maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

WHO: John Constantine & OPEN
WHERE: Maurtia Falls, mostly
WHEN: anytime in March
WHAT: Magic! Drinking! CR building in general.
WARNINGS: nudity, chicken blood, alcohol, eta nsfw in the thread with Bob

[Maurtia Falls #007]

Currently, Constantine is standing outside of his housing in Maurtia Falls on whatever passes for a front lawn and it's fairly dark—which is probably a good thing, considering he's not wearing any clothing and is covered in chicken blood. Hey, he's trying not to make a mess in the house, alright? He's such a considerate housemate, really. (Hopefully any passing cops will see it that way.) Plus, being outside beneath a full moon helps with the general ambiance. The 'general ambiance' of what one might ask (if you dare) and if anyone stops and watches, it might become apparent to some that he's casting a spell, standing in a protective circle of what might be flour (but probably isn't), chanting first in English-

"Hear me, most Unnameable of Devourers who guardeth the Eternal Gateway! I seek an audience with one in your embrace!" Which is followed by a few commanding-sounding phrases in Old Aramaic (rinse, repeat)—although... nothing appears to be actually happening.

[Maurtia Falls; some dive bar]

In more clothed circumstances, John can be found at his home-away-from-home, aka a neighborhood bar, where he's just about halfway through a bottle of whiskey, an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the bar in front of him, brooding ~~sexily~~.

Or alternately, catch him relating a story to the bartender and anyone else who might be sitting close by-

"You call that fun? Fun is when your ex-girlfriend who's currently a nun shoots you in the gut and leaves you at the mercy of an Invunche, and in order to survive, you're forced to invite a demon king to possess you, and after you go on a murder spree, you get locked up in a Mexican prison with time running out and very little 'ope of an exorcism. Now that was a fun weekend."

[Wildcard] Create your own starter and John will be there!

[Disclaimer: both of the above scenarios shamelessly inspired by NBC's Constantine. Prefer brackets? Go for it!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You know it, sweet cheeks," John returns with a wink. "Something tells me you're a man who likes to 'ave his 'ands full." Full of what, he doesn't elaborate on, but given the wink, it probably wouldn't be too hard to guess. Speaking of hard things.

Their faces are close enough now that it would be really easy for John to lean in a few more inches and kiss him, but given it's a public place and Bob seems like a more discreet type, he resists the temptation, simply licking his own lips a little before pulling back, having noticed the direction of Bob's gaze.

"Oh, very," he agrees, picking up his glass again. "That can be arranged."

"Mm. And something tells me you're a man who can help with that," Bob fires back, smile turning from cheeky to something more heated as he thinks about what exactly he can get his hands on that belongs to John. He'd like to find out later, for now trying to restrain himself enough to build a bit of anticipation. He's hardly known for his patience but he can at least finish the drink the other man bought for him before suggesting they head somewhere else. He's turned on but he's not going to be rude about it.

As John leans back, Bob takes a second to pull himself together. He can't remember the last time he got so fucking involved in trying to chat up another bloke so obviously. Not without an ulterior motive, anyway. For now he's just genuinely enjoying the company, a bit of banter back and forth.

Sliding his own drink closer towards him, he glances around the bar. It's a force of habit, checking out his surroundings and trying to work out if he's about to get bottled or not. So far this new world hasn't given him any trouble unless he's gone looking for it. Giving himself a moment to cool off, his gaze flicks back to John and he raises an eyebrow.

"How long you been here?" he asks and then adds after a sip of his Coke, "not the bar, I mean this world..."

"There's a lot to be said for putting yourself in another person's 'ands." Is he talking about trust issues, accepting another person's help, or letting someone else take control? Maybe; maybe not. My, it certainly is getting hot in here.

As he sips his own drink, he can see that Bob's looking a little... nervous, maybe? Or cautious, he's not entirely sure. Could be he comes from a world that's less than tolerant of a couple of blokes flirting with each other. Or maybe he just doesn't talk to wizards much.

