Title: Sobriquet
Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow
Pairing/Characters: Mick Rory/John Constantine, implied past Mick/Len, Mick Rory, John Constantine, Wally West
Challenge: Did what where?
Rating: PG-13 (Suggestive flirting, one F word)
Length: 1355
Summary: Mick is trying to think up a nickname for Constantine. John is just trying to flirt.


Sobriquet:

They’re giving the demon hunter a room on the Waverider. Mick really has to think of a better nickname for Constantine, especially if he’s going to have to watch the guy’s back. He’s not Rip. Mick may have made that comparison when Constantine first came on board, but unlike Rip the man seeks out his company and doesn’t underestimate him.

He misses Amaya. He misses Snart. He misses Leo’s affection and friendship. He misses Len with a deep ache that’s dulled, but he suspects will always be there. He tells himself that’s why he makes an extra sandwich in the middle of the night. If Constantine doesn’t eat it then that speedster with the sunny smile will.

Constantine rounds his way into the room and drops onto a stool at the breakfast bar. He picked the sandwich up that Mick’s set aside for him with an appreciative noise. Mick hands him a beer and then goes back to eating his own sandwich.

“Your room’s empty,” Mick complains. It’s easier to complain about that then try and think up a nickname for Constantine. Usually nicknames are easy, why isn’t this one? Demon Hunter just doesn’t feel right. Trench-coat reminds him too much of Rip. Blondie is Sara. Mick makes a dissatisfied noise.

“Not planning on putting down roots,” Constantine dismisses. “Just getting the help I need to clean up the mess you lot made.”

It’s what they do, fix things by unintentionally making them worse.

“Worst orgy ever,” Mick grumbles. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but at least no one’s trying to drag him into a group hug this time or making him point out the flaws in their plan. No one would’ve listened anyway, they only listen to him when they’re desperate. He used to work with Len, he picked up a few things. Of course Rip never let Len plan any of their jobs, heists would’ve gone smoother if Len had planned them.

Constantine smirks and Mick realizes he’s about to get propositioned, again. He’s starting to want to flirt back, it’d be easy to flirt back.

“Steal something,” Mick heads off. “Should at least have a souvenir.”

“We make it out of this with everyone intact,” Constantine muses. “Don’t need a trinket.”

“Get your time groupie something nice,” Mick tries.

Constantine leans with a slow smirk. “Really? You’d suggest I go there?”

Mick’s lips curls. They’re not gossiping about Constantine’s love life. He’s just trying to get the man to steal something.

“It would be one way to get into his pants,” Constantine continues, sitting back. He takes a bite of his sandwich, eyes roaming over Mick. Annoyance, he should nickname Constantine Annoyance.

Wally wanders in eyes closed and heads towards the fridge. Mick picks up the half of his sandwich that’s untouched and holds it out. Wally pauses and grabs it with a grateful, “Food.”

Mick shakes his head, ignores Constantine’s prying eyes and digs into his pocket, pulling out one of Gideon’s portable scanners. He slaps it on Wally’s wrist, then heads to the fridge so he can make more sandwiches. He sets his things on the counter, hands Wally the carton strawberries, then checks the scanner.

“These real or Gideon made?” Wally manages to ask around a yawn.

“We were in Cleveland,” Mick reminds. “Stopped by the West Side Market.”

Wally blinks at him sleepily as Mick removes the scanner. Wally’s blood sugar isn’t too low, nothing like the day he only ate synthesized food. He’d wandered into the kitchen, eyes still closed, and downed half a bottle of chocolate syrup before realizing what he was doing. The synthesized food offers him enough calories, but his body burns through them more quickly than non-synthesized food. His speedster increased metabolism means he has to eat some non-synthesized food. Mick still think the synthesized food tastes fake. Wally thanks him, then stands there with his eyes still closed eating grapes. Mick shoves the scanner back into his pocket and starts making sandwiches. He cuts his in half, adds half of that to Wally’s plate, and then heads back over to the breakfast bar. He sets Wally’s plate in front of an empty stool.

“Sit,” Mick tells him.

Wally opens his eyes with a confused look, but brightens when he sees the food. He drops into the seat. “Thank you.”

His eyes shut again as he starts eating. Constantine gives a bemused shake of his head, then smirks at Mick. Trouble. No, he can’t nickname Constantine Trouble. Constantine would like that too much, use it as an opportunity to flirt.

Constantine eyes Wally, then leans in towards Mick with a conspiratorial wink. “What would it take to get into your pants again? This counter could be fun, again.”

The sandwich drops from Wally’s hands and his eyes widen as he stares between the two of them. He swallows then shakes his head. “Did what? Where?”

Incorrigible. No, everyone would want to know how he knows such a big word. Mick sighs, “Really? The kid’s already seen me naked, did you have to wake him up?”

“He could’ve choked on his food,” Constantine suggests in a tone that is somehow both suggestive and full of faux concern.

“When did you two…” Wally questions pointing back and forth between them.

“In his dreams,” Mick answers.

“Every night,” Constantine teases. His words and tone send a low keen of longing through Mick, clearly it’s been way too long since he flirted.

“You flirt with everyone,” Mick reminds before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Only if I’m interested and I think they’ll flirt back.”

Wally frowns at them a moment longer, before going back to eating.

“You flirted with Snart,” Mick reminds.

“He was there, you refused to acknowledge my existence, and he’s pretty,” Constantine challenges.

“Pretty is pretty, Snart is…” They’re flirting. Why does he do this to himself?

“Prettier?” Constantine offers.

Snart still stings, will probably always hurt. “I don’t do feelings.”

“Didn’t offer that,” Constantine volleys back with a sardonic smile. It’s the smile that does it for him. Mick wets his lips and makes a considering noise as he moves to clean up the counters. Constantine joins him.

“I’m still confused,” Wally announces. “Are you trying to get into Mick’s pants or did you screw up and are now trying to make it up to him?”

“Eat your food,” Mick tells him.

“I’ve yet to have the pleasure,” Constantine answers.

“He’s good at making food,” Wally offers indicating Mick, then he indicates Constantine. “He’s good at finding bad things for us to kill, which makes you happy. You both like fire.”

“You’ve got the kid playing matchmaker,” Mick grumbles.

Constantine leans in. “It’s not his fault you have the sexist deadpan.”

If he had a nickname for Constantine this is where he’d say it in an annoyed tone. He is not giving in and calling this man by his last name.

“Could just call me John.”

Mick tilts his head. The counters are clean. The dishes are in the dishwasher. No one, mainly Haircut, will complain about him leaving a mess. Wally is eating. “Someone should shut you up.”

He’s halfway out the door before Constantine catches up. “You could try.”

Mick doesn’t believe for a moment that Constantine is the quiet type, but he doesn’t play into the bait, just stalks to his room Constantine a solid presence by his side. By his side, Mick is so tired of being alone. He expects Constantine to keep talking, keep flirting, but he doesn’t, as if he realizes that for now Mick’s done with words.

As soon as they get into his room Mick drops his coat into a chair and starts pulling Constantine’s off while crowding him towards Mick’s bed. Constantine leans in and kisses his neck, then his jaw. When the trench coat hits the floor Mick cards his fingers into the mess of Constantine’s hair and tugs. Constantine smiles, eyes closing in bliss. Mick gives an annoyed growl as he gives in and kisses John. Fucking stupid sexy demon hunter trench-coat wearing asshole. No, that’s too long.