Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing but the original characters and the situations the characters find themselves in. Thanks so much for continuing to read and for giving me feedback on my work. It's muchly appreciated and I do read every review you send me!

Also...please feel free to let me know how you would rank the various choices in your comments. I'm curious, heh.

Shag, Marry, or Kill

If Blake were to write down his very own 'Declaration of Absolute Truths' it would include things like how Coke is, and will always be, better than Pepsi, that pizza was always a good idea, and milk chocolate was the only chocolate worth consuming. There would also be a notation somewhere in the document-written by himself or someone else-about how it was an absolute truth that Robin John Blake was a vindictive brat when crossed. Especially when someone else thought they were the boss of him-and wasn't.

Now to be fair, Blake recognized that their present circumstances were not Barsad's fault. The man was as much as victim as he was in all this. Bane was the one they were both legitimately mad at. As in it was Bane who had decreed that Blake had to have a babysitter for the evening, and Bane who'd decided that Barsad was that unlucky sitter. Who did not want to babysit, but had to.

Poor guy.

Blake had sympathy for the guy, he did. Just not enough to sit and read a book or go to bed early. Both of which Barsad had suggested after picking him up from work, along with watching TV, a movie, or playing with his Switch. Anything but what Blake wanted to do, which was either annoy Barsad into leaving or force the stick in the mud to act human.

He didn't want a sitter, and Barsad didn't want to be one. He was really trying to do the man a favor here, not that Barsad was willing to see it that way.

"Come on. Just play five rounds with me. That's nothing. Hardly any time at all. I won't even mock you that much depending on your picks."

"No."

"This is why you can't get a date, you know. No sense of humor. Like Bane."

For just a moment Barsad looked amused as he stated that he very much doubted Bane had ever played Blake's proposed game, and yet Blake was still dating him.

"Bane and I aren't dating. That man wouldn't know how to properly date someone if you and I wrote him out detailed instructions on how. He'd just decide he knew better and throw them out. Or launch into a speech about how vulgar and crass twenty first century dating is, annoying the fuck out of me in the process. And he annoys me enough already!"

"Then actually follow through on your threats for once and dump him for good."

"I've tried!"

"Try harder."

"If I try any harder I'm going to wind up in Arkham in a straight jacket."

Barsad smirked. "I find that to be an acceptable alternative."

"Bite me."

"That's Bane's job." Even as he stated that Barsad winced, obviously not appreciating the mental images he was now getting.

Which was fine, since Blake would rather Barsad not be thinking about that either. Unless he really wanted to mess with the other man's head-and things weren't that bad currently. And really this night could only improve by leaps and bounds if Bane were to show up with the intention of biting him, but Blake wasn't about to hold his breath on that one.

"Just watch some TV, will you. Save me the trouble of killing you."

"There's nothing but crap on TV right now and I want-"

A knock at the door was a welcome interruption in Blake's opinion, especially since he didn't want Barsad to go into detail again about all the ways he'd devised to kill him. It was a really long fucking list, and the attention to details was a little freaky whenever he stopped to think about.

Barsad apparently didn't appreciate the interruption at all for some reason, the other man uttering a quick curse in his native language before ordering Blake to sit his ass back down. He'd get the door and deal with whoever was there.

"It's my door."

"Sit."

Knowing his quarry well at this point Blake made a big show about flopping back on his couch, crossing his arms and glaring fiercely at Barsad. Who of course didn't care at all about making him mad-foolish man, challenge totally accepted-and walked off to answer Blake' door like he owned the place.

Which he didn't, which was why Blake just waiting until Barsad was out of sight and then got to his feet again, soundlessly following after the jackass to see who was at the door.

Which proved to be for the best since Blake arrived to find Barsad no doubt glaring at the man standing Blake's doorway, insisting that he'd come in peace and had just dropped by to pick up his cellphone case.

"I told you to stay in the living room." Barsad stated without even looking behind him. The man had radar.

"And since when have I EVER listened to you?" Blake shot back. "Come on in, Constantine. I've got your case in my bag. It's in the living room."

"Cheers, Mate." Grinning at Barsad, Constantine raised a questioning eyebrow. "If you wouldn't mind moving. There's a good lad."

"How no one's killed you yet is a mystery. Your soul can't possibly be worth that much."

Naturally Constantine wasn't offended in the least.

"You'd be surprised. And plenty of people far, far more dangerous than you have tried to keep me out of places I wanted to go. They didn't succeed, and neither will you. So, what's say we do this the easy way and just let me in a tic? I'll behave myself. Scout's honor."

Moving to the side Barsad told both of them to make it quick. Something Blake had no intention of doing as soon as Constantine was through the door, Barsad closing it behind him.

"Sweet. Glad you dropped by." Blake began as he started walking back the way he'd come. "I was just trying to get Barsad to play 'Shag, Marry, or Kill. Superheroes and Villains' edition. You can play with me instead."

