Chris didn't watch the flop. He never did.
He watched the other players watch the flop. The blonde with too much makeup had nothing, but thought she could make some crazy hand. He'd had her pegged as a wife playing with her husband's money since she sat down, and she'd done nothing to prove him wrong yet.
The heavyset guy with too much jewelry - Chris had mentally named him Guido - also had nothing, but was trying to represent a monster hand. Guido was not destined to win an Academy Award - or this hand.
The red-head in the see-through blouse - which was a big distraction to most of the rest of the table, and Chris thought he should thank her for that - imagined she was a much better poker player than she really was. She had made something - Chris would guess a small pair - but it wasn't anything she should try to take all the way. Unfortunately, she was going to try to do just that.
He went around the rest of the table in the same way, mentally noting the fishes and the tourists and the players, knowing immediately what they had and what they didn't. Without even seeing their cards, he could probably figure their odds better than they could. It was a great table for him - enough people who thought they knew what they were doing that they would stay a little longer than they should, trying to win back their money, and doing precisely the opposite. They weren't quite just emptying their pockets and handing their cash to Chris, but it was almost that good.
His last glance went to the guy sitting next to him, and for the first time around the table, he met a stare, because, finally, here was someone else who was watching the players instead of the cards.
A month ago, Chris could read Justin's cards as easily as anyone else's, and it said something for how hard Justin had worked on his game that he couldn't anymore. Chris had to admit it, the kid was getting good. Not as good as he thought he was, thank heavens, but pretty damn good. Chris gave him a small smile, and dropped his eyes back to his own cards.
Chris bet cautiously, representing a good but not great hand, trying to lure the others in. They all came, the bluffers trying to drive out the rest of the table, and the dreamers who thought they were going to make their hand. Chris had flopped the nut cold, and as long as Justin wasn't hiding a king in his hand to beat Chris's queen high straight, there wasn't anything anyone else had that would touch him.
As the turn and the river came down, the others dropped out, but not before leaving a good portion of their stacks in the pot. Finally, it was just Chris and Justin. Justin raised to the maximum, and Chris hesitated. Did the kid have it, or not?
He looked down at his hole cards again, though in reality he was watching Justin out of the corner of his eye. Justin's expression never changed, but he absently reached up and tugged on one of his curls. And there it was. The kid was bluffing.
Chris's own expression didn't change. You never wanted another player to know you'd spotted his tell. With a show of nonchalance, he pushed his chips in, saying, "Oh, to hell with it. I dropped too much change on this hand to back out now."
He even managed to look surprised when the cards were turned over and he raked in the pot.
He played a few more hands before deciding to call it a day. He'd been playing for over four hours, and had nicely increased his bankroll for the month. Time to take a break for a while. Besides, he had dinner plans.
After tipping the dealer and cashing in his chips, he wandered over to the other side of the casino, shaking his head over the people giving away their money at the blackjack tables. Fishes, all of them, and the worst were the ones who thought they had the system beat.
Speaking of which, there was Lance, looking bored to death. Chris could see his eyes flicking back and forth, though, and he knew Lance was keeping a running count, trying to judge when the odds would be in his favor. Card counting was the kind of tedious, meticulous work that made Chris's skin itch.
As Chris watched, the count must have turned Lance's way, because he doubled his bets, and his posture became slightly less bored. Not to the casual observer, probably, but Chris spent most of his time watching for the signals that other people were trying to hide. And he knew all of Lance's signals pretty well.
Not as well as he could have. They hadn't ever been lovers. In fact, they'd never so much as kissed. But there was... something there. Definitely something. Lurking under the surface, waiting for one of them to acknowledge it. So far, neither of them had. But Chris had the feeling that it wasn't too far down the road.
Of course, he'd have to get Lance to give up this stupid game first. Blackjack! Chris had even tried appealing to Lance's logical side, pointing out that the returns in poker could be a lot higher, so wouldn't it be practical to spend his time where he could make more money? Lance always shrugged and said that he wasn't a risk-taker.
Bullshit. You didn't drop out of Harvard Business School after spending a couple months of weekends at Foxwoods and move to Vegas to be a professional gambler just because you had calculated the mathematical probability of success. There was a risk-taker deep inside Lance. Chris knew it in his bones. And Chris trusted his instincts the way Lance trusted his odds.
He didn't want to break Lance's streak, so he bought in for a few hands, just for the hell of it. Chris knew the rules and the odds and when to stay and when to hit. He even picked up a couple hundred bucks. It just wasn't any fun.
Finally, Lance was done, and they cashed out and headed out of the casino.
"How was your table?" Lance asked as they settled into the cab.
"Sweet. A bunch of suckers, mostly. And, here's the thing...."
"'If you can't spot the sucker in your first half hour at the table, then you are the sucker!" they finished together.
Lance laughed. "You need some new lines, Kirkpatrick. I don't even like that damn movie, and I can recite it right along with you."
Chris ignored the jibe at one of his favorite movies - he'd argue to the death that Rounders was ahead of its time, and that if it had come out today, in the middle of the poker craze, it would be considered the Godfather of poker movies. Besides, they were almost at the restaurant, and it would upset JC if they were fighting when they showed up. He'd wave his hands around and make one of those "can't we all get along?" speeches that were incredibly annoying, yet oddly sweet. Of course, JC tended to wave his hands around during most of his speeches, regardless of content.
Sure enough, once they paid the cabbie and walked into the Gold Spike, there were JC and Joey, talking about something that had JC waving his hands around. Joey was just watching him with a tolerant grin on his face. It was hard to rile up Joey.
