Chapter Four
Some Kind of Stranger

"Come here I think you're beautiful
I think you're beautiful
Some kind of stranger come inside."
- the Sisters of Mercy

I had no idea what I was doing.

This in itself wasn't unusual, and years of practice mad it easy enough for me to pretend that I wasn't entirely incompetent long enough to figure out in a vague sort of way what it was people thought I should be doing. Lugging equipment, mostly, although there was a scary moment where I was expected to plug things in. Luckily I managed to enlist the help of a kid who was obviously underage and in bad need of some Ritalin and everything got set up properly. I think. Well, nobody complained anyway.

Getting myself employed as a roadie had been easy enough - I think Paige pulled a few strings to make sure I was hired. The hard part was going to be pretending that I didn't know Jonothon.

Not that I was going to see him much, I mused as I hauled some ridiculously heavy cable across the stage we were setting up for Jono's inaugural concert. That was what was really bugging me, as selfish as it sounds. No Jono for Bobby.

Roit then, he'd said the night after the announcement that Ashbury wanted him. Guess I'll be seeing you around.

"Yeah," I'd replied. We had been sitting on my cot. Everyone else wasn't far away - they were loosely gathered around the table, playing cards and talking. Not exactly private enough for me to coax some affection out of him. You know, to tide me over.

Jonothon had leaned closer. Remember, you don't know me. Especially not in the Biblical sense, awright?

I'd smiled. "Mmm. Sodom."

He'd laughed at that. All night long he'd been in unusually good humour, which I guess wasn't surprising - if I'd realized one of my oldest dreams, I'd probably be euphoric too.

Seriously.

I'd nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'll try not to ogle you or anything if I happen to see you."

He smiled at me. That's okay, just so long as everyone thinks yer lust is unrequited,

I hate unrequited lust.

"Hey," the underage kid said, snapping me out of my daze. He pushed his black, square-framed glasses up on his nose. I noticed he was, for whatever reason, wearing a bracelet made entirely out of paperclips.

"Yeah?" I said stupidly.

He grinned a little and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Rick was calling you," he said. "You are Robbie, right?" He sounded American, so despite the fact that he was probably younger than Jono, I automatically felt more comfortable with him than I did with any of the other guys padding around backstage. Yankees against the redcoats, I guess.

"Yeah, that's me. Guess I wasn't paying attention."

He nodded vigorously enough that his glasses slid down again. "I know how that is."

I trotted over to Rick, a balding bulk of a man whose forearms were covered with a multitude of scars. He claimed Keith Richards had given one of them to him before the Stones were famous, but I doubted it.

Keep it together, 'Robbie', I thought as I was brusquely chastised for slacking on the job. Things will be back to normal soon enough.

I got to watch the concert from backstage.

I could peek out from around heavy curtain and bunches of wires and see the crowd - initially a great, tight knot of youthful apathy. I could just barely make out Jonothon's face, mask-like at first but opening as soon as he started to play. I had never seen him look quite like that; he had an expression that transcended mere happiness and was something very close to rapture. It brought tears to my eyes, which I quickly swiped away.

But in a way, it was horrible. Horrible because it wasn't something between us now; I could no longer carry the secret glee of being the only one to have his 'voice' singing through my head. He was out there on stage playing the emotions of the crowd, of hundreds of strangers, as well as he played his guitar.

That was the other thing I tried to paid attention to: the crowd. When he came onstage they were bleakly hostile towards Jonothon as only teenagers can be towards something untried and suspect. But the second he started singing, they were his. I could actually see their expressions change according to whatever emotion Jono was projecting.

It was sort of creepy, really.

If Jono was sort of creepy, though, then Ashbury was super-duper disturbing-creepy. I don't know what it was exactly, but the way he prowled on stage reminded me of the Big Bad Wolf in the fairy story.

He grinned at the crowd and I thought, What big teeth you have, Grandma.

The crowd loved him, which I guess makes sense, as they wouldn't have bought tickets to his show otherwise. Deductive reasoning is my forte. The kids in the crowd acted like a motley bunch of teenagers rebelling against authority, slamming into each other and staring worshipfully at the stage.

In other words... nothing unusual at all.

Damn, I thought. I mean, it wasn't like I'd expected Ashbury to whip out a hypno-disk and start chanting, "You are getting sleeeeeeeeepy… kill yourselves!" but so far there didn't seem to be anything sinister going on at all, aside from the expression on Ashbury's face as he tromped offstage after the show. That expression clearly said, "I've gotten away with something nasty."

