Blood and Brimstone

Disclaimer: All Characters belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers, and various others. I make no money from this.
Warnings: Bloodyplay, dubious consent, angst, dark themes, violence, hot-gay-man-sex!

He’d thought he’d be safe enough, drinking in a dark and seedy bar, far from Midnite’s, in both location and clientele. He’d almost managed to fool himself into believing he could blend in, pretend, just for one evening that he was normal, that he was just like everyone else. But he wasn’t like everyone else. Constantine wasn’t sure, any more, whether he was like anyone else. He was a loner, isolated and alienated; too tainted for the angels; too hated by the demons; too different for most ordinary people. He was a pariah, an outcast who didn’t fit into any world. The only place he could be sure of a sincere welcome was the one place he didn’t want to go, the one place he was trying to buy his way out of.

Tonight, the need to dull the sense of isolation and desolation had driven him to this bar. He simply couldn’t face the thought of sitting alone in his apartment. He needed, this once, the illusion of fitting in, of belonging somewhere.

Constantine sat at the bar, surrounded by people, though he was all too aware of the fact that in truth he was as alone here as he ever was in his apartment. The feeling of disconnection, of being almost an onlooker into this world, was as strong in this bar as it was everywhere else. He concentrated on ignoring the feeling, pretending he couldn’t see it. He smoked cigarette after cigarette, drank scotch after scotch, until he’d lost count of how many of each he’d had. Stupid, suicidal thing for a man with the kind of enemies Constantine had, but as the scotch was slipping down his throat, the burn of the alcohol matching the sting of the cigarette smoke in his lungs, he didn’t care.

He knew, as he left the bar, that he ought to have drunk less, ought to have been more careful, but with the warmth of the booze still flowing through his body, he found he couldn’t muster any real concern. It was just another item on the long list of things that John Constantine ought to care about, but didn’t; ought to be more prudent about, but wasn’t.

It was only some two blocks down the road that he began to feel the first misgivings. A chill of apprehension made his skin crawl, and his nerves twitch. He stopped, ostensibly to light a cigarette, but in reality, he was casting about, trying to feel what it was that had caused this unease. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunk so much, so far from the protection offered by either his home or Midnite’s club. What had he been thinking, venturing into this no-man’s land, and then leaving himself so vulnerable. Oh, he had some of his usual arsenal of weapons, but not enough to put him at ease, not by a long shot. And that, of course, was without the added handicap of his current, inebriated state. Not dead-drunk, not by any means, but he wasn’t exactly sober either. He walked slowly on, passing an alleyway.

He cast about, sensing nothing for a moment, then, without warning, he felt it. A strong demonic presence, and close, way too close; right behind him in fact. Constantine reached into his coat, even as he was turning to face the half-breed; even as his brain was catching up and processing exactly which presence he could sense. It was hopeless, John knew, but he wasn’t going to go down without a fight

His hand had barely reached inside his coat when the demon grabbed him by the throat, yanked him into the alleyway, slamming him up against the wall.

“Hello Johnny-boy.”

Constantine could barely breathe, but he managed to choke out the demon’s name, spitting it in the half-breed’s face like a curse.

“Balthazar”

John swore to himself. He should have known that if any demon was going to find and take advantage of his moment of weakness it would be Balthazar. Constantine was beginning to develop some very unnerving suspicions about how often his path was crossing with the half-breed’s.

“Tut, tut. You take all the fun out of life if you make it this easy. Sloppiness is unlike you Johnny-boy”

Contantine gritted his teeth, and concentrated on breathing slowly. He could barely draw enough breath to stay conscious, so he’d let that mocking tone and snide comment slide, for now. Fucking smug half-breed.

He wondered if he could get a hand to any of the weapons he was carrying, before he passed out. His vision was already greying around the edges, and he managed to dip the fingers of one hand into a pocket, when the pressure suddenly eased, enough to let him draw breath, at least. He was so consumed by remembering how to breathe that he only noticed that the demon had dragged him further into the alleyway when his back hit the wall again.

