The Gamble

by DarkPrincess128

AU. "He had never thought Vegas could be like this. It was beautiful. It was unforgiving. It was full of possibilities. For four nights, Remus could completely reinvent himself. He may as well have been spontaneously erupted from the desert sand. He had no ties, he had no 'life' back 'home.' He was, for all intents and purposes, free." Slash.

Disclaimer: I don't own HP, but frankly, this has skewed the characters so much, I might as well.

A/N: I don't even know what to say about this. I have a million things to say about this. I'll put them in a note at the end. Just know that obviously this is extremely AU and it's about an English man going to Vegas – and I am an American who has never been to the UK or Vegas. So I did an ungodly amount of research, but nothing beats experience...so what I'm saying is I'm sorry if some facts are wrong. I really, REALLY hope you like it.

Remus Lupin didn't have much to complain about, really. He didn't mind his job. His colleagues were nice. The pay was sufficient. His boss was friendly.

Well, the last was getting on Remus' nerves, currently.

"I mean it, Lupin," Marlene said affably, though Remus couldn't help but be annoyed. "You're easily my most diligent employee, and you deserve it."

Remus knew that arguing with her wasn't going to end up anywhere. Once Marlene made up her mind about something, that was it. But in his mind, it was still worth one last try. "I really don't need a holiday. I'm in good health, and everyone else is going on vacation around here -"

"Exactly! You'll be all alone in this office."

"I'm alright with being alone." I find it rather comforting, actually.

Marlene slapped a hand on her desk, signaling the topic was done with. "This isn't up for discussion, Lupin," she said. "First of all, you're required to take a holiday. Secondly, it's Christmastime, you have all your 15 paid off-days left, and if I see your face in this office before January 2nd, I swear to God I'm gonna move your cubicle next to Pettigrew's. Got it?"

It was practically blackmail! He resisted the urge to groan at the prospect of having to find something to do for the next few weeks and instead mumbled only some slightly audible "thank you" and left.

Remus moved back to his space to grab his wallet and keys, figuring that this forced displacement probably started now. He made sure that everything was in order – his monitor turned off, all papers in proper folders and all folders in drawers, pencils in holders – before departing the office, knowing if he dared to come back here in the next couple weeks, he'd have to face the wrath of a very angry Marlene, and that thought was more than enough motivation to book it out of there.

"That's pretty damn cool," James said over his beer in their usual booth in their usual pub. "Makes me wish I played sick less over the year."

Remus grimaced, rubbing his finger in circles around the rim of his own beer and asked rhetorically, "Wanna take it for me?"

His longtime friend and colleague just grinned at Remus' clear abhorrence of the idea of relaxing. "If only. I don't think Lily would let me go anywhere anyway, not with Harry still only eight months old."

"Plenty of people take their children on holiday."

"Not anywhere interesting," James retorted. "They go to boring places, like, I don't know, Paris."

"Paris is supposed to be the most beautiful city in the world."

"Or they go to British landmarks. If I went on holiday, I'd want to go somewhere interesting. Like Jamaica. Or any other place that's warm."

"Is that where I should go?" Remus asked, amused.

"You're actually going to go somewhere?" James joked. "I figured you'd just stay home and feed your cat."

"Arse," Remus muttered. "I have enough money to pay for a short trip somewhere, and I'm sure it'd be better than staying in London for over two weeks."

James considered. "Well, how do you feel about sunny beaches?"

Remus just looked at his friend, somewhat annoyed but unsurprised that his earlier sarcasm didn't get through. "A creepy single man on the beach by himself. Delightful."

"Fine, fine. So I suppose that rules out the Canary Islands."

"You suppose correctly."

"Well," James said, gesturing to the busty waitress for another round, "You seem so fanatic about Paris. How about that?"

Remus watched for a brief moment as James ogled the back of the waitress, who was swaying her hips somewhat wantonly. Uninterested and a little irritated, Remus tapped the table. "You're married, you git!"

James looked a little taken aback. "I wasn't staring!"

Ignoring him, Remus went on, "Paris is supposed to be romantic and artsy. I'm neither romantic nor artsy."

"You wouldn't know if you were romantic." James and Remus both took their beers from the platter the waitress handed them. "Your longest lasting relationship was for, what, three months, yeah?"

"That's not fair. I just haven't – you know – found the right person yet." Remus blushed, thinking of his last relationship. Of course it had only lasted a few months; Remus couldn't manage otherwise. Unlike James, he had some commitment issues.

Didn't help that rat bastard had had a wife back home.

"And I rest my case." James was already halfway done with his beer, his third. Remus hadn't touched his. "So you don't want any place sunny or tourist-y."

"Not particularly," Remus smiled.

"What about a cruise?"

Remus laughed. "I'd rather not live out Titanic, thank you. And I've heard enough cruise horror stories from Frank and Alice to last me a lifetime."

"True." James stared at his beer and Remus resumed rubbing his finger along the rim of his. "What about America?"

"What about America?"

"As a vacation spot!"

"I went to Arizona once to visit some relatives. The heat was nice, I will admit. I'd rather not go back to Arizona, though."

"What about Las Vegas?"

Ah, Vegas.

Las Vegas was legendary. Remus had hardly heard anything about it, which elevated the legend considerably. He knew the phrase: "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." Of course, from what he understood, Vegas was for young bachelors looking for a good time or people who needed a few extra bucks. Remus' and James' theme of "relaxing" didn't seem at first glance to go particularly well with the atmosphere of Las Vegas. Neither did the idea of something not sunny and not tourist-y. Remus told James so.

"Well, you've rejected all the relaxing places. Actually, I take that back. Any place can be relaxing as long as it isn't the office. Anyway, everyone can use some extra money. And you could meet some nice American bloke."

Even though some part of Remus knew he should be embarrassed at this comment – who in the world would go and fuck some stranger he met at a casino in a foreign country? Certainly not Remus – he was seriously considering the prospect of Vegas as a whole. America wasn't particularly expensive a place to which to travel. There were plenty of hotels he'd heard of in Vegas at which he could make a last-minute reservation. It was hot like Arizona had been but it was much more lively than Arizona. And even if he got bored of gambling – which, to his credit, he had never given a full run – he could still lounge in hot tubs or what-have-you.

James noticed Remus' silence and clearly pensive look. "So. Is it official? 'Vegas, baby?'"

Remus took a long moment before mumbling a hesitant "yes." Excited, James toasted to Remus and they spent the rest of their evening discussing different casino games and, occasionally, James' family.

Because Marlene had kicked him out of the office, Remus couldn't talk to his colleagues who had been to Vegas and thus didn't have much of an idea as to what hotel to stay at, and this was a serious regret.

The thing Remus immediately found about Vegas hotels was that they were either very dumpy, sleazy ones he couldn't imagine staying at even in his poorest days; or they were ridiculously fancy, with rococo adornments in the lobbies and all the website's photos featuring men in suits and women with updos and ballgowns. There was no happy medium. In either place, he'd stick out and/or be completely uncomfortable.

But Remus had committed to Las Vegas, both in his head and to James (who had probably made sure everybody else in the office knew about it). The more Remus thought about it, the more logical it seemed. He wouldn't be awkward at a beach or in a beautiful city sightseeing alone. It wasn't odd to see men alone at casinos. (James had unhelpfully pointed out later that because it wasn't odd to see men alone at casinos, Remus was all the more likely to pick one up.) And besides everything else, it was probably for the best that he was leaving for a little while. Remus desperately needed a break from everything in London; even though he was generally uncomfortable with breaking routine, and liked order and stability, it was all this routine that was breaking his heart over and over again. Every time he tried to get into a new relationship, it was shot down shortly, without remorse. Remus was sick of heartbreak.

