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tampered2006-12-25 05:05 am
silkcutremix.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-12-25 05:05 am
(no subject)
When; Todaaaaaaaay
Rating; R for WHOA ALMOST GOT IT THIS TIME, TIGER.
Characters; (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bitingnightmare) The Corinthian, (silkcutremix) John Constantine, (onceholland) Swamp Thing
Summary; It's Christmas! There is gifting and the visiting of friends. It's a holiday after all.
Log;
Well morning was uneventful, aside from all that Christmas wrapping and really it wasn't as if they'd hit the jackpot where gifts were concerned. What was there though mattered on their own level, more shades to break (he'd be disappointed to have a Hanzo or sai at his throat for that one), an interesting 'manual', among other things. It seemed almost like a textbook example of Christmas morning, though the Corinthian was more than happy to forego that milk and cookies shit for a little booze in his coffee, cider, whatever they had on hand.
"Last one." Seated on the floor, the nightmare dressed in just his shorts and a shirt used his bare foot to nudge the small rectangular box towards the magician.
---
Amidst the curses and insanity, this sort of uneventful morning was what Constantine had needed. Turning into puppies, last minute shopping rushes, lapses of his human consciousness, going through a day without his memory punched full of holes might as well have been his present. Nothing like receiving a lifetime supply of ties marked with a few other useful items, namely a watch. When was the last time he normally kept a watch, before that summoned Hellhound some stupid cunt had carelessly brought out from the depths chewed it off him? Grunt. Probably would lose it, just like the stud that he had now worn once again in his ear.
Taking the package, "Wonder what could be in this one?" he grinned, holding it up. " Can I shake it?"
---
Well wasn't the Englishman looking younger already. "Go ahead," Cori said before taking a gulp of his whiskey-laced morning coffee.
To be rattled surely was not a problem for this present. It was sturdy, built to last decades in many cases provided it was well cared for and not lost to the depths of Gorgon's Hell or whatever kind of mess John normally got into. The box beneath the wrapping was smooth and black with a felt bed inside to house the brushed gold zippo lighter, two corners notched. Now clearly the value of this wasn't in the gold for what lighter was made of real karat? The steel piece's value was in the engraving across the bottom end, a discreet location as opposed to being emblazoned across the kid. In any case the words were stamped in simple print: Sting, a sad loony cunt.
---
It was opened, John examining the lighter carefully. Why a lighter? Typically used disposables, given that things did not last long on his person. He looked over it a few times, deciding that it was indeed durable but...
Then he saw the wording, and smiled.
"Tell me about it, mate."
---
"Yeah, I thought it fit," Cori replied.
John's reaction evoked a brief smile, but had the subtlety passed its test with flying colors? For now it seemed like the wording was flying under the radar. Considering the magician's 'profession' perhaps he was good with anagrams or at least The Police's discography. The simple phrase rearranged was no different from one song in particular.
---
No, John did not understand this message, but that perhaps made this little novelty last longer, for when he did. A man of mystery with a subtle mystery in his warm, rough fingers, best let it be. Perhaps John should peer into a mirror and note the similarities with the name on the lighter and he. Bloody riot life was, for all it has put him through, all he had dug himself into, coming out of it looking like some aging ex-punk rocker that turned out the finest in weak arsed music.
The lighter sounded and weighed as if it had fluid, so he gave it a test on a fresh silkie, then set it in the box, destined for his current coat. "Ta, Cori. That it?"
---
And played lutes to boot, not that the Corinthian had room to talk. Pre-dating the automobile sounded much better than pre-dating the lute, harp, and madrigal. As for the message itself, consider it a fine wine, something that needed to age. He preferred the magus figure it out himself anyway. Hmm, Cori concluded the act a success on that notion, as John added to the familiar scent of Silk Cut in the apartment. "I think so," he tapped his chin thoughtfully, inhaled the second hand as well as the light whiff of alcohol from his coffee.
