Fic: Relax, Entourage, Vince/Eric, NC-17
Whoa, I wrote something short. From a March 6 prompt from rounds_of_kink.
Title: Relax
Fandom: Entourage
Pairing/character: Vince/Eric
Rating: FRAO
Prompt: What Vince loved best was watching that control break. From allyndra
Kink: Rimming
Notes/Warnings: Slash, yep. No real spoilers. Not beta-read, so all the mistakes are mine. I’m sorry.
Ari is yelling, his eyes all buggy-wide like they get whenever he really thinks he has a point, his arms waving in such a way that Vince is sure any second now he's gonna catch a fist in the head. He sinks back further into his armchair and glances over, surprised -- and then suddenly not -- to see Eric actually leaning forward on the couch.
"Fuck you, Ari, first of all," he says. "And second, you're the one who said we could afford to wait on this. You're supposed to be the fucking professional, right? Jesus, are you this fucking incompetent with your other clients, or is this just some special treatment you role out for the actual artists?"
"I'm -- I'm incompetent?" Ari sputters. Vince worries briefly that this is going to be the time, that they're actually going to watch Ari spontaneously combust like some scary movie special effect. "Eric, any time you want to start playing like this is real life instead of Murphy Make Believe land, any time you want to take an actual interest in your best friend's career here, like I have, and make some actual fucking professional decisions instead of just skating by on the stuff that you like or what happens to feel good to your chimpanzee-sized brain every morning --"
"Ari," Vince interrupts, or tries to, but Eric's already on his feet.
"Let's go," Eric says.
"Oh, cut and run? That's cute, that's really -"
Eric shakes his head in a very smooth, very curt way that Vince hardly recognizes. This is not the Eric that he knew from high school. That Eric would've already punched Ari for questioning his loyalty and intentions. This Eric tips his head, and Vince gets up to follow him out. At the door, Eric says, "We've got better things to do than get
yelled at by you. You call when you've cooled down."
In the hallway, Turtle says, "Jesus, is Ari getting fired again? We heard that shit through the glass," and Eric just shrugs.
"It's business, Turtle, not a big deal," he says, leading them down the hallway. Vince lengthens his stride to stay abreast; Eric is moving. "So now what?" Vince asks, when they stop for the elevator.
Eric shrugs, cool-casual like they haven't just been in a screaming match with Vince's agent. "Lunch," he says. When he looks over, he must see Vince's apprehension -- after all, they did come down here to talk to Ari about getting a job, and now he's not exactly sure where he stands -- because he smiles. "Hey, it's fine," he says, patting Vince on the shoulder. "I've got it under control, all right?"
Vince nods. Thing is, he believes it.
---
Two days later, after they've kissed and made up with Ari, Vince is reading a new script. It's the script Eric's wanted all along, based on some hot-shit mystery novel that came out a few years ago. The lead detective on the case, the guy that Vince's character is shadowing, is a greasy, complicated player, and Eric says, "We're looking at George Clooney for that." It shocks Vince a little to hear Eric say that with such confidence, because it's George Fucking Clooney. Vince has always believed he'd someday be a movie star, and he's not nervous about acting with Clooney or any of that bullshit, but something about the slick, smooth way that Eric says his name, doesn't look up from his computer to relay the fact, makes him shiver a little inside.
"E, seriously?" he says, and Eric looks over. His eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, but his face is completely impassive. "How do you know George Clooney?"
Eric laughs. "I don't, asshole," he says. "But I know his people, and that's even better."
Later that night, they're playing with the golf simulator when Eric's phone rings. He keeps his glove on, hands Turtle his club as he pushes to the corner of the room. Vince can't hear everything he's saying, but his tone is hard, an old Hollywood voice, the kind of voice that makes Vince think of guys making back-room cigar-smoke deals. When Eric turns around, he gives Vince a little smile and takes his club back, and when Vince keeps staring he shrugs. "What?"
"What was that?"
"Just business," Eric says, stepping up to the tee. He takes a practice swing, then nods that he's ready to go. "Don't worry about it," he says, and then hits the ball 200 yards.
