Author's Note: "Hellblazer" has been my favorite comic for years, and it's only recently that I started writing fan fiction for it. I blame the members of a certain HB Facebook group for this story. Discussing whether or not John held a romantic interest in Chas and vice vista was fascinating. I'm of the mind that Chas probably does love John on some level but he'd never act on it, and John himself probably wouldn't ever cross the line for fear of losing Chas as a friend. Now, young and drunk however…

[Handwritten on May 1st to May 5th of 2015]

[Typed and edited 8/20/2015]

"Clash"

They were absolute shite. The sound system was cranked to the max, giving Chas a headache, and the bar's refrigeration unit had broken, leaving only warm beer that seemed to make you thirstier the more you drank of it. Beano didn't so much as play the drums as physically abuse them while Lester manipulated the strings of his guitar awkwardly, somehow keeping up with the fast barrage of John's shouted lyrics. If you could call them lyrics, sometimes Chas was convinced Gaz and John picked random words, stringing them together haphazardly, hoping in all the racket no one would notice they didn't make much sense.

Despite the awful noise they had the gall to call music, a moderate sized crowd had gathered no doubt addled by drug and drink. The energy was high, and the one good thing about Mucous Membrane gigs was that they were mercifully short. Some clubs even ran them out after one song. John was in exceptionally rare form tonight, at least as far as his vigor was concerned. Every fiber of his being screamed youthful defiance and he rallied against the establishments that dared to tie him down. He was all swagger and sex in your face with no apologies for his brashness. You couldn't deny John exuded a type of charisma that was hard to ignore. He certainly had no shortage of bed partners.

"Mucous Membrane done, now fuck off out of it!" John kicked the mic stand off the stage, almost hitting someone in the crowd. The sound of the live mic hit the floor was deadening, muting whatever applause the band had earned. There were always a few people who were star stuck, in the right frame of mind to appreciate Mucous Membrane's clamor. Chas suspected many of them just had horrible taste in music. John immediately guzzled a beer upon reaching the bar, making a loud sigh when he'd finished it. "Fucking hell, how great was that?!" Chad winced, avoiding John's question by taking a swig of his drink. It usually took a few minutes for the ringing in John's ears to fade.

"H-hello?" The halting voice was soft, and Chas glanced over his shoulder where a young man who couldn't have been more than eighteen stood nervously. His gaze was locked on John with a distant glaze that stank of admiration. Two girls huddled behind him, silently providing a wall of solidarity. John must have sensed the eyes on his back as he turned around, leaning back against the bar as he sized the situation up. Chas rolled his eyes, settling in to watch the show. "You were great up there. Can I buy you a drink?" John smirked, crossing his arms. "Band drinks free, you know."

"Oh, right, right. Uh, this is the third show I've been to and you're so cool." Chas choked back a laugh, Mucous Membrane groupies? Guy must have been tone-deaf. The kid blushed, wringing his hands, but if anything, his shy demeanor had piqued John's interest as some of his hard edge softened. He leaned forward, an easy smile on his lips. "'Reciate the thought though, I always like people eager to please." For fuck's sake, now who was playing coy? Emboldened, the kid stuck out his hand, dropping it when John just stared at it with a raised eyebrow. "I'm Thad. Uh, are you hungry by any chance? There's a good fish and chips shop nearby."

Chas could almost hear John's mental appraisal as he looked at Thad. Spiked hairstyle, pierced nose and upper lip, ripped t-shirt and jeans held together with safely pins, and sturdy combat boots. Though the style of dress was right, there was a store made quality about everything, which gave the impression that Thad was slumming it, perhaps rebelling against his parents. Strict parental units usually meant money, and it was no surprise John threw his arm over Thad's shoulders, shifting his mouth to his ear and whispering. Whatever he said was enough to make the kid's ears turn read, and John looked to Chas, winking before heading towards the club entrance. No guessing needed where his next meal in both senses was coming from. The two girls who remained behind giggled, moving back towards the stage as the next act was sitting up.

