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What Happens Now?	By : LadyFogg Category: 1 through F > Constantine Views: 1005 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Constantine nor am I making money off this series.

Chapter List
- 1-What Happens Now?
- 1
Angel with a Shotgun Series
What Happens Now?
The wind whips around you forcefully and you wrap your arms around yourself tighter. The drop in temperature isn’t very drastic, but it still makes you annoyed. With nothing but a thin jacket and jeans, you have little protection from the chill. The street is dark and almost completely empty, say for the stray bum or pedestrian. Your boots echo softly as you move. The bag over your shoulder feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and you consider retiring for the evening.
You hear a noise in the alley to your left and stop dead, turning your head to see what made it. A man and woman are stumbling out the backdoor of some seedy club. You can hear the bass from the music through the walls. The man’s arm is around the woman’s waist and she’s giggling like crazy as he pulls her closer to him. Instead of walking towards you and to the street, the man leads the woman in the opposite direction, further down the alley.
That’s not good, you think.
You turn to follow them without hesitation. They are too wrapped up in each other to really notice you, and you keep a respectable distance to avoid being detected. The man grabs the woman’s ass and you bite back a noise of annoyance as the woman tries to remove it and he puts it back. They are still giggling and whispering to each other and you can practically smell the alcohol coming off them. Once they are clear of the street, the man turns to the woman eagerly. They begin making out and you hang back for a moment, not expecting such a display out of no where.
The woman shoves the man against a wall and he’s all excitement and expectation. The woman goes for his belt and you wrinkle your nose as you watch from behind a dumpster, not wanting to admit your hunch may have been wrong, but also not wanting to see whatever it is that may be happening in front of you.
The woman grins at the man, but it’s not flirty or excited or even scared. It’s almost frightening and her face morphs into some hellish looking beast which you know you’ve seen before.
And there it is, you think, pulling your shotgun out from your bag. You dump the duffle on the ground.
The man is screaming in terror now that he realizes he’s about to get more than he ever bargained for. At the sound of you cocking your gun however, the beast whirls around to look at you.
“Hey there, pretty lady,” you say. “Long time no see.”
“You!” the Succubus hisses. “I thought I killed you back in Boston! You were dead!”
“Whoops, am I not?” you ask sarcastically. “Because I could have sworn I’ve been living in Hell since you murdered my girlfriend you fucking piece of shit!”
“Hey, hey, whatever this is, I don’t want no trouble!” the man stutters as he tries to secure his belt again. The Succubus turns to him and picks him up with ease. You fire a warning shot right into her back, but she throws the man across the alley, where he hits a wall and falls to the ground, unconscious.
The Succubus turns to you, clearly unaffected by the shot. “I’ve killed a lot of people’s girlfriends, boyfriends, wives, husbands...you’ll have to be more specific,” the demon purrs as she advances towards you.
“Her name was Nyla,” you growl. “And by the time I’m through with you, you’ll wish you never crawled out of whatever fucking pit you were spawned from.”
The Succubus lets out a demonic screech before she charges for you. You get at least two more shots off with your gun before she’s right in front of you. You block her sharp claws with your gun and use the butt of it to hit her square in the face. It does nothing but make her angrier and she picks you up just like she did with the man and throws you across the alley. Your gun goes spinning across the ground in the opposite direction. You recover quickly however and scramble to your feet.
You know fire is the only real way to kill the damn thing, but three years of rage finally has a release now and you want nothing more than to beat the shit of the demon with your bare hands before you cook her alive. You charge at the Succubus just as she comes for you. This time you don’t even try to avoid her claws. She slices through your jacket, but barely even scratches your skin as you send a swift kick to her gut. She backhands you and you go flying again.
Your back hits the wall and you feel the air leave your lungs in a rush. You drop to the ground, temporarily winded. Your world spins and you fight to keep it righted.
“As much as I hate to separate two lovely birds from ripping each other to shreds, I think you could use a little help.”
You look up to see a man standing by you, framed by the light of the streetlamp. He’s dressed in a pair of dark pants, a white shirt, a tie and a trenchcoat, a strange combination of clothing even for this area. He looks like a badly written detective just stepped out of a book. Though he is handsome, you’ll give him that. He’s sucking on a cigarette as he stares down at you.
It clicks and you know exactly who you’re staring up at. Oh yes, you know all about John Constantine. Everyone knows about John Constantine.
“Back off, this fight’s mine,” you snap, getting to your feet. Before he can say anything, you dive for the Succubus again, who had turned her attention to the unconscious man on the ground. You tackle her just before she can make her move, and she’s a flurry of wild hair, claws and teeth as she tries to fight back at you. You land a few good blows to her face, but she’s stronger and you go flying for a third time.
“Son of a bitch!”
“Succubus!” John snaps, trying to get the demon’s attention away from you. “How about coming for someone a little more on your level?”
That gets your blood boiling. Her level? Really? The ego on this man is amazing. But his words gets the Succubus’s attention. She turns towards him purely out of curiosity. You can see the fire on his fingertips and you know exactly what he plans to do. He is not going to get this kill before you. You push back your sleeve to show the fire rune tattoo on your wrist and you touch it, chanting a few choice words.
