Author's Note: Alrighty, about 1/3 of this was written on paper. I just so happened to be in my room watching The Center of the World on IFC when the whole "pay a stripper to go to Vegas" seemed like a fantastic idea. I will admit that the characters are a bit OOC, but hopefully when things progress things will get canon. And please, for the love of all that is holy (like cheese), do not tell me how strip clubs work. I've never been to a strip club. I don't give a shit about what happens in strip clubs. Just deal, please, for my sanity? Please enjoy what I like to call "Brittany getting over her fucking life and trying to write something that may actually stick around to see the end". Enjoy and don't be scared to tell me what you thought. Motivation is how this monster will stick around.

Disclaimer: If I owned Glee or it's characters then I wouldn't need a disclaimer, now would I?

What Happens in Vegas

I often wished for a time machine, or a mystical wizard. I'd even take a fairy god-mother at this point. I'd take anything if it could somehow point me into the right direction. And I'd go that direction, even if it led me straight to my death. I just needed to get out of this office, get out of the room that I shared with my father, get away from him and his suffocating glares.

I knew immediately after collage that accepting my father's offer in helping him run his business was a mistake, but honestly at that time I was only worried about paying my bills and making sure my car had a full tank of gas in it. I was selfish. I'm still selfish—I'm just finally using my brain this time. I spend half my time hating my job and wanting to quit it and the other drowning in the possible circumstances of my father turning me into a eunuch or worse…he'd probably make me run for mayor. Whatever choice I made, I wouldn't be able to get away from him.

That's the whole point of growing up though, isn't? To get away from parents. To make big-boy or big-girl decisions. To take responsibility and taste regret.

So far I've done most these things but it's as if subconsciously my father is making those choices for me, like he's whispering in my ear to wake up at five in the morning and come to work. I mostly fight with him when I do.

Today had particularly been a bad one. Whilst in the middle of a phone call for a compromise in London, my dad busted into my office with a red face. He signaled for me to hang up and I took my time doing so, determined to close the deal so I wouldn't have him up my butt days later about it. The last time I couldn't get a partner site from some honky-tonk town that wasn't even on the map he nearly threw a rogue stapler at my head. To this day there's a rectangular scar on my office wall.

After finishing up the call two minutes later (getting the deal might I add, which would have given me brownie points with my father if he hadn't been so angry for some stupid reason) I looked up at him and he was still bright red, resembling a carnival balloon animal.

He walked over to my desk and slammed a fist onto it. "What were you thinking? Do you have any idea what you're doing to this company?"

"Bringing in endorsements…getting sponsors…making money…" I pondered off and picked up my cellphone, mindlessly musing over my emails and other pointless apps.

Suddenly colors were flying at my face, landing on my desk and everywhere else around me. I picked one of them up and muttered the word, "Oh."

"Oh? Oh you had no idea that there were cameras at that party? Oh you didn't know that someone could easily take out their phone and take pictures of two fags? Oh you didn't think twice about what you were doing?"

I flipped the scandalous picture of me and on other over and looked away from him, feeling embarrassed.

He took a deep breath of air and suddenly I was thinking "big-bad-wolf" to myself. If only I had a house made of bricks to run and hide in. Fortunately he didn't yell, he just sat down and motioned for me to pick up all the photos, which I so willingly did, hastily sticking them through the shredder.

The noise was loud and uncomfortable, but it was necessary to destroy whatever evidence landed in our hands.

"Where did you get them?" I asked him.

He put a fist under his chin and fondled with all my pens and pencils in a mug with a serious looking chimpanzee on it with the caption "stop monkying around" above it. Wes had gotten it as a joke, a sort of mocking knick-knack about my father. I had a few things like this; ironically hilarious motivational posters, pencil toppers, an over-weight bobble head that had a butt crack showing. They had all been given by other co-workers whenever something worthy of celebrating happened at the office. I'm surprised my father hasn't caught on.

He stopped with the pencils and moved onto the bobble head. "Facebook of course. Lidia was doing her weekly check up on the employees when she happened upon photos for Ryan's birthday party last weekend."

"Oh." Repetition on my part, but it's the only word that would actually come out of my mouth.