---
"Awww, bleedin' shame. I almost felt like I was five again, not sure if I would to be there either." Thomas Constantine was a father John could have lived without, a family out of balance complete with the older, deceased man's perverted tendencies. Crotchety dead arse never did like him anyway, choosing to love his misbegotten son salvaged from a botched abortion and dead mother with other, healthier child until much, almost unforgivably later. John caught himself back in the present tense, pinching the bridge of his nose. Shit, didn't want to spoil the morning with a sour childhood that he thought he had thrown away. All burying the bloody box had done was given the man a sense of detachment to keep him going.
"Never was the one for egg nog, were you?" To keep the Corinthian from probing into the Englishman's moment of pause.
---
He noted John's moment of thoughtful silence, a memory resurfacing. He could tell now when the man was thinking about his past specifically, something about the way he carried his head and creased his eyes like so. Cori wasn't one to dig too deeply, wasn't one to openly invite someone else to dig into him. There wasn't any reason to reach those hidden places right now.
"No, wasn't one for doing shit like this in the first place," he offered a faint smirk, gesturing to the crumpled pieces of festive paper, "thanks, though."
---
"Makes the both of us regular Scrooges, then." Cori must have been around before the reason of the bleedin' season. He could have celebrated something else, or more likely, nothing at all. John would have spent his Christmas Days, should he have not been seeing anyone at the time, in the pub, getting himself shitfaced drunk with the others. Made him look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Bastard though.
Guess that marked clean up. John started scooping up and crumpling wrapping paper into a pile. "Any plans other than sit around?"
---
How astute of Constantine for that was the truth. He certainly predated sweet baby Jesus but the nightmare often cursed out the man's name anyway. Celebrating the holiday had become a worldwide phenomenon, regardless of faith, so he'd been exposed to it one way or the other. No gift from the blonde either? Though that hadn't bothered the Corinthian either. The whiskey wasn't turning his nose red but Cori's cheeks had gained a little more color to their usual paleness. He remained on the floor, taking the lazy bastard's role for once.
"Maybe, did you have something in mind," he asked John distractedly.
Hmm, teetheyes focused on that interesting book again. It was a gift to the other according to the tag, but who said they couldn't share.
---
"Play with our gifts like good little boys," Constantine replied, nudging more torn paper to the pile. As a reflection of Constantine's double nature, he had indeed forgotten to gift Cori, having been in the Scrooge mindset all too long. But what did one give the nightmare? He had left the studio to check on her, who she had somehow been faring all right. She was denning now and visibly pregnant; what he would bring back she needed more than ever. She couldn't hunt very well as she was, not as well as before. Trying to manage Cori and her necessities would be his highest priority.
The lighter seemed to glow at him from his box, a present like an aging wine meaning much more than it had appeared to be. It was a gift with thought. What did John have?
Shit.
---
"You read my mind," Cori said, sly smile on his toothy face as he set the coffee down on the TV stand. He flipped through that book casually.
Indeed one normally didn't even have to consider gifting a nightmare. Handing out nice things for once seemed like a due he owed to the entire world, but not really since it was his job to reflect, a necessary function. Being in the city and the change to his lifestyle had prompted him to seek out gifts, one for Constantine especially because Cori was never good with words. Word games on the other hand....
"Page 34," he announced.
---
"Which is?" Constantine smirked, having gone to the kitchenette to retrieve a garbage bag for his somewhat neat pile. Both knew what this meant.
---
"Comfortably level your partner over the arm of your sofa, keep knees bent..." Cori read the passage from the book as if it were his doctorate's thesis, calm and cool, confident in his words. Nothing was more appealing than that after all. He glanced to John's activity out the corner of his shades, old ones (no need to put the new ones through such turmoil yet). "To show your appreciation for your partner give his rear a firm squeeze..." oh yes this was a scholastic endeavor.
---
John had been stooped over the giftwrap, now chuckling. "So are we shagging or are we still playing teacher and I am the bloody assistant?" The new ties could not be tried out today, Constantine having gone down the tee and denim route again. Should have picked up some of his own to bag with his normal clothes when he was picking up his "mate's" needed meal.
---
"Do you people consider it wrong to shag on Christmas Day," Cori asked oh so thoughtfully. He was no longer by the tree, having swiftly come up behind the Englishman to bend over his back, yes just like that, and hold the page open just over John's shoulder. "Like this," he tapped the illustration.
