Random Rules
It takes a fighter to close that shit out. It's the Hotel Roosevelt, Paris has already come (haha) and gone. Lilo had it out with the little sister from Buffy. Brandon Davis got his ass handed to him by Bam Margera. It's a Thursday night and someone is waiting for him at the Hotel Angelenos, out by the 405. Meaning, it's a 20 to 40 minute cab ride
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Kiss. Ari meant to say 'kiss you', but it came out 'fuck you' instead, and there's probably more truth in that. Ari has an arm slung around Vince shoulder, but it isn't helping to steady him. They're both unsteady. Ari glares at the parking lot.
"I don't see my fucking car."
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"What? You're going to try and drive?" He says to the girl. Then he turns into Ari and they almost bump faces. "I mean you. Not her. She can't fucking drive, anyway."
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"They fucking shouldn't give fucking women fucking keys," he declares, and it makes sense in Ari's head. His arm slips down around Vince's waist, and he steers his star client away from the vagina. If Vince starts lubing that up, they'll never get out of here. And this scene is stale. And Ari has shit to do...eventually.
"I'm going to fucking commandeer some tourist's fucking rental-...cab."
Ari tries to poach a coach from some blond who hits him with her shoe.
"MOTHER FUCK," Ari rages. "Now where will I vomit?"
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"Are you really going to puke, Bel Ari?"
He laughs at his own joke and holds Ari's hand at his waist. Just holds it. "I might... fall down. Fuckin' Nick at Night or whatever the fuck. What did you make me drink? Where the fuck is E?"
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Ari sings that out, and his voice really carries. People look. Ari is gesticulating with his non-Vince hand. He lets it drop to his side.
"Fuck it."
He spins Vince around.
"Let's just get a room," Ari offers.
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Vince has only made it into the foyer of the hotel, into the big plush chairs. They are occupied, sometimes with more than one person. Vince walks up to a couple and bends over, very earnestly trying to convince them why he and Ari should sit where they are sitting.
They don't give it up. In fact, the guy says something rude and Vince, if he weren't so wasted, might get a little feisty. Instead, he just goes back to Ari and says, "Fine. Room me. I'm going to fall the fuck down. I think I lost my phone."
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"Poor baby," he pouts. To the desk clerk he says:
"Room me."
Unlike the chair Nazi's, the staff knows who Ari is. Or at least: they know who he's with. They're booked pretty solid, but for people like Vincent Chase, there are always strings to pull. Soon Ari is holding Vince up in the elevator, and clutching a mag-card in one hand.
The room only has one, king sized bed.
Ari goes straight for the mini-bar.
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And with that, he flops onto the bed and stretches out.
"What's in there. Is there anything carbonated? Oh god, Ari. I'm fucked. I'm so fucking fucked. I shouldn't have smoked that hash, fuck."
Vince closes his eyes and slides one hand into his pants, very non-chalantly, very non-sexually. When he opens his eyes, he looks at Ari with expectation and hope. "Carbonananations?"
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Coke (drinky, not snorty).
Sparkling water.
Champagne.
Bananas.
Ari is already chowing down on one. He shouldn't have smoked that hash either, but when in Rome... Plus, he barely made it through tonight. Kid's Choice Awards make him feel ancient, and he's been trying to forget since around 6pm that he is the only man in the room with crows feet. This is still true.
"Brother?" Ari says, with a wry smile. "What don't I know about Johnny Drama?"
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He rolls over on his side and watches Ari eat a banana. It's kind of hot.
"Mmmmm, Ari. I should call that girl, but I don't have her number. Or my phone. So fuck her. She's not going to get my award-winning kisses tonight, no way no how," he brags. "I have so much love to give the world and nobody ... nobody but you, to witness that love."
He reaches out and pulls down one of the leaves of the banana skin.
"Ari," he says. There's a second part of that, but it doesn't come out.
He's an award winner.
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"Fuck, I could kill for some blow right now," Ari says.
It's been years since Ari could kill for blow. He's thought about it, now and then, but right now the urge is as strong as that first week he went cold turkey, when Mrs. Ari's test came back pregnancy positive.
"No you," Ari clarifies. "I, haha, wouldn't fucking kill you. You're my boy, Vinnie. And not just because some cocksuckers gave you a little orange balloon that says you kiss like a fucking porn star."
Although that didn't hurt.
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He lifts an eyebrow and then crunches up to wiggle around in his own pants. He produces a baggie. "I don't usually, you know. But E--"
He loves it. Just don't tell anyone.
"Wanna do some? I'll do it with you, if you want."
He looks at Ari with big puppydog eyes that say do coke with me... take advantage of me... pay attention to me.
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"I could fucking kiss you."
A part of Ari wonders, though, if he should. Do the blow, not kiss the Vince. It was hard to kick. Then again: it's just drugs, and it's just tonight, and Ari has done worse, even if he isn't 25 anymore.
"I used to live on this shit," Ari laughs. "I used to put it in my fucking cereal. I used to snort it off of supermodels."
They may have just been regular models. It felt good, anyway.
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All it really takes is Ari saying that he *could* kiss Vince... so then he takes it to the next level. He parts his lips, and, with half-lidded eyes, he kisses Ari.
"I got an award," he reminds Ari, speaking against his mouth. "Respect my authority."
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"Don't move," he commands, straddling Vinnie's thighs.
He cuts a line across Vince's stomach, and leans down. There's a way you expect people like Vince to smell: a little earthy, a little spicy, and little sex-y. Vince smells just like that.
And doing coke is just like riding a bicycle.
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