It was darker here, and the sounds of the street was muted. Balthazar’s hand was still at his throat, but his grip was looser. Constantine looked at the demon properly for the first time. Although it was too dark to allow him to make out the half-breed’s features, he could see the glow of red in his eyes, and the faint glint of white as he smirked. Then the red glow was coming closer, and John moved away, or would have, had he not been pressed as closely to the wall as possible already.

“You’re a long way from home Johnny. A long, long way. All alone and unprotected.”

Constantine watched the red glow deepen, felt the demon's warm breath on his cheek. When the fingers at his throat moved, he tensed, expecting crushing pressure once again, so the sensation of those fingers stroking the tender skin there confused him for a moment.

Oh no, no, no, no. If Balthazar thought he could grab Constantine and manhandle him like this in an alleyway, he could just think again. No way was John going to let this little scene play out the way he suspected the demon was intending it to.

He took a breath, not too deep, then lashed out with his fist, hoping to catch Balthazar enough off guard he could get that hand away from his throat long enough to lay hands on some of the goodies in his coat.

The demon’s other hand came up, and grabbed Constantine’s wrist. The fingers around his throat tightened, and he was pulled away from the wall, only to be slammed back against it with enough force to knock the breath from his body, and start up a fit of the ever more frequent coughing.

“That wasn’t very nice John. I think I’m going to have to teach you some manners before we’re done here tonight”

Cold fear was beginning to war with the pain in John’s head and lungs. Underneath the usual malice and lust in the demon’s voice there was a new tone. Constantine couldn’t put a name to it yet, not while his head was still ringing, but he knew it didn’t bode well.

Gasping, he raised his head and looked at the demon in front of him.

“Fuck you”

The laugh that comment evoked sent a sense of sick dread roiling through him. Oh this was not good at all. Being a demon’s fuck-toy was not on his list of things to do tonight. Dear lord, especially not this demon. And most certainly not in a dirty alleyway.

“I’m going to deport your fucking demon arse back to hell, where you belong, you piece of crap”

The fear was burning away the alcohol now. John hated being afraid. He let the anger ride the fear, knowing that the anger, the stronger emotion would win. It was a fine line though, never more so than now, here.

The demon leant closer, until his lips were almost touching John’s. Those unearthly red eyes stared straight at him, and this close, Constantine couldn’t pretend he wasn’t aware of the emotions he saw there. Malice, hatred, lust. Every dark, hot emotion, swirling in that heavy gaze. Constantine wanted to look away; wanted to pretend that that darkness didn’t call to him; didn’t tempt him. He’d spent a lifetime trying to atone for one stupid mistake. But he was damned, and sometimes, in the dark of his own mind, he wondered what it would be like, just to welcome that damnation. To let go and revel in it. To accept, once and for all, that hell was just where he belonged, after all. Oh the possibilities of allowing that seduction of his soul. Would it really be so bad?

John closed his eyes. Damned. The demon might not be able to interfere directly, but influence, oh he was real good at that. Constantine wanted to feel vindicated, smug and righteous, but all he was aware of was a hot stab of shame that the demon could read him that well, shame and a healthy, or possibly in this case, unhealthy stab of lust.

That burnt, worse than the scotch he had drunk or the cigarettes he had smoked earlier. It scalded what was left of his soul. John felt as though he was falling, drowning once again in the fire and the torment of hell. He wished the demons luck in tearing his soul apart; he wasn’t entirely sure there was going to be enough left for even the denizens of hell to find by the time he died. He wasn’t sure how much was left, even now.

There, in that neat little nutshell, was the heart of his problem. If there was so little left of his soul now that even the demons would struggle to find it, how could he ever hope to earn his absolution, and escape the fate he knew was waiting for him. How could he hope to carry on resisting the temptation to embrace the darkness he knew he carried, the taint that damned him as surely as the act that had taken him to hell in the first place.

