Constantine hissed as the daylight hit his eyes, rolled over and found somebody lying next to him. Immediately reaching for a vial of holy water in his inside right pocket, he realised he didn't have it. Or the jacket. Or any clothes. Full stop.
After a miniature seizure freak-out at the idea of lying prone and defenceless next to God knows what, he saw it was Angela. He huffed, relieved. At least, his cynicism told him, it looked like Angela. Looking around a strangely tidy room were it not for spread out piles of cloth, he saw a small black leather-bound Bible. Come to me, he thought, stretching his hand out and willing the tome to fly toward him, though not too fast. A vision of a speeding Bible hitting his face spontaneously erupted in his Mind's Eye. Nothing happened to the real book for all his visible telekinetic straining. He slumped. Why is it he could visit demons, all kinds of scum, and not even get one useful power in the bargain? God must work in mysterious ways. No fun.
Peering over the shoulder he now had flashbacks of paying close attention to last night, he decided to make the risky naked 2m sprint. Success! Crouching behind the side of the mattress opposite her, he whispered a few randomly selected passages, glancing up after each. Nothing happened.
Hmph. He threw it on the side table. At least I got laid. Human, for the first time in... oh God, that's depressing. Maybe this could become a regular thing. He couldn't imagine himself a 2.2 kid Chrysler driver with a mortgage and family-photographed Christmas cards. Never going to happen. Steady drip of sex. Not too regular. Doing this again would be nice.
He foraged for gum, and chewing it, proudly surveyed a rare sight. There's a beautiful woman, who might actually like me. She had sex with me, that says something, right? Remembering how gross he tends to smell on any given morning, he tiptoed politely covering his modesty with the opened police badge at hand and showered.
She must've consecrated the place. Constantine didn't hear a peep from the walls, the air, the radio remained blessedly silent.
Eyeing the bounty of candles around the bath and remembering how she broke his, he quickly borrowed a small amount of skin cleanser that promised to make him "kissable". Worth a shot. A minor incident where his eyes felt like they were burning was soon conveniently forgotten. John Constantine doesn't care, not one bit. James Bond wouldn't care. I'm like that guy. Except the Government doesn't employ me. And actively hates me. Maybe if this stinging pain doesn't go away the Emergency Room would be a good idea. Five minutes of eyeball water dowsing fixed it, not the kind of dowsing he was used to seeing.
Wrapping a towel around his lower half and leaving his hair slightly messed as he couldn't decide whether smart or messy was the best look, and he stepped back into the room with a new found bravado.
Angela was sitting up, smiling at him. "Morning."
"Morning. You ok?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Sounded like you had some trouble in there." She thumbed at the bathroom.
"No. I was er, singing."
"Whatever" she said, throwing away the bedsheets "I was worried you'd take all day in there." As she walked past him naked he initially looked away like a gentleman. Upon remembering he has never been a gentleman he got in a cheeky peek before she shut the door on him. And locked it. A part of him resented the insinuation.
"Breakfast in five?" she called out.
"Yeah!" he called back. He heard a shower switch on. Trying to make a good impression he arranged her clothes in a pile at the end of her bed, and put his own back on, which felt fresher on clean skin.
Walking through the living room, he was detoured by a surprise leg-rub attack from a pouncing silvery ball of fur. "Duck" he nodded down at the cat. It looked up wide-eyed at him in recognition and meowed.
"I don't speak cat."
"Meow."
"I still don't speak cat. Latin yes, Cat no."
Duck resumed the leg-rubbing. Constantine looked down blankly. Duck scratched his leg.
"Ouch! Little monster! What? What do you want from me?"
"Food usually helps" came Angela's voice from the bedroom behind. Wearing a chemise and leaning on the doorframe. "Breakfast all round?"
"That'd be great, thanks."
She seemed to float to the kitchen, pecking him on the cheek as she went. Duck glared at John, narrowing its eyes accusingly.
"What?" He walked on, ignoring the cat.
