Notes: This takes place about a good year and a half before Third Strike, You're Dead.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: language and exotic dancing (not Kurt or Sebastian), drinking and smoking in accordance with the time period.
Summary: He's the type of guy who'd insult you with a smile on his face. Kurtbastian, part of the 1920s verse.

His shift on December the twenty-first started just like any other work night of the year. Talked up the customers, served whatever poison was asked of him, tried not to offend anyone with a cigar and more than one ring. This joint wasn't exactly the classiest place - but a guy needed to work and all.

The star of tonight's act was a pretty thing with gold hair. She moved around the stage, dropping her clothes in time with the music, the crowd growing louder with each piece.

"Lu-cy! Lu-cy!" They chanted.

When she was naked from the waist up, Kurt almost went deaf from the shouts - and he turned away, shaking his head. He mixed up a quick shot and knocked it back.

…No, he could still see her bubs. The picture was burned in his brain.

He hoped that just more time was necessary, not more juice. It was normally so easy for him to get all hoary-eyed - last time it happened, he'd upchucked all over Mister Schue's girl. He was more careful after that, always drinking less than a glass and only after eating.

While he waited for the liquor to settle in, he lit up and took a long drag, blowing out and focusing on the hazy cloud of smoke instead of the nude girl on stage. He followed the smoke trail up to the light where it vanished. Only when he looked back to eye level did he see a tall man descending the stairs.

A young lady took the man's overcoat, and then he just… stood there.

First timer, it looked like. From where Kurt was standing, he could tell that the man was well-dressed. His light gray suit looked good - maybe custom tailored just for him. The thought made Kurt sigh with envy. What he wouldn't give for that. His black waistcoat and white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows looked plain and drab in comparison. He brought the cigarette to his lips and breathed in, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before breathing out.

The newcomer was gone by the time Kurt looked back at the base of the stairs. Figuring the man went closer to the stage, Kurt turned back to the till and began counting his tips. He didn't expect much. People were here for Lucy tonight, not drinks.

"Get me a whiskey."

"Jeepers creepers!" Kurt cried. He spun around, hand over his heart.

It was the newcomer, leaning on the bar top with a crooked smile, the light dancing in his eyes. Oh, not only was he well-dressed, but he was young and handsome too? Of course. "Apologies, doll. Didn't mean to frighten you."

Why were the good-looking ones always skirt chasers - wait. Did he hear that right?

"Doll?" Kurt repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. "Doll. My voice might sound otherwise, but I am one hundred percent male."

"Course you are, Ethel," the man said, grinning.

So he was one of those types of characters. All feelings of interest in the man started going scarce quickly. But he couldn't throw him out - talking like that wasn't punishable. And from the ritzy-looking suit he had on, he could probably shut down the place easy if Kurt got him angry enough. He wasn't willing to risk that. "Whiskey it is."

"Thanks."

Kurt kept the cigarette between his fore finger and middle finger as he poured the man's drink. "Three dollars."

The man smiled appreciatively and put four on the table. Kurt raised an eyebrow. Even his richest customers didn't tip that much, but he said nothing, pocketing one bill.

"Name's Sebastian," the man said, setting his hat down. "Sebastian Smythe."

"That your real name?"

Sebastian laughed. "I got no reason to lie to you."

"Maybe you're a thief wanting to rob me."

"In this get-up?"

"Or you're looking to get rid of the capo here." Kurt crossed his arms over his chest.

"Cosa Nostra è Cosa loro."

"You're from the bureau, about to shut us down."

"Bingo." Sebastian produced a badge from his pocket, and Kurt's eyes went wide. "But I don't want to shut the place down. I'm just a man who has his vices. And there's more like me. Not all of us are out for your necks."

Kurt pursed his lips. He put what was left of the cigarette in the glass tray. "Then you're either really brave or a complete sap."

Sebastian grinned, sipping at his drink. "How's that?"

"You don't know me but you told me you're from the bureau. Vices or no, I could talk and someone could bump you off in minutes."

"Yeah, you could. But you won't."

Kurt narrowed his eyes.

"You're an honest man, Ethel. I trust you."

His words were simple, but they stung. Kurt blinked and leaned against the bar top, his knees weak. He couldn't remember the last time anyone said anything that nice about him.

Sebastian swirled the liquor in his glass. "So. You got to know me, how's about I get to know you?"

"Kurt," he said once he trusted his voice to be stable enough. "My name is Kurt. But people around here - they call me Porcelain."

"Porcelain? I like it."

"You would."

"How old are you, Porcelain?"

"Twenty one."

Sebastian's eyebrows drew together in sympathy. "And you work here of all places?"

"I'm not right for the army. This is the only other place where a job's as good as mine."

"I guess you know the owner?"

Kurt shrugged. "He's like an uncle to me."

"That's fair." The crowd erupted in cheers, and both Sebastian and Kurt looked back at the stage, where Lucy was dancing. At some point two other girls had joined her, all in matching states of dress (er - undress).

"How do you like Lucy?" Kurt asked as Sebastian turned back to his glass.

"She's got a decent pair of stilts," Sebastian polished off his drink and stared at Kurt. "But if you're asking if I'd take her to my struggle buggy, answer's no. I'm not interested in that."

"I didn't…" Kurt said, but his cheeks began to flush when he noticed Sebastian wouldn't look away. The guy even began to smile, slow and arrogant. His eyes dark.

What? No way someone like Sebastian was like him. This had to be some kind of gag.

Kurt's jaw clenched. "You think this is funny?"

"Of course it ain't funny. Normally I don't have to work this hard, the fellas just come running."

Was he really hearing this? "Well then. Let me be the first of your fellas to say - go jump in a lake."

With that, Kurt left his post at the bar and made his way to the back room, locking it behind him. Who did Sebastian think he was, anyway? Kurt was no toy - and if he needed to beat that into Sebastian's thick skull to get him to understand, he'd gladly do it, his usual non violent nature be damned.

But if he did that, he'd lose his job.

…Shit.

Then the best thing to do was to ignore him.

Kurt lit up a cigarette and held the smoke in for a long second before blowing out. His fingers rubbed his temple. He didn't think it was possible, but somehow things were easier when he was just working with capos rather than son-of-a-bitch feds.

When he opened the door and returned to his post, Sebastian was nowhere in sight. Sighing in relief, Kurt sank down in his chair behind the bar and took another drag.

The night was almost over. Thank god.