The Succubus turns at the sound and when she does, she receives a particularly nasty fireball to the face. Her screams are like music to your ears and you push yourself to your feet as you watch her entire body get engulfed by flames. At the last second, she explodes, sending chunks of flaming flesh and blood in all directions.
You’re covered in it, but John somehow manages to avoid being hit. He shoves one hand in his pocket while he flicks his cigarette away with his other. He walks towards you, all swagger and confidence.
“Nice trick,” he says. “Didn’t know you were so prepared considering you physically attacked a Succubus. Not a smart move, love.”
As soon as he’s in range, you punch him right in the mouth.
“OY! What the fuck was that about?” he asks. You didn’t hit him hard enough to do any real damage. It was more out of frustration and anger than actual hatred.
“That’s for almost taking my kill, John Constantine!” you snap. You punch him again, causing him to stumble slightly. “And that’s for introducing my girlfriend to the occult.”
“I don’t know what you’re bloody on about or how you know who I am, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t just go punching me!” he snaps, straightening his trenchcoat and tie.
“My girlfriend Nyla got interested in the occult when she heard about the great John Constantine, master of the occult. She started messing around with it and somehow attracted the Succubus,” you snap. “So kindly fuck off.” You turn and make your way out of the alley, flinging blood and other gross stuff from your arms.
“Now hold on,” John says, his voice laced with annoyance as he follows you. You only pause your steps to pick up your shotgun. “First off, I wouldn’t really say ‘master’ of the occult. And second, even if I knew who this Nyla person was, how is any of this my fault? If she was messing with things she wasn’t supposed to, that’s on her.”
You spin around to punch him again, but he catches your fist this time. “Can I at least know your name before you go hitting me again?” he asks, smirking.
You jerk away from him and keep walking. “It’s Lola.” It’s not really, but there’s no way you’re using your real name.
“Well, Lola,” John says, popping another cigarette into his mouth. “I hate to break it to you but that wasn’t the only Succubus in the area. There are more and I was actually in the midst of tracking where they are coming from when I ran into you. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a den would you?”
“Nope, can’t say that I do,” you say, pulling chunks of Succubus out of your hair. “But if there are more, I wouldn’t mind going toe-to-toe with them all.”
“Either you’re incredibly brave or very stupid,” John says as he lights his cigarette. The smell of smoke and nicotine makes you crave one as well, but you don’t ask him. The idea that there are more of those things in this area is enough to put you on edge again and make you want to punch something. Anything really.
“Let’s just say I’m driven,” you say.
“Nice tattoos,” he comments, extinguishing the flame on his lighter with a click. “Runes, right? Anti-tracking and all that?”
“Yeah,” you say, bending down to scoop up your duffle bag. “Figure if I was going to be hunting monsters, might as well always be prepared.” You turn to walk down the rest of the alley and you hear John’s footsteps behind you.
John doesn’t respond to you at first. He quickens his pace to walk next to you and you both fall into step with each other. He takes a drag of his cigarette and exhales slowly. You both eventually reach the street, and you’re thankful that there aren’t any people around because you’re covered head to toe in Succubus guts and it probably doesn’t look good.
“Alright, Lola,” he says. You try to ignore how he rolls his tongue on the “L” but it’s a little difficult. “I don’t particularly fancy going into a den of Succubi alone, and you seem to be willing to punch anything that moves. So what say we team up until this job is done, yeah?”
You regard him suspiciously, trying to find another angle he could be coming from. But it’s hard to read him. His eyes are frighteningly piercing, like he’s looking right into your very soul. You don’t like it. However, the idea of killing more things is quite appealing.
“What’s in it for me?” you ask.
“I’ve got a warm and safe place to stay, with plenty of food and booze,” John offers. “And it’s free.”
Damn, you really can’t beat that. “You have a shower?” you ask.
He chuckles again, dropping his cigarette on the ground and extinguishing it under his shoe. “Ey, I do,” he says. He points a threatening finger at you. “First rule though, no more punching me in the face!”
“I can’t guarantee that,” you tell him, smirking.
John shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “At least try,” he says, giving you a look, before he turns and motions for you to follow him. “My car is parked up the street, this way. Come on, then.”
You don’t follow right away, considering declining the offer. But you really don’t feel like finding an abandoned building to stay in, and you don’t have money for a car or hotel. So you square your shoulders and start to follow him.
At least I’ll have something to stare at, you comment to yourself as you watch his ass as he walks.
“Enjoying the view, love?” John asks over his shoulder. You can hear the smirk in his voice.
“Could be better.”
--
John’s safehouse is strange to say the least.
It makes you a little dizzy and disoriented when you enter. Part of your brain tells you that you should be cautious to follow a strange man back to his would-be-lair. But you’re tired, angry and too exhausted to give into paranoia. There are so many shelves and things to see, but you aren’t interested in any of it. Right now you’re interested in getting out of your gross clothes and taking a hot shower.
“Where’s your bathroom?” you ask him.
