John’s Christmas Tree (StormingtheCastleVerse)
John hadn’t even known what time of year it was, but Gideon kept track of these things and apparently so did Rip. According to both of them it was the week before Christmas. John felt like he’d been on the Waverider for years rather than the few months it had been. He’d been ill for the majority of the time while Gideon dealt with his lung cancer, and for a lot of it he’d been too sick to even get out of bed.
Rip had done more for him than anyone else he’d ever known, kept him entertained, provided medical care and companionship. Rip had confessed that he had feelings for his friend, and John was starting to think that it might just be mutual. But that was stupid, because John Constantine didn’t do romance - that was for other people. Although somehow Rip was making him feel things that he hadn’t felt in years, and he liked it. He wanted this to be more than just a fling, even if he also knew that he shouldn’t want that. His relationships never ended well.
The problem was that they hadn’t been able to do more than kiss for weeks now, because they’d both agreed it was best that no one knew about their relationship. Even the kisses had been stolen in moments that the nurse Rip had hired wasn’t around. So this clearly wasn’t just because he wanted to bed Rip, although he definitely did want that too, because he would have lost interest by now if that’s all it was.
The nurse had finished up her duties and departed for the last time yesterday, because her services were no longer needed. Chemo was over, all the tubes and medical equipment that kept him tied to the bed were gone, and Rip could now take care of John himself. So the first thing he’d done was have an extended snogging session with his boyfriend, and then he’d been so tired that he’d fallen asleep again. That was still an ongoing annoyance, he was weak and tired all the time. It was getting to be quite frustrating, as were Rip’s continual reassurances that it would get better.
Rip had suggested later that they celebrate his freedom by getting him out of bed and going for a short walk. John had jumped at the chance of a change of scenery, no matter how small, and felt pathetic for feeling so happy about something so trivial. Of course nothing was quite that simple. John’s legs hadn’t been used for anything except an occasional totter around the room for several weeks now, and they weren’t up to walking any distance. Rip only wanted to get him to the parlour though, and he was happy for John to lean on him and rest as much as he needed. If that included a snatched kiss here and there then he wasn’t going to complain.
It took about ten times longer than it would have taken a well person, but the two of them made it to the parlour eventually. John wasn’t really dressed for being on the bridge, wearing only his pyjamas and dressing gown - a truly eye watering monstrosity in reds and blacks, but it was comfortable. He also wore a close-fitting woollen hat that kept his head warm whilst he had very little hair. It was beginning to grow back, and itched a little as it moved beyond stubble and towards a crew cut.
As they turned the corner onto the bridge, John saw why Rip had been so insistent that he get up and come here. There was mince pies and mulled wine laid out on the table, with candles burning and the sound of Christmas music playing softly in background. The crowning glory of the room was the fir tree though. It was large, tall enough to reach from floor to ceiling, with dark green foliage, tastefully decorated in gold and silver baubles, a star at the top, and colourful, paper-wrapped boxes underneath.
John actually stopped moving for a second and gave Rip a look.
“You know I don’t do Christmas,” said John.
“Only because you don’t usually have anyone to do it with. I know that we both know too much about the inner workings of the universe to really take this festival at face value, but it’s still nice to have a moment to celebrate life and the start of a new year. Also I quite like a mince pie and a glass of mulled wine,” said Rip, guiding John towards a chair within easy reach of the food and drink.
John sat down a little more heavily than usual, and Rip placed a nearby blanket over his lap to keep him warm. He was aching from the walk, and he still felt the cold more than usual. The chemo had been hard on his body, and his recovery was going to be slow, even with Gideon’s help. He’d lost weight, because the chemo made him sick, and he’d been in constant pain because his veins had burned with the drugs, despite the painkillers. He’d slept through the worst of it, giving in to Gideon’s request to sedate him and let her manage his treatment when he decided he’d had enough of being stubborn.
He knew it had been hard on Rip, and he hadn’t enjoyed watching John be in pain and sick. He needed reassurance that John really was going to be fine and this was his way of reaffirming life. Also he’d always suspected that Rip was a sentimental romantic at heart and this kind of proved it.
“Is Gideon going to let me drink mulled wine?” he asked, looking up.
“One glass should not adversely affect you,” said Gideon.
“There we go then,” said Rip. “Gideon has given her approval.”
He rubbed his hands together, with a smile in John’s direction, and poured them two glasses of wine. He handed one to John and then took the seat next to his, sipping his drink. John took a mouthful of his own, enjoying the warmth and his first taste of alcohol in a while. However the spices were a little rough on his throat, and he coughed.
“John?” asked Rip, with concern. More concern than he needed for a simple cough, but he couldn’t blame him. A simple cough had been the first sign that he’d been seriously ill, and Rip had known that before even John had. The historical record had noted John’s diagnosis of lung cancer, and although Rip didn’t like to pry into the lives of his friends, it had been a necessity this time.
He put the drink down and reached out for Rip’s hand. The paleness of John’s skin compared to Rip’s more healthy tone was obvious, and he could see the worry in his boyfriend’s eyes.
“I’m okay. It just went the wrong way. You can’t get all protective every time I have a frog in my throat,” said John.
Rip rolled his eyes at him. “Excuse my concern for my boyfriend who has been rather ill lately.”
“Give it a few more weeks. I’ll be back to my most annoying self and drinking stuff that’s stronger than this with nary a care,” replied John, flashing him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“I’m sure you will,” said Rip, ruefully, taking another sip of the wine. “But until you can walk to the bathroom unaided, then you will have to put up with my concern.”
“Really? That’s the benchmark for when you stop worrying about me?”
“No, I will always worry about you, but maybe a little less when I know you’re not going to fall over when you get out of bed,” said Rip.
John gave him an annoyed look. “That happened once.”
“If you’d listened then it wouldn’t have happened at all,” replied Rip, looking at the tree.
“I’d just had enough of lying around. It really is good to be up, and thank you for all of this,” said John, with a wave of his hand at the tree. He was sort of hoping that Rip took it to mean more than the tree and wine and mince pies and music, but he didn’t want to get sentimental and spell it out.
Rip gave a very slight incline of his head. “You are very welcome.”
“And maybe now I’m on the mend, you could fulfill your promise of letting me dress you in leather and take you to bed...”
Rip went red and nearly choked on the mouthful of wine that he’d just taken. He had to put the glass down so that he could cough properly.
“Are you okay, mate?” asked John, keeping his tone light, as if he had nothing to do with Rip’s current coughing fit.
“It, er, just went the wrong way,” spluttered Rip, still trying to clear his throat.
“Sure it did,” replied John, with a smirk.
“You are definitely getting better. I’d almost forgotten how incorrigible you are,” said Rip, finally, but he rose from his chair and leaned down to kiss John squarely on the mouth.
“Then allow me to remind you,” said John, giving in to the kiss and putting his all into it.
Rip tasted of dark red wine and cinnamon, with a touch of aniseed and nutmeg. It was thoroughly pleasant and he wanted more. They broke off only to breathe.
“A promise is a promise,” said Rip, his voice unexpectedly breathy.
And John just grinned, because he was getting better and it had been hard fought, but he’d do it all again just to spend more time with Rip, and fall in love all over.
He realised that he was falling in love. He was totally in love with Rip Hunter, and god help him, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it other than go with it now. Something warm settled inside him, an emotion that he hadn’t felt in quite some time, and he pulled Rip in for another kiss. Christmas might just be his new favourite time of the year.
For @riphuntertimemasterlegend
