[Oh, that's- John wasn't expecting that. He's getting a bit of mixed signals between the touching and the reluctance, not accustomed to this nebulous halfway space in between blokes who either assert their masculinity in a certain way and those who practically can't keep their hands off if they're interested.]

It's not charity, but, you know. Wouldn't say no if you wanted to cook for me. [Let's just say his culinary skills are a little on the limited side.

John slides his hand up half the length of Cecil's back, half expecting to feel extra appendages in the way while he tries to soothe and reassure him, get him to relax. When he reaches the back of his neck he gently pulls him in a little closer. Constantine's voice drops half an octave and several decibels, until it's a whisper between their lips.]

Tell me you don't like it, and we'll not. [He brushes his thumb over the nape of Cecil's neck, a few soft strokes before he tilts his head and closes the distance between them, just testing the waters first with a chaste brush of slightly chapped lips and his other hand tentatively resting on his waist.]