FIC: People Do It All the Time, Entourage, E/Vince, E/Vince/Sloan, (1/4)
Title: People Do It All The Time
Fandom/Pairing: Entourage, Eric/Vince, Eric/Vince/Sloan
Series: Yes, this comes after Get Used To It in the Here's Us Together series.
Notes: I'm sort of in Entourage purge mode; this has been kicking around on my computer for a while. Uh, warning -- it gets kind of schmoopy.
Also: I've disabled comments, because I won't be able to respond.
They’re at a charity event - Vince isn’t even sure what it is, but Ari said they should go, and Eric was keen on it. That’s rare enough to get Vince interested. Since coming out, they go out less than ever. Eric gets nervous. At first, Vince thought it was mostly because Eric’s never really been a spotlight player before; suddenly having the cameras pointed his way was pretty alarming. Then there was the whole thing with him freaking out about his mother, which Vince totally understood and supported him through, but it still meant they spent a lot more time at home than Vince liked. Finally, though, Eric was getting better about going out, after Vince’s movie did well over the summer, but they’ve recently had a couple of awkward run-ins, including a guy who threw a Bible at Eric’s car outside Spago. So Vince has said OK to laying low again; to Eric’s credit, he’s been working to make staying in worth Vince’s while. Now that Turtle has his own place, they have the house all to themselves. Staying home can be fun, too.
But the charity event is a big deal for several of Ari’s favorite people, so there they are, climbing out of the back of a car. Cameras flash and Eric’s hand, which was resting comfortably on Vince’s back, falls away. Vince fights the urge to roll his eyes, instead pastes on his best big smile and takes Eric’s hand. He feels Eric tense, but fuck, he’s got to get used to this at some point. They’ve been out for almost eight months. Vince uses his free hand to wave at a familiar photog. “Smile, dear,” he says, teasing.
Eric squeezes so hard Vince feels like his fingers might break. He smiles as long as he can, then tugs Eric up the stairs. Eric lets go as soon as they’re in the door, and Vince wrings out his hand. “Was that necessary?” he asks. Eric gives him a look, reflecting the question, and Vince does roll his eyes. “E -”
“Don’t start, all right?” Eric says. He steps closer and straightens Vince’s tie, which Vince takes as an apology. “Come on.”
They walk into the ballroom, not touching but close, and as the doors open Vince feels the flicker of eyes sliding on to them but keeps walking. “You gonna bid on anything?” he asks, pointing at the buffet of silent auction pieces.
Eric shrugs. “Lakers tickets, maybe?”
“Go for it.”
They pass into the crowd and Eric spots someone he wants to talk to almost immediately. “Andrea Kemper,” he says, “she financed Colin Farrell’s last thing?”
“Oh yeah,” Vince says. “You gonna hit her up?”
They’re working, at the moment, to get money lined up for Spectaculo, a new thriller that Vince and Eric really like and Ari calls “very marketable.” “I’m just gonna make nice,” Eric says.
Vince laughs. “Go get ‘er, tiger,” he says. “You need me?”
“Nah.”
“Then I’ll be at the bar.”
He detours en route to take a look at the auction items. The names on the forms are familiar - clients of Ari’s, producers, agents, the hot and rich of Hollywood. Used to be, at these things, he had a director on his arm the minute he walked into the room, an agent kissing his ass within a few feet of the door; now they’re all shy, a little scared. Nightfeeders opened huge in June, but people are still nervous; Vince headlined the film, but people are giving half the credit to Cameron and another half to his co-stars. He still hasn’t opened a film on his own since he came out, and Ari says that’s making people a little skittish. Vince figures fuck ‘em: David Lynch’s In The Ring, the boxing movie he just finished filming, opens on Christmas, and Vince knows how good that film is going to be. He knows how good he is, and if these people forget it for a while, well, turns out he’s not making movies for them. Fuck them all.
A woman he recognizes as the over-surgeried wife of one of the studio chairs is hovering over a Fred Leighton item, and Vince catches her staring, as if maybe he’ll do a little gay trick. He grins at her. “Could I borrow your pen?” he asks, and under her flustered gaze he signs up for the item in front of him: a romantic weekend at the Beverly Hills Hotel, including use of the presidential bungalow. He grins just imagining the shade of red Eric will turn if he wins.
When he finishes writing down his bid - twice the generous amount offered by the last bidder - he feels someone leaning in close over his shoulder and smells expensive spicy perfume. “It usually goes for half that,” a familiar voice says, and Vince sets down the pen.
“But that’s not very charitable,” he says, turning to greet Sloan. “How are you?”
“I’m well,” she says. They share a quick hug, and when she draws back her smile is both friendly and conspiratorial. Vince hasn’t seen her for a long time, and they haven’t really talked since she and Eric broke up, long before Vince would’ve ever dreamed of signing up in public for a romantic weekend with him. She looks the same, which is to say she looks very, very good: sleek black dress, spiky black heels, hair shining and swept back to show off classy diamond earrings. “And you?”
“Really good,” he says.
She glances back at the crowd. “Eric?”
“He’s here,” Vince says. “Schmoozing.”
Sloan’s grin spreads out a little. “It’s funny that even you lose face time to business,” she says. “Since you’re the business.”
Vince shrugs. “It has its disadvantages,” he agrees. “I’m getting a drink, you want to join?”
“I’d love to.”
They walk to the bar and catch up in a casual, friendly way, talking through projects and life over the past few years. She has her own business, now, with two of her closest friends - they manage promotions for couple of restaurants and ultrahip nightclubs and are considering branching out into clothing. She mentions a place in Rome that rings a bell for Vince. “We do a lot of international business,” she says. Vince can guess from the expense of her dress - it’s got to be Versace - what kind of success this is, and he congratulates her sincerely. After all, he liked Sloan. She was good to Eric, and she’s been kind enough not to talk to anyone in the press since they came out. Vince appreciates that kind of loyalty. He also knows Eric appreciated her card after the Golden Globes.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, on her second glass of wine. “Were you guys - while Eric and I -”
“No,” Vince says, and he’s glad that’s not a lie. It was close - a few days before, a few after - but not during. There was too much going on at the time.
She nods. Vince watches her eyelids flicker, and is surprised to feel Eric’s hand on his back a second later.
“Hi,” he says, in the sharp way that means he’s nervous.
“Hi, Eric,” Sloan says. She leans in, and Eric does, too, and they have an anxious dance of hands and twisting faces before Eric finally kisses her cheek, chastely.
“How are you?” he asks, settling back in beside Vince.
“I’m good,” she says. “I’m doing really well.”
Vince recites the name of her business and the club in Rome, and Eric’s eyes widen. “Sloan, that’s terrific,” he says. “Congratulations!”
“We’re opening in Tokyo next month,” she says.
“Let’s celebrate,” Vince says, and waves down a waiter carrying champagne. Behind them, people are starting to take their seats for the dinner and auction results. No one at this dinner interests Vince at all: a bunch of people who want to talk money, who look at him and then shift their eyes to Eric and see everything in terms of dollar signs, where Eric’s presence means a discount. He’s fucking tired of it. Sloan, at least, is interesting. An old friend. She takes a glass of champagne, and Vince joins her. “To old friends,” he suggests, and she raises her glass, as does Eric after a second’s hesitation.
“It really is good to see you,” Eric says, and he sounds both sincere and surprised.
The hostess announces that dinner is about to be served, and Vince looks out over the expanse of formally-attired, spectacularly boring industry folks around the room and then back at Sloan.
“Shall we grab a table?” he asks.
The tables have place cards, but no one’s going to argue if he shuffles them. He still has that clout. Sloan agrees, with a bright friendly smile, and they take seats halfway back. Eric gives him a look that might be a warning, but Vince shrugs. Sloan seems fine. Not even wistful. Over dinner, they talk genially about a little bit of everything, including some of the strange stuff happening when Sloan and Eric were dating. It’s actually kind of fun. Sloan isn’t seeing anyone at the moment - too busy, she says, and Eric seems to find that funny - but she’s only been out of a serious relationship for a few months. It doesn’t bother Vince to hear that she’s on the market, because he knows - he’s confident - that Eric is completely unavailable.
After dinner, Vince’s bid on the romantic weekend wins. Sloan cheers and says, “Oh, stop blushing, it’s too cute,” when Eric tries to duck behind his hands while Vince goes to the front to pick up his winnings.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Eric says when Vince sits back down.
“Believe it, baby,” Vince says, sliding over the folder of information for which he’s just paid $20,000. “And it’s next weekend, too.”
“Christ.”
“Oh, yeah, you poor thing,” Sloan says, grinning across at Eric. “You have to spend a weekend sequestered with your movie star boyfriend in a bungalow that has its own pool. Wow, Eric, how will I wipe away the tears?”
“He’s a lot more difficult than I get credit for,” Eric says, sulking, and Vince laughs.
Sloan rolls her eyes. “I practically had to beat you up to get a weekend away,” she says, giving him a playful punch on the arm. “Maybe I should’ve tried the auction trick.”
She’s a little drunk, but so is Vince. “I always liked you,” Vince says, leaning forward. “I just want you to know that. I always thought you were good for E.”
She smiles, and there’s a tiny bit of sadness there. “I liked you, too,” she says. “Though I’m not sure I thought the same, all the time.”
“Competition’s a bitch,” Vince agrees. He holds out his hand. “Look, friends, though?”