---
Friday night, Eric has a meeting with Clooney's people. "Do you need me?" Vince asks, and Eric shrugs. He's wearing a charcoal gray suit with a shirt the color of the ocean that really makes his eyes pop appealingly. Vince is wearing a T-shirt, jeans of questionable cleanliness, old sneakers. He's got plans to go clubbing with Turtle and Johnny that evening, but he'll cancel, if Eric, in all his suave tastiness, asks him to.
"Nah," Eric says, fastening his watch. "I got it."
"Yeah?"
Eric raises his eyebrow. "What, you don't think I can handle this?"
Vince holds up his hands. "E, I have no doubt," he says, and Eric nods, just once, tightly. Professionally. Vince puts his hands back down. "You should catch up with us later," he says, and Eric shrugs.
"We'll see," he says, and then he's out the door.
He calls at midnight, when Vince is in the middle of acting very interested in an actress/model whose name he can't quite remember. "He's in," Eric says.
"Seriously? Clooney?"
“Yeah. And if anyone asks, you fucking loved his Batman movie," Eric says.
"Come here right now," Vince says. "I've gotta buy you a drink."
"You oughtta buy me another car," Eric says, but thirty minutes later he's there, still wearing the suit, still looking fucking hot in it. Vince slings an arm around his shoulders and orders champagne for the table, and Eric laughs but carefully pulls away.
Later, in the limo, Vince rests his hand -- honestly, just rests it, not even trying anything - on Eric's leg, and Eric, who's talking to Turtle, picks his arm up by the sleeve and drops it back to the limo seat. He glances over, just quickly, and Vince gets everything he needs from that look: not here, not now. And because he's been doing it all his life, Vince nods and follows Eric's lead.
They get home at three. Eric looks fucking exhausted but Vince is wired from the club, from the prospect of working with Clooney, and from the pull of Eric's shirt across his shoulders when he finally ditches the jacket. He puts his arms around Eric from behind as Eric's getting a beer out of the fridge, and Vince can feel the tension in his shoulders, as expected, but everywhere else, too: his stomach is tight, his arms, when Vince grips his biceps to turn him around, are corded, flexed. "Hey," Eric protests, turning to face him, and Vince looks down and shakes his head.
"You've been busy this week," he says, and Eric shrugs.
"I've been doing my job."
"Take the night off," Vince says, and then he kisses him.
It doesn't have the effect Vince was hoping for: Eric doesn't instantly relax, but he does put his beer down and then put his hands on Vince's waist. "Yeah," Eric says, when Vince kisses his neck. "But not here, OK?"
Vince looks up and sees that there are still tense lines across Eric's forehead. He frowns, but follows Eric down the hall, to Eric's bedroom, not Vince's, where Eric ushers him inside and locks the door.
And this is the last straw. Because as much as Vince likes seeing Eric in control, as much as he needs Eric to be in control most of the time, what Vince loves best is watching that control break. So when Eric turns from locking the door, Vince is on him, hands working frantically on the lovely blue shirt, mouth attacking every inch of visible skin he can reach, using every advantage he has -- height, weight, experience -- to turn Eric into a little puddle of mush. He pushes him down onto the bed and climbs over him, pinning his hips between Vince’s knees.
"What's with you?" Eric asks, though his breath is ragged. He pulls back just a little, and Vince lets him go, in fact, lets him fall back to the bed. He likes this, likes being above Eric, in charge, for once. Eric twists under him and Vince puts his hands on Eric’s shoulders.
“Hold still,” Vince says, and he lowers himself to kiss Eric. Eric kisses back but his hands come up and curl over Vince’s shoulders, pull a bit - gentle but also insistent.
“Just relax,” Vince says. He pauses long enough to look down at Eric, and doesn’t miss the impatience in his eyes. “E, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Eric says, and pulls him back down. Vince gets a little lost in kissing Eric - he really has been busy all week - but not so lost that he doesn’t notice Eric shifting, slowly but purposefully, getting ready to roll them over and reclaim control.
Vince, his hands still on Eric’s shoulders, pinning him, nips Eric’s neck. “I’ll fucking tie you to the bed if I have to,” he says, and Eric laughs in a gust.
“OK, OK,” he says, finally, his hands falling from Vince to the bed. The lines are still there between his eyes, but he has a smug smirk, now.