When he thought about it, he figured it was probably because he kept dating the same sort of person – somebody quite like him. Mild-mannered, left-brained, with a white collar-job. Generally passive and submissive in daily conversation but dominant in the bedroom. Then there were the commitment issues – after going through so many bloody useless relationships, Remus unconsciously decided somewhere along the way that commitments were worthless, since relationships never seemed to last. Naturally, this led to most of his lovers thinking he was only after sex or was simply a wimp.

The point was, though, that Remus was very excited to be going to a place where no one knew his name, and where he didn't have to be looking for a relationship. In fact, he made a promise to himself right after he booked his reservation at a hotel-casino that was the closest thing to a "happy medium" in that city he could get, that he would not look for a one-night stand in America. His crappy romantic experiences were exactly what he needed to get away from.

Everything happened quickly after that. The day Remus set his reservation at the hotel was, obviously, the same day he bought his plane ticket, and it was for just two days later. He would stay in Vegas for four nights. It wasn't very long by any means considering how long his holiday was but Remus simply had the idea that Vegas could get really old really fast. (He was also partially worried about gambling addiction, but only a little.)

He had no idea what to pack. When he checked the weather for his destination, he was not surprised to find that it was still warm. Because it was cooler in London, he had to dig out his summer-y clothes from the bowels of his closet, and when he dug through the miserable pile, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. There was no way he was going to bring any of that crap. He reasoned with himself that since it was so hot there, the hotel and the casino would obviously be air-conditioned, so he could bring normal clothes, right? Stylish clothes. Even if he wasn't trying to impress anyone.

Which he wasn't.

Once he got the clothes issue settled, there was pretty much everything else. Not only did he have to pack toiletries, books, chargers, and the like, but he also had to find his passport and exchange his currency. There was also the matter of calling the credit card company to inform them of the trip so they didn't spontaneously cut off his card right in the middle of this grand experience. The entire process was fairly draining and by the time his departure day came around and James was in front of his flat, he wondered whether the enjoyment he would get from this vacation would surpass the misery he had to go through to set it up.

When Remus came down with his small suitcase and messenger bag-briefcase, James, who was leaning against his black 1980 Toyota Corolla, stared.

"That's the sorriest excuse of a suitcase I've ever bloody well seen," James scoffed as he opened the trunk so Remus could place his things inside.

"It's not like I'm leaving for a month," Remus retorted, sliding into the passenger's seat.

James turned on his car and started for the airport. "Did you only take deodorant and a pair of pants?"

They joked on the way to Heathrow, which, from Remus' flat, was about half an hour away. Remus asked if everybody was off work yet.

"Just got off yesterday," James answered. "I have to tell you, man, trying to deal with that place without you was some sort of hell."

Remus was flattered. "How so?"

"Pettigrew wouldn't leave me alone."

"But he didn't really leave you alone while I was there, either."

"Yes, but before, he could distribute his annoying-ness equally between the two of us. Without you, it's just me for him to annoy."

Remus added, "And Marlene."

James scoffed. "Marlene, unlike either of us, has the ability not only to intimidate, but also to quiet Pettigrew. Perhaps he knows she could ruin his life with a flick of her wrist."

And so it went on for the half hour until they reached the terminals, where James somewhat-but-not-quite skillfully navigated through the nightmare that was the passenger drop-off. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people walked, ran, or otherwise rushed by the Corolla in a horrifying density that made Remus want to tell James to turn the car around and take him back home immediately. Well-dressed businessmen and women, frumpy middle-aged moms with two or three children that had a three-minute attention span between all of them, teenagers in sweatpants, and more all passed by. Remus was reminded of the smallness of the world, and again of the strangeness of this whole endeavor.

"Here you be." James parked the car, narrowly missing a 20-something-year-old woman in six-inch heels. "You got everything okay? I'd offer to help with your bags – ahem, bag – but."

"I'm fine, thank you. And thanks again for taking me to the airport." Remus opened the door and as he was walking away, he heard James yell something that he had to ask to be repeated after he walked back to the car.

"I said be safe. But not too safe," James said, grinning.

"Sound advice," Remus muttered. "Good bye. Say hello to Lily for me."

Remus had only flown a small handful of times in his life, and every time he did it, he was reminded of how much he absolutely could not stand it.

Besides the fact that this flight was approximately 10 hours and 13 minutes long, there were many things Remus hated about airports and airplanes that transcended the length of the flight.

There was security.

Flying from London to almost anywhere else generally required security that wasn't completely bloody frustrating. However, flying from London to anywhere in the US required what seemed extremely intensive security. He got pulled aside from the line, barefoot and belt-less, because he had nail clippers in his suitcase. Nail clippers. He brought a water bottle from home and couldn't take it past security because it was over 100 milliliters. It got thrown away. Luckily, at that point, the line of people waiting to go through the same torture was so backed up that the security guards let Remus go.

There were delays.

Why, he didn't know, but Remus' flights were always delayed. Without fail. This one was, by no means, an exception. It got delayed two hours. He'd heard horror stories from colleagues about flights that got delayed for much longer than that, so Remus tried to be grateful, but it was hard to be grateful when he hadn't much to do besides playing on his phone and that small book of crossword puzzles he stuck in his bag. Luckily, as it took him forever to find his gate, that burned time. He ended up burning more by standing on the moving sidewalks like a child would.

Once one was on the plane, there were other passengers.

Remus was lucky enough not to be placed in the same row as a 500-pound man, or a screaming and kicking child, or a sick person. He was fortunate enough even to have a window seat. But directly behind him was that kicking child, and that 500-pound man was directly in front and insisted on leaning back his chair all the way. The sick person was actually multiple people, and they were all around the plane, coughing and sniffling and just generally infecting everyone aboard. One was the flight attendant. Remus thought bitterly that if he could make it to Vegas and back without dying, he'd be ecstatic, and would never fly again.

There was the shitty food.

The choices for dinner on this particular flight were cold pasta with pieces of some sort of meat scattered around in it, or some sort of veggie casserole that looked more like the people in charge of the airline's food put all of their almost-expired non-meat items in a bowl and stuck it in a blender. One also received some sort of unidentified substance in a white container that Remus later figured out to be yogurt. The airline did provide crackers and Nutella.

Remus ordered scotch, though he wasn't generally a big drinker on airplanes (with the exception of his Friday escapades with James, he wasn't much of a drinker, period, but this flying experience was proving to be unbearable). With it, he downed some sleeping pills and was out past breakfast; he was woken up by the flight attendant so he could put his tray up, and then it was announced that they had landed in McCarran International Airport, Las Vegas, Nevada.

Once he got off of that godforsaken flight, Remus made his way through the considerably-less-crowded-than-Heathrow-but-still- fairly-crowded airport, past the "Welcome to Las Vegas" signs, and down to where he could pick up a cab. As he was outside waiting for it, he noticed that the weather wasn't nearly as intense as the website he had looked at foresaw. He figured that he probably wouldn't be spending much time outside, anyway.

His hailed cab arrived and the driver politely offered to put his suitcase in the trunk, Remus politely declining. His hotel was at the very end of the Las Vegas Strip, a little bit off of it, so Remus' cab drove past all of it. Remus gaped. Of all that he had heard of Vegas from TV shows and movies, colleagues, and his own personal conceptions, he had never thought Vegas could be like this.

It was beautiful. It was unforgiving. It was full of possibilities.

For four nights, Remus could completely reinvent himself. There was no Remus The Office Worker or Remus With The Bad Relationship History – here, in this very strange city full of strangers and many nameless beautiful people, Remus could be Remus. He didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. He had no obligations. He may as well have been spontaneously erupted from the desert sand. He had no ties, he had no "life" back "home." He was, for all intents and purposes, free.

