The Wager (M/m Ex- Bon)

[Bron]

Sebastien is a wealthy hothead whose taken himself out of his pampered life on a dare. He's determined to prove he can get along with nothing. Dix is a stripper whose worked himself out of terrible life, but is afraid that he's traded one terrible life for another. Nathan is the hardheaded, softhearted owner of the GrindHouse, strip club, theater and music review.

I'm looking for a player for one or the other or both. I'd do Sebastien.



Grim didn't being to describe the situation in which Sebastian Maxim Corsair Loring found himself.   People shambled around. Drunks drained bottles of cheap liquor, slumped against graffiti covered buildings. It was horrible,  a dereliction so thick it seeped into the pores.  Sebastian plunged his hands, now dirty, scratched and grimy too from the fences he'd jumped. He smelled, absolutely reeked from the dumpster in which he'd flung himself  while ditching the cops. Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets and stared down the wide trash-strewn boulevard. There was one last thing he needed to ditch.

Sebastian pulled a slim silver case from his back pocket and rubbed the embossed coat of arms on the  cover.  He flipped it over. Several hundred dollars clipped to the back along with cards of various stripes, the last one in the stack had his face. He dropped the whole clip into the drunk's cup.  He hoped the guy would at least use a little of it to buy food.   Sebastian smirked and walked away from himself and his shitty existence, mentally prepared to enjoy someone else's shitty existence for a while.


***

Forty-eight hours later, Sebastian had long stopped enjoying himself.  The last two fights had taken care of any remaining sense of adventure.  He'd spent the first night in the eves of an abandoned church. Only to wake to find a nest of crazies below dealing something that came in little white bags. Sebastian managed to sneak past the men with the really scary looking guns but ran up against some other less scary men without guns but for some reason wanted his wallet (which he didn't have) and his shoes (which were the cheapest pair he owned but still wasn't giving up).  He'd managed to fight his way free, knocking one of the assholes out and breaking the other guy's arm, but he'd taken a hit to the ribs that twinged every time he inhaled. The second fight he'd walked into, trying to stop some fucker from beating on a broken-looking prostitute in an alleyway and almost got shivved for his trouble. By the prostitute. He'd taken that as a lesson in minding his own damn business.

There was also the little problem of not having eaten a blessed thing in two days.  He'd read about freeganism and figured it would be easy enough to pick up something from a supermarket or soup kitchen. Neither idea had really panned out. Picking things out of the trash seemed kind of desperate for a bet, but Sebastian couldn't deny that the hopeless feeling in his gut was getting to him.

Fucking Dany. She'd bet that he wouldn't last a week on the streets. It galled that she was probably right. Sebastian, with his Loring pride in full roar, simply walked off embassy property and into the city with nothing but the clothes on his back.

He was going to beg for an evening's work. He'd never washed a dish in his life but he was prepared to do all kinds of things if they would curb his hunger pangs.  It seemed that pride was only useful when one's stomach was full.  He'd used the public toilets in the park to clean up as best he could spending time rubbing most of the dirt off his face and removing the more obnoxious stains from his clothes. Now here he was, staring at the back door of what he hoped was a dive bar. People moved in and out. The place looked busy. Prosperous. Sebastian straightened and approached.


***

"No real need for a dishwasher right now. "

The cook dried his hands on an apron with so many, differently-colored stains on it that Sebastian wasn't sure drying his hands on it didn't defeat the purpose of washing his hands all together.  The old man scratched his beard then his eyes grew kind and sad.

"You don't wanna trick here either, Nathan is a real asshole about that kind of stuff."

Sebastian blinked. That was one hell of a conclusion to jump to, but he supposed if he was out here long enough...

"You hungry?" The question was kindly asked and made tears prickle behind Sebastian's eyes. A fierce gratefulness filled him up.

"Yes. I... yes." 

The cook walked Sebastian into the kitchens  and put Sebastian to sit. Fifteen minutes later there was a burger, fries and a coke - carbs, salt and saturated fat - but to Sebastian it tasted better than a thousand dollar plate at Masa.
   
