Fic: Whatever Happens Ne*t, Entourage, Vince/Eric, PG-13ish
Title: Whatever Happens Ne*t
Fandom: Entourage
Pairing: Vince/Eric
Summary: An alternate ending for the episode "The Day Fu*kers." Recap available (from HBO)
here.
Rating: PG for some swearing, drinking, joking about sex.
Warnings/Spoilers: Up to and through "The Day Fu*kers" in Season 4.
Length: 4,300 words. Complete.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and my intention is not to make any money.
Notes: NOT part of a series of mine. This one stands alone. Un-beta read; written for dancinbutterfly in response to a comment over here. Hope this is about what you were looking for! :)
Also - I just wanted to use the * in the title.
Eric walks out of his bedroom looking all spiffed up and says he's going to fuck the British girl, a clear sign, to Vince, that his phone call with Sloan was a disaster. Instead of cheering him on, Vince says, "Hang on a second." He's not exactly sure what makes him do it: twenty plus years of friendship, maybe, or some lingering respect for Sloan. Maybe it's just that he feels like he needs a drink more than he needs to be right, and he wants to give his brother - and maybe himself - a nice way to save face, not to mention five grand. But right then, instead of letting Eric go, he wants him to stop. He wants him to stay.
Eric pauses in the doorway, adjusting his cuffs. This is his serious outfit, his preppy outfit; it's telling that Eric turns to designer threads when he wants to get laid. It probably worked in high school.
Vince looks across at Johnny, who's already, Vince can see, starting to panic. "What if - look, what if we call it a draw."
Johnny raises an eyebrow. "A draw?" Vince nods. "They do both have viable offers. That's pretty close to our agreement."
"Viable?" Turtle says, shaking the pink rabbit costume. Eric snorts.
"So, a draw? We keep our money, Turtle keeps his dignity -"
"Amen to that."
" - And E can get a drink with us all, before he goes off to bang this Brit." Vince looks at Eric, who crosses his arms and shrugs. "And he gets to call her tomorrow if he wants."
Johnny looks down at the pile of money, then over at Eric, then back. "Yeah, all right," he says. "A draw keeps the family honor intact."
"It's very honorable," Vince says, sweeping up his money. He tucks half of it in his wallet and slides the rest into his front pocket, then joins Eric at the door. "Drinks?"
"You're gonna walk out of here with five grand on you?"
Vince slings an arm around Eric's shoulders and smells subtle, expensive cologne: definitely trying to get laid. "Nah, I'll drop half with the front desk for the safe on the way out. OK?"
Eric nods. "One drink," he says, and Vince grins and drags him out the door.
They hit a bar on Sunset that Johnny likes, a kind of dive place where they sometimes run the SciFi channel over the bar. Vince is feeling magnanimous, so he doesn't suggest anyplace better. Johnny says he's got the first round, and while he orders and tries to get the bartender to change the channel, Vince slides into a booth in the back with Eric while Turtle hits the pinball machine. "So what'd Sloan say?" Vince asks.
Eric shrugs. "She's with some other guy now. You believe that?"
Vince frowns carefully. Of course he believes it. Sloan's super hot and, like every girl Eric's ever dated, super ready to settle down. It was only a matter of time. "That sucks, man," he says. "I thought you guys were on a break?"
"Exactly."
Johnny puts a pitcher in front of them and slides glasses onto the table, then pours one for himself. While Vince is pouring his own, Johnny raises his glass. "To a draw," he says, and Vince grins up at him.
"Yeah," he says, "and the next round's on me."
"Even better." He takes a big drink, makes a production of sighing afterward. Vince doesn't tell him he has foam on his lip, just grins and sips his own. Eric pours himself a glass expertly, no foam, and then doesn't take a drink.
"So can I say something?" Vince asks, when Johnny's moved over to hassle Turtle about his low score in pinball. Eric raises an eyebrow like permission. "You're gonna fuck this girl, Heather, tonight, just for revenge?"
"What, now you're talking me out of it?"
Vince shrugs. "I'm just saying, it's not like you. And I don't wanna be responsible for a big guilt trip on top of this whole Sloan break up thing. If you're gonna fuck Heather to get Sloan out of your system, that I'm down with. Otherwise..."
"Yeah," Eric says shortly, and Vince isn't sure which way he's leaning, whether he's going to split to hit the girl or whether he'll just stay. He sits back and figures his work is done. He's tried to lead him in the right direction. Whatever happens now - hey, not his fault. He wants Eric to stay, though, but knows that saying that probably wouldn't make a difference.
The other guys fall back in to drink their beers, rambling about whether Turtle deserved the extra point because he jostled the table.
"I didn't jostle anything," Turtle says, pouring his own. "I maybe pushed a little hard when I was using the right flipper."
"The ball left the fucking surface," Johnny says. "That's a clear cheat. The new machines won't let you get away with that kind of shit."
"Well maybe if we went to a bar that wasn't stuck in 1984 -"
"Hey," Johnny says, "I find this place comforting. I feel nostalgic for the old neighborhood when I'm in here. Reminds me of home, right, Vince?"
Vince looks around. "Nineteen eighty-four, that's about right," he says. "I can remember going to places like this with Dad."
"You were eight in '84," Eric says.
"Yep." Eric frowns, and under the table his knee brushes Vince's thigh, quick like he's shifting, but Vince gets it's actually an apology: Eric saying, I wasn't calling you out on the story, I just forgot how it was. Vince smiles at him and grips his shoulder. "Come on, guys, we gotta keep E's mind off of Sloan. Think of something entertaining."
