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John Constantine was not inexperienced when it came to sex. He’d been with quite a few individuals of various genders and species. He’d experienced quite a lot and he was fine with that. Though, he doubted he’d ever get tired and move on from having sex with one specific person. That person was Chas Chandler, his old mate from when he first moved (correction: ran away) to London. Chas was the one man, the one person, he’d never tire of sleeping with. When they’d first met in their teens, living together in what was colloquially referred to as ‘Queenie’s Castle’, one of the biggest factors of what initially drew him to Chas was his height, firstly. Back then, when John was still a messy punk twink, much younger and a little less fucked up in the head, he’d met this tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed, rather decent looking older boy with these broad athletic shoulders and rough dextrous hands that looked as if the young man had the ability to drive someone insane with his fingers alone. He looked like someone who’d be hung like a horse and John wanted him almost instantly. Despite the fact Chas was a little older than John, both were still quite young when they first met; eighteen and sixteen, respectively— then about twenty-three and twenty-one when they’d hooked up for the first time. They’d fucked around during their time in the band, usually sharing a hotel room or a bed. They were impulsive, reckless, and fucked like rabbits, two horny young adults exploring each other’s bodies, trusting each other, knowing their pasts were similar, understanding each other.
Their relationship stayed the same until Newcastle, John getting committed to Ravenscar, coming out of it probably worse than he came in. Then they pretended like nothing happened as if they’d never been involved at all. John withdrew from everyone around him and Chas withdrew back into the closet so to speak. Then he’d gotten married to Renee, had a child with her. Even after he was able to admit to himself that he was gay, Chas refused to leave Renee. He’d had an affair with John while still married to her… which he wasn’t proud of. Then the two men drifted apart again, staying vaguely in touch until fate, the persistent piece of shit that it was, forced them back together. Now they were older, maybe wiser, and definitely a little less sane than before. John might not have been a young pretty twink anymore, those days were far behind him; but Chas was still that handsome dark-eyed, dark-haired, tall, rugged, impressively large, handsome stranger that he was when he first met John Constantine. Hilariously, they’d also gotten married later on after finally being able to admit to each other that what they felt for another was love. And not much changed, well not the fun stuff that made their relationship, platonic or not, enjoyable.
For John, one of the really fun parts of being married to Chas was the sex. Ever since they first hooked up on Queenie’s grave, John was unable to tire of how good Chas Chandler was. During sex, the other man was a very ‘giving’ partner, to say the least (giving as in giving oral, basically). He loved getting his husband off with his mouth and hands, always enthusiastically prioritizing John’s pleasure over his own. Tonight was a bit of an exception, however. The two men were once again in bed together in the house they’d moved into shortly after getting hitched, both very naked, limbs tangling in between the sheets. Lips moved against each other, teeth clacking, tongues dancing and colliding messily. They pulled apart, Chas let out a shaky breath, looking down at his husband in adoration and awe.
“I wanna ask you something,” he told him, looking a little nervous. John looked at him wordlessly, conveying interest. “I was thinking of trying something new if you’re okay with it.” He received a grin in response,
“And what might this ‘something new’ be?”
“It’s a bit embarrassing,” Chas mumbled, smiling, ever-so-slightly self-conscious. “I want you to sit on my face.”
“I always knew deep down you’re more of a kinky bastard than you say you are.”
“I like eating my husband out, sue me.”
“Yeah? Do I taste good?”
