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tampered2007-01-03 06:25 pm
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-01-03 06:25 pm
Log; Complete
When; Jan. 3 (after midnight)
Rating; PG-13 (language)
Characters; John Constantine (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silkcutremix), the Corinthian (bitingnightmare)
Summary; a considerably less bloody round with the full moon
Log;
Few people are able to survive observing a werewolf on its full moon hunt without being noticed, more or less stalk a werewolf that had indeed noticed them but did not recognize them as prey. The Corinthian was one of these few. It did not take a terrible lot of observation to notice that the beast was handicapped: It seldom rose on its hind legs, it distributed weight between its four limbs unevenly and it had a funny hobbling lope when it tried to run. It was a hungry thing, savagely tearing into a garbage bin as a last resort and pawing up whatever seemed edible. It found a few things, as it was perched there, but the way it ate, the way it moved, the way it focused all seemed dazed and lethargic. It almost appeared approachable, the lunar madness that had seized it, fueled its fury and lust for the hunt waning.
---
All that stood out about the nightmare was his snow white blondie hair, as pale as the full moon itself. Surely the wind carried his scent to the wolf's nose, alerting John of his presence, but the black jeans, black shirt, and black jacket were sort of a safety precaution. One, it helped him to hide under the shade of night, two, it concealed any potential blood stains fairly well. This round though the wolfman did not seem capable of taking down even a doe. The Corinthian watched from the dangerous distance of only across the street, Delilah's engine purring warmly between his thighs. There was a change of clothes tucked under the rear seat; Cori was prepared for that moment.
---
It was too much, too less for it, and the creature's shoulders slumped, the claws barely making a reach for a better grip on the ledge of the dumpster. It, he fell with a thump on the cold pavement to his thickly furred back, those wild eyes shining a farewell to the moon that had birthed him, although born from a freshly damaged body. Shapeshifting was a useful ability but there were extents to its healing abilities.
It was not long before the white beast, the soft, pale pelt glowing in the crisp cold of the lunar light, was passed out.
---
Well that should have been expected, but still the fall surprised the Corinthian. He adjusted his glasses, teeth eyes studying the wolfman's form for any particular signs before he gave the stand a kick and shut the engine off. As silent as a predator himself he crossed the street then crept closer to the werewolf, to John, no weapons drawn. He recalled how that boy had been eaten out soundly and Constantine emerged from that fanged body. This, well this was very different.
---
As the Corinthian crept, the creature had seemed to have responded, the powerful muscles sinking and twisting into the smaller ones of the man, the fur sliding away back into hair, back into flesh, the deadly jaws shrinking away. The werebeast atrophied away into the aging magus, peacefully resting as the bones popped and crunched, his organs slid and twisted. Nothing new for him, nothing unfamiliar. Now he was a prime target for hypothermia, the bare flesh vulnerable; should the werewolf have been in better shape, it would have taken some care to preserve itself by preserving the human vehicle, which it resided in. Frozen pavement was not how one kept such a fragile creature warm.
---
"Shit," Cori hissed to himself. One glance told him the Englishman was in a bad way.
He shrugged his jacket off to cover Constantine with it then jogged back to Delilah to gather the spare clothing in his arms. Another brisk run and he was beside the other again, on the ground to quickly cloth him in a long sleeve shirt and sweatpants, unconscious magicians really had no preference about going commando after all. To top it off he tugged John's arms through his jacket, bare arms hardly vulnerable to the frost.
---
As the Corinthian had been adding his finishing touches to guard the Englishman from a frosty demise, he groaned, floating somewhere between consciousness and not. Any flicker of those blue eyes was blank and tired, not there. Hands that had once been a massive killing hybrid between that and a paw, suitable for cold and limited manipulation were cold to the bone.
---
"It's just me," he said to John even if the man wasn't entirely there, experience taught him sometimes the sound of a familiar voice was a lifeline. Cori propped the heavier man to sit against the dumpster for now, to keep his world oriented upright. He departed briefly then returned rolling Delilah along to where the aging magus sat. They'd done this once, they could do it again. The nightmare crouched beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder. "You there," he asked.
---
No response that time, Constantine's breathing slow and easy with half-cracked eyelids. They did not focus yet. His body did not attempt to correct its slump.
