The Way We Get By
Pairing: Eric/Vince, Eric/OMC [Entourage]
Date Written: June 21-July 19, 2008
Eric is sitting at the bar of some dive talking smack about the Red Sox with some guy who smells like shoe polish of all things and is covered in an interesting configuration of tattoos which either depict a scene from hell or a really rockin' party with some hot devils, depending on your view of things. The guy actually is from Boston and he pronounces nearly every word with an R as though the letter isn't part of the alphabet. He also may or may not be coming on to Eric between baseball stats which in his drunken state, Eric can't determine if that's really even possible. Then again, Eric is in the middle of Jackson Heights and therefore not entirely improbable either.
Just as he's considering going for it just because he hasn't gotten laid in weeks, his phone rings, because obviously the gods of cell-phone reception are out to get him, and the caller-ID says Vince. Yeah, or maybe Vince has some kind of sixth-sense for when Eric is actually venturing into unknown territory without him; that would really explain a lot.
Out on the street, Eric places a hand over one ear so that he might catch more than five words of the conversation over the music blasting up and down the block. There's a lot of shouting of each other's names back and forth before Eric slips down the next block where it's relatively quieter.
"Where the fuck are you?" Vince shouts.
"Fuck, keep it down, I can hear you now, asshole." Eric winces as his ear rings in protest.
"Dude, I can hear like fucking ABBA in the background. Is it disco night at Sbarro's?"
"I wasn't at work." Eric sighs internally. He should've just said yes because that would've eliminated at least some of Vince's curiosity.
"Where the fuck are you then?"
"Nowhere. Out," Eric hedges and then tries to switch the subject. "What's up?"
"At a disco bar?" Vince laughs. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were--"
No such luck on the subject change, but at least the reception cuts out before Eric is forced to give an actual answer.
**
The next morning Eric wakes up to the sound of the buzzer to the apartment going off. He forces himself to get out of bed and go see who it is despite himself. If it's a salesman or some religious nut or basically anyone other than maybe Mary McFedries from down the block desperate to blow him, Eric is really not going to be held responsible for his actions. He presses the button for the intercom and mutters something which probably wasn't at all intelligible to whoever's down there.
"E! Let me up, man!"
"Vince?"
Eric figures he must be dreaming, but he buzzes Vince in anyway. Maybe dream-Vince has aspirin with him. Eric could really fucking use some aspirin.
He's just finished gulping down four of the things when Vince comes up behind him and wraps him in a bear hug. Eric knows it's Vince without looking up into the mirror and not just because he buzzed him in. Vince's arms are strong and California-tan and he smells like salt and sun and maybe a hint of whiskey. All of that is different, but the way Vince threads his fingers through Eric's isn't.
At this point, Eric really should turn around and give him a manly hug, but he doesn't. He just looks at Vince in the mirror and laughs.
"What the fuck are you doing here? Don't you have a movie to shoot or something?"
Vince smiles his big, Hollywood smile. "You got me curious on the phone."
"So you flew across the fucking country?"
Eric finally does turn around and shoves Vince away a bit, gives him a friendly punch in the shoulder and heads toward the kitchen.
"You didn't call me back," Vince says petulantly.
"Dick," Eric laughs as he gets some orange juice out of the fridge. He holds it up in question and Vince shakes his head, so Eric drinks it straight from the carton.
"So?" Vince sprawls in one of the kitchenette chairs and spreads his hands wide.
"So what?"
Eric tries to play dumb. Or nonchalant, whatever works. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while Vince just keeps on staring at him, not buying it.
"It's nothing," Eric mutters as he throws himself down into the chair next to Vince's.
"Uh-huh," Vince nods sagely, but he's got that irritating smirk itching to break out across his face.
"Alright, whatever," Eric sighs and throws up a hand. "I was hitting on this…umm, chick when you called."
"At a disco bar?" Vince asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Jesus, Vince, like I gave a fuck what was playing," Eric snaps.
Vince holds up his hands in surrender. "Yeah, okay, sure."
Eric stares at Vince hard and wants to tell him about the guy with the tattoos just to shock him or make him think Eric was pulling his leg about everything. Except there was the possibility that Vince might see through that and then Eric would have to explain how he hasn't gotten laid in so long that he's thinking about becoming a switch hitter. Or, honestly, how being Vinceless these past couple of years have made him reexamine everything about himself.
"They paying you enough now to fly out here on a whim?" Eric asks instead.
"That's what I was gonna tell you last night." Vince grins, a real, honest, happy grin. "I got a big contract, a starring role. In a movie, E."
"Congratulations," Eric tries to reply with a matching grin, but just can't seem to make it for some reason.
He always knew that Vince wasn't going to stay in Queens forever, but part of him maybe wished that he'd come back after awhile. Maybe hoped the whole movie star thing wouldn't pan out. He misses the old days. But he's not going to ride on Vince's coattails like Turtle. He's his own man.