“So good.” John laughed, letting Chas lie down on his back in bed as he maneuvered himself so that he straddled his husband’s face, lowering himself a little so Chas could use his mouth comfortably. He moaned unabashedly at the incredible sensation of his husband’s mouth on him, grinding his hips against the other man’s face with as much self-control as he could. Chas’ hands; those big, strong, and roughened hands held his hips in place, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs no doubt leaving bruises that would last for a week. John threw his head back, thin body arching at the electric pulses of pleasure from his husband’s tongue in him, riding the man’s face. He let out a little yelp of surprise when he felt Chas bite the insides of his thighs, tilting his head back and mewling,
“I hate it when you bite my thighs, you know I’m sensitive, you bastard.” Chas didn’t reply, he made a small hum in acknowledgment and continued to eat his husband out, hot wet breath ghosting against sensitive skin, tongue flicking against the blond’s erect cock. They continued like that, John eventually coming with a quick shout, pulling himself off Chas and onto his back, flopping onto the mattress lazily, smirking, smug and sated for the time being.
“Better?”
“Much better,” he replied. Chas rolled over onto his front, prying his husband’s legs apart, succeeding only partially when John saw what he was doing and spread his legs for him. Then, crawling between the blond’s legs, he took himself in hand, finally pushing his erection inside his husband, slowly and carefully. John couldn’t help but whimper at the feeling of his husband’s cock stretching him open, the electric sensations of pleasure and the slight glints of pain from the lack of proper preparation driving him mad. Chas kissed him, making the blond taste himself. Soon his lover bottomed out, and fuck, he felt so full, thanking whatever forces or entities that’d listen for allowing him to end up marrying a man with such a gorgeous monster of a thing between his legs. He loved Chas and he loved how that man was fucking hung like a god damn horse. Of course, with a track record like his, John had definitely been with much bigger individuals (he didn’t limit himself to humans after all), but that wasn’t the point. Although those previous partners or hook-ups were much more sizable, they’d never be Chas Chandler. Call him soft, but there was something special about this man and he wanted to stay with him forever or at least for as long as possible. Chas wrapped a hand around John’s neck, squeezing a little so to pull him from his thoughts but not truly cut off air, and starting out with a slow rhythm with his hips that went deep.
“Come back to me, Johnny,” he murmured into John’s ear, nipping at the shell, thrusting particularly hard, forcing a wrecked mewl from his mouth; and honestly, John couldn’t help himself from hoarsely whimpering out,
“Daddy,” Chas flushed at this, his thrusts becoming erratic for a moment. He let out a small quiet growl, kissing John on the lips hard. Pulling back and muttering,
“That’s my boy.” John laughed breathlessly,
"Getting a little possessive now, are we?" He remarked, swallowing against the rough hand wrapped around his neck, eyes trained on the other man’s lips. He let out a small low whine as his partner sped up. Chas sighed,
"Shut up," which was an order if he'd ever heard one. Well, it was in a soft voice but it was still an order. It wasn't threatening though, it was affectionate and surprisingly gentle yet there was an underlying level of firmness and finality. Which was something John didn’t know he liked until fairly recently. Most of the time he preferred to be degraded, humiliated, but there was just something about the way Chas spoke to him in that firm but gentle voice and praised him— all of it just drove him insane. John swallowed again,
“Daddy, please,” he breathed, on the brink losing himself to the sensations of his husband fucking him, but it wasn’t enough.
“What is it?” Chas asked him in that gorgeous soft and firm tone of voice. John leaned into Chas’ ear, growling,
“Don’t be an arsehole and fuck me like you mean it,” as he nipped at the shell of his ear. His husband let out a small sigh, obeying and fucking the man beneath him in earnest, hard and fast, the noises he was forcing from John’s throat were loud and intoxicatingly lovely. Chas used his hand that was around the blond’s neck as leverage while fucking him, still being careful nonetheless. He grunted, squeezing his eyes shut at how heavenly his husband’s tight wet hot velvet hole felt around his cock. He looked down at the sight before him, captivated by how gorgeous John Constantine looked during sex. His face was flushed, fierce blue eyes hazy and glazed over with lust— partially concealed by hooded eyelids, red swollen kiss-bitten lips parted sinfully, allowing absolutely pornographic moans and whimpers to spill from his mouth, he looked gorgeous, so picturesque, so alluring like this: vulnerable and falling apart at the seams in ecstasy. If this enchanting irresistible creature before him was a succubus, sent by Hell to steal his soul from him, Chas Chandler would gladly go to Hell— call him hyperbolic and sentimental, but good lord did he absolutely adore the man that was his husband.