The cab driver pulled up in front of Remus' hotel and, feeling generous, Remus gave him a much larger tip than was truly required (although that may have partially been because Remus wasn't sure how to tip in America and he was less than familiar with the exchange rate). He left the cab and stood in front of the hotel as it drove away. It was a colossal building with God-knows-how-many floors. The blue sky contrasted its yellow-y tinge. Remus never really considered himself afraid of heights, but if he was truly on one of those floors, that high, there could potentially be a problem.

Bellboys rushed to help him with his lone bag and Remus immediately felt something like claustrophobia. He had to say thrice that he was fine, truly, he didn't need any help, the bag wasn't that heavy, really. The bellboys didn't look discouraged at all and quickly moved on, just as enthusiastically, to the next tourist.

The queue at check-in was rather short and an affable-looking lady served him within five minutes of his arrival. She asked for his name.

"Remus Lupin."

She talked to him while looking at her computer screen and typing. "I love your accent! Where are you from?"

"London."

"That's really neat. Not a lot of British people come here." She typed on her computer, her red-lipsticked grin filling up much of her face so comfortably that Remus wondered how much of what she was saying she actually meant. "You're on the thirty-fifth floor, room 3535. Enjoy your stay, and if there's anything at all you need, feel absolutely free to call down."

"Thank you."

The thirty-fifth floor, of course. He should've requested something closer to the ground, but he didn't want to look like a baby going back to the counter, so he went up to his floor instead. He reached his room and slid the credit-card-key into the door, opening it.

Like most everything else in Remus' life, his hotel room was extremely average. It had that hotel smell that was clearly universal as he had smelled it too in hotels in other countries. There was a queen bed against the wall, across from a flat-screen TV. There was a desk with a notepad. There was a bedside table and a cozy chair in the corner with an accompanying end table. The closet, upon inner inspection, had a bathrobe. The bathroom was very standard, equipped with white towels, mini-shampoos and conditioners and soaps, and a hairdryer.

The view was easily the best part. Remus couldn't believe all the mountains. He also had a view of the majority of the Strip.

It was only 6 pm there, but Remus' jet lag was unbelievable and he was exhausted. He had been in Heathrow for a least three hours, maybe more, he couldn't really remember anymore, and on a plane for 10 and a half. Vegas' time zone was 8 hours behind London and that plus all the time spent in the time-zone-less-ness of sleep made him all the more tired (said sleep aside). Remus was, however, starving. He found the room service menu and ordered a plain hamburger. Once it came up and it was consumed, Remus fell into a refreshing sleep, still not quite believing he had done all of this.

Remus hadn't set an alarm and he justified it by saying that he was on vacation and shouldn't be adhering to a schedule, when in reality, he just forgot, being so tired. Turned out, however, that he needed no alarm because he woke up at 7 am. It was much too early to go down to the casino, if it was even open. (Were casinos open 24 hours?) He decided to take a bath, skip breakfast, and explore the Strip.

While getting dressed he worried about looking like a tourist but realized that basically everybody here was a tourist. It wasn't like London where one could pick out the non-Londoners at first glance. Las Vegas was synonymous with tourism. So he grabbed whatever clothes he felt like, his camera, and he was out the door.

As he wasn't quite on the Strip, he had to walk a little ways, and the first two things he saw (that was officially on it) were the hotels Circus Circus and Riviera.

Circus Circus' gimmick stayed true to its name; the whole front of the place was designed like a circus tent. The cars checking in were under the "tent," so to speak, and the lettering was bright and gaudy. As it was daytime, the building as a whole looked kind of dull, and he wondered if all of Vegas was like that during the day.

The Riviera was quite astounding, and naturally, its gimmick was water. It had a million lights in different designs on the side, including the word SPLASH in huge letters, the S of which was shaped as a very flexible woman. Towards the ground of the blue building were many ads for a bunch of American companies.

He kept walking down the Strip. Wynn and Encore at Wynn were plain black buildings but curved in one way or another. Treasure Island, another curved building, had all these pirate-themed items in front of it.

The Venetian was beautiful. It looked like Italy, although Remus figured that was probably the appeal and tourist-trap-ness of it. It was a replica of the essence of Venice, with little boats and ferrymen in the water around it. The Venetian made Remus wonder if he truly made the right choice in choosing his hotel (but remembered what its prices were surely like and stopped moping).

The Quad Resort and Casino was a very large, white building. It was very sleek, occasionally decorated with different colors. There were many people walking around it, even for how early in the morning it was.

Down the Strip some more were Caesar's Palace, Flamingo, and Harrah's. Caesar's Palace looked just as elegant as it sounded, big and white and regal, with a huge pool in front of it with a fountain and a statue. Flamingo's main outward characteristic was the bright pink shape under the name of the hotel. It looked a bit like a crown; it itself was so flamboyant that Remus couldn't understand what demographic the designers could possibly have been reaching out towards. Harrah's was quite plain, but the entryway did display some interesting statues and a globe-shaped logo with stars that stated its name.

Bellagio and Bally's were next down the block. Bellagio was a large, curved building, with the center like a large tower. It had a spectacular fountain out front. Bally's had the most intriguing entryway, made up of many arches with its name displayed on the first. Pillars surrounded the entry.

A little further down the Strip were Paris and Cosmopolitan. Paris, naturally, had a fairly large replica of the Eiffel Tower next to it. There was also a hot air balloon statue. The building itself was pretty as well, sticking out in several different directions and sporting an interesting roof. The Cosmopolitan was rather plain – a big black building. Remus was almost let down.

Equally spaced out from each other down the Strip were Planet Hollywood, Mandarin Oriental, and Monte Carlo. Planet Hollywood itself was curved in the opposite direction of all the other curved buildings. It had something like a long blue wave bordering it that advertised different things. Mandarin Oriental was not as interesting as its name; it was a tall, sleek building, but did randomly curve in the middle. Monte Carlo was another curved building, but it had an elegant entryway, sort of arched, but very European looking.

There was one last bunch at the end of the Strip, and it consisted of New York New York, Excalibur, and MGM Grand.. New York New York was actually quite interesting; it was designed like the skyline of New York City, with a replica of The Statue of Liberty in front of it and everything. There was a roller coaster looped around it. Excalibur, as one could guess, was shaped as a castle, with a bridge and two buildings branching off from it. It almost looked like a big children's playground. MGM Grand had multiple branches, and one was like a staircase. There was a large statue of a lion in front of it, fitting its gimmick perfectly.

All in all, Remus couldn't believe that with all these choices he picked a hotel so workaday.

He took his time wandering, and got lunch and everything. He took a nap in his hotel room and by the time he woke up, it seemed like an acceptable time and level of darkness outside to go down to the casino. Remus dressed in a plain black button-down and matching trousers.

The casino was sparsely populated this early in the night. There were a couple people on the slots and a small poker game over there. It looked exactly like the casinos that Remus had seen in movies and the very few that he had been to back home. The carpet had a crazy pattern and there were lights everywhere even the place was, overall, quite dim. There were a ton of slots and a ton of tables that would hold many different kinds of games that would definitely be totally full in a couple hours. Remus decided to start on the slots as he hadn't gambled much and needed to get reacquainted with betting away all of his money.

The slot machine he chose was terrifically traditional, which is exactly what he wanted. He wanted a classic slot machine because oftentimes the original was the best, like how the original Monopoly is better than all the novelty versions. This one had sevens, fruits (including cherries, grapes, and lemons), bells, miscellaneous letters, etc. This particular machine had 20 lines.

It shocked Remus how simple slot machines were. There was no real strategy – put in cash, press the button for max lines, see how much money one won or lost. The pay table was posted near the machine – two cherries are five dollars, five cherries are a thousand dollars, five tens are 50 dollars, so on and so forth. And despite all this, still, people say how "good" or "bad" they are at slots.