--
John gave this some thought. Sort of: "Why should we give a fuck? I'm sure I've done worse and I've only forgotten about it." The magus turned around, spying this illustration. Oh. "Can't do it when I'm cleaning up the aftermath, you arse." Smirk.
---
"So clean it up later, old man," Cori suggested, clearly fine with being called an arse by the Englishman, it was just something that went with the territory. As if he thought he could sell the idea better he leaned in even closer and pointed to the two figures. "That's you, that's me," he suggested.
---
"That's the couch," John added, standing up. Most of the pile was in there but still it could do with some cleaning. Ah well, Cori did have a point. He stretched, standing to his full height to allow several of the bones in his back to pop, a seven cricker. Definitely a sign of his age, by Christ. "Care to show ol' Johnny a step-by-step tutorial, Professor of Hole Ethics?"
---
"Gladly."
Seriously, how could the angel have thought that was an insult? The only title above it would have been a Doctor of Hole Ethics, and Cori was just a tiny bit more modest than that. He shut the book on cue and set it down on the edge to free his hands. One grabbed the waistband of John's jeans, pulling him along to said couch.
---
Angels were funny creatures. Gave Constantine the creeps really, but for once, there was an "insult" he could agree with, although what was bestowed on the Englishman's head, well, that was another story. For now, he put himself at the nightmare's whims.
---
Maybe John just wasn't partial enough to citrus for the angel's liking; he seemed more like an apple man anyway. Without any protest on the blonde's part Cori felt no reason to not give him a push over the sofa arm, not too rough for that old back to handle either. He leaned over John, lips brushing against that rough stubble to his mouth. Shit those blinds were open weren't they? Oh well, the nightmare didn't seem to notice or care, the windows weren't on his mind, neither was the tree or the presents, or lack of present. He had one right here, as his hand went reaching under the magician's shirt, pulling the hem up with his fingers.
---
Apples indeed. Who bothered to peep in on the windows this high anyway? Well, there was the exception of their disturbed neighbor, but who was he to really give a damn? The indifference between the two was mutual, John's world Cori's face and his very tantalizing touch. The magus' own breath was warm, flavored with his earlier smoke that was now spent and smoldering in an ashtray. G'day, baby Jesus and a welcoming shag to you.
---
That's how the kid was born into the world anyway, oops perhaps that had been a secret for the brothers only but it's not as if the nightmare were sharing at the moment. He slipped his tongue between John's teeth, tasting the spent silkie as his fingers weaved through the hairs on the man's chest to pinch his nipple. What did the book say again... well they could certainly improvise if they couldn't remember the diagram.
---
John knew better than to follow a book, preferring this turn towards improv, letting his ashtray flavor mingle with the bitter coffee and the whiskey that played into it. Flinching from the sensitivity of his nipple, a hard-on was inevitable, so the man's fingers inched down to his zipper to hint his building... need.
---
Ah well, Elle tried. The taste in Cori's mouth was a bit smoky, a hint of bittersweet mint from the whiskey, his tongue a little rough against Constantine's. What he needed was fairly obvious and the nightmare was more than willing to comply. His hand fell over John's, assisting his gesture. It was the sort of unwrapping one normally didn't have on a traditional Christmas morning wasn't it? Cori rest most of his own weight on John's chest.
---
Maybe there was the faint cheerful chorus of carolers on the street singing their cheer, John couldn't tell. He could only hear both their heavy breaths, their tongues mingling and exploring each other. The zipper made its distinctive noise as Cori opened his only present from Constantine, the magus thankful that in their months of being together that the curse that had befallen many of his other friends had not taken him. Cori's weight did not, fortunately, inhibit the magus from breathing, he still strong and still able despite the creeping, creaky joints.
---
Maybe that bit of metal through his dick was his present, though Cori had paid for it too... but it was Constantine's thought behind it that had made the piercing such a pleasant discovery. He still didn't know what exactly prompted the man to do it but he knew he liked it. And with a little maneuver the white blonde had it out of John's pants, waistband down not necessary. Cori poised his thumb and index finger around the tip, hmm, thinking about pushing the skin back.
