Big Ol' Books of DC Fluffshots

Sweet Talk - John Constantine

You sigh as you open the door to your apartment. John hums in thought behind you, tapping out his cigarette before putting it out and throwing it away. You weren't going to get him to stop smoking. That just wasn't happening. But, you could at least get him to keep the smell out of your home. Most of it, anyway. The bitter smell of tobacco still wafted off his clothes.

You close and lock the front door behind you, taking your jacket off and hanging it on the hook. You hold a hand out to take John's coat, placing a chaste kiss on his lips as he hands it to you. You hang the trenchcoat, the cloth still wet from the rain pouring outside. Cracking your knuckles, you stretch before toeing off your shoes and heading to the bedroom.

You change, almost wallowing in the comfort and warmth of fresh clothing, a stark contrast from the cold, damp clothes now sitting in the laundry hamper by the entrance of the room. Speaking of, you turn to the window behind you, pulling the curtains back. You look out into the dark of Liverpool's streets, the stars in the sky hidden by the thick clouds like a smokescreen.

The only form of illumination outside was the streetlights, the fresh rain on the road glittering underneath the orange gleam. You crack the window as the rain continues to fall, letting the scent of petrichor flow into the room as a distant bolt of lightning lighting up the clouds for a brief moment before disappearing, the distant roar of thunder stalking close.

The sound of the bedroom door opening and closing could be heard from where you were standing, followed by soft footsteps against the apartment's cheap carpet. There's a small 'clink' of a glass against the nightstand before John stands next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his side.

He kisses the top of your head as he turns his own gaze over to the window, "the rain's nothing new, love." You shrug, leaning into him a bit, "Yeah, but it's been a couple days." "Fair enough." Is his only response before grabbing the drink he'd set down, taking a sip of it.

"Are you hurt anywhere," you ask, turning your attention to him as he changes. He sighs as he tosses his shirt into the laundry, "nowhere important." "Are you sure?" Your eyes trail over the scars littering the flesh of his back. "I'm fine," comes his only response as he pulls fresh clothes out of the dresser. Once he's comfortable though, you put a hand on his shoulder, coaxing him to turn around.

The few injuries he had were nothing big, he was right about that. You still head to the bathroom, though, grabbing a small washcloth. You turn on the faucet, letting the water soak it for a second before wringing it out and walking back over to John. He groans a little as he allows you to rub some dirt away from the wounds.

"You know I could take care of this myself." "Yeah, but it didn't seem like you were planning to. It's thirty seconds." He takes purchase on the bed, silently letting you take care of him. After a minute, you let the washcloth join the various pieces of clothing in the laundry.

You gingerly kiss his lips before clicking off the bedside lamp, walking over to your side of the bed and getting under the covers. John shifts, pulling the blanket over himself as he pulls you close. He mutters a small, "thank you," as he kiss the top of your head.