John motions down a long hallway. “Second door on your right,” he says. He grabs your duffle bag off the couch where you had just tossed it. “I’ll put this in the room across from it. You can stay in there.”
“Thanks,” you barely mumble before heading towards the bathroom.
Once inside you slam the door behind you and lock it. The bathroom is small, but clean. You turn on the shower and pull the curtain closed before you get to work ridding yourself of your disgusting clothes. They are soaked with blood and sweat and it takes forever for you to wiggle out of them. Once you manage to, you roll them up into a ball and shove them into a corner.
When you finally step inside the shower, the water is mercifully hot and feels wonderful on your skin.
You scrub the grime and demon’s blood off your arms and face so hard your skin starts to hurt. But it’s a dull pain that you barely acknowledge as you watch the red water slide over your tattoos, down your body and towards the drain. You thought killing that thing would make you feel better. After three years, it should have made you feel better.
All you feel is a gaping hole in the very depths of your soul. You close your eyes and picture Nyla’s face, but the memories you have of her are hazy at best. You open your eyes and you realize you’re crying. You sink onto the floor of the tub, drawing your knees to your chest. You let yourself cry for the first time in a long time.
The water starts to run clear, but still you don’t move.
Your hands are tangled in your hair and the water is beating down on you. You let the tears fall until you don’t have anymore left and all you can do is gasp for air through your choked sobs. Eventually even the sobs stop and you lean against the cold tile wall, staring blankly ahead. Your mind keeps replaying everything that’s happened since Nyla died, over and over again. Making the hole inside you shrink just a tiny bit as anger takes its place.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Lola?” John asks. “You’ve been in there a long time. Everything alright?”
You don’t answer.
After a moment, you hear him bang on the door again. “Lola! Are you okay?!”
You want him to just go away. You want to punch something. You want to run out into the world again and hunt some other horrible monster so you can bash its head into the ground while you laugh.
“I’m coming in!” John announces, still banging on the door. You locked it. Which apparently doesn’t matter for a master of magic since it opens without him having to break it down. He yanks back the shower curtain and you glare up at him as he lets the hot air of the shower out.
“Do you mind?”
He clearly had been settling for a night in. He had taken off that ridiculous trenchcoat and had loosened his tie. The buttons on his sleeves are undone and the fabric is pushed up past his elbows. His shoes and socks are gone and a half-finished cigarette dangles from his lips. As you watch, he takes it out and lifts the lid of the toilet seat to drop it in.
“You’ve been in here for over an hour,” he says, smoke billowing out of his mouth in small puffs. “Come on. Let’s get you out and get you dry.”
His eyes stray, if only for a moment. You catch it. The slight raise of his eyebrow as his eyes quickly rake over your naked and tattooed frame with appreciation. Those damn lips draw up into a slight smirk and a thought comes to you seemingly out of no where. Fighting is a great outlet for your answer.
But fucking is even better.
Maybe the thought isn’t as surprising as you originally considered. Now that you can see him in better lighting, you can tell that he’s fucking gorgeous. The way he walks and even fucking stands screams power. But there’s also a cockiness you can’t help being attracted to. You wonder what it will take to catch him off guard. If that’s even possible. Only one way to find out really.
As John bends down to reach for you, you grab him by the tie and yank him towards you. He’s clearly not expecting it. He uses one hand to steady himself against the tile, while the other instinctively grasps the shower curtain, pulling it mostly closed as he stumbles into the tub.
“Bloody fucking hell, woman!” he swears, but whatever else he’s going to say gets lost when you wrap your arms around him and drag him forward into a bruising and painful kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue at first as he struggles against you, trying to balance himself while also trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. Whether because of instinct or loneliness (you can’t quite tell) he instantly kisses you back, that clever tongue jutting out to meet yours head on as you feel rather than hear him moan into your mouth.
He tastes like nicotine and whisky and bad choices. But overall, he’s just delicious. Not like Nyla. Nothing like her. But then that’s a good thing because you need to forget her, at least just for a little while.
John manages to balance himself, his knees on either side of your thighs. His hands carefully move to untangle your arms from around his neck. You let him draw back as you audibly gasp for air, feeling hot but also slightly light-headed. You may be angry and desperate to be touched, but you're not about to force yourself on him. Well, anymore than you already have.
“I think you and I both know that’s a terrible idea,” he says, voice hoarse with want. Water is running down his bleached hair and over his face.
You realize the shower is still on and now his clothes are soaked through. His white shirt is sticking to his body and it’s become practically transparent. Your eyes stray to the expansion of taut muscle and abs right in front of you and you ache to run your hands across the hot flesh. Because you know he’s hot. You can feel the heat coming off him in waves and it makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. It’s not natural how hot he feels, but then nothing about either of you is really “natural” is it? You’re momentarily mute, too lost in your own musings.
He regards you through squinted eyes for a moment, as if he’s anticipating another attack on your part. “Come on, then,” he eventually continues. “Let’s get you out of here.”
