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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Dwight/Balthazar, Dwight/Gail
Feedback: Good lines, typos, etc.
Disclaimer: Belongs not to me.
Notes: Alternate universe. Sin City/Constantine crossover.
Summary: n. In law, to put the dice into the box for another throw.
--The Devil’s Dictionary, Ambrose Bierce
***
The table behind Dwight rattled again as John shoved forward, only half in because Dwight couldn’t raise his legs high enough. He cursed and yanked at Dwight’s hips. Nearly slid completely out because Dwight was already pushing himself up onto the table edge, squeezing his knee between the wall of the alcove and their sides. “Fuck.”
“Not yet,” Dwight gasped. He grabbed at John’s shoulder and rolled his hips, lifting himself—and then, and then John’s prick was sheathed deep in the other man, so damned deep that when their mouths smashed together, John almost mistook Dwight’s tongue for the cock head coming out the top. “Okay. Now, fuck.”
“Yeah.” Yeah, exactly that, though it was cramped and Dwight’s temporary new place had no air conditioning so everything stuck together. John’s tie stuck to his throat, his shirt stuck to Dwight’s chest. The open flaps of Dwight’s shirt got tangled up in John’s coat so it was hard to move around enough for a decent thrust. Their skin stuck together, their mouths never seemed to get far enough apart for good air.
But they worked something out. Something raw and grappling, no finesse about it, but finesse would’ve slid past both of them, anyway. They were used to ignoring the pretty acts so this suited better. This got under the skin, like the flush John was sucking onto Dwight’s throat, like Dwight’s nails cutting into John’s arms, and stayed.
This was too damned short, as usual. John lost control first, whipping wildly about while Dwight moaned into his shoulder, while Dwight’s body squeezed around his prick till he was milked dry as bone. And then Dwight relaxed, still the wary one, and let himself collapse onto John.
On second thought, it was a good thing they were in the corner. They could let the walls hold them up and just lean against each other, trying to catch their breath.
“Where’s Balthazar?” John eventually remembered.
Dwight shrugged. “Still in the tub, I think.”
“I thought he’d healed.” John slowly began to untwist his arms from around Dwight. Sweat was dripping down the side of Dwight’s neck; John leaned over, started licking it up, and momentarily forgot about how badly his cramped joints wanted him to get free.
“He was. Then you two destroyed my kitchen table this morning—which was a loaner, by the way—and his back tore open again.” A little bit of amusement trickled into Dwight’s voice, but mostly he sounded annoyed.
Understandably enough, John supposed. So he licked farther, running his tongue along Dwight’s jaw. “Just wanted to tire him out so he wouldn’t bitch all the way back to L. A. I can get you a new table.”
“Make sure you exorcise the demon first,” Dwight muttered, bending into John’s caresses. His eyes started to flutter shut, but then he caught himself and pushed John off. He stayed sitting on the table, trying to straighten out his clothes.
If Balthazar was having another bloodbath, it’d be a good hour before John and he could leave, so he wasn’t quite sure why Dwight was already drawing away. But pushing wouldn’t be a good idea, considering how Dwight still looked a little pale and how Gail’s dirty looks hadn’t gotten any softer, so John let go. He leaned against the wall besides Dwight and absently reached for his cigarettes, only to remember he’d quit. Damn it.
Dwight’s eyes flicked to John’s fidgeting fingers, then to the floor as a wry smile spread across Dwight’s face. “Don’t start up too soon again. I’m still trying to understand how I did that—took out your cancer.”
“If you came down to L. A., I could probably dig up some references about that. You know.” John watched Dwight with a half-baked hope rising in him, and for a moment he thought it might’ve had a chance.
But no, after a second Dwight was shaking his head in a regretful but firm manner. “I’m not coming with you. Wallenquist survived, somehow. And Miho took a bad cut while she put down that redheaded woman, so she needs rest.”
“And you need a vacation.” It was probably the only thing John and Gail agreed on. “Next weekend. Remember Midnite’s bar? He hosts a big party on the first Saturday of every month. We can get Balthazar drunk and make him suck you off in the bathroom.”
When Dwight hesitated, John stepped in till their noses were grazing each other, their breaths warming each other’s face. He stretched out his fingers till they bumped against Dwight’s hands, which curled away at first. Then, gradually, they spread to wrap loosely around John’s hands.
“I’ll see if I can get down before dusk,” Dwight finally said.
John laughed. He sounded rusty. “I guess that’s better than ‘I’ll call you.’”
“It’s as good as you get here.” Dwight hesitated, then leaned in to press his lips gently against John’s.
As good as it got. Well, John would take it for now, but he wasn’t an easily satisfied man. And now that he was in the clear with Heaven, he had time to spend on other projects.
He cupped Dwight’s face and kissed him back, and then he tugged the other man away. “Give my regards to Miho. And your girlfriend.”
“Gail’s not my—” Then Dwight exhaled disgustedly, shook his head at John, and yanked them back together. They had a little while longer.
***