John Constantine oneshots

Temporary Bliss

Summary:

Your feelings for John are brought to the surface after you realize you want something more than just a physical relationship

Notes:

Another commission! Enjoy!

Fic Song: Temporary Bliss by The Cab

Work Text:

The air is thick with cigar smoke, causing you to purse your lips together in an effort to keep from coughing. Drawing attention to yourself is the last thing you need right now, especially when your companion is so close to winning. Next to you, Constantine furrows his brow in concentration, sucking on the end of a cigarette as he studies his hand. You've been out for some time, not because you're not good at poker, but because John's plan called for him to be the last man standing. As always.

Trying to look bored, you take a moment to study your friend. Well, friend is probably a bit of an understatement, though you have no idea what to call him. A wave of affection washes over you as you take in his mussed hair and blue eyes, the cigarette dangling as he finishes it. Absentmindedly, he removes the stub, snuffing it out in the ashtray as he exhales the last of the smoke in his lungs. He must sense you staring because his eyes flicker up to meet yours, abet briefly. His attention returns to the cards, but under the table, you feel his foot rub against yours soothingly.

Considering you're surrounded by violent thugs whose money you're about the swindle, the action doesn't help you relax. Tensions are high, a hush following across the room as they wait for John to play his hand. "They're getting pissed," you mutter under your breath. John nudges your foot again in acknowledgment.

Seconds later, he finally does, smirking with triumph as he drags the pile of cash toward himself. "Cheers, gents," he says, gathering the bills. He glances your way. "Wanna give me some help here?" Making sure not to meet anyone's eye as the anger radiates your way, you quickly help John collect your winnings before you both get to your feet.

"Bullshit!" one of the men at the table snaps, slamming his fist down and knocking his beer onto the floor. "You both were losing and then suddenly win it all? I don't fucking think so! You cheated somehow!"

"What can I say, mate?" John grins. "We're just lucky."

"No one is that lucky!"

"We were being closely watched," you speak up, nodding your head in the direction of the beefy security guards. "How can we cheat when everyone staring at us?"

Your accuser clenches his jaw, unable to answer your question. John flashes you a smile as he grabs his trench coat off the back of the chair, slipping it on after he shoves his winnings into his pockets. It's hard to prove you're cheating when the people you're playing against have no idea magic exists. John motions for you to follow him, and despite your better judgment, you turn your back on the table.

As soon as you do, the hairs on your arms stand, and a second later John calls your name sharply. You turn, only to register a piece of furniture flying your way before you duck. The wooden chair smashes into the wall behind you, sending wood scattering. Before you even have a chance to react, John is grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the exit. Security jumps in to hold back the angry patron, while you and John worm between the throngs of people in an attempt to escape.

You burst out of the exit and into the muggy evening, heart racing and stomach churning with nerves. A sweaty hand clutched in yours, John picks a direction and runs, not bothering to spare the club a backward glance. It's not until you're a block away that he dissolves into fits of hysterical laughter. It's not the first time you've been chased from a game, and it won't be the last time.