---
He brushed his hand along the man's jaw, over cool skin and stubble... The Corinthian steeled his nerves and reached under Constantine's arms to slowly pull him up. While he was heavier than himself the nightmare did have a little supernatural muscle to his advantage. He draped one of those limp arms across his own shoulders, supporting John's weight to the bike. Sidesaddle first, then get the man's legs over the machine. Shit, Cori thought to himself, he should have brought him shoes too.
---
Everything was a haze to Constantine, feeling those hands pull and manipulate him, feeling his body limply strain against the arm. There was him, and then there was gravity. It stopped when his crotch and legs met something; that was down, that was where the gravity was. Down beneath him. What happened? Where was he?
"Wha...?" A faint noise from his dry throat. His breath was nasty and raw, eyes still half-lidded. Nothing wanted to focus, nothing could focus right. He just wanted to lie down and be left alone.
---
"I'm taking you home," Cori answered John's half question as he strapped the makeshift 'seatbelt' around the other's waist. He quickly climbed onto the bike, wanting the Englishman to have something to hold onto before he could slump over once more. Just to make sure, he reached back to pull John's hands around himself. "Hold onto me," he instructed the other.
---
That was Cori. Oh Christ, Cori... John's arms squeezed the best they could around the nightmare's waist, hardly tight but enough to secure himself to guard against falling off into yet another accident. The bristly cheek was pressed against the back of Cori's shoulder, warmer than he was.
---
He kept his hand over John's for a silent moment, feeling that hold and the cheek against his shoulder. Shit he'd been worried sick, but rather than speak now the nightmare kicked the motorcycle to life and peeled them out of the alley, onto the street. John hadn't gone far from the apartment, could make it back in under ten minutes, which he did while keeping the risky driving at a minimum. The city was quiet at this house, the apartment soundless with only a few lights still on. Even the building's carport was freezing.
"Come on, we're home," he said to the Englishman as he kicked the stand out once more, but Cori made no effort to dismount just yet. He settled his hand over John's once more.
---
Funny, feeling the weak sense of gravity lurch with the motorcycle. Did nothing for his disorientation. Fuck, he was happy to feel the thing stop rumbling and not do anything more. His full weight had been against the nightmare's back as time finally smoothed itself out and slowed, more of his consciousness, his human consciousness, rooted him back into heavy reality.
"Thank fucking Christ," he mumbled.
---
John's mumble should have come as a reassurance to Cori; he should have used it as a springboard to mask his own concern as he had been with everyone else for the past few days. Nightmare with the nerves of steel and a cold indifferent look to his eyes. He squeezed those rough weathered hands, back to the magician still. "Yeah," Cori managed to utter in return, "let's get you upstairs."
---
"Why do we have stairs again?" John muttered into his companion's back.
---
"Elevator's been out since November," he reminded John, "it's not too bad, third floor?" He said with half a smile, the magician couldn't have been that out of it to forget their living arrangements, at least he didn't think so. Cori climbed off the bike first, careful to handle John as well. He wasn't expecting the man to have a complete grip on his balance, but little did he know about the irreversible damage to the man's leg.
---
John was unaware either, except for a strange sensation there, as if something did not feel quite right. His body knew what should be and what was not, which in Constantine's case he had yet to know of the full brunt of the force shift the moon, the wolf moon, had pressed painfully upon him. The man held on to the nightmare for dear life, growling, "they should fix the fucking elevator."
---
"Tell it to the landlord after you tell him about the wall," Cori offered a smirk to the growling magus as he assisted him to the hall and those stairs. He'd managed to carry the wolf up those flights but John in human form... well. He looked to the blonde at the bottom of those steps. "Want me to carry you," he asked, seemingly straight-faced about his offer.
---
John's glance was cockeyed, not quite there but was. He looked at Cori for awhile, as if debating this before shrugging:
"If you can."
---
"......." Sure call him out on his joke, but the Corinthian wasn't one to be topped out by a magician who was barely there to begin with. That and he felt perhaps John should avoid the stairs. Cori gestured for him to wrap his arms around his neck, threshold style, and this time he was serious about it. Eventually he swept an arm under John's knees, having little to no trouble at all carrying him up.
---
Constantine was near dead weight, a lump pulling on the nightmare's neck with feeble arms, but it was nice, having both their faces within such proximity again, the dull blue eyes making an attempt to see the white-blonde's visage clearer. The magus' breath was heavy as the other huffed, and underneath John's, "would look good for the wedding, don't you think?"
