Co-Dependent Vince/Eric Fic 3/?
Pairing: Vince/Eric
Fandom: Entourage
Rating: Some swearing, but that's all.
Summery: Eric is trying to cope and Vince is trying to help.
It’s early, about nine, which is early for Vince, when he wakes and ambles downstairs into the kitchen where he is confronted with the sight of Drama, fast asleep at the island with his head pillowed on an open cookbook, a bowl of batter of some sort by his head, and a blanket draped over his shoulders.
Vince wakes him with a “Shit, does anybody sleep normally in this fucking house anymore?”
And Johnny jerks awake with a snort, gets tangled in the blanket, finally throwing it to the floor and turning to Vince with an exclamation, “Fuck! That little cocksucking Fucker!” and then promptly deflates at Vince confused face.
“Fuck,” he says but this time he sounds resigned and tired and Vince is just getting more worried because what ever is going on has Johnny freaked out too.
“What’s going on, bro?” Vince offers casually. “Didn’t know you lazy ass would leave bed before noon for anything other then work.”
Johnny chuckles and turns away from Vince with the bowl of what he realizes is pancake batter and he speaks to the skillet not Vince. “It’s E, man” he says and Vince tenses. “I was hoping to fucking catch him before he split to wherever the fuck he goes these day and shove some fucking food down his throat. Bitch mustta snuck right past me. Gave me a fucking blanket too, just to rub it in”
Johnny then hands him a plate with a steaming pancake on it and plunks the syrup down next to it, glaring at the pancake as if it were responsible for E skipping breakfast. “Fuck,” is Vince’s tired response, “Does he ever eat?” and Johnny’s face is enough of an answer and all Vince can say again is “Fuck.”
*****************************************
E sighed in frustration as he hung the phone, Christ, he was so fucking tired of voices yelling at him the tiny speaker in his cell phone, pushing their agendas on him, Vince, on any-fucking-one that might be able to help them. Fuck, he was just tired, sleep had become a fucking curse in this last month and Jesus before in the hospital it had only been drug induced and then that left waking up.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The steady beeping soothes E’s emergence into consciousness, leaving him feeling oddly disconnected and calm. He blinks his eyes open, and the white wall and plastic door of a standard hospital slide into focus and realizes that his calm is drug induced and panic fills him, but it’s a far away sort of panic, even though looking back that was the last thing he remembers feeling as the toe of a boot drove into his skull and the blackness wrapped him up and tucked him into sleep.
And now E is really fucking panicking with memory and because the beeping has gotten fast and high and it doesn’t penetrate that it is his heart, which is burning oddly and he can’t fucking move, his left leg feeling tight and heavy and the other only twitches as he shoves it through his drug haze, and his right arm is tied up in one of those complicated slings and when E tries to pull it out, he feels this odd tearing but it still doesn’t hurt and that isn’t good because he is in a hospital and it has to be really fucking bad if he does hurt at all, if they’re doping him with the really good stuff.
Jesusfuck, he is so scared now because the machines are shrieking and he can’t seem to get enough air down his windpipe but there isn’t anyone there, he is alone, Jesus, he wants Vince, he wants him so badly that it hurts even through the drugs, and honestly he would settle for Drama or Turtle at this point, and not even think of it as settling because they’re his boys, his family, and no one is here right fucking now, and he is alone so fucking alone, lying trapped on this big fucking bed, totally vulnerable, and what if he’s been forgotten here and the nurses never come and he chokes to death on the blood filling his mouth from somewhere and it tastes just like it did that night, how long ago was it?
He can’t think, he’s dizzy so fucking dizzy and the machines are screaming for help and he should too, so he tries but it sounds like a demented choking noise, so he listens to them and tries to scream like the machines, beep beep beep, high and fast and terrified beep beep beep or is it terrifying? beep beep beep, where the fuck is Vince? Beep beep beep and he jut wants him… beep beep beep or anyone, really beep beep beep or just-
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP
The irregular sound of a car horn yanks E shaking back into the present and he is sweating and choking on sobs as his yanks his car from the lane full of on coming traffic onto the shoulder and climbs out the car to retch and retch, even though there is nothing in his stomach to loose, hasn’t been for days. It make his nauseated to think about food these days and that thought strikes him as ironic kneeling with a pool of his stomach acid in front of him, so he laughs and doesn’t stop, can’t stop and suddenly, heart wrenchingly, he wishes Vince were here again because he would be able to make him stop laughing and stop trembling and stop fucking crying.
*****************************************
It’s late when E gets back, Johnny and Turtle had gone to bed hours a go after exchanging looks that Vince ignored over his head. E scuffs his way into the living room right off the kitchen where the four of them, or these days three of them spend most of their time. He meets Vince’s eyes and the expression in them, the desperation, the want, the hope, the loss, the need in them makes Vince freeze for a second.
