Disclaimers: If they belonged to us, they'd eventually slip into
diabetic comas.

Spoilers: Shyeah. Right.

Summary: Identity and home.

Ratings Note: NC-17

Authors' Note: Te has decided that if she doesn't think about it
too much, it's actually quite sexy. However, when she *does*
think about it, it's even hotter.

Acknowledgments: To Sheila-honey.

Feedback juliennes like nobody's business
janestclair15@hotmail.com and teland793@sbcglobal.net.

*

janefromcanada: Other interesting thoughts?

Daddy793: A powered down, unbandaged Jono. Staring at his
naked body in the mirror, shredded and scarred. Fascinated and
horrified by it.

janefromcanada: Ooooh.

Daddy793: And Angelo, behind him, scaring the hell out of him.

janefromcanada: The edges of it touching the living fire inside
of him. Somehow much more fascinating than the remaining
bone shell holding him together.

Daddy793: Jono trying to hide himself with his too slim arms...

Daddy793: Mmmm, yeah

Not even really aware of himself except for the absence of his
chest and face. With the fire of him barely flickering, he has
an opportunity to really *study* himself without fear of damage,
if not without fear. Would he power up suddenly while in front
of the mirror? Would he destroy it and the wall beyond... or
would it reflect back to him.

And would he still live among his own ashes?

An interesting question, though hard to push away from the
tatters of his emotions. Another result of training with Frost.
She pushed him to his limits and beyond, all for the one moment
when he could move on the astral plane and this one at the same
time, that moment of vivid power that left Emma grinning
wickedly at him.  But exhausted.  Not even flaming anymore by
the time he sank to his knees.  And even hours later he's only a
flickering blue, unbandaged and undangerous.

A vaguely glowing animated corpse, something out of a nuclear
nightmare, and he is startled beyond anything when Angelo
reaches in and strokes him.

Fingertips along the edges, tracing the flaps of skin. Staring into
Jono's eyes through the mirror and touching him.

The thicker skin must protect Angelo from the psychic fire, because
he doesn't ever flinch.  Just slides inhumanly long, delicate fingers
down him.  And then a flat hand touches him just above his navel,
where he's suddenly flesh.

Where Jono can feel so much more than the fact of the touch. The
heat, the calluses on Ange's fingers and palm. Opens him up to all
of it. Breath on his neck and overwashed cotton against his back.
Angelo's other hand moving to his portion of a face, tracing his
eyebrows. Hard to keep his eyes open, but Jono needs this. Needs
to *see* this.

Not just touch, but fascination.  Angelo's still watching him,
eyes vividly dark and looking for something in Jono's reactions.
Pleasure.  Pleasure and.  What?  Something he's supposed to
understand in the fingers tracing his cheekbones and the hollows
of his eyes.  Angelo's hand curls over his nose for a second, just
holds it there, like he's trying to find the shape of it. Pressed up
very tightly to Jono's back.

And then lets go.  Steps out of that body-press and looks.  At
Jono's back, and Jono can feel the nakedness of it, oddly flawless,
very pale.  Almost completely undamaged and still invisible in all
but the most intimate moments of his life.

Watching him. Studying, almost, and the angle is too off for Jono
to tell *where* Ange's eyes are. Feels himself powering up,
something like confusion and embarrassment leading to something
close to a blush. He has to fight it back down, he doesn't *want*
the bandages back yet.

He wants Angelo's eyes on him, even if his arms are creeping up
to hug himself, cover the absence.

Forces them to hang at his sides, power flaring again. Struggling to
find something to focus on that won't make him flare out of control.
Not the Clockwork Orange poster, not any of the album covers
strewn around him. Not Angelo, who is still staring at him.

Drinking him up, nerves remembering the *feel* of a flush, if not
the mechanics of it.

And Jono winds up staring into his own eyes, cataloguing as they
get wider, as the small wrinkle in his forehead gets a little deeper,
the nasty-familiar crinkle and flap of the ends of his face. The
glowing cave of his body.

So strange and utterly not-his.  He remembers staring at his body
three or four years ago, and not seeing any difference between
Jono and Jono's body.

Tall, pale boy, narrow-chested.  Very long hands that skated over
his ribs and hips and even jerked himself off standing in front of
the mirror.  Like the worst form of narcissism, but he's paid for it
since.