Chris had met Joey at dealer's school, which Chris had enrolled in shortly after moving out to Vegas. He'd quickly discovered that he did a lot better playing the cards than dealing them, but Joey had gone on to get a decent job, which he traded up to a better job, and now he was one of the top dealers at the Bellagio. Chris and Joey had kept in touch, traveling in the same circles as they did, even it was from opposite sides of the table. One of Joey's many ex-girlfriends had been a dancer at the Mirage, where JC sang in the lounge, and Joey and JC's friendship had lasted long after the girlfriend was history. Somehow, the three of them had fallen into a routine of eating together. Eating out in Vegas was so cheap that it was ridiculous to bother to cook at home. Chris had met Lance at one of JC's shows, and he'd merged into their little group easily. It was the closest thing to family that any of them had out here.
The Gold Spike was famous for serving, for all of $2.50, a full roast beef dinner, which JC religiously ordered even though he wouldn't eat most of it. Joey ordered the same, and for that price he'd get his and most of what JC left over. Chris went along with the general consensus, and Lance ordered the exact same thing he ordered wherever they ate: a salad. Lance's consistency and predictability were annoying, but also oddly reassuring.
The latest addition to their group didn't show until after they had all placed their orders, and Chris was surprised to see Justin walk in. "If I'd known you were planning on coming we'd have waited to share a cab," Chris said by way of apology. "You looked like you were settling in for the long haul."
Justin made a face. "Table got ice cold after you left. Bunch of regulars wandered in, tourists all went off to use their comps at the buffet."
"The great thing about blackjack," Lance announced to no one in particular, "is that your odds are based on your hand versus the dealer's hand, not the skill of the other players."
As always, Justin rose to the bait. "The great thing about blackjack is that it keeps all the really boring people on the other side of the casino and away from the poker tables."
Chris had met Justin not long after Justin came to Vegas, playing the $5/$10 games at Mandalay Bay one afternoon. The kid had been mostly all mouth and no game, yet even as he'd emptied his pockets at the table he'd had such an easygoing way about him that Chris had found himself reluctantly charmed. They'd ended up having lunch together, Justin peppering Chris with question after question about the life of a professional poker player.
It wasn't as glamorous as people would think, but on the other hand, you couldn't compare to the rush that came from making your living doing something you loved. You had to play smart, and you had to play careful, and you had to know when the right time was to do neither.
Chris didn't do the mentor thing - Joey was the crazed Star Wars fan, not him, and he'd never felt the need to take a Jedi apprentice - but he'd discovered it was fun passing on some of his know-how to Justin. The kid had been an appreciative audience, and a damn good student. Chris could still beat him on a regular basis, but the day when he couldn't wasn't far off.
They were totally different, the two of them, yet the friendship worked. Chris was more than happy to grind it out, day after day at the tables, working on bankroll and protecting his winnings. Justin was more of a guts and glory player, and although he sometimes took down a spectacular hand, he still had a tendency to burn out in flames as often as not. Chris wanted to make a living at the tables; Justin wanted to be a star.
Chris had worried if Justin would fit in with the other guys the first time he invited him along to dinner. Other people joined them from time to time, with varying results. Joey's friend Jason had been a complete bust, and JC's buddy Tony was a good guy, but just didn't quite click. Chris needn't have worried about Justin, though; less than ten minutes after meeting everyone it was like he'd always been part of the gang. Chris had realized that he shouldn't have worried - Justin seemed to fit in wherever he went. Lance once described Justin as having all the charm of a con artist with no con, and that about summed it up.
Joey had to head to work after dinner, so Chris, Justin and Lance decided to follow him over to the Bellagio. JC headed over to his show at the Mirage; he might meet up with them afterwards, but probably not. Chris was never entirely sure what JC did with most of his time when he wasn't singing, aside from eating with the rest of them. Skinny as JC was, he never missed a meal.
Justin headed off to scout the games and see where he wanted to play, but Chris just put his name in for the first $3/$6 table to open up, wanting something fairly low-key. He couldn't believe it when Lance put his name in, too, and asked if he and Chris could be seated at the same table.
Lance laughed at Chris's stunned expression. "After all this time extolling the virtues of poker, didn't you think you'd eventually convince me?"
"To be honest, no. Come on, Lance. There's the Hoover Dam, and then there's you. It might be easier to move the Hoover Dam."
Lance grinned, a slow, easy smile that was somewhat smug, not to mention pretty fucking hot. "Aren't you always telling me that one of the skills a great poker player must have is the ability to be unpredictable?"
Unpredictable, indeed. Chris wondered if Lance was trying to send him another message by signaling his willingness to give poker a try. The thought was definitely appealing.
It didn't take them long to get seated, and Chris forced himself to watch all the other players, and not just Lance. He tried to imagine how he'd objectively rate Lance's play, if he were just another stranger like the rest of the table. He was a tight player, no doubt about it, conservative as hell. He didn't play many hands, and those he played tended to be very strong. Chris couldn't decide if he'd know that Lance had a wild streak lurking in the background if he'd just met him, but since he did know that, he made sure not to underestimate him.
Aside from Lance, who had probably memorized the list of acceptable starting hands out of some book for just such an occasion as this, the rest of the table was loose. Really loose. Chris was pulling in around $100 an hour, which was insane at a $3/$6 table. Normally he'd have to be sitting at a $30/$60 to see that kind of income.
The rest of the table had clued in pretty early that Chris was playing at a totally different level than the rest of them, and instead of resenting it, they treated him like a mini-celebrity. Lance watched with an amused expression as people called Chris's bets just to see what he was holding.
