Enjin's Sunshine

Alastor didn’t like losing, especially at things he was supposed to be good at. Piano playing? The star of any parlor! The waltz? No one better in the hall. Pool? 

Apparently lacking…

The eight ball wasn’t even fully in the pocket before Vincent was pawing at him. A reward kiss or something mumbled between lips pursed and pressed to Alastor’s jawline. 

Alastor tried to rack the balls but his needy suitor knocked them from their triangle, spilling them across the felt table as he pinned Alastor on his back.

“These tables are expensive, Vincent.” Alastor’s shove to his chest was half hearted and lacking sincerity. 

“And? I can afford it. You said best of three. Come on, I won.” The older man sung it. “What’s my reward?”

Maybe his new beau would finally let him touch his own caramel toned skin, not that Vincent dared to ask so directly. Alastor was more closed than the touch-me-not plants that lined the park. 

Vincent’s eyes were drawn to the lines of Alastor’s thin neck. Before he could ask permission his teeth found the skin gently rolled between them. 

Alastor tried to ignore the pleasure in the pain of Vincent’s love bite as he watched the pool balls roll past. It was then he decided he knew a fitting way to punish Vincent for besting him.

“On your back, Vincent.” Alastor’s tone wasn’t kind nor sultry as he spoke it directly into Vincent’s ear. Something about that made Vincent squirm more than he wanted to admit. 

Alastor slipped from under him as Vincent rolled onto his back, eager to receive whatever the doe-eyed man had to give.

“Take off your pants and under things.” Alastor didn’t turn back to say it, already picking up the phone from its receiver and speaking to the hostess. Perhaps he was ordering another drink, Vincent thought as he kicked off his shoes with two loud thuds. He reached down to undo his sock garters but Alastor’s hand slapped his away. Alastor liked the way they looked, tight around the calves just enough the skin rounded a little over the elastic band. 

Maybe he’d enjoy this a little more than he expected.

Alastor unceremoniously tugged Vincent’s briefs down his thighs and off his feet. “Be a doll and hand me a condom.” 

Vincent choked out a laugh, “What makes you think I carry around condoms like some rake?”

Alastor pushed open the elder’s thighs and stared over the naked bottom half of Vincent. His brow cocked, was that an actual question?

Alastor briefly noted how the pink that rose to Vincent’s cheeks complimented the blue of his left eye before both eyes darted away. 

Was he somehow getting more naked as the conversation went on? Vincent rushed out an instruction for Alastor to check his pants front left pocket. 

“Oh, redi-wets!” Alastor opened the package, “Maybe I didn’t need to order the oil.”

“The what?”

A shriek cut off Alastor before he could repeat himself, the waitress nearly dropped her platter and the bottle on top as she spun back around on her toes.

“That’ll be it, thank you!” Alastor leaned over and grabbed the bottle by the neck, waving away the panicked woman with the hand holding the condom.

Vincent’s upper body shot up from the table, “I’m a member at this club, Al! I won’t be able to show my face again.”

“It’s not your face I think she’s worried about.” Alastor said it absentmindedly as he popped open the small metal cap.

Vincent’s comeback was lost in his throat as the cool oil ran over his flaccid cock and between his cheeks. Olive oil.

“I’m not cruel,” Alastor read the confusion over Vincent’s face as he rolled the condom over his finger, “Well…anyway.” Without warning he pressed the finger between Vincent’s well oiled cheeks.

He watched Vincent’s cock twitch in response. Slowly Vincent lowered back onto his elbows.

Hmm, Alastor had been hoping for a little more feigned distaste from Vincent. But the older man just went along immediately. What was the fun in that? Where was the shameful blush and talk of only ever topping?

“What were you this last round? Solids or stripes?” Alastor held his finger still.

“Solids?” Vincent sighed the word as his body relaxed into the intrusion. 

Alastor hummed an acknowledgement before pulling his hand back and returning with two fingers sheathed in the condom. Vincent flinched, body pulling away on instinct. He heard Alastor tut before a lithe hand wrapped around his hip and pressed down. He mentally prepared for more but Alastor again went still. 

It only then dawned on him that Alastor was maybe, possibly, hopefully going to fuck him. They both looked at Vincent’s cock rise a little as it stiffened. Then their eyes met and their stare lingered.

“Are you going to…. Help me out here?” Vincent sighed out a laugh. Alastor’s intense gaze was making him feel a little self conscious, “Ya know, lend me a hand.”

Alastor’s head cocked to the side, “With what?” 

Another twitch as the paler man’s cock again felt a surge of blood. Was Alastor going to make him say it plainly?

“Touch me.”

“Oh, no.” Alastor’s eyes broke contact first and returned to examining how his fingers disappeared into Vincent, “Your hands are free, aren’t they? Must I do everything for you, Vinnie.”

With a roll of his eyes Vincent lied flat on his back, “Don’t call me that.” His hands sheepishly came to his lap, one to his balls and one to pump lazily along his still rather soft shaft. 

“Why not?” The fingers pulled out slowly, Vincent’s hole  clamping down. When two knuckles were free Alastor pushed them back in. It was easier already, maybe the distraction of jerking himself off was helping Vincent relax. 

