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AN:

Obviously this was meant as a crack-fic. However I didn't intend to offend any sexual orientation with this little drabble. Most of it is to blame on two glasses of delicious Shiraz and a prompt from copycat. (This isn't exactly the wedding scene, but as close as I could get without sounding like a fraud.)

I would to thank ariel133, pain66, DutchPackLeader, AnonymousPhan, jh126, bacio4hope, April420, guest92 and the other Guest reviewers for reviewing my sponataneous inspiration.

Please note that I have never been across the Atlantic. I tried to apply what my dad told me about his visit there in '76. So my information might be slightly outdated.

Also I didn't think it was necessary to mention this, but just to clarify: The term Lesbian/Gay/Bisexual/Transgendered is not the same as Bondage-Discipline/Domination-Submission/Sadism-Ma sochism. Just because some people have a different sexual orientation doesn't mean that they are living in a relationship with a different power dynamic. Like most heterosexual couples the majority of homosexual couples strive to be equal as partners!

And finally, a homosexual orientation doesn't make anyone less of a man. Sam is still as manly as ever. He is in love with someone, and this someone happens to be a man. That is all that there is to it.

He hates flying. He always has. All the hassle with the luggage. The security checks. The waiting. It's annoying. And that is all before they even board the plane. Before his ears start to ache and he gets sick. No one wants to spend hours with the taste of vomit in his mouth; especially not, if you are flying with your hot boyfriend.

So far he always managed to convince him to take the car for their trips, but even he can admit that driving to Vegas for a weekend might be a tad bit unrealistic.

So he fasts and braves the perils of air travel. There is hardly anything he wouldn't do for Donny. He is his whole life. It has taken them quite some time to get to the point where they are at now, but they finally made it and that is all that matters.

He has gotten a window seat and he is not sure if he should be happy about that or not. He doesn't really mind the heights. He can stand that as long as he tells himself that the fields beneath them are surreal, but these window seats tend to be cold. Really freaking cold. But Donny is taller than him, he has the longer legs. He could use the extra legroom the aisle provides. For him he would do anything. Even brave the cold. It's not like he is posted permanently North of the Wall. Their destination is smack dab in the middle of the desert.

The anxiety hasn't left him though. It's still there. He can feel it in the tense muscles of his thighs. The very ones Donny decides to caress just now. And suddenly Sam is glad that it is so freaking cold on this plane. It's not like he can pull a jacket over his lap. The stewardess took it from him and stored it in the overhead lockers. For security reasons she said. Whatever.

Donny's touch still feels nice. Oh, how much he loves this man. He turns his face towards him and raises his hand to his face. The lines on his forehead have become deeper. And there is this line between his eyebrows. Sam hates that line. He feels like he was the one that put it there. All this angst he put them through. He wishes he could have made it easier on him. But Donny doesn't blame him. These blue eyes of his hold nothing but love. It amazes Sam every single time he looks at him.

The whole flight long he is there for him. Smoothing the back of his shirt while Sam wretches into the paper bag courtesy of the Airline Company. The whole time he reassures him, that they will land soon and that they will get so very drunk, that Sam doesn't even remember the flight.

And then they finally land and they are sweltering in the heat. Granted it is a dry heat, but still they are in the freaking desert. He doesn't need his leather jacket here. He needs an AC. Or at least a ventilator.

His mouth still taste like Listerine by the time they arrive on the famous Las Vegas Strip. Neither of them has been here before. And somehow it doesn't look like what they expected. Maybe it's the daylight, maybe it's just the effect of television, but Las Vegas is not what either of them thought it would be. They stand in front of the big casinos together with hordes of tourists. Obese men and women with fanny packs. Drunken college kids. And they are both glad, that they don't have any jurisdiction here. In the five minutes they stood in front of what looks like the Eiffel Tower Sam has seen at least four pick pockets.

Sam feels the soft brush of Donny's knuckles against the back of his hand. It is not a big gesture but for Sam this means so much.

They are still not an overly touchy-feely couple but ever since he came out of the closet Sam is glad he can stake a claim on his man. And what a man he is. He brushes the sweat from his palm before he takes Donny's hand and pulls him into the shadows. Maybe he's got a heatstroke, but it just feels so right at this moment: Carefully he combs with his fingers through Donny's hair and looks him deep in the eyes. His eyes are not the same size nor the same shape. It's one of the things he can't stop to look at though. Because when he looks into these eyes he feels like he found his soul mate. Donny is everything he isn't and so much more. He the one person who really gets him. And the one person he couldn't live without, he realizes. So he lets his hands follow the shoulders and down the arms until he holds both his hands in his own.

He takes a deep breath. And then another. And then he asks:

"Donovan Boyd, will you marry me?"

Oh how much I would appreciate a nice little comment from you now!