Kate Beckett was a native New Yorker. She'd attended Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, was familiar with Broadway crowds, had seen the ball drop at Times Square – yet none of those experiences quite prepared her for the gaudiness of the incredible display of lights on the Strip. She and her companion – had they exchanged names yet? – gaped in wonder out of their respective windows as the cab drove along at its own pace, the cabbie evidently enjoying their awe of his city.

At least, she thought they were staring out their respective windows.

"Amazing, isn't it?" His voice sent a shiver down her spine, husky and low in her ear. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him crowding her side of the backseat, his face only inches from hers. Once more, she found her gaze flickering down to his lips, wondering if he was as good a kisser as she was beginning to think he might be.

"It's perfect," she whispered, meeting his eyes again, and their gazes lingered.

The brakes slammed on, breaking the moment as they were both jolted forward in their seats. Her reflexes were considerably slower, his too, yet they managed to brace their hands on the plexiglass separating them from the front seat before the rest of their bodies could connect with it. The cabbie muttered something about a jerk, before apologizing to them.

"Where are we going?" Kate asked, settling back in the seat, the handsome stranger now pressed against her side, gazing past her out her window.

"Nowhere," he replied, murmuring the words against her ear. "Everywhere."

"So we're just gonna drive?" she asked.

"He was going to long haul us anyway, may as well let him do it legally."

She chuckled to herself as her eyes fell on a brightly-lit chapel out the window.

"What?" he asked, smiling from her sudden, drunken, burst of laughter.

"Oh, I was just thinking..." She shook her head, and then shrugged. "What's the most cliché thing to do in Vegas? And then the wedding chapel we just passed answered that question for me."

Her companion glanced out the window. "The drive-thru chapel?"

"Yeah," she replied, still smiling. "That'd show them," she murmured.

"Hey, can you turn in there?" her companion said suddenly.

Both she and the cab driver looked at him in surprise. "You sure about that?" the cabbie asked.

Kate gave him a nudge with her elbow, but her eyes were wide and she struggled to find her voice. "I am not looking to get married tonight," she spluttered. "It was just a fleeting cliché-filled thought of ultimate revenge against the abominable twat, and it's passed now."

"It's not real," he assured her. "This is Vegas."

"It's not real?" she asked, confused.

"Not unless you sign the papers and make it legal." He cocked an eyebrow. "When in Vegas, right?"

"Are you actually serious about this?"

"A fake Vegas wedding?" he asked. When she nodded, he said, "It's on my bucket list."

"The one you just decided to start?"

"That one, yes."

Kate smiled. "A fake Vegas wedding," she repeated, mulling it over.

His voice was a low hum in her ear, setting her blood on fire. "Your ex got the blondes, mine's got my kid for the weekend. We can at least get a fake marriage, complete with an Elvis impersonator."

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, so close her vision was blurring a little, and her breath hitched. "Okay. If you can guarantee the Elvis impersonator, I'm up for it."

"Yeah?" he asked, grinning.

"Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee I won't remember a second of this in the morning, so..." She looked at him long and hard. "Why the hell not. Let's do it," she said, loud enough for the cabbie to hear. She turned back to her companion, her eyes trailing up his body, taking him in slowly enough for him to notice, showing him with her eyes all the places she wanted to touch.

"A fake marriage comes with real sex, right?" she asked boldly, eyes locking on his, body tilting into him, drawn by the rich tones of his laughter.

His nose nudged the curtain of her curls at her ear, sending electricity zipping through her blood in delightful promise. "I'm counting on it." His lips made contact with her skin, just below her ear, and she melted into him as he kissed his way down her neck.

The cabbie shrugged to himself, turning in.

He got them an Elvis impersonator. He got them an honest-to-God Elvis impersonator, standing behind the drive-thru wedding window, decked out in costume, but taking it far more seriously than they were. She supposed, when it was your job, you made it authentic.