---
This thinking had completely ruined the moment:
Pop skkkks poppop skskspkpop.
From the Christmas tree, dying and beginning to dry, a humanoid figure emerged, an amalgamation, a golem crafted from wood and pine needles and branches. Balls and canes that could not cling on to the plant creature's twisting growing shape clattered to the floor. To Constantine, its apish stature, its gorilla brow, would have been all too familiar, red glossy eyes marked by yellow rimmed pupils first noting the mess almost cleaned on the floor, and what it had added to it, as well as the two men on the couch, one distinctly with his hands in the pants of the other. The white-blonde did not immediately ring a bell, but the other man below, to the new arrival, all too familiar, face and hair hardly affected by his creeping age.
"Con... stan... tine?"
John jolted, having watched this scene with wide, surprised eyes. "Shit!"
---
Ruined the moment? John should be glad Cori didn't pull him back after all, considering the intruder's dramatic entrance. A surprised yank on the metal would have been.... not pretty! That didn't keep the nightmare from getting off the magus though, too dumbfounded by this scene. Their tree had just come alive, fucking alive. It smelled of something old, not Constantinian old either.
"What... in the name... of fuck," he said carefully before pushing off the blonde to stand. At least his own pants were still zipped up.
---
John should have been amused that the Corinthian had taken to speaking like his old acquaintance but he was hardly amused himself, a frantic hand fumbling to zip his pants up. Why the hell, Constantine thought he and the Bog God were finished, but it was a small world, wasn't it?
The apish plant creature tilted its head to the side for a moment. "I will... do you both the courtesy... of not asking... of the activities you... were engaged in." His voice was slow yet powerful, something as ancient as the wind whispering silently through great-secluded redwoods. "Constantine... I should inform you... that the Green... is shrinking."
"Yeah and you interrupted what could have been a boring, mundane day with improv fucking as the highlight, something which my life needs and is sorrowly lacking in." The magus appeared more annoyed than anything.
---
"You know him," Cori stated the obvious, gesturing to the...
Elemental, that's what the big bog creature smelled like. He knew someone similar once, only less green. Of course John Constantine knew him, as did his feathery friend. The nightmare pinched the bridge of his nose, putting a cap on his temper. That whole counting deal never really worked for him so the Corinthian just turned to the prettily decorated plant once more.
"What are you doing here," he asked, and by that he meant within The City of all places, not just the studio. He also sounded irritated.
---
The feeling was mutual, but what else could have the elemental expected for, erm, walking in? "Constantine... Perhaps you could... distance yourself from your more... carnal desires and listen..."
"Yeah, I know," Constantine cut in. "The Green is shrinking." It had taken the magus a moment, through his frustrations, that the suddenly small Green might have been just a big deal, a clue in to the nature of the City, how it worked, how it functioned perhaps. But was this Constantine's main concern? The Corinthian kept the company of the carousel's ticking away.
"You understand the... implications of this..."
"Look, there are a shitload of trees outside to pop out of. Fuck, you could have even knocked." Constantine rubbed at his temples for a moment. "You just had to pick this fucking tree!"
"It was the... only way out... The Green almost... trapped me."
---
The Corinthian arched a brow when the elemental offered his not-so-wanted advice on carnal desires. Jesus was that one inside too? No, the boss, ex-boss, and ex-boss' sister would have mentioned it. It seemed the bog god had escaped their detection though, or had he just arrived? Trapped within The Green...
"If you're here at all," Cori pointed at their floor to signify the city, "then you've already been sucked in." He adjusted his glasses; damn knocking would have been a nice courtesy.
---
The Swamp Thing appeared at attention upon listening to this nugget of news. He was no less than perplexed, or so his humanoid face suggested. "Sucked in...?"
John, with the little dignity he had (he had any?), sat up, getting back to his feet. "Welcome to the City, mate. Think of it as a fucking roach motel: They come in but they don't come out. Typically. Few do every now and then but a lot don't, or haven't. There was a collapse back then, we could all slip through come next one."