Vince is gonna get both of those wiped off Eric’s face, if it kills them both. He goes back to kissing Eric while he pushes his shirt the rest of the way off, then unzips his slacks. When his knuckles brush Eric’s dick, he’s glad to feel Eric’s already getting hard.
Eric’s hands come up and tug gently on Vince’s shirt, but Vince shakes his head, slides down Eric’s body, and takes his cock in his mouth, just the tip, his hand working the shaft. Eric gets hard fast - maybe a little too fast, Vince thinks. He doesn’t want this over before it starts. That’s not the kind of release Eric needs right now, a wham-bam-goodnight-man kind of lay.
“Jesus, don’t stop,” Eric says, and his hips move restlessly on the sheets. Vince runs his tongue down the underside of Eric’s cock, lapping lightly, kissing, tasting. Eric has his hand in Vince’s hair, not pulling, just resting, and Vince looks up at him. Eric’s eyes are wider but he’s not gone, not yet. Vince gives his cock another stroke and then eases back up to kiss Eric. While he’s doing that, and this time letting Eric slide his shirt off, Vince grabs one of the pillows from the head of the bed. When he draws back, he drags the pillow with him, and then he kneels between Eric’s legs.
Eric braces himself on his elbows and gives Vince a look like, seriously?
“Uh-huh,” Vince says, and goes down on him until Eric says, “Fuck it, all right, all right,” and shifts his hips up enough to let Vince slide the pillow underneath.
Then Vince pulls back and kisses the inside of Eric’s thigh, puts his hand behind Eric’s knee to pull his legs open a little more, and Eric reaches around, then slides a tube of lube onto the bed beside him. Vince shakes his head and feels Eric get tense again.
“Hey, what -“
“Relax,” Vince says, lowering his head. He breathes the word again onto the tender skin at the top of Eric’s leg, then trails his tongue across from the bend of his thigh to his balls, spending a good minute on each of them, laving and gently, very gently, sucking them. Eric squirms and his hand gets briefly tighter in Vince’s hair, and then he draws his hand back. Vince reaches back and lifts Eric’s leg onto his shoulder, ducks again and laves Eric’s perineum.
Eric bucks and says, “Jesus Christ, Vince, you don’t -“ and Vince laughs. He puts his hands on Eric’s waist, urges him to roll over, and Eric, after a minute, does it. This is a step in the right direction. There’s still tension in him everywhere, but it’s good warring with bad, now.
Vince takes a second just to stare at Eric, at the mess of freckles spreading over his shoulders and the backs of his defined arms. “God, you’ve gotten hot,” Vince says, and Eric laughs but doesn’t say anything. A very good sign.
He licks the indent at the base of Eric’s spine, then goes lower, slightly to one side, kissing a slow, wet path to the center of one round, pale cheek. He rests his own cheek against it and brings a hand up, parts Eric carefully, slowly, teasingly. He feels Eric shiver and uses his other hand to rub his back, making sure the tension he feels now is desire. Vince kisses Eric again, then slides closer and engages both hands in spreading him open.
“Easy, E,” he whispers, then he drags his tongue in one long, confident stripe from the base to the tip of the valley between his buttocks. Eric jolts and squirms, and Vince rests his forehead in the small of his back.
“Vin,” Eric whispers, and Vince laughs, knowing Eric can feel that against very sensitive skin.
“I want to,” Vince murmurs. He licks again, more slowly, taking his time with the tiny rosette in the middle of it all. “OK?”
“Ye-eah,” Eric says, still holding back, still trying to be coherent, and Vince grins. He’ll take care of that. He kisses clear, exposed skin, then slides down to put his mouth back to work. He runs his tongue over and over the tight pucker, kissing it, laving it, feeling the folds start to relax, tasting skin, just Eric, just Eric, nothing bad. He lets the tip of his tongue flicker in, pushing past muscle just as strong and just as anxious as Eric, and he feels Eric’s groan echo up from everywhere inside of him. Vince kneads the flesh in his hands and then stabs further inside, like a woman only tighter, warmer. He keeps going, sucking, kissing, massaging with his tongue, feeling Eric starting to sweat, knowing the ache that’s curling in his belly and thighs. A tiny whimper escapes when Vince pulls back, and that’s exactly where he wants Eric to be. “Come for me,” Vince whispers, his hands rubbing up Eric’s ribs, feeling him panting, shuddering, gasping. “Come on.”
