Part Deuce:

…Stays in Vegas

Christian couldn't remember what happened the night before, but he knew several things to be fact.

He was sleeping with Marco.

They were both naked.

He had a hangover.

Also, he had morning wood.

There was something hard digging into his hip.

He was altogether rather uncomfortable; if he didn't consider the fact that for once even his hands were warm.

One was underneath his face; the other was following the arm wrapped around Marco's surprisingly slender waist. The hand itself ended up somewhere between the end of Marco's ribs and just barely brushing a trail of wiry hair.

Clearing his throat, he half-hoped and half-didn't that Marco would wake up, or do something. He shifted, making more space between the two of them, but Marco just slid back along with him.

"Stop moving," Marco said after a few minutes of Christian trying to get comfortable.

"I'm not," Christian denied, realizing too late evidence that he was, considering he was still moving around when he said it.

"You are too," Marco grinned over his shoulder. "I can feel it."

Christian's face went hot and red.

"Know what else I can feel?" Marco said, accompanying it with a teasing thrust backwards.

"Stop it," Christian said. He tried not to think about the hardness pressing into his hip.

Marco snickered. "I can feel…that we're lying on my camera. Can you get it?"

"What? Oh," Christian moved his hand from Marco's stomach reluctantly, slipping between warm skin with a less than accidental brush against Marco's bare ass.

"Hey," Marco jumped away from his hand, "the back of your hand is freezing."

"It's not my fault you stole all the covers," Christian griped, pulling out the camera and putting it front of Marco. "Here."

Marco took it, holding it up to find the power button. "Want to see memorable photographs?"

"Not really," Christian squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face against Marco's tangled curls. "LCD makes my eyes hurt."

Marco smiled, flipping through the pictures. "Aw, look, here's you sitting on the bus."

"How far do those go back?" Christian opened one eye to peer over Marco's shoulder.

"Tuesday, I think," Marco said. "The day after we got here."

"You were stalking me already back then?"

"Yes," Marco wasn't ashamed, just kept flipping through the pictures. "See, here's one by the damn thing."

Christian snorted, closing his eyes again. "The Hoover Dam?"

"No, the stupid statue in the front of the hotel. I kept running into it." He flipped rapidly through the next few.

"Hey, wait," Christian protested, "what was that?"

"Nothing," Marco said.

"I thought I saw me there," Christian frowned, reaching over Marco to grab at the camera.

"No," Marco said, holding it further out of reach. Christian grunted and tried to launch himself over Marco's side, but he caused Marco to lose his grip on the camera.

"Oops," Christian said, looking over the side of the bed at the camera lying on its side on the carpet.

"You'd better hope that didn't break it," Marco threatened, rolling over the side of the bed to retrieve it, taking Christian with him.

Christian groaned as he landed underneath Marco, the camera—and possibly incriminating pictures—once again out of his reach. "Fine, you win."

"I know," Marco said. "I'm on top."

Narrowing his eyes, Christian shook his head and decided that Marco couldn't mean what he thought he meant. "Get off me. I'm going to have a shower."

"Fine," Marco got to his feet, still focused on the display screen. "Careful, I spilled soap all over the floor last night."

"Great," Christian grumbled, standing up awkwardly as he realized he was still naked. He gingerly made his way to his open suitcase, taking a pair of still folded pants from the top.

He closed the door, but not before checking to see if Marco had watched him. He hadn't.

When Christian returned from the shower Marco was watching TV, the air conditioning blasting and the legs on his pants rolled up.

Christian dropped down next to him, trying not to think about what was on the carpet. "You have really hairy ankles."

"Don't look at those," Marco objected, but didn't bother to hide them. "I don't make fun of your tiny little pectorals."

"What?" Christian looked down at his chest. "They are not tiny."

"Well, they look like a twelve year old's. That's all I'm saying." Shrugging, Marco stood up in front of the TV.

Christian got up as well, walking back to his suitcase to find a shirt to cover his twelve year old's pectorals.

"A twelve year old girl's," Marco snickered as he played with the buttons on the front of the television. Christian narrowed his eyes, judging the distance between them before throwing himself through the air to land hard on Marco, both of them hitting the floor loudly.

Marco wheezed something, carrying all of Christian's weight. Christian grinned down into his face. "How does it feel now?"

"God," Marco tossed his hair back so it fell in one curly, uncontrollable mass. It actually wasn't that long but looked thick. Christian wanted to run his hands through it but pretended that he didn't.

"What?" Christian pressed, both his previous question and his body to Marco's. He told himself it was because he wanted to get revenge.