A woman sitting on the other side of the table threw up her hands in mock exasperation. She had told them all that she and her husband were visiting from Texas, and he was playing craps but she had wanted to try poker, "Because it looks like so much fun on television!" Now she looked at Chris and said, "Wowee! How do you keep doing that? When I have a pair, you have two pairs. When I have two pairs, you have a flush!"
Chris was nonplussed, not sure what he should say. Certainly not that he could tell what she was holding every time she picked up her cards or watched the other cards come down. Lance's expression of barely withheld laughter wasn't helping. Finally, Chris just ducked his head and said, "It's just luck, ma'am."
Chris loved this table. He wanted to marry this table and have its little poker babies. A guy to his left crushed him with triple kings when he was holding triple sevens, and he didn't even care. He was just giving back money from the other players, and he was still way up.
He was jolted out of the zone when Lance, to his right, gave a low whistle and whispered in a disturbingly spot-on Streisand impression, "Well.... Hellllllo, gorgeous."
Chris looked up to see what had caught Lance's eye, and had to agree. That was a whole lot of pretty right there.
The guy who had just been seated across from Chris looked to be about Lance's age, maybe a year or two in either direction, but not much more. He wasn't dressed in tourist kitsch, just a casual pair of chinos and a button-down shirt with a couple of buttons casually open. With his little gold-rimmed glasses, he looked like a college student who had just stepped out of the library. He was also at least six feet tall, broad-shouldered, with a mouth that was pure sin, and he looked like he could toss off those glasses and hold you up and fuck you against the wall without even getting out of breath. Hello gorgeous, indeed.
Chris jerked his attention back to the game, a little embarrassed that it was even necessary. He prided himself on being professional at the table, even when he was having fun. It wasn't like him to get his head turned by a pretty piece of ass.
He managed to keep his attention on the cards, but it was still a loose game, and as the players talked, he was able to get a good amount of information about the new arrival. His name was Nick, and he was in town on vacation. He was a systems analyst at some company in Tampa, Florida, and worked with computers. He had just broken up with his boyfriend of six months, and had decided to head off to Vegas to see if the bright lights and big city could mend his broken heart. He'd tossed that line off with a dazzling smile at Chris, who had been, well, dazzled. It wasn't possible that this pretty twink was actually flirting with him, was it?
"Pretty sure 'Bright Lights, Big City' was about New York," Lance drawled. His southern accent barely came out at all anymore, except when he was drunk - or being bitingly sarcastic.
"Well, compared to where I'm from, this is plenty big and bright enough," Nick said. "Besides, far as I can tell, New York may be the city that never sleeps, but it's got nothing on this place."
Even on autopilot Chris was a better player than the rest of the table, but after a steady run of lousy cards and bad beats, he knew it was time to quit. Lance had managed to win a small amount, which was good, because it gave Chris hope that he could lure Lance back to the tables again. Of course, the chances of that would probably would have been better if he hadn't been ignoring the pretty blond guy next to him to gape at the pretty blond guy across the table for the past two hours. Chris wondered how his life had become so complicated.
Nick pushed back from the table when the two of them did, and after cashing in their chips, all stood there for a second. Before the silence could grow awkward, Nick said, "Hey, can I buy you guys a drink? I'd love to talk some more."
Chris heard himself say, "Sure," before he'd even fully processed the question. He turned to look at Lance, hoping he hadn't sounded like a complete idiot.
Lance looked from Chris to Nick and back again. Chris had seen that look on Lance's face hundreds of times at the table. Lance was calculating odds, and he didn't like his.
"I'll pass, thanks," Lance said. "I think it's time for me to call it a night." Lance never held onto a hand if the odds weren't in his favor, and he was clearly folding this one.
Somehow, Chris felt as though he'd made a choice, without ever making a conscious decision to choose. But Lance was walking away, and Nick was still standing there waiting, so there didn't seem to be anything to do but head off to the bar.
"Nice play in there," Nick said, as they headed up in the elevator.
"Thanks. You had a couple of nice hands, yourself." He almost winced at how inane he sounded. In another second, they'd be talking about the weather, which in Vegas pretty much boiled down to "hot." He'd have to kill himself if the words, "At least it's a dry heat," came out of his mouth.
Chris had never been in the Bellagio's Fontana Bar, but he had to admit, the view of the dancing fountains was just as good as they said in all the tourist guides. He and Nick sat down at a low table, giving their orders to a cocktail waitress. Nick was a martini guy, which in Chris's experience indicated high maintenance, but at least it was a classic gin and vermouth mix, not some yuppie nightmare of a drink. Justin had once ordered a cosmopolitan when they were all out, and Lance had been so horrified he'd refused to even acknowledge Justin while he sipped at his pink drink.
Chris asked for a scotch, straight up. He never saw the point in paying for crap that would just dilute your drink.
"So you're an online player, huh?" Chris said as the waitress walked away.
Nick looked surprised. "How did you know that?"
"We get a lot of you guys, it's pretty easy to spot. The good ones - like you - have solid basic skills, know the odds, don't go out with lousy starting hands, raise and re-raise by the book."
"That's how you knew?"
The waitress reappeared with their drinks, and Chris took a sip of his before answering. The bar might be a tourist trap, but they poured some mighty fine scotch. "Well, not just that. You could have learned all that from a book, but from the speed of your play, I could tell you were used to playing in real-time situations. It was your tells that gave you away. Always do, with the online guys."
Nick was hanging on Chris's every word. "What's my tell?"
Normally, Chris wouldn't have let another player know that he'd spotted his tell, but Nick would never get anywhere with his game if he didn't know what to work on. "You're used to being behind a computer screen. You forget that people can see you, so you're wearing your cards on your face."
Nick flushed. "That bad, huh?"
