"Trust me, sunshine, if it's ever not me that's coming here, you'll know." But the flare of anger at feeling coddled is tempered with the press of Bruce's thumb into his palm. It's oddly intimate, more so then some of the other things they do, and even after he pulls away, Constantine can feel the echo of that pressure.

He's left holding the bottle and scowling after the other man, half tempted to lob the thing at Bruce's head. "Next time I'll bring my own refreshments, thanks."

Non-alcoholic and sugar free as well, it tastes like ginger flavoured water and not the whiskey he'd prefer. No wonder Bruce is such a miserable bastard, trying to fend off cravings with this. He's well aware it's likely an attempt to mask the smoke on his own breath rather than anything else at least, and while Constantine grimaces and grumbles about the taste, he does finish the bottle, tossing it off to the side as he follows Bruce.

And it's hard to keep being irritated when he is getting something to look at all the while. By the time they've reached the bedroom proper, Constantine's almost his old self again, lips quirking in a smile as he lingers in the door way.

"Don't stop on my account, although if you need a hand getting the rest of your kit off..."