“I don’t like it…” Vincent’s hands worked together now. One rolled precum and olive oil over his glands as the other pumped faster. Alastor’s fingers were hitting deeper than before. As his eyes closed to focus on the feeling he thought he could hear the barely there pop of Alastor’s palm hitting against his cheeks. When he felt the fingers pull out to the tip and a third bully it’s way in his own high pitched moan caught him off guard, “Alastor!”

“Vinnie~!” He teased back. 

Alastor had been annoyed all evening with Vincent. He was so smug about this little private club. And within a few games Alastor managed to get him half naked across the pool table moaning and twitching on his fingers. He admired the way Vincent’s crow’s feet deepened as he clenched his eyes shut. Not so smug anymore. His pressed collar was wilting from the heat of his body. 

He should take his shirt off.

Ah. A lovely image.

But it’s more humiliating like this.

Alastor grabbed the bottle and poured another serving over Vincent’s cheeks. It gathered in his palm and helped him slip a little more of his hand into the surrendering body before him. Vincent reached down and smeared the oil upward and over. 

Fully erect and weeping precum he didn’t stop to consider he should avoid orgasming too soon. The chance Alastor would actually fuck him with more than his fingers seemed unlikely now and though he was a risk taking man he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. Through the darkness of his mind he saw the bright colors of his own pleasure lighting up behind his eyes. He could feel the slick condom lubed with common kitchen oil gliding easier and easier. In and out, a pace steady and harsh as if Alastor’s whole hand would eventually force its way in. He bit his lip to keep his moan from getting away from him. He was just a thin little layer away from Alastor’s pretty fingers grazing his insides. Could he imagine it wasn’t a hand at all but instead Alastor’s eager cock? Another moan as his head rolled back. He could take Alastor so well, and Alastor would praise him for it. He was sure of it. Alastor would run his nails down his chest and coo rare compliments about how good Vincent felt around his bare cock. 

His vision shattered with a bright white as a fourth finger stretched him wider.

“It hurts!” He finally opened his eyes and hissed. Staring up at the bright Tiffany light strung along the length of the table he could see his tears beginning to bend the light, “You’re going to rip the skin, Alastor.” Vincent took a sharp breath in as Alastor’s thumb squeezed on top of the other three fingers. Alastor mercifully stilled again to let his partner try to adjust.

“And yet you haven’t asked me to stop.” There was a touch of pride in how he said it. 

Vincent tried to relax his core. His hands slowed their tandem work at jerking himself off to let his body loosen a little. “Would you if I asked?”

The brunette shrugged, “You won’t ask so why waste my time considering it.” He heard a whine and a soft thud as Vincent lifted and then set his head back down. The darkness of his skin against the paler shade of Vincent’s ass and hip was oddly enticing to him. How pretty would his fingers look pinching the undoubtedly soft pink nipples hidden under Vincent’s button up?

Alastor pressed his hand on the hip down a little harder before giving his other hand a twist. A sharp inhale before Vincent’s hand quickly resumed stroking his cock. The pain had made him lose a little of his erection and Vincent seemed to be eager to bring it back.

Vincent’s poor stretched hole softened enough for Alastor’s intentions, so he pulled out slowly.

The aching emptiness left behind took Vincent by surprise. He rarely bottomed (atleast sober), the ache in his guts for more had his hips wiggling slightly side to side.

“Miss me already?” Alastor teased.

“Are you done? I was close.” Vincent twisted a little to the right to press in his own fingers but again had his hand smacked away. 

“You’ll know when I’m done. Hands to yourself,” Alastor reached over to the corner pocket and fished out the balls sunk there earlier, “This is mine for the time.” He swiped his fingers still in the condom between Vincent’s cheeks. His tips dipped into the overused ring of muscle making Vincent’s body jerk. Vincent rolled his hips up as if trying to get a little more of Alastor’s fingers inside of his ass.

Alastor pulled back and peeled the condom carefully off his hand. Vincent looked down past his crumbled shirt and reddened cock head but wasn’t able to see what Alastor was fiddling with between his legs.

“I’ll be solids this time!” Alastor held up the condom, stretched thin to its limits around three bright balls. “Lucky you these are pool balls, noticeably smaller than billiard balls.” 

Vincent felt the color drain from his own face. His cock betrayed him and bobbed against this stomach. “Alastor you can’t, those won’t fit—- they— how will you get them out?”

Alastor set them on the table and dramatically emptied the bottle of oil on the little package, “I’ll hold it by the knot I tied on the bottom, they won’t come out.” The low light of the room seemed brighter as his smile beamed, “Unless the condom breaks.” He saw Vincent’s mouth open and close around several failed attempts to argue. “You were so boisterous earlier! Every time you sunk a ball you positively cackled with pride. Where’d that energy go, sweetheart?” 

He could get up. He could kick Alastor in the chest and walk out. He would tell the waitress he did exactly that, in fact. After. 

Later. 

As if having an out of body experience Vincent watched himself lie back down for the third time and give himself over to Alastor.

The coolness of the ball was felt through the barely there condom as Alastor pressed the first one against his entrance. As if sensing Alastor’s stare, Vincent started to stroke himself again. His foot pushed down against the rail of the table in an attempt to brace himself.

“Good boy,” Alastor whispered. Vincent keened, the two syllable comment becoming a chant in his head kept him hard and willing. His hole stretched further than it had all evening, more than his entire life if he could think on it for any length of time, before closing again as the ball entered him fully. He could feel it in a way he’d never had any toy before. The now dull pain of his entrance sent a pleasurable lightning up his hips and to his cock. The feeling bounced around under his skin behind his belly button. 

