Hostilities

Movie -verse
Pairing: Balthazar/Constantine
Warning: Rough sex. No, really, I mean it.
Disclaimer: All Characters belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers, and various others. I make no money from this.


It wasn’t just that being in the same room as Balthazar made Constantine’s blood boil, because it did that all right. No, anger Constantine could handle, like the old friend that it was. It was more that the damned half-breed evoked a far more complex response than mere anger. And Constantine was certain that the fucking demon knew it too; knew that his very presence raised John’s blood pressure in several different, and mostly uncomfortable ways.

If it had been almost anyone but Balthazar, John might have welcomed the distraction. But where that particular demon was concerned, John knew he couldn’t afford even a momentary lapse in concentration; a lesson he had learnt the hard way.

It was the demon’s constant, overt and conspicuous *flirting*, although that word was far too innocent for what it was that Balthazar did, that got under Constantine’s skin. It wasn’t so much the heavy sexual overtones to every single encounter that he had had with the demon that irked him so. It was more that he was disturbed by the predictable and almost instantaneous reaction of his body to the half-breed’s words, his actions, the hot look in his eyes when he looked at Constantine, the way he always made Constantine feel as though he were a particularly delectable meal.

The scene in Midnite’s Club a short while earlier was a perfect case in point. He should hate the half-breed, damn it it all, he *did* hate him. But John knew, all too well, that it was easy for strong emotions to get all mixed up, particularly when they had no other outlet. Anger, hate, lust, a powerful combination, and Balthazar knew it, and played on it.

When John was a child, the demons he’d seen had horrified him. After visiting hell, knowing from the moment of his only half reluctant return to this world that he was holding a one way return ticket, the demons had lost their power to scare him. But anger and bitterness didn’t completely fill the space left by the fear, and they were harder to maintain for long periods. It left Constantine feeling hollow, and more and more jaded as the years passed.

Demons were the ultimate hedonists. They lived, for want of a better word, for sensation; craved it in fact. John had long suspected that it was a way of making themselves feel more alive, or some such psycho-babble bullshit. But sometimes, alone in the dark of his apartment, John could understand what drove the demons so relentlessly to seek sensation and experience, although he’d had returned to hell before he’d have ever admitted that aloud.

Seeing what he had seen, knowing what he knew, that half-breed combination of sensuality and darkness, a darkness John recognised all too well in himself, had a powerful allure. The temptation of a partner who wouldn’t turn away, who wouldn’t be freaked by what John did, who wouldn’t be disgusted was sometimes almost irresistible.

John’s history with Balthazar; the raw emotions that had always tainted their dealings, together with the demon’s own innate lascivious malevolence was like adding gasoline to a raging bonfire. Just as explosive. Just as destructive. Just as lethally compelling.

But Balthazar was smart. He’d never crossed the line. Never gave Constantine a reason to deport him back to hell. Which simply raised John’s blood pressure some more. He would have truly loved an excuse to be rid, once and for all of the demon.

Constantine snorted to himself, and drained the last dregs of scotch in his glass. Maybe a shower would help. Another snort. Still, if nothing else, at least it would help him to clean away the lingering taint of yet another confrontation with Balthazar.

John stood in the steam filled bathroom, hot water flowing over him, aware in some distant part of his mind that he was turning pink, the water was so hot. He can’t bring himself to care much though, let alone move, not when the warmth of the water is finally starting to loosen muscles that feel as though they’ve been tensed for ever; not when he’s actually starting to feel, if not clean, because he’s not sure he’s ever going to feel that, then at least a little less soiled.

He let his head fall forward, so the water runs over his shoulder, and braced his hands on the wall, letting them take his weight. The sensation of the water on running over his shoulders and back is almost like being stroked, very lightly.

He becomes aware of another presence in the room slowly, as if the sensation creeps up on him, as lethargic as he is. Which isn’t, in his line of work, a good thing at all. That kind of lapse could seriously shorten his career, if John wasn’t already dying, that is.

But if the sense of the other presence crept up on him, the realisation of who the presence was hit him like a punch in the gut. But then, he thought, who else was it likely to have been? John was reminded, for the second time that day, just why allowing himself to become distracted was such a bad idea.

“Balthazar” A statement, not a question.

