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booshslashhavenPairing: Howard/Vince
Summary: Howard's looking for the perfect gift for Vince, so he resorts to reading his mind. As you do. And gets more than he bargained for, of course.
Word Count: 6000. HUGE CHAPTER IS HUGE.
Rating: R. At least.
Disclaimer: I don't own Howard, Vince or the Boosh, no harm or profit intended. Don't kill me! (I've got so much to give)
Author’s Notes: Man, I have no words. I have no idea what this is. Please let me know if it's horrible.
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
The morning was torture.
Something had happened, or failed to happen, between them, and now it was hovering between them, getting in the way. The elephant was not so much 'in the room' as it was 'following them around, pointing and laughing at their failures'.
Vince woke up uncharacteristically early after a night of restless, bleak dreams, but he arrived at work later than ever before, barely an hour before closing time. All day in the shop, Howard could hear him trying to think of things that would delay contact between them, until Naboo finally cornered him with a surly “Don't I pay you to work, you lazy ponce?” which sent him scurrying downstairs.
When he was finally there, the intermittent awkward silence was almost better than the distant, polite chatter. They talked about the Nabootique's stock, the suspicious smells coming from Naboo's room, even the weather, until Howard, completely without thinking, blurted out, “Good night last night then?”
Vince looked at him.
“The party, I mean,” Howard hurried to clarify. “I mean, you seemed to be in a good mood when you got home. Until – er – well, you were happy when you got home.” Somewhere in Howard's brain was an enormous sign in bright flashing letters, saying 'SHUT UP NOW'. “Yes?” Howard said helplessly. 'SHUT UP FOREVER' the sign flashed in lurid neon.
“Oh, uh, was I?” Vince muttered. “I think I got a bit too drunk, to be honest, I don't remember a thing.”
And that was even more awkward, because though Vince outwardly appeared to be completely engrossed in the knots he was tying in a piece of string on the counter, Howard could see his memories of last night whizzing through his mind with startling clarity.
Howard was silent.
“We're out of milk; I'm going down to the shop,” Vince said, and headed for the door. “Back in a bit.”
As he disappeared into the street, Howard contemplated running upstairs and emptying their nearly full carton of milk down the sink, just to spare them both the embarrassment of it all.
Maybe he could throw out all their groceries, and they could avoid each other by replacing them again. If they only bought one item per trip, surely that would give them enough time to get past this. No, he would have to throw out all their possessions, so they could spend years shopping and never have to look each other in the eye again.
Howard was fairly sure it had finally happened. He'd lost his mind.
Thankfully, he wasn't alone in his sudden insanity. Vince's brain was a flurry of awkwardness and panic, and he passed three shops before he felt he'd walked far enough. By the time he finally gave in and bought milk, he was contemplating running away to Venezuela to avoid their shared shame.
He was also cursing his drunkenly affectionate ways with some impressively colourful language.
But what was worst of all, was that something in his feelings had changed. That painful, eager, hungry feeling was still there, but it seemed to have been crushed under the weight of a lazy, sad, tired feeling Howard was fairly sure was defeat.
Vince had given up, and Howard didn't even know what he'd given up on.
Then things got bad.
***
Vince had delayed his return for so long that by the time he started back for home (with the unnecessary milk in hand), it was already quite late. Or at least, late enough for schools and jobs to have released their prisoners.
He was a few blocks away from the Nabootique when he slipped down the little alley shortcut to save his feet in his impractical shoes. He didn't notice the group lurking down the end near the bins.
It looked like most of them were just school kids, maybe a bit older. Bored chavs in ridiculously low pants and gaudy gold chains. They spotted Vince before he spotted them, but he caught the movement when they shuffled in a semi circle to block the alley, grinning to each other like a pack of wolves on the hunt.
Vince froze, and looked down at himself.
It was the worst possible day to encounter a bunch of chavs out on a solo walk. He'd dressed up more than usual to make himself feel better after last night's disaster, and so the quantity of feathers, sequins and glittery eyeshadow adorning his body was at an all time high. And those boots were definitely not built for running away. Vince took that opportunity to indulge in some more mental cursing at himself.
For a moment they just stood there, sizing Vince up and exchanging looks in some sort of silent chav communication. Howard thought there was six of them, but Vince wasn't exactly counting.
They looked angry.
The angry ones were the worst. Vince frequently inspired derision and amusement in people they met outside their narrow social circle, and usually Howard was enough of an embarrassment (especially when prematurely pleading for his life) to make people laugh and leave them alone.
The angry ones were more likely to chase after them.
