booshslashhaven | Challenge #23

Title: HEAT
Pairing: Vince and Howard
Summary: Poor Howard. How will he cope as the temperature rises?

Word Count: 2200
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: A few unpleasant images – especially needles!
Challenge: For challenge #23 – Boosh Movie Scene
"Write the Boosh Movie gay scene (the one that Noel once promised in an interview), either the way you think it could actually play out or the way you want it to be."
Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. Much as I’d like to own The Boosh; I’m afraid I don’t.

Author’s Notes: With grateful thanks once again to

themogwaiwho did the most amazing and inspirational job as beta! And to

callifer; who encouraged my excesses to the full!!

HEAT

I’ve got to tell Vince something really important but just at the moment, for the life of me, I can’t remember what it is.

I blame the heat. It’s hot. Stiflingly hot.

And even though I’m standing naked just inside the back door of the shop trying to catch any hint of an early evening breeze, it is still too hot to think straight.

I feel utterly lost. Totally bewildered. My body and mind misty and muddled. And I’m trying to work out how it’s happened even though I can vaguely recall that this isn’t the first time I’ve had this experience.

But right now I can’t remember what it is that I want to tell Vince. Or whether I’ve come in from the yard or come downstairs from the flat. Either way, I can’t see my clothes and I know I had them earlier, before it went dark, before the heat closed in on us; sapping our energy, making our limbs leaden and our minds lazy.

A quick glance is all it takes to confirm that Vince is suffering too. Sitting in the barber’s chair by the window, surrounded by dolls and lost in thought, he’s removed the top half of his jump suit and the empty sleeves lie folded in his lap as he stares straight ahead. I have a feeling he’s edgy. Irritated. And I’m not sure if it’s with me. As the moonlight floods through the windows it gives his skin the appearance of chiselled stone; his profile hard and cold. Only the movement of his chest as he breathes confirms he’s alive; that he’s flesh on bones and not a ghostly statue in this increasingly gothic mausoleum we find ourselves in tonight.

I think he hasn’t seen me. I desperately need him to acknowledge me; to witness my distress. I need him to help me because suddenly I am finding it difficult to speak.

I call his name softly so as not to startle him.

“Vince.” I’m hoarse and it’s difficult to form the word so that it sounds right.

The lights along the edge of the shelves flicker on and off.

“Vince.” The word sounds thick and unintelligible.

More flickering. The counter begins to glow green in competition with the moonlight and the clockwork bus evolves into an electric train that continues on its noisy circumnavigation of the crocodile.

Without responding directly to me, Vince slowly puts down his magazine and stands and stretches. He turns the shop-sign to CLOSED and pauses; his back to me, hands on hips, hollow sleeves hanging by his thighs. Outside, beyond the glass, where the High Street used to be, there are palm trees. Tall and imposing, they are reduced to black silhouettes against the sliver of orange-turquoise sunset that slices the horizon. Moonlight begins to edge the waves with silver filigree as they lap against the alien shore, but there’s still no breeze in here. No air.

As I watch Vince in the intense heat, I catch sight of Bollo out of the corner of my eye. He’s making his way carefully through the shop holding a kitten; carrying it like it’s the most precious, fragile thing in the whole world. Pure, white fluff swathed in matt, black fur.

I know he’ll say something. He won’t be able to resist, so I step behind the counter to let him pass and to hide my nakedness.

“You OK Howard?” is all he says. And then he’s gone, cradling the tiny kitten so tenderly in his huge paws that I feel tears pricking at my eyes at the thought of such intense compassion and love.

I’m suddenly so dry that my tongue won’t leave the roof of my mouth. I can’t reply; I can only nod at him but by now it’s too late.

And then there’s Vince. He’s crossed the shop floor and is standing on the other side of the counter with Naboo. His head is bent low as they whisper to each other and look up at me from time to time.

The fog in my head makes it difficult to think straight.

Makes it difficult to see properly; the edges are blurred.

My hearing is muffled.

I feel that there’s a battle now to see what will unbalance my senses the most.

Naboo reaches up and wipes away a bead of perspiration that trickles slowly down Vince’s cheek. I want to stop him and tell him to leave it. I want to watch it skirt along the side of his face and trace a line along his jaw to his chin. At this moment I want to be the one who wipes it away.

But I know I can’t. I’ll never be able to.

What is it I need to tell him?

Not that it matters because I can’t speak at all now.

My mouth. It won’t. It won’t work.

“Howard. You need some water.” It’s Naboo. He’s handing me a glass and I’m desperate to drink but the liquid inside is teeming with life – it’s dirty and it’s foul-smelling so I push it away and shake my head.

“No.” I manage to whisper at last. “No!” Louder this time so that Naboo looks shocked.

“Just a sip please Howard. It’ll help.”

It must be the heat; so intense that suddenly I’m struggling for breath as well. Gasping like a fish on a hook.

“Come on Howard. Just a sip.” It’s Vince speaking now; right in front of me, holding the filthy glass to my lips. Any hint of irritation I may have perceived earlier is gone but he can’t expect me to drink from this. It’s an unreasonable request.

“Nonononono! I can’t!” I’m shouting at him in order to get the words physically out of my mouth. He looks as if he’s frightened of me.

This is all horribly wrong.

I turn my head, put up my hand and gently push the water away. I note that it’s turned to an iridescent green. It could be the reflection from the counter but it’s bubbling in the moonlight. Suddenly Vince turns too; startled by something behind us. He looks nervously over his shoulder as the stench of feral fox fills our nostrils. A shadowy figure skulks low outside the backdoor dragging stinking strands of rotting entrails in its wake. A ghost of a laugh echoes across the canal and rattles around underneath the arches.

And then he’s focusing on me again. Proffering the glass – lifting it to my lips

“Come on Howard, please. You’re scaring me.” I can see it in his eyes. But I’m scaring myself too.

It’s so hard to breathe.

And then, suddenly I manage “No, Vince. Don’t!” It takes a supreme amount of effort to raise my hand and push the glass away from my mouth again but this time it’s enough to send it flying across the shop; arcing slowly through the air, liquid droplets caught in the light like mercury fleeing a hammer blow. It smashes at Vince’s feet as he stands by the door again.

“Careful Howard. It was only water. I haven’t got a knife this time. Look.”

I check. His hands are empty. I wonder why he’s telling me this and why I feel a sense of foreboding and then. . .

“Aw, Vincey. Leave Moon alone. Come play with me instead.” And Fossil pats his lap as he sucks on a lollipop; inviting Vince to join him on the bottom step.

The desire to punch that stupid grin off his face is all consuming. Just to shut him up and stop him from distracting Vince. But Vince doesn’t react – doesn’t seem to want to play. His gaze is fixed on me.

But now I’m in trouble. Real trouble. The hand that brushed away the glass refuses to move.

It won’t respond.

I appear to have been taken over by a leaden paralysis. I am effectively immobile.

There’s little comfort in the knowledge that this has happened to me before and that I know it will eventually pass, because right now, my panic levels are escalating up to the rafters and out through the roof. .

The lights in the shop flicker for the last time and go out.

There’s only the moonlight to see by now. Everything stands out in stark contrast to its neighbour – either light or shadow. No colours – just shades of grey.

And I can’t move.

Vince is back behind the counter with me; a hand on my shoulder. The softness of his flowing sleeve caresses my arm and chest. I don’t remember him changing. I must have been distracted. Perhaps I was distracted by the small army of dolls that is advancing across the shop towards us. An army that is growing in numbers as the individuals, armed with hypodermic needles, clamber across the shelves and racks, belayed together with gossamer threads.

I can’t formulate words; my mouth still won’t work so a low groan is all that escapes from my throat. Impotent and ineffective; it does not convey my fear.

“It’s OK. I’m here. You’ll be fine.”

