Fic: Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy Entry 59-70/151 (Entourage, NC-17, Vince/E, Vince/Others)
Title: Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy
Entries: 59-70 of 151
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage
Word Count:~6,300
Disclaimer: I don't own Entourage or anyone who has ever appeared on it.
Pairing: Vince/Eric, Vince/Pretty much everyone else except Turtle, Johnny, and the Golds (seriously)
Rating: NC-17 for lots and lots of sex
Warnings: AU, prostitution, mentions of past childhood physical abuse, BDSM, gay sex, straight sex, group sex, rape fantasy, fisting, wax play, a foot fetishist, mentions of daddy-kink, extremely brief mention of watersports. If any of the particular warnings are squicks for you, send me a private message and I'll tell you which entry to avoid!
Betas and helpers: guest_age, justabi, allyndra, ariadne83, pesha and deepad were all completely indispensable. Thank you so much.
Authors Notes: This inspired by Belle Du Jour's blog/books/TV series but doesnt crossover in anyway. But it is a hookerfic so I know there are a lot of warnings but I hope you guys will give it a try anyway. Minor characters from canon have links to their pictures if you need a reminder. This fic is complete and I will, baring any unforeseen circumstances, be posting a segment a day until the end of the entourage_fest.
Summary: Entries from the private journal of Vincent Chase, a high paid male escort living in Los Angeles.
Entry 1-20
Entry 21-40
Entry 41-55
Entry 56-58
Entry 59
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did I do that? How stupid am I? How? And why didn't I say something when he got my phone number?
I should've said something when E tugged me down and kissed me before I left. There were lots of chances.
I don't know. I just shut everything out for the rest of the day on Sunday and now there's fucking five missed calls on my phone since I turned it off in the wake of the whole Thing With E. One's Johnny, one's Ari, one's Billy calling from Canada, and two are E.
"This is completely un-cool of me 'cause you just left like an hour ago, but I wanted to know if you're doing anything Tuesday night. I'd love to see you. Give me a call." *beep*
"Sorry for calling again so soon. I just wanted to, fuck, Vince, I don't know. It's good to have your phone number, I guess. Fuck, I sound like an idiot. I don't know why I called. Do me a favor and delete this message. It never happened. Hope to see you Tuesday." *beep*
It sounds like he wants a date. A real date where at the end of it, sex is not guaranteed. I don't actually remember doing this before. And I may be in a panic. It's possible.
I call Turtle and it all kind of explodes out of me in a rush that's painfully embarrassing and makes me feel like a twelve-year-old girl. But he listens to more details than anyone should have to and when I'm done, he asks, "You're sure it's E from the neighborhood? Our E?"
"Fucking, Jesus, Turtle. Of course I'm sure."
"Well, I don't know, man. It's been a long time. It coulda just looked like him."
"It was him."
"So are you going to bring him around? I haven't seen him since the funeral."
"I don't know." E doesn't even know Turtle is out here with me. E doesn't know a lot of things. I have no idea what he'd think or want. Not on anything. "All I know is he wants to see me again and he wants it to be tomorrow."
"Damn, Vin, you got some fucking life, you know that?"
"Turtle."
"What? You wanna go be a fairy, there's worse people you could do it with than E. Better than that creepy Scarsdale fuck Walsh."
That's the start of an old argument and I let it drop. "So, Tuesday."
"Do what you want, Vince. I don't know why you even gotta ask me this."
He's got a point. I say good-bye and call E. I get his voice mail and tell him that Monday is good and I'll meet him at Koi. I hang up before I have the chance to say anything too stupid.
~*~*~
Entry 60
It starts off as just friends catching up. Really. I tell him about my life minus the hooking and he tells me where he's been for the last few years.
He says, in the humblest way possible, that he busted his ass in high school without me, Turtle, and Dom around to distract him. I always knew E was smart, but he got himself into Boston University on his own merit. His grades and maybe his fastball paid his way, and he lived at home so he could afford it, and then his college transcripts and GREs got him into the MBA program at Colombia. From there, apparently his ex-girlfriend-turned-best-friend introduced him to his boss, and he just kind of started to rise.
None of this is said to brag, even though it's fucking impressive. Thing is, there's more to it. He keeps it in small terms, but it's big. As soon as I can, I'm Googling him, because there's something he's not telling me.
I know. Fucking hypocrite much?
I'm an even bigger fucking hypocrite because I just let him talk. I let him talk about how things are with his friend Sloan and his mom back in Boston, who never really recovered after his dad died, and his grandparents, and life in general. I enjoy it and offer nothing more than what Turtle is up to with Saigon in return.
But the whole time we're talking, our legs touch under the table. Our hands brush when we reach for the sake or the wasabi. It's not really like anything I've ever done before, beating around the bush like this, and it gets hot fast. I brush the side of my hand against him and ask him if maybe it's getting a little late and we should go. He doesn't need to think twice, hailing for the check.
He asked me, he says when it arrives, so he's paying. That's just how it works, and he doesn't let me argue with him. It's kind of hot actually.
He's got a blue Bentley four-door that screams money, but has a practical edge, that's waiting for us when we step outside. The valet tosses him the keys and he looks so good in the driver's seat that I can't actually wait for us to pull all the way out of the parking lot.
I kiss him, the gear shift digging into my hip, and E pulls the car over. He pushes his chair back as I unhook my seatbelt and I end up straddling him, my head hitting the roof as I grind down into him. It's over fast, both of us coming in our pants like teenagers, and I slide carefully off him and into the passenger seat.
"Come home with me," E says, reaching over and sliding a hand behind the back of my neck.
"I've got work tomorrow."
"So do I, probably earlier than you. Come home with me, Vince."
I look over at him skeptically. I don't know if I can go again, if I should go again with a client booked for tomorrow. But he squeezes my neck gently.
"I just want to go to sleep with you, Vince. No more sex, no pressure."
Bullshit. That's a huge amount of pressure. It's the worst kind of pressure 'cause there's feelings involved. But his fingers are massaging knots away and I can't say no.
Ken, the night receptionist at the Peninsula, gives me a look as I walk in with E. He knows me, he knows what I do, and he knows I was here with E last night. He gives me this smirk and a knowing nod, and I really want to hit him. I move a little closer to E and look straight ahead instead.
I know I'm fucked when E invites me into the shower with him and that's all we do. Shower. It's intimacy and it's choking me. But I can't leave. His hands glide over my skin slicked with soap but it's not sexual. It's just…nice. I feel my eyes sting but I figure its just shampoo in my eyes.
I don't sleep. I lie awake with his arm around me because I'm pretty sure that if I do fall asleep, I'm going to wake up and this will be gone.
I'm up and out before he is. I leave a note, a lie about work. But I close it with asking him to call me. And a stupid hand-drawn heart.
I'm just so screwed.
~*~*~
Entry 61
Client is in her mid-twenties, blonde, and talkative with a decent rack. She's not my type where women are concerned, but she's not even close to my usual client base. She's too young, too pretty, and too confident. She calls to nail down the specifics with me personally and gives me the address to her condo. It's nice, but then that's not too surprising. She can afford me.
"Perfect," she says when she opens the door. "I'm Kristen and you're fucking perfect." She hands me an envelope her name written on it in thick masculine letters and points me back to her bedroom.
