Work Text:
Vince was still up when Eric got home, half-asleep on the couch, his face lit by the flickering color of an X-box game on pause.
"About to waste my last life," he told Eric, waving the controller at the screen.
"Maybe you should wait til you're awake?" Eric suggested, flopping down onto the couch next to him. "Or I could give it a shot. See if I can do any better."
"You can't," Vince reminded him. "You suck."
"Oh, right, I forgot, I'm the one with a job, you're the one who can sit on the couch and play games all day."
Vince grinned at the TV, lopsided. "You're home," he said, sounding a little surprised. He twisted the controller around in his hands as if it was going to tell him exactly how to get out of his predicament.
"Unemotional, remember?" Eric told him. He took the remote away and shut off the game, leaving them lit only by the lights from the patio. "I'm pretty sure spending the night would have disqualified us."
"So you fucked her."
"Yeah. I fucked her."
"Don't sound so enthused," Vince said. "It's only twenty-five hundred dollars and a good lay." He paused. "It was a good lay, wasn't it?"
"You're giving me half?"
"Of course."
"Then it was a great lay."
Vince laughed, sinking back into the couch cushions. "You suck at this game too," he said.
"Yeah," Eric agreed. "Wasn't a great bet on your part."
"Paid off, didn't it?"
"One of these days, you're going to take a gamble on the long shot, and it's going to crash and burn on you."
"Not when I'm betting on you," Vince said.
Eric didn't have anything to say to that, so they sat there in the dark for a few minutes, Vince taking a sip of his beer, Eric reaching across the couch to take it out of his hand and drink some. "Why were you so sure?" he finally asked.
"About what?" Vince took the bottle back.
"With Drama. You said I can have unemotional sex, I just choose not to."
"Well, it's true, isn't it? Anyway, I've seen you do it."
"What, with those girls we were talking about? No, you really haven't. Drama's right, I ended up calling all of them," Eric said.
"Yeah, no, I didn't mean them. I meant…you know." He waved his hands awkwardly between them.
"Oh," Eric said. "Well, then, you're going to have to be more specific."
"Why?" Vince asked. "It was only…" he paused. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"Kind of a lot of times, now, hasn't it been?"
"Kinda, yeah," Eric agreed.
"Well I meant the first one. That was just…we didn't mean to, you know? That counts, right?"
Eric raised his eyebrows. "Really, Vince? That's the time you're going to go with? I'm pretty sure there are emotions involved in anyone's first time, unless that person's a robot."
"There are a lot of people in this town who aren't entirely convinced you're not," Vince reminded him.
"Right, you built me in your basement out of tin cans and radio wires, how could I forget? Anyway, by that logic, you're an actor. Everything you do is supposed to be emotional."
"Yeah, but we were, what? Thirteen? It's not like it was romantic or anything, Jesus. It was us and a six-pack and Johnny's Playboys."
"We're not talking about unromantic, we're talking about unemotional," Eric reminded him.
"Well then, what about that time at that party?"
There had been a lot of times at parties. "The one after you wrapped your first movie?"
"That one, yeah. We were in that girl's bathroom, remember? It's practically impossible to have emotional sex in a bathroom."
"That was the party where you were going around hugging everyone and crying, right?"
"Johnny gave me Jager, I can't be held responsible for my actions."
"Of course not," Eric assured him, "but I'm pretty sure that if one of the people involved spends most of the night weeping on people's shoulders, the sex can't really be considered unemotional."
"I don't weep," Vince said.
"Yeah, actually, you do."
"On camera, maybe," Vince allowed.
"Good thing Turtle was filming in the kitchen, then, huh?"
"I hate you," Vince said.
"Hate's an emotion," Eric reminded him.
"So what are you saying, E? That I can't have unemotional sex either? You're full of shit, I do it all the time."
"No, I'm saying that Drama's kind of right. I can't."
"I've got five thousand dollars on the table there that proves otherwise," Vince said, "and I'll bet you my share that we can have some more right now."
"Yeah, who's full of shit?" Eric started to ask, but his voice caught halfway through as Vince rolled toward him on the couch, tossing a leg over Eric's lap and kneeling over him.
"Who's what, E?" Vince asked, grinning down at him. "I didn't catch the end of that. Get distracted by something?" Eric had barely opened his mouth to reply before Vince's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back against the couch, his head ducking down to capture Eric's mouth in a demanding kiss. It had been a while since the last time, long enough that it took Eric a moment to get back into the rhythm of kissing Vince—so different from any of the girls he'd been with since then. Once he caught his breath, though, it was easy again, his hands wrapping around Vince's hips, fingers tangling into the waistband of his pants and boxers, their mouths coming together easily and possessively.