What? No! No fucking way are you leaving that tub without letting him know what you want. Now that the thought of fucking him is in your head, it won’t leave. So either you get what you want, or he leaves and you go hunting. Maybe even when you get back you’ll take matters into your own hands. It’s not the way you want this night to end, but your body is a mass of tension and tight muscles, for which there are few solutions.
“There are only two options for me right now,” you tell him in a stern voice, making him pause his movements. Your eyes flicker up to meet his. You can see concern and apprehension. But behind that you see the desire and spark of hunger that lets you know he wants you too. It thrills you. “Either I get out of this tub and go pick a fight with the first monster I find…”
“Which would be a terribly stupid idea,” John interrupts. “And will likely get you killed.”
“Or you fuck this energy out of me until I can’t walk,” you say, fixing him with a smoldering look.
“Another terribly stupid idea that will likely get you killed,” John says. “You may not know this about me, but people around me tend to die.”
“I have no plans to die tonight,” you say. “But one way or another I’m getting off. With or without your help.”
The smirk is back and his eyes darken with lust. He takes in your naked body again, this time looking every bit the predator you heard he could be. You could tell he definitely wanted you before, but now it’s obvious that he’s more than just a little excited at the idea. You can tell by the outline of the bulge clearly on display through his soaked pants.
“A very tempting offer,” he says, all swagger and cockiness firmly in place. “And while it has been awhile since I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of a woman or man, I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”
“Coming from a man who is basically made of regret,” you say. “If you’re as good as your reputation says, I don’t mind living with a bit more. Lord knows I have enough of it already.”
He clenches his jaw and you see the vein in his neck throb slightly as he swallows. John’s hand on the edge of the tub twitches, almost as if he’s restraining himself from reaching for you. “My reputation, hmm?” he says, tilting his head to the side.
“Look, no more of this being coy shit,” you say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, arching your back in the process. The water is hitting your tits now and you see him watch the droplets travel down your stomach and tattooed thighs to settle between your slightly spread legs. His lips part and you see his chest start to rise and fall a little more quickly than before. “I want to be fucked and I want it to be by you. You don’t, fine. Then get out.”
His eyes narrow when they meet yours and you can see he’s caught the challenge in your words. And if you’ve learned anything about the stories of John Constantine in your time as a hunter, he never backs down from a challenge.
John puts his hands on the floor of the tub on either side of you, leaning forward so that his lips are just barely brushing against yours.
“I just want you to know exactly what you’re asking and from who,” he says. “I thought I was the no good sod who got your girlfriend into this mess?"
“You did and you definitely still are,” you say. “But right now, I really don’t fucking care.” You close the distance, practically smashing your faces together in an attempt to taste him again. Too much talking and not enough action for your liking. Enough’s enough.
He doesn’t resist this time. His mouth devours yours just as frantically as you devour his and you roll his bottom lip between your teeth roughly. He returns the action by doing this same, drawing blood in the process. You let the coppery taste fill your mouth but before you can swallow it down he chases after it, gently soothing the cut area with that all too clever tongue.
His knees squeeze together, trapping you underneath him as he draws away. You want to fight him, to drag him back down so you can keep feeling that tongue tracing yours, but he’s reaching to undo his tie the rest of the way and you sit up to grab at his shirt. Buttons go flying and the sopping wet garments get chucked over his shoulder. You hear them hit the side of the tub and slide out with a sickening plop.
His chest is just as toned as you thought it was. All hard valleys of muscles with a dusting of chest hair and a happy trail that disappears under his waistband. Where you are decorated with tattoos, he’s a canvas of scars and burn marks. Some fresh, but most years, maybe even decades, old.
You lean forward and run your tongue along the nearest scar you can reach as he moves to unbutton his pants. Your hands trace his hot skin, gliding effortlessly across the wet flesh. You were right. It feels as amazing as you thought it would. You drag your nails harshly down his back, earning a shudder for your efforts. He has to lift himself up slightly to remove his pants, and when he does you feel his rigid length drag up your stomach and chest until it nudges your neck. You reach down to grasp him firmly, running your tongue along the impressive length of him and almost sending him toppling forward.
“Easy there, love,” he coos, shoving his pants and underwear out of the way. They slide down the tub to bunch around the drain. “All in good time.” He lowers himself back down, making you lose your grip. You remain sitting, looking up at him and daring him to make the next move. Clearly he catches the hint.
He slides a hand in your hair and yanks your head back painfully, but it only makes you grunt with longing. He grabs your chin with his other hand and it’s his turn to attack your mouth, practically growling as his tongue pushes past your lips to explore more of you. His blunt nails are digging into your skin and the feeling is enough to send shockwaves of pleasure straight down to your throbbing cunt.
You grip his hips firmly and pull him against you so he can thrust his cock between the valley of your tits. He groans into your mouth. Still kissing you, he releases your chin so he can reach down to cup your tit, applying slightly more pressure to his cock against your chest.
As fun as this is, it’s not what you want. You let your hands grip that firm ass you were admiring earlier and you dig your nails into his flesh, briefly. Just enough to get your message across. He grunts with understanding, but doesn’t draw back immediately.