When he puts his tongue back inside, Eric seizes up immediately. He thrashes and then actually, yeah, he fucking coos, and then Vince feels the spasms against his tongue, against his hands as they slide down to the backs of Eric’s thighs. He rests his cheek between Eric’s shoulder blades, and when Eric’s hand flutters up and grips his arm, Vince smiles. Rolling them on to their sides, he’s a little surprised when Eric turns immediately to face him. Eric looks up at him, sleepy-eyed and sated and, yeah, utterly relaxed. He looks like he’ll do anything Vince asks, right now. Vince smiles down at him, and is surprised when Eric leans up and kisses him, moaning a little and pushing Vince backwards on the bed. It’s not a move for control, though - Eric splays himself over Vince, still panting. “God,” Eric whispers.
“Still with me?” Vince says, rubbing Eric’s back and shifting, just a little, so his own hard-on is rubbing against Eric’s thigh.
“Hmm,” Eric says. His eyes are closed, but he nuzzles Vince’s neck and slides his hand down to help him out. “What got into you?” Eric asks, after Vince has come very quietly and they’re both rolled over to the far side of the bed, sharing the one good pillow.
“You gotta learn to relax,” Vince says.
“Clearly, that’s why I keep you around,” Eric says. He yawns and kisses Vince’s neck. “I’m gonna work a lot harder if this is what I get for it.”
“Don’t even start,” Vince says. “There aren’t enough hours in the day. Plus if you turn into Ari, I’ll kick your ass before I kiss it.”
“Promises, promises,” Eric says. “Speaking of, we gotta see him tomorrow.”
“I suppose you’ll be in a better mood for it, at least,” Vince says, and Eric smiles, falls asleep with that smug, oddly sweet look still on his face. Vince pulls the blankets up around them both, kisses Eric again, and settles in against him. Maybe tomorrow things will start over again, but Vince isn’t worried. It’s not a bad way to end up.
Title: Relax
Fandom: Entourage
Pairing/character: Vince/Eric
Rating: FRAO
Prompt: What Vince loved best was watching that control break. From allyndra
Kink: Rimming
Notes/Warnings: Slash, yep. No real spoilers. Not beta-read, so all the mistakes are mine. I’m sorry.
Ari is yelling, his eyes all buggy-wide like they get whenever he really thinks he has a point, his arms waving in such a way that Vince is sure any second now he's gonna catch a fist in the head. He sinks back further into his armchair and glances over, surprised -- and then suddenly not -- to see Eric actually leaning forward on the couch.
"Fuck you, Ari, first of all," he says. "And second, you're the one who said we could afford to wait on this. You're supposed to be the fucking professional, right? Jesus, are you this fucking incompetent with your other clients, or is this just some special treatment you role out for the actual artists?"
"I'm -- I'm incompetent?" Ari sputters. Vince worries briefly that this is going to be the time, that they're actually going to watch Ari spontaneously combust like some scary movie special effect. "Eric, any time you want to start playing like this is real life instead of Murphy Make Believe land, any time you want to take an actual interest in your best friend's career here, like I have, and make some actual fucking professional decisions instead of just skating by on the stuff that you like or what happens to feel good to your chimpanzee-sized brain every morning --"
"Ari," Vince interrupts, or tries to, but Eric's already on his feet.
"Let's go," Eric says.
"Oh, cut and run? That's cute, that's really -"
Eric shakes his head in a very smooth, very curt way that Vince hardly recognizes. This is not the Eric that he knew from high school. That Eric would've already punched Ari for questioning his loyalty and intentions. This Eric tips his head, and Vince gets up to follow him out. At the door, Eric says, "We've got better things to do than get
yelled at by you. You call when you've cooled down."
In the hallway, Turtle says, "Jesus, is Ari getting fired again? We heard that shit through the glass," and Eric just shrugs.
"It's business, Turtle, not a big deal," he says, leading them down the hallway. Vince lengthens his stride to stay abreast; Eric is moving. "So now what?" Vince asks, when they stop for the elevator.
