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tampered2007-01-21 03:38 pm
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-01-21 03:38 pm
Log; Complete
When; Jan. 17 (night)
Rating; R to MA (language, sex)
Characters; John Constantine![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmare
Summary; an exploration into obscene music and public obscenity
Log;
The expensive prize was heavy, slung across his back as the amp hung, weighty in his hand. The other fumbled with the key in the cold to the flat, wondering what the Corinthian's reaction would be. Better than before he left, he supposed as he chewed on the end of his silkie, tasting his spit from the moist filter. Could he really still play? This was before the death of Cheryl, before his lung cancer, before the Swamp Thing. This was before Newcastle, before the magic had completely consumed him, before it consumed his life. He really thought he was something back then, a loud punk in a shitty band, thinking he could reach the stars, reach the likes of the Clash and the Sex Pistols.
(Did the fire consume that tape?)
His breath was a white puff not unlike the smoke he exhaled. He considered the Fender behind him: Not a bloody lot of haggling he had done for it despite the price tag; a brush of the shoulder or a bit of magical suggestion could get him anything. Any selfish cunt would have used that trick to the fullest. Where would he be if he had more greedy desires? He only stole enough to support himself reasonably. No laps of luxury or precious stones for him. Or was he still looking for a reason to fuck someone over in the name of the greater good? ((LOL CAREY))
John scowled. He opened the door, careful not to bump the neck of the new Fender or the amp as he stepped inside.
"Cori?"
---
The Corinthian was hardly expecting a prize exceeding the cost of a thousand on their 'home world' so to speak. Truth be told he wasn't expecting a guitar or amp at all, had thought maybe John would grab an old cut reminiscent of the 70s, an 8-track if he wanted to bump the decade up. Meanwhile, the nightmare had left the terminal to lie out on the couch and smoke. Old tunes about Charles and Jeffrey had conjured a time before the Sea of Night, before Swartalfheim, the wake, and Gabriel Ashe.
"Hn," sounded the white blonde, at first distractedly before he looked to the door, cigarette pinched in his fingers. "What'd you bring back," Cori asked in surprise, noting the shadowy outlines of the shapes John carried. Very recognizable.
---
John smiled, standing over the couch with the slung guitar, snug in its pack, very distinct. He set the amp down, stretching and massaging the strained arm. Shit that thing got heavier the held it. "What do you think? I'd say issa' nice one."
---
"Open the bag," Cori shifted his bare feet to the cool floor, a delighted grin already crossing his face. The magician wasn't kidding about those front row tickets was he? "Let me see," he urged the other.
---
"Like a friggin' kid on Christmas morning," John smiled, taking a seat next to the nightmare as he shuffled the bag around to the front, revealing the vintage Fender. Of the guitars in the shop, he felt most drawn to that one. Wonder how it played, even if he was rusty.
---
He stared at the hardwood gem, simple in finish with a glossy black plate, played like a charm in his experience, and its model just a dash older than Constantine himself. Was it brand new? Where'd it come from? And the cost? Cori settled his bare hand over the strings. "Do I want to know how," he asked John with a smirk, careful not to drop ash over the guitar.
---
Cori can look, and he certainly could touch provided he indeed kept that ash away from it. John had yet to develop the intricate care and pride owners had for their precious instruments; it made no sense to have something he could not play. No relationship was between he and the guitar yet. This moment could be a bonding period. Could have been his last if he really was as shitty as he thought.
"Few souls. Bit of animal sacrifice. Nothing too gruesome."
---
"And some loose change?" He grinned, taking one last drag before he put the cigarette out in the ash tray. Cori had no instrument of his own, had never really developed the commitment to maintaining the... what was it, a hobby? A treasured skill? As he had said to John though, it was hard to forget. He helped himself to a test strum, to check if the instrument had been tuned or not.
---
"And some loose change," John replied. A bit of persuasion but the magus had not pushed his luck. His eyes watched the Corinthian's fingers. Did the worn out Hellblazer remember how to tune? All of this was layers and layers of dust for his sleeve.
---
Assuming the guitar came with a strap he pulled the pretty baby up in his arms, giving the steel another strum. Bullet ends, it sounded like, and tuned enough though some of the pegs might have come loose on the magician's return trip. He tightened two by ear. Like a kid on Christmas morning.
After another quick bare strum he offered the Fender back to John.
---
A lovely leather strap at that. While the Corinthian tuned, John scooted the vinyl case on the floor, ridding himself of his own spent cigarette, and got up to plug the amp in. The nightmare had finished when he sat down again, to which he had reclaimed the expensive baby and hooked her up. With that, the strap set around his neck and shoulders, he took a few experimental strums of his own, trying to remember notes, remember chords, remember songs. Forget charming the guitar to his whims. What could he play?
"You have anything in mind?"
---
Oh yeah, he hadn't considered the possibility of John using his magic to charm some notes out of the Fender, though the nightmare was likely to buy the performance if the magician oh so casually built up his rustiness through a spell. But he was better than that wasn't he, not one to lie... as often to Cori.
He rubbed his chin in thought, requests. "What are you comfortable with," he twitched his shades and grinned.
---
"Not sure you'd like it then." John returned the look. He was comfortable playing for Cori, but then he wasn't. It was easier to do things he couldn't when he could lie about it, right? He strummed a few more times, adjusted the amp, his fingers playing and plucking over the strings. He was far from an expert but it was evident that Constantine had been playing before, the man still clearing dust.
---
"I've been around, I can appreciate almost anything," he declared amusedly while quirking a brow, in a gesture that asked the Englishman to try and test his interests. Cori leaned back against the couch, getting relaxed for a private performance, but secretly he hoped John would rile him up.
---
Riling? John was up to his knees in decades' worth if dust he had been trying to clear. He wasn't sure if he could raise Hell through his playing as well as he could blaze through it. He whistled through his teeth as he tried to recall the chords and notes from a song during the same time as the wild punk era, but was anything but.
Why did he know this song? He was around twenty-four when he picked it up but he had yet to find his paradise. Must have been some funny twist of fate, to sing back to himself in a sense. His voice had a rough feel to it, rough as the uneven stubble on his face.
---
John's voice was handsome naturally, despite the years of tar at the back of his throat, hell it probably added to his appeal. The song of choice was unexpected, though he should have figured the old man would start off slow. Hm, Cori couldn't help but smirk, it fit him right. Where was he in 1972? Far away.
---
"I've been first and last
Look at how the time goes past.
But I'm all alone at last.
Rolling home to you."
The lyrics came almost naturally. He had been a singer after all; they were supposed to roll off his tongue as he recalled them, never mind the fact that the song's title described him. Those blue eyes ("Ah, one look in my eyes/ And you can tell that's true.") focused on the Corinthian for a moment. Unexpected for both of them then. Even he surprised himself; he only missed a few notes, messed up on some chords, but it wasn't Chinese Water Torture listening. The semblance to the song was there and his voice hit those missed by his fingers.
---
They should have started those looking exercises earlier. The Corinthian wanted to remove his shades, however he knew much better than that. It was an opportunity missed, but not unappreciated. Although his demeanor seemed relaxed, he thoroughly enjoyed John's performance and knew the blonde had to be impressed with himself to remember that much. That was encouragement to go on, wasn't it.
---
John was, but songs that had meaning did that to him, that or his memory was sharper than he had previously thought. What would the sinking nostalgia of those wild days past do for him? Removal of the shades and inducing the rot would not help much in ways of his playing either. Pity he forgot how to wrap the song up, bollocksing an ending that worked for his shaky, somewhat sloppy playing, but it still left him mellower, and calmly reflective.
"That wasn't too bad, wasn't it?" he said. His voice had been soft through the song and even now still had lingered. Constantine had been personal and the softer side was belly up and in sight; different he was next to the nightmare compared to the hardened enigmatic bastard everyone else had been familiar with.
---
A little bollocks on the outro was expected for someone rusty at their trade, and judging from the way the man treated it he'd picked up the music before he picked up the magic. A music man wasn't he? Cori offered a smile for the exposed soft underside of John Constantine. "Hardly bad, John, it's nice," he adjusted his glasses, smile turning into a grin. He reached out to gently rap his knuckles against the guitar body, "lighten up though."
---
Hardly the music man, although John wondered if he could make a decent living off the music rather than the magic. Hnn. Music and magic. Somehow they were the same things, weren't they?
John cocked an eyebrow. "'Lighten up?'"
---
Now that was something upon which they could agree. Music and magic went hand in hand, the nightmare would know, having played keys and strings and brass to his heart's content... sometimes as a ruse, but not now. He gave the Fender another light knock. "Yeah, kind of somber there," Cori remarked, grinning, "know any Iggy?"
---
"'Cock in my Pocket' Iggy?" John replied. The somber mood had not been in vain, having loosened the mage up.