I decided right about then that I hated Aleister Ashbury.

Touring sucks. I mean, maybe it's more fun for the rock stars, who get to drive around in limousines and drink champagne and trash hotel rooms and hang out with groupies, but for the grunts who have to pack everything up, move it, unpack it, set it all up again… yeah.

Touring sucks.

Ashbury played three concerts in London in the span of six days, and then went on to Manchester. From there we traveled to Glasgow for a show. By this point I had pretty much figured out what it was I was supposed to be doing, so that made life a little easier. I checked in daily with Kurt and Warren, and spent my free time hanging out with as many of the other roadies that could stand me in an attempt to discover if they'd ever noticed anything unusual about Ashbury.

In Glasgow, I was hanging out with the American kid outside the arena we were supposed to be setting up - we both claimed to be on cigarette breaks even though neither of us smoked - when I spotted Jubilee.

She was kind of hard to miss, really. She had on this bright yellow sparkly jacket that pretty much screamed "pay attention to me!" while her makeup was heavy, glittery and could be spotted almost as far away as her jacket.

I excused myself and wandered over towards her. "Hey missy," I said in my best "yeah, I work here," voice. "You're not allowed back here. Lineup's round the front."

She pouted. I was nearly blinded by the gloss on her lips. Yowza.

"Come on, mister, I wanna see the band when they show up! Pleeeeease? Can't I just wait here and see the tour bus?"

"Sorry, nope." I was peripherally aware of some of the other guys lugging shit into the arena giving us no more than a passing glance; we had to chase groupie-types away from the rear entrances pretty regularly.

I lowered my voice. "Hey, Jubes."

"Ice cube," she shot back, and snapped her gum.

"Still no luck, eh?"

She shook her head, probably looking like she was stubbornly refusing to leave. "You neither, I hear."

"Nope. Heard from Stacy?"

"Yeah. She's in. Warren and Kurt just got the bulletin this morning, I guess."

I nodded. "Well, good luck."

"Ditto. You hear from Jono?"

I felt my chest constrict. "No. Only Paige, via head-command."

She nodded. "I thought maybe he'd brain-speak to ya." She shrugged and abruptly lapsed back into character. "Come ON, mister! I'll like, make it worth your while."

I tried not to grimace at the thought, and heard raucous laughter emit form a group of passing roadies. "Yeah, give it t'her, Robbie!" one of them shouted.

Touring really sucks.

I did get Jubilee backstage, though. Everyone figured she gave me head, the American kid informed me. It was then generally assumed that I had a fetish for underage Asian girls and while we were dismantling the stage that night I found someone had left an issue of "AZN Schoolgirl Sluts" on top of the speakers I was supposed to be moving.

"Thanks, guys," I muttered to nobody in particular.

I missed Jonothon. Badly. And what Jubilee has said about how she'd thought he might have stayed in telepathic contact with me bothered me. Warren had relayed in one of the briefings that Paige said that Jono suspected Ashbury's mutant powers to be of a psionic nature, so maybe he was just making sure he wasn't discovered. Which, of course, was really smart.

But it didn't' change the fact that I still wished he'd talk to me, if only for a second.

It was worse because I got to see him. Performing, hanging out backstage before he went on, being bustled into a tour bus full of groupies.

It occurred to me as I lugged the speaker and "AZN Schoolgirl Sluts" that there was a possibility Jonothon was fucking aforementioned groupies.

For some reason, I hadn't thought of that before and I stopped in my tracks, nearly dropping the heavy speaker on my feet.

Jonothon was never one to talk much about his life before his powers manifested, but I remembered with sudden, sickening clarity a conversation we'd had one obscenely early morning where he had confessed that he'd been "a rather shoddy" boyfriend.

I loved Gayle, he'd told me. But I wasn't exactly... faithful. They didn't mean anything ter me, emotionally, but that doesn't change the fact of wot I done now does it?

I decided I had to see him.

Jonothon was staying on the 14th floor of the hotel the band was checked into in Glasgow, just down the hall from the Big Bad Wolf. I knew that my being spotted by any of the band members or assorted hangers-on would be most certainly suspicious. I knew that arousing suspicion could very well result in me blowing the entire mission. I knew that sneaking up to Jonothon's room in the dead of night was, in fact, the height of stupidity,

So of course I went ahead and did it.

