Wide Awake in the American Dream
Pairing: Ari/Eric, Eric/Mrs. Ari [Entourage]
Date Written: August 10-16, 2008
Notes: Sequel of sorts to Fun Things to Fuck (If You're a Winner)
Sometimes you feel like marrying Ari was more like signing on to a company or maybe some kind of sports organization. It's all about the team and, since Ari is the manager, about his decisions for the team. Sure, you have input, but you have to phrase everything carefully and make it sound like it's going to be detrimental to their image otherwise. Appearances are everything.
So you don't say anything when Ari goes out to lunch with Eric and comes back nearly four hours later with a bruise peeking out from the cuff of his shirt because you know Ari would tell you 'it's just business.' As though fucking the manager of his client is equivalent to hanging out at the Playboy Mansion or stopping by the club-of-the-week for a drink with a real client. 'It's not,' you want to scream at him. Eric isn't a Russian model or a starlet; he's competition. Not that you think that Ari is actually in love with him, because that's just ridiculous, it's that Eric takes up more than his fair share of Ari's time. Time that Ari should be spending with you and the kids doing normal things like a normal family; the family you gave up your career to have with him.
The next day, you invite Eric out to lunch to discuss a charity event you would like Vince to attend. He accepts even though you know he has to know you're lying. Anything like that would come through Ari; he's always been better at begging anyway.
You're sitting at the bar when Eric shows up. He's wearing a faded shirt which may or may not be from a deli back east and was probably once blue but now looks almost gray, and jeans. There's a bruise on his collarbone and half-moon shapes littering his forearms. Although he's standing up straight, like he's daring you to say something about the marks, you can tell he's nervous. Maybe even afraid.
He calls you 'Mrs. Gold' and doesn't argue when you say you would rather sit at the bar than get a table. While you sip a martini, he plays with the label on his bottle of domestic beer. You make small talk about your kids and his housemates until you're drunk enough to get up the nerve to ask him if they could go to the café next door instead even though you have no intention of heading there.
Instead, you push him into the alley. He's obviously shocked and stumbles back against the wall of the café. You stumble because you shouldn't have mixed vodka and stilettos. While you scream at him for being a 'hack home-wrecking motherfucking leprechaun whore,' he tries to grab your wrist, maybe to steady you, maybe to stop you from hitting him, and that should make you angry, that he would dare to presume you can't take care of yourself, but it doesn't.
Your knees shake a bit as you grab his neck and pull him into you, your lips pressing against his as your thigh slides between his legs. He pulls you closer, letting you have your way, but somehow staying in control at the same time. There's warmth spreading throughout your body and you can't help but wonder if this is why Ari keeps coming back for more.
Eric is a challenge, a game, a curious mixture of sweet and hard. You can see now why Vince looks at him with adoring eyes, why Ari puts up with the threats and insults. He's seductive charm wrapped in such an innocuous package.
You pull back and he does that blushing schoolboy act but his eyes are glittering with something you want to call danger and it makes you want to step back into his arms, have him take you somewhere and fuck your brains out, but you won't let yourself do that. The last thing you need is for Eric to become the focal point of a competition; especially one you know you would lose.
So you walk away on your shaky legs, pulling your cell out to call your husband. There's an event at Sarah's school tonight and he's not getting away with missing it.
Date Written: August 10-16, 2008
Notes: Sequel of sorts to Fun Things to Fuck (If You're a Winner)
Sometimes you feel like marrying Ari was more like signing on to a company or maybe some kind of sports organization. It's all about the team and, since Ari is the manager, about his decisions for the team. Sure, you have input, but you have to phrase everything carefully and make it sound like it's going to be detrimental to their image otherwise. Appearances are everything.
So you don't say anything when Ari goes out to lunch with Eric and comes back nearly four hours later with a bruise peeking out from the cuff of his shirt because you know Ari would tell you 'it's just business.' As though fucking the manager of his client is equivalent to hanging out at the Playboy Mansion or stopping by the club-of-the-week for a drink with a real client. 'It's not,' you want to scream at him. Eric isn't a Russian model or a starlet; he's competition. Not that you think that Ari is actually in love with him, because that's just ridiculous, it's that Eric takes up more than his fair share of Ari's time. Time that Ari should be spending with you and the kids doing normal things like a normal family; the family you gave up your career to have with him.
The next day, you invite Eric out to lunch to discuss a charity event you would like Vince to attend. He accepts even though you know he has to know you're lying. Anything like that would come through Ari; he's always been better at begging anyway.
You're sitting at the bar when Eric shows up. He's wearing a faded shirt which may or may not be from a deli back east and was probably once blue but now looks almost gray, and jeans. There's a bruise on his collarbone and half-moon shapes littering his forearms. Although he's standing up straight, like he's daring you to say something about the marks, you can tell he's nervous. Maybe even afraid.
He calls you 'Mrs. Gold' and doesn't argue when you say you would rather sit at the bar than get a table. While you sip a martini, he plays with the label on his bottle of domestic beer. You make small talk about your kids and his housemates until you're drunk enough to get up the nerve to ask him if they could go to the café next door instead even though you have no intention of heading there.
Instead, you push him into the alley. He's obviously shocked and stumbles back against the wall of the café. You stumble because you shouldn't have mixed vodka and stilettos. While you scream at him for being a 'hack home-wrecking motherfucking leprechaun whore,' he tries to grab your wrist, maybe to steady you, maybe to stop you from hitting him, and that should make you angry, that he would dare to presume you can't take care of yourself, but it doesn't.
Your knees shake a bit as you grab his neck and pull him into you, your lips pressing against his as your thigh slides between his legs. He pulls you closer, letting you have your way, but somehow staying in control at the same time. There's warmth spreading throughout your body and you can't help but wonder if this is why Ari keeps coming back for more.
Eric is a challenge, a game, a curious mixture of sweet and hard. You can see now why Vince looks at him with adoring eyes, why Ari puts up with the threats and insults. He's seductive charm wrapped in such an innocuous package.
You pull back and he does that blushing schoolboy act but his eyes are glittering with something you want to call danger and it makes you want to step back into his arms, have him take you somewhere and fuck your brains out, but you won't let yourself do that. The last thing you need is for Eric to become the focal point of a competition; especially one you know you would lose.
So you walk away on your shaky legs, pulling your cell out to call your husband. There's an event at Sarah's school tonight and he's not getting away with missing it.