"I want you in our bed," she says. "I bought this bed with Richard," she says and she's so clearly not talking to me, not really. She's talking to herself, she just needs someone to listen so that she doesn't come off as crazy. "This cute little boutique in West Hollywood. Fucker wouldn't let me out into the suburbs with him. Too pedestrian," she mutters as she shimmies out of her work out jeans and pulls off her top. "Pedestrian. Lying sack of shit."
Okay, then.
She pushes me back into her pillows before climbing on the bed with me. She tells me to fuck her, "Like you mean it," she hisses, kicking off her panties and yeah, I can do that.
She stares up at me while I fuck her in a simple missionary style like she's trying to look through me at something else. It's a little uncomfortable. I reach out to touch her face as I'm rocking into her, trying to help, and she smacks my hand away.
"Stop it," she snaps. "Don't fucking make love to me, okay? Just fuck me. You're not my boyfriend." She tips her head back and laughs. "My fucking boyfriend. Fucking Richard."
"Do you want to punish him?" I can do punishment. I'm good at punishment. I would rather have her punish me for him than listen to her keep fucking ranting while I try to give her what she claims to want.
"I am punishing him," she says as she hitches her legs around my waist. "Fuck me harder and punish him more."
I stop talking and fuck her harder. I fuck her so hard it hurts my back a little, and I drag out every sick and dirty fantasy I've ever had to keep the energy up because this feel really off and just kind of wrong.
She keeps talking while I fuck her, about Richard and his wife and how she's such an idiot, such a Goddamn idiot. She cries when she comes, tears rolling down her face and her fingernails scraping down my back.
I hope to God she didn't leave marks and I'm hit by a wave of startling guilt. It kills any hope of orgasm I might have had because all I can think is, "I don't want E to see."
"I can't just leave," she says when it's over and I'm getting dressed. "I can't. I can't afford to finish my psych residency if I leave him. And it's not like he knows I know. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do."
I shrug at her. "Don't leave."
"You say that like it's a real option," she says, but I can see in her face that she's already considered it. She just wants someone else to say it out loud. "He's married."
"You've got what, a year left before you're a doctor?"
"Two."
"Okay two. So don't leave for two years."
She looks at me with watery eyes. "I don't know if I can live with that."
"It's only a couple years. You can live with almost anything for a couple years. Trust me."
She tilts her head to the side and gives me the weirdest look. Then she smiles. "I would love to get you in for a session, Chase. I bet off the clock you're fascinating."
Off the clock I'm a fucking mess and I don't really like psychology. So I smile and I lie and I go home with Richard's money. I take two showers, call E, and can't get away from feeling guilty.
~*~*~
Entry 62
I'd like to point out that I haven't really dated…ever. I sort of missed that stage back when I was a teenager. I had girlfriends but there was no actual dating. What was the point wasting your time going out when you had someone to fuck or fuck you?
So it's weird-this thing with E. Cause we're fucking dating. He makes a point to take his lunch off at least three times a week and we meet up. Most of the time, it's not for a quickie. We have a burger, a hot dog, or some pizza and beer and it's just easy. It's like being a kid again but with the added bonus of getting to kiss him.
We end up at a place that does wings and has baseball and I come to find out he's turned into a fucking Red Socks fan somewhere along the line. It's fucking blasphemy and we fight over teams for most of his lunch hour.
"You leave for four years and you turn into a traitor?"
"My grandfather had season tickets. He bought like fifty years worth back in the sixties."
"And that's an excuse?"
"Just because the Yankees can't get back to the World Series doesn't mean you have to take it out on me."
There's a Red Sox game on Saturday and I go to his hotel to watch it though, lying on my stomach beside him on his bed. I heckle them through the whole game and only overplay my disappointment a little when they win.
~*~*~
Entry 63
Coffee with E in thirty. I don't really get why we keep going out when we could just stay in, especially on my day off. It tends to stretch into the whole day wandering around downtown L.A., but hey. Whatever. He seems to like it so I can't complain too much.
~*~*~
Entry 64
Client is a couple. The woman's got a fantasy about being with two men at once. She's really into her husband but it's been a thing for her since before they got married, so I'm his fifth anniversary present to her.
She wants me to suck him while she watches (no problem, I happen to suck a mean cock), kiss him (he's a little skittish about that, even while his wife feels him up and tells him how much she wants to fuck him, but I get him there), and then to have me and him both fuck her at the same time. She'll figure out how when we get there.
It's a little ambitious and we end up with me in her pussy and her husband in her mouth, touching her face and pulling her hair. She moans up at him while I thrust into her and he tells her that she's the hottest fucking slut he's ever seen.
That seems to turn her on more because she's rocking back and forth between us hard and fast. He tells her that she's dirty and sexy, and that he fucking loves her and loves fucking her filthy fucking mouth while she acts like a nasty whore for me, and that's about when she comes. It's a little bit more talking than I really like in my sex but it works for them, and he's not far behind her.
It's not particularly pretty during or afterwards. She's an L.A. woman so she's beautiful, but he's average at best and all sweaty and panting they look ridiculous. But I think that them buying a hooker together like this is a lot more real than any Hollywood fairytale bullshit. It's kinda cute almost.
By the time I get home, I can't believe I thought that. I'm pretty sure E's a bad influence on me.
~*~*~
Entry 65
I fell asleep on E's chest watching The Pope of Greenwich Village on IFC in his hotel room. I over-relate to Eric Roberts' Paulie so I've seen it a few dozen times, and I was really fucking tired. Still, I don't just fall asleep with people (with the exception of Bob and that's what he pays me for).
Falling asleep with E is starting to be a thing. A freaky thing. A thing that makes me feel twitchy and nervous and itchy under my skin, because it's so fucking easy.
It's like I lie down with him he puts his arm around me, and all the bones in my body disappear. I don't know why. If I could bottle it and sell it, I'd make a fortune the legal way.
I really like it. And it bothers me.
~*~*~
Entry 66
"So, when do we get to meet the boyfriend, bro?"
I choke on a bite of the salad I ordered. "Johnny, you-what?" I cough and spit half-chewed grilled chicken and Romaine lettuce into my napkin. I wonder if that's a good enough excuse to make for the men's room. But the three of them are staring at me, waiting for my answer.
"I don't have a boyfriend."
Johnny pulls a face and Kelly actually makes a sound that could be called a snort if she weren't, as she likes to point out, a lady. Turtle's got on his "don't look at me" face, but he's in on it. I know he is.
My throat hurts from the backed up chicken and I clear it a few times. "I don't."
"Sure, Vince."
"He could have a girlfriend," Turtle puts in.
Kelly rolls her eyes at him. "Turtle, baby."
"What? He could."
She sighs, presumably at the idea of me having a girlfriend. And okay, yeah, probably not, but really. I like pussy. Why is that idea so fucking absurd?
Johnny gives me a significant eyebrow wiggle. "Seriously, baby bro, I want to meet your beau."
For the love of God, just kill me now. I tilt my head down so that I can focus on my salad instead of my brother's earnest expression.
"Drama, who the fuck talks like that?"
"Shut up, Turtle. You wouldn't know class and delicacy if it bit you in the ass."
"Well, it sounds pretty fucking gay so it probably would."
"Boys, we were talking about meeting Vince's boyfriend," Kelly cuts in.
"I don't have one. I just… " I look over at Turtle. He shakes his head once, no, he hasn't said anything. Of course not. He's a true friend and he'll take that shit to the grave if I need him to. "I, uh, ran into E a while ago, is all."