---
"Yeah that one," Cori waved a hand, having a lust for life on the brain more so than a cock in his pocket, though in fact he had both.
---
John, glancing down at his toy, let his fingers play around the strings a bit, trying to remember how did that go again. No avail. "Aww, shit, how does that part go again?"
---
Cori rose from his seat on the couch to come around behind John. He laid his hands over the Englishman's then rearranged those rough fingers onto the frets, pressing them down, the lowest chord in the song. His thumb strummed the strings, banging out the riff at a slower pace to remind John of hm, 1977?
---
Ah, 1977... John's first exposure to the Sex Pistols and what had hooked him into the punk scene. The nightmare's fingers guided the magus', Constantine quickening, soon not needing the nightmare's assistance as his memory picked up. The playing was still far from perfect but certainly Constantine was familiar with it, music he admired and learned before banging out his own riffs.
(He wasn't sure if he was comfortable enough to revisit Mucous Membrane, or even the songs he wrote and kept to himself and only himself.)
"Oh, how does the first line go? ''I got a cock in my pocket/ And I'm reelin' down the old highway...' Ah, there we go...!"
---
Like riding a bike. Additionally, since when were crunchy chords supposed to be perfect? He let his hands fall away once the old man started to pick up the rhythm. Bare fingers, always the best in his opinion, no need for picks though they made great souvenirs. Cori settled on the couch arm then, snapping his fingers to keep in time.
"I'm gonna whip it on you honey, gonna whip it on you today," he grinned again. Naked stage antics, those were the days.
---
"I got my cock in my pocket/ An' I thought you were going to taste me blood today," John smiled, taking it from Cori, unless he had something else in mind, either lyrically or somewhere else. Playing without a pick hardly bothered his old fingers and should they wear and ache, nothing he couldn't adapt to. Bugger the pick.
---
Come on now his libido didn't rear its wet pierced head that often, though that didn't mean it wouldn't this time around. "I got a cock in my pocket and it's shovin' up through my pants," he grinned at John, his own voice smooth and slightly dry, like vermouth. Those were the words to the song, tried and true, ask Iggy.
---
Shit, this song took him back. Constantine's rougher voice complimented the nightmare's in its own odd little way: "I said I just wanna' fuck you/ But I don't want no romance."
---
Wasn't John fortunate? Cori's appearance and general demeanor greatly belied his age. The smallest thing could trigger an age old memory, or make new ones such as this. "A man's gotta move," he purred in his throat. No hard feelings either if John was likely to trip on that solo there.
---
Thank Christ for that. John did not just trip up the solo, but outright butchered the damn thing. Practice made perfect but letting abilities rust liked to yield some horrifying results. At the very least ol' Iggy had not been sucked into the City's maw just yet as far as Constantine knew. He would have given the magus a five knuckle shuffle across the nose not unlike what Cori had thrown at him at one time or another in the past.
---
He closed one eye, hearing the missed chords and incorrect fretting. Well, horrifying was subjective, the song itself wasn't exactly the number one hit on the Top 40 list (and hell if John was into playing that shit, Cori wasn't particularly interested in listening to it). He held a hand out, waving for the Englishman to take it easy or stop altogether.
---
John stopped playing; he was aware of his bollocksing as well and how it wasn't as passable as he initially thought, especially after noting Cori's expression.
"I tried," the magus replied. He then smiled a little, although slyly even if what he had just done was an honest, real attempt. "How much did it hurt?"
---
Cori pinched his fingers together. "About that much, but it's only day one," he remarked with a one-shouldered shrug. Oh yeah, as far as he was concerned this was not John Constantine's first and last performance. "I liked it," he added, "anyone ever tell you you sound like David Bowie."
---
Certainly not his last, John could attest to that. Mucous Membrane did sound like shit after all, in his heyday or not. How worse could he get? "Haw. I didn't sound like Bowie when I was younger and actually singing." Constantine was referring more to singing at a gig rather than drunkenly rambling in the pub, although he had been one of the better singers there and at times led the unruly, stupid chorus.
---
"I'll bet," said the nightmare with a slight smirk. The magus should give himself more credit than that, he thought, having not heard a drunken ramble just now but more of a.... The Corinthian leaned forward, chin in his hand thoughtfully, considerably.
"I always wanted to fuck a rockstar," he confessed.
---
"All the more reason to fuck me." Fuck Cori in an alley far away in New York years ago. He remembered him then, just another random bloke who looked interesting enough for a one night stand, a simple shag in an alley and nothing more. Whose back was to the dumpster again? He should have recalled the Corinthian's ability, those skilled hands, so long ago.
---
Years, decades ago, a forgotten time, or maybe a forgotten person and that wasn't referencing Constantine. If Cori knew himself as well as he thought he did, then the younger blonde had been down against the edge of that dumpster, spiked hair, denim, and bare flesh hidden by shadows. Some things changed, some remained the same.
"Put the toy down," said the nightmare, then he beckoned John to come closer.
---
John heard this before, or maybe he was the one saying it the other day. Taking the strap off from around his shoulders, placing it on the floor, he set the guitar in its case on the floor, careful to keep it from getting stepped on should they reenact that one night. "Is there teeth involved?" his voice low as he slunk closer.
---
"I don't bite hard," the Corinthian replied, hand reaching out to pull John closer by the waist of his pants.
---
"Wall or alley?" Sure it was cold out but all the more incentive for the Corinthian to warm them up. It lured the memories closer from the depths, gaining clarity: their breaths in white, their bodies hot and fingers warm.
---
Good question, one that required careful consideration on both their parts. The nightmare’s line of sight went straight between John’s thighs. “How’s your hip,” Cori asked, laying both hands on the old man’s shirt, already working his fingertips under the fabric to warm his bare skin.
---
Between his thighs, huh? Where else could they go at a moment like this? Cori would have found him a bit warm, as any other healthy happy mortal human was warm. "Me hip's fine," John still limped more than ever. Enough for any upright sexual excursions.
---
Right there. He wondered how much the Englishman looked like he was packing back when the skinny jeans were a staple of the wardrobe. "Come with me," Cori urged him, not that second meaning either, not yet anyway.
---
Skinny jeans? Shit, John remembered the slashed up clothing and ventures in whatever haircut that would best suit him (the half shaven look with a few wild strands still held as his favorite, when he was performing with Mucous Membrane anyway). The magus was more than willing to comply. "Underground. Plenty of seedy little spots to get off in and no one would give a right fuck about."
---
At least John could remember those days fondly. Cori stood up from the couch, hands still firmly on the magus. "You know?" from experience, he meant to say in a sly manner.
Fortunately the nightmare also knew his way around the underground, taking them to the dark recesses of the sector that never saw the sky. Not that they would mind, both of them forged their reputations in places like this. What year was it again, and who was on the dumpster? Oddly enough, it was warmer in the underground, more compact and crawling, but the Corinthian was adept and generating heat too despite his immortality. He pressed against Constantine, up along a rough brick wall, mouth the mouth.
---
This spot was alright, Cori finding it well enough that he was the one to make the first move. John grunted, a nice warm up to what was to come ((pun unintended oh ho)). The Underground was true to its name, whether it was being a seedy crowded hole of deprivation or that caverns and things underground were better in regards to having a constant comfortable temperature.
---
A narrow path darkened by the sides of taller structures, a fire escape too rusted to pull down, and the window it led to shaded by heavy curtains, how much different was it from a borough in New York? He slid his tongue into the man's mouth as his hand roamed lower, dipping beneath his pants. A constant comfortable temperature, yes, but the Corinthian was feverish.
---
Not too different. Made the impending fuck all the more nostalgic. John was forceful as that hand slid down along his flesh. His erection would be waiting there, while his roughened old hands reached up the Corinthian's shirt along his sides to his shoulders.
---
He started jacking the other, sucked on that tongue tasting of smoke. The Englishman wasn't young anymore, a boy, and the nightmare was no longer... he was not the same as he was before. His other fingers quickly worked to undo John's zip. How different was it going to be now?
---
John kissed harder, kissed with the heat of lust that washed through him as the Corinthian's fingers worked. No doubt that alley fuck was from him; the memory was clearer in a like setting combined with the like fingers. Made him all the more horny. He gripped those shoulder blades under that shirt.
---
Cori only wished that whatever intentions he'd had back then would not surface along with this memory, but even if it did he knew he wouldn’t have them again, not with John. He licked along the other's tongue as he pulled his mouth away, stringing saliva. Another deft maneuver of his fingers and his own erection was out, frotting against John's in his hand.
---
Dick against dick, wasn't it? The magus could feel his heart pound in his ears, his eyes meeting the shades and begging for the nightmare to do whatever he pleased. The smile was like a beckoning finger, an invitation.
He swallowed his mingled spit, sucking in whatever that hung from his lips, before breathing: "Cori, I have the lube... Unless you want to use spit again." On his tight ass.