You come to the realization that he needs this just as much as you do. You didn’t miss the fact that he’s alone in this place. Last you knew he had companions. Clearly he doesn’t now.
His back is bent at a weird angle and just when you start to wonder how long he can stay that way, he lets go of you. He shoves you onto your back and you hit the floor of the tub with a soft splash. His pants are blocking the drain, making the tub fill slowly. He grabs your legs and spreads them before sitting back on his heels to admire the view. His cock looks practically rock hard and he grasps it as he stares at you, jerking himself to the image of you wet and spread out in front of him.
“Touch yourself,” he orders.
“That’s not what I’m here for,” you say, smirking at him.
He smirks back, eyes hooded. “Come on, love,” he says, elongating the pet name ever so slightly. You watch his hand speed up and damn it if you don’t throb at the mere sight. “Give us a show, eh? You want me to fuck you, you gotta work for it.”
Oh so that’s how he wants to play it. You think about declining and just getting out to teach him a lesson, or at least royally fuck with him. The look on his face would be worth the sexual frustration.
But you’re not exactly known for your self-control and you give into his demand, sliding your hand down your chest and through your curls to carefully stroke your sensitive mound. Because you are sensitive already. Being undersexed and extremely turned on will do that to you. Your let your fingers explore yourself. Not that you’re looking for anything new. You are quite familiar with how your body works, especially since there has only been you to take care of it for the past few years. But it’s more for John’s benefit you realize when you see how his pupils dilate and his chest starts to heave at the sight of you toying with yourself.
“That’s a good girl,” he purrs, tongue coming out to swipe across his lips.
Suddenly you know exactly where you want his tongue, and you hook one leg around his waist to draw him closer. The movement makes the water around you splash and he tears his gaze away from between your legs to look up at you.
“How about putting that talented tongue to use, blondie?” you ask. “You know, while you’re down there.”
He raises an eyebrow at you and smirks. Without a word he lets go of his cock and grips your thighs. He shuffles backwards and lowers himself towards you. The second his tongue connects with your slit, you fight the urge to jerk at the light touch. He notices and wraps your legs around his neck before gripping your waist to keep you steady. After that initial tentative touch, he is anything but. He moves his mouth against you expertly, tasting every bit of the flesh in front of him that he can reach.
You close your eyes and don’t bother trying to keep your noises contained. You let him know just how much you’re enjoying his special attention and you let your fingers slide into his wet hair. When his tongue travels up to swirl around your clit, you lose your control and buck against him. He directs your movements however and draws back slightly to keep from hurting you, before diving back down for more. Your grip on his hair is tighter, and the more you tighten it, the harder he moves against you.
You drag your eyes open and prop yourself up to look down at him. His eyes are closed and he looks completely enthralled with what he’s doing, his fingers digging so hard into the flesh of your thighs he’s leaving marks. You bite your lip as his tongue dives inside of you, and just as it does, his eyes open to meet yours instantly. He pulls back so his lips are barely brushing your mound and his stubble is scraping against your thighs.
You think he’s going to say something, because honestly doesn’t he always have to? But he doesn’t. He drags your legs away from his neck and lets the water from the shower run down his face before he wipes it away with an impatient swipe of his hand. He moves up your body like he’s crawling towards his prey, and you have the strong urge to be completely devoured by this man. Again.
Your teeth clack together almost painfully when he kisses you and you’re so ready for more, so ready to have him inside you that you give into your body’s need and press yourself against him urgently. You move your legs around his waist and he thrusts himself along your slit, groaning as heat of your sexes connect for the very first time.
He reaches between you two to grasp himself and without pausing or hesitating even slightly, he pushes the engorged head of his cock into you with several sharp jabs of his hips. You instantly groan, arching your back and trying to pull him in closer with your legs. He doesn’t let you though. He draws out completely.
“Fucking hell, Constantine,” you snap. “Stop fucking toying with me.”
John gives you the biggest shit-eating grin you think you’ve ever seen. “I told you, you have to work for it.”
You glare at him and clench your knees into his waist as tight as you can. You push yourself up to sit directly on his lap, forcing him inside you completely in one smooth, yet jarring stroke. The look on his face is enough to make you come right then. His eyes are nearly black and it’s his turn to bite down on his bottom lip. His firm hands slide up your back and he jerks his hips upwards, burying himself to the hilt inside of you.
The rough kisses are back as his mouth seeks yours. You meet him eagerly, setting your own pace as you move up and down on his lap. He fills you so well and your body swallows him greedily, almost like it never wants to let him go. You squeeze yourself around him every time you take him in completely.
“Fuck!” he swears against your mouth. His hands drop to your ass and he grabs it tightly so he can grind up into you.
“No more fucking games,” you manage to pant, moving to attack his neck with harsh kisses and small bites. He grunts as you do. “Fuck me!”
He pushes you onto your back without missing a beat. Your legs are moved over his shoulders and he pounds into you with merciless abandon. The movement nearly bends you past your limit but the new angle gets your spot every fucking time and the slight dullness of pain is barely noticed.
