"Could have taken the rest of it, but I wanted to leave something to enjoy." Smugly self-satisfied with himself, Constantine's hands take the opportunity to explore Bruce's chest, following the lines of hard muscle and puckered scar tissue, a map of every battle the Batman has ever been through. It's something he enjoys being able to see and touch, a part of him wondering if he's the only person that gets to see this and know where the wounds really came from, not hear bullshit stories of skiing accidents and sports injuries.
He's never really asked if Bruce fucks anyone else; neither of them expect or are the type for exclusivity in this, a kind of sentimental garbage they haven't the time for, but he does wonder all the same how many know both Bruce's lives. How many just one or the other.
The probing touches are also to seek out anything that might be new, wondering if the Batman has been injured recently, if there's anything he should know about or be careful of as they continue. Nothing ruins a moment like unexpected and unplanned pain and blood.
His hands rest on Bruce's hips as they kiss, return the hard demand of it with yanking at his belt, half to pull him closer and half to see if he can get the Batman to move a step. Unsurprising if he doesn't; physical strength isn't his forte, nor does he need it to flick open the button of Bruce's trousers and trace a sigil against his skin. A sparkling energy ripples over the exposed skin, radiating from that point and feeling not unlike nails dragging lightly against flesh.
no subject
He's never really asked if Bruce fucks anyone else; neither of them expect or are the type for exclusivity in this, a kind of sentimental garbage they haven't the time for, but he does wonder all the same how many know both Bruce's lives. How many just one or the other.
The probing touches are also to seek out anything that might be new, wondering if the Batman has been injured recently, if there's anything he should know about or be careful of as they continue. Nothing ruins a moment like unexpected and unplanned pain and blood.
His hands rest on Bruce's hips as they kiss, return the hard demand of it with yanking at his belt, half to pull him closer and half to see if he can get the Batman to move a step. Unsurprising if he doesn't; physical strength isn't his forte, nor does he need it to flick open the button of Bruce's trousers and trace a sigil against his skin. A sparkling energy ripples over the exposed skin, radiating from that point and feeling not unlike nails dragging lightly against flesh.