"We still gotta return that bunny suit," Turtle says. "You wanna call dibs on that?"
Eric groans. "Jesus Christ, the shit you guys come up with. I can't even believe it."
"Hey, we didn't come up with this - " Turtle starts, and Johnny says, "It can be perfectly natural to identify with an animal."
"Oh God," Vince says, settling back, sure there's a story here.
"What, Drama, you got a secret passion for donkeys we don't know about?"
Johnny frowns. His glass is almost empty. "I'm not gonna dignify that with a response," he says, and Vince laughs.
"Will your dignity be restored if I offer it more to drink?" he asks, and waves at the bartender. The place is slow, Vince is famous - he gets the guy to walk over and take their order. Vince orders shots all around and another pitcher of the same - it's some complicated microbrew - and asks the guy to keep them coming. He hands over a hundred dollar bill and the bartender suddenly gets friendlier, offers them some popcorn if they'd like it.
"Sounds great," Vince says, and turns back to Johnny. "So tell me how this isn't freaky."
Johnny launches into a long explanation of how sometimes it's easier for people to give in to their urges when they're guaranteed a certain anonymity. That part Vince can understand - it's a lot like acting. What he doesn't get is the next part, where Johnny starts talking about how people connect with their animalistic selves and begin to recognize higher states of -
"Seriously, do you secretly have a bunny costume of your own?" Eric asks, his second beer untouched, the shot glass empty only because Vince drank it. "Is this why you never let us go in your room when we were kids?"
Johnny scoffs. "That was because I didn't want you retards lifting my magazines," he says, and then, with a glance at Turtle, "or my stash."
"Hey, I don't steal," Turtle says.
"You stole my magazines," Vince says, and Turtle holds up his hands.
"I don't steal drugs," he says, and Vince lets him have that one.
"I took the magazines from Cindy McClain's dad, anyway, so I can't really complain," Vince says, and the guys all laugh.
Eric shakes his head and takes a small sip of his drink. Vince's beer is nearly gone; he's glad when a new round gets dropped off. "You know, that was as kinky as our pops ever got, too, those magazines. Can you imagine any of them getting dressed up in a rabbit outfit?"
"Oh, fuck, I think you just broke my brain," Turtle moans, rubbing his eyes, and Vince laughs and downs a shot.
"Seriously, though," Vince says, wiping his mouth, "they were all pretty vanilla. I mean - not that I really think about that, or want to, but - I bet about the spiciest thing our folks ever did was the backseat of a car."
"Nah, kitchen table," Johnny says, then shudders. Vince stares. "I came home early once. I don't wanna relive it."
"Ew," Vince says, sliding the bowl of popcorn away. "I ate on that table."
"You fucked on it, too, if memory serves," Eric says, and Vince laughs. "Tiny Cartinelli, was that the one?"
"Or her sister," Vince says thoughtfully. "Never could tell those two apart - blonde, tight, always one or the other up for it."
Turtle pours a new beer. "You're like the anti-vanilla," he says, raising his glass. "You've done some crazy shit."
Vince clinks his glass. "Yeah, yeah," he says. "Nothing too crazy, though."
Eric's looking at him kind of funny. "What's too crazy?" he asks.
"I don't know. I've never taken a shit on anybody," he says, and the guys crack up.
Eric keeps looking at him. "No, seriously," he says, "what's too crazy for you? Like, at what point do you say, no, thanks?"
Vince shrugs. "Guess it depends on the girl," he says.
"I know what your point is," Johnny says, pointing at Eric. "You say no thanks the minute she doesn't want to marry you."
"Nesting creature," Vince says, nodding, and Eric rolls his eyes.
"Fuck you, Drama, I can still lose you five thou tonight."
"I know what my point is," Turtle says loudly. Vince looks around the table - the collection of glasses has multiplied impressively. "First of all, no fucking costumes. I don't care how hot - and that girl today was fucking amazing, right, Drama?"
"She was OK," he says, twirling an empty shot glass, and Vince nods to Turtle like he believes him.
"Hot. She was hot. Anyway. No costumes, even for real hot ass. Second - no fucking old chicks."
"Good luck sticking to that in ten years when you're still single," Eric says, and Vince laughs.
"What's too old?"
"Forty," Turtle says.
"Real enlightened."
"Hey, just because you're about to get social security doesn't make my rules stupid," Turtle says.
Johnny shakes his head. "My rules are way simpler. Number one: no bodily functions other than those required by nature as part of the sex act."
"The sex act?" Turtle says, but Vince shushes him.
"Two, pornography beforehand, fine, but not during."
"What, you feel inadequate?" Turtle asks.
Johnny scoffs. "I just don't want to ruin the films for the girls," he says.
"What else, Johnny? Just two rules?" Vince asks.
"Three - no guys."
"No more threesomes?"
Johnny glances at Turtle, who's gone very quiet. Vince sees Eric smirking. "I meant, I don't care how hot the girl is, I'm not fucking another guy. If that's her turn on, she can rent Brokeback."
"So, wait," Turtle says, "you'd take it up the ass for an Oscar, but not for a chance at pussy? Congratulations, Drama, you're officially the gayest sellout I know."
Vince has to lay his head down on the table so that Johnny won't see him laughing. Johnny, pissed, slides out of the table and challenges Turtle to some kind of pinball duel. Vince looks up when he's sure they're gone. "Hey," he says, looking over at Eric.
Eric nods. He's pushing empty glasses into neat lines. His beer is still half-full, and Vince reaches over and drains it. "You're not drinking?"
"Someone should be DD," he says.
"Not going to meet the Brit, then?"
He sighs. "Guess not."
