Twink For Beer

Participants:

buck_icon.gif jay_icon.gif

Scene Title Twink For Beer
Synopsis Frat boys + gay bar = future trouble. Jay learns the extent to which he'll stick around for beer.
Date November 02, 2009

Desperado

This is one of those slightly quirky places that some people find cute or kitschy and some people find intolerable. The theme is apparent even from the set of swinging saloon doors that marks the real entrance beyond the vestibule/hallway used for carding patrons. Inside the bar proper, the theme really takes off. It doesn't look like it was originally built as a saloon, given its rather large, open floorplan and utter lack of old-timey architectural features, but the walls have been papered with imitation wood paneling and a couple of stuffed dear heads are stuck up on the walls. The large dance floor is hardwood, raised slightly from the concrete floor beneath it. The long, polished bar sits sturdily in front of a wide selection of booze and drink specials are chalked up on boards here and there. A few posters on the wall advertise Wednesdays as 'Ladies' Night' and there are a few advertisements for area gay bars. The real feature of the place is a roped off corner on the other side of the room from the bar. It holds the pride and joy of the bar: a large mechanical bull on an amply padded surface. The music is a mixture of country and the usual array of music popular in clubs with bumping beats that the clientele certainly seem to get down with. Speaking of the clientele, they are probably some of the most conclusive evidence that this establishment does indeed cater especially to the gay community. Whether or not that was the original purpose of the bar is hard to say.


It is the second night of the bar's existence and thus almost all the people in attendance are different people. Except of course for Buck. And the bartender Steve. Buck is working behind the bar for now, fixing up at least the simpler drinks and opening beers for people, smiling to himself most of the time but offering toothy grins to customers who approach. He's often rewared with a dollar or two left behind on the bar. The music at the moment is country, which people dance to mostly in an ironic fashion.

Didn't really take much for word of a new bar to get out to the frat crowd. They'd have been here sooner, but they had pressing panty raid business to get to. In come the lot of them, a small mob of young men in Columbia University clothes, or jeans and obnoxious T-shirts. Among them, in the rear of the crowd, is Jake, wearing a black shirt with an outline of a stripper on a pole. It reads: I SUPPORT SINGLE MOMS. The whole lot veer over towards the bar. Jake, though, pauses, struck by something - his gaze almost instantly lands on Buck. And then he looks around. A grin slowly curls across his face, gleaming and savage, and he eyes the backs of the older boys. Let's see here… he veers away from them and heads straight for Buck. "Hey!" The grin is still in place. It might be a bit worrisome.

Seeing Jake, Buck's eyes light up with recognition and he grins. "Hiya, Jake!" he greets loudly. "Didn't expect to see you 'round here. Want a beer?" he suggests. He seems to have one for himself under the bar, which he sips.

"Shh, shit, you're gonna get me in trouble!" But Jake's still grinning. "Howdy. You work here?" A sidelong look shoots over to the mob, who are currently hassling poor Steve for drinks, trying to keep attention off their bad fakes with random rowdiness. "Sure, I'll take a beer, but hang on a sec first."

"Guess what?" Buck asks, leaning forward over the bar a little to share this exciting information. "I own the place! Got a big surprise last night and fixed it all up. An' look, people actually showed!" Indeed, as the music shifts over to clubbier tunes, the crowd make themselves known on the dancefloor. Sure are a lot of guys. Lot of 'em looking pretty fancy. Buck puts a beer up on the bar for Jay. "You brought all your brothers here?"

"Shit," Jake says, and the smile finally fades. He shoots over a look, then shoves back the beer. "Can't do it, Buck, not gonna get you in trouble. Gimme a minute, I'll get rid of those losers. I was gonna ask you to spike their drinks anyway." Must not be good friends.

Buck blinks, completely mystified by that remark. "Get me in trouble? Whaddya mean? Hey, if you're bringin' in a bunch o' payin' customers there ain't much wrong with that." He looks curious a moment later. "Hey, y'all didn't come here to…you know…hassle anybody, did you?"

