Stick Figure Toes
The first time Eric kisses Vince, it doesn't happen any way resembling how he pictured things.
It's not like he's going for the fairy tale ending here. The whole damsel in distress swept up into her man's arms, big moment, stringed music, birds twittering, run away into the fucking sunset on horseback kind of thing. Because first of all, horses give him the willies, he thinks he's going to get kicked in the face or something. Even when he's sitting on the damn thing. They'll make it work. Somehow. But also because he's from motherfucking Queens. And if Queens has birds twittering, it's the giant fat pigeons with bandannas and a skull tattoo or something, not your average degree of bird. Or crows. He's thinking crows. And not singing ones like in Dumbo. Like the freaky-ass crows from Resident Evil that will kill you in your sleep.
And then there's the whole matter of WHO would be doing the sweeping, because Eric is shorter, but also stubborner, and they'd end up in some kind of balls-out fight (not that way), punching and hitting and name-calling and finally arguing over who wears the pants and who tops and whatever else dudes fight about when they're in a relationship. Eric doesn't know. Eric's never dated a dude. He's still not dating a dude. But he imagines if they're both resembling just that - the dude factor, and the wearing pants factor - then they're probably going to fight over who's on the motherfucking top.
Also, this is totally not where he was aiming to get at things. At all.
Anyway, they were souped out of their minds, go figure. Bong on the table between them - some good shit, too. Turtle's guy had found another guy and Turtle didn't know how to use adjectives but, anyway, they had really fucking good weed from some guy or another that somehow eventually led back to Turtle. Vince was molasses all over the couch, they were watching Finding Nemo on the television for some weird reason - which was a LOT funnier when you were stoned, he would tell you - and Eric had forgotten what he'd come into the room wanting to talk about until there were fish talking about touching a butt.
This was totally not the way to narrate stories, was it? At all. Eric didn't know what he was doing, with kissing or with telling stories. This was crazy. He was probably forgetting things. And using too many words that rhymed with 'duck'.
So, Vince. Eric. Couch. Finding Nemo. Butt. At any rate, it was right then he'd remembered what he was doing, he saw Vince grinning at the TV, he saw Nemo swimming out to a boat, and he just leaned over and kissed the fucker. Plain and simple, right? Right. Probably what he'd meant to talk about before they'd gotten zooted off their asses with this nice quality weed. Not that he and Vince talked about too much - well, not like Vince talked about too much, sometimes Eric got in trouble with his girlfriends for talking about shit too much, how the fuck did that happen? And anyway, kissing Vince, he'd thought it was going well, it made sense, but then Vince pushed him back.
And laughed! Like it was funny Eric was kissing him! Eric didn't think it was really funny. It took a lot of balls to get the knack up to do that. ...Okay, no, it had taken a lot of psychoactive drugs to get the knack up to do that, which was like balls, Eric was sure, in some countries. Much like how drinking was the way to get up the nerve to go... sky-diving or something. Were people allowed to drink when they sky dived?
This was why he got in trouble, with the talking thing, right?
"I don't get it," he'd asked, confused, as Vince reached for the bong again instead.
"Are you not getting laid enough, E? Do I not let you get laid enough?"
"What?"
"I'm getting you laid tomorrow," Vince decided, flicking the lighter on, his next words coming out in a bit of a cough as smoke pooled out through his lips. "So you don't have to go around kissing dudes, come on. This is slumming."
Eric didn't answer too quickly. Just kind of watched and had the thought to look really, really fucking confused. "What are you talking about? This isn't slumming." Really, he had a really good reason to do this. Somewhere. Maybe in his other pants, the ones that didn't let him smoke cannabis. "I don't have to kiss dudes."
"Watch the movie, this is the sad part," Vince nodded at the screen, and they didn't really talk about it any more. Just watched Nemo get un-found. And then found again.
.~.~.
Eric just didn't understand why he had a girl's tongue down his throat later that night, was the thing.
She was a Suicide Girl, which Turtle said was like the internet's version of a tramp stamp. Somehow meaning they put out, but Eric didn't really pay attention to that kind of shit. Not like he never watched porn or looked at dirty pictures, he just didn't get it. Not that he was going to question things either, not when she had purple hair, and she said her name was Sash - not pronounced like those weird things Miss America pageant winners wear, though, more like short for Saw-sha. Like as in 'mosh pit', she said, before she straddled him and pressed triple D tits to his chest and then started taste testing his tonsils.