And then he is up and across the room in a fraction of second because E needs, he fucking needs something and E never asks but Vince will give it to him, he will move fucking heaven and earth and rearrange the stars and give fucking anything, his money, his career, anything, because while the giving mostly goes one way in their friendship, Vince is sorry, so fucking sorry, and he loves E so much, and will do whatever it takes to get E what he wants if E would just fucking tell him.
Vince knows he’s begging with his eyes and that E can never say no to that, but he feels an odd pang of relief and guilt when E raises his eyes from Vince’s sock clad feet to meet his eyes and sees the imploring request and just crumples, his face, his body, his fucking soul or whatever, just folds in on itself and Vince reaches out to try and hold the pieces together even as E collapses towards him.
And they’re on the floor somehow, and E arms are trapped between their torsos, and Vince is clutching him to his chest and it works this one time for E not to be hugging back because this is about trying to keep the world out for a second so E can have one fucking moment of peace, that’s it. So Vince just rests his chin on the crown of E’s head and wishes.
***************************
Gradually E muscles underneath Vince’s arms begin to unknot and loosen and for a glorious second Vince is sure that he has convinced E that the Earth will keep revolving without him there to spin it, and he can take a moment, just one fucking moment, E, to simply relax.
But instead E just sort of slides out his arms and leans back against the door with his eyes closed, face turned up towards the warm yellow light at the center of the ceiling, shadows craved in smooth lines under his eyes and along his throat. Vince takes a second to savor this because god, anything was an improvement on the Eric who had been leaning against the doorframe looking as short as he ever had and so completely exhausted but it isn’t enough so he tries quietly.
“E.”
“I know” His voice is jagged and sharp and sounds like it hurts being forced out his throat. “I know.” He says again and this time his voice is brittle and old, like a tree cracking under the pressure of frost as fall slides into winter.
“Okay” and Vince had to force the word out past the mass in his windpipe and shoves himself back against the wall next to Eric, who is leaning back one leg thrown out haphazardly and is rubbing his shoulder. Vince brushes his shoulder against the other men’s and E just melts in to the contact tiredly, shifting closer, as he opens his mouth and says, “Promise you won’t make me get a bodyguard after you hear this, okay?”
Vince forces a laugh but it echoes as hollowly as E joke. However, E just shifts a little closer and twitches his lips upward in what Vince can tell is supposed to be a smile. He holds Vince’s eyes for a second, looking for something and Vince doesn’t know what so he just opens himself up like he learned in acting class and fucking waits, hoping it will be enough and apparently it is because E turns his face back to the light and begins his story.
Fandom: Entourage
Rating: Some swearing, but that's all.
Summery: Eric is trying to cope and Vince is trying to help.
It’s early, about nine, which is early for Vince, when he wakes and ambles downstairs into the kitchen where he is confronted with the sight of Drama, fast asleep at the island with his head pillowed on an open cookbook, a bowl of batter of some sort by his head, and a blanket draped over his shoulders.
Vince wakes him with a “Shit, does anybody sleep normally in this fucking house anymore?”
And Johnny jerks awake with a snort, gets tangled in the blanket, finally throwing it to the floor and turning to Vince with an exclamation, “Fuck! That little cocksucking Fucker!” and then promptly deflates at Vince confused face.
“Fuck,” he says but this time he sounds resigned and tired and Vince is just getting more worried because what ever is going on has Johnny freaked out too.
“What’s going on, bro?” Vince offers casually. “Didn’t know you lazy ass would leave bed before noon for anything other then work.”
Johnny chuckles and turns away from Vince with the bowl of what he realizes is pancake batter and he speaks to the skillet not Vince. “It’s E, man” he says and Vince tenses. “I was hoping to fucking catch him before he split to wherever the fuck he goes these day and shove some fucking food down his throat. Bitch mustta snuck right past me. Gave me a fucking blanket too, just to rub it in”
Johnny then hands him a plate with a steaming pancake on it and plunks the syrup down next to it, glaring at the pancake as if it were responsible for E skipping breakfast. “Fuck,” is Vince’s tired response, “Does he ever eat?” and Johnny’s face is enough of an answer and all Vince can say again is “Fuck.”
*****************************************
E sighed in frustration as he hung the phone, Christ, he was so fucking tired of voices yelling at him the tiny speaker in his cell phone, pushing their agendas on him, Vince, on any-fucking-one that might be able to help them. Fuck, he was just tired, sleep had become a fucking curse in this last month and Jesus before in the hospital it had only been drug induced and then that left waking up.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The steady beeping soothes E’s emergence into consciousness, leaving him feeling oddly disconnected and calm. He blinks his eyes open, and the white wall and plastic door of a standard hospital slide into focus and realizes that his calm is drug induced and panic fills him, but it’s a far away sort of panic, even though looking back that was the last thing he remembers feeling as the toe of a boot drove into his skull and the blackness wrapped him up and tucked him into sleep.
