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[conjobs]

The number you have just dialled is not in service.

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[superdick]

[Homelander exhales, letting John slip out of his grasp. His drink remains rudely ignored.]

Will you-- fucking talk to me?

[He think he's been pretty upfront, about where he stands. But he doesn't have any intuitive goddamn understanding of what John wants from him.

He hates feeling useless.]

Please.

[conjobs]

[That's what Homelander can laser onto his grave. Fucking Useless At Talking. It wouldn't be that far off the mark. He can talk a whole lot of shit but when things get serious he clams up like a virgin butthole.

John picks up his towel and wraps it around his waist again, keeping his head down, looking somewhat dejected. He stands there like a shadow of his former self; it's hard to light that spark in his eyes once it's been snuffed out.]

I've been thinking... [John scratches his nose, still unable to make eye contact.] I wouldn't mind staying here. I don't feel ill, I'm not coughing me lungs out. I could stay here, if you- [He bites the inside of his cheek and breathes out a sigh, looking up to a dark corner of the room.] I mean. We could stay here.

[He's tired and. Cold and. Running away from his problems has always been one of his preferred ways of dealing.]

[superdick]

[He hates seeing John looking so close to being snuffed out. But this is... it's temporary. It's gotta be.

Homelander reaches to lightly brush his knuckles without moving closer, trying to give him the space he needs.]

We can stay as long as you like.

[He's not exactly eager to get back home, now or ever. Even the glorious revolution can wait, though he's hardly given up on it.]

[conjobs]

[He was expecting to have to fight this. Everyone's on this mad rush to the finish line, trying to find new and interesting ways to disappoint themselves bashing their heads against the brick wall trying to get out. On more than one occasion he's been told he's mad for wanting to stay here.

So, not having to fight this time around? John is visibly relieved. He swallows and is more willing to make eye contact now.]

Alright. Just- at least until I figure out how to get out of this. [And no, he's not doing treatments or giving up smoking. Fuck that. You don't make it to being the greatest bloody warlock and put yourself through chemo. If he can swindle the Devil and tell big-g-God to go get stuffed, he can wiggle his way out of this one.]

There'll be a way. I think. [He deflates a bit. The spark isn't there to light the fuse, but he's still John fucking Constantine. It's not a terribly long fuse that needs to be lit.]

[superdick]

[Well, he's not about to drag John to chemo-fucking-therapy. He'd look terrible with no hair, anyway. If there is a way out of this -- and there is, Homelander is sure of it -- he expects it'll be weird and magical.

Just like John.]

Good.

[His mouth twitches in a small smile, as he leans closer, so that his forehead nearly touches John's.]

'Cause I have no intention of letting you go.

[Hopefully that doesn't sound too much like a threat.]

[conjobs]

[John closes the distance between their lips to go for an unsolicited nibble. He's cold, almost naked, and wouldn't mind not being let go right now.]

No revolutions. Or- witch doctor cures. [He pulls back, looking Homelander in the eyes. He wants whatever their version of a pinky promise is going to be.]

[superdick]

[The nibble goes unprotested, but he frowns a little at the demand.]

What do revolutions have to do with it?

[He's been a lot more focused on damage control than rebellion lately, but that doesn't mean he intends to always play nice with management.]

[conjobs]

I want to stay here. Not what’s left of here after you’re done levelling the place. We’ve got something good here. [The lasses help do his laundry even though he’s got his own laundry room and the demons have been cleaning up after him, even though it was Homelander and Tim who had done the bulk of the cleaning and feeding before. It’s not that John can’t look after himself, but he doesn’t have to.]

They’re starting to complain about the state of me place. [He shoots Homelander an unsubtle glare. They’ve had a long time to get frustrated with John but a whole windowframe and furniture that needs to be replaced is a new kind of wreck.]

[superdick]

[Homelander doesn't disagree, that they've got something good here. But he hasn't forgotten being locked in a cage to be prodded and laughed at. He hasn't forgotten their friendly host nearly breaking Wynonna by taking her apart, or John getting thrown in the local loony bin and scrambled to be more palatable.]

I don't want to level this place.

[There's enough here that's salvageable, that he isn't willing to wreck.]

But I'm not about to take everything they dish out like a good little boy.

[He was born in a fucking cage. Obedience goes against his very nature.]

[conjobs]

[Well, part of the deal of living here is taking the good with the bad. John doesn't entertain any fantasies for a second that this place is better than what it purports to be. But just because he sees through the veil doesn't mean he's awfully discontented about it. Of course, he doesn't want anyone to get hurt. But this isn't a kid safe hurt-free bubblewrapped zone, either.]

Everything comes for a price. You can't have your hell hotel cake and eat it too.

[superdick]

[Homelander's lived comfortably for the past couple of decades, and it's amounted to jack shit.

The hotel is hardly the best thing this place's got going for it.]

Complacency comes at a price, too.

[Clearly John knows that, seeing how often he lets himself sink into a bottle. Accepting things as they are is a great way to waste away under the whims of higher powers.]

