as of late. Not all of it as funny as 'Revolting Cocks' though.

I think the thing I've learnt recently that's the least amusing is that in a house full of telepaths, nothing stays a secret for very long. Okay, maybe it's unfair to blame it all on Emma or Jean having big mouths… the fact that I'm pretty lousy at keeping things quiet probably contributes to the problem. Like, a teeny tiny bit. 0.02% maybe.

Now, I've been playing the part of Class Clown for time out of mind, so I know by now that if you dish it out you'd better be prepared to take it. So while I was mortified as hell to realize that everyone in the mansion knows that Chamber and I have become, er, 'more than friends', I expected the subsequent teasing.

Which leads to the other less-than-amusing thing I've learned lately: Jonothon Starsmore does not like to be teased.

*DRAKE!*

It was a Wednesday evening, and I was sitting at the kitchen table eating a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich (secret to eternal life, I swear) and thinking about stealing some cookies from Scott's secret stash when the front door banged open and Jono's telepathic shout cut through my brain like a bullet.

"Uh-oh," I muttered, and endeavored to look innocent.

He straight-armed the kitchen door, sending it banging against the wall, marched across the room and planted his palms on the table so he was hunched over, glaring at me. His glare was so searing that I actually started to lower my body temperature.

"Hi," I said. "Something bothering you, Jon?" I tried to call him that whenever we were in a 'public area' in a half-hearted attempt to give the impression we weren't sleeping together.

*Oi'm goin' ter kill yer,* he told me. Prior to that, I never would have guessed you could telepathically convey such a thick, angry accent.

"Uhm. Okay. Can I finish my sandwich first?" I smiled cheerily. Then the little bastard actually punched me in the face.

"OW! Sonuva-Jono, what the hell?!"

*Bloody cheek,* he replied, but some of the anger had gone out of his voice. I was starting to get pissed myself, but then he took a few steps so he was at my side and roughly took my hands away from my injured jaw and examined the damage, his guitar-calloused fingers first running across my jawline before moving up to brush my cheekbones lightly. It was, dare I say it, almost a caress.

"That hurt," I told him, hating myself a little for smiling on the inside.

*Good.* He heaved a long sigh (which feels really and truly bizarre, might I add) and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, glowering at me moodily. *I was just outside with Worthington and Stacy. She wants ter know which one of us'll be wearin' the apron if we move in together.*

Made a mental note to freeze Stacy's thong underwear to her buttcrack.

Jonothon's scowl actually managed to deepen. I think his eyebrows had gained sentience and were trying to knit themselves together for obscure reasons. *Warren called you my boyfriend.*

Should freeze Warren's thong, too. "Well," I said after a minute. "Aren't I?"

Jonothon blinked at me, and his eyebrows stopped mating in order to twist themselves into an expression of dismay. *Aw, fuck,* he said.

I wasn't sure whether to be amused or hurt by this remark, so I wound up feeling both. "So why'd you punch me?" I grumbled.

*I thought we agreed to keep whatever is between us quiet,* he said. *Yer know, t'avoid exactly this sort of scenario.*

"Hey, I didn't say a word!" I protested. "And honestly, did you really think we could keep it a secret forever?"

Jonothon looked glum. *I was sorta 'oping we could.*

On the one hand, I knew exactly how he felt. On the other, however, I could feel a sort of childish injury. "Oh come on," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "I'm not that embarrassing."

He looked up at me, cocking one sardonic eyebrow. *Yes you are.*

I got up and took my dishes to the sink so I wasn't looking at him. I was suddenly angry, and although I knew I was being ridiculous I couldn't calm down. I just kept thinking about how everyone in my life always seems to feel that way at some point - that Bobby, what a character, but he's a bit of an embarrassment. Just humour him and he'll stop.

There was a scraping noise as Jonothon got out of his chair, and the deliberate ka-clunk of his boots across the linoleum. Those damn boots… I have no idea how he can get them on and off so quickly, what with all the buckles.

