maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

WHO: John Constantine & OPEN
WHERE: Maurtia Falls, mostly
WHEN: anytime in March
WHAT: Magic! Drinking! CR building in general.
WARNINGS: nudity, chicken blood, alcohol, eta nsfw in the thread with Bob

[Maurtia Falls #007]

Currently, Constantine is standing outside of his housing in Maurtia Falls on whatever passes for a front lawn and it's fairly dark—which is probably a good thing, considering he's not wearing any clothing and is covered in chicken blood. Hey, he's trying not to make a mess in the house, alright? He's such a considerate housemate, really. (Hopefully any passing cops will see it that way.) Plus, being outside beneath a full moon helps with the general ambiance. The 'general ambiance' of what one might ask (if you dare) and if anyone stops and watches, it might become apparent to some that he's casting a spell, standing in a protective circle of what might be flour (but probably isn't), chanting first in English-

"Hear me, most Unnameable of Devourers who guardeth the Eternal Gateway! I seek an audience with one in your embrace!" Which is followed by a few commanding-sounding phrases in Old Aramaic (rinse, repeat)—although... nothing appears to be actually happening.

[Maurtia Falls; some dive bar]

In more clothed circumstances, John can be found at his home-away-from-home, aka a neighborhood bar, where he's just about halfway through a bottle of whiskey, an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the bar in front of him, brooding ~~sexily~~.

Or alternately, catch him relating a story to the bartender and anyone else who might be sitting close by-

"You call that fun? Fun is when your ex-girlfriend who's currently a nun shoots you in the gut and leaves you at the mercy of an Invunche, and in order to survive, you're forced to invite a demon king to possess you, and after you go on a murder spree, you get locked up in a Mexican prison with time running out and very little 'ope of an exorcism. Now that was a fun weekend."

[Wildcard] Create your own starter and John will be there!

[Disclaimer: both of the above scenarios shamelessly inspired by NBC's Constantine. Prefer brackets? Go for it!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Is that right?" Bob asks, his own murmur low and his eyes catching on the other man's expression as hips rock up into his own. Yeah, he can appreciate that expression, wants to see more of it. With the lube and condom still somewhere on the mattress beneath him, he's hard-pressed to remove himself from the warmth of the other man's body. It's an effort, punctuated with an frustrated groan as he goes.

Even sat back up, resting back against the heels of his feet between John's legs, his grip on the other man tightens, slow, long, purposeful strokes a vague promise of what's to come.

But as reckless as he is in some things, he's really not with this. Momentarily releasing his grip of John with a cheeky smirk, his fingers pluck up the condom from the sheets and tear the foil open. Squeezing enough lube into it so it'll feel almost as good as if they were doing this without, he can't help the shakiness of his breath as he rolls it slowly onto himself.

His breath hitching now with every slow agonizing stroke, John doesn't do much more than moan, his eyes glazing over a little, and then groaning even more when it stops, his attention now intently focused on Bob as he prepares himself.

"Cheeky bugger," he murmurs, not that it's exactly a newsflash at this point. He brings his knees back up and pulls them towards his chest, his gaze becoming more heated as anticipation grows. "Don't be gentle, now," he says, smirking as well.

"Why, you looking for a new arsehole, mate?" Bob counters, his eyes snapping upwards to the other man's face as he smears lube over the condom. Dropping the tube out of the way, he edges forward, hands gripping John's thighs just above the backs of his knees to press his legs harder against his chest. His eyebrows are raised but he's not surprised, just wants the other man to read the challenge in his expression. If that's how John likes it then who's he to say no?

"Or maybe..." he starts to say, voice dropping into a heated murmur and gaze narrowing on John's face as he drops a hand between them to line himself up. "...maybe you just really want to remember this tomorrow when you try sitting the fuck down."

He doesn't move, doesn't press himself any further than existing as tight pressure against the other man because he's going to be that bloke. He wants to hear John ask for it - ask for him - again. And he never does something he's asked to the first time. That's just a bit too well-behaved.

"Well, you know that expression, tear somebody a new one? It's not necessarily a bad thing as far as I'm concerned." He might be joking, but there's a better than even chance he's not. John's got a few kinks, it must be said. "And sore memories 'ave a more lasting impression, yeah?"

Eyes locked on Bob's, he presses back as much as he can—which isn't much, considering how the other man's pushing against him, going so far as to squirm a little, trying to make that connection. "You gonna fuck me or what, eh? Or are you gonna just think about it for a while?"

Which would probably sound a bit pissier if he wasn't practically gasping with need.

For the most part, Bob's an easy-going, friendly sort of bloke in general. But he knows how to be rough. Sometimes people are just dickheads and are asking for it, but he's not had many people literally asking for it. He's also not the most patient, so before he's slipped out a line about not hearing the other man say 'please' his hips have already made the decision for him.

He's already halfway inside the other man before his hands are dug into the sheets next to John's shoulders, given up on trying to hold his legs against his chest.

"Fuck," is all he manages, more a groan than anything else, and it's definitely appreciative of the other man's goading.

"'Bout time," John mumbles, his breathing getting sharper as Bob makes some progress. If it's painful at all, that's fine with him—which might be obvious, considering how much more aroused he looks, if anyone happens to be looking down there.

Since Bob's currently a bit busy, he'll just go ahead and start stroking it again himself, gasping and wincing in accompaniment, along with some additional goading, if Bob needs the encouragement.

"C'mon then big boy... give it to me as 'ard as you've got!"

Sensations narrowing his focus, Bob picks up on both the gasp and the wince at the same time. His hips still but he's already as far as he can go and it isn't until the goading picks up again that he releases the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. There's a brief moment of hesitation, the slightest of looks to double check that John really had meant what he'd said.

Go hard or go home is the message he's getting and since the other man's getting off on it already, he throws whatever uncharacteristic caution he has to the wind and finally does as he's told.

There's nothing slow or gentle about the pace he sets, his hands reaching above John's head so his fingers can grip at the edge of the mattress. And, just like always, he gives it everything he's got.

The intensity of it is what really gets John going and it might be getting pretty apparent he's not much into gentle cuddling, at least not while in the throes of sex, anyway. The harder the pounding, the closer he gets to losing it and he spends a good amount of time straddling the fine line of wanting to prolong the rapidly escalating sensations and driving himself to completion (even if Bob's actually doing most of the driving).

Finally however, the tide is unstoppable and he's overwhelmed with the release of agonizing pleasure, jerking his hips almost frantically against Bob's as he climaxes.

As John finally surrenders his self-restraint, Bob can feel his own dragged closer to the edge. He'd taken to biting down hard on his own lip to try and stem the oncoming inevitability of what they're doing, breathing quick and sweat clinging to his chest and back.

With the other man bucking up under him, his hands release the edge of the mattress and grip at John's hips instead, pulling upward just enough so he's got a better angle to finish both hard and strong.

Gasping as he finally lets go, his hips snap forward, eyes catching John's briefly before they're sliding shut. Bowing his head as he comes back down from the high, his arms finally give out and he pitches forward, mindless (or just not giving a fuck) of the mess between them. It's not his mess but he's too boneless to care. Fighting to get his breathing back under control, he tilts his head to glance up at the other man and grins tiredly, breathlessly announcing:

"Favourite type of cardio."

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oops misread the previous tag a little bit

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