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Devil's Bargain

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Constantine, admittedly, is looking for trouble when it finds him. The nightclub he's in has a pounding bass, is filled with frankly gorgeous women in just the right amount of lack of clothing, and no shortage of all too attractive men too, which happen to be drawing his eye equally well.

He's found himself a spot on the bar to lean against, content to wait for the bartender to get around to him while he surveys the crowd scattered across the tiered seating. He really doesn't mind waiting when the view's so good, at least not this time.

Then a body slides in beside his, notched between two seats and all but pressed against him, leaning into the bar and calling in a lovely familiar accent, "Pour the man whatever he wants; this one's on me."

He can feel the power blazing against his skin before he ever turns, and long before he looks up to meet the dark eyes and heated smile of the Devil. The shiver crawls down his spine before he's even aware of the urge, and gods damn him but it's a long way from the bad kind. Tall and commanding is sort of his thing — hello, Justice League — but bind that up with enough magic potential to make his senses sing and he's on his way to bloody heaven before the first words.

"That's nice of ya, mate," he drawls, before he turns to the bartender and asks, "Got any real beer?"

The glass is brought down, and the Devil looks him over. Slowly, obviously. "What brings you to my club tonight?" is the eventual question; how he makes the purr audible beneath the music is questionable but he'd bet the ever-obvious answer of magic.

"Lookin’ for a night of fun," is his simple answer. He smiles back.

One hand rises, and a long-fingered hand rests against a smooth, dark red shirt that clings like a second skin to the inwards angle of that waist.

"Lucifer Morningstar."

"I know," is all he can manage for a moment. Then he tilts back to get the drink now waiting for him, taking a long sip before he sets it down more in range. "John Constantine."

"I know," Lucifer echoes, and then leans closer, coming close enough to nearly brush his ear. "It's not often that I get warlocks in my bar, darling. All that power and all those little enchantments; you shine like a spotlight next to these flat, normal humans."

"Interesting choice of profession if you find humans boring," he points out, tilting his head just enough to meet those studying eyes.

"Well, I like to indulge." Lucifer's smile is a thing of sin; all the best kinds of sin. "And I didn't say boring, I said flat and normal. You're not either of those, are you, Constantine?"

"I do my best to avoid normal," he admits, lifting his head and trying not to shift closer to the heat of the power buzzing on his skin. "So am I getting a special greeting from you then, luv? A friendly 'welcome to the club' from the local Devil? Or are you interested in something with a little more intent than that? I'm not really for sale, so you know."

Lucifer laughs, low and bright. "Oh, you are, but you're spoken for, Constantine." Lucifer's gaze dips down, following the line of his throat and briefly pausing at his sternum before flicking back up. "Twice over, which really is rather impressive. I’d love to read the fine print on those deals; the reputation is well deserved, hm?"

"Well I do my best." He leans a bit more against the bar, letting his elbows brace against it. "You didn't answer me though. Lucy."

One eyebrow arches. "You do like to play with fire." Lucifer shifts forward, bracing a hand against the counter and sliding against his side, caging him back against the bar. "So why are you really in my nightclub, Constantine? Why don't you tell me what you want?"

Lucifer's eyes are dark, and the rest of the club fades out of his senses as he swallows, magic buzzing up his chest, security spells humming to life and then popping away. He wants— He—

"Gods that's potent," he gasps, blinking to try and bring the rest of the club back into focus. "You do that to everyone you're interested in or just the ones you fancy? Can't imagine the mundane crowd knows how to deal with that; you must get all kinds of interesting answers."

"The fantasies these humans come up with," Lucifer purrs, before one powerful hand grabs him by the front of his shirt and pushes backwards to make him lean back a few inches over the bar. Lucifer is still bent partially over him, smile more reminiscent of a predator than it was before, slightly open and with focused, wild eyes. "If you're here to cause trouble, you have one chance to go running. This is my place, darling, and I don't usually welcome strangers into it. Not ones with power anyway."

He manages a small laugh, nervous, excited energy jittering through his veins. "Not looking for trouble," he denies, and then amends, "Well, not the sort to condemn, anyway. Like I said, just looking for a little fun."

One leg slots between his, powerful and insistent, and there's a flicker of red to Lucifer's gaze, a flash of raw skin and bared teeth before the demand of, "Tell me what you want."

The crackle of power, sweeping beneath his skin in a hot rush, drags a shiver from him as that gaze pins him down. "I—” A second shudder, a breathless gasp, and then the words come rushing from his mouth as he admits, "Right now? You. Bloody hell I want you."

He surges forward, raising a hand and grabbing at the back of Lucifer's neck as his lunge succeeds in getting their mouths together. Either Lucifer was expecting it or his reaction time is vastly superior, but either way it's barely a moment before there's a hand scraping up the back of his neck and curling into his hair, pulling him to a better angle. Then the Devil's tongue is in his mouth, which must rank incredibly high in terms of outright sacrilege and yet about the best he can manage is to moan for the sensation, his free hand braced desperately against the bar's counter.

He's just about ready to start grinding into the thigh pressed between his when Lucifer draws back, fingers sliding out from his hair and down to cup the back of his neck. He blinks, dazed, until the all-too-handsome face of the Devil focuses again before his eyes, and he has the presence of mind back to realize this night is… maybe not going entirely how he planned. Although, given how his breath is coming a bit harder, and the way that Lucifer is smiling at him, maybe that's not such a bad thing.