Should the Corinthian have noticed, John was managing a smile. A real one.
---
His visage had lost a little color over the few days, out of worry and concern for the magician, a little fear... But all that seemed to subside in their proximity. Cori missed those blue eyes, not that he hadn't been keeping the other company all this time, but seeing them when he'd been laid out almost to rest had hurt. He huffed after clearing the second flight and returned a characteristic smirk.
"Not funny, someone's already asked what's in the registry," shared the nightmare as they slowly made it to the third floor. He took a few more steps from the edge with the intent to put John back on his feet. No, he carried the man down the hall to the door, whether they had an audience or not.
---
"Heeeeh. Thassa' good one."
The nightmare pale enough normally already, John wouldn't have noticed this additional loss of color, not in this state. Almost there, the Corinthian's efforts were rewarded when he felt the bristly chin and cheek against his own skin, those cool lips giving him a peck on the cheek. Faintly, the magus added:
"Thanks, mate."
---
Oh if only he knew just who had made such a quip. Cori arched a brow over that kiss to his cheek, hmm, unexpected but certainly pleasant. "You're kind of funny like this," the nightmare observed with an amused smile, "no sweat. You've got the key." In the jacket. He made no motion to put John down yet.
---
"Gotta' put me down for it."
---
"I'm savoring the moment," said the nightmare, smile turning into a smirk, but eventually he lowered the magician to his feet.
---
"Saved the fucking princess." John weakly laughed, more at himself than anything else if just for even daring to think of the comparison, before realizing that he had the key somewhere on his person, although where it was he would have to search. His hand wriggled around in his pocket, fishing, as his other supported him while he leaned against the wall, Corinthian helping him or not.
He offered Cori the key. What was colder, the metal or his flesh was debatable.
---
"I left her at the castle and kept the prince for myself," he said close to John's ear, looping his arm around the other as added support. He took the key too, noting the temperature at the Englishman's fingertips, good thing he left the heater on. A click and a turn and the door to their apartment opened, home. He gestured for John to go first, a gentleman like that, or maybe he'd noticed something in the man's gait.
---
John gave the Corinthian another look before pulling ahead, making his way to the bed. Perhaps the Corinthian wasn't seeing things, in the werebeast or in the magus that it atrophied into after: There was something odd about the man's gait, something inclining him to put more weight on his right rather than his left. He did not seem to want to walk on it at all.
---
He shut the door behind them and watched John silently. The man was limping. "Christ, are you hurt," Cori asked, fingers running through his own white hair as he followed him to the bed. He thought the shifting would have healed his wound, as it did his nose among other things.
---
That did not stop John from sitting down on the bed, even if he wanted to bugger it all, crawl under the sheets and call it a night. The Corinthian's concern had disturbed him.
"What are you talking about?"
---
"You're limping," he stated in a serious manner as he removed his jacket from John's shoulders, still concerned for the man's comfort even as he interrogated him.
---
"I'm tired," John grunted in reply, feeling like a schoolboy being confronted by his mum, coat, concern and all.
---
He tossed the jacket onto the couch then removed his own boots and set them aside. "I know, but--" Cori stopped himself briefly, brow furrowed. He claimed a seat beside John. "I was fucking worried about you, old man," he admitted.
---
Shit, John's feet were cold. The floor was cold as well, but warmer than the concrete and pavement. Filthy too. Sigh. He looked the Corinthian in the shades. "Worried about me now too."
---
"Are you hurt," he asked again, filling the role of mum even though Constantine had never had one. He pulled the covers up to drape around his shoulders. Hell, John could have all of them to himself tonight if he needed.
---
"No," John lied. It had sunk in that he had a dislocated hip not too long ago, not even a day ago, fresh too, and that had been... somewhere. He shouldn't have been walking. Had been causing him a little pain though, now that he thought about it, as if the joint could not support him anymore.
---
"You're lying to me," Cori said, more as an observation than an accusation. "You were in the hospital, laid up, of course you're not okay," he shook his head slightly. Shouldn't have been walking, shouldn't have been carried, should have kept him home. "It's not healed then," he drew his own conclusion.
---
John scowled. "I've been laid up with every bloody bone in my body broken and all that took to get out of it was a soddin' demonic blood transfusion. I'm walking, I'm fine."