I put my hands on the counter and waited. He was behind me, probably standing about half a foot away, presumably watching the back of my head. I waited a little longer, expecting him to step closer, or reach out and touch me, or… I dunno, do something.

Noooope.

Finally I turned around, my traitor mouth pulling itself into an irritated little smirk. What can I say? I'm impatient. He was just standing there lazily, almost smiling. "God, you're such a shit sometimes," I told him.

*Mm.*

I shrugged, laughing a little. Mostly at myself. "Jeez. Remind me to thank Warren. No, better yet, remind me to molest you on the kitchen table at the precise moment he comes in for breakfast tomorrow."

He lowered his head a little and found something interesting to look at off to the side, his eyelids drooping slyly. *Mm,* he repeated. *Sounds alright.* His eyes flickered up to meet mine for a second and the wet gleam in them made all the spit in my mouth dry up.

I made some sort of noise - kind of a breathless "fwuh?" Jonothon either didn't notice or (more likely) ignored it. He rolled his shoulders distractedly and flicked his belt-buckle with one thumb.

*I,* he said, *am goin' ter take a shower.*

Sounds like a splendid idea, Jonothon. Would you like some company? I could wash your back, I tried to say. Managed a strangled croak instead. Jonothon turned away and headed for the kitchen door, probably laughing at me inside the whole time.

Little bastard. I wanted to ruin his little game by turning back to the sink and washing my dishes, I really did, but…

Dammit. Why does he have to wear such tight jeans?

Feeling like that hyper little dog in the Warner Brother's cartoons, I crossed the room quickly and followed him out of the kitchen. He looked amused when I caught up and fell in step beside him, but surprised as well. We ascended the stairs in silence, both of us kind of keeping an eye out for anyone passing by. At the top he paused and glanced down the hallway in the direction of the bedrooms.

*Yours, or...?*

I grinned. "Hey limey, I thought you wanted a shower?"

He balked. *Yeah, but yer know, I didn't really expect yer t'follow.*

I grabbed his hand and tugged. "Come on. It's deserted around here today. Nobody'll notice us. Promise. And if somebody DOES hear us, we'll tell everyone it was Warren. Just Warren. With maybe a blow-up doll."

I dragged him to the bathroom and closed the door behind us. I was halfway through unbuttoning my shirt when I realized Jonothon was just sort of standing there uncomfortably. "What is it?" I asked slowly.

He shrugged tensely and I frowned. Jonothon tends to be slightly uncommunicative (to put it mildly) so I expected getting him to fess up to what exactly was bothering him would be like pulling teeth.

"Jono, I swear, nobody is going to hear us."

*S'not that.* He gestured briefly at the row of light bulbs over the bathroom mirror. I don't know what wattage those babies have, but they're bright enough to double as airport landing lights. Underneath them Jonothon didn't look merely pale - he looked downright cadaverous.

"Oh, big deal," I said lightly, starting to grasp what he was thinking. "Everyone looks like shit under these things." Which was true. You'd think in a mansion with technology as advanced as ours we could shell out the dough to get some flattering lighting going on in the can.

Jonothon raised the Chilly Eyebrow of Death at me. Poor choice of words, perhaps.

"You know what I mean," I insisted. I stepped closer to him and put my hands on his upper arms. He bore this silently, not looking at me.

"Jonothon," I said quietly. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before."

*Yeah, in the dark,* he replied in a voice that tried to be waspish but instead sounded only wounded.

"Not total dark," I said, but I was suddenly aware that he was right. He never let me put the lights on.

"Huh. Well, okay. Fine." I went over to the sink and reached up, dropping the temperature of my fingers so that when I grabbed one of the light bulbs I didn't burn myself.

*Bobby, wot--?*

I unscrewed about half the bulbs and placed them carefully on the countertop. The room was lit so you could still see everything, but it was a lot less like a hospital operating theatre now.