"Come upstairs with me," Lucifer demands, the hand gripping his shirt smoothing out, pressing flat to his chest instead. "I get the feeling you're the type that needs a bit of negotiation before play, aren't you, poppet?"

He tries not to let his heart beat too in-time with the pulse of magic in the hand over it. "I do tend to prefer to set my boundaries when I'm dealing with ancient, powerful beings. Call it a funny quirk of mine."

Lucifer straightens up, shifting back as his hands lower, the one on the back of his neck sliding across his throat before dropping away. "Don't forget your drink, love," he's reminded with a smile, which gives him just enough time to turn and grab it before Lucifer's hand is curling around his wrist and he's being pulled away from the bar. There is absolutely no chance at breaking that hold without some serious firepower, so he goes along with it.

The crowds don't part, but Lucifer is clearly an expert at sliding through them, and since he's being pulled close behind that expertise allows him to slide through as well. It isn't more than a minute before Lucifer's guided him across the room and into a lift guarded by an actual member of the staff. His trench coat and rumpled shirt get a bit of an odd glance, but apparently direct connection to Lucifer transcends any judgment of style, because there's not even a hint that the man considers stopping either of them.

Lucifer's hand stays wrapped around his wrist, thumb rubbing small circles into the back of it for the duration of the lift ride, until it lets out into an empty, although equally large place. Certainly a much more homey one, though he isn't given all that much time to look at it before he's being pulled away and through a door, and he has to admit, inside the Devil's bedroom is not a place that he ever thought he'd be, even given his other escapades.

He's swung around, then pushed back until the back of his knees hit the bed. The only thing that keeps him from falling onto it is the curl of powerful fingers in his shirt, as Lucifer both holds him up and stands close enough that unless he wants to be pressed quite this close (which he does, so it's not really a problem), the only thing he could do would be to fall backwards onto the bed. If he wasn't quite so alright with having Lucifer's power still buzzing away at his skin, he might do just that. The bed must be very nice, given who it belongs to.

"So…” Lucifer murmurs, holding him upright and close but not moving to otherwise touch him. "Negotiate, Constantine. You didn't just wander into my club by pure happenstance, and people like you don't seek me out unless you want something." There's a downwards flicker of his gaze, a curling smile. "I'd be flattered if 'sex with the Devil' is a bucket list item of yours, but you'll have to be very convincing to make me believe that."

"Fair enough," he agrees. "I didn't come looking for this specifically, but it works… maybe better than my other option." He repays the consideration that Lucifer is showing him by keeping his hands to himself, no matter the urge he's feeling to see exactly how perfect an angel is beneath whatever their clothes are. The finely-tailored clothing is giving him an idea, but that's really just not enough for his imagination to be satisfied.

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, studying him what feels like more than skin deep.

"Simply put," he continues, before the Devil can get irritated, "I'm looking for a bit of a power-up. Local business, short term, you know? I was planning on leaching a bit of the extra energy out of your club, but getting it straight from the source would be loads better. If that's something you might be interested in, and it frankly looks like you might be."

The smile he gets isn't dismissive, and he isn't suddenly burning, so he's right on the money with that one. Instead, Lucifer takes a small step back to allow him to stand more steadily, hand smoothing out along his chest and lingering there. He takes a drink from the glass still in his hand, since he can now and really, this is a good beer. Be a shame to waste it.

"Power, hm?" The fingers on his chest blaze with the heat of brands, though with none of the pure agony or that oddly-good cooking flesh smell. "And what would I get in return for that boost?"

"You mean apart from the fantastic sex with someone informed of your rather inhuman nature?"

That gets him a laugh that sounds almost delighted. "That does sound like a fun night. I suppose I can give a small gift, as a gesture of good faith. Next time though, you'll owe me a little more than a bit of fun, Constantine."

"I'll keep that in mind," he promises, and tilts the glass up to chug the rest of his pint down as he processes the idea that this is really happening. Well, he's done stranger things in his life than sleep with the Devil, he's sure. It's not like he owes anything for this particular dalliance, which is a step up from most of his more interesting nights. "Alright then," he says when he swallows the last of the beer, letting the glass hang at his side. "So, I imagine the Devil generally likes to be the one actually doing, hm?"

Lucifer's answer is to take his chin in hand and pull him up into a kiss, where that tongue wastes no time in sliding back into his mouth. The strength of those fingers on his jaw is, alright, maybe a massive turn on, which is not at all a new discovery though it's been awhile since he was able to indulge that specific kink for physical strength. He tosses the empty glass back onto the bed so that his hands are free to come forward and grip at that angled waist. Firm muscle greets him, which is a lovely confirmation if not a surprise.

The lips pressed to his curve in a smile. Then clever fingers are undoing the buttons on his shirt, baring his chest a few inches at a time as the fingers on his jaw squeeze. He moans into the kiss and moves to return the favor, finding the buttons of Lucifer's shirt by sliding his hands across that firm chest and then working on getting them open, one at a time. The skin that his fingers brush against buzzes, zapping charge into him that's sharp enough he thinks it must be visible, even if only to one with the sight to see such things. So much power can't possibly be hidden.

His shirt comes fully apart, and he can feel the same charge as Lucifer slides a hand up the center of his torso, palm flat against his skin and at least several degrees hotter than any human would be. By the time that hand has reached his collarbone he has Lucifer's shirt apart as well, and can grope the skin beneath with no shame. Flat, hard, smooth muscle. Excellent.

