Bruce makes a low sound at that slip of magic, pinches lightly at Constantine's side. He relents, though, leaning in to kiss him. It's good like this - cigarette taste aside - close and nearly grappling, kissing wet and just rough enough. Bruce doesn't quite bite down on his tongue, grazes it with his teeth before sucking on it, enjoying the contrast between that and the prickling discomfort of stubble-on-stubble. Too much and it turns to sandpaper, but they've got a minute. And another, to slot hips together, and rock down. Bruce gets his cock pressed in alongside the other man's, stroking them both before letting the leverage of the position do the work. He's only just half hard, and it fills and stiffens as it's rutted there into the other man's skin.

"I think you'd only shut up with a gag," he says, mouth brushing against his as he speaks. He drives down, forward, moving one knee up to spread John's out, so the can grind in harder. It's not completely comfortable. He knows he's heavy, muscles bordering on too solid. But the bite of everything is present and real. "But you'd probably magic your voice out anyway, if you could clear your head enough to do it."