Vince's face falls a bit and Eric sighs. Obviously, Vince can see right through him. Eric stands and puts the juice back in the fridge. Technically, he could've just reached over and done it; his studio is about the same size as his bedroom back at his parents' place.
"E, why don't you just come out there for awhile? See how you like it?" Vince pleads and pouts at the same time and it's hard to resist.
"I can't just take time off, Vince." Eric looks out the tiny window over the kitchen sink where he's got a great view of an old ad for Coke painted on the brick wall of the factory next door.
"Why not?" Vince frowns as though it's a simple decision; like having toast or cereal for breakfast.
"Fuck Vince." Eric's fingers curl into the lip of the sink. He won't look at Vince again during this conversation. He's such a sucker for Vince's innocent, little boy expressions. "I have responsibilities here."
"Right."
The tone is entirely dismissive, which just pisses Eric off even more. He turns around and snarls, gets in Vince's face. "Fuck you, pretty boy."
Two strides and he's in the bathroom, banging the door shut behind him. It doesn't have a lock, so he leans against it and waits. Either Vince will leave or Eric will calm down enough to rationally explain why he can't quit his New York life and head to the so-called sunny paradise of LA.
"E, c'mon. Come out here," Vince pleads. The door muffles the sound, but it still makes Eric's shoulders drop, feeling like such a weak fool already. "I'm sorry," Vince adds after a beat.
"Sure you are," Eric mutters under his breath. Vince hasn't been sorry for one fucking thing in his entire life.
"Please, E." There's that little boy voice that Eric falls prey to every time.
"Fuck me," Eric sighs and opens the door.
Vince is standing there, looking like a kicked puppy and Eric shakes his head. "Manipulative motherfucker."
The sad eyes immediately open up and sparkle as he laughs. "I was good though, right?"
Eric rolls his eyes. "Yeah, expect your invitation to the Oscars any day now."
He collapses down onto the futon, still pulled out as a bed. Vince follows him down and rests a hand on Eric's bare chest. Eric had forgotten to put a shirt on in all his half-awake stumbling around. He frowns at the tan skin against his paleness. It deepens when Vince traces his tattoo with one finger. So he pushes Vince's hand away and makes himself look in Vince's general direction.
"What the hell is this?"
Vince licks his lips. Eric would think it was a nervous gesture but he's pretty sure Vince wouldn't know nervous if it spat in his face. His hand comes up to rest just below Eric's rib cage.
"Don't make me beg, E," Vince says softly.
"I can't…" Eric throws this forearm over his eyes. "You gotta understand, Vince. I can't live off your pretty face. I've gotta have my own thing."
"You will, I promise."
Eric moves his arm and looks up into Vince's eyes. Vince looks sincere, but Eric feels uneasy. "I'll think about it."
Vince kisses his cheek and then bounces off the futon as if Eric had said yes. "We gotta celebrate!"
"Yeah, yeah," Eric mutters. "Let me get dressed, huh?"
Of course, Vince just ignores him, already dialing up the boys back in LA to gloat. It irritates Eric, but he doesn't say anything.
**
They head into Manhattan and wander around aimlessly like they used to do back in high school when they barely had enough money for the subway. Vince buys a couple of hot dogs from a street vendor and they sit in the park and just watch the world go by for awhile. The whole time, Eric is just waiting for someone to recognize Vince, but no one does. It's a relief; he isn't in the mood for starfuckers.
"When you gonna quit Sbarro's?" Vince finally asks through a mouthful of hot dog.
It's possibly the least attractive thing Eric has ever seen and he has to laugh. "A little eager, aren't you, movie star?"
Vince shrugs. "I've waited fucking long enough, E."
"Hmm."
"What?" Vince nudges him. "You don't believe me? I thought about you every day."
Eric looks straight into his eyes and doesn't flinch. "I have a hard time believing you were out in la-la land thinking of me and wondering when I was going to grace you with my presence."
"But I was." Vince doesn't flinch either.
"Alright," Eric says. He looks away first but only because he doesn't want Vince to catch him blushing. And over what? Honesty for once?
Vince grabs his wrist and hauls him to his feet. They go to the museums and touristy shit and everything else they never got to do as kids. Of course, Vince insists on paying for everything, which Eric doesn't think bodes well at all for his possible future in LA. Then again, Vince has always been a generous, extravagant kind of guy with his friends.
Case in point, he takes Eric to Macy's and insists on buying him a new pair of shoes. Eric's Converse are nearly ten years old and he's been holding them together with duct tape for at least the last five of them. He really doesn't want Vince to buy him anything like this, anything that he can actually hold in his hand, not just admission to something, a memory in his head.
"I can't let you do this," Eric says for the hundredth time as Vince wanders around the Men's section of the shoe department.
"Why not?" Vince asks without looking away from a pair of wing-tips.
"Because I can buy my own fucking shoes, asshole," Eric snaps.
Half the floor turns and stares and Eric blushes deep red. He stares at the floor and kind of wishes it would open up and swallow him whole.
