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Another day, another demon. Well, night. Either way, things were never boring, but unfortunately never exactly safe either, where Johanna Constantine’s career was concerned. This one was a major incursion into this plane too; a massive winged beast that was terrorizing a small town churchyard that would probably be responsible for at least a century’s worth of local mythology and urban legends. She knew exactly how to send it back from whence it came: some salt, some silver, some holy water, but damn this thing was fast and getting within striking distance while attempting to chant the proper Latin and avoid the thing’s talons was giving her more than a workout.
“Alright, let’s…try…this…again,” she huffed between breaths as she finally managed to pin it in a corner of the churchyard, under a gazebo that might impede its upward path. She restarted her chant, hating how she barely had the breath to do it, feeling the sweat drip from her brow, hoping she had the strength to drive the silver stake through the beast’s hide when her spell immobilized it. This very well could be her last mission, and she’d better make it worthwhile. She’d failed too many times, failed people she cared about, and failing yet again, even for random customers, was enough to make death in the line of duty seem a viable alternative.
She barely caught sight of the glittering line of sand that drifted into the beast’s eyes, carried by unseen wind as it suddenly started stumbling, as if fighting off sleep itself. Sensing she was no longer alone, she turned to see Morpheus—Dream of the Endless, inscrutable supernatural being and, as she’d grudgingly admit, incredible lay —standing beside her, pouch of sand in hand.
“That will not last long,” he stated calmly, eyes barely flickering over towards the tranquilized demon. Ah, yes, of course his majesty couldn’t bother with a greeting. Then again, given the way they’d left off last time…well, okay, she understood. Still, something about him just activated an automatic defiant instinct in her. She stood up straighter, cheeky bravado taking over genuine vulnerability now that she knew she had an audience.
“Well then,” she responded, smirking, “wish me luck!”
On impulse she stepped forward and kissed him, pulling back just as quickly, winking at him as she then rushed over towards her target. Hey, if even dream sand could only slow this thing temporarily, then this could still be her last mission. And if she was going to go out like this, well, there were worse final actions to take…
***
Morpheus had flooded the Dreaming after his last encounter with Johanna. As loath as he was to inconvenience his subjects so soon after returning, he felt there was no better way to reflect his own emotional state. Sure, he’d been spurned before, but to be rejected so immediately, when he’d already felt so vulnerable…she hadn’t even let him hold her afterwards! He’d wanted to protest her insistence that he leave, to explain that it was for his sake and not just his partners’ that he liked to hold them after sex, that he didn’t want to be just physically used and turned away. But no, he was a ruler, a monarch, a member of the Endless, it would not be befitting the pride of someone of his rank to admit to such vulnerability. Especially when he’d just escaped the humiliation of having been imprisoned for a century.
So, rather than let the tears fall from his eyes, he’d let the sky do the crying for him. Lucienne and Merv Pumpkinhead were both well familiar with what that meant, however, and challenged each other to a roll of dice over “should you handle this or should I?”
Merv had gotten the unfortunate assignment, and Dream told his whole tale of woe to the scarecrow janitor.
Merv did his best to keep a straight face, but after a few seconds his guffaws slipped out.
“Wait, wait, wait, boss!” the sentient gourd gasped out between laughs, “You mean this broad actually let you stick it in but didn’t want you to cuddle her or have any commitment afterwards? THAT’S what you’re doing all this about? You know how many guys would actually dream —heh—about having that happen to them?”
The rain doubled in severity as Morpheus kicked Merv out of his chambers. Lucienne had to intervene, first comforting her heartbroken boss, and then giving Merv a stern lecture about emotional vulnerability, intimacy, and toxic masculinity. She also thanked whatever powers-that-be existed that at least this rejection hadn’t led to the girl’s hometown getting flattened by a meteor.
It still rained for the rest of the week.
That had been a while ago, now, and Morpheus was preparing for an incredibly dangerous mission. Confronting Lucifer was a daunting task, no matter how noble the goal was; the ruler of Hell was not going to give up easily after being so humiliated in the Oldest Game. Thus, out of an abundance of caution, Morpheus had been preparing his realm and settling his affairs before undertaking his quest to rescue Nada and right that wrong from long ago. He wanted to make sure his allies were cared for before he set off for the underworld, and on that list of allies was one Johanna Constantine.