"You're grouchy," Vince says. He wants to ask if Eric's still thinking about Sloan, but that's obvious, so he says instead, "What are your rules?"
"I don't know," he says. "I guess - it's like you said, it depends on the girl, maybe. Like with Sloan -" and then he gets quiet and starts pushing the glasses around again.
Vince props his head up on one hand. "I'd do a guy," he says, just wanting to jolt Eric out of his melancholy.
It works: Eric looks up quickly and blinks. "Uh, what?"
Vince shrugs. "What's the big deal, right?"
"The big deal with what?" Turtle asks, sliding back into the booth.
Eric shakes his head. "This is dumb, let's just drop it. You guys wanna go?"
"I said I'd do a guy," Vince says, and Johnny sprays out a mouthful of beer. Eric dodges to the side, his shoulder and thigh colliding with Vince's, and Vince grips his biceps, as though to hold him back from the spray. Johnny sputters and starts to mop up, waving the bartender back when he starts to approach.
"What?" Vince says, looking around at three shocked faces.
"Not so loud," Turtle says, looking around the empty bar.
"Christ," Eric mutters, rubbing his forehead. "You're cut off."
"Like - in a threesome?" Turtle asks.
"Or just, like, I don't know. Just to try it, I guess," Vince says. Eric is blushing so brightly that Vince can see it even under the dim bar lights. "What, it's such a big deal? Hello, it's 2007, guys."
"I don't care if it's two-thousand seven-hundred, no guy's getting near my junk," Turtle says.
"Like you're any more attractive to guys than girls," Eric says, and Vince laughs. Things get quiet after that, though, and Vince isn't exactly sure why. It's not such a big deal. People are people; basically, that's always how it's been for Vince. Girls are easier to get to, but guys have a similar allure.
Johnny, still mopping up beer from the table, says, "Maybe we should go home, maybe E's right."
Vince shrugs. "Whatever," he says. His hand is still curled around Eric's biceps.
He leaves the bartender another hundred to cover the rest of the drinks and a tip, ignoring the warning way that Eric shakes his head as he does it. In the car, he takes the passenger's seat while Eric drives, opens the window to let in a little cool night air. Turtle and Johnny are quiet in the back, everyone done sniping at each other for the evening, and things would be perfect, except that when Vince looks over Eric looks pensive again. Fucking Sloan, Vince thinks.
"What?" Eric says.
"Did I say something?"
"Yeah," Eric says, nodding. "How much did you have to drink?"
"We weren't there very long," Turtle says.
"I guess I didn't pace myself," Vince says, and laughs. He hasn't been drunk like this in weeks. "Turtle, you packing?"
"Always," he says, and a minute later he passes over a blunt. Vince sparks it and takes a drag, then offers it to Eric, who declines, so Vince passes it to Johnny. By the time they get to the house, Vince is nicely mellowed out, relaxed so deeply into the leather seats he's not sure he's going to get out. He says this to Eric, after the other guys have gone inside, and Eric groans. He opens Vince's door from the outside. "Come on, pal," he says, sliding one arm around Vince's waist and helping him out of the car.
Eric's collar is sticking up slightly, but otherwise he's just as nicely done up as before. He still smells like the expensive cologne, with a hint of beer over it. Vince ducks and sniffs his neck, wrapping his arm around Eric's chest.
"What the fuck?" Eric says.
"I'd do you," Vince murmurs.
Eric shrugs him away. "Knock it off."
"OK, what?" Vince pulls away, sways briefly but stays on his own feet without Eric's help. "What is going on with you? You're grouchy over Sloan, still? Come on, Eric. She's gone. She's been gone since we left for Colombia."
"Shut up about her," Eric says.
"She wasn't ever coming back."
Eric just stares at him, his eyes wide, his arms still at funny angles from where he pushed Vince off. Suddenly Vince feels cold and sober: he's standing in his own driveway, yelling at his best friend, his best fucking friend, who's in pain, who he's just hit on. Oh, Christ. Eric clears his throat and ducks his head for a second.
"E -" Vince says, softly.
"Leave it." He crosses his arms, shifts his weight, doesn't meet Vince's eyes. "Look, you should go to bed," he says after a minute.
Vince rubs his hands up and down his arms; it's cold out, colder than he remembered. "Yeah," he says, nodding. Eric opens the front door and Vince walks in obediently, follows Eric to the kitchen and accepts a bottle of water. "Drink it all," he says, and then disappears down the hall toward his own room. The house is too quiet around them, which means the other guys are still awake and have heard everything. Fuck, Vince thinks, rubbing the cold bottle against his forehead. It doesn't erase anything that's happened. He takes it with him to bed.
The next day he hides behind his hangover. He keeps his sunglasses on inside, keeps his head down at breakfast, keeps mostly to his bedroom. Eric seems happy to avoid him, too, and the other guys run a comfortable interference between them. That night they have an awkward dinner, after which they all smoke up together by the pool. Vince turns and looks at Eric and says, "E, I'm sorry. You really liked her. I know that, and I'm sorry I was a dick about it."
Eric shrugs and hands over the joint. "You were wasted."
"That's no excuse," Vince says before he inhales.
"You were also right," Eric says. He holds out his fist, and Vince hits it, and that's that.
A week later they hit a benefit dinner for Ari. It's black tie and low on alcohol, a fundraiser for his daughter's school or his son's polo team or - Vince has no idea, but there they are, sober and overdressed and miserable. Making it worse, Eric seems jumpy and distant, and Vince wonders if maybe Sloan is supposed to be around.