He didn’t need to turn around to know that the demon was standing in a corner of the bathroom, all 80s power suit and tan, flipping that ever present coin and wearing that excruciatingly smug expression that John loathed so very, very much. John cursed quietly to himself, but there was no heat in the words. In his anger and despair when he got home, he had neglected to properly protect his home. The runes on the doorframe and holy water under the windows would stop minor demons, but to keep out the powerful ones, like Balthazar, more was needed. And John had been distracted. Again. He was beginning to wonder if he was going to live long enough to die of the cancer after all.

“Johnny-boy”

Constantine would have loved to have been able to blame the half-breed for the wave of resignation that was currently taking the place of the anger he should have been feeling. But he couldn’t. Constantine was bone tired and pretty much burned out. The cancer diagnosis had left him with nothing to fight for, there was no longer any motivation for him to carry on. No time left to earn his redemption, no chance of escaping the fires of hell. The whole focus of his adult life was slipping away, like the remaining moments of his life.

He heard the demon move closer, until he finally stood next to the shower. Constantine didn’t move. He knew the demon was there to gloat, just as he had earlier in the club, but Constantine had no intention of taking the bait this time. Maybe if he ignored the damned half-breed he’d get bored and leave. Unlikely John thought, bitterly, but maybe he was about due a change in luck.

But Balthazar said nothing. Long moments passed, and a sense of unease grew in Constantine. This was not Balthazar’s style at all; this was the demon who had *never* passed up an opportunity to taunt Constantine, to crow over his successes and John’s failures.

Time stretched, and finally, Constantine couldn’t stand the heavy silence any longer. He just wanted this equivalent of a demon social call over with. He wanted the half-breed out of his home. He wanted to be free of the tension that Balthazar’s presence had brought. He wanted, most of all, to be alone, to wallow in his self-pity and despair, and to drown his anguish in alcohol.

Balthazar moved again, and John thought, for a moment he was going to leave. He wasn’t prepared for the sense of disappointment, mixed in with the relief that he felt. Was he that lonely and isolated that his subconscious would rather suffer the mocking and derision of a demon like Balthazar, than sit alone in his apartment, getting drunk and smoking himself, quite literally these days, to death, as he did every other night?

John was dimly aware of the demon moving, of the rustling of his clothes, but he was too busy wondering when his preference for solitude had become a self-imposed prison. So the realisation that the demon was climbing into the shower behind Constantine was something of a shock.

“What the hell….?!”

The demon’s hands gripped Constantine’s wrists, and held his hands on place against the wall, his body pressed against Constantine’s proving, quite definitely, that he had also found time to shed his clothes.

“Shush” The demon whispered into John’s ear, sending an involuntary shiver down Constantine’s spine that was part fear, part anger, and part something else that John refused to name.

The distant part of John’s brain, seemingly the only part that wasn’t gibbering like an idiot, or crowing in delight (and John was resolutely ignoring *that* part, for the sake of what was left of his sanity), was wondering why the damned half-breed had chosen *now* to finally make good on all those looks and innuendos.

“Come on Johnny-boy, haven’t you always wondered what it would be like between the two of us? All those *strong* emotions, all that repressed rage. Mmmmmmm. I know I have, many times….”

The demon’s voice just reeked of sex as he pressed his body even closer to John’s, his erection trapped between the cheeks of John’s arse. The water from the shower fell over both of them, and Balthazar began licking up the water on John’s neck. Constantine was unable to stop the shudder that racked his body at the feel of that forked tongue on his skin.

“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about half-breed. Now get the hell off me before I deport your worthless demon hide back to where it belongs.”

Balthazar laughed, a deep, undeniably sexual sound, his breath wafting over Constantine’s neck, his warm breath making John’s damp skin feel momentary cool, whilst making the rest of his body feel suddenly hot.

Constantine *had* thought of this, of what it would be like, but he was absolutely not going to admit that to this demon. He didn’t want to have to include carnal thoughts of a demon, *this* demon most of all, in the long list of his weaknesses.

Too late for hiding from the truth now though, with Balthazar touching him along almost the entire length of his body, as close as he could get to John, with the evidence of his own physical reaction to the demon’s presence and his words. Too late indeed, although if John could have continued denying to truth, he undoubtedly would have. It was difficult to maintain the pretence of being unaffected when he was as hard as rock, and he wasn’t exactly fighting Balthazar off either, let alone preparing to deport him.

Damned influence peddling, smug, half-breed demon scum.

Balthazar’s hand’s let go of his wrists, clearly aware of the fact that Constantine wasn’t going to fight, and one curled around his throat, lightly stroking the thin skin there, whilst the other stroked down his chest, pausing briefly to brush more slowly over a nipple, then on down past his stomach, to finally clasp loosely around John’s cock.