Angelo slaps him on the hip.  Not hard enough to make him
stagger, but hard enough to get his attention.  One hand slides
down and cups his ass, just gently and only for a second.  Slides
between his legs from behind and traces his scrotum with one
careful nail.  Not even really scratching, just.

Asserting.

And then Angelo turns Jono around to face him.  Close enough
that the fire hanging between them licks harmlessly at Angelo's
shirt.  And Angelo takes him by the hips and pulls him in and
kisses him.

Lips moving gently against Jono's closed eye, tongue tracing
and lightly pulling at his eyelid and Jono's clutching him, trying
to pull him closer, feels that slim body pushing against the fire,
pushing into the cave and he doesn't know if he wants to vomit
or scream. Neither is an option.

Catches himself whimpering in Angelo's mind and clutches his
arms tighter.

This is.

This is *awful*. Some sick fucking parody of intimacy. Of wanting
Ange *inside* him.

He can't let go, squeezes harder when Angelo starts to pull away,
but he only angles his mouth below Jono's nose.

*touch me with it kiss me I know you can, 'mano*

Some sound no throat could make passing between them and
Jono... reaches out. Watches carefully as the fire caresses Angelo's
mouth, there and not there. Real in a way that actual fire never is,
even as the tiny droplets of sweat above Ange's lip steam away.

No fear coming off him, though.  Like Angelo can see something
behind them that's going to save him from this.  Grey fingers
tighten around his hips and hold him there and for almost half a
second he wonders if he can hold the fire together, into something
like solidity.

Tries.  It's hard, and he's afraid for Angelo every second of it.  Hot,
but not enough like burning to make Angelo pull away, and he
manages three seconds of semi-solidity against Angelo's mouth
before his concentration shatters and he pushes the other boy
away.  Drops down into a crouch and lays his back against the wall,
curls up his knees in front of him and wraps his arms around and
stares at Angelo like some frightened animal over the tops of
them.

Staggered at the smile on Angelo's cracking lips.  At the joy in him
when he crouches in front of Jono and reaches out one grey hand.

Palm up, perfect and unharmed.

*sometimes I*

*yeah, jono?*

*can I see you? with your skin just. hanging?*

*see, the problem with that is that I was hoping to have *sex* with
you...*

And his hand is still right there, and when Jono doesn't respond,
Ange does it. Lets out a breath Jono didn't realize he was holding
and... slacks.

And Jono can touch, hold the little pouches of skin hanging off the
ends of Angelo's fingers in his palm, soft and springy and warm.
Over the wrist that's nearly impossible to hold, strange to have the
skin slip and slide --

*fuck like a foreskin*

*you can suck me there, too*

*it's not... I didn't --*

*do you hate it? the idea?*

*no, NO, I *want* to. you know that*

*yeah. yeah. i know. but you can... with the fire*

*now *that* sounds like a profoundly bad idea. looking forward
to explaining it to Emma, are you?*

*Oh, *man**

And Angelo is laughing out loud, on his back, erection tenting his
jeans, sprawled on Jono's floor, on top of the roll of bandages.
Shedding microscopic bits of himself that Jono can wear on his skin.
That will fall inside his little cave and blend with him, burn with him
and he needs to needs to touch.

Uncoils just enough to reach out, rest his palm on Ange's crotch.

*is this enough? for now?*

*ohhhh*

Sounds like a 'yes.'  So does Angelo's happy wiggle towards him.
Still on the floor, still with all of his clothes on.  Not exactly
'together' but vividly himself, and looking more comfortable with
the slight looseness. Crab-walks to Jono, finally, still almost
laughing.

Angelo pulls himself up to his knees, eventually.  Sits on his heels,
knees apart, and smiles.  Wicked and jagged and warm.  Pulls his
shirt off and tosses it in the direction of the bandages behind him,
leans in snake-strike fast and lays a kiss on Jono's shoulder, on the
edge between solid skin and fire.  Pushes his chest into the edges
of the blue flames.