His hand tightened around the base of his shaft. His eyes seemed to float around in their sockets as his vision lost focus. It wasn’t bad.

The sensation of Alastor’s thumb rubbing up and down over his hip brought him back to earth. Alastor watched his body twitch, muscles from his legs to his stomach flinched with trapped energy. 

“Give me a nod.” Alastor’s voice was firm and though Vincent knew he could refuse the tone almost begged him to not disappoint. 

He nodded and tried again to relax his body from the waist down but his brain couldn’t translate the opposing messages of something pushing against his asshole and his command to relax.

The balls were perfectly round. They felt blunt as his entrance had to open wide and promptly. But the feeling after the ball entered was enthralling. The quick stretch and then closure, the sensation of being filled, the pressure of his body trying to reject the object…. Vincent’s own balls began to draw up. What would happen when he came? He wondered if they’d be forced out with the intensity of his impending orgasm. 

Alastor’s voice was soft as if he was talking to himself and not Vincent. “The rectum has a rather sharp bend about five inches in… I wonder if the balls will push past it when I force in the last one? It could cause the condom to break, in which case…”, Alastor’s smirk spread, “That’d be hilarious.”

Vincent sucked in his breath but let it go as Alastor sang a simple, “Breathe.”

The third ball had the same intoxicating pain and relief as the first two but now he was sure his insides had shifted. He was too full. The pool balls were shoved against parts of him he’d never had touched before. 

Alastor held on to the knot he made on the end of the condom as Vincent’s body shook and nearly pulled the entire parcel in. He could see how it’d feel good to have something as sensitive as his own member being sucked and squeezed like that. Maybe if Vincent didn’t win next time he could fuck some humility into the older man. 

All it took was Alastor to tug slightly on the end of the condom for Vincent to cum. His hands gripped the edge of the table, sweat and oiled covered fingers failed to grip the finely lacquered wood so he dug them into the side pockets and nearly ripped out the netting. He was sure he made noises, and was equally sure Alastor said something, but his senses failed him. He was just a sprawling map of nerves alight for several eternal seconds.

As the balls all left him in a quick succession of burning stretch and relief three times his shoulders left the table entirely. His abs strained to the point of hurting as he held himself taut to ride out the pleasure.

When he couldn’t take it anymore he went slack. Fingers still curled into the netting of the pockets, he let his legs go limp and spread out and over the sides of the table.

Alastor stared at the mess before him. Vincent’s suit jacket and shirt were streaked with cum and spotted with sweat. His hair was out of place and his face was pink. And his poor abused hole. Alastor let one bare finger graze it. Vincent’s entire body flinched as he groaned out a weak, “Don’t.”

Alastor felt much better about losing the game of 8-ball now, the table itself was ruined after all so he doubted there’d be a rematch. The felt was soaked through with oil as a large stain formed under and around Vincent’s bare ass. 

He wiped his finger on Vincent’s sock, “Good game, Vincent! Shall we call tonight’s match a draw? Or did you want to do best out of five?”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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What you’ve said about your constructive criticism and concern, how it’s like talking to a brick wall, and that Sarah seems set in stone on her decision, are the biggest pieces of the puzzle, and can be worked through backwards. Sarah has already made her decision and has already taken some pretty huge steps in that direction, so she’s not really open to changing her mind like she might have been a few months ago, and has no reason to engage with someone telling her to rethink.

Then, she blocked you. Perhaps she’s blocked quite a lot of people recently, I can imagine she has, as I’ve seen a lot less haters in her comments as of late. So modmad’s currently in a place where she can’t be bothered with any more discourse and is probably going to block anyone who gives her a headache, hater or otherwise. You’ve tagged her in a lot of your posts, which is very sweet, but you’ve also frequently talked about how you disagree with the actions she’s taking. The result is that Sarah is seeing your posts far more frequently, but is getting a lot of mixed signals and might not know how to respond.

Most importantly, though, she might think you’re being a bit entitled to tell her she’s making a mistake, even though you’re coming from a place of concern. Don’t get too upset by this, I’m sure she’s far more annoyed with far more people.

The truth is, legal battles are complicated and expensive, and in earlier posts she explains it wasn’t even her first resort, she was actually somewhat reluctant to engage legally. But this is the decision she’s finally come to. Why’s that? She has talked this over with family, close friends, irl friends, fellow comic artists. She lost a lot of money last time she called a lawyer, 2 years ago, to ask the team to make a statement. Now, she’s doing something even bigger, and without a doubt she’s put hours and hours of thought into it, had offscreen conversations with people we’ll never hear about.

Now, she’s announcing her decision online, and that’s *after* she’s began pursuing legal action with JfA. She wouldn’t be getting involved legally if she was unsure, she wouldn’t be announcing it if she was unsure… but she was unsure at the very beginning, which means getting to this point was a process that took time and thought. She’s not going back on it.

I’m sure you’ve seen the updates she’s made, frequent and detailed, that come together as a timeline for her decision process. Reading through them, it becomes clear that she didn’t want this to happen. All she’s really wanted is for the smg4 team, the ones with the influence and the ones who have nothing to lose, to just stand by a fellow indie creator and tell their “fans” (real fans dgaf) her design isn’t stolen and they need to shut up. But due to their silence, nothing was solved, things got worse, and she started to wonder if maybe there was a reason for them to ignore her in the first place.