***
Honestly, Johanna hadn’t expected to see Morpheus again after the way the night had ended last time. She especially thought she’d never plant another kiss on him—whether or not it was because she’d comfortably secured his rejection for hurting his pride, or whether it was due to her own fear of commitment and potential romance, she didn’t bother to question. It wasn’t a road she wanted to think down, as it were. She chalked her little slip in judgment down to fully expecting that she was going to die fighting this especially tough demon.
She, perhaps, to her own mind, regrettably, did not die. The dream sand had made the massive beast stumble just enough for her to drive the silver-tipped stake through its heart just as she finished saying the proper incantation. She barely avoided being crushed by its body as it collapsed to the ground, slowly sinking to some supernatural depths below.
“What the fuck was that even doing on Earth anyways?” she muttered to herself as she saw it disappear, leaving what appeared to be a completely untouched environment. She’d almost died only to see the place look as if nothing happened. And something had been seriously off about the supernatural world lately; demons seemed to just be flooding the world with no rhyme or reason these days. Major ones, ones that would usually never leave Hell due to their high rank and powerful status. She’d have to investigate that. Before she could, however, she had to address the elephant in the room. Or, well, the broody Hot Topic reject who was now standing beside her.
“I didn’t expect to survive that,” she said as a half-explanation.
“Do you regret it?” he responded, in that damnably smooth voice of his—a voice that represented, to her at least, not so much dreams as fantasy, and perhaps a rather specific type of fantasy at that.
“Surviving? I… guess I don’t—” she cut off her sentence as she turned to look at him. The look in his eyes, ever intense even as he tried to keep his expression stoic, told her that he wasn’t asking about surviving the demon encounter, or wasn’t just asking about that. He meant the kiss. Or maybe he meant everything that had happened between them last time. She almost wanted to roll her eyes at the fact that of course the patron-being of literature would load a simple sentence with so many meanings.
Well, she could think of a way to both celebrate unexpectedly being alive and answer his questions.
She grabbed him by the lapels and dragged him down to her, pulling him into a kiss. She fully expected for him to push her away. His reasons for doing so would be quite clear. Instead, after a moment of stunned stillness, he returned her kiss with equal fervor, hands possessively grabbing her waist.
She broke the kiss as suddenly as she’d started it, pulling just far away enough to ask, “Why don’t we go back to my flat, and you help me forget this mess all happened?” Her lips nearly brushed his as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper despite her attempt at confident bravado. Once again he didn’t answer with words, but in an instant she noticed massive swirls of supernatural sand swirling around them, only to whisk away and reveal that the two of them were now standing in the bedroom of her flat, unmade bed and clothes-covered couch nearby.
“Neat trick,” she quipped before pulling him into a kiss again, trying to direct him towards the nearest horizontal surface—in this case the couch. Convenient. Less potentially romantic that way. He stood firm instead.
“I am not taking you on the couch, Johanna,” he stated, parting from her lips. Each word felt so punctuated, like the printed word, crisp and precise and authoritative. Yeah, the way he spoke did things for her, she had to admit, despite, or perhaps because of the additional fact that it gave the impression he had a massive stick up his ass at all times, which made getting him to loosen up all the sweeter.
“Oh, is the best secondhand couch available not regal enough to hold his majesty?”
“It is not fine enough to hold you,” he met her jab, turning it back on her, and she wanted to mentally smack herself for not realizing that of course the Prince of Stories would have a way with words.
“Oh fine then, Mr. romance-kink, I’ll concede to that,” she huffed out. Indeed, as skilled as she knew he was, that might be where their preferences differed…she was trying her damn hardest to avoid getting close to anyone. His goals were harder to parse.
