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Three weeks.
It's been three weeks since John and Balthazar's little taxi can meet up.
And John is fucking dying.
He's been alone all his life, in one sense or another. What he's experiencing now should be no different. He's not lonely for Balthazar per say. More just lonely in the vague, stupid, human sense. The kind that plucks out your eyes, pops your teeth out like rot.
The indescribable kind.
And really John should just sit with it, like he has every other moment of his life. But the more he gets from Balthazar the more he finds he wants. Life is so funny like that.
He tries to keep his head down, do his job. But as the days wear on, one blurs into another like frames of a film. One exorcism after another, and John can feel himself gnashing his teeth, strangling himself on the leash of complete abandonment. And it’s all so fucking ridiculous he can't even look in the mirror without sneering at his reflection. So, John just gets by. The spear in his side works its way a little deeper every day, and John just pretends not to notice the blood trail. It’s a good system really, one he mastered as a teenager. But that still doesn't mean he doesn't feel the bite.
Tonight’s a bad night, worse than usual for a reason John can’t really place. Sitting at the long table in his apartment, he smokes in silence. Wisps of smoke float lazily through the air, curling in on themselves. He sighs, and a thin pall issues forth.
John doesn't allow himself to have wants, or desires, or any of those kinds of sticky things. Mostly because it always ends in heartbreak, one way or another. That is to say; if you never want, then you can’t be disappointed when you don't get it. Another one of John’s perfect systems. But deep down in John’s soul, or way back in a part of his brain he never goes to- he harbors simple human desires.
And it makes him sick.
Sighing again, John runs a hand over his face, looks around at the empty apartment.
“Call me when you need me, Johnny. There's no need for such space between our visits.”
The clock ticks on the wall, the only source of sound.
“You know I'm never far.”
Hissing through his teeth, John stubs out his cigarette in the choked ashtray. And it’s such a stupid idea, so totally braindead that he should be shot for even considering it.
“You know I miss you too.”
It’s sick, the little line Balthazar has in John. Made sicker by the fact that Balthazar knows all the right buttons to press. John hisses again, and really- John should never speak to him again, really teach him a lesson. Pulling his phone roughly from his pocket, John snorts.
“Stupid asshole.”
He should leave Balthazar out for the dogs.
Opening his contacts, John begins to scroll. He stops on an unsaved number, though John knows exactly who it is. His finger hovers just above the call icon, hesitating.
“Oh, for fucks sake.” He growls, and presses it, putting the phone to his ear.
The line rings once then connects, and a honey smooth voice drawls:
“Hey, baby, I was getting worried you’d never call.”
“I considered it.” John grates, already regretting his decision.
“It's been too long, my love.”
John snorts.
“Not long enough.”
“Oh, so cruel, Johnny Boy.”
Gritting his teeth, anger wells in John. And mostly, he can’t believe he’s doing this.
“You know what I want, Balthazar.” His tone is murderous.
“Oh, I always do, baby.” Balthazar purrs, and John can hear the smile in his voice.
And it about makes him want to slam his head into a wall.
“You know where I live.” He spits. “Let’s make this quick.”
“We always do.” Balthazar mocks. “But, really, Johnny, is that any way to ask a girl to dance?”
John says nothing, only grinds his teeth again, and feels the grate of calcium.
“Ask me nicely.” Balthazar demands, tone light.
“Oh, screw you, asshole.” John snaps. “I’m not gonna just-”
“Then hang up.” Balthazar cuts him off sharply. “Hang up, because we both know I’m not doing anything until you ask nicely. And if you don't feel like playing nice, then we don't have to play at all.”
A beat of silence falls, and the rage that consumes John is blinding. He wants to scream, to rip his hair out, because he knows just as well as Balthazar- he’s wriggling on Balthazar's hook. John’s not in control and they both know it. Because John wants what only Balthazar can give him. He takes a deep breath, hunches over the table.
“Would you like to come over, Balthazar?” John asks as calmly as he can, through gritted teeth.
And he can imagine all too clearly Balthazar’s wicked grin.
“Hmm.” Balthazar draws from the other end of the line. “I don’t know, I’m a little busy.”
John clenches his jaw so tight, he’s certain for a second that it'll shatter.
