Work Text:
The exorcism was fine- thanks for asking.
Although John supposes ripping demons out of people gets a little old the longer you stay in the business. It was all very routine, actually.
Pretty textbook: the wife called John up in a panic. Got his number from a friend of a friend who knew Beeman. Met him in some kind of insect club or the other. John didn't really ask.
Anyways, her husband was possessed, plainly. So, John staggered in and did what he always does: pulled the fucker out. The wife was grateful and paid in cash, which is all John really cares about.
So, now he sits in the taxi just outside the dilapidated apartment complex. Smoking a cigarette out the window and listening to Chas prater on about some new demonology book he read. The information he's resetting is plainly wrong, but John doesn't tell him that. He's not in much of a mood for educating or talking really. He's more…contemplative, irked really is a better word.
It's been three weeks since his bathroom encounter with Balthazar, and he's still stuck in that same shitty mood. Which is ridiculous, he shouldn't let the half-breed have this much control over him.
And yet.
John huffs, now annoyed, because Balthazar means nothing to him. Absolutely nothing.
“- And it said something about demons taking physical forms, which i know isn't true but-” Chas continues on, John only half listening.
It's nothing physical that changes, not really. But suddenly the air seems to grow static, charged. A creeping sensation crawls up the back of John's neck, and the hand holding his cigarette out the window twitches slightly. Chas doesn't seem to notice the sudden thickness, still talking on about his studies.
But John knows like prophecy what's about to happen. And mostly he just hates the way he can sense it, he sighs, closes his eyes.
“Hey, baby.” An all too familiar voice croons.
John opens his eyes, and leaned against the window frame, nearly halfway in the car is Balthazar, smiling wide. Chas nearly jumps out of his skin in the front seat, whirling around with a:
“Fuck!”
John merely rolls his eyes, flicking his cigarette in a halfhearted attempt to get ash on Balthazar's' dress shoes. The half-breed turns his gaze from him to Chas, who's staring eyes wide, gripping onto the headrest of his seat. Balthazar looks at him curiously, head cocked, as though Chas were some kind of oddity at an aquarium.
“Is this your new squeeze, Johnny boy?” He asks, voice light. “I will say: if you were going to replace me you could've done so much better.”
Chas' eyebrows furrow, his mouth turns down in blank confusion. Rolling his eyes again, Constantine sets his jaw, his annoyance giving way to plain anger.
“He's my assistant, asshole, and you just scared the living shit out of him.”
“Oh, did I?” Balthazar pulls a deep pout. “My apologies.”
He extends a hand, reaching into the car, and putting his elbow promptly In John's face. Who blows out a huff.
“Please allow me to introduce myself.” Balthazar insists, and haltingly, probably because he doesn't know what else to do, Chas takes his hand and shakes it.
“Balthazar.” The half-breed informs politely. “I'm Johnny boy's actual squeeze.” And with that he retracts his arm, perching his hand on the window frame.
Chas cocks his head to the side; John just hisses lowly.
“He's a half-breed, Chas, and an asshole.” He clarifies.
Chas' expression morphs to full panic.
“What? What’s he doing here?” He questions, voice pitched.
Turning to look at Balthazar, he finds the half-breed looking back at him, smiling fondly.
“I was wondering the same thing.” John dead pans.
Grin growing wider, Balthazar trills:
“Well, I heard about some demonic activity in the neighborhood. But, and it’s really too bad, by the time I got here there were no demons left at all!” His eyes flash as they roam over John. “And I was left wondering just how that could be.”
“Yeah.” John says a slight edge in his voice. “I sent your little friend back, sorry about that.”
“Oh, it’s no worries.” Balthazar waves a hand dismissively. “We weren't that close anyways.”
“Good, then you can leave.” John spells.
“But I just got here!” Balthazar’s grin goes devilish. “And we have so much catching up to do.”
Reaching a hand deftly through, Balthazar runs two fingers down John’s tie. Anger flashing, John pulls away, and Balthazar’s left smiling, hand poised in midair. Chas continues staring, eyes going from John to Balthazar. John feels himself flush, humiliated that Balthazar chose right now to pull this shit. But, then again, what did he really expect?