"I know, E," Vince says softly, his fingertips just grazing Eric's shoulder.
"May I help you, gentlemen?"
Eric forces himself to look up at the clerk. It takes a second for him to recognize the guy what with the long sleeves of his dress shirt covering up all the wicked tattoos, but then he does and his heart freezes.
"Umm, I…" Eric stammers and focuses on the nametag affixed on the guy's chest. Shamus. Not just Boston, but Boston Irish then.
"He's looking for new shoes," Vince jumps in, clamping his hand on Eric's shoulder. "Like something nice but not too dressy."
Shamus nods slightly and Eric goes with the flow because he really has no choice. So he follows the two of them around and watches as they examine soles and colors and types of leather. Vince seems to know his shoe size, so he doesn't even have to speak. Eventually, he just sits down in one of the nice chairs and waits for them to make up their minds. Eric isn't going to argue with whatever they come up with; he wants to get the fuck out of here.
Finally, Shamus comes over to him with a stack of shoeboxes. Eric looks around for Vince but doesn't see him and he relaxes just slightly. It'll be a lot less nerve-wracking to be around this guy without Vince there to observe.
"I wasn't expecting to see you again," Shamus says as he sets the boxes on the floor.
"Yeah, I…" Eric scratches the back of his neck. "Sorry about cutting out on you like that."
Smiling slightly, Shamus gets down on his knees. Eric almost has a heart attack until he realizes it's to help with the shoes.
"I would've cut out on me too if I had some pretty boy like that on the line."
It takes a second for Eric to realize Shamus is talking about Vince. "What? No! He's my best friend, that's all."
The smile breaks out into a grin. Shamus raises an eyebrow. "Right. So, you gonna take your shoes off or what?"
"Oh, yeah," Eric responds, slightly distracted by the curve of Shamus' lips.
He leans down to unlace his Converse and winds up nearly cheek-to-cheek with Shamus, but he tries not to think about that. It gets a bit difficult when Shamus' tongue darts out at his ear and nearly impossible when his fingers slide up under Eric's pant leg.
"I'd suck you off right here if it wouldn't get me fired," Shamus whispers in his ear.
"Jesus fuck," Eric hisses as Shamus' rough voice goes straight to his cock.
"Meet you in the Men's Lounge. Two minutes."
Shamus nips his ear and then stands up and walks away before Eric can respond. The lounge is just across the way, but it takes all of Eric's courage to get up and go over there. He forgets he's unlaced his shoes and almost trips a couple of times. Before he enters, his eyes dart around, looking for Vince. Finally, he spots him over by the ties flirting with some salesgirl and quickly ducks into the lounge before Vince can turn around and see him.
Once he's sitting on the couch in there, he really starts to wonder what the fuck he's doing. Since when does he do random hook-ups like this? Not to mention, with a guy? In public? Is he really that desperate?
The answer is yes, because when Shamus makes sure no one is in there with them and then locks the door, Eric can think of nothing else but what Shamus said out on the floor. He grabs him and pulls him down to the couch, kissing him hard before he can lose his nerve. Shamus is already undoing his pants and Eric thinks he might come just from the anticipation.
A few more sucking, deep, tongue fucking kisses and then Shamus is on his knees, his mouth on Eric's cock and the sight makes his heart race. There's a thrill to this that makes Eric feel like he's high, like he's getting away with something. He feels dizzy with it all and Shamus' tongue pressing against his dick is just intensifying everything. His fingers rest on the base of Shamus' neck, warning him that he's about to come, but Shamus doesn't pull back, just swallows and licks until Eric falls back against the cushions in a serious state of bliss.
Seconds later, he feels Shamus' head resting on his knee and Eric feels a bit guilty about the one-sidedness of this. "Umm…"
"You were so hot like that," Shamus mumbles against Eric's thigh. He sounds pretty post-orgasmic himself. "Good thing my shift ends soon."
Eric's eyes go wide. "You mean you… from that?"
Shamus looks up at him and grins. "Mmm-hmm." He licks his lips slowly and Eric wants him again.
"Wow," is all he manages to say.
He kisses Shamus, tasting himself on his tongue until there's a knock at the door. Shamus scrambles to his feet and Eric realizes that he should probably zip up his pants or something. Of all people, it's Vince standing there and Eric freezes, his jeans still unbuttoned.
"Uh, hey," Eric manages to squeak out. He jumps to his feet and wonders if it's best to drag Vince out of the store for the inquisition that's sure to come, or bring him in here.
Shamus steps back over to Eric and slides something into his pocket with a wink and then slips out the door without any protest from Vince, who just takes Shamus' place after locking the door.
"Like, seriously?" Vince asks with wide eyes.
"Like seriously, what?" Eric asks as he falls back onto the couch, adrenaline rush over.
"Like, seriously, you're fucking the shoe guy?" Vince's voice raises an octave and Eric tries not to wince. "That's why you don't want to come to LA?"
