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tampered2007-01-17 02:04 pm
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-01-17 02:04 pm
Log; Complete
When; Jan. 16 (mid day)
Rating; PG
Characters; John Constantine![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmare
Summary; a raw look at the face behind the shades, from this thread
Log;
John turned from the terminal, glancing at the Corinthian with that softer, still confident look, something reserved for those most close to him and strangely, almost uncharacteristically, warm.
"I'm sure you can read," Constantine beckoned, standing, backing away to the couch to allow some space should this little stunt turn ugly.
---
His shades remained on his face, the usual pair reserved for special occasions in which breakage might occur, and during his stay in the city those moments had proved to be often. Yes, the Corinthian could read. He followed John with an ounce of skepticism for that beckoning. What could he prove that he didn't already know, or was Cori the one acting too cautiously over his own teeth?
"I don't think this is a good idea," he mentioned to the magician, standing at the couch but not yet taking a seat.
---
"When has that stopped me?" John said, his fingers approaching the shades. Yes, approaching those shades.
---
The nightmare instinctively reached out to snatch the Englishman's wrist, but he didn't push it away. Careful, they bite, he thought to himself, looking at John from behind his dark glasses, but then he released the man's wrist. If he wanted a look, he could have one.
---
John's fingers still pinched the arms of those shades. The grabbing had hardly deterred him; the magus was going to have his look, whether it would send him writhing to the floor (at the risk of demolishing his pants should that induced a forced shift; he remembered the werehyena all too well) or not.
He did not pull them off. Yet. "Should I have me eyes closed or should I reveal'em slowly?"
---
"I'd rather you not look at all," Cori said with concern, averting his gaze briefly before he answered, "slowly." Any dark episode the magus might experience would come as less of a shock that way, allowing a trickle of fear first as a warning. That's how it was supposed to work from nightmare to mortal man in any case.
---
"Slowly it is." Made sense, even if taking things slowly was something he did not always heed, he a man with a penchant for throwing himself headfirst into the shit. The magus allowed himself a few breaths, calm and deep, before sliding the shades off, revealing the other two sets of very white, very surreal teeth.
---
He did what he could to suppress the nightmarish vision that was his calling, gazing at John as he normally would were the shades in place. Funny how a thin barrier of plastic provided such security. Cori didn't say anything, only looked at the blonde while expecting the worst. His teeth were closed, his lids open. He counted the striations of blue in John's eyes.
---
And John looked.
The man's breath stifled, but that was his perception on the teeth's effect. If John had looked and the nightmare had not intended to inflict his purpose on his conscious mind, he would have regarded them as a funny little curiosity, a feature some demons had down below. After all, better to have teeth there than teeth between the legs anyway.
Still, Constantine had appeared uncomfortable, but he was not on the floor baying in unconscious torment. A good sign, as his stomach twisted.
So he brought out a finger, the shades in his other hand, and it cautiously reached out to touch.
---
He didn't want to hurt John, did not want to haunt him and become to bogeyman like the back of Thomas' hand, but that's what he was, what he was made for. Cori couldn't deny this. It ate away at his want to be more than just the monster under the bed, the demon in the shadows, the dark mirror. Dreams defined reality, what did nightmares define?
Seeing the discomfort in the man's expression made him count the striations again, so enveloped in such a mundane task that he didn't notice John's hand reach out to touch his teeth. They wouldn't bite.
---
That's what it felt like to John. The back of his father's hand. The unwanted crawling in his flesh. The loss of control.
His finger touched the smooth ivory, feeling along each of the teeth, from corner to corner. Still his finger was intact. Still the Corinthian was there, and not some horrible demon from his head manifesting itself to strike the man into helpless terror. He then withdrew his hand, his eyes locked on the teeth, still sinking into deepening discomfort.
---
Few beings had ever touched his teeth, his eyes, that way while looking at him (and not lost their fingertips in the process). Morpheus was one of them, Constantine too now, and the latter had already gone as far as tasting the dark oblivion beyond them. Why was a raw look so much more dangerous?
Cori stopped counting the streaks of darker blue in John's eyes when he felt the other remove his touch. He met his gaze eye to eye, facing his own fear head on; that even the man who shared his most vulnerable moments might not be able to look him in the face for long.
---
How strange that both men, man and "monster," were scared in their own ways. Constantine was determined to conquer the intended fear of the nightmare's gaze, studying what the teeth were, not what they, if it was them, they wanted him to see. Cori was an object of lust, to put it shallowly, not an object of fear. Anything but an object of fear.