“Don’t be so coy, Johnny.” Balthazar purrs. “Your friend can watch.” And he lilts his head innocently.
Rage crashes in John like symbols, his lips pull back, revealing teeth.
“Fuck off, Balthazar.”
Once again Balthazar pulls a pout, that only serves to make John angrier.
“But it’s been so long.” He whines. “I know you’ve missed me.”
That line inspires several reactions in John, but mostly it acts like a slap to the face. The fact that Balthazar can read him, read him like no one's ever been able to- it’s almost dehumanizing. To be stripped down to his bones every time the half-breed comes around. He flushes, and it’s only made worse by Balthazar’s grin going knowing off the sight of it.
“I’d say I’ll make it quick.” Balthazar preens. “But you know I like to take my time.”
John flushes again, this time with anger.
“I said: Fuck off-”
“Yes, yes “Fuck off, Balthazar” I know.” He interrupts, then leans in closer, killing the space between them. “We can do our usual bit here, or we can just cut straight to the chase.” He grins, showing off teeth.
He’s close enough that John can smell him; sharp like burning wood. But somehow familiar and smokey. It envelops him, consumes him. And John knows his spot in hell is secured for a lot of reasons. But what he says next has to be one of them.
“Chas, there's a bar down the street. Go get yourself a drink.” He orders flatly.
“What?” Chas quirks, eyes darting to Constatine. “I can’t leave you alone with him!” He insists, voice rising to hysteria. “He’ll kill you!”
“Oh, I’ll murder him.” Balthazar purrs.
John bristles.
“Shut up.” He demands, then looks back to Chas. “I’ll be fine. We have…heavenly matters to discuss. Go get a drink.”
Balthazar turns to him, eyes sultry.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
John ignores him, and reaches into his pocket, producing a wallet, he extends it to Chas.
“It’s on me. Go. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument.
Baffled, eyes wide, Chas slowly takes it and moves to get out of the car. He begins walking away, the whole time throwing curious glances over his shoulder. Balthazar gives him a little wave as he rounds the corner out of sight. John blows out a sigh, he turns to Balthazar to say something. But the door is open, and Balthazar is cramming himself inside next to him so fast he doesn't have the chance. Crowding in beside him, Balthazar leaves nothing to the imagination, practically settling on top of John.
Grunting John allows it, moving only to provide just enough space for the half-breed. Which is madness really, but Balthazar's intoxication sinks deep, and Johns already drunk. Inserting himself seamlessly Balthazar turns to him, wicked grin painted across his face. John looks back shameless, figuring there's really no room to be coy now. Balthazar's grin goes knowing, and just like that the air between them grows heavy. The few inches that part their faces seems to grow thick, dense with all those unsaid words. Balthazar extends a hand, and John lets him, bringing it to gently cup his face.
“Oh, Johnny.” He whispers.
And he almost sounds empathetic, he almost sounds like more then a monster,
He almost sounds like he cares.
Something rises in John’s chest in response, something light, and airy, and ridiculous. And against every instinct he finds himself leaning into Balthazar's touch. Feeling the half-breed brush his thumb lightly against his lower lip in response. Something stabs through John at the sensation, something distinctly like fear. And he crushes the rising feeling in his chest like a cigarette butt, dirty beneath his fingers. Snorting, he pulls away from Balthazar's touch.
“Are we gonna do this or not?” He snaps and swallows the bile he feels rising in his throat. “Chas is a lightweight, he won't be long.”
For the briefest of seconds, something flickers across Balthazar’s face- something that reads almost like hurt. If Constantine thought the half-breed were even capable of such a thing. But in an instant, it shifts back to a demure grin, full of itself. Balthazar clicks his tongue.
“Always one for businesses, John. Never enjoying the subtleties.”
“Yeah.” John deadpans, hands already working on his belt. “You inspire that in me.”
Balthazar’s smile deepens, and its purely trouble.
“Turn around.”
