A/N: I'm homesick for Vegas, and Tumblr is not helping so I decided to write some drabbles set in Vegas. These will probably all be in different universes, and have different pairings. Some might grow into larger stories. If you have a craving for a drabble set in Vegas, let me know and I will see what I can do!
A/N2: Thank you forever Ro, for the beta reading and indulging me in all the crazy.
Warnings: angst, language
Pairings: 3x5xM
V1
He was going to be late.
Which, all things considered, wasn't the worst outcome of last night's… choices.
Wufei rooted around for his tie, digging through a pile of clothes and tossing aside a scrap of black lace that MIGHT generously be called panties.
It had started off well enough - his portfolio presentation had gone well, with the faculty asking tough questions and Wufei delivering answers that might have been a little sharp but seemed to be well received all the same.
He really, really wanted to be accepted into the MFA sculpture program at UNLV. Not just because it was a five-hour flight from New York and his parents, but because the program chair was one of the most awe-inspiring figures Wufei had ever encountered.
Wufei couldn't decide if he hated Treize Khushrenada or idolized him - but either way, Wufei needed to learn from him.
After the presentation, there had been a tour, then dinner with some of the current grad students before someone drove Wufei back to his hotel.
He had booked a room at the Wild Wild West, a hotel that advertised "serviceable" rooms for only $19.99 a night. The hotel had lived up to its name and Wufei's worst fears - but it was a bed, and he only needed it for two nights.
As soon as he had been dropped off, Wufei had changed out of his suit and into jeans and a sweater, stashed his portfolio and suitcase under the bed, and walked the mile and a half to the Las Vegas Strip.
Last night, his flight had gotten in just after midnight, and today had been too important for him to be irresponsible.
But tonight… tonight he deserved to celebrate, or mourn, his future.
He started off at the MGM Grand, drinking three overpriced cocktails and losing twenty dollars in the slots, and then he had walked off his buzz in the chilly night air, walking the length of the Strip until he ended up in the faded downtown.
The Golden Nugget had been more affordable, the slots more generous, and Wufei had left the casino with an extra $100.
But it wasn't until he sat down at a blackjack table at the Monte Carlo that the night really took a turn.
He won. And he won again, and again, and again.
By the time he cashed out, Wufei had made almost $5,000.
And caught the attention of two of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.
Trowa Barton, the dealer at Wufei's table, and Meilan Long, a woman who lost several hundred dollars while Wufei made his several thousand.
Trowa's shift ended halfway into Wufei's run of good luck, and when he did cash out, he looked up to see Trowa, dressed in jeans, t-shirt and black motorcycle jacket, smirking down at him.
They went to Planet Hollywood, to a bar filled with black lights and a wait staff that seemed to know Trowa intimately, and Wufei, Meilan and Trowa drank and flirted, and after an hour of Wufei's pulse dancing they actually went dancing.
Some exclusive club that Meilan's looks and Wufei's cash got them into, and after hours of grinding together, of hands tangled and lips brushing over necks and ears and mouths, they went to Meilan's room at the Bellagio.
And then… and then Wufei remembered absolutely nothing.
Except waking up late, his flight scheduled to leave in less than an hour, and he couldn't find his wallet or his pants.
And, now that he looked at the bed again, he couldn't help but notice that Meilan was the only one in it.
Trowa, and his clothes, was gone.
And Wufei was willing to bet his wallet was tucked into a pocket of Trowa's absurdly tight jeans.
Okay, so maybe it was going to be worse than just being late after all.