"You're giving him the case, then he's leaving."

"Well, now. I could play a few rounds first."

)

Normally Constantine preferred to use his charm and guile to get him into places others didn't want him in. Conserving his magic for when he needed it most was just common sense-but he was bloody knackered at that moment. He also hadn't lived this long without getting a sense of people, and instincts told Constantine that this particular lackey wasn't the sort to charm easily. Perhaps at all, in fact. So he used just a smidge of magic to get him through the door, and kept the still un-named handsome man in a bit of a fog until he was comfortably situated on Blake's couch with a beer in hand and some pretzels to share in the bowl in front of him.

Watching the mercenary come completely back to himself and start questioning how he'd so totally lost control of the situation was amusing. Really picked his mood up.

"So, I figure we keep your finny friend and Bane out of the mix. Everyone else is fair game."

Personally, Constantine didn't give a fuck. He would have been fine leaving them in. But knowing Blake as he did Constantine figured that the exclusion was much more for Blake's peace of mind than his own and shrugged it off. No skin off his.

Both of them tuning out the complaints and orders of-

"Right. Who are we ignoring?"

"Barsad. He's okay when he's not tempting you to kill him. Which is often."

"Even if I was paralyzed from the waist down, I could handle you, Boy."

While Constantine snickered over that the two had a mini argument about just how easily Barsad could kill Blake if he so decided to. Apparently, the only thing they could agree on was that yes, Barsad's sniper skills were good enough that Blake would be the walking dead if Barsad went that route. Otherwise, Blake wasn't willing to admit Barsad's superiority.

Letting the two get it out of their system Constantine focused on his lovely pretzels and mildly crappy American beer.

And when enough was enough Constantine whistled sharply, then in the silence suggested that Blake go first. He could almost see the lightbulb immediately go off above the younger man's head when Blake realized that his proposed game would do all the Barsad torturing for him.

There ya go, Lad, Constantine thought with a pleased smile. The beer wasn't worth toasting with.

"Right. We'll start off easy. Batman, Captain America...and Superman. Go."

Well, that was certainly easy enough. "Shag Captain America, marry Batman, kill Superman."

"I'd switch you on the first two, but I'm with you for Superman."

Silently the two of them conveyed with words what didn't really need to be said. Which was that you really didn't want to fuck someone who had X-ray vision, superhero strength, would most likely eventually develop a god complex, and worst of all...wore his panties over his clothes.

The whole switch-er-roo made sense since Blake would have more of an appreciation for Captain America's sweetness-and that arse. Plus, he probably knew Batman a great deal better, and had his reasons there. Personally, Constantine preferred the darker personality.

His turn then. "Wonder Woman, Black Widow, and Catwoman. And yeah, I remember well enough ya don't fancy birds."

"Fuck." A deep sigh and a minute or so contemplation. "Fuck Wonder Woman. She comes from a country that's all women, so she must know how to rock a strap on, at least."

"Ah, Themyscira." Constantine sighed lustily in longing remembrance. "The times I had there before Queen Hippolyta got wind I was making 'visits' and found a way to keep me out. Though it has been a while since I've tried..."

"Of course you've been there. Every straight and bi guy's idea of Heaven."

"Well they don't sometimes call it Paradise Island for nothing." Constantine assured him with a wink.

Blake rolled his eyes. Then cursed some more.

"I'm fucked for the other two." He finally admitted. "Being married to either one of them would end up with me maimed or dead. Not to mention out of a job. Criminals and assassins are sort of frowned upon, as cop's wives. Plus Br-a friend of mine would never forgive me for sleeping with, marrying OR killing the one, as he's a big fan. Shit. Fuck-crap. Okay, I'd marry Catwoman and get a very, very quick divorce. Make that annulment, especially since it would have never been consummated. Kill Black Widow."

"I do hate to kill such a lovely redhead as well, but my picks line up with yours. It seems we don't just share horrible taste in men." That called for a salute with his drink, to Constantine's way of thinking. "Though I'd certainly have some fun with the equally lovely kitty before we parted ways. I would imagine we'd enjoy each other in the short term...and then wind up mortal enemies by the end. That tends to be the case, unless they die first."

Blake couldn't argue with that, so the boy decided to go more humorous with his next three offerings.

Or mean, since the three were Two Face, Clayface, and Killer Croc.

"Really? Well, that's going to take some thought."

Barsad's mutter that he'd choose death had Constantine and Blake sharing looks of agreement. Death would be the easier choice, really. Well, at least in Blake's case. Suicide...would not end well for Constantine. On multiple levels.

Been there, done that. Still paying for it decades later.

"Right. I'll fuck Clayface, since at least he can look however I want him to during the deed. Marry and then kill the scaly Croc, make myself a nice jacket out of him...and kill Two Face."

"Yeah, there's just no getting over that face. Not to mention the fact that it would be like living with someone with a split personality, never sure just who you'd wake up to. And the whole coin thing would get pretty flipping annoying."

