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The music was too loud to think, crawling under Slade’s skin. This scene was more Constantine’s than his own, visible in the way his shabby coat and cigarette hanging from his lips made him indistinguishable from the other concertgoers.
Slade, on the other hand, stood out, no matter how much effort he made to conceal himself. Another reason he’d brought Constantine on this mission, other than the way his mark kept escaping him. The blond man was following some kind of magical trace, and Slade simply followed him, pretending to belong.
They slipped through the side of the bar and out the emergency exit into a narrow alley, the door thudding closed behind them. Here the sound was slightly more bearable, though the cadence of punk rock guitar and drums still thrummed through the air. Constantine turned to look at him.
“The guy on stage, with the bass, that’s your mark,” Constantine told him, jerking his head toward the door. “Eyes weren’t human. Demon maybe, though could also be a vampire or zombie. Can’t explain it, but the undead do love their punk — must be the volume.”
Slade scanned the alley — smokers loitering near the dumpsters, not smoking, cigarettes unlit between their figners. All eyes were trained on them—and not the quick glance of a disturbance. “Don’t look now,” Slade muttered, “looks like they’re monitoring the exits.
Constantine tilted his head, listening to something Slade couldn’t hear, then smiled faintly. He leaned in to whisper into Slade’s ear. “Yeah, and there are others coming, closing in fast.”
“Fine,” Slade said. “I’ll go back in. Take care of it.”
“You won’t make it,” Constantine replied, fingers flexing as if he was about to cast a spell between them. “Too obvious.”
Slade lifted an eyebrow. “And you have a better plan?”
“Yes, actually.”
With no further warning, Constantine reached out, spun Slade by the shoulder, and pushed him against the wall. And then his mouth was on Slade’s.
Slade froze, disorientated by the chain of events. Constantine was a good kisser, he licked and nipped, took what he wanted and ran his teeth across Slade’s lips like he belonged. His hands took Slade’s, guiding them to his waist, settling them there like they belonged. Slade let it happen. Partly for the ruse, partly for the way Constantine fit against him. He’d always been partial to partners smaller than him.
Footsteps passed, close and fast. The door opened, then closed. Constantine pulled back, and Slade opened his eyes to scan the alley.
“They’re gone.” Constantine smirked. “Worked, didn’t it?”
Slade’s eyes landed back on Constantine, whose grin was wide, stretching across his face. He let his fingers tighten against the other’s waist, only to watch Constantine's eyes widen even further.
He leaned in to whisper into Constantine’s ear. “Next time, you’re the one getting shoved against the wall,”
“You offering, or threatening?”
With that Slade let go of John’s waist, stepping away, turning to enter the concert hall again. When he reached the door, he responded without turning back, “Still deciding.”