She takes his hand, and he spontaneously draws hers up and kisses the back, then the pale inside of her wrist. Eric coughs. “That’s friendly,” he says, and Vince smiles over Sloan’s skin.
“He’s jealous,” she says, with a pretty, knowing smile. “I always thought it was kind of hot.”
“I agree,” Vince says, slowly releasing her hand. When he sits back, Eric has his arm on the back of Vince’s chair. Vince shakes his head. “You know, I’m glad you were here. I’m glad we ran into you.”
“Me, too,” she says, and her smile is kind and maybe a little surprised. “We should get together.”
“We should,” Vince agrees. It seems like a great idea. They can have a few drinks and a few laughs. It’s what adults are supposed to do, after all. No reason not to be friends. And, Jesus, anything to get out of the house. “Next week? Drinks at The Palm?”
She frowns. “I leave for Beijing Monday, I’ll be gone for a while. But when I get back -”
“Absolutely,” Eric says, but Vince interrupts.
“No,” he says, leaning forward, “that’s no good. That never works out. We’ll do it this week. I’m serious about this.”
When he glances back, Eric’s giving him a funny look. He shakes it off and turns to Sloan. “Is your number the same?”
“As always,” she says.
They part with the same hugs as before, and Vince feels really happy about the whole deal. He turns to Eric in the car to say so, and finds the funny look back on his face. “I can’t figure out,” Eric says, “if you really had a good time or if there’s something weird going on.”
“Weird?” Vince asks. “Like what? I like Sloan.”
“I like Sloan, too,” Eric says. “Which is kind of what I mean.”
Vince spins that sentence around in his head for a moment, but it doesn’t make any more sense. “What do you mean?” he asks.
“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” Eric says. “You aren’t trying to prove anything, are you?”
“Like what? I got you and she didn’t?” Vince snorts. “She barely had you.”
“She doesn’t know that,” Eric murmurs, and Vince turns to face him.
“I’m not just playing nice,” Vince says. “I like her. She’s fun to be around. And she seemed to have a good time tonight. Right?” Eric nods. “Look, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll call and say this week’s too busy.”
“No, it’s fine,” Eric says. His frown eases, almost curls into a smile. “Just not much fun being ganged up on.”
Vince calls Sloan the next day and arranges for dinner on Thursday, which Eric says is the best possible day. Friday and Saturday nights, after all, will be spent at the Beverly Hills Hotel Bungalow.
They meet at a Thai place that doesn’t get a lot of press but does make a mean Pad Prik King and serves Singha. By the third round, Vince is slumped into Eric’s side, eating noodles off Eric’s plate with his fingers while Eric and Sloan talk in blurry slurs about business. They eat out all the time, but usually for business or with the guys, never just casual. And when it’s just the two of them Eric always sits across from him, so this is good. Sloan’s smile comes quick every time Eric says something sharp, and she eats the carrots that Vince rejects off of Eric’s plate.
“Sharing is nice,” Vince says, watching Sloan nibble a round piece of carrot.
“Thanks for that,” Eric says, tightening his arm around Vince’s shoulders. “Jesus, you’re a lightweight all the sudden?”
Vince doesn’t think it would be appropriate to mention the bowl he shared with Turtle before he left the house, so instead, he says, “Remember the time you guys had a threesome?”
Sloan pops the carrot into her mouth, and Eric’s head jerks back. Vince grins, and Sloan smiles back, after a second.
“I think that cost you Aquaman 2,” she says, and Vince nods and lifts his glass in salute.
“I think this just cost me ten years of my life,” Eric mutters, pushing Vince so that he’s sitting up against the booth.
Vince shrugs. “You know, we could,” he says. He’s watching Sloan, not Eric, because he can guess the reaction over there. Sloan’s eyes narrow, then widen, and she looks from Vince to Eric, then back.
“I’m sorry,” Eric says, “he doesn’t -”
“Are you serious?” Sloan asks, meeting Vince’s eyes.
“Yeah,” he says. He leans forward, just a little, keeping a small, easygoing smile on his face, to let her know no hard feelings if she doesn’t want to. “I mean, you guys have chemistry. We have chemistry. It could be -
“Like a chemistry experiment?” Eric says, and Vince elbows him.
“It could be fun.”
Now she looks back at Eric, and Vince turns to watch them. They seem to have some kind of silent conversation, where Sloan stares and Eric blushes, then shrugs, then puts one hand on Vince’s shoulder. When he looks away, that seems to be the answer Sloan needs, even though Vince suddenly feels a little uneasy. But Eric’s hand is steady, warm, and Vince reminds himself he has nothing to worry about.
“If you’re serious,” she says, “then we could, sure. But I leave for China Monday.”
“It so happens,” Vince says, “that we have a romantic getaway planned this weekend.”
“And what says romance better than a threesome with my ex and my crazy sex fiend partner?” Eric says, but he’s smiling when Vince looks over. “OK, OK,” he says, and turns to Sloan. “Saturday night?” he asks. “We’ll supply the booze.”
She grins. “You’re on.”
Friday, they arrive at the hotel and dart past a tenacious cluster of paparazzi at the front door. Eric rubs his forehead as they cross the lobby, and he looks so stressed that it puts Vince in a bad mood. A bellhop and one of the hotel’s assistant managers show them to the suite, and while the bellhop tucks away their bags the manager makes a point of showing them all of the romantic amenities and plans. As he lingers over the wonders of the private whirlpool and lap pool, Vince glances over at Eric, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, slightly removed from the scene, like this is a business meeting where Vince is the star and he’s just management. Vince pastes on a big smile for the manager.
“Is this pool visible from the grounds?” he asks.
“I guarantee, it’s well-l-l-l sequestered,” the man says, and he even throws in a little wink. “The Jacuzzi in the main bath also accommodates two people very easily. You should have a look, try it out.”
“Christ,” Eric mutters, and walks back into the suite.
Vince does his best to keep up conversation with the guy as they walk back inside. Eric’s nowhere to be seen, but Vince hears a noise like clothes being thrown around from the master bedroom. “You are, of course, welcome to join us for dinner in the lounge, but your package also includes room service.”
“Oh,” Vince says, and he makes sure his voice carries, “I think we’ll be unlikely to surface, so in-room would be wonderful.”
“Excellent,” the manager says. He slips Vince a card before he leaves, which Vince lays on one of the elegant end tables. The sound of drawers opening and closing - slamming, really - in the bedroom makes him briefly consider just flopping onto the overly-pillowed couch and turning on the plasma, but he’s sick and tired of this act. So he walks back, past three other bedrooms, to where Eric’s carelessly tossing clothes out of his duffle bag into what is probably an antique dresser built by God or Chippendale.
Vince sets his shoulder against the door frame. “What, you don’t like the room?” he asks.
Eric doesn’t even turn, just scoffs. “It’s a palace.”
“It’s supposed to be romantic.”
Now Eric turns, with his arms crossed. “This is your idea of romance? Getting told by a guy in a suit that the bathtub is big enough to fuck in?”
“That’s good information to have,” Vince says. Eric rolls his eyes. “All right, what, E? What crawled up your ass? The cameras outside? Fuck them, I’m sure they got your good side.”
Eric shakes his head, angry and silent, one of his worst moods. He pulls his shaving kit out of the bag and pushes into the bathroom. Vince stays standing at the door, trying to remind himself that he loves Eric, that he’s in this for real, that it’s not better to have a string of uncomplicated lays. He can’t remember the reasons, though, until he hears Eric say, “Holy shit,” from the bathroom.
Vince walks over and pushes the door open. Inside is a bathroom like no other he’s seen - and he’s seen quite a few. It’s almost like a little spa. It has the regular bathroom amenities: toilet tucked into a separate cabinet, dual sinks, a wall-wide mirror with bright overhead lights. But it also has the tub in question, which is granite-lined, set into the floor, a real jacuzzi-type spa that’s already filled with steaming water, rose petals floating on the surface. There’s a bottle of champagne on ice next to the tub. It’s like walking onto a set that’s prepared for a very sappy love scene.
Eric turns to look at him, the shaving kit still in his hands. “Remember when we stayed at the Best Western that summer, when we drove to Williamsburg?”
“And your mom had a coupon so we got an upgrade? Yeah,” Vince says. Until he moved to L.A., it was the biggest hotel room he’d ever seen, a deluxe suite with a king-sized bed, a sleeper sofa, a tiny balcony overlooking the parking lot, and a slightly larger-than-normal tub with three sputtering jacuzzi jets.
“Jesus,” Eric says. He sets his shaving kit on the counter, where it looks small and cheap and out of place. Vince sees those same feelings flicker across Eric’s face in the mirror. He takes two long steps into the room and slides his arms around Eric from behind.
“We deserve this,” Vince whispers in his ear. “E -”
“Yeah,” he says, and looks up so they’re meeting eyes in the mirror.
Vince kisses his neck. “E,” he murmurs, his hands slipping under Eric’s shirt, “you are young and hot and pretty well-off, and you’re hooked up with someone who’s younger and hotter and loaded.”
“And so fucking humble,” Eric says. He seems to be watching the progress Vince’s fingers are making with his zipper.
“I’m just pointing out, you’re basically living the dream, man,” Vince says, getting the zipper all the way down.
“What, are you the dream?” Eric asks, and he smirks and looks up.
“This is the dream,” Vince says. “This place. Us being here. You know?”
It takes a second, but Eric nods. He turns around and they kiss, softly at first and then with some intent, with tongue and a little bit of teeth from Eric. When he slips back, Vince has his shirt unbuttoned and his hands tucked beneath Eric’s waistband. “OK,” Eric says.