"No. I mean, we just…" Eric trails off and wonders how best to explain this. "He had nothing to do with me staying here."
Vince snorts. "Right, we all know you fall in love with everyone you fuck, Eric."
"Fuck you," Eric shoots back automatically and then sighs. "It was just this once, okay?"
"What?" Vince appears to be in shock. He collapses next to Eric on the couch and stares at him.
"We met at a bar last night but then you called and… I didn't even know he worked here, okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Vince says after a second.
"You're not freaked out?" Eric asks with a worried frown.
"About what? You liking dick?" Vince shrugs. "Whatever works for you, man."
Eric wants to explain that this was his only experience with someone else's dick, for the record, but doesn't bother. Vince probably doesn't want to know. He was never really a detail-orientated kind of guy anyway.
"Let's go to Foot Locker," Vince says finally. "Probably more your style, huh?"
All Eric can really do is nod. This entire day has been surreal and Eric doesn't feel entirely like himself anymore.
**
Back at Eric's apartment that night, they watch shitty network TV in silence. The futon is barely big enough for the two of them to sit comfortably and Eric can't help but wonder if Vince really plans on spending the night. If he can afford to fly out here on a whim, can't he afford a hotel room?
"Do you want I should get a hotel room?" Vince asks just as the news comes on. He doesn’t look away from some story on a series of muggings near Times Square.
"No," Eric says automatically and then amends, "I mean, you don't have to, if you don't want to."
He doesn't look away from the TV either. There's a story on a stalled subway train and three commercials before Vince answers him.
"What's happened you to since I've been gone, E? I mean, I don't get you anymore."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Eric snaps, thinking of everything Vince has said today, and everything he hasn't.
"I mean, why did you stop going to school and since when do you fuck guys?" Vince stares down at the floor as he says this and Eric doesn't know how to take that. If he didn't know better, he'd say Vince sounded hurt, almost jealous.
"I thought you were fine with that," Eric says quietly, watching him.
"I am," Vince says quickly. "I just don't get it. The E I know doesn't do random hook-ups in bathrooms at Macy's."
Eric sits quietly for a moment, staring out the window at the building next door. He doesn't know what to say. Too much of it involves emotions that Eric can't even deal with inside his own head. Finally, he sighs and stares down at his ratty Converse.
"Maybe I'm tired of being alone all the time," Eric admits. "The job I have, where I live, it's not exactly marriage material. Even if it was, I don't have time to date. I don't have the energy. You have no idea what it's like to work your ass off and get nowhere, Vince. No fucking clue."
Vince shakes his head. "It doesn't have to be like that."
"How the fuck would you know?" Eric growls in frustration and annoyance. Vince has everything, has always had everything he ever wanted, easy.
He stands up and walks the whole four feet to the kitchen sink. His head is throbbing with the start of a migraine. Why can't Vince understand that he has to be his own man? He can't live on handouts, not from his parents, not from Vince, not from anybody. If that means living in a rat-trap apartment and working a shitty job, so be it.
"Eric," Vince calls softly.
It's as good of an apology as he's going to get, but Eric doesn't turn around. A couple of heartbeats later and Vince is wrapping his arms around Eric, just like this morning. Eric tries to shrug him off, but Vince just tightens his grip.
"I need you out there, E," Vince murmurs in his ear.
Eric closes his eyes and wonders how much truth is in that. Vince wants him out there, for sure, but needs is a different story.
He shakes his head slightly, his forehead brushing against Vince's hair. "You don't need me, Vince. You never--"
Vince turns Eric in his arms with more strength than Eric knew he possessed. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Vince…"
Anything he was going to say gets stuck in his throat when Vince presses his forehead against Eric's and looks deep into his eyes.
"I've always needed you, E. I'd be lost without you."
Eric tries to move away but Vince won't let him. There's a bunch of jumbled thoughts in Eric's head telling to him go with Vince, to stay here, to be his own man, to be a man and admit what he really wants. It isn't until he feels Vince's lips brush against his ear that Eric snaps out of it.
"Say you'll come to LA, E. Say you'll stay with me. Say it, please. I need you," Vince murmurs.
There's a hint of desperation there and Eric wonders if it's all an act or if it really means something. He lifts his hands to rest them on Vince's shoulders, ready to push him away, ready to pull him closer.
"Please, E."
Vince's voice cracks just the tiniest bit. It's so surprising that Eric doesn't even think, he just nods in acquiescence.
"Yeah, okay."
Pulling back a little, Vince smiles at him, smiles like he won the fucking lottery, the World Series and an Oscar all in one go, and Eric laughs. It's half out of nerves and half just out of genuine affection. Vince kisses him then and it's kind of awkward and kind of sweet, but mostly unexpected. Eric kisses him back with every piece of pent-up emotion he's ever felt for Vince and Vince clings to Eric like if he doesn't hold on, Eric will slip away forever. So Eric pulls him closer, clings just as hard, and hopes he's made the right decision.