“Christ,” he cursed under his breath, leaning down to kiss his husband on the lips, nipping at the blond’s lower lip. He pulled back for a moment, thrusting especially hard, hitting that particular spot inside his lover that elicited a loud excruciatingly lewd noise out of him. After crying out, John laughed a little, breathless, in that absolutely breathtaking way he did that Chas found absolutely adorable much to his husband’s chagrin.
“Christ’s got nothing to do with this,” he teased, grinning, his upper torso flushed and undulating so beautifully, it made Chas want to suck and bite deep marks into the near-perfect skin. Chas sighed, rolling his eyes,
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”
“You did.”
“And yet you’re still talking.”
“Gonna do anything about it, Daddy?” That was a challenge, obviously, John was basically daring Chas to shut him up somehow. Chas leaned in and kissed him on the lips, roughly biting at his husband’s red swollen lips, fucking him as hard and as fast as he could, so hard that he jostled the other man’s body beneath him. He pulled back, only letting go of John’s neck, placing his hands on either side of his husband’s head, then attacking his neck with his mouth, kissing and biting his way across skin that was just begging to be marked. John let out what could only be described as a yowl, only to bite his lip in a failed attempt to quiet himself.
“Stop it, I want to hear you,” he said gently, receiving a withering look in response. “But I don’t want to hear any more lip from you. Got it?”
“Yes, Daddy,” the blond answered, his response was an obvious attempt at talking back, it had some of that specific bravado he used when he was trying to be purposefully irritating, only now with a tremor in his voice, shivering against the other man’s grip, the slight waver in his voice making him sound so very needy and desperate instead.
“Good boy.” Chas worked his mouth down from his husband’s neck to his chest, kissing at the skin, putting his mouth on his nipples, unable to resist the urge to bite them, coaxing out absolutely pornographic moans and cries, fucking his husband harder and faster. John made a pathetic noise, wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck, pulling him in closer, shifting his lover’s cock deeper inside his body.
“Fuck, that’s it,” his words interrupted by his own loud filthy mewls and whines. “Right there.” The other laughed, nipping and biting at the soft skin of John’s neck, mumbling,
“You’re so talkative when you’ve got a man’s cock in you,” Chas told him sweetly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “It’s like you want someone to overhear you.”
“Fuck off.”
“Is that a thing for you, Johnny?” His voice was still so soft and affectionate, despite the fact he was basically degrading the other. “Do you want the neighbors to hear how much you love getting fucked like a whore?” John only replied with a small glare and a pathetic little whimper; tossing his head to the side with an indignant little huff, and baring his neck to his husband in submission, the sight of him was so deeply erotic and perfect in every way to Chas; and as much as he’d like to deny it, Chas Chandler was a weak, weak man. He let out a small groan, his mouth coming to press against his husband’s neck, lips and teeth biting at the soft skin, fucking the blond as hard as he could. Both men were very worked up at this point, their bodies pressing together, legs tangling in a hot and sweaty mess. Finally, at some point, John’s body tightened around his husband’s length, overwhelming the other in an intense intoxicating way that the man doubted he’d grow tired of. Chas kept fucking him through his orgasm, pounding him in the same spot, refusing to change angles, no doubt overstimulating his husband. The way John cried out, almost sounded like he was in pain if it weren’t for the fact both men knew that wasn’t the case. He tried squirming away once, only to have his hips held down, Chas’ strong fucking perfect big hands digging into his skin and leaving heavy bruise marks that he’d no doubt be smug about much to the slightly older man’s chagrin. The way John mewled in that absolutely adorable way he did, arching his back beautifully, spreading his legs like a cheap whore, looking like a pornographic vision of pure hedonistic sin that a demon might put in a man’s head to drive him insane.