Clear in his head, *it's enough.  want you Jono*

Makes him brave enough to reach out and open Angelo's jeans and
reach inside, rub against him gently with just Angelo's boxers
between them.  Damp in his palm and the whimpers he gets are
definitely happy ones.  Almost jerking him off, not quite with a
closed hand and always with the cloth between them and

*you goddamn *tease**

Jono catches his eyes and ostentatiously flutters his lashes, making
Angelo laugh and pounce on him, braced above him, chest against
his fire and a tongue tracing the edge of his cheek. Angelo pries
Jono's arm off his back and buries his face in the palm, skin brushing
and moving, the faint feel of his pulse and that slim, normal,
wonderful tongue teasing between Jono's fingers.

Tonguing him there, like that, like going down on a woman and
Jono realizes it's exactly what he wanted. A mouth, *that* mouth,
tasting him all over, flicking over the ball of his thumb before teeth
catch on his index finger.

On the slight webbing between thumb and forefinger, pulling and
tasting. Their hips together, cotton of Angelo's boxers chafing
him, making him harder and Jono hopelessly dry but still so *hard*,
sliding and bucking and thrusting but Angelo is still holding
himself a little too far above him.

Teasing, all right, he gets it, yeah, wants it and Angelo's tongue is
at his palm again, tickling rush right through him, something like
goosebumps and Jono spreads his legs and bucks *up*. Slides.

A moan between them, shared and low, and if Emma ever figured
out what they got up to down here --

Weird image in his head of the woman. Suddenly her breasts seem
to *strain* against that corset thing. Heave as she comes at them
with a... riding crop?

*Ange you sick =fuck=*

Snickering and biting him a little harder, tongue dragging up the
inside of his arm before settling again inside his elbow. Teeth
again. Ange's other hand settled just above where his cock is
desperately needing it, fingers curled into the fire, playing with it,
teasing *there*, too, and Jono thinks he could maybe feel it. Little
trick of the mind, of the power of *his* mind, and Angelo's
searching touches.

Knows it would be a disaster if he tried it like *this* and saves the
thought for later.

What Jono wants, really. Is. He wants.

*what, man, tell me, I'll do it, anything*

Flare and rush to his cock but Angelo braces himself up a little
higher and it's OK, it's somehow *OK*, but Angelo's trust is going
to make him scream, come, cry, *something* --

*shh shh, tell me, it's OK*

*I want you*

*yeah, I'm here, 'mano, all yours*

*suck i want you to suck on oh fuck your fingers*

Dark eyes, grey hollows and Angelo nods.  Bends his head down,
bottom half of a perfect arch of flesh and spine, and nuzzles
Jono's ear.  And then crawls down Jono's body.  Licks his belly.
Into his navel.  The fold of his hip and thigh.  Dark, warm tongue
like nothing in the world while it slides up the underside of his cock.
Wet and *safe*, soft words and oddly big hands encouraging him
to spread his legs.  Lift his knees.  Make himself *open*.

Completely different from the other openness.  Angelo breathes
softly on him.  Makes him shiver and his balls ache.  Then Angelo
lifts the sac and leans in closer and blows on his asshole.

*FUCK*

*good?*

*yesyesyesyesohgodyesdon'tstopdothatagain*

Once more.  Tiny wet sound and then a finger strokes over the hole.
Wet and cool and rubbing gently.  Even just the pad of it big, and
pressing in, and not *enough*.

*Ange _please_*

*wait just wait one --*

Finger gone but tongue right there, weird shift of skin against his
thighs as Angelo tightens his face and. Licks him.

There. Licks him there and

*ahhhh*

*=want= you, jono*

teases him and breathes on him and Jono cries out when he pushes
in, when the tongue is *inside* him and he's suddenly right there
on the *edge*, watching himself from way down deep inside as he
grips the base of his cock and squeezes. Lucky to hit the right spot
and he doesn't have to come. Not now, not right away, not when
Ange is

*ohfuckchrist*

fucking him with that incredible tongue, almost enough, almost
too much wet and slick and Jono *needs*.

Angelo's arms wrapped around his thighs, holding him tight,
spreading him wider and fucking him steadily now. Tonguing him
like... pistons like birds diving for prey like anything like everything
and it's building again, all through him and he *screams* across the
link when Ange pulls back.

*easy Jono.  breathe or something*

Strange words, and they'd hurt except that Jono *is* heaving like
he's breathing.  Psionic fire licking out everywhere and his whole
body *moving* without any kind of control over it.