Lucifer pushes him back from the kiss, lifting his chin a bit further even as he leans in, lips sliding across his jaw and then down onto his neck. He gives a small gasp at the feeling, and then a breathed, "Ah," as teeth rake across his pulse. He has just enough presence of mind to say, "Let's stay away from blood, hm? Nasty complications there."

(And he is not anywhere near dumb enough to let the Devil taste or own any of his blood.)

"Want to introduce a safeword too?" is the question breathed against his throat, and the fact that he's honestly not sure whether it's meant to be mocking or not is what makes him think that yeah, that might not be a terrible idea.

"Do you think calling 'God' is safe enough?" he offers, more than a little sarcastically.

"Ugh," Lucifer mutters, with clear disgust. "Bit of a tip, love; bringing up my father might be one of the very best ways to ruin the mood."

He gives a breathy laugh, sliding a hand up the Devil's side. "I'll take that as a 'yes' then. And just to be clear, I’m talking about the single word. If it’s plural, or there’s anything attached, don’t you dare stop. Understand?”

“You would have to be complicated, wouldn’t you, Constantine?”

“Isn’t that what you signed up for?” He lets go of Lucifer’s chest so he can lift his hands, ticking off his fingers as he explains, “I'm not big on rough, but pain can be fun if it's done well; I'm going to assume you know a bit about that. No blood, no humiliation, nothing permanent, and if you try anything odd while I’m down you might get blasted on reflex, so I’d probably ask first if you’re going to swap things around. Think you can handle that, Lucy?”

“What’s your opinion on gags?” comes the retort, and he laughs.

“Only if they’re fingers, luv.”

“Tempting,” Lucifer murmurs into his neck. “I have a feeling you’d bite.”

“Probably not hard,” he argues, and Lucifer scoffs and straightens up and away from him. “It’s not like I could hurt you with a few normal human teeth,” is what he points out next, meeting the dark gaze with a smirk. “No spells there; promise.”

The hand on his chest slides in underneath the open fabric on his left shoulder, pushing both the trench coat and shirt off of it. “If you were carrying anything strong enough to be a threat, I would feel it.” And suddenly Lucifer is pressing forward, free hand looping around his waist to press hard at the small of his back, as one thigh pushes firmly between his. He can’t help a small gasp, a roll of his hips, and Lucifer teases, “Decent, for a human. You’re no match for an Archangel though.”

“Well, can’t say I’ve ever had an opportunity to see what’s under an angel’s robes.” He rolls his shoulder to pull his left arm from within the layers of fabric trapped around it, and then reaches forward to graze his fingers across the lines of Lucifer’s abs. “It’s nice so far, though I haven’t seen any of the real fun bits yet.”

The smile he’s given has slipped back to wicked, and he gives a small, appreciative groan as Lucifer’s hand slides across the top of his chest, lingering at his throat for a delicious moment. He’s entirely sure that Lucifer catches the little thrill of heat that spirals down into his gut at that touch, mostly because there’s the firm press of a thumb into the hollow of his throat before it moves on, pushing his clothing off of his right shoulder as well.

“No one’s ever been disappointed,” is Lucifer’s simple, self-assured answer, as Constantine wiggles his arm out of the layers and lets them drop down. He reaches for the tie still loosely knotted around his neck, and Lucifer’s hand catches his wrist before he’s so much as touched it, twisting his hand away with unyielding pressure. “We’ll leave that on,” is the equally unyielding statement, and he can’t help but give a small laugh.

“That’s a good start,” he admits. Then, when Lucifer’s hand abandons his back — letting his coat and shirt drop to the floor — and grips the tie instead, winding the fabric around his knuckles, he adds, “That’s a better one.” (Yeah, Lucifer definitely saw how he enjoyed the brush of that hand against his neck.)

"So," Lucifer murmurs, pulling him a bit closer by that grip, gaze fixed unerringly on his, "what do you want me to do to you, Constantine?"

The question doesn't have the same slam of power that the earlier one did, but he can feel it teasing there, feel how it dulls his other senses and makes him utterly unable to look away from Lucifer's gaze. "Bit of a list, to be honest." is the truthful if entirely unhelpful answer. He enjoys a lot of things, and most of those things would probably be utterly incredible at the hands of the Devil himself.

Nails drag slowly up his stomach as Lucifer smiles, looping the tie once more around that deceptively powerful hand so that knuckles press into the front of his throat. "Pick something interesting," he's commanded, as his breath catches at the pressure. “I doubt you can surprise me, but if you want to try…”

Millennia of sex and sin, set against his generally human lifetime? No; he’s seen and done some strange things, but he’s got no illusions that his knowledge of kink stacks up against Lucifer’s.

His lack of an immediate answer means that Lucifer shifts against him and pushes him back, until he falls onto the bed. The tie unwraps as he falls, so he hits the bed without it pulling tight around his neck, but as Lucifer leans down over him it’s looped once and drawn tight again, pulling his neck into a small arch. He curls his fingers into the sheets beneath him — soft, fine material — as Lucifer slides a knee onto the bed next to his hip, fingers coming to skate over his stomach and ribs, tracing the patterns of the words and symbols inked onto his skin in a half dozen languages.