In truth, Morpheus did not much mind where he made love to someone if the mood was right; he’d taken lovers outdoors in the dirt, with only his cloak beneath them. He wouldn’t trivialize his preferences as a kink, per se, but he did consider treating his partner with utmost care and tenderness a priority. He couldn’t bring himself to just bend Johanna over a ratty old couch. Even though she’d made her feelings about him plenty clear after last time, he knew she deserved better, even if it was a mere shadow, a mere caricature of the intimacy he wished he could share with someone.
And, well, there was also the reason he’d come to visit her in the first place. He truly felt it was a 50/50 shot at making it out of Hell again alive; he wanted to say goodbye, in his own way, to all of his allies, just in case. He’d intended to help Constantine out with one of her demon hunts, but, well, if she also offered more he wasn’t going to argue. Especially since a high chance of certain death made the thought of being able to bring someone pleasure one last time, that life-affirming feeling of being intimate with someone, of feeling that closeness even for a fleeting second, all the more enticing.
So as she let him back her toward the bed, as she tried to toss each piece of her clothing aside as unceremoniously as possible, he trailed his hands over her the way a lover would, softly caressing each newly exposed patch of skin, pressing kisses down her neck. He was all too eager to dispel his own wardrobe in turn to let her reciprocate.
He didn’t need her guidance; whether he remembered what she liked from their last encounter, or whether it was just his skill from centuries of experience, she wasn’t sure. (He remembered. Of course, he remembered. He’d never forgotten anyone he’d been with. And it wasn’t as if he’d replayed the last time they’d been together in his head over and over as he’d moped in the rain, oh no…) She gasped as he slipped two fingers into her entrance, already wet from his touch as his thumb circled her clit.
She savored the impossibly soft feel of his skin as she trailed her touch over his bare form in return. Teasing him, her fingertips trailed from his neck, over his collarbone, down his chest and abs, drifting daringly low, but not taking him in hand yet. She put her mouth to his neck again, working a mark onto pale skin, enjoying the thrill of being able to put her mark, however temporarily, upon such a powerful being. His fingers found just the right spot and angle within her, and she gasped against him, suddenly going weak at the knees and clutching at him. Oh, this was wonderful, but she wanted more…
“Alright, babe, that’s enough” she quipped, grasping his wrist and gently extracting his hand from between her legs, “Lie back on the bed.” She was smirking at the thought of ordering a supernatural monarch around, and with a flippant pet name no less. Sure, if she did that in any other context he’d probably bring down all the smiting necessary, but she correctly bet that his arousal would override any indignant feeling at taking orders from a mortal. With a gentle push he flopped back on her unkempt mattress, quickly regaining his composure to glare back at her with a seductive stare.
“I didn’t get to do this properly last time,” she muttered, half to herself, but he just barely, nearly imperceptibly, quirked an eyebrow at her admission. So, she too took pleasure in pleasing others? Perhaps he should file that away among the things he knew about her. Or not. This wasn’t likely to become a regular thing, after all…
As her fingertips trailed up his thighs, he almost seemed to be made of warm silk, unnaturally pale and sleek and soft in the moonlight. Even as she settled between his parted legs, taking his cock in her hand, she found herself reminded that this was no ordinary man in her bed.
His skin tasted familiar and human, though, as she licked a trail up the underside of his cock, one hand holding him steady at the base while the other tried to pin his hips as he involuntarily bucked at the feeling, seeking more from her mouth. The gasp that fell from his lips, combined with the way he submitted himself to her touch, made him seem almost vulnerable , and she purposely pushed down any feelings that might start brewing in her mind. Her tongue swirled around his tip, tasting the unusual taste of his pre-cum as it dripped from the slit. Much like she’d noticed last time, it tasted different from the human men she’d been with; pleasant enough to be from a being some labeled as divine while still being quite obvious in its equivalent purpose. Oh, she could focus on that, away from her feelings; she wanted to taste more!