"So am I... supposed feel like I want to... throw up my whole stomach?" he breathed, his eyes still on those teeth.
---
They did have a voice of their own didn't they? Tone and rasp distinctly different from Cori's own human voice. One wondered which of the two... or three, was his real voice. The need to vomit was a natural side effect evoked by the eyeteeth, he'd noticed. Something symbolic about wanting to purge your guts.
"It happens," said the nightmare, unsteady. "You don't have to prove anything, John," he added, if just to reassure the man it meant nothing if even he, John Constantine, could not look him in the face. Or was that going to be interpreted as a challenge?
---
A challenge. Constantine was visibly ill. "Cori... Would you want those... blue eyes instead of what you have...?"
---
Noting the other's demeanor he reached for his sunglasses, if John would let him have them. "They were mine, some time ago. Sometimes," Cori answered vaguely.
---
John kept the shades away. "Cori, would you like to... look me in the eye for once... without the shades?"
---
"Yes," he answered honestly, frankly, as he reached for the shades again. The nightmare's mere face was making him ill, why prolong it?
---
No, just those teeth. John pocketed the shades. "Who wears shades indoors...? Thought your world... could be a little brighter."
---
I do, I always do, he silently replied despite Constantine's practical assessment. No, that was incorrect, the Corinthian did unless he was alone. The white blonde's brows furrowed.
"You can't look at me and say you don't feel like someone's reaching into you and chewing at all the dark shit you have to offer," he said quietly, fingers going as far as dipping into that pocket for his glasses. The world was brighter without them, colors not dulled by those smoky lenses, blonde hair looking more vibrant and his eyes, John's blue eyes far more intense.
---
John's hand grabbed his wrist. "But isn't it nice... to see me this way? I'll... get used to it." The teeth continued to grind at his most vulnerable portions.
---
That furrow deepened. He felt a little resentment that John should indulge him in something so selfish, and so recklessly. It was nice to see him that way, as Cori wanted to, but it was proving to be dangerous. The luckless magician had more skeletons in his closet than most people the nightmare had met period. He knew they were there, it wasn't necessary to risk letting them come spilling out.
Those teetheyes frowned mildly, looking less threatening in that expression. Yes they could emote. "You don't have to..."
---
"I want to," John hissed, his eyes growing distant, squinting, fighting for focus.
---
Want to... and when a Constantine wanted something he tended to be relentless. A part of him admired that, gave him the will he lacked, enough to make his teetheyes smile, small and genuine. That hand moved away from his pocket, if not still grasped Cori lifted it to John's shoulder. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he reminded the other, a precaution, "take it easy okay."
---
John finally shut his eyes. The hand slid from his grip, which Constantine grasped it for support as it in turn had supported his shoulder. Relentless he was, hardly the one to shirk away from a challenge as daunting as this; he still was standing, even if he was very close to faltering and collapsing to the floor, the skeletons eager to claw at him for the umpteenth time. "I'll tell you when I've had enough."
---
The few seconds they had stared at each other without a barrier had felt more like hours. Enough for now. Cori reached for his shades while John regained his composure, brave old bastard, a little stubborn and stupid at times, but brave nonetheless. Few could face their skeletons with such resolve.
"Sit down," the nightmare suggested, or ordered, as he gestured for the blonde to settle on the couch before he could crumple on the floor.
---
Sitting down? There was an idea, as John staggered in weak compliance, letting the nightmare have his shades. There was some triumph in this, some bitter fruit to be enjoyed: he was still conscious. The gaze had worn on him, but he was still conscious and in his right mind, despite the cold rejection of a close love, the harsh hand of a father that never was, the price of arrogance and loss of control.
---
These were the things he feared, to become those things that which Constantine hated, feared, and desired in darkness, to reflect the very monster one saw in himself. It was the Corinthian's purpose, after all, but let that remain solely in the territory of dreams, where he would not have to face them so head-on and objectively.
With the shades repositioned over his eyes Cori more freely hooked his arm around John's neck, kissed his bristled jaw to remind the blonde who he was by touch, not sight.
---
"Ta, Cori," John muttered, tugging the Corinthian down towards him should he still be standing. Sick he was, but it would wear off. The first day always left him the most sore.
---
Tugged down to sit beside him, it brought them closer didn't it? As intimate as the taste between eye and mouth, fear for fear, and in turn one's vulnerability for the other. He closed his eyes behind his shades, letting the Englishman's voice soothe him. "Thanks John."