I just walked past the night clerk - he didn't even look up for his television set. Can't say I blame him for being inattentive since it was 2:30 in the morning.

The 14th floor was unusually dark and I soon saw that this was because someone had broken one of the overhead lights, quite possibly the guy who was passed out in the hallway. I recognized him as Ashbury's drummer as I gingerly stepped over his legs.

1413. I knocked quietly, praying he would answer. I was about to knock again, keeping one eye on the comatose drummer, when the door opened.

He was just in pants - even his feet were bare. His hair was tousled and his eyes were kohl-smudged and overbright. He blinked once before growling, Get in 'ere, you bloody nit, and grabbing me by the shirt to yank me over the threshold.

"Why Jono, this is so sudden," I said as I tried to avoid tripping over my own two feet. Jonothon didn't bother with the witty comeback, opting instead to close the door before grabbing me roughly and pulling me to him. His hands - those tapered, talented hands - wound themselves through my hair even as his hips jerked and ground his groin against mine.

He paused a moment and dragged the fingertips of one hand across my cheek and down to my mouth to trace the contours of my lips. I parted them obligingly and he slipped his index finger into my mouth. I sucked at it, running my tongue along cool, calloused flesh. Not quite living, not quite dead - he always tasted a little like Edgar Allan Poe's wet dreams. I tried to meet his eyes with mine, partially so I could dispel my sudden "Oh my god, I'm a necrophiliac!" feelings, but he kept looking away.

Finally I brought my hands up and pulled his fingers away from me, mostly because it was getting very hard to think straight.

"I guess you missed me, too," I sad quietly.

He didn't answer, but slowly and languidly wrapped his arms around me and leaned against me, burying his face in the hollow of my shoulder. I hugged him back tightly, inhaling his scent and wishing I never had to let him go.

Get yer clothes off, he said.

He didn't have to ask me twice. While I stripped clumsily he rummaged around in one of his bags until he found a bottle of lubricant, which he put on the bedside table. I wondered if there was a Gideon Bible inside the drawer, or if those were only in American hotels. I toyed briefly with asking Jono to open the drawer and check - we could open it up to Leviticus and put the lube on top of it or something. I figured if Kurt ever found out he'd have a fit, but that somehow made the idea even more appealing to me.

Then Jonothon was wrapping himself around me again and I forgot to wonder.

I licked and sucked greedily at as much skin as I could reach as he rolled his head back and reached one hand down between us to stroke my cock, hard and fast and urgent.

I bit him on the shoulder, panting shallowly, and my hands went to the fly of his pants. I could feel him urging me on in some weird, non-verbal telepathic way and could feel, in a more immediate sense, his erection straining at the fabric of his jeans. We managed to get his pants off, him stumbling and landing on the bed. Almost immediately he was pulling me on top of him, nuzzling me and groping me and rubbing his body against mine.

"Jesus, Jono," I murmured. I felt like I could probably pound nails into the wall without a hammer.

He pushed me back a bit and gestured to the table, his smoky eyes downcast. God, that looked sexy.

Stop oglin' and fuck me, he said after a second. I think he was having problems articulating words.

I slid off him, an action with all sorts of fun sensations in itself, and fumbled for the bedside table. When I turned back he was on the bed on all fours, his head hanging down. Between the angle of his shoulder and his hair, I couldn't see his face.

I faltered suddenly. "Jono?"

His upper body slid down with sensual grace until his arms were resting on the bed. He had his face pressed against the coverlet, and I thought, 'Gee, can't breathe like that…' before realizing what it was I was thinking.

I could feel him reaching out to me; lust was sizzling at the base of my skull. He looked so good, and I hadn't even been able to talk to him for what felt like ages… when he wasn't there, I felt like I was missing a limb or something.

I felt a mental twitching, a 'come here' gesture that was not conveyed with words or actions, and I practically threw myself at him. I almost knocked him over, actually. I mouthed my way across his back, clumsily positioning myself behind him as I did so. Those non-verbal telepathic urgings were back, and it was hard to see, let alone think clearly, as I spread lubricant on my hand.

When I slid a finger inside him, there was what I can only describe as a high-pitched whine that cut right through the lobes of my brain. I felt like my eyeballs were going to bleed at the same time I was going to shoot my load before we even got started.

"Agh," I said. The sensation quit immediately, replaced instead with molten mental fingers soothing the sore places.