"Ah, let's see... about seven months now? Yeah." But that could easily apply to how long he's been in the bar as well.

Smirking around the rim of his glass, Bob's eyes stay fixed on John's as he takes a silent gulp of his drink. It's not that he's rushing it, exactly, but he's not being slow about it either. Since the other man was kind enough to buy him a drink, he's sure he can think of a few ways to return the favour later.

But at the next answer, his eyebrows shoot up and he puts his glass back on the bar top with a clunk. Maybe a little too hard but he's never been good at not reacting first and then thinking later.

"Seven months? Fuck, that's some time, mate. I've only been here one and I'm already missing home like mad." He's honest, maybe a little too honest sometimes, and he shakes his head like he can't imagine what seven months here might be like. Missing home is something that hasn't got any better no matter how many new friends he thinks he's made here. He misses talking to his family, his mates. He misses being an idiot in and around the streets of his city. His London. He's homesick.

John shrugs. "Can't say I've minded it all that much, but it's not as though I've got much of an 'ome to miss." He's a Man of the World, clearly. "Not a lot of relatives, really." That are still speaking to him, anyway. "No significant others." Having sent his latest boyfriend to Hell; collateral damage when John banished the demon who owned Dez's soul. "No kids." That he knows of.

"No permanent residence lately, aside from a gig on a time-traveling ship with a bunch of misfits." Which he actually fit into in a weird sort of way, being a misfit himself.

"Left a lot behind, did yeh?"

Listening intently, Bob's expression is neutral as he watches John's. He knows that not everybody's the same and that's more than alright with him. His own guilt at having not seen his mum as much as he should have is a strange one, sitting somewhere at the back of his mind. He's done a good job so far of filling his time with all sorts of people to keep it there.

But there's no judgement in his expression because there isn't any. Doesn't make a difference to him if the other man misses where he's from or not. He doesn't know John, a near on stranger, well enough to be doing any of that.

"'s fair enough, mate. Nah, just dickhead mates and family questioning my life choices. Standard. Rest of it doesn't matter." Even if his car is a close contender to things he misses the most. But the comment about time-travel grabs at his curiosity.

"...you say time-travelling ship?"

"It's 'ard to just get dropped into a whole new world and be expected to adapt, but—" he shrugs again, the corner of his mouth lifting, "I've been in worse places. Thankfully not for months at a time with little to no 'ope of ever getting out." Literal Hell, in other words.

"Yeah, that's right, mate. A spaceship called the Waverider, built by some wankers known as the Time Masters, and currently the base of operations for a bunch of not-so-super heroes who call themselves the Legends."

It occurs to John that he probably should have slept with Bob first and told him all this weird stuff second, as he's probably starting to eye the exits about now.

"You bein' serious? You're not having me on?" Bob asks and he's back to grinning again with a half-curious, half-cheeky sort of look in his eyes. It sounds trippy as fuck but he's never been one to not want to know about something because it sounds strange. If anything, that just makes him want to know more.

Now that he's been firmly distracted from thinking about what he's missing at home, he plucks up his drink from the bar again and takes a sip. He hasn't forgotten where their conversation started, even with the strangely honest emotional intermission, but he wants to learn more about the blond man. If he'd just wanted to shag the bloke and be on his way they'd be at it already.

"Legends? Not exactly modest but I like it."

"Nah, God's honest truth." Okay, he might have a bit of a reputation as a con artist, but that's neither here nor there. "Granted, it's not public knowledge, mind. They do a bit of freelance work for the Time Bureau, which nobody's ever 'eard of either, shh," he adds, holding a finger to his lips. Yeah, he might be starting to feel the gin just a bit.

"They're certainly legendary at creating as many anachronisms as they clean up," he says, tilting his head back and draining his glass. Lowering his voice, he leans a little closer once more. "So... feel like getting outta 'ere?"

"Mm."