Rating; PG
Characters; John Constantine
silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmareSummary; a raw look at the face behind the shades, from this thread
Log;
John turned from the terminal, glancing at the Corinthian with that softer, still confident look, something reserved for those most close to him and strangely, almost uncharacteristically, warm.
"I'm sure you can read," Constantine beckoned, standing, backing away to the couch to allow some space should this little stunt turn ugly.
---
His shades remained on his face, the usual pair reserved for special occasions in which breakage might occur, and during his stay in the city those moments had proved to be often. Yes, the Corinthian could read. He followed John with an ounce of skepticism for that beckoning. What could he prove that he didn't already know, or was Cori the one acting too cautiously over his own teeth?
"I don't think this is a good idea," he mentioned to the magician, standing at the couch but not yet taking a seat.
---
"When has that stopped me?" John said, his fingers approaching the shades. Yes, approaching those shades.
---
The nightmare instinctively reached out to snatch the Englishman's wrist, but he didn't push it away. Careful, they bite, he thought to himself, looking at John from behind his dark glasses, but then he released the man's wrist. If he wanted a look, he could have one.
---
John's fingers still pinched the arms of those shades. The grabbing had hardly deterred him; the magus was going to have his look, whether it would send him writhing to the floor (at the risk of demolishing his pants should that induced a forced shift; he remembered the werehyena all too well) or not.
He did not pull them off. Yet. "Should I have me eyes closed or should I reveal'em slowly?"
---
"I'd rather you not look at all," Cori said with concern, averting his gaze briefly before he answered, "slowly." Any dark episode the magus might experience would come as less of a shock that way, allowing a trickle of fear first as a warning. That's how it was supposed to work from nightmare to mortal man in any case.
---
"Slowly it is." Made sense, even if taking things slowly was something he did not always heed, he a man with a penchant for throwing himself headfirst into the shit. The magus allowed himself a few breaths, calm and deep, before sliding the shades off, revealing the other two sets of very white, very surreal teeth.
---
He did what he could to suppress the nightmarish vision that was his calling, gazing at John as he normally would were the shades in place. Funny how a thin barrier of plastic provided such security. Cori didn't say anything, only looked at the blonde while expecting the worst. His teeth were closed, his lids open. He counted the striations of blue in John's eyes.
---
And John looked.
The man's breath stifled, but that was his perception on the teeth's effect. If John had looked and the nightmare had not intended to inflict his purpose on his conscious mind, he would have regarded them as a funny little curiosity, a feature some demons had down below. After all, better to have teeth there than teeth between the legs anyway.
Still, Constantine had appeared uncomfortable, but he was not on the floor baying in unconscious torment. A good sign, as his stomach twisted.
So he brought out a finger, the shades in his other hand, and it cautiously reached out to touch.
---
He didn't want to hurt John, did not want to haunt him and become to bogeyman like the back of Thomas' hand, but that's what he was, what he was made for. Cori couldn't deny this. It ate away at his want to be more than just the monster under the bed, the demon in the shadows, the dark mirror. Dreams defined reality, what did nightmares define?
Seeing the discomfort in the man's expression made him count the striations again, so enveloped in such a mundane task that he didn't notice John's hand reach out to touch his teeth. They wouldn't bite.
---
That's what it felt like to John. The back of his father's hand. The unwanted crawling in his flesh. The loss of control.
His finger touched the smooth ivory, feeling along each of the teeth, from corner to corner. Still his finger was intact. Still the Corinthian was there, and not some horrible demon from his head manifesting itself to strike the man into helpless terror. He then withdrew his hand, his eyes locked on the teeth, still sinking into deepening discomfort.
---
Few beings had ever touched his teeth, his eyes, that way while looking at him (and not lost their fingertips in the process). Morpheus was one of them, Constantine too now, and the latter had already gone as far as tasting the dark oblivion beyond them. Why was a raw look so much more dangerous?
Cori stopped counting the streaks of darker blue in John's eyes when he felt the other remove his touch. He met his gaze eye to eye, facing his own fear head on; that even the man who shared his most vulnerable moments might not be able to look him in the face for long.
---
How strange that both men, man and "monster," were scared in their own ways. Constantine was determined to conquer the intended fear of the nightmare's gaze, studying what the teeth were, not what they, if it was them, they wanted him to see. Cori was an object of lust, to put it shallowly, not an object of fear. Anything but an object of fear.