"Is Terence gonna be here?" he asks Ari, when they're both up at the bar. Eric's been cornered by some aspiring screenwriter on the other side of the room.
Ari snorts. "His kids are grown, and so are his mistresses' kids," he says. "The fuck would he be doing here?"
Vince shrugs. "Just wasn't sure what kind of crowd you were drawing in."
"The boring kind," Turtle says, tapping his fingers on the bar. The only thing they're serving is wine, and while Vince likes a good cabernet as much as the next guy, he's not sure there's enough wine in the world to get him through this reception. Turtle has the same look in his eyes - but Turtle probably hasn't had his ass grabbed by two soccer moms so far this evening.
"Ari, we're out," Vince says. "We've been here an hour, that's cool, right?"
"What, you've been without pussy for an hour, you turn back into a pumpkin?" Ari says, then glances at his watch. "Aw, fuck it, yeah. Would that I could join you. Go with God, boys," Ari says, and claps him on the shoulder.
"Thank fucking Christ," Turtle says.
"Ari's Jewish," Vince says, but drags him toward Eric anyway. He looks relieved when Vince explains they're splitting, and five minutes later they're waiting for their car in the garage.
"Where to?" Eric asks.
Vince yawns. "OK, it's lame, but - home?"
"Read my mind," Eric says. They've both been up since six, when Vince had to meet his trainer and Eric, good sport like always, drove him out.
"Seriously?" Turtle says. "Look, can you drop me at Shag, then?"
They all slide into the car, Turtle in back, and Vince turns to look at him. "You gonna fly solo?"
"Drama'll meet me," he says, already texting. "Plus we met these girls -"
"Ahhh," Vince says, grinning. He hits Turtle's fist. "I told you they were for you."
Turtle rolls his eyes. "Actually, they totally wanted you, but I managed to make it work to my advantage."
Vince laughs and turns front. Eric's already headed toward the club. They share a quick amused glance over the whole thing, and Vince feels good: he feels like things are back to normal.
At the club, Eric warns Turtle to be careful and tells him to take a cab back to Drama's if he's gonna be fucking loud with the girl, and Turtle flips them off as a good-bye. Vince waves at the doorman to get him in, and then he's gone and so are they. Suddenly, it's just Vince and Eric in the car, and Vince thinks it's the first time they've been alone since last weekend. Then he realizes: no, they've been alone dozens of times, in this very car, even, on the way to Ari's and Shauna's and even to the trainer this morning. He laughs it off, surprised at his own touchiness, and Eric gives him a funny look.
"You OK?" he asks.
"Fine," Vince says. "You wanna get some burgers on the way? That food was weird."
So they get food and head home, where there's beer waiting in the fridge. Vince turns the drink down when Eric suggests it, though, because he's already wiped out from his training session. In fact, he's thinking about just turning in early, wondering if that will seem weird, when Eric tips his chair back and says, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," Vince says, balling up the wrapper from his burger. He shoots it at the trash can and misses.
"Last weekend," Eric says. "You'd really do a guy?"
"Oh." Vince gets up and picks the wrapper up from the floor, tosses it back and forth a few times and then backs up and shoots for the can again. Misses. "Yeah," he says, concentrating on his shooting.
"Have you ever?"
"Nah." This time, he hits the can cleanly. He looks around, finds a stack of napkins on the counter, and starts forming them into balls.
"But you would."
Vince pauses with a little napkin basketball in his hand. "E, what's up?"
Eric shrugs. He's blushing a little, and rocking nervously in his chair, and Vince thinks back over last weekend. Oh. He shoots and misses. "You're asking if I would do you."
Eric clears his throat. "I didn't think you remembered that," he says.
"I remember," Vince says. "I meant it."
He shoots again before he looks over at Eric, whose eyes are wide until Vince meets them. Then he blinks and topples forward, barely catching himself on the table. "You meant it when you were drunk," Eric says.
"Yeah," Vince says, and shrugs. He's out of napkins, so he reaches for the paper sack the burgers came in. "I mean it now, too."
"Vince -"
He sinks the bag a foot short of the trash can. When he crouches to get it, he's only about a foot from Eric's lap, and he puts his hand on Eric's leg to steady himself. He hears Eric take a sharp breath and looks up. "So what about you?" Vince asks.
"What?"
He moves his hand a little - not really rubbing, just shifting. "Would you do a guy?"
Eric's hand is floating in the air just to the left of Vince's head. As he speaks, it finally lands on his shoulder. "I guess it would depend on the guy," he says.
"E -"
"Yeah," he says, "I'd totally do you."
They grin at each other stupidly for a while, then Vince finally manages to get up off the floor and pull Eric out of the chair, and they wind up back in his bedroom. It's awkward for all of about two minutes, until Vince gets his shirt off and Eric puts his hands tentatively on Vince's waist and says, "All week, all I could think about -" and Vince shuts him up with a kiss. It turns out he was right and he was wrong: people are people, sure, but some sex isn't just sex. Eric touches his dick, feather-light, and Vince nearly comes in his shorts, still standing up at the edge of the bed. Eric laughs for the first time in a week.
"Hey," Vince says, stopping him, his fingers wrapping around Eric's wrist. "I'm not your rebound, am I?"
Eric looks up at him and his smile changes, turns strangely tender and wondrous. "No," he says, and kisses Vince's hipbone. He looks up again. "Are you just doing this to try it out?"
Vince frowns. He remembers how this started: Eric's inability to have a casual fuck. This is Eric offering him that out, if he wants to take it, if he wants things to stay casual. "No," he says, and it surprises him, a little, that he means it. He's not sure what he's doing, really, at all, or what's going to happen next, but that's always how things start for him.