“Is that really what you want to do Johnny-boy? I can think of plenty of other, far more interesting things you could be doing”

Constantine could damned well *hear* the demon’s smirk. Could practically feel it, the half-breed’s lips were so close to his. He wanted to shake his head, wanted to swallow, but any movement would have had the two of them touching, and John wasn’t sure he was strong enough, right now, to resist the temptation that this demon offered. Of all the demons Constantine had ever come across, Balthazar was the most powerful, the smartest, the most provocative, the most beguiling, the most dangerous. Their paths had crossed so often now, that John was certain it was no longer a coincidence. That thought did not help his equilibrium.

“Go. To. Hell” he hissed.

“Oh, I think we’ll both be going there John”

Constantine cursed himself mentally. What had possessed him to go drinking in that bar? He wondered if that had been the demon’s influence, but thought he would have realised if he was being manipulated. Had to hope he would recognise it. Anything else would be hard to take, would probably shatter what was left of his hope.

“What do you want half-breed? You can’t kill me, so why don’t you just fuck off and bother someone else?”

“But no-one else is half as much fun to play with as you Johnny. Just watching you pretend to be a righteous crusader for good, when all you’re trying to do is save your own skin, and cover up the fact you’re as morally corrupt as we are is almost as good as sex”

John tensed as the demon shifted, leaning closer, pressing his body up against Constantine’s, leaving him in no doubt, as if there was any, that the demon was indeed finding this whole situation arousing.

“The only thing I could think of that would possibly be better than watching you struggle to hide what you are, would be fucking you” Balthazar’s voice lowered, and he moved his head until his lips were brushing Constantine’s ear. The shiver that provoked made Constantine screw his eyes more tightly shut. He was absolutely not going to allow himself to be aroused by this arsehole, he hadn’t sunk that low, not yet, although he was pretty damned close. “And I have thought about it John, oh yes, I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m thinking about it right now”

The chuckle, right next to his ear, was doing nothing to help Constantine, and he knew the demon knew it. Oh, but he’d underestimated Balthazar’s ability to manipulate, to influence, to machinate. He’d known the demon was good, but he hadn’t realised, hadn’t understood just how perfectly he could read people. How easily he had found and exploited John’s weakness, his fear. If he hadn’t already been damned, Constantine was pretty sure this would do it.

He jumped when the demon’s hand suddenly grabbed his cock. The shame burned through him again, as the demon rubbed him through his trousers. He was half hard already, and it wasn’t going to take much, he suspected, make him even harder.

“Oh, now that’s more like it Johnny. That’s much better”

Constantine could decide whether the purr in his ear wasn’t worse than the thought of the smug leer on Balthazar’s face.

“Decision time John. I’m going to fuck you tonight, we both know that. But how is up to you. We can stay here, and I can take you now, au natrel, and you can tell yourself it wasn’t your choice, that I raped you. You’ll be walking funny for the next few days though, might make your usual occupation a bit difficult. Or we can go somewhere else, somewhere more..comfortable, and I can make it much easier for you. I promise I can make it pleasurable Johnny; I can blow your mind”

John believed him, honestly and truthfully believed that neither threat was idle. If he chose to stay here, it would hurt like a bitch, he knew. The demon would make sure of that. Constantine was guaranteed a visit to the emergency ward, and quite possibly a long stay and some reconstructive surgery. Or he could accept the demon’s offer; could let Balthazar play nice.

If he chose the pain, he might be able to keep whatever was left of his soul intact; he could choose pleasure, but forever surrender some of what was left of his morals, of his hope, of himself.

And he knew what his choice would be. He knew he could tell himself that he needed to be fit and healthy, not bleeding to death in an alleyway; that he was more use to the cause alive, but he knew it was only a half truth. He wanted to know what it was like. He wanted the demon’s touch. He wanted to sacrifice himself to the half-breed’s lust. Wanted to know what it would be like to give in to the darkness, to the lust, to burn in the fire.