"E Murphy? From the neighborhood?"
"Yeah," I push the lettuce nervously around on my plate. "He's got some big shot studio job and we've been hanging out."
"And fucking," Kelly says.
My face gets hot, which is crazy. Fucking is a word I say and think and do all the time. Turtle pulls down his baseball cap over his face and sinks down in next to his girlfriend. My brother stares at me with big eyes. "Really, bro?"
"Johnny," I sigh because it's not like I can lie. Well, I can but not now, not to Johnny. But I can't do this now, either. It's too fucking real. "It's-I don't know, okay? I'm not ready to talk about it yet."
"No, it's cool. Good for you, man. You've only been waiting for that since you were a kid. You get what you need. Just be careful, okay? You got broken last time."
I blink at him, stunned. Johnny left not long after E and the fact that he would say that pisses me off. He was in L.A. already. "What?" I ask, because what the fuck did he know anyway?
Johnny just shrugs. "Nothin'."
"Not nothing, Johnny."
"Turtle?" Kelly smiles at him. "I think I left something in the car."
"You need the keys?"
"Why don't you come with me and help me look?"
She doesn't wait for him to answer. She grabs his wrist and drags him with her outside. "Baby, I'm not done eating!"
We stare at each other for a long moment and the urge to throw my meal across the table at him gets stronger the longer Johnny sits there, not talking.
"Fucking what, Johnny?"
Johnny looks around, like the answer's somewhere on the walls of the restaurant before meeting my gaze. "Vince, you're my brother and I love you. You do whatever you want, but E broke you when you were a kid and you weren't even bangin' him back then."
I shake my head in denial. "E never did anything but be good to me when we were kids."
"You lost it after he went to Boston, Vin."
I did not. My expression-my arms folded obstinately over my chest and my jaw clenched so hard it was going to ache-must say it, because Johnny shakes his head.
"You did. Okay? You-" Johnny drops off and takes a deep breath. "When he left you were different. And it wasn't for the better. I just don't want him to fuck you up again if you lose him again's all."
"I was fifteen," I say through gritted teeth. I was ready to deny whatever it is that I have with E two minutes ago, and now I'm itching to tear into my brother for him. E was the only safe place I had as a kid, the only one besides Johnny who cared what the old man was doing, and I can't fucking deal with Johnny talking about him like this. It makes me want to do stupid things.
Johnny breathes in deep through his nose and falls silent. We both know where the conversation is going to go next if he opens his mouth, and he doesn't want to go there any more than I do. But I can't stop myself pushing.
"I wasn't even fifteen. This is different. I'm a fucking adult now, Johnny."
"It ain't that different." That statement sits heavy in the air for a long moment. Then Johnny breaks it to ask, "Does he know what you do? Who you are now?"
"I don't have to put up with this," I snap, pushing back. It occurs to me that I'm reacting too fucking strongly over a guy who I just told my brother and best friend *isn't* boyfriend, but I'm too pissed to think straight. "I'll see you later, Johnny"
He grabs my arm and people are starting to stare. I don't know how we got here, but I just want to be out of there. "Fucking stop running away, sit down and finish this."
I flinch. Fuck him very much for thinking he knows fucking everything. He never wants to talk about what I do and now he wants to get personal? Fuck him. Fuck him with a brass fucking instrument.
I yank my arm away so hard I stumble backwards a few steps. He makes a move to help me but I glare at him.
"I'm leaving. I'll call you later." When I can look at him without wanting to throw something and run and scream all at the same time.
"Vince-"
I ignore him and walk out. I don't let myself feel like a coward, that's not what this is, and the very idea makes me even more angry than before. Running away. I'm not running away now and I didn't run away then. I ran for my fucking life. There's a difference.
Everything now is different. It is. It's got to be. And it's not my Goddamn problem if Johnny can't see that.
~*~*~
Entry 67
"Wake up."
"Fuck off."
"Vince." There's a kiss on the spot between my shoulders. "I've got work. Get up."
"Fuck me if you want, but I'm not waking up."
E laughs and kisses the back of my neck. "Throw some pants on and come have breakfast with me."
I push my face deeper into the pillow. "Eeeeeee."
"Yes. E. And you're Vince. Come. Get up. They've got cinnamon rolls downstairs. You don't even have to leave the hotel. Just walk to the elevator, eat, and then you can go back to sleep after I leave."
Those things are like drugs. Damn him.
"I hate you."
"I know. I hate you more." He bites the back of my neck. "Come on. Get up and have breakfast with me."
I roll out of bed with a groan and wonder how the hell E got me up before seven on a workday. I don't know. But he kisses me fast and deep before hopping off the bed and tossing me my slacks from yesterday.
I think I'll forgive him.
~*~*~
Entry 68
Ari runs what can only be called a gangbang about three times a year. He gets his top five guys and about thirty of his most wealthy and group-oriented clients together for an exchange of cash for services. I haven't missed one since the before Bush got elected, and that time I had bronchitis.
For the last couple years it's been held at Passive Acts Studios, this dungeon/fetish studio out by LAX. Every four months, he rents the whole fucking place out. Ari also sends in his security to keep tabs on things when it turns into a Roman style orgy, and it's the only time I ever see the guys beyond hulking, armed presences in the hallways of the agency.
I used to love it. There's a flat rate all the guys pay to get in at all that we get a percentage of, but the men tip. In hundred dollar bills. My first one of these was scary and sexy, a safe form of wish fulfillment of a few of my more dangerous fantasies. But this time, I don't know.
A couple of guest set me up in a sling early on and there's a security guard named Dave up by my head, watching me for panic and the guests for safety, but when I nod, they go to town. After about five, I lose track of how many times I'm fucked. Guys leave and come back sometimes, using my ass like a substitute fist before heading over to my colleagues. Practice keeps me calm and physically relaxed as they work me over and watch me but there's a gnawing feeling in my gut as I rock back and forth on strangely anonymous men. It's been too long since I did something like this if I'm feeling this uncomfortable with what's happening.
It's easier to keep count of the number of times I'm come on, it's more of a punctuation than a fuck. I hit double digits and my face and chest are wet. When my head hangs back, from the sensation of the fuck or exhaustion of holding it up with no support, it drips down the side of my face, my nose, and over my forehead, into my hair.
Someone uses a toy on me, but I can't see whom. My head's hanging down and upside down so that someone can fuck my mouth. But the dildo is at least as big around in diameter as the average wrist and it fucking vibrates. I try to scream around the cock in my throat and it sends him jerking out of my mouth to yank off the condom. His come lands on my eyelids, which are squeezed shut against the buzzing inside of me.
I pant and twist against whoever's toy-fucking me and I can hear them talking. Calling me things like slut and cockwhore and hungry bitch, and most of the time, I love this. I usually get off hearing them panting and beating off, and someone else grabs my hair and takes the last man's place. I gag like I haven't since I was a teenager and choke a little.
Someone takes my dick in his hand and begins stroking. It feels good in a distant kind of way, like my brain isn't connected to my dick. I like it, but I also just want it to end, so it's a relief when I come. Except that when I shoot, so do at least four other guys gathered around me. It lands on my chest and stomach, but most of it goes to join the mess on my face.
I snap twice, my nonverbal safe-word, and I feel all the hands let go of me. "Make it stop," I rasp to Dave who is still standing beside me. It's too fucking much. I'm raw inside and the toy is still buzzing away, almost painfully, and I need it to stop. I've been in situations like this plenty of times over the years but right now, I can't fucking take it.
He's one of those big guys, like Dom or the guy from the Green Mile, and he removes me from the sling. I'm ready to fucking cry when my arms come free and I can blindly pull the twitching, vibrating dildo out of me. It's doesn't stop humming when I drop it to the floor.
I can't open my eyes. I would, but I know for a fact semen stings like a bitch, so not until I can rise it off my eyelids. I reach out for Dave for support because my legs are kind of shaky and I can't see to the bathroom, anyway. He leads me there and turns on the sink to run warm water for me.
When I can see myself again, I feel my stomach twist. My face and chest looks like a fucking Jackson Pollack. Splatters of white, drying come paint my skin, and lube is dripping down my leg in a slow, cold trail.
I meet Dave's eyes in the mirror and lick my lips before I speak. I taste come and wince.
"I need a minute."
"No problem, Chase. I'll be right outside if you need me. Should I call Mr. Gold?"
"I'm fine. I just…I need a break."
He nods and leaves me alone with my thoughts. I don't like where they're going. I used to love nights like this. Hell, when I was 21, I would come three or four times at a GSA gangbang just like this one. I made five grand at the last one, came twice, and picked up a new regular client.
Now? All I want to do is go home and wash my face, and maybe get a chemical peel so that I can feel clean.
"Dave?" He sticks his head back in. "Can you get my clothes for me and call me a cab?"
"Sure thing. You sure you don't want me to call Mr. Gold?"
"It's fine. Really. I just…I think I over did it."
He nods and I get to work cleaning myself up with a paper towel and hand soap. It's insufficient, but it's enough to get me home. A few of the men who fucked me push billfolds into my hands as I walk back through the studio to the exit, and I pocket them easily. I don't feel guilty. I just feel empty.
~*~*~
Entry 69
"Chase, I've got-"
"I'm taking the week off, Ari. Call me next Monday."
"Chase, baby, come on."
"I need the week, okay? Trust me, better this than the client go away unhappy. I'm turning off my phone."
"Monday."
"Monday."
"You're lucky you're pretty."
"I've heard."
~*~*~
Entry 70
"Hey. You remembered how to work your phone. I'm glad you're not dead, Vince."
"God, E, sorry I haven't called you back. Work's been rough." I couldn't even pick up the phone with him with marks from the Passive Acts party still on my skin. But he's left these voice messages that…
They make me feel bad for not responding. So when he called this time, I answered.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Do you want me to come over?"
No. I haven't been out in two days and I'm convinced I can still smell come on me. But I can't seem to say anything but yes.
I jump in the shower as soon as I hang up. I've got shampoo in my hair when it hits me that E hasn't actually been in my apartment yet. I don't know how I managed that, but it's fucking moot now because E's on his way over.
I rinse off as fast as possible and scramble around my apartment shoving toys, economy packs of condoms, and lube into drawers, pushing costumes to the back of my closet, and in particular, hiding Gold Agency paperwork. My hands are sweaty when I buzz E in.
"How you doin', Vince?" E asks with a smile. He reaches out and pushes a wet curl off my forehead as he steps inside. I can feel myself uncoil a little as he touches me. It's kind of like a massage, only cheaper.
"Rough week."
He looks me up and down, taking in the set of my neck and shoulders then nods. "You want to stay here or put something on and go out?"
"Uh, you mind if we stay in?"
"No. I was kind of hoping you'd say that." He slides his hand around the back of my neck, possessive but tender, and squeezes once. "So, where's your TV? I've got to screen something from work. "
"You're addicted to work," I tease even though I'm not sure it's true. "The first step is admitting you have a problem."
"Or you could enable me and play my homework on your DVD player."
He tosses me the DVD then shrugs out of his suit jacket. Rufus set the whole system up back when Turtle was first working for him and needed a commission. It's more than I need, considering I don't watch that much TV.
I cue it up and when I turn around, E's got his tie off and draped over the back of the sofa on top of his jacket. His shoes and socks are off to the side on the floor and his bare feet sink into my carpet. He undid the top buttons of his blue shirt and rolled up his sleeves to just below his elbows, which are stretched out over the top of my sofa. He just looks…relaxed.
I want it to rub off on me, so I grab the remote and settle myself up against him, under an arm with my body curled into his. His arm comes down off the couch to rest around my shoulders and I sigh. It feels almost too good to be with him like this, like I'm gonna wake up and find out that I'd passed out in the bathroom at Grand Central Station and the last 12 years of my life didn't happen, and I'm still stuck in New York.
I start the movie and it's a mobster movie that doesn't even have a real release date. I hit pause before the opening credits finish rolling and look at E.
"What do you do, E?"
He shrugs. "Boring business shit. It doesn't matter."
"This is a Scorsese movie."
"It's a gangster movie. I thought you liked Scorsese."
"I do." I have since we were kids. It kinda awesome that he remembers. But still, what the fuck is E doing with Martin Scorsese's first gangster movie since Goodfellas? "It's not supposed to come out for a few months."
"We're trying to decide if we should release it in the fall, or if we should hold until awards season early next year."
"Awards season-the Academy Awards?"
"Yeah. Marty keeps calling and he wants to know what we've decided. Dana's getting ready to kill me if I keep making her talk to him."
My jaw actually drops a little. "You talk to Martin Scorsese."
"No, Dana does."
"E."
"What?"
"E, you're a fucking rock star aren't you?"
E shrugs and wraps his arm a little tighter around me. "I'm just a suit."
"That has superpowers. Your suit is like the Green Lantern ring, only it's a suit."
He laughs. "Vince," he clears his throat. "My boss wanted me to see if I can work in production-earn my wings for the real promotion. I'm just trying to get things done."
I glance at the Warner Brothers symbol floating in clouds on the screen, then turn and look back at E. "You know Marty freaking Scorsese. Jesus, E, talk about the American dream."
E puts his hand on my face and pushes. I laugh and shake it off. His ears are turning pink and God, that's so cute. He's pulled himself out of Queens and South Boston to become a bona fide success, the kind I cater to for a living, and he's embarrassed. That just fucking charming as hell to me.
I kiss the side of his neck and sink down in the couch so that I can rest my head against his chest. He grabs the remote off my leg and hits play, and we don't talk about the fact that he probably has Jack Nicholson's phone number on speed dial.
He points out locations in Boston where he spent time when he was in high school when they pop up on the screen. It seems like an okay place, Boston. It's easier to think about it with E right here than it was when he was gone. I fall asleep before any of the main characters get blown away and when I wake up the credits are rolling and my head is in Eric's lap.
"You want me to go?" he asks, his fingers pulling gently through my hair.
"No." Not ever a-fucking-gain do I want him to go. "Just…" I yawn. Why am I so tired? I haven't done anything in two days. I don't know, but I yawn again before I speak. "Bed?"
He nods and follows me to my room. I toss him one of my old t-shirts to wear instead of the dress shirt and white undershirt he's been in all day. He leaves his belt and slacks on my floor and climbs into bed with me in my shirt and his boxers. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me against him. I smell myself mixed with the scent of his skin and tomorrow? I'm going to fuck him. Because he just feels so good everywhere and every way that it blows my mind.
Tonight though, I'm gonna sleep. And E's gonna be there when I wake up. I'm starting to get used to that.
~*~*~
Contineu to Entry 71-85
Entries: 59-70 of 151
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage
Word Count:~6,300
Disclaimer: I don't own Entourage or anyone who has ever appeared on it.
Pairing: Vince/Eric, Vince/Pretty much everyone else except Turtle, Johnny, and the Golds (seriously)
Rating: NC-17 for lots and lots of sex
Warnings: AU, prostitution, mentions of past childhood physical abuse, BDSM, gay sex, straight sex, group sex, rape fantasy, fisting, wax play, a foot fetishist, mentions of daddy-kink, extremely brief mention of watersports. If any of the particular warnings are squicks for you, send me a private message and I'll tell you which entry to avoid!
Betas and helpers: guest_age, justabi, allyndra, ariadne83, pesha and deepad were all completely indispensable. Thank you so much.
Authors Notes: This inspired by Belle Du Jour's blog/books/TV series but doesnt crossover in anyway. But it is a hookerfic so I know there are a lot of warnings but I hope you guys will give it a try anyway. Minor characters from canon have links to their pictures if you need a reminder. This fic is complete and I will, baring any unforeseen circumstances, be posting a segment a day until the end of the entourage_fest.
Summary: Entries from the private journal of Vincent Chase, a high paid male escort living in Los Angeles.
Entry 1-20
Entry 21-40
Entry 41-55
Entry 56-58
Entry 59
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did I do that? How stupid am I? How? And why didn't I say something when he got my phone number?
I should've said something when E tugged me down and kissed me before I left. There were lots of chances.
I don't know. I just shut everything out for the rest of the day on Sunday and now there's fucking five missed calls on my phone since I turned it off in the wake of the whole Thing With E. One's Johnny, one's Ari, one's Billy calling from Canada, and two are E.
"This is completely un-cool of me 'cause you just left like an hour ago, but I wanted to know if you're doing anything Tuesday night. I'd love to see you. Give me a call." *beep*
"Sorry for calling again so soon. I just wanted to, fuck, Vince, I don't know. It's good to have your phone number, I guess. Fuck, I sound like an idiot. I don't know why I called. Do me a favor and delete this message. It never happened. Hope to see you Tuesday." *beep*
It sounds like he wants a date. A real date where at the end of it, sex is not guaranteed. I don't actually remember doing this before. And I may be in a panic. It's possible.
I call Turtle and it all kind of explodes out of me in a rush that's painfully embarrassing and makes me feel like a twelve-year-old girl. But he listens to more details than anyone should have to and when I'm done, he asks, "You're sure it's E from the neighborhood? Our E?"
"Fucking, Jesus, Turtle. Of course I'm sure."
"Well, I don't know, man. It's been a long time. It coulda just looked like him."
"It was him."
"So are you going to bring him around? I haven't seen him since the funeral."
"I don't know." E doesn't even know Turtle is out here with me. E doesn't know a lot of things. I have no idea what he'd think or want. Not on anything. "All I know is he wants to see me again and he wants it to be tomorrow."
"Damn, Vin, you got some fucking life, you know that?"
"Turtle."
"What? You wanna go be a fairy, there's worse people you could do it with than E. Better than that creepy Scarsdale fuck Walsh."
That's the start of an old argument and I let it drop. "So, Tuesday."
"Do what you want, Vince. I don't know why you even gotta ask me this."
He's got a point. I say good-bye and call E. I get his voice mail and tell him that Monday is good and I'll meet him at Koi. I hang up before I have the chance to say anything too stupid.
~*~*~
Entry 60
It starts off as just friends catching up. Really. I tell him about my life minus the hooking and he tells me where he's been for the last few years.
He says, in the humblest way possible, that he busted his ass in high school without me, Turtle, and Dom around to distract him. I always knew E was smart, but he got himself into Boston University on his own merit. His grades and maybe his fastball paid his way, and he lived at home so he could afford it, and then his college transcripts and GREs got him into the MBA program at Colombia. From there, apparently his ex-girlfriend-turned-best-friend introduced him to his boss, and he just kind of started to rise.
None of this is said to brag, even though it's fucking impressive. Thing is, there's more to it. He keeps it in small terms, but it's big. As soon as I can, I'm Googling him, because there's something he's not telling me.
I know. Fucking hypocrite much?
I'm an even bigger fucking hypocrite because I just let him talk. I let him talk about how things are with his friend Sloan and his mom back in Boston, who never really recovered after his dad died, and his grandparents, and life in general. I enjoy it and offer nothing more than what Turtle is up to with Saigon in return.
But the whole time we're talking, our legs touch under the table. Our hands brush when we reach for the sake or the wasabi. It's not really like anything I've ever done before, beating around the bush like this, and it gets hot fast. I brush the side of my hand against him and ask him if maybe it's getting a little late and we should go. He doesn't need to think twice, hailing for the check.
He asked me, he says when it arrives, so he's paying. That's just how it works, and he doesn't let me argue with him. It's kind of hot actually.
He's got a blue Bentley four-door that screams money, but has a practical edge, that's waiting for us when we step outside. The valet tosses him the keys and he looks so good in the driver's seat that I can't actually wait for us to pull all the way out of the parking lot.
I kiss him, the gear shift digging into my hip, and E pulls the car over. He pushes his chair back as I unhook my seatbelt and I end up straddling him, my head hitting the roof as I grind down into him. It's over fast, both of us coming in our pants like teenagers, and I slide carefully off him and into the passenger seat.
"Come home with me," E says, reaching over and sliding a hand behind the back of my neck.
"I've got work tomorrow."
"So do I, probably earlier than you. Come home with me, Vince."
I look over at him skeptically. I don't know if I can go again, if I should go again with a client booked for tomorrow. But he squeezes my neck gently.
"I just want to go to sleep with you, Vince. No more sex, no pressure."
Bullshit. That's a huge amount of pressure. It's the worst kind of pressure 'cause there's feelings involved. But his fingers are massaging knots away and I can't say no.
Ken, the night receptionist at the Peninsula, gives me a look as I walk in with E. He knows me, he knows what I do, and he knows I was here with E last night. He gives me this smirk and a knowing nod, and I really want to hit him. I move a little closer to E and look straight ahead instead.
I know I'm fucked when E invites me into the shower with him and that's all we do. Shower. It's intimacy and it's choking me. But I can't leave. His hands glide over my skin slicked with soap but it's not sexual. It's just…nice. I feel my eyes sting but I figure its just shampoo in my eyes.
I don't sleep. I lie awake with his arm around me because I'm pretty sure that if I do fall asleep, I'm going to wake up and this will be gone.
I'm up and out before he is. I leave a note, a lie about work. But I close it with asking him to call me. And a stupid hand-drawn heart.
I'm just so screwed.
~*~*~
Entry 61
Client is in her mid-twenties, blonde, and talkative with a decent rack. She's not my type where women are concerned, but she's not even close to my usual client base. She's too young, too pretty, and too confident. She calls to nail down the specifics with me personally and gives me the address to her condo. It's nice, but then that's not too surprising. She can afford me.
"Perfect," she says when she opens the door. "I'm Kristen and you're fucking perfect." She hands me an envelope her name written on it in thick masculine letters and points me back to her bedroom.
"I want you in our bed," she says. "I bought this bed with Richard," she says and she's so clearly not talking to me, not really. She's talking to herself, she just needs someone to listen so that she doesn't come off as crazy. "This cute little boutique in West Hollywood. Fucker wouldn't let me out into the suburbs with him. Too pedestrian," she mutters as she shimmies out of her work out jeans and pulls off her top. "Pedestrian. Lying sack of shit."
Okay, then.
She pushes me back into her pillows before climbing on the bed with me. She tells me to fuck her, "Like you mean it," she hisses, kicking off her panties and yeah, I can do that.
She stares up at me while I fuck her in a simple missionary style like she's trying to look through me at something else. It's a little uncomfortable. I reach out to touch her face as I'm rocking into her, trying to help, and she smacks my hand away.
"Stop it," she snaps. "Don't fucking make love to me, okay? Just fuck me. You're not my boyfriend." She tips her head back and laughs. "My fucking boyfriend. Fucking Richard."
"Do you want to punish him?" I can do punishment. I'm good at punishment. I would rather have her punish me for him than listen to her keep fucking ranting while I try to give her what she claims to want.
"I am punishing him," she says as she hitches her legs around my waist. "Fuck me harder and punish him more."
I stop talking and fuck her harder. I fuck her so hard it hurts my back a little, and I drag out every sick and dirty fantasy I've ever had to keep the energy up because this feel really off and just kind of wrong.
She keeps talking while I fuck her, about Richard and his wife and how she's such an idiot, such a Goddamn idiot. She cries when she comes, tears rolling down her face and her fingernails scraping down my back.
I hope to God she didn't leave marks and I'm hit by a wave of startling guilt. It kills any hope of orgasm I might have had because all I can think is, "I don't want E to see."
"I can't just leave," she says when it's over and I'm getting dressed. "I can't. I can't afford to finish my psych residency if I leave him. And it's not like he knows I know. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do."
I shrug at her. "Don't leave."
"You say that like it's a real option," she says, but I can see in her face that she's already considered it. She just wants someone else to say it out loud. "He's married."
"You've got what, a year left before you're a doctor?"
"Two."
"Okay two. So don't leave for two years."
She looks at me with watery eyes. "I don't know if I can live with that."
"It's only a couple years. You can live with almost anything for a couple years. Trust me."
She tilts her head to the side and gives me the weirdest look. Then she smiles. "I would love to get you in for a session, Chase. I bet off the clock you're fascinating."
Off the clock I'm a fucking mess and I don't really like psychology. So I smile and I lie and I go home with Richard's money. I take two showers, call E, and can't get away from feeling guilty.
~*~*~
Entry 62
I'd like to point out that I haven't really dated…ever. I sort of missed that stage back when I was a teenager. I had girlfriends but there was no actual dating. What was the point wasting your time going out when you had someone to fuck or fuck you?
So it's weird-this thing with E. Cause we're fucking dating. He makes a point to take his lunch off at least three times a week and we meet up. Most of the time, it's not for a quickie. We have a burger, a hot dog, or some pizza and beer and it's just easy. It's like being a kid again but with the added bonus of getting to kiss him.
We end up at a place that does wings and has baseball and I come to find out he's turned into a fucking Red Socks fan somewhere along the line. It's fucking blasphemy and we fight over teams for most of his lunch hour.
"You leave for four years and you turn into a traitor?"
"My grandfather had season tickets. He bought like fifty years worth back in the sixties."
"And that's an excuse?"
"Just because the Yankees can't get back to the World Series doesn't mean you have to take it out on me."
There's a Red Sox game on Saturday and I go to his hotel to watch it though, lying on my stomach beside him on his bed. I heckle them through the whole game and only overplay my disappointment a little when they win.
~*~*~
Entry 63
Coffee with E in thirty. I don't really get why we keep going out when we could just stay in, especially on my day off. It tends to stretch into the whole day wandering around downtown L.A., but hey. Whatever. He seems to like it so I can't complain too much.
~*~*~
Entry 64
Client is a couple. The woman's got a fantasy about being with two men at once. She's really into her husband but it's been a thing for her since before they got married, so I'm his fifth anniversary present to her.
She wants me to suck him while she watches (no problem, I happen to suck a mean cock), kiss him (he's a little skittish about that, even while his wife feels him up and tells him how much she wants to fuck him, but I get him there), and then to have me and him both fuck her at the same time. She'll figure out how when we get there.
It's a little ambitious and we end up with me in her pussy and her husband in her mouth, touching her face and pulling her hair. She moans up at him while I thrust into her and he tells her that she's the hottest fucking slut he's ever seen.
That seems to turn her on more because she's rocking back and forth between us hard and fast. He tells her that she's dirty and sexy, and that he fucking loves her and loves fucking her filthy fucking mouth while she acts like a nasty whore for me, and that's about when she comes. It's a little bit more talking than I really like in my sex but it works for them, and he's not far behind her.
It's not particularly pretty during or afterwards. She's an L.A. woman so she's beautiful, but he's average at best and all sweaty and panting they look ridiculous. But I think that them buying a hooker together like this is a lot more real than any Hollywood fairytale bullshit. It's kinda cute almost.
By the time I get home, I can't believe I thought that. I'm pretty sure E's a bad influence on me.
~*~*~
Entry 65
I fell asleep on E's chest watching The Pope of Greenwich Village on IFC in his hotel room. I over-relate to Eric Roberts' Paulie so I've seen it a few dozen times, and I was really fucking tired. Still, I don't just fall asleep with people (with the exception of Bob and that's what he pays me for).
Falling asleep with E is starting to be a thing. A freaky thing. A thing that makes me feel twitchy and nervous and itchy under my skin, because it's so fucking easy.
It's like I lie down with him he puts his arm around me, and all the bones in my body disappear. I don't know why. If I could bottle it and sell it, I'd make a fortune the legal way.
I really like it. And it bothers me.
~*~*~
Entry 66
"So, when do we get to meet the boyfriend, bro?"
I choke on a bite of the salad I ordered. "Johnny, you-what?" I cough and spit half-chewed grilled chicken and Romaine lettuce into my napkin. I wonder if that's a good enough excuse to make for the men's room. But the three of them are staring at me, waiting for my answer.
"I don't have a boyfriend."
Johnny pulls a face and Kelly actually makes a sound that could be called a snort if she weren't, as she likes to point out, a lady. Turtle's got on his "don't look at me" face, but he's in on it. I know he is.
My throat hurts from the backed up chicken and I clear it a few times. "I don't."
"Sure, Vince."
"He could have a girlfriend," Turtle puts in.
Kelly rolls her eyes at him. "Turtle, baby."
"What? He could."
She sighs, presumably at the idea of me having a girlfriend. And okay, yeah, probably not, but really. I like pussy. Why is that idea so fucking absurd?
Johnny gives me a significant eyebrow wiggle. "Seriously, baby bro, I want to meet your beau."
For the love of God, just kill me now. I tilt my head down so that I can focus on my salad instead of my brother's earnest expression.
"Drama, who the fuck talks like that?"
"Shut up, Turtle. You wouldn't know class and delicacy if it bit you in the ass."
"Well, it sounds pretty fucking gay so it probably would."
"Boys, we were talking about meeting Vince's boyfriend," Kelly cuts in.
"I don't have one. I just… " I look over at Turtle. He shakes his head once, no, he hasn't said anything. Of course not. He's a true friend and he'll take that shit to the grave if I need him to. "I, uh, ran into E a while ago, is all."