And everything's worked out just fine so far.
Fandom: Entourage
Pairing: Vince/Eric
Summary: An alternate ending for the episode "The Day Fu*kers." Recap available (from HBO)
here.
Rating: PG for some swearing, drinking, joking about sex.
Warnings/Spoilers: Up to and through "The Day Fu*kers" in Season 4.
Length: 4,300 words. Complete.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and my intention is not to make any money.
Notes: NOT part of a series of mine. This one stands alone. Un-beta read; written for dancinbutterfly in response to a comment over here. Hope this is about what you were looking for! :)
Also - I just wanted to use the * in the title.
Eric walks out of his bedroom looking all spiffed up and says he's going to fuck the British girl, a clear sign, to Vince, that his phone call with Sloan was a disaster. Instead of cheering him on, Vince says, "Hang on a second." He's not exactly sure what makes him do it: twenty plus years of friendship, maybe, or some lingering respect for Sloan. Maybe it's just that he feels like he needs a drink more than he needs to be right, and he wants to give his brother - and maybe himself - a nice way to save face, not to mention five grand. But right then, instead of letting Eric go, he wants him to stop. He wants him to stay.
Eric pauses in the doorway, adjusting his cuffs. This is his serious outfit, his preppy outfit; it's telling that Eric turns to designer threads when he wants to get laid. It probably worked in high school.
Vince looks across at Johnny, who's already, Vince can see, starting to panic. "What if - look, what if we call it a draw."
Johnny raises an eyebrow. "A draw?" Vince nods. "They do both have viable offers. That's pretty close to our agreement."
"Viable?" Turtle says, shaking the pink rabbit costume. Eric snorts.
"So, a draw? We keep our money, Turtle keeps his dignity -"
"Amen to that."
" - And E can get a drink with us all, before he goes off to bang this Brit." Vince looks at Eric, who crosses his arms and shrugs. "And he gets to call her tomorrow if he wants."
Johnny looks down at the pile of money, then over at Eric, then back. "Yeah, all right," he says. "A draw keeps the family honor intact."
"It's very honorable," Vince says, sweeping up his money. He tucks half of it in his wallet and slides the rest into his front pocket, then joins Eric at the door. "Drinks?"
"You're gonna walk out of here with five grand on you?"
Vince slings an arm around Eric's shoulders and smells subtle, expensive cologne: definitely trying to get laid. "Nah, I'll drop half with the front desk for the safe on the way out. OK?"
Eric nods. "One drink," he says, and Vince grins and drags him out the door.
They hit a bar on Sunset that Johnny likes, a kind of dive place where they sometimes run the SciFi channel over the bar. Vince is feeling magnanimous, so he doesn't suggest anyplace better. Johnny says he's got the first round, and while he orders and tries to get the bartender to change the channel, Vince slides into a booth in the back with Eric while Turtle hits the pinball machine. "So what'd Sloan say?" Vince asks.
Eric shrugs. "She's with some other guy now. You believe that?"
Vince frowns carefully. Of course he believes it. Sloan's super hot and, like every girl Eric's ever dated, super ready to settle down. It was only a matter of time. "That sucks, man," he says. "I thought you guys were on a break?"
"Exactly."
Johnny puts a pitcher in front of them and slides glasses onto the table, then pours one for himself. While Vince is pouring his own, Johnny raises his glass. "To a draw," he says, and Vince grins up at him.
"Yeah," he says, "and the next round's on me."
"Even better." He takes a big drink, makes a production of sighing afterward. Vince doesn't tell him he has foam on his lip, just grins and sips his own. Eric pours himself a glass expertly, no foam, and then doesn't take a drink.
"So can I say something?" Vince asks, when Johnny's moved over to hassle Turtle about his low score in pinball. Eric raises an eyebrow like permission. "You're gonna fuck this girl, Heather, tonight, just for revenge?"
"What, now you're talking me out of it?"
Vince shrugs. "I'm just saying, it's not like you. And I don't wanna be responsible for a big guilt trip on top of this whole Sloan break up thing. If you're gonna fuck Heather to get Sloan out of your system, that I'm down with. Otherwise..."
"Yeah," Eric says shortly, and Vince isn't sure which way he's leaning, whether he's going to split to hit the girl or whether he'll just stay. He sits back and figures his work is done. He's tried to lead him in the right direction. Whatever happens now - hey, not his fault. He wants Eric to stay, though, but knows that saying that probably wouldn't make a difference.
The other guys fall back in to drink their beers, rambling about whether Turtle deserved the extra point because he jostled the table.
"I didn't jostle anything," Turtle says, pouring his own. "I maybe pushed a little hard when I was using the right flipper."
"The ball left the fucking surface," Johnny says. "That's a clear cheat. The new machines won't let you get away with that kind of shit."
"Well maybe if we went to a bar that wasn't stuck in 1984 -"
"Hey," Johnny says, "I find this place comforting. I feel nostalgic for the old neighborhood when I'm in here. Reminds me of home, right, Vince?"
Vince looks around. "Nineteen eighty-four, that's about right," he says. "I can remember going to places like this with Dad."
"You were eight in '84," Eric says.
"Yep." Eric frowns, and under the table his knee brushes Vince's thigh, quick like he's shifting, but Vince gets it's actually an apology: Eric saying, I wasn't calling you out on the story, I just forgot how it was. Vince smiles at him and grips his shoulder. "Come on, guys, we gotta keep E's mind off of Sloan. Think of something entertaining."
"We still gotta return that bunny suit," Turtle says. "You wanna call dibs on that?"