The water is splashing around you and you hear it cascade over the edge of the tub and splash onto the bathroom floor.
John’s eyes remain on yours the entire time, almost as if he’s daring you to look away. You accept the dare wholeheartedly, meeting his intense gaze with one of your own, your hands reaching out to find something to grab onto. There isn’t anything however and your hands slip uselessly against the wet tile. So you wrap them around him, digging your fingers into the flesh of his toned arms.
His hand worms its way between your bodies and his thumb starts to rub circles around your clit. You cry out loudly, arching your back as you feel that familiar build up. It practically starts at your toes and moves up your body until your heart is pounding so wildly in your chest and your body is twitching so much that you can’t hold back anymore.
You come with a vicious yell, nails running down his arms so hard you leave thin trails of blood behind. He also yells and at the last second, withdraws, only to take his red, swollen cock in his hands and pump his release all over you. Your legs slide from his shoulders and fall next to him with a small splash.
John collapses over you, hands on either side of your head as he tries to catch his breath.
He bends down to kiss you, and you return the kiss, reaching up to cup his face. You hear his foot splash through the water as he kicks his pants away and lets the water drain.
John draws back from the kiss. “Feel better?” he asks with a smirk.
“Loads,” you admit with a grin.
When he kisses you again, it’s almost gentle by comparison. You lose yourself in it for a second, but only a second. Whatever happened between you was fun, but that’s all it was. He’s under no illusions otherwise and neither are you. You push on his chest and he moves to the side so you can sit up. Your legs are too unsteady for you to stand, so you kneel instead as you reach up to grab the soap off the shelf.
John remains lounging on his back, hand behind his head as he watches you wash away his come. You can feel his eyes on your back. After a moment he sits up behind you, letting his hands run down the tattoos on your back as he rubs the soap across your skin. You bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning. The touch is almost intimate, and you don’t want to ruin the moment. Eventually his hands slide to rest on your waist and he nips the back of your neck just once. Just enough to make you shudder again.
“So now that that’s out of the way, back to work,” he says.
You clear your throat before speaking. “Agreed. If there are more than one Succubus as you say, then we need to find where they are coming from.” You drop the soap back onto the shelf before rinsing yourself off.
John moves to stand and when he manages it, he offers you a hand up. You gladly accept and he lets you rest against him as you get your bearings.
“I agree as well,” he says, his strong arm resting around your waist. “You can stay here until we sort out this mess. I’ve been tracking their movements for awhile now. I think I have a couple of ideas where they are coming from.”
“Good,” you say, rinsing yourself off one more time before reaching to turn off the now cold water. “The sooner we get rid of these fuckers, the better.”
“And if you ever need to work off some energy again,” John says as you draw back the shower curtain. “Just let me know.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
--
It takes nearly two weeks to track down the den. You and John spend countless hours at the local bars, watching and drinking. Mostly drinking. So much drinking. He says it’s so you can be convincing during your recon missions, you say it’s because alcohol has wonderful healing properties.
You don’t have sex again. Not even when you stumble back home drunk after a stakeout. At the most you pass out on the couch, leaning against each other as you share a blanket.
You learn a lot during that time. For one, you learn Succubi don’t usually have a den. Usually they work alone. But considering the reports in the area and the number of cases you and John have witnessed, there has to be somewhere they are held up.
You eventually track them to an abandoned warehouse a few miles away from the nearest city.
“Why a warehouse?” you ask as you and John get out of the car.
“Because the universe hates us, love,” John says, eyeing your surroundings warily. “Or because it’s the only abandoned building for miles that won’t draw attention.”
You pull your shotgun out of the back seat.
“You know that doesn’t do anything to them, right?” John asks with amusement.
“I know,” you say.
John looks at you with curiosity. “Then why are you using it?” he asks.
“Honestly,” you say, cocking the gun. “It tickles me.”
John chuckles. “I have to admit,” he says as you both carefully make your way towards the warehouse. “This has been an interesting period of time together. You’ve been an enjoyable companion, Lola.”
“You’re just saying that because you had your cock inside me,” you say, eyes scanning the area for trouble or movement. But you see neither.
John shoots you a grin. “I’m not actually,” he says. “I mean it.”
“Well, then I guess it wasn’t so bad for me either,” you admit.
“You’re just saying that because my cock was inside you.”
“That would imply you’re good at sex.”
“I think we both know how far my sexual talents reach.”
“Meh.”
“Oy!”
You snicker at his offended look. He knows you’re just teasing. You’ve been teasing each other about it ever since it happened. There were a couple of times you were sure it was going to happen again. But crossing that line would have put meaning to your dirty deeds, and that’s the last thing either of you needs.
By this point you reach the front doors and you reach for the handle.
“Hold on,” John says, grabbing your sleeve to stop you. He holds up his other hand and chants under his breath. The door flashes for a moment. “Warding spell. It’s gone now.”
“Maybe you should grab the handle then, just in case,” you say.
“I see, throw me into danger first, eh?” John smirks.
“Yup.”