Eric shrugs, cool-casual like they haven't just been in a screaming match with Vince's agent. "Lunch," he says. When he looks over, he must see Vince's apprehension -- after all, they did come down here to talk to Ari about getting a job, and now he's not exactly sure where he stands -- because he smiles. "Hey, it's fine," he says, patting Vince on the shoulder. "I've got it under control, all right?"
Vince nods. Thing is, he believes it.
---
Two days later, after they've kissed and made up with Ari, Vince is reading a new script. It's the script Eric's wanted all along, based on some hot-shit mystery novel that came out a few years ago. The lead detective on the case, the guy that Vince's character is shadowing, is a greasy, complicated player, and Eric says, "We're looking at George Clooney for that." It shocks Vince a little to hear Eric say that with such confidence, because it's George Fucking Clooney. Vince has always believed he'd someday be a movie star, and he's not nervous about acting with Clooney or any of that bullshit, but something about the slick, smooth way that Eric says his name, doesn't look up from his computer to relay the fact, makes him shiver a little inside.
"E, seriously?" he says, and Eric looks over. His eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, but his face is completely impassive. "How do you know George Clooney?"
Eric laughs. "I don't, asshole," he says. "But I know his people, and that's even better."
Later that night, they're playing with the golf simulator when Eric's phone rings. He keeps his glove on, hands Turtle his club as he pushes to the corner of the room. Vince can't hear everything he's saying, but his tone is hard, an old Hollywood voice, the kind of voice that makes Vince think of guys making back-room cigar-smoke deals. When Eric turns around, he gives Vince a little smile and takes his club back, and when Vince keeps staring he shrugs. "What?"
"What was that?"
"Just business," Eric says, stepping up to the tee. He takes a practice swing, then nods that he's ready to go. "Don't worry about it," he says, and then hits the ball 200 yards.
---
Friday night, Eric has a meeting with Clooney's people. "Do you need me?" Vince asks, and Eric shrugs. He's wearing a charcoal gray suit with a shirt the color of the ocean that really makes his eyes pop appealingly. Vince is wearing a T-shirt, jeans of questionable cleanliness, old sneakers. He's got plans to go clubbing with Turtle and Johnny that evening, but he'll cancel, if Eric, in all his suave tastiness, asks him to.
"Nah," Eric says, fastening his watch. "I got it."
"Yeah?"
Eric raises his eyebrow. "What, you don't think I can handle this?"
Vince holds up his hands. "E, I have no doubt," he says, and Eric nods, just once, tightly. Professionally. Vince puts his hands back down. "You should catch up with us later," he says, and Eric shrugs.
"We'll see," he says, and then he's out the door.
He calls at midnight, when Vince is in the middle of acting very interested in an actress/model whose name he can't quite remember. "He's in," Eric says.
"Seriously? Clooney?"
“Yeah. And if anyone asks, you fucking loved his Batman movie," Eric says.
"Come here right now," Vince says. "I've gotta buy you a drink."
"You oughtta buy me another car," Eric says, but thirty minutes later he's there, still wearing the suit, still looking fucking hot in it. Vince slings an arm around his shoulders and orders champagne for the table, and Eric laughs but carefully pulls away.
Later, in the limo, Vince rests his hand -- honestly, just rests it, not even trying anything - on Eric's leg, and Eric, who's talking to Turtle, picks his arm up by the sleeve and drops it back to the limo seat. He glances over, just quickly, and Vince gets everything he needs from that look: not here, not now. And because he's been doing it all his life, Vince nods and follows Eric's lead.
They get home at three. Eric looks fucking exhausted but Vince is wired from the club, from the prospect of working with Clooney, and from the pull of Eric's shirt across his shoulders when he finally ditches the jacket. He puts his arms around Eric from behind as Eric's getting a beer out of the fridge, and Vince can feel the tension in his shoulders, as expected, but everywhere else, too: his stomach is tight, his arms, when Vince grips his biceps to turn him around, are corded, flexed. "Hey," Eric protests, turning to face him, and Vince looks down and shakes his head.
"You've been busy this week," he says, and Eric shrugs.
