Crossover, Hellblazer/Sandman, John Constantine/Morpheus, dream interpretation
John was drunk, which was not so much an excuse as an incentive, and Ray Monde insisted in his decadent nasal whine that makes a bloke alternately to macho up or try and show up the pervert. So John told him about the dream, and Ray kept the secret, to both their surprise.
It's not like John would mind, but it would've been one of those things that'd keep coming up, and that could get annoying. Then, of course, there was Kit, and what she'd say he could only imagine in terms abject humiliation.
The Dream King's skin was white as marble, and his eyes were black pools. There was no emotion in those eyes, in that dark voice. Something in his jawline reminded John of moviestar good looks, but he was just too gaunt and too glum, and with his hard edges not remotely attractive. Yet John had dreamed of sex with Morpheus, and it had been glorious.
The night after he told Ray, it returned, more vivid than before. It cut the wine and whiskey and went straight to the sex, Dream over him, gasping, pale lips parted, suspended over him, and John pulled him down for a rough kiss. The dream relayed the texture of faint stubble, the hard vertebrae under John's hand as he grabbed the king's neck, and the throbbing pleasure at their groin.
'Such a singular man, and such an unlikely dream,' said the librarian to Mervyn, as they smoked (Merv) and drank tea (Lucien) in the alcove above the nook of the Library where the dream-image of Morpheus grabbed John Constantine's hips and closed his mouth over tightly over the tip of his cock. (John bucked and groaned and cursed.)
'Eh, perverts come in every shade,' said Merv, and dropped the butt of his ciggy in the washwater bucket. 'What I want to know is, why is he having it here in the library?'
Lucien started, adjusted his glasses, peered down hard, and paled visibly. He grabbed Mervyn's stick-arm and pulled him away quickly and out of the room entirely.
'Hey, Loosh, what--?'
'Be very quiet, Mervyn, and perhaps He won't notice we were invading his privacy.'
Mervyn's eyeholes widened.
It was one piece of gossip he never spread.
---
Morpheus's back curved back in a sinuous rocking movement, like a cat, as he gently slid his mouth down along the length of John's cock. Firm mouth, small, unused to smiling. That dark voice tickled in its throat, and John felt weak in his limbs, pleasure throbbing along with the movement of the King's lips. He wasn't soft or wet or wild or any of those things John liked, but it was like his mouth was magic, stardust on his saliva, and John tried to think of something, anything to hold back a little longer, chickens, sunshine, starshine, the star in the blackness of Morpheus' eyes, oh god...
---
Lord Morpheus had tangled with a lot of mortal souls, some gods, some suns, tasted their bodies (or their dream-selves) as he tasted their minds as they moved through his world. Not often - he did not have his sister's delight in people. Where his love for Thessaly had come from, he did not know, but it still ached within him, the gaping hole where she had filled him. He drank in the wild heady drought of John Constantine, as it was so like hers, and as Constantine would not remember in the morning, as she would. John Constantine, drenched in blood and hell and dark deeds, but love as well, for life and for people... The King of Dreams ached as he flowed into him, in this, their aspect as men, while dream and life met one more time before the end.
---
John woke up in bed alone, in sweat-slick sheets, every nerve alive with sensation. He got up groggily, and lit up, seeing all too much squalor in the harsh white morning light streaming through his one window.