Greg stepped out of the jet and onto the runway. It was a private Jet, owned by his grandfather, Papa Olaf. He didn't really think that there was anything special about that. Nearly everything Greg came into contact with was owned by his grandfather from the planes, the cars, the homes, to the people that constantly surrounded the eighteen year old. He had known no other way of living. To Greg, this was perfectly normal.

He shielded his eyes from the hot sun and looked around. There was nothing, but desert around him and a few buildings scattered around the private airport. He knew that this wasn't what the rest of Las Vegas looked like, but he couldn't help being a little disappointed at this drab surroundings.

He'd asked his Papa Olaf for months if he could fly out of Norway to celebrate his eighteenth birthday. He had never been allowed to leave Norway, and barely even his grandfather's mansion, which was actually more like a compound, since his mother's death when he was nine. Papa Olaf told him that he need to be kept close to him, so that he could keep and eye on him, keep him safe. Of course, Greg, being the inquisitive child that he was had asked why. He was never given a clear reason.

He'd chosen Las Vegas because it had the reputation for being the Mecca of all things deviant and fun. At least, that's what Warrick had told him.

He looked straight ahead of him to the familiar sight of Warrick's silk covered back. He wiped away the light sheen of sweat that had already started to appear as soon as he had left the air conditioned jet.

"Here, sir."

He looked over at the 'third' of his three bodyguards, David Hodges. David was holding a handkerchief out to him. "Thank you," Greg said, smiling and reaching for it. Before he could get it, though, David moved it out of his reach and started patting Greg on the forehead, nearly poking him a the eye a couple of times. "Hey! Stop!" He flailed around while the older man laughed.

"Ahem!"

They both froze. Greg and Hodges looked over at the 'second' of this three bodyguards, Conrad Ecklie. He had a stern look on his face. Greg looked sheepish and snatched the handkerchief from David and stuffed it in his pocket.

Hodges clasped his hands behind his back and looked forward. A small smirk was still on his face.

Ecklie glared his disapproval at the two before he turned around. "The limo should be here any second," he said. Sure enough, a limo came down the runway and parked right in front of them.

Greg stood there and waited for Warrick to check the limousine and make sure that it was secure.

"Alright. Everything's clear. You can get inside, now," he said, once he got back out. He waited for Greg to get inside before going in himself. He was followed by Ecklie and Hodges and Catherine, Warrick's wife, and Greg chaperone and caretaker.

Greg laid out on the seat that was directly behind the chauffer and shivered a little. Going from an air-conditioned Jet, to the scorching Las Vegas heat, and then to an air-conditioned limousine was bound to make him sick, at least that's what his Papa Olaf always told him. He'd never noticed whether that was in fact true or not. It just wasn't too pleasant on his skin, which was breaking out in goose bumps. He put his foot against the side of the car. The partition was up and he couldn't see the chauffer, which also meant that the chauffer couldn't see him.

"How long until we get to Las Vegas, Rick?" He asked.

Warrick smiled at him. "We're already here. And sit up."

Greg sighed and sat up. He tugged at the neck of his dress shirt. "When we pass a shop, can I buy some casual clothes? I know that Papa likes to buy me nice things, but I miss being able to wear regular clothes, you know?"

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, just don't tell your grandfather," he said.

Greg smiled. "You know, he'll just find out, anyway. Thank you!" He leaped halfway across the limousine and hugged The older man.

"Oof! You're getting a little too big to be doing that, Greg," Warrick said, rubbing his thigh. Catherine laughed at Greg's antics.

Greg looked abashed and pulled away from Warrick. "Sorry, Rick." He wrung his hands in his lap. Him jumping on the other man probably did hurt a bit. He wasn't so small anymore.

Warrick smiled at him, and ruffled his hair. "Don't worry about it, Gutten."

Greg groaned and pushed Warrick's hand away. "I am not a little boy, anymore. You can stop calling me that," he said, frowning.

Warrick laughed and took Greg's chin in his hand. "You'll always be Gutten to me, Greg."

Greg rolled his eyes, but couldn't help blushing. His crush on Warrick and long since faded away, but there were still moments when the older man reminded him why he'd had a crush on him in the first place. He turned away and acted like he was about to take a nap. "Wake me when we get there," he threw over his shoulder.

"Okay, Gutten."