---
"You didn't get a demonic blood transfusion this time," the nightmare shook his head, brought his hand over his eyes, his sunglasses rather. "I was worried sick about you, John, I want to know you're going to be okay," Cori said with restraint.
---
John's head gave a slight tilt downwards, those blue eyes looking up at him. "I'm alive, aren't I?"
---
Cori draped an arm across John's shoulders, gave him a steady squeeze. "Yeah, you are," he conceded for now. It was too late to argue, and the blonde needed some rest.
---
In John's case, he was too tired to argue, too tired to let Cori whinge about his hip. He can play doctor himself with it later. The magus instead gave the nightmare a peck on the pale cheek and another smiles, one that reassured him: It's all going to be alright.
---
Play doctor himself, after the Corinthian had played nurse for a couple days, but he too felt the man needed his sleep. The kiss to his cheek did reassure him, but that would last only for the night, morning, whatever hour it was. For good measure, his hand crept upward to tip John's chin so the nightmare could steal a kiss directly from his mouth.
---
John was hardly into it, the kiss casual and the Englishman sapping whatever warmth he could from those lips. "Cold," he grunted.
---
"Lie down," he instructed with a little smirk as he removed his arm from John. Let the old man have all the covers, Cori could do with just the clothes on his back and a sheet. Curling up next to him would probably be beneficial to them both.
---
John gave the nightmare a glance, but complied, settling down and sinking into the bed. Already the weight of sleep was trying to pull him under. Something about that smirk...
---
What about his smirk? Something unsettling? Something devious? The most he did was curl flush up against the magician, sunglasses still in place. If John was thinking he wanted to know it, if the blonde was brooding he wanted to see it.
---
Wanker tricked him. Maybe. Snort. Save the shagging for later when he had more energy to or whatever. Arms wrapping around Cori to pull him close, John whispered in his ear:
"Cocksucker."
---
He listened carefully, anticipating words from the man's mouth himself. Oh that game? Cori tilted his chin up to reply, a low purr from his throat. "In the morning."
---
"Works for me. Morning it is."
---
"Perfect. Good night, then," he bid his magician, warm fingers on the back of his neck.
---
"Night, Cori." Then, before John let the stream carry him, "sweet dreams, eh...?"
---
"Already there, John."
Rating; PG-13 (language)
Characters; John Constantine (
silkcutremix), the Corinthian (bitingnightmare)Summary; a considerably less bloody round with the full moon
Log;
Few people are able to survive observing a werewolf on its full moon hunt without being noticed, more or less stalk a werewolf that had indeed noticed them but did not recognize them as prey. The Corinthian was one of these few. It did not take a terrible lot of observation to notice that the beast was handicapped: It seldom rose on its hind legs, it distributed weight between its four limbs unevenly and it had a funny hobbling lope when it tried to run. It was a hungry thing, savagely tearing into a garbage bin as a last resort and pawing up whatever seemed edible. It found a few things, as it was perched there, but the way it ate, the way it moved, the way it focused all seemed dazed and lethargic. It almost appeared approachable, the lunar madness that had seized it, fueled its fury and lust for the hunt waning.
---
All that stood out about the nightmare was his snow white blondie hair, as pale as the full moon itself. Surely the wind carried his scent to the wolf's nose, alerting John of his presence, but the black jeans, black shirt, and black jacket were sort of a safety precaution. One, it helped him to hide under the shade of night, two, it concealed any potential blood stains fairly well. This round though the wolfman did not seem capable of taking down even a doe. The Corinthian watched from the dangerous distance of only across the street, Delilah's engine purring warmly between his thighs. There was a change of clothes tucked under the rear seat; Cori was prepared for that moment.
---
It was too much, too less for it, and the creature's shoulders slumped, the claws barely making a reach for a better grip on the ledge of the dumpster. It, he fell with a thump on the cold pavement to his thickly furred back, those wild eyes shining a farewell to the moon that had birthed him, although born from a freshly damaged body. Shapeshifting was a useful ability but there were extents to its healing abilities.
It was not long before the white beast, the soft, pale pelt glowing in the crisp cold of the lunar light, was passed out.
---
Well that should have been expected, but still the fall surprised the Corinthian. He adjusted his glasses, teeth eyes studying the wolfman's form for any particular signs before he gave the stand a kick and shut the engine off. As silent as a predator himself he crossed the street then crept closer to the werewolf, to John, no weapons drawn. He recalled how that boy had been eaten out soundly and Constantine emerged from that fanged body. This, well this was very different.