It's an on the fence reply as Bob, trying not to be laughably gullible, still doesn't know if John's taking the piss or not. Not that it matters either way, he's not so proud that he can't see the humour in somebody trying to get one over on him for a laugh. Shaking his head as he huffs out an amused breath, he's got his glass halfway back to his mouth as John continues.

He hasn't got a clue what anachronisms are and he's about to ask what it means, but then John's leaning in and asking if he'd like to leave and the answer is a simple, slightly rough: "fuck yes I do."

Knocking back the rest of his drink in one, he's already on his feet from the stool before his glass is back down on the bar top. His movements are purposeful, choosing to not just brush heavily past the other man's side but to slide a hand from John's knee to hip on the way past too. It's completely unnecessary but he doesn't care, it's nowhere near as up close and personal as he'd like to be. If he cared about playing hard to get he's lost that game already.

Anyplace Bob wants to slide his hands is fine with John, who flashes him a brief but very wicked smile over his shoulder as the other man passes him. Standing as well, he fishes a wallet out of his pocket and pulls a couple of bills out, leaving them on the bar before turning to head out the door.

Once outside, he takes a deep breath of the night air, tilting his head in the direction they'll be going. "My place is just down the road a bit, well within walking distance; it'll just take a few minutes." He smirks a little, looking mischievous. "I won't ask you to walk through any fiery portals for me on the first date."

Bob doesn't know what to pay attention to first, the man's expression or what he's saying. It's not that he's against walking, exactly, he just prefers to drive. And he could drive them, his car parked across the street where he left it earlier after deciding to take a break from his little roadtrip.

But he really wants to see these fiery portals. And, more than that, he just wants to concentrate on the bloke he's leaving the bar with, not on driving.

"I was just psyching myself up for one, Blondie. You sure? 'cause I'm game."

John hesitates, his better judgment warning him not to do anything of the sort—if he were afraid just talking about magic would scare this bloke away, opening what looks like a portal to Hell ought to send him shrieking away into the night if he's skittish at all.

But then, when does John ever listen to his better judgment? Also, he loves to show off.

He takes a quick look around, and then placing his hand on Bob's shoulder, nudges him towards a dark alleyway. "Right then, in here, yeah? It's a bit... dramatic." To say the least.

Once in the alley, he takes a few steps away from the other man and takes a deep breath, muttering words in an ancient language while making decisive gestures with his hands, which leave fiery trails behind then as he draws figures and shapes in the air. He finishes the spell with a commanding flourish, and a fiery swirling vortex appears, growing in size until it's large enough for a man (or two men) to walk into. Ignoring it for the moment, John turns his attention back to Bob, leaning forward to kiss him heatedly while his hand cups him between the legs. Pulling back, John winks at him and steps into the portal, giving him a 'come hither' look over his shoulder, which Bob can choose to follow or not.

"Alright, alright," Bob laughs as he's willingly steered into a dark alley, welcoming the contact at his shoulder but behaving admirably considering the possibilities that await them. Privacy is something he doesn't pay attention to most of the time but some things, things like this, he doesn't have a particular desire for an audience. He half-wonders whether the man's changed his mind and wants to get hot and fucking bothered right here.

"The naughty shit I bet's happened down here," he comments as John pulls away to get started on what Bob's really curious to see. He doesn't have any further smart comments, just watches on with his eyes following the trails of fire seemingly springing from the other man's hands. It's mesmerising, nothing like he's ever seen before, and he only realises his mouth has been hanging open when it snaps shut as the portal appears.

"Fuck, that's..." he means to say 'amazing', but before he can get the word out, John's mouth is on his, a warm hand framing his crotch. He tastes like gin and cigarettes. If Bob cared to play it more cool he might have clamped down on the appreciative groan that works its way free from his lips, but he doesn't. As suddenly as the hand appeared it's gone again, the other man already out of his reach and stepped into the portal and Bob, a little disappointed at the loss of contact, finally finds a cheeky grin just for John.

With little to no regard for if this is a bad idea or not he follows, not stopping until he's stepping in through the portal and reaching out with a hand to strike up some more contact.