"You've got strong skills, like I said. But..." Chris trailed off, trying to come up with a tactful way to phrase it. Tact was generally not his strong suit, so to speak.
"But those aren't enough," Nick finished glumly.
"It's a good start, though. If you have the skills, you're at a good starting place. I could... I could maybe give you a few pointers. If you wanted." First Justin, now Nick. At this right, Chris might have to give up his insistence that he didn't want to be anyone's poker guru.
"So where do I start?" Nick flashed another one of those dazzling smiles at Chris. "I'm putting myself totally in your hands."
Oh, didn't he wish. "Okay. You have a watch?"
Nick held up his left wrist. "Sure."
"It have a second hand?"
Nick checked. "Sure."
"When you get your pocket cards, don't look at them. Look at your watch."
Nick looked completely confused. "What?"
Chris tried not to smile. People always reacted this way to this particular trick. "You pretend to look at your cards, but instead, you look at the second hand on your watch. You assign hand values to the second hand. If it's between 12 and 1, it's a group 1 hand. Between 1 and 2, it's a group 2 hand, and so on, around the clock. That's your hand. That's what you react to."
"And I bet my hand according to my watch?"
"No, no, of course not. Before you bet, take a quick look at your cards, and bet accordingly. But for that first reaction, when people are looking to see your cards on your face, look at your watch. I know it sounds nuts, but trust me."
Nick was gazing at him with pure admiration. "I do. Because that is fucking brilliant."
Chris shrugged, trying to make it look modest. "Just a little something from my bag of tricks." He finished off his drink, and when he looked up, Nick was staring at him intently.
"Hmmm. I'd love to see what other tricks you've got up your... sleeve." From Nick's expression, and his playful tone, Chris was pretty sure they weren't talking about cards anymore.
He was groping for a witty yet provocative comeback, which would hopefully lead to groping of a different kind, when Nick tossed back the last of his martini and pushed back his chair. "I think I'm gonna hit the tables a little longer, see if your secret weapon can turn my night around. You done for the night?"
Apparently so. "Yeah, I'm out. Good luck, though. Let me know how it goes."
"Definitely." Nick was practically bouncing, he was so eager to get back to the tables. Chris suddenly felt incredibly old. They said their goodbyes on the elevator, then Nick headed to the tables, and Chris to the parking garage.
He was halfway home before he realized he and Nick had forgotten to exchange numbers.
Chris woke up the next day in a nasty mood, though he refused to admit to himself that it could have anything to do with fitful dreams about pretty blond boys who always seemed to be just out of reach. Whether the boys in question had worn faces of anyone he'd recognize was something else he wasn't allowing himself to consider.
He decided to stay off the strip, since he was in no mood to play nice with the tourists. As long as you were friendly they were more than happy to give you their money, but if you let slip what you really thought of them, they tended to get offended. Imagine that!
The less glitzy casinos perfectly suited Chris's mood today, mostly full of locals like him who kept their mouths shut and played their cards. He didn't play particularly well, but he didn't play particularly badly, either, and after a long afternoon, he was mostly even for the day.
He almost didn't show for dinner, but the pull of habit was too strong. It was Joey's night to pick the place, which meant they were going to Capriotti's. Capriotti's served sandwiches as big as your head, which pleased Joey, and nothing was over $10, which pleased JC.
When he got there, Lance, JC and Joey were all deep in a conversation that cut off abruptly when they caught sight of him. Great. Lance might try to act like life bored him beyond measure most of the time, but when it came to gossiping about his friends, he was as bad as a teenage girl.
"Get a good night's sleep?" Anyone else would have been smirking, but Lance asked the question with perfect innocence shining from big, green eyes. Fucker.
"As a matter of fact, yes," Chris practically snarled. So there.
"Twinkie didn't put out?" Now there was an edge to Lance's voice, and suddenly Chris wondered if behind the teasing, Lance was actually a little miffed. "You must be losing your touch, Kirkpatrick."
Chris tried not to snap. "Clearly. We just had a drink, for god's sake. Then I went home, and he headed back to the table. Sorry I don't have anything more scandalous to titillate you all with."
"Man, that kid really was dying to give away his money. Be a pity if he blew his whole bankroll the first night." Lance's tone indicated that it would be anything but.
Lance jumped slightly, and Chris got the impression that JC or Joey had just kicked him under the table. Probably Joey. JC looked disappointed at missing out on hearing about Chris's sexual exploits. Or non-exploits, as it turned out.
Chris considered telling them he'd helped Nick out with his game, but he knew that would just lead to more teasing, so he kept his mouth shut.
"Looks like we're having quite the invasion of pretty blond boys," JC mused, cutting across Chris and Lance's sparring. "Lucky us." He was staring over Chris's shoulder, and Chris saw Lance's smile turn into a rather nasty grin. Chris had a bad feeling before he even turned around.
It was Justin... and Nick. They were laughing, pushing at each other in that way guys did, and Chris had to admit that right now the two of them looked like a couple of frat brothers.
"Hey, guys, hope you don't mind that I brought a friend." Justin waved at the table in general. "These are the guys I told you about. Guys, this is--"
"Hey, Nick," Chris cut in, enjoying the surprise on Justin's face.
"You know each other? I thought you just got into town last night."
"He hit the tables at the Bellagio last night and was kind enough to help finance my car payment," Lance said. "Nice to see you again, Nick." It almost sounded genuine.
"Hi, I'm JC," JC said, looking at Nick with obvious admiration. "And you are very, very pretty."
Nick seemed a little bewildered by that, and Joey reached out to shake his hand. "I'm Joey. Ignore him, he's a little oversexed." Nick laughed, and JC pouted.