[conjobs]

You haven't gotten anything from rocking the boat. Just pissed off a whole host of demons and rolling power cuts - for weeks. [And they can't afford that these days, if the change in the weather is anything to go by.]

Did you even get what you were after? I don't even know what that is mate. An end to the torture? You're in hell, it's not a walk in the park. [It's like refusing to accept that you'll get wet if you go into the hotel pool. Acceptance isn't complacency.]

[superdick]

[He got asked that before. The truth is, at the time, broken and bleeding and tossed in a cage to fight like a dog, he wasn't after anything but immediate relief.]

Yeah. I got to feel like I wasn't a helpless fucking victim for ten seconds.

[His voice is low, a little raw. He's not willing to back away from this, but the look in his eyes is almost pleading.]

I know I-- overdid it. But this isn't hell, John, no matter what the set decorations say.

It's just a fucking game some assholes are playing, and we don't -- we don't have to play by their rules.

[conjobs]

Do you even know what that word means? [John doesn't mean to sound as incredulous and harsh as he does, like he's undermining the carnival shitshow. But as someone who's spent far too much time ripping, shredding, and burning the victim card, scrubbing the last traces of poverty clinging to the tail of his coat, it's hard to have a serious discussion about this with Homelander, of all people, who is likely no saint when it comes to victims and victimisers.]

Maybe there's a game you want to win. You go ahead. [Constantine knows the house always wins. He might be a gambling man, but he's not an idiot. Even if he was so inclined, he doesn't have time left to play the long game.] This is the rest of me life I'm talking about. I'm not playing.

[superdick]

[His nostrils flare, jaw clenching into a grind. He has an idea of what that word means -- it means somebody weak, pathetic, who lets themselves be used and doesn't fight back.

Of course he wants to win. The alternative is getting trampled on, ground to fucking dust.

He doesn't answer right away, making himself take a few breaths first.]

Fine.

[It's not quite a concession: the house doesn't always win. Not if he has any say in the matter. But he's not about to do anything to jeopardize John's continued existence.]

[conjobs]

[John has cycled through enough dead exes to know that it's not fine, by any stretch of the imagination. That's the 'fine' that she spits out before she doesn't come back for days, or kicks him out to the couch, or goes on one of those drinking benders that is somehow worse than his and he has to steal a ride to bail her out of the drunk tank.

It's rarely ever a 'fine' that comes out of a bloke but John is used to this prissiness by now. He disentangles and disengages as fully as he can, trudging wordlessly to his bedroom, rubbing his upper arms as if that'll help get his exposed torso warm.]

[superdick]

[Well... he's not going anywhere. Not unless John flat-out tells him to leave.

He follows John into the bedroom, lingering in the doorway with his arms folded.]

[conjobs]

[The towel is abandoned over the back of a chair and John heaves a sigh of relief as he stretches his legs out under the blanket. There's ample space for Homelander to join him, on his usual side of the bed.

He tidied up quite a bit, since Tim and Homelander cleaned up the outside space. At least before the pig attack wrecked his kitchen and living area. It almost looks inviting again, like the suite it was before John moved in.

There's no verbal invitation issued, but as John rests his heavy head on the pillow, hazel eyes keenly watch the figure leaning against the doorframe.]

[superdick]

[There are a few more second of sullen, silent lingering, before Homelander makes his way over and claims his side of the bed.

He's in his tense, moody mode, and the blanket conceals any evidence of the tentative brush of his little finger against John's.]

[conjobs]

I don't bite you know. Except for those bits you like. [Eventually Homelander will win John over to his side. Blame it on his wily charm and his supreme bullshitting wearing John down over time.

For now though. They can just. Nestle, and not bite.]

[superdick]

Of course not. [Homelander turns his head to give John a flat look.] You're a regular ol' pussycat.

[conjobs]

[He presses his hand flat against Homelander's cheek and shoves. Unfortunately they're not teenage boys who can wrestle and get away with it without breaking anything.] Namecalling, are we?

[superdick]

[He remains an immovable, unflappable object, cheek glued to the pillow and gaze glued to John.]

It's better than fuckboy. Or Hello Kitty.

[No, he's never letting those go. He's got a special hate shrine in his heart for insulting nicknames.]

[conjobs]

You liked Hello Kitty. Or was it the cable ties that got you randy? [John's gaze trails away and his smile grows into a full blown knowing smirk. He does like his bedmates a little dirty, it's true.]

'nd what's wrong with fuckboy? Is it not better than 'bad boy', or 'good boy'?

[superdick]

[That'll be a no fucking comment, on Hello Kitty and the cable ties. Both of those things gave made him uncomfortably hard, not to mention the head smacking, but he's not about to admit to any of that.

He opts for an eyeroll and a shoulder shove instead.]

It sounds stupid. Like... fucking teenage slang.

What does it even mean?

[At least 'good boy' and 'bad boy' are coherent.]