Dream A Little Dream
folder
1 through F › Constantine
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,324
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Constantine
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,324
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Constantine, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Dream A Little Dream
Title: Dream A Little Dream
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sexual situations
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Constantine x Balthazar
Description: In which Balthazar reveals his masochistic side.
Author's Note: Taking a break from writing long, convoluted, and rather non-plot-moving stream of consciousness to have a bit of fun with pure PWP smut ^^.
Disclaimer: I do not own Balthazar or Constantine. These characters belong solely to Warner Brothers and DC/Vertigo. I make absolutely no profit off of this.
Even demons will dream.
In the midst of twilight, a windowless, mirrored boardroom lies with but one occupant. Seated silently at the table's head, hands folded in perfect triangulation, his manicured fingernails click precisely along the edge of an ancient silver coin. Each measured breath counts off against the hollow tap-tap, swinging like a pendulum back and forth, back and forth, in and out. Only the occasional flutter of hooded eyelids hints at the visions that lie beneath.
He dreams of sleek pitch-black hair, a steely disenchanted gaze, crooked cigarette smoldering between ash-flecked lips. The low, raspy voice growls its name into his ear, hot breath tickling shivers all along his spine. Constantine. His tongue flicks out to savor the threat, the violence laden in every syllable. That taste alone was worth the price of a thousand deportations. Before he can react, a hungry mouth darts on top of his own, driving away words, emotion, thought in a frenzied clash of teeth and tongue. The other's jaw clamps down on his bottom lip, forcing through each tantalizing defense he puts up, devouring him completely like hell's all-consuming fire. It radiates wrath and hatred and lust, anger's blaze a forge for misbegotten passion. He struggles teasingly, fingers tangled in silky locks to pull his adversary's head back, hungry invitation wrought in an appraising gaze. The other senses his challenge and spares a wry, disparaging smirk - promises of more to come. Caught up in its hypnotic fantasy, he's taken by surprise when the searing pain of ashes and flame razors through his hand. Flinch and gasp. A cigarette butt ground into his open palm. He glances up, sees dark sadism reflected in obsidian eyes. Grins.
He dreams of deftly snaking fingers, heated sensual lips, a wet mouth tracing fiery nips across his breast. Abruptly collared forward by his tie, struck off balance, he can feel a keen blade clipping neatly through each polished suit button. Hear them pop off like hard candy; pride swallowed in hot, bitter doses. The eyes search him ravenously, warily, like a mongoose does the cobra. Predator upon predator. A few taunting words, and suddenly his head is slammed back against the wall, force of impact scattering poisonous blossoms of fire across his vision. Again, that raw power, so enticing, beckons him into its embrace. The other growls something about vengeance and enemies, but all he can hear is lust's discordant symphony. A clawing hand rakes red stripes down the length of his back. Anger gives way to impatience, as his adversary tears off the remaining trappings of his humanity, seeking to expose him for what he truly is. Yes, ever the eager demon hunter. A snide smile plays upon his lips. Whispers of mocking affection, words filled with acidic need. Why don't you search deeper, Johnny boy? There's more to be found beneath my glossy veneer. And this time, the other accepts, shatters past restraint to dive forth and claim his neck...trail feverish kisses along his bare chest...pause to bite a nipple in cruel retaliation for all those remembered taunts, weaving gossamer threads of pain beneath his skin. Ah, what a delicacy, that metallic sting, like a child's innocent sin next to the dark agony of the abyss.
He dreams of sweat-slicked skin, a hot slippery tongue, throbbing length pressed tightly against his own. The other wastes little time on pleasantries, simply strips off the rest of his clothes and pins him to the ground, hatred manifesting itself in coarse barks. Fuck you, you half-breed piece of shit. You're getting exactly what you deserve. A cold shiver of delight runs through him at those words - the spite, the malice, the pure sin inherent in them - though his adversary mistakes it for fear. Dry laughter, vengeful tyranny. Yes, yes, he wants to breathe, give in to that dark desire, Johnny boy. Show me how wonderfully carnal you humans can be. He feels the other's gaze burning into his exposed back...drinking up vulnerability...savoring triumph...until finally, all at once, it lunges into him. Ecstatic pain drives a raw, bloody snarl from deep within his throat; fingers claw jagged rivulets into polished wood. The pressure lessens briefly, then slices back in a second time, slower, drawing out each agonizing inch. And just like that, it's riding him, taking him, fucking him so hard he can feel bruises form on his cheekbone as he's banged again and again into the mahogany floor. In and out, in and out, back and forth. Like a pendulum. His breath quickens into rapid gasps, scorches the air with fluid puffs of smoke. Slitted eyes urge the other ever onwards. Oh, how he craves the violent sensation pounding within him. Short, punishing strokes grind along his cock even as he arches closer, tenses tighter, hisses for more of that delicious friction inside of him...pushing him nearer, nearer to the edge, balance lost, purpose forgotten, just a last thrust...and he's catapulting into the sweet abyss, pain and pleasure becoming one in climax. Constantine and him becoming one in release.