Groaning at the horrible pun Constantine threw a pretzel at the cheeky bugger.

Snatching it out of the air with surprisingly good reflexes, Blake bit in and chewed before stating that he'd switch Croc and Clayface. He'd suck it up-pun also intended-when it came to a one off with Croc, then marry Clayface.

"Seriously? Have you spent even the slightest amount of time with that berk? He's William Shatner in clay form. And that's being a tad insulting to Shatner. He's the epidemy of the failed Shakespearian actor. No, scratch that. He's the epidemy of the wannabe failed Shakespearian actor."

"Burn. But you're forgetting one thing."

"Which is?"

"He can look just like Tom Hardy."

Constantine opened and then immediately closed his mouth again.

"Fuck." A minute to think about it more. "FUCK! He could too, couldn't he. Bloody, fucking Hell."

"Exactly. Plus, I'd imagine he can alter parts of his anatomy as requested."

The possibilities were endless. Just thinking about all benefits of a shapeshifting lover had Constantine all but wiggling with glee. But still, you couldn't gag or shove things in the bloke's mouth all the time, and Clayface's voice alone was grating as hell.

Constantine pointed that out to Blake, curious to hear his response.

"I grew up in foster care, on top of dealing with social workers and shrinks. I know how to fake interest and make people think I'm paying attention when I'm totally not. Plus, I'm a workaholic, so I wouldn't have to be around him that much."

"And like you said, he can look like literally anyone..." The ideas his brain continued to generate had Constantine rethinking every negative thought he'd ever had about the mountain of useless clay. "The right time spell, or one that just affects my hearing...fuck, it would be bloody worth it all in the end, wouldn't it?"

"I'd say so."

"Right, then. I'm changing my answers to yours."

"Thanks."

Admittedly the boy deserved to feel smug, but Constantine was too much of a brat not to want to get some of his own back. Which meant he needed to come up with a really hard trio. A no win, make you cringe regardless trio. Even worse than the last two sets.

Hmmmmm

)

The look on Constantine's face did not bode well for him, but Blake was ready to take whatever the Brit wanted to throw at him. This was way more fun than annoying Barsad, especially since he was sneaking glances at the mercenary to see the silent man's reactions. You had to know Barsad to be able to read his small tells-and unfortunately at this point the two of them had been around each other way too much. But at least currently that meant Blake knew Barsad was internally debating the merits of dating Clayface and being horrified by those thoughts. Perfect.

"All right, Boyo. Try this on for size, then. Ratcatcher. Captain Boomerang. And Deadpool."

Blake's jaw dropped.

"That's...that's inhuman. Diabolical. Death is the only answer for all of them. Death to them or yourself because that's-seriously?!"

"Dead serious. What's your call, Mate?"

"This is going to take some thinking. Give me a couple minutes. Maybe more than that. Fuck."

Slumping back in his seat, Blake thought it a sad commentary when someone like Captain Boomerang was the best choice of the three. Because seriously, not even an Australian accent could make that douche bag appealing under the best of circumstances. He was so fucking annoying-while also not being remotely as annoying as that motherfucker Deadpool.

That bastard needed to get his damn mouth sewn shut.

"Wait. Can Deadpool die? Does that even count because he'll just come back again?"

"If I tried to kill the bastard he'd stay dead, believe me."

"Do the world a favor then and get on that. Fuck. Fuck, I'm going to have to say fuck Deadpool. I want to say kill, I really fucking do...but I need Ratcatcher dead more. I have a thing about rats. Hate is a weak word for how I feel about them, and Deadpool wise-his mouth is open twenty-four seven anyway. I might as well shut it up with my dick for a while. Do us all a favor."

"You'd marry Captain Boomerang. Seriously?"

"More like nauseatingly, but yeah. What about you?"

"Kill the fucker. He's annoying without being entertaining. Hence me marrying Deadpool and shagging Ratcatcher."

Blake shuddered at the thought of having sex with rats around. All that bare skin for them to bite into and nibble on. Ugh. Nope, he was sticking with his original answer, thank you very much.

"Deadpool is only entertaining ten percent of the time. And that's in very, very small doses."

"To each their own."

Wanting to wipe that smirk off Constantine's face Blake opted to go evil as well, though in a different way.

"Harley Quinn. Joker. Venom."

"Well Hell. That calls for something a mite stronger than this. Got any whiskey?"

"Nope. Sorry."

"Bugger."

Willing to be kind-and having already given this some thought-Blake offered up his own choices.

"Personally, I'd shag Harley, marry Venom, and kill Joker."

It would always be kill Joker in Blake's case. Above and beyond all the evil, twisted, horrific things the fucker had done to Gotham and people Blake knew...the man looked like a clown twenty-four seven. You just don't fuck a guy wearing clown make-up. Nope. Not happening. Not even if it was Tom Hardy wearing the clown makeup.

Line in the sand.