"Why would you do something so stupid?" he asked quietly. I looked at him and felt a crease in my forehead.

"Do what? Make out with someone at a party full of drunks?" There was a flash in his eyes and immediately I knew what he had meant. "Or make out with a guy? Is that the problem?"

He leaned in. "I love you, son, you know this. But must you go and do things like that?"

"This is so typical you, dad! You wouldn't be on my case right now if I had been kissing a girl. Am I right?"

He didn't answer me.

"That's what I thought. I'm gay. I have been all my life. You've done a pretty good job accepting this throughout the years…why is it such a problem now? The business? Fuck! Everyone here knows I'm into guys. No one cares!"

"I do!" he retorted. "What happens when possible cliental realizes that the heir of this company is off screwing men?"

"Heir?" I asked, not really caring about anything else.

He nodded and tore of his glasses, running a shaky hand through his salt and pepper hair. "I have plans for you, Blaine. This company can't be mine forever. It's going to need a new owner when I'm no longer capable of taking care of it. But when you're doing the things you do…"

I glared. "Have you ever thought that maybe I don't want to take your place?"

His eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth. "Blaine! You have to! Who else will I—?"

"Get to play slave-boy? I don't know, but I'm sure there are plenty of workers out there that would willingly commit crimes just so they could have it. And I'm sure that none of them would be caught sucking dick."

I stood up and threw my jacket on, shoving my phone into my pocket and patting all the others to make sure I had my wallet and keys. "I'm taking my lunch now."

I stormed out of my office and left my father behind, who was probably trying to fight back a stroke or a heart attack. I didn't care.

As I passed a few cubicles, familiar faces looked at me, obviously knowing about what had just happened with my father. I ignored them and stopped by Wes's cube. He was on Farmville, intent on making his crops grow or milking his cows or some shit. I slapped a hand on his shoulder and he hit the 'x' button immediately. He turned and realized it was me and took a deep breath.

"Fuck. I thought you were the boss," he said.

I grinned. "Get your jacket. Get your Robin. We're going out for a couple of beers."

He smiled back and pulled out his phone, sending a text to David. His head popped up from a cubicle three rows away and he gave two thumbs up at us before heading to where we were. We exited the building, the two throwing bar names out as we all tried to decide where to go.

"It's not even lunch time. How in the world did you convince the boss to let us leave early?" Wes asked as we stopped at his car.

I smiled and opened the passenger door. "I didn't."

Wes closed his door. "Nope. Back to work, let's go."

"Let loose, man. We all know that Blaine is going to be running this place soon enough," David said as he threw himself into the backseat. I followed and took my seat, shutting the door behind me and putting my seat belt on. It took Wes a little coaxing from us but he finally got in.

Before he could turn the key and start the ignition he turned his head to me. "Where are we going?"

I shrugged and looked back at David. He pursed his lips and let his eyes make an attempt to roll back into his head. "Hmm. What about Fire and Ice?"

I snorted. "That's a gay bar, Dee."

"And it's a strip club," Wes added.

"A strip club for gays."

"Gays that strip for other gays."

"Not for straight boys."

"Not for straight boys who are taking an unmerited lunch."

"Shut up, you two," David ordered. "We're going to a fucking gay bar, boys. We only have an hour lunch, so let's go."

Wes and I gave each other a look and sighed in sync. He turned the car on and headed out of the company parking lot. It didn't take us long to get to the club/bar/naked boy city, but it took us awhile to find an appropriate spot to sit at. David insisted that we get seats right next to the stage, but both Wes and I told him how awkward that would be.

We settled for a table in the back. I was stuck facing them and the stage, getting easily distracted but whatever hot body came out and presented itself with a little dancy thing and then nudity.

A Chippendale looking waiter walked over to us, a delicious smile on his face and smoldering eyes. I would have flirted with him if it weren't for the obvious fact that he was as high as the sky. We all ordered beers and gratefully drank them.

"Sarah sent me a BBM," David started. "Said that Lidia was Facebook stalking and came across those photos of you and Jared nearly buttfucking."