“Hm?”
“The bath,” he says. “Might as well use it. It’s already paid for.”
Vince grins.
Later that night, after they’ve made it through the tub and one of the four bedrooms, they’re lying on the couch in the living room, waiting for their promised, romantic, custom-prepared dinner to arrive. Vince has his head comfortably resting on Eric’s thigh while they watch The Big Lebowski for the tenth time. “It really is like they made a movie version of how things could have turned out for Turtle,” Vince says, and Eric hums an agreement. His fingers are rubbing through Vince’s still-damp hair, and Vince is feeling ridiculously sated and comfortable. He’s looking forward to dinner, and still wants to go for a midnight swim, but right now just lying on the couch with Eric is perfect. Everything is perfect.
“It’s 8:00,” Eric says.
“They said twenty minutes.”
“No, I mean, it’s Friday night at 8.”
Vince blinks. Every Friday night for the past five months, he’s called his mother at exactly 8. He knows she’s always in by 11, New York time, because she and his aunt Myra always go for early coffee and thrift shopping on Saturday mornings. Even though he knows this, she hasn’t picked up once, not once in ten months. She hasn’t called back, either, though he leaves decent, friendly messages every time, with his number and schedule for the week. They haven’t spoken since October, when he was back in New York for Eric’s mother’s funeral, and when it seemed like a good idea to clue her into the fact that he had someone with whom he often has perfect moments like this.
“You gonna call her?” Eric asks. His voice is gentle. He’s never pressured Vince to call or not to call; Vince knows Eric traded a few sharp words with Vince’s mother near Christmas, when the Post ran a blind item about them that was probably sourced through her. After that, they ran a story about Vince’s and his mother’s estrangement, and that’s when he started making the phone calls. His birthday and Christmas have both gone by without word; he won the Globe and the Oscar and came out to the whole world, and she didn’t even send a card or a word through Johnny.
“No,” he says, and Eric’s hand pauses mid-stroke, fingers caressing Vince’s scalp.
“OK,” Eric says. His hand moves to Vince’s shoulder. “Any reason?”
“Lots of them,” he says. Eric squeezes his shoulder, and Vince closes his eyes. “I’m just through.”
“Yeah?”
Vince nods.
There’s a knock on the door. “Hang on,” Eric says, and he gets up carefully and answers. Two waiters in full restaurant dress roll in a cart full of silver-lidded trays. “Just on the table,” Eric says, and they brush by the couch to begin setting up the meal. Vince is surprised when Eric retakes his place on the couch and starts stroking his hair again, but he decides not to say anything. Instead he just takes it for what it is, a little needed support at exactly the right time.
Vince gets his midnight swim but not his proposed pool sex and they go to bed in the King-sized master suite. They wake up late the next morning, eat a breakfast of fresh fruit and cream and crepes and just-squeezed orange juice, and spend the rest of the day sort of bumming around the bungalow, checking out all of the amenities and calling Turtle and Johnny to brag. In a way, it’s sort of weird, being isolated from the world, forced to relax - but Vince loves it, really, likes just hanging out with Eric and discovering all the bells and whistles, and Eric only sneaks away to check his e-mail two or three times.
Around five, they get out of the bathtub again - it’s really that cool - and Vince says, “Should I order extra food for Sloan, tonight, you think?”
Eric shrugs, and Vince watches the fine muscles of his back roll under his skin. There are still two beds they haven’t touched. “That meal last night was enough food for six people,” he says. “Plus, it’d be kind of weird if we asked them to add a third plate, you know?”
So he orders for two, though he’s decidedly not sharing his handmade porcini-stuffed ravioli with a blueberry-sage reduction over a truffle-cream sauce, and checks out the liquor cabinet and wine rack. They eat their second romantic dinner on the couch in the living room, watching Sports Center and not really talking or touching. Vince finally turns, setting down his créme caramel, and watches Eric pick at the sugar crust on his dessert for a moment.
“You don’t want to do this,” he says, and Eric’s head whips around.
“No, it’s fine,” he says.
“Uh-huh. You’re torturing perfectly good food.”
“I’m cruel,” Eric says, but then he sets the plate on the coffee table. He stares at it for a minute. “I’m a little nervous, is all,” he says. Something warm shivers in Vince’s chest. He puts his arms around Eric, and Eric leans into him. “Not so long ago the only person in the world who knew I wanted you was you,” he says, “and now we’re going to fuck with an audience?”
“With audience participation,” Vince says. He kisses the shell of Eric’s ear, then his neck.
“Just tell me something,” Eric says. “You want to do this - why?”
Vince shrugs. “I just thought it might be fun.”
“Not because you’re, uh -”
Vince laughs. “I’m not bored. I don’t miss women, I don’t miss fucking other people. Honest, E, I think I just suggested it to see if you’d go along. And because Sloan, you know, she’s good people and she’s hot. We can have fun with her. But, look, we can call and -”
“No,” he says, and Vince feels him relax a little. “You’re right, we can have fun.”
“So ease up, then,” he says. “You’re at an advantage here, really - you know what everyone wants.”
Eric smiles. “I know what you want, right now.”
“It’ll help loosen you up,” Vince says.
They make out for a bit, just easy kisses and touches, nothing too arousing. Like always, they fit together nicely, Vince between Eric’s knees, his fingers on Eric’s smooth face. “Should I shave, before she gets here?” he asks Eric.
Eric hmms against his neck, then kisses his way up over Vince’s jaw and cheek. “Not for me,” he says, and that’s all Vince needs to hear.
Vince gets up to answer the door when the knock comes, leaving Eric spread nicely on the couch. Sloan is standing at the door, looking beautiful in a fitting skirt and low-cut blouse. He holds the door for her and kisses her cheek, careful to linger, in greeting.
“Hey,” Eric says from the couch. He’s sitting up, but it’s got to be clear what they were just doing - his collar is pushed open and his lips are puffy, and he has the wonderful glassy-eyed look that he sometimes gets when he’s turned on. Vince grins and winks at him, and he blushes a little. He hopes Sloan sees this. He feels suddenly awkward, a little possessive of Eric, and has a second’s flash of regret over the whole idea. Wouldn’t it be better just to take Eric back to bed?
“Can I get you a glass of wine?” Eric says, standing up, his voice a little formal and nervous, too. That makes Vince feel better, somehow, and so he smiles at Sloan.
“Or champagne?” Vince suggests.
Sloan touches his side, and Vince realizes he must be pretty obvious, too. “Sounds nice,” she says.
They finish off a bottle together in the kitchen, standing around the counter. It feels better, somehow, like this, just hanging out, than it did in the living room. Sloan touches Eric’s arm a few times as he talks, and she does the same to Vince, and he likes it. He puts his hand in Eric’s back pocket, just casual, just there, while he leans against the island. Eric stays close to him, and Vince likes that, too.
“So,” Eric says, a leading, careful word, and Vince grins across at Sloan. Vince knows he needs to be the one who gets this started: Eric is a great manager, he’s fantastic at seeing things through, but he needs Vince to kick things off. Which is no problem, because here, at least, Vince is the voice of experience.
“So,” he says, and then he leans over and kisses Eric full on the mouth. With his fingers on Eric’s cheek, he turns to Sloan, to include her. They kiss, and it actually takes Vince a few seconds to catch on that he needs to make it more than chaste; it’s really been that long since he kissed anyone else seriously that his habit is closed-mouth kissing for anyone not Eric. With his hand still on Eric’s face, he cups Sloan’s cheek in his other hand and closes his eyes when his tongue touches hers. When he pulls back, she licks her lips, and he smiles. She tips her head, just slightly, toward Eric, and Vince takes a step back, drops his hand to Eric’s shoulder. He watches them kiss greedily, notes the way Eric’s eyes stay open and dart toward him, watches him nervously put a hand on Sloan’s slim waist, watches Sloan push her fingers into Eric’s hair. They break apart and Eric is panting, and he puts his hand on Vince’s arm and squeezes.
“We all seem to be wearing a lot of clothes,” Vince says.
“I agree,” Sloan says, and she walks over and stands behind Vince. Eric’s eyes are wide, and he swallows once but then smiles, a little, as Vince starts to unbutton his shirt. Vince feels Sloan’s fingernails scratch lightly against his chest as she pulls up his T-shirt, and he raises his arms to allow it. He’s been dressed and undressed by hundreds of women - and several men - over the course of his life, and it’s nothing to him to be naked. When Sloan starts working on his belt, Vince does the same to Eric, and Eric helps him. They get his belt off and pants unzipped at the same time Sloan tugs loose Vince’s jeans. “Oh,” Eric murmurs, one hand on Vince’s belly, and Vince smiles, because really, who wears underwear to a threesome?
Eric clears his throat. There’s a promising flush on his neck and the light skin between his collarbones. “We seem to be ahead,” he says, and Vince looks back at Sloan. She’s still fully dressed.
She smiles, and turns, and says over her shoulder, “Bed?”
They both take a moment to untangle from pants and socks, then follow her back to the master bedroom. She already has her blouse and bra off - and Vince is sad to have missed that show - and she’s stepping out of her skirt when he walks in. She’s absolutely beautiful. Caramel skin and confident in it. Exactly what Vince used to look for, when he was looking so hard. Almost movie star beautiful. She spreads out easily on the bed and beckons, and Vince gives Eric a nudge, watches him fall into probably a familiar embrace. Something in Vince’s chest lurches at the sight of them, together, of Eric’s hand so easily cupping Sloan’s breast, his mouth fitting neatly with hers, and he realizes that maybe he should have set some rules. Well, he thinks, stepping forward, nothing’s set in stone.
