Title: Training Day
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Claim: Lucifer/John Constantine
Table: General #10
Prompt: #1 Struggle
Rating: M
Summary: John is so often rebellious, and needs some training on how to behave. Warnings: Non-con. Bloodplay.
Notes: I should be hit with a crucifix for writing this pairing…but I do anyway.
Word Count: 458.
A bite here.
A scratch there.
A growl sprinkled somewhere in the middle…
John…was a fighter. He always had been a challenge—a regular hell raiser who always behaved like a little spoiled brat who had never gotten his own way. He would dare kick at him, scream at him, and even attempt to punch him before he elegantly caught the closed fist in mid-air.
"Now, what did I tell you about the face?" he admonished mockingly. The hiss he receives in answer rivals one of his own domain in ferocity.
Because John Constantine did act like one of his domain, no matter how much the human tried to hide it. Lucifer was simply claiming what was his as he forced the swearing and pathetically whimpering thing into submission just as he had done time and again below to his own demons.
Except John wasn't a demon. Not technically at least.
As it was with humans, John did have free will. This situation that was playing out right now need not have happened, but Constantine must have been just as much obsessed with him as well. Five, ten, twenty years and John was still choosing to live this rat hole existence. By now, John was so stagnant, so imbued with his own arrogance and warped by his own views on a philosophy that he couldn't even begin to understand; it would be nothing short of a miracle he got even close to the upstairs landing with a pure heart. He was fucked.
And, the sad part was that he thought he could still win.
It was so…tedious. The writing and struggling would only end in defeat, and John himself knew it. Minds and bodies touched as Lucifer scratched a particularly deep wound in John's flesh prompting a scream from his throat. He knew with full certainty it would scar, and he also knew with certainty that it would bring the human's anger to a boiling point whenever he glimpsed it…make him even more defiant if that was possible when he encountered him again.
There. He had shrugged off John's coat, torn into his shirt, and was now working on his pants. John was getting quite exhausted by now. He could tell. Muscles overworked with frantic motions, pain sharply creasing into his sweaty features, lips open from needless gasping and just begging to be pillaged. It was their bedroom quirk. First, agony. Then, pleasure. For John was young and needed to be trained.
And, that's all this was Lucifer reasoned as he took the human's hardened length in his hand which resulted in a weak defeated whimper of pleasure that so traitorously escaped from John's vocal chords. Training.
Though he and Johnny-boy would have an eternity to get it right…