He didn't like that saying. He got his tonsils out when he was fourteen. Therefore it was impossible for her to play hockey with said body part, or whatever else people deemed tonsils of experiencing.
They were all set tonight, anyway. They'd gone to a club that Vince kept forgetting how to pronounce so Eric forgot how to by proxy, and even Turtle and Drama looked pretty satisfied with their ladies, but then Drama's was pawing at the front of his pants and Eric didn't even know where Turtle had gone but he wasn't going to question it too much. Vince had one girl at his neck and the other feeling under his shirt. So, yeah, he was probably definitely set.
And Eric had the Suicide Girl.
This was what he got for trying to tell Vince stuff. Heterosexual lessons.
Eric started yelling Vince's name over all the noise and the girls and the dancing, took him four tries before Vince finally shot him a giant 'what' back. "We should talk later!" he added, like he was trying to get shit known across a football stadium rather than to someone who was on the same couch as him. Sash was licking at his chin now and making weird noises and Eric wasn't really sure what the hell she was doing.
"I think I'm going to be busy!" Vince called back, matter-of-factually.
Sash somehow threw her leg up over Eric's shoulder and popped a button off his shirt.
"Maybe tomorrow!"
He liked that shirt.
.~.~.
The first time Eric fucks Vince, he's pretty sure it wasn't supposed to happen, at all.
He'd regret it later. No way he couldn't. Sloan was a great girl. She didn't deserve anything like that. Even if there hadn't been any kinds of offical hook-ups or get-togethers or even real conversations. They'd met briefly, but this was pre-bat mitzvah. Pre-problems and pre-fighing-over-girls. Pre-war. Maybe because it started a whole new other kind of war that Eric hadn't quite known existed yet, but sure as hell did he now.
War is probably too strong of a word. War implied death and guns and intestines strewn all over a battlefield, and it wasn't like Eric wanted to kill Vince, for Chrissakes. It was just... the guy had said he had fruity hair. He wasn't just going to take that laying down. ...That was a bad choice of phrasing for the situation, but, anyway, no death. No intestines. Maybe just a smack in the face later or something. Like some kind of bitch slap fight like girls have when one of their friends has taken their man or something. Except... with more testosterone. And manlier. Because Eric is not a girl.
This whole Sloan thing was just... way blown out of proportion. Yeah, she was cute and all, but, Jesus, he'd known the girl for a good, what, three hours so far? It wasn't worth ruining an entire fucking friendship for. Or maybe it was, Eric just didn't know. What he did know was that Vince was all over Sloan for all the wrong reasons and it was pissing him the hell off, especially after all his ferreting on about fucking Mandy and fucking love and Eric hadn't ever seen Vince like this, it freaked him the hell out, was what it did. This was the guy who had more of an emotional connection to his toothbrush than he did with the girls he slept with. It was just... different. And he thought Vince was against change?
He didn't know what it was. It just was.
Hence his sneaking out while Vince was off dancing with her or whatever the fuck else charming he was pulling out of his arsenal. Just because Eric couldn't flirt like Vincent Chase, or dance like Vincent Chase, or fuck or talk or GET SOME like Vincent Chase, didn't mean it gave fucking Vincent Chase the right to steal all of the keepers. Especially when he wasn't going to be doing much keeping on his own part.
Definitely hence the cigarette he was automatically propping between his lips, trying not to bite down on the filter in some stupid wasteful moment of anger as he fumbled with the lighter. Yeah, he'd told everyone he was done, but there were times when a guy needed to smoke, all fucking right? Besides, giving up cigarettes was for quitters. Between Aquaman, between all the money woes, between Mandy and Sloan and everything and its fucking mother rearing its ugly head as of late, he needed something to take his mind off things. That didn't cost four hundred dollars per hour.
He wasn't expecting anybody to find him, not out here. He'd gone all the way to the fucking tennis courts, for crying out loud. Unless somebody wanted to take a break from all that bat mizvah-ing to come out here and Andy Roddick it the hell up, he didn't see much use in coming to the tennis courts while a party was going on, was all. But, then again, HE was there, so maybe there was reason. Whatever. He didn't know.