He slides in on Sloan’s right side and smiles down at her, and then with the weight of Eric’s eyes on him he kisses her, working now in a way he didn’t in the kitchen. He’s a good kisser, he knows it, and he keeps his eyes open just enough to watch Sloan learning it. He has years of practice at this, at reading women’s bodies and knowing where and how to move, and he knows how best to make things seem natural, too. Sloan twists when Vince’s fingers close on her nipple; she twists away when he starts to pinch, so he smoothes his hand, strokes her flat belly, and lets his fingers tangle with Eric’s at the edge of her pubic bone. He pulls back, mouths her neck, and listens to Eric kiss her. Then he tilts his head back and Eric lunges, mouth suddenly on Vince’s neck, which is exactly what Vince wanted and exactly what he knew Eric would do. He grips Eric’s head with one hand and frees the other, slides it between Sloan’s legs, brushes just faintly, just a ghostly, testing tease, over her clit. She moans and Vince does, too, as Eric’s tongue tangles with his and Eric’s hand comes up and grips Vince’s hip. He pulls and Vince does as he’s directed, slides up and over Sloan so that he’s looking down at her while Eric’s still lined up on her left side. His cock is already hard and heavy, curving up against his belly.
“This OK?” he asks, because he knows Sloan needs to give permission.
“Yes,” she says, and kisses him and her fingers press into his shoulder blades. Between their bodies, Vince keeps his hand on her, now rubbing little circles, pleased by the spread of her thighs and the quiver of her belly. Eric’s hand is busy, too; when Vince pulls back from Sloan, Eric’s fingers slip across his face and Vince sucks, habit. Eric leans in and his lips brush Vince’s, the tip of one wet finger touches his chin. “This OK?” he asks, and Vince barely nods before two of Eric’s slick fingers slide into him.
“Oh,” he says, and he watches Sloan’s eyes widen and realizes it’s probably because he just got very hard against her.
“You should do this to her, too,” Eric says, and it takes Vince a moment to understand what he’s saying. Then he nods, and lowers the hand working her to the wetness below. He puts his forehead against Sloan’s, and she whispers, “Yes, Vince,” and he nods and swallows and as Eric presses deeper into him, he slides two fingers into her. For a while, there’s just that rocking, Vince trying to concentrate but mostly just mimicking Eric, dipping in to kiss Sloan when he can, when he remembers. Eric’s fingers scissor and Vince starts to gasp, but Sloan absorbs it, and her hands are suddenly on his ass, holding him apart so Eric can move. He feels ganged up on, especially when Eric’s hand slicks over Vince’s cock and he says, over Vince’s shoulder, to Sloan, “I think he’s ready.”
He wants to have a say in things, so he clears his throat. “Condom?” he asks, and then realizes he doesn’t have one, and Eric won’t, either. They travel without because they’re exclusive and they’re clean. Surely somewhere in this room they have something. “Uh -”
“The patch,” Eric and Sloan say together, and Vince decides, fuck it, he’s going to feel left out however this goes. And yet he’s in the middle, which he remembers when Eric’s third finger - slick with lube, because they always travel with that - slides in and Sloan licks his throat.
“OK,” he says, knowing his voice is trembling. “OK?”
“OK,” Sloan says, and she guides Vince’s hand, and Vince guides himself, and he slides in. It’s not like fucking Eric, not as tight, twice as wet, but it’s good. And then a second later Eric pushes into him, with almost no warning, and it’s spectacular. Eric’s thrusts move Vince forward into Sloan, and she starts to rub herself because Vince is nearly paralyzed with pleasure. For once he forgets to keep trying, and he concentrates between breaths on just making sure he’s taking some of the weight on his own elbows. He comes much too quickly and actually sees disappointment flash on Sloan’s face, before he hears Eric growl, “Don’t worry, he’s not done,” and then he thrusts just right and fire lances up Vince’s spine. Eric knows him so fucking well. Sloan gasps a little, Vince gasps a lot, and after another few thrusts he gets hard again inside of her. His body feels stretched, used in the best way. Eric kisses his shoulders, and Vince kisses Sloan with his eyes closed and for a minute pretends it’s Eric. When Sloan shudders underneath his hand he lets himself come again, and then rests his cheek against Sloan’s while Eric thrusts three, four more times, and then wraps his arms around Vince, draws him up and back, and comes.
He falls back into Eric’s embrace on the bed, turns in and puts his head on Eric’s chest and his arms around him. Vince is shaking, from the effort but maybe from something else, and when Eric’s hands leave him to pull up the blanket Vince clings. Sloan curls around his back, and he hears her and Eric talking softly, affectionately, over his head, but he doesn’t try to make out the words. He just falls asleep.
When he wakes up the bed in front of him is empty, but there’s a sturdy familiar arm around his chest. “Damn,” Vince says, turning over, already sure that Eric’s awake. “I am the girl.”
Eric laughs. “Because you got fucked silly?”
“And I’m getting the morning-after snuggle,” Vince says. He rolls Eric back to the bed and spreads out over him. “Where’s Sloan?”
“In the shower,” he says. “She has actual work things today, I think.” Vince raises an eyebrow. “And, yeah, she might be a little weirded out,” Eric admits.
“By being the other woman?”
“I don’t think she thought this was how it would go down,” Eric says, raising his own eyebrow, and Vince thinks he may be blushing.
“She thought you -” Vince starts, and Eric nods. “Ah. Well, maybe I had some rules,” he says, and Eric grins. “Shut up,” Vince says, and he bites Eric’s shoulder. That leads to some wrestling, a smack with a pillow, and eventually Vince has Eric pinned by the shoulders, sitting up on his thighs. “How is it you’ve had two threesomes and you never get to play?” Vince asks, looking down.
Eric’s laughing. “I’m hot property,” he says. “People get possessive.”
“Hmm.” Vince keeps his hands on Eric’s biceps and leans in, a virtual pushup, to kiss him. And while he does that, he slides his knee between Eric’s legs.
“You’re crushing me,” Eric mutters, and Vince smiles and puts his hands on the bed.
“Better?”
“Uh-huh. What are you -”
“I think you know,” Vince says, kneeling between Eric’s legs, now. He finds the squeeze bottle on the night stand.
Eric clears his throat, and Vince watches want and nervousness chase themselves across his face. “The shower’s off,” he says.
“So?” Vince coats his hand, then his cock. Nice thing about Eric - he doesn’t need much prep. “You afraid she’ll see you naked?”
“I’m afraid -” Eric starts but Vince kisses him, and he knows the wanting has won when Eric pulls his knees up. Vince slicks Eric up and then watches his face while he pushes in, slow but steady, the way he likes it. And this is all about what Eric likes, right now - because yeah, fuck, Vince is a little possessive and he has every right to be. Eric is his and always has been. He hears the bathroom door open and feels Eric tighten under and around him, and he can’t help his groan.
“Wow,” Sloan says, and Vince watches Eric’s eyes widen and focus over his shoulder. He feels suddenly tense. “I wondered,” she says, and sits calmly on the side of the bed, staring down at Eric.
Eric’s face is brilliant red, and Vince wants that to all be from him so he gets going, again. Eric closes his eyes. Vince grunts and lifts one of Eric’s knees up to his shoulder, which isn’t usually how they do this but it makes Sloan catch her breath and Eric’s eyes open again. His hands claw at Vince’s shoulders, and he leaves marks, Vince is sure of it - again, something they don’t usually do - and then he lurches and comes. Vince laughs, a single breath of air, because he wasn’t even touching Eric, and he holds out as long as he can, watching Eric’s eyes flicker with every thrust, until it’s too much and he’s done.
“Oh,” Sloan says, and Vince topples off of Eric and nearly onto the floor. Eric’s steady hand on his arm barely saves him.
“Watch it, hotshot,” he says, and his voice has that perfect airy exhaustion that is exactly what Vince is feeling. Vince sinks onto the bed next to him, laying on his back, content just to breathe.
Sloan’s voice is smooth. “I leave you alone for ten minutes,” she says, and Eric laughs.
“You out?” he asks, and Vince looks up to see her nod.
“Flight to catch,” she says. She leans over, and Vince is sure for a moment that she’s going to kiss Eric, and his stomach clenches. But after an awkward moment of hesitation, her lips find only his forehead, and then a minute later Vince’s cheek. He pats her hair with his fingers as she pulls away, and she smiles. “It was fun, gentlemen,” she says, and then stands up, smoothes out her skirt, and leaves with a pleasantly swinging walk.
“Wow,” Vince says, collapsing back next to Eric.
“Yeah, wow,” Eric says. The bungalow door opens and closes. “Jesus, I think you pulled my groin.”
Vince laughs. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
“Don’t make offers you can’t pay up on,” Eric says. He sits up, and Vince stares at his smooth pale back, watches Eric turn to look at the door. He runs his hand up Eric’s spine.
“Hey,” he says, and Eric shrugs. “You think she was really upset?”
“Nah,” he says.
Vince smirks and sits up, drapes himself over Eric’s back. “Not that I blame her for being disappointed,” he says, his lips right next to Eric’s ear. “Who doesn’t want a piece of this, huh?”
“Vince -” Eric says, and he looks back, and Vince smiles and kisses him.