"I'm not twenty-one," Jake says, and shoots the mob a look of consternation. "They just wanted to try out a new bar. I haven't had anything to drink yet so I'm about the soberest one among us. Don't think they've figured out the theme yet but give 'em time and then there'll be trouble." Twitch, a little face-spasm that might be a wince. "Damn, dude, how'd you get to own a bar?"

Buck suddenly looks serious, leaning forward to look at Jake. "Well, shit, I can't get caught with a bunch o' kids in my bar, Jake, they'll shut me down. But worse'n that, if they start…you know, gettin' violent with my customers… Boys like that c'n get violent, Jake, you oughta know that. Lotta guys like me 'round here…" He shrugs and eyes the college boys suspiciously. But he absently brings himself to answer the question. "Oh, buddy o' mine from the Army died an' willed it to me."

"Okay," Jake says, and then, "I'll see what I can do." Two options - option A, enlighten them to the fact that they're in a gay bar, resulting in the sudden onset of potential violence before they've had the chance to get truly drunk and stupid - or option B… well. Jake's not sure what option B is. "Just… gimme a minute." And he studies the lot of them. If he had his gift, distracting them would be easy. Unfortunately, as far as he knows, wishing for things results in severe pain and nosebleeds.

Buck shrugs at Jake and gives a little nod, watching the guy with a little suspicion now. After all, there's always the potential that he brought these guys here on purpose. Isn't there? Someone calls out 'cowboy!' and Buck moves down the bar a little to serve him, then comes back.

Think, think, think. Really, Jake didn't bring those guys - he just sorta tailed in with them. Then again, Buck's got no way of knowing that, poor guy. So Jake drags in a deep breath, lets out a sigh, and steps down the bar to tap the leader, a big football sort, on the shoulder. "Hey." The big guy turns and looks down at him with just a hint of drunken disdain. "What, Vega?" There's a pause for a beat, then Jake asks innocently, "So is this your idea of telling me you wanna make out?" Cue doubletake from the big guy and head-turns from the others. "What?" Jake jerks his thumb at a pair of guys getting a little too close in a little too public a fashion. "When I said I wanted some fuckin' fun this evening I wasn't talking about getting my face sucked by a dude." The little mob of frat boys is suddenly drunkenly alert, looking left, right, center, and so forth. The big guy turns red, scowls, and after a second of consideration, slugs Jake right in the ribs. The young man thumps against the bar with a grunt. "That's for not sayin' somethin' earlier, fucker." And then, over his shoulder, "C'mon, guys, we're going." And Jake mutters, "Asshole."

At first, Buck doesn't look like he wants to be overhearing what Jake is saying. Even if he is doing it to avert disaster. But when Jake gets socked, Buck leans over the bar to help support Jake. He keeps his eyes on the fratboys to make sure they depart. "Hey, he hit you pretty hard, there," Buck says with a sympathetic expression. Some patrons have turned to stare. "You need any first aid? You wanna sit down?"

Give Jake a second - he'll take a seat, in fact, on the nearest available stool. The frat departs without him and with only one guy shooting a backwards glance. "…Maybe a beer?" Jake asks with a wry little grin. "Sorry. Fuck." He's still eyeing the door. "Least he didn't call me…" Blink, pause, and Jake remembers his audience, looks over his shoulder and says, "Sorry," again, for no particular reason.

Buck pats Jake gently on the back and then squeezes his shoulders and slaps them to firm him up cowboy style. He has rescued Jake's beer and passes it back over to him. "Naw, that's okay. You didn't do it on purpose, right?" He looks out toward the door. "They ain't gonna wait outside lookin' f'r somebody to beat up, are they? I mean, I know New York City's diff'rent from Texas, but maybe it ain't /that/ diff'rent." He frowns. "That'd be all I'd need. This bar's the only luck I've had in awhile."

