Watching silver melt

by Aydine

Silver is just another word for cold. Balthazar x Constantine.

Title: Watching silver melt
Fandom: Constantine
Pairing: Balthazar/Constantine
Warning: M/M slash / sexual situations.
Summary: Silver is just another word for cold. Written for the Livejournal community bxc's 'Black Christmas challenge'. Won second place.
Disclaimer: Don't own Constantine or anything pertaining to the film.

It was only for a moment that John lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. Or so John had thought. Daylight had been the last thing he saw before he dozed off to the dreadful Christmas carols outside, poisoning his insides, but when he awoke, the sky had gone dark and his static apartment contorted with shadows with a dim glow from the street lights.
God, how he hoped he had slept through Christmas all together. With a groan he motioned to sit up, every joint in his body stiff and sore from fights of the other night. That, and the other games he consistently played didn't leave his body unscathed. He was willing at times, resistant the other, the latter often inspiring more greed, agony pressured into relief. Good times? Yes. No. Maybe. Sometimes. Addictive for sure.

John sighed and lay back again. Who was he kidding, his body didn't want to get up so why would he want to? Maybe because he left his scotch in the kitchen. For the second time, he pushed himself up, this time allowing his feet to touch the floor while he ran a hand through his hair.
He looked at his feet. No shoes. Odd, he hadn't taken them off before he took a siesta. John frowned but got over it rather quickly, who gives a damn about shoes when you don't want to be ambushed by cheery people wishing you a Merry fucking Christmas the minute you set out? Not John, damn the shoes unless he could beat the celebrations over the head with them.

"Oh, don't get up, dear John," the familiar voice slithered through the dark apartment when John was ready to get to his feet as he decided they were cold and the recovery of his shoes would be nice. Surprisingly enough, John didn't get up after all and his visitor purred, amused. "You might hurt yourself and that would be such a nonperformance."

John twisted his body to be greeted with the recognizable sassy silhouette of Balthazar who stood next to the other side of the bed. Constantine wasn't surprised at the sudden intrusion as the half-breed had practically become part of the interior design during the years, the many, many years.
The element of surprise would undoubtedly show itself during the course of this meeting and in all probability it wouldn't be gift-wrapped.

"The fuck are you doing here," he voiced, his depreciation overbearing the question. It wasn't even a question, there could only be one reason that Balthazar had showed up, the way it had always been and how it would never change.

Before John could move or even realize, he felt Balthazar's knees in his back and a firm grip on his tense shoulders. "Well, it's Christmas, lovebird." He leaned in, squeezing the exorcist's shoulders a bit harder and the heat of his skin seemingly blazing through John's expensive shirt.

John clenched his jaw, the first sign of his ceremonial refusal quickly followed by an attempt to shrug off the hands, to no avail, they kept coming back. All that it accomplished was that Balthazar's grip fastened, spouting more pet names while he told Constantine to relax. John truly hated the names given to him, everything from Johnny-cakes to toots resulted in more impeding from John's side.

"And why is it so dark in here?" Balthazar whispered with a hint of amusement. He could just smell John's deep-seated contempt, it was in every glance, every breath, every shot of pain and even pleasure he brought upon John was fragrant with defiance. It was delightful just to hear John snort.

John only responded to the rubbing of his shoulders with a painful groan as the lack of light didn't really pose that much of a problem to him. He was more curious whether Balthazar was giving him an advanced shoulder massage to untie some knots or just inflict more pain on his sore shoulders for the sake of inflicting pain, because it hurt like shit.

"Never mind answering," Balthazar said with singsong upon John's silence. "You always did like it where you think I can't see you."

"Right," John snorted. "So I'm hiding now, that it?"

Playfully, Balthazar slapped the back of John's head. "You're just playing hard to get."

There was a chuckle, hot breath on his jaw and the pressure on his shoulder relieved. But before John could mourn over the sudden lack of warmth, the hands returned, only this time underneath his shirt, claiming his back.

"I imagined a welcome warmer than this, darling," the raspy voice breathed in his ear. "Is every inch of you as cold as this?" a question emphasized when the hands swiftly passed over to John's abdomen. "Of all silver I've touched," the half-breed hissed as he scratched the cold skin, causing John to briefly close his eyes. "Yours is the most difficult to melt down."

"Yeah," John spoke irritably, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. "Maybe you need to try fire."