He didn’t even need to say anything. He could tell from the demon’s mocking laugh that he knew exactly the moment that John agreed.

The demon moved away from him for a moment, and then John found himself shoved, unceremoniously through a doorway he hadn’t had a chance to notice, down a short corridor, and through another door.

When he realised that the room was almost empty, apart from a huge bed, he shuddered, though whether from fear or arousal, he was no longer able to say. Back in the alley, it had still not been real, almost an alcohol induced delusion. But he couldn’t deny this. Couldn’t pretend he was here for any reason other than as a demon’s plaything. He was weak, to have chosen this over the pain. Weak, and he was going to pay for it, could feel that he was going to pay dearly for it, in ways he feared he couldn’t even imagine yet.

The demon pressed up against his back, close enough that Constantine could feel his erection through their pants. He barely managed to stifle the shiver that time, but he had the sinking feeling that the demon knew anyway.

“What do you think of the bed Johnny? I chose the sheets myself”

John looked at the bed, properly. Huge, with a metal frame; covered in red and black sheets which were, of course, because the damned demon had no taste whatsoever, satin. The lighting in the room was dim too. Constantine would not have been entirely surprised had there been candles around the room either – unnerved and even more uncomfortable, but not surprised.

The worrying thing however, was the admission that the half breed had prepared this room before grabbing John in the alley. Even more disturbing, was the knowledge that this room was so close to that alleyway, an alleyway that Constantine would not normally have passed, had he not visited the bar tonight. This was a set up, and John would have given anything to be able to back out, to have walked away. But it was too late for that, too late to second guess himself, to remember what he of all people should have known; one should never make deals with demons because there was *always* a catch.

“Look what else I got for you Johnny” The demon turned Constantine to the left.

Constantine shuddered. He was looking at a full length mirror. He watched the demon’s reflection smirk at him. Balthazar’s hand snaked around Constantine’s waist, and dropped to press against the front of his trousers, tracing the outline of John’s half hard cock, whilst the other hand traced a line up Constantine’s arm, up over his shoulder, lingering over his neck, then sliding through his hair. When the demon’s hand tightened in his hair and dragged his head back, John barely resisted, closing his eyes and shutting out the reflection of the two of them that seemed to mock him.

Balthazar sank his teeth into John’s neck, hard enough that Constantine was sure he must have drawn blood. He winced at the pain, even as he cringed at the way his cock hardened at the stimulation.

The demon lifted his head slightly.

“Open your eyes Johnny-boy, I want you to watch. I want you to see exactly what’s happening. I want you to see your choice”

The hand in his hair tugged painfully. Constantine knew that he had no option but to submit, the demon wasn’t going to let him get away with any evasion. He’d made his decision, and the demon was going to make sure that he faced it, that he admitted the depth of his perversion.

Constantine opened his eyes, tried to look through the mirror, tried to look without seeing. He failed, which didn’t surprise him at all. That’s the trouble with making deals with demons; they know everything you try to hide; all the little evasions, the white lies, the things you can’t admit to, even to yourself. John had thought he was unsusceptible to this kind of machination, thought he knew all of his own flaws, own failings. Maybe he didn’t know himself as well as he’d thought. Maybe he just hadn’t been confronted with real temptation before. The kind of real temptation that could seriously fuck up your life. The kind you just can’t walk away from.

John had always known he’d had a self-destructive streak, something that went deeper and was more insidious than the despair that had caused him to take his own life. This had to be the ultimate manifestation of it though. He had given this demon the perfect chance to break him. He’d handed over his soul on a silver plate. He was going to be made to enjoy every moment of it, and that, he knew, was where the real damnation lay; that was why his soul belonged to hell.