"Naah, evening's early," Jake opines, and eyes the beer, sighs deeply. "They'll go hop a few others, and if they remember this place when they're roaring drunk and stoking eachother up, they'll come back. Call it fifty fifty in about two hours." He makes a face, then holds up the beer and shoots Buck a look. "You sure 'bout this?"

Buck nods at Jake. "Just don't tell nobody I served you. If you think those boys're gonna come back, I'll tell a bouncer not to let 'em in. Course, maybe he just hit ya cuz he was mad you didn't want him." The joke's a little wan, though, and Buck frowns after making it. "I'm not tryin' to… Aw, hell," Buck sighs, pulling out a shotglass and filling it with whiskey. "You wanna make it all up to me you c'n bring by some people more..suited t'…this kinda…climate…? Maybe your friend…"

"Yeah, um. I'll drag Max out first opportunity." Jake rubs his face, then takes a deep draught of the beer. "Haven't done any drinking 'sides private with him," he notes, "He's worried about his image. Poor bastard has the press following him. They say stuff, HF hears about it, he turns into a big fat target." He makes a face, then takes another gulp of his beer. "God, I'd like to see those bastards wasted."

"His image, huh?" Buck asks, nodding slowly. He takes a moment to throw back his shot. "Prob'ly won't wanna come by, then. That's all right." He props his forearms on the bar. "All right," he mutters, then picks things back up in his usual chipper tone, life flipping a switch. "So how you been, Jake? Ev'rybody stop teasin' you yet?"

Jake squints at Buck through the building haze of alcohol. Half the beer is already gone and it's finally hitting. Whether or not he spotted that is… up for grabs, at the moment. "Depends what you mean by teasing." A thumb jerks at the door. "You saw those guys. I'm a freshman. It gets better. 'Course, that's probably because you end up on the upper ranks picking on the lower ones. It's like a fucking union up there. Member or shunned." Glug. "We're just lucky we don't get caught at half the shit they have us do."

"Damn, you're a freshman?" Buck asks. "You look older." He pops another shot of whiskey into his glass, which has got to be a terrible idea. "You shouldn't hang out with a buncha guys you don't like," Buck advises. "That ain't good for you. You gotta do too much pretendin'. It'll make you tired." He pounds the shot and hurries to serve a bunch of guys, then comes back.

"You'd know, wouldn't you," Jake murmurs as Buck takes off. While the man's gone, he finishes the beer off and sets it aside, then tugs up a knee and leans on it, watching Buck as he returns. "You think I look old, you should see my brother, he can grow a beard." A smirk flashes suddenly. "And hell, he's pretty enough he might distract you from Max." Snicker. "Doubt it, though. Straight as an arrow."

Buck pulls the corners of his lips aside and shakes his head regretfully. "That's the way it's been goin' lately," he complains, setting up another beer for Jake. "But you can bet your ass I know what I'm talkin' about. I w's on the football team for four years, an' you know it wasn't too long after that I joined the Army."

"Mmhmn," Jake says, then, "And now you got this bar." A smirk appears and he slides a hand over to retrieve the beer. "I think I like having a friend who's got a bar." The smirk turns into a devious grin and he sips his drink, slouches onto the bar on one elbow. "You know, I figured a guy like you would go into the army or something for the eye candy. I mean… doesn't that get difficult? I know I'd have trouble serving with a bunch of hot babes." The grin goes wide and pleased at the very idea.

Buck snorts. "Aw, come on," he answers at the question about the eye candy. He rolls his eyes and picks up his forgotten beer, drinking at that, too. Apparently he intends to make it to Drunktown before closing. Well before closing. "That's like joinin' up to be in a torture chamber. You can't do anythin', you can't even /say/ anythin'. Imagine if you were servin' with all them hot babes but you couldn't do anythin' about it. After awhile you'd be wishin' you were servin' with a bunch o' dogs. I just didn't wanna work in business. That's like dyin' to me."

"So wait, you're running a bar now, isn't that business?" Jake counters, and mock-shudders at the idea of not being able to act on his impulses. Guaranteed he'd be the one booted out for improper behavior. "Or are you talking like, Wall Street 'n shit?"