Surprisingly perhaps, there's no sensation either physically or visually of walking through fire; as Bob takes a step in, he's immediately stepping out on the other side—which happens to be John's bedroom in Maurtia Falls 007. Unfortunately however, it's not the greatest-looking bedroom, but that's mostly due to its present occupant being a touch on the messy side, with clothing scattered around, as well as empty beer and other assorted alcoholic bottles, a few dirty dishes and a random assortment of other things one probably shouldn't look too closely at.

"Home sweet 'ome," John says drolly, as the portal disappears behind them. He then pauses, wondering how Bob's reacting to all... this.

Stepping out on to the other side is a mind fuck and Bob, having never experienced anything like it, can't help but look back over his shoulder at where the portal had been. Completely dumbfounded, he takes a moment to try and wrap his brain around what just happened.

Turning his gaze back around on to the man he'd followed here, he raises both eyebrows and after a second of saying nothing at all, laughs.

"Think you just took my portal virginity."

He wants to know how it works, natural curiosity dialed up to a hundred, but he reckons they've got time to chat later. Definitely later. The messy room is mostly ignored (his isn't much better and that's after he'd had help tidying it up) and he closes the distance between them, hand reaching out to bunch up in John's shirt to pull him closer until their hips meet.

"Promise I'm more experienced in other things," he finally adds, words low and heated as his eyes drop to John's lips and then back up to his eyes.

"There are worse places a portal can lead too, for certain," he says. Hell, usually, not that he really wants to think about going there at the moment. Thankfully the other man seems to be taking this in stride.

"Are yeh, now? We'll see about that, eh?" he murmurs, his lips very close to Bob's, his eyes darkening. Without stepping back at all, he shakes his arms free of the trenchcoat, letting it drop to the floor, then pulls his already loose tie over his head, chucking it across the room, after which, he loses no time in starting to kiss him fiercely.

Since Bob's hands are already on John's shirt, he figures Bob can take care of getting him out of that.

More than happy to help, Bob's grin disappears as John kisses him, his attention suddenly poured into concentrating on that mouth against his own and his fingers blindly working at unbuttoning the shirt he's got hold of. He's acutely aware of his whole body aching for this kind of closeness, the simpleness of wanting skin on skin contact and sharing a moment like this with somebody who seems to want it just as much as he does.

Returning the kiss with every ounce of fierce dominance that's not usually on show, he makes light work of the buttons. He's not pushing the shirt off the other man yet but instead sliding his hands inside the gaping sides of fabric. Running his fingers over warm ribs, he draws his palms down the other man's back, not stopping until he's got the other man's arse in his hands so he can rock his hips forward. The friction he creates is distracting, pulls a low, unapologetic groan out of him.

John gives Bob the same treatment; opening buttons and belt fastenings wherever his fingers encounter them—not quite undressing him as yet, more like working up to it, both fast and slow at the same time as flesh gets exposed inch by inch.

His own skin becomes increasingly heated beneath Bob's wandering fingers, and he breaks off the kiss long enough to get some air, technically gasping more than breathing before diving back in again, grinding his hips into Bob's in accordance with the other man's movements.

Hard pressed not to give in to how frantically he wants to take John's clothes off, Bob's forces himself to loosen his hands. Shrugging his own shirt off is easier when he's not completely entwined with the other man and even though he's relinquished his hold of John's arse, it gives him the opportunity to cup the other man's face.

Framing John's jawline with his warm hands, he takes the opportunity to pull back a fraction, takes a much needed breath himself and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth thoughtfully. He takes a good look at the other man's face, lets his appreciative gaze drop down the front of John's body before his hands drop to his shoulders and he pushes the white shirt clean off. It lands at the floor somewhere but he doesn't care where.

"Mm. Very fucking nice," he comments hoarsely, eyes flicking up over John's shoulder to locate the bed before he's leaning in again. With his mouth dropping to the side of the other man's neck, kisses trailing a sloppy line up from base to jawline, he uses his weight to not-so-gently suggest they make for the bed.