"Better?"

*Yer coulda just turned em off,* he said reluctantly and I shook my head.

"Maybe," I said, stepping close to him again, "I don't want it to be totally dark in here. Maybe I want to get a better look at you." I wrapped my arms around him, mostly because I was afraid he'd bolt for the door if I didn't. "Okay?"

Awful seconds where he didn't reply, just stood there stiffly in my embrace. I didn't move, just stood there with him and inhaled his smell. Jonothon always has this slightly sulfurous odour that seems to lurk just beneath the scent of flesh and warm leather. It's not what you'd call a turn-on, I guess, but somehow I don't find it unpleasant at all. Quite the opposite, really. Reminds me vaguely of blown-out birthday candles.

Finally he relaxed a little. *Don't stare,* he admonished me. One of his hands found its way up to the nape of my neck, calloused fingertips stroking the skin there and making me shiver a little.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I muttered into his hair. Yes, score one victory for Bobby Drake! My hormones were already celebrating by pitching a tent in my pants.

*Uh-huh.* He put his hands on either side of my neck, tracing them deftly over my shoulders and back before sliding them lower to cup my ass, pulling me closer. The slightly possessive feel of his hands on my body like that made me feel stupidly pleased - yeah, stick your hands in my pockets baby and we'll stroll down the boardwalk so everyone knows. I slipped my own hands into the pockets of his jeans, and to keep myself from smiling I buried my mouth at the hollow below his earlobe where the jawbone ends, aiming for skin but managing to get a lot of bandage and hair at the same time.

I sputtered. "Crap."

*Casanova you're not,* Jono said, his hands regrettably leaving my rear-end in order to quickly undo the rest of my shirt. I couldn't think of a very witty response to that one due to being fixated on the feel of his fingers on my chest, so I just sort of grunted and tried to disentangle myself from my shirt. Tried. Gave up and put my hands back on his butt.

Jonothon reached behind him and pulled my hands off, stepping away from me a little at the same time. He looked down at my arm and saw my shirt hanging from the elbow. I looked at it too, shrugged, pulled it off and tossed it in a corner. "Better?" I asked.

*Jesus,* he muttered, but it felt like he was smiling.

I reached for him again and he took another step backwards. *Boots,* he said. I stared at him for a second.

"Pardon?"

He pointed at his feet and I realized those infernal pointy, painful-looking things were still strapped to his feet by god knew how many buckles. I groaned aloud.

"Oh sweet Jesus, I'll fall asleep before you get those off... Maybe you should just throw me some tissue."

He smirked a little and sat down on the toilet, pulling one leg up to get at his foot.

*Take the rest of yer clothes off and start the bleedin' shower,* he said. Hm. Get naked. There's a command I was pretty happy to follow. I stripped down in record time, balancing unsteadily and stork-like for a second as I removed my socks, then turned the shower on. Water hissed and pattered, and I adjusted the temperature to somewhere just below frigid before it occurred to me that maybe Jono didn't enjoy the freezing-cold as much as I do.

"Hey," I said, turning around. There'd been two thuds as his boots were dropped to the floor, and upon turning around I found he was removing the sweater he'd had on. He pulled it over his head, making his normally unruly hair even messier, and gave me a mildly exasperated look.

*Wot?*

"Do you mind if the water's a little on the chilly side?"

Jonothon shook his head. *Don't matter t'me,* he said. *Lack of sensation, remember?* There was bruised animosity lurking just below his casual, indifferent tone. I'm sure he didn't mean to project it, but I've found then when somebody is using a direct line to communicate with your brain it's awfully difficult not to colour the words with emotions.

I nodded, feeling like a jackass because I did know that Jonothon's sense of touch is somewhat muted. Hank told me once that it has something to do with his sensory receptors not working properly because his tissues aren't kept alive with oxygenated blood anymore. I try not to think about it a whole lot, mostly because it makes me think of zombie movies, and that's just… not right.