"I've been doing my job."
"Take the night off," Vince says, and then he kisses him.
It doesn't have the effect Vince was hoping for: Eric doesn't instantly relax, but he does put his beer down and then put his hands on Vince's waist. "Yeah," Eric says, when Vince kisses his neck. "But not here, OK?"
Vince looks up and sees that there are still tense lines across Eric's forehead. He frowns, but follows Eric down the hall, to Eric's bedroom, not Vince's, where Eric ushers him inside and locks the door.
And this is the last straw. Because as much as Vince likes seeing Eric in control, as much as he needs Eric to be in control most of the time, what Vince loves best is watching that control break. So when Eric turns from locking the door, Vince is on him, hands working frantically on the lovely blue shirt, mouth attacking every inch of visible skin he can reach, using every advantage he has -- height, weight, experience -- to turn Eric into a little puddle of mush. He pushes him down onto the bed and climbs over him, pinning his hips between Vince’s knees.
"What's with you?" Eric asks, though his breath is ragged. He pulls back just a little, and Vince lets him go, in fact, lets him fall back to the bed. He likes this, likes being above Eric, in charge, for once. Eric twists under him and Vince puts his hands on Eric’s shoulders.
“Hold still,” Vince says, and he lowers himself to kiss Eric. Eric kisses back but his hands come up and curl over Vince’s shoulders, pull a bit - gentle but also insistent.
“Just relax,” Vince says. He pauses long enough to look down at Eric, and doesn’t miss the impatience in his eyes. “E, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Eric says, and pulls him back down. Vince gets a little lost in kissing Eric - he really has been busy all week - but not so lost that he doesn’t notice Eric shifting, slowly but purposefully, getting ready to roll them over and reclaim control.
Vince, his hands still on Eric’s shoulders, pinning him, nips Eric’s neck. “I’ll fucking tie you to the bed if I have to,” he says, and Eric laughs in a gust.
“OK, OK,” he says, finally, his hands falling from Vince to the bed. The lines are still there between his eyes, but he has a smug smirk, now.
Vince is gonna get both of those wiped off Eric’s face, if it kills them both. He goes back to kissing Eric while he pushes his shirt the rest of the way off, then unzips his slacks. When his knuckles brush Eric’s dick, he’s glad to feel Eric’s already getting hard.
Eric’s hands come up and tug gently on Vince’s shirt, but Vince shakes his head, slides down Eric’s body, and takes his cock in his mouth, just the tip, his hand working the shaft. Eric gets hard fast - maybe a little too fast, Vince thinks. He doesn’t want this over before it starts. That’s not the kind of release Eric needs right now, a wham-bam-goodnight-man kind of lay.
“Jesus, don’t stop,” Eric says, and his hips move restlessly on the sheets. Vince runs his tongue down the underside of Eric’s cock, lapping lightly, kissing, tasting. Eric has his hand in Vince’s hair, not pulling, just resting, and Vince looks up at him. Eric’s eyes are wider but he’s not gone, not yet. Vince gives his cock another stroke and then eases back up to kiss Eric. While he’s doing that, and this time letting Eric slide his shirt off, Vince grabs one of the pillows from the head of the bed. When he draws back, he drags the pillow with him, and then he kneels between Eric’s legs.
Eric braces himself on his elbows and gives Vince a look like, seriously?
“Uh-huh,” Vince says, and goes down on him until Eric says, “Fuck it, all right, all right,” and shifts his hips up enough to let Vince slide the pillow underneath.
Then Vince pulls back and kisses the inside of Eric’s thigh, puts his hand behind Eric’s knee to pull his legs open a little more, and Eric reaches around, then slides a tube of lube onto the bed beside him. Vince shakes his head and feels Eric get tense again.
“Hey, what -“
“Relax,” Vince says, lowering his head. He breathes the word again onto the tender skin at the top of Eric’s leg, then trails his tongue across from the bend of his thigh to his balls, spending a good minute on each of them, laving and gently, very gently, sucking them. Eric squirms and his hand gets briefly tighter in Vince’s hair, and then he draws his hand back. Vince reaches back and lifts Eric’s leg onto his shoulder, ducks again and laves Eric’s perineum.