"Warrick!"

----

Same time, somewhere in Las Vegas….

Nick sat in his uncle's study. He was alone, and he didn't worry that he would be interrupted anytime soon. Everyone was out on 'business', and here he was, stuck at home being useless. He leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the marble desk. He reached over and started pulling at drawer handles. Of course, each and every one of them were all locked. He didn't expect a single one to be open, not when he knew his uncle.

He hated being left to his leisure. Although, being able to party all he wanted, albeit chaperoned, was fine, he just felt that it was time for him to be let into the family business.

He'd known what his uncle did for a living ever since he was sixteen, when his uncle deemed him old enough to know some things. He'd just taken everything in stride and didn't care very much about what most of his family did, as long as he got the newest cars, the best education, and the hottest women and men. Now, he wanted a piece of the action, but no one expected him to lift a finger.

"No, you're still too young, Pancho," his uncle had said in his thick Texan accent. "There's a lot of aspects of this business that I don't want you exposed to. I don't want you to be tested just yet. Stick to your partying and women…and men, while you still can." He told Nick.

Nick didn't want to wait. Just because he was the youngest male, and the second youngest child in the immediate family, he wasn't going to be some kept man for the rest of his life. He wanted the danger, and the adventure. He wanted the power.

He stood up and walked out of the study, grabbing his jacket off a chaise along the way.

Until he figured out how to prove his worth to his uncle, he would just play along with what was expected of him.

He pulled up in his Ferrari outside of an expensive eating establishment and waited for a valet to come to him. He turned and glanced into his rearview mirror.

"Fuck! I have another tail," he said. A black Mercedes had been following his ever since he had left his uncle's mansion. It passed him and turned the corner. He was sure that as soon as it was out of sight it would park around the block and whomever was watching him would continue to do so on foot. He was only slightly worried because his uncle had been known to use tails on him from time to time when things in the business got 'stressed' as his uncle called it, but he didn't recognize this particular car.

"Sir, may I take your car?"

Nick was pulled out of his reverie as the valet walked up to his car and waited for him to get out. "Oh, yeah, sure." He got out and tossed his keys to the uniformed man who looked to be older than himself. He didn't watch to see the man driving off with his car to the parking facility not too far away. He walked up to the restaurant.

"Welcome, Mr. Stokes. It's so nice to have you here, once again," the doorman said.

Nick smiled at the young man. "I'm sure it is. You comin' to the Bungalow, tonight?" He asked the doorman.

The doorman looked around, slightly panicked. "I-I thought that we weren't going to talk about the…you know what, out here," he hissed.

Nick laughed. "No, you must have been mistaken. You are not allowed to talk about the Bungalow out here. I'm free to talk about it whenever the fuck I want," he said, coming in closer.

The doorman gasped and looked flushed. "Do you want me there?" He asked. His hands were balled into fists and he trembled with desire right where he stood.

"Actually, I want you right here, but I guess I'll have to settle for having you at the Bungalow, now, won't I?" Nick smirked. He watched as a shudder passed through the other man. "Aren't you supposed to be doing something, right about now?" He asked.

"Huh? Oh! I'm sorry." The doorman snapped out of it, and hurried to open the door for Nick.

Nick smiled and brushed some imaginary lint from the shoulder of his jacket, walking inside.

Greg nearly bounced in his seat with excitement. After the meal, he was finally going to be able to see some of Las Vegas. He didn't want to stop to eat, but Warrick insisted that they stop for a bite to eat before they starting touring around with big city.

Even though it wasn't dark, the lights still had their full effect on Greg. He'd never seen anything so flashy and colorful in Norway. He couldn't wait until nightfall. All of the different types of people fascinated him as well. The variety of things to do and people to see almost overwhelmed him.

He took a sip of his juice. He wasn't allowed to drink soft-drinks. Papa Olaf's orders. His grandfather didn't want him rotting his teeth on the sugary stuff. Alcohol was out of the question.

"Aren't you guys done yet? I am ready to go," Greg said. He pushed his plate away from him.

Catherine, who was sitting next to him at the round table, pushed his plate back towards him. "There's plenty of food on there, Greg. You are not finished and neither are we," she said.

Greg sighed and picked up his fork. He pushed his food around on his plate, not eating another bite.