The first time she hired a lawyer, she went against their advice and tried to come off as nonthreatening, but the team never responded. Now, she’s finally taking that risk and sending something that will give them incentive to finally show some respect and engage. She says she doesn’t actually want to instil the cease&desist, and looking at the kind of backlash she’d face if she *did* go through with it, I’d say that she’s being honest. But, if it was fear that’s been keeping the creators quiet all this time, maybe something can scare them into taking as well. She’s doing the kind of thing you do when you’re running out of options, basically.

So yeah, she’s made her choice, and she doesn’t want to go back on it so she’s going to ignore people telling her that she should. Especially since she’s already in the middle of doing it, it’s a bit late to back out.

Finally, your advice. I don’t want this to come off as rude, I’m just stating the fact that I feel like you’ve never been in a legal battle before. That’s completely okay but you need to understand that the situation is pretty sever when court is involved, and the judge telling them to stop harassing each other is not going to happen. Usually in cases like this, the result will have some kind of money involved, even though Sarah has stated she’s not interested in taking money off of an indie company. Luckily one of your asks to the french translator whose @ I can’t remember (I’ll link them in the comments if you’d like) gets a reply that goes quite in depth about the most probable results. I’d recommend re-reading it a few times because it might help reassure you about it.

Bottom line, there’s a lot of reasons she might have blocked you, but TL;DR your criticism is all things she’s seen time and time again, and even though you’re being kind about it, she’s just had enough of hearing it over and over. Plus she’s already made her choice, for better or for worse. And since you don’t seem to have much legal expertise, she might be a bit put off by the way you phrase things.

11. On the Floor of His Office – After a Fight

You’d screamed at each other. Magic. Blood. A near-death that rattled you both.

You were halfway to walking out when he grabbed your wrist and spun you around, eyes wild, desperate. The apology never made it to his lips—he showed it instead.

Now you’re on the floor of his cluttered office, papers scattered, trench coat beneath you, his body over yours. It’s not gentle, but it’s not cruel either. It’s urgent. Honest. Real.

He fucks you like he’s trying to fix everything that’s broken between you.

“Stay,” he whispers against your lips. “Just… stay.”

You do.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

12. Against a Mirror – Just to Watch You Break

You’re in a motel, middle of nowhere. There’s a full-length mirror on the wall, and John catches your eye in it.

“Face the glass,” he tells you, voice like smoke and velvet. “Wanna see what I do to you.”

You do as he says.

He takes you from behind, one hand in your hair, the other wrapped around your waist. He watches your reflection—watches your face contort, eyes flutter, mouth open in that perfect moan he lives for.

“Look at you,” he growls, hips slamming into you. “You see what you do to me, love? What I’d fucking kill for?”

You see it. And you believe him.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

13. On Sacred Ground – Blasphemous and Beautiful

It’s reckless. Sacrilegious. And somehow, all the more intense because of it.

The church is abandoned, but the altar still hums with ancient divinity. He lays you across it, gently, like you’re the only god he believes in. You expect him to joke—but he doesn’t.

Not here.

He undresses you in silence. Kisses your skin like confession. When he finally enters you, it’s with reverence that steals the breath from your lungs.

This isn’t about sin. Not to him.

It’s about worship.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

14. On the Astral Plane (Again) – But This Time, You Take Control

He finds you again.

But this time, you press him down.

His eyes widen when you climb onto him in that glowing dreamscape, your body outlined in starlight, voice commanding and sure. You ride him slow, nails dragging across his chest, his hands shaking as they hold your hips.

“Fuck—what’ve I unleashed,” he rasps.

You lean down and whisper, “The only thing you can’t control.”

He loves it. He loves you. And for once, he doesn’t run from it.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

15. In Hell – Because He Couldn’t Leave Without You

He came for you.

You had been dragged below—stolen in a deal you never made. John cracked open every forbidden tome, bartered with entities that should never be named, and bled for the privilege of marching into Hell itself.

And when he found you, chained in flame and shadow, he didn’t say a word.

He shattered the binds. Pulled you into his arms. And right there—on scorched stone and sulfur winds—he kissed you like it was the first and last time.

The sex was brutal and beautiful. Not about lust. About reclamation.

You moaned into his shoulder as he held your hips still, fucking into you with a desperation that bordered on reverence. Flames licked the air. Demons watched from afar. He didn’t care.

“You’re mine,” he growled, thrusts unforgiving. “Not theirs. Never theirs.”

And when you came, it was with fire beneath your skin—and John Constantine’s soul wrapped around yours.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

16. On a Demon’s Throne – Right Before He Banished It

The throne was carved from bone, pulsing with power. The demon that once ruled it had already been vanquished—John saw to that. But he wasn’t done proving his dominance.

He pulled you into his lap.

You straddled him on the still-warm throne, and he grinned, bloodied lip and all. “Let’s make sure they know who rules this pit now, yeah?”

You fucked like conquerors—hard and filthy, with the air still thick with brimstone. John bit your shoulder, growled obscenities, rutted into you until the throne groaned beneath your movements.

He came with your name like a curse and a coronation.

And then lit the damn thing on fire.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

17. During a Magical Trance – Half-Dream, All Feeling

He wasn’t awake.

He was caught in a spell—eyes glazed, body limp, magic dancing along his skin like threads of gold.