He opens the door and it noiselessly swings forward. After a quick survey, he walks in and you follow behind, covering his back. You two come out onto the higher level, looking down over the floor of the warehouse. You both duck as low as you can to avoid being seen. There are nearly fifteen or so Succubi gathered in the middle of the room among a collection of beds, blankets and pillows. Some are sleeping, most are talking with each other.
When you strain your ears, you can hear the sound of screaming in the distance. Looks like a few of them are busy. As you listen, the screams die down and you and John share a look.
“Plan?” you ask him.
He scans the room thoughtfully for a moment. “More than I was thinking there would be,” he says, looking annoyed. “This many gathering, must have a queen.”
“Do Succubi even have queens?” you ask.
“These ones do.”
But it’s not John who says this. You both spin around, but before you can see who spoke, you find yourself flying through the air towards the ground. You feel John’s hand close around your wrist and you both bounce off the ground way softer than you should, rolling to a stop in front of the large group of Succubi you were just spying on.
The world rights itself and you find yourself staring up at the group of demonic faces.
“Ladies,” John manages to say, sounding completely winded, but still his shit-head self.
“Nice night,” you add, wincing as you roll onto your left side. You try to get to your feet. The Succubi aren’t attacking you, and for the moment you are grateful for that.
The ground trembles slightly as your attacker jumps off the high level and lands behind you. Your gun is gone but your fire rune is already activated and you and John catch each other’s eye before you turn towards the assailant, hands raised and a flame.
But when you find yourself looking at your dead girlfriend, your fire goes out immediately. “Nyla?” you ask.
“Lola, that is not Nyla,” John says firmly. “She’s just taking on her appearance.”
“Oh no, it’s really me, John Constantine,” Nyla says. You can feel the other Succubi surrounding you and John, but you don’t take your eyes off your girlfriend.
“Nyla, what are you doing here? I thought you were dead! I saw you die!” you say.
“You saw what I wanted you to see,” Nyla says. “My time with you was nice while it lasted, but you had outgrown your usefulness and I needed to make a quick exit.”
“Lola, this is a demon talking,” John says warningly. “Don’t listen!” Several of the Succubi try to charge for him, but the flames burst from his hands more violently. “Don’t even fucking think about it, mate!”
“I don’t understand,” you say, ignoring him for the moment as you step towards Nyla. Well, is it her? It looks like her. It smells like her. It sounds like her. Demons can do a lot of tricky things. But this seems a little excessive.
“See, I was on a bit of a break from my usual activities,” Nyla says. “You provided a wonderful distraction. But things have been going downhill with my kind for awhile. They kept getting themselves caught so I had to return to set things right.”
“So you didn’t care about me at all?” you ask. “You just wanted to use me. That whole story about John getting you into the occult was complete bullshit?”
“Ooo, it’s ‘John’ now is it?” Nyla asks with a knowing smirk.
“Lola, stop talking with the demon,” John orders. He leans over to add in a low voice, “On a side note, I did tell you when we met that I didn’t know what the bloody hell you were talking about.”
You glare at him. Now is not the fucking time.
Nyla finally turns to him. “Ahh, yes, John Constantine,” she says with a grin. “You always did make the perfect scapegoat.”
“So I’ve been told,” John says bitterly. “Lola, this place needs to be purged.”
“I have to admit, you are more of a fighter than I gave you credit for,” Nyla says to you. “I never thought you would team up with John Constantine. Let alone fuck him. Oh yes, I can tell. My kind just knows these things.”
“Well, you lost the right to think about my vagina when you faked your death just to get rid of me,” you say through gritted teeth.
Nyla eyes you with curiosity. “You’re definitely not the same person you were before. All those tattoos, that shotgun, the attitude...it’s really working for me.”
“Go to hell,” you snap, letting your flames come back.
“The darkness is coming,” Nyla says. “And you’re on the wrong side. We could use someone like you in our ranks through. I didn’t offer the process to you before because I figured you would just die during. But you’re much stronger now than you ever were.”
“Do you really think I’m that stupid that I would join you assholes?” you ask.
Nyla chuckles darkly. “Worth a shot,” she says.
You and John throw fire at her at the same time, but she dodges it easily. You feel yourself seized by the Succubi, their claws digging into you and their shrieks ringing in your ear. You struggle against them and you can hear John fighting on his own.
Whoever you thought Nyla was, clearly she’s not and you channel all your anger and resentment into fighting the demons who have seized you. There’s a bright flash of light and you hear the demons screeching as John is able to free himself. You hear him chanting and your rune starts to burn a bright red and it feels like fire is coursing through your veins. Your hands burst into flames again, hotter than they have ever been and the Succubi scream in pain.
They drop you and you punch as many of them as you can reach, each one catching fire as you do.
You feel John’s back hit yours as he bumps into you, fighting off the rest of the Succubi. Without a word, he links his arms with yours and there’s a brief moment of silence before the entire area around you erupts with flames. The flames shoot out in all different directions, hitting every Succubi in the room, including Nyla.
You watch her scream as she bursts into flames, but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything other than anger. You and John watch, arms still linked as she burns, dying in a spectacular explosion of flames and flesh, just like all the others. You and John are soaked in blood and panting heavily as you both sink onto the ground.
