FIC: There's No Replacing You, Entourage, R, 3/4
Continued from Part 2.
Friday night, Eric rides with Travis to the theater, and when they step out onto the plum-colored carpet, there’s a flood of flashbulbs - which only crescendos when Travis reaches back and takes Eric’s hand, a move they discussed in the car.
“Travis! Travis! Is he your boyfriend?”
Travis looks over, with a sly grin. “This guy? I’ve never seen him before,” he says, “but you know, he’s sure hot enough for the job,” and Eric laughs. They unlink about halfway up the carpet, but Travis keeps him close, a hand on his waist or shoulder, as they stop for interviews. It’s not Travis’s movie, but Eric looks around and knows he’s going to dominate the coverage, and he gets a small glimpse of what this is going to mean going forward: more interviews, more photos. He puts his arm around Travis’s waist, and they head inside with a wave.
Travis squeezes his shoulders. “Not so bad, right?”
“Uh-huh. You’re insane.”
“And really adorable.”
“Something like that.”
They linger in the lobby for a while, mingling as people come in, and this part isn’t so hard. Eric knows almost all of these people, and if they narrow their eyes a little trying to remember who he’s attached to usually, well, that’s not so bad.
Vince and the guys show up about twenty minutes after Eric and Travis, and to Eric’s surprise, Vince has Anita with him. They take their seats pretty quickly, without even stopping by to say hello, and after a minute, Travis and Eric head toward theirs. On the way, Eric glances over, and he’s surprised to see Vince staring back - though it takes him a second to realize he’s looking at Travis, not Eric, and he doesn’t know what to make of that.
The movie is fine - not stellar, but not garbage - and even before it’s over people are buzzing about Vince’s party. The guys are already gone by the time Eric and Travis get up, and Eric’s a little disappointed, because it’s weird that they never said hello or anything. But there are people to shake hands with just on the walk to the car, and camera flashes, and Eric figures he wouldn’t have had time at all anyway.
“You still wanna go, right?” he says to Travis after they’re back in his car.
“Yes, because, strangely, I’d like to keep you in that suit as long as possible,” Travis says, smoothing his lapel. “You’re ridiculously hot tonight, by the way.”
Eric grins. “You don’t look too bad, either.” And then, because hey, they’re out, he kisses Travis right there in the car, not really caring if the driver can see or if the windows are dark enough, and the ride goes pretty fast after that.
The party is being held - again - on the Queen Mary. “Turtle’s got a thing for boats,” Eric says, shrugging, as he and Travis make their way up the walk. There are two levels of partying going on, one, the upper deck, a more sedate crowd, milling around multiple bars, while the lower deck is consumed with dancing and flashing lights. Eric heads up, because he suspects that’s where he’ll find MacEnroe, or at least Ari. Travis follows, but sees someone he knows right when they get inside, and they split up.
“There’s my boy,” Ari says, and then holds up both hands. “Uh-oh, do I have to fight Travis every time I say that, now?”
“Shut up, Ari,” Eric says, and he signals the bartender, gets a whiskey. “You seen our guy?”
“Better than that,” Ari says, rubbing his hands together. “Our guy saw you and your guy, and he called right after the movie for a sit-down on Monday. We got a lunch. Boom!”
“What?” Eric shakes his head. “He - does he want Travis in something?”
“You don’t even get it, do you?” Ari slings an arm around his shoulders. “You joined the gay mafia, Eric,” he says, a little too close to Eric’s ear. “They take care of their own. Tonight, you played exactly the card that Mr. MacChoosy wanted to see.”
“You’re serious?”
“Would I touch you if I wasn’t?”
Eric laughs and shoves him off. “Jesus. All right, just don’t start humping my leg, or Travis will fight you.”
“Promises, promises,” Ari says, and he orders them each a shot and another drink.
Eric shakes his head. Across the room, Travis is talking to two beautiful blond girls, but he turns and smiles at Eric, waves, and Eric beams back at him. He can’t wait to tell him this story. He waves him over, and Travis holds up a finger, one minute.
“So where’s your other boy?” Ari asks, after they’ve taken their shots. “You know, the one who pays for your love?”
“Fuck if I know,” Eric says. “And if I don’t have to worry about MacEnroe, I’m not sure I care where Vince is.”
Like magic, just saying his name makes him appear in the doorway. There’s a general cheer from the crowd - it is his birthday - and then he makes his way, with Anita in tow, toward the bar. Eric turns, wondering whether he can slip away, but Travis is still tied up in his conversation, and Vince has already called his name.
“You guys are drinking pretty heavy for men who have business to do,” Vince says. He has an arm thrown casually around Anita’s waist, which she doesn’t look entirely comfortable with.
“Your boy here scored us a MacEnroe lunch,” Ari says. “We’re past business and on to pleasure.”
Vince grins. “Seriously? E, how’d you do that?”
“Cock-sucking,” Eric says, and Ari snorts into his drink. Vince’s mouth drops open, which is pretty much the biggest reward of the night. Eric taps Ari on the back as he starts coughing. “Turns out not everyone thinks it’s such a terrible habit.”
“MacEnroe’s got a thing for lost gay causes,” Ari manages, his voice still a little strained. “He said he appreciates Eric’s courage and figures it deserves at least a face-to-face on Monday.”
Vince crosses his arms, freeing Anita, who says, “I wanted to tell you, Eric - congratulations. I mean, you two seem really happy.”
“Thanks,” Eric says. Vince says nothing, and when Eric looks at him, he’s staring down, arms still crossed, and Eric can’t figure out if he’s mad or embarrassed or what. Anita squeezes his arm, as if prompting him to say something, too, but Vince stays silent, and for a second, even with all the party music in the background, there’s a terrible, awkward silence between them. Anita drops his arm. Of course, Eric thinks. It’s not like Vince is happy for him, or like he ever has been.
Ari grips his shoulder and says, “So, one o’clock at Les Petit Fours, all right? Everybody shows up happy and we get ourselves a movie. E, do you get a gay discount there? If not, you probably should, I think Lloyd does.”
Eric says, “Sounds fine.”
Vince is still looking down. “Vin, you’re in, man, right?” Ari says.
“Whatever,” he says, and when Ari makes a panicky sucking noise through his teeth, Vince finally looks up. His face is totally blank, almost bored, and so false that Eric wants to punch him.
Ari looks between them like he’s courting whiplash, but Eric looks past Vince to where Travis is, finally, free of his conversation. He smiles over at him, waves him over. When he looks back, Vince’s perfect blank face hasn’t moved, but he’s whispering something to Anita.
“Hi, everyone,” Travis says, sliding up next to Eric. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Eric says. “We’re about done.”
“Vince, you’re gonna be there, right?” Ari says, his tone low and threatening, and Eric looks at Vince, who’s looking at Travis, and says, “I’ll be there, he’ll be there. Right?”
“Sure,” Vince says. “Except, oh, wait, weren’t we supposed to have lunch Monday, baby?” He looks at Anita. “I don’t want to cancel on you.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she says.
“No, no, it’s not,” Vince says. His voice is too smooth - Eric feels like he’s watching a rehearsal, not live action. “I already promised you. I can’t go back on my word, right?”
Anita doesn’t look impressed - she looks flabbergasted. “Vince,” she says, “it’s your career. We can - we can have dinner instead, or something, OK? Just, you can’t blow off MacEnroe.”
“You’re sure?” She nods, almost a little frantically, and Vince puts his arm around her waist again, makes a show of kissing the side of her head. “All right, then,” he says, “we’re on.”
“Thank fucking God,” Ari says. “At least one of you has some career sense.”
“That’s what I get, dating someone in management,” Vince says, and he looks right at Eric, so that Eric chokes on a sip of whiskey.
“Tell me about it,” Travis says, rubbing Eric’s shoulders with one hand, and Eric coughs. “What’re you drinking?” he asks.
“Jack,” Eric says, offering his glass, and Travis takes it and shoots it.
“Gross,” he says, then laughs. “Another?”
They all have another, everyone drinking very quickly, Eric intensely aware that Vince is holding Anita close in much the same way Travis has an arm around him. He drinks fast, and Travis keeps pace, so that they set their empties down together while Ari’s just winding up a story about fucking on a yacht in Australia.
“I have to hit the head,” Travis says. “E?”
“Uh, OK,” he says.
Vince says, “So really, Ari, in the water?” and doesn’t look over when they excuse themselves. As they walk away, Eric turns to Travis and says, “Not that I’m not grateful for the rescue, but you really need a bathroom buddy? What are we, girls?”
Travis puts his hands on Eric’s waist, steering him toward one of the restrooms. “Let’s find out,” he says, and closes and locks the door. Eric glances from the doorknob to Travis. “You looked pretty serious,” Travis says, and Eric shrugs.