He didn’t, wouldn’t meet the half-breed’s red-tinged eyes, but he couldn’t stop himself watching the demon’s hand rub his cock through his trousers, watching the smirk grow on Balthazar’s face as John’s breathing hitched and his cock hardened. He flinched as the demon licked the bloody bruise on his neck, over and over. It scared him already, how easily the demon read him. How he knew to use the small pain at his neck to sharpen the edge of the pleasure of the hand on his cock.

“Mmmmm. You taste of fear and lust. Sweet Johnny-boy, so, so sweet.”

Constantine wanted to pull away from those too knowing hands, from the leer, from the tongue now tracing the line of his neck, from this whole damned situation. But he was trapped by his own desires and faults. Trapped by something he couldn’t put into words, and wasn’t entirely sure he understood.

He closed his eyes, and was unprepared for the demon grabbing his arms suddenly, and damn near throwing him bodily onto the bed. A second later, the demon was sitting on his hips, and pulling his hands above his head. Another second later, and the snick on metal, and John’s hands were handcuffed to the bedstead.

“What the fuck? Let me go you fucking half-breed arsehole”

The demon laughed, quiet and mocking. He ran his hands down the front of John’s shirt, then abruptly ripped the shirt open, buttons flying everywhere.

“£200 dollar shirt you fucker” Constantine spat. He wasn’t happy about the shirt, but at least it was distracting him from the guilty pleasure of being bound, and having the demon’s weight pinning him down. Sick, and John couldn’t deny that he wanted it, wanted not to be the one in charge, the one who was supposed to have the answers. Wanted, just for once, to not have to make any decisions. He tried not to wonder what it said about him that he was allowing this demon to dominate him so easily, when he would not have trusted anyone else to do so.

Balthazar smirked, running his hands down Constantine’s chest, fingers brushing over his nipples, tracing his ribs, following the trail of hair from his navel to the waistband of his trousers.

Constantine sucked in a breath, the ruination of his shirt suddenly forgotten in the wash of hot and humiliating arousal that swamped him. He refused to make a sound, although he was pretty damned sure, from the predatory look in the demon’s eyes that that resolution wasn’t going to last long.

The half-breed ran his fingertips just under the waistband of Constantine’s pants, the touch just a little too heavy to be ticklish, but to light to be truly satisfying. John fought his instinctive urge to try and arch into the touch. He knew it was a pointless gesture of defiance to try to pretend at this late stage that the demon’s touch didn’t excite him, that he wasn’t getting off on this whole, sordid, shameful situation, but he couldn’t help himself; he needed to maintain the illusion, at least to himself, that he wasn’t a complete whore.

He could tell by the leer on Balthazar’s face, that he hadn’t succeeded in fooling the demon at all. He didn’t care; the half-breed’s opinion of him was worth shit as far as he was concerned. It was his own conscience he had to worry about.

“Still resisting Johnny-boy? Maybe we need to try something else then…”

Constantine shivered then, though slightly more from fear than arousal this time. He definitely didn’t like the demon’s tone.

He couldn’t help tensing when Balthazar leant over him, obviously making sure to rub against as much of Constantine as he could, to grab something from the table by the bed. John raised his head as much as he could, looking down the line of body to where the demon was opening something that looked like a small cigarette case. John really wished he hadn’t thought of that, because now the craving for a cigarette was back with a vengeance.

Constantine’s unease returned tenfold as the demon pulled what could only be a small, silver scalpel from the case. He shivered. The fear of what Balthazar was going to do with that knife sharpened the edge of his anticipation, despite the obvious apprehension about letting a being with such a skewed moral compass near him with a sharp implement. John tried very hard to ignore the small voice in the back of his head that chose that moment to pipe up and remind him that he was in no position to make judgements on anyone else’s morals, or lack thereof.