After his shirt hits the floor, John makes an executive decision that his trousers need to go that way as well, yanking his belt open and pushing them down partway. Unfortunately his shoes are going to prevent him from stepping out of them altogether just yet, but first things first, as they were getting uncomfortably tight in the crotch area.

Mostly just clad in his boxers now, he doesn't mind in the least being shoved back towards the bed, although his movement is impeded a little due to the trousers binding his ankles to some extent. Not wanting to risk falling over, he slides his hands down inside Bob's pants, firmly gripping his arsecheeks in order to steady himself as he shuffles backwards, pulling Bob as much as Bob is pushing him, and when the edge of the bed hits the back of his legs, falling back and dragging the other man down on top of him.

Hearing the sound of a belt buckle being unfastened - leather pulled through metal - Bob can feel his heart speed up, his skin already flushed and warm with anticipation. The swish of fabric and John's hands accidentally grazing his crotch is what really gets to him more.

Playfully sucking the most delicate part of the other man's neck, he half-grins when he realises he's left a faint mark. It'll be gone soon enough, his attention turning to the logistical challenge of getting the other man to the bed without them both accidentally ending up on the floor. It wouldn't be the worst outcome and Bob's sure he could work with it even if they did, but he huffs out an amused laugh as they finally tumble down on to the bed. He's at least mindful of not landing on top of the other man too heavily, purposely avoiding touching John's crotch even through the thin layer of fabric because he can be a bit of a tease like that sometimes.

"Proper overdressed now," he murmurs, not clarifying which one of them he's talking about. He doesn't wait for a reply, leaning in to reclaim the other man's lips in another heated kiss. Barely pausing, he's already moving again, shifting from where he landed on top of John to the side so he can slide a hand under one of the other man's knees to pull it up. As soon as it's within reaching distance, he blindly pushes off one of the shoes keeping John's trousers around his ankles, hearing it hit the floor with a satisfying thunk. The trousers need to go and if he can help by taking off the other man's shoes so he can actually press his hips between the other man's legs, he's happy to assist.

John looks heatedly down his chest at the other man, which is rising and falling as if he's been running in a race, although he's too busy panting to do much talking at this point, not making any comment just yet on who's more overdressed, not that Bob gives him much of a chance. It'll probably be a moot point very soon anyway, if things keep going the way they're going. And considering the subsequent loss of his shoe, clearly John's losing the overdressed race, not that he minds that in the least.

Catching his breath a little, he breaks into a crooked smirk. "Aren't you a bloody tease," he says, kicking his foot free of one half of the trousers and leaving his leg pulled up with his knee bent, the sole of his stockinged foot resting on the bed, which is a fairly welcoming position for any intrusion of Bob's hips, especially when he lets his knee fall a bit to the side.

"Maybe," Bob replies low and amused as the other man takes care of the trouser leg that's the problem. He takes the opportunity to move, lifting himself until he's got one hand pressed into the mattress next to John's shoulder and the other is pushing off the second shoe and the rest of his trousers with it.

"Stick it on the feedback form later, yeah?" he adds cheekily, grinning and finally settling his still fully clothed hips in between the other man's legs, lowering the rest of himself a moment later to claim the other man's lips in a heated kiss. Brushing his fingers from John's hip to his bare knee, he rocks his hips experimentally, teasing not just John but himself too.

"I don't make an 'abit of filling out forms," John murmurs into his ear as he slides his hands beneath the waistband of Bob's loosened-but-still-present trousers, gripping the other man's arsecheeks with strong fingers as he grinds his crotch up into him—which is possibly a lot less of a tease for John, given the thin cotton of his boxers allows for a good amount of sensation to pass through. "I'm a rebel like that, yeah?"

Without actively pushing them down, he manages somehow to get the trousers a bit lower, mostly by using his legs, which are currently wrapped around Bob's thighs.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

getting a bit NSFW here

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject