Surrender 1/3 Complete V/E
Title: Surrender 1/3 Complete
Author:chase65
Pairing: Vince/Eric, Vince/Canon Character Implied, Eric/Canon Character Implied
Warnings: Angst, Domestic Violence (mention)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1348
Prompt # 48: E/Vince - The boys meet in some sort of high stress situation - hostage crisis, kidnapping rescue, mugging, plane crash, etc. and there is an instant connection/attraction. Months later they reunite. Vince insists it’s love, E is just as sure it’s a combination of adrenaline/hero worship.
Disclaimer: Still negotiating with Ari. Still a no go.
A/N: Written for entourage_fest . 2nd fic for the fest, 2nd Entourage fic ever. I need a nap. Posted in three parts cause more than likely it’s too long for a single post. And of course apologies to the prompter if this isn't quite what you had in mind. I'm happy to have participated. And yes I did check the time in Hawaii, just in case. Thanks to dancing_butterfly for the reminders and extensions.
Surrender
The gunshot is so loud and the guy next to him goes down so fast. Everything is a chaotic blur. He remembers thinking once that it was kind of cool Los Angeles was the bank robbery capital of the world. Eric Murphy doesn’t think it’s cool now.
Eric Murphy crouches down with his hands sort of cuffed around his ears. On the floor next to him a man is moaning. It takes a couple seconds for that to penetrate. If the man is making noise, no matter how pained, it means he’s not dead. At least not yet. The bank branch isn’t very big and Eric and the man beside him are farthest from the door close to the desk for new account sign-ups. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the edge of a suit jacket quivering which he assumes is attached to a body hiding under one of the desks.
They’d come in shooting, no warning. Murphy thinks that the security guard might be down, but he isn’t sure and he doesn’t want to attract attention by looking around. The guy next to him moans low again. Eric can see his feet twitching as though he’s going to try to stand. Without thinking, he reaches out and clasps his hand around the guy’s leg. The guy shifts a little at the touch and Eric squeezes his leg.
The guy gets the message and stops moving. Eric is a essentially a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy, but he’d come into the bank to speak to someone about a loan. His best friend had told him once that when he wore green it was hard to refuse him anything. With his spotty collateral, he’d figured every little bit would help. He unbuttons his good green button down shirt quickly with fingers that shake slightly.
The other man’s head seems to be leaking blood. Careful to keep the movements deliberate and tight so as not to draw attention, Eric wads his shirt into a ball and presses it against the other man’s bleeding temple.
“Shit, that hurts,” the man yelps.
"Ssh."
Eric let’s up a little on the pressure, but not too much. God, it’s a lot of blood. Long fingers touch the back of his hand. “Am I bleeding to death?”
He takes his eyes off the blood changing the light green to crimson for the first time and stares into the greenest eyes he’s ever seen. Dark lashes flutter and then the eyes widen. Despite the pain, Eric can see shadowed there, the focus on him is sharp. Clear.
“Am I dying?” Without thinking, Eric reaches up with his free hand smoothes black curls gently off the injured man’s forehead. It’s soft against his hand and he trails his palm down the smooth skin of his cheek.
“No, you’re not dying.”
“Okay. Okay. Thank you.”
It’s weird that the guy doesn’t question, just accepts it. Eric’s fingers twitch against a cool cheek. The eyes that have fluttered shut again snap open. Wide. “Don’t,” the other man whispers. “Don’t leave me alone.” That thought hadn’t crossed his mind of course. It’s not practical. They are hostages now. The people who stormed the bank are still in the bank. Screaming at them not to talk, not to move, shooting rounds in the air. He thinks someone must have had time to trip the alarm. There’s whimpering and crying all around, but Eric Murphy has tunnel vision.
Bending low he whispers, “What’s your name?” It takes the injured man a couple of tries, but he manages to grit out “Vince.”
“I’m Eric. Everything is gonna be fine Vince.”
It’s like the end of the world when they are freed. Or that’s the way it seems. S.W.A.T. is much more frightening than the bad guys. It’s smoky, the automatic weapons fire is deafening. And the screaming. Everyone is screaming. Hostages, bad guys, good guys. He might be screaming too, but there is so much noise, he can’t be certain. It takes more than a few minutes for Eric to realize it’s over.
“Sir, sir. Are you okay? Sir, are you injured.”
Lifting out of his protective hunch over Vince, Eric blinks slowly, uncomprehendingly at the LAPD officer talking to him. There’s ringing in his ears. His heart is trying to trip-hammer out of his chest. The police officer is still talking to him. Mostly by lip reading, Eric is finally able to figure out what the cop wants.
“No, no. it’s not my blood. It’s -. Help him.” He points forcefully at the man he’s been kneeling over for a little over an hour. The officer waves to one of the teams of paramedics picking their way through the former hostages rendering assistance.
The paramedic takes in the clasped hands of the men in front of him. “Does your partner have any drug allergies we need to know about. “Is he on any medication?” Stilling his hand with curls wrapped around, Eric straightens and blinks slowly at the paramedic. Blinks himself back in the moment and sees what the paramedic sees. Him, back in his hunched position over the stranger, while they were looking at the graze on the side of his head. He’d been murmuring in the other man’s ear reassurance that he was okay, that everything was fine, that he had him. He tugs just a little to get his hand free, but Vince doesn’t let go. The fingers still buried in the thickness, slide slowly free.
“Don’t -” Murphy slides his hand out of the man‘s he’s just met. The loss of contact makes him shiver. “It’s okay,“ he murmurs to the man who in spite of a valiant effort has slipped into unconsciousness. “You’re gonna be okay now, the paramedics will take good care of you.” Even as he says this it feels wrong, it feels like maybe he should ask instead if he can ride along in the ambulance. Before the intent even fully registers in his head, he dips down and kisses Vince on the cheek.
He steps back quickly. “I, We’re not, we’re not together.” Confused the paramedic looks from one to the other before shrugging . “Alright, do you know his name?”
“His name is Vince. That’s all I know. His name is Vince.”
Eric is not one of the walking wounded. He’s not even wounded, so he’s not allowed to leave the bank until he gives his statement. Afterwards, he still intends to go to work at Ryan’s, the restaurant he manages on little Santa Monica, but when the voicemail beeps on his best friend’s phone he says instead that he‘ll be taking the day.
He’s interviewed by Channel 7 outside the bank, but he doesn’t really remember it. Later when he’s flipping through the channels, it takes a moment for him to recognize the guy with the hollowed out eyes and shell shocked expression. He’s never been on tv before and wishes he still hadn’t been. He grits his way through his own appearance in the hopes of hearing what happened to the others in the bank. What happened to Vince. He doesn’t know that’s what he’s doing until the reporter, Mark Brown, says that the five people who were taken the to the hospital had all been treated and released, except for the security guard who was in surgery. His legs give underneath him.
Next - chase65.livejournal.com/21476.html
Author:chase65
Pairing: Vince/Eric, Vince/Canon Character Implied, Eric/Canon Character Implied
Warnings: Angst, Domestic Violence (mention)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1348
Prompt # 48: E/Vince - The boys meet in some sort of high stress situation - hostage crisis, kidnapping rescue, mugging, plane crash, etc. and there is an instant connection/attraction. Months later they reunite. Vince insists it’s love, E is just as sure it’s a combination of adrenaline/hero worship.
Disclaimer: Still negotiating with Ari. Still a no go.
A/N: Written for entourage_fest . 2nd fic for the fest, 2nd Entourage fic ever. I need a nap. Posted in three parts cause more than likely it’s too long for a single post. And of course apologies to the prompter if this isn't quite what you had in mind. I'm happy to have participated. And yes I did check the time in Hawaii, just in case. Thanks to dancing_butterfly for the reminders and extensions.
Surrender
The gunshot is so loud and the guy next to him goes down so fast. Everything is a chaotic blur. He remembers thinking once that it was kind of cool Los Angeles was the bank robbery capital of the world. Eric Murphy doesn’t think it’s cool now.
Eric Murphy crouches down with his hands sort of cuffed around his ears. On the floor next to him a man is moaning. It takes a couple seconds for that to penetrate. If the man is making noise, no matter how pained, it means he’s not dead. At least not yet. The bank branch isn’t very big and Eric and the man beside him are farthest from the door close to the desk for new account sign-ups. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the edge of a suit jacket quivering which he assumes is attached to a body hiding under one of the desks.
They’d come in shooting, no warning. Murphy thinks that the security guard might be down, but he isn’t sure and he doesn’t want to attract attention by looking around. The guy next to him moans low again. Eric can see his feet twitching as though he’s going to try to stand. Without thinking, he reaches out and clasps his hand around the guy’s leg. The guy shifts a little at the touch and Eric squeezes his leg.
The guy gets the message and stops moving. Eric is a essentially a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy, but he’d come into the bank to speak to someone about a loan. His best friend had told him once that when he wore green it was hard to refuse him anything. With his spotty collateral, he’d figured every little bit would help. He unbuttons his good green button down shirt quickly with fingers that shake slightly.
The other man’s head seems to be leaking blood. Careful to keep the movements deliberate and tight so as not to draw attention, Eric wads his shirt into a ball and presses it against the other man’s bleeding temple.
“Shit, that hurts,” the man yelps.
"Ssh."
Eric let’s up a little on the pressure, but not too much. God, it’s a lot of blood. Long fingers touch the back of his hand. “Am I bleeding to death?”
He takes his eyes off the blood changing the light green to crimson for the first time and stares into the greenest eyes he’s ever seen. Dark lashes flutter and then the eyes widen. Despite the pain, Eric can see shadowed there, the focus on him is sharp. Clear.
“Am I dying?” Without thinking, Eric reaches up with his free hand smoothes black curls gently off the injured man’s forehead. It’s soft against his hand and he trails his palm down the smooth skin of his cheek.
“No, you’re not dying.”
“Okay. Okay. Thank you.”
It’s weird that the guy doesn’t question, just accepts it. Eric’s fingers twitch against a cool cheek. The eyes that have fluttered shut again snap open. Wide. “Don’t,” the other man whispers. “Don’t leave me alone.” That thought hadn’t crossed his mind of course. It’s not practical. They are hostages now. The people who stormed the bank are still in the bank. Screaming at them not to talk, not to move, shooting rounds in the air. He thinks someone must have had time to trip the alarm. There’s whimpering and crying all around, but Eric Murphy has tunnel vision.
Bending low he whispers, “What’s your name?” It takes the injured man a couple of tries, but he manages to grit out “Vince.”
“I’m Eric. Everything is gonna be fine Vince.”
It’s like the end of the world when they are freed. Or that’s the way it seems. S.W.A.T. is much more frightening than the bad guys. It’s smoky, the automatic weapons fire is deafening. And the screaming. Everyone is screaming. Hostages, bad guys, good guys. He might be screaming too, but there is so much noise, he can’t be certain. It takes more than a few minutes for Eric to realize it’s over.
“Sir, sir. Are you okay? Sir, are you injured.”
Lifting out of his protective hunch over Vince, Eric blinks slowly, uncomprehendingly at the LAPD officer talking to him. There’s ringing in his ears. His heart is trying to trip-hammer out of his chest. The police officer is still talking to him. Mostly by lip reading, Eric is finally able to figure out what the cop wants.
“No, no. it’s not my blood. It’s -. Help him.” He points forcefully at the man he’s been kneeling over for a little over an hour. The officer waves to one of the teams of paramedics picking their way through the former hostages rendering assistance.
The paramedic takes in the clasped hands of the men in front of him. “Does your partner have any drug allergies we need to know about. “Is he on any medication?” Stilling his hand with curls wrapped around, Eric straightens and blinks slowly at the paramedic. Blinks himself back in the moment and sees what the paramedic sees. Him, back in his hunched position over the stranger, while they were looking at the graze on the side of his head. He’d been murmuring in the other man’s ear reassurance that he was okay, that everything was fine, that he had him. He tugs just a little to get his hand free, but Vince doesn’t let go. The fingers still buried in the thickness, slide slowly free.
“Don’t -” Murphy slides his hand out of the man‘s he’s just met. The loss of contact makes him shiver. “It’s okay,“ he murmurs to the man who in spite of a valiant effort has slipped into unconsciousness. “You’re gonna be okay now, the paramedics will take good care of you.” Even as he says this it feels wrong, it feels like maybe he should ask instead if he can ride along in the ambulance. Before the intent even fully registers in his head, he dips down and kisses Vince on the cheek.
He steps back quickly. “I, We’re not, we’re not together.” Confused the paramedic looks from one to the other before shrugging . “Alright, do you know his name?”
“His name is Vince. That’s all I know. His name is Vince.”
Eric is not one of the walking wounded. He’s not even wounded, so he’s not allowed to leave the bank until he gives his statement. Afterwards, he still intends to go to work at Ryan’s, the restaurant he manages on little Santa Monica, but when the voicemail beeps on his best friend’s phone he says instead that he‘ll be taking the day.
He’s interviewed by Channel 7 outside the bank, but he doesn’t really remember it. Later when he’s flipping through the channels, it takes a moment for him to recognize the guy with the hollowed out eyes and shell shocked expression. He’s never been on tv before and wishes he still hadn’t been. He grits his way through his own appearance in the hopes of hearing what happened to the others in the bank. What happened to Vince. He doesn’t know that’s what he’s doing until the reporter, Mark Brown, says that the five people who were taken the to the hospital had all been treated and released, except for the security guard who was in surgery. His legs give underneath him.
Next - chase65.livejournal.com/21476.html