The demon leant forwards again, the scalpel in his hand catching the light. He rested the point of the blade against John’s skin, it felt like cold fire on his skin. Constantine was aware that he was barely breathing, body tense, every sense seemingly heightened, waiting for the inevitable cut; caught between wanting the pain, knowing the pleasure that would follow, and wanting to break free and send the son-of-a-bitch half breed back to hell, with his arse in a sling. The remained like that, as if frozen in time, until John realised that the demon was waiting for him; waiting for him to break; waiting for him to participate in his own debauchment, his own defilement.

Constantine gritted his teeth. He knew he couldn’t win this battle of wills, not this time. And that knowledge scalded him, brought the anger and the hate rushing back, lending yet another edge to the whole maelstrom of sensation that he was feeling. He felt more alive in this moment, with a hell-born demon leaning over him, blade poised to slide into his skin, than he could remember feeling in years. And that was the worst kind of damnation he could imagine. Worse than letting this demon handcuff him to the bed, worse than knowing he would let the demon cut him, and fuck him as he bleed. Was this what his life was now; was this what he had to do now to feel something, anything?

And that was the moment the demon chose to press the point of the small blade into the skin of John’s chest, just above his left nipple. He arched, despair forgotten for a moment as the pain blossomed. He couldn’t tell whether he was trying to get away from the pain, or get closer; wanting the purity of the physical pain to try and erase the mental pain. The blade slid through his skin, opening up a small wound. John could feel the blood welling up in the incision.

Balthazar bent his head, and Constantine couldn’t bite back the moan that slipped from between his lips this time, when the demon lapped, very gently, like a cat, at the wound. The cut was too new to be tender yet, but it was oh so sensitive. He shuddered, the not-quite-pleasure of Balthazar’s tongue licking both his wound and his nipple now, warring with the not-quite-pain as the cut began to sting, just a little. It wasn’t going to hurt a lot until much later, not when the blade was obviously so sharp. John couldn’t help the second moan at the thought that he’d still be feeling the after effects of this encounter for days after it was over. God, every time he moved and pulled the healing skin taut, he’d be right back here, with the demon’s tongue on his skin, sucking gently at the wound. He knew it wouldn’t matter where he was, or who he was with, or what he was doing. As soon as he felt the tender ache of that wound, he just knew he’d as hard as a rock and wanting again.

The demon shifted, and moved to sit on John’s thighs. This time there was no hesitation, and the blade sliced into the soft skin of his stomach, just below the last of his ribs. The demon’s hand that wasn’t holding the blade moved to play alternatively with John’s nipple and the cut just above it. He realised that the reason the demon’s fingers felt so slippery on his nipple was because they were gathering blood from the cut. And oh fuck, that thought shouldn’t make his skin break out in goose-bumps, but it did, and he was powerless to stop it.

Balthazar was lapping now at the second cut, using his tongue to delicately fuck the small slit. Constantine was gasping, torn between competing sensations. The demon’s weight pressed against his cock, still trapped by his clothes, but John didn’t have the leverage to move his hips and gain any friction. He groaned, frustration being to gnaw at the edges of the pleasure.

At the sounds, Balthazar raised his head from John’s stomach and smirked at him.

“Christ”

John whispered, certain that the sight of the demon, eyes red, lips and chin covered with John’s blood, shouldn’t arouse him as much as it surely did. It shouldn’t make him want to beg the demon to cut him again. But, oh God, he wanted to beg for just that, he wanted to beg so badly.

“He’s not here John. It’s just you, and me.” The demon smirked, licking his lips, teeth shockingly white against the red of John’s blood on his lips and tongue.

Balthazar slid lower on John’s legs. Laying aside the scalpel, he opened the button and fly of John’s trousers, then pulled them and his underwear past John’s hips, and down to mid thigh.

John held his breath as the demon picked up the scalpel again. Fear and lust both rose in him again, and he couldn’t have said which was the stronger at that moment.

