Grazed Knees, Part Two
Title: Grazed Knees
Author: roxierocks
Pairing: John/Chas
Rating: R/NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own Constantine, or the plots blantantly stolen from the O.C.
Summary: Four years after he walked out in the middle of the night, Chas moves back to LA with his new boyfriend in tow. But is he really as together as he now appears to be, and will he be able to resist John when he sees him again?
previous parts: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=roxierocks&keyword=Grazed+Knees&filter=all
Well, I have just finished this fic this morning, and it has turned into a MAJOR angst fest. You hav been warned...
“Just say you love me now, and forget this whole row. Just save your energy for making up with me.” -Grazed Knees, Snow Patrol.
Constantine didn’t have any way to contact Chas.
He didn’t know his address, or his cell phone number. He couldn’t remember Trent’s last name.
So when Chas turned up on his doorstep later that afternoon, Constantine was glad.
Until he smelt Chas’s breath.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Chas! It’s barely three thirty!”
Chas glared at him.
“Don’t yell at me,” he snapped, then pushed past John into the apartment.
As soon as he closed the door Chas was on him, his hands yanking at John’s shirt, lips on
John’s neck, and it took a supreme effort to push him away.
“What’s going on?” he asked warily.
“What do you think’s going on?” Chas retorted, leaning forward, but John pushed him back.
“This morning you said it was a mistake.”
“This morning I was an idiot.”
He pushed John hard against the door, finally getting his shirt open, and John gasped as a warm mouth descended upon his nipple.
“Shit…Chas stop.”
Chas ignored him, one hand tugging on John’s belt, and John shoved him away.
“You’re drunk.”
Chas sneered.
“Strike one up for the genius.”
John stared at him. This wasn’t Chas. This wasn’t right.
“Get out.” His voice was flat.
Chas laughed and reached for him.
“Get. Out.”
A myriad of emotions flitted across Chas’s face; hurt, confusion, disbelief and finally anger.
“Come back when you’re sober.”
Chas marched past him, and John watched him as he stomped down the hall.
Chas didn’t look back.
*
Chas didn’t go home and sober up.
He didn’t want to go home. Trent was at home and Trent would shout and throw things, because Trent had a temper.
Instead, he went to the bar around the corner and drank so much he could barely stand, making him helpless against the guys who decided to mug him when he finally left.
*
John was putting out the trash, which he absolutely hated to do. It was made even worse because he couldn’t just dump it outside like a normal person, but had to carry it out to the alley at the end of building and put it in the bowling alley’s dumpster.
He scowled as he lifted the dumpster lid, tossing his sack amongst cardboard boxes and leftover junk food. He was turning back to the street when a low moan from the back of the alley caught his attention.
He froze, wishing he’d brought some kind of weapon out with him, then quietly walked towards the sound.
It was a person, he realised as he got closer. A person curled up on the ground, dirt and blood staining their beige jacket. The person moaned again, and as they shifted Constantine got a glimpse of familiar curly hair.
“Chas?”
Chas groaned again, and John knelt by him, gently shaking his shoulder.
“Chas it’s John. Open you eyes Chas.”
Chas squinted at him, and John tried not to wince at his right eye, which was almost swollen shut.
“What happened?”
Chas tried to shake his head.
“Don’t…remember,” he rasped.
“Come on. Inside.”
John helped him up, carefully putting an arm around his waist, trying not to press on bruised ribs, pulling Chas’s arm around his neck.
“It’s not far,” he said, wondering how they were going navigate the stairs.
When he finally got Chas up to the apartment, he placed him carefully on the bed, then went to get him a glass of water and some Advil.
“Take these,” he said, and Chas obediently swallowed them. “Now what happened?”
“Some guys jumped me. Took my phone and wallet. I think. I wasn’t exactly in the best shape.”
”Now why don’t I find that hard to believe.”
John looked at him, considering.
The decent thing to do in this situation would be to call Trent. He should call Trent. Chas lived with Trent. Trent would want to know.
John wasn’t sure if he wanted to be decent.
He sighed.
“I’ll call Trent.”
To his surprise, Chas shook his head.
“No, don’t.”
John eyed him suspiciously.
“Why not?”
Chas avoided his eyes.
“We fought,” he said simply.
John didn’t press him for the details.
“You can stay here tonight,” he said, then went to find an ice pack.
*
When Chas woke the next morning, his whole body was on fire.
He was in John’s bed, he realised, but John had already got up and was not in the apartment.
Chas was relieved.
He remembered, dimly, clinging to him in the night, and not being pushed away.
As quickly as he could, he slipped out of bed and got dressed in his ruined clothes. The cut on his head had stopped bleeding, and his eyes had gone down.
He took twenty dollars from the sugar jar in which John still kept his money, then left.
*
When John got back from Starbucks, breakfast at the ready, Chas had gone.
*
Chas caught a taxi home, and then stood outside his apartment, debating whether or not he really wanted to go in.
The door opened.
“Jesus, Chas! You scared the sh-”
Trent broke off as he looked at Chas more closely.
“Fuck. What happened?”