“You were right,” he says. “I am possessive.”
Eric nods, and then kisses him back.
Fandom/Pairing: Entourage, Eric/Vince, Eric/Vince/Sloan
Series: Yes, this comes after Get Used To It in the Here's Us Together series.
Notes: I'm sort of in Entourage purge mode; this has been kicking around on my computer for a while. Uh, warning -- it gets kind of schmoopy.
Also: I've disabled comments, because I won't be able to respond.
They’re at a charity event - Vince isn’t even sure what it is, but Ari said they should go, and Eric was keen on it. That’s rare enough to get Vince interested. Since coming out, they go out less than ever. Eric gets nervous. At first, Vince thought it was mostly because Eric’s never really been a spotlight player before; suddenly having the cameras pointed his way was pretty alarming. Then there was the whole thing with him freaking out about his mother, which Vince totally understood and supported him through, but it still meant they spent a lot more time at home than Vince liked. Finally, though, Eric was getting better about going out, after Vince’s movie did well over the summer, but they’ve recently had a couple of awkward run-ins, including a guy who threw a Bible at Eric’s car outside Spago. So Vince has said OK to laying low again; to Eric’s credit, he’s been working to make staying in worth Vince’s while. Now that Turtle has his own place, they have the house all to themselves. Staying home can be fun, too.
But the charity event is a big deal for several of Ari’s favorite people, so there they are, climbing out of the back of a car. Cameras flash and Eric’s hand, which was resting comfortably on Vince’s back, falls away. Vince fights the urge to roll his eyes, instead pastes on his best big smile and takes Eric’s hand. He feels Eric tense, but fuck, he’s got to get used to this at some point. They’ve been out for almost eight months. Vince uses his free hand to wave at a familiar photog. “Smile, dear,” he says, teasing.
Eric squeezes so hard Vince feels like his fingers might break. He smiles as long as he can, then tugs Eric up the stairs. Eric lets go as soon as they’re in the door, and Vince wrings out his hand. “Was that necessary?” he asks. Eric gives him a look, reflecting the question, and Vince does roll his eyes. “E -”
“Don’t start, all right?” Eric says. He steps closer and straightens Vince’s tie, which Vince takes as an apology. “Come on.”
They walk into the ballroom, not touching but close, and as the doors open Vince feels the flicker of eyes sliding on to them but keeps walking. “You gonna bid on anything?” he asks, pointing at the buffet of silent auction pieces.
Eric shrugs. “Lakers tickets, maybe?”
“Go for it.”
They pass into the crowd and Eric spots someone he wants to talk to almost immediately. “Andrea Kemper,” he says, “she financed Colin Farrell’s last thing?”
“Oh yeah,” Vince says. “You gonna hit her up?”
They’re working, at the moment, to get money lined up for Spectaculo, a new thriller that Vince and Eric really like and Ari calls “very marketable.” “I’m just gonna make nice,” Eric says.
Vince laughs. “Go get ‘er, tiger,” he says. “You need me?”
“Nah.”
“Then I’ll be at the bar.”
He detours en route to take a look at the auction items. The names on the forms are familiar - clients of Ari’s, producers, agents, the hot and rich of Hollywood. Used to be, at these things, he had a director on his arm the minute he walked into the room, an agent kissing his ass within a few feet of the door; now they’re all shy, a little scared. Nightfeeders opened huge in June, but people are still nervous; Vince headlined the film, but people are giving half the credit to Cameron and another half to his co-stars. He still hasn’t opened a film on his own since he came out, and Ari says that’s making people a little skittish. Vince figures fuck ‘em: David Lynch’s In The Ring, the boxing movie he just finished filming, opens on Christmas, and Vince knows how good that film is going to be. He knows how good he is, and if these people forget it for a while, well, turns out he’s not making movies for them. Fuck them all.
A woman he recognizes as the over-surgeried wife of one of the studio chairs is hovering over a Fred Leighton item, and Vince catches her staring, as if maybe he’ll do a little gay trick. He grins at her. “Could I borrow your pen?” he asks, and under her flustered gaze he signs up for the item in front of him: a romantic weekend at the Beverly Hills Hotel, including use of the presidential bungalow. He grins just imagining the shade of red Eric will turn if he wins.
When he finishes writing down his bid - twice the generous amount offered by the last bidder - he feels someone leaning in close over his shoulder and smells expensive spicy perfume. “It usually goes for half that,” a familiar voice says, and Vince sets down the pen.
“But that’s not very charitable,” he says, turning to greet Sloan. “How are you?”
“I’m well,” she says. They share a quick hug, and when she draws back her smile is both friendly and conspiratorial. Vince hasn’t seen her for a long time, and they haven’t really talked since she and Eric broke up, long before Vince would’ve ever dreamed of signing up in public for a romantic weekend with him. She looks the same, which is to say she looks very, very good: sleek black dress, spiky black heels, hair shining and swept back to show off classy diamond earrings. “And you?”
“Really good,” he says.
She glances back at the crowd. “Eric?”
“He’s here,” Vince says. “Schmoozing.”
Sloan’s grin spreads out a little. “It’s funny that even you lose face time to business,” she says. “Since you’re the business.”
Vince shrugs. “It has its disadvantages,” he agrees. “I’m getting a drink, you want to join?”
“I’d love to.”
They walk to the bar and catch up in a casual, friendly way, talking through projects and life over the past few years. She has her own business, now, with two of her closest friends - they manage promotions for couple of restaurants and ultrahip nightclubs and are considering branching out into clothing. She mentions a place in Rome that rings a bell for Vince. “We do a lot of international business,” she says. Vince can guess from the expense of her dress - it’s got to be Versace - what kind of success this is, and he congratulates her sincerely. After all, he liked Sloan. She was good to Eric, and she’s been kind enough not to talk to anyone in the press since they came out. Vince appreciates that kind of loyalty. He also knows Eric appreciated her card after the Golden Globes.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, on her second glass of wine. “Were you guys - while Eric and I -”
“No,” Vince says, and he’s glad that’s not a lie. It was close - a few days before, a few after - but not during. There was too much going on at the time.
She nods. Vince watches her eyelids flicker, and is surprised to feel Eric’s hand on his back a second later.
“Hi,” he says, in the sharp way that means he’s nervous.
“Hi, Eric,” Sloan says. She leans in, and Eric does, too, and they have an anxious dance of hands and twisting faces before Eric finally kisses her cheek, chastely.
“How are you?” he asks, settling back in beside Vince.
“I’m good,” she says. “I’m doing really well.”
Vince recites the name of her business and the club in Rome, and Eric’s eyes widen. “Sloan, that’s terrific,” he says. “Congratulations!”
“We’re opening in Tokyo next month,” she says.
“Let’s celebrate,” Vince says, and waves down a waiter carrying champagne. Behind them, people are starting to take their seats for the dinner and auction results. No one at this dinner interests Vince at all: a bunch of people who want to talk money, who look at him and then shift their eyes to Eric and see everything in terms of dollar signs, where Eric’s presence means a discount. He’s fucking tired of it. Sloan, at least, is interesting. An old friend. She takes a glass of champagne, and Vince joins her. “To old friends,” he suggests, and she raises her glass, as does Eric after a second’s hesitation.
“It really is good to see you,” Eric says, and he sounds both sincere and surprised.
The hostess announces that dinner is about to be served, and Vince looks out over the expanse of formally-attired, spectacularly boring industry folks around the room and then back at Sloan.
“Shall we grab a table?” he asks.
The tables have place cards, but no one’s going to argue if he shuffles them. He still has that clout. Sloan agrees, with a bright friendly smile, and they take seats halfway back. Eric gives him a look that might be a warning, but Vince shrugs. Sloan seems fine. Not even wistful. Over dinner, they talk genially about a little bit of everything, including some of the strange stuff happening when Sloan and Eric were dating. It’s actually kind of fun. Sloan isn’t seeing anyone at the moment - too busy, she says, and Eric seems to find that funny - but she’s only been out of a serious relationship for a few months. It doesn’t bother Vince to hear that she’s on the market, because he knows - he’s confident - that Eric is completely unavailable.
After dinner, Vince’s bid on the romantic weekend wins. Sloan cheers and says, “Oh, stop blushing, it’s too cute,” when Eric tries to duck behind his hands while Vince goes to the front to pick up his winnings.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Eric says when Vince sits back down.
“Believe it, baby,” Vince says, sliding over the folder of information for which he’s just paid $20,000. “And it’s next weekend, too.”
“Christ.”
“Oh, yeah, you poor thing,” Sloan says, grinning across at Eric. “You have to spend a weekend sequestered with your movie star boyfriend in a bungalow that has its own pool. Wow, Eric, how will I wipe away the tears?”
“He’s a lot more difficult than I get credit for,” Eric says, sulking, and Vince laughs.
Sloan rolls her eyes. “I practically had to beat you up to get a weekend away,” she says, giving him a playful punch on the arm. “Maybe I should’ve tried the auction trick.”
She’s a little drunk, but so is Vince. “I always liked you,” Vince says, leaning forward. “I just want you to know that. I always thought you were good for E.”
She smiles, and there’s a tiny bit of sadness there. “I liked you, too,” she says. “Though I’m not sure I thought the same, all the time.”
“Competition’s a bitch,” Vince agrees. He holds out his hand. “Look, friends, though?”
She takes his hand, and he spontaneously draws hers up and kisses the back, then the pale inside of her wrist. Eric coughs. “That’s friendly,” he says, and Vince smiles over Sloan’s skin.