A wonderful moan fell from his lips as she took more of him into her mouth, using her hand to work the length she couldn’t comfortably fit without gagging. Fuck she could listen to him forever; it was intoxicating to hear his stoic façade slip just a bit as he gave in to the pleasure, fingers threading through her hair as he let her please him. It was a heady feeling, having him so affected by something so simple as her touch and her tongue. She glanced up at him to find his lovely face in an expression of bliss, which sent a thrill down her spine and between her legs. He was falling apart fast under her ministrations, it wouldn’t take much more to push him over the edge…
Somehow, Dream managed to retain enough sanity to gently tug on her hair, pulling her off of him before he could lose himself to bliss. Oh sure, it was always nice to lie back and be served—he was a king after all—but in his eons of experience he’d come to develop a taste, however rarely admitted in his pride, for shared pleasure.
“Too much for you?” she teased, smirking up at him.
“Not enough, in a way,” he fired back, deep voice curling around the words like a declaration from an ancient tome, his lips quirking ever so slightly into a smirk of his own.
“Ah, so you want my cunt again then? Fine,” she sighed with obvious mock-indignity. “A good hard fuck from behind is just what I need after today’s crap.” That wasn’t the way to address eloquent, beyond-divine royalty and she knew it; she enjoyed it, in that bit of her soul that never got over the immature impulse to rebel against every authority in a futile attempt to deflect from the pain in the world. If she had to almost die against a demon, she wanted this as her reward.
She crawled up the bed, plopping beside him face-down ass-up. Although she usually loved to be the one providing the pleasure, as it were, there were also times like these, where she was just eager to finally fucking forget her shit-show of a life by getting railed.
She tensed with wonderful anticipation as she felt his strong hands on her hips, feeling the rush of arousal between her legs as she awaited the feeling of his first thrust within her. Instead, she felt his touch gently trail across her hips until his fingers found her sopping wet folds. He parted her to gather the arousal from her opening before finding her clit, gently circling it again in just the way she’d shown him last time. Oh, there was no doubt now, she knew that he’d remembered from their last encounter, that he’d cared enough to keep track, and oh she had to stamp down the sparks of emotion that she did not want to acknowledge at the moment. Thankfully the dance of his fingers on that sensitive bundle of nerves was doing a great job of stealing her thoughts; fuck she might cum before he even entered her…
The world shifted as she felt his hands gripping her again, pulling her to her side as he lay behind her, hooking one of her legs up over his hip. She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror across from the bed, splayed out in full view in the glass as his lips found her neck. His eyes were dark with lust as he too saw their reflection, his touch running over her, cupping her breast before trailing back downward again. She felt his warmth at her back as he held her close.
She was going to make some quip about how this wasn’t technically what she’d had in mind, but her words were stolen as he reached down to position himself. He entered her with one smooth thrust, filling her effortlessly and oh so well, her arousal precluding any resistance. She glanced in the mirror to see where they were joined as he bottomed out, stretching her just right as he buried himself to the hilt.
He gave her a moment to recover—or perhaps a moment for himself to enjoy such intimacy. The trails his hands made over her skin were almost soothing, if they didn’t also serve to tease so intensely. Just a brush over her clit, a soft stroke over her nipple, as he pressed ardent kisses to her neck, her back, her shoulders…
He would have whispered sweet nothings in her ear, such eloquent, filthy descriptions of how her body felt for him, of what he hoped she felt in return…but no, Morpheus knew that the situation with Johanna was, for lack of a better term, delicate. And it unsettled him, though of course he’d never admit it aloud, to think that his last time having sex, having that closeness with another person, was with a woman who definitely saw him as nothing but a quick, clandestine, no-strings-attached fuck. Who likely wouldn’t even let him hold her once the deed was done. So, he’d make the most of what she’d allow during the act.
Soon she was shifting her hips back against him, seeking more , her hand traveling downwards, only for him to reach forward to start stroking her clit, anticipating her action. A heavenly moan escaped her lips as he found a steady rhythm, just right to stoke the fire within her even as he hoped this wouldn’t be over too quickly. Not that he feared the embarrassing speed of last time, when he hadn’t been touched in over a century; no, instead was a desire to prolong not just the pleasure, but the closeness.
Johanna met Dream’s eyes in the mirror. They had become inhumanly dark, sparkling in the low light of the bedroom as if they were filled with stars. His gaze was intense, and she broke it quickly, as somehow, even across a reflection, meeting his eyes as he pounded into her felt like straying too close to the sun. She saw the rest of herself then, splayed out in the mirror, beautiful and vulnerable in the dim light, and she could feel his eyes rake across her too as she felt the first sparks of her building orgasm, brought easily by the steady rhythm of his fingers and his cock.