“I guess,” he says. He turns to face the sink, offering Travis a little privacy if he really has to go. “I just realized, I’m totally fucking pissed at Vince for being such a dick about this whole thing. I mean, he’s supposed to be my best friend, but he’s been acting like an asshole.”
“A total asshole,” Travis agrees from very close to Eric’s ear. His hands are back on Eric’s waist, and in the mirror, Eric can see his hungry eyes. “Stop thinking about him for a second, OK?” Eric nods, brain already going blank. A minute later, Travis’s hand is in his pants, stroking him fast and furious, and Eric has to brace himself against the sink. He can feel Travis’s hard-on against the back of his thigh, and that makes him groan. Travis licks, then bites, his neck; Eric’s knees get a little weak. “Trav,” he says, his voice throaty, deep.
Someone knocks on the door, and Travis laughs against his neck. The blast of air against his wet skin makes Eric shiver. “Faster,” he whispers.
Travis turns him around then, and before Eric can say anything, he drops to his knees and takes Eric in his mouth, and it takes only a minute - it feels like seconds - for Eric to come. He nearly blacks out, his fingers still gripping the counter top, and he lets Travis button him up and pull him close, his breath ragged. “What about you?” Eric murmurs, kissing Travis’s neck.
“Later,” Travis says, cinching Eric’s belt. “God, you have no idea how fuckable you look tonight.” Eric smiles up at him. He feels a little raw, but in a good way, a soft way, like he wants to just lay his head on Travis’s chest for a while. “That’s better,” Travis says, kissing his forehead. “You looked like you were gonna punch somebody, before.”
“I was thinking about it,” Eric admits. Travis rubs his shoulders, gently, and it feels fucking great. “You kinda like me, huh?”
“I really do,” Travis says, and he kisses him thoroughly before ushering him out. They walk out together, close but not touching; there’s a girl a few feet from the door with her attention fully captured by her iPhone, and Eric nearly laughs. He wonders if everyone can see what they were up to, and then wonders if he should care. Travis is right, he’s not his manager, he’s his boyfriend, and he should get to enjoy himself.
“You really want to stay?” Eric asks, putting his hand on Travis’s waist, already thinking of getting him home, alone, maybe without this suit on.
Travis gives him a funny look - surprised, almost wary. “E,” he says, “he’s your best friend.”
“Not so much, anymore,” Eric says, and it hurts a little to realize he means it. This Vince, the one who’s been cutting him out of his life - that’s not the Vince Eric knows, it’s not the friend he loves or the guy he grew up with.
Travis shakes his head. “Still, we should stay,” he says. “It’s a good party.” He grins. “And I kind of want to dance.”
Eric rolls his eyes, but he laughs. “Go ahead. There, you’re on your own.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Get a new drink,” he says.
“Get one for me, meet me downstairs,” he says, and Eric nods, squeezes his shoulder, and watches him walk away. It just feels right, he thinks. This is the way it’s been in every good relationship he’s ever had - time together seems effortless, time apart seems sort of dreary.
I’m totally in love, he realizes, and then feels a real pang of regret, because there’s no one he can tell. Since he was fourteen, he’s gone to Vince whenever he’s fallen for some girl, just to talk out a little of the crazy. The other guys always made fun of him for it, but Vince used to sit on Eric’s bed, sometimes for hours, talking through the intimate details of relationships with him - from the “what do you think that meant?” stuff to the “do you think I should tell her?” stuff to the mundane, stupid shit like buying presents or meeting-the-parents nerves. This time, he’s got nobody to do that for him, nobody who’s gonna be happy for him like Vince always has been, no one who will tease him out of his funk if things get difficult.
He turns toward the nearest bar, but it’s completely packed, so he heads across the ballroom, looking for one with a few less wannabe starlets clustered around. There, sitting on a stool and nursing a bright pink drink, he sees Anita, and his shoulders get tense for a second. But he doesn’t see Vince around anywhere - in fact, from the cheering he’s hearing from downstairs, he’s pretty sure he knows where Vince is - so he walks up to the bar, anyway, and orders his drinks, then stands next to her.
“E. Hi,” she says.
“Hey, what’s up?” Eric asks. Her makeup in a little smeared when she looks up. “Are you OK?” She shrugs. Eric glances around. “Seriously, Anita, what’s going on? Did somebody bother you?”
“No,” she says. “Nothing like that. It’s just, you know. Vince.”
“Oh,” Eric says. The bartender slides over his drinks, and Eric takes a minute to fish out a tip, because he needs a second to think. He can already guess what this conversation is going to be about: Anita’s got a really pretty dress on, probably very expensive, and her hair is expertly styled. She’s gone to some trouble to look good tonight, and she’s sitting at the bar, alone, at her date’s birthday party.
Eric pushes money across the bar and asks the guy to add a double shot to his order. He could just take the drinks and go downstairs, find Travis or at least a table within view of him, continue having his very good evening. But for the last twenty years of his life, he’s been having conversations with Vince’s girls that go exactly like this, and even if right now he doesn’t feel like he owes it to Vince to be nice to this girl, well - it’s kind of in his blood. “What happened?” he asks. “You wanna talk about it?”
She shrugs again. “He disappeared, about when you guys -” and she makes a gesture toward the bathroom, and Eric feels himself blush a little.
“Disappeared?” If Vince left his own goddamned birthday party, Eric’s gonna kill him.
“I thought he just went out to get some air,” she says. “But when I went out looking for him…”
She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Eric knows where it goes. He takes the shot. Best case, he was flirting with some other girl. Worst case, he was fucking some girl. No, he corrects, worst case, he was fucking three other girls, or, god forbid, some guy, and it’s only that nightmare that makes him ask, “What’d you find?”
She looks over at him, just briefly, her eyes full of tears. “It sounds stupid. But he and this waitress - I mean, what was she even doing out there?” She takes a sip of her drink. “He told me I was overreacting. I - told him he was, too.” The last sentence is said so quietly Eric almost misses it, though he doesn’t miss the way her eyes cut over to him, and he gets it, that Anita knows they’re fighting, and that she’s probably smart enough to guess at some of the reasons.
“Listen,” Eric says, leaning against the bar so he’s facing her. “I’ve known Vince a long time.”
“Are you going to tell me I’m overreacting, too?”
“No,” he says, though that is his usual speech. “I was going to say, I’ve known Vince a long time, and he’s not the easiest guy to have a relationship with. In fact, he’s - he’s almost not built for it.”
“I know,” she says. “But he said - he wanted to try, he said - everything was going so well.”
“Yeah. And - look. It’s not you, that’s what I’m trying to say. You’re - he’s been more serious about you than I’ve ever seen him be with a girl.” Except Mandy, fine, but he’s trying to make her feel better, not worse. “Look, trust me when I say, if it’s gonna work with anyone, it would be you. OK?”
Her eyes are still tear-filled, but she reaches over and hugs him, and Eric loosely hugs her back. His stomach feels unsteady, because he knows what he’s just said is true: it won’t work between Vince and Anita, just like it never would have worked with Vince and Eric.
“Thank you,” she says. She kisses his cheek and draws back, then stands up. Eric steadies her, but she doesn’t seem drunk. “I’m gonna go find him.”
“You sure? I can call you a car, if you want,” Eric says, but she shakes her head.
“Thanks, Eric, really.”
“Well, at least let me walk downstairs with you.” So they go together, Eric with his drinks, Anita dabbing at her eyes. In the downstairs ballroom, a pounding hiphop song is just finishing and the DJ is blabbering. Eric wonders where Turtle found this guy - he sounds like someone from a high school prom. Vince is standing in a ring of female admirers off to the right, his hair a little sweaty, and Eric looks over to make sure Anita is OK. She seems fine, though, even straightens her shoulders a bit before she starts through the crowd, walking right toward him. “Good luck,” Eric says. He shoots his drink and sets the glass down, then carries Travis’s to where he’s standing, at the edge of the dance floor, talking to someone Eric vaguely remembers as being attached to his last project. She peels off as soon as Eric steps up.
“There you are,” Travis says, taking his drink.
“Yeah,” Eric says. The music kicks up, a weird, slow, syrupy number, trance music. A girl starts throwing her arms around above her head near the stage, weaving around like a candle flame.
“You’re looking all serious again.”
“I am, honestly, having the weirdest fucking night,” Eric says. He slides his arm around Travis’s waist, and suddenly has that feeling again, like he wants to just curl up against him, burrow in. He’s buzzed from the liquor and unsteady from, well, everything. They’re jostled by a couple on the dance floor, a guy and girl dancing close, slow, and Eric surprises himself when he says, “Do you, uh, you wanna dance?”