A survey of the bar showed no one was thinking about the instruments Mucous Membrane had left backstage. Chas wondered what would happen if he left them there. Would he finally be given a thought then, not so much background noise? Chas sighed and stood, unwilling to abandon the investment they'd poured into the instruments. Damned if he was going to foot the bill for new ones especially when he didn't even get paid for the roadie gig. "Damn you, John Constantine," Chas muttered under his breath as he reached for the drum kit.

"Thad?" Chas stirred, still half asleep, trying to figure out if he was dreaming or not. "Not nice to leave me hangin,' ya ruddy bastard." Oh, Christ, Chas thought, his eyes snapping open, conscious enough to realize that somehow John had mistaken Chas' room for his own. He also sounded drunk off his arse. The bed shifted, signaling John had managed to sit down without on the bed without incident. It was the small favors the universe gave Chas he appreciated.

He glanced at the clock, the glowing red numbers bright, and groaned. "Bloody hell, John, it's five in the morning," he said grumpily, sitting up and trying to locate John in the darkness, his night vision slow to kick in. Chas jumped when a pair of arms encircled him, John's weight pushing him down on the bed. "Thas better," John sighed into his ear, his nose nuzzling down Chas' neck.

"Oi, leave off," Chas replied, moving his shoulders to displace John's grip but unsuccessfully as the man just squeezed harder. At the feel of John's mouth on Chas' cheek, Chas was suddenly aware that he was near naked in bed with a man who didn't care about the shape of his partner's privates. Great for John, not so much for Chas. Pressed so close against John with his intentions more than obvious, Chas expected to be disgusted or at least indifferent about the situation so why did he feel just the tiniest bit excited?

It was confusing as hell, and he felt uncomfortable. Trying to shift away just made it worse as John thought it a game, and all too soon, Chas ran out of room to maneuver. Luckily or maybe unluckily, John muttered something about being too hot, and pulled back to shake off his jeans and t-shirt. Chas breathed a sigh of relief, his hands shaking slightly. He'd known John could be aggressive but the overly clingy drunk version of his friend was another story. Chas supposed something like this had to happen eventually, after all you didn't stay mates with a man like John Constantine without risks, and his devil-may-care attitude certainly invited them, and that wasn't even counting the magic and punk scene.

If Chas was being honest with himself, that was part of the appeal. Anything could happen around Constantine, couldn't it? John had finally shucked off his clothes successfully, and crawled back towards him, giving Chas time to consider whether or not to run. Even inebriated out of skull, his eyes slightly red, John must have realized Chas wasn't Thad. Where the Mucous Membrane groupie had been almost painfully thin, Chas spent the better part of a year hauling around heavy music equipment so he'd muscled up.

"John, wait a m-" The kiss was unexpected and surprisingly gentle. What wasn't so nice was the stubble on John's chin, a sharp contrast from the soft mouth against his own. That was all the thought Chas could manage before a tongue was added to the mix, and John revealed his finesse fast, shifting his tongue around Chas' slowly, drawing out the pleasant sensations. Dimly, he was aware of his arms acting of their volition, clutching at John's shoulders. The man tasted of tobacco, beer, and salt, betraying what John had done in the last few hours. Chas' body was at full alert, only his boxers futilely hiding his enjoyment.

Goddamn, John could have kissed the habit off a nun at the rate he was going, and he'd only touched Chas in one area. When he pulled away, Chas was appalled at the groan of disappointment he emitted. His mind snapped back, and he tried very hard to convince himself that the heat that filled his face was not a blush, it was just the humidity in that room affecting him.

John chuckled, and Chas looked up catching a glimpse of a smirk that vanished into a silly grin. His brow furrowed in thought, Chas trying to decide if the moment of amusement had sobered John for one second or if he'd been playing silly buggers ever since entering the room.