Lucifer's gaze follows the path of his fingers, curling in the circles of protective spellwork, in the very bits of magic that initially flared to life when faced with the power of the actual Devil. Now they stay dormant, even with the sweep of unnatural heat following in the wake of the fingertips tracing them. Like little crackles of electricity sinking in under his skin, raising the fine hairs in their wake.

"Ah." He stays as still as he can manage, squeezing his eyes shut and biting into his lip for a moment. "That's… very distracting," he mumbles.

"Good," is the answer. "This is quite the variety of tattoos; they go all the way down?"

"You'll just have to find out, luv." He loses the battle to hold still when those fingers skate across a sensitive patch of skin on his side, squirming and lifting his back to arch in line with his neck. Lucifer leans down, lips following the jut of his clavicle, fingers sliding around his waist and bracing against his back to keep him lifted into that slight arch. Normal strength wouldn’t be able to, but despite the minor amount of contact his weight is entirely supported. Angel strength is nothing to be sneezed at.

“How about something pretty simple?” he offers, as he pushes up into the delightful graze of teeth across his skin. “Got any candles around?”

The lips and teeth pause, before Lucifer lifts his head and says, with a somewhat delighted twist to his voice, “Indeed I do. Usually they’re only used to set the mood, but I make sure they’re quality. Dual-purpose.”

“Efficiency is good,” he agrees. “I figure that clean-up’s a right bitch and almost no one knows how to do it. If you’re going to ruin me for something it might as well be something I barely ever get, hm?”

Lucifer lowers him back to the bed, letting the tie lower to curl on top of his sternum before the now free hand braces beside his head. This kiss is no less exquisitely sacrilegious than the others, despite it being briefer. Lucifer’s breath mingles with his, before the Devil commands, “Stay right there, Constantine.”

He knows he’s not going to actually obey even before the order is fully off those lips, but he plays at it as Lucifer pushes away from him and gets off the bed, crossing the room to a rather magnificent looking dresser and mirror set. Then he sits up himself, leaning down to tug his shoes off one at a time and let them clatter to the floor, quickly followed by his socks. He pushes back on the bed, climbing to the center so his legs are no longer hanging off the end, before looking back over at Lucifer. Just in time to watch Lucifer slide the red shirt down his arms, baring his back and the two long, perpendicular scars on either side of the upper half, framing his spine.

It doesn’t take a genius to match them to the location of an angel’s wings, and his curiosity rears to life as he watches.

“Who did that to you?” he asks, before what little sense of self-preservation he still has tries to stop him. “I know the stories, but they tend to not get all the little details right. Especially the later versions.”

Lucifer turns back around; dimly he registers the candle and long lighter in one hand, held low by his side. “I did,” is the simple answer, as Lucifer approaches him, “when I left Hell.” The supplies are dropped, and a hand to his chest pushes him down and lets Lucifer kneel over him, head tilted to one side. “Sick and tired of doing what I was supposed to.”

“I get a bit of that, luv. Lucy.” Lucifer’s eyes narrow a touch, though he can see the edge of amusement that means this isn’t suicidally dangerous. “I do like that name,” he adds, with a small grin.

“You’re a brat,” Lucifer points out, the hand on his chest pressing a little harder, until he exhales a groan at the pressure. “I told you to stay still too. If I didn’t know better I’d think that you want to be punished.”

The little thread of power is enough to make his breath catch, to make that want stick in his throat as he chokes back the urge to burst out yes. He shudders, fingers curling back into the sheet, back rippling as it tries to arch but can't against the firm pressure of Lucifer's hand. "Not fair, luv," he gasps, forcing a deep breath into his lungs to try and stabilize against that intrusive, heated rush of power. "Rude to be digging into a fellow's personal kinks like that."

Lucifer's hand comes off his chest, grazing up his throat until it reaches his jaw and can cup it, a thumb pressing to the corner of his mouth. "Come back some other time," comes the invitation, "and I'll beat you black and blue, Constantine. For whatever you deserve to be punished for." His breath catches again, this time without the influence of magic to cause it, as Lucifer leans in. He comes very close, almost kissing him, before murmuring, "That one’s even on the house."

“Like punishing people, do yeh?” he asks, and Lucifer’s mouth curls into a heated smile.

“Well I’m very good at it. Practice makes perfect and all that tosh.” Lucifer straightens up some, gaze sliding down his chest, the hand on his face sliding away to pin one of his shoulders down instead. “Before I get started; anywhere off limits, love? Anything I should know?”

His own gaze is caught by the hand sliding off to the side, picking up the lighter and twisting it between long, pale fingers. “Head,” he manages to answer, captivated by the flicker of the flame as Lucifer tests the lighter and holds it clicked on. “Everything else‘s to tolerance. Go anywhere with hair and I’d really appreciate oil first so the damn stuff comes off again.”

“Noted,” Lucifer says, and flicks the lighter off with a sharp snap that breaks his focus. “Prefer a blade or nails to take it off?”

He imagines that, and then shivers. "Blade. I tend to squirm, by the way."

Lucifer presses harder against his shoulder, smiling. "That, I can deal with. Now stay put, Constantine, or this time it hurts."

"Pretty sure you're planning on hurting me anyway, Lucy." He lifts his right hand, looping it in underneath his neck and relaxing back into it with a smirk. "Thought you'd have figured out by now I don't have an obedient bone in my body, luv."