"So how'd you two hook up?" Chris asked. Small world, sure, but this was an awfully big coincidence.
Justin grinned. "He was using the watch trick. He was good at it, too; took me a while to catch on. But I did, and I said to myself, 'Now there's someone who knows Chris Kirkpatrick.' And I was right!"
Joey gave Chris a look. "You gave him the watch trick, huh? You're getting noble in your old age."
"So how'd it go?" Chris asked Nick, ignoring the ribbing from the others, as Nick slid in next to him and Justin sat down across the table.
"You're a fucking genius, man. It was like a whole different game."
"He still couldn't beat me, though," Justin was compelled to add.
Chris managed to refrain from rolling his eyes - barely. "Well, we wouldn't expect miracles, right?"
Nick laughed, bumping Chris's shoulder with his own. "It really was amazing. You'll have to let me thank you properly."
Lance made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, and then turned it into a cough when everyone looked at him. "What? C'mon, let's order, I'm starving."
Chris was afraid that dinner would be awkward, with Lance mostly involved in an intense study of his sandwich, but JC and Joey jumped in to fill the gaps in conversation, and Nick was interested in learning about all of them.
"So you all live here? I'm surprised I met you guys on the strip. I thought locals stayed away from the touristy places."
"Oh, you mean that whole theory that no self-respecting Las Vegan would be caught dead on the strip?" Chris said. "It's a crock of shit. Where do you think all the Nevada license plates come from?"
"The tourists all flock to the strip," Justin added, "so that's where the ripe pickings are. Us professionals, we know that the tourists are the biggest fish in town. Uh, present company excluded, of course."
Justin seemed eager to impress Nick, talking about games he'd played in and pots he'd won since coming to Vegas. He left the impression that he was on the verge of taking the town by storm. Chris didn't think the kid was quite at that point yet, but he had to admit, poker had changed a lot in the past few years. It had become a big TV sport, and if there was ever a guy made for TV, it was Justin.
Nick, for his part, seemed impressed, but not with Justin. He kept bringing Chris into the conversation, asking him about places to go and games he'd played. JC watched the two of them with barely concealed delight, because if there was anything JC liked almost as much as having sex himself, it was knowing that his friends were having sex. Preferably with each other. Chris thought that was why JC had always seemed in favor of Lance and Chris hooking up.
JC loved sex. He'd sleep with anyone, if they were hot enough. Or if he liked them enough. Or if he was horny enough. Chris was never entirely sure which of those categories he had fit into, but the sex had been so blindingly hot, he hadn't much cared. He knew that JC and Lance had slept together, too, and somehow, it hadn't affected any of their friendships. It was the textbook definition of casual sex, and JC could have written that textbook - or at least taught the class.
JC and Joey were another story, and Chris still wasn't quite sure what to make of the two of them. He knew they'd slept together; often, he thought. But they also had a hell of a lot of sex with a hell of a lot of other people. At times it seemed that the two of them were working their way through the population of Vegas - JC the male half, and Joey the female half, though they had both been known to be somewhat flexible on the matter of gender. They always came back to each other, though, and Chris had frequently wondered if one day they'd settle into that arrangement permanently.
Not tonight, obviously, as Joey was talking enthusiastically about a cocktail waitress he had his eye on, and JC was planning on hitting the Fruit Loop after his show. As for Chris... well, he wasn't sure how his night was going to end up, but from the pressure of Nick's leg pressed up against his under the table, his hopes - and a couple other things - were rising.
"You should totally check out the Fruit Loop," Justin told Nick after JC brought it up. "I'd be more than happy to show you the sights."
Chris wasn't a huge fan of the area a couple of blocks off the strip packed with gay-friendly venues, but JC was treated like a local celebrity there, and he'd been the one who had shown Justin around not long after Justin had come to town. Young and pretty, Justin never had to worry about buying his own drinks, though he was notoriously choosy about who he actually left with. Chris still wasn't sure if JC and Justin had ever slept together, but he had to admit, the mental image was awfully pretty.
"I was thinking I'd stick to business and play some more cards," Nick demurred. "How about you, Chris? Feel like hitting the tables for a couple hours?"
It was about as blatant an invitation as he was likely to get, and tonight, Chris was determined not to miss his chance. "Sure. Have to see how you're putting my tips into action, don't I?"
They decided to hit Binion's Horseshoe, where the World Series of Poker was played every year. "That's where the 'real' gamblers hang out," Justin said. In Chris's experience, it was more likely that the people claiming to be the real gamblers would be there, but for a poker player, a trip to Binion's was something like visiting Mecca. Nick should have the chance to play a couple of hands.
Lance begged off to hit a low buy-in blackjack tourney at the Luxor, and Joey and JC had work, so it was just Justin, Chris, and Nick, an unlikely threesome if he'd ever seen one, Chris thought. Nick seemed to be rather unsubtly trying to ditch Justin, but Chris thought maybe that was his own bias showing. Justin didn't seem likely to be detached, so a threesome it was. For the tables, at least.
Justin's pontificating on his supposed wisdom at cards was starting to get to Chris, and not just because it was pretty obvious that Justin was hoping to score with Nick himself. When Justin had hit town less than a year ago, he'd been just as raw as Nick, if not more so. His belief in himself as an experienced poker god was a bit much.
"The key to winning is really table selection," Justin was saying as they waited for some spots to open up. "You need to pick the game you can beat." It sounded like good advice to Chris, considering that he'd been the one who had given it to the kid in the first place.
"The key to winning," Chris suddenly interrupted, "is playing someone you're better than. You might be the ten-millionth player best player in the world, but if you're playing the eleven-millionth, you'll win. 'Course, it helps to be in the top fifty."