Date Written: June 21-July 19, 2008
Eric is sitting at the bar of some dive talking smack about the Red Sox with some guy who smells like shoe polish of all things and is covered in an interesting configuration of tattoos which either depict a scene from hell or a really rockin' party with some hot devils, depending on your view of things. The guy actually is from Boston and he pronounces nearly every word with an R as though the letter isn't part of the alphabet. He also may or may not be coming on to Eric between baseball stats which in his drunken state, Eric can't determine if that's really even possible. Then again, Eric is in the middle of Jackson Heights and therefore not entirely improbable either.
Just as he's considering going for it just because he hasn't gotten laid in weeks, his phone rings, because obviously the gods of cell-phone reception are out to get him, and the caller-ID says Vince. Yeah, or maybe Vince has some kind of sixth-sense for when Eric is actually venturing into unknown territory without him; that would really explain a lot.
Out on the street, Eric places a hand over one ear so that he might catch more than five words of the conversation over the music blasting up and down the block. There's a lot of shouting of each other's names back and forth before Eric slips down the next block where it's relatively quieter.
"Where the fuck are you?" Vince shouts.
"Fuck, keep it down, I can hear you now, asshole." Eric winces as his ear rings in protest.
"Dude, I can hear like fucking ABBA in the background. Is it disco night at Sbarro's?"
"I wasn't at work." Eric sighs internally. He should've just said yes because that would've eliminated at least some of Vince's curiosity.
"Where the fuck are you then?"
"Nowhere. Out," Eric hedges and then tries to switch the subject. "What's up?"
"At a disco bar?" Vince laughs. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were--"
No such luck on the subject change, but at least the reception cuts out before Eric is forced to give an actual answer.
**
The next morning Eric wakes up to the sound of the buzzer to the apartment going off. He forces himself to get out of bed and go see who it is despite himself. If it's a salesman or some religious nut or basically anyone other than maybe Mary McFedries from down the block desperate to blow him, Eric is really not going to be held responsible for his actions. He presses the button for the intercom and mutters something which probably wasn't at all intelligible to whoever's down there.
"E! Let me up, man!"
"Vince?"
Eric figures he must be dreaming, but he buzzes Vince in anyway. Maybe dream-Vince has aspirin with him. Eric could really fucking use some aspirin.
He's just finished gulping down four of the things when Vince comes up behind him and wraps him in a bear hug. Eric knows it's Vince without looking up into the mirror and not just because he buzzed him in. Vince's arms are strong and California-tan and he smells like salt and sun and maybe a hint of whiskey. All of that is different, but the way Vince threads his fingers through Eric's isn't.
At this point, Eric really should turn around and give him a manly hug, but he doesn't. He just looks at Vince in the mirror and laughs.
"What the fuck are you doing here? Don't you have a movie to shoot or something?"
Vince smiles his big, Hollywood smile. "You got me curious on the phone."
"So you flew across the fucking country?"
Eric finally does turn around and shoves Vince away a bit, gives him a friendly punch in the shoulder and heads toward the kitchen.
"You didn't call me back," Vince says petulantly.
"Dick," Eric laughs as he gets some orange juice out of the fridge. He holds it up in question and Vince shakes his head, so Eric drinks it straight from the carton.
"So?" Vince sprawls in one of the kitchenette chairs and spreads his hands wide.
"So what?"
Eric tries to play dumb. Or nonchalant, whatever works. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while Vince just keeps on staring at him, not buying it.
"It's nothing," Eric mutters as he throws himself down into the chair next to Vince's.
"Uh-huh," Vince nods sagely, but he's got that irritating smirk itching to break out across his face.
"Alright, whatever," Eric sighs and throws up a hand. "I was hitting on this…umm, chick when you called."
"At a disco bar?" Vince asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Jesus, Vince, like I gave a fuck what was playing," Eric snaps.
Vince holds up his hands in surrender. "Yeah, okay, sure."
Eric stares at Vince hard and wants to tell him about the guy with the tattoos just to shock him or make him think Eric was pulling his leg about everything. Except there was the possibility that Vince might see through that and then Eric would have to explain how he hasn't gotten laid in so long that he's thinking about becoming a switch hitter. Or, honestly, how being Vinceless these past couple of years have made him reexamine everything about himself.
"They paying you enough now to fly out here on a whim?" Eric asks instead.
"That's what I was gonna tell you last night." Vince grins, a real, honest, happy grin. "I got a big contract, a starring role. In a movie, E."
"Congratulations," Eric tries to reply with a matching grin, but just can't seem to make it for some reason.
He always knew that Vince wasn't going to stay in Queens forever, but part of him maybe wished that he'd come back after awhile. Maybe hoped the whole movie star thing wouldn't pan out. He misses the old days. But he's not going to ride on Vince's coattails like Turtle. He's his own man.