Constantine shifted a little before he could stop himself, but left his hands on the wall, and made no sound. He might not be fighting this, but he would be twice damned if he in anyway encouraged or participated. He ignored the annoying thought that he was in fact doing both, simply by *not* fighting. Some denials he was not ready to give up.

Letting Balthazar fuck his body he could handle, it was pretty well fucked already, after all, but he wasn’t going to let the demon fuck with his mind anymore than he usually did.

Balthazar paused for a second, as if waiting for more of a response. When he didn’t get it, the grip of both hands tightened, and he began to stroke Constantine’s cock, clasping it a little more firmly on each stroke. Constantine gritted his teeth. The tight grip and lack of lubrication was going to leave him sore before too long if Balthazar persisted. And, true to form, the demon didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping any time soon. Constantine was pretty damned sure that the demon knew very well what he was doing. This was John’s punishment for not giving the half-breed what he wanted.

Just as the friction was right on the edge of becoming unbearable painful, Constantine finally cracked.

“Damn it Balthazar. That fucking hurts”

He swore he could feel the demon’s smirk as Balthazar pressed his lips against John’s neck.

“Really?” The demon raised his head, and John could sense him looking up at the shower “I thought that water was the universal lubri…….”

“Don’t you even*think* about finishing that sentence”

Constantine twisted his neck, and could just see, out of the corner of his eye, the demon’s face break into that familiar and expected smirk. John ground his teeth. If the bloody demon was just here to play games instead of finishing what he so obviously had come here for, John was going to kick his over-tanned arse straight out of the shower, and *then* he was going to take great pleasure in deporting him.

The demon retaliated by abruptly removing his hand from John’s cock. Constantine’s patience, never great to begin with, finally ran out. All the anger came rushing back in a sudden, welcome, wave of heat and fury.

“What the fuck are you playing at? I’m sick of your games, you damned half-breed” He snapped.

“Now, that’s more like the great and famous John Constantine I know…..” The smugness in the demon’s voice really pissed John off.

“Fuck you demon. You don’t know the first thing about me!”

Balthazar’s hand was suddenly back on his cock, this time with a palm full of something slippery. The firm grasp and accompanying slow stroke caused a flood of lust and arousal to temporarily swamp Constantine’s anger and indignation.

“Oh, I think you’ll find that I know you *very* well Johnny-boy. You’ve been my pet project for quite a while now”

Constantine wanted to rip the demon’s hands from his body, wanted to wipe that knowing smirk off of the half-breed’s face, wanted the damned bastard to quit playing around and just fuck him already.

“Now I get it. All you’re good for is talking. What? Are you half-breeds incapable? Are you gonna get on with the fucking, because, frankly, if this is all you’ve got, you might as well leave now and let me finish this on my own” John knew his was pushing his luck with the demon’s hand still clutching his cock, but he didn’t care. He’d had enough of Balthazar’s taunts and games. He wanted this done with, one way or another.

“You want it harder? Faster? Rougher? Oh, Johnny-boy, I’ll give you exactly what you want. I’ll fuck you until you can’t see straight. I‘ll take that luscious arse of yours so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a week.” The demon’s breath blew across John’s neck again; the heat in his voice, and the lust in his words fired the arousal in John’s veins and almost made him groan.

This was such a bad idea. Constantine couldn’t think of anyone less appropriate to be doing this with. But right then, with Balthazar’s hand stroking his cock in just the right way, the strangely erotic feel of the water falling over them, the demon’s lips on his neck and firm body curved around him, and the hot, hard cock nestled between the cheeks of his arse, John really, really didn’t care.

When Balthazar stepped back a little, John managed to hold his tongue, knowing that what would happen next, and determined not to give the demon an excuse to leave him hanging like this. The hand left his cock, and then the demon’s fingers, slick and rough, pushed inside him. He spread his legs, welcoming the sudden burn. He clamped down hard on the triumphant laugh that threatened to break free.

Balthazar wasn’t in any way gentle, but then, John had neither expected, nor wanted any kind of kindness or consideration from this being.

The demon pulled his hand away, the preparation had been brief and perfunctory, and Constantine felt a shiver of arousal run through him. He’d never know what do with gentleness, or sympathy. But raw, rough sex, just like this, oh he knew how to do that all right.