That being said, Remus found he was quite mediocre at slots. He did a dollar for each line - $20 per spin – and either made back his money or lost $10 or so, sometimes gaining $10 or so, meaning in the end, he was simply in equilibrium.

First spin – two lines out of twenty. 4 dollars. Profit of -16 dollars.

Second spin – two lines out of twenty. 10 dollars. Profit of -10 dollars.

Third spin – one line out of twenty. 20 dollars. Profit of 0 dollars.

Fourth spin – two lines out of twenty. 10 dollars. Profit of -10 dollars.

Fifth spin – three lines out of twenty. 60 dollars! Profit of 40 dollars!

Sixth spin – eight lines out of twenty. 41 dollars. Profit of 21 dollars!

The night went on like this, and it went on for hours. When Remus realized he was tired, he looked at his watch, and found it was midnight. He had made about $50, which he knew was less in pounds, but considering it was his first night in Vegas, he was pretty proud of it.

The casino was now completely packed. Remus hadn't realized how insane Las Vegas would be at this time of year, Christmas season and all that. Everybody was obviously on holiday and they all clearly decided to spend their holiday here. Taking a precursory look around before he made his way over to the bar to celebrate his minor achievement before returning to his room for the night, he noticed all the table games were full or near full, and almost all of the slots were taken. The bar to which he was walking was, too, almost completely full, and Remus thought himself lucky (how appropriate in this location) to have even found a stool. The barkeep was a 20-something year old woman who looked exceedingly fake, like the woman who checked him in the day before. The women at the bar, and the rest of the casino for that matter, wore skimpy dresses and heels that looked terribly painful. The men around wore button-down shirts, not unlike Remus', and plain slacks and dress shoes. Everybody wore fairly dark colors.

The barkeep walked over to where he was sitting and leaned on the counter. "What can I get for you, sweetie?"

Remus requested several different brands of beer, all of which the barkeep ever-so-patiently told him they didn't have. Remus actually lost patience first, though he responded politely.

"Whichever kind you recommend, then."

She brought him a bottle with a brand name he didn't recognize, which didn't really surprise him. When he took the first sip of it, he immediately wanted to spit it out. James told him American beer tasted like piss. He wasn't wrong.

After attempting a few more sips and then giving up, Remus put an appropriate amount of money on the table to cover the beer and a tip for the barkeep (which may actually have been too much as Remus still wasn't completely comfortable with American currency, though he figured she deserved extra for putting up with him). He began to make his way out of the casino to go back to his room and sleep.

It was difficult making his way out, what with people packed in every crevice of the place. He was looking around for a different way out that didn't involve shoving people aside when all of a sudden his eyes landed on a particular blackjack table about ten meters to his left.

Every seat at the table was full, and there were several spectators behind the seated players who at that moment were dead silent, as was everyone else at the table. Chips and cards littered the table and the intense eyes of the players and spectators bore holes into all of it. All of a sudden everybody at and around the table burst into sound, a mixture of laughter, cries of joy, and groans reaching Remus' ears. Some players were high-fiving their spectators and each other with huge grins; others were burying their heads in their hands as they handed over their precious chips. Moments of this activity passed before the next round began and those who had won the previous bet even more with smug smirks plastered on their now-wealthier faces, and those who had lost the previous did the same but with very somber countenances.

All of this registered in his mind as he simultaneously found a clear pathway out of the casino on the other side of the table. But this particular ambition – to leave – was derailed when Remus had come close enough to the table to see the blackjack dealer.

He was a man in his mid-20s. He had dark, wavy hair that tumbled down to his shoulders and wore a black vest over a dark gray button-down long-sleeved shirt and black trousers. From anybody else's vantage point, this man looked just like any other person who worked at the casino.

But Remus could see everything, and, oh, was it mesmerizing!

He shuffled with extreme skill, with very flexible hands. He dealt cards like it was his life's purpose – like it was the only thing he wanted to do, or had ever done. While many of the other tables' dealers had shuffling machines, he did it himself, and it was brilliant. Although Remus couldn't hear the words that were being spoken at the table, he could tell that the man was being quite flirty with the lady players and spectators. The males at the table looked to revere him – as if this man was everything they wished they could be. The man's face was tanned – no doubt a result from the location of his trade – and his smile was so wide and genuine that Remus could feel its radiance from the distance.

Then, all of a sudden, the man looked at Remus.

Remus didn't know why; had the man just been looking around and happened to have spot him? From this head-on perspective, though, he could see him much more accurately, and if Remus were honest with himself, there was one thought that came to him immediately:

He was beautiful.

He had very defined cheekbones and olive-colored skin. He had silver-colored eyes, and they were currently locked on Remus' own. Remus couldn't breathe, couldn't remember how to do so, and no discernible thoughts went through his head except breathe, you imbecile!

After what seemed like both an eternity and a second, the blackjack dealer looked back towards his players and spectators, and the moment was over. Remus quickly made his way back to his hotel room.

Clearly he was still fairly jet-lagged, because he woke up at about 1 o'clock in the afternoon – although that may have had something to do with how late he went to bed last night, because frankly, he couldn't even remember having gone to bed really. The last thing he remembered was rushing out of the casino after looking at the extremely attractive blackjack dealer – an experience which, now, served to both humiliate and thrill him.

How could he get so carried away after simply looking at somebody? He didn't even know the man's name, for God's sake! And after all of those promises to himself that he wouldn't do this when he got to America...well, actually, Remus justified to himself, he had only said he wouldn't go looking for any sort of relationship or one-night-stand in America. Ogling a blackjack dealer constituted neither a relationship nor a one-night-stand. So it was really morally okay, right?

There was still time to kill before it was an acceptable time to go down to the casino again – although he was slightly afraid to, now. Naturally, he had researched things to do during the day, and one of things he wanted to do was head over to hike at Mt. Charleston, and if he wasn't too tired after that, do some hiking at Red Rock Canyon.

What Remus hadn't realized was that Mt. Charleston was nearly an hour from his hotel. So instead, he went straight to Red Rock Canyon by taxi – it was about half an hour away and the drive wasn't too expensive, thankfully.

It was actually quite comfortable that day in the desert, with the sky clear, the weather perfect for hiking. RRC had 24 possible hiking trails, some of which were over 16 kilometers and others that were closer to 3 km. Apparently one of their most popular trails was the Ice Box Trail, which Remus decided to do first. It was almost 5 km, the whole thing, and for the most part did not look very strenuous.

The trail went through the canyon. It was kind of interesting as far as hikes go – generally hikes required passing many different things, trees and rivers and creeks and all that, but this one just casually went through the canyon. It was very defined. The trail went on the side of the canyon towards the bottom. There were many boulders. The canyon truly was huge – tall and beautiful. At the end of the "non-strenuous" part of the trail was a very large pine tree, but one could go further to reach a spring, which he decided to do.

When he finally reached the pool at the top, which was a hell of a trail, he saw just how beautiful the trail had been. The pool had a waterfall; all behind it he could see the canyon. It truly was something. He took about a million pictures just of the pool and the waterfall, compared to the much fewer he had taken of the (albeit much less interesting) canyon.

He walked all the way back with the intention of doing a different trail but found himself reluctant. What he really wanted to do was go back to the casino to see the blackjack dealer again – to see his stunning smile and talented hands. When Remus realized what exactly he was thinking, he made himself go on three different trails (all of which showed him different views of basically the same thing) before he left back for the hotel.

It greatly irritated Remus that he basically ruined his own day by becoming somewhat obsessed about a man whose name he did not know and whom he had not seen at a point closer than 10 meters.