You should have left him alone.

But he reached for you. Even unconscious, his body knew yours. You climbed into his lap, guided him inside you, and something clicked. His breath hitched. His hands found your hips. His magic surged.

And suddenly, you were both floating.

No gravity. No pain. No trauma.

Just two souls locked in rhythm, moving together like a spell cast in perfect synchrony. You whispered his name as you rode him, slow and breathless, and somewhere deep in his trance, he smiled.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

18. In Front of a Mirror Spell – So He Sees Everything

He’d cast it as a joke. “A little show for us,” he said.

But it wasn’t funny when you were on your knees, and every angle of you—every fluttering lash, every bob of your head—was reflected tenfold in floating mirrors around the room.

John sat back, jaw tight, watching you with rapt hunger. “Fuck, love… you look like a goddess.”

Later, he bent you over and took you from behind, forcing you to watch as he fucked you in every reflection. His hand gripped your chin, turning your gaze to meet his in the mirror.

“Eyes up. I want you to see what I do to you.”

You did. And you never forgot it.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

19. In the Shower – Sigils Steaming Around You

The water was scalding. Sigils drawn in soapstone on the tiles. Protective wards whispered around you like heat.

He’d just returned from banishing a spirit that almost got him—and your anger turned to relief, then to lust. You dragged him into the shower, still half-dressed, and slammed your mouth to his.

He groaned into you, pressing you to the tile as steam curled between your bodies.

He slid into you with a ferocity that belied how close he’d come to dying.

“I’m still here,” he muttered into your neck. “Still fucking here.”

You made love like it was a second chance—desperate and tender and real.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

20. Up Against the Bookshelves at S.T.A.R. Labs – Science and Sin.

You told him not here.

He didn’t listen.

He cornered you between quantum physics and astral theory, your lab coat already open, his fingers slipping under your waistband with maddening ease. Before you could protest again, your leg was hitched over his hip and your back was against the bookcase.

“Quiet, love,” he smirked. “Let’s see if you can keep that brilliant mouth shut.”

You couldn’t.

You feel the way his gaze lingers, tracing your curves, fixating on your tits, he's not exactly subtle. Then again, nothing about John Constantine ever was; the man was seemingly without shame, strutting around like a peacock for both you and your husband. 

That was the real kicker. Had the foul-mouthed Brit been ogling just you, then you’d have rolled your eyes and moved on. But there was something about the way he glanced appreciatively at Bruce that had you pausing in consideration. You were hardly a stranger to the looks Bruce garnered; he was (in your unbiased opinion) one of the sexiest men on the planet, but John’s stare was downright hungry. 

A blink and you’d miss it flush covering his cheeks anytime Batman displayed his impressive physical strength, as if John was imagining that strength being used on him. Not that you blamed him, those were the sorts of fantasies you and Bruce often acted out together. 

Bruce clearly noticed it too, and was doing his best to ignore the flirtation stalwartly. To anyone else, he was the picture of nonchalance, but you knew your husband, and hidden behind the veil of irritation was thinly disguised interest. John wasn’t an unattractive man, for all his personality made him as likable as a gnat sometimes, and even if he’d protest vehemently, you knew the blonde was Bruce’s type. 

Bruce was loyal; of that, you'd no doubt. He’d never do anything to jeopardise your relationship. He probably didn’t even realise he was looking. You supposed that should make you jealous, but then you’d be a hypocrite, given that you were looking too. 

The man had shrugged off his tan trench coat, his shirt sleeves rolled to above his elbows to show off his forearms, almost as if he knew you had a weakness for just that. His hair had become gradually more dishevelled as the night wore on, and he ran his hand through the blond locks in frustration. 

Though after nearly four hours of magical research, even Bruce was getting cranky. His patience for Constantine’s flirting and magic as a whole reaching its end. Some of that’s probably your fault, having gone to take a shower around two hours in, only to emerge adorned in nothing but a fluffy robe, tied loosely enough to show off your cleavage as you reclined back in your seat. Every little movement you make draws both their gazes, forcing you to hide your smirk behind the glass of wine you’d poured yourself. 

John’s tongue darts out, swiping over his lower lip as you shift, crossing your legs and showing off the skin of your bare thighs as the robe slips lower. Bruce clears his throat, shifting the attention from you, and your smirk deepens at the visible cracks in his composure. The tension in his jaw muscles, the white-knuckled grip on his now-empty glass of whiskey and most damningly, the way his pants do little to hide the beginnings of his arousal. 

Constantine chokes when he notices, tugging at the collar of his shirt as he stares with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. You tilt your head, eyes searching Bruce’s as you silently ask, rules?

With Zatanna, he’d wanted to watch, with Hal, it had been a competition between the two men to see who could fuck you better. That instance had left you unable to walk, not that you’d complained, but neither of those dynamics seemed right for John. 

In those seconds of silent conversation between you and your husband, John recovers, rougish grin covering his face. “Damn Bats, that–”

Whatever John was going to say was forgotten as you gripped his face, tilting his face up to pull him in for a sensual kiss. One of your hands tangles in the hair on the nape of his neck, tugging harshly. You’re rewarded with a whimper that you greedily swallow, prompting you to repeat the action, hoping to hear it again. 

You pull away, giggling a little when John absentmindedly chases after your lips, a dazed expression plastered across his normally cocksure face. Bruce had taken the opportunity to rise, moulding himself against your back, planting gentle kisses over the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders. 