If it was manipulation, Chas felt hurt and insulted, and John would get a foot up the arse and an awkward couple of hours outside naked. Chas thought it unlikely though, even John had morals, twisted as they could be at times. Chas reversed their positions so now he was on top, a thrill of excitement running up his spine. From past experiences, he knew John might not even remember this. For whatever reason, Chas couldn't find it in himself to turn John away. He'd never thought himself adventurous but what the fuck, you only lived once.

Where women were soft and curvaceous, Chas found John all hard angles, his fingers brushing taut skin everywhere. He didn't have a plan, and was completely out of his depth with no bloody idea what he was doing. Chas jumped when John touched his shoulder, shivering when John nibbled at his chin, an edge of teeth apparent. Kissing was easy, and Chas fell into it effortlessly, John's mouth worrying at his own. What he hadn't anticipated was the frisky hand at his waist that slipped into his boxers, and clutched the evidence of his arousal.

"Fuck me," Chas exclaimed, his breath hitching unsteadily. John's hand was hot, and moved confidently. "In good time, mate," John said, slurring the last of his words. Chas was glad it was just his hand and not his mouth otherwise he wouldn't have lasted long. As it was, the nimble digits caressing the him was overwhelming, and any embarrassment he felt leaning over his mate, panting against John's neck was short-lived. He even got brave enough to return the favor, fumbling for John's manhood through clinched eyelids.

Chas had barely moved his hand when John gasped in his ear, the sound seeming to set something off within him. The fact they were both men, and Chas was wanking off his best mate was meaningless. There was only mutual pleasure and the desire to reach the finish line. It was John's rough fingers brushing his tip that undid Chas, and as he rode the completion out, his muscles seizing, he unintentionally squeezed John's member.

The man under him gave a hoarse cry, John trembling, his eyes unfocused and face flushed. All the tension eased, and Chas was breathless as the orgasm faded, a bit proud as he watched John go boneless, his clumsy attempts to please successful, albeit accidental.

"Bloody hell," Chas whispered, incredulous he'd gotten into this situation. This was not how he'd pictured his morning going.

"Chas?" Oddly nervous, Chas swallowed, feeling the weight of John's curious gaze. "Yeah?" He met John's eyes and was floored by the thankfulness and affection he found there. There was knowing something unspoken and then seeing it personally, the evidence undeniable. "Thank fuck," John said, wiping his sticky palm on a pillowcase. His speech was slow, showing that he was still somewhat under the influence. "Dumped some sick in Thad's lap, wouldn't have been fun makin' that up."

All at once, Chas felt incredibly awkward, crouched over John's nude figure, the mess on his hand rapidly cooling. "S-Sorry," Chas muttered, nearly tripping in his haste to stand up. "Don't leave on my account," John replied, his eyes half-lidded and a smirk on his face. "'Sides, we haven't even gotten to the best part."

The look of utter confidence on John was galling, and Chas resisted the urge to punch that grin off. He knew the surge of irritation came from the fact he was scared. John hadn't done very much to him physically but it had been enough to evoke a positive and surprising reaction on Chas' part. He'd enjoyed it yet he knew there was another facet to this. He'd heard enough from John to know that in the right hands, it could be pleasurable. John had proved himself skillful, Chas knew that firsthand.

"No, we're done," Chas said, watching John closely, trying to judge if he'd insulted his mate or not. If there was any hurt or disappointment, John hid it well. "Had to give it a go, yeah?" he replied smiling, busying himself with lighting a cigarette, having taken a fag from the pack on the side table. Chas found it easy to respond in kind, visiting the bathroom for a minute to wash his hands.

Back in the room, he leaned over the bed, hesitating only a second before laying back on it, tossing aside the dirtied pillow. John made a move to leave, and Chas grabbed his arm, startling him. "You can stay, but let me sleep, I'm fucking knackered."

The glow of John's cigarette settled as he sat back, getting comfortable. Somehow, they'd managed to settle back into their natural rhythm in silent agreement. John had enough courtesy to pull the sheets up to his waist, for which Chas was grateful. Trusting John to stay on his side of the bed wasn't hard even if things had permanently changed in their friendship. Tomorrow was another story.

The End