[ Constantine might judge him still if he was aware of his immortality, in another life, Peter could have been a hero. Sensitive and compassionate. But as it were, corruption curled its claws around him long before his powers manifested. Innocence lost before he could stand on his own two feet. Tragic really, but it shapes the man with his hand around his throat, close enough now to ghost hot breath against his skin.

A smirk plays across Peter's lips as he feels the muscles in Constantine's throat pull upward, and once the cigarette is free from his lips, his fingertips press against the stubble at his jawline to maneuver his face toward him. ]

You could have tried, I wouldn't have blamed you... but I would've been forced to put you in your place.

[ Peter's hand remains where it is, firm, warm... commanding. While the shadow of that pressure travels down under Constantine's shirt, gliding over flesh yet to be seen. ]

By your own words, I get the feeling that's exactly what you want.