---
As the Corinthian crept, the creature had seemed to have responded, the powerful muscles sinking and twisting into the smaller ones of the man, the fur sliding away back into hair, back into flesh, the deadly jaws shrinking away. The werebeast atrophied away into the aging magus, peacefully resting as the bones popped and crunched, his organs slid and twisted. Nothing new for him, nothing unfamiliar. Now he was a prime target for hypothermia, the bare flesh vulnerable; should the werewolf have been in better shape, it would have taken some care to preserve itself by preserving the human vehicle, which it resided in. Frozen pavement was not how one kept such a fragile creature warm.
---
"Shit," Cori hissed to himself. One glance told him the Englishman was in a bad way.
He shrugged his jacket off to cover Constantine with it then jogged back to Delilah to gather the spare clothing in his arms. Another brisk run and he was beside the other again, on the ground to quickly cloth him in a long sleeve shirt and sweatpants, unconscious magicians really had no preference about going commando after all. To top it off he tugged John's arms through his jacket, bare arms hardly vulnerable to the frost.
---
As the Corinthian had been adding his finishing touches to guard the Englishman from a frosty demise, he groaned, floating somewhere between consciousness and not. Any flicker of those blue eyes was blank and tired, not there. Hands that had once been a massive killing hybrid between that and a paw, suitable for cold and limited manipulation were cold to the bone.
---
"It's just me," he said to John even if the man wasn't entirely there, experience taught him sometimes the sound of a familiar voice was a lifeline. Cori propped the heavier man to sit against the dumpster for now, to keep his world oriented upright. He departed briefly then returned rolling Delilah along to where the aging magus sat. They'd done this once, they could do it again. The nightmare crouched beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder. "You there," he asked.
---
No response that time, Constantine's breathing slow and easy with half-cracked eyelids. They did not focus yet. His body did not attempt to correct its slump.
---
He brushed his hand along the man's jaw, over cool skin and stubble... The Corinthian steeled his nerves and reached under Constantine's arms to slowly pull him up. While he was heavier than himself the nightmare did have a little supernatural muscle to his advantage. He draped one of those limp arms across his own shoulders, supporting John's weight to the bike. Sidesaddle first, then get the man's legs over the machine. Shit, Cori thought to himself, he should have brought him shoes too.
---
Everything was a haze to Constantine, feeling those hands pull and manipulate him, feeling his body limply strain against the arm. There was him, and then there was gravity. It stopped when his crotch and legs met something; that was down, that was where the gravity was. Down beneath him. What happened? Where was he?
"Wha...?" A faint noise from his dry throat. His breath was nasty and raw, eyes still half-lidded. Nothing wanted to focus, nothing could focus right. He just wanted to lie down and be left alone.
---
"I'm taking you home," Cori answered John's half question as he strapped the makeshift 'seatbelt' around the other's waist. He quickly climbed onto the bike, wanting the Englishman to have something to hold onto before he could slump over once more. Just to make sure, he reached back to pull John's hands around himself. "Hold onto me," he instructed the other.
---
That was Cori. Oh Christ, Cori... John's arms squeezed the best they could around the nightmare's waist, hardly tight but enough to secure himself to guard against falling off into yet another accident. The bristly cheek was pressed against the back of Cori's shoulder, warmer than he was.
---
He kept his hand over John's for a silent moment, feeling that hold and the cheek against his shoulder. Shit he'd been worried sick, but rather than speak now the nightmare kicked the motorcycle to life and peeled them out of the alley, onto the street. John hadn't gone far from the apartment, could make it back in under ten minutes, which he did while keeping the risky driving at a minimum. The city was quiet at this house, the apartment soundless with only a few lights still on. Even the building's carport was freezing.
"Come on, we're home," he said to the Englishman as he kicked the stand out once more, but Cori made no effort to dismount just yet. He settled his hand over John's once more.
---
Funny, feeling the weak sense of gravity lurch with the motorcycle. Did nothing for his disorientation. Fuck, he was happy to feel the thing stop rumbling and not do anything more. His full weight had been against the nightmare's back as time finally smoothed itself out and slowed, more of his consciousness, his human consciousness, rooted him back into heavy reality.