Lucifer squeezes his shoulder, before sitting up and sliding fingers down his chest. He inhales, slowly, as they circle the runes of a protective circle. "Oh, I think you have one in there somewhere. Just enough to keep you still while I go get that blade and some oil. Unless you'd rather I hurt you, and I can work with that too. Your decision."

He takes another slightly shaky inhalation as Lucifer's fingers slide down into the crevice of his belly button, one long leg swinging over, letting Lucifer slide back off the bed and head back for the dresser. His skin tingles where the fingers slipped across his skin, and he closes his eyes for a moment and squeezes the back of his own neck, grounding against that last bit of power crackling deep into his muscles. He flicks them back open at the rasp of metal, and looks over at Lucifer's back.

The blade in Lucifer's hand, being flipped to a loose, comfortable grip, looks like a silver letter opener. Blunt, but more than sharp enough to scrape wax off of skin. He hasn't tried that exact scenario, but he's felt a letter opener against his skin before; it'll get the job done. The bottle in the other hand looks like massage oil, which is another lovely idea but one to save for some time when he isn't already anticipating the hot drip of wax.

Somehow, it doesn't occur to him to move until Lucifer is climbing back over him, straddling his thighs and setting the supplies off to the side. Then he shifts, testing the weight on his thighs — inescapable without strength he just doesn't have — and then watching, anticipation drawing tight beneath his ribs, as the candle and lighter are picked up.

"See?" Lucifer says, with a smirk. "There's at least one obedient bone in there. Just enough to make you want it." The lighter clicks, fire flaring to life over the wick of the tall, wide candle. "Other hand up behind your neck, love," comes the quiet command. "Give me some room to work."

The thrill of vulnerability that comes when he lifts his other arm and hooks his hand behind his neck makes his breath come a bit shallow. The curl of Lucifer's mouth is almost hungry, and definitely predatory, which doesn't help any with that feeling. He doesn't quite shiver, but it's a close thing. Especially when his gaze catches on the flame of the candle again. His stomach draws in as he breathes, watching the wax at the top of the candle start to melt; he can only barely see it from where he is, but that's more than enough.

Lucifer's other hand lowers, tracing a swirl of script that curves down across his waist and then up his side. Then it slides over, and Lucifer tilts the candle to let a few drops of wax fall. He sucks in a sharp breath, but the wax falls onto Lucifer's hand, not his skin.

There's a quiet hum, and then those dark eyes rise to meet his gaze. "Let me know if it's too much; I don't feel heat like you do."

"Got it," he agrees, swallowing. "Ready whenever you are, luv."

Lucifer’s hand instantly flicks, and he hisses at the splatter of hot droplets that hit the upper right side of his chest. “Careful,” Lucifer murmurs, free hand dragging light nails over his stomach. “I might slip if I get distracted by that mouth of yours.”

He gives a small laugh, forcing his back to lie flat again. “Self-preservation’s not big on my list of desirable qualities, mate. Seems counterproductive to not bait you if you’re going ta be—” Wax paints a burning line from his navel to the first rib on his left, and he groans and arches, teeth baring as he sucks in a breath. “Doing that,” is the best end to his sentence he can come up with, when he manages to ease back against the bed.

“Most people would probably say that me doing this is a reason not to bait,” Lucifer points out, and then adds an amused, “Brat.”

He curves his mouth into an easy grin. “Guilty as charged, luv.”

The grin drops away when Lucifer tilts the candle, following the line of one of his protective circles to leave stinging bits of wax in its wake. He pushes up, head tilting to one side, squirming at the deep heat of it. Like the best sort of blows; the ones that sink deep into muscle and linger for a few good, long, seconds. (Gods, he needs to find someone who can really deal it out so he can remember just what that feels like.)

Lucifer's free hand presses hard against his ribs, forcing him flat and holding him still so the candle can continue to follow that particular circle. He tightens his grip on the back of his neck to compensate, grounding himself with the dig of his nails as he twitches, utterly unable to get away from the delicious heat gathering on his lower left side. He gives a slightly shaky laugh when the wax finishes its circle, and then starts out along the curling swirl of script around it.

"They're not really meant to be guidelines," he points out, his words coming a bit breathless.

Lucifer flashes him a dark smile. "Tough; they make excellent ones. Lots more to go, too."

He shivers at that almost-promise, sucking in a sharp breath as Lucifer presses just a bit harder against his ribs and leans in to continue. "Hell," he moans, “that could take you a good long while, luv.”

The candle is straightened, pausing the assault and letting his muscles unwind. “Have somewhere better to be?” Lucifer’s hand curls and digs nails into his ribs. Not hard, but enough to get his next breath to come out a groan.

"Nowhere important enough for me to stop this." He takes a shallow breath, tilting his head to look a bit further down. "You really going to trace all my tattoos, Lucy?"

Lucifer's smile is a slow, sinful thing. Enough to make his heart kick up a notch. "Maybe just the interesting ones. We'll see what state you're in by the time I'm ready to move on; see if you can handle more."

He shifts his legs, drawing them slightly up so he can brace his feet against the bed as he glances at the candle (and more importantly, that growing pool of wax on top of it). "I can handle quite a bit, you know. Most of these tattoos I got the old fashioned way; needle and ink, luv. Warm-up's nice but not strictly necessary; pain and I are old friends."

The baiting gets exactly the response he half-expected. The candle tilts, and he yelps at the streak of wax that paints a few inches of his side, burning into his skin and down into the muscle beneath. He twists what isn't held down, his breath coming out a laugh as he presses the balls of his feet into the bed. He arches his neck for a moment; has to, to weather the heat and the sharp pain. Then he rolls it back down, his mouth curling into a loose grin, heat flushing up his neck and into his cheeks.

