Skiing accidents. Sports injuries. Shrapnel from the car bomb that killed his son. (Sometimes he wonders, if he hadn't had to fake and stage a civilian cover story, if he wouldn't have become quite so unhinged about it. There is no time for mourning when you're trying to work out how to not submit Beaten to death by the Joker to a coroner's office.) Most people don't ask, these days. Bruce Wayne may be an airhead, but he's been through a lot.
A few weeks ago, there had been residual bruising from a particularly nasty few nights, but he's had a decent run of it lately. Nothing dramatic added to the graffiti that spans over him. He's just not getting younger.
Bruce allows himself to be pulled, which presses them together for that twist of magic. He gets one hand on Constantine's ass, keeping him crushed close, and shifts his mouth to the side of his neck. Other hand in his hair, grabbing hold of it. The feeling is interesting, good, clever. He wonders if John feels an echo of it, since they're touching; he wonders if John uses his magic like this with many other people. Who knows you?
Safer never to ask.
Stubble scrapes down his throat, to where Bruce sucks lightly at his adam's apple, then lower, sinking his teeth into his shoulder. Some shirt in the way, but that can be yanked off. Pop, some button meets its demise. A quick transition, then, between a moment when Bruce nearly says Any reason you're taking forever—
Changes his mind. Pivots, instead, and throws Constantine down on his bed.
no subject
A few weeks ago, there had been residual bruising from a particularly nasty few nights, but he's had a decent run of it lately. Nothing dramatic added to the graffiti that spans over him. He's just not getting younger.
Bruce allows himself to be pulled, which presses them together for that twist of magic. He gets one hand on Constantine's ass, keeping him crushed close, and shifts his mouth to the side of his neck. Other hand in his hair, grabbing hold of it. The feeling is interesting, good, clever. He wonders if John feels an echo of it, since they're touching; he wonders if John uses his magic like this with many other people. Who knows you?
Safer never to ask.
Stubble scrapes down his throat, to where Bruce sucks lightly at his adam's apple, then lower, sinking his teeth into his shoulder. Some shirt in the way, but that can be yanked off. Pop, some button meets its demise. A quick transition, then, between a moment when Bruce nearly says Any reason you're taking forever—
Changes his mind. Pivots, instead, and throws Constantine down on his bed.