Eric groans. "Jesus Christ, the shit you guys come up with. I can't even believe it."
"Hey, we didn't come up with this - " Turtle starts, and Johnny says, "It can be perfectly natural to identify with an animal."
"Oh God," Vince says, settling back, sure there's a story here.
"What, Drama, you got a secret passion for donkeys we don't know about?"
Johnny frowns. His glass is almost empty. "I'm not gonna dignify that with a response," he says, and Vince laughs.
"Will your dignity be restored if I offer it more to drink?" he asks, and waves at the bartender. The place is slow, Vince is famous - he gets the guy to walk over and take their order. Vince orders shots all around and another pitcher of the same - it's some complicated microbrew - and asks the guy to keep them coming. He hands over a hundred dollar bill and the bartender suddenly gets friendlier, offers them some popcorn if they'd like it.
"Sounds great," Vince says, and turns back to Johnny. "So tell me how this isn't freaky."
Johnny launches into a long explanation of how sometimes it's easier for people to give in to their urges when they're guaranteed a certain anonymity. That part Vince can understand - it's a lot like acting. What he doesn't get is the next part, where Johnny starts talking about how people connect with their animalistic selves and begin to recognize higher states of -
"Seriously, do you secretly have a bunny costume of your own?" Eric asks, his second beer untouched, the shot glass empty only because Vince drank it. "Is this why you never let us go in your room when we were kids?"
Johnny scoffs. "That was because I didn't want you retards lifting my magazines," he says, and then, with a glance at Turtle, "or my stash."
"Hey, I don't steal," Turtle says.
"You stole my magazines," Vince says, and Turtle holds up his hands.
"I don't steal drugs," he says, and Vince lets him have that one.
"I took the magazines from Cindy McClain's dad, anyway, so I can't really complain," Vince says, and the guys all laugh.
Eric shakes his head and takes a small sip of his drink. Vince's beer is nearly gone; he's glad when a new round gets dropped off. "You know, that was as kinky as our pops ever got, too, those magazines. Can you imagine any of them getting dressed up in a rabbit outfit?"
"Oh, fuck, I think you just broke my brain," Turtle moans, rubbing his eyes, and Vince laughs and downs a shot.
"Seriously, though," Vince says, wiping his mouth, "they were all pretty vanilla. I mean - not that I really think about that, or want to, but - I bet about the spiciest thing our folks ever did was the backseat of a car."
"Nah, kitchen table," Johnny says, then shudders. Vince stares. "I came home early once. I don't wanna relive it."
"Ew," Vince says, sliding the bowl of popcorn away. "I ate on that table."
"You fucked on it, too, if memory serves," Eric says, and Vince laughs. "Tiny Cartinelli, was that the one?"
"Or her sister," Vince says thoughtfully. "Never could tell those two apart - blonde, tight, always one or the other up for it."
Turtle pours a new beer. "You're like the anti-vanilla," he says, raising his glass. "You've done some crazy shit."
Vince clinks his glass. "Yeah, yeah," he says. "Nothing too crazy, though."
Eric's looking at him kind of funny. "What's too crazy?" he asks.
"I don't know. I've never taken a shit on anybody," he says, and the guys crack up.
Eric keeps looking at him. "No, seriously," he says, "what's too crazy for you? Like, at what point do you say, no, thanks?"
Vince shrugs. "Guess it depends on the girl," he says.
"I know what your point is," Johnny says, pointing at Eric. "You say no thanks the minute she doesn't want to marry you."
"Nesting creature," Vince says, nodding, and Eric rolls his eyes.
"Fuck you, Drama, I can still lose you five thou tonight."
"I know what my point is," Turtle says loudly. Vince looks around the table - the collection of glasses has multiplied impressively. "First of all, no fucking costumes. I don't care how hot - and that girl today was fucking amazing, right, Drama?"
"She was OK," he says, twirling an empty shot glass, and Vince nods to Turtle like he believes him.
"Hot. She was hot. Anyway. No costumes, even for real hot ass. Second - no fucking old chicks."
"Good luck sticking to that in ten years when you're still single," Eric says, and Vince laughs.
"What's too old?"
"Forty," Turtle says.
"Real enlightened."
"Hey, just because you're about to get social security doesn't make my rules stupid," Turtle says.
Johnny shakes his head. "My rules are way simpler. Number one: no bodily functions other than those required by nature as part of the sex act."
"The sex act?" Turtle says, but Vince shushes him.
"Two, pornography beforehand, fine, but not during."
"What, you feel inadequate?" Turtle asks.
Johnny scoffs. "I just don't want to ruin the films for the girls," he says.
"What else, Johnny? Just two rules?" Vince asks.
"Three - no guys."
"No more threesomes?"
Johnny glances at Turtle, who's gone very quiet. Vince sees Eric smirking. "I meant, I don't care how hot the girl is, I'm not fucking another guy. If that's her turn on, she can rent Brokeback."
"So, wait," Turtle says, "you'd take it up the ass for an Oscar, but not for a chance at pussy? Congratulations, Drama, you're officially the gayest sellout I know."
Vince has to lay his head down on the table so that Johnny won't see him laughing. Johnny, pissed, slides out of the table and challenges Turtle to some kind of pinball duel. Vince looks up when he's sure they're gone. "Hey," he says, looking over at Eric.
Eric nods. He's pushing empty glasses into neat lines. His beer is still half-full, and Vince reaches over and drains it. "You're not drinking?"
"Someone should be DD," he says.
"Not going to meet the Brit, then?"
He sighs. "Guess not."