There was barely a respite, then Balthazar’s cock slid into John’s body; one slow, hard push, lifting John almost onto his tiptoes as his body fought to adjust. The demon had clearly used a lot of lube, but the minimal preparation meant that the entry still rode the line between pleasure and pain very closely. Although, as John would have freely admitted, it could be that he was wrong there, and it was just that he could find pleasure in the pain.

When the demon was buried as far into John’s body as he could go, he leant forwards, chest pressing hard against Constantine’s back.

“Is this what you wanted John?” A sudden, unexpected withdrawal, followed by a vicious thrust left Constantine gasping, rocked back onto his toes. “If you wanted it rough, you only had to ask”

“Shut the fuck up and fuck me demon” John hated that his voice was thick and tinged with obvious lust, hated the fact that the half-breed had sounded as smug and composed as ever.

“My pleasure” the demon hissed, a hint of what John realised was the first trace of malice he had heard in Balthazar’s voice since this whole encounter had begun, finally colouring his voice.

Balthazar proceeded to prove, that in this at least, he could be as good as his word. He fucked John hard, the strength of his thrusts forcing John to brace his arms and lock his elbows, or risk being pounded face first into the wall.

Constantine’s awareness narrowed to the thick cock spearing him, the hand on his throat, the rapidly cooling water from the shower, the hand that was once again stroking up and down his cock, the demon’s hot breath against his skin as Balthazar finally began to lose his composure and the rapid breaths turned into gasps.

The burn in Constantine’s arse was well matched by the sting of almost raw skin on his cock. Some part of Constantine’s mind was gibbering about how appropriate the burning sensation was, considering that the creature fucking him was born of it.

John’s climax, when it came, caught him by surprise. The suddenness and violence of his orgasm, matching the rough and brutal fuck, left his shaking and gasping for air, air that burned his diseased lungs. He struggled not to cough, finally beating down the response. It was some time before he realised that Balthazar’s pants and gasps had changed; now no longer those of lust, but more of satiated gratification. The punishing thrusts and harsh stroking of his cock had also ceased. It seemed as if the demon had found his own thrill whilst Constantine was out of it.

Constantine relished the ache in his arse, and the sting of his cock. Pain, like anger was an old friend, and John welcomed them both, letting them fill the void within him.

He caught his breath, and felt Balthazar’s cock slip from his body. John waited a moment, then bracing his arms, he heaved his whole body backwards, catching an unsuspecting Balthazar off-guard, causing him to stumble and loose his footing on the floor of the shower. John watched, amused now as the demon flailed for a moment, and then finally, landed right on his arse on the floor.

John turned the shower off and turned back to the cursing demon. It was a sweet, sweet moment for Constantine, knowing that for once, the tables were turned, and it was he who wore the smug sneer, and the demon who floundered, furious and frustrated.

“What the fuck?” The demon growled, narrowing his eyes at Constantine.

John was taking a second to appreciate the view though. Hell’s smoothest demon, sitting bare-arsed and soaking on his bathroom floor, spluttering with rage.

“You’ve had your fun. Now get the hell out of here”

“You ungrateful, wretched mortal” The demon snarled, as he pushed himself to his feet and began advancing on Constantine.

“Uh-huh. You’re in my home, remember? I have everything here I need to deport your scaly hide back to where you belong within each reach. Are you sure you want to risk your neck on the off-chance that I can’t get to them before you get to me?”

Balthazar stopped. He looked only half convinced, but that was apparently all he needed to be. He straightened up, looked at John with narrowed eyes for a minute, then moved to collect his clothes and began dressing.

Constantine watched him with what he hoped was an impassive face, although inside he was enjoying this immensely.

Once the demon was once again suited and booted, he turned back to John, who fought the urge to squirm under the demons appraising look. Balthazar held John’s eyes for a long moment, and then he turned and walked towards the door. Just as he reached the threshold, he stopped, and half turned back to Constantine. John tensed, knowing, despite his earlier words, that he would have no chance of reaching anything strong enough to fight off this demon before the half-breed ripped his throat out. He relaxed minutely when he saw the all too familiar sneer on the demon’s face.

“As I said, you’ve been a project of mine for a long time, Johnny-boy”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Balthazar’s smirk deepened

“Welcome back to the fight John”

Before Constantine could question him further, the demon was gone from the doorway, and a second later John heard the front door slam behind him.

He sighed into the quiet of the now empty apartment. Though the demon’s last statement had sent a chill through him, he feeling too smug and well fucked right now to worry about it too much. He was sure it would keep for a while. Now, what he really wanted was a cigarette and a drink. And then another cigarette and another drink.