What Happened in Vegas

by Gwen Martin

  “Shocker,” Luke says, voice terse.

  He wraps his arms around his stomach. He feels exposed and embarrassed and he’s got a fucking semi popping in his fucking pants that he would like to get taken care of. One of the million Jesse Montgomery porn fest fantasies that Luke has jerked himself raw to was just about to come to life right before his very eyes, and disappeared just as fast. Somehow he fucked it all up.

  “We have to look realistic,” Jesse says, slumping against the counter next to Luke, wrapping his arms over his stomach. It makes his white t-shirt ride up the side, the thin trail of hair on his stomach showing above his tight jeans.

  Luke swears he sees a bulge, but can’t say for sure with Jesse’s long legs crossed over one another. There’s a faint etching of a blush over his neck, and that makes something stir inside of Luke again.

  “Are you questioning my ability to play up the dutiful boyfriend?” Luke bites out. “Because if you’re asking for an audition, then just say it.”

  Jesse’s head snaps up, and he blinks in surprise. “What?”

  “You heard me,” Luke says, the bravery seizing control and stamping out any uncertainty he had before. “You want it to look real? Then spill. Tell me what you want and stop pussyfooting around this. We have four days until we’re supposed to be going to this shit show and I will not be the fool at the event even if the only people who will care outside of it are a bunch of sappy teenagers and house moms who have nothing better to do.” Luke pushes himself off the counter and starts walking to his bedroom. “So get your shit together and figure it out.”

  Luke slams the door for extra emphasis. Once he’s in the safety of his room, he slumps down on bed, his knees giving out. Luke feels hot all over, uncomfortable and warm. He sheds his shirt and unbuttons his jeans to give his penis some much needed relief.

  When he closes his eyes, he’s swimming in the heat of Jesse’s stare, the solid depth of his eyes, the heaviness of his palm. The heat of his body was so hot, and before Luke can even register what he’s doing, he’s pulling his dick out, spitting into his palm and wrapping it around the base. He imagines what would’ve happened if he didn’t fuck it up and let Jesse lean in to give him a sample of what could happen in Vegas. In the fantasy, Jesse pushes his thigh between Luke’s legs, their mouths crashing together in a heated kiss. Jesse’s lips are earnest, his tongue intense and his hands aggressive and firm.

  Luke fantasizes Jesse’s palm wrapping around his cock, grip tight and firm, and it doesn’t take long at all before Luke is spilling over his own hands, the mess dripping onto his stomach. He heaves several breaths until the thudding of his heart settles. He reaches for his shirt and absently cleans himself off, trying to understand what the fuck he got himself into.

  Five

  Jesse

  It’s not Jesse’s fault that their hotel room has one bed.

  He booked a room with two queens, but as he stares at the single king mattress, he can’t help but feel the cold sweat prickle over his body. Luke flops down onto the mattress, bouncing a bit before tucking his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles.

  “At least it’s comfortable.” He pats the open space next to him, waggling his eyebrows. “Want to try it out? May as well get started now.”

  Jesse tilts his head to the ceiling. “It’s not my fault a porn star convention was in the same goddamn hotel and they overbooked,” he says for the millionth time.

  “Uh huh,” Luke replies, unconvinced.

  “I’m serious!” Jesse says, going to the closet to hang up their suits, distracting himself by unpacking his bag.

  “Maybe I should check it out,” Luke muses. “We haven’t bought a wedding gift for the couple. Perhaps all Sheila needs is a good vibrator for some hashtag ‘inspiration’.”

  “We have a gift already,” Jesse snipes, moving his guitar to a safe corner of the room. “I have to perform a fucking song for the couple as they make their way down the aisle. So you don’t need to go being a bigger dick by getting her some embarrassingly sized dildo.”

  “Well, according to you she’s a big size queen,” Luke says, rolling his head in Jesse’s direction. Jesse grabs one of the free water bottles to take a long drink from it. “Though the jury’s still out on that. Unless you want to add that to the boyfriend report when people ask.”

  Jesse chokes, sputtering and hacking several coughs as he bangs into his chest. “What?” he wheezes.