John’s eyes follow the action dazedly, nearly bulging out of his head as Bruce’s hands deftly tug on the belt of your robe, helping you slide out of it as it slides to the floor forgotten. “Fuck, love, Bats.” The sorcerer croaks, hands clenching and unclenching on his thighs as he looks desperately between you and your husband as if searching for confirmation that this was happening. 

“Problem, Constantine?” Bruce asks, feigning ignorance as one of his calloused hands drifts between your legs. Your hips buck involuntarily, attempting to coax Bruce into touching you properly. 

"Don't be impatient," he chides quietly, gripping your waist to keep you still. 

John swallows, watching intently, squirming in his seat to try and find a comfortable position. "This isn't a dream, right?" His eyes are still flickering back and forth between you and Bruce, as if waiting for permission.

“Not a dream, love.” You sigh, head falling back against Bruce’s shoulder as he cups your tits, before he starts to walk you backwards. John watches, frozen, dazed as Bruce opens the study door until you speak up again, “Are you coming?”

John practically trips over himself to follow, making you giggle as you reach out, lacing his hand in yours as the three of you stumble into the nearest bedroom in a tangle of limbs and shed clothes.

In a brief moment of lucidity, you mentally thank the stars that none of the kids are home, and it dawns on you that Bruce probably planned this. But then his lips are back on your neck, and Constantine’s sprawled, naked across the mattress, and all other thoughts fly out the window. 

The sorcerer’s confidence had returned, his usual cocky smirk back as he takes in the way both you and Bruce stare appreciatively. “What are you waiting for?” He purred, and you pounced, kneeling between his spread thighs and pulling him into a bruising kiss. 

You feel the mattress dip behind you, Bruce’s now bare chest pressed against your back once more, caging you between him and John. 

“Of course you’re hard already, you little slut.” You and John moan together at Bruce’s words, the blonde’s head falling back with a hiss as one of your hands trails down to his neck, squeezing slightly as your thumb runs over his rapidly fluttering pulse.

John's eyes fluttered shut briefly, a gasp escaping his lips as Bruce's hands joined yours in caressing his body, only to snap open in surprise when cold metal clasps around his wrists and the headboard. 

“When did you–” He stutters a little, giving an experimental tug as his fingers flex. 

“I’ve learned not to question it, you’ll go insane.” You murmur between kisses you trail down his chest and abdomen. His hips flex, arching into your touch until Bruce makes a chiding sound, a large palm snaking around you to hold him down. 

“So impatient, both of you,” Bruce growls, nipping at your shoulder before he tugs you back against his chest, nudging your thighs open with his own. 

“Can you blame me, Bats?" John rasped, his voice hoarse with desire. “I see two gorgeous people and I can't help but want to test the limits a bit.”

“Such a brat, someone should teach you a lesson,” Bruce growled, his grip tightening.

John gasped, “I'm all for it, love. Knock some manners into me. Put me in my place.”

"You're a mouthy one, aren't you? Let's see if we can't find something better for you to do with your tongue besides run it."

John let out a surprised sound as Bruce captured his lips this time, biting down on his lower lip as your thumbs ran soothing circles over his hipbones. 

“Tell me, Johnny, how long have you wanted this? To be at our mercy?” You coo, delighting in the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch, straining against his bonds to try and reach for you or Bruce. 

“I…” he trails off, eyes following the movement of Bruce’s hands as they trail down your sides, one gripping your thigh to hold you in place as the other dips between your legs. 

He watched, entranced, until suddenly Bruce was tugging on his hair harshly and forcing him to look into Bruce’s, “She asked you a question, Constantine.”

“I…” He stutters once more, swallowing deeply to try and focus over the sudden sounds of your pretty moans. “Since I first saw you, both of you.” John strains against his bonds once more, aching to reach out and touch you as you grind down against Bruce’s fingers, mouth open in bliss. 

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it, Johnny?” Bruce teased, lethargically working you open as you relied on him to hold your weight up. 

John, meanwhile, was completely enraptured by the sight before him, powerless to do anything but watch, his entire body tense. 

“Isn’t my wife gorgeous?” Bruce hummed against your neck, eyes never leaving Constantine’s face as he nodded frantically. “Use your words, John. Tell us how pretty you think she is.”

John swallows heavily, his throat bobbing as he stares at your bare body “Beautiful,” he manages to get out finally, eyes dragging greedily over your curves. “Stunning,” he corrects, gaze lingering on the marks Bruce left on your throat. “Bloody sinful.”

John watched every moment, his eyes practically glued to you both, his hips arching off the mattress in desperate need for stimulation of his own.

“Good boy.” Bruce praises, nipping playfully at the shell of your ear. You whimper again, pressing your thighs together unconsciously. “What else do you like about my wife?”

John's eyes darken further at the reminder of your status, clenching his jaw. It's almost painful to watch as Bruce caresses you, doing what he desperately wants to. His knuckles are white as he strains against the handcuffs, cock twitching. 

“Everything,” John pants, his gaze flickering from you to Bruce and back. “Bloody everything.” His eyes rove over your body again, drinking in every inch as if he wants to commit you to memory.

“She's perfect. So bloody perfect,” he breathes, his words ending on a note between a laugh and a moan. “And smart, so bloody clever. And a mouth made for–” He sucks in a sharp breath, cutting himself off, still a little unsure of the boundaries. 