The beautiful sight before him was what sent Chas over the edge. John could feel his husband approaching his own orgasm, wrapping his legs around Chas’ hips to stop him from pulling out, letting out a quiet gasp and then a groan when he felt the other man’s hips stutter, before finally emptying his load inside John. The two men relaxed into the bed’s mattress, still in the same position but lying bonelessly, the eldest still inside the younger man, legs still tangled together as they came down from the highs of their orgasms. Chas reluctantly pulled out of John, lying down beside him. The blond groaned,
“Fuck me,” he let out a small breath, looking at his husband with soft adoring eyes. “I don’t deserve you.” Chas stopped him from continuing, kissing him on the lips to shut him up,
“Don’t,” he chided him after pulling away.
“Fine,” John mumbled tiredly, curling up into his husband’s side, resting his head on the other man’s chest, a hand reaching over to touch his shoulder. “You’re so fucking good, so fucking hot.” He moaned, a string of those cute little mewls coming from his lips at the feeling of his husband’s come sluggishly dribbling out of his used hole. “Love it.”
“What is it with you and my come?” Chas found himself asking, a hand trailing down in between the other’s cheeks, fingers brushing against the tight pink ring of muscle, pressing a finger into the front hole, pushing his seed back into his husband.
“Dunno, you’re not my therapist.”
“I’m your husband though."
“You are.” If he was honest with himself, Chas admittedly liked coming inside him; that, and marking his husband with bites and hand/finger-shaped bruises that stayed on his body weeks after they were made, but especially when it came to his come, pulling out, coming on John’s body (usually his face because of his lover’s oral fixation), but coming inside him was especially satisfying. It might’ve had something to do with the fact that he was coming inside the body of a man who had a working uterus (underline and emphasis on the ‘man’ part of that. His partner was always a man first and foremost and would be indefinitely), and yeah they used contraception but… okay maybe both of them had a slight breeding kink, but the point was that he was claiming his husband as his. The man in Chas’ arms was his and his alone, no one else would claim him.
“Look at you,” Chas murmured, studying his husband intently, admiring every little detail he could, pulling back to sit up, leaning over as his eyes raked up and down the other’s body; memorizing every bite mark, bruise, and scar, adoring the way his slightly slender body was flushed in certain places. He couldn’t help but run his hands down John’s skin, caressing tender bruised flesh carefully. As Chas’ hands reached his legs, he pulled them apart, head dipping between them to eat his husband out, licking clean his own come, cringing only a little at the taste. John moaned tiredly, overstimulated yet still so eager, fingers grabbing onto the other man’s hair, tangling themselves in the short dark strands. Chas pulled his mouth off of his husband’s wet folds, pressing several sloppy deep kisses onto John’s softened abdomen, right below the navel, he couldn’t help himself from murmuring “mine,” quietly to himself, getting a small laugh out of his husband.
“You really are a possessive bastard.” Chas looked up at him, asking,
“Does it bother you?”