You rest your head against the back of his and your arms finally unlink as you both drop them to your sides. John’s hand finds yours and holds it loosely.
“Whelp,” you eventually say.
“You sure know how to pick ‘em, love,” John says. You hear the sound of rustling and the click of his lighter. The smell of smoke fills the area around you and you hear him take a drag before he reaches over his shoulder to hand you the cigarette. You accept it, gladly.
“I’m never picking up chicks at a club or bar again,” you say, popping the stick into your mouth. To take a drag and let the precious nicotine do its work.
“Let’s not be too hasty,” John says with a deep chuckle.
“You’re right,” you say, exhaling and closing your eyes. You hand the cigarette back. “Unless she’s really, really hot.”
--
It takes a long time to get clean after that. But not nearly as long as the first time. Mainly because you don’t have a breakdown, and you finish the shower alone.
After, you change into fresh clothes and settle down by the fire. John’s in his own bathroom getting cleaned up and you hear the door open and close down the hall. You listen to his footsteps come up behind you, but you don’t turn around. You remain seated in front of the fireplace, watching the flames dance as you let a cigarette dangle from your lips. There’s a clinking of glasses and the sound of liquid being poured.
You don’t even look up when he comes to stand at your side, holding out a glass of whisky towards you. You take it, but don’t drink. John sits down next to you and takes the cigarette from your lips, finishing it off before flicking it into the fireplace. His hair is still wet from the shower and his skin smells like soap. It makes you remember waking up that morning with him on the couch, your head cushioned on his chest with his arm draped lazily over you.
“Drink,” he says, motioning to you with his own cup. “You’ll feel better.”
“I don’t feel anything,” you say. “Everything I thought I knew for the past six years was a fucking lie. A game being played by some fucked up Succubus queen who was just fucking bored.”
“It could be worse,” John says, making you shoot him a glare. Until you remember what you’ve talked about the past two weeks and everything he’s been through in his life. That puts things into perspective.
“Fair point,” you say. He holds up his glass and you tap yours against it with a soft clink before nearly downing the whole thing in one gulp.
“Do you want to go kill something?” he offers. “I definitely won’t stop you this time. Might even join you.”
“Nah,” you say, placing your empty cup on the nearby coffee table. “I should probably get going.”
“Where?” John asks before finishing his own drink. He puts his cup next to yours.
“You know, haven’t really thought about it,” you say. “Just, away. Somewhere. I need a vacation.”
John is silent at this. You both stare into the fire, contemplating. “Well,” he says after a few moments, pushing himself up to stand. “Wherever you go, make sure you stay away from Succubi." He reaches his hand out to help you up and you take it. How many times has he helped you up since you met? It seems like a lot.
“You worried about me, Constantine?” you tease as you allow him to pull you to your feet.
“Am I not allowed to be?” he asks.
“Considering what usually happens to people who you worry about, you can see why I would be a bit apprehensive,” you say.
He chuckles and lets your hand go as you turn and head to your room.
You take your time collecting your belongings. You don’t have much, but somehow what you do have has managed to find its way all over the room John had let you use. You can hear his footsteps in the hallway and you don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing at the door, watching you.
“Before you leave,” he says after a few moments. “I have one request.”
You turn around to find him leaning against the door frame, tie missing and shirt unbuttoned, as he takes a drag of a fresh cigarette.
“Oh, is that so?” you ask, lifting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.
He comes towards you, practically showing that predator side you had seen in the shower last week. You feel your face flush at the sight, memories from the other night rushing back in waves. When he comes to a stop in front of you, you’re not sure what he’s going to do. He doesn’t seem like he’s sure either. He takes another thoughtful drag of his cigarette, blowing most of the smoke out through his nostrils. “Watch your back out there,” he finally says.
“Really? That’s it? That’s the one request?” you ask, doubtful.
He grins. “Why? Did you think it would be something else?”
“I was sure you were going to ask for one more romp for the road,” you admit.
He chuckles. “It’s tempting,” he says. “But we both know that night was what it was, nothing more.”
“Obviously,” you say. “Who knows. Maybe next time we meet we’ll go for round two?”
“Next time we meet, eh?” John asks.
You take a chance and step into his space, leaning forward to catch his lips in a harsh kiss. His free hand drops to your waist and he presses into you, savoring the last bit of physical contact either of you will probably have for awhile. When you draw back, he opens his eyes slowly, regarding you with an almost sad expression.
“Given our line of work, I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” you say.
“Hopefully it will be under better circumstances,” John says.
You laugh and take a step back. “Take care, John,” you say. “And thanks for everything.”
“Don’t mention it, Lola,” he says. “Also, are you ever going to tell me your real name?”
“Not a chance,” you smirk as you move past him to leave the room.
You can feel his eyes on you while you walk away, and you half-expect him to try to stop you. Part of you might actually want him to. But he has his mission, and yours is done now. So you leave him behind, with nothing to remind you of him except the smell of nicotine and whisky, and the memory of his touch.
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