Bruce chuckles, his breath warm against your neck. “She is quite good at that,” he murmurs. “Always eager to be a good girl. Aren’t you, baby?” 

You nod desperately, whining when Bruce retracts his fingers, only to eagerly slide them into your mouth, tongue swirling around his digits before he pulls them free with a pop. “Why don’t you show Johnny how good you can be?”

Bruce slides back, allowing you more space to lean down, arching your back as you stare up at John. “You look so pretty like this, Johnny,” you hummed, “All tied up and wanting.”

John shivered under your touch. “Please, love”, he begged, his voice cracking with desperation. “I need– Fuck!” He swears, throwing his head back when you suddenly take him in your mouth. You hum in amusement, the vibrations making John see stars. 

The taste of salty pre-cum on your tongue was as intoxicating as the sight of him beneath you, his body trembling with need. “God, you're delicious,” you murmured. 

His fists clench, teeth digging into his lower lip as your hands migrate to his hips, preventing him from thrusting into your mouth as you slowly swirl your tongue around his leaking tip. All the while, your eyes never leave his face, relishing in the way his cheeks flush, sweat dripping down his temples. 

“Look at you, so needy,” Bruce said, leaning over to capture John’s earlobe between his teeth. “Such a pretty little slut.” You hum again in agreement, and John jolts beneath you. 

“Fuck, darlin, if you keep that up m’not gonna last.” He pants, too blissed out to be embarrassed at how quickly he’s about to cum from the glorious sensations your warm mouth provides.

It’s your fault, really, for teasing him so relentlessly, leaving him aching for your touch over the past few hours. 

Your only answer is taking him deeper into your mouth, head bobbing as your nose brushes against his pelvis, one of your hands moving to grip his ass. “Christ!” He hisses, heels digging into the mattress as his thigh muscles tremble. 

Suddenly, there’s a hand on the back of your neck, tugging you back upright against Bruce’s chest, causing you and John to let out whines of frustration. “Not yet. You haven’t earned it.” Bruce grunts, sliding his cock between your wet folds, barely giving you any warning before he lifts your hips before practically slamming you down. 

John's eyes go wide as he watches you sink down on Bruce, a sharp gasp escaping his lips at the sight, unable to look away from the erotic display before him, his body still burning from the orgasm he’d been denied. 

"God, you two look so good," he groaned, his voice hoarse and low. He wanted more than anything to touch himself, to touch you or Bruce, something, anything to help relieve the ache.  

One of Bruce’s hands slinked around to rub at your clit as he roughly bounced you up and down on his cock like a ragdoll, your head falling back against his shoulder, mouth open in ecstasy.

The sight of you, head thrown back in pleasure, was almost too much for John to handle. He was straining against the cuffs, his wrists undoubtedly bruising. “You cruel, beautiful people,” he groaned, “Making me watch but not letting me touch... It's torture.”

“You deserve a little torture, don't you think?” Bruce asked, his tone playful, but slightly strained as he maintained his pace. “You've been such a brat, after all.” 

“I... please... I'll behave,” John promised, his words coming out in ragged pants. His pride long forgotten in his need to cum. 

You moan loudly at his words, and Bruce’s rhythm falters a little, showcasing a crack in his composure. It seemed John wasn’t the only one worked up from tonight’s teasing. 

As pretty as John looked, you decided to take pity, wanting nothing more than to have him in your mouth once more. You leaned forward, your breath ghosting over the tip of his cock. Bruce doesn’t stop you, and you take it as all the permission you need, your tongue darting out to tease the sensitive head of John’s cock. 

Bruce leaned over your back, watching, mesmerised by the sight. “You look so pretty with your mouth full,” he muttered, his hands groping your tits and ass, each thrust pushing you further down John’s cock. 

“Please, please, please,” John panted, his body arching, “Bruce... I can't, I can't…”

“You will,” Bruce replied, his tone brooking no room for argument. His eyes were dark as he watched you take John's length deeper, his gaze flickering from your mouth to the way the blond was begging beneath you. “You'll be patient, taking what we give you, and you'll be damn grateful for it.”

Suddenly you pulled off John with a pop, moaning desperately “Bruce, baby, need to cum.”

Bruce’s hips stuttered, his hand moving to gently cradle your cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and rough. 

You nodded, your words nothing but a needy whimper. "Please," you begged, barely even able to say that. 

“Alright, baby. Since you asked so nicely…” He grunted, smacking your ass before his hand slid around your front, middle finger providing the perfect amount of pressure on your clit. 

John, however, groaned in protest, “And what about me?” his frustration evident, brattiness slipping back into his tone. “What about what I need?”

“Thought I already told you to be patient, Constantine.” Bruce growled, before a wicked smirk crossed his face, “Besides, kids are out of the house for a few days, we’ve got all the time in the world.” John whimpers at the thought, though the sound is drowned out as you cum with a wail, slumping against his chest. 

The room stills when you speak, those three words tumbling off your lips before you can stop them. 

“I love you.” You say, and John freezes inside of you.

The room goes quiet, the sounds of skin on skin and John’s whines dissipating. The air grows charged, tension flooding every crevice. 

You freeze, too. Your own words echo around your mind, followed by a chorus of ‘why the fuck would I say that?’