Vince's face falls a bit and Eric sighs. Obviously, Vince can see right through him. Eric stands and puts the juice back in the fridge. Technically, he could've just reached over and done it; his studio is about the same size as his bedroom back at his parents' place.
"E, why don't you just come out there for awhile? See how you like it?" Vince pleads and pouts at the same time and it's hard to resist.
"I can't just take time off, Vince." Eric looks out the tiny window over the kitchen sink where he's got a great view of an old ad for Coke painted on the brick wall of the factory next door.
"Why not?" Vince frowns as though it's a simple decision; like having toast or cereal for breakfast.
"Fuck Vince." Eric's fingers curl into the lip of the sink. He won't look at Vince again during this conversation. He's such a sucker for Vince's innocent, little boy expressions. "I have responsibilities here."
"Right."
The tone is entirely dismissive, which just pisses Eric off even more. He turns around and snarls, gets in Vince's face. "Fuck you, pretty boy."
Two strides and he's in the bathroom, banging the door shut behind him. It doesn't have a lock, so he leans against it and waits. Either Vince will leave or Eric will calm down enough to rationally explain why he can't quit his New York life and head to the so-called sunny paradise of LA.
"E, c'mon. Come out here," Vince pleads. The door muffles the sound, but it still makes Eric's shoulders drop, feeling like such a weak fool already. "I'm sorry," Vince adds after a beat.
"Sure you are," Eric mutters under his breath. Vince hasn't been sorry for one fucking thing in his entire life.
"Please, E." There's that little boy voice that Eric falls prey to every time.
"Fuck me," Eric sighs and opens the door.
Vince is standing there, looking like a kicked puppy and Eric shakes his head. "Manipulative motherfucker."
The sad eyes immediately open up and sparkle as he laughs. "I was good though, right?"
Eric rolls his eyes. "Yeah, expect your invitation to the Oscars any day now."
He collapses down onto the futon, still pulled out as a bed. Vince follows him down and rests a hand on Eric's bare chest. Eric had forgotten to put a shirt on in all his half-awake stumbling around. He frowns at the tan skin against his paleness. It deepens when Vince traces his tattoo with one finger. So he pushes Vince's hand away and makes himself look in Vince's general direction.
"What the hell is this?"
Vince licks his lips. Eric would think it was a nervous gesture but he's pretty sure Vince wouldn't know nervous if it spat in his face. His hand comes up to rest just below Eric's rib cage.
"Don't make me beg, E," Vince says softly.
"I can't…" Eric throws this forearm over his eyes. "You gotta understand, Vince. I can't live off your pretty face. I've gotta have my own thing."
"You will, I promise."
Eric moves his arm and looks up into Vince's eyes. Vince looks sincere, but Eric feels uneasy. "I'll think about it."
Vince kisses his cheek and then bounces off the futon as if Eric had said yes. "We gotta celebrate!"
"Yeah, yeah," Eric mutters. "Let me get dressed, huh?"
Of course, Vince just ignores him, already dialing up the boys back in LA to gloat. It irritates Eric, but he doesn't say anything.
**
They head into Manhattan and wander around aimlessly like they used to do back in high school when they barely had enough money for the subway. Vince buys a couple of hot dogs from a street vendor and they sit in the park and just watch the world go by for awhile. The whole time, Eric is just waiting for someone to recognize Vince, but no one does. It's a relief; he isn't in the mood for starfuckers.
"When you gonna quit Sbarro's?" Vince finally asks through a mouthful of hot dog.
It's possibly the least attractive thing Eric has ever seen and he has to laugh. "A little eager, aren't you, movie star?"
Vince shrugs. "I've waited fucking long enough, E."
"Hmm."
"What?" Vince nudges him. "You don't believe me? I thought about you every day."
Eric looks straight into his eyes and doesn't flinch. "I have a hard time believing you were out in la-la land thinking of me and wondering when I was going to grace you with my presence."
"But I was." Vince doesn't flinch either.
"Alright," Eric says. He looks away first but only because he doesn't want Vince to catch him blushing. And over what? Honesty for once?
Vince grabs his wrist and hauls him to his feet. They go to the museums and touristy shit and everything else they never got to do as kids. Of course, Vince insists on paying for everything, which Eric doesn't think bodes well at all for his possible future in LA. Then again, Vince has always been a generous, extravagant kind of guy with his friends.
Case in point, he takes Eric to Macy's and insists on buying him a new pair of shoes. Eric's Converse are nearly ten years old and he's been holding them together with duct tape for at least the last five of them. He really doesn't want Vince to buy him anything like this, anything that he can actually hold in his hand, not just admission to something, a memory in his head.
"I can't let you do this," Eric says for the hundredth time as Vince wanders around the Men's section of the shoe department.
"Why not?" Vince asks without looking away from a pair of wing-tips.
"Because I can buy my own fucking shoes, asshole," Eric snaps.
Half the floor turns and stares and Eric blushes deep red. He stares at the floor and kind of wishes it would open up and swallow him whole.
