Post by John Constantine on Jun 9, 2017 11:39:55 GMT -6
Constantine woke in a bed that wasn’t his. It wasn’t really that surprising and the ‘shock’ no longer bothered him. He no longer felt ashamed for sleeping with random strangers in order to get by. Though, most people didn’t seem to mind. He was a private investigator for a living. This month just hadn’t been as successful as other months. He had come up short on rent and decided to offer up alternative means to make up the difference. His landlord had protested at first, how he needed the money not the sex, but Constantine didn’t have to twist his arm too hard to have them wind up in bed together. They spent the night ‘negotiating’ Constantine’s rent.
Vigorously.
He untangled himself from his sleeping bedmate and stretched. The night before had been fun, but that’s all it was. Good fun. His skin was littered with scratches and bite marks. He wasn’t allowed to mark up his partners, especially if they were married. They often liked keeping their little affairs secret. That was fine in Constantine’s book. He preferred the no strings attached sort of flings anyways. Didn’t matter who with really. He wasn’t picky about his partners. People got too clingy once affection and ‘love’ got in the way of things.
He cracked his neck before he rose to his feet, picking up his discarded clothes and dressing as he found things. His pants and boxers were on the bedroom floor. His belt snaked into the hallway followed shortly by his tie, draped over a picture frame of the happy family – his landlord, wife and two kids. His shirt had been thrown over the back of the chair in the kitchen. His socks and shoes were by the door. His trench coat, his beloved trench coat was hanging from the coat rack. That had been the only civilized removal of clothing that night.
The only evidence they had slept together was the scent of Constantine’s cologne on the pillow. If his landlord was smart, he would wash that before his wife got home. Or change colognes. Constantine smirked. He helped himself to an apple on the way out the door, whistling a merry little tune as he strolled. He didn’t count on his landlord to be smart. After all, if he was, he would have realized that Constantine had swiped his wedding band when they had been ‘working out his rent’ situation. Now to get this over to a pawn shop that didn’t ask questions and always paid cash. It was shaping up to be a good day.
He left the quiet little flat. Once he reached street level, he was welcomed with a filthy alley and uneven cobblestones. It was no England, but it was home for now. He took a deep breath, inhaling the stench of garbage, polluted air and heaven knew what else. A smirk danced across his lips. Yes, home indeed.
Vigorously.
He untangled himself from his sleeping bedmate and stretched. The night before had been fun, but that’s all it was. Good fun. His skin was littered with scratches and bite marks. He wasn’t allowed to mark up his partners, especially if they were married. They often liked keeping their little affairs secret. That was fine in Constantine’s book. He preferred the no strings attached sort of flings anyways. Didn’t matter who with really. He wasn’t picky about his partners. People got too clingy once affection and ‘love’ got in the way of things.
He cracked his neck before he rose to his feet, picking up his discarded clothes and dressing as he found things. His pants and boxers were on the bedroom floor. His belt snaked into the hallway followed shortly by his tie, draped over a picture frame of the happy family – his landlord, wife and two kids. His shirt had been thrown over the back of the chair in the kitchen. His socks and shoes were by the door. His trench coat, his beloved trench coat was hanging from the coat rack. That had been the only civilized removal of clothing that night.
The only evidence they had slept together was the scent of Constantine’s cologne on the pillow. If his landlord was smart, he would wash that before his wife got home. Or change colognes. Constantine smirked. He helped himself to an apple on the way out the door, whistling a merry little tune as he strolled. He didn’t count on his landlord to be smart. After all, if he was, he would have realized that Constantine had swiped his wedding band when they had been ‘working out his rent’ situation. Now to get this over to a pawn shop that didn’t ask questions and always paid cash. It was shaping up to be a good day.
He left the quiet little flat. Once he reached street level, he was welcomed with a filthy alley and uneven cobblestones. It was no England, but it was home for now. He took a deep breath, inhaling the stench of garbage, polluted air and heaven knew what else. A smirk danced across his lips. Yes, home indeed.