He just knew there was definitely no reason for Vince Fucking Chase to be at the tennis courts.
Celebs always fuck by the tennis courts, Drama told him. Check out there for him, right? Maybe that's what Eric was doing anyway. Trying to wait for Vince. Trying to catch him in the act, figure out for himself.
Eric irritably dragged at the cigarette, let smoke spew over his lips as he started to bite out his words. "Thought you and Sloan were having a grand ol' fucking time dancing, what are you doing out here?"
Vince didn't answer him, of course not. That would require him to discuss a fucking thing of importance with Eric. But, no, he leaves his best goddamn friend out of fucking everything lately. Then maybe it's that instead. Not Mandy, not Sloan, not even shit about fruity hair. Maybe this was about something a whole lot bigger. Vince looks almost shy when he sits on the bench next to Eric, and scratches at his neck. "Can I have one of those?"
Vince doesn't smoke. At least not cigarettes.
"I don't know," Eric responds, taps out ash onto the astroturf plastic whatever the hell they're standing on. "As your manager, I'd advise you that... Shauna can kick my ass."
At least Vince has the decency to crack a smile. Eric hands him his own cigarette for Vince to drag off.
"Seriously, though, I thought you were dancing with Sloan?"
Vince coughs a little when he hands the cigarette back to Eric, stands again and adjusts his jacket. Cigarettes are different than pot, and Vince is very used to pot. Now what Eric isn't used to is the response he gets back. "Fuck you."
Eric laughs, high and amazed and maybe a little crazy. "Fuck me? How about fuck you!"
Vince throws up his hands and moves to leave, and Eric grabs at the first thing he can snag fingers around - his tie, yanks him back and for reason, instead of fighting more, like he was expecting, they kiss. Not like some normal kind of kiss, either, like the kind of bruising kiss that's probably going to leave marks, just like the bruises Eric's going to leave when he shoves Vince up against the fence, manhandles him and grabs at his jacket. Slings Vince's pants low enough for him to push up into him, harder than he means too, maybe just as hard as he means to.
There's a hand grabbing back at Eric's own jacket and hiking it up at a painful angle as Eric fucks him into the fence, and Vince gasps and grits his teeth and digs his nails into any bit of Eric's clothes he can get his nails into, hikes him in closer even though it fucking stings, and Eric buries his face into Vince's shoulder when he comes, when hand down the front of Vince's slacks and fisting like he means it.
Eric can't remember the last time he's fucked someone that hard, that mean, and it hurts and yet feels fucking refreshing at the same time, liberating, in a way, rather than all the arguing they've worn out today. Eric's sick of arguing, but he can't punch his best friend, so things are at a loss.
Vince shudders a little when he follows suit, and his knees buckle a little when he grabs at the fencing for support, one hand still fisted a little too hard into Eric's jacket, leaving wrinkles he's probably going to get questions about later. But Vince has them too, and Eric doesn't really particularly care so long as Vince is going to have to find out some kind of excuse for it. Still, Eric feels half-bad for a second, he can't explain why - maybe it's just how helpless Vince looks right now, even though he's trying not to, but it's fucking hard not to be at least a little vulnerable after you've been fucked out.
"You can have Sloan," Vince finally answers, and Eric's still buried inside him and Vince's voice shakes a little when he talks. "I didn't really want her, not really, I just wanted to piss you off. Go for it."
"Vince--"
"Don't fucking question it." Vince zips his pants back up and holds up two hands, some kind of peace gesture. "Just go get your girl, she's waiting for you."
Before Eric probably would have revelled in the kind of awkward gait that Vince has when he walks away, laughing inwardly because the guy's probably going to be feeling that for a while. But now he just feels like shit.
.~.~.
Eric doesn't know what he wants anymore.
He likes Sloan. He really does. She's beautiful, she's smart, she's caring as all shit. She's maybe even too good for him. That kind of gorgeous seems like it's out of his league.
But then there's the other corner, with fucking Vince, and his fucking Vince-like qualities, and Eric's not sure what the think about anything. The guy's been his best friend since almost before they were fucking toilet trained, for crying out loud. The guy's just going through something right now, something Eric's never seen on his friend before, and he's not sure whether to try to talk about shit or just let sleeping dogs lie.
He just can't believe Vince is going to quit Aquaman. Just like that.