It’s strictly a demand. John snorts again, undeterred. But suddenly there's two strong hands on him, forcing him to hit his belly against the leather seat, legs kicking out gracelessly behind him. And before he knows it, Balthazar is literally tearing his pants, and boxers from his ass, making John sparingly glad that he had the foresight t undo his belt.
“Always in such a rush Johnny.” Balthazar croons from behind him, placing two hands on his hips to tug him closer.
John has just enough time to grab at the door for support, as the half-breed continues:
“You never just
enjoy me.”
He hears Balthazar spit into his palm.
“It’s enough to make a girl feel unwanted.”
And with that Balthazar enters him, with enough force to knock the wind from John’s lungs. It’s punishment, strictly, it reads as nothing else. The angle and aggression of the movement betraying Balthazar's intentions all too clearly. John gives a grunt, adjusting his grin on the car door. And he hates, really hates, that he kinda likes it. Balthazar rocks back, then snaps his hips forwards, and the wind is again blown from John.
“It’s like I’m a commodity, to you, John.” Balthazar continues.
With that he snaps his hips again, knocking a snarky response from John.
“It’s like you don't value me.” The half-breed pouts.
He rocks himself deeply into the exorcist, and draws out a deep, potent kind of pleasure. A puff of air escapes John in response. And, sparingly, John is impressed with the range, and maneuverability Balthazar is actively achieving in the awkward space. Without warning, he slams into John again, and it's merciless. drawing himself back, Balthazar enters John again, again. Till he's steadily lunching forwards with each thrust. Clinging to the door for dear life, John just takes it. A burning sensation building in his core, doubling over on itself. And its sickening, plainly so, the way Balthazar just works him over. the way he hits all the right notes, strikes up every perfect chord in John.
It's disgusting.
It's horrendous.
It's biblical.
Balthazar continues his assault, cruel in his work. Fucking into John like the rapture starts tonight. And John feels very clearly as he pulls back, adjusts his angle and beat back into him. Pain, and pleasure, and pure fucking enlightenment just crack through John. His mouth parts, and a very genuine whimper rips from him. It's humiliating, properly, it's degrading. But Balthazar let's out a low growl in perfect response. And all that spare shame just flees John, like leaves on the wind. The noise sings through John, sparking up like a wildfire.
And when Balthazar buries himself in John again, he whimpers even louder. Its indecent really, and John is given the fleeting notion that he should tighten up.
But, then again, Balthazar is fucking him raw in the back of a taxi.
So maybe all decency left the building a long time ago.
Balthazar keeps pumping, and that sensation in John keeps growing, sultry little noise escaping him with each movement.
“So perfect, Johnny.” Balthazar coos from behind. “Always so good for me.”
John grits his teeth, caught somewhere between annoyed, and devastatingly turned on. Despite himself, Balthazar's words send a spark through him, lighting up every cell.
And he's close, he's so close.
“Perfect little fuck.” Balthazar continues, the words half a purr and half a growl.
A sob escapes John.
“So good.” The half breed encourages.
And the sensation works up, and up, and up.
“My favorite.” Balthazar rumbles, low and dark.
And that's it, all at once Johns cumming, and its horrible, and gratifying, and everything. It's the whole of the world in the back of a taxi. And John hates himself for how much he loves it. His feels his muscles seize, and in direct response Balthazar grunts, and spills inside him. Both are still for a long moment, then Balthazar succinctly removes himself in one swift motion. John grunts at the sensation, and he knows that this is punishment too.
He takes a few seconds to collect himself, before turning and sitting properly in the seat. Beside him he sees Balthazar sitting similarly, facing him, his cock out, free and clear. And he's grinning ear to ear, as though he's just won the lottery. Beginning to purr from low within his throat, he reaches out a hand and begins to preen at John.
Fixing up his hair, adjusting at hi tie and collar. Dazed, and still half orgasm drunk, John allows it. And finds himself relishing only slightly at the gentle touch. After a fashion Balthazar deems himself done and brings his hand to rest against John's cheek. Who flinches slightly before he finds himself absurdly relaxing into the touch. His eyes flitter closed, and they're still like this for a moment. But being quiet never really suited Balthazar, and before Long he breaks the silence.