It had nothing to do with the fact that so much Marco against so much of himself made warmth curl all the way down to his toes.

Which were not curling.

They were stretching.

Marco sighed. "You didn't pound me enough last night?"

Frowning, Christian sat up a bit, putting enough space between the two of them that he could think. "What exactly did we do last night?" he wondered aloud.

"Lost some money. Met Elvis. Got a stripper. Gambled. Got married." Marco shrugged casually, tucking his arms behind his head.

He glared at the face beneath him, partially covered in dark, curly hair. "Can't you be serious?"

"Nope." Marco grinned, not bothering to open his eyes.

Christian exhaled noisily, pushing up off of Marco. "Fine."

"And what do you think you're doing?" Marco propped himself up on his elbows.

"It's almost eleven thirty," Christian said, opening his suitcase and refolding the clothes inside. "I need to pack."

"What?" Marco stood up, eyeing the clock radio on the side table. "Oh, I guess that's true."

He turned to the bed, rescuing blankets from the floor and a pillow from across the room. Only the bottom sheet remained on the bed.

Christian started to gather the clothes from the floor, including the ones he'd been wearing the day before, from where the shirt was crumpled against the door and his pants near the patio door. He shook his head, shaking the wrinkles out the best he could and rolling them into his suitcase.

"What are you packing for?" Marco asked, snapping the sheets out across the bed.

"To check out," Christian said. "You do realize that the housekeeping will remake that anyway?"

"Yes. But where are you going?" Marco asked, not sounding so concerned as he put the pillows back on the bed.

"To the lobby," Christian said, setting his empty suitcase on a chair. "I leave today."

"What?" Marco spun quickly from the bed, staring at Christian. "You…what?"

"Leaving," Christian said, taking his jacket from the coat hanger it was resting on. "You know, when the trip's over, that's what people do?"

"Christian," Marco started reprovingly, "you can't abandon me."

"Yes I can," Christian retorted, tossing clothes in the direction of the bathroom. They weren't aerodynamic and didn't get very far. "My flight leaves at 4.15 this afternoon."

"No, you can't," Marco said, "that would be construed as neglect and you would be imprisoned."

"I'd go to the embassy," Christian said, picking up a shirt from the floor.

"They have no sympathy for child abuse," Marco began, then realized that he'd missed the point and made the bed feverishly.

"Child abuse? Wait," Christian came over and grabbed Marco by his shirt. "You had better be fucking legal."

"What? God," Marco swatted Christian's hands away. "I'm older than you."

Christian stepped back. "Oh, that's good—wait," he got in close again, "how do you know?"

"I peeked at your driver's license last night." Marco shrugged and bent over the bed again, straightening wrinkles.

"When?" Christian frowned, sitting down on the bed heavily, ignoring Marco's squawk of disapproval.

Marco sighed, accepting the fact the bed would not be made. "When we were out."

"We went out?" Christian tried to remember last night. "All I remember is you dragging me to some bar down on the Strip."

"That's all?" Marco's head shot up, staring at him intensely.

Christian was a little unnerved. "I think so. Should there be?"

Getting up, Marco went to the window, keeping his face carefully away from Christian. "Be what?"

"Be more. Detail, anything. What the hell did we do last night?"

"I showed you the pictures," Marco said, almost pouting. "You really don't remember?"

"I remember all right," Christian said, folding his arms over his chest but staying where he was. "But pictures of us and Elvis impersonators don't really equal us plus bed plus naked."

"Wait," Marco said, going to the side table where he'd set his camera. He flipped through pictures rapidly; Christian could see the changing light against his still bare chest. "Here."

"This is us," Christian pointed out the obvious.

"Yeah," Marco said, watching Christian instead of the picture. "Flip forward one."

"I don't know how to work these things," Christian admitted, holding it out to Marco.

"Here," Marco put his arms around Christian, flipping to the next picture, holding it so Christian could see.

"Oh." Christian couldn't take his eyes off the few stray strands of dark hair on Marco's arm. He blinked and turned to the picture, frowning. "Hey, are we… is that."

"Congratulations, you are now Mrs. Marco Garcia," Marco said. "Can I kiss the bride?

Christian swallowed, turning to face Marco. "Who decided I was going to take your name?"

"You did," Marco said. "But don't worry, it's only legal in the state of Nevada."

Christian nodded, once, before turning back to his suitcase. Marco watched, silently, as the blond picked up his suitcase and headed for the door. He opened his mouth to protest when Christian turned around.

"Well, if you want to make it legal in the country of Canada," Christian said with a grin, "you'd better have peeked at my address too."