It would be childish to admit that he enjoyed the way that Nick's attention swung from Justin to him. So he didn't admit it.
They got seated at a $10/$20 table, and after a few hands, Chris could see how much Nick's game had improved already. The watch trick was a crutch, and eventually he'd have to give it up, but for now it was mixing things up enough that the other players were having trouble getting a good read. Justin, he was pleased to note, still tugged on his curls when he bluffed.
The cards were running in Chris's favor, and he was starting to think he'd have to keep Nick around as his own personal good luck charm. He could probably find a few other uses for him, too.
Justin's luck wasn't faring as well, and when Chris took down his pocket aces with a king-high flush, he threw down his cards in disgust. "I'm going to call it a night. Nick, you want to grab a drink or something? Or you, Chris?" he added belatedly.
"Thanks, Justin, I'm good." Nick was already posting the mini-blind for the next hand, and missed Justin's obvious look of disappointment. Justin didn't seem quite as bothered when Chris demurred as well.
Nick and Chris played for another hour or so, and Chris was impressed when Nick successfully bluffed the whole table - himself included - with nothing more than an ace-high busted straight. He'd been representing broadway, and they'd all bought it. The kid had a hell of a lot of potential.
They cashed in and left the casino, taking a cab back to the strip. Chris's car was parked there, and Nick was staying at the Imperial Palace. It was one of the more affordable casinos on the strip, catering to players who were there for business, not tourism. "So, you get one of the Luv Tub rooms?" Chris joked.
"As a matter of fact, I did. Want to see it?" Nick looked at him directly, and Chris knew that this time, there would be no pretense of 'having a drink,' or 'sharing tips.' Nick was letting Chris know exactly what he wanted. Which happened to be exactly what Chris wanted too, so he just nodded, and followed him to the elevator.
As they rode up to the room, Chris couldn't help but study Nick out of the corner of his eye, wondering how the hell he'd gotten this lucky. When they got inside and Nick wasted no time pinning Chris up against the door and kissing him senseless, Chris decided he should stop asking questions and just be glad.
Glad was a perfect term for how Chris felt when Nick stepped back and shrugged off his shirt with an easy gesture. Oh yes, he was very, very glad. Nick's skin was smooth and golden, so fucking beautiful that Chris wanted to taste every inch of it. He took a step forward, intending to do just that, but Nick's hands on his shoulders stopped him.
"I'm feeling a little underdressed here," Nick teased, and started unbuttoning Chris's shirt. When he pushed it off Chris's shoulders, he gave a low hum of appreciation and before Chris knew what was happening, he was pushed down on his back on the mattress, and Nick was straddling him. The view from down here was pretty damn good as well.
Nick seemed to return the sentiment. "So fucking hot," he breathed, leaning down to kiss Chris's neck. "Those eyes... do you know you look at people with so much intensity that it just fucking burns?" He ground down against Chris's groin, and Chris arched up under him. "Mmm. I love your skin," Nick murmured, making his way down Chris's body, licking at his nipples, and then traveling lower.
The first time Chris had seen Nick he'd thought that his mouth was born for cocksucking, and when Nick moved to his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping and freeing his cock and swallowing it in what seemed to be one single smooth gesture, Chris knew he'd been exactly right. After that first heart stopping moment, Nick took his time, laving every inch of skin with his tongue before pulling Chris's cock back into his mouth and sucking hard, and when his fingers probed lower, that was all it took for Chris to come so hard he thought he might black out. He lay there panting, a little embarrassed. He hadn't lost control like that in a long time.
He rolled over to remove Nick's pants, fumbling a little in his post-orgasmic haze, and Nick seemed happy to lie back and let him take control. Nick's thighs were as strong as Chris had thought they'd be, and he hoped maybe they'd have a chance to try out that fucking against the wall thing that he'd imagined. Right now, there were more pressing things to take care of, though, as Nick's erection nudged insistently at Chris's cheek as he mouthed Nick's balls.
He'd always thought that he gave an above-average blowjob, and from Nick's response, it seemed that he agreed. Captivated by Nick's moans and whimpers, Chris licked down lower, teasing the sensitive skin. Not all guys were into having a tongue in their ass, though, so good manners demanded he spare a second to ask, "You into that?" When Nick spread his legs further and angled his hips up off the bed, that was all the answer Chris needed.
Nick went wild when Chris rimmed him, and Chris felt his own cock springing back to life rather enthusiastically. He thought about making a joke about Nick's ass being an aphrodisiac, but he figured maybe now wasn't the time. Humping against the bed, he reached for Nick's cock to jerk him off while he tongued him, and was surprised when Nick grabbed his hand. He was even more surprised when Nick pushed a condom into his hand, repeating Chris's question. "You into that?"
Fuck, yes. "You got lube?" he replied, more than happy to spend some more time worshipping Nick’s ass. It really was quite perfect, and when he pushed two fingers inside, Nick’s moan was just about the most beautiful sound Chris had ever heard. Nick was tight, and Chris took his time, until Nick pulled impatiently at his shoulders.
The silken friction when Chris slid inside was so fine that he had to stop to get control, leaning his forehead against Nick's, looking into his eyes. Nick's pupils were blown with pleasure, just a thin ring of bright blue around all that black. Chris kissed him, his tongue slipping into the same rhythm as his cock as he began to thrust. Nick grabbed Chris's ass, pulling him in, demanding without words: Harder, faster. Chris couldn't have resisted if his life depended on it. He angled his strokes and Nick cried out. This time Nick didn't object when Chris reached for his cock, and it only took a few more strokes before Nick exploded, body going rigid, and Chris followed right behind.
