House rules

by BRK   

Three cocky, distinctively masculine guys out to paint the town stumble into the wrong Vegas casino.

A lot of people go on vacation to a place like Las Vegas determined to have a much fun as possible, and Frank, Malik, and Leo—three buddies from Michigan in town for another pal’s destination wedding—were no exception. The bachelor party was Saturday, which meant that Friday they were free to manufacture their own good times, and the trio was set on making it a vacation they’d always remember.

It was a very boozy night, and by the time they’d stumbled into the empty El Diablo Casino they were several sheets to the wind. “Hey, guys, I think this place is closed,” said Malik as he looked around the barely lit space, rubbing his bulging chest as though his snug, sleeveless Tang-orange tee-shirt were too tight. In fact it was a bit too tight, but being the most sculpted muscle hunk in any group was Malik’s point of pride, and he sure wasn’t going to stop showing off his disproportionate pecs or his thick, corded arms anytime soon.

Leo frowned, checking over his shoulder. “Doors were unlocked,” he mused, scratching his beard as if in unconscious response to Malik’s muscle-preening. Like his animal namesake Leo was known for his thick, golden pelt and a beard that seemed to start sprouting from his jaw and cheeks almost within moments of shaving, though he was otherwise compact and unassuming and, in general, not so reminiscent of the king of beasts.

Frank abruptly pointed in the center of the deserted space. “No, it’s open, look!” he said, a little blearily. He was aware of how his big dick, the reliable if clichéd by-product of being tall and lean, had fallen out of his underwear again and was making a visible ridge down he left leg of his chinos, but he’d given up worrying about it. Not like these guys cared whether his dick was packed away or not. “See? There’s an open blackjack table. Got a dealer and everything.”

The others squinted into the gloom. Sure enough, though all had been dark a moment before, one of the curved, green-clad tables now seemed to be dramatically lit from above as if by a theater spotlight. Behind it stood a bald, powerfully built man with his arms crossed ominously over his mighty chest, looking more like a nightclub bouncer than a casino game-runner despite wearing the expected uniform of white shirt, black vest, and black tie. He appeared to be glowering malevolently at them despite the intervening distance.

“I dunno, guys,” Leo said uneasily. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

“No, let’s play,” Malik said easily, already making for the shallow run of stairs that led down into the otherwise deserted gaming floor and the spotlit table. Frank followed, intrigued by the anomaly. Being drunk tended to remove all his inhibitions. Leo, not so blessed with calm, reluctantly brought up the rear.

They seated themselves with only minimal difficulty. Leo thought he was the only one of them who noticed how angry and perturbed the bald dealer was. “Uh, hi,” he said, reflexively scratching his beard again.

The dealer glared at Leo, then at the other two. “You dare to disturb Wando?” he boomed, the very picture of simmering rage.

Malik laughed. “Ha, ha, yeah, we dare,” he said, evidently taking the dealer’s outburst as some sort of scripted challenge. “We totally dare. Right, guys?” he added, turning to Frank and Leo.

“Totally,” Frank agreed, his head tilted like he saw something about this Wando he was curious about.

Leo didn’t want to be a part of any of this. “Guys, I don’t think this guy wants us here,” he warned.

“Too late,” the dealer, Wando, intoned. “You must pay.”

Malik blinked. “Pay, right,” he said. He looked around the abandoned casino. “Uh where do we get chips?”

“You will not need chips,” Wando sneered, eyeing each of them as though they were bugs. “You will pay with what you prize most: your virility.”

“W-huh?” Malik said. Even as he said it he felt something odd and looked down. Leo gasped. Malik’s muscles were gone—the gaudy orange tee was hanging loosely over a completely flat chest, its sleevelessness exposing brown, sticklike arms as unimpressive as Leo’s own. Even Frank looked a little smaller and less impressive, though he seemed not to notice.