"I know, E," Vince says softly, his fingertips just grazing Eric's shoulder.
"May I help you, gentlemen?"
Eric forces himself to look up at the clerk. It takes a second for him to recognize the guy what with the long sleeves of his dress shirt covering up all the wicked tattoos, but then he does and his heart freezes.
"Umm, I…" Eric stammers and focuses on the nametag affixed on the guy's chest. Shamus. Not just Boston, but Boston Irish then.
"He's looking for new shoes," Vince jumps in, clamping his hand on Eric's shoulder. "Like something nice but not too dressy."
Shamus nods slightly and Eric goes with the flow because he really has no choice. So he follows the two of them around and watches as they examine soles and colors and types of leather. Vince seems to know his shoe size, so he doesn't even have to speak. Eventually, he just sits down in one of the nice chairs and waits for them to make up their minds. Eric isn't going to argue with whatever they come up with; he wants to get the fuck out of here.
Finally, Shamus comes over to him with a stack of shoeboxes. Eric looks around for Vince but doesn't see him and he relaxes just slightly. It'll be a lot less nerve-wracking to be around this guy without Vince there to observe.
"I wasn't expecting to see you again," Shamus says as he sets the boxes on the floor.
"Yeah, I…" Eric scratches the back of his neck. "Sorry about cutting out on you like that."
Smiling slightly, Shamus gets down on his knees. Eric almost has a heart attack until he realizes it's to help with the shoes.
"I would've cut out on me too if I had some pretty boy like that on the line."
It takes a second for Eric to realize Shamus is talking about Vince. "What? No! He's my best friend, that's all."
The smile breaks out into a grin. Shamus raises an eyebrow. "Right. So, you gonna take your shoes off or what?"
"Oh, yeah," Eric responds, slightly distracted by the curve of Shamus' lips.
He leans down to unlace his Converse and winds up nearly cheek-to-cheek with Shamus, but he tries not to think about that. It gets a bit difficult when Shamus' tongue darts out at his ear and nearly impossible when his fingers slide up under Eric's pant leg.
"I'd suck you off right here if it wouldn't get me fired," Shamus whispers in his ear.
"Jesus fuck," Eric hisses as Shamus' rough voice goes straight to his cock.
"Meet you in the Men's Lounge. Two minutes."
Shamus nips his ear and then stands up and walks away before Eric can respond. The lounge is just across the way, but it takes all of Eric's courage to get up and go over there. He forgets he's unlaced his shoes and almost trips a couple of times. Before he enters, his eyes dart around, looking for Vince. Finally, he spots him over by the ties flirting with some salesgirl and quickly ducks into the lounge before Vince can turn around and see him.
Once he's sitting on the couch in there, he really starts to wonder what the fuck he's doing. Since when does he do random hook-ups like this? Not to mention, with a guy? In public? Is he really that desperate?
The answer is yes, because when Shamus makes sure no one is in there with them and then locks the door, Eric can think of nothing else but what Shamus said out on the floor. He grabs him and pulls him down to the couch, kissing him hard before he can lose his nerve. Shamus is already undoing his pants and Eric thinks he might come just from the anticipation.
A few more sucking, deep, tongue fucking kisses and then Shamus is on his knees, his mouth on Eric's cock and the sight makes his heart race. There's a thrill to this that makes Eric feel like he's high, like he's getting away with something. He feels dizzy with it all and Shamus' tongue pressing against his dick is just intensifying everything. His fingers rest on the base of Shamus' neck, warning him that he's about to come, but Shamus doesn't pull back, just swallows and licks until Eric falls back against the cushions in a serious state of bliss.
Seconds later, he feels Shamus' head resting on his knee and Eric feels a bit guilty about the one-sidedness of this. "Umm…"
"You were so hot like that," Shamus mumbles against Eric's thigh. He sounds pretty post-orgasmic himself. "Good thing my shift ends soon."
Eric's eyes go wide. "You mean you… from that?"
Shamus looks up at him and grins. "Mmm-hmm." He licks his lips slowly and Eric wants him again.
"Wow," is all he manages to say.
He kisses Shamus, tasting himself on his tongue until there's a knock at the door. Shamus scrambles to his feet and Eric realizes that he should probably zip up his pants or something. Of all people, it's Vince standing there and Eric freezes, his jeans still unbuttoned.
"Uh, hey," Eric manages to squeak out. He jumps to his feet and wonders if it's best to drag Vince out of the store for the inquisition that's sure to come, or bring him in here.
Shamus steps back over to Eric and slides something into his pocket with a wink and then slips out the door without any protest from Vince, who just takes Shamus' place after locking the door.
"Like, seriously?" Vince asks with wide eyes.
"Like seriously, what?" Eric asks as he falls back onto the couch, adrenaline rush over.
"Like, seriously, you're fucking the shoe guy?" Vince's voice raises an octave and Eric tries not to wince. "That's why you don't want to come to LA?"