They lay there, languid and sweaty, until Chris rolled off to tie off the condom and toss it in the garbage. Nick pulled him back, settling their naked bodies together, and giving him a long, slow kiss.
"Stay?" he whispered, and Chris nodded. He didn't have a policy about casual pick-ups, mostly because he didn't really have that many, but anyone who would pass up the chance to cuddle this beautiful boy for the night needed to have his head examined. Chris probably did need to have his head examined, for a variety of reasons, but not for this one.
He fell asleep with Nick spooned behind him, big hands clasped protectively around Chris's chest, and Nick's soft breath ruffling the hair on the back of his neck. Chris didn't dream at all.
When they woke up, there was hardly any awkwardness, which was a pleasant surprise. There were also blowjobs, which was even nicer.
It probably would have been quicker - though not half as fun - to shower apart, because Chris absolutely could not keep his hands off Nick's ass, which, as he'd previously noticed, was round and firm and just perfect. Afterwards, Chris pulled on his dirty clothes from the night before, sniffing to make sure they weren't too offensive, and they headed out to get some breakfast.
To Chris's surprise, over their eggs and coffee they talked about something other than poker. Nick told Chris about his family, a younger brother and three sisters, and a mother who wanted to keep them tied to her apron strings as long as possible. Nick had been invited to join a racing crew on a boat when he was a teenager, the realization of a life-long dream, but his mother had refused to allow him to go. Nick had started gambling online partially because he knew how much it would piss off his mom, and had ended up getting hooked on the game. He worked with computers, and could easily grasp the odds and strategy, but he was fascinated by the human element that kept things unpredictable. He said it reminded him of the ocean, the way it was never the same twice.
"It'd be such a dream, to do what you do, you know? Play cards for a living. That must have taken a lot of balls, man."
Chris hesitated. He usually gave people a pat story about playing cards in dark backrooms to grow a bankroll, then moving to Vegas to take a shot. It was a lie, but it was the way most people envisioned it, and way neater than the truth, so they believed him.
"I grew up in California," he said. "A lot of places, really; we didn't stay long anywhere. It was hard to make friends, switching schools all the time, and my mom had her hands full with me and my sisters. I told her... I told her I was working, that I got a job at a supermarket or something, but really, I was playing cards. With other kids, some, but mostly with adults. They couldn't believe that this scrawny little kid was so lucky at poker."
Chris toyed with his food before looking back up at Nick. "I wasn't lucky, I was a cheat. All the time. Bottom dealing, check chopping, crimping, false shuffle, you name it, I did it. And I was good. Probably not as good as I thought I was, but most people didn't want to accuse a kid, you know? And I was careful, never took too much, didn't want to look suspicious."
Nick let out a low whistle. "You were a mechanic, huh? That can get dangerous."
"Tell me about it. The cockier I got, the more I won, the closer other people watched. I was good, though. Only got beaten up a few times. Never had my hands broken, thank god." The world of poker that people saw on television was a hell of a lot different than most of what went on in the real world. Chris knew that first-hand.
"So how'd you go straight?"
This was the really ugly part. "There was this guy... Lou. He was a bigwig in the card scene in the Valley, owned his own place. He caught me cheating. Told me I had two choices: he'd break my fingers, or I could suck his cock." Chris looked down, not wanting to meet Nick's eyes. "I told you, I never had my hands broken."
He heard Nick's breath catch, but he still couldn't look up. "I was into him for a lot of money. He told me he'd let me work it off. That meant what you probably think it meant. I mean, it coulda been worse. He never really hurt me. Nothing that'd leave scars, at least. But... I was a whore, you know? Can't change that."
When Chris heard Nick shift in his chair, he steeled himself for sneers or disgust. Or simply a goodbye. He started when Nick just reached across the table, grasping his hand, grounding him. "You must have been really strong to survive that," Chris heard.
Chris finally looked up, relieved to see that there wasn't any pity in Nick's eyes. He didn't think he could have handled that. "It's what you do, right? You survive. I've never been the type to curl up and die, I guess. Anyway, he also taught me stuff. About cards. How to read a hand, figure pot odds, spot tells, the whole deal. He was the biggest asshole I've ever met in my life, but he was a damn fine card player. It was like he got off on passing on his knowledge, and I hated him for it, but some twisted part of me was grateful that he'd teach me."
"It's not twisted, Chris." When Chris started to protest, Nick shook his head. "It's okay. Tell me how you got out of it." He was still gripping Chris's hand tightly.
"I beat him. Not the way I really wanted to, not with my fists. I wanted to tear him apart, see his blood under my fingernails. I didn't do that, but I did the next best thing. One of his big rivals, Johnny, he gave me a chance. Bankrolled me. We played each other. Good ol' no-limit Texas Hold'em. And I took the bastard down."
It sounded like something out of a movie, sort of. But he'd lived it. And it was no fairytale.
"So that's how I got my stake to come to Vegas. Moved out here and never went back. Thought about becoming a dealer, but I wasn't really cut out for that side of the table. I still send money to my mom and the girls. And I'm my own man." He gave Nick a wry smile. "Not such a pretty story, huh? Probably more than you wanted to know."
"I think it's amazing," Nick said. "And I don't think you should ever be ashamed of where you came from. That guy took advantage of you, of a kid. He used you. Sometimes surviving another day is all you can do. And you did a hell of a lot more than just survive."
"Pretty heavy conversation for breakfast," Chris said, trying to lighten the mood. "Imagine what we'll be talking about by lunch!" He always turned to jokes when things got too heavy - and with a look that said he was totally on to him, Nick let him get away with it.