"So am I... supposed feel like I want to... throw up my whole stomach?" he breathed, his eyes still on those teeth.
---
They did have a voice of their own didn't they? Tone and rasp distinctly different from Cori's own human voice. One wondered which of the two... or three, was his real voice. The need to vomit was a natural side effect evoked by the eyeteeth, he'd noticed. Something symbolic about wanting to purge your guts.
"It happens," said the nightmare, unsteady. "You don't have to prove anything, John," he added, if just to reassure the man it meant nothing if even he, John Constantine, could not look him in the face. Or was that going to be interpreted as a challenge?
---
A challenge. Constantine was visibly ill. "Cori... Would you want those... blue eyes instead of what you have...?"
---
Noting the other's demeanor he reached for his sunglasses, if John would let him have them. "They were mine, some time ago. Sometimes," Cori answered vaguely.
---
John kept the shades away. "Cori, would you like to... look me in the eye for once... without the shades?"
---
"Yes," he answered honestly, frankly, as he reached for the shades again. The nightmare's mere face was making him ill, why prolong it?
---
No, just those teeth. John pocketed the shades. "Who wears shades indoors...? Thought your world... could be a little brighter."
---
I do, I always do, he silently replied despite Constantine's practical assessment. No, that was incorrect, the Corinthian did unless he was alone. The white blonde's brows furrowed.
"You can't look at me and say you don't feel like someone's reaching into you and chewing at all the dark shit you have to offer," he said quietly, fingers going as far as dipping into that pocket for his glasses. The world was brighter without them, colors not dulled by those smoky lenses, blonde hair looking more vibrant and his eyes, John's blue eyes far more intense.
---
John's hand grabbed his wrist. "But isn't it nice... to see me this way? I'll... get used to it." The teeth continued to grind at his most vulnerable portions.
---
That furrow deepened. He felt a little resentment that John should indulge him in something so selfish, and so recklessly. It was nice to see him that way, as Cori wanted to, but it was proving to be dangerous. The luckless magician had more skeletons in his closet than most people the nightmare had met period. He knew they were there, it wasn't necessary to risk letting them come spilling out.
Those teetheyes frowned mildly, looking less threatening in that expression. Yes they could emote. "You don't have to..."
---
"I want to," John hissed, his eyes growing distant, squinting, fighting for focus.
---
Want to... and when a Constantine wanted something he tended to be relentless. A part of him admired that, gave him the will he lacked, enough to make his teetheyes smile, small and genuine. That hand moved away from his pocket, if not still grasped Cori lifted it to John's shoulder. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he reminded the other, a precaution, "take it easy okay."
---
John finally shut his eyes. The hand slid from his grip, which Constantine grasped it for support as it in turn had supported his shoulder. Relentless he was, hardly the one to shirk away from a challenge as daunting as this; he still was standing, even if he was very close to faltering and collapsing to the floor, the skeletons eager to claw at him for the umpteenth time. "I'll tell you when I've had enough."
---
The few seconds they had stared at each other without a barrier had felt more like hours. Enough for now. Cori reached for his shades while John regained his composure, brave old bastard, a little stubborn and stupid at times, but brave nonetheless. Few could face their skeletons with such resolve.
"Sit down," the nightmare suggested, or ordered, as he gestured for the blonde to settle on the couch before he could crumple on the floor.
---
Sitting down? There was an idea, as John staggered in weak compliance, letting the nightmare have his shades. There was some triumph in this, some bitter fruit to be enjoyed: he was still conscious. The gaze had worn on him, but he was still conscious and in his right mind, despite the cold rejection of a close love, the harsh hand of a father that never was, the price of arrogance and loss of control.
---
These were the things he feared, to become those things that which Constantine hated, feared, and desired in darkness, to reflect the very monster one saw in himself. It was the Corinthian's purpose, after all, but let that remain solely in the territory of dreams, where he would not have to face them so head-on and objectively.
With the shades repositioned over his eyes Cori more freely hooked his arm around John's neck, kissed his bristled jaw to remind the blonde who he was by touch, not sight.
---
"Ta, Cori," John muttered, tugging the Corinthian down towards him should he still be standing. Sick he was, but it would wear off. The first day always left him the most sore.
---
Tugged down to sit beside him, it brought them closer didn't it? As intimate as the taste between eye and mouth, fear for fear, and in turn one's vulnerability for the other. He closed his eyes behind his shades, letting the Englishman's voice soothe him. "Thanks John."