“You know, I'm sweet on you, Johnny. Not a lot of creatures elicit that in me.”
John can feel cum dribbling out of him where he meets the seat, and already he just knows he'll be sitting funny for a few days.
“Yes Balthazar.” John growls. “What a sweetheart you are.”
Balthazar's grin cracks wicked.
“You have no idea, John.” He purrs. “What it looks like when I get rough.”
A little shiver blows through John off those words. Because there's not a doubt in his mind that Balthazar can play so much nastier than this. It also makes him wonder, sparingly, why the half-breed holds back with him in the first place. John huffs, disgusted, and pulls away from Balthazar's touch. Who pouts fully at the effort.
“Maybe we should try sometime.” John pitches moodily, hands moving to work on his belt. “Could be fun.” He spits.
Balthazar's gaze shifts to something John can't quote place, and he says low:
“Oh, I could never hurt you, John. Not in a way that mattered.”
“And why's that?” John demands, annoyed.
Balthazar's lips pull up in a genuine grin, and it's just short of truly scary.
“Because we're bound.”
Johns head snaps to Balthazar.
“Bullshit.” He hisses through his teeth.
Grin pulling wider, Balthazar only shakes his head.
“Oh, but we are. We're bound John. I always come knocking, and you always open the door. What else do you think this is?”
John huffs, annoyed, and alarmed and having no perfect answer for that.
“Were not anything, asshole.” He states plainly, an edge to his voice. “We get what we want from each other and that's all.”
Balthazar's eyes roam him, searching. And his expression goes soft, sentimental.
“You have no idea what I want from you, John.” He whispers, and once again that feeling of dismay rises in John, he shifts slightly.
Balthazar shakes his head slowly, smile never falling.
“I want you: body, mind, and soul. I want you down to the quick. I want all of John Constantine , and I want all the space in between.”
The words just pour from his lips like honey, and John finds himself hanging on every single one. He lay caught between total fear, and a strange kind of tug. A length of rope that's laced around his ribs, and which Balthazar holds the other end of. It's horrible, its madness clearly. But in the danger lays a kind of desire.
You know, no ones ever really wanted John.
No ones ever hungered for him like this.
He shakes his head rapidly, as if he can shake out the misconceptions. Balthazar laughs, seeing straight through him. He begins securing his cock back in his slacks, and chides:
“Call me when you need me, Johnny. There's no need for such space between our visits.” His eyes rise and find John, seemingly pinning him to the spit. “You know I'm never far.”
Another shiver rolls through john, but he just snorts.
“Get the fuck outta here, Balthazar.”
The half-breed grins, leans forwards, and kisses him flat on the mouth. And it's really rather…wifely. As though John was leaving for work. It's tender, a lover's kiss. And John just genuinely doesn't know where to categorize it in his brain.
Sometimes it's so much easier when Balthazar is cruel with him.
Balthazar pulls back, shoots him a wink, and gracefully exits the cab, slamming the door behind him. He goes to leave, but turns and leans into the window.
“See you soon, sweetie.” He draws, all sweet. “You know I miss you too.”
Something sings through John off those words, and he opts to bite his cheek in response. Balthazar smiles, revealing perfect teeth, clicks his tongue. Before righting himself and casually slinking away. John watches him go and wonders briefly if his spot in Hell is next to Balthazar's.
Chas comes back maybe five minutes later, peering around nervously for Balthazar. John assures him the half-breed is long gone and tells him to shut up when he asks what they talked about. Chas makes a comment about the car smelling strange, and John insists it's only sulfur, cheeks burning the whole time.
They drive back in relative silence, John staring out the window. When he gets home, he takes a long, cold shower, and lays down in an empty bed. John doesn't make wishes, doesn't believe in that sort of thing. But, sometimes, on nights like tonight- he wishes someone were here. Balthazar's words turn over heavy in his mind. It's folly obviously, it's a shit shoot.
And Constantine thinks of all the ways to die, loneliness has to be the slowest. He huffs rolls onto his side and tells himself to never entertain the delusion that is Balthazar again.
He spends all night thinking about the feel of their lips intertwined.