"You're grouchy," Vince says. He wants to ask if Eric's still thinking about Sloan, but that's obvious, so he says instead, "What are your rules?"
"I don't know," he says. "I guess - it's like you said, it depends on the girl, maybe. Like with Sloan -" and then he gets quiet and starts pushing the glasses around again.
Vince props his head up on one hand. "I'd do a guy," he says, just wanting to jolt Eric out of his melancholy.
It works: Eric looks up quickly and blinks. "Uh, what?"
Vince shrugs. "What's the big deal, right?"
"The big deal with what?" Turtle asks, sliding back into the booth.
Eric shakes his head. "This is dumb, let's just drop it. You guys wanna go?"
"I said I'd do a guy," Vince says, and Johnny sprays out a mouthful of beer. Eric dodges to the side, his shoulder and thigh colliding with Vince's, and Vince grips his biceps, as though to hold him back from the spray. Johnny sputters and starts to mop up, waving the bartender back when he starts to approach.
"What?" Vince says, looking around at three shocked faces.
"Not so loud," Turtle says, looking around the empty bar.
"Christ," Eric mutters, rubbing his forehead. "You're cut off."
"Like - in a threesome?" Turtle asks.
"Or just, like, I don't know. Just to try it, I guess," Vince says. Eric is blushing so brightly that Vince can see it even under the dim bar lights. "What, it's such a big deal? Hello, it's 2007, guys."
"I don't care if it's two-thousand seven-hundred, no guy's getting near my junk," Turtle says.
"Like you're any more attractive to guys than girls," Eric says, and Vince laughs. Things get quiet after that, though, and Vince isn't exactly sure why. It's not such a big deal. People are people; basically, that's always how it's been for Vince. Girls are easier to get to, but guys have a similar allure.
Johnny, still mopping up beer from the table, says, "Maybe we should go home, maybe E's right."
Vince shrugs. "Whatever," he says. His hand is still curled around Eric's biceps.
He leaves the bartender another hundred to cover the rest of the drinks and a tip, ignoring the warning way that Eric shakes his head as he does it. In the car, he takes the passenger's seat while Eric drives, opens the window to let in a little cool night air. Turtle and Johnny are quiet in the back, everyone done sniping at each other for the evening, and things would be perfect, except that when Vince looks over Eric looks pensive again. Fucking Sloan, Vince thinks.
"What?" Eric says.
"Did I say something?"
"Yeah," Eric says, nodding. "How much did you have to drink?"
"We weren't there very long," Turtle says.
"I guess I didn't pace myself," Vince says, and laughs. He hasn't been drunk like this in weeks. "Turtle, you packing?"
"Always," he says, and a minute later he passes over a blunt. Vince sparks it and takes a drag, then offers it to Eric, who declines, so Vince passes it to Johnny. By the time they get to the house, Vince is nicely mellowed out, relaxed so deeply into the leather seats he's not sure he's going to get out. He says this to Eric, after the other guys have gone inside, and Eric groans. He opens Vince's door from the outside. "Come on, pal," he says, sliding one arm around Vince's waist and helping him out of the car.
Eric's collar is sticking up slightly, but otherwise he's just as nicely done up as before. He still smells like the expensive cologne, with a hint of beer over it. Vince ducks and sniffs his neck, wrapping his arm around Eric's chest.
"What the fuck?" Eric says.
"I'd do you," Vince murmurs.
Eric shrugs him away. "Knock it off."
"OK, what?" Vince pulls away, sways briefly but stays on his own feet without Eric's help. "What is going on with you? You're grouchy over Sloan, still? Come on, Eric. She's gone. She's been gone since we left for Colombia."
"Shut up about her," Eric says.
"She wasn't ever coming back."
Eric just stares at him, his eyes wide, his arms still at funny angles from where he pushed Vince off. Suddenly Vince feels cold and sober: he's standing in his own driveway, yelling at his best friend, his best fucking friend, who's in pain, who he's just hit on. Oh, Christ. Eric clears his throat and ducks his head for a second.
"E -" Vince says, softly.
"Leave it." He crosses his arms, shifts his weight, doesn't meet Vince's eyes. "Look, you should go to bed," he says after a minute.
Vince rubs his hands up and down his arms; it's cold out, colder than he remembered. "Yeah," he says, nodding. Eric opens the front door and Vince walks in obediently, follows Eric to the kitchen and accepts a bottle of water. "Drink it all," he says, and then disappears down the hall toward his own room. The house is too quiet around them, which means the other guys are still awake and have heard everything. Fuck, Vince thinks, rubbing the cold bottle against his forehead. It doesn't erase anything that's happened. He takes it with him to bed.
The next day he hides behind his hangover. He keeps his sunglasses on inside, keeps his head down at breakfast, keeps mostly to his bedroom. Eric seems happy to avoid him, too, and the other guys run a comfortable interference between them. That night they have an awkward dinner, after which they all smoke up together by the pool. Vince turns and looks at Eric and says, "E, I'm sorry. You really liked her. I know that, and I'm sorry I was a dick about it."
Eric shrugs and hands over the joint. "You were wasted."
"That's no excuse," Vince says before he inhales.
"You were also right," Eric says. He holds out his fist, and Vince hits it, and that's that.
A week later they hit a benefit dinner for Ari. It's black tie and low on alcohol, a fundraiser for his daughter's school or his son's polo team or - Vince has no idea, but there they are, sober and overdressed and miserable. Making it worse, Eric seems jumpy and distant, and Vince wonders if maybe Sloan is supposed to be around.
"Is Terence gonna be here?" he asks Ari, when they're both up at the bar. Eric's been cornered by some aspiring screenwriter on the other side of the room.
