The Mis-Adventures of John Constantine | By : Krystal_Frame Category: 1 through F > Constantine Views: 918 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own JC or any other DC properties. Merely meant for funsies. |
John held twin balls of flame in his open palms, letting the light cast away the shadows. It was pitch black in the cave and he'd gone deep enough that his trench coat no longer helped to keep the cold away. The hours of searching had done him no good either. He was tired, hungry and ready to believe that this Anansi was myth only.
He'd done his research. Anansi, and it's variations, meant spider in too many languages to be counted. Anansi was a trickster, a clever one, a web-spinner if you will, and the tales of his cleverness had been around since story telling began. It was an old tale that most of the people he'd talked to hadn't heard of. A tale that went out when bigger, badder arachnoidal boogy men came on the scene. The bubble of blood on the scrying map had to have been a fluke.
In this backwater village, in this deep and dank cave, there couldn't possibly be a threat so bad that it had alerted an enchanted map thousands of miles away so that one John Constantine could come and track it down.
"Bloody waste of my bloody time. Load of bullocks and cogshite. Cold bloody cave in the middle of no where." Constantine sent his grumbles into the darkness of the cave and it echoed back at him sounding even angrier. He'd seen bats and rats and beetles and tigers and elephants and lions. No spiders. At least none that could be considered the original trickster in this part of the world.
John was ready to turn around when he heard a cry in the recesses of the cave. It was a familiar cry. Young, feminine. His mind fell for it for a few seconds before he knew that it wasn't the little girl he had condemned to hell. Why would she be here, in a cave in the deepest backwaters of Africa? No...no.
He'd found Anansi after all.
John swallowed the rise of bile in his throat and pushed more of his will into the balls of flame. They burned hotter and brighter and he caught sight of hairy legs the size of baseball bats, skittering away from the light.
"Anansi..you old bastard." John growled. "What are you doing out of the history books, then?"
John ran forward casting the light this way and that. He heard what passed for a ghastly chuckle, caught sight of a thick, hairy body ducking behind a stalagmite and ran after it. He barely stopped his feet before they landed in a low web, built like a trampoline in the dark shadow of a rock outcropping. John chuckled and touched one of the balls of flame to the web. It shot sparks into the air before the magic and the fire combined to destroy it. The firework display lit more of the cave and John started to pick out more of the webs.
Like a giddy child, John ran about touching flame to web and lighting the whole cave. Bats hidden in the recesses skittered and flew for their lives. Dark dwellers squealed and left the chamber he was in for safer ground. John reached out his senses for Anansi and stood very still, his eyes the only thing to move.
What he didn't expect, couldn't have expected, were the pair of feminine hands that came from behind, travelling up his sides and wrapping around his chest. Fingers grazed over his nipples through the cloth of his white shirt before one of the hands grasped his tie and used it to pull him around.
John let his jaw drop, taking in the naked beauty before him. 5 foot, 2 inches, raven hair that fell in tight curls over her shoulders and down her back. Full, beautiful breasts, wide hips. She had the stomach of a belly dancer and the legs of a running back. But for her head she was hairless, glistening in the light, and touching him all over.
The light of the fire in his hands dimmed when her hands went to his manhood, cupping him through the fabric of his pants, before slender fingers slid down into his boxers. She pulled him against her, plump lips claiming his own while her fingers grasped his length and started to work their magic.
She was working her tongue into his mouth when he remembered why he was in the cave and had to force himself back from her. His lips were numb for a moment, then began to burn softly. He could feel every part of his skin that her hands had touched do the same. The burning slowly, steadily, tenaciously, grew more and more painful even as John fueled will back into his hands and threw both balls of fire at the temptress.
The woman disappeared instantly and the dog-sized spider that remained squealed and screamed, backing away from John, it's front two legs on fire.
John bit back his own scream and ripped his shirt open. There were red patches all over his chest and heading down toward the waistband of his pants, getting redder by the minute and developing painful boils. He could only imagine what his penis looked like.
His lips felt like they were going to fall off and there were tears streaming down his face in response. John could barely walk a minute later, his junk so enflamed. He heard pained gasps coming from the shadows and would have wished all the more pain on Anansi if his lips hadn't begun to seal shut.
John desperately tried to think through the pain. He formed two weak flames in his palms and forced himself back, certain that any part of his skin that had been affected was now openly bleeding. He saw a shadow flicker and threw fire at it, sparking another flame just as quickly.
He was trembling now with the agony, feeling like someone had made a concentrate out of ghost peppers and steel shavings and rubbed it over his skin. He'd never touch another woman again, he determined. Not if this was the consequence.
Anansi came at him in a direct charge and John focused all of his remaining energy on a defensive blast of fire that took the spider full on. The creature wailed ear piercingly high and burned like dried kindling covered in pitch. It's legs curled in as it died, the animal jerking in response to the pain that it's nerves could feel, but it's brain could no longer interpret.
John crumpled to his knees. He was quaking with the pain, certain that whatever had burned his skin was now seeping into his muscles, headed for his bones, destroying every nerve on its way. The worst was his cock. He expected it to fall off, a shriveled waste of flesh that he'd best do without.
There was no relief from the pain and he voided his bladder, unable to control it any longer. The urine soaked into his pants as John fell on his back, his fingers creaking from the strain, his body becoming rigid as he considered how he might be able to end it all.
The first hint of relief was an unexpected blessing.
John felt it the moment the wet cloth of his pants settled against his manhood. It took the edge off the pain, then took the pain away, then the soreness, and the feeling spread.
Panting, John reached his hands down and soaked his palms against the urine then unzipped himself and pulled his member out. He struck his lighter to life and stared at the red angry skin as it slowly returned to normal. His hands too were healing themselves.
John shrugged out of his pants and his boxers, wiping the soiled garments over every inch of his body, weeping at the relief. He hesitated only a moment before he pressed them to his swollen lips, then past them and into his mouth.
It tasted wretched, but felt incredible. The moment he could walk John replaced his trousers and ran out of the cave. He hoped there would be no scars.
No scars, meant no story. And this was not one he planned to share.
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