Authentic? She almost snorted. Hell, the man could have simply been wearing blue suede shoes on the other side of that window and it would have been enough for her.

Elvis kept splitting into three separate men, and then blurring back together, and God, why couldn't they just stand still? It was amazing how they managed to talk as one, though.

Shit, she was plastered. Wasted. And thankful she could stay seated through this. Seated on him. They'd switched places before pulling up to the window. Somewhere in the middle of the tunnel of love he'd slid into her spot on the backseat and tugged her onto his lap, her side pressed against his chest, his arms around her, cheeks brushing as he lowered the window and grinned at Elvis.

Words were exchanged, and she kept fading in and out, hearing snippets, until they were at the vows, and she did her best to focus.

"Do you," Elvis paused and looked at her companion in question.

"Richard," he announced.

Elvis nodded. "Richard, take thee-?"

"Katie," she supplied.

Elvis, all three of him, frowned, and then did his best to interpret her slurring. "Cadey, to be your lawful wedded wife..."

Her crazy, impulsive, sweet man with his arms wrapped around her, repeated the vows to the multiple Elvises at the drive-thru wedding window, and, when he was done, snarked something about if she wanted fries with that.

She snorted out loud this time, and then slurred her way through her own vows, getting more of the words right then he had, including her own name.

The ceremony was simple, and quick, yet as tacky as it was, somewhere deep inside Kate found herself almost wishing it was real – that a handsome man really did want her forever, that she could somehow help mend the heart of his little girl.

Having said that, it was a fun experience, and when Elvis asked for the rings, they looked at each other blankly for a moment, before she was hit by inspiration and looped her hoop earring out of their holes. She slid one onto his finger as a bubble of laughter left his lips. He copied her actions, taking the other hoop from her, and then sliding it onto her own finger. Too big for hers, she closed her fist to keep the "ring" from falling off. Finally, Elvis said it was time to kiss the bride, and something ignited within her, setting her blood on fire. She twisted on his lap until their noses brushed, and their mouths fused together, a tangle of lips and tongues and teeth and Oh, God, yes! His hands cupped her cheeks, and he kissed her harder. She sighed past his tongue, breathed moans into his mouth, and clutched at his shirt as he kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. She pulled back, shifted her knees until she was on them, straddling his thighs, and lowered herself down to meet his lips again.

"Sign here," Elvis commanded.

Her companion – husband, she internally giggled – pulled back, nipping at her lips one last time before saying, "Gotta pay, hang on." He took the paper, signed it, and handed it back, but it was quickly thrust back at them.

"You too, Miss."

"Mrs," she corrected, a playful smile on her swollen lips, before lazily scrawling her initials. Was she paying too? No, her credit card had never left her bag. Did it matter? No, she decided, almost throwing the paper back at Elvis and claiming her fake husband's lips again.

He mumbled directions to the cabbie about taking them back to his hotel, and they only parted when they arrived. He threw the cabbie a bundle of bills, which looked like far too much to her, picked up her bag, and hustled them into the thankfully empty elevator, where he continued to devastate her with his roaming hands and mouth.

She had no idea how they made it to his room.

"Oh mah mama will be ever so proud," she announced in her best drunken attempt at a southern accent as he paused to shut the door firmly behind them before guiding her toward the bed. "Ah waited til mah weddin' day so mah reputation ain't besmirched."

He hesitated, like something in his alcohol-addled brain had nudged him and told him it was a bad idea. "You sure about this?" he asked, eyes and hands still roaming her fully-clothed body.

She dropped the accent, and tried to focus her bleary eyes on him, tried to look as serious as she could. "Do I look sure?"

"You look like I'm drunk," he said in response.

She hooked a leg around his thigh, heel digging into his leg, and pressed her crotch to his. "I'm sure," she promised. "Sex, now," she commanded, sliding her slinky dress-clad body up his. "And then no more s-words, my mouth is having trouble."

"Better distract it then," he said.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her in to claim her lips once more.