  Luke cracks up, his laughter ringing loud in the room. Jesse’s whole body feels hot all over. “God, your face!” He turns to his side, propping his head in his hand. The smile on his face is genuine and teasing, and Jesse has the sudden urge to do what he wanted to do four days ago in the small kitchen of Luke’s apartment.

  The agreement was to drive to Vegas instead of flying, on Luke’s insistence in case they needed “a quick getaway”. Jesse couldn’t blame him, really. He knew that Luke was doing this because Jesse asked, and anything to make Luke comfortable with the whole mess he’d make as many accommodations as possible. Luke’s never doubted Jesse in anything—not when he took a random road trip to Vancouver with five hundred bucks to his name in graduation money the summer before they started college; not when Jesse quit college, much to the chagrin of his parents to pursue his now successful music career; not when Jesse moved into an indie studio environment instead of going with a major label; and not when he asked him to be his fake boyfriend.

  Luke is always all-in, and Jesse wonders how long the odds will be in his favor.

  “So what’s on the agenda?” Luke flips onto his back and stretches, scratching his stomach absently. “Because I could go for a nap. Seeing nothing but barren terrain for four hours has made me sleepy.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t have to drive through it,” Jesse says, pulling out his clothes for later and inspecting them for any wrinkles. He knows Sheila will be texting him any moment wondering if he made it into Vegas okay and will try to guilt him into taking part in something that evening.

  As if on cue, Jesse’s phone lights up and vibrates across the small dining table.

  “Ah, duty calls,” Luke says in a low murmur, curling up against a pillow and closing his eyes. “Whatever it is she ropes you into tonight, I’m not doing it. I have agreed to three...no, four specific things: circus, bachelorette party, brunch.” He pauses for a beat before amending, “Well and the wedding, so four things. Either way, I’m not doing it.”

  “That defeats the purpose of bringing my boyfriend to this whole wedding weekend, doesn’t it?”

  “The original agreement was to show up to the wedding, take a bunch of photos for your Instagram, act like I’m in love with you, and then go home a better man for pissing off your ex… win/win,” Luke says, his voice turning sleepy. “But now I’ve added more boyfriend time to this escapade, and therefore it’s hashtag nap time. Sleep is good for the soul. You should do it, too.”

  “Thought you didn’t want to share a bed,” Jesse says distractedly, staring down at the text from Sheila asking if he wants to join the group later that night for pre-wedding club hopping.

  “You make it seem like we didn’t share beds when we were kids,” Luke mutters, kicking his shoes off and shuffling under the covers. “Whatever BrideSheila has asked of you can wait. Sleep is good, Jesse, remember that.”

  Luke is asleep in a matter of seconds, his face relaxed and blissful. Jesse feels a yawn tugging at his mouth, and the exhaustion hits him with a force. He doesn’t question it before he’s taking off his shoes and socks, pulling off his shirt and climbing into bed. The sheets are cold on his side, but the pillows are soft and comfortable. Jesse sinks into the mattress with a happy sigh. Luke shifts next to him, reaching out into the middle between them, his hand splayed.

  Jesse covers it with his own, running the pad of his thumb over Luke’s knuckles. His skin is warm and smooth, and Jesse tries to calm the humming roar in his head, the pounding in his chest, and focus on how tired
he is, how much he needs to refuel his energy to deal with Sheila later. He tells himself all of this is because of nerves, ignoring that it’s most likely because of his best friend lying beside him.

  The bachelorette party ends up at some over-the-top fancy club where the music is loud and the drinks are expensive. Sheila has a VIP booth that she got comped from the club, who offers bottle service with the agreement she takes pictures and promotes the club accordingly. Jesse isn’t complaining, choosing to keep seated on one of the long booth benches, his arm stretched behind Luke. Luke scoots closer so their bodies are touching, his hand resting on Jesse’s thigh. Sheila doesn’t miss it when Luke turns and smiles at Jesse, illuminated and happy, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against his chin. It stirs a mixture of satisfaction and desire spark inside of Jesse all at once.

  “Am I doing well?” Luke asks, lips grazing Jesse’s ear as he speaks, his voice a low rumble. Jesse flags down the server for another specialty cocktail that’s a part of the whole Sheila Show. He plucks two drinks from the tray, handing one to Luke who accepts generously, and keeping one for himself. He downs it in several generous gulps, setting the empty glass on a black glittery table top.

