Relax, he says, like he hasn't deliberately been trying to get John's dick hard to the point that he could conceivably set records with it. He jerks, curses again as Bruce hits yet another pressure point, this time sending uncomfortable needling sensations across his torso, but tries to do as directed. That voice doesn't brook much argument and where he might usually protest, John just exhales and relaxes back against Bruce. The man is packed with muscle and tall enough that there's no real concern about overbalancing them both, and despite the ache in his cock he does try to breathe.

Tension slowly unwinds in his gut and he feels more himself, more John Constantine again instead of strung out desperation. Enough to appreciate, despite the faint frustration, that he was very much going to end up wrecked by the end of the night. What he'd wanted, even if it was also what he'd complain about.

"Alright," he grumbles after another deep breath. In and out, like Bruce wanted. The only thing that was going in and out for the time being. "Don't tell me that you've picked now to have a bleeding cuddle."