I nodded. "Yeah. That sucked. The boss started to hop the line between homophobia and work. He insinuated that every company we try to get onboard with us hate gays or something stupid like that. And then he told me that when he croaks he doesn't want a publicly Gaylord like me running his business."

Wes shook his head. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure. I think I may quit." David choked on his beer and narrowed his eyes at me.

"You can't quit! Do you know what happens to Batman and I if you do? We are fucked. Your father will sale our flesh to make blankets with."

"Or fire us…" Wes added.

"You two are so dramatic," I stated. "He'll probably try to convince you two to take my place."

"If anyone is being dramatic it's you," Wes pointed out. "What is your problem today? You fight with your dad all the time! Why all the sudden "quit" talk?"

I shrugged and took a sip of my beer, detesting it suddenly. "I've always had the idea of quitting in my head, but now I'm thinking of actually doing something about it."

David leaned back in his chair, the legs coming up off the floor and his arms going behind his head as he glanced over at a guy who had been staring at him with interest. David wasn't gay, but it was obvious that he was willing to try something new. His girlfriend probably wouldn't like that.

"I just don't get it," David said, looking back at me.

"I'm twenty-six years old. You would have thought that I'd done something meaningful with my life by now."

David gave me that whole shut-the-fuck-up look and I so dearly wanted to tip his chair over. "And what things would that be, hmm?"

I glared at him and turned my attention to Wes, who seemed more interested in the things I had to say (that didn't mean he actually was but I liked to pretend that he cared).

"Shouldn't I be in law school or medical school? Shouldn't I be trying to become something bigger than me?"

Wes shook his head. "Those are things your father would have picked out for you if he'd gotten the chance or if he never of started up the business. You chose to be one of those twenty-six year olds who actually give a shit to what happens in their life."

"Exactly!" David jumped in, letting his chair fall back on all fours. He leaned forward and stared at me like he was trying to see into my soul, which I found oddly disturbing and intriguing. "You get to decide what you want, Blaine. Not your dad, not your mom, not your step-dad. Youuuu."

"News flash, I know this. That's my problem. I can't decide what to do with my life, or what I want to do with it for that matter." My back fell against the velvet of the chair and I grabbed my beer, instantly welcoming the bitter and soothing taste.

Wes sighed and sat up, putting some random cash on the table. "David and I have to go back to work and you-" I made an attempt to stand up and follow but his hands fell onto my shoulders and pushed me back down. "You stay. Enjoy the buffet of men."

I shook my head. "No, I need to get back to work. My dad's probably having spasms and taking it out on everyone else." I tried to stand up but David took his turn in forcing me to sit. I glared at him.

"Seriously, dude… You need to relax. Ever hear the term "sexually frustrated"?"

I gasped. "I'm not sexually frustrated!" A few eyes flashed to us and I willing stayed in my seat, only to go lower and hide underneath the table (all of that was in my head, but I still sat and looked like I was about to die).

"Dude, you need to sort your shit. I can't be having you quit on us and leaving us to face the beast of the mouth…mouth of the beast?" David glanced at Wes for correction but he only shrugged. "Take a few days off and think about stuff."

Wes approved with a nod of his head. "Yeah, go some place exciting. Like Vegas!"

David looked like he was about to explode. "Totally! Get drunk. Make money. Get bitches…douches?" Once again he turned to his Batman to make sure what he was saying was accurate. Batman never knows when it comes to his Robin.

"I can't just go to Vegas for the hell of it. I've got too much going on here."

"Go. Or we'll take you ourselves," Wes threatened. I shook my head.

"Sit here, get a lap dance, have a few beers and think about it. Call us in the morning, kay, cupcake?" David finished off his beer and pushed Wes away from the table, the two of them leaving me alone in a gay bar full of naked gays. I had never hated men in general so much in my life.

It got worse once some of the guys here realized that I was alone. They were like vultures, circling my table, just waiting for gay-boy's straight friends to leave him, unable to fend for himself, unable to resist shirtless boys. It didn't take long for one of them to approach me.