By the time he angrily bathed and put on fresh clothes to go down to the casino, it was in the swing of evening. The casino was once again packed and Remus found he couldn't recognize a single face that he may have seen yesterday. The bartender and various servers he saw around all seemed different as well. He could feel his heart sinking – what if the man wasn't at the table today?

Remus need not have worried, however. Not even bothering with the slots today, he did little wandering before finding the table, once again filled with players and spectators of various emotional states. Actually, it was almost filled – despite the numerous spectators, there was one space open at the table, at the far left. Remus slipped in without ceremony but gave a pointed look in the direction of the dealer.

When the dealer looked at him, Remus found he lost his breath yet again. The stunning silver of his irises, the olive tone of his skin, the brilliant radiance of his smile – it all came alive at this much closer distance. Suddenly, Remus realized the man's lips (long and thin) were moving. He was leaning closer to Remus to aid the conversational process in such a ridiculously boisterous environment.

"Pardon?" Remus asked. The first word he hears me say, all because I wasn't listening to the first word he said.

"Welcome." Good God. The voice matched the one in Remus' dreams. It was worth a million words, though he had only spoken one – it was low and illogically seductive, though that may well have been Remus' hopeful bias putting in its two pennies worth. It presumed no knowledge of its recipient but portrayed the thought that maybe its speaker could potentially read minds. In one word Remus was hopelessly exposed, aroused, and maybe a little frightened. And intrigued.

The voice kept going. "Are you familiar with the rules of blackjack?"

Remus immediately shed his fearful front, taking on the appearance of a confident winner, ready to take down the game. Certainly not someone who was turned on by the word "welcome." "Of course."

The man smiled, close-lipped. Suddenly another player chirped, "Come on, Sirius. We all have our bets down!"

Sirius.

Remus looked for the table's minimum and put down a bet as well. Not exactly a bet that exuded confidence, but he didn't want to be reckless. Even in a foreign country, in the face of an extremely attractive man whose name he just learned 15 seconds ago, he could not force himself to be reckless.

After oh-so-skillfully shuffling the deck, which was emblazoned with the casino's logo, Sirius dealt the cards efficiently and smoothly, not breaking a sweat. All five players at the table got their cards in no time. Each was face-up, Sirius' being one face-up and one face-down. As Remus was on the far left, Sirius turned to him first, saying nothing, then looked down at Remus' cards.

Remus had a king and an ace. At his first blackjack game, he had blackjack.

Remus couldn't help laughing as all of his counterparts at the table just stared – in some cases, glared. He looked at none of them and smiled at Sirius. "Beginner's luck, yeah?"

As the other players turned to each other or their spectators and grumbled, Sirius leaned forward. Remus found how amazing he smelled. Under the guise of giving Remus the appropriate number of tokens, he said in that low, almost husky voice, "There are people at this table who have been playing in these seats for three days now and haven't gotten a single blackjack. Look twice and they'll be picking your pockets."

Remus laughed.

Sirius went through the other four players. Two hit, two stood. The ending scores were 19, 18, 20, and 20. Sirius had 20. Angry groans and happy clapping filled the noise around them, and suddenly, Remus felt like an outsider. Perhaps it was just British etiquette, but he just didn't get so excited about things like this. Especially considering how small everyone's bets were, why were they so angry about losing? Or so happy about winning? Baffling.

Remus' Round Two was nearly as successful as his first – of course, he didn't get blackjack again, but he made it to 21 in three cards. Sirius got 20 again and nobody else at the table won, moderately angering everybody.

"No need to be so unhappy, now," Sirius said consolingly, dealing out the cards yet again, "you all know well enough by now how quickly the game can change for you."

Remus got blackjack.

"Unless you're that guy!" an angry, drunk American woman yelled from the other side of the table. "He's been winning all night! He's cheating, dammit!"

"He's played three rounds," Sirius said politely, though Remus could clearly see the strain on his face from trying not to laugh. "I think he's just very lucky." The lady turned away, frustrated, talking to the man next to her. While everyone else at the table was momentarily distracted by the outburst, Sirius took the moment to say to Remus, "Some of the people here, I tell you..."

"Though it never gets boring, does it."

"Not at all," Sirius agreed, winking at Remus before turning to the man to Remus' left.

That round, Sirius bust, which greatly pleased everyone at the table.

The night progressed with minimal losses on Remus' side, which he found fairly surprising. Like slots the night before, he knew it was illogical to say one was "good" or "bad" at blackjack, but for all intents and purposes, Remus was pretty damn good at blackjack.

What scared him, though, was that he would have willingly wasted away all of his money just to spend some more time with Sirius. He would have taken out loans to keep on playing at that blackjack table. It was completely illogical and just plain ridiculous. Remus knew nothing about this man besides the personality traits he was able to gauge just from the occasional words they shared during the night – and even then, those personality traits may just have been the way casino employees tend to act. It wasn't like they could be rude to their players, after all. What Remus first thought was flirting was in fact nothing at all.

And it didn't matter, because Remus just kept on playing.

After his second hour or so playing, Sirius had asked for his name, and Remus gave it to him in full. Sirius responded, "You can call me Sirius," clearly not knowing that Remus had not only heard his name from one of the other players, but had been calling him that in his own head for the past two hours.

Somewhere in the third hour, Sirius had asked where he was from, although Remus was sure he could guess. "London," he said said.

"Ah," said Sirius, probably feigning surprise, and dealing out the cards once more. "Quite a ways from home."

"Yes, but I'm finding it surprisingly bearable."

Sirius had laughed, a barking sound that Remus found strangely pleasant. Remus was so impressed with himself that he could make the man laugh, and it kept him smiling through the whole round, which confused the other players when he bust.

During the rest of the game, Sirius asked Remus what he did for a living, why he was visiting, and, lastly (and most curiously), if he had "found any pretty American girls."

Remus chose his answer carefully. "I suppose I haven't been paying much attention."

He knew the polite small-talk meant nothing, really, since that had to be part of his job. He watched Sirius make small talk (albeit shorter in length) with all of the other players, too. The shortness was probably due to the other players having been playing at the table for what Sirius said was days.

He hadn't noticed so much time had passed until a young woman, wearing the same uniform as all other other card dealers in the casino, came to the table where Sirius was standing. After a moment's deliberation, Sirius turned to the players and said, "That concludes my portion of the show this evening. Kelly will be taking over now. Best of luck to all of you – good night!"

Remus waited until Sirius was clearly out of sight with little to no chance of turning back, and then stood up and made to leave the casino. The rest of the players stayed and none paid him mind when he got up.

He looked at his watch as he opened the double doors to leave. It was four in the morning! Just how much time had he spent down there!?

The moment he looked at his watch, he was hit by a sudden, overpowering wave of tiredness. He couldn't remember how many hours he'd been up, and he couldn't remember how many of those hours were spent hiking trails in a futile attempt to get a certain blackjack dealer off his mind.

When he got up to his room, he barely mustered the energy to change his clothes into sleeping wear before pretty much passing out in his bed.

The last thing he could remember thinking before sleep overtook him was the unreadable look on Sirius' face after Remus had answered his last question.

Oh, God.

It was five in the afternoon when Remus woke up. He had crashed before setting an alarm – although, when he thought about it, he figured that even if he had set an alarm, he probably would have slept through it.

The thing was, Remus never slept in so late. On weekends he'd get up promptly at 8 a.m. to do errands, work out, whatever needed to be done. And he, of course, needed to wake up early for work. "Sleeping in," even until 10 or 11 or perhaps noon, was simply unheard of. So the fact that Remus was waking up when other people were just getting home from work was mind-boggling and kind of depressing. Not entirely sure how to proceed with his day, he decided to take a shower and think things over.