And the worst part about all of this isn’t the shocked look on Constantine’s face or the sudden sharp beat of your heart. The worst part is that you mean it. You mean it with every fiber of your being and that only makes this more unbearable.

The words had been at the forefront of your mind for a while. Every midnight cigarette and afternoon coffee, they circled around your head. Every time he fucked you, every time he held you afterwards, they filled your presence. But every time you tried to speak them out loud, they disappeared.

Which leaves you with the question: who the fuck says ‘I love you’ during sex?

By the furrow of his brows and the way his cock has stilled inside of you, you’re sure John must be thinking the same thing.

“S-sorry,” you start, unfurling your fingers from the back of his neck.

You hold your breath, waiting for him to pull out and leave you with that horrible empty feeling. You wait for him to move away, to say something, to leave. And yet he stays still, length nestled deep in your folds, chest rising and falling harshly.

The way he’s looking at you—looking through you—only makes the shame in your chest burn brighter. 

“I-I don’t know—that just slipped out.” You bring a hand down to rub at your face, as if you could rub away your embarrassment, “I don’t know why I said that.”

You keep your hand over your face, half-covering your eyes so you don’t have to see his reaction. He shifts his weight back onto his knees, his cock slipping halfway out of you.

His voice is raspy when he speaks. “Did you mean it?”

You blink, splitting your middle and ring fingers apart so you can look at him through your hand. There’s a serious—all too serious for it being 2am and him having his dick inside of you—look on his face. 

A look that tells you he’ll know if you lie, that whatever you say next, determines what route your relationship takes from here.

You take a deep breath, letting the cold air seeping through your open window wash over you. “I did.”

He hums lowly, taking it into consideration. His silence hangs over you like a knife, threatening to cut through you at any moment. You close your eyes, tilting your head as far back as it’ll go.

“We don’t have to do this, it’s okay. That was weird and I’m sorry and we can—we can just forget all about it, okay? No harm, no—”

He cuts off your rambling by rolling his hips into yours, your monologue cut off with a whimper.

“None of that, love.” Though you can’t see him, you can feel his eyes on your face, “say it again.”

You shake your head frantically, entirely unwilling to put yourself through the utter humiliation of that moment.

“You don’t want to say it again?” The hurt bleeds through the playfulness he tries to mask it with. “Well, why not?”

“I-I’m embarrassed.”

“Of loving me?”

And the sheer sadness in his voice sends pain radiating from your chest. You blink slowly, trying to make sense of your own thoughts. How could you possibly begin to describe to him what you’re feeling right now?

He pulls out of you, reaching over the side of the bed, and for a minute, you’re scared he’s going to leave. You clench up, and without thinking, you’re pulling yourself into a sitting position and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Don’t go.” You plead into the skin of his shoulder, “please don’t go.”

His eyes are wide for a moment but the angst that had flooded his features dissipates into soft, quiet laughter. “I’m not going anywhere, love. Was just grabbing these.”

He shows you the pack of cigarettes and the lighter he’d just pulled from the pocket of his jeans. “I figured we could both use one.”

You slowly unfurl yourself from him, letting yourself fall back into the pillows. You watch him through your lashes as he lights the cigarette and takes a long drag. The smoke curls around him, the scent of them a comfort to you.

You part your lips and he places it between them, holding it in place while you take a drag. On a better night, you’d force him to go down to the street, berate him for even asking to smoke in your apartment. But tonight, naked and vulnerable, the open window of your bedroom will have to suffice.

“So,” he says between puffs, “you’re embarrassed by me.”

“I—no, I’m not embarrassed by you. It just came out at a bad time.” You take a deep breath, “I do love you. I love you a lot.”

Say it back, you pray. Please.

“You’re not embarrassed by me,” he says slowly.

“Not at all.”

Please hurry this up. Please say it back. Please.

“And you really do love me.”

“I do.”

Say it back, say it back, say it back.

“That’s…unfortunate.”

All your hope dies in your chest. He passes the cigarette back to you but the nicotine tastes bitter on your tongue now. Tears prick at your lash line but you’ll be damned if you cry like this—naked, cold and spread beneath him.

“Unfortunate,” you repeat, and you hate the way your voice breaks on the word.

“I’m sort of a magnet for bad luck, love. I—hell, are you crying?”

You shake your head but it’s obvious from your bloodshot eyes and the tears on your cheeks that it’s a lie. He takes the cigarette from you and puts it out between his fingers, ditching the bud on your nightstand.

“Why are you crying, love?”

Again, you shake your head, hoping if you deny it enough he’ll leave the subject alone. Instead, he rolls to the side and lays on the bed next to you, his face too close to yours.

“I-I think you should go,” you hiccup.

Stubborn as ever, John refuses to leave. He rubs his hand over your cheek, wiping away the fat tears that linger on your skin. 

“I love you,” he says finally.

And though relief floods you, bitterness does too. 

As if he senses your doubt, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I wouldn’t be here every night if I didn’t. I wouldn’t spend the night or share my cigarettes or—” He stops when you laugh, the sound easing the tension in the air. He grins at you—an actual, real grin. 

“There you are,” he says and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “I missed you.”

You pull him in for another kiss, longer this time, a little needier. Your voice is breathier now, “do you think we could…finish now?”

“Are you going to confess your love for me again?”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, “fuck me, I guess.”

Still, he grips your waist and rolls you onto your back, getting back on top of you. “Careful what you wish for, love.”

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