Does he know any blasphemous party tricks... Constantine knows tricks that would make Bruce's toes curl, has even demonstrated a few (no point in giving up all his tricks out the gate...) as if that weren't enough.
"I've certainly caused a few to blaspheme in the past, luv," he returns. And he might just see if he can get a rise from Bruce now. There's a challenge in the taller man's acceptance, and Constantine isn't about to back down that easily.
He chuckles to himself, a bit overconfident and as though he's already won somehow, and crosses the distance between them, unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt and loosening his tie further as he goes. He's flicking through spells in his mind, settling on one just as Bruce yanks him closer. It's rough and demanding and exactly what Constantine wants tonight; he's always enjoyed a bit of roughness and being pushed around like this, particularly when his goal is to use sensation to drown out memory.
Bruce is strong too, for all his age and the brutalities he forces his body through again and again, the damage that Constantine knows is beneath the surface, deep in muscle and bone. Just the force of him pulling him closer has Constantine stumbling against him, both hands pressing down against the taller man's chest as if to brace himself.
But what comes out of his mouth isn't anything understandable so much as a swift chant, magic flaring like gold from his palms and seeming to spread and burn Bruce's shirt away, leaving only ashes and smoke curling away from his torso.
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"I've certainly caused a few to blaspheme in the past, luv," he returns. And he might just see if he can get a rise from Bruce now. There's a challenge in the taller man's acceptance, and Constantine isn't about to back down that easily.
He chuckles to himself, a bit overconfident and as though he's already won somehow, and crosses the distance between them, unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt and loosening his tie further as he goes. He's flicking through spells in his mind, settling on one just as Bruce yanks him closer. It's rough and demanding and exactly what Constantine wants tonight; he's always enjoyed a bit of roughness and being pushed around like this, particularly when his goal is to use sensation to drown out memory.
Bruce is strong too, for all his age and the brutalities he forces his body through again and again, the damage that Constantine knows is beneath the surface, deep in muscle and bone. Just the force of him pulling him closer has Constantine stumbling against him, both hands pressing down against the taller man's chest as if to brace himself.
But what comes out of his mouth isn't anything understandable so much as a swift chant, magic flaring like gold from his palms and seeming to spread and burn Bruce's shirt away, leaving only ashes and smoke curling away from his torso.