“Whoa,” Frank said, looking Malik over. “He stole your muscles, dude!” He glanced at the table and added, “Guess you anted up after all!” Leo looked and saw that one of the four white-bordered squares on the dealer’s side of the table was stacked with chips. Leo squinted and saw that there was a “clubs” symbol in the corner of the box.

Frank saw it too. “Ah, clubs means muscles,” he said sagely. “Interesting.” Then his eyes widened and he looked down at his own lap, then over at the table where the chips were now stacked in the “spades” box.

Leo grabbed Frank’s shoulder. “Dude, did he steal your dick?” he asked urgently. He felt a little lighter in his own bitches, but Frank would have really taken the hit.

“Not… all of it…” Frank said, shocked but also awed. Then he was staring at Leo. “Dude, your beard,” he said.

Leo lifted a hand and brushed his cheek. Nothing, just smooth skin. He peered down at his arms and saw practically no body hair, either. Meanwhile, a big stack of chips had appeared on the “diamonds” area in front of the dealer. Malik’s head hair had thinned, too, and so had Frank’s, and neither had any of the stubble they’d gained from a long night of partying.

They were all being dropped to the same barely-masculine baselines, Leo realized: basic muscles, basic hairiness, basic dicks. They were even all suddenly the same height, he realized. Sure enough, there was a stack of chips in the “hearts” box now, too. They’d been completely averaged out, so that compared to their distinctiveness before they were almost the same—and not one of them were the man-beasts everyone always told them they were.

“Guys, we should go now, before this gets worse,” he urged, getting unsteadily to his feet.

“No, no, we just need to win it all back!” Malik insisted. He turned to Wando, his smile intense. “We’re winning it back. Deal us in, bro.”

“So be it,” Wando announced with terrifying finality.

He glared at Leo, who reluctantly resumed his seat. “This is going to be bad,” he said glumly.

Malik turned over his first two cards, a six of hearts and a seven of clubs against the dealer’s five up. “Hit me!” he said immediately. Leo frowned over at him. Though he was sobering fast he was still woozy enough his thoughts were very muddled, but from what he’d seen of blackjack so far in his life he wasn’t sure Malik had the hang of it. Not that this was like any game of actual blackjack he’d ever heard of anyone playing before.

The dealer passed Malik another card—a ten of clubs. “Damn it!” he said, shoving the cards away. The shout echoed weirdly in the empty casino. Leo wanted to shush him.

“Chill, man,” Frank said. “It’s not just one round. Right?” he added, checking belatedly with the angry bald dealer.

“I will give you twelve rounds,” Wando growled.

“Nice.” Frank turned over his cards—a pair of eights. “Sweet,” he said. “I think I’m supposed to… split?” He separated the two eights, one hearts and one diamonds, and tapped the table. The unnatural croupier dealt him one card for each hand, which turned out to be a queen of hearts and a king of diamonds. “Wild,” Frank said. “Look at all that red. Uh, stand,” he said to Wando, just to make it official.

Wando rolled his eyes and dealt Leo his cards. He scratched his cheek, disconcerted to feel nothing there, then flipped them with great trepidation. He stared at the result—a jack of clubs and a seven of diamonds. He looked up at the dealer with wide eyes and shook his head.

Wando flipped his own second card—a ten of diamonds—then drew another—a five of hearts. He aimed a dark look at Frank and Leo, as if it were bad form for them to have won their first hands. They all watched with interest as the surly dealer passed a blue chip from the hearts pile to Frank for the first hand and another from the diamonds pile for the second hand. So the win went to the high card in each hand? Leo thought. This was confirmed when Wando presented him with a chip from the clubs stack.

Instantly, Leo felt his muscles bulk up a bit, pushing out his tee shirt just enough to be noticeable. Malik watched him with indignant envy. “Those are mine,” he said, pointing at Leo’s starter set of pecs. “I’m going to win those back.”

“You better play smarter then,” Frank said cheerily. “If you’d stood you would’ve won.” Leo looked at his dark-haired friend and did a double-take. He was sitting taller now, and his hair was a little longer, with a bit of stubble back on his cheek and a couple of strings of chest hair visible in the V-neck of his tee shirt.