Gritty nails scratched at bark and roots feigning "hair." An explanation session then followed.
Rating; R for WHOA ALMOST GOT IT THIS TIME, TIGER.
Characters; (
bitingnightmare) The Corinthian, (silkcutremix) John Constantine, (onceholland) Swamp ThingSummary; It's Christmas! There is gifting and the visiting of friends. It's a holiday after all.
Log;
Well morning was uneventful, aside from all that Christmas wrapping and really it wasn't as if they'd hit the jackpot where gifts were concerned. What was there though mattered on their own level, more shades to break (he'd be disappointed to have a Hanzo or sai at his throat for that one), an interesting 'manual', among other things. It seemed almost like a textbook example of Christmas morning, though the Corinthian was more than happy to forego that milk and cookies shit for a little booze in his coffee, cider, whatever they had on hand.
"Last one." Seated on the floor, the nightmare dressed in just his shorts and a shirt used his bare foot to nudge the small rectangular box towards the magician.
---
Amidst the curses and insanity, this sort of uneventful morning was what Constantine had needed. Turning into puppies, last minute shopping rushes, lapses of his human consciousness, going through a day without his memory punched full of holes might as well have been his present. Nothing like receiving a lifetime supply of ties marked with a few other useful items, namely a watch. When was the last time he normally kept a watch, before that summoned Hellhound some stupid cunt had carelessly brought out from the depths chewed it off him? Grunt. Probably would lose it, just like the stud that he had now worn once again in his ear.
Taking the package, "Wonder what could be in this one?" he grinned, holding it up. " Can I shake it?"
---
Well wasn't the Englishman looking younger already. "Go ahead," Cori said before taking a gulp of his whiskey-laced morning coffee.
To be rattled surely was not a problem for this present. It was sturdy, built to last decades in many cases provided it was well cared for and not lost to the depths of Gorgon's Hell or whatever kind of mess John normally got into. The box beneath the wrapping was smooth and black with a felt bed inside to house the brushed gold zippo lighter, two corners notched. Now clearly the value of this wasn't in the gold for what lighter was made of real karat? The steel piece's value was in the engraving across the bottom end, a discreet location as opposed to being emblazoned across the kid. In any case the words were stamped in simple print: Sting, a sad loony cunt.
---
It was opened, John examining the lighter carefully. Why a lighter? Typically used disposables, given that things did not last long on his person. He looked over it a few times, deciding that it was indeed durable but...
Then he saw the wording, and smiled.
"Tell me about it, mate."
---
"Yeah, I thought it fit," Cori replied.
John's reaction evoked a brief smile, but had the subtlety passed its test with flying colors? For now it seemed like the wording was flying under the radar. Considering the magician's 'profession' perhaps he was good with anagrams or at least The Police's discography. The simple phrase rearranged was no different from one song in particular.
---
No, John did not understand this message, but that perhaps made this little novelty last longer, for when he did. A man of mystery with a subtle mystery in his warm, rough fingers, best let it be. Perhaps John should peer into a mirror and note the similarities with the name on the lighter and he. Bloody riot life was, for all it has put him through, all he had dug himself into, coming out of it looking like some aging ex-punk rocker that turned out the finest in weak arsed music.
The lighter sounded and weighed as if it had fluid, so he gave it a test on a fresh silkie, then set it in the box, destined for his current coat. "Ta, Cori. That it?"
---
And played lutes to boot, not that the Corinthian had room to talk. Pre-dating the automobile sounded much better than pre-dating the lute, harp, and madrigal. As for the message itself, consider it a fine wine, something that needed to age. He preferred the magus figure it out himself anyway. Hmm, Cori concluded the act a success on that notion, as John added to the familiar scent of Silk Cut in the apartment. "I think so," he tapped his chin thoughtfully, inhaled the second hand as well as the light whiff of alcohol from his coffee.