He was cute, but boy was he small. He wore a black corset that came to a stop just below his nipples. Het matched that with a pair of yellow skin tight jeans with ballet flats. His auburn hair was combed and very neat. Even though his skin was pale and spotted with red on his cheeks, he looked rather healthy.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, his voice soft and angelic. He raised an eyebrow and smirked at me. He obviously wasn't a waiter. I shook my head.

"No, um, thanks."

He frowned and came closer to me, taking a seat on my knee as he wrapped his arms around my neck. He pouted at me, his blue eyes looking sadly into mine. I could feel my flesh burn, mostly from the awkward situation and the sudden turn on that this guy was.

"What's your name?" he asked me, smacking his lips as pulled himself off me. He put his hands on his hips and stared down at me. I could only shift my leg to hide the budding hard on.

"Uh, Anderson." I stopped to clear my throat, "Blaine Anderson."

He put out a white, lithe hand and I slowly took it in mine. It was so soft and small, and oddly cold, probably because mine was aflame with a million emotions. "Kurt."

"Nice to meet you, Kurt," I said with a shake of an already shaky hand.

He smiled and nodded. "Why did you come to a strip club if you don't want the attention?"

I was caught off guard by the question. I felt my eyebrow raise and he laughed a breathy chuckle. "Since you've been here you've been avoiding any eye contact from anyone. And when your buddies left you looked like you could just die. Your eyes have been glued to the exit."

"Oh." I think that's the only word in my dictionary today. I cleared my throat. "My friend suggested we come here and I thought it would be okay…but then they left me and now all I want to do is turn invisible."

The stripper, Kurt, took a seat in front of me and stole a swig off my beer. He moaned and I watched him swallow, feeling myself shiver as I did so.

"Are you gay, Mr. Anderson?" he asked. I smiled at him and nodded my head. "I know you are. I just wanted to see you admit it."

Silence followed then and I tried my hardest not to look at him. His flirtatious eyes and lickable lips were just far too much for me. Everyone was right. I am sexually frustrated. Sure Jared and I had had an intense make out session at Ryan's party, but we only kissed. Dry humping is more of a boner kill then not dry humping at all.

I noticed a blonde get up from a table full of older men. He started to walk toward a red door and one of the men from the table followed. There were sounds of hooting and hollering from the group as the two made their way into whatever it was that the door led to. I watched as the blonde, who was rocking just a pair of jeans and cowboy boots, shut the door once the man was in. The revelry at the table was even louder and I heard a man shout, "Save some for me!"

"What's back there?" I asked.

Kurt's eyes followed my finger and he smiled. Looking back at me he leaned in and motioned for me to do the same. I could feel the edge of the table digging into my rib cage but I didn't care.

"It's a place where our customers can get better service," he whispered seductively.

"Where people hook up?" I guessed.

He pulled back and looked at my lips, licking his own. "Want to go take a peek?"

I nodded thoughtlessly.

He stood up, my beer in hand, and started to walk to that red door. It took me a minute to get myself to stand up but I did, noticing how farther away the door seemed to get with each step. I kept my head down when we passed the table full of rowdy men. They made a few minor comments about wanting to fuck Kurt, which probably would have bothered me if it weren't for the fact that I had just agreed to fuck him myself.

It was dark behind the door, a black light illuminating a hallway. I glanced down and noticed that my shirt was glowing purple. As we passed blacked doors I could hear noises of pleasure coming from them, which caused my stress/nerve/horny levels to go up about three-hundred notches.

Kurt stopped at the end of the hallway and opened the door. "Come on in."

He disappeared inside the room and I slowly made my way in, doing as he asked by shutting the door. He instructed for me to take a seat on what looked like a large leather couch. I couldn't tell; the lights were off except for a nauseating black light.

Before I knew it Kurt was on my lap, his hands on my shoulder and his lips on my neck. Immediately my hands turned into fists as my sides and I tried my hardest not to moan. There was a soft beat coming from somewhere, and Kurt rocked his hips with the tempo, his thighs rubbing against mine and his cock pressing into mine.

My neck was on fire and his lips felt like ice against it, and I laughed about the whole Fire and Ice thing. I'm pretty sure they didn't name the club after my sexual activities, but it was still ironic.

"What's so funny?" Kurt asked, breathing against my neck. I shuttered.