I hopped in the shower and peeked out from behind the curtains to watch Jonothon undress. He caught me and made an impatient shooing gesture, which made me laugh and duck back behind the curtain before he could decide to throw something at me.

Jonothon climbed in the shower a moment later, pale and thin and still wrapped in bandages. I knew better than to try and get a good look at him (he's as body conscious as a 13-year-old-girl with an eating disorder) so I fixed my eyes on his and smiled. My heart was doing odd gymnastics in my chest and having him so close to me, water sliding in glimmering rivulets over his skin, was damn near intoxicating.

"Hi," I said stupidly. He snorted, and reached out with one hand to lazily trace his index finger from the hollow between my collarbones to just below my navel.

I'd like to say that this is the part where I got all suave and sexy, and reduced him to a pile of quivering jelly capable only of gasping my name. Instead I reached forward with all the grace of a 500lb rhino and pulled him to me, making his feet squeak noisily on the wet porcelain. My hands moved up his arms, over his shoulders and down his back while my lips sought his neck and mouthed leather bandages. I could feel his touch on the back of my neck again, teasing, before his fingers moved up and tangled themselves in my hair. I tried to pull him even closer, grinding against him, and the fingers in my hair tightened, pulling at my scalp. Kind of hurt, but not really in a bad way.

Dulled sense of touch or no, having me rub against him like that was having an effect; I could feel Jononthon's stiffening cock moving against me. It was maddening. I pawed at him with no finesse at all, but rather a brute violence that the situation seemed to demand, my mouth unconsciously seeking his.

And of course, it wasn't there.

I'm not sure exactly how long it took for me to realize I was kissing leather. Finally the fact registered and I opened my eyes and pulled back. I caught the look of anguish in his eyes before he looked away.

"Jono," I said. My intended apology seemed weak and insulting, so I stopped there. Leaned down and buried my head in his chest for a moment, listening to the nothingness there. Jono twitched and his hands tried to settle on my shoulders. Figured he'd push me away if he could, so I sank slowly to my knees, dragging my mouth across the flat planes of his stomach, tongue dipping into his navel briefly.

Got some sort of silent, mental protest from Jono at the same time his hips tilted forward, leaving me to conclude that while I might have offended him, his body still wanted me to go ahead.

Wrapped my fingers around his cock and moved up and down, hard and fast because I've discovered that he can feel that, at least. With my other hand I fondled his balls, stroking the skin with my thumb before squeezing them. This elicited a dizzying mental groan. Figuring I could do better than that, I felt for the delicate skin behind and gave a quick, rough fingernail scratch and was rewarded with a bolt of deep crimson lust straight through the brain.

Lowered my head and laved the head of his cock with my tongue, wishing I had a cat's tongue because somehow I know he'd love that. Took his dick in my mouth and started sucking, letting my teeth carefully skate across skin once or twice, trying not to smile at the sudden gasps in my brain when I did so.

Water on porcelain, drumming out a rhythm he seemed to be trying to match. Jonothon's hips pumping, while he let a series of non-words filter into my mind. I could feel the emotions elicited by my own actions - a lust not my own was gliding through my mind, burning me from the inside. Low telepathic groans wound through my consciousness, all shaded with the colour of ecstasy. Lost myself, wrapped in sensations I couldn't even begin to categorise, and realized I could hear him babbling as he neared the edge.

*Bobbyharderyerohfuckyeah...*

Suddenly there was this strange, clamping sensation as the majority of his telepathic contact was cut off and all I heard was an abbreviated mental *ah* as his semen filled my mouth.

My brain caught up with my body not long after that and I stood, self-consciously wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. My groin was throbbing painfully and my tongue felt swollen. Jonothon stumbled forward a step and put his arms around my neck, drawing close and trembling minutely. I hugged him back, meaning only to give some sort of affection, and was mildly revolted with myself when I noticed that I was softly rubbing my cock against him.