“He’s jealous,” she says, with a pretty, knowing smile. “I always thought it was kind of hot.”
“I agree,” Vince says, slowly releasing her hand. When he sits back, Eric has his arm on the back of Vince’s chair. Vince shakes his head. “You know, I’m glad you were here. I’m glad we ran into you.”
“Me, too,” she says, and her smile is kind and maybe a little surprised. “We should get together.”
“We should,” Vince agrees. It seems like a great idea. They can have a few drinks and a few laughs. It’s what adults are supposed to do, after all. No reason not to be friends. And, Jesus, anything to get out of the house. “Next week? Drinks at The Palm?”
She frowns. “I leave for Beijing Monday, I’ll be gone for a while. But when I get back -”
“Absolutely,” Eric says, but Vince interrupts.
“No,” he says, leaning forward, “that’s no good. That never works out. We’ll do it this week. I’m serious about this.”
When he glances back, Eric’s giving him a funny look. He shakes it off and turns to Sloan. “Is your number the same?”
“As always,” she says.
They part with the same hugs as before, and Vince feels really happy about the whole deal. He turns to Eric in the car to say so, and finds the funny look back on his face. “I can’t figure out,” Eric says, “if you really had a good time or if there’s something weird going on.”
“Weird?” Vince asks. “Like what? I like Sloan.”
“I like Sloan, too,” Eric says. “Which is kind of what I mean.”
Vince spins that sentence around in his head for a moment, but it doesn’t make any more sense. “What do you mean?” he asks.
“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” Eric says. “You aren’t trying to prove anything, are you?”
“Like what? I got you and she didn’t?” Vince snorts. “She barely had you.”
“She doesn’t know that,” Eric murmurs, and Vince turns to face him.
“I’m not just playing nice,” Vince says. “I like her. She’s fun to be around. And she seemed to have a good time tonight. Right?” Eric nods. “Look, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll call and say this week’s too busy.”
“No, it’s fine,” Eric says. His frown eases, almost curls into a smile. “Just not much fun being ganged up on.”
Vince calls Sloan the next day and arranges for dinner on Thursday, which Eric says is the best possible day. Friday and Saturday nights, after all, will be spent at the Beverly Hills Hotel Bungalow.
They meet at a Thai place that doesn’t get a lot of press but does make a mean Pad Prik King and serves Singha. By the third round, Vince is slumped into Eric’s side, eating noodles off Eric’s plate with his fingers while Eric and Sloan talk in blurry slurs about business. They eat out all the time, but usually for business or with the guys, never just casual. And when it’s just the two of them Eric always sits across from him, so this is good. Sloan’s smile comes quick every time Eric says something sharp, and she eats the carrots that Vince rejects off of Eric’s plate.
“Sharing is nice,” Vince says, watching Sloan nibble a round piece of carrot.
“Thanks for that,” Eric says, tightening his arm around Vince’s shoulders. “Jesus, you’re a lightweight all the sudden?”
Vince doesn’t think it would be appropriate to mention the bowl he shared with Turtle before he left the house, so instead, he says, “Remember the time you guys had a threesome?”
Sloan pops the carrot into her mouth, and Eric’s head jerks back. Vince grins, and Sloan smiles back, after a second.
“I think that cost you Aquaman 2,” she says, and Vince nods and lifts his glass in salute.
“I think this just cost me ten years of my life,” Eric mutters, pushing Vince so that he’s sitting up against the booth.
Vince shrugs. “You know, we could,” he says. He’s watching Sloan, not Eric, because he can guess the reaction over there. Sloan’s eyes narrow, then widen, and she looks from Vince to Eric, then back.
“I’m sorry,” Eric says, “he doesn’t -”
“Are you serious?” Sloan asks, meeting Vince’s eyes.
“Yeah,” he says. He leans forward, just a little, keeping a small, easygoing smile on his face, to let her know no hard feelings if she doesn’t want to. “I mean, you guys have chemistry. We have chemistry. It could be -
“Like a chemistry experiment?” Eric says, and Vince elbows him.
“It could be fun.”
Now she looks back at Eric, and Vince turns to watch them. They seem to have some kind of silent conversation, where Sloan stares and Eric blushes, then shrugs, then puts one hand on Vince’s shoulder. When he looks away, that seems to be the answer Sloan needs, even though Vince suddenly feels a little uneasy. But Eric’s hand is steady, warm, and Vince reminds himself he has nothing to worry about.
“If you’re serious,” she says, “then we could, sure. But I leave for China Monday.”
“It so happens,” Vince says, “that we have a romantic getaway planned this weekend.”
“And what says romance better than a threesome with my ex and my crazy sex fiend partner?” Eric says, but he’s smiling when Vince looks over. “OK, OK,” he says, and turns to Sloan. “Saturday night?” he asks. “We’ll supply the booze.”
She grins. “You’re on.”
Friday, they arrive at the hotel and dart past a tenacious cluster of paparazzi at the front door. Eric rubs his forehead as they cross the lobby, and he looks so stressed that it puts Vince in a bad mood. A bellhop and one of the hotel’s assistant managers show them to the suite, and while the bellhop tucks away their bags the manager makes a point of showing them all of the romantic amenities and plans. As he lingers over the wonders of the private whirlpool and lap pool, Vince glances over at Eric, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, slightly removed from the scene, like this is a business meeting where Vince is the star and he’s just management. Vince pastes on a big smile for the manager.
“Is this pool visible from the grounds?” he asks.
“I guarantee, it’s well-l-l-l sequestered,” the man says, and he even throws in a little wink. “The Jacuzzi in the main bath also accommodates two people very easily. You should have a look, try it out.”
“Christ,” Eric mutters, and walks back into the suite.
Vince does his best to keep up conversation with the guy as they walk back inside. Eric’s nowhere to be seen, but Vince hears a noise like clothes being thrown around from the master bedroom. “You are, of course, welcome to join us for dinner in the lounge, but your package also includes room service.”
“Oh,” Vince says, and he makes sure his voice carries, “I think we’ll be unlikely to surface, so in-room would be wonderful.”
“Excellent,” the manager says. He slips Vince a card before he leaves, which Vince lays on one of the elegant end tables. The sound of drawers opening and closing - slamming, really - in the bedroom makes him briefly consider just flopping onto the overly-pillowed couch and turning on the plasma, but he’s sick and tired of this act. So he walks back, past three other bedrooms, to where Eric’s carelessly tossing clothes out of his duffle bag into what is probably an antique dresser built by God or Chippendale.
Vince sets his shoulder against the door frame. “What, you don’t like the room?” he asks.
Eric doesn’t even turn, just scoffs. “It’s a palace.”
“It’s supposed to be romantic.”
Now Eric turns, with his arms crossed. “This is your idea of romance? Getting told by a guy in a suit that the bathtub is big enough to fuck in?”
“That’s good information to have,” Vince says. Eric rolls his eyes. “All right, what, E? What crawled up your ass? The cameras outside? Fuck them, I’m sure they got your good side.”
Eric shakes his head, angry and silent, one of his worst moods. He pulls his shaving kit out of the bag and pushes into the bathroom. Vince stays standing at the door, trying to remind himself that he loves Eric, that he’s in this for real, that it’s not better to have a string of uncomplicated lays. He can’t remember the reasons, though, until he hears Eric say, “Holy shit,” from the bathroom.
Vince walks over and pushes the door open. Inside is a bathroom like no other he’s seen - and he’s seen quite a few. It’s almost like a little spa. It has the regular bathroom amenities: toilet tucked into a separate cabinet, dual sinks, a wall-wide mirror with bright overhead lights. But it also has the tub in question, which is granite-lined, set into the floor, a real jacuzzi-type spa that’s already filled with steaming water, rose petals floating on the surface. There’s a bottle of champagne on ice next to the tub. It’s like walking onto a set that’s prepared for a very sappy love scene.
Eric turns to look at him, the shaving kit still in his hands. “Remember when we stayed at the Best Western that summer, when we drove to Williamsburg?”
“And your mom had a coupon so we got an upgrade? Yeah,” Vince says. Until he moved to L.A., it was the biggest hotel room he’d ever seen, a deluxe suite with a king-sized bed, a sleeper sofa, a tiny balcony overlooking the parking lot, and a slightly larger-than-normal tub with three sputtering jacuzzi jets.
“Jesus,” Eric says. He sets his shaving kit on the counter, where it looks small and cheap and out of place. Vince sees those same feelings flicker across Eric’s face in the mirror. He takes two long steps into the room and slides his arms around Eric from behind.
“We deserve this,” Vince whispers in his ear. “E -”
“Yeah,” he says, and looks up so they’re meeting eyes in the mirror.
Vince kisses his neck. “E,” he murmurs, his hands slipping under Eric’s shirt, “you are young and hot and pretty well-off, and you’re hooked up with someone who’s younger and hotter and loaded.”
“And so fucking humble,” Eric says. He seems to be watching the progress Vince’s fingers are making with his zipper.
“I’m just pointing out, you’re basically living the dream, man,” Vince says, getting the zipper all the way down.
“What, are you the dream?” Eric asks, and he smirks and looks up.
“This is the dream,” Vince says. “This place. Us being here. You know?”
It takes a second, but Eric nods. He turns around and they kiss, softly at first and then with some intent, with tongue and a little bit of teeth from Eric. When he slips back, Vince has his shirt unbuttoned and his hands tucked beneath Eric’s waistband. “OK,” Eric says.
