"Well you're not doing it right now, are you?" Each slap manages to be placed differently than the last, jolting through him and leaving the skin hot and aching in its wake. Never easy to predict, never too much for him to take, and all of it with enough speed to be impressive that Bruce can be so precise and so fast. The gentle, reassuring touch at the back of his head and neck is an equally precise and perfect counterpoint to the stinging pain; all of it unsurprisingly well planned considering who was behind it.

When it does stop, Constantine drops his forehead to the bed, taking a moment to breathe and process the rush of adrenaline and endorphins flooding through him. The weight of Bruce above him helps in that regard, a heaviness that feels as though it's pushing him down and keeping him grounded, a reminder that there's still more to look forward to.

Bruce is still retrieving what he needs next when Constantine raises his head again, turning his neck as much as he can manage to try and get a glimpse of the other man's face. Not that it would help much; Bruce hardly needs the cowl to mask any and all expression.

"'Sides, I think you could be out there all day every day and still never be rid of it." Men like them always found new goals to strive for, something else that they could push and push themselves to pursue, a wrong to right. Something else that they could break apart against.

"It's what keeps you going, handsome."