“It would if it was anyone else but from you? Never,” he sucked in a breath and made a choked whimper when his husband flicked his cock with his tongue. He tried to grind his hips against the other’s tongue but was stopped yet again by those big strong fucking hands gripping him by the hips and holding them down. Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, depending on how you looked at it) John found himself getting worked up again. “Fuck, Chas—”
“I’m getting too old for your near-limitless libido, John,” Chas murmured, pressing a finger inside his husband, then adding a second soon after. It was funny, how despite the fact both men were far cries from their constantly horny teenage-selves and in addition their closeness in age, John was still a wild insatiable creature in bed— maybe less so after all the years, but still a challenge to keep up with. Chas found his husband’s almost insatiable sexual appetite exhausting yet so very arousing. Sighing, he continued to fuck the man beneath him with his fingers, the groans and whines of his lover actually getting him hard again, hilariously. John made a sound that was basically one very horny purr,
“Your dick says otherwise,” he taunted him. Chas grabbed him by the neck again, squeezing down on it as a warning, getting only a small smug smirk in response, John biting his lip to hold back any kind of loud noise. Chas sighed, only slightly frustrated with him, pulling out his fingers, flipping his husband over, forcing him on his hands and knees. John made a breathless little whine, spreading his legs and arching his back to stick his ass up in the air, practically taunting the other. “Gonna spank me, Daddy?” he asked, goading Chas into doing what he wanted him to do; and Chas knew that was what John was trying to do, they’d been sleeping together for far too long for Chas to not know what every little comment and movement meant. He knew he probably shouldn’t give in to such simple provocative actions that were so obviously an attempt to get him to do what his husband wanted, the manipulative little brat he was, but again; Chas Chandler was a weak, weak man, and he was especially weak for John Constantine. He gripped his husband’s hips tightly with one hand, the other massaging the muscle and skin before coming down fast and hard on his ass with an open palm. The noise that came from John’s mouth upon impact was provocative yet involuntary, more of a content hum and an overjoyed moan. “Fuck yes, that’s it.”
“You’re so insatiable,” he complained, his voice soft and endearing, however. He continued spanking his husband, his hand becoming sore in the process. John whined, overstimulated, soaking wet, and a little petulant,
“You’re gonna fuck me, right?” He wiggled his hips in an attempt to entice the other man into giving in to the urge to lose himself and just use his husband for his own pleasure. Chas sighed for what felt like the millionth time, ignoring his lover’s plea and continuing to slap his ass with his flattened palm,
“I wanna hear you beg for it first,” he said, using that commanding yet softened voice. John scowled, maybe pouting a little. Maybe. He groaned in frustration,
“Go fuck yourself,” he received a harsh brutal slap to the red and tender skin on his ass, making him yelp in response, whining, grinding his hips against nothing much to his displeasure.
“John,” Chas spoke to him firmly as if he was scolding him for his disobedience and that drove John Constantine insane. He absolutely couldn’t get enough of being manhandled and talked down to in that fucking gorgeous voice his husband had, but there was also a part of him that was addicted to the slightly possessive way Chas touched him in bed, the possessive behavior obvious in the way the other man marked him up, the way he held him— in hindsight it was also rather evident in the way Chas ruined him for anyone else, every other individual never being enough, never as good as Chas Chandler. And once upon a time, part of John would recoil in disgust at this, offended at how someone had the audacity to try and control him, he’d be even more offended at the fact that he undeniably loved being treated like that. And he did, he loved being ‘claimed’ by his husband. He’d admit it, though, if it were anyone else but Chas he’d be the opposite of pleased, to say the least.
“Please,” John breathed.
“Please what?” Chas prompted him, eliciting an annoyed growl.
“Please, Daddy,” he pleaded with his husband. “Please, I need it. C’mon, give it to me—” his pleas rambled on softly, devolving into little moans and whimpers. Chas couldn’t help but obey him, taking his erection in his hand and pushing himself inside his husband’s wet velvet heat, groaning at near-excruciating tightness. He wasted little time setting a merciless rhythm, thrusting into the man beneath him with enthusiasm.
“Good boy,” he cooed gently, voice soft and gentle compared to the absolutely brutal, rough way he fucked his husband. It felt amazing if John was honest, he thoroughly enjoyed being manhandled and just absolutely fucked stupid, as if Chas was just using him without any regard for John’s own pleasure. There was something just so primal and satisfying about being held down and just used by another as if that person owned him completely. It was so unforgettably arousing, being claimed in such an animalistic way. There was something so fucking perfect about being tossed around, degraded, and utterly fucked by a man that spent most of his days being a doting husband. Likewise, Chas found that watching a man who usually put up the front of a self-centered arrogant asshole unravel at the seams and open himself up to his husband in such a raw vulnerable way was absolutely addicting. Understandably at first, Chas was hesitant about it all, he didn’t want to hurt the man he loved, after spending a good chunk of his life unable to even fathom his feelings for John, hiding them for far too long. He was a soft man, he cherished his husband despite the amount of bullshit they both put each other through. Though eventually, he realized they both benefitted from this kind of play during sex. John moaned yet again, relishing the way Chas’ hands felt on his body, arching his back in an attempt to angle his hips just right for the other man’s cock to hit him square on in that special spot. When he succeeded, he made a noise that sounded like he’d just been punched.