Apparently I have all the self-control of a Chihuahua in heat.

If there's one thing weirder than telepathic sighing, it's telepathic laughter. Jonothon laughed, and it was like having something rusty roll around inside my head, making me smile as the emotions attached to it brushed my thoughts like cat's whiskers. Still laughing, Jono snaked a hand down between us and gripped me with elegant fingers.

*Mmm,* he said, and the sound actually slithered around my brain, triggering all sorts of lustful feelings all over again. He stroked me languidly for a moment and then paused, fingers moving instead to my balls where they fluttered gently. Just when I thought that was going to drive me crazy, he slipped his hand back to my cock, running his thumb over the head before wrapping his fingers around the shaft again and squeezing slightly. Smirking, he started pulling away from me. "Oh come on," I moaned, and tried to thrust into his hand, utterly shameless in my desire. He let go of me completely and shook his head.

*Turn around.*

Psionic voices shouldn't be that... husky. Felt a few more synapses in my brain fry due to hormone overload, and did as I was told without a murmur. Cold water hit my face, forcing me to close my eyes and sputter a little. I was standing about a foot away from the wall, and as Jonothon pressed against me I leaned forward slightly and rested my forearms against the slick, cool tiles. I dropped my head to prevent water from running into my eyes and consequently got to watch as Jono's long, pale hand slid over my stomach and down to my dick. His fingers wrapped themselves around the base, his thumb and index finger pressed against my body. He slid his hand up slowly, his palm sliding over the head of my cock, before he reversed his grip and slid back down. I could only stare, entranced, at first the back of his hand and then his long, slender fingers, moving up and down the length of me.

Jonothon was doing something behind me, and when I felt a slippery finger slide between my ass cheeks and probe carefully at my entrance I realized he'd been reaching for the soap dish. Let out a shaky breath I hadn't been aware I was holding as he slid it inside me.

*How's that?* Wicked little psi-whisper in my head. That serpent hasn't got anything on Jono when it comes to "you know you want it."

I managed an inarticulate grunt in response and Jonothon sped up the motion of his hand on my cock even as he started moving his finger inside me. He pressed his body as close to me as he could, his cheek resting on my shoulder, radiating unnatural warmth that both excited and comforted me. I could feel him, not just physically now, but as a sort of ghost presence behind my consciousness that whispered and fed textured feeling directly into my mind.

*That's good, innit? Yeah?*

"Yeah," I croaked, breathing hard as his pace increased. I was shoving at the wall, my arms quivering with tension. Felt what can only be described as a dirty psionic grin when I let out a low moan.

*Mmm. Bobby...*

Nothing in the world existed except for Jono's touch, Jono's mind, the rush of blood in my ears, and the delicious, building pressure. I was gasping his name, my muscles rigid and straining with every stroke.

Suddenly I shuddered, trying not to shout as I came violently. Could only stay propped against the wall for a moment, slowly becoming aware of cold water cascading over my body and the ache in my hands. Jonothon was still pressed tight against me, one hand still loosely wrapped around my cock. I straightened, flexing my fingers, and let out a shaky breath as he let go and moved away.

"Whoo."

*Uh-huh.*

I turned around and found Jonothon lathering up his hands with soap. "You're not really Mr. Talkative, have I ever told you that?"

*Yeah.*

"Just checking. Pass the shampoo?"

Jonothon did as requested, and a faint herbal odour pervaded the air as I quickly lathered up my hair and rinsed. I then stole the soap from Jonothon, who was regarding me with an almost apologetic expression.

*Drake,* he said after I'd given myself a quick scrub with the soap. *If yer don't mind, I really would like to actually shower now.*

"Jono, I don't know how to tell you this, but you're in the shower."

Earned a familiar scowl. *I mean alone.*

"Why? Jesus, Jono, I had your cock in my mouth not fifteen minutes ago. Your fragile English sensibilities could handle that just fine."