---
One thing he wanted to change about that night, hell he didn't even know if John could remember. It was an unspoken chance meeting between the two, when the magician was still half a music man and the nightmare a deviant opportunistic beast. Cori continued to rub him between his fingers, metal bits striking against each other.
"Face to face," he whispered along John's throat, free hand searching for the lube.
---
"Face to face," Constantine echoed, his hands still clutching those shoulder blades, feeling the bone and muscle beneath them as the nightmare moved. Even lower, he added: "Right inside pocket of me coat."
---
Not just a one night stand alley fuck this time, though back then they probably didn't think they'd meet again. Cori pulled the slim bottle from John's inside pocket, uncapped it to drizzle over his own dick before gesturing the blonde to wrap his hand around it. He eagerly tugged those trousers off his hips, to get his slick fingers behind those (brass) balls.
---
The trousers and pants were banished to John's ankles as he eagerly lubed up the nightmare's member with one hand, the other sliding down Cori's pants to grope at his ass. Nothing fancy, just like nothing fancy back then when the faggotry was experimental. Perhaps his partner would have noticed John's slightly uneven shoulders from the shifted in weight distribution brought on by the bum leg, although it was nothing he could not handle.
---
Perfect, though it made for a slightly awkward position but Cori could manage that. There was nothing fancy about this, but that didn't make it any less raw or intimate. He shuddered against John, fingers sliding into his tight ass though at the moment he really preferred the old man to stay tight. "You sure about the hip," he breathed under his ear.
---
"Sure about it," John muttered as he continued to jerk the nightmare off, his arsehole aching to be filled. His injured hip foot shuffled around to slide free of its shoe.
---
"All right." He kissed that spot under the Englishman's ear, licked it as he pressed his hips against the other's. He was eager to fill him. Cori pushed upward, fingers guiding himself into John, head and piercing then his shaft halfway before he gave the blonde a moment to settle.
---
John adjusted himself as the nightmare eased himself in, sucking on whatever flesh he could, be it neck or shoulder, and squeezing the smooth, shit, even perfect arse. The PA glinted in the limited light as the freed hand returned up the shirt, the slickened fingers seeking that piercing.
---
"Take it," he grunted to John. Whether he was referring to his nipple ring or his cock who knew, probably both. The squeeze to his ass pushed himself the rest of the way in, nestled deep inside Constantine before he started to thrust him against the wall.
---
John gripped the ring. "Got it, ahhhh..." His head rolled back, the top of his skull against the wall as the nightmare worked away, adjusting and adapting to his rhythm, evidenced in his play with his nipple and how he fondled.
---
"That's it," he huffed.
Sweat beaded across his forehead as he worked himself in and out of John, letting the man contract around his piercing before pushing his cock deep into his ass again. Years ago it wasn't like this, this was better. The Corinthian grunted, the tug to his ring urging him to thrust harder. Someone's foot had slipped from his shoe right? He stepped on the man's trousers and pants, hand gripping John's thigh to hook around the bum leg and pull it up by the knee.
---
Yes, as Constantine's leg went up to aid Cori in his current venture with the magus' arsehole, this time was better. This time John had himself a reliable mate and fuck buddy, a friend with benefits. This Corinthian was not the wild serial killer that did whatever he pleased on a whim, this Corinthian was something else entirely. He made living a little less lonelier, Constantine a social creature at heart behind a shell of bastardry.
His fingers curled around the ring, manipulating it, urging him.
---
He pressed his damp forehead against John's unruly blonde hair. They were hardly alone, and the teeth bared by their names was just that, teeth. Nothing more than an exterior built by experience and defense. Cori was voracious but not selfish as he pounded John's back into the wall. His lips roamed along the shell of his ear, huffing, arm wrapping around the other's thigh so his hand could work him off.
---
John moaned into Cori's flesh, feeling that forehead of his but the both of them were sweating, both of them hot. He could remember hearing the crowds nearby, outside the alley, a murmur among the city noise. The Underground was no different; sure there might have been a few around at the least but for the most part they were free to fuck in the filthy depravity. All of it was welcome here, as welcome as the fringes of climax tightening his balls.
---
More than likely a pair or two had also stopped by the mouth of the alley, bowing to the first-come-first-serve etiquette and moving on to find their own dark private spot. Unnoticed by the Corinthian at least, or maybe he didn't care so long as they weren't interrupted. His palm gripped the base of John's shaft and his balls, tightening them to stave off orgasm for just a little longer.
"Hnhh," Cori nipped his ear lobe, tongue flicking around his stud, "like that."
---
John grunted, his cock aching for release as he braced himself against the wall. "Twat," he hissed, shuddering, shuffling a bit and switching hands to allow his cleaner finger to deal with the lubed smeared ring while the still slick others slid down to tease the Corinthian's rim, brushing the opening with the tips. Passersby could spy on them but if they dared to stop and take a piss while they carried business out, well, he'd deal with him personally.
---
Calling him names was turning out to be an act of endearment. Cori couldn't help but grin despite the insult before covering John's mouth with his own, tongue slipping past his lips. That teasing was driving him on, desire emphasized by a particularly deep thrust. Did his back feel that one?
---
That came through comment, gasp punctuated by a finger pressing into that lovely pucker (that was looser than his was). Of course, he had to briefly pull away from that exploring tongue first, drawing another string of saliva, neither entirely his nor Cori's: "So you're just worried about... me hole an' me leg, eh?"
---
Not that game again, he was prone to putting it in and taking it up at will, John knew this (and how he used it). Cori flicked his tongue when he pulled away, cutting that string in half. His rhythm slowed to a stop, still buried in that tight ass with his hand firmly around the man's thick cock. "Yes, just you, all of you," he said breathlessly.
---
"Then play nice with me back." It was more of a joke than anything, Constantine still in stellar health considering his habits and age; the Corinthian could play rough with his aging Englishman as he still had a few more good years left in him. Lycanthropy was a disease but so was age, one more inevitable than the other.
He returned the smile with that familiar sly smirk.
---
What? Cori stared at John, as if skeptical of his request, and rightly so. A smirk crossed his expression before he leaned in to take the man's bottom lip between his teeth. His pace quickened and this time he lifted him to scrape the magus' back against the bricks, driving him up and down on his cock.
"Better?"
---
"Better," John managed. He shouldn't have been surprised; the nightmare had hoisted all 170-something pounds of him around before, both as a man and animal, but most importantly, this felt good. The Corinthian could feel the magus tighten around his dick while he worked out, so to speak. The man was certainly not a lightweight.
---
The Corinthian grinned even as the sweat dripped down his eyeteeth, salty taste, though not as palatable as something else. He continued to squeeze John's shaft, jacking him in time with his thrusts, no doubt making noise that would cause looks were it not for the nightly din of the underground. At least this wall wasn't prone to getting cracked so easily.
---
Cori was not fucking the Incredible Hulk, that was for sure; the brick wall would definitely be intact in full when they had finished. John breathed and groaned, matching his rhythm as his fingers penetrated the nightmare, two, then three, then four. The ring was still clutched in his other hand.
---
John's tight ass was already enough. The fingers inside him and the tug to his ring were pulling the nightmare closer to climax. So damn close, he shoved his body up against the magician again, pressing him to the wall with his own cock buried to the hilt. He squeezed around the blonde's piercing, nestled his face in the crook of John's neck as hot semen spilled from his orgasm.
---
John felt Cori fill him, pressing the back of his own head against the wall, on the verge of orgasm himself, but just a little more. A little more... Right there.
He gasped and moaned as he tightened then released his own load, body against body, tainted semen either staining the white shirt in a damp blend or the nightmare's bare flesh. Their timing was immaculate.
---
He kissed along John's exposed throat, tasting his sweat, his skin, as his cum stained his bare stomach. His fingers worked to get every last drop out of him. Shirt had to be lifted to play with that ring too, but in either case Cori didn't care if his clothes were dirtied or not. His lips found the Englishman's again, kissing him deeply as he slowly pulled out from his body.
---
Seed spilled from Constantine's ass while the Corinthian licked, worked, the magus in the throes of pleasure, his breath hot and heaving from his chest, the intense heat of lust leaving him, his body steadying back to normality. When it had subsided, with both hands, Constantine had Cori's sides again, waiting until both his feet touched the ground. His heart continued to thump in his chest and in his ears, both their skin glistening with sweat, as he explored and probed about Cori's mouth once again.
---
Cori unwrapped his arm from John’s leg, carefully lowering it back to the ground. He shuddered in the other’s mouth, the rush from orgasm subsiding. He could feel that heartbeat under the magus’ damp shirt, the strong pulse of a mortal man who did great immortal things. The Corinthian pulled himself closer to Constantine, laid his warm body against him in an embrace as his lips pulled away from his tongue. His hands slipped over that firm ass, dipping between John’s thighs again to feel his own seed spilling out.