"I dunno," Buck says. "But at least there's booze," he says, "An' anyway, I ain't fit for what I wanna do these days, I guess." He starts to heave a sigh but smothers it in a sip of beer. When he comes up from the beer, he smiles again. "Don't it bother you, bein' in a place like this?"

"Like what?" Jake looks over, blinks, then looks around at the room for a moment before dragging his attention back to Buck. "I don't see anybody hitting on me, do you?" Thus follows a smirk. "Now I might regret it tomorrow when Alan decides to take it out on me for ditching them, but those fuckers were being assholes anyway." Glug.

"No," Buck admits, "But you step away from talkin' to me for a few minutes and you see what happens. You're what they call—" He smiles instead of continuing that thought. "Anyway, you couldn't blame a fella f'r makin' a mistake about you when you're /here/. So you gotta be nicer to 'em about it, at least." He pauses to chug down the beer. "Hoo!" he shouts out after finishing that. "I am startin' to feel it!"

Jake snorts. "I'm what they call what?" he wants to know. "I ain't gonna start anything, but anyone gets too personal is gonna get hit." About like he just got hit, in fact. "Self defense and all." Funny how he ends up kinda drawling when around Buck. His accent's still New York, but the cowboy's relaxed way of speaking is infectious. He has another glug of his beer, and eyes it for a moment before adding, "You 'n me both. Damn."

"Don't you hit nobody in my bar, Jake," Buck warns, looking serious for a moment. "I'll break that fight up an' you'll be the one I hit, cuz I /know/ you." He gets himself another beer. "You don't wanna hear what I was gonna say you were. You ain't really one, but you look like one. It's what they call a 'twink,' partner, an' it's popular enough."

"Wait, what?" Jake sits up straight and stares at Buck. "Seriously? No. How the hell… what?" Hey look, he's starting to blush. "Dude, I got muscles, you can't be a twink with muscles. Good god, you're not serious, are you?" Apparently the beer hasn't sunk in deep enough to make /that/ response laid-back.

Buck smiles apologetically, and shrugs. "Now, that ain't true," he says. "You got that 'sleek physique.' That kinda muscle don't disqualify you, brother, I c'n tell you for a fact. Now, your t-shirt's gonna confuse a couple people, but lots o' people ain't that into /readin'/. Now, lookit, I didn't mean t' hit on you that time you didn't want, but you're playin' with fire 'bout now."

"I have a stripper on my shirt!" Jake protests. "With boobs!" He points, just to make it extra clear. "Holy shit, Buck, this ain't helping!" He might just die of mortification. Then again, there's beer. He gulps that down quick and hard, shoves the empty glass over. "Fuck, though, that does." Cue a slightly foggy blink. "So you're saying I need to get outta your bar 'fore someone tries to take me home, is that it?" There's a sort of dread fascination with the whole idea.

Buck gets Jake another bar. "No, I ain't sayin' you need to do anything," Buck answers calmly. "I'm just sayin' you can't blame a fella for makin' a mistake. Hittin' on you. That girl on your chest don't mean a damn thing. Folks'll think it's a joke. Or you're AC/DC." He shrugs. Not his fault. "But maybe you don't understand th' way you look. You got the right kind o' muscles, good face…" Buck's more frank with the liquor. "When I was your age, I was— Well, that term ain't too nice. So let's just say I didn't look too different and I had me a pretty good time."

Cue bewilderment. "AC/DC?" And Jake blanches. "Look, I'm sure it's a lot of fun for you…" Blanches again, and this time washes it away with his third beer. Poor guy's getting pretty toasted pretty quick. "But dude, c'mon." He pauses, trying to sort out what he's got to say, and shakes his head, quick and befuddled. "Okay, look…" He can't find words. Buck's knocked him speechless.

