Title: Riding Shotgun on the World Tonight
A/N: The title comes from me miss-hearing a song lyric. So basically the title comes from nothing at all, but it stuck and I like it.
A/N 2: Unbetaed, so please yell if you spot anything hinky.
The roll-up dangled half way out of Vince’s mouth, bobbing up and down in time with his breaths, dropping ash onto his collar on each slow exhale.
He was slumped half-way down into the sofa cushions, legs spread, hands on his bared belly and if Eric squinted he could almost pretend that the last decade hadn’t happened, that they were still teenagers getting high in Drama’s crappy apartment.
Vince took a deep drag and blew it out on a long breath. “Shit,” he breathed, deep and lazy.
Eric laughed. “Oh, man,” he said, taking his own drag.
Vince’s head lolled to the side and he smiled at Eric, slow and happy. “This is good shit.” He stretched, something in his back popping. Eric snorted out another laugh. The hand on Vince’s belly rubbed lazy circles, skimming the edges of NC-17 territory and his legs dropped just a little further open. “Fuck, but weed makes me horny.”
Eric made a comfortable noise, not disagreeing but deciding it would be safer not to outright agree. “Want to go out tonight?” he asked, by way of non-answer.
Vince shook his head. “Nah,” he said.
That was a surprise. “How come?”
Vince shrugged. “Dunno, I just-” He trailed off, rolled onto his hip to look at Eric and somehow ended up falling off the sofa with a muted thump.
His head popped back up a moment later and he was laughing. “Huh,” he said, looking around. “This wasn’t where I meant to go.”
Eric prodded him with his foot, shaking slightly as he tried not to laugh. “Why don’t you want to go out, man? You always want to go out. You sick?”
Vince shook his head. His cheek brushed the edge of the sofa with a soft shushing noise. “Nah, I’m just-” He dragged himself back up onto the sofa, bare forearms cording as they took his weight, then crawled over to Eric, put his head in Eric’s lap. “Just tired of that shit, y’know?”
Eric rolled his eyes. He dropped his hand into Vince’s mop of hair, losing his fingers in loose curls. “Do I know? I’ve been tired of this shit since we were seventeen, Vince.”
“Yeah,” Vince said, but it was the sort of yeah that said his attention was wandering. Normally what happened next was that he’d down his drink and disappear off with the hottest chick of the night but today, right now, he turned his head into Eric’s crotch and pressed his mouth over the swell of Eric’s soft cock.
“Vince,” he said warningly, tightening his fingers in Vince’s hair, but not tugging, for some reason not tugging.
Vince shuffled in closer; Eric could feel the wet warmth of Vince’s mouth through his pants. Vince’s hand slid up under Eric’s t-shirt, splaying out over his belly; thumb stroking softly over Eric’s waistband, touch then gone then touch again.
This wasn’t exactly new; Vince always got a little over-friendly when he was stoned, but this friendly, no that was new.
“Vince,” Eric said again, wishing it hadn’t come out on the back of a groan, but hell he was only human.
“I fucking love your cock,” Vince said huskily and if Eric sounded bad, Vince sounded gone.
Eric forced himself to laugh. “Idiot. You’ve never even met my cock.”
Vince touched his teeth to the bottom of Eric’s zipper and Eric’s cock twitched, trapped and uncomfortable inside his pants.
Vince rolled over onto his back, spread out and smiling, still on Eric’s lap, but at least with that mouth moved further away, Eric could think again.
Vince twinkled up at him. “I’ve loved it from afar,” he said, earnest and seductive in that way that even Vince could only manage when really, really high. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”
Eric rolled his eyes. “If you involve my cock in a suicide pact, I’ll kill you myself.” Maybe if they kept to this, this bizarre conversation that made no sense, he wouldn’t have to focus on the fact that Vincent fucking Chase had just been mouthing his cock. Not that it mattered that it was Vincent Chase, not really, all that mattered was that it was Vince.
But Vince wasn’t that easy to put off. “So romantic,” he drawled and reached up for Eric’s face. Eric held still, not knowing what else to do, and then gasped, startled at just how fucking hot, how stupidly hot, it was to feel the pads of Vince’s fingers trace the edge of Eric’s stubble, follow the line of his jaw, like a blind man reading brail.
“E,” Vince said, eyes open and pleading. “Come down here.”
Eric caught Vince’s wandering hand, tangling their fingers together. Vince was flying and Eric wanted to tether him to something, wanted to be that something, even if he wasn’t sure why. “What?”
Vince tugged on his hand. “Kiss me.”
“Fuck off,” Eric said, but it lacked heat and Vince grinned around pouting lips.
“Why are you still arguing?”
Which was a damn good question, why the fuck was he still arguing?
He blew out a breath and dropped his head back against the back of the sofa. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. But not here.”
Vince’s room was an immaculate mess, kind of like Vince himself: knock-off DVDs and CDs alphabetised in neat rows on funky modern shelves, while thousand dollar suits and fifty dollar underwear were strewn around in careless heaps.
But Eric only had five seconds to take that in between the blurs of stumbling up to Vince’s room and falling naked onto Vince’s bed.
Vince landed on top of him, smiling and easy, wriggling almost, naked and shameless, erection pressed snug and hot between their bellies.
Eric groaned before he could think better of it, closing his hands around Vince’s narrow hips.
Vince laughed. “Hey, E,” he said, rubbing the flat lower plane of his belly over the head of Eric’s cock. It was way too much and still not enough. “Pleased to see me?”
“Fuck you, asshole,” Eric said, almost on autopilot. His eyes kept flicking down to Vince’s lips, which were rosy dark, kissable, fuckable and Eric had always known that every person in America who swung that way wanted to swing Vince’s way, hell he’d capitalised on that, but how had he never known he wanted it too? “Why are we doing this now?”
Vince frowned. “When would you like to do it?” There were two tiny lines between his eyebrows and Eric really wanted to lick them. That was not normal, or maybe it was, Eric was having a hard time concentrating on anything at the moment.
Eric laughed; he couldn’t help it, he’d always been a sucker for a wasted Vince. “Now,” he said, then thought about biting off his tongue; that was totally not the point he’d been trying to make. Except Vince was smiling at him and Eric couldn’t remember what point he had been trying to make. Oh, wait, yes he could. “Are you sure?”
It was Vince’s turn to laugh. “I’m not your fucking prom date, E.”
“No,” Eric said, “You’re way less stoned than she was.” Which made Vince laugh harder and Eric’s breath catch as he watched him. He was staring, in fact, not watching, but he only realised when Vince nudged him. “You said you’d kiss me,” he prompted softly.
“You could kiss me,” Eric pointed out reasonably, heart pounding.
Vince shook his head. “I’m the star.”
“That makes no sense,” Eric said, but he was already reaching up for Vince, fitting fingers to the curves of his skull, pulling him down, touching their mouths together. Vince was soft and malleable, letting Eric tip his head to the perfect angle, nudge his lips apart and lick his way into the dark wetness of Vince’s mouth, over the sharp little points of his neat white teeth.
Vince made a low groaning sound and what little tension there’d been in him, holding him above Eric, seemed to melt away and he sank down, hands sliding into Eric’s hair, legs touching and tangling, kissing and kissing and kissing until it was the only thing Eric had ever known, the only thing he ever wanted to know, making out for eternity with a naked, horny Vince.
“Fuck,” Vince said at last, pulling back just enough to scrape his hair out of his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were blown, his lips puffy and wet-slick. “I think I have to suck your cock now.”
Which had to be the best idea Vince had ever had and Eric was going to tell him that, except Vince was already shimmying and then he was sliding and then his head was between Eric’s legs, soft hair brushing Eric’s inner thighs, laughter warming Eric’s cock and his mouth was- and his tongue was and-
Eric swore, palming Vince’s hair, touching his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, everywhere all at once, because Eric was going to come.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he said and did.
Vince was laughing (still or again, Eric wasn't totally sure) as he climbed back up the bed. He was moving slow, cat-like, expression self-satisfied, barely seeming aware of the heavy-looking cock swinging between his legs. Eric felt light, dizzy, like he was spinning out of control and he grabbed for Vince, pulling him down, rolling him over and kissing him and by the time he’d finished Vince had finally, finally stopped laughing.
He blinked up at Eric, eyes wide and dark and far more innocent than he actually was, more innocent than he’d ever been.
“What do you want?” Eric asked, speaking softly though he didn’t know who he was scared would hear; Vince or the world. “Anything Vince, I’ll give you anything, just tell me.”
Vince smiled slowly, stretched languidly and wrapped his hands around the headboard. “You always do,” he said softly. His hips twitched up towards Eric, offering, and Eric swallowed hard.
To cover up how lost he felt, to make it look like he knew what the fuck he was doing, like he knew what they were doing, he reached between them and stroked Vince’s cock slowly, ran fingers over his balls. “Do you want me to jerk you off?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound level.
Vince’s cock twitched in his hand, but Vince didn’t say anything.
“Or I could blow you?”
Vince’s eyes fluttered closed and he moaned, just a soft little sound, tongue darting back and forth over his lower lip.
“Right.” So, blowjob it was, Eric could handle that, he could totally put Vince’s cock in his mouth and make him come. Except. He glanced up at Vince again and something in his face, some indefinable thing in the curve of his mouth told Eric that that wasn’t what Vince wanted, that maybe Vince was more turned on by the offer than the act.
“Or how about I fuck you?” Eric found his voice was dropping into lower registers without realising he was doing it. “Roll you over right here?” His cheeks felt hot, but Vince’s mouth had closed into a perfect O and his hips were moving restlessly, cock hot and slick, sliding in and out of Eric’s hand.
“Talking dirty to me, E?” Vince panted between thrusts. “That’s seriously fucked up and… seriously hot.”
Eric pressed their cheeks together, licked at the corner of Vince’s mouth. He could make Vince come like this. “I could make you come like this,” he said.
“But I’m not going to.” Vince’s eyes widened and Eric wasn’t a cruel person and he loved Vince more than was sane or logical but he had to admit that this, this was what he’d wanted, to see something desperate, something real from Vince, to make him need something not just want it. “Tell me what you want. Anything.”
Vince’s eyes closed and he started to shake his head and Eric was shaking apart inside, thinking he was getting this wrong. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s only me here; I won’t tell Ari you made a decision all by yourself.”
Vince laughed, expression clearing, growing soft. “Asshole,” he said, then he lowered his eyes. “Fuck me?” Almost a whisper. “Please.”
And Eric had never been able to say no to Vince and this time he didn’t even want to try.
The house phone by Vince’s bed was ringing and Vince wasn’t moving.
Eric reached out an arm and snatched it up. “Yeah?”
“Hey, douchebag, get your mouth off my brother’s cock and answer your cell. Ari just called me and he sounded plenty pissed; said he’s called you like seventeen times.”
There were two ways to handle this: freak out and deny everything or… not; Eric wished every decision was that easy. “Thanks, Drama,” he said and hung up.
Eric’s cell was in his pants and Eric’s pants were on the floor. Between Eric and where he needed to be was Vince, fast asleep and heavy on Eric’s chest. Eric could have said that was a metaphor for… something, except he’d gotten spectacularly laid last night and didn’t feel like being an asshole.
He gave Vince a squeeze with the arm he had around his waist. “Hey.”
“Mm,” Vince said and curled into Eric’s side, his stubble prickly against Eric’s collarbone.
Eric smacked his hip. “Shift.”
Vince grumbled, still almost entirely asleep, and rolled away, tanned arms sprawling out almost Jesus-like and Eric couldn’t help thinking Shauna was right, Vince would make a fucking gorgeous Jesus. Of course, right about now, Eric thought Vince would make a fucking gorgeous Elephant Man so maybe his opinion was skewed; he hoped that didn’t last long.
The display on Eric’s cell read 20 Missed Calls and Eric winced; apparently Ari wasn’t the only pissed person he was going to have to deal with this morning.
Ari answered on the second ring sounding harried and pissed; it was reassuring that some things were still exactly as normal. “Where the fuck have you been?”
Eric scratched his belly, wincing when he pulled on hairs stuck to his skin. “Sleeping, Ari, Jesus it’s-” He looked at the clock on Vince’s CD player. 2pm. Huh. “So, what do you want?”
“What do I want?” Eric could just imagine the expansive hand wave. “I want to end global warming, baby, what the fuck do you think I want? I want you to tell me Vince talked to Sorkin, loved him, and that I can sign on the dotted line and make us all rich.”
“Yeah,” Eric said slowly. The AC was up way too high and Eric felt cold and kind of ridiculous standing naked in the middle of the room. He looked over at the bed; Vince was propped up against the pillows, smiling at him sleepily. He waved when their eyes met and Eric made his way back to bed. “We didn’t really like him.”
“You didn’t like him!?” Ari’s voice reached that shrill place that always made Eric winced. “What the fuck do you know? The man’s a fucking genius.”
Eric’s feet were cold and he pressed them under Vince’s legs. Vince hissed through his teeth and slapped at Eric’s thigh, or at least it started off as a slap, then Vince’s hand settled against his skin, rubbing slow circles for a moment, then walking his fingers up Eric’s inner thigh to the crease of his groin.
Eric let his thighs fall open and tried to keep his breathing even; he just knew Ari would be able to tell he if he was getting a handjob and then he was getting a handjob and a wave of arousal rolled through him and he didn’t give a fuck what Ari knew. Except:
“-Know who makes decisions based on whether they like someone, pizzaboy? Children, that’s who.”
Eric rolled his eyes, clicked the cell over to speaker and dropped it on to the bed. He put his hand over the one Vince had on his cock and held it still, held it there.
“You’re a child, Eric,” Ari was ranting out of the phone. “And not one of those sweet kids with the chubby cheeks and the angel curls, one of those ugly-ass ones with the braces and the squinty eyes.”
Vince rolled over so he was on his belly between Eric’s legs, the dark sheet pooling around his shoulders and looked up at Eric, catching his eye with the hey, look at me, look at what I can do expression he’d been wearing all their lives.
“Hey, Ari,” he said. Ari stopped squawking instantly (well, almost). “E’s not a child. Where I’m lookin’ he’s all man.”
Vince’s emphasis left no doubt over exactly what he was talking about and the sounds of Ari’s heart attack were almost, almost worth the amount of shit Eric was going to be in when Ari got hold of him.
Eric hung up the phone and chucked it towards the laundry pile in the corner.
“Hey, asshole,” he said, running his heel up Vince’s ribs, digging in just enough to smart. “I guess you think you’re clever.”
Vince propped his chin on Eric’s stomach and opened his mouth.
Eric kicked him. “If you say you’re just pretty, I’ll have to punish you.”
Vince grinned. “Oh yeah?”
Eric groaned. “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”
“Oh, yeah,” Vince said and moved up the bed to kiss him Good Morning.