*wantyouAngelowantyouwantthissogoodbastarddon'tstop*

Laughter chuffs over his knee where Angelo's holding it.  Stroking
it and sitting up and hooking his own knee under it so they're
tangled.  Perfectly visible when Angelo slides two fingers into his
mouth and *sucks* on them. Little performance that ends with him
pulling them out wet and showing them off.  Gleaming grey flesh
that moves down out of sight, between his legs. Over-slick brush
against his hole.

And then *in*, one just a fraction ahead of the other, and Jono
howls.

Silently, but howls just the same.  Stretched and wet and *full*,
that second where it's all he can imagine taking, and then it's
just comfortable. Fingers fuck him gently while Angelo kisses his
knee and talks to him.

*You feel so good inside... tight and. Hot. Not like anybody else.
Fire*

Flaring again, Angelo's perfect face and slackened throat in
demon fire, gentle smile turning dark in the flare, flickering and
hungry...

*you like that? Like making me hungry for you? Making me
need you?*

*ffffuck*

*yeah, OK...*

Slight crease of concentration on his forehead and almost a *ripple*
inside Jono, extra skin sliding and moving to the tips of fingers,
making them longer, thicker

*oh *fuck* Angelo*

*wanna touch you all over all my skin your body inside you*

*God *please**

Thrusting now, not just stretching, ripple against something inside
him, hard little nut of himself that makes him arch off the floor,
nostrils flaring and it all smells like *sex*.

Humid and raw and thick on the air and

*I can do it with my cock too*

Jono manages a wordless keen of need and screws himself on
Angelo's fingers, working his hips, arched as much as he can, top
of his head brushing the carpet, working up static and moaning at
Angelo, begging at him when he finally pulls his fingers out and
lines up against his hole.

*hard?*

*yesyesss*

And in with one stroke, loud slap of Angelo's balls against his ass
and he can't wait now, won't wait, slips a fist around his cock and
strokes in time with Angelo.

A lot of words that he passes on to Angelo, but most of them
don't make any sense.  Other things, bits of images, of want, of
the hard, stretching, sweet *ache* inside him that his friend's
creating.  Angelo never actually stills in him, but every so often he
shifts in some essential way that makes Jono yowl telepathically.
Every so often he swells.  *Big* in him.  Bigger than he could have
imagined, rubbing him all over.

Hard, big, not *fair* that Angelo can't lay against him, can't give
him his whole body.  Too dangerous, and he understands that.
Some kind of understanding, too, that he isn't strong enough to
support Angelo's weight. The sheer raggedness of him that extra
kind of fragile.

And yet.  Angelo gets his knees under Jono's hips and pulls him up
into his lap.  Gets Jono's legs around him.  Leans in and strokes his
wrists along the remaining flesh of Jono's sides, looking for
sensitive places.  Still fucking him like a miracle of balance and
force.

He finds one.  The little place just left of where a nipple would
have been, so sensitive that Jono's eyes *snap* open, and for a
second he's sure they're going to burn the house down.  Same
time as Angelo's next thrust and swell and he isn't sure he can
remember his own *name* when it feels this good.

Strange act of balance with him on the floor and Angelo bending
over him and half of his body in Angelo's lap.  Little touches that
move from the hollows of his ribs up to his not-face.  Touch
every ragged edge of flesh and dip into the fire.  Angelo's hiss is
enough to prove that Jono's power's building up again.

Hotter than before.  Flare of connection where fire and skin meet,
psychic murmur of *jonojonojono si bonito te quiero te amo jono*.
The words less than nothing to him, a language he's never learned,
but on this level they're only shells for meaning, and the meaning
crawling over him is huge.

Bright as he's flaring, it isn't safe for him to sit up.  But if he
could just. Loose himself.  He has to wiggle back and Angelo's
stretched enough inside him that the absence of him aches.  This
second of hollowness while he rolls up to his knees and turns,
offers Angelo the still-human skin of his back.  Hips raised enough
to make the offer clear and

*Yessss*

Angelo scoots up behind him and eases Jono down onto his lap.
Both of them kneeling now on the ratty basement rug.  The mirror
in front of them like a flare.