Vince was already hard when he pulled away to work off his shirt, his back arching, stripping like someone who made a career out of making that sort of thing look good. Their cocks pressed together through their pants as he moved, and Eric tipped his head back against the couch cushions, tilting his hips up against Vince's.
He expected Vince to go for their jeans, but he didn't, curling back down and kissing Eric again, bracing himself against the back of the couch and rocking against him just hard enough to feel amazing, just light enough to be a fucking tease.
"Jesus, Vince," Eric said, "who the hell taught you to fuck anyway?" He grabbed Vince by the shoulders, braced his feet on the floor, and pushed hard, taking Vince by surprise and rolling them both back against the arm of the couch, Eric pinning him down into the pillows. They grappled like that for a few moments, frantic and messy, like they were kids in the basement again, until Eric's fingers found Vince's pants, and he was opening them, shoving them off, bending down to suck Vince's cock into his mouth.
"That'd be you, Murphy," Vince gasped out, hand coming down to curl around the back of Eric's neck, gripping, probably bruising.
Eric paused long enough to pull off and grin at him. "That's right," he agreed, and waited until Vince tipped his hips up off the couch and made a tiny desperate sound before he ducked back down, wrapped his lips around him, and finished him off quickly and expertly, pushing Vince's hips back into the couch hard enough to leave marks.
"C'mere," Vince said when Eric sat up, and reached forward, twisting his hand into Eric's shirt, tugging him down over Vince. His clothes were all still on, but Vince didn't even bother to change that, just undid his pants and shoved his hand in, wrapping it around Eric's cock, jerking it steadily, curling his hand over the tip just the way Eric would do when he was alone. He dropped his head to Vince's shoulder, and bit Vince's collarbone as he came, hips jerking forward, pressing Vince back into the couch.
His arms gave out and he sank down against Vince, who pulled his hand out from between them and wiped it on the back of Eric's shirt.
"Classy," Eric mumbled against Vince's chest.
"That's how we do things in Hollywood," Vince agreed. "With class."
Eric was half asleep when Vince finally shifted under him uncomfortably and smacked Eric lightly on the ass. "If you're going to stay there, you've got to lose the pants," Vince said. "Your fly's doing things to my leg that may permanently damage my ability to wear swimsuits onscreen."
"Yeah, sure, okay," Eric said, and took another few minutes to actually sit up, rolling back to rest his head against the other arm of the couch. "'Night," he said, kicking his feet up into Vince's lap.
"Fuck that shit," Vince told him, and pushed Eric's feet off. He grabbed his boxers from the floor and pulled them on, then twisted around so that his head was pillowed against Eric's lap. "'Night," he said.
"You don't pay me enough to use me as a sleeping accessory," Eric told him.
"No?" Vince asked. "Ask me for a raise in the morning. Bed now."
"I'm going to hold you to that," Eric said.
"Shhh," Vince replied, peeking up at him and reaching up to press a finger to Eric's lips. "Sleeping."
"Right, yeah, sleeping," Eric replied, and was asleep before he even felt Vince take his hand back.
He woke the next morning to the feeling of being watched, and opened his eyes to find Turtle leaning over them, X-box controller in hand. "Did you waste my last life, you fucker?" he demanded.
"It's paused," Eric assured him.
"Better be," Turtle said, and tossed the remote at Vince's stomach.
"Oof," was Vince's comment, his breath warm against Eric's leg.
"Coffee?" Drama asked from the kitchen. "Or did you two just fuck enough last night that the endorphins have eliminated the need for caffeine?"
"Yeah, Drama, I'm sure they were fucking like bunnies all night," Turtle said, then flinched and turned green. "Pretend I never said that," he added, flopping down into a chair and pulling a blanket up over his face.
"Yeah, sure, that's exactly what we were doing," Eric agreed in what he hoped was his most sarcastic tone.
"I was trying to show E that we could have unemotional sex," Vince said, sitting up. His hair stuck out in thirteen different directions, and he sounded a lot more satisfied than mocking.
"Little brother, you've just got to come to terms with the fact that by definition, any sex you two have would be emotional," Drama said. "Also, if that ever actually happened, you'd owe me a new couch."
He headed back into the kitchen, and Vince curled up against Eric's shoulder, burying his face sleepily into his shirt. He dozed off for a few minutes, then twitched and opened his eyes again. "Hey, E," he whispered, his voice muffled by Eric's collar. "Feel like doing some furniture shopping today?"