“1974, around the corner of Bowery… You were wearing ripped jeans, a leather jacket, and a pin through your ear…” he whispered to John. The nightmare wondered what had stopped his first incarnation from wanting to kill the young free-willed blonde back then. He could recall the moment, not the urge. Was it the music?
---
John resumed that funny crooked shoulder stance brought on by the weak leg, shifting his position to ease whatever ache the weight put on it had brought him. Indeed he still leaked from his ass, John trembling from the touch as the heightened sensitivity had yet to completely die away. His focus was momentarily on the nightmare's shades before he dipped low to Cori's stomach, the palms running down with him, his voice warm and husky: "Why didn't you kill me?"
---
Why? That was a good question. His fingers squeezed again as his lips brushed against John's, kissed along the Englishman's jaw till he dropped away. He spoke quietly. Why. "I don't know," and Cori didn't, they weren't the same person (they were). "Because of your eyes," he admitted, even if it sounded silly to say, "wounded, strong..."
---
"Stupid," Constantine said into the nightmare's stomach, running his tongue along the cum and hot skin. "I was stupid back then," he whispered, his fingers squeezing into Cori's sides. "The stupidest little fuck you ever did see, and look at who I am now." He sucked and lapped. Did he have a belly button?
---
His fingertips trailed along the back of John's neck, cleaner hand threading through that blonde hair while the other came away so he could lick at his own semen fresh from his ass. If the moment hadn't been so soon after climax, the magician's tongue dipping into his belly button (he had one) would have threatened to rear another erection.
"I know you better now than I ever did before," Cori countered. John wasn't the only one who thought himself stupid, impulsive, and completely reckless years ago.
---
"What makes you say that?" John licked, the tongue playing around that apparently existent belly button, Cori's belly shining with the cooling saliva, the magus making sure that gut of the nightmare's was spotless and cum-free. Cumeaters, both of them.
---
"I share a bed with you," the Corinthian answered under a faint gasp of breath. Perhaps it was more accurate to say he trusted John Constantine now, whether that was a foolish endeavor or not. He trusted him enough to continue sipping from him, though now he was dangling his stained fingers over his own belly for John to taste both.
---
"I've shared a bed with lots of people." John did not take that hand, looking up and lapping at the fingers like an animal, a faithful dog licking his master's fingers, although whether to say who was master and who was the pet was a debatable matter. More than likely neither. Trusting Constantine was another issue entirely, a dangerous one at that.
---
"Not with me. I bare my back to you," Cori said, admitting to his trust in the magician. He slipped a finger past John's lips, feeling around the inside of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. He could bite anytime, turncoat trickster, but the nightmare trusted him not to, just as the blonde trusted his tongue in his eyes.
---
Would a dog bite the hand that fed him? John knew better. If there ever was going to be a breach of trust, it would not involve a bloodied finger, or even a stub. The magus allowed Cori to probe as he wished: His mouth was like any other mortal mouth, moist and warm with crooked, worn teeth and an old tongue he knew how to use.
---
The feeling of his mouth, the fact that John did not bite, yet knowing the man would bite when necessary, that thrilled him. That appealed greatly, not just to the nightmare's dangerous nature but to him, to Cori. The magus had named him that and names had power, the Corinthian willingly granted it to him.
He pulled his finger from John's lips to have a taste himself, fluid. His other hand curled to grip his blonde hair gently.
---
The Corinthian's stomach dressed with his saliva rather than cum, John pressed his forehead to the skin, moist now rather than beading with sweat. He still clung to the nightmare. There was a difference here with this alley fuck and that the two had enjoyed each other's company, intimately so even. The wild punk would have departed here, his ass and appetites satisfied, a face best forgotten.
---
A face best forgotten or left immaculate after his precious blue eyes had been plucked clean from his skull. Why hadn't he killed him, why hadn't he tried... Had he known the young punk was a Constantine? Perhaps that was the untold legacy; magicians of the line killed nightmares. But that was that nightmare, first born first incarnation. Not Cori.
However undignified it may have looked, he cupped John's chin, savoring their close contact, and knelt to meet the other at eye level, jeans still unzipped below his knees. Cori leaned in to claim a kiss again, consuming saliva, seed, theirs.
---
Before the nightmare was allowed to, however, Constantine reached over to take off those shades. Made the kissing bit easier after all, his eyes closed should the nightmare fear a delusional fit at an inappropriate tender moment although Cori caught a flash of those blue eyes in the dim, a flicker of their true color and depth. John then tasted, and he tasted their connection, by flesh and by blood, by time and history.
Oh Charles and John were Constantines, only John had more teeth.
---
With the shades gone John could see his brows knit, not in melancholy hardly, but rather in intimacy. Those eyes half-lidded over closed teeth, ivory that few were ever allowed to palm, and John Constantine was one of those few. He pulled the other into a tight embrace, enough to shuffle them against the wall once more, this time on the floor as Cori urged their exchange of mouth.
He sank into it, knowing that for all his blindness he could still feel John's hand in the dark.
---
John grunted, the concrete cold against his bare ass and legs. The ankled pants and trousers were strewn but still on the remaining leg, one foot shoed and the other with those long toes and hairy feet. Momentarily he parted from his partner, purring, "Cori... I think... I should be on top... Considering I fell on you..."
---
By the seven, he still remembered how they met in his second incarnation. It was an interesting story to tell, to say the least, a memorable one. Hmm, Cori's jeans dragged along, denim falling to his calves while his now flaccid member hung in the shadows between their bodies.
"Are you saying you're about to catch a second wind," asked the nightmare, mild smirk on his face. Oh he did the blonde the courtesy of helping his foot back into his pants at least.
---
"Christ, my arse is fucking cold." At least inevitability was kind enough to cushion his fall when he came down so that neither of them wound up with broken bones. "Think you need to wait on that one, chief."
The PA on Constantine's cock still glinted but was obscured, the areas in between the two dressed in shapes and black. The concrete smelled too and none too appetizing to his human nose, although his lupine sense begged to differ.
(That was dog piss. Bitch piss. Not in heat. Thank Christ.)
---
Thought so. Cori couldn't help but grin regardless of the inevitable refractory period. His lasted a good twenty to forty minutes or so depending on room temperature, but while his immortality kept his youth it also taught him patience. Oh he could be kind and wait, sure did give him an idea though.
"Come on," the nightmare gestured for his sunglasses, teeth still half-lidded. His other hand rubbed along the man's belly. "I've got an idea."
---
John gave him that cockeyed look, although the nightmare's fingers running along his own gut tantalized him. Something carried over or he always had a fondness for that part of him being caressed by skimming, sure fingers? No resistance in terms of the sunglasses. "Hhhh? What idea?"
---
He slipped those shades back on his face then readily helped John to get back in his pants, seeing as how his rear was more susceptible to the cold. Oh Cori rubbed his palm and fingertips across that trail of body hair as well. Maybe the trait carried over, but damn he enjoyed the man licking his own belly too.
"Research," he winked at the Englishman before offering him his shoe.
---
"Research?" echoed John as he finished dressing himself, slipping the shoe back on and, should the nightmare allow, pull himself back to his feet and brush himself back and off into something more presentable, although his standards were not that high.
---
"Yeah, no plans for the next couple days right," he asked John, giving him a hand to pull them both upright. Once on his feet Cori pulled his jeans up to his hips, zipped and buttoned them appropriately before letting his shirt fall over the waist band. They didn't look that terrible did they? Hell, the white blonde was certain they could do much worse.
---
"No plans," agreed Constantine, letting the Corinthian tidy himself up. He reached around in his pockets for the lighter, Cori's lighter, and a silkie. "Never said what this research was about."
---
"I've got to time you eventually," he offered John a grin. Having no sevens on him he gestured for the Englishman to kindly share his cigarettes.
---
In kind, another was produced and placed in John's mouth, nestled comfortably between his lips with the other, lighting it and offering it. "I'd say a few hours, give or take." Or so his experiences with Kit went so long ago.
---
"Thanks," he plucked the cigarette from John's fingers then took a drag with a smile, causing smoke to filter out three ways. "We'll see," Cori said as he took a second pull then looked to him. He slipped his arm across the blonde's shoulders, smoke flowing from his lips as he spoke closely, "you can have me any way you want when you're ready. I take a half hour." His voice was smooth.
---
"I'll be ready by then. Long after." Immortals could afford to be patient after all. Although John had to eye the nightmare: Any way he wanted? Was he truly sure about that? He made his way out of the alley, heading towards home, making sure that his companion followed.
---
Hah, the nightmare sounded a brief but genuine laugh over John's realistic assessment of himself. Of course he could afford to be patient, because the prize was well worth the wait, and for their efforts, yes... Any way he wanted. Cori was flexible that way. He puffed on his cigarette again, leaving a trail of smoke into dissipation on their way home.
