"Damn it Lucifer!"

John Constantine came storming into Lux, all rage and insolence and swagger, his tan trench coat flaring out behind him as he marched angrily up to the bar. "I've got work to do, important work, beating back the hordes of Hell that have grown restless in your absence. I don't have time to be summoned by one of your bloody Pentecostal coins every time you feel like having a shag!" He threw the coin in question down on the bar, where it clinked loudly against the glass top. He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, muttering a curse when he nearly dropped it into the glass of scotch that Maze had poured for him while he'd been ranting. His Welsh accent, roughened by years of smoking, had always been infuriatingly sexy, but tinged with anger as it was it was damn near irresistible. Lucifer would have been lying if he'd said that he wasn't extremely turned on right now.

"Actually, I called you because I needed a favor," he said, with the particular seductive smile he reserved for the most favored of his partners. "But...I'm down for it if you are." He gave a none too subtle nod up the stairs toward his penthouse. John glowered and grumbled under his breath, but followed him up.

Later, as they lay in bed, tangled in silk sheets and each other, Lucifer found himself brushing his fingers back and forth along the inside of John's forearm, over the spot where a column of Chinese characters had once been, inked in thick black lines that contrasted sharply with his pale skin.

"What happened to your protection spell?" he asked, voice heavy with afterglow.

"Gave it to a chap who did me a good turn a while back," John grunted. "Figured I'd return the favor. Besides, in the end I reckon he ended up needing it more than me." Lucifer nodded.

"So what's this favor you need from me?" John asked.

"Always straight to the point with you, isn't it?" Lucifer countered. "Can't you ever just take some time and enjoy the moment?" John glared at him.

"Oh, very well," he said. "There's someone out there commiting unspeakable acts in my name. He walks the streets calling himself the Devil, dealing nefarious favors."

"Really?" John scoffed, disentangling himself from Lucifer. "The favor you need from me is protecting your reputation?"

"No, you don't understand," Lucifer implored, reaching for him. "I've spent an eternity trying to prove that I'm not evil, that I only punish evil. It was the only way I could get back at Father. I won't have this men destroying millenia of hard work. I won't." His eyes turned dangerously dark, the way they did in the split second before they flashed red.

"Oh, bloody hell," John muttered. "What you're of me isn't a favor, it's a military campaign. A long one. I'd have to spend weeks learning about this guy, his habits, his movements, his base of operations, before I'd even have a chance of getting close to him, during which time there's a very real possibility that the hordes of Hell that I've only been barely keeping at bay could overrun this world."

"So you're saying you won't help me," Lucifer said. There was something dangerous in his voice.

"No, I'm saying I can't," John said brusquely. "But there's no need to get your expensive silk knickers in a twist- I know someone who can. Just give it a few days. He'll come if I ask him." He turned his back to Lucifer and dressed himself with quick, angry motions. He was gone before Lucifer had the chance to say "Thank you", leaving a faint trace of tobacco smoke in his wake.