"No. I mean, we just…" Eric trails off and wonders how best to explain this. "He had nothing to do with me staying here."
Vince snorts. "Right, we all know you fall in love with everyone you fuck, Eric."
"Fuck you," Eric shoots back automatically and then sighs. "It was just this once, okay?"
"What?" Vince appears to be in shock. He collapses next to Eric on the couch and stares at him.
"We met at a bar last night but then you called and… I didn't even know he worked here, okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Vince says after a second.
"You're not freaked out?" Eric asks with a worried frown.
"About what? You liking dick?" Vince shrugs. "Whatever works for you, man."
Eric wants to explain that this was his only experience with someone else's dick, for the record, but doesn't bother. Vince probably doesn't want to know. He was never really a detail-orientated kind of guy anyway.
"Let's go to Foot Locker," Vince says finally. "Probably more your style, huh?"
All Eric can really do is nod. This entire day has been surreal and Eric doesn't feel entirely like himself anymore.
**
Back at Eric's apartment that night, they watch shitty network TV in silence. The futon is barely big enough for the two of them to sit comfortably and Eric can't help but wonder if Vince really plans on spending the night. If he can afford to fly out here on a whim, can't he afford a hotel room?
"Do you want I should get a hotel room?" Vince asks just as the news comes on. He doesn’t look away from some story on a series of muggings near Times Square.
"No," Eric says automatically and then amends, "I mean, you don't have to, if you don't want to."
He doesn't look away from the TV either. There's a story on a stalled subway train and three commercials before Vince answers him.
"What's happened you to since I've been gone, E? I mean, I don't get you anymore."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Eric snaps, thinking of everything Vince has said today, and everything he hasn't.
"I mean, why did you stop going to school and since when do you fuck guys?" Vince stares down at the floor as he says this and Eric doesn't know how to take that. If he didn't know better, he'd say Vince sounded hurt, almost jealous.
"I thought you were fine with that," Eric says quietly, watching him.
"I am," Vince says quickly. "I just don't get it. The E I know doesn't do random hook-ups in bathrooms at Macy's."
Eric sits quietly for a moment, staring out the window at the building next door. He doesn't know what to say. Too much of it involves emotions that Eric can't even deal with inside his own head. Finally, he sighs and stares down at his ratty Converse.
"Maybe I'm tired of being alone all the time," Eric admits. "The job I have, where I live, it's not exactly marriage material. Even if it was, I don't have time to date. I don't have the energy. You have no idea what it's like to work your ass off and get nowhere, Vince. No fucking clue."
Vince shakes his head. "It doesn't have to be like that."
"How the fuck would you know?" Eric growls in frustration and annoyance. Vince has everything, has always had everything he ever wanted, easy.
He stands up and walks the whole four feet to the kitchen sink. His head is throbbing with the start of a migraine. Why can't Vince understand that he has to be his own man? He can't live on handouts, not from his parents, not from Vince, not from anybody. If that means living in a rat-trap apartment and working a shitty job, so be it.
"Eric," Vince calls softly.
It's as good of an apology as he's going to get, but Eric doesn't turn around. A couple of heartbeats later and Vince is wrapping his arms around Eric, just like this morning. Eric tries to shrug him off, but Vince just tightens his grip.
"I need you out there, E," Vince murmurs in his ear.
Eric closes his eyes and wonders how much truth is in that. Vince wants him out there, for sure, but needs is a different story.
He shakes his head slightly, his forehead brushing against Vince's hair. "You don't need me, Vince. You never--"
Vince turns Eric in his arms with more strength than Eric knew he possessed. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Vince…"
Anything he was going to say gets stuck in his throat when Vince presses his forehead against Eric's and looks deep into his eyes.
"I've always needed you, E. I'd be lost without you."
Eric tries to move away but Vince won't let him. There's a bunch of jumbled thoughts in Eric's head telling to him go with Vince, to stay here, to be his own man, to be a man and admit what he really wants. It isn't until he feels Vince's lips brush against his ear that Eric snaps out of it.
"Say you'll come to LA, E. Say you'll stay with me. Say it, please. I need you," Vince murmurs.
There's a hint of desperation there and Eric wonders if it's all an act or if it really means something. He lifts his hands to rest them on Vince's shoulders, ready to push him away, ready to pull him closer.
"Please, E."
Vince's voice cracks just the tiniest bit. It's so surprising that Eric doesn't even think, he just nods in acquiescence.
"Yeah, okay."
Pulling back a little, Vince smiles at him, smiles like he won the fucking lottery, the World Series and an Oscar all in one go, and Eric laughs. It's half out of nerves and half just out of genuine affection. Vince kisses him then and it's kind of awkward and kind of sweet, but mostly unexpected. Eric kisses him back with every piece of pent-up emotion he's ever felt for Vince and Vince clings to Eric like if he doesn't hold on, Eric will slip away forever. So Eric pulls him closer, clings just as hard, and hopes he's made the right decision.