Rating; R to MA (language, sex)
Characters; John Constantine
silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmareSummary; an exploration into obscene music and public obscenity
Log;
The expensive prize was heavy, slung across his back as the amp hung, weighty in his hand. The other fumbled with the key in the cold to the flat, wondering what the Corinthian's reaction would be. Better than before he left, he supposed as he chewed on the end of his silkie, tasting his spit from the moist filter. Could he really still play? This was before the death of Cheryl, before his lung cancer, before the Swamp Thing. This was before Newcastle, before the magic had completely consumed him, before it consumed his life. He really thought he was something back then, a loud punk in a shitty band, thinking he could reach the stars, reach the likes of the Clash and the Sex Pistols.
(Did the fire consume that tape?)
His breath was a white puff not unlike the smoke he exhaled. He considered the Fender behind him: Not a bloody lot of haggling he had done for it despite the price tag; a brush of the shoulder or a bit of magical suggestion could get him anything. Any selfish cunt would have used that trick to the fullest. Where would he be if he had more greedy desires? He only stole enough to support himself reasonably. No laps of luxury or precious stones for him. Or was he still looking for a reason to fuck someone over in the name of the greater good? ((LOL CAREY))
John scowled. He opened the door, careful not to bump the neck of the new Fender or the amp as he stepped inside.
"Cori?"
---
The Corinthian was hardly expecting a prize exceeding the cost of a thousand on their 'home world' so to speak. Truth be told he wasn't expecting a guitar or amp at all, had thought maybe John would grab an old cut reminiscent of the 70s, an 8-track if he wanted to bump the decade up. Meanwhile, the nightmare had left the terminal to lie out on the couch and smoke. Old tunes about Charles and Jeffrey had conjured a time before the Sea of Night, before Swartalfheim, the wake, and Gabriel Ashe.
"Hn," sounded the white blonde, at first distractedly before he looked to the door, cigarette pinched in his fingers. "What'd you bring back," Cori asked in surprise, noting the shadowy outlines of the shapes John carried. Very recognizable.
---
John smiled, standing over the couch with the slung guitar, snug in its pack, very distinct. He set the amp down, stretching and massaging the strained arm. Shit that thing got heavier the held it. "What do you think? I'd say issa' nice one."
---
"Open the bag," Cori shifted his bare feet to the cool floor, a delighted grin already crossing his face. The magician wasn't kidding about those front row tickets was he? "Let me see," he urged the other.
---
"Like a friggin' kid on Christmas morning," John smiled, taking a seat next to the nightmare as he shuffled the bag around to the front, revealing the vintage Fender. Of the guitars in the shop, he felt most drawn to that one. Wonder how it played, even if he was rusty.
---
He stared at the hardwood gem, simple in finish with a glossy black plate, played like a charm in his experience, and its model just a dash older than Constantine himself. Was it brand new? Where'd it come from? And the cost? Cori settled his bare hand over the strings. "Do I want to know how," he asked John with a smirk, careful not to drop ash over the guitar.
---
Cori can look, and he certainly could touch provided he indeed kept that ash away from it. John had yet to develop the intricate care and pride owners had for their precious instruments; it made no sense to have something he could not play. No relationship was between he and the guitar yet. This moment could be a bonding period. Could have been his last if he really was as shitty as he thought.
"Few souls. Bit of animal sacrifice. Nothing too gruesome."
---
"And some loose change?" He grinned, taking one last drag before he put the cigarette out in the ash tray. Cori had no instrument of his own, had never really developed the commitment to maintaining the... what was it, a hobby? A treasured skill? As he had said to John though, it was hard to forget. He helped himself to a test strum, to check if the instrument had been tuned or not.
---
"And some loose change," John replied. A bit of persuasion but the magus had not pushed his luck. His eyes watched the Corinthian's fingers. Did the worn out Hellblazer remember how to tune? All of this was layers and layers of dust for his sleeve.
---
Assuming the guitar came with a strap he pulled the pretty baby up in his arms, giving the steel another strum. Bullet ends, it sounded like, and tuned enough though some of the pegs might have come loose on the magician's return trip. He tightened two by ear. Like a kid on Christmas morning.
After another quick bare strum he offered the Fender back to John.
---
A lovely leather strap at that. While the Corinthian tuned, John scooted the vinyl case on the floor, ridding himself of his own spent cigarette, and got up to plug the amp in. The nightmare had finished when he sat down again, to which he had reclaimed the expensive baby and hooked her up. With that, the strap set around his neck and shoulders, he took a few experimental strums of his own, trying to remember notes, remember chords, remember songs. Forget charming the guitar to his whims. What could he play?
"You have anything in mind?"
---
Oh yeah, he hadn't considered the possibility of John using his magic to charm some notes out of the Fender, though the nightmare was likely to buy the performance if the magician oh so casually built up his rustiness through a spell. But he was better than that wasn't he, not one to lie... as often to Cori.
He rubbed his chin in thought, requests. "What are you comfortable with," he twitched his shades and grinned.
---
"Not sure you'd like it then." John returned the look. He was comfortable playing for Cori, but then he wasn't. It was easier to do things he couldn't when he could lie about it, right? He strummed a few more times, adjusted the amp, his fingers playing and plucking over the strings. He was far from an expert but it was evident that Constantine had been playing before, the man still clearing dust.
---
"I've been around, I can appreciate almost anything," he declared amusedly while quirking a brow, in a gesture that asked the Englishman to try and test his interests. Cori leaned back against the couch, getting relaxed for a private performance, but secretly he hoped John would rile him up.
---
Riling? John was up to his knees in decades' worth if dust he had been trying to clear. He wasn't sure if he could raise Hell through his playing as well as he could blaze through it. He whistled through his teeth as he tried to recall the chords and notes from a song during the same time as the wild punk era, but was anything but.
Why did he know this song? He was around twenty-four when he picked it up but he had yet to find his paradise. Must have been some funny twist of fate, to sing back to himself in a sense. His voice had a rough feel to it, rough as the uneven stubble on his face.
---
John's voice was handsome naturally, despite the years of tar at the back of his throat, hell it probably added to his appeal. The song of choice was unexpected, though he should have figured the old man would start off slow. Hm, Cori couldn't help but smirk, it fit him right. Where was he in 1972? Far away.
---
"I've been first and last
Look at how the time goes past.
But I'm all alone at last.
Rolling home to you."
The lyrics came almost naturally. He had been a singer after all; they were supposed to roll off his tongue as he recalled them, never mind the fact that the song's title described him. Those blue eyes ("Ah, one look in my eyes/ And you can tell that's true.") focused on the Corinthian for a moment. Unexpected for both of them then. Even he surprised himself; he only missed a few notes, messed up on some chords, but it wasn't Chinese Water Torture listening. The semblance to the song was there and his voice hit those missed by his fingers.
---
They should have started those looking exercises earlier. The Corinthian wanted to remove his shades, however he knew much better than that. It was an opportunity missed, but not unappreciated. Although his demeanor seemed relaxed, he thoroughly enjoyed John's performance and knew the blonde had to be impressed with himself to remember that much. That was encouragement to go on, wasn't it.
---
John was, but songs that had meaning did that to him, that or his memory was sharper than he had previously thought. What would the sinking nostalgia of those wild days past do for him? Removal of the shades and inducing the rot would not help much in ways of his playing either. Pity he forgot how to wrap the song up, bollocksing an ending that worked for his shaky, somewhat sloppy playing, but it still left him mellower, and calmly reflective.
"That wasn't too bad, wasn't it?" he said. His voice had been soft through the song and even now still had lingered. Constantine had been personal and the softer side was belly up and in sight; different he was next to the nightmare compared to the hardened enigmatic bastard everyone else had been familiar with.
---
A little bollocks on the outro was expected for someone rusty at their trade, and judging from the way the man treated it he'd picked up the music before he picked up the magic. A music man wasn't he? Cori offered a smile for the exposed soft underside of John Constantine. "Hardly bad, John, it's nice," he adjusted his glasses, smile turning into a grin. He reached out to gently rap his knuckles against the guitar body, "lighten up though."
---
Hardly the music man, although John wondered if he could make a decent living off the music rather than the magic. Hnn. Music and magic. Somehow they were the same things, weren't they?
John cocked an eyebrow. "'Lighten up?'"
---
Now that was something upon which they could agree. Music and magic went hand in hand, the nightmare would know, having played keys and strings and brass to his heart's content... sometimes as a ruse, but not now. He gave the Fender another light knock. "Yeah, kind of somber there," Cori remarked, grinning, "know any Iggy?"
---
"'Cock in my Pocket' Iggy?" John replied. The somber mood had not been in vain, having loosened the mage up.
---
"Yeah that one," Cori waved a hand, having a lust for life on the brain more so than a cock in his pocket, though in fact he had both.
