Sizzle
Disclaimer: I do not own the movie Constantine or any component of the Hell Blazer series.
A bed of burning hot cinders and spiky, blood-splattered bones is where they did their deed--a private damned suite all of their own. The other denizens of this flaming realm left them alone in peace; murmuring to themselves what a great honor it was to be tortured by the master himself.
The human John tried in vain to get away (vain being one of the key words of why he was being straddled in the first place). He was infinitely amused by how he struggled, twisted, and writhed; attempting frantically to get away even when there was no hope. “Abandon all hope all ye who enters here” pretty much summed it up.
The rank odor of sulfur was overpowering and he just knew that the scent reeked all the way to the back of John’s throat making him gag and choke and spit even though there was nothing left to vomit. He also knew his touches felt like spots of liquid fire that continuously burnt through layer upon layer of John’s skin over and over again. Chuckling, he dragged his tongue across the mortal soul’s cheek; tasting the moist sweet fear with undertones of hatred (all directed towards him) and hints of overpowering agony. It was like the sweetest wine, even more delicious than the rape itself.
He couldn’t think of a more fitting punishment. In life, John had never loved anything. Now, he would be loved by him for all eternity.
Speaking of vain, John was just too proud to beg. Not that he would ever stop even if he did. But, he proved to himself that even the has-been John Constantine had his limits when he released inside the human’s rapidly weakening body. In response, the human in question arched his back in sheer agony as a scream erupted from the bowels of his throat. Now, he guessed that his own bodily fluids must have felt like burning acid sizzling through John’s interiors. He could only guess now.
Nothing but the best for the sin of pride.
For the record, his own personal favorites were gluttony, not to mention lust. Which was very well and fitting. Because there was no stretch of the imagination that he was done with John just yet.
He stopped for a flicker of an unholy second to gaze into John’s terrified and profoundly broken eyes before running an oily hand down his flushed with hell fire cheek.
“Constantine,” he breathed. Vehemently. Adoringly. As if he here talking to a naughty child who had finally come home.
His keening laughter intermingled with John’s hoarse cries as the process repeated itself once more.