“Got mugged.”
Trent stared at him, worry for him plainly struggling with anger that he’d stayed out all night again.
Finally, worry won out.
“Come on. You need to get changed.”
Trent ran him a hot bath, and Chas sank back in the tub with a sigh.
God, he was tired.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the twisted mess his life had become in the last few days.
He should get out now. Tell Trent he wasn’t happy here. Move to any other fucking city on the earth.
He should definitely stop thinking about John on his knees, pulling down the zipper on his jeans, leaning forward to…
Shit.
Chas wrapped a hand around himself, hips lifting upward at the contact. He brought himself off with several quick tugs, then lay in the messy water and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do.
*
When Chas appeared in his doorway three days later, looking much better, John was less than pleased to see him.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Chas sighed.
“I know you’re probably really pissed off right now-” John’s glares spoke volumes “-but I think we should talk.”
John shrugged.
“So talk.”
“Can I at least come in?”
For a moment, John considered telling him to fuck off, then relented and pulled the door open a little wider.
Chas came into the apartment and stood, staring at the table, looking awkward.
“You said you wanted to talk, so talk.”
“I don’t know where to start,” Chas admitted.
John sneered slightly.
“At the beginning?”
At the sarcasm, Chas’s eyes took on a hard glint, and John was reminded of him in the bar, cold and distant.
“Fine,” Chas snapped. “Back to the beginning. You hurt me John. You fucking took my heart and sliced it right down the middle. And I don’t think you even realised it.”
John said nothing.
“Did you even notice when I left?”
“Of course I noticed.”
“Then why didn’t you look for me?”
John didn’t have anything to say to that. He didn’t know why. He had thought about it. He’d made a list of people to call, of places Chas could have gone.
Instead he hadn’t left his apartment for a week, drinking and chain smoking and taking a heady cocktail of pills until he’d started hallucinating, and Beeman had had to take him to a doctor.
And that was when he’d found out about the cancer.
“God, you really haven’t changed, have you? You’ll still do anything to get out of talking about it.”
“I have changed,” he said quietly, because it was true. He’d quit smoking, stopped drinking. He’d had a six month relationship with Angela. He had changed. “You were the one who left the other morning. You were the one who ran away this time.”
“Do you blame me? I woke up and you were gone. I thought you must have freaked, like always, and left. Your track record doesn’t exactly shine for you.”
John was tired of this. He was tired of going around in circles.
“Why do you even care anymore? Aren’t you with Trent now?
“I care because I can’t live like this! I’ve only been back in this city two weeks and we’ve already ended up screwing. I can’t stay away from you.”
He suddenly seemed to find this funny, and sank down into a chair with a rough laugh.
“I’ve been everywhere I could go to try and forget, and I still can’t stay away from you.”
John stared at him.
“Was it really that bad?” he asked. “Being with me?”
Chas looked up, and his face seemed so drained.
“No,” he replied. “It was really that good.”
For long moments neither of them spoke.
“I need a drink. Do you have anything in here?”
John shook his head, trying not to look disapproving.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Chas said. “It’s been rough, okay?”
He stood abruptly.
“Let’s go out somewhere.”
John narrowed his eyes.
“I thought you wanted to talk.”
“I’m not sure what I should talk to you about anymore,” Chas said, sounding defeated. “All I want to do I scream at you. After four fucking years you think it would have stopped hurting.”
John hadn’t allowed himself to think of what happened between them in so long, he wasn’t even sure he could remember how it went anymore. It was his fault, he knew that much. He was the reason Chas had left in the middle of the night, just picked up all his stuff and went.
They had had a fight. A bad one. John had accused Chas of just going through a phase. Chas had told him he didn’t have any emotions. John had stormed out of the apartment.
When he’d come back, Chas was gone.
John sometimes wondered if he’d ever gotten over the shock of that.
“Did you ever regret it?” Chas asked.
John knew exactly what he was referring to.
“Every day.”
“Then why did you?”
John swallowed.
“We never said we’d be exclusive-” he began.
“Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t give me that shit. Just be honest.”
He sank back into his chair.
“Just be fucking honest.”
Constantine wasn’t sure if he knew how to be honest.
“I was scared,” he said finally.
Chas waited.
“I felt like I was losing control. I didn’t know how to handle it.”
“So you fucked someone else in our bed?”
“Like I said. I didn’t know how to handle it.”
Chas laughed again, but John thought it sounded more like a sob.
“What a stupid, fucked up mess.”
John sat beside him at the table, and Chas turned to face him, his eyes bloodshot.
“I’m still in love with you,” he said. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
John looked at him, considering.
“Move back in,” he said.
Chas shook his head.
“I can’t. Trent and I…we’ve only just bought an apartment. We’re supposed to be making a life together.”
“You don’t love him,” John said simply.
Chas squeezed his eyes shut.
“I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not,” John said carefully. “I’m still who I was. But I have changed, Chas. I’m not afraid anymore.”
Chas opened his eyes.
“I want to believe you.”
John leant towards him.
“Then do.”
Chas let out a groan, then wrapped his arms around John’s neck pulling him close.