“Chas—” he started, only to yelp, then letting out a breathy little whimper when his husband draped himself over his body, a hand coming from behind to wrap itself around his neck, thrusting deeper and deeper, filling him to the brim. “So good, so fucking full.” John came for the third time that night, finally, relaxing into Chas’ grip on him. His thrusts became erratic, coming inside his husband a second time. He pulled out, helping the other flip himself onto his back as he lay beside him. The two men groaned,
“I can’t believe we lasted that long,” Chas said breathlessly, mainly to himself really. He brushed a loose strand of blond hair from his husband’s face, admiring the utterly beautiful mess he’d made of John Constantine; relaxed, sated, pliant in his arms, a little dazed as he came down from his orgasm. His neck was littered with dark fresh purpling bruises and teeth marks, his hips retaining dark hand-shaped bruises too. John yawned, looking up at Chas and smirking. The gorgeous sight before him was too good to be true and yet it was true, his words caught in his throat. Chas supposed he finally understood why the church warned men of witches and the power they had over them; this man, this beautiful creature had more power over him than anything or anyone. The gorgeous creature had seduced him and brought him over to the dark side, corrupted him, and he loved it, and he loved him. In a sense, John Constantine would lead him to his ruin and he didn’t care. Chas Chandler never really cared what crusty old men from the middle ages thought anyways so it wasn’t as if it mattered to him what anyone would think of his choice of spouse. Though the way he described his husband was definitely sacrilegious to some degree, there was no denying that. If he actually voiced any of this John would probably laugh at him for being so soft, which he was, admittedly. “I love you,” Chas murmured to him as if praying, lips pressing a kiss to the other’s forehead, a hand coming to cup the other side of his face. John made a small tired hum, smiling softly,
“Love you too.” Chas laughed,
“If this is how you act like after all that I did to you, maybe we should have sex like this more often.”
“Maybe so.” He yawned again, curling up against Chas’ side, tilting his head so his husband could have access to his neck, allowing him to kiss and nuzzle up against his skin, lips brushing the darkened marks, pressing near-apologetic soothing kisses to each bruise. John sighed, staying curled up in Chas’ arms, allowing the other man to hold him in a gentle embrace and treat him as if he was the most precious thing in existence. If he were his younger self, John would probably avoid this level of affection, probably by taking a shower as an excuse. Though, things were different now. Both John and Chas were better men than they were at the start.
“We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?” Chas mused, gazing lovingly into his husband’s eyes. The other nuzzled into his embrace,
“Mm, figured we’d end up like this at some point, though.”
“Yeah?” John looked at him with a rather smug knowing look,
“Chas,” he purred. “You practically ruined me for anyone else when you bent me over your mum’s grave and had your way with me.” The other shook his head, laughing, fond yet exasperated,
“Any chance of ending up with anyone but you died when you came back from drowning that ape,” he confessed to his lover, heartfelt yet a little embarrassed. “I wanted to kiss you so badly.”
“Why didn’t you, then?”
“Dunno, though I’m glad it worked out in the end.” John smiled tiredly, letting out a big yawn, settling himself down, curling up to his husband’s side and resting his head on the other’s chest. “You should sleep,” Chas said, kissing him gently on the lips, also settling down, an arm keeping John glued to his side, hand resting on the nape of his neck.
“Yes, Daddy,” John muttered before slowly starting to drift off. Before either of them truly fell asleep, Chas mumbled back, albeit fondly,
“Fuckin’ brat.”