Buck blinks blankly at Jake. "Look, what?" he asks. "I ain't playin' with you Jake, I'm just lettin' you know what's up. You're a young guy, I know you prob'ly don't wanna hear about it, so I c'n shut up, I'm just sayin it ain't somebody else's fault if you walk handsome into a gay bar and some guy hits on ya."

"But…" Free drinks! "Oh, this bites," Jake says, suddenly melancholy. "All the booze I can drink and no cops coming by," not like that other night, "but I gotta put up with the occasional dude hitting on me. Can I, um, get a pin or something that says, I dunno, 'Sorry guys, I'm straight'? Fuck, this is like that one vacation…" Slump. "Dudes all over the place staring at me and my brother - we're twins, see, even if we didn't look it. They'd light up like Christmas when they heard that and then look so crestfallen when we pulled the straight card…" He rolls his eyes. "Except the ones who didn't care, and didn't mind hitting on underaged boys." A smirk flashes. "That was a great summer. We both got wasted so many fuckin' times… Dad was actually scandalized. Takes a lot for that to happen."

"That's up to you," Buck says. "You wanna wear somethin' tellin' people to back off, that's on you, but it ain't very polite." He totally tries not to react at all in any way to the twins information. He's not even sure he intended to react in the first place, but now that Jake's talking about that, he's got to be sure he doesn't react at all. "C'mon, though, Jake. Is it /that/ bad t' get hit on by a guy? Can't you take it as a compliment? I get hit on by ladies all the time."

"Sure, it's a compliment, I guess, if the other guys don't see me and decide I'm due for a pounding." Pause. Blink. Jake shoots over a look, then grabs the beer up and drinks deep. Once it's set down, "I just don't wanna end up in the hospital again, yaknow? Last time was bad enough, I barely got out before they started doing invasive tests. Kick my ass and they might just keep me." He twitches a sharp little shudder through both shoulders, almost a shrug, and sets down the remaineder of the drink. "That's as far as I go, I think." There isn't much left. "Mebbe I'll finish the rest in a minute."

Buck suddenly looks serious and sympathetic. "You were in the hospital? Did somebody /put/ you in the hospital?" Buck looks like he might kick the ass of this unknown assailant. "For—?" he wonders, lifting his eyebrows significantly. "Look, the hospital ain't no place to be. If you're worried, I'll walk you home. I'm packin'."

Whoops. Yeah, time to lay off the beer. "Sorry, no - just a…" Don't say stroke. Uh. Um. "Brain thing." Er, that sounds just as bad. "It's okay, it's all fixed now. No bad shit. I just have to… uh. Avoid… um, certain substances." Jake now looks a bit uneasy. "Hey, look, thanks for the beer. I should go get out of here before curfew hits, all right?"

"You had a brain thing?" Buck asks curiously. "Hell, we oughta start a club. Mine ain't fixed, though…" He looks a little disappointed when Jake announces he's leaving and picks up a rag to wipe down the bar. "Yeah, sure thing. Watch yourself."

"Yeah, sure, and now I'm not allowed to take aspirin. No telling, though." Jake taps the side of his nose, eyes Buck, and lets out a relieved little sigh. Thank god the guy didn't make the connection. Good old Buck - about as smart as a Labrador, but twice as loyal. He flashes a small smile. "I'll see 'bout catching up to those assholes and making sure they've got something else to do tonight, aight?" And the beer gets grabbed and gulped the rest of the way down. Now faintly sloshed, he fishes out a wallet and lays down a swift few bucks of tip.

"Yeah, thanks," Buck says, nodding as Jay gets ready to depart. He picks up the money, reflecting on how weird it is to get tipped by a friend. But soon there are shouts summoning him to another part of the bar.

Least Jake can do. Three free drinks, seriously! He should be tipping in twenties, but he's a broke college student. Away he ambles, sliding through the crowd with a hint of paranoia. Someone's gonna grab his ass any second now, he can just tell. …The fact that he makes it to the door unmolested is somehow disappointing. And then he's gone, plodding off to go find out where his 'friends' went to.


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License