It's fucking James Cameron.
"So that's it? Game over?"
"Yeah."
He's never seen Vince this bad, not in a long, long time. Looks like someone ran over his goddamn puppy.
"I thought we made these decisions together."
"No." Vince turns back to him. "Not this one. And please don't try to make me feel guilty about it."
Are they talking about Aquaman or something else now?
"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. All right? I'm just seriously concerned about our future."
They're definitely not talking about Aquaman. Even with all this talk about Cameron and agents, this isn't about Aquaman anymore.
Eric stops for a minute, and throws up his hands. When Vince looks back, he doesn't look the picture of pleased. "You don't understand. I feel like I got shot."
"No, Vince, you don't understand. We may never get an opportunity like this again."
"Whose future are you really concerned about, E? Ours? Or Yours?"
"Are you fucking serious?" He's fucking serious.
"Yeah, I am, because I'm not doing this movie, and if you can't understand why, you better think about whether you wanna be part of my future."
It feels like a fucking slap, and Vince starts to walk off. But Eric's not giving up. Not that easy.
"Remember that night where we got souped off our asses, watched Finding Nemo?"
Call it the fighting Irish side of him.
"Jesus Christ, E."
"I don't know, I just thought of it."
"And you bring it up fucking now of all times?"
"I didn't even know if you'd remember."
"You fucking kissed me, E, I think I'd remember something like that!"
Vince sits in the sand, hands slung over his knees and his head hanging as Eric comes to a halt beside him. Wonders about things and whether this is the right way to do things. If it's the right way to go about anything. He crouches besides Vince, because he doesn't want to get sand on these jeans, swipes at the sand a little and watches Vince draw a stick figure with his toes.
"I wasn't kidding, you know. About the kiss thing."
"Yeah, you were, don't bullshit me."
"I wasn't."
Vince stops drawing, braces his hands together and frowns at the sand, like it's somehow all the sand's fault, the shit he's going through right now. "Tell me you were anyway?"
Eric goes quiet. "What are you talking about?"
He watches Vince scratch at his head, spastically, looking more like a crack addict ready for his next fix than a guy who's just genuinely freaked out about where the hell his life is going. "I'd just like to think that maybe, just maybe, you're not willing to throw our entire friendship away over some dumbass kiss."
"Who said anything about throwing friendships away?"
"You can dump significant others, E, you can't dump your friend."
"Friends drift apart."
"You trying to say something?"
"No, I'm trying to say that friends drift apart."
Eric finally sits, and fuck his jeans, because there's more important things than a pair of Levis. "I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't meant it, you know."
"I know. But it was still a stupid fucking idea."
"I'm just trying to talk right now, Vince, you don't have to be an ass."
"Yeah, and I'm just trying to think realistically here, one step ahead where we'd break up and you wouldn't talk to me and then what the fuck would I be doing?"
"Is this why you were so weird about it that night?"
Vince doesn't answer.
"Is this... this is like the manager thing, isn't it?"
"I don't want to talk about this right now. I'm fucking grieving. I don't want to talk about anything right now."
"Vince--"
"Just. Don't, Eric."
Eric doesn't really like when Vince calls him 'Eric'. He's 'E', he's always been just 'E'.
"Go talk to Ari, go talk to Cameron, go talk to fucking somebody. Do your goddamn job."
"Which is?"
"Not trying to stick your tongue down my goddamn throat, because it's not going to end well."
"Vince, come on."
"You know what, fuck you, Eric. Just go, i don't even want to talk about this."
Eric stands, brushes off his jeans. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not even over Mandy yet and you're just piling it the fuck on. Thanks."
He can't win this argument, not when Vince is the way he is right now. So he leans over and kisses Vince real deliberately. Nothing too big, just one on the top of his head, one hand smoothing out his hair like he means it. Vince bristles, and grabs at his track pants with fingernails and knuckles. And Eric decides to stop trying, at least right now.
"I'm gonna go talk to Ari."
Two fucking decades of friendship, and Eric's still at a loss.
He looks down at Vince one last time before he starts to go, at two hands fisted onto his pants, a shock of curls sitting on a guy who's still just a lost little boy, no idea what he's doing in the world.
And Eric doesn't know if he'll ever get it.
Maybe he's the only person that does.