---
John, glancing down at his toy, let his fingers play around the strings a bit, trying to remember how did that go again. No avail. "Aww, shit, how does that part go again?"
---
Cori rose from his seat on the couch to come around behind John. He laid his hands over the Englishman's then rearranged those rough fingers onto the frets, pressing them down, the lowest chord in the song. His thumb strummed the strings, banging out the riff at a slower pace to remind John of hm, 1977?
---
Ah, 1977... John's first exposure to the Sex Pistols and what had hooked him into the punk scene. The nightmare's fingers guided the magus', Constantine quickening, soon not needing the nightmare's assistance as his memory picked up. The playing was still far from perfect but certainly Constantine was familiar with it, music he admired and learned before banging out his own riffs.
(He wasn't sure if he was comfortable enough to revisit Mucous Membrane, or even the songs he wrote and kept to himself and only himself.)
"Oh, how does the first line go? ''I got a cock in my pocket/ And I'm reelin' down the old highway...' Ah, there we go...!"
---
Like riding a bike. Additionally, since when were crunchy chords supposed to be perfect? He let his hands fall away once the old man started to pick up the rhythm. Bare fingers, always the best in his opinion, no need for picks though they made great souvenirs. Cori settled on the couch arm then, snapping his fingers to keep in time.
"I'm gonna whip it on you honey, gonna whip it on you today," he grinned again. Naked stage antics, those were the days.
---
"I got my cock in my pocket/ An' I thought you were going to taste me blood today," John smiled, taking it from Cori, unless he had something else in mind, either lyrically or somewhere else. Playing without a pick hardly bothered his old fingers and should they wear and ache, nothing he couldn't adapt to. Bugger the pick.
---
Come on now his libido didn't rear its wet pierced head that often, though that didn't mean it wouldn't this time around. "I got a cock in my pocket and it's shovin' up through my pants," he grinned at John, his own voice smooth and slightly dry, like vermouth. Those were the words to the song, tried and true, ask Iggy.
---
Shit, this song took him back. Constantine's rougher voice complimented the nightmare's in its own odd little way: "I said I just wanna' fuck you/ But I don't want no romance."
---
Wasn't John fortunate? Cori's appearance and general demeanor greatly belied his age. The smallest thing could trigger an age old memory, or make new ones such as this. "A man's gotta move," he purred in his throat. No hard feelings either if John was likely to trip on that solo there.
---
Thank Christ for that. John did not just trip up the solo, but outright butchered the damn thing. Practice made perfect but letting abilities rust liked to yield some horrifying results. At the very least ol' Iggy had not been sucked into the City's maw just yet as far as Constantine knew. He would have given the magus a five knuckle shuffle across the nose not unlike what Cori had thrown at him at one time or another in the past.
---
He closed one eye, hearing the missed chords and incorrect fretting. Well, horrifying was subjective, the song itself wasn't exactly the number one hit on the Top 40 list (and hell if John was into playing that shit, Cori wasn't particularly interested in listening to it). He held a hand out, waving for the Englishman to take it easy or stop altogether.
---
John stopped playing; he was aware of his bollocksing as well and how it wasn't as passable as he initially thought, especially after noting Cori's expression.
"I tried," the magus replied. He then smiled a little, although slyly even if what he had just done was an honest, real attempt. "How much did it hurt?"
---
Cori pinched his fingers together. "About that much, but it's only day one," he remarked with a one-shouldered shrug. Oh yeah, as far as he was concerned this was not John Constantine's first and last performance. "I liked it," he added, "anyone ever tell you you sound like David Bowie."
---
Certainly not his last, John could attest to that. Mucous Membrane did sound like shit after all, in his heyday or not. How worse could he get? "Haw. I didn't sound like Bowie when I was younger and actually singing." Constantine was referring more to singing at a gig rather than drunkenly rambling in the pub, although he had been one of the better singers there and at times led the unruly, stupid chorus.
---
"I'll bet," said the nightmare with a slight smirk. The magus should give himself more credit than that, he thought, having not heard a drunken ramble just now but more of a.... The Corinthian leaned forward, chin in his hand thoughtfully, considerably.
"I always wanted to fuck a rockstar," he confessed.
---
"All the more reason to fuck me." Fuck Cori in an alley far away in New York years ago. He remembered him then, just another random bloke who looked interesting enough for a one night stand, a simple shag in an alley and nothing more. Whose back was to the dumpster again? He should have recalled the Corinthian's ability, those skilled hands, so long ago.
---
Years, decades ago, a forgotten time, or maybe a forgotten person and that wasn't referencing Constantine. If Cori knew himself as well as he thought he did, then the younger blonde had been down against the edge of that dumpster, spiked hair, denim, and bare flesh hidden by shadows. Some things changed, some remained the same.
"Put the toy down," said the nightmare, then he beckoned John to come closer.
---
John heard this before, or maybe he was the one saying it the other day. Taking the strap off from around his shoulders, placing it on the floor, he set the guitar in its case on the floor, careful to keep it from getting stepped on should they reenact that one night. "Is there teeth involved?" his voice low as he slunk closer.
---
"I don't bite hard," the Corinthian replied, hand reaching out to pull John closer by the waist of his pants.
---
"Wall or alley?" Sure it was cold out but all the more incentive for the Corinthian to warm them up. It lured the memories closer from the depths, gaining clarity: their breaths in white, their bodies hot and fingers warm.
---
Good question, one that required careful consideration on both their parts. The nightmare’s line of sight went straight between John’s thighs. “How’s your hip,” Cori asked, laying both hands on the old man’s shirt, already working his fingertips under the fabric to warm his bare skin.
---
Between his thighs, huh? Where else could they go at a moment like this? Cori would have found him a bit warm, as any other healthy happy mortal human was warm. "Me hip's fine," John still limped more than ever. Enough for any upright sexual excursions.
---
Right there. He wondered how much the Englishman looked like he was packing back when the skinny jeans were a staple of the wardrobe. "Come with me," Cori urged him, not that second meaning either, not yet anyway.
---
Skinny jeans? Shit, John remembered the slashed up clothing and ventures in whatever haircut that would best suit him (the half shaven look with a few wild strands still held as his favorite, when he was performing with Mucous Membrane anyway). The magus was more than willing to comply. "Underground. Plenty of seedy little spots to get off in and no one would give a right fuck about."
---
At least John could remember those days fondly. Cori stood up from the couch, hands still firmly on the magus. "You know?" from experience, he meant to say in a sly manner.
Fortunately the nightmare also knew his way around the underground, taking them to the dark recesses of the sector that never saw the sky. Not that they would mind, both of them forged their reputations in places like this. What year was it again, and who was on the dumpster? Oddly enough, it was warmer in the underground, more compact and crawling, but the Corinthian was adept and generating heat too despite his immortality. He pressed against Constantine, up along a rough brick wall, mouth the mouth.
---
This spot was alright, Cori finding it well enough that he was the one to make the first move. John grunted, a nice warm up to what was to come ((pun unintended oh ho)). The Underground was true to its name, whether it was being a seedy crowded hole of deprivation or that caverns and things underground were better in regards to having a constant comfortable temperature.
---
A narrow path darkened by the sides of taller structures, a fire escape too rusted to pull down, and the window it led to shaded by heavy curtains, how much different was it from a borough in New York? He slid his tongue into the man's mouth as his hand roamed lower, dipping beneath his pants. A constant comfortable temperature, yes, but the Corinthian was feverish.
---
Not too different. Made the impending fuck all the more nostalgic. John was forceful as that hand slid down along his flesh. His erection would be waiting there, while his roughened old hands reached up the Corinthian's shirt along his sides to his shoulders.
---
He started jacking the other, sucked on that tongue tasting of smoke. The Englishman wasn't young anymore, a boy, and the nightmare was no longer... he was not the same as he was before. His other fingers quickly worked to undo John's zip. How different was it going to be now?
---
John kissed harder, kissed with the heat of lust that washed through him as the Corinthian's fingers worked. No doubt that alley fuck was from him; the memory was clearer in a like setting combined with the like fingers. Made him all the more horny. He gripped those shoulder blades under that shirt.
---
Cori only wished that whatever intentions he'd had back then would not surface along with this memory, but even if it did he knew he wouldn’t have them again, not with John. He licked along the other's tongue as he pulled his mouth away, stringing saliva. Another deft maneuver of his fingers and his own erection was out, frotting against John's in his hand.
---
Dick against dick, wasn't it? The magus could feel his heart pound in his ears, his eyes meeting the shades and begging for the nightmare to do whatever he pleased. The smile was like a beckoning finger, an invitation.
He swallowed his mingled spit, sucking in whatever that hung from his lips, before breathing: "Cori, I have the lube... Unless you want to use spit again." On his tight ass.