Yes, even demons will dream. Dream of the forbidden.
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sexual situations
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Constantine x Balthazar
Description: In which Balthazar reveals his masochistic side.
Author's Note: Taking a break from writing long, convoluted, and rather non-plot-moving stream of consciousness to have a bit of fun with pure PWP smut ^^.
Disclaimer: I do not own Balthazar or Constantine. These characters belong solely to Warner Brothers and DC/Vertigo. I make absolutely no profit off of this.
Even demons will dream.
In the midst of twilight, a windowless, mirrored boardroom lies with but one occupant. Seated silently at the table's head, hands folded in perfect triangulation, his manicured fingernails click precisely along the edge of an ancient silver coin. Each measured breath counts off against the hollow tap-tap, swinging like a pendulum back and forth, back and forth, in and out. Only the occasional flutter of hooded eyelids hints at the visions that lie beneath.
He dreams of sleek pitch-black hair, a steely disenchanted gaze, crooked cigarette smoldering between ash-flecked lips. The low, raspy voice growls its name into his ear, hot breath tickling shivers all along his spine. Constantine. His tongue flicks out to savor the threat, the violence laden in every syllable. That taste alone was worth the price of a thousand deportations. Before he can react, a hungry mouth darts on top of his own, driving away words, emotion, thought in a frenzied clash of teeth and tongue. The other's jaw clamps down on his bottom lip, forcing through each tantalizing defense he puts up, devouring him completely like hell's all-consuming fire. It radiates wrath and hatred and lust, anger's blaze a forge for misbegotten passion. He struggles teasingly, fingers tangled in silky locks to pull his adversary's head back, hungry invitation wrought in an appraising gaze. The other senses his challenge and spares a wry, disparaging smirk - promises of more to come. Caught up in its hypnotic fantasy, he's taken by surprise when the searing pain of ashes and flame razors through his hand. Flinch and gasp. A cigarette butt ground into his open palm. He glances up, sees dark sadism reflected in obsidian eyes. Grins.
He dreams of deftly snaking fingers, heated sensual lips, a wet mouth tracing fiery nips across his breast. Abruptly collared forward by his tie, struck off balance, he can feel a keen blade clipping neatly through each polished suit button. Hear them pop off like hard candy; pride swallowed in hot, bitter doses. The eyes search him ravenously, warily, like a mongoose does the cobra. Predator upon predator. A few taunting words, and suddenly his head is slammed back against the wall, force of impact scattering poisonous blossoms of fire across his vision. Again, that raw power, so enticing, beckons him into its embrace. The other growls something about vengeance and enemies, but all he can hear is lust's discordant symphony. A clawing hand rakes red stripes down the length of his back. Anger gives way to impatience, as his adversary tears off the remaining trappings of his humanity, seeking to expose him for what he truly is. Yes, ever the eager demon hunter. A snide smile plays upon his lips. Whispers of mocking affection, words filled with acidic need. Why don't you search deeper, Johnny boy? There's more to be found beneath my glossy veneer. And this time, the other accepts, shatters past restraint to dive forth and claim his neck...trail feverish kisses along his bare chest...pause to bite a nipple in cruel retaliation for all those remembered taunts, weaving gossamer threads of pain beneath his skin. Ah, what a delicacy, that metallic sting, like a child's innocent sin next to the dark agony of the abyss.
He dreams of sweat-slicked skin, a hot slippery tongue, throbbing length pressed tightly against his own. The other wastes little time on pleasantries, simply strips off the rest of his clothes and pins him to the ground, hatred manifesting itself in coarse barks. Fuck you, you half-breed piece of shit. You're getting exactly what you deserve. A cold shiver of delight runs through him at those words - the spite, the malice, the pure sin inherent in them - though his adversary mistakes it for fear. Dry laughter, vengeful tyranny. Yes, yes, he wants to breathe, give in to that dark desire, Johnny boy. Show me how wonderfully carnal you humans can be. He feels the other's gaze burning into his exposed back...drinking up vulnerability...savoring triumph...until finally, all at once, it lunges into him. Ecstatic pain drives a raw, bloody snarl from deep within his throat; fingers claw jagged rivulets into polished wood. The pressure lessens briefly, then slices back in a second time, slower, drawing out each agonizing inch. And just like that, it's riding him, taking him, fucking him so hard he can feel bruises form on his cheekbone as he's banged again and again into the mahogany floor. In and out, in and out, back and forth. Like a pendulum. His breath quickens into rapid gasps, scorches the air with fluid puffs of smoke. Slitted eyes urge the other ever onwards. Oh, how he craves the violent sensation pounding within him. Short, punishing strokes grind along his cock even as he arches closer, tenses tighter, hisses for more of that delicious friction inside of him...pushing him nearer, nearer to the edge, balance lost, purpose forgotten, just a last thrust...and he's catapulting into the sweet abyss, pain and pleasure becoming one in climax. Constantine and him becoming one in release.
Yes, even demons will dream. Dream of the forbidden.