---
"Awww, bleedin' shame. I almost felt like I was five again, not sure if I would to be there either." Thomas Constantine was a father John could have lived without, a family out of balance complete with the older, deceased man's perverted tendencies. Crotchety dead arse never did like him anyway, choosing to love his misbegotten son salvaged from a botched abortion and dead mother with other, healthier child until much, almost unforgivably later. John caught himself back in the present tense, pinching the bridge of his nose. Shit, didn't want to spoil the morning with a sour childhood that he thought he had thrown away. All burying the bloody box had done was given the man a sense of detachment to keep him going.
"Never was the one for egg nog, were you?" To keep the Corinthian from probing into the Englishman's moment of pause.
---
He noted John's moment of thoughtful silence, a memory resurfacing. He could tell now when the man was thinking about his past specifically, something about the way he carried his head and creased his eyes like so. Cori wasn't one to dig too deeply, wasn't one to openly invite someone else to dig into him. There wasn't any reason to reach those hidden places right now.
"No, wasn't one for doing shit like this in the first place," he offered a faint smirk, gesturing to the crumpled pieces of festive paper, "thanks, though."
---
"Makes the both of us regular Scrooges, then." Cori must have been around before the reason of the bleedin' season. He could have celebrated something else, or more likely, nothing at all. John would have spent his Christmas Days, should he have not been seeing anyone at the time, in the pub, getting himself shitfaced drunk with the others. Made him look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Bastard though.
Guess that marked clean up. John started scooping up and crumpling wrapping paper into a pile. "Any plans other than sit around?"
---
How astute of Constantine for that was the truth. He certainly predated sweet baby Jesus but the nightmare often cursed out the man's name anyway. Celebrating the holiday had become a worldwide phenomenon, regardless of faith, so he'd been exposed to it one way or the other. No gift from the blonde either? Though that hadn't bothered the Corinthian either. The whiskey wasn't turning his nose red but Cori's cheeks had gained a little more color to their usual paleness. He remained on the floor, taking the lazy bastard's role for once.
"Maybe, did you have something in mind," he asked John distractedly.
Hmm, teetheyes focused on that interesting book again. It was a gift to the other according to the tag, but who said they couldn't share.
---
"Play with our gifts like good little boys," Constantine replied, nudging more torn paper to the pile. As a reflection of Constantine's double nature, he had indeed forgotten to gift Cori, having been in the Scrooge mindset all too long. But what did one give the nightmare? He had left the studio to check on her, who she had somehow been faring all right. She was denning now and visibly pregnant; what he would bring back she needed more than ever. She couldn't hunt very well as she was, not as well as before. Trying to manage Cori and her necessities would be his highest priority.
The lighter seemed to glow at him from his box, a present like an aging wine meaning much more than it had appeared to be. It was a gift with thought. What did John have?
Shit.
---
"You read my mind," Cori said, sly smile on his toothy face as he set the coffee down on the TV stand. He flipped through that book casually.
Indeed one normally didn't even have to consider gifting a nightmare. Handing out nice things for once seemed like a due he owed to the entire world, but not really since it was his job to reflect, a necessary function. Being in the city and the change to his lifestyle had prompted him to seek out gifts, one for Constantine especially because Cori was never good with words. Word games on the other hand....
"Page 34," he announced.
---
"Which is?" Constantine smirked, having gone to the kitchenette to retrieve a garbage bag for his somewhat neat pile. Both knew what this meant.
---
"Comfortably level your partner over the arm of your sofa, keep knees bent..." Cori read the passage from the book as if it were his doctorate's thesis, calm and cool, confident in his words. Nothing was more appealing than that after all. He glanced to John's activity out the corner of his shades, old ones (no need to put the new ones through such turmoil yet). "To show your appreciation for your partner give his rear a firm squeeze..." oh yes this was a scholastic endeavor.
---
John had been stooped over the giftwrap, now chuckling. "So are we shagging or are we still playing teacher and I am the bloody assistant?" The new ties could not be tried out today, Constantine having gone down the tee and denim route again. Should have picked up some of his own to bag with his normal clothes when he was picking up his "mate's" needed meal.
---
"Do you people consider it wrong to shag on Christmas Day," Cori asked oh so thoughtfully. He was no longer by the tree, having swiftly come up behind the Englishman to bend over his back, yes just like that, and hold the page open just over John's shoulder. "Like this," he tapped the illustration.