"But Johnny-boy, I am fire," Balthazar teased and moved away from behind John, roughly pushed him down on his back while he straddled him. "I'll be your fireworks this new year." Pressing his weight against John, he wormed his hand between their bodies, greedy fingers raking across the wrinkles of John's pants down to his thigh, brushing against his loins in passing. A devious smirk rewarded the squirming of the high-strung exorcist who tried to shake the growing warmth with a growl, the flush on his skin.

"Stop your flapping, John." Teeth briefly grazed over John's cheek, a flicker of a wet tongue in the corner of his mouth and persistent stroking against his zipper. John gritted his teeth and turned his head away upon the nagging rubbing, the pounding of his heart and the hot breath tingling his skin. "That's not nice," Balthazar disapproved and withdrew his hand from John's loins to firmly grab the human's head to press his lips on John's and forced his forked tongue inside for a fleeting moment.
Teeth lingered on John's bottom lip, he was certain the bastard would bite through, Balthazar always bit through something when they met. While tortured with provocation, consumed by aggravation and stirred at the manipulative grinding of hips against his, he braced himself for a painful little hole in his lip.

But no lips were marred, the helpless image of Constantine was satisfactory enough to Balthazar. Instead, a wet tongue trailed down the exorcist's neck and his shirt ripped open as Balthazar licked his way down to his stomach. For an instant, John gave in, he threw his head back, breath caught in his throat as his hand searched for the half-breed's head and latching his hands onto his hair. "Well, hold on, sweetheart, this might work better with your pants down."

Before John had a chance to gather his wits to tell him to fuck off, Balthazar ran his lips over his lower abdomen and pulled the pants down and flickered his tongue against his arousal. John let out a moan, instantly glossed over reluctance and buried his hand deep in the half-breed's hair to draw him closer.
Balthazar looked up, watching the human wriggle underneath him, his body begged and his mind fruitlessly stabbed to concentrate. "Yes, fight off your impulses, more fun for me." Balthazar couldn't resist to taunt before wrapping his lips around the head of John's arousal, teasing him with his tongue once more like a lollipop that he wanted to last as long as possible.
Constantine did his best to resist, but the wet and warm harbor having its way with him caused one hand to clutch the sheets when Balthazar steered him deeper into his sweltering mouth, agonizing him. A grunt, a wheeze, his mind finally gave itself over to Balthazar's indulgence and his own.

Arching his back, John pushed himself in further, keeping a firm grip on Balthazar's head who fervently hummed, stimulating John's senses and swallowed him in deeper at every opportune moment when John seemed to struggle for his breath that came in little gasps.
Balthazar scraped his teeth over the skin when he had to smile at John's reaction, the human had tried so hard to stay in control and now all he could do was thrust himself deeper into his mouth only for the half-breed to pull back and leave the man longing after the absent warmth for a split second. Balthazar could play this came all night long, but he finally took the exorcist into a deep throat, drawing out a growl as John let go of Balthazar's head, slamming his fist onto the bed.
Thrusting once more, John finally came with a loud moan as Balthazar fiercely sucked his cock, indulged in watching John's erratic body and to listen to the hard breathing.

Balthazar licked his lips and purred. "Silver always melts on the tongue of fire," he sniggered and crawled on top of the clearly tired but chafed John. "I hope you don't mind, I took off your shoes while you were snoozing."

"Get off," Constantine gritted through his teeth as he rolled Balthazar off of him and got up to get his pants back on. "Where the fuck are my shoes?"

"Why ask me?" the half-breed replied sharply and pushed himself to his feet. "You know I like you peeved, give us some more."

John ignored the provocation and shuffled into the kitchen on his socks, flicking the light on. The first thing to draw his attention was his ruined shirt when he tried to button it up, those were undoubtedly strewn across his bed. John sighed and studied his abdomen that was spoiled with somewhat shallow yet grating marks. Figured.
He shambled onward to the table to finally notice an empty glass and a bottle of scotch, wrapped in a black ribbon bow with a note leaning next to it.
The exorcist looked around. The bastard on red socks had disappeared. He glanced back at the note and snatched it off the table to unfold and read it.

'Dip your silver heart in this, sweet face.

Balthazar

PS: Your shoes are in the refrigerator.'

"Asshole," he muttered and crumpled the note of banality, tossing it on the floor as he sat himself on a chair with the intent to do exactly as Balthazar's note said. To hell with Christmas and his shoes.