After he turned it on, he stripped and got in, a thousand warm water droplets greeting his still-tired body. He was desperately trying to shake off that groggy feeling that cruelly accommodates sleeping more than 10 hours (or, in his case, 13). He let the water hit his face in a fairly successful attempt to wake himself up. After making himself a tad more alert, he grabbed the hotel's tiny shampoo canister and let his mind wander to the matter at hand.

He was hungry, so he'd have to grab dinner. It'd probably be most efficient to go to one of the restaurants in the hotel. Easy enough. But what about after that? It wasn't like he had time to do any tourist-y things. But it seemed a bit ridiculous to go straight to the casino considering he just woke up.

At the thought of the casino, Sirius floated into Remus' mind. The brilliant smile, that low, seductive voice, those skillful hands...

Oh, God, he thought for the second time that afternoon. In no time at all, Remus realized he was hard. From – what? Thinking about the man's hands? Jesus. Remus had done worse, of course – becoming hard in the shower was nothing. But he felt considerably more scandalous because it was due to thoughts of a man he barely knew. He didn't even know his last name, for God's sake!

There came that moment of indecision – to take care of the problem, or to go on like normal.

Only now Remus couldn't get any sort of picture of Sirius out of his head, and his head seemed more than capable of creating new and dirtier pictures the longer he ignored his straining cock.

Sirius, pinned against the shower wall as Remus ravished him.

Sirius, on his knees, that cocksure smile wrapped around Remus' member.

Sirius, his back to Remus as Remus buried himself in him...

Remus hadn't even realized he had been touching himself before he was coming with a low groan, riding out his orgasm.

Then came the guilt.

What had he just done!? This whole situation was beyond weird, probably beyond creepy. The same thoughts as before drifted into his head – he didn't know him, he had just met him a couple days ago (and, for real, only yesterday), etc., etc...

Remus tried to calm himself down as he finished showering and got out to dry off. Everybody had a sex drive, right? And sometimes, you weren't able to control what you got aroused by, right? So it wasn't that creepy that Remus got off to thoughts of Sirius, even though they barely knew each other. It was just his body's natural reaction to prolonged (well, sort of prolonged) exposure to an attractive person. It would only be creepy if he tried to come on to Sirius within a couple days of meeting him. And that wasn't happening. So he was all set.

Stress level alleviated for the time being, Remus got dressed and left the room to go to one of the hotel's restaurants for dinner before heading to the casino. To play blackjack. With Sirius. Again.

He chose the restaurant on the first floor, which seemed like a sports bar. Each TV was playing a different sport, it appeared, and the whole place was lit quite darkly except for the bright bar in the center. He went in and was sat by a young hostess with too much makeup. When he ordered a hamburger from yet another young waitress, she asked with something akin to a squeal, "Oh my God, I love your accent! Where are you from?" Remus answered as politely as he could, but he wasn't really in the chatting kind of mood. He was starving, and then he had somewhere to be.

He ate quickly and paid, remembering to leave a tip for the waitress as he was walking out (and he had to walk back and put a few dollars on the table). He went to the casino, trying not to think about how excited he was to see a certain blackjack dealer again.

Remus walked in slowly and pretended to amble around a little so as not to appear like he had a supreme mission. He then made his way to the card tables, and to Sirius'.

But Sirius was not there.

He recognized tonight's dealer as the same woman who took over for Sirius last night. Had Sirius already had his shift tonight and Remus missed it? Or perhaps Remus was simply early? He walked around a little to the other tables to see if Sirius had simply changed tables for the night, but to no avail. He was simply not there tonight.

Suddenly, he had no urge for gambling. This is ridiculous, Remus thought. So if Sirius wasn't there, would Remus pout and just go back to his room? Is that how it would be? He came to Las Vegas to get away from the tribulations of his home life and maybe make a little money while he was at it. He did not go there to pine after some American bloke. In fact, just the opposite – he made a promise to himself before he came to America that he would not look for any sort of romantic attachment while he was there. That just wasn't the purpose of the trip.

It didn't change the fact, though, that Remus was terribly disappointed at this unfortunate change of events. Trying to mask his disappointment, he decided to go to the bar – not ordering beer this time – and then maybe play slots or something, once he got his spirits up (no pun intended).

He took a seat at the bar, and surprisingly, the bartender was the same woman it had been the previous time he sat at the bar. "What'll it be, sweetie?" she asked, and from her tone, Remus couldn't tell if she remembered him or not. He wasn't sure why she would, though – he had only spent, like, ten minutes at the bar last time.

Remus ordered whiskey and she brought it to him quite quickly. After one sip, he could tell it was much better than that beer-piss he ordered last time.

He was about halfway done with the glass when a low, familiar voice on his right said "Hello, stranger."

When Remus turned, he found no one other than Sirius, smiling. "No games tonight?"

Remus was completely speechless. "I, ah – you know. Just getting a drink first." He held up his glass to demonstrate.

Sirius sat and the bartender came right over. "Sirius!" she laughed. "Why would you come on your day off?"

"It's not my day off," he clarified. "I had an early shift today. Was just heading home when I saw Remus here." He clapped his hand on the shoulder of the man next to him. "Figured I might as well grab a drink first." He ordered beer and the bartender went to get it.

"How much longer are you in Vegas?" Sirius asked. Remus was having a hard time just trying to process that he was here, right next to him. At the bar.

"This is my last night, actually," Remus said, finding that he had actually forgotten for a while. And he had planned originally on staying up all night! He needed to pack and whatnot. "My flight leaves tomorrow at ten."

"And you're spending your last night drinking." It wasn't so much of a question as a statement.

"I told you, just wanted a drink first. Then I may play some slots or something." Or I may just sit here for the rest of my life.

"No blackjack?"

Remus hoped he wasn't blushing. "Not tonight, mate."

The bartender brought Sirius his beer and Remus tried not to stare as he drank it. "So, what do you do?" Sirius asked.

"I work in marketing for a local company," Remus explained. Suddenly he felt like he was contributing nothing to the conversation. "Do you have a day job?"

"I work whenever they need me, so that can be day or night. I don't have a second job, if that's what you're asking." They both finished their drinks simultaneously and ordered new ones at once. "Any reason for coming here? Relatives?"

"No. I was -" Remus felt that telling him that he was forced into taking a holiday would have made him sound just a bit like a stick in the mud, so he changed it, "I wanted to take a holiday. Didn't want something like a beach."

Sirius barked out a laugh again. "Oh, of course not. Beaches are so unpleasant."

Remus found himself smiling in spite of himself, and he told Sirius the same thing he told James. "I didn't want to be a creepy old guy on the beach by himself!"

"Fair enough." Sirius swiveled on his barstool so he was facing Remus. "Tell me about yourself, Remus."

The change in subject was like whiplash, though Remus tried to look nonchalant. "Wasn't I just doing that?"

"Well, yes, but not anything interesting."

Remus seriously felt that nothing about his life would be very interesting to this man, but he gave it a shot anyway. "Alright. My name is Remus Lupin. I'm 29 years old -"

"That's not old."

"What?"

"You said you didn't want to be a creepy old guy on the beach all by yourself. 29 isn't old."

"Sorry for the inaccuracy. That's how I feel about the matter," Remus smiled a little.

After a moment's pause, Sirius made a grand gesture. "Go on."

"Oh. I was born and raised in Southampton but work out of London now and live in a pathetic little flat. I enjoy hiking and movies and the like, watching cricket and frequenting our local with my best mate. I work a lot. ...That's about it, actually," Remus finished thoughtfully.

"That's it?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"Pretty much." Remus took a deep breath. "Your turn."