She shut her eyes, giving herself over to pure physical sensation. She felt his lips at the back of her neck, then, a soft gentle brush of a kiss. Then he kissed her again, bolder, trailing a line down her neck and shoulder, tongue sometimes darting out to taste the salt of her skin. It was intensely affectionate, and it was desperate; something she sensed he would do for a lover rather than a hookup. She didn’t have such a lofty notion of herself as to think he thought THAT highly of her. Indeed, given how strangely he’d been acting, coming to help her, it vaguely occurred to her that something in his existence might be deeply troubling him, if he sought affection this way from her.
Any more profound thoughts Johanna may have had were quickly stolen away as the pleasure overwhelmed her, writhing in his arms as she came. She barely held back from gasping, “Morpheus”; she was still too intent on her own pride to moan his name. He moaned and gasped behind her as he fucked her through it, her walls clenching and fluttering around him, clearly driving him near his limit.
“Fuck,” she muttered, “You can… you can cum inside…” she reminded him, reaching behind her to grasp at him to hold him, awkward as it was. It just felt right.
Her words pushed him over the edge, a heavenly moan falling from his lips, followed by what she’d almost swear was the faintest gasp of her name. He pushed deep and she felt him twitch inside her. She cracked her eyes open to watch him in the mirror, and sucked in a breath at what she saw. The beautiful being wrapped around her was certainly no human man, although he retained the shape of one. His eyes, half lidded as he also watched the two of them in the mirror, had gone completely black, filled only with specks of starlight. Likewise, his skin had turned the stark white tone of unprinted paper; save for the light pink orgasmic flush that dusted him from his face down his chest. She focused on the familiar amid the stunning—the strong, warm arms that wrapped around her, the thick cock pulsing his spend into her, the gasps of hot breath brushing against her neck.
She didn’t push him away immediately, instead letting him hold her as they both came down from the high. He softened and slipped from her, and she shifted to a more comfortable position. She felt his hand on her shoulder, gently tugging her to face him. For a moment her eyes met those infinite pools of night before he pulled her into an ardent kiss, her eyes fluttering shut, his mouth soft and warm and pliant—a kiss meant, once again, for a lover, not for her.
For his part, Morpheus was shocked that Johanna was allowing him such liberties. He wouldn’t let himself consider whether or not his desires had anything to do with her in particular, or just his situation. One last time, he wanted to feel this way, to hold and kiss someone in the soft afterglow. Their lips parted and he kept his eyes closed as he felt her pull away, not wanting to face her rejection, or perhaps worse, the possibility that she might mock his romantic behavior.
“Oh, don’t look so distressed! I gotta piss; be back in a moment,” she quipped as she dashed to the bathroom, hand between her legs to contain any mess. He figured something must have shown on his face to betray his emotions, which irked him, but not quite enough for him to simply magic himself away. She had told him she’d be back…
When Johanna returned from the bathroom, he still lay on her bed, surrounded by rumpled sheets. His human appearance was perfectly back in place; pale pink skin, stunning blue eyes where the vastness of space had been… she shook the thought from her mind as she tossed him the damp washcloth she’d brought for him to clean himself up with.
“Look,” she began, breaking the silence, “I don’t know what’s going on with you. Why you’ve shown up again. But it’s clear that something’s happening. Something serious.”
He looked back at her, but did not voice an answer.
“I won’t pry,” she continued, sitting back down on the side of the bed. “You’re a lot like me, in that way; you don’t need everyone in on your business. But, well, I’ll let you stay the night, if you want. Just this once.”
She pretended she didn’t see the spark in his eyes at the offer, the relief and gratefulness and even hope that slipped past the mask he so carefully held. Instead she lay beside him, let him drape an arm over her, and let sleep overtake her.
That night, for the first time in many nights, she not only lacked nightmares, but had entirely pleasant dreams. He was gone by the time she awoke.