I removed my finger and bent, slowly, so I could kiss his back. Softly, softly, with none of the brain-melting lust I was feeling. I tried to sear the taste of his flesh into my memory as I moved my hand over my erection, coating it with lube. I straightened up again; aware I was shaking, and slid forward and into him.

Hot, damp silk. Ridiculously hot, and tight and just... yeah. I groaned aloud and started thrusting, trying to control my pace. Trying.

Harder, Jonothon demanded. He was trembling, his hips jerking almost frantically and one hand on his cock, pumping quickly. My mouth was completely dry, hanging open to scoop air in great lungfuls. I complied, sweaty and mindless and aware only of the feel of myself inside him and the thrumming static-electricity that was pervading the air.

It was like being on a toboggan that had been rigged up with a freaking jet-pack - I sped towards the end, completely unable to control myself. Jonothon was no better; incapable of anything resembling speech, he just bucked beneath me and seemed to pull directly at my hips with hands that weren't there. When he came I felt it, and for a moment I thought he'd flash-fried my brain, wiping out all my thought-processes with the tidal wave of orgasm. It would have hurt if it hadn't been so good. The sensation was overwhelming enough that I came a moment behind him and then just froze, shaking. I had to remind myself to breathe.

I'm really not sure how long we stayed like that - probably just a few seconds, but it felt much longer. I pulled out and away, my limbs like rubber. I sat on the edge of the bed, just breathing in and out, in and out…

Bugger, Jonothon said at length and sat next to me. I looked up and saw that portions of his bandages had burned away and there were scorch marks on the coverlet. I kept breathing. In, out. In…

He placed a hand on my arm. It was hot, too hot, and I dropped my body temperature. You alright? he asked worriedly.

I took in one last deep breath and exhaled slowly. I looked at him, failing miserably in my attempt not to grin ear to ear. "Uh, wow," I said.

For a moment he looked strange and I thought to myself, something is seriously wrong with this picture. Then he laughed, almost hysterically and clapped a hand over his eyes.

'Uh, wow,' he repeated. 'Wow.' Yeah, yeah... that most certainly qualifies as a fucken wow, I think. Too roit. He giggled, an event a little surreal truth be told, and took his hand away from his face and looked me in the eye for the first time since I'd shown up at his room.

You'd better get out of here.

I nodded and got up, going to the bathroom to grab a towel. I looked behind me and saw him on the edge of the bed, looking off into a corner, and I thought again, something is wrong.

I just didn't know what.

Edinburgh.

I was unloading a bunch of crap near the tour bus, wondering why Scotland had to have weather that was just as crappy as England's, when Jono walked by.

He didn't see me - he had his head down in that 'piss off' sort of way he has. His shirt was rumpled and his hair a mess, like he'd just rolled out of bed.

I opened my mouth to say something in spite of the "we don't know each other" pretense, but at that moment I heard someone at the bus door. I turned and saw Ashbury, languidly leaning against the exit. "See you tonight, Jon," he called after Jono, and smiled.

You know how people say stuff like, "my heart went cold"? Well, mine didn't. Maybe because, you know, I'm awfully used to that sort of sensation. It did feel, however, like it was an elevator that had just dropped about, oh, twenty floors.

Holy crap, they did it! I thought. It was that smile - Ashbury looked more than ever like the Big bad Wolf and his eyes were all over Jono's retreating ass. They fucking DID IT and I thought he was supposed to be yours!

I ducked behind the crap I was supposed to be unloading and tried to breathe. It was kinda hard. Guess you know what's wrong now, huh, genius?

It hurt. It hurt so badly that I wanted to say 'screw the mission' and crawl back to the base and let somebody capable handle everything. Paige, maybe. Or Warren. Or Kurt. Hell, even Stacey. Just let them deal with it while I curled up on a cot and wished that people would stop leaving me for bigger and better things.

But, no. It was time to act like a responsible adult. And more importantly, if I curled up on a cot somewhere I would miss my opportunity to punch Jono in the face backstage.

After all, he had a concert to go to.

My golden opportunity didn't come until later, but I certainly wasn't bored until it did.

The concert started almost right on time, and Jono practically bludgeoned the crowd into awe. I was backstage, trying not to listen to him, but that's kind of hard when someone's voice is in your head.

The last song he played, I know it wasn't his, but the words... they ached. I'd never heard, never felt, such anguish and such love so intertwined.