He looked pretty pissed at that. *Bloody twit,* he psi-muttered and then flicked angrily at his bandages. *I do have skin under 'ere y'know. And my 'fragile English sensibilities' demand I clean it.*

Oh. Well. So I'm not the most perceptive guy alive, okay?

"Okay," I replied, keeping my voice light. "I'll get your back."

He stared at me, frankly disbelieving. "I'm serious!" I said. I lowered my voice a little, "I'd like to. Really. I'll get behind you so I couldn't stare even if I wanted to, okay?"

Jonothon sighed, but I sensed it was merely for melodrama's sake since there seemed to be an undercurrent of cautious pleasure there. *You try anything comedic…* He let the sentence trail off ominously.

"Hey, scout's honour," I said as I snuck around him so I was looking at his back.

More psi-muttering. Think I heard something along the lines of 'bloody twit' again. But he was reaching up and deftly undoing the bandages with an ease that spoke of long practice. Me, I would still be there to this day trying to figure out what was tucked where.

There was a flash of light, and suddenly steam was everywhere. I started, half expecting some sort of super-villain to materialize and fulfill my nightmare of dying buck-ass naked. Jonothon chuckled softly.

*Cold water,* he explained. Oh. Right. To think that all our sweaty mansex hadn't so much as fogged up the mirror, but a purely platonic shower would. Mutant physiology is wacky, I tell you.

Jonothon reached outside the shower for a moment to allow his wrappings to fall to the floor, his movements deliberately casual. I may not be a genius like some people, but I knew he was shamming - he really, really didn't want me to see him completely stripped.

Best not to push it. I hummed softly, lathering up my hands with soap before reaching out and soaping up his back. He stiffened abruptly and I was momentarily worried he might freak out and explode the shower.

Instead he relaxed. Me, I just kept humming and washing, enjoying the feeling of his skin under my hands. I'd never seen his back before, not bare anyway, and for some reason it fascinated me. Smooth and white and utterly unmarked.

Passed him the soap, deciding not even to offer to get his front side, and grabbed the shampoo. Actually managed to surprise a short laugh out him when I gorped it directly onto his head and started scrubbing madly.

"Dah-link, you look MAHvehlous!" I crowed when he shot a glare over his shoulder at me. The effect was ruined by the fact that soap was threatening to drip into his left eye. Laughing, I shoved his head under the shower spray and after delivering a quick pat to his rear-end, clambered out of the shower.

Nearly tripped on those fucking boots in my attempt to grab us some towels. Cursed merrily and heard the shower turn off, so I turned around and saw a glowing ghost of a form hidden behind the shower curtain. Jono's hand reached out.

*Towel,*he demanded. I tossed one and politely turned my back so he could get out without me gawking at him. I'm weak - I kept stealing glimpses of him in the bathroom mirror as he wrapped himself up like a mummy again. Sometimes I think it's a shame… I know he hates it, but that psi-fire of his is kind of pretty.

"Decent?" I asked when I knew he was done.

*Uh-huh.*

He was sitting on the toilet again, in a towel and bandages, his dark auburn hair now a dripping tangled mess. I think combs get lost in his hair, I really do. He looked up at me curiously and I realised with a bafflingly fierce joy that there was something more here than raw animal sex.

*Wot?*

I smiled. "Nothing." Wasn't about to tell him I thought he was adorable just then. "So, was that-"

Sudden hammering on the bathroom door. I jumped a mile and Jono leapt to his feet.

"Bobby, did you die in there?"

Warren's voice. He probably had a meeting or something to go to, and here we were hogging the bathroom with our immoral sex acts. I stifled a laugh and before Jonothon could dive behind the shower curtain again I unlocked the bathroom door and flung it open.

"Warren!" I cried jovially before the door had even completed its swing. "If you wanted to join us THAT badly you could have just..."

I stared. Standing next to Warren were two familiar women: Jubilee, who was smirking widely, and...

"...asked."

Paige Guthrie.

Crap.