Wavering Faith (John x Garcia)

Chapter 2: 1Bed/1Bath

   Rogelio didn't like people in his home. Not even visitors or important guests. It felt invasive to the extremely private man, and, since he lived alone, the place was usually...less than spotless. But, tonight was an obvious exception. He couldn't let John go home alone in the state he was in. Yes, his short-lived nap helped quench his immediate need for a good night's sleep, but he was still exhausted, and after being in such close contact with an array of powerful demons, Rogelio wasn't comfortable with him being left unsupervised. At least, that's what he told himself.
   He opened the door to his apartment, the lock releasing with an audible click. It swung open easily, and Rogelio stepped inside, glancing behind him as John entered as well. "Go wash up, you smell," Rogelio said bluntly, turning to deadbolt the door. John looked down. His priestly garb was stained with a spray of (probably) non-human gore, but the dark color hid it decently. "The bathroom's to the right, in my bedroom. I'll get you a change of clothes," he continued, making his way towards the slightly adjacent wooden door. Ward followed, almost on his heels. His bedroom was unassuming, John noted, much like the rest of the place, scarcely decorated, with a single gold cross contrasting against the brown wallpaper above his bed. Speaking of the bed, it was awfully small, with only one pillow. "Go on," John's thoughts were interrupted by that smooth, lightly accented voice, "I have to change too, sabes," "Oh--oh, of course!" He stammered, embarrassed. He opened the bathroom door, and, eager to remove himself from the situation, slammed it just a bit too loudly behind him.
   When Rogelio heard the water start running, he began to undress, slipping his jacket and shoes off first. He then removed his necklace gently, sitting it on the nightstand. Next, he pulled off his black clerical shirt and pants, leaving just his boxers. Usually this would suffice, but he put on a loose gray t-shirt as well in an attempt to be more modest. Now significantly more comfortable, he started picking out something for John, deciding on another, slightly smaller, t-shirt, and pairing it with some sleep shorts. He neatly folded the articles of clothing, placing them on the end of the bed.
   He finished just in time, too. The pitter-pattering of water stopped, and he heard gentle footsteps in the bathroom. "I'm done, Fath-" the voice corrected itself, "...Rogelio." "Alright, I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," Rogelio replied, shutting the door to give John his privacy. Might as well tidy up a bit, he thought. He took a few paces over to his sink, cutting it on to fill one side with warm, soon to be soapy, water. He looked up, glancing at his faint reflection in the window. Behind him, he could see the steps down to the lower level of the apartment. So many painful memories. He knew the boy was long gone, his spirit at rest, but the accursed basement seemed to hold onto those events, toying with his subconscious guilt. Taunting him.
   He looked back down, resuming the chore, but a new predicament entered his mind, one that he had not thought of before. Where would John sleep? He didn't own a couch. Sure, he had a chair, but it wasn't a comfortable or practical replacement for a bed. There was the mattress downstairs, but it was ragged and stained with the filth of the thing that inhabited poor Michael's body. He couldn't let John know the truth about "el Chupacabra", as the newspapers called him. The guilt would eat him alive. Rogelio shook his head. "Pobre niño..." He mumbled underneath his breath with a heavy sigh.
John opened the bedroom door to tell Rogelio he was finished. "I'll be there in a second. I have to finish these," he cleared his throat and nodded at the work he was currently doing. "You're sleeping in here?" John inquired. "Do you have another place in mind?" he rhetorically asked, regretting how condescending the words sounded as soon as they came out of his mouth. John disappeared from the doorway to lie down, not in the mood for bantering with the older man. Rogelio's bed was soft, and the blankets were very heavy, which he took note of as he began to get comfortable beneath them. He settled closer to the edge than he would've liked, trying to leave as much room as possible for when his partner joined him.
   About ten minutes later, Garcia had finished enough dishes to last them a day or two, so he called it a success and made his way to the bedroom. He peered in, unaware if John was asleep or not. The sight he beheld confirmed the former. The noiret was lying on his side, his only movement being his deep, restful breaths. He was in such a deep sleep that he didn't even move a muscle, but from his angle, Rogelio could see, unobstructed, his soft, handsome features. He froze, wondering those were really his thoughts. They must be--he couldn't deny them, after all. From his perfect nose, to his deep-set electric blue eyes, to his rosy cheeks highlighted by his pale complexion, John was an attractive man, beautiful, even. And he was in Rogelio's bed. He briefly entertained the thought of what it would be like to kiss him, to feel John's tender lips against his own. To run his fingers through his dark, luscious hair. He felt his face get hot.
   Shame caught up with him, though. This was so disgusting. Perhaps all the years of living alone had finally gotten to him, he wondered, climbing into bed beside the other man, whom he had only met a few hours ago. To lust was one thing, but after another member of the clergy? He wondered if he himself was possessed. How would he confess such a thing? Speaking of confession, tomorrow was Sunday, he had a service to get to. But it was two o'clock in the morning before he even set foot inside the cult's lair. What time was it now? These thoughts and others swarmed inside his head, inescapable.
   Rogelio felt a warmth against his back, and arms snaking around his waist. He didn't resist. It calmed his mind. He'd worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Right now, he needed to rest. He allowed his eyes to close, John spooning him comfortingly.