After an admonition to eat it slow, there wasn't another word from the old man. No probing questions like at the soup kitchen. No sly innuendo or expectation of anything other than Sebastian's sating of his hunger.
The kitchen staff began to arrive, bypassing the little alcove where he sat and ate with mostly curious looks. From the door way leading deeper into the establishment came shouting.

"You aren't shit,  Dix."

A perfectly chiseled body stormed into the kitchen, shouldering the swinging doors aside,  followed by another man shouting at the top of his lungs.  'Dix' was calm and completely stoic - his face without emotion. It was only the pressed line of what was probably a very plush and sexy mouth that betrayed his anger. The shouter was taller but thin and pranciful in a way that Sebastian sometimes felt creeping upon him in his more jaded moments but never allowed to overtake him.

"You aren't fucking shit! You think I need your ass to keep this club a float? I sure don't. Your type is a dime a fucking dozen."

The words seemed to roll off Dix without affecting him. If Sebastian hadn't taken malicious pleasure in tearing people apart himself, he would have missed the slight narrowing of the eyes that indicated a successful jab. The shouter continued, stomping through the quiet kitchen.

"You swing your ass around a pole for money, bitch. It isn't fucking rocket science. Any one of these fucking slobs could do your job."

The cook's head came up at that, and he leveled a frankly terrifying look at the shouter.

"Fuck you, Dix. Fuck you directly up your straight-boy ass and die. Fucking clear out your locker.  Leave my fucking costumes where you found them. You're done."

The shouter turned, glaring imperiously at the kitchen staff.  Some of them worked, ignoring the action as if they'd seen the show already. Others stared until the cook coughed loudly.  The shouter watched Dix slam his way into what Sebastian assumed was the locker room then rubbed his thumb and index finger into his eyes in an expression of extreme frustration. He turned on his heels, some no name brand that Sebastian couldn't place, and paced.

"Hey Manuel ," He stopped in front of a young man prepping vegetables. 

**"Se puede bailar? Sabes. Agitar el culo un poco? Tanto dinero para usted." Manuel shook his head.  His brown eyes  so big the whites showed. He looked down.

"No gracias, hefe." He mumbled softly but firmly. The boss grinned and turned to another of the chefs.

"E tu, Colon? ¿Tienes miedo de las mujeres?" Colon  snickered. The tall, curly-haired cook was muscled and brown and pretty.

"Los Señores, Hefe. Además, Pilar tendría las pelotas si dejo que las personas meten dinero en mis pantalones."

Sebastian could have picked out the conversation easily enough in Latin, French,  or German even Chinese. He didn't have lick of Spanish however. Trying to puzzle out what has been said he missed the boss' gaze lighting on him.

"Oh... what do we have here!"

Sebastian blanched and put down his Coke.  Getting the cook into trouble was not option.

"Nothing, sir, I was just leaving."

"Oh, that's a shame!"  The man pouted  and folded his arms. He gave Sebastien a slow examination. He felt rather like a stallion examined for sale. Sebastien half expected a hand shoved between his thighs to fondle his privates.

"Look, I have a slot opened up on my roster.  The pay is three hundred bucks plus tips. It's easy work. Get on stage. Shake your ass. Take your clothes off. "

"Nathan..."

The cooks voice hummed in warning.

"Oh relax, Gil, I don't wanna suck his cock. Dix is fucked in the head right now. He needs to be put in his place,  and I need filler until I can get another Friday headliner. This fucker- "

"Sebastian," Sebastian spoke up.

" - Sebastian looks like he could do with three bills and a place to sleep that isn't a dumpster."
Nathan the Boss pulled three crisp new hundreds out of his walled and waved them gently in Sebastian's face.
If Sebastian wasn't desperate the whole situation would have been hilarious. Three days ago he would have taken Nathan's money and smoked it. Now the three bills seemed like the most important things in the world.

"What do I have to do?"

"Well...can you dance?"