Travis sets his drink down, then puts his arms around Eric’s shoulders. “Yeah.”
Eric really doesn’t dance. He’s never liked it, because it’s always been an awkward affair - dancing is designed for guys like Vince, who are tall and lithe and like to be looked at all time. Eric’s always been too short to dance comfortably with girls - particularly at parties, when they’re wearing heels - and he’s never enjoyed being out on the floor, where he feels like everyone’s eyes are following him. But Travis pulls him to an open spot about a third of the way in, and he keeps his arms around Eric’s shoulders and Eric instinctively keeps his at Travis’s waist, beneath his jacket, and instead of being worried about who’s watching or keeping up with the music or the crowd, Eric just closes his eyes and lets Travis lead, lets himself be held close enough that he can hear Travis’s heart - or maybe it’s the bass, but he wants it to be Travis’s heart - and he just lets everything go, and they dance.
When the song ends in a flurry of techno noise, Eric pulls back a little and angles up to kiss Travis, who cups his face. “So let’s go home,” he says, and Eric says, “Thank you.” Travis leads him off the dance floor by the hand, and Eric’s so busy just dodging around stumbling drunk models that he almost runs right into Vince. He’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, Anita’s hand firmly in his own, and Eric realizes they must have been dancing, too, and something in his stomach lurches. He stops, so Travis does, too.
“Are you leaving?” Anita asks. Her face and eyes are bright, again, and Eric is embarrassed by the eager hope he sees there.
“Yeah,” he says. Travis puts his arm over Eric’s shoulders, and Eric puts his around Travis’s waist.
“Vince, happy birthday, man,” Travis says.
Vince barely nods; there’s something mean and bitter in his look, and so it’s Anita who says “Thanks.”
Eric laughs. “See you Monday,” he says, and then they leave.
When they get back to Travis’s place, Eric’s afraid Travis will want him to talk, or explain, or - whatever. But instead, he just leads Eric back to the bedroom and doesn’t say anything, just pulls him into his arms, holds him close for a while, just like they’re dancing again except it’s quiet and he knows what he’s hearing is Travis’s heart. They undress each other slowly, and Eric lays back and Travis stays with him, in almost the same close embrace, and everything moves slowly like they’re underwater or maybe under some kind of spell; with hardly any effort, Travis is inside of him and they’re hardly moving because they’re so close together. Eric holds him by the shoulders, wraps himself around Travis, puts his mouth against Travis’s neck as he moves them both, and even though it’s all so slow and easy, it’s also a lot, it’s too much, and he blacks out when he comes.
When he wakes up, Travis has slid to the side, and Eric reaches for him, draws him back, close, kisses him long and slow and gratefully. “I love you,” he whispers, when Travis’s eyes are closed but his breathing is still uneven, and Travis kisses his neck and settles in against his chest.
His phone starts ringing way too early the next day. “Either answer it or shoot it,” Travis mutters beside him, and Eric reaches out and answers, blind.
“Hey.”
Eric forces his eyes open. It’s nearly noon, but he’s still thinking Vince shouldn’t be up yet. His head says he shouldn’t be awake at all. “Uh huh,” he manages.
“We need to talk.”
Eric sighs and rubs his mouth. He pushes himself up on one elbow. “What?”
“Come on,” Vince says.
“Yeah, all right,” Eric says. Behind him, Travis has snuggled closer, his arm snaking around Eric’s bare waist. “What, uh, what do you want to talk about?”
“In person,” Vince says. “And you know what.”
Eric’s not sure he does. “Fine, OK, look, can I call you later and we’ll -”
“No, can we just settle this now? Meet me at Angelo’s in half an hour.”
“I can’t,” Eric says.
“What, are you in a meeting or something?”
“No, Vince, I’m in bed,” Eric says. Travis’s hand rubs over his chest, stopping just short of his nipple. “You woke me up.”
“Oh. So make it an hour.”
“I kinda had plans,” Eric says. He can feel Travis’s erection against his thigh.
Vince laughs, harsh, short, bitter. “You’re gonna bail on me so you can get laid, huh?”
“Like you’ve never done that to me.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“No, Vince,” Eric says, sitting up because Travis’s hands are getting really distracting, “this is about you waking me up and demanding I run right out when you call, today, of all fucking days.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s - after last night, you can ask me what -” Travis squeezes his shoulders and breathes the word “Easy” against his neck, and Eric takes a deep breath. “Listen,” he says, trying to be calmer, “you know what, unless you need to talk business, I’m not on call for you today.”
“What if it is business?”
Eric snorts. “What business do you want to talk about on a Saturday afternoon?”
“I want to talk about if you don’t come to lunch today, I’m not coming to lunch on Monday.”
“Jesus Christ. Grow the fuck up, Vin.”
“You want me to come over there, then? Turtle knows where he lives, I bet.”
Eric groans. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll come over.”
“Let’s meet at -”
“No,” Eric says, as Travis draws back. “I’m coming to your place, because I got nothing to say that the world needs to hear.”
There’s a pause, then Vince, his voice much smaller, says, “An hour?”
“Yeah.” Eric hangs up and drops his phone on the floor, then his head into his hands. After a minute, he feels Travis’s hands - gentle, tentative - on his shoulders.
“I think you should talk to me about what’s going on with Vince now,” Travis says, his mouth again against Eric’s shoulder blade.
So Eric tells him everything he told Shauna, but also more: about the weirdness with Lucas, and about Vince and the other guys, and about their fight in Vince’s kitchen and then about how fucking much it hurts that his best friend, “this guy I’ve known my whole life, who’s like my brother - he, he just, he keeps looking at me like there’s something wrong with me.” His voice breaks a little, and that hurts, too.
“Christ,” Travis says, and his arms tighten around him. Eric closes his eyes and holds on to him. “There’s nothing wrong with you, or with us,” he says. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” he says. “But - “
“No buts.” His voice is clear and firm and somehow very tender. “What did he want?”
“He wants to talk,” Eric says.
“That could be a good sign.”
“Not with Vince.” Eric knows him too well. Vince’s idea of talking is usually just a full-court-press attack, using all of his many charms and favorite manipulations, to persuade someone to come over to his point of view. Eric can’t even imagine what that’s going to be in this case. “I should go, though. He said he wouldn’t go to the meeting Monday if I don’t.”
Travis scoffs. “Wow. He really is an asshole.”
Eric glances back. Even after all this time, there’s a tiny part of him that automatically leaps to Vince’s defense, because the Vince he knows isn’t really an asshole. “I’m serious,” Travis says. “I know he’s your friend, but he’s being a dick. You’re right to be angry. No one - no one should get to make you feel this way, particularly your friend.”
Eric sighs. “I just don’t know what his deal is,” he says.
“I don’t care what his deal is,” Travis says. “He’s hurting you.”
It’s the first time Eric’s heard that acknowledged out loud - it’s something he’s hardly even admitted to himself. But he’s knows it’s true as soon as Travis says it, can feel in an almost physical way the pain that Vince has caused him, is causing him. He never thought Vince would be like this.
“I should go,” he says, not sure if he can stay in Travis’s arms for another minute without breaking down completely. “If I don’t go now, I won’t go at all.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Travis says, but he lets Eric up.
He showers and gets dressed, takes a couple of aspirin to combat his headache, and then comes out and finds Travis has made him coffee. “OK, seriously, at some point you’ve got to develop some flaws,” Eric says. “Because I’m getting a complex.”
“Have I told you I don’t have sex when I’m filming?” Travis asks, and Eric blinks. “Kidding, kidding.” He reaches over and kisses Eric, a very long kiss. Eric doesn’t miss the concern on his face. “Call me when you’re done, OK? I want to hear how it goes.”
“Yeah. That makes one of us,” Eric says, and walks out.
The hangover gets worse as he drives - the sun is too bright and his stomach is iffy. Eric resolves to go straight back to Travis’s bed when this is all over. The closer he gets to Vince’s house, the more likely he thinks it is that he’s going to have to pull over to throw up.
He makes it in one piece, though, and sits for a moment in the driveway to calm himself. The door’s unlocked, so he lets himself in, walks through the empty, quiet house, following the sound of the ocean through the open door to the deck.
Vince is waiting. “Managed to tear yourself away?”
Eric sighs. He takes a seat on a lounge chair but doesn’t kick back, stays turned sideways so he’s facing Vince. It’s too bright even with his sunglasses on. He’s sweating. “I’m here,” he says. “You wanted to talk, and that’s your opening line?”
Vince shrugs.
“What the fuck, Vince?”
“What the fuck what, E?” Eric keeps glaring at him. “What did you mean, ‘after last night’?”
“I meant, you were a total douchebag last night.”
“I was a total douche?”
“Yeah! You ignored us at the theater. You wouldn’t even look at me when Anita said congrats. You ignored Travis when he said happy birthday.”
“Oh, come on, I did not,” Vince says.
“Yeah, you really did,” Eric says, “and don’t fucking act like it wasn’t on purpose, because he may not know you that well, but I do, asshole. Or I did.”
“It was a party, it was loud, I -”
“And then, icing on the fucking cake, not only did you act like a prick to me - which is par for the fucking course lately - but I had to clean up the mess when you made your fucking girlfriend cry.”
Vince’s head snaps up. “What are you talking about?”
“Anita, hello? Your girlfriend, she was upset after she caught you doing whatever the hell with that waitress.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Well, she sure thinks she is.”
“I mean,” Vince says, “she’s not my girlfriend anymore.” Eric holds his breath, hoping Anita will have done the right thing. Instead, Vince says, “I broke up with her last night.”
“Christ.”
“What? What? First you’re telling me it’s stupid for me to date that girl because she’s so much like you, now you’re mad I broke up with her? What the fuck, Eric? What do you want from me?”
“I want you to stop acting like an asshole,” Eric says. “You know what, you want to be Casanova your whole life, fine, Vin, fine, but don’t tell those girls that you want more. Don’t lie. You’re not capable of an adult relationship, you know that?”
“Yeah, coming from you, that’s rich.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean it’s real grown up to sneak off in the middle of a party to bang your, your date in the fucking bathroom. Jesus Christ, E, what are you, sixteen again?”
Eric feels his face start to flush. “What are you, my mother? The fuck do you care what I do?”
Vince spreads out his hands, all innocent good intentions. ”I’m your best friend.”
“Like hell you are,” Eric says, and he stands up. “Like fucking hell you are. My best friend? My best friend would’ve been there on the red carpet with me last night when I was so nervous I wanted to throw up, or would’ve at least wished me good luck before what was honestly about the biggest night of my life yet. My best friend would’ve been there for me at some point - at any point - in the last year when I needed to talk about all the shit I went through with Lucas, and with telling my mom, and all of that. And you know what? My best friend, the guy I grew up with, if I told him I’d met somebody special, he would’ve fucking been happy for me, you know that? If I told him I was in love, he would’ve been happy about it, not, not, whatever you are.”
“E -”
“Shut up,” Eric says. “Just fucking - I don’t even think there’s anything you can say. I don’t - you’ve been treating me like I’ve got some kind of disease, ever since Lucas, and I can’t -” He swallows and feels dangerously close to the same raw place he was in this morning with Travis, only here there’s no one to tell him it’s OK, he’s OK, and Vince is looking up at him with horror etched across his face. His stomach is in knots. Eric just says, “Whatever, whatever, I can’t do this with you now,” and turns and walks away. He makes it to the kitchen, where he yanks on the tap and starts drinking water from his hands. His stomach aches, his mouth is dry, he feels sick about yelling at Vince but also about the truth of it all, that twenty some years of friendship is maybe over forever. He ducks his head under the tap because he’s sweating; his heart is pounding, the room feels a little unsteady.
“E.”
He gropes for the faucet handle and turns it off, but stays put, dripping over the sink. “I don’t want to talk to you,” he says.
“Me, neither,” Vince says, and then his hands are on Eric’s shoulders, turning him around, and Eric is too stunned and lightheaded to even think. Vince grabs him by the shoulders, then puts his hands on Eric’s face, his fingers cold and too harsh, and he kisses Eric full on the mouth, a hard, long, completely unsexy kiss.
“What the hell?” Eric whispers when Vince pulls back.
“It’s what you want,” Vince says. He’s still close - way too fucking close - and Eric wants to wipe his face but he can’t raise his arm without touching Vince. “Right?” Vince brushes the water from his cheeks, and Eric actually jerks away from him.
He grabs the counter to steady himself. His lips taste like a cherry lifesaver, and he fights the urge to touch them. Vince just kissed him. “What?”
“Turtle told me,” Vince says. His voice is soft, but kind of throaty, a voice Eric’s really never heard him use before. “He told me about your plan.” He takes a step closer, again, standing so close Eric tilts his head back just to look him in the eye.
“My - his plan,” Eric says. He tries to back up, but he’s trapped between the counter and Vince. “I didn’t -”
“It’s OK,” Vince says. “I’ve thought about it, too.”
“Vince,” Eric says, feeling desperate, shaky, like nothing good can come from whatever’s happening.
“It’s not what you think,” Vince says. “It’s not - the gay thing. It’s not. It’s that - why him, and not me?” He lowers his eyes just a little. “You love me.”
“Vince.”
“You do,” he says. “I know you do.”
“Yeah,” Eric says, his own voice now quiet and a little heavy, too. “But - Vin. Not like this. Not -”
“That’s not true,” Vince says, and the hand on his shoulder slides to his neck. This time, Eric’s a little better prepared for the kiss, a little less shell shocked, and he pulls back and closes his mouth, turns his face away. “Let me,” Vince whispers against his temple. “E. Let me kiss you.”
Eric actually shivers as Vince’s breath passes over his wet hair. “Please don’t,” he says.
“I love you,” Vince says. His hand is on Eric’s back, now, warm and steady.
“Vince,” Eric says, ashamed of the quiver in his voice, and Vince must take it as permission, because he turns his face and kisses him again. Eric grabs his forearms, but he’s just holding on, not pushing away, as Vince takes his time, really kisses him, tongue, gentle nipping teeth, the works. When he pulls back this time, Eric’s chest is heaving; he thinks he may actually pass out, and he clenches his eyes and turns around, holding on to the counter for dear life.
“E?”
He can’t say anything. Not yet. He’s trembling. It’s not a good feeling. None of this feels good, even if maybe a while ago this scene was something out of a fantasy for him.
“Eric.” Vince’s hand lands in the middle of his back again.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Eric whispers.
“I know,” Vince says. “I know, I’m a little slow, but I -”
“I’m in love with Travis,” he chokes out.
“You’re always in love with somebody,” Vince says. “But what we’ve got - all these years, man.”
“No,” Eric says. He turns around. His face must be bright red; his heart is still thundering in his ears. “I love him, Vince, I’m in love with him. Not - not with you.” Vince’s face doesn’t even change; he looks skeptical, dismissive. “Vince. It was Turtle’s plan. The guys - they were the ones - I’m not in love with you.” He makes sure to meet Vince’s eyes, waits until he sees them get momentarily a little wider. “I’m sorry,” he says, and then doesn’t know why he's the one apologizing, when his mouth still tastes like Vince’s favorite cherry gum.
“Sure,” Vince says, taking a few steps back. Eric can breathe again. “I get it. You’ve got that thing, no cheating - that’s fine.”
“You’re not listening,” Eric says. “I’m not fucking around, Vin.”
“Neither am I,” Vince says.
“You’re straight, remember? You told me that pretty clearly before.”
“So now I’m saying maybe that’s not so true,” Vince says. “Maybe it’s just - maybe I just need the right guy. You,” Vince says. “I think maybe we should make a go of it. Together.”
Eric frowns. Vince’s voice is too bright, his speech too sure. “Together. You wanna be my boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“Say it.”
Vince’s mouth quirks up. “You get off on that, huh? Fine. E, I wanna be your boyfriend.”
“And have sex with me.”
“That’s part of the deal, right?” Vince is blushing, just faintly, and Eric shakes his head. “That’s not part of the deal?” Eric looks down at his hands. They aren’t shaking anymore, at least; his head is clearer, his disappointment sharper. “C’mon,” Vince says. “It’ll be - it’ll be good again, E, just like before, only - only more. Better.”
“Vin,” he says, quiet, serious. “There are easier ways to stay my friend.”
He laughs, too fake, too surprised. “What are you -”
“You don’t want this,” Eric says. “You’re not even capable of it.”
“Fuck you, how would you -”
“I have someone, Vince. I have a guy who I’m in love with, who wants to be with me for the long term, who isn’t doing it just to settle a fight. You’re - you’re trying - you think you can just buy me back, by saying you want me? It doesn’t work like this. We can’t - “ Eric shakes his head.
“I don’t know what else you want from me,” Vince says.
“I don’t want anything,” Eric says. Vince is looking at him like he’s crazy, and Eric feels like he’s finally making sense. “Vince, if you really wanted this, then this crap from the last year - it would’ve never happened. You don’t even know what you want.”
“You know everything, huh? That’s fine. I can wait.”
“I’m gonna go.” Eric says. “I’m gonna try and pretend like this didn’t happen.”
“You mean you’re not gonna tell Travis,” Vince says, sounding a little triumphant.
Eric pauses at the door. “I tell him everything,” he says, and he looks away from Vince’s stricken face quickly, then heads to the car.
Next Part.
Friday night, Eric rides with Travis to the theater, and when they step out onto the plum-colored carpet, there’s a flood of flashbulbs - which only crescendos when Travis reaches back and takes Eric’s hand, a move they discussed in the car.
“Travis! Travis! Is he your boyfriend?”
Travis looks over, with a sly grin. “This guy? I’ve never seen him before,” he says, “but you know, he’s sure hot enough for the job,” and Eric laughs. They unlink about halfway up the carpet, but Travis keeps him close, a hand on his waist or shoulder, as they stop for interviews. It’s not Travis’s movie, but Eric looks around and knows he’s going to dominate the coverage, and he gets a small glimpse of what this is going to mean going forward: more interviews, more photos. He puts his arm around Travis’s waist, and they head inside with a wave.
Travis squeezes his shoulders. “Not so bad, right?”
“Uh-huh. You’re insane.”
“And really adorable.”
“Something like that.”
They linger in the lobby for a while, mingling as people come in, and this part isn’t so hard. Eric knows almost all of these people, and if they narrow their eyes a little trying to remember who he’s attached to usually, well, that’s not so bad.
Vince and the guys show up about twenty minutes after Eric and Travis, and to Eric’s surprise, Vince has Anita with him. They take their seats pretty quickly, without even stopping by to say hello, and after a minute, Travis and Eric head toward theirs. On the way, Eric glances over, and he’s surprised to see Vince staring back - though it takes him a second to realize he’s looking at Travis, not Eric, and he doesn’t know what to make of that.
The movie is fine - not stellar, but not garbage - and even before it’s over people are buzzing about Vince’s party. The guys are already gone by the time Eric and Travis get up, and Eric’s a little disappointed, because it’s weird that they never said hello or anything. But there are people to shake hands with just on the walk to the car, and camera flashes, and Eric figures he wouldn’t have had time at all anyway.
“You still wanna go, right?” he says to Travis after they’re back in his car.
“Yes, because, strangely, I’d like to keep you in that suit as long as possible,” Travis says, smoothing his lapel. “You’re ridiculously hot tonight, by the way.”
Eric grins. “You don’t look too bad, either.” And then, because hey, they’re out, he kisses Travis right there in the car, not really caring if the driver can see or if the windows are dark enough, and the ride goes pretty fast after that.
The party is being held - again - on the Queen Mary. “Turtle’s got a thing for boats,” Eric says, shrugging, as he and Travis make their way up the walk. There are two levels of partying going on, one, the upper deck, a more sedate crowd, milling around multiple bars, while the lower deck is consumed with dancing and flashing lights. Eric heads up, because he suspects that’s where he’ll find MacEnroe, or at least Ari. Travis follows, but sees someone he knows right when they get inside, and they split up.
“There’s my boy,” Ari says, and then holds up both hands. “Uh-oh, do I have to fight Travis every time I say that, now?”
“Shut up, Ari,” Eric says, and he signals the bartender, gets a whiskey. “You seen our guy?”
“Better than that,” Ari says, rubbing his hands together. “Our guy saw you and your guy, and he called right after the movie for a sit-down on Monday. We got a lunch. Boom!”
“What?” Eric shakes his head. “He - does he want Travis in something?”
“You don’t even get it, do you?” Ari slings an arm around his shoulders. “You joined the gay mafia, Eric,” he says, a little too close to Eric’s ear. “They take care of their own. Tonight, you played exactly the card that Mr. MacChoosy wanted to see.”
“You’re serious?”
“Would I touch you if I wasn’t?”
Eric laughs and shoves him off. “Jesus. All right, just don’t start humping my leg, or Travis will fight you.”
“Promises, promises,” Ari says, and he orders them each a shot and another drink.
Eric shakes his head. Across the room, Travis is talking to two beautiful blond girls, but he turns and smiles at Eric, waves, and Eric beams back at him. He can’t wait to tell him this story. He waves him over, and Travis holds up a finger, one minute.
“So where’s your other boy?” Ari asks, after they’ve taken their shots. “You know, the one who pays for your love?”
“Fuck if I know,” Eric says. “And if I don’t have to worry about MacEnroe, I’m not sure I care where Vince is.”
Like magic, just saying his name makes him appear in the doorway. There’s a general cheer from the crowd - it is his birthday - and then he makes his way, with Anita in tow, toward the bar. Eric turns, wondering whether he can slip away, but Travis is still tied up in his conversation, and Vince has already called his name.
“You guys are drinking pretty heavy for men who have business to do,” Vince says. He has an arm thrown casually around Anita’s waist, which she doesn’t look entirely comfortable with.
“Your boy here scored us a MacEnroe lunch,” Ari says. “We’re past business and on to pleasure.”
Vince grins. “Seriously? E, how’d you do that?”
“Cock-sucking,” Eric says, and Ari snorts into his drink. Vince’s mouth drops open, which is pretty much the biggest reward of the night. Eric taps Ari on the back as he starts coughing. “Turns out not everyone thinks it’s such a terrible habit.”
“MacEnroe’s got a thing for lost gay causes,” Ari manages, his voice still a little strained. “He said he appreciates Eric’s courage and figures it deserves at least a face-to-face on Monday.”
Vince crosses his arms, freeing Anita, who says, “I wanted to tell you, Eric - congratulations. I mean, you two seem really happy.”
“Thanks,” Eric says. Vince says nothing, and when Eric looks at him, he’s staring down, arms still crossed, and Eric can’t figure out if he’s mad or embarrassed or what. Anita squeezes his arm, as if prompting him to say something, too, but Vince stays silent, and for a second, even with all the party music in the background, there’s a terrible, awkward silence between them. Anita drops his arm. Of course, Eric thinks. It’s not like Vince is happy for him, or like he ever has been.
Ari grips his shoulder and says, “So, one o’clock at Les Petit Fours, all right? Everybody shows up happy and we get ourselves a movie. E, do you get a gay discount there? If not, you probably should, I think Lloyd does.”
Eric says, “Sounds fine.”
Vince is still looking down. “Vin, you’re in, man, right?” Ari says.
“Whatever,” he says, and when Ari makes a panicky sucking noise through his teeth, Vince finally looks up. His face is totally blank, almost bored, and so false that Eric wants to punch him.
Ari looks between them like he’s courting whiplash, but Eric looks past Vince to where Travis is, finally, free of his conversation. He smiles over at him, waves him over. When he looks back, Vince’s perfect blank face hasn’t moved, but he’s whispering something to Anita.
“Hi, everyone,” Travis says, sliding up next to Eric. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Eric says. “We’re about done.”
“Vince, you’re gonna be there, right?” Ari says, his tone low and threatening, and Eric looks at Vince, who’s looking at Travis, and says, “I’ll be there, he’ll be there. Right?”
“Sure,” Vince says. “Except, oh, wait, weren’t we supposed to have lunch Monday, baby?” He looks at Anita. “I don’t want to cancel on you.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she says.
“No, no, it’s not,” Vince says. His voice is too smooth - Eric feels like he’s watching a rehearsal, not live action. “I already promised you. I can’t go back on my word, right?”
Anita doesn’t look impressed - she looks flabbergasted. “Vince,” she says, “it’s your career. We can - we can have dinner instead, or something, OK? Just, you can’t blow off MacEnroe.”
“You’re sure?” She nods, almost a little frantically, and Vince puts his arm around her waist again, makes a show of kissing the side of her head. “All right, then,” he says, “we’re on.”
“Thank fucking God,” Ari says. “At least one of you has some career sense.”
“That’s what I get, dating someone in management,” Vince says, and he looks right at Eric, so that Eric chokes on a sip of whiskey.
“Tell me about it,” Travis says, rubbing Eric’s shoulders with one hand, and Eric coughs. “What’re you drinking?” he asks.
“Jack,” Eric says, offering his glass, and Travis takes it and shoots it.
“Gross,” he says, then laughs. “Another?”
They all have another, everyone drinking very quickly, Eric intensely aware that Vince is holding Anita close in much the same way Travis has an arm around him. He drinks fast, and Travis keeps pace, so that they set their empties down together while Ari’s just winding up a story about fucking on a yacht in Australia.
“I have to hit the head,” Travis says. “E?”
“Uh, OK,” he says.
Vince says, “So really, Ari, in the water?” and doesn’t look over when they excuse themselves. As they walk away, Eric turns to Travis and says, “Not that I’m not grateful for the rescue, but you really need a bathroom buddy? What are we, girls?”
Travis puts his hands on Eric’s waist, steering him toward one of the restrooms. “Let’s find out,” he says, and closes and locks the door. Eric glances from the doorknob to Travis. “You looked pretty serious,” Travis says, and Eric shrugs.
“I guess,” he says. He turns to face the sink, offering Travis a little privacy if he really has to go. “I just realized, I’m totally fucking pissed at Vince for being such a dick about this whole thing. I mean, he’s supposed to be my best friend, but he’s been acting like an asshole.”
“A total asshole,” Travis agrees from very close to Eric’s ear. His hands are back on Eric’s waist, and in the mirror, Eric can see his hungry eyes. “Stop thinking about him for a second, OK?” Eric nods, brain already going blank. A minute later, Travis’s hand is in his pants, stroking him fast and furious, and Eric has to brace himself against the sink. He can feel Travis’s hard-on against the back of his thigh, and that makes him groan. Travis licks, then bites, his neck; Eric’s knees get a little weak. “Trav,” he says, his voice throaty, deep.
Someone knocks on the door, and Travis laughs against his neck. The blast of air against his wet skin makes Eric shiver. “Faster,” he whispers.
Travis turns him around then, and before Eric can say anything, he drops to his knees and takes Eric in his mouth, and it takes only a minute - it feels like seconds - for Eric to come. He nearly blacks out, his fingers still gripping the counter top, and he lets Travis button him up and pull him close, his breath ragged. “What about you?” Eric murmurs, kissing Travis’s neck.
“Later,” Travis says, cinching Eric’s belt. “God, you have no idea how fuckable you look tonight.” Eric smiles up at him. He feels a little raw, but in a good way, a soft way, like he wants to just lay his head on Travis’s chest for a while. “That’s better,” Travis says, kissing his forehead. “You looked like you were gonna punch somebody, before.”
“I was thinking about it,” Eric admits. Travis rubs his shoulders, gently, and it feels fucking great. “You kinda like me, huh?”
“I really do,” Travis says, and he kisses him thoroughly before ushering him out. They walk out together, close but not touching; there’s a girl a few feet from the door with her attention fully captured by her iPhone, and Eric nearly laughs. He wonders if everyone can see what they were up to, and then wonders if he should care. Travis is right, he’s not his manager, he’s his boyfriend, and he should get to enjoy himself.
“You really want to stay?” Eric asks, putting his hand on Travis’s waist, already thinking of getting him home, alone, maybe without this suit on.
Travis gives him a funny look - surprised, almost wary. “E,” he says, “he’s your best friend.”
“Not so much, anymore,” Eric says, and it hurts a little to realize he means it. This Vince, the one who’s been cutting him out of his life - that’s not the Vince Eric knows, it’s not the friend he loves or the guy he grew up with.
Travis shakes his head. “Still, we should stay,” he says. “It’s a good party.” He grins. “And I kind of want to dance.”
Eric rolls his eyes, but he laughs. “Go ahead. There, you’re on your own.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Get a new drink,” he says.
“Get one for me, meet me downstairs,” he says, and Eric nods, squeezes his shoulder, and watches him walk away. It just feels right, he thinks. This is the way it’s been in every good relationship he’s ever had - time together seems effortless, time apart seems sort of dreary.
I’m totally in love, he realizes, and then feels a real pang of regret, because there’s no one he can tell. Since he was fourteen, he’s gone to Vince whenever he’s fallen for some girl, just to talk out a little of the crazy. The other guys always made fun of him for it, but Vince used to sit on Eric’s bed, sometimes for hours, talking through the intimate details of relationships with him - from the “what do you think that meant?” stuff to the “do you think I should tell her?” stuff to the mundane, stupid shit like buying presents or meeting-the-parents nerves. This time, he’s got nobody to do that for him, nobody who’s gonna be happy for him like Vince always has been, no one who will tease him out of his funk if things get difficult.
He turns toward the nearest bar, but it’s completely packed, so he heads across the ballroom, looking for one with a few less wannabe starlets clustered around. There, sitting on a stool and nursing a bright pink drink, he sees Anita, and his shoulders get tense for a second. But he doesn’t see Vince around anywhere - in fact, from the cheering he’s hearing from downstairs, he’s pretty sure he knows where Vince is - so he walks up to the bar, anyway, and orders his drinks, then stands next to her.
“E. Hi,” she says.
“Hey, what’s up?” Eric asks. Her makeup in a little smeared when she looks up. “Are you OK?” She shrugs. Eric glances around. “Seriously, Anita, what’s going on? Did somebody bother you?”
“No,” she says. “Nothing like that. It’s just, you know. Vince.”
“Oh,” Eric says. The bartender slides over his drinks, and Eric takes a minute to fish out a tip, because he needs a second to think. He can already guess what this conversation is going to be about: Anita’s got a really pretty dress on, probably very expensive, and her hair is expertly styled. She’s gone to some trouble to look good tonight, and she’s sitting at the bar, alone, at her date’s birthday party.
Eric pushes money across the bar and asks the guy to add a double shot to his order. He could just take the drinks and go downstairs, find Travis or at least a table within view of him, continue having his very good evening. But for the last twenty years of his life, he’s been having conversations with Vince’s girls that go exactly like this, and even if right now he doesn’t feel like he owes it to Vince to be nice to this girl, well - it’s kind of in his blood. “What happened?” he asks. “You wanna talk about it?”
She shrugs again. “He disappeared, about when you guys -” and she makes a gesture toward the bathroom, and Eric feels himself blush a little.
“Disappeared?” If Vince left his own goddamned birthday party, Eric’s gonna kill him.
“I thought he just went out to get some air,” she says. “But when I went out looking for him…”
She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Eric knows where it goes. He takes the shot. Best case, he was flirting with some other girl. Worst case, he was fucking some girl. No, he corrects, worst case, he was fucking three other girls, or, god forbid, some guy, and it’s only that nightmare that makes him ask, “What’d you find?”
She looks over at him, just briefly, her eyes full of tears. “It sounds stupid. But he and this waitress - I mean, what was she even doing out there?” She takes a sip of her drink. “He told me I was overreacting. I - told him he was, too.” The last sentence is said so quietly Eric almost misses it, though he doesn’t miss the way her eyes cut over to him, and he gets it, that Anita knows they’re fighting, and that she’s probably smart enough to guess at some of the reasons.
“Listen,” Eric says, leaning against the bar so he’s facing her. “I’ve known Vince a long time.”
“Are you going to tell me I’m overreacting, too?”
“No,” he says, though that is his usual speech. “I was going to say, I’ve known Vince a long time, and he’s not the easiest guy to have a relationship with. In fact, he’s - he’s almost not built for it.”
“I know,” she says. “But he said - he wanted to try, he said - everything was going so well.”
“Yeah. And - look. It’s not you, that’s what I’m trying to say. You’re - he’s been more serious about you than I’ve ever seen him be with a girl.” Except Mandy, fine, but he’s trying to make her feel better, not worse. “Look, trust me when I say, if it’s gonna work with anyone, it would be you. OK?”
Her eyes are still tear-filled, but she reaches over and hugs him, and Eric loosely hugs her back. His stomach feels unsteady, because he knows what he’s just said is true: it won’t work between Vince and Anita, just like it never would have worked with Vince and Eric.
“Thank you,” she says. She kisses his cheek and draws back, then stands up. Eric steadies her, but she doesn’t seem drunk. “I’m gonna go find him.”
“You sure? I can call you a car, if you want,” Eric says, but she shakes her head.
“Thanks, Eric, really.”
“Well, at least let me walk downstairs with you.” So they go together, Eric with his drinks, Anita dabbing at her eyes. In the downstairs ballroom, a pounding hiphop song is just finishing and the DJ is blabbering. Eric wonders where Turtle found this guy - he sounds like someone from a high school prom. Vince is standing in a ring of female admirers off to the right, his hair a little sweaty, and Eric looks over to make sure Anita is OK. She seems fine, though, even straightens her shoulders a bit before she starts through the crowd, walking right toward him. “Good luck,” Eric says. He shoots his drink and sets the glass down, then carries Travis’s to where he’s standing, at the edge of the dance floor, talking to someone Eric vaguely remembers as being attached to his last project. She peels off as soon as Eric steps up.
“There you are,” Travis says, taking his drink.
“Yeah,” Eric says. The music kicks up, a weird, slow, syrupy number, trance music. A girl starts throwing her arms around above her head near the stage, weaving around like a candle flame.
“You’re looking all serious again.”
“I am, honestly, having the weirdest fucking night,” Eric says. He slides his arm around Travis’s waist, and suddenly has that feeling again, like he wants to just curl up against him, burrow in. He’s buzzed from the liquor and unsteady from, well, everything. They’re jostled by a couple on the dance floor, a guy and girl dancing close, slow, and Eric surprises himself when he says, “Do you, uh, you wanna dance?”
Travis sets his drink down, then puts his arms around Eric’s shoulders. “Yeah.”
Eric really doesn’t dance. He’s never liked it, because it’s always been an awkward affair - dancing is designed for guys like Vince, who are tall and lithe and like to be looked at all time. Eric’s always been too short to dance comfortably with girls - particularly at parties, when they’re wearing heels - and he’s never enjoyed being out on the floor, where he feels like everyone’s eyes are following him. But Travis pulls him to an open spot about a third of the way in, and he keeps his arms around Eric’s shoulders and Eric instinctively keeps his at Travis’s waist, beneath his jacket, and instead of being worried about who’s watching or keeping up with the music or the crowd, Eric just closes his eyes and lets Travis lead, lets himself be held close enough that he can hear Travis’s heart - or maybe it’s the bass, but he wants it to be Travis’s heart - and he just lets everything go, and they dance.
When the song ends in a flurry of techno noise, Eric pulls back a little and angles up to kiss Travis, who cups his face. “So let’s go home,” he says, and Eric says, “Thank you.” Travis leads him off the dance floor by the hand, and Eric’s so busy just dodging around stumbling drunk models that he almost runs right into Vince. He’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, Anita’s hand firmly in his own, and Eric realizes they must have been dancing, too, and something in his stomach lurches. He stops, so Travis does, too.
“Are you leaving?” Anita asks. Her face and eyes are bright, again, and Eric is embarrassed by the eager hope he sees there.
“Yeah,” he says. Travis puts his arm over Eric’s shoulders, and Eric puts his around Travis’s waist.
“Vince, happy birthday, man,” Travis says.
Vince barely nods; there’s something mean and bitter in his look, and so it’s Anita who says “Thanks.”
Eric laughs. “See you Monday,” he says, and then they leave.
When they get back to Travis’s place, Eric’s afraid Travis will want him to talk, or explain, or - whatever. But instead, he just leads Eric back to the bedroom and doesn’t say anything, just pulls him into his arms, holds him close for a while, just like they’re dancing again except it’s quiet and he knows what he’s hearing is Travis’s heart. They undress each other slowly, and Eric lays back and Travis stays with him, in almost the same close embrace, and everything moves slowly like they’re underwater or maybe under some kind of spell; with hardly any effort, Travis is inside of him and they’re hardly moving because they’re so close together. Eric holds him by the shoulders, wraps himself around Travis, puts his mouth against Travis’s neck as he moves them both, and even though it’s all so slow and easy, it’s also a lot, it’s too much, and he blacks out when he comes.
When he wakes up, Travis has slid to the side, and Eric reaches for him, draws him back, close, kisses him long and slow and gratefully. “I love you,” he whispers, when Travis’s eyes are closed but his breathing is still uneven, and Travis kisses his neck and settles in against his chest.
His phone starts ringing way too early the next day. “Either answer it or shoot it,” Travis mutters beside him, and Eric reaches out and answers, blind.
“Hey.”
Eric forces his eyes open. It’s nearly noon, but he’s still thinking Vince shouldn’t be up yet. His head says he shouldn’t be awake at all. “Uh huh,” he manages.
“We need to talk.”
Eric sighs and rubs his mouth. He pushes himself up on one elbow. “What?”
“Come on,” Vince says.
“Yeah, all right,” Eric says. Behind him, Travis has snuggled closer, his arm snaking around Eric’s bare waist. “What, uh, what do you want to talk about?”
“In person,” Vince says. “And you know what.”
Eric’s not sure he does. “Fine, OK, look, can I call you later and we’ll -”
“No, can we just settle this now? Meet me at Angelo’s in half an hour.”
“I can’t,” Eric says.
“What, are you in a meeting or something?”
“No, Vince, I’m in bed,” Eric says. Travis’s hand rubs over his chest, stopping just short of his nipple. “You woke me up.”
“Oh. So make it an hour.”
“I kinda had plans,” Eric says. He can feel Travis’s erection against his thigh.
Vince laughs, harsh, short, bitter. “You’re gonna bail on me so you can get laid, huh?”
“Like you’ve never done that to me.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“No, Vince,” Eric says, sitting up because Travis’s hands are getting really distracting, “this is about you waking me up and demanding I run right out when you call, today, of all fucking days.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s - after last night, you can ask me what -” Travis squeezes his shoulders and breathes the word “Easy” against his neck, and Eric takes a deep breath. “Listen,” he says, trying to be calmer, “you know what, unless you need to talk business, I’m not on call for you today.”
“What if it is business?”
Eric snorts. “What business do you want to talk about on a Saturday afternoon?”
“I want to talk about if you don’t come to lunch today, I’m not coming to lunch on Monday.”
“Jesus Christ. Grow the fuck up, Vin.”
“You want me to come over there, then? Turtle knows where he lives, I bet.”
Eric groans. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll come over.”
“Let’s meet at -”
“No,” Eric says, as Travis draws back. “I’m coming to your place, because I got nothing to say that the world needs to hear.”
There’s a pause, then Vince, his voice much smaller, says, “An hour?”
“Yeah.” Eric hangs up and drops his phone on the floor, then his head into his hands. After a minute, he feels Travis’s hands - gentle, tentative - on his shoulders.
“I think you should talk to me about what’s going on with Vince now,” Travis says, his mouth again against Eric’s shoulder blade.
So Eric tells him everything he told Shauna, but also more: about the weirdness with Lucas, and about Vince and the other guys, and about their fight in Vince’s kitchen and then about how fucking much it hurts that his best friend, “this guy I’ve known my whole life, who’s like my brother - he, he just, he keeps looking at me like there’s something wrong with me.” His voice breaks a little, and that hurts, too.
“Christ,” Travis says, and his arms tighten around him. Eric closes his eyes and holds on to him. “There’s nothing wrong with you, or with us,” he says. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” he says. “But - “
“No buts.” His voice is clear and firm and somehow very tender. “What did he want?”
“He wants to talk,” Eric says.
“That could be a good sign.”
“Not with Vince.” Eric knows him too well. Vince’s idea of talking is usually just a full-court-press attack, using all of his many charms and favorite manipulations, to persuade someone to come over to his point of view. Eric can’t even imagine what that’s going to be in this case. “I should go, though. He said he wouldn’t go to the meeting Monday if I don’t.”
Travis scoffs. “Wow. He really is an asshole.”
Eric glances back. Even after all this time, there’s a tiny part of him that automatically leaps to Vince’s defense, because the Vince he knows isn’t really an asshole. “I’m serious,” Travis says. “I know he’s your friend, but he’s being a dick. You’re right to be angry. No one - no one should get to make you feel this way, particularly your friend.”
Eric sighs. “I just don’t know what his deal is,” he says.
“I don’t care what his deal is,” Travis says. “He’s hurting you.”
It’s the first time Eric’s heard that acknowledged out loud - it’s something he’s hardly even admitted to himself. But he’s knows it’s true as soon as Travis says it, can feel in an almost physical way the pain that Vince has caused him, is causing him. He never thought Vince would be like this.
“I should go,” he says, not sure if he can stay in Travis’s arms for another minute without breaking down completely. “If I don’t go now, I won’t go at all.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Travis says, but he lets Eric up.
He showers and gets dressed, takes a couple of aspirin to combat his headache, and then comes out and finds Travis has made him coffee. “OK, seriously, at some point you’ve got to develop some flaws,” Eric says. “Because I’m getting a complex.”
“Have I told you I don’t have sex when I’m filming?” Travis asks, and Eric blinks. “Kidding, kidding.” He reaches over and kisses Eric, a very long kiss. Eric doesn’t miss the concern on his face. “Call me when you’re done, OK? I want to hear how it goes.”
“Yeah. That makes one of us,” Eric says, and walks out.
The hangover gets worse as he drives - the sun is too bright and his stomach is iffy. Eric resolves to go straight back to Travis’s bed when this is all over. The closer he gets to Vince’s house, the more likely he thinks it is that he’s going to have to pull over to throw up.
He makes it in one piece, though, and sits for a moment in the driveway to calm himself. The door’s unlocked, so he lets himself in, walks through the empty, quiet house, following the sound of the ocean through the open door to the deck.
Vince is waiting. “Managed to tear yourself away?”
Eric sighs. He takes a seat on a lounge chair but doesn’t kick back, stays turned sideways so he’s facing Vince. It’s too bright even with his sunglasses on. He’s sweating. “I’m here,” he says. “You wanted to talk, and that’s your opening line?”
Vince shrugs.
“What the fuck, Vince?”
“What the fuck what, E?” Eric keeps glaring at him. “What did you mean, ‘after last night’?”
“I meant, you were a total douchebag last night.”
“I was a total douche?”
“Yeah! You ignored us at the theater. You wouldn’t even look at me when Anita said congrats. You ignored Travis when he said happy birthday.”