“Hm?”
“The bath,” he says. “Might as well use it. It’s already paid for.”
Vince grins.
Later that night, after they’ve made it through the tub and one of the four bedrooms, they’re lying on the couch in the living room, waiting for their promised, romantic, custom-prepared dinner to arrive. Vince has his head comfortably resting on Eric’s thigh while they watch The Big Lebowski for the tenth time. “It really is like they made a movie version of how things could have turned out for Turtle,” Vince says, and Eric hums an agreement. His fingers are rubbing through Vince’s still-damp hair, and Vince is feeling ridiculously sated and comfortable. He’s looking forward to dinner, and still wants to go for a midnight swim, but right now just lying on the couch with Eric is perfect. Everything is perfect.
“It’s 8:00,” Eric says.
“They said twenty minutes.”
“No, I mean, it’s Friday night at 8.”
Vince blinks. Every Friday night for the past five months, he’s called his mother at exactly 8. He knows she’s always in by 11, New York time, because she and his aunt Myra always go for early coffee and thrift shopping on Saturday mornings. Even though he knows this, she hasn’t picked up once, not once in ten months. She hasn’t called back, either, though he leaves decent, friendly messages every time, with his number and schedule for the week. They haven’t spoken since October, when he was back in New York for Eric’s mother’s funeral, and when it seemed like a good idea to clue her into the fact that he had someone with whom he often has perfect moments like this.
“You gonna call her?” Eric asks. His voice is gentle. He’s never pressured Vince to call or not to call; Vince knows Eric traded a few sharp words with Vince’s mother near Christmas, when the Post ran a blind item about them that was probably sourced through her. After that, they ran a story about Vince’s and his mother’s estrangement, and that’s when he started making the phone calls. His birthday and Christmas have both gone by without word; he won the Globe and the Oscar and came out to the whole world, and she didn’t even send a card or a word through Johnny.
“No,” he says, and Eric’s hand pauses mid-stroke, fingers caressing Vince’s scalp.
“OK,” Eric says. His hand moves to Vince’s shoulder. “Any reason?”
“Lots of them,” he says. Eric squeezes his shoulder, and Vince closes his eyes. “I’m just through.”
“Yeah?”
Vince nods.
There’s a knock on the door. “Hang on,” Eric says, and he gets up carefully and answers. Two waiters in full restaurant dress roll in a cart full of silver-lidded trays. “Just on the table,” Eric says, and they brush by the couch to begin setting up the meal. Vince is surprised when Eric retakes his place on the couch and starts stroking his hair again, but he decides not to say anything. Instead he just takes it for what it is, a little needed support at exactly the right time.
Vince gets his midnight swim but not his proposed pool sex and they go to bed in the King-sized master suite. They wake up late the next morning, eat a breakfast of fresh fruit and cream and crepes and just-squeezed orange juice, and spend the rest of the day sort of bumming around the bungalow, checking out all of the amenities and calling Turtle and Johnny to brag. In a way, it’s sort of weird, being isolated from the world, forced to relax - but Vince loves it, really, likes just hanging out with Eric and discovering all the bells and whistles, and Eric only sneaks away to check his e-mail two or three times.
Around five, they get out of the bathtub again - it’s really that cool - and Vince says, “Should I order extra food for Sloan, tonight, you think?”
Eric shrugs, and Vince watches the fine muscles of his back roll under his skin. There are still two beds they haven’t touched. “That meal last night was enough food for six people,” he says. “Plus, it’d be kind of weird if we asked them to add a third plate, you know?”
So he orders for two, though he’s decidedly not sharing his handmade porcini-stuffed ravioli with a blueberry-sage reduction over a truffle-cream sauce, and checks out the liquor cabinet and wine rack. They eat their second romantic dinner on the couch in the living room, watching Sports Center and not really talking or touching. Vince finally turns, setting down his créme caramel, and watches Eric pick at the sugar crust on his dessert for a moment.
“You don’t want to do this,” he says, and Eric’s head whips around.
“No, it’s fine,” he says.
“Uh-huh. You’re torturing perfectly good food.”
“I’m cruel,” Eric says, but then he sets the plate on the coffee table. He stares at it for a minute. “I’m a little nervous, is all,” he says. Something warm shivers in Vince’s chest. He puts his arms around Eric, and Eric leans into him. “Not so long ago the only person in the world who knew I wanted you was you,” he says, “and now we’re going to fuck with an audience?”
“With audience participation,” Vince says. He kisses the shell of Eric’s ear, then his neck.
“Just tell me something,” Eric says. “You want to do this - why?”
Vince shrugs. “I just thought it might be fun.”
“Not because you’re, uh -”
Vince laughs. “I’m not bored. I don’t miss women, I don’t miss fucking other people. Honest, E, I think I just suggested it to see if you’d go along. And because Sloan, you know, she’s good people and she’s hot. We can have fun with her. But, look, we can call and -”
“No,” he says, and Vince feels him relax a little. “You’re right, we can have fun.”
“So ease up, then,” he says. “You’re at an advantage here, really - you know what everyone wants.”
Eric smiles. “I know what you want, right now.”
“It’ll help loosen you up,” Vince says.
They make out for a bit, just easy kisses and touches, nothing too arousing. Like always, they fit together nicely, Vince between Eric’s knees, his fingers on Eric’s smooth face. “Should I shave, before she gets here?” he asks Eric.
Eric hmms against his neck, then kisses his way up over Vince’s jaw and cheek. “Not for me,” he says, and that’s all Vince needs to hear.
Vince gets up to answer the door when the knock comes, leaving Eric spread nicely on the couch. Sloan is standing at the door, looking beautiful in a fitting skirt and low-cut blouse. He holds the door for her and kisses her cheek, careful to linger, in greeting.
“Hey,” Eric says from the couch. He’s sitting up, but it’s got to be clear what they were just doing - his collar is pushed open and his lips are puffy, and he has the wonderful glassy-eyed look that he sometimes gets when he’s turned on. Vince grins and winks at him, and he blushes a little. He hopes Sloan sees this. He feels suddenly awkward, a little possessive of Eric, and has a second’s flash of regret over the whole idea. Wouldn’t it be better just to take Eric back to bed?
“Can I get you a glass of wine?” Eric says, standing up, his voice a little formal and nervous, too. That makes Vince feel better, somehow, and so he smiles at Sloan.
“Or champagne?” Vince suggests.
Sloan touches his side, and Vince realizes he must be pretty obvious, too. “Sounds nice,” she says.
They finish off a bottle together in the kitchen, standing around the counter. It feels better, somehow, like this, just hanging out, than it did in the living room. Sloan touches Eric’s arm a few times as he talks, and she does the same to Vince, and he likes it. He puts his hand in Eric’s back pocket, just casual, just there, while he leans against the island. Eric stays close to him, and Vince likes that, too.
“So,” Eric says, a leading, careful word, and Vince grins across at Sloan. Vince knows he needs to be the one who gets this started: Eric is a great manager, he’s fantastic at seeing things through, but he needs Vince to kick things off. Which is no problem, because here, at least, Vince is the voice of experience.
“So,” he says, and then he leans over and kisses Eric full on the mouth. With his fingers on Eric’s cheek, he turns to Sloan, to include her. They kiss, and it actually takes Vince a few seconds to catch on that he needs to make it more than chaste; it’s really been that long since he kissed anyone else seriously that his habit is closed-mouth kissing for anyone not Eric. With his hand still on Eric’s face, he cups Sloan’s cheek in his other hand and closes his eyes when his tongue touches hers. When he pulls back, she licks her lips, and he smiles. She tips her head, just slightly, toward Eric, and Vince takes a step back, drops his hand to Eric’s shoulder. He watches them kiss greedily, notes the way Eric’s eyes stay open and dart toward him, watches him nervously put a hand on Sloan’s slim waist, watches Sloan push her fingers into Eric’s hair. They break apart and Eric is panting, and he puts his hand on Vince’s arm and squeezes.
“We all seem to be wearing a lot of clothes,” Vince says.
“I agree,” Sloan says, and she walks over and stands behind Vince. Eric’s eyes are wide, and he swallows once but then smiles, a little, as Vince starts to unbutton his shirt. Vince feels Sloan’s fingernails scratch lightly against his chest as she pulls up his T-shirt, and he raises his arms to allow it. He’s been dressed and undressed by hundreds of women - and several men - over the course of his life, and it’s nothing to him to be naked. When Sloan starts working on his belt, Vince does the same to Eric, and Eric helps him. They get his belt off and pants unzipped at the same time Sloan tugs loose Vince’s jeans. “Oh,” Eric murmurs, one hand on Vince’s belly, and Vince smiles, because really, who wears underwear to a threesome?
Eric clears his throat. There’s a promising flush on his neck and the light skin between his collarbones. “We seem to be ahead,” he says, and Vince looks back at Sloan. She’s still fully dressed.
She smiles, and turns, and says over her shoulder, “Bed?”
They both take a moment to untangle from pants and socks, then follow her back to the master bedroom. She already has her blouse and bra off - and Vince is sad to have missed that show - and she’s stepping out of her skirt when he walks in. She’s absolutely beautiful. Caramel skin and confident in it. Exactly what Vince used to look for, when he was looking so hard. Almost movie star beautiful. She spreads out easily on the bed and beckons, and Vince gives Eric a nudge, watches him fall into probably a familiar embrace. Something in Vince’s chest lurches at the sight of them, together, of Eric’s hand so easily cupping Sloan’s breast, his mouth fitting neatly with hers, and he realizes that maybe he should have set some rules. Well, he thinks, stepping forward, nothing’s set in stone.