Until Lucifer gives a hum of amusement, fingers stroking over his ribs for a moment before reaffirming the pressure. "I know what you were doing, Constantine."

He shifts his hands behind his neck, eyes the candle again. "What's that then? Telling you that I've got a bit more tolerance than the average human?"

Lucifer smiles, blowing out the candle with a sharp huff of breath and then, before he can even protest, dropping and twisting it to let the small bit of accumulated wax splash down right above his navel. "Baiting," is the correction, as he spits a curse and jerks, grinding his teeth together at the intense burn of the barely-cooled wax.

Lucifer's hand leaves his ribs with a parting brush of fingers, and it isn't until there's pressure on the tie still looped around his neck that he manages to look down and see where it's gone, finding it gripping halfway down the tie and pulling insistently upwards. His arms come down automatically, bracing against the bed so he can prop himself up like that grip wants, which gets him a pleased smile and Lucifer's suddenly free other hand scraping nails up his side with enough force to just barely sting.

It loops underneath his back, pulling him up with easy strength until he's almost sitting up, still angled somewhat backwards but supported by the hand pressed to the small of his back. Lucifer leans into him, the hand holding his tie rising to brush across his jaw; he can feel the fabric graze his skin. "It's a dangerous game, poppet; trying to manipulate the Devil." Lucifer's voice is a low murmur, breath hot where it fans across his cheek and mouth.

"Danger's about as familiar as pain," he answers, the heels of his hands bracing against the bed as he gives a crooked smirk. "Fairly certain I did manipulate you, actually. Want a thing, say some words, and get the thing tends to be the definition of that."

Lucifer leans that last fraction closer, teeth grazing across the stubble on his jaw until lips touch his ear, and there's a whisper of, "Do you think it's more or less dangerous that I knew what you were doing, and still did what you wanted?"

He's flippant about it when he answers, "Probably more. Generally means I miscalculated somewhere, or you wanted to anyway. I'd go with that one though, which really means I'm in roughly no danger, and there's a good chance that you're going to keep doing what I want." Lucifer's teeth nip at his neck, and he laughs, tilting his head to offer more room, to let the beast at his throat. "Going to prove me wrong, Lucy?"

"That's not the game we're playing tonight, is it?" Lucifer counters, drawing back just enough that their eyes can catch. "You're looking for power, not punishment. This is just a bonus."

Lips graze briefly over his, just enough to tempt, before Lucifer's pressing him backwards and firmly into the bed. The candle is picked up again, Lucifer now straddling his hips instead of his thighs, not that it makes him any easier or harder to get out from under. It's a different — very welcome — sort of pressure though; one that he almost grinds up against before deciding that's not quite in line with what he wants right now. Which is, mainly, more of that wax.

"I am going to give you what you want," Lucifer comments, as he lights the candle again, this time keeping the lighter in his hand. "But just so we're clear, love, this is only because I'm enjoying myself. This is my payment for the power I'm going to let you have, and the fact that you're enjoying it too is inconsequential."

"Is that right, mate? Way to make a fellow feel special."

Lucifer gives a curling smile, tipping the candle just enough to let it drip, slowly, down onto the center of his chest. "Oh," Lucifer tells him, moving the candle so it drips a slow path down his center line, "you are special, Constantine. There aren't many that would have the gall to ask me for my power, knowing what I am. Who I am."

He curls his fingers in the sheets, watching Lucifer's face and the candle in equal measure, the sting of the drops a background to the intensity of the moment. "I'm good at risks." The candle lowers some and he swallows, gripping tighter and holding himself as still as he can manage, anticipating the sharper burn of the wax. "Gods," he hisses, when the next one falls, muscles sucking in and then pushing up into the next drop.

There's no continuation of the back and forth so his tongue falls silent, apart from the sounds and curses pried from it. Sensations bleed into each other, until he's not sure whether the heat beneath his skin is from the wax's effects, the power behind Lucifer's touch, or the arousal that's building low in his gut. He's still not sure even when Lucifer takes the blade to his skin, the cold metal a hard shock to his system as it scrapes the wax from him. Bit by bit, with Lucifer's other hand following in its wake, scraping nails along skin made very sensitive by the heat applied to it.

That makes him squirm, pressing into metal and nails with shameless desire, his back arching. His eyelids have mostly drifted shut, flickering open in fits and starts as he drifts in the sensation. Until the blade scrapes the last of the wax from his stomach, and Lucifer's hand slides up over his chest, touching with enough intention to get his attention. He tilts his head down, and pries his eyes open enough that he can meet Lucifer's gaze. He meets Lucifer's smile with his own.

"So, Constantine?" Lucifer asks him, hand sliding up to touch his jaw, to push back through his hair and cup his skull. "Do you want me to continue, or should I move on to something more physical?"

The laugh that escapes him is a breathless, easy thing. "You ask that like I've got control of this, luv. Thought you made it clear that this was all about what you wanted. That changed?"

"Not yet," is the murmured answer, before Lucifer's smile curls a little wider. "You're much more prone to surrender when you're floating, aren't you? Pry away a few layers and there you are; the obedient boy come out to play."

