For The Sake Of A Dime

[Guest]

[Yes, I insist on keeping that title. Deal with my dramatics >W>]

"C'mon! It'll be fun!"

Glancing hesitantly at the door, Alfred Jones turned his head back to his friend, casting him a weary look. "It'll never work, Gil," he proclaimed, settling back into his seat while grabbing the arms of his chair. It would only be later that he'd notice the small marks on the leather that his nails had left.

The smile he had worn less than an hour ago had faded ever since Gilbert, the type of friend his mother constantly sent disapproving looks at and would quietly ask Alfred why he spent his time with, had sat him down in his room and offered him the night of his life.

Only, Alfred's vision of an outing didn't match up with Gilbert's this time.

Sure, the idea was appealing. Tempting. Everything about Gilbert was tempting, which was the untold reason as to why the American befriended the opposite of the boy next door. The air of danger that seemed to envelope the albino, his crude humor and twinkle in his eye that spoke of mischeif and long nights. Alfred found himself attracted to that break from society, the sense of wrong that felt so right.

Yet, this was over the top. Even for Gilbert.

"My mother would never let me," he repeated his argument, leaning closer towards the albino so he could hear him without having to raise his voice and, God forbid, have someone overhear them. "You know that."

The other simply waved Alfred's worries off with the back of his hand. "Really, Al? It's not something you tell people. You wouldn't just go up to your mother and say 'hey, mom, I'm going to visit a whore tonight. Don't keep dinner waiting for me."

Alfred's eyes widened as he raised his hand to hit the other on the side of his head. "Shut up! I know that already!" he insisted, lowering his arm and realizing that his palm was damp with sweat. He wiped it off on his shirt hurridly before letting both of his hands rest on his lap, gripping at jeans anxiously.

"Oh, I see. You're too scared, aren't you?" Gilbert raised a brow, snickering under his breath. "Chicken. Mama's boy."

Silence. "You did not just call me chicken," Alfred hissed, raising his head that had been bowed in shame to meet red with blue. "I'm not scared. It's just that.."

The albino blinked at him before responding. "So you're square. You'll do anything you're told, hm? Then if I told you to jump off a cliff-"

Alfred growled in frustration. "It's not like that! You know I don't give a damn about rules and stuff."

But Gilbert's words did make him stop and think. For once, he wanted to be the adventurous one, the cool guy who wasn't afraid of what his family would say. To be the one to break away from the mold that society had formed.

Alfred wanted to prove that he was capable of breaking the rules- even to sneak out and go seek out a prostitute and get laid. And to show Gilbert, the 'he-man' of the group, that he was just as badass as he was. Hell, yeah.

"You know what? I'll go with you," Alfred said suddenly, cutting off the other's retort and visibly surprising him. Encouraged by the lack of response, his cheeks grew an excited tint of red and blue orbs widened in anticipation. "Let's do it."

[Guest]

(Dear God, love. You are so cheesy.)

Arthur sat hunched over the counter of the bar, his drink untouched by him. His face was wrinkled in concentration as he tried to type something out on his phone. Unfortunately, the touch screen was too small and his fingers were too large, and more often than not he found himself pressing "w" instead of "e". His sentences were punctuated with commas instead of spaces and muffled curses under his breath.

"Carry on, valiant soldier," the bartender - some French man with an awful accent whose name Arthur purposefully pretended not to know - said as he walked by, laughing at his own joke when Arthur did not. He did give the man a glare of acknowledgement, which was obligated because the man allowed him to take establishment in his bar unlike other bar owners.

He looked back down on his work and found himself only three sentences in on his essay, though he had been here for about an hour. With an almighty sigh, he slowly began typing out the words as he tried to block out the ruckus of the bar.

He would have stayed in and typed up this damned essay in the silence of his own flat, if said flat's rent was not due in a few days and Arthur found himself still a few hundred short. The rent was too damn high for the shitty living quarters, but nothing could be done for it except extra nights of work.

And yet he must not have been the picture of allure and seduction looking like the hunched back of Notre Dame over his smartphone. But he knew that the simple law of sex would make up for his less than spectacular performance tonight - men would do anything when their cocks were hard, and it didn't matter if Arthur was the hunchback of Notre Dame as long as he had a hole and a willingness to flash it.

Blunt and crass as it was, he doubted he would find anyone who could argue otherwise.