#constatom

Ray had imagined, vaguely, what it would be like to sleep with John Constantine. The thing about imagining though, was that his brain always found a way to cut out all of the less than stellar aspects. He’d figured there would be a certain amount of bravado. Confidence. Probably just enough of the casual detachment he showed to the team in general to make the encounter feel elicit and exciting.

His brain had never considered the unpleasant smell of gin and cigarettes mixing together. The way John was practically hanging off of his shirt. The dark, cold look in his eyes and the slight slur in his speech when he showed up at his door.

“Make me warm,” he said. Ray wondered how someone so drunk could feel cold. His blood was almost certainly rushing to his extremities, warming his skin. The red tinge to his face was evidence enough of that. His hand felt hot where he grabbed at his arm.

“Help me,” he said, when Ray took a step backwards and began to explain how blood distribution could make him feel warmer or colder than he really was. Ray felt the hands let go of him and watched John collapse onto the floor. “Sick as a dog. Have a lie down,” Ray could barely hear him muttering.

He rushed to the bathroom and wetted a washcloth—warm water, even though his gut had said cold and then he realized that he’d left John on the floor of his room. He paused on his way out to grab the man’s bathrobe in hopes of making up for that possible misstep. After all, nobody should have to stay in clothes that smelled like alcohol and sweat for any longer than they had to.

He was kneeling down, leaning in to dab John with the washcloth when a hand grabbed his wrist.

“That’s not what I need,” he said. Ray cleared his throat, unable to come up with a good response. Unable to even come up with any response at all and then John’s mouth was on his. The kiss managed to be dry and sloppy at the same time, a feat only attainable by someone drunk enough to have both poor motor control and extreme dehydration.

“John. No.” Ray pulled back, viscerally aware that everything about this situation was wrong. John was looking at him, hungry and sad, like a caged circus animal. “Don’t look at me like that.” John ignored him, staring straight past him so intensely that Ray felt a sudden urge to turn to see if someone was standing behind him. “It’s scaring me.”

“It’s scaring you?” John’s eyes snapped back to life, “You don’t have to live with it.” Ray felt the hand on his wrist loosen and travel along his arm. “You don’t have to live with it bloody inside you. It won’t die, Ray. It’s cold.” He leaned in again and this time Ray didn’t lean away. “Make me warm”