--
John gave this some thought. Sort of: "Why should we give a fuck? I'm sure I've done worse and I've only forgotten about it." The magus turned around, spying this illustration. Oh. "Can't do it when I'm cleaning up the aftermath, you arse." Smirk.
---
"So clean it up later, old man," Cori suggested, clearly fine with being called an arse by the Englishman, it was just something that went with the territory. As if he thought he could sell the idea better he leaned in even closer and pointed to the two figures. "That's you, that's me," he suggested.
---
"That's the couch," John added, standing up. Most of the pile was in there but still it could do with some cleaning. Ah well, Cori did have a point. He stretched, standing to his full height to allow several of the bones in his back to pop, a seven cricker. Definitely a sign of his age, by Christ. "Care to show ol' Johnny a step-by-step tutorial, Professor of Hole Ethics?"
---
"Gladly."
Seriously, how could the angel have thought that was an insult? The only title above it would have been a Doctor of Hole Ethics, and Cori was just a tiny bit more modest than that. He shut the book on cue and set it down on the edge to free his hands. One grabbed the waistband of John's jeans, pulling him along to said couch.
---
Angels were funny creatures. Gave Constantine the creeps really, but for once, there was an "insult" he could agree with, although what was bestowed on the Englishman's head, well, that was another story. For now, he put himself at the nightmare's whims.
---
Maybe John just wasn't partial enough to citrus for the angel's liking; he seemed more like an apple man anyway. Without any protest on the blonde's part Cori felt no reason to not give him a push over the sofa arm, not too rough for that old back to handle either. He leaned over John, lips brushing against that rough stubble to his mouth. Shit those blinds were open weren't they? Oh well, the nightmare didn't seem to notice or care, the windows weren't on his mind, neither was the tree or the presents, or lack of present. He had one right here, as his hand went reaching under the magician's shirt, pulling the hem up with his fingers.
---
Apples indeed. Who bothered to peep in on the windows this high anyway? Well, there was the exception of their disturbed neighbor, but who was he to really give a damn? The indifference between the two was mutual, John's world Cori's face and his very tantalizing touch. The magus' own breath was warm, flavored with his earlier smoke that was now spent and smoldering in an ashtray. G'day, baby Jesus and a welcoming shag to you.
---
That's how the kid was born into the world anyway, oops perhaps that had been a secret for the brothers only but it's not as if the nightmare were sharing at the moment. He slipped his tongue between John's teeth, tasting the spent silkie as his fingers weaved through the hairs on the man's chest to pinch his nipple. What did the book say again... well they could certainly improvise if they couldn't remember the diagram.
---
John knew better than to follow a book, preferring this turn towards improv, letting his ashtray flavor mingle with the bitter coffee and the whiskey that played into it. Flinching from the sensitivity of his nipple, a hard-on was inevitable, so the man's fingers inched down to his zipper to hint his building... need.
---
Ah well, Elle tried. The taste in Cori's mouth was a bit smoky, a hint of bittersweet mint from the whiskey, his tongue a little rough against Constantine's. What he needed was fairly obvious and the nightmare was more than willing to comply. His hand fell over John's, assisting his gesture. It was the sort of unwrapping one normally didn't have on a traditional Christmas morning wasn't it? Cori rest most of his own weight on John's chest.
---
Maybe there was the faint cheerful chorus of carolers on the street singing their cheer, John couldn't tell. He could only hear both their heavy breaths, their tongues mingling and exploring each other. The zipper made its distinctive noise as Cori opened his only present from Constantine, the magus thankful that in their months of being together that the curse that had befallen many of his other friends had not taken him. Cori's weight did not, fortunately, inhibit the magus from breathing, he still strong and still able despite the creeping, creaky joints.
---
Maybe that bit of metal through his dick was his present, though Cori had paid for it too... but it was Constantine's thought behind it that had made the piercing such a pleasant discovery. He still didn't know what exactly prompted the man to do it but he knew he liked it. And with a little maneuver the white blonde had it out of John's pants, waistband down not necessary. Cori poised his thumb and index finger around the tip, hmm, thinking about pushing the skin back.