  They’ve been doing this all evening. Small touches, loose hand holding, and brushing back hair.

  Jesse took a chance and kissed Luke’s temple when he had the group laughing at his antics and storytelling, the crease between Sheila’s eyebrows growing deeper. She’s been keeping a keen eye on them the whole night, but Jesse’s doing his part, and the Instagram stories are flying.

  Luke’s face is covered in a swirl of lights, eyes half-lidded, smiling crookedly. He’s a little tipsy, just like Jesse, the more alcohol they’re consuming increasing their touching. Each time they step up their game, Jesse always catches Sheila paying attention.

  “I don’t know,” Jesse yells over the thrumming bass of some dance mix the DJ near the booth is spinning. “What else you got?”

  The wicked smile that spreads on Luke’s lips is absolutely sinful, and his hand is a hot brand against Jesse’s neck when he curls his fingers around it. Jesse gasps a little at the touch, the brush of Luke’s thumb over the bottom of his chin so soft. Luke draws closer, their lips not quite touching. The chuckle that escapes from Luke’s mouth ghosts a heated breath over Jesse’s, his eyes focused on Jesse before he arches a teasing eyebrow.

  Never to be challenged, Jesse leans in and kisses Luke hard, their mouths pushing against each other with such force Luke’s moan vibrates through Jesse’s lips. He doesn’t know how far Luke will take this, so he revels in the excitement of kissing him, their noses bumping, before tilting until it’s comfortable. Luke is the first to part his mouth, his tongue flicking over the seam of Jesse’s mouth.Jesse opens up for him, allows him to explore further inside. Everything is hot, so hot, sweat dripping down the back of Jesse’s neck, but none of that matters. He’s kissing Luke, and it’s unlike anyone he’s ever kissed before and somehow that makes the whole experience even more arousing.

  There’s a few catcalls in the background, a bright flash of a camera that breaks the spell. Luke’s gaze is dazed and heated still when they pull back, and Jesse swallows around the taste of Luke on his tongue.

  “Who took the picture?” Jesse adjusts in his seat when he realizes that he’s hard as a rock.

  Luke’s hand remains on his neck, brushing right over his hammering pulse, and Jesse is woozy, from the lights, from the booze, from Luke’s mouth. He wants more, but he pushes that desire aside to focus on the task at hand.

  “Unfunny Sam,” Luke says, his mouth curled into a disapproving frown. Jesse wants to kiss the corners so he can see that radiant smile again. Luke’s hazel eyes settle back on Jesse. “I really dislike Unfunny Sam.”

  It takes a moment for Jesse to figure out who Sam is before he tilts his head back and barks out a laugh. He rests his forehead against Luke’s, stealing a kiss before pulling back. The lazy smile is back.

  “Her name is Sophia.”

  “Yeah, like I said, Unfunny Sam.” Luke focuses on Jesse’s mouth again, brushing the back of a knuckle over his bottom lip. “That was--”

  “How are you lovebirds doing here?” Sheila asks, her voice shrill and loud.

  Jesse represses the urge to wince. He knows that voice, sugary and fake, and he’s always hated it. Sheila only uses it when she’s pissed off, or trying to make nice with someone. It appears she’s trying to kill two birds with one stone at the moment.

  Luke wraps his arm around Jesse’s hips, resting a head on his shoulder. Jesse presses his cheek into Luke’s soft auburn hair. Sheila tilts her head at the sight, her eyes thinning a little in disbelief. She’s wearing a flattering short red dress and black heels, her blonde hair in elegant curls down her back. The bright red lipstick she’s sporting and the sharp cat eye was always a look she did when she was going out, and it was one of Jesse’s favorites. A pang of nostalgia seeps into his chest, and he squeezes Luke’s knee to ground himself.

  “Fine, just fine,” Luke says, his voice almost purring. His fingers are tracing small circles over Jesse’s inner thigh making it hard to concentrate on the conversation. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials, by the way. I didn’t have time to tell you before because you seemed…” he trails off for a moment, pulling away from Jesse, pursing his lips in contemplation. “Distracted by your fan club.”