On the other side of him, Warrick sighed. "Look, finish your juice and then we'll get out of here, okay?" He didn't looked at his wife. Catherine would have surely been giving him 'the look', but he couldn't help himself, sometimes. Greg was just so innocent and young and everything about him just made a person want to shelter him and keep him safe, and give him everything he could ever want.

Greg smiled and put down his fork, picked up his glass.

Nick was walked to his regular table by a waiter. He ordered his food and sent the waiter on his way. He looked around the place. He saw a sea of familiar faces. He stopped on a table. Now i them /i he had never seen before. They obviously weren't from here, that much Nick could tell, though, no one was really from Las Vegas. At least, no one that mattered to Nick was.

He surveyed the table. There were four men and a woman. The woman looked to be around his age, maybe older. Three of the men were in precisely pressed suits, sticking out like sore thumbs. They were obviously the hired muscle. One man was in his early to mid forties, while the other two had to be in their late twenties, early thirties. The last man, if he could be called that, looked to be legal, but just barely. He looked like he was still being dressed by his mother.

He was pouting and pushing his food around his plate while being admonished by the blond woman. The Black man sitting next to him spoke to him and the young man's face lit up, and stole Nick's breath away. He was a little younger than what Nick would have normally gone for, but something about the other man made Nick want to claim him as his.

He quickly scrawled a note, laughing silently at himself. He felt like he was still in school, passing notes to the girl he liked. He folded the piece of paper and waited for an opening. The three men looked formidable, but he was sure he could get past them. He'd been getting past his owned bodyguards since he was nineteen until his uncle had finally relented and let him leave the house without one.

There! The other man had just picked up his glass and started to take a drink. Nick got up, smoothly and walked towards him table. Once he got close enough, he acted like he was about to trip and pushed his elbow into the back of young man's head, causing him to spill his drink all over himself and the table. He smirked, inwardly. Those clothes needed to go, anyway. They were horrible.

Greg jumped up, coughing. Someone had just bumped into him, and his juice had gone down the wrong pipe.

"Oh, jeez! I'm so sorry," Nick said. He reached onto the table for a cloth napkin and made it seem like he was trying to help clean Greg off, while he was actually slipping the note into his pocket, expertly. No one noticed him doing so.

Warrick was the first of the table to jump up. He gently, but firmly pushed Nick away from Greg. "It's okay. I'll take it from here." He started to brush Greg off. He sent a pointed look to Hodges and Ecklie, telling them to keep an eye on Nick, making sure he didn't try anything funny.

Greg moved away from Warrick a little. "I'm fine, I'm fine!" He said, taking the handkerchief from his pocket and beginning to brush himself off and wipe his face. He was upset, now. Upset at the fact that he was now going to have to go all the way to the hotel to change into the clothes that he'd bought and Warrick had had sent to his suite. That was going to take an hour or two off of his touring time. He looked up at the person who had made him spill his drink, determined for the first time in his life to glare at someone and actually mean it.

The glare never came. He blushed and looked down. It was just his luck that someone so handsome would be the witness and proprietor of his humiliations. "Um, i-it's okay. I didn't s-spill that much on myself," he stammered. It was a lie. Such an obvious lie. It was everywhere.

Nick was delighted by the slight accent the young man had. He smiled and was about to say something, when two waiters came to the table.

"Sirs, do you need any help?" One asked.

Warrick shook his head. "No. We were just leaving. How much for the tablecloth?" He asked, indicating the now ruined, expensive linen.

"Oh, nothing, sir! Not for such a valued customer!" The same waiter simpered.

Warrick nodded, not expecting a different answer. "Alright. We should be going." He took Greg by the hand and led him out of the restaurant. The others followed after him, Hodges and Ecklie still keeping an eye on Nick. People's heads turned after them in their wake.

"Mr. Stokes, if you'd still like to continue your meal here, could I please lead you to your seat?" The other waiter said, this time.

Nick watched Greg walk out of the door until he could no longer see him. He turned to the waiter. "Lead the way."

A/N: Wee! I have started a new fic. Things got resolved a bit faster than I thought that they would, so I had a lot of free time on my hands. I hope you guys like it. Bungalow 8 does exist, but I have no idea where it is, so let's just imagine that it's in Las Vegas, okay? Oh, and my Norwegian is horrible, so please don't gather the mob to run me out of fanfic-ville.