It was a story Chris didn't tell many people, and he still wasn't sure why he'd told Nick. He'd been around too long to think that one night of hot - okay, incredibly hot - sex was likely to lead to happily-ever-after, but there was something about Nick that made Chris want to trust him. Nick was a straight shooter. In fact, Nick reminded Chris a lot of Lance, if Lance were a little more reckless, and a lot less bitchy.
An idea had occurred to Chris earlier, while Nick was talking, and once they settled the check and made a quick stop at his car, where he always kept a couple of changes of clothes, he steered Nick in the direction of Mandalay Bay. Nick didn't object to being led, but was clearly startled when Chris bypassed most of the playing floor completely.
"It's a surprise," Chris told him, before Nick could ask. Nick's eyes lit up, and he followed along, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. He pestered Chris every step of the way, asking question after question about what Chris had in mind, but Chris just smiled. When Nick saw the sign that said "Shark Reef," and realized where they were, he nearly glowed.
The aquarium was impressive, especially for being stuck in the middle of the desert. Nick was entranced, practically running from one end to the other, and his enjoyment lifted Chris's mood considerably. He'd thought of this as soon as Nick had talked about his love of the ocean, and he was glad to see his instincts had been spot on. About coming here, and about Nick.
He took Nick toward the end of the tunnel, and turned them around to look out at the water. Thanks to a trick of the curved walls, it looked like the shark was heading right toward them. Nick gasped, pressing up against Chris from behind.
"I want to fuck you so bad right now," he whispered, his teeth grazing the back of Chris's neck, and this time it was Chris who gasped.
They stayed there for another quarter hour, Nick's body thrumming with excitement as he watched the sharks, swaying against Chris like the current. Chris thought he was going to explode by the time Nick was ready to leave, and long before they got back to Nick's room, he wanted to rip off both their clothes.
Once the door closed behind them, though, Nick seemed to lose any sense of urgency, and his look was almost feral as he stalked around Chris, looking him up and down. Chris forced himself to stand his ground, only his eyes following Nick as he circled. Like a shark, Chris thought.
Nick turned on the faucets and started filling the hot tub - he hadn't been lying when he told Chris he'd gotten one of the Luv Tub rooms - and then took off Chris's clothes piece by piece, inch by inch, kissing every inch of skin as he exposed it. Like he was worshipping Chris as he revealed him. It was so erotic that Chris's knees nearly buckled.
Nick ignored Chris's straining cock, a glistening drop of pre-come shining at the tip, and moved down his legs, even kissing the tops of his feet. Still fully clothed, Nick led Chris over to the tub, which was now full, and turned on the bubbles. Chris stepped in, gasping as the hot, roiling water swept over his heated skin. Nick quickly removed his own clothes, rolled on a condom, and slipped into the tub behind Chris, his body supporting Chris in the water, his cock pressed against Chris's ass.
Chris suddenly felt achingly empty, and pushed back against Nick, asking silently for what he wanted, what he'd wanted since Nick had said it to him in the shark tank. Nick fastened his mouth to the juncture where Chris's neck met his shoulder, sucking and biting, and Chris threw his head back, leaning more fully into Nick. Feeling a little desperate, he reached behind him, stroking Nick's cock, lifting his hips imploringly.
"Do it," Nick whispered, his voice deep and husky as his hands stroked up Chris's sides. Chris moaned, and letting the heat and the water ease the way, he sank down onto Nick's hard cock.
Pressure, and heat, and hard glorious fullness, and it was almost too much for Chris to take. Nick let him set the pace, his mouth laving Chris's wet skin, his hands cradling Chris's cock, and Chris felt surrounded. Enveloped. Safe.
It seemed to go on forever, time stopping as the water lapped at them, and Nick moved inside him. Nick was talking to him, a low, melodic stream of words that might not have made sense, but Chris didn't care. It sounded like beautiful hot strong sexy brave wantyousomuch, on and on, beautiful words from a beautiful boy who touched him like he thought Chris was beautiful. Nick was everywhere, inside and out, touching and tasting and holding, and Chris never wanted it to end.
When he came, it was like his whole soul poured out, pulsing on and on and on into the water. Water everywhere around him, Nick moving fluidly like water, water on his face, and until he tasted the salt he didn't even know they were his tears. Nick kissed them away.
He felt drained and empty, yet somehow lighter than air. Nick helped him out of the tub, drying him off with a soft towel and his own lips, and Chris just blinked at him slowly, like he was in a dream. His mind felt sluggish and slow, and when Nick peeled off the condom and Chris saw Nick's hard, dripping cock it took him a second to realize what that meant.
"You didn't...," he said, reaching out to touch, but Nick just shushed him and led him to the bed.
"It's okay. I can wait," he whispered into Chris's hair, wrapping his still-damp body around Chris's, holding him tight. So tight.
"Thank you," Chris said softly. He'd never had anyone take care of him like that. He'd never had anyone make him feel like he deserved to be taken care of like that.
Chris felt himself start to drift off, anchored in Nick's arms. Nick would be there when he woke up, and there'd be more sex, and more cards, and just more. He didn't know how long it would last, but it didn't matter. He'd let himself show who he really was, and Nick had shown him that it had been worth it.
Chris had always wondered what it would be like to be in one of the really big tournaments, with millions on the line, and to bet your whole stack, push it to the center of the table and go all in.
Now he knew what it felt like when you did it, and won.
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Author's Note: My fourth year participating in SeSa, written for Don We Now Our Gay Apparel in 2004. It was written for Mercutio, who had requested a Chris/Lance or Chris/Nick AU. This story never would have been written without Alicia, who as always alternated between cheerleading and threats (and kick ass beta reading skills!) to keep me going. Credit to Georgina for the stealth!JuNi!