“But I suppose I could make some time. I can be there in fifteen.”
“Perfect.” John hisses.
“See you soon, my darli-”
Beep.
John disconnects the call before Balthazar can finish, and throws the phone on the table, as though it were the real source of all this trouble. Staring at it, John lets out a long breath, disappointed only in himself. Luckily, he only has fifteen minutes to think about what he’s done.
…
John scratches the half-breed protection symbol of the door frame before Balthazar arrives. He really doesn't need to give him any additional reasons to chatter.
The thing about Hell, and its minions is that they’re all really rather timely. So, when Balthazar said fifteen minutes- he meant fifteen minutes. Fifteen on the dot, and John hears a signature knocking at his door, he lets it hang for a few seconds before going to get it. And with every step, he can’t help but feel like he’s securing his own damnation. He throws the door open, and leaned up against the frame, smiling wide, is Balthazar.
“Hey, babygirl.” He purrs earnestly.
John makes a noise of disgust, but before he can reply, Balthazar is on top of him, lips colliding. Securing one hand in John’s hair at the back of his head, Balthazar uses the other to slam the door closed behind them. And despite how angry it makes him, John finds himself kissing back, and back, and back. Desperate, like a dying man. Balthazar brings his free hand around, and anchors it on John’s hip, pulling him closer. Hands finding the collar of Balthazar’s shirt, John just tries to hang on. Suddenly the hand on his hip is moving to his belt, deftly undoing it.
“I have a bedroom.” John pans, breaking them apart.
“I can’t wait that long.” Balthazar gravels back immediately and presses their lips back together.
Something about those words just sing through John, lighting him up in all the right ways. With John's belt undone, Balthazar steps back, and begins working on his own. His eyes never leave John, devouring him as his hands make quick work. And John wonders how he must look, standing there hair disheveled and his belt wide open. Balthazar rips down his zipper and frees himself. And Johns not sure what it is about the way humans are wired that still makes him a little weak in the knees every time he sees Balthazar's cock. Off his expression Balthazar laughs, dark and knowing. And John wants to be angry, and he wants to be cruel, to tell Balthazar to go to Hell. But like possession, he's toeing off each shoe, and shimmying his pants and boxers clean to the floor, stepping out of them.
Balthazar grins, and it’s distinctly wolf like, he advances on John, swift as death. John doesn't back away, only sneers as Balthazar reaches out, and scoops John up under his thighs, and lifts him clean in the air. He grunts, surprised, and instinctually his legs wrap around Balthazar, who secures his hold. Balthazar walks them to the wall, pinning John against it, perhaps too hard, and the air is knocked from him.
“Balthazar!” John scolds, breathless.
Laughing Balthazar moves one of his hands, and John feels as he moves to adjust himself to slide into John. Balthazar sinks into him, up to the hilt, and it’s like fucking rapture.
“God, John.” Balthazar grits out through clenched teeth. “You’re perfect every fucking time.”
All the air leaves John for an entirely new reason, Balthazar’s words eliciting forth a drunken sensation. Without warning, Balthazar thrust his hips up, and John smacks into the wall with a grunt. He does it again, and again, quickly finding a pace, and a slow a heat begins to build in John.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Goes John’s body against the wall.
“My perfect whore.” Balthazar purrs, and it all almost reads like love in John’s mind. “I can’t fuck anyone like I fuck you.”
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
The heat in John’s core ripens, turns in on itself, evolving into something new, his mouth parts, and a heady moan escapes.
“Always so good for me. You take me so good.”
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
The sensation doubles over, burning right through him, and John is just plain embarrassed how quick he’s fixing to cum off this one. He falls forwards, head buried in the crook of Balthazar's neck, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
A strangled wail falls from John’s lips.
“You’re everything to me, John.”
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
A sob rips loose from John as pleasure just tears through him. Pulling out and thrusting back in so hard John gives a bounce, Balthazar works him over with renewed vigor. It sings through John, who very genuinely screams. In a fever, Balthazar pounds into him, and John goes flying with each thrust. It builds, builds, builds, and-
John screams again, and this time he swears they hear him in Hell, as his orgasm flows over him in ruthless waves. Balthazar continues in his work, and every movement just racks Johns overstimulated body.