---
One thing he wanted to change about that night, hell he didn't even know if John could remember. It was an unspoken chance meeting between the two, when the magician was still half a music man and the nightmare a deviant opportunistic beast. Cori continued to rub him between his fingers, metal bits striking against each other.
"Face to face," he whispered along John's throat, free hand searching for the lube.
---
"Face to face," Constantine echoed, his hands still clutching those shoulder blades, feeling the bone and muscle beneath them as the nightmare moved. Even lower, he added: "Right inside pocket of me coat."
---
Not just a one night stand alley fuck this time, though back then they probably didn't think they'd meet again. Cori pulled the slim bottle from John's inside pocket, uncapped it to drizzle over his own dick before gesturing the blonde to wrap his hand around it. He eagerly tugged those trousers off his hips, to get his slick fingers behind those (brass) balls.
---
The trousers and pants were banished to John's ankles as he eagerly lubed up the nightmare's member with one hand, the other sliding down Cori's pants to grope at his ass. Nothing fancy, just like nothing fancy back then when the faggotry was experimental. Perhaps his partner would have noticed John's slightly uneven shoulders from the shifted in weight distribution brought on by the bum leg, although it was nothing he could not handle.
---
Perfect, though it made for a slightly awkward position but Cori could manage that. There was nothing fancy about this, but that didn't make it any less raw or intimate. He shuddered against John, fingers sliding into his tight ass though at the moment he really preferred the old man to stay tight. "You sure about the hip," he breathed under his ear.
---
"Sure about it," John muttered as he continued to jerk the nightmare off, his arsehole aching to be filled. His injured hip foot shuffled around to slide free of its shoe.
---
"All right." He kissed that spot under the Englishman's ear, licked it as he pressed his hips against the other's. He was eager to fill him. Cori pushed upward, fingers guiding himself into John, head and piercing then his shaft halfway before he gave the blonde a moment to settle.
---
John adjusted himself as the nightmare eased himself in, sucking on whatever flesh he could, be it neck or shoulder, and squeezing the smooth, shit, even perfect arse. The PA glinted in the limited light as the freed hand returned up the shirt, the slickened fingers seeking that piercing.
---
"Take it," he grunted to John. Whether he was referring to his nipple ring or his cock who knew, probably both. The squeeze to his ass pushed himself the rest of the way in, nestled deep inside Constantine before he started to thrust him against the wall.
---
John gripped the ring. "Got it, ahhhh..." His head rolled back, the top of his skull against the wall as the nightmare worked away, adjusting and adapting to his rhythm, evidenced in his play with his nipple and how he fondled.
---
"That's it," he huffed.
Sweat beaded across his forehead as he worked himself in and out of John, letting the man contract around his piercing before pushing his cock deep into his ass again. Years ago it wasn't like this, this was better. The Corinthian grunted, the tug to his ring urging him to thrust harder. Someone's foot had slipped from his shoe right? He stepped on the man's trousers and pants, hand gripping John's thigh to hook around the bum leg and pull it up by the knee.
---
Yes, as Constantine's leg went up to aid Cori in his current venture with the magus' arsehole, this time was better. This time John had himself a reliable mate and fuck buddy, a friend with benefits. This Corinthian was not the wild serial killer that did whatever he pleased on a whim, this Corinthian was something else entirely. He made living a little less lonelier, Constantine a social creature at heart behind a shell of bastardry.
His fingers curled around the ring, manipulating it, urging him.
---
He pressed his damp forehead against John's unruly blonde hair. They were hardly alone, and the teeth bared by their names was just that, teeth. Nothing more than an exterior built by experience and defense. Cori was voracious but not selfish as he pounded John's back into the wall. His lips roamed along the shell of his ear, huffing, arm wrapping around the other's thigh so his hand could work him off.
---
John moaned into Cori's flesh, feeling that forehead of his but the both of them were sweating, both of them hot. He could remember hearing the crowds nearby, outside the alley, a murmur among the city noise. The Underground was no different; sure there might have been a few around at the least but for the most part they were free to fuck in the filthy depravity. All of it was welcome here, as welcome as the fringes of climax tightening his balls.
---
More than likely a pair or two had also stopped by the mouth of the alley, bowing to the first-come-first-serve etiquette and moving on to find their own dark private spot. Unnoticed by the Corinthian at least, or maybe he didn't care so long as they weren't interrupted. His palm gripped the base of John's shaft and his balls, tightening them to stave off orgasm for just a little longer.
"Hnhh," Cori nipped his ear lobe, tongue flicking around his stud, "like that."
---
John grunted, his cock aching for release as he braced himself against the wall. "Twat," he hissed, shuddering, shuffling a bit and switching hands to allow his cleaner finger to deal with the lubed smeared ring while the still slick others slid down to tease the Corinthian's rim, brushing the opening with the tips. Passersby could spy on them but if they dared to stop and take a piss while they carried business out, well, he'd deal with him personally.
---
Calling him names was turning out to be an act of endearment. Cori couldn't help but grin despite the insult before covering John's mouth with his own, tongue slipping past his lips. That teasing was driving him on, desire emphasized by a particularly deep thrust. Did his back feel that one?
---
That came through comment, gasp punctuated by a finger pressing into that lovely pucker (that was looser than his was). Of course, he had to briefly pull away from that exploring tongue first, drawing another string of saliva, neither entirely his nor Cori's: "So you're just worried about... me hole an' me leg, eh?"
---
Not that game again, he was prone to putting it in and taking it up at will, John knew this (and how he used it). Cori flicked his tongue when he pulled away, cutting that string in half. His rhythm slowed to a stop, still buried in that tight ass with his hand firmly around the man's thick cock. "Yes, just you, all of you," he said breathlessly.
---
"Then play nice with me back." It was more of a joke than anything, Constantine still in stellar health considering his habits and age; the Corinthian could play rough with his aging Englishman as he still had a few more good years left in him. Lycanthropy was a disease but so was age, one more inevitable than the other.
He returned the smile with that familiar sly smirk.
---
What? Cori stared at John, as if skeptical of his request, and rightly so. A smirk crossed his expression before he leaned in to take the man's bottom lip between his teeth. His pace quickened and this time he lifted him to scrape the magus' back against the bricks, driving him up and down on his cock.
"Better?"
---
"Better," John managed. He shouldn't have been surprised; the nightmare had hoisted all 170-something pounds of him around before, both as a man and animal, but most importantly, this felt good. The Corinthian could feel the magus tighten around his dick while he worked out, so to speak. The man was certainly not a lightweight.
---
The Corinthian grinned even as the sweat dripped down his eyeteeth, salty taste, though not as palatable as something else. He continued to squeeze John's shaft, jacking him in time with his thrusts, no doubt making noise that would cause looks were it not for the nightly din of the underground. At least this wall wasn't prone to getting cracked so easily.
---
Cori was not fucking the Incredible Hulk, that was for sure; the brick wall would definitely be intact in full when they had finished. John breathed and groaned, matching his rhythm as his fingers penetrated the nightmare, two, then three, then four. The ring was still clutched in his other hand.
---
John's tight ass was already enough. The fingers inside him and the tug to his ring were pulling the nightmare closer to climax. So damn close, he shoved his body up against the magician again, pressing him to the wall with his own cock buried to the hilt. He squeezed around the blonde's piercing, nestled his face in the crook of John's neck as hot semen spilled from his orgasm.
---
John felt Cori fill him, pressing the back of his own head against the wall, on the verge of orgasm himself, but just a little more. A little more... Right there.
He gasped and moaned as he tightened then released his own load, body against body, tainted semen either staining the white shirt in a damp blend or the nightmare's bare flesh. Their timing was immaculate.
---
He kissed along John's exposed throat, tasting his sweat, his skin, as his cum stained his bare stomach. His fingers worked to get every last drop out of him. Shirt had to be lifted to play with that ring too, but in either case Cori didn't care if his clothes were dirtied or not. His lips found the Englishman's again, kissing him deeply as he slowly pulled out from his body.
---
Seed spilled from Constantine's ass while the Corinthian licked, worked, the magus in the throes of pleasure, his breath hot and heaving from his chest, the intense heat of lust leaving him, his body steadying back to normality. When it had subsided, with both hands, Constantine had Cori's sides again, waiting until both his feet touched the ground. His heart continued to thump in his chest and in his ears, both their skin glistening with sweat, as he explored and probed about Cori's mouth once again.
---
Cori unwrapped his arm from John’s leg, carefully lowering it back to the ground. He shuddered in the other’s mouth, the rush from orgasm subsiding. He could feel that heartbeat under the magus’ damp shirt, the strong pulse of a mortal man who did great immortal things. The Corinthian pulled himself closer to Constantine, laid his warm body against him in an embrace as his lips pulled away from his tongue. His hands slipped over that firm ass, dipping between John’s thighs again to feel his own seed spilling out.