The demon caught John’s eye, and held his gaze as he lowered the scalpel, running the blunt edge of the blade up John’s cock, up to the head, where he ran it through the sticky pre-come gathering there. He lifted the knife to his mouth, and John twitched ineffectually as the demon stuck out his tongue and delicately tasted the fluid on the blade. Constantine hadn’t thought his cock could get any harder. Clearly, he’d been wrong.

He dropped his head back to the bed, and groaned, wondering how much longer the demon intended to prolong this torture. Wondering which would happen first, his climax, or his breaking.

The next cut caught him by surprise, as it was undoubtedly intended to. The knife sliced a long, shallow cut in the skin of his stomach, just above the head of his penis. In fact, any longer, and John would have sworn that it would have cut the tip of his cock off, and he hated the tremor of horrified arousal that thought sent through him.

Way out of your comfort zone now Johnny-boy, he thought to himself, in a voice that sounded sickeningly like Balthazar’s.

The half-breed dropped the scalpel over the edge of the bed, and bent down. His fingers were again toying with John’s nipple and the cut just above it, and he bent his head to lap at the newest cut. John convulsed and tried to remember to keep breathing. As the demon had licked the cut, he also licked John’s cock, and the unexpected stimulation had all but fried what little brains John had left. The brief, warm, wet touch had been good beyond any words John had to describe it. He didn’t dare look, knew if he looked and saw Balthazar, lips wet and shiny with John’s blood and pre-come, saw the head of his own cock smeared with his blood he’d be lost. He shouldn’t be this close to orgasm, shouldn’t be enjoying this at all. But the demon had just about pushed every button John had, and he was powerless now to resist; he’d been played so masterfully, he’d been powerless to stop this from the moment the demon caught him in the alleyway.

Even in this though, Constantine was torn. He wanted to come, wanted it more than anything else right now. He wanted to come whilst Balthazar was licking him, wanted to watch the demon lap up the mingled red and white of his blood and come. That thought alone was almost enough. But he feared what would happen then, when the licking and the coming were done. He knew what would happen when the cutting lost the sexual edge that blurred the lines of pleasure and pain. He knew then there would be nothing to distract him from the pathetic and tawdry truth that he’d given himself to this hell-spawn, freely and willing. That he’d tainted himself beyond redemption. He feared that this one act would damned him more thoroughly than any other, save one.

But the demon clearly had other plans, raising his head from Constantine’s cock. He knelt up, pulling John’s trousers and underwear down to his ankles, then pulling them and his shoes off in one motion. Constantine shivered, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Balthazar ran a hand down John’s body, from the cut above his nipple, to the one under his ribs, to the last one, above his cock, his fingers smearing John’s blood, making the older cuts bleed more freely again. The other hand, the demon used to unbutton his jacket, and open his fly.

He pushed his own trousers down to mid thigh, and then wrapped the hand that he had run down John’s body around his cock.

Constantine fought back the whimper that wanted to escape at the sight of the demon fisting his cock, using John’s blood for lubrication, even as his mind warned him that his own blood was likely all the lubrication he was going to get from this half-breed. When even that thought brought only a heightening of his arousal, he knew he was lost, finally, and hopelessly lost.

The demon shifted, his knee nudging John’s apart. Once he was kneeling between John’s legs, he leant forwards again, one hand resting on the bed by Constantine’s shoulder. He leant down until his mouth was right by John’s ear.

“Now comes the really good part Johnny-boy. Now I’m going to fuck you until you can’t see straight, and you’re going to love every second of it, I promise. Oh, I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

Constantine hated the demon more in the instant than ever before. Hated that Balthazar was right: hated that he’d fallen so far, so fast that he’d allowed himself to be bound and bloodied beneath the panting half-breed; hated that he still wanted the demon to fuck, despite everything.

“Fuck you” He spat back “What do you care if I break or not?”

“Oh Johnny-boy” The demon laughed softly, breathlessly “If I break you, I get to keep you”

Oh God. No. John felt as though he were falling. An eternity of this? He couldn’t take that. He knew it wouldn’t take long before the pleasure/pain turned to just pain; wouldn’t be long before the desire withered and all that was left was despair and degradation.