"Sirius Black." Remus mused that he felt a little better about his creepy moment in the shower that morning, now knowing his last name. "I'm 25, grew up in New York. Parents both really wanted me to go to med school, but I just couldn't give them the satisfaction – so I came here instead. Ah, hobbies...I don't know. Doing what most people do, I guess – go out drinking every now and then, staying home and watching TV, feeding the dog."

Remus could not believe how totally open Sirius was being about his life. He wondered if that had something to do with the alcohol. "Parental pressure, huh."

Sirius seemed like he was desperately trying to hide a smirk but to no avail. "Things were never great back home, but I think it all blew up when I started bringing guys home at 16."

Holy shit.

Had Remus heard right? All of a sudden, his mouth seemed dry, and he couldn't figure out where his tongue was. Oh my God, say something. Anything.

When he finally found his voice (at which point Sirius was pointedly looking at him), he practically blurted, "Yes. That's why I waited to bring blokes home until I was out of my parents' house."

That was apparently the right answer, because Sirius' previously stoic face (which seemed to remain so for a moment, which Remus guessed was spent trying to figure out if that comment was sarcastic or not) broke into a huge grin. He held up his bottle, and Remus realized he was waiting for him to do the same.

Remus held up his glass and asked, "What are we toasting to?"

Sirius' grin didn't falter. "To...breaking the rules."

Remus nodded, smiling, and they clinked their drinks and finished them for the second time that night.

After they ordered new ones, Remus said, "I have to admit I'm a bit surprised. You seemed like such a ladies' man at the table last night."

"That's what they want, though." Sirius shrugged. "It's not too difficult. I was a huge ladies' man in school. This is pretty much exactly the same, except the ladies are a bit more forward here."

Remus chuckled. "That's because they're pissed."

"About what?"

Remus had no idea what he was asking until he realized that there was a mistake in translation. "Pissed," he said. "You know, drunk."

Sirius laughed that wonderful barking sound. "Oh, right. You know, here, 'pissed' means very angry."

"Yes, I remembered that as soon as I said it."

Still smiling, Sirius said, "Yeah, I guess drinking does help their confidence levels. But it doesn't matter – they know as well as I do that I'm not supposed to take home anybody I meet at work."

Remus' heart dropped. All hope he hadn't realized he had been feeling up to that point seemed crushed now. As always when Remus was overthinking things, there was a temporary lapse in conversation. Trying to recover, he said, "Yes, but do you always follow that rule?" He desperately hoped he wasn't sounding too optimistic. Or optimistic at all, really.

"It does get hard at times," Sirius admitted, almost sounding shy about the whole matter, "but it's very dangerous if I do break that rule. I could lose this job."

Remus nodded, taking this moment to take a sip of his drink in order to quickly think up a new response.

"But it isn't unheard of," Sirius added. "It has to be for a very good reason."

Was there still hope here? It was funny – Remus didn't know how badly he wanted this to happen all throughout the conversation, but now he really, really wanted it to. He still could not think of a response.

"What about you?" Sirius asked suddenly. "Have you ever met anybody special at your job?"

"Not...recently." Remus always felt awkward around this topic. "Actually, only once. It was a disaster the moment it started. Like the others." As soon as he said that, he wanted to take it back.

Sirius, though, was smiling genuinely. "And why's that?" he asked.

For a split-second, Remus debated the benefits of divulging details about his most personal issues to somebody he barely knew. After all, he wanted to get away from all of this. That was the point in coming to America. But, hell, he was never going to see this man again after tonight, right?

Remus sighed. Might as well. "I think one part of the reason is that I always pick the wrong kinds of blokes. They're always the same. You'd think I'd learn my lesson after the first two or three but I never seem to and I always make the same mistakes." Remus braced himself and went on. "The other part of the reason is probably that I have some commitment issues."

"What guys don't?" Sirius asked rhetorically.

Though Remus provided an answer anyway. "All the blokes I pick, apparently."

"Well," Sirius said with confidence, "I think everyone deserves somebody just to screw around with and not have to worry about all that commitment crap." Remus could feel heat rushing to his face. Could he possibly be saying what Remus thought he was saying?

Remus laughed nervously. "Well, if you know where to find those kinds of people, please send a few my way."

There were several moments of silence after which Remus wondered if he said the wrong thing, although he couldn't figure out what that could possibly be. Suddenly Sirius slammed his bottle onto the counter. Remus jumped but Sirius' tone was soft, practically exuding amusement. "Are you kidding me, Remus?" he said. "I'm pretty much offering myself on a silver platter here."

...What?

This couldn't be for real. There was no way in hell this was actually happening to him. Sirius wanted him? No. In what universe could this actually happen?

Remus opened and closed his mouth multiple times in a futile attempt to find words.

"It is your last night in Vegas, right?" Sirius pressed. "And I'm sure you've heard that anything that happens in Vegas doesn't leave Vegas. So? What do you say?"

Holy. Shit. This really was happening. Sirius was grinning and Remus saw suddenly what he had missing for the past two nights: that unmistakable twinkle of lust in his eyes.

Every single word in Remus' vocabulary seemed to disappear momentarily except for one, and this was the one he said. "Okay."

Even after the door to his room closed and he was pinned against it, his lips crashing passionately against another pair, Remus couldn't believe it was really happening.

By the time they had gotten back to Remus' room, he had become so addled with lust that it was probably very fortunate Sirius was holding him up like this. As Remus was thinking how improbable, if not impossible, the entire situation was, Sirius was pushing the blazer off Remus' shoulders. He was no stranger to sex, but he was something of a stranger to sex with strangers (and especially a stranger with whom he couldn't have guessed something like this would actually happen!). Remus was so focused on just trying to kiss back that he felt like the floor went out underneath him when Sirius pulled away.

"Relax," he whispered in his ear. "You're thinking too much."

Remus couldn't help but chuckle. Truth be told, he just didn't want to mess it up.

Then again...he realized that if he was already here at this point, then clearly Sirius wanted him, and that meant he was doing something right.

Not to mention that this was never going to be more than a one-time thing. If he did really screw it up, he would never have to face Sirius again. This was a one-shot thing, no strings attached.

Why not have some fun with it?

Remus nodded and connected their lips again, more fervently this time, his confidence restored. As their tongues playfully fought, Sirius began to slowly unbutton Remus' dress shirt. When he ran his hand against Remus' taut skin, Remus shivered and nearly bit Sirius' lip. Wanting, for once, to be on equal ground, Remus made quick work of his hands and slid Sirius' blazer off his shoulders and unbuttoned the dress shirt much more quickly.

To his own surprise – and probably even more to Sirius' – he pulled away and said, "I must say, you look unbelievably sexy in this. But I think it'd be even sexier if it was off."

By then, Sirius had moved to kiss Remus' jaw and neck, and Remus could feel him smile against it. "I could say the same about yours."

Both men's shirts came off simultaneously. When Sirius came back to Remus' lips and pressed against him, the latter couldn't focus on much but the delicious feeling of the skin-to-skin contact. Remus settled his hands on the other man's waist while Sirius moved his up, brushing against Remus' nipples. Goosebumps splayed themselves on Remus' flesh and he returned the favor, running his hands up Sirius' side to the chest in order to rub at the small buds.

Suddenly, their kissing became much more fevered, each pushing and pulling at each other's lips and tongues. Remus could feel his cock straining against his pants and he moaned into Sirius' mouth. At that moment, he felt himself being pulled from the wall, walked forward several steps, and then thrown forcefully onto the bed. Trying to recover from the brief moment of shock at being moved so quickly, he didn't register Sirius crawling up to him until the shorter man straddled his legs and began undoing his belt and removing his pants.

His underwear came off along with his pants – their shoes and socks having been discarded long ago – and Remus was completely naked in front of Sirius, in front of this perfect stranger. He made the move to do the same to the other man but his hands were batted away. "Time for that later," Sirius said, and slithered down so that his mouth was hovering over Remus' cock.