"E Murphy? From the neighborhood?"
"Yeah," I push the lettuce nervously around on my plate. "He's got some big shot studio job and we've been hanging out."
"And fucking," Kelly says.
My face gets hot, which is crazy. Fucking is a word I say and think and do all the time. Turtle pulls down his baseball cap over his face and sinks down in next to his girlfriend. My brother stares at me with big eyes. "Really, bro?"
"Johnny," I sigh because it's not like I can lie. Well, I can but not now, not to Johnny. But I can't do this now, either. It's too fucking real. "It's-I don't know, okay? I'm not ready to talk about it yet."
"No, it's cool. Good for you, man. You've only been waiting for that since you were a kid. You get what you need. Just be careful, okay? You got broken last time."
I blink at him, stunned. Johnny left not long after E and the fact that he would say that pisses me off. He was in L.A. already. "What?" I ask, because what the fuck did he know anyway?
Johnny just shrugs. "Nothin'."
"Not nothing, Johnny."
"Turtle?" Kelly smiles at him. "I think I left something in the car."
"You need the keys?"
"Why don't you come with me and help me look?"
She doesn't wait for him to answer. She grabs his wrist and drags him with her outside. "Baby, I'm not done eating!"
We stare at each other for a long moment and the urge to throw my meal across the table at him gets stronger the longer Johnny sits there, not talking.
"Fucking what, Johnny?"
Johnny looks around, like the answer's somewhere on the walls of the restaurant before meeting my gaze. "Vince, you're my brother and I love you. You do whatever you want, but E broke you when you were a kid and you weren't even bangin' him back then."
I shake my head in denial. "E never did anything but be good to me when we were kids."
"You lost it after he went to Boston, Vin."
I did not. My expression-my arms folded obstinately over my chest and my jaw clenched so hard it was going to ache-must say it, because Johnny shakes his head.
"You did. Okay? You-" Johnny drops off and takes a deep breath. "When he left you were different. And it wasn't for the better. I just don't want him to fuck you up again if you lose him again's all."
"I was fifteen," I say through gritted teeth. I was ready to deny whatever it is that I have with E two minutes ago, and now I'm itching to tear into my brother for him. E was the only safe place I had as a kid, the only one besides Johnny who cared what the old man was doing, and I can't fucking deal with Johnny talking about him like this. It makes me want to do stupid things.
Johnny breathes in deep through his nose and falls silent. We both know where the conversation is going to go next if he opens his mouth, and he doesn't want to go there any more than I do. But I can't stop myself pushing.
"I wasn't even fifteen. This is different. I'm a fucking adult now, Johnny."
"It ain't that different." That statement sits heavy in the air for a long moment. Then Johnny breaks it to ask, "Does he know what you do? Who you are now?"
"I don't have to put up with this," I snap, pushing back. It occurs to me that I'm reacting too fucking strongly over a guy who I just told my brother and best friend *isn't* boyfriend, but I'm too pissed to think straight. "I'll see you later, Johnny"
He grabs my arm and people are starting to stare. I don't know how we got here, but I just want to be out of there. "Fucking stop running away, sit down and finish this."
I flinch. Fuck him very much for thinking he knows fucking everything. He never wants to talk about what I do and now he wants to get personal? Fuck him. Fuck him with a brass fucking instrument.
I yank my arm away so hard I stumble backwards a few steps. He makes a move to help me but I glare at him.
"I'm leaving. I'll call you later." When I can look at him without wanting to throw something and run and scream all at the same time.
"Vince-"
I ignore him and walk out. I don't let myself feel like a coward, that's not what this is, and the very idea makes me even more angry than before. Running away. I'm not running away now and I didn't run away then. I ran for my fucking life. There's a difference.
Everything now is different. It is. It's got to be. And it's not my Goddamn problem if Johnny can't see that.
~*~*~
Entry 67
"Wake up."
"Fuck off."
"Vince." There's a kiss on the spot between my shoulders. "I've got work. Get up."
"Fuck me if you want, but I'm not waking up."
E laughs and kisses the back of my neck. "Throw some pants on and come have breakfast with me."
I push my face deeper into the pillow. "Eeeeeee."
"Yes. E. And you're Vince. Come. Get up. They've got cinnamon rolls downstairs. You don't even have to leave the hotel. Just walk to the elevator, eat, and then you can go back to sleep after I leave."
Those things are like drugs. Damn him.
"I hate you."
"I know. I hate you more." He bites the back of my neck. "Come on. Get up and have breakfast with me."
I roll out of bed with a groan and wonder how the hell E got me up before seven on a workday. I don't know. But he kisses me fast and deep before hopping off the bed and tossing me my slacks from yesterday.
I think I'll forgive him.
~*~*~
Entry 68
Ari runs what can only be called a gangbang about three times a year. He gets his top five guys and about thirty of his most wealthy and group-oriented clients together for an exchange of cash for services. I haven't missed one since the before Bush got elected, and that time I had bronchitis.
For the last couple years it's been held at Passive Acts Studios, this dungeon/fetish studio out by LAX. Every four months, he rents the whole fucking place out. Ari also sends in his security to keep tabs on things when it turns into a Roman style orgy, and it's the only time I ever see the guys beyond hulking, armed presences in the hallways of the agency.
I used to love it. There's a flat rate all the guys pay to get in at all that we get a percentage of, but the men tip. In hundred dollar bills. My first one of these was scary and sexy, a safe form of wish fulfillment of a few of my more dangerous fantasies. But this time, I don't know.
A couple of guest set me up in a sling early on and there's a security guard named Dave up by my head, watching me for panic and the guests for safety, but when I nod, they go to town. After about five, I lose track of how many times I'm fucked. Guys leave and come back sometimes, using my ass like a substitute fist before heading over to my colleagues. Practice keeps me calm and physically relaxed as they work me over and watch me but there's a gnawing feeling in my gut as I rock back and forth on strangely anonymous men. It's been too long since I did something like this if I'm feeling this uncomfortable with what's happening.
It's easier to keep count of the number of times I'm come on, it's more of a punctuation than a fuck. I hit double digits and my face and chest are wet. When my head hangs back, from the sensation of the fuck or exhaustion of holding it up with no support, it drips down the side of my face, my nose, and over my forehead, into my hair.
Someone uses a toy on me, but I can't see whom. My head's hanging down and upside down so that someone can fuck my mouth. But the dildo is at least as big around in diameter as the average wrist and it fucking vibrates. I try to scream around the cock in my throat and it sends him jerking out of my mouth to yank off the condom. His come lands on my eyelids, which are squeezed shut against the buzzing inside of me.
I pant and twist against whoever's toy-fucking me and I can hear them talking. Calling me things like slut and cockwhore and hungry bitch, and most of the time, I love this. I usually get off hearing them panting and beating off, and someone else grabs my hair and takes the last man's place. I gag like I haven't since I was a teenager and choke a little.
Someone takes my dick in his hand and begins stroking. It feels good in a distant kind of way, like my brain isn't connected to my dick. I like it, but I also just want it to end, so it's a relief when I come. Except that when I shoot, so do at least four other guys gathered around me. It lands on my chest and stomach, but most of it goes to join the mess on my face.
I snap twice, my nonverbal safe-word, and I feel all the hands let go of me. "Make it stop," I rasp to Dave who is still standing beside me. It's too fucking much. I'm raw inside and the toy is still buzzing away, almost painfully, and I need it to stop. I've been in situations like this plenty of times over the years but right now, I can't fucking take it.