He can't look.  Bright and damaged and he can't see Angelo for the
horror of himself.  Just closes his eyes and *feels*.  Angelo's hands
on his shoulders, on his waist.  Settling onto his thighs and
holding him, skimming up occasionally to fist him for a couple of
strokes.  Under it all this slow, steady *swell* of the man in him.
Stretching him and filling him, moving gently in him and
re-establishing their contact.

Then *thrusts* hard, holding Jono at waist and thigh.  Brings a
hand up to his face and skirts the fire, touches his lids.

*c'mon jono open your eyes you gotta see this*

*can't no just let me feel*

*please*

*...*

"Please."  Almost a moan.  So close to his ear he can feel the cool
damp of Angelo's breath.

He opens his eyes.

Hanging fire.  Grey skin catching the blue-white flare of Jono's
body.  Sharp eyes staring over Jono's shoulder and long, loose
fingers ghosting over the shell of his body.  Held open and shredded
and somehow still

*beautiful*

*no -- ooooh*

The thrust moving up through him, big and a little rough and made
more intense by the damp warmth of Angelo's mouth on his neck.
Big in him, almost too big, almost hurting but it makes him physical
in a way he hasn't been in years.

Almost as though there were a real Jono.

Angelo against his back's a warm steadiness.  Rocking him.  Holding
his shoulders in the absence of anything else.  Rubbing down his
arms, and up the back of his neck and all the time fucking him.
Bucking thrusts move them both.  So *good*.

*show me*

He understands the request.  Doesn't want to.

*please jono please please god you feelsogoodyesssss*

This is.  Different.  Taking him fiercely, kissing the translucent-pale
flesh offered.  Stretched and reverent.  Angelo's hand around his
cock slick-slippery.  Tight grip that skins up and down and surely he
can do this.  If only because Angelo was willing to expose himself
before.

Looks in the mirror and concentrates on twisting the fire into shape.
Moment in which the pressure in him and hard pleasure that comes
off each thrust both fade, and he's left with just himself.  Energy
and will and anger.  Bent into the shape of the face he had before.

Grey fingers ghost across the shape he's made, careful of the rising
fire.  What he looked like when he had a mouth, cheeks, a jawline.
Luminous, though not in quite the same way.  Narrow-lipped and
a bit childish, because it's not a face he's had recently.

Kiss on the back of his neck, as close to the fire as Angelo can reach.
Then arms around his waist, and Angelo kneels up.  Bends them
both forward.  And drives into him *hard*.  Taking him as if Jono
didn't look like he might shatter at a wrong touch.  Desperate,
masculine demands for his attention.  And somewhere in that time,
the face he made collapses into fire again, and his whole awareness
is focused on how deep Angelo can reach into him, and what he can
do there.

Hurt him, destroy him, remake him. So tempting to just let this other
fire consume him, make him malleable to Angelo's touch, because
anything he created would surely be better than this. Perfect in some
way that only the two of them could see.

And it's all lost in the battering force, in the pleasure Jono is forced
to take in his own body, the stretch and burn and friction that
leaves his power spilling and sparking from him, making Angelo
hiss and drive even harder when the sparks fly up to catch him.

And it's *himself*, it's Jono doing this, touching Ange even with
his hands braced on the floor, teasing him and hurting him and
flashing them both an image of Angelo driving into him face to
face, Jono's nails scoring his back, phantom fiery teeth burning at
Angelo's throat --

*Dios mio*

No, *Jono's* God, full of resurrections and miracles of the flesh,
Angelo's strained laughter leading into

*can't... gonna come so hard jono gonna come in you*

One last thrust, balls deep, and Angelo is coming, something like
a roar passing through the link as Angelo accidentally scrapes his
thumb harshly over the head of Jono's dick as he spasms, forcing
Jono to join him. Something like ecstasy bounding back and forth
between them, the pleasure of possessed and possessor, seemingly
never ending, as though they were simply.

Mirrors.

He can't, finally, keep looking.  Folds himself forward onto his
elbows and trembles there, feels Angelo follow him.  Curl over
him.  A second, thicker skin against the world around them.  Still
mouthing blindly at the back of Jono's neck.  Still in him, and
only gradually easing. Softer and smaller until he can slip out
without hurting, leaving Jono open and shivering in the basement
air.