Ari snorts. "His kids are grown, and so are his mistresses' kids," he says. "The fuck would he be doing here?"
Vince shrugs. "Just wasn't sure what kind of crowd you were drawing in."
"The boring kind," Turtle says, tapping his fingers on the bar. The only thing they're serving is wine, and while Vince likes a good cabernet as much as the next guy, he's not sure there's enough wine in the world to get him through this reception. Turtle has the same look in his eyes - but Turtle probably hasn't had his ass grabbed by two soccer moms so far this evening.
"Ari, we're out," Vince says. "We've been here an hour, that's cool, right?"
"What, you've been without pussy for an hour, you turn back into a pumpkin?" Ari says, then glances at his watch. "Aw, fuck it, yeah. Would that I could join you. Go with God, boys," Ari says, and claps him on the shoulder.
"Thank fucking Christ," Turtle says.
"Ari's Jewish," Vince says, but drags him toward Eric anyway. He looks relieved when Vince explains they're splitting, and five minutes later they're waiting for their car in the garage.
"Where to?" Eric asks.
Vince yawns. "OK, it's lame, but - home?"
"Read my mind," Eric says. They've both been up since six, when Vince had to meet his trainer and Eric, good sport like always, drove him out.
"Seriously?" Turtle says. "Look, can you drop me at Shag, then?"
They all slide into the car, Turtle in back, and Vince turns to look at him. "You gonna fly solo?"
"Drama'll meet me," he says, already texting. "Plus we met these girls -"
"Ahhh," Vince says, grinning. He hits Turtle's fist. "I told you they were for you."
Turtle rolls his eyes. "Actually, they totally wanted you, but I managed to make it work to my advantage."
Vince laughs and turns front. Eric's already headed toward the club. They share a quick amused glance over the whole thing, and Vince feels good: he feels like things are back to normal.
At the club, Eric warns Turtle to be careful and tells him to take a cab back to Drama's if he's gonna be fucking loud with the girl, and Turtle flips them off as a good-bye. Vince waves at the doorman to get him in, and then he's gone and so are they. Suddenly, it's just Vince and Eric in the car, and Vince thinks it's the first time they've been alone since last weekend. Then he realizes: no, they've been alone dozens of times, in this very car, even, on the way to Ari's and Shauna's and even to the trainer this morning. He laughs it off, surprised at his own touchiness, and Eric gives him a funny look.
"You OK?" he asks.
"Fine," Vince says. "You wanna get some burgers on the way? That food was weird."
So they get food and head home, where there's beer waiting in the fridge. Vince turns the drink down when Eric suggests it, though, because he's already wiped out from his training session. In fact, he's thinking about just turning in early, wondering if that will seem weird, when Eric tips his chair back and says, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," Vince says, balling up the wrapper from his burger. He shoots it at the trash can and misses.
"Last weekend," Eric says. "You'd really do a guy?"
"Oh." Vince gets up and picks the wrapper up from the floor, tosses it back and forth a few times and then backs up and shoots for the can again. Misses. "Yeah," he says, concentrating on his shooting.
"Have you ever?"
"Nah." This time, he hits the can cleanly. He looks around, finds a stack of napkins on the counter, and starts forming them into balls.
"But you would."
Vince pauses with a little napkin basketball in his hand. "E, what's up?"
Eric shrugs. He's blushing a little, and rocking nervously in his chair, and Vince thinks back over last weekend. Oh. He shoots and misses. "You're asking if I would do you."
Eric clears his throat. "I didn't think you remembered that," he says.
"I remember," Vince says. "I meant it."
He shoots again before he looks over at Eric, whose eyes are wide until Vince meets them. Then he blinks and topples forward, barely catching himself on the table. "You meant it when you were drunk," Eric says.
"Yeah," Vince says, and shrugs. He's out of napkins, so he reaches for the paper sack the burgers came in. "I mean it now, too."
"Vince -"
He sinks the bag a foot short of the trash can. When he crouches to get it, he's only about a foot from Eric's lap, and he puts his hand on Eric's leg to steady himself. He hears Eric take a sharp breath and looks up. "So what about you?" Vince asks.
"What?"
He moves his hand a little - not really rubbing, just shifting. "Would you do a guy?"
Eric's hand is floating in the air just to the left of Vince's head. As he speaks, it finally lands on his shoulder. "I guess it would depend on the guy," he says.
"E -"
"Yeah," he says, "I'd totally do you."
They grin at each other stupidly for a while, then Vince finally manages to get up off the floor and pull Eric out of the chair, and they wind up back in his bedroom. It's awkward for all of about two minutes, until Vince gets his shirt off and Eric puts his hands tentatively on Vince's waist and says, "All week, all I could think about -" and Vince shuts him up with a kiss. It turns out he was right and he was wrong: people are people, sure, but some sex isn't just sex. Eric touches his dick, feather-light, and Vince nearly comes in his shorts, still standing up at the edge of the bed. Eric laughs for the first time in a week.
"Hey," Vince says, stopping him, his fingers wrapping around Eric's wrist. "I'm not your rebound, am I?"
Eric looks up at him and his smile changes, turns strangely tender and wondrous. "No," he says, and kisses Vince's hipbone. He looks up again. "Are you just doing this to try it out?"
Vince frowns. He remembers how this started: Eric's inability to have a casual fuck. This is Eric offering him that out, if he wants to take it, if he wants things to stay casual. "No," he says, and it surprises him, a little, that he means it. He's not sure what he's doing, really, at all, or what's going to happen next, but that's always how things start for him.
And everything's worked out just fine so far.