It was hard to remember that I wanted to punch him, after that.

About halfway into Ashbury's third song, I ran into Stacey backstage. We exchanged greetings once we were sure nobody was really paying any attention to us.

"Hey," Stacey asked, her voice pitched low enough so that I had to strain to hear it. We were at a rock concert, after all, and this one seemed particularly noisy. "You talked to your boy yet?"

I shook my head. "No. But. I." I stopped and shrugged. "Ah, fuck it. Look, have you noticed him and Ashbury-"

"Somebody call security!" I heard somebody yell. Stacey and I looked at each other in that stupid "huh? What?" way and then took off for the stage. I could hear Paige now, yelling for Stacey. Part of me was vaguely insulted she wasn't calling for me.

"Stacey!" Paige cried as soon as we got near. "The crowd's gone nuts! Ah think it's Ashbury... look, you've got to calm down as many of em as possible! Jubilee'll back ya'll up, an' I already radioed Kurt - he's bamfing in to help, too. Go! Ah've got to help Jono…" Paige bolted onstage, and Stacey looked at me.

"Go!" I repeated. "Pheremone the hell out of em, and try not to get beaten up!' I could see the crowd now and Paige was right - it was a madhouse. Stacye nodded and took off.

I turned to jump onstage myself when a leather-clad figure slammed into me, almost knocking me down the stairs. Could have broken my neck. I noticed too late it was Ashbury, and took off after him with a muttered curse.

I got lost. I have no idea how, but somehow I lost track of him. Thankfully I spotted another leather-clad and much more familiar figure bolting out the back door. I elected to follow. Duh.

I stopped in the doorway, though. Jono had caught up to Ashbury and was advancing on him, spitting sparks every which-way. Ashbury, in spite of being cornered, still looked like HE was the wolf, and Jono the lamb.

"'Rejection' my arse," Ashbury said to Jono, and grinned that horrible grin of his. "You wanted it. You wanted it so bad I'm surprised you didn't bust your fly open in anticipation."

I felt something in my try to cry out and I held still.

Jono stepped closer to Ashbury. Yeah, he said. But that's just sex, Ashbury. S'funny you haven't noticed wiv all yer manipulating, but there's more ter people than lust. More than despair. More than hate. He was so close - they looked like lovers. I felt ill.

I could have 'ad you. But I'd rather 'ave more.

Ashbury laughed, an ugly sound. Like coyotes barfing. "You'll never have more," he said.

I have a Jewish accountant, Jonothon snarled. An' he's more than you'll EVER be ter me. And with that remark, Jonothon delivered a right-hook I'm more than a little familiar with.

My heart leapt. I tried really, REALLY hard not to do so physically.

Ashbury apparently didn't possess my hard head and went down like a ton of bricks. Jonothon looked at him for a moment and snorted. Tosser, he said.

That did it. I let out what can best be described as a whoop of joy and thundered down the stairs to throw myself at him. He barely got turned around and I wound up slamming into him at an awkward angle that nearly knocked us both over.

I hung onto him for a moment, and then stepped back a bit. "I'm supposed to punch you now," I said.

Well, don't, he said. Radio Worthington and tell 'im ter get the authorities 'ere. Then kiss me. Anywhere. Anyhow.

I nodded and grabbed my radio. Warren replied he was already en route and told me to keep an eye on Ashbury. I overed-and-outed and looked at Jono, who seemed a little lost all of a sudden.

I iced up, wrapped my arms around him, and kissed him. I kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his cheek, the spot behind his ear that makes him squirm. Most of my shirt burnt up during this process, and we were generating a lot of steam, but that was okay. Jono stepped away, smiling his no-smile.

"You okay?" I asked.

Yeah. Now.

Me too.

Ashbury was taken into custody by a division of the UK police force especially designed to deal with mutant threats - Jonothon testified on the nature of Ashbury's powers and how he'd used them to harm human beings. I still don't understand it, but whatever. It was a win for the good guys, and that's all I care about.

Paige and Jubilee decided to stick around the mansion for a bit. I was pretty happy about that, and Jono seemed pleased too.

And Jono? Shockingly not depressed. Me and Stacey, we both sort of figured he'd get all mopey, but we were wrong. In some twisted way, I think the whole experience was good for him.

I dropped in on him the other night and he was playing his guitar. Some old Stones' song. You know the one.

I like it.