Fic: That Kind of Story, Entourage, Vince/Eric, R, Epilogue
Notes in Part 1. Part 10.
Epilogue: Six Months Later.
There’s a heavy knock on the trailer door. “Ten minutes!” a PA calls, and Eric yells back an OK. He looks down at Vince, who’s sprawled over the couch and Eric, catching a nap before he has to go back for nighttime costuming. Eric rubs his hand through Vince’s hair and Vince grunts, turns a little to face him.
“Oh, hey,” Vince says, a sleepy smile spreading across his face.
“Hey yourself,” Eric says. “Time to get up.”
“I don’t want to.” Vince settles back down, his head and one hand on Eric’s thigh, his fingers kneading Eric’s skin not-quite-comfortably.
“Ten minutes.”
“It’s never really ten minutes,” he says.
Eric tugs on his hair, which earns him a scowl and makes the kneading stop. “C’mon, get up,” he says.
“Nah.”
“My leg’s been asleep for half an hour.”
“Just because you get up doesn’t mean I have to,” Vince says.
So Eric says fine and stands up, rolling Vince to the floor in the process. He laughs and shakes his head, accepts a hand up from Eric, and eventually heads to the little trailer bathroom. While he’s in there, Eric paces a little to stretch his leg.
He spent three months after Hawaii and New York treating Vince like he was made of glass: spoiling him, Drama called it. Then, the third time they went in, McNaight not only cleared Vince for cancer, again, but also cleared him to do the movie. “There’s nothing you were doing before you couldn’t be doing now,” he said, and something inside of Eric that had been tense and frightened since that first insurance physical relaxed, enough that he made Vince get up to get his own damn beer the next day.
Since then, things have been pretty much back to normal.
“Hmm,” Vince says, wrapping his arms around Eric from behind. He kisses Eric’s neck, and Eric thinks, OK, almost normal. Better than normal. “Hi there,” Vince murmurs against his neck.
Eric glances over, sees that the door is locked, and relaxes back into Vince’s embrace. “Now you’re awake.”
“Seriously, I hate working at night,” Vince says, one of his hands hooking in Eric’s belt loops. Eric turns when he tugs. “It totally throws off our sex rhythm.”
“Our what?” Eric says, laughing.
“You know what I mean,” Vince says, and he kisses Eric. Eric responds, puts his hands on Vince’s shoulders to steady himself. If he’s being honest, he maybe has an idea of what Vince means about a rhythm: before filming started, they were having sex almost every night, provided they were home, together, at the end of the night. There have only been a few misfires since Hawaii, and none in the last two months at all. In fact, Vince's sexual confidence seems pretty well restored to its previous levels, particularly if the hand on Eric’s fly is any indication.
“OK, there’s no time for -“
“It really never is just ten minutes,” Vince says, sliding to his knees.
“Neither is this,” Eric says, but it comes out like a sigh because Vince already has his dick out. He gives in. It doesn’t matter if there’s a PA waiting outside, doesn’t matter if everyone on set is listening to them from outside. Nothing, anymore, matters but this: he has Vince. He has Vince, healthy and happy and wanting him, and he’s grateful every moment.
[The End!]
Epilogue: Six Months Later.
There’s a heavy knock on the trailer door. “Ten minutes!” a PA calls, and Eric yells back an OK. He looks down at Vince, who’s sprawled over the couch and Eric, catching a nap before he has to go back for nighttime costuming. Eric rubs his hand through Vince’s hair and Vince grunts, turns a little to face him.
“Oh, hey,” Vince says, a sleepy smile spreading across his face.
“Hey yourself,” Eric says. “Time to get up.”
“I don’t want to.” Vince settles back down, his head and one hand on Eric’s thigh, his fingers kneading Eric’s skin not-quite-comfortably.
“Ten minutes.”
“It’s never really ten minutes,” he says.
Eric tugs on his hair, which earns him a scowl and makes the kneading stop. “C’mon, get up,” he says.
“Nah.”
“My leg’s been asleep for half an hour.”
“Just because you get up doesn’t mean I have to,” Vince says.
So Eric says fine and stands up, rolling Vince to the floor in the process. He laughs and shakes his head, accepts a hand up from Eric, and eventually heads to the little trailer bathroom. While he’s in there, Eric paces a little to stretch his leg.
He spent three months after Hawaii and New York treating Vince like he was made of glass: spoiling him, Drama called it. Then, the third time they went in, McNaight not only cleared Vince for cancer, again, but also cleared him to do the movie. “There’s nothing you were doing before you couldn’t be doing now,” he said, and something inside of Eric that had been tense and frightened since that first insurance physical relaxed, enough that he made Vince get up to get his own damn beer the next day.
Since then, things have been pretty much back to normal.
“Hmm,” Vince says, wrapping his arms around Eric from behind. He kisses Eric’s neck, and Eric thinks, OK, almost normal. Better than normal. “Hi there,” Vince murmurs against his neck.
Eric glances over, sees that the door is locked, and relaxes back into Vince’s embrace. “Now you’re awake.”
“Seriously, I hate working at night,” Vince says, one of his hands hooking in Eric’s belt loops. Eric turns when he tugs. “It totally throws off our sex rhythm.”
“Our what?” Eric says, laughing.
“You know what I mean,” Vince says, and he kisses Eric. Eric responds, puts his hands on Vince’s shoulders to steady himself. If he’s being honest, he maybe has an idea of what Vince means about a rhythm: before filming started, they were having sex almost every night, provided they were home, together, at the end of the night. There have only been a few misfires since Hawaii, and none in the last two months at all. In fact, Vince's sexual confidence seems pretty well restored to its previous levels, particularly if the hand on Eric’s fly is any indication.
“OK, there’s no time for -“
“It really never is just ten minutes,” Vince says, sliding to his knees.
“Neither is this,” Eric says, but it comes out like a sigh because Vince already has his dick out. He gives in. It doesn’t matter if there’s a PA waiting outside, doesn’t matter if everyone on set is listening to them from outside. Nothing, anymore, matters but this: he has Vince. He has Vince, healthy and happy and wanting him, and he’s grateful every moment.
[The End!]