“You’d better not make me regret this.”
John kissed him.
*
The break up with Trent was not pretty.
As Chas had predicted, Trent shouted and threw things. He never could control his temper.
And if Chas hadn’t downed a double vodka before going to the apartment, he probably would have been quite afraid.
“You fucker! You complete shit! You jumped up little asshole!”
Trent’s eyes were dark with anger as he shouted. He picked up a crystal vase (a house warming gift from his mother; Trent had whined that they were gay, not girls) and hurled it over Chas’s head. Chas ducked, reflexively, though it would have missed him anyway.
No matter how angry Trent had ever got, he had never hurt Chas.
Of course, Chas had never left him for another man before.
“I can’t fucking believe you. ‘Oh it’s fine Trent, I don’t mind going back to LA.’ I bet you fucking didn’t.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Oh what, you just couldn’t help yourself? Next you’ll be telling me you got hammered and it was an accident.”
Chas flushed guiltily, and Trent’s rage stepped up a notch.
“You FUCKER!” he screamed, launching a photo album in Chas’s direction.
Chas dodged it skilfully.
“Trent, please. I don’t want you to hate me.”
Trent advanced on him, eyes blazing.
“Two years, Chas. Two fucking years. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“I…yes, of course it does. Did. Does. I, God, this is so hard.”
“Oh yeah. I can see how it would be hard for you.”
Then something happened that neither of them expected.
Trent started crying.
Chas stared at him as silent tears, which he made no effort to wipe away, rolled down his cheeks.
He half turned from Chas.
“Just go,” he said thickly. “Just fucking get out.”
“Trent-”
“JUST LEAVE!”
Chas left.
He didn’t go straight to John’s though.
He went to a nearby seven eleven first, bought a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and then drank several long gulps out of it, standing right there on the street.
The whisky burned through his veins, and he took deep breaths of relief as the numbness began to set in.
He had a few more gulps, then hailed a taxi to take him back to John’s.
John was waiting for him by the window, staring out at the street below, back and shoulders stiff with tension.
“Hey.”
He turned slightly as Chas walked in, and Chas grinned and deposited his paper bag on the table.
“Heeey.”
He moved behind John, slipping his arms around his waist and resting his head against his back.
He rocked his hips lazily against John’s ass, and felt John tense.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Mmm. As can be expected.”
His right hand slipped lower on John’s abdomen, toying with his belt buckled before stroking him through his trousers.
John groaned softly, and Chas pressed his hips forward, grinding against John.
“Shit, Chas,” John gasped, and Chas leant against him, flicking his tongue under John’s collar, along the back of his neck, and then around his ear, taking the lobe between his mouth and biting gently.
John groaned again, thrusting forward into Chas’s hand, and Chas squeezed him, his own hips moving insistently, his left hand worming its way in between John’s shirt buttons, finding a nipple and twisting it hard.
John gasped, his own hand reaching back blindly, finding Chas’s ass, and grinding it against him, Chas’s hand working faster on him, Chas lips on the side of his neck, and then Chas felt the spiralling of tension in his groin, building up in his chest and he was coming with a harsh cry, muffled in John’s neck, John spasming under his hand.
They remained pressed together, panting limply, for a few moments, then John disentangled himself, kissing Chas gently on the lips, and went into the bathroom.
He left the door open, and Chas took this as an invitation to follow, stopping in the doorway as he watched John fill the old bathtub.
“Are you alright?” John asked, without turning around.
Chas sighed and nodded.
“I feel like I haven’t slept in a week, but at the same time, buzzed. Wired, you know?”
It was the whisky talking. Wired?
“Have a bath,” John advised. “Then you can sleep. We’ll go get your stuff tomorrow.”
Chas closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about going back for his stuff.
“How did Trent take it?” John asked.
“He got mad. Threw things.”
John looked slightly alarmed, and Chas shrugged.
“He does that a lot. Nothing to worry about.”
John watched him carefully for a moment, then nodded.
“Go take your clothes off, then this’ll be ready.”
Chas didn’t move.
“Are you joining me?”
John raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure we can both fit in.”
Chas grinned.
“Oh, I think we’ll find a way.”
*
Through the darkness, the glowing of Chas’s digital watch told him it was three thirty.
He wished he could sleep. John had drifted off almost immediately, but Chas had slept in fits and bursts, waking every time he almost slipped under.
He wiggled carefully out of John’s arms and walked, naked, down the apartment to the edge of the table.
The paper bag was still where he had left in when he came in.
It was nerves, nerves over seeing Trent again so soon. That was why he couldn’t sleep. A quick drink would send him right off. Just one.
Checking to make sure John was still sound asleep, he reached for the bag, which seemed to crackle a thousand times louder than normal in the quiet.
He unscrewed the lid and took a hearty gulp, revelling in the burn that travelled down his throat and across his chest. He hesitated, then took another two gulps before screwing the lid back on.
He stood, eyes closed, for a few moments, just appreciating the familiar relief, then made his way back to bed, snuggling under the sheets.
There, all better now.
*