Down beside him, pulling Jono in against him, hands careful on
his shoulders.

"You OK, Jono?"

He doesn't answer right away.  Has to pull himself together first.
Hang onto the psionic fire that's flared back almost to full life.
He's going to need to dress in a minute, or bandage himself at
least. Doesn't want to.

But concentrates on making a face out of the fire.  Then picks up
Angelo's hand, turns the palm towards him, and kisses it.

Careful, mostly heat and flame licking over the grey, but he
manages to give it enough substance that he thinks Angelo can
probably feel the kiss for what it is.

*'m lovely*

Cracking grin behind him.  "Yeah.  You are."

He glares.  *bastard*

Angelo grins at him, then twists in and kisses Jono's forehead.
"Yeah, well..."

He doesn't finish.  Hugs Jono tight instead and then sits up.
Finds his clothes and pauses half into his pants to throw Jono's
bandages to him.

"Get dressed."

He stays crouched over himself, straightening the legs of his
army pants around the tops of his boots while Jono dresses.

Bright, black eyes that follow the path of Jono's fingers along the
cross-buckles that hold his chest wrap in place.  The heavy black
silk that Emma found him to cover his lack of a mouth.  Angelo
only straightens and pulls his shirt on once Jono's boosted himself
up to sit on the couch.  Lacing his boots when Angelo comes up
behind him, wraps both arms around his chest, and kisses his hair.
Messy and wet and working deliberately to make his hair wilder
than it already is.

*wha --*

"Gotcha."

*wanker*

Lick on his ear.  "Come on."

Grabs Jono's wrist and drags him upstairs and outside.  Quick stop
in the kitchen while Angelo raids the fridge and Jono leans against
the wall and smoulders at him.  Wanting/not wanting the attention
that Angelo gives him.  The psychic wash of that focus.

Something blunt and bright-smelling slides under his nose.  Fruit
slice, he realizes after a minute.  Apple.  The smell strong enough
that he can pick it up.  Angelo's fingers.  Angelo's body against his
shoulder.

*feel me, Jono*

*yes*

Angelo's mind is still open when he bites in.  Lets the taste of the
apple wash across between them.  Nothing even remarkable about
it except that Jono'd almost forgotten what taste was, and the
return of it staggers him.  And while he's still reeling from it,
Angelo wraps around him and presses him back against the wall.
Kisses the bandages where Jono's mouth would be.

*love you Jono*

Oh.

Startling, and a rush of emotion after it that he can't sort out.
Thinking mostly that Angelo feels good against him.  That the
emotional wave off him feels nearly as good as the sex did.

Jono wraps his hands around Angelo's waist and hangs onto him
for a minute, then pushes off the wall with his shoulders and puts
them both back on their feet.  Follows a little more easily when
Angelo drags him outside.

Red wash of the day.  October brilliance of leaves both on the
trees and on the ground.  Lingering smoke from a fire somewhere
miles away.  Damp leaves around their ankles.

Eventually to the treehouse.  The raw wood of the ladder weeps
moisture into Jono's palms when he touches it.  Living tree
underneath that, supporting the treehouse farther up.  Barely a
scramble after some of the things they've done.  And in spite of
the minimal difference in elevation, it feels high.  A few leaves
on the floor, a few more in the corners. Long, sloping distance
down to the school building.  Navy blue of Emma's Mercedes
startling against the red and gold.

Angelo scoots back against the wall and holds out his arms.
"C'mere."

For a second, Jono can't.  Just crouches in the doorway with his
arms wrapped around his chest and stares.

"C'mon, amigo.  Please."

He comes.  Settles himself between Angelo's spread legs and
leans back, lets the long arms wrap around him.  Stares out at a
world that's too vivid to be quite believable.  Bright red and
gold and somehow in spite of that not on fire.  Just smouldering
and damp and beautiful.

Easier to hang onto the details.  Knees outside of his knees.
The small, comfortable psychic noises that Angelo makes
unconsciously. Angelo's cheek against his hair.

Angelo's fingers, wrapped around his, resting on his belly.  Loose
skin reflecting the relaxation that Jono can feel down his whole
body.  He leans back and dozes, Angelo stroking Jono just beneath
the waist of his jeans, whispering things that he isn't quite prepared
to accept yet.

End.

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