---
This thinking had completely ruined the moment:
Pop skkkks poppop skskspkpop.
From the Christmas tree, dying and beginning to dry, a humanoid figure emerged, an amalgamation, a golem crafted from wood and pine needles and branches. Balls and canes that could not cling on to the plant creature's twisting growing shape clattered to the floor. To Constantine, its apish stature, its gorilla brow, would have been all too familiar, red glossy eyes marked by yellow rimmed pupils first noting the mess almost cleaned on the floor, and what it had added to it, as well as the two men on the couch, one distinctly with his hands in the pants of the other. The white-blonde did not immediately ring a bell, but the other man below, to the new arrival, all too familiar, face and hair hardly affected by his creeping age.
"Con... stan... tine?"
John jolted, having watched this scene with wide, surprised eyes. "Shit!"
---
Ruined the moment? John should be glad Cori didn't pull him back after all, considering the intruder's dramatic entrance. A surprised yank on the metal would have been.... not pretty! That didn't keep the nightmare from getting off the magus though, too dumbfounded by this scene. Their tree had just come alive, fucking alive. It smelled of something old, not Constantinian old either.
"What... in the name... of fuck," he said carefully before pushing off the blonde to stand. At least his own pants were still zipped up.
---
John should have been amused that the Corinthian had taken to speaking like his old acquaintance but he was hardly amused himself, a frantic hand fumbling to zip his pants up. Why the hell, Constantine thought he and the Bog God were finished, but it was a small world, wasn't it?
The apish plant creature tilted its head to the side for a moment. "I will... do you both the courtesy... of not asking... of the activities you... were engaged in." His voice was slow yet powerful, something as ancient as the wind whispering silently through great-secluded redwoods. "Constantine... I should inform you... that the Green... is shrinking."
"Yeah and you interrupted what could have been a boring, mundane day with improv fucking as the highlight, something which my life needs and is sorrowly lacking in." The magus appeared more annoyed than anything.
---
"You know him," Cori stated the obvious, gesturing to the...
Elemental, that's what the big bog creature smelled like. He knew someone similar once, only less green. Of course John Constantine knew him, as did his feathery friend. The nightmare pinched the bridge of his nose, putting a cap on his temper. That whole counting deal never really worked for him so the Corinthian just turned to the prettily decorated plant once more.
"What are you doing here," he asked, and by that he meant within The City of all places, not just the studio. He also sounded irritated.
---
The feeling was mutual, but what else could have the elemental expected for, erm, walking in? "Constantine... Perhaps you could... distance yourself from your more... carnal desires and listen..."
"Yeah, I know," Constantine cut in. "The Green is shrinking." It had taken the magus a moment, through his frustrations, that the suddenly small Green might have been just a big deal, a clue in to the nature of the City, how it worked, how it functioned perhaps. But was this Constantine's main concern? The Corinthian kept the company of the carousel's ticking away.
"You understand the... implications of this..."
"Look, there are a shitload of trees outside to pop out of. Fuck, you could have even knocked." Constantine rubbed at his temples for a moment. "You just had to pick this fucking tree!"
"It was the... only way out... The Green almost... trapped me."
---
The Corinthian arched a brow when the elemental offered his not-so-wanted advice on carnal desires. Jesus was that one inside too? No, the boss, ex-boss, and ex-boss' sister would have mentioned it. It seemed the bog god had escaped their detection though, or had he just arrived? Trapped within The Green...
"If you're here at all," Cori pointed at their floor to signify the city, "then you've already been sucked in." He adjusted his glasses; damn knocking would have been a nice courtesy.
---
The Swamp Thing appeared at attention upon listening to this nugget of news. He was no less than perplexed, or so his humanoid face suggested. "Sucked in...?"
John, with the little dignity he had (he had any?), sat up, getting back to his feet. "Welcome to the City, mate. Think of it as a fucking roach motel: They come in but they don't come out. Typically. Few do every now and then but a lot don't, or haven't. There was a collapse back then, we could all slip through come next one."
Gritty nails scratched at bark and roots feigning "hair." An explanation session then followed.