He can't quite argue that, and doesn't want to, so he just shifts his head to press into Lucifer's wrist and points out, " 'M a long way from a boy, luv. Got the muscle and cock to prove it an' everything."

Lucifer's gaze flicks down across his chest and then back up. "That you do." He drags in a strained breath when Lucifer lets go of his head and pulls back just enough to get hands on his slacks. "I'm going to give you some of that power now, Constantine. Then, I'll come back to see what fun bits I can drop wax on down below the belt. Be especially pleasing, and I might give you more power later too. You did say 'a fun night' after all; there's still time."

That's true. He did. He didn't actually expect to be playing BDSM games with the Devil all night (though that definitely classifies as 'fun'), but he came out looking for a power boost and a good time. This is both. His jobs can wait till the morning; the world will probably not explode into flames if he doesn't pay attention to it for a night. And if it does, well… he can find a fire extinguisher somewhere.

"Sounds like a plan," he manages, absolutely positive that his desire is stark naked in his voice. (As if Lucifer can't tell even without his voice to betray it.)

Lucifer's smile is self-satisfied. The hands at his trousers push them down — apparently unsurprised to find nothing beneath — before Lucifer swings off of him, tugging the clothing down off him. He gets one appreciative, raking sweep of the Devil's gaze down his equally tattooed legs before those clever hands fall to his own pressed black slacks, pulling them away just as easily as Constantine was divested of his. They're pushed down, treating him to a rather more intimate view of a fallen Archangel than he ever suspected he would get.

The creation-by-divinity has some lovely other side effects, apparently.

Lucifer comes back to him then, crawling up over him with an easy sort of predatory grace, the kind that reminds him that the being in bed with him is millennia old and certainly doesn't consider humans to be remotely on his level. 'Monkeys,' he's heard other angels say, which isn't too bad a comparison except that he doubts there are all that many humans that want to be shagging monkeys. Although, maybe Lucifer is the odd one out in that way too.

(The idea of Lucifer having the angel equivalent of a bestiality kink does, admittedly, vastly amuse him.)

He watches as Lucifer reaches over, finding the bottle of oil and uncapping it with an easy flick, to pour some into his other hand. Constantine's breath comes just a bit short when that hand wraps around the fairly-sizable cock of the Devil, slicking it with a few easy strokes. He swallows, shifting as he debates how much of a sadist Lucifer might actually be. Surely not enough to break their deal, right? They agreed to no blood, to fun.

"I may be a masochist, luv," he starts, pulling his gaze up to meet Lucifer's as he pushes up onto his elbows, shoulders curling up off the bed, "but I'm not much for real damage. Just pain. 'Fraid I'm gonna have to draw a line if you're planning on just going at it."

"Relax, poppet." Lucifer says, with a clearly amused smile. "I'm not. That can come later, when I'm ready." Lucifer leans down over him, hand bracing over his shoulder and bringing them close together, flesh sliding against flesh in the best of ways and places. "In the meantime, we're starting a little slower, love."

His fingers curl into the sheets when Lucifer rocks down against him, a moment before that still-slick hand is reaching round and holding them together. The heat of it, the sensation, is enough to make him give a shaky moan that rises into a slightly breathless laugh.

"Oh," he offers, tilting his head back as Lucifer slides against him, hot and hard and slick against the more delicate bits of his anatomy. "Now see, that's a lovely feeling. Must admit, been a while since I bedded a guy who could think beyond getting their cock in the nearest hole. Might be—” Lucifer squeezes, and he cuts off with an, "Ah!" as he arches his neck, the back of his head touching the bed though his shoulders are still curled off it. He manages to finish, "Might be why there were never repeat performances, come to think of it."

"No lovers, Constantine?" the Devil asks, chest brushing against his own, breath hot on his throat.

He groans out another laugh, rocking up the minuscule amount that Lucifer's weight will allow to do his own share of movement where it counts. "On and off," he admits, "but you run in my circles usually you don't stick around anyone long term. Weaknesses and all that. People that hang 'round me tend to die, anyway; strangers are easier to forget." Teeth scrape just below his chin, and he dares to add, "Know a bit about that yourself, don't you, luv?"

Lucifer laughs against his skin in turn, weight pressing him downward as the hand braced over his shoulder slides down to an elbow. "Do my kind strike you as the type to enjoy this?"

"Only met a couple angels apart from you." He has to pause, to gasp a breath and shiver before he can get out, "Bunch of repressed, self-righteous pricks, the lot of them." His voice is strained, but he's actually a bit proud that he manages to make it fairly steady, despite the heat beneath his skin and the tight coil of desire winding its way tighter in the pit of his stomach. "You prefer humans, or just got no good options among those pricks?"

"Some of both," comes the murmured answer, tongue sliding out against his ear and prompting him to let go of the blankets with his left hand and grab onto the Devil's shoulder instead. "You humans are very free about your desire; it's refreshing, even if you are all such a fragile, exploitable little race. You're decent enough for a night; some of you are even interesting enough for me to offer you the chance to come again." Another squeeze that makes him arch up and give a breathless moan, before Lucifer whispers, "And I mean that both ways, poppet."

He loops his arm higher around Lucifer's back, pressing his palm to that back and feeling the rough edge of one of the two scars underneath it. "Sounds fantastic," he gets out, as he automatically and uselessly presses at Lucifer's back for a moment to try and pull them flush together. "Am I interesting so far, mate? Worth a repeat?"

