Paul/Johnny | For shayzgirletc, with a bonus mini fic!
Johnny fidgets with the cards that are dealt to him as the man across the table idly toys with his scotch. The last two rounds with this guy had practically cleaned him out of yesterday’s winnings, and if he doesn’t have something, anything to pawn off other than the clothes on his back this round, then he’s not going to last the night. Maybe it hadn’t had been the smartest idea to try and hustle him—Paul, he remembers now—at the bar earlier, but Johnny had been desperate for the rush of playing the odds, and now he was paying for it.
Paul eyes him with something akin to amusement. Curiosity, maybe? No, there was nothing interesting about a down-on-his-luck gambling addict in a cheap suit. Johnny swallows nervously and watches through his bangs as Paul’s thin lips curve up ever so slightly at the corners.
“What are you waiting for? Make a move.” Paul’s British accent is becoming rough from the alcohol, and his tone impatient. Those blue-green eyes stare Johnny down, bore straight through him and darken with pure want, which makes anticipation pool in Johnny’s gut and heat flush his face.
Paul smirks, “Don’t worry if you can’t pay me this round. I’m sure that we can work something out.”
Johnny doesn’t have to look down at his hand to know that he’s completely and utterly fucked.