“1974, around the corner of Bowery… You were wearing ripped jeans, a leather jacket, and a pin through your ear…” he whispered to John. The nightmare wondered what had stopped his first incarnation from wanting to kill the young free-willed blonde back then. He could recall the moment, not the urge. Was it the music?
---
John resumed that funny crooked shoulder stance brought on by the weak leg, shifting his position to ease whatever ache the weight put on it had brought him. Indeed he still leaked from his ass, John trembling from the touch as the heightened sensitivity had yet to completely die away. His focus was momentarily on the nightmare's shades before he dipped low to Cori's stomach, the palms running down with him, his voice warm and husky: "Why didn't you kill me?"
---
Why? That was a good question. His fingers squeezed again as his lips brushed against John's, kissed along the Englishman's jaw till he dropped away. He spoke quietly. Why. "I don't know," and Cori didn't, they weren't the same person (they were). "Because of your eyes," he admitted, even if it sounded silly to say, "wounded, strong..."
---
"Stupid," Constantine said into the nightmare's stomach, running his tongue along the cum and hot skin. "I was stupid back then," he whispered, his fingers squeezing into Cori's sides. "The stupidest little fuck you ever did see, and look at who I am now." He sucked and lapped. Did he have a belly button?
---
His fingertips trailed along the back of John's neck, cleaner hand threading through that blonde hair while the other came away so he could lick at his own semen fresh from his ass. If the moment hadn't been so soon after climax, the magician's tongue dipping into his belly button (he had one) would have threatened to rear another erection.
"I know you better now than I ever did before," Cori countered. John wasn't the only one who thought himself stupid, impulsive, and completely reckless years ago.
---
"What makes you say that?" John licked, the tongue playing around that apparently existent belly button, Cori's belly shining with the cooling saliva, the magus making sure that gut of the nightmare's was spotless and cum-free. Cumeaters, both of them.
---
"I share a bed with you," the Corinthian answered under a faint gasp of breath. Perhaps it was more accurate to say he trusted John Constantine now, whether that was a foolish endeavor or not. He trusted him enough to continue sipping from him, though now he was dangling his stained fingers over his own belly for John to taste both.
---
"I've shared a bed with lots of people." John did not take that hand, looking up and lapping at the fingers like an animal, a faithful dog licking his master's fingers, although whether to say who was master and who was the pet was a debatable matter. More than likely neither. Trusting Constantine was another issue entirely, a dangerous one at that.
---
"Not with me. I bare my back to you," Cori said, admitting to his trust in the magician. He slipped a finger past John's lips, feeling around the inside of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. He could bite anytime, turncoat trickster, but the nightmare trusted him not to, just as the blonde trusted his tongue in his eyes.
---
Would a dog bite the hand that fed him? John knew better. If there ever was going to be a breach of trust, it would not involve a bloodied finger, or even a stub. The magus allowed Cori to probe as he wished: His mouth was like any other mortal mouth, moist and warm with crooked, worn teeth and an old tongue he knew how to use.
---
The feeling of his mouth, the fact that John did not bite, yet knowing the man would bite when necessary, that thrilled him. That appealed greatly, not just to the nightmare's dangerous nature but to him, to Cori. The magus had named him that and names had power, the Corinthian willingly granted it to him.
He pulled his finger from John's lips to have a taste himself, fluid. His other hand curled to grip his blonde hair gently.
---
The Corinthian's stomach dressed with his saliva rather than cum, John pressed his forehead to the skin, moist now rather than beading with sweat. He still clung to the nightmare. There was a difference here with this alley fuck and that the two had enjoyed each other's company, intimately so even. The wild punk would have departed here, his ass and appetites satisfied, a face best forgotten.
---
A face best forgotten or left immaculate after his precious blue eyes had been plucked clean from his skull. Why hadn't he killed him, why hadn't he tried... Had he known the young punk was a Constantine? Perhaps that was the untold legacy; magicians of the line killed nightmares. But that was that nightmare, first born first incarnation. Not Cori.
However undignified it may have looked, he cupped John's chin, savoring their close contact, and knelt to meet the other at eye level, jeans still unzipped below his knees. Cori leaned in to claim a kiss again, consuming saliva, seed, theirs.
---
Before the nightmare was allowed to, however, Constantine reached over to take off those shades. Made the kissing bit easier after all, his eyes closed should the nightmare fear a delusional fit at an inappropriate tender moment although Cori caught a flash of those blue eyes in the dim, a flicker of their true color and depth. John then tasted, and he tasted their connection, by flesh and by blood, by time and history.
Oh Charles and John were Constantines, only John had more teeth.
---
With the shades gone John could see his brows knit, not in melancholy hardly, but rather in intimacy. Those eyes half-lidded over closed teeth, ivory that few were ever allowed to palm, and John Constantine was one of those few. He pulled the other into a tight embrace, enough to shuffle them against the wall once more, this time on the floor as Cori urged their exchange of mouth.
He sank into it, knowing that for all his blindness he could still feel John's hand in the dark.
---
John grunted, the concrete cold against his bare ass and legs. The ankled pants and trousers were strewn but still on the remaining leg, one foot shoed and the other with those long toes and hairy feet. Momentarily he parted from his partner, purring, "Cori... I think... I should be on top... Considering I fell on you..."
---
By the seven, he still remembered how they met in his second incarnation. It was an interesting story to tell, to say the least, a memorable one. Hmm, Cori's jeans dragged along, denim falling to his calves while his now flaccid member hung in the shadows between their bodies.
"Are you saying you're about to catch a second wind," asked the nightmare, mild smirk on his face. Oh he did the blonde the courtesy of helping his foot back into his pants at least.
---
"Christ, my arse is fucking cold." At least inevitability was kind enough to cushion his fall when he came down so that neither of them wound up with broken bones. "Think you need to wait on that one, chief."
The PA on Constantine's cock still glinted but was obscured, the areas in between the two dressed in shapes and black. The concrete smelled too and none too appetizing to his human nose, although his lupine sense begged to differ.
(That was dog piss. Bitch piss. Not in heat. Thank Christ.)
---
Thought so. Cori couldn't help but grin regardless of the inevitable refractory period. His lasted a good twenty to forty minutes or so depending on room temperature, but while his immortality kept his youth it also taught him patience. Oh he could be kind and wait, sure did give him an idea though.
"Come on," the nightmare gestured for his sunglasses, teeth still half-lidded. His other hand rubbed along the man's belly. "I've got an idea."
---
John gave him that cockeyed look, although the nightmare's fingers running along his own gut tantalized him. Something carried over or he always had a fondness for that part of him being caressed by skimming, sure fingers? No resistance in terms of the sunglasses. "Hhhh? What idea?"
---
He slipped those shades back on his face then readily helped John to get back in his pants, seeing as how his rear was more susceptible to the cold. Oh Cori rubbed his palm and fingertips across that trail of body hair as well. Maybe the trait carried over, but damn he enjoyed the man licking his own belly too.
"Research," he winked at the Englishman before offering him his shoe.
---
"Research?" echoed John as he finished dressing himself, slipping the shoe back on and, should the nightmare allow, pull himself back to his feet and brush himself back and off into something more presentable, although his standards were not that high.
---
"Yeah, no plans for the next couple days right," he asked John, giving him a hand to pull them both upright. Once on his feet Cori pulled his jeans up to his hips, zipped and buttoned them appropriately before letting his shirt fall over the waist band. They didn't look that terrible did they? Hell, the white blonde was certain they could do much worse.
---
"No plans," agreed Constantine, letting the Corinthian tidy himself up. He reached around in his pockets for the lighter, Cori's lighter, and a silkie. "Never said what this research was about."
---
"I've got to time you eventually," he offered John a grin. Having no sevens on him he gestured for the Englishman to kindly share his cigarettes.
---
In kind, another was produced and placed in John's mouth, nestled comfortably between his lips with the other, lighting it and offering it. "I'd say a few hours, give or take." Or so his experiences with Kit went so long ago.
---
"Thanks," he plucked the cigarette from John's fingers then took a drag with a smile, causing smoke to filter out three ways. "We'll see," Cori said as he took a second pull then looked to him. He slipped his arm across the blonde's shoulders, smoke flowing from his lips as he spoke closely, "you can have me any way you want when you're ready. I take a half hour." His voice was smooth.
---
"I'll be ready by then. Long after." Immortals could afford to be patient after all. Although John had to eye the nightmare: Any way he wanted? Was he truly sure about that? He made his way out of the alley, heading towards home, making sure that his companion followed.
---
Hah, the nightmare sounded a brief but genuine laugh over John's realistic assessment of himself. Of course he could afford to be patient, because the prize was well worth the wait, and for their efforts, yes... Any way he wanted. Cori was flexible that way. He puffed on his cigarette again, leaving a trail of smoke into dissipation on their way home.