Lucifer bites at the lobe of his ear, hard enough to sting even as it makes him dig his nails into the back beneath them and shudder harder, his stomach tensing. "I'd lay bets that no one in your life has called you boring, Constantine."

"Probably true." His mouth parts, neck arching again under the attention it's getting, his other hand twisting the fine sheets between his fingers. "Hell," he gasps, as his stomach goes tight again. "Had me worked up long before you got me fully out of my clothes, luv; I'm not going to last much longer if you keep on like this."


Lucifer leaves it at that, rocking perhaps a bit faster against him, with a bit more purpose. The mouth near his throat progresses to sucking at it with enough pressure to bring a dull sort of pain, along with the accompanying thrill of both danger and excitement that he'll be wearing hickeys made by the Devil himself. There's something to brag about, if he thought anyone would be envious and not just concerned for his mental health. (And that goes for his business-friends as well, unfortunately.)

It distracts him a bit from his impending release, which maybe buys him a handful of seconds added to the total of how much longer he lasts. It still isn't long at all before he's arching up and crying out, clawing ineffectually at Lucifer's back as he spills onto his own stomach and Lucifer's knuckles. The sensation blanks him out for a moment or two that feels like longer, as he rides shamelessly high with the pleasure of it. He can feel the continued movement against him, keeping him held high longer than he should be.

Until there's a sudden hand on the side of his face, tilting his head up, bringing him into an open-mouthed kiss. He moans into it as Lucifer's tongue slides over his own for just a moment. Then, before he can begin to puzzle out the removal, Lucifer exhales into his mouth; a bizarre feeling with hot air and not-quite-oxygen and—


He goes rigid, drawing in a sharp breath as it floods into his system, lighting him up from the inside out and curving his back into a hard arch, his other hand flailing up to cling to Lucifer's shoulder as well, desperate to ground against the light filling everything beneath his skin. He knows the kiss has been broken, but his breath is coming shallow and sharp and he can't imagine chasing it right now, not with— with heat and light and strength surging through his veins. Angelic power with a twist of familiar, tempting darkness. How fuckin’ incredible.

Before he knows it he's laughing, stroking his hands up Lucifer's back and down again, twisting beneath him to vent some of the sudden desire to feel. His mouth is open, eyes shut, his every other sense but touch muted and unimportant in the face of his need to vent some of the glory within his blood.

"Bloody hell," he gasps, and Lucifer is suddenly biting at his throat again, with less finesse. He jerks at the hot, wet splash against his stomach, registering the stillness of Lucifer's hips as if through a fog. Only important because of how Lucifer is pressed directly against him, mostly still in contrast to his shifting.

The teeth let go of his throat, before Lucifer pulls back from him somewhat. Enough that the hand on his face can tilt him upwards again and his eyes can drag open. The world is unfocused, slow, but Lucifer's small curl of lips comes through clear enough for him to shudder again, a small whine making it between his lips that makes him blink, makes him drag himself a bit further from the fog. No one's made him whine in quite a few years, and there hasn't been a power he couldn't control in nearly as long.

"There we are," Lucifer murmurs, thumb passing over the skin just beneath his ear. "There's a taste of that power I promised you."

"A taste?" he echoes, his voice coming out breathless and a tiny bit slurred. "That's a—? I don't think I can—”

Lucifer hushes him, then says, "We haven't gotten to the point of finding out just what you can take yet, love. We'll get there." A pause; a wider smile. "How's it feel, Constantine?"

He shifts, before giving a breathless laugh and admitting, "Like the best high I've had all year, mate. Magic's a powerful intoxicant, you know that right, luv? Where that whole, 'absolute power corrupts absolutely' bollocks comes from." He's grinning, he knows it, but damn if he can stop it. "Getting power like this is more potent than any hit in a needle," he continues, closing his eyes again and stretching out as best he can, entirely ready to simply lie here for an hour or two until the rush has faded from his veins.

Except that Lucifer is kissing him, teeth nipping at his lip, and that draws his attention with a sudden surge of energy that makes him clutch at Lucifer's back, makes him groan and push up into the touch. Lucifer's mouth is hot and firm against his, and when he curls his shoulders up to chase the kiss it gets him a laugh. Lucifer pulls him up by the back of his neck, sitting back and taking him with, tongue exploring the corners of his mouth and he feels alive and entirely unlike he just got his rocks off. He could go again. Now.

He shudders, clawing at Lucifer's back and forcing himself to break away and take a deep breath, to try and get a handle on the magic in his veins. "Bloody touchy stuff, isn't it?" he asks, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he pulls his hands away and drops them to the bed, to brace.

Lucifer is smirking when he looks up again, and the hand on his neck slides around to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his lips. He sucks in a breath at the jolt of energy, and the matching flare of it beneath his skin. "It knows who it belongs to."

"That supposed to be a hint, luv?" He gives a loose grin. "Cause two people have claims to me, and you're not either of the poor buggers."

"And I wouldn't want to be," is the instant answer. "One soul's not worth that kind of fight; not even yours, Constantine." The hand at his jaw slips down, pressing fingertips to his chest and pushing lightly backwards. "Now lie back down; I made promises about our later activities, didn't I, love?"

His pulse picks up a touch, and he lets himself be pushed down flat. "That you did," he agrees. "Think this power is going to make me more or less sensitive? Never had a high quite like this one."

Lucifer trails fingers down the center of his chest, and then reaches for the discarded candle. "Let's find out."