"Thank fucking Christ," he mumbled.
---
John's mumble should have come as a reassurance to Cori; he should have used it as a springboard to mask his own concern as he had been with everyone else for the past few days. Nightmare with the nerves of steel and a cold indifferent look to his eyes. He squeezed those rough weathered hands, back to the magician still. "Yeah," Cori managed to utter in return, "let's get you upstairs."
---
"Why do we have stairs again?" John muttered into his companion's back.
---
"Elevator's been out since November," he reminded John, "it's not too bad, third floor?" He said with half a smile, the magician couldn't have been that out of it to forget their living arrangements, at least he didn't think so. Cori climbed off the bike first, careful to handle John as well. He wasn't expecting the man to have a complete grip on his balance, but little did he know about the irreversible damage to the man's leg.
---
John was unaware either, except for a strange sensation there, as if something did not feel quite right. His body knew what should be and what was not, which in Constantine's case he had yet to know of the full brunt of the force shift the moon, the wolf moon, had pressed painfully upon him. The man held on to the nightmare for dear life, growling, "they should fix the fucking elevator."
---
"Tell it to the landlord after you tell him about the wall," Cori offered a smirk to the growling magus as he assisted him to the hall and those stairs. He'd managed to carry the wolf up those flights but John in human form... well. He looked to the blonde at the bottom of those steps. "Want me to carry you," he asked, seemingly straight-faced about his offer.
---
John's glance was cockeyed, not quite there but was. He looked at Cori for awhile, as if debating this before shrugging:
"If you can."
---
"......." Sure call him out on his joke, but the Corinthian wasn't one to be topped out by a magician who was barely there to begin with. That and he felt perhaps John should avoid the stairs. Cori gestured for him to wrap his arms around his neck, threshold style, and this time he was serious about it. Eventually he swept an arm under John's knees, having little to no trouble at all carrying him up.
---
Constantine was near dead weight, a lump pulling on the nightmare's neck with feeble arms, but it was nice, having both their faces within such proximity again, the dull blue eyes making an attempt to see the white-blonde's visage clearer. The magus' breath was heavy as the other huffed, and underneath John's, "would look good for the wedding, don't you think?"
Should the Corinthian have noticed, John was managing a smile. A real one.
---
His visage had lost a little color over the few days, out of worry and concern for the magician, a little fear... But all that seemed to subside in their proximity. Cori missed those blue eyes, not that he hadn't been keeping the other company all this time, but seeing them when he'd been laid out almost to rest had hurt. He huffed after clearing the second flight and returned a characteristic smirk.
"Not funny, someone's already asked what's in the registry," shared the nightmare as they slowly made it to the third floor. He took a few more steps from the edge with the intent to put John back on his feet. No, he carried the man down the hall to the door, whether they had an audience or not.
---
"Heeeeh. Thassa' good one."
The nightmare pale enough normally already, John wouldn't have noticed this additional loss of color, not in this state. Almost there, the Corinthian's efforts were rewarded when he felt the bristly chin and cheek against his own skin, those cool lips giving him a peck on the cheek. Faintly, the magus added:
"Thanks, mate."
---
Oh if only he knew just who had made such a quip. Cori arched a brow over that kiss to his cheek, hmm, unexpected but certainly pleasant. "You're kind of funny like this," the nightmare observed with an amused smile, "no sweat. You've got the key." In the jacket. He made no motion to put John down yet.
---
"Gotta' put me down for it."
---
"I'm savoring the moment," said the nightmare, smile turning into a smirk, but eventually he lowered the magician to his feet.
---
"Saved the fucking princess." John weakly laughed, more at himself than anything else if just for even daring to think of the comparison, before realizing that he had the key somewhere on his person, although where it was he would have to search. His hand wriggled around in his pocket, fishing, as his other supported him while he leaned against the wall, Corinthian helping him or not.
He offered Cori the key. What was colder, the metal or his flesh was debatable.
---
"I left her at the castle and kept the prince for myself," he said close to John's ear, looping his arm around the other as added support. He took the key too, noting the temperature at the Englishman's fingertips, good thing he left the heater on. A click and a turn and the door to their apartment opened, home. He gestured for John to go first, a gentleman like that, or maybe he'd noticed something in the man's gait.