Remus was just trying not to freak out.

Sirius placed a perfunctory kiss to the head of his very erect member, and Remus thought for a moment that maybe this would be slow, and perhaps not too agonizing, and maybe he wouldn't embarrass himself by coming too quickly.

He was very, very wrong.

In one second, Sirius had taken Remus to the root, and his tongue was everywhere. Remus made an unintelligible noise, tangled his fingers in lengthy hair, and tried extremely hard not to buck his hips – even while Sirius pinned his hips down. Sirius' head kept bobbing, moving deftly over Remus, and the latter couldn't help thinking this may possibly have been the best blowjob he had ever received.

Sirius swallowed around his cock, making Remus moan. "Jesus, Sirius..."

His tongue swirled repeatedly around the cock it was worshiping, and one hand went up to gently stroke at Remus' balls. It was quickly becoming too much – too much -

"Oh, God – gonna -"

And just like that, Sirius pulled off of him completely. Remus felt cold air where a mouth had been, and he looked up, torn between frustration and some sort of angry longing. Before he could get out any question or complaint, Sirius had come back up, and whispered hot and breathy and lustily right in his ear, "I want you to fuck me, Remus."

If the cold air had been dampening his erection at all, that comment perked it right back up. Rarely had he been on top in his sexual endeavors, and the thought of one of these rare instances being with this man had his brain circuits on overload. He tried to think of some sexy remark, but all he could get out was a nod. Afterwards, he did manage to splutter, "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." Remus felt his hand being grabbed and something hard being pushed into it. He didn't need to look down to know what it was.

In a moment of the uncharacteristic and occasional dominance with which he seemed to be alternating back and forth tonight, he pushed Sirius off of him and onto his back on the bed. He locked his eyes on the other's, and his hands froze on the zipper he was about to pull down. In that moment he had the strange experience of staring at another person and seeing absolutely nothing but lust – no other emotions, no hidden fears – just undisguised want. And damn if that wasn't the hottest thing he had ever seen.

Not breaking eye contact, he unbuttoned and unzipped Sirius' pants and pushed them along with his underwear down his legs, and Sirius wasted no time in kicking them off. Remus grabbed the small bottle of lube and poured some onto his hand, rubbing his fingers together in an attempt to make it a little warmer. Reaching beneath Sirius, he traced the puckered hole he found and then pushed one finger in, trying to do it as gently as possible. He was rewarded with a small, quiet whine and a bit of squirming.

The second and third fingers were more of the same. Remus scissored his fingers and began pushing them in and out until Sirius' moans were quite palpable. He knew he hit his prostate when he nearly cried out, then saying, "Come on, Remus, dammit."

He didn't need more of an invitation than that. He pulled his fingers out and put more lube onto his hand, liberally coating his cock with it. With his other hand, he turned Sirius over onto his stomach, and the shorter man spread his legs without prompting. He felt an onslaught of nerves – what if he hurt him? What if he couldn't satisfy him? - but forcibly pushed them away as he lined his cock up and started sliding in. Part of the way through, he couldn't restrain himself and just pushed the rest of the way. Both moaned simultaneously, Remus' from the sheer bliss he felt at being surrounded by tight, tight heat.

It took great control on Remus' part not to just start thrusting. He waited as patiently as he could for Sirius to get adjusted (if anyone knew the first moments were not fun, it was Remus). After some time, Sirius uttered the lovely command. "Move."

He was so relieved he almost said thank you; instead, he gave one preliminary thrust and hoped that was good enough. Sirius moaned. Spurred on with some sense of abandon, Remus began thrusting in earnest. His cock went all the way in before coming almost all the way out, just to repeat over and over again. Sirius was making all kinds of noises that just made Remus even hotter for him – mostly grunts, but also fragments of Remus' name and the occasional "Oh, God, harder." The last let Remus know exactly what the perfect angle was.

It was dirty. It was lusty. It was fucking – and that was all. That was what made it all the better.

Due to all the stimulation prior to the big event, Remus knew he wasn't going to last long, and by Sirius' sounds, it didn't seem like the other would, either. Remus brought him so he was sitting on his knees, the purpose of which was twofold: it yielded a much better angle, giving Remus the opportunity to hit Siruis' prostate with every thrust for however long was left; and it allowed Remus to reach under the two of them to start fervently stroking Sirius' cock.

This new position did not let either last long. In short moments, Sirius came with a loud cry. It was this noise that brought Remus over the edge, ending with one last thrust.

He pulled out of Sirius and they lay side-by-side, simply panting. They both had ridiculous grins on their faces.

"Hey, mate! How was it all?" James and Remus embraced in the terminals outside of Heathrow Airport, where the ever-faithful Corolla was.

"It was wonderful," Remus said honestly.

"What'd you do, then?" They got in the car and started on the way to their usual pub, where they would catch up before Remus retired to bed for a week.

"Whatever one does in Vegas," he said vaguely. "Gamble. Drink. Do tourist things."

"Did you win anything?" James asked excitedly.

Did he win anything? Remus knew James meant money, and frankly, he hadn't even counted what he had won from his escapades at the slots and blackjack. That morning, his biggest concern had been frantically throwing everything in his suitcase to make it back to the airport in time. (He wouldn't even start on the security at American airports. Jesus.)

Then there was the whole morning-after business. Remus thought with an already-nostalgic smile that that morning had been much more pleasant than his usual next-mornings.

The flight left at 10 am, which meant that at 7:30 and not being at all packed or dressed, Remus was quite screwed.

There was the initial moment of "where am I" when he woke up which quickly faded when he saw the time, the very attractive and sleeping form next to him, and the complete mess that surrounded his suitcase.

Trying to be stealthy but more focused on being quick, Remus slipped out of bed towards the suitcase and started throwing everything haphazardly inside, putting on his last set of clean clothes.

Just when he figured he'd write a note to Sirius for when he woke up – keeping it classy – he heard, "Remus?"

Although he knew it could only be one person, he very slowly turned his head towards the source of the sound. Sirius was now sitting up, smiling and, well, looking quite normal. "When's your flight leave?"

"Ten." Sirius seemed totally cool, which was nothing new. Remus fancied himself astonished at the fact that he, too, felt no awkwardness at the moment.

Remus finished putting his shirt on and throwing everything in his suitcase, shutting it. When he turned back around, he was grabbed by the back of the neck and another pair of lips pressed against his. Considering the heat last night, this was fairly soft.

When Sirius pulled away, Remus found he had managed to get dressed in that short time, his blazer over one arm. Sirius put one hand on his chest. "Come see me if you ever get to Vegas again."

Remus could only nod and watched as Sirius walked to the door and opened it. "See you around, Remus," and he was gone.

"Yes, but I can't remember how much I got."

James began talking about an adorable thing baby Harry did the other day, and while Remus was sort of listening, he thought about the question again.

He decided that though his monetary gainings were a success, and therefore a "win" in the book, he thought that perhaps his decision to be single for a while was the best success of all.

A/N: And the promised note! So basically when I wrote out the plot for this I didn't think it'd be such a nightmare. I've never written AU. This piece ended up requiring so much research because I was so paranoid about getting facts wrong. And it ended up being extremely long – the longest thing I've ever written for fanfic, in fact. It feels almost like a research paper to me – but when I got to the sex scene, all of a sudden I couldn't write it. I had writer's block at the one spot where I didn't have to research anything! Why am I telling you all this? I think, in part, I needed to get it out. I'm also hoping it will make you want to review more, once you realize how much went into this!

So, basically. It's in the world now, and it's done. You have no idea how much I'd appreciate any and all comments. (Except flames, you know. Those aren't cool.)