And that was, of course, the moment that the demon chose to slide what felt like two fingers into John’s arse. Constantine didn’t make a sound though; he was still trying to catch his breath, still reeling from the demon’s words.

“Come on John, work with me on this. It’s no fun if you’re going to break so quickly”

“Get the fuck off me, you sick fuck” Fear gave Constantine’s anger the fuel it needed. He would not be this demon’s prize fuck toy. He’d die first and let the million other minions of hell have him before he allowed that.

“That’s better”

Constantine tried to twist away from the demon, but the half-breed had a hand on his hip, and with John’s hands still bound, he didn’t have the leverage to do much more than thrash, and even that was limited, given that the demon still had his fingers in John’s arse.

The second Constantine stopped moving though, the demon shifted with almost inhuman speed, pressing John’s thighs up and back, and spearing Constantine in one smooth movement.

John shouted, the demon had, despite John’s fears used something far more slippery than blood as lube, and had used a lot of it, but the entry still hurt, and John gasped, trying to breathe through the pain.

Balthazar paused, clearly savouring the tight fit, if the expression on his face was anything to go by. John wasn’t stupid enough to believe that the pause had anything to do with concern for him.

As the pain settled to a dull ache, the demon’s eyes opened, and e stared straight at Constantine. John knew that his own expression must have given away how much he’d have liked to have had his hands free at that moment. The half-breed’s smirk grew. This time though, John was able to catch the flicker of something in Balthazar’s eyes, and he was able to brace himself in preparation for the demon’s sudden withdrawal and hard thrust.

The ache of the original entry now only served to highlight the brutal pleasure of this fucking, as the demon set a smooth but swift pace. John had almost forgotten the vicious pleasure of being fucked, the rawness and the power of the act.

When the demon’s hand wormed its way between their bodies and slid around John’s cock, he almost came; he was so close.

“Let me see you break John. Come for me.”

The hiss of the demon’s voice, rougher than Constantine had ever heard it and the tightening of the hand stroking his cock was all it took, and before the next breath, John was coming.

He was dimly aware that the demon fucking him sped up, then slammed into him hard, one last time. The sudden pain of the ferocious thrust made John’s body clench, one last time, the sensation enough to cause his vision to grey around the edges.

When he was no longer in danger of passing out, Constantine realised that the demon was sitting back on his haunches, watching him. When he was certain he had John’s full attention, he drew his fingers through the mingled blood and come on John’s belly, the action causing John’s muscles to twitch, and bringing back to his awareness the sting of the cuts.

He almost forgot all that though, when the demon raised his fingers to his face, and sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving John’s.

“Mmmm. Still taste good Johnny-boy”

“Fuck off half-breed” John was too tired to care that his voice was merely weary.

The demon leant closer, hand resting on the bed by John’s head, lips by his ear again

“I think we already did that John”.

He straightened up, stepping off the bed, pulling himself together. John suddenly realised that his hands were free, and he sat up. The post-coital glow diminished even more when he realised that the demon had simply opened his trousers to fuck him, whilst he had a shirt ruined by his own blood, and missing most of its buttons and trousers that were crumpled on the floor.

He pulled himself together as best he could, hoping it was still late enough that he could get home without attracting any more adverse attention.

The demon was standing by the door. When John finally looked at him, he looked back at Constantine with an unreadable expression, just the faintest hint of red showing in the pupils of his eyes.

“Guess I didn’t break you then Johnny-boy. Shame. For you. I’ll just have to try harder, next time…”

He was gone before Constantine could respond. Fucking arrogant wanker. If he never saw the damned demon again he’d be happy. He tried not to think about the mental image of the demon sucking on his fingers.

Next time he felt an undeniable need to go drinking in public, he was sticking to Midnite’s. He was pretty certain that the demon wouldn’t try anything sleazy there.