"Nothing," I whispered, moving my head so his lips could find mine. Dear God, his lips! They were so soft and so light and so exciting. But below more exciting things were happening.

His hips were pounding into mine slowly, causing friction against our legs. I could feel his erection against mine. I snaked my hands to the button his jeans and he slapped them, pulling away from my lips, evidently making me hiss.

"Nuh-uh. No touching," he said with a torturing tone. Instead his hands fumbled with my pants, his hands easily unloosing the belt and before I knew it his hand was wrapped around my cock, receiving my opened mouth kisses as I moaned at the touch.

But there wasn't something right about this. Something that had my stomach growing in knots.

"Stop," I said, pulling his hand away.

He panted and put his hands up, his eyes wide in worry. "What's wrong? Did I do something?"

I shook my head and sort of pushed him off my lap. He really was far too light to hit the spot next to me without making a loud noise. I buttoned up my pants and zipped the zipper, fastening the belt quicker than I ever had before.

"I don't understand…" Kurt said, his eyes rather sad for a guy who gets naked for a living.

I sighed and smiled at him, putting my hand against his. "It's not you, it's me. I just can't do this. Not here, at least."

He nodded and made the 'oh' face but didn't say it, which made me happy. I wondered about him then. He was small and clearly young, but how old exactly? Maybe twenty, but he seemed younger. I hoped he wasn't some sixteen year old boy who'd lied to work here. That'd make me feel even worse. I wondered why he was stripping, but like the rest of us he was probably trying to make a living.

I also wondered how much he made and if it was enough. I didn't really have to worry about money, what with the fact that my father was a borderline millionaire and I just so happened to be making nearly thirty five bucks an hour. Money was something I rarely worried about. But I bet for someone like Kurt, it was the center of his world—but not by choice.

I fell for the guy and reached for my wallet in my back pocket, pulling out some money.

"Here," I said to him, handing him the bills as I put the wallet back.

He took the money and looked at it. "Why would you give me three-hundred dollars? I didn't do anything except sexually frustrate you." I was suddenly really starting to hate that word, mostly because it was far too true for my liking.

Suddenly a crazy idea was born. The parents? Batman and Robin.

"What if I gave you more?" I asked him hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow. "How much more?"

"Ten thousand dollars more."

He coughed, almost as if he was choking. "Are you kidding? Who put this up to you?" Instantly he was angry. "Puck? I'm going to slit his throat!"

He stood up and headed to the black door. I leaned over and grabbed his soft hand before he could touch the doorknob. He stopped and looked at me, probably mentally questioning my sanity.

"No one put me up to this," I replied.

"Then why would you offer me so much?" A spark in his eyes a beat later and he was changing the direction of his questions. "What do you want from me?"

I bit my thumb nail and motioned for him to take a seat. He shook his head and stayed near the door. I sighed and put my hands on my knees, trying to stop them from shaking I guess.

"Vegas. Come with me."

I don't know when I decided to go, but going with this complete stranger was too intriguing to put behind me. I'd only known him for less than half an hour but already he was driving me wild. He repositioned his bangs and smoothed his palms against his pants before he walked over and sat beside me. The couch didn't budge as he took his seat, which wasn't a surprise. He was so small. And as light as a feather. What I would give to feel him on top of me. Feel his hands against my chest, my cock inside him…

"You want me to sleep with you?"

I freaked for a moment, thinking that he could read my mind. But then I realized that was ridiculous.

I could feel my cheeks burn. "Yeah…that's kind of the whole point."

He glared and laughed. "I'm a stripper, Mr. Anderson. I don't fuck for cash."

I narrowed my eyes back. "You seemed pretty willing to give me a hand job a few minutes ago."

"That's different. I wasn't on my knees letting you go balls deep. I'm obliged to tease. I'm a stripper!"

Yes, so you've said. "No one likes a tease," I stated. He looked away and continued to fondle the cash I had so kindly given him. I stood up and pulled my wallet out again, grabbing a white card from the back slot.

"Three days. Three nights. That's all I'm asking." I flipped the card into his direction and picked up my jacket. "Let me know if you change your mind."