Eric bucks and says, “Jesus Christ, Vince, you don’t -“ and Vince laughs. He puts his hands on Eric’s waist, urges him to roll over, and Eric, after a minute, does it. This is a step in the right direction. There’s still tension in him everywhere, but it’s good warring with bad, now.
Vince takes a second just to stare at Eric, at the mess of freckles spreading over his shoulders and the backs of his defined arms. “God, you’ve gotten hot,” Vince says, and Eric laughs but doesn’t say anything. A very good sign.
He licks the indent at the base of Eric’s spine, then goes lower, slightly to one side, kissing a slow, wet path to the center of one round, pale cheek. He rests his own cheek against it and brings a hand up, parts Eric carefully, slowly, teasingly. He feels Eric shiver and uses his other hand to rub his back, making sure the tension he feels now is desire. Vince kisses Eric again, then slides closer and engages both hands in spreading him open.
“Easy, E,” he whispers, then he drags his tongue in one long, confident stripe from the base to the tip of the valley between his buttocks. Eric jolts and squirms, and Vince rests his forehead in the small of his back.
“Vin,” Eric whispers, and Vince laughs, knowing Eric can feel that against very sensitive skin.
“I want to,” Vince murmurs. He licks again, more slowly, taking his time with the tiny rosette in the middle of it all. “OK?”
“Ye-eah,” Eric says, still holding back, still trying to be coherent, and Vince grins. He’ll take care of that. He kisses clear, exposed skin, then slides down to put his mouth back to work. He runs his tongue over and over the tight pucker, kissing it, laving it, feeling the folds start to relax, tasting skin, just Eric, just Eric, nothing bad. He lets the tip of his tongue flicker in, pushing past muscle just as strong and just as anxious as Eric, and he feels Eric’s groan echo up from everywhere inside of him. Vince kneads the flesh in his hands and then stabs further inside, like a woman only tighter, warmer. He keeps going, sucking, kissing, massaging with his tongue, feeling Eric starting to sweat, knowing the ache that’s curling in his belly and thighs. A tiny whimper escapes when Vince pulls back, and that’s exactly where he wants Eric to be. “Come for me,” Vince whispers, his hands rubbing up Eric’s ribs, feeling him panting, shuddering, gasping. “Come on.”
When he puts his tongue back inside, Eric seizes up immediately. He thrashes and then actually, yeah, he fucking coos, and then Vince feels the spasms against his tongue, against his hands as they slide down to the backs of Eric’s thighs. He rests his cheek between Eric’s shoulder blades, and when Eric’s hand flutters up and grips his arm, Vince smiles. Rolling them on to their sides, he’s a little surprised when Eric turns immediately to face him. Eric looks up at him, sleepy-eyed and sated and, yeah, utterly relaxed. He looks like he’ll do anything Vince asks, right now. Vince smiles down at him, and is surprised when Eric leans up and kisses him, moaning a little and pushing Vince backwards on the bed. It’s not a move for control, though - Eric splays himself over Vince, still panting. “God,” Eric whispers.
“Still with me?” Vince says, rubbing Eric’s back and shifting, just a little, so his own hard-on is rubbing against Eric’s thigh.
“Hmm,” Eric says. His eyes are closed, but he nuzzles Vince’s neck and slides his hand down to help him out. “What got into you?” Eric asks, after Vince has come very quietly and they’re both rolled over to the far side of the bed, sharing the one good pillow.
“You gotta learn to relax,” Vince says.
“Clearly, that’s why I keep you around,” Eric says. He yawns and kisses Vince’s neck. “I’m gonna work a lot harder if this is what I get for it.”
“Don’t even start,” Vince says. “There aren’t enough hours in the day. Plus if you turn into Ari, I’ll kick your ass before I kiss it.”
“Promises, promises,” Eric says. “Speaking of, we gotta see him tomorrow.”
“I suppose you’ll be in a better mood for it, at least,” Vince says, and Eric smiles, falls asleep with that smug, oddly sweet look still on his face. Vince pulls the blankets up around them both, kisses Eric again, and settles in against him. Maybe tomorrow things will start over again, but Vince isn’t worried. It’s not a bad way to end up.