---
John gave the Corinthian another look before pulling ahead, making his way to the bed. Perhaps the Corinthian wasn't seeing things, in the werebeast or in the magus that it atrophied into after: There was something odd about the man's gait, something inclining him to put more weight on his right rather than his left. He did not seem to want to walk on it at all.
---
He shut the door behind them and watched John silently. The man was limping. "Christ, are you hurt," Cori asked, fingers running through his own white hair as he followed him to the bed. He thought the shifting would have healed his wound, as it did his nose among other things.
---
That did not stop John from sitting down on the bed, even if he wanted to bugger it all, crawl under the sheets and call it a night. The Corinthian's concern had disturbed him.
"What are you talking about?"
---
"You're limping," he stated in a serious manner as he removed his jacket from John's shoulders, still concerned for the man's comfort even as he interrogated him.
---
"I'm tired," John grunted in reply, feeling like a schoolboy being confronted by his mum, coat, concern and all.
---
He tossed the jacket onto the couch then removed his own boots and set them aside. "I know, but--" Cori stopped himself briefly, brow furrowed. He claimed a seat beside John. "I was fucking worried about you, old man," he admitted.
---
Shit, John's feet were cold. The floor was cold as well, but warmer than the concrete and pavement. Filthy too. Sigh. He looked the Corinthian in the shades. "Worried about me now too."
---
"Are you hurt," he asked again, filling the role of mum even though Constantine had never had one. He pulled the covers up to drape around his shoulders. Hell, John could have all of them to himself tonight if he needed.
---
"No," John lied. It had sunk in that he had a dislocated hip not too long ago, not even a day ago, fresh too, and that had been... somewhere. He shouldn't have been walking. Had been causing him a little pain though, now that he thought about it, as if the joint could not support him anymore.
---
"You're lying to me," Cori said, more as an observation than an accusation. "You were in the hospital, laid up, of course you're not okay," he shook his head slightly. Shouldn't have been walking, shouldn't have been carried, should have kept him home. "It's not healed then," he drew his own conclusion.
---
John scowled. "I've been laid up with every bloody bone in my body broken and all that took to get out of it was a soddin' demonic blood transfusion. I'm walking, I'm fine."
---
"You didn't get a demonic blood transfusion this time," the nightmare shook his head, brought his hand over his eyes, his sunglasses rather. "I was worried sick about you, John, I want to know you're going to be okay," Cori said with restraint.
---
John's head gave a slight tilt downwards, those blue eyes looking up at him. "I'm alive, aren't I?"
---
Cori draped an arm across John's shoulders, gave him a steady squeeze. "Yeah, you are," he conceded for now. It was too late to argue, and the blonde needed some rest.
---
In John's case, he was too tired to argue, too tired to let Cori whinge about his hip. He can play doctor himself with it later. The magus instead gave the nightmare a peck on the pale cheek and another smiles, one that reassured him: It's all going to be alright.
---
Play doctor himself, after the Corinthian had played nurse for a couple days, but he too felt the man needed his sleep. The kiss to his cheek did reassure him, but that would last only for the night, morning, whatever hour it was. For good measure, his hand crept upward to tip John's chin so the nightmare could steal a kiss directly from his mouth.
---
John was hardly into it, the kiss casual and the Englishman sapping whatever warmth he could from those lips. "Cold," he grunted.
---
"Lie down," he instructed with a little smirk as he removed his arm from John. Let the old man have all the covers, Cori could do with just the clothes on his back and a sheet. Curling up next to him would probably be beneficial to them both.
---
John gave the nightmare a glance, but complied, settling down and sinking into the bed. Already the weight of sleep was trying to pull him under. Something about that smirk...
---
What about his smirk? Something unsettling? Something devious? The most he did was curl flush up against the magician, sunglasses still in place. If John was thinking he wanted to know it, if the blonde was brooding he wanted to see it.
---
Wanker tricked him. Maybe. Snort. Save the shagging for later when he had more energy to or whatever. Arms wrapping around Cori to pull him close, John whispered in his ear:
"Cocksucker."
---
He listened carefully, anticipating words from the man's mouth himself. Oh that game? Cori tilted his chin up to reply, a low purr from his throat. "In the morning."
---
"Works for me. Morning it is."
---
"Perfect. Good night, then," he bid his magician, warm fingers on the back of his neck.
---
"Night, Cori." Then, before John let the stream carry him, "sweet dreams, eh...?"
---
"Already there, John."