I hope I’m lying in a gutter hallucinating this, Leo thought morosely.

An hour later they climbed the steps together toward the outer doors, each of them lost in thought. Once they gained the upper level Leo turned and looked back at the casino floor, but the spotlit table and its bizarre dealer were nowhere to be seen. Cobwebs and dust covered every surface, as if no one had been here in years, and the only light was the moon streaming through the broken skylights. It was as though the angry demon they’d disturbed and played a weird game of surly, body-attribute blackjack with had never existed in the first place.

Malik was positively radiating a hot, simmering resentment. Through a combination of bad luck and worse strategy he’d lost every hand—even the four where Wando had gone bust—and in consequence of this he was stuck at the “basic” form he’d started out with: short, completely smooth from cheeks to ankles, built as bland as a man could be, and possessed of an endowment that was, Leo was sure from his own perceptions at the start of the game, average at best. Leo could tell Malik wanted to blame someone for his predicament, but all three of them knew exactly who the culpable party was in his case.

They stood on the landing looking each other over, the haze of alcohol long gone. Finally Malik let out a long breath through his nose. “I’m hitting the gym in the morning,” he announced grimly, his tone making him sound like a general who’d resolved to attack at first light despite a numerical disadvantage and a severe shortage of ammunition. He looked up at Frank. “You game?” he gritted out.

“Sure,” Frank said equably, pushing his heavy mane of hair out of the way, showing off gymnast-quality biceps and startlingly hairy forearms. Leo didn’t think he was doing it to taunt Malik, but then, Frank did seem to want Malik to know his current shortcomings were his own doing. Malik puffed out another breath through his nose, like an angry steer. “I may need to find a barber first, though,” Frank added, smiling through his dark, lush prospector’s beard.

“Fine,” Malik said. “Leo?”

They both looked up at Leo, making him feel unexpectedly self-conscious. He wasn’t used to being singled out for being tall—especially not for being this tall. Or this built, he added mentally. His now-heavy and sweetly sculpted muscles had expanded so much he’d had to pull off his shirt, leaving him looming over them like an oversized Hercules. At least he wasn’t super-hairy anymore—Frank was welcome to that—so for a giant Herc he was pretty smooth-looking. He foresaw lots of questions about his workout routines and whether he waxed his chest.

He might’ve felt a little guilty for ending up with almost all the muscle chips instead of Malik, but now that their intoxication had worn off he had a better handle on things, and in particular he was keenly aware of just how much of a cock Malik was being.

Which… reminded him of his other problem. At least his pants were baggy enough to conceal the results of that particular winning streak, though he was glad Frank had gotten a few chips from the spades pile as well. But between his genital predicament and his rather startling height acquisition he wasn’t sure making a spectacle of himself at the gym was something he was in a hurry to be doing.

Anyway, he realized that he had other, more urgent priorities than pumping iron. “I think I need to get some new clothes tomorrow,” he said apologetically. “Kevin and Billy probably don’t want me showing up at the bachelor party like this. Or the wedding.”

“I dunno, they might like it,” Frank said, giving Leo a saucy once-over.

“Pfft,” Leo said. “They only have eyes for each other.” Which was true—mostly. They did like to scope hot muscle guys together, though, on occasion. Which included him, now, he guessed. Weird to think a few card flips had shoved him into that particular box.

“Please come to the gym,” Malik said doggedly. “The trainers give you more respect if you’re…” He gestured toward Leo’s physique grumpily.

Leo moved to stand closer to him. “Or,” he suggested pointedly, “if you respect them first.”

Malik pressed his lips together and said nothing. There would be a lot of adjustment for all of them.

They started for the revolving doors. “We’d better head back to our hotel,” Frank said, pushing his hair aside again. He looked Leo over a second time. “Think you’ll fit in a taxi?” he asked.

Leo shrugged. Yep, lots of adjustment. Personally, he was starting to thing he might be on the verge of looking forward to it.

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