  Jesse inhales a deep breath, flagging down the server again for another drink. Here we go, he thinks.

  “That’s my bridal party,” Sheila says, with a chilly smile. “Who are very successful business owners.” She pauses, her eyes doing a once over of Luke’s outfit, lips curling in disdain. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

  Luke exhales a bitter laugh, grabbing for Jesse’s drink and downing the rest of it in one go. “You mean because you have duped half of America into thinking because you can do a cat eye and spend all your money on expensive handbags that you’re ‘successful’?” Luke pulls his hands up to emphasize his quotations. “Give me a break.”

  Before Sheila can answer, Jesse pops up from his seat, grabs his jacket, and says, “Hey babe, why don’t we go check out the dance floor for a bit?”

  Luke opens his mouth in slight shock, and then regains his composure, a sultry smile taking place. “Sure, babe,” he answers back, getting up from the booth and staggering a little, reaching for Jesse’s hand and lacing their fingers together.

  Their palms are sweaty, but Jesse doesn’t care, thrilled by the pad of Luke’s thumb brushing over the side of his hand, too distracted on how badly he just wants to touch and kiss him again.

  “We’re gonna go dancing,” Luke repeats, as though Sheila didn’t pick it up the first time. He flashes a brilliant smile to the rest of the girls as he trails Jesse down the stairs.

  They don’t go to the dance floor though. Luke throws a confused look, but Jesse keeps tugging on his arm, weaving through the mass of bodies in the club, the cacophonous echo of laughter, singing, and bass ever present and loud. Jesse needs to get out, needs to find somewhere else to be that’s far away from Sheila and her stupid wedding.

  Because right now Jesse understands that he’s made a huge mistake pretending that Luke is his boyfriend. Because right now he’s noticing that Sheila was right all along, that his feelings for Luke have always been more than just friendship based on years of being in each other's lives daily. It’s always been there, that spark, that desire, that want, and Jesse has been fooling himself this whole time to think he could ignore it. He hates Sheila for figuring it out. He hates that he did this to her, and that most of all, he did this to himself.

  “Hey,” Luke says when Jesse exits the club, greeted with the ding and ringing music of the casino. The air is cooler on this side, but stale with alcohol and something else. Jesse turns towards the exit and begins walking. Luke tugs on his arm, sharp, turning him around so they’re face to face.

  “What’s going on?” Luke untangles
their hands and grabs for Jesse’s shoulders, eyes tinged with concern.

  Jesse’s breathing hard as if he’s just ran a mile full tilt. He rakes a hand through his hair, damp with sweat. “I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

  Luke searches Jesse’s face, before giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Okay,” he whispers, reaching up and brushing back a bit of hair that has fallen over Jesse’s eyes. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Six

  Luke

  Even as they exit the hotel, the lights, and the glitz and glamor of Las Vegas is high and bright. Everywhere Luke turns droves of people walk the sidewalks, cabs, and limos wait to pick patrons up and drop them off to their destinations. The air has cooled down, the desert night refreshing. It’s then that Luke realizes how tipsy he is.

  “Where do you want to go?” Luke reaches for Jesse’s hand because the alcohol is making him feel brave, and the sheer look of terror on Jesse’s face too much for Luke to handle. He almost grabbed Jesse’s face and kissed him, right in the middle of the busy casino just to make that panicked expression vanish. He hasn’t seen Jesse look like that since they were teens and he confessed to Luke his sexuality.

  “I don’t know. Let’s find a bar and hang out. Somewhere quiet.” Jesse laces his fingers in Luke’s hand and squeezes. “I really fucking hate clubs.”

  “I remember,” Luke says, pulling out his phone. He doesn’t let go of Jesse’s hand. “There appears to be a place not too far from here that we can go to. Couple blocks…” Luke points to their right. “That way.”

  Jesse grins and nods. “Let’s go.”

  The bar is a bougie cocktail lounge, which is not their scene, but the drinks are incredible and it’s quiet. There’s not the overwhelming shock of light, or the campy pizzazz that makes up the Vegas aesthetic. This place is calm and soothing, even if it’s pretentious. Jesse keeps buying and the more he sips on his drink—impressively titled Lana Del Ray—the more truth that spills between his lips.