“I’m going to ruin you.” Balthazar growls, deep, and guttural.
And a shiver runs through John, just as he feels Balthazar loose inside him. That hot, indescribable rush. Balthazar snaps his hips up one last time, for, John assumes propriety. And John grunts as he succinctly draws himself out but continues holding John. Breath hitched, rising from his position, John looks down at Balthazar, who's grinning wide, all teeth.
“You said something about a bedroom?” He purrs.
And without waiting for a response, Balthazar begins walking down the hall, past the long table towards the bedroom. John squirms, emasculated at being carried like this.
“Balthazar!”
“Oh, hush, Johnny.” Balthazar coos. “I know you love the attention.”
Flushing, John elects to say nothing, and as they reach the bedroom, Balthazar throws him down roughly on the bed. John lands with a bounce, and a sneer, looking up at Balthazar, who really couldn’t be more pleased with himself. Grinning wide, like it’s all shits, and giggles.
“Gonna roll over and let me take you again, Johnny? Or are you truly that coy?” Balthazar crows.
The anger that John feels is real, licking at his mind like flames lick the wood. But, in that dark little recess of his mind- he doesn't want Balthazar to go. And he really just wants more. He gives his best snarl, showing off teeth, but rolls to his belly all the same.
Balthazar takes him again, and then again. He’s typically cruel, but somehow kind all at the same time. He finishes in John each time, and with it imparts a message that reads like complete control. For his final act, he blows John, looking up at him and batting his big doe eyes the whole time. And as John fucks mercilessly into his face, trying maybe only vaguely to kill him, John can only think of how good Balthazar looks.
They finish and John lay on the bed, well and truly fucked out. Balthazar stands a few feet from him, and John watches as he slowly removes what's left of his clothing, letting it fall to the floor, and crawl up onto the bed. John flinches out of reflex, expecting some kind of cruelty. But instead, Balthazar simply comes and lays next to John, head resting on his pillow, facing him. Slowly Balthazar reaches out, and brings John into the fold of his arms, tucking him securely against his chest. Perplexed, John allows it.
He can have this, he tells himself. He can have this for just a few minutes.
Balthazar begins to card his fingers gently through his hair. And begins murmuring in some kind of indescribable language. A demon language John supposes, one he’s not fluent in. Balthazar's words are half a genuine purr. John tells himself he’ll allow this little circus to go on for five more minutes, then he kicks Balthazar out.
Tucked against his chest, John falls asleep almost instantly, as Balthazar murmurs on.
…
The next morning John wakes both humiliated and mortified to find himself still wrapped in Balthazar’s arms. He slowly sits up, Balthazar’s arms falling from around him. John runs a hand over his face, as Balthazar slowly begins to stir, stretching wide, hands above his head.
“Good morning, my love.” He draws, voice pure sex.
“Get out.”
“But, darling, you haven’t even fed me breakfast. You really-”
“Get out.” John snaps the words.
Balthazar rises from the bed, and begins collecting, and donning articles of clothing, but he’s smiling the whole time. John simply watches, torn between anger, and something like grief. Once he’s fully dressed, Balthazaar turns to John, and nods his head towards the front door.
“Walk me out?”
John knows he should say no, but something about the inquiry is so sincere. And it really doesn't help that it’s Balthazar who's asking. Slipping on a pair of pants, John walks Balthazar in silence to the door, opens it for him as Balthazar turns to him.
“It was fun as always, love. Do take care of yourself until next time.”
John sneers half-heartedly.
“Sure.”
“And if anyone gives you trouble, let me know. I don't want anyone bothering you.”
“Uh huh.”
With that Balthazar leans in and kisses John like he’s never done anything wrong in his life. And when he pulls back, John finds himself aching in every point where their bodies once met. Balthazar looks at him, and his nose crinkles in amusement.
“Oh, Johnny.” He purrs. “What a funny little mess we’ve made.”
Balthazar then turns, and steps out the threshold, throwing a little wave over his shoulder, he slinks off. And John can’t help but feel like he’s losing something as he watches him go. Reaching out, he slams the door shut.
John stands, and stares at the closed door for a long, long time.