Subject: [OTL]: [Wisdom/Constantine] Talking Shop 1/1 [R] Date: Sat, 21 Oct 2000 12:01:12 -0700 From: Trisha Lynn Talking Shop by Trisha L. Sebastian Summary: Two English blokes discuss their love lives Disclaimer: This is filled with bad language and a theme (can't tell you which) that is definitely R rated. Pete Wisdom and John Constantine belong to Marvel and Vertigo respectively and I ain't making money off of this fic. This is respectfully dedicated to Luba Kmetyk, as she's been begging to see these two together for a while. And I can't write accents worth squat, so just imagine they're speaking with 'em, okay? I also have no idea what point in continuity this takes place, but you're all bright people and can figure it out. "The problem with women," Pete Wisdom said as he stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, "is that they're always expecting you to be perfect all the time." He sat up straighter and looked over towards the kitchen. "I mean, think about it. Kitty'd never gone for that spotty boy if she didn't think there was something wrong with me." "You're shitting me, right?" John Constantine's voice drifted into the living room. "Not a bit." "Explain that one." Pete grabbed the near empty bottle of scotch and took a swig. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he reached for another cigarette. "See, she and I had a great time together. Fought the bad guys, did tons of mushy stuff. Had phenomenal sex." "I believe it, too. Girl had a great body. Must have fucked like a race horse." "Hey, watch what you're saying about her, mate," Pete growled. John chuckled, and Pete could hear the sounds of glass clinking. "Do go on." "Fucking sot." He lit his cigarette using John's lighter and tossed it on the coffee table where it skittered across and fell off the other side. "But that's not all. She understood where I was coming from. She's had a bad life herself, what with getting kidnapped and running with the Spandex Brigade." Pete snickered. "I can't imagine what would be worse, almost being one of Frost's crowd or that first fighting outfit she had. She showed me pictures." John chuckled and returned with two fresh pints of dark stout. He set one down and took a swig of his own. "And?" "And?" Pete mimicked John's cool tones. "What do you mean by 'and'? That's it. She told me to fuck off, not in so many words mind you, and I'm off. She don't want me anymore because what she's seen my dark side and couldn't handle it." He took a puff, rather savagely. "That's it." "No, you silly bugger, that ain't it." John retrieved his lighter from the floor and lit his own fag before tossing it on the table. "How old is she? And how old are you? And you're the first lover she's ever really had?" When Pete nodded in affirmative, John sat back, blowing smoke lazily into the air. "That's your problem. You've given her a taste of what she's been missing, and she wants to see if she can do it again." "Don't you think I don't know that?" "If you know it, what the hell are you doing here pissing and moaning when you should be out on the town?" John shrugged. "If it's meant to be, she'll come back, and you'll give her a spanking or two and it'll be over with. If it wasn't, well, you'll get over it. Find a nice girl to shack up with." Pete smirked. "Is that what you did when Kit left you? I distinctly remember seeing you getting pissed on by some nancies at one point during that little interlude." "Shut it," John growled. "That's different." "How so? Because your Kit's older than mine?" He blinked for a second, realizing the similarities in their names, and thinking about the way they looked. Pete gave a brief shudder. "Strange... anyway, it's no different. You got into some dangerous shit, she couldn't handle it and she told you she didn't want to handle it. She left. End of story." Pete blew his own ring of smoke in the air. "Besides, ain't you better off with Dani?" "She broke it off. Ellie's fault." "Your love life is more fucked up than mine is." Pete smiled. "At least I don't have former girlfriends fucking with me all the time." He looked at the pint gratefully. "This don't taste like ordinary Guinness. What the fuck did you do to it?" "Special brew. A friend named Brendan gave me the recipe. You like?" "It's bloody fantastic." He drained the pint. "This is the last pint. I'm off." "What, not going to stay for breakfast?" "Naw... got some things to take care of. Old bosses up to their usual nasty shit." Pete grinned at John and got up. "Thanks, mate. For everything." "Not a problem." John gave him a hearty handshake. "And don't forget your clothes." Pete looked down. "Oh yeah, we're naked aren't we?" "Yeah, we are, Pete." Pete thought about that for a second. "We really got shitfaced last night, didn't we?" "Yeah, Pete. We did." Pete thought some more. "What the fuck, they can wait. Another round?" "Sure thing." John paddled back into the kitchen with Pete's glass. "But this time, I get to be on top." -30- Trisha Lynn tls@thekeep.org http://www.thekeep.org/~tls/spotlight.htm "Brevity is the soul of lingerie." --Dorothy Parker