And now E is really fucking panicking with memory and because the beeping has gotten fast and high and it doesn’t penetrate that it is his heart, which is burning oddly and he can’t fucking move, his left leg feeling tight and heavy and the other only twitches as he shoves it through his drug haze, and his right arm is tied up in one of those complicated slings and when E tries to pull it out, he feels this odd tearing but it still doesn’t hurt and that isn’t good because he is in a hospital and it has to be really fucking bad if he does hurt at all, if they’re doping him with the really good stuff.
Jesusfuck, he is so scared now because the machines are shrieking and he can’t seem to get enough air down his windpipe but there isn’t anyone there, he is alone, Jesus, he wants Vince, he wants him so badly that it hurts even through the drugs, and honestly he would settle for Drama or Turtle at this point, and not even think of it as settling because they’re his boys, his family, and no one is here right fucking now, and he is alone so fucking alone, lying trapped on this big fucking bed, totally vulnerable, and what if he’s been forgotten here and the nurses never come and he chokes to death on the blood filling his mouth from somewhere and it tastes just like it did that night, how long ago was it?
He can’t think, he’s dizzy so fucking dizzy and the machines are screaming for help and he should too, so he tries but it sounds like a demented choking noise, so he listens to them and tries to scream like the machines, beep beep beep, high and fast and terrified beep beep beep or is it terrifying? beep beep beep, where the fuck is Vince? Beep beep beep and he jut wants him… beep beep beep or anyone, really beep beep beep or just-
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP
The irregular sound of a car horn yanks E shaking back into the present and he is sweating and choking on sobs as his yanks his car from the lane full of on coming traffic onto the shoulder and climbs out the car to retch and retch, even though there is nothing in his stomach to loose, hasn’t been for days. It make his nauseated to think about food these days and that thought strikes him as ironic kneeling with a pool of his stomach acid in front of him, so he laughs and doesn’t stop, can’t stop and suddenly, heart wrenchingly, he wishes Vince were here again because he would be able to make him stop laughing and stop trembling and stop fucking crying.
*****************************************
It’s late when E gets back, Johnny and Turtle had gone to bed hours a go after exchanging looks that Vince ignored over his head. E scuffs his way into the living room right off the kitchen where the four of them, or these days three of them spend most of their time. He meets Vince’s eyes and the expression in them, the desperation, the want, the hope, the loss, the need in them makes Vince freeze for a second.
And then he is up and across the room in a fraction of second because E needs, he fucking needs something and E never asks but Vince will give it to him, he will move fucking heaven and earth and rearrange the stars and give fucking anything, his money, his career, anything, because while the giving mostly goes one way in their friendship, Vince is sorry, so fucking sorry, and he loves E so much, and will do whatever it takes to get E what he wants if E would just fucking tell him.
Vince knows he’s begging with his eyes and that E can never say no to that, but he feels an odd pang of relief and guilt when E raises his eyes from Vince’s sock clad feet to meet his eyes and sees the imploring request and just crumples, his face, his body, his fucking soul or whatever, just folds in on itself and Vince reaches out to try and hold the pieces together even as E collapses towards him.
And they’re on the floor somehow, and E arms are trapped between their torsos, and Vince is clutching him to his chest and it works this one time for E not to be hugging back because this is about trying to keep the world out for a second so E can have one fucking moment of peace, that’s it. So Vince just rests his chin on the crown of E’s head and wishes.
***************************
Gradually E muscles underneath Vince’s arms begin to unknot and loosen and for a glorious second Vince is sure that he has convinced E that the Earth will keep revolving without him there to spin it, and he can take a moment, just one fucking moment, E, to simply relax.
But instead E just sort of slides out his arms and leans back against the door with his eyes closed, face turned up towards the warm yellow light at the center of the ceiling, shadows craved in smooth lines under his eyes and along his throat. Vince takes a second to savor this because god, anything was an improvement on the Eric who had been leaning against the doorframe looking as short as he ever had and so completely exhausted but it isn’t enough so he tries quietly.
“E.”
“I know” His voice is jagged and sharp and sounds like it hurts being forced out his throat. “I know.” He says again and this time his voice is brittle and old, like a tree cracking under the pressure of frost as fall slides into winter.
“Okay” and Vince had to force the word out past the mass in his windpipe and shoves himself back against the wall next to Eric, who is leaning back one leg thrown out haphazardly and is rubbing his shoulder. Vince brushes his shoulder against the other men’s and E just melts in to the contact tiredly, shifting closer, as he opens his mouth and says, “Promise you won’t make me get a bodyguard after you hear this, okay?”
Vince forces a laugh but it echoes as hollowly as E joke. However, E just shifts a little closer and twitches his lips upward in what Vince can tell is supposed to be a smile. He holds Vince’s eyes for a second, looking for something and Vince doesn’t know what so he just opens himself up like he learned in acting class and fucking waits, hoping it will be enough and apparently it is because E turns his face back to the light and begins his story.