Vince is so close now. Too close. I cannot escape the overwhelming presence of him. The smell. The touch.

The touch. . . . .

He places both hands on my shoulders and presses gently with his thumbs.

I want to tell him to stop. I want to say “Don’t touch me.” Beg him “Please don’t touch me.” But all that emerges is a groan. Deep and carnal. The sound of some wretched creature in anguish. A creature worn down by the chase and finally giving itself up to the hunt.

And although I can’t command any hint of movement from my body, part of me stirs regardless. Another groan escapes. Vince must have noticed. He must have.

“Vince. Please!” I finally manage to gasp. “Please. I can’t help it.”

“Come on Howard. Trust me. It’ll be all right.”

“No! Please. NO!”

The army of dolls advances. Fossil has joined them; swinging from the lights by the finest of threads. Outside there are faces pressed against the window – watching as events unfold. It’s the Board of Shamen; so many of them peering in that they are blocking out the moonlight, making it darker still inside the shop, which is now a hut, which is now a cave.

I can just make out the shape and form of Dennis. He’s opening the door and striding towards us, sword held high; moonlight glinting off the edge. I don’t know who’ll reach us first – him or the dolls but we have to get out of this.

“Howard. Listen to me. You’re safe. Honestly.”

“No. No. No.” It’s all I can say in my fear and embarrassment. “Please Vince.”

The sword is poised above our heads; our legs are bound together tightly by the dolls as they weave their threads around us. We are locked together in each others arms as the blade falls. . . . .

And I remember what it is I wanted to say. . . . .

One final scream.

It’s all I can manage.

Blackout.

“Howard?”

I check to see if I can move.

I can.

I can almost sit up.

But I can’t breathe easily yet and my legs are still tied together.

“Howard? Howard!””

It’s Vince. Vince, who’s sitting next to me on the edge of the bed, his weight pulling the duvet tight across my chest. Vince who is gripping my shoulders.

My legs are tangled in my pyjamas. I’m breathless and sweating and scared. It’s clearly been a very bad dream. Another nightmare.

”Howard. Thank god. Are you OK? I thought I’d never wake you.” He’s all concern and compassion. “You managed to soak me right through this time with the water you berk. Look. Wet through.”

Perhaps not all compassion. His T-shirt is in serious need of wringing out. As he peels it over his head I’m still painfully aware of the effect he had on me scant seconds earlier. I bunch the covers in my lap.

“Sorry.” It’s a feeble excuse; for how much I must have scared him. For how much I’m a victim to my desires.

“Was I after you with a knife again?”

“Mm.” It’s so much easier to lie; to deflect the truth.

“Scary!” Vince nods in the direction of the door. “You knocked the glass right across the room this time – lucky it didn’t break.”

I smile pathetically. I’m still in shock – still aware of the adrenaline coursing through my system. A powerful drug; adrenaline.

Softly he adds - “Do you want me to stay with you, Howard? Till you’re over it?”

I know what I want to say.

With absolute certainty I know what I want to say.

“No. I’ll be fine now,” is all I can manage.

“Oh. OK.. . . . . . . . . if you’re sure.”

Another nod and I slide down under the covers as he gets off the bed. He hesitates and then leans across, strokes my hair out of my eyes and gently, and unexpectedly, kisses my forehead.

“If you’re sure. . . .? “

As he reaches the door he picks up the glass and turns.

“You know, you don’t have to go through this every night, Howard.”

He examines the glass; avoids eye contact.

“You can still change your mind. All you have to do is say ‘Yes’.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

colour-me-troll.livejournal.com

I think I've been spending too much time doing my literiture homework.

This fic is amazing because it SOUNDS hot, and stifling and breathless.
I dont want to use the word onomatopoeia, but much of the writing is really quite onomatopoeiaic.

I really enjoyed it, thankyou.

Edited because I wrote "spenging".

Edited Date: 2008-07-10 12:52 am (UTC)

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Welcome to the Kingdom of Gheydom

Challenge #23 - Boosh Movie Scene

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