“Oh, come on, I did not,” Vince says.
“Yeah, you really did,” Eric says, “and don’t fucking act like it wasn’t on purpose, because he may not know you that well, but I do, asshole. Or I did.”
“It was a party, it was loud, I -”
“And then, icing on the fucking cake, not only did you act like a prick to me - which is par for the fucking course lately - but I had to clean up the mess when you made your fucking girlfriend cry.”
Vince’s head snaps up. “What are you talking about?”
“Anita, hello? Your girlfriend, she was upset after she caught you doing whatever the hell with that waitress.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Well, she sure thinks she is.”
“I mean,” Vince says, “she’s not my girlfriend anymore.” Eric holds his breath, hoping Anita will have done the right thing. Instead, Vince says, “I broke up with her last night.”
“Christ.”
“What? What? First you’re telling me it’s stupid for me to date that girl because she’s so much like you, now you’re mad I broke up with her? What the fuck, Eric? What do you want from me?”
“I want you to stop acting like an asshole,” Eric says. “You know what, you want to be Casanova your whole life, fine, Vin, fine, but don’t tell those girls that you want more. Don’t lie. You’re not capable of an adult relationship, you know that?”
“Yeah, coming from you, that’s rich.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean it’s real grown up to sneak off in the middle of a party to bang your, your date in the fucking bathroom. Jesus Christ, E, what are you, sixteen again?”
Eric feels his face start to flush. “What are you, my mother? The fuck do you care what I do?”
Vince spreads out his hands, all innocent good intentions. ”I’m your best friend.”
“Like hell you are,” Eric says, and he stands up. “Like fucking hell you are. My best friend? My best friend would’ve been there on the red carpet with me last night when I was so nervous I wanted to throw up, or would’ve at least wished me good luck before what was honestly about the biggest night of my life yet. My best friend would’ve been there for me at some point - at any point - in the last year when I needed to talk about all the shit I went through with Lucas, and with telling my mom, and all of that. And you know what? My best friend, the guy I grew up with, if I told him I’d met somebody special, he would’ve fucking been happy for me, you know that? If I told him I was in love, he would’ve been happy about it, not, not, whatever you are.”
“E -”
“Shut up,” Eric says. “Just fucking - I don’t even think there’s anything you can say. I don’t - you’ve been treating me like I’ve got some kind of disease, ever since Lucas, and I can’t -” He swallows and feels dangerously close to the same raw place he was in this morning with Travis, only here there’s no one to tell him it’s OK, he’s OK, and Vince is looking up at him with horror etched across his face. His stomach is in knots. Eric just says, “Whatever, whatever, I can’t do this with you now,” and turns and walks away. He makes it to the kitchen, where he yanks on the tap and starts drinking water from his hands. His stomach aches, his mouth is dry, he feels sick about yelling at Vince but also about the truth of it all, that twenty some years of friendship is maybe over forever. He ducks his head under the tap because he’s sweating; his heart is pounding, the room feels a little unsteady.
“E.”
He gropes for the faucet handle and turns it off, but stays put, dripping over the sink. “I don’t want to talk to you,” he says.
“Me, neither,” Vince says, and then his hands are on Eric’s shoulders, turning him around, and Eric is too stunned and lightheaded to even think. Vince grabs him by the shoulders, then puts his hands on Eric’s face, his fingers cold and too harsh, and he kisses Eric full on the mouth, a hard, long, completely unsexy kiss.
“What the hell?” Eric whispers when Vince pulls back.
“It’s what you want,” Vince says. He’s still close - way too fucking close - and Eric wants to wipe his face but he can’t raise his arm without touching Vince. “Right?” Vince brushes the water from his cheeks, and Eric actually jerks away from him.
He grabs the counter to steady himself. His lips taste like a cherry lifesaver, and he fights the urge to touch them. Vince just kissed him. “What?”
“Turtle told me,” Vince says. His voice is soft, but kind of throaty, a voice Eric’s really never heard him use before. “He told me about your plan.” He takes a step closer, again, standing so close Eric tilts his head back just to look him in the eye.
“My - his plan,” Eric says. He tries to back up, but he’s trapped between the counter and Vince. “I didn’t -”
“It’s OK,” Vince says. “I’ve thought about it, too.”
“Vince,” Eric says, feeling desperate, shaky, like nothing good can come from whatever’s happening.
“It’s not what you think,” Vince says. “It’s not - the gay thing. It’s not. It’s that - why him, and not me?” He lowers his eyes just a little. “You love me.”
“Vince.”
“You do,” he says. “I know you do.”
“Yeah,” Eric says, his own voice now quiet and a little heavy, too. “But - Vin. Not like this. Not -”
“That’s not true,” Vince says, and the hand on his shoulder slides to his neck. This time, Eric’s a little better prepared for the kiss, a little less shell shocked, and he pulls back and closes his mouth, turns his face away. “Let me,” Vince whispers against his temple. “E. Let me kiss you.”
Eric actually shivers as Vince’s breath passes over his wet hair. “Please don’t,” he says.
“I love you,” Vince says. His hand is on Eric’s back, now, warm and steady.
“Vince,” Eric says, ashamed of the quiver in his voice, and Vince must take it as permission, because he turns his face and kisses him again. Eric grabs his forearms, but he’s just holding on, not pushing away, as Vince takes his time, really kisses him, tongue, gentle nipping teeth, the works. When he pulls back this time, Eric’s chest is heaving; he thinks he may actually pass out, and he clenches his eyes and turns around, holding on to the counter for dear life.
“E?”
He can’t say anything. Not yet. He’s trembling. It’s not a good feeling. None of this feels good, even if maybe a while ago this scene was something out of a fantasy for him.
“Eric.” Vince’s hand lands in the middle of his back again.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Eric whispers.
“I know,” Vince says. “I know, I’m a little slow, but I -”
“I’m in love with Travis,” he chokes out.
“You’re always in love with somebody,” Vince says. “But what we’ve got - all these years, man.”
“No,” Eric says. He turns around. His face must be bright red; his heart is still thundering in his ears. “I love him, Vince, I’m in love with him. Not - not with you.” Vince’s face doesn’t even change; he looks skeptical, dismissive. “Vince. It was Turtle’s plan. The guys - they were the ones - I’m not in love with you.” He makes sure to meet Vince’s eyes, waits until he sees them get momentarily a little wider. “I’m sorry,” he says, and then doesn’t know why he's the one apologizing, when his mouth still tastes like Vince’s favorite cherry gum.
“Sure,” Vince says, taking a few steps back. Eric can breathe again. “I get it. You’ve got that thing, no cheating - that’s fine.”
“You’re not listening,” Eric says. “I’m not fucking around, Vin.”
“Neither am I,” Vince says.
“You’re straight, remember? You told me that pretty clearly before.”
“So now I’m saying maybe that’s not so true,” Vince says. “Maybe it’s just - maybe I just need the right guy. You,” Vince says. “I think maybe we should make a go of it. Together.”
Eric frowns. Vince’s voice is too bright, his speech too sure. “Together. You wanna be my boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“Say it.”
Vince’s mouth quirks up. “You get off on that, huh? Fine. E, I wanna be your boyfriend.”
“And have sex with me.”
“That’s part of the deal, right?” Vince is blushing, just faintly, and Eric shakes his head. “That’s not part of the deal?” Eric looks down at his hands. They aren’t shaking anymore, at least; his head is clearer, his disappointment sharper. “C’mon,” Vince says. “It’ll be - it’ll be good again, E, just like before, only - only more. Better.”
“Vin,” he says, quiet, serious. “There are easier ways to stay my friend.”
He laughs, too fake, too surprised. “What are you -”
“You don’t want this,” Eric says. “You’re not even capable of it.”
“Fuck you, how would you -”
“I have someone, Vince. I have a guy who I’m in love with, who wants to be with me for the long term, who isn’t doing it just to settle a fight. You’re - you’re trying - you think you can just buy me back, by saying you want me? It doesn’t work like this. We can’t - “ Eric shakes his head.
“I don’t know what else you want from me,” Vince says.
“I don’t want anything,” Eric says. Vince is looking at him like he’s crazy, and Eric feels like he’s finally making sense. “Vince, if you really wanted this, then this crap from the last year - it would’ve never happened. You don’t even know what you want.”
“You know everything, huh? That’s fine. I can wait.”
“I’m gonna go.” Eric says. “I’m gonna try and pretend like this didn’t happen.”
“You mean you’re not gonna tell Travis,” Vince says, sounding a little triumphant.
Eric pauses at the door. “I tell him everything,” he says, and he looks away from Vince’s stricken face quickly, then heads to the car.
Next Part.