This is actually my first attempt at fanfic, so any criticisms or comments would be great. Any flames I will appreciate, my room is cold.
Disclamer: The Sandman belongs to Neil Gaiman, as do all the characters in this fic. I don't own John Constantine either.
Author's Note: This is not the Keanu Reeves Constantine. Just an FYI, it is the Constantine from Gaiman's first issue of The Sandman.
"Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream…"
John Constantine sighed. For the past several nights, he'd been having dreams.
"…make him the cutest that I've ever seen…"
Hunched over his morning cup of coffee, he sat bleary eyed, trying to piece together what he remembered during the previous night's attempted sleep.
"…give him the word that I'm not a rover…"
John Constantine had had his fair share of strange and unnatural dreams. Oh yes. They came with the job.
"…then tell him that his lonesome nights are over…"
However, these dreams had been rather…unusual. John rubbed his eyes and put his mug in the sink. Looking out the dirty window, John paused, remembering a flash from his recurrent dreams.
"…Mr.Sandman, I'm so alone…"
A man. A tall man with skin whiter than snow, whiter than the moon. So white you didn't want to call it white for fear of offending the color's owner. Eyes like stars. No, not like stars at all. They were stars. Or rather,
they were space, with stars stuck there. Trapped there.
"…don't have nobody to call my own…"
And then there was John himself. And there was this man. And they were together. A touch of silk skin against skin. Breath against body. Feelings of
want. Of need. Not just from the man, but from himself.
"…please turn on your magic beam…"
Needless to say, John Constantine was very confused.
"…Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream…"
There was only one person that he could think of.
"Morpheus."
And that's when John Constantine fell asleep.
Right on the kitchen floor.
--
John Constantine stared up to the massive front gates. Perched atop the doors at the peak of an impressive grey stairway, were three very large, and very intimidating creatures. A Pegasus. A Gryphon. And A Wyvern.
They were guardians.
His guardians.
John whistled low. The King of Dreams had penchant for the dramatics. That much was certain.
After a warning from the three guardians to stick to his path (which John made a mental note to abide by), he followed the tiny light that led him through corridors and hallways, past doors of every color, shape, size. Doors that opened this way and that, hallways that led to nightmares and daydreams, stairs that led to upside down and some that led to absolutely no where at all until you asked them (very politely, of course) to let you get by, and even then they might not budge.
Or so John mused. However, those musings were cut short when he entered the greatest room of all. The ceiling (was it really a ceiling at all?) was space, vast, and swirling with colors and planets and stars. The magnificent stained glass windows reached all the way up to the heavens and back, covered in motifs of suns and moons. In the middle of this throne room was just that. Atop a great staircase sat an impressive black throne, and on that throne was the man of John Constantine's dreams.
Or rather, the man in his dreams.
But wasn't he still dreaming?
Whatever.
"John Constantine."
His dark voice sent a shiver down John's spine. Frightening, yet calming at the same time. Was he still wearing those horrible black jeans?
"Is there a reason, John Constantine, that you have come into the Realm of Dreaming?"
"Actually, my Lord Morpheus, there is. Well, lately, I've been having these, well, strange dreams."
The Dream Lord simply continued to stare at the man.
"But you know that, don't you?"
The Dream Lord made no move to reply. Bugger, but that man is creepy.
"And I was wondering if you.."
"…would know why, John Constantine?"
John nodded.
"Dreams are often a reflection of your inner thoughts or desires, John Constantine. It is of no matter of mine that your dreams disturb you. If there is nothing else, I must ask you to leave, as I have responsibilities to attend to."
"Then why did you let me come?"
Morpheus leaned forward in his throne, white hands contrasting dramatically with the dark chair.
"What?"
"If your answer was going to be just that, something that you could just wave away, then why did you let me come into your Realm at all?"
Morpheus remained silent, the dark voids of his eyes staring John Constantine down.
"And if you're the Lord of the Dreaming Realm, the personification, if you will, of Dream, then don't you effect the dreams your self?"
"…yes…"
"So would that not mean, my Dream Lord, that you, in fact, had these desires yourself?"
There was a long, uncomfortable silence after that. John Constantine and Morpheus, Lord of Dreams locked eyes for what seemed a lifetime. Or two. Or perhaps it was twenty seconds.
And then the Dream Lord stood up from his throne and slowly made the ascent down the staircase, bare white feet almost blending in with the stairs. Before John Constantine knew what had happened, the once great distance between them had been closed, and the King of Dreams was now only a few inches from his face.
It would be a lie to say that John Constantine was not scared. It would not be a lie, however to say that John Constantine was not as afraid of what Morpheus would do, but rather, more of what he would not do.
At that moment, the few inches that parted them was banished when the Dream King's lips came crashing down onto his mouth.
And that's when John Constantine woke up.
Right on the kitchen floor.
Fin