He's one of those big guys, like Dom or the guy from the Green Mile, and he removes me from the sling. I'm ready to fucking cry when my arms come free and I can blindly pull the twitching, vibrating dildo out of me. It's doesn't stop humming when I drop it to the floor.
I can't open my eyes. I would, but I know for a fact semen stings like a bitch, so not until I can rise it off my eyelids. I reach out for Dave for support because my legs are kind of shaky and I can't see to the bathroom, anyway. He leads me there and turns on the sink to run warm water for me.
When I can see myself again, I feel my stomach twist. My face and chest looks like a fucking Jackson Pollack. Splatters of white, drying come paint my skin, and lube is dripping down my leg in a slow, cold trail.
I meet Dave's eyes in the mirror and lick my lips before I speak. I taste come and wince.
"I need a minute."
"No problem, Chase. I'll be right outside if you need me. Should I call Mr. Gold?"
"I'm fine. I just…I need a break."
He nods and leaves me alone with my thoughts. I don't like where they're going. I used to love nights like this. Hell, when I was 21, I would come three or four times at a GSA gangbang just like this one. I made five grand at the last one, came twice, and picked up a new regular client.
Now? All I want to do is go home and wash my face, and maybe get a chemical peel so that I can feel clean.
"Dave?" He sticks his head back in. "Can you get my clothes for me and call me a cab?"
"Sure thing. You sure you don't want me to call Mr. Gold?"
"It's fine. Really. I just…I think I over did it."
He nods and I get to work cleaning myself up with a paper towel and hand soap. It's insufficient, but it's enough to get me home. A few of the men who fucked me push billfolds into my hands as I walk back through the studio to the exit, and I pocket them easily. I don't feel guilty. I just feel empty.
~*~*~
Entry 69
"Chase, I've got-"
"I'm taking the week off, Ari. Call me next Monday."
"Chase, baby, come on."
"I need the week, okay? Trust me, better this than the client go away unhappy. I'm turning off my phone."
"Monday."
"Monday."
"You're lucky you're pretty."
"I've heard."
~*~*~
Entry 70
"Hey. You remembered how to work your phone. I'm glad you're not dead, Vince."
"God, E, sorry I haven't called you back. Work's been rough." I couldn't even pick up the phone with him with marks from the Passive Acts party still on my skin. But he's left these voice messages that…
They make me feel bad for not responding. So when he called this time, I answered.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Do you want me to come over?"
No. I haven't been out in two days and I'm convinced I can still smell come on me. But I can't seem to say anything but yes.
I jump in the shower as soon as I hang up. I've got shampoo in my hair when it hits me that E hasn't actually been in my apartment yet. I don't know how I managed that, but it's fucking moot now because E's on his way over.
I rinse off as fast as possible and scramble around my apartment shoving toys, economy packs of condoms, and lube into drawers, pushing costumes to the back of my closet, and in particular, hiding Gold Agency paperwork. My hands are sweaty when I buzz E in.
"How you doin', Vince?" E asks with a smile. He reaches out and pushes a wet curl off my forehead as he steps inside. I can feel myself uncoil a little as he touches me. It's kind of like a massage, only cheaper.
"Rough week."
He looks me up and down, taking in the set of my neck and shoulders then nods. "You want to stay here or put something on and go out?"
"Uh, you mind if we stay in?"
"No. I was kind of hoping you'd say that." He slides his hand around the back of my neck, possessive but tender, and squeezes once. "So, where's your TV? I've got to screen something from work. "
"You're addicted to work," I tease even though I'm not sure it's true. "The first step is admitting you have a problem."
"Or you could enable me and play my homework on your DVD player."
He tosses me the DVD then shrugs out of his suit jacket. Rufus set the whole system up back when Turtle was first working for him and needed a commission. It's more than I need, considering I don't watch that much TV.
I cue it up and when I turn around, E's got his tie off and draped over the back of the sofa on top of his jacket. His shoes and socks are off to the side on the floor and his bare feet sink into my carpet. He undid the top buttons of his blue shirt and rolled up his sleeves to just below his elbows, which are stretched out over the top of my sofa. He just looks…relaxed.
I want it to rub off on me, so I grab the remote and settle myself up against him, under an arm with my body curled into his. His arm comes down off the couch to rest around my shoulders and I sigh. It feels almost too good to be with him like this, like I'm gonna wake up and find out that I'd passed out in the bathroom at Grand Central Station and the last 12 years of my life didn't happen, and I'm still stuck in New York.
I start the movie and it's a mobster movie that doesn't even have a real release date. I hit pause before the opening credits finish rolling and look at E.
"What do you do, E?"
He shrugs. "Boring business shit. It doesn't matter."
"This is a Scorsese movie."
"It's a gangster movie. I thought you liked Scorsese."
"I do." I have since we were kids. It kinda awesome that he remembers. But still, what the fuck is E doing with Martin Scorsese's first gangster movie since Goodfellas? "It's not supposed to come out for a few months."
"We're trying to decide if we should release it in the fall, or if we should hold until awards season early next year."
"Awards season-the Academy Awards?"
"Yeah. Marty keeps calling and he wants to know what we've decided. Dana's getting ready to kill me if I keep making her talk to him."
My jaw actually drops a little. "You talk to Martin Scorsese."
"No, Dana does."
"E."
"What?"
"E, you're a fucking rock star aren't you?"
E shrugs and wraps his arm a little tighter around me. "I'm just a suit."
"That has superpowers. Your suit is like the Green Lantern ring, only it's a suit."
He laughs. "Vince," he clears his throat. "My boss wanted me to see if I can work in production-earn my wings for the real promotion. I'm just trying to get things done."
I glance at the Warner Brothers symbol floating in clouds on the screen, then turn and look back at E. "You know Marty freaking Scorsese. Jesus, E, talk about the American dream."
E puts his hand on my face and pushes. I laugh and shake it off. His ears are turning pink and God, that's so cute. He's pulled himself out of Queens and South Boston to become a bona fide success, the kind I cater to for a living, and he's embarrassed. That just fucking charming as hell to me.
I kiss the side of his neck and sink down in the couch so that I can rest my head against his chest. He grabs the remote off my leg and hits play, and we don't talk about the fact that he probably has Jack Nicholson's phone number on speed dial.
He points out locations in Boston where he spent time when he was in high school when they pop up on the screen. It seems like an okay place, Boston. It's easier to think about it with E right here than it was when he was gone. I fall asleep before any of the main characters get blown away and when I wake up the credits are rolling and my head is in Eric's lap.
"You want me to go?" he asks, his fingers pulling gently through my hair.
"No." Not ever a-fucking-gain do I want him to go. "Just…" I yawn. Why am I so tired? I haven't done anything in two days. I don't know, but I yawn again before I speak. "Bed?"
He nods and follows me to my room. I toss him one of my old t-shirts to wear instead of the dress shirt and white undershirt he's been in all day. He leaves his belt and slacks on my floor and climbs into bed with me in my shirt and his boxers. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me against him. I smell myself mixed with the scent of his skin and tomorrow? I'm going to fuck him. Because he just feels so good everywhere and every way that it blows my mind.
Tonight though, I'm gonna sleep. And E's gonna be there when I wake up. I'm starting to get used to that.
~*~*~
Contineu to Entry 71-85