He slides in on Sloan’s right side and smiles down at her, and then with the weight of Eric’s eyes on him he kisses her, working now in a way he didn’t in the kitchen. He’s a good kisser, he knows it, and he keeps his eyes open just enough to watch Sloan learning it. He has years of practice at this, at reading women’s bodies and knowing where and how to move, and he knows how best to make things seem natural, too. Sloan twists when Vince’s fingers close on her nipple; she twists away when he starts to pinch, so he smoothes his hand, strokes her flat belly, and lets his fingers tangle with Eric’s at the edge of her pubic bone. He pulls back, mouths her neck, and listens to Eric kiss her. Then he tilts his head back and Eric lunges, mouth suddenly on Vince’s neck, which is exactly what Vince wanted and exactly what he knew Eric would do. He grips Eric’s head with one hand and frees the other, slides it between Sloan’s legs, brushes just faintly, just a ghostly, testing tease, over her clit. She moans and Vince does, too, as Eric’s tongue tangles with his and Eric’s hand comes up and grips Vince’s hip. He pulls and Vince does as he’s directed, slides up and over Sloan so that he’s looking down at her while Eric’s still lined up on her left side. His cock is already hard and heavy, curving up against his belly.
“This OK?” he asks, because he knows Sloan needs to give permission.
“Yes,” she says, and kisses him and her fingers press into his shoulder blades. Between their bodies, Vince keeps his hand on her, now rubbing little circles, pleased by the spread of her thighs and the quiver of her belly. Eric’s hand is busy, too; when Vince pulls back from Sloan, Eric’s fingers slip across his face and Vince sucks, habit. Eric leans in and his lips brush Vince’s, the tip of one wet finger touches his chin. “This OK?” he asks, and Vince barely nods before two of Eric’s slick fingers slide into him.
“Oh,” he says, and he watches Sloan’s eyes widen and realizes it’s probably because he just got very hard against her.
“You should do this to her, too,” Eric says, and it takes Vince a moment to understand what he’s saying. Then he nods, and lowers the hand working her to the wetness below. He puts his forehead against Sloan’s, and she whispers, “Yes, Vince,” and he nods and swallows and as Eric presses deeper into him, he slides two fingers into her. For a while, there’s just that rocking, Vince trying to concentrate but mostly just mimicking Eric, dipping in to kiss Sloan when he can, when he remembers. Eric’s fingers scissor and Vince starts to gasp, but Sloan absorbs it, and her hands are suddenly on his ass, holding him apart so Eric can move. He feels ganged up on, especially when Eric’s hand slicks over Vince’s cock and he says, over Vince’s shoulder, to Sloan, “I think he’s ready.”
He wants to have a say in things, so he clears his throat. “Condom?” he asks, and then realizes he doesn’t have one, and Eric won’t, either. They travel without because they’re exclusive and they’re clean. Surely somewhere in this room they have something. “Uh -”
“The patch,” Eric and Sloan say together, and Vince decides, fuck it, he’s going to feel left out however this goes. And yet he’s in the middle, which he remembers when Eric’s third finger - slick with lube, because they always travel with that - slides in and Sloan licks his throat.
“OK,” he says, knowing his voice is trembling. “OK?”
“OK,” Sloan says, and she guides Vince’s hand, and Vince guides himself, and he slides in. It’s not like fucking Eric, not as tight, twice as wet, but it’s good. And then a second later Eric pushes into him, with almost no warning, and it’s spectacular. Eric’s thrusts move Vince forward into Sloan, and she starts to rub herself because Vince is nearly paralyzed with pleasure. For once he forgets to keep trying, and he concentrates between breaths on just making sure he’s taking some of the weight on his own elbows. He comes much too quickly and actually sees disappointment flash on Sloan’s face, before he hears Eric growl, “Don’t worry, he’s not done,” and then he thrusts just right and fire lances up Vince’s spine. Eric knows him so fucking well. Sloan gasps a little, Vince gasps a lot, and after another few thrusts he gets hard again inside of her. His body feels stretched, used in the best way. Eric kisses his shoulders, and Vince kisses Sloan with his eyes closed and for a minute pretends it’s Eric. When Sloan shudders underneath his hand he lets himself come again, and then rests his cheek against Sloan’s while Eric thrusts three, four more times, and then wraps his arms around Vince, draws him up and back, and comes.
He falls back into Eric’s embrace on the bed, turns in and puts his head on Eric’s chest and his arms around him. Vince is shaking, from the effort but maybe from something else, and when Eric’s hands leave him to pull up the blanket Vince clings. Sloan curls around his back, and he hears her and Eric talking softly, affectionately, over his head, but he doesn’t try to make out the words. He just falls asleep.
When he wakes up the bed in front of him is empty, but there’s a sturdy familiar arm around his chest. “Damn,” Vince says, turning over, already sure that Eric’s awake. “I am the girl.”
Eric laughs. “Because you got fucked silly?”
“And I’m getting the morning-after snuggle,” Vince says. He rolls Eric back to the bed and spreads out over him. “Where’s Sloan?”
“In the shower,” he says. “She has actual work things today, I think.” Vince raises an eyebrow. “And, yeah, she might be a little weirded out,” Eric admits.
“By being the other woman?”
“I don’t think she thought this was how it would go down,” Eric says, raising his own eyebrow, and Vince thinks he may be blushing.
“She thought you -” Vince starts, and Eric nods. “Ah. Well, maybe I had some rules,” he says, and Eric grins. “Shut up,” Vince says, and he bites Eric’s shoulder. That leads to some wrestling, a smack with a pillow, and eventually Vince has Eric pinned by the shoulders, sitting up on his thighs. “How is it you’ve had two threesomes and you never get to play?” Vince asks, looking down.
Eric’s laughing. “I’m hot property,” he says. “People get possessive.”
“Hmm.” Vince keeps his hands on Eric’s biceps and leans in, a virtual pushup, to kiss him. And while he does that, he slides his knee between Eric’s legs.
“You’re crushing me,” Eric mutters, and Vince smiles and puts his hands on the bed.
“Better?”
“Uh-huh. What are you -”
“I think you know,” Vince says, kneeling between Eric’s legs, now. He finds the squeeze bottle on the night stand.
Eric clears his throat, and Vince watches want and nervousness chase themselves across his face. “The shower’s off,” he says.
“So?” Vince coats his hand, then his cock. Nice thing about Eric - he doesn’t need much prep. “You afraid she’ll see you naked?”
“I’m afraid -” Eric starts but Vince kisses him, and he knows the wanting has won when Eric pulls his knees up. Vince slicks Eric up and then watches his face while he pushes in, slow but steady, the way he likes it. And this is all about what Eric likes, right now - because yeah, fuck, Vince is a little possessive and he has every right to be. Eric is his and always has been. He hears the bathroom door open and feels Eric tighten under and around him, and he can’t help his groan.
“Wow,” Sloan says, and Vince watches Eric’s eyes widen and focus over his shoulder. He feels suddenly tense. “I wondered,” she says, and sits calmly on the side of the bed, staring down at Eric.
Eric’s face is brilliant red, and Vince wants that to all be from him so he gets going, again. Eric closes his eyes. Vince grunts and lifts one of Eric’s knees up to his shoulder, which isn’t usually how they do this but it makes Sloan catch her breath and Eric’s eyes open again. His hands claw at Vince’s shoulders, and he leaves marks, Vince is sure of it - again, something they don’t usually do - and then he lurches and comes. Vince laughs, a single breath of air, because he wasn’t even touching Eric, and he holds out as long as he can, watching Eric’s eyes flicker with every thrust, until it’s too much and he’s done.
“Oh,” Sloan says, and Vince topples off of Eric and nearly onto the floor. Eric’s steady hand on his arm barely saves him.
“Watch it, hotshot,” he says, and his voice has that perfect airy exhaustion that is exactly what Vince is feeling. Vince sinks onto the bed next to him, laying on his back, content just to breathe.
Sloan’s voice is smooth. “I leave you alone for ten minutes,” she says, and Eric laughs.
“You out?” he asks, and Vince looks up to see her nod.
“Flight to catch,” she says. She leans over, and Vince is sure for a moment that she’s going to kiss Eric, and his stomach clenches. But after an awkward moment of hesitation, her lips find only his forehead, and then a minute later Vince’s cheek. He pats her hair with his fingers as she pulls away, and she smiles. “It was fun, gentlemen,” she says, and then stands up, smoothes out her skirt, and leaves with a pleasantly swinging walk.
“Wow,” Vince says, collapsing back next to Eric.
“Yeah, wow,” Eric says. The bungalow door opens and closes. “Jesus, I think you pulled my groin.”
Vince laughs. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
“Don’t make offers you can’t pay up on,” Eric says. He sits up, and Vince stares at his smooth pale back, watches Eric turn to look at the door. He runs his hand up Eric’s spine.
“Hey,” he says, and Eric shrugs. “You think she was really upset?”
“Nah,” he says.
Vince smirks and sits up, drapes himself over Eric’s back. “Not that I blame her for being disappointed,” he says, his lips right next to Eric’s ear. “Who doesn’t want a piece of this, huh?”
“Vince -” Eric says, and he looks back, and Vince smiles and kisses him.
“You were right,” he says. “I am possessive.”
Eric nods, and then kisses him back.