The Guinness is Never Enough
by Gabby
DISCLAIMERS: Zanne challenged!! Gabby answered! ::dramatic Musketeer-like theme::
Query: What would happen if our beloved Brits, Pete Wisdom and John
Constantine, had a tryst?
Usual Note: They're not mine. They never were. Wanna be a bitch about it,
I'll email the Pokémon song to y'all ^_^
Rating: You got me. Implied sexual situations, vulgar Brit language, bare
Brit arses, the occassional boxer short and cigarette stub.
Time: 11:37 am GMT
Date: Thursday
"Oi, where th' bloody fuck 're m' knickers?"
Usually, better statements accompanied wakefulness for Pete Wisdom. Alarm clocks, mewling cats, ornery neighbors. Not another male voice, deeply slurred from a heavy British accent and what appeared to be liquor. A lot of liquor. The thrumming headache behind Wisdom's eyes proved that.
"Whu're y' babblin' about...?"
"Me ruddy underpants, y' drunken sod. Y' tossed 'em off somewhere!"
"WHUT?!"
To that Wisdom bolted awake, blinking wearily at his bedroom's guest. A nude John Constantine greeted him, hands planted on his hips, looking besheveled and indignant. And cute.
Dear God, what had he drunk last night?! John Constantine, -CUTE-???
"Oh bloody fuck..."
"Tha's not whut y' said last night. There they 're!"
"Yer kiddin', right?"
"Why would I do a thin' like tha'?"
Constantine smiled, and Wisdom got the butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling. He was giddy. -He- was giddy!
"Oh bloody -fuck-!"
"Oh, stop tha'! It's not tha' bad, you big silly."
"Y' mean, y' an' me, we did...?!"
"These scratch marks on me legs aren't from yer bloody cat, luv."
He winked at him. Constantine was busily getting dressed while Wisdom stared blankly, trying to comprehend the situation. His head was quite fuzzy. He must have had far too much to drink last night.
Oh. There they were. The memories scampered by like little gits and giggled at him. He had been drinking, alone, at the pub when Constantine had popped by. They did a mutual brooding, smoking Brit thing, venting to each other and buying drinks. Guinness. He remembered now.
They'd gone back to Wisdom's place, on theory that they'd continue drinking until they threw up, passed out, or both. Constantine had flirted first. Then Wisdom had. The next thing he knew they were in his bedroom kissing.
Constantine had actually -giggled-. The following events scampered by even quicker and Wisdom had the grace to blush.
"Oh bloody fuck..."
"Tch! Yer so demmed.. OH! Who cares! I need a smoke."
So did he. About twelve packs. And some more Guiness. He had a mother of all hangovers, but a delightful warm fuzzy in the back of his head. Oh, he was going crazy. He and Constantine... they didn't... it was just a hallucination. Yeah, that was it.
"I'll go get us some breakfast, luv, ye jus' stay yer cute arse in th' bed."
Again with the wink. Wisdom rolled his face into the pillow and groaned, then yelped as Constantine smacked his arse.
Giggle. "Such a cute arse."
Dear bloody fuckin' God.
Wisdom blinked, after some thought. It could always have been worse, right? It could have been Braddock, or Kitty's ex Ruskie boy. Or, -shudder-, Betsy. The more he thought about it, the better it seemed. And it hand't been that bad, really. It had been... enjoyable?
Wisdom smiled, sat up, and reached for his cigarettes. What was the killer? So what if he and Constantine had shagged? There were worse possibilities out there!
Besides...
Constantine had a nice arse.