He was covered in blood. Muscle, flesh.. You name it, he had it on him.

The smell was pungent, delectable to your nose, but putrid to his own. As soon as his car keys jingled on the hook, you practically bound into the room, tackling him and sniffing him, wondering if he was the source of that irresistible scent.

"I'm home," John huffed, a bit taken aback from being knocked over. He sighed, looking around, giving you an odd look as you started eating a few of the chunks left on him, and lapping at the blood that had soaked into his cassock.

"That's gross. You're gross."