[That tongue is the kind of distraction to make it difficult for a man to think on anything else, and he's certain Hiram knows it. Constantine's teeth scrape against his own lower lip, thumb circling the lip of his own bottle that he's starting to doubt he'll even finish at this point.]

Me? I'm a shady bastard I am. Plenty of names for what I do.

[His grin is all tease, although it's far from a lie.]

Warlock. Demonologist. Exorcist. Nasty piece of work. Ask anyone and they'll tell you.