They were flinging insults in thick accents, but Vince wasn't listening. They advanced as one, and when one of them whipped out a flick knife, the others answered with a collection of similar blades. They shuffled closer and started making stabbing motions as if Vince wasn't perfectly aware what the idea was. He flinched, stumbled back a step and lost his grip on the milk.
It hit the ground and burst open, unleashing a torrent of milk on the drooping pants of several of the chavs.
Well, now they were angry.
The group erupted into a cacophony of shouting and cursing. A few of them lunged for Vince, and all of them followed when he turned and tried to run.
But Howard barely noticed, because he was already halfway down the street, running for all he was worth.
Vince's mind was in a panic. He was looking for an escape route, trying to remember if any of the beauty products he had stashed on his person would double as weapons, concentrating hard on balancing in his boots.
Then the chavs caught up to him and shoved him into the brick wall of the alley, quickly cornering him, and all he was thinking was how much he wanted Howard there.
“We're gonna stab you up,” one of the older ones said quietly, leaning in so close to Vince that even Howard could smell his breath, “but first we're gonna make you pay for what you did.”
“What did I do?” Vince said, perhaps unwisely.
“You ruined my trousers!” one of the others howled indignantly. The one pinning Vince threw him a glare, and he fell silent.
“And you're hurtin' my eyes,” another one snapped, with a threatening leer.
“You look like a girl,” the first one murmured, and leaned in to hiss in Vince's ear, “Maybe you want to be treated like one.”
Which is when Howard appeared at the end of the alley, sweaty and out of breath.
Everyone looked up at him, and Howard nearly staggered under the force of Vince's relief and gratitude.
Vince tried to wriggle out from between the wall and the chav in his personal space, but the other man shoved him back, attention caught once more.
And Howard lost his mind. Again.
He leapt at the group with an inhuman howl and they staggered back as if he'd pushed them all at once. He watched, dumbfounded, as his own fist flew through the air and smashed into the jaw of the vermin that was touching his Vince.
The chav hit the ground, and his companions stared at Howard.
“Fuckin' 'ell, it's a crazy hobo!” one of them bleated.
“Fuck this!” another agreed. “He's probably got all sorts of well nasty diseases.”
And with that, they dragged their fallen friend to his feet, turned tail, and ran.
Howard abruptly became aware of the fact that his hand was in a fairly extreme amount of pain, and he was so winded he still couldn't breathe.
Which was not helped by the solid weight of his best friend slamming into his chest and flinging a death grip around his neck.
Howard felt his arms go up and around the shaking body out of reflex, and when he got the cloud of black hair away from his mouth, he found he could breathe again.
“Hey,” he cooed, and rubbed a hand soothingly over Vince's back. “Hey, little man, it's alright.”
Vince pulled back and looked at Howard with his huge, watery blue eyes. And there was that other feeling he got around Howard sometimes, that wild, soaring, reckless thing a bit like joy. Howard thought it felt affectionate, but its intensity confused and frightened him.
“It's okay,” he said, but whether he was telling Vince or himself, he didn't know.
***
When they finally recovered enough to start walking, the journey back home seemed so much longer than the desperate sprint there. Their progress wasn't helped by the fact that Vince remained plastered to his side the whole time. It was dark by the time they made it back to the shop, and it felt about a billion degrees below freezing.
Naboo was waiting at the top of the stairs. “You two are in big trouble,” he lisped threateningly. “You can't just run off and leave the shop unlocked and unattended, you-” he paused, looked them up and down. “What happened?”
Howard glowered at nothing. “Some chavs on the way home. Had a go at Vince.”
“Howard showed up and saved me,” Vince piped up, and smiled up at Howard.
“Oh,” said Naboo.
Howard put the kettle on and got Vince settled on the settee under a small mountain of colourful blankets. He even turned on the lights on the christmas tree, so that they glowed feebly between tiny gaps in the solid tinsel shell around the tree. Then he added another blanket to Vince's pile.
“I'm alright,” Vince said quietly, and laid a chilled hand on Howard's where he was fussing with the cushions.
Howard went still and looked up at Vince again, pinned by the freezing fingers spread over the back of his hand. Vince stroked a little to soothe him, and he couldn't hold back a wince.
Vince looked down at the mottled red swelling now creeping its way over Howard's knuckles. “Oh!” he breathed. “Sorry.” Howard shook his head. “Naboo!” Vince called, twisting to look over the back of the settee. “Have you got anything to fix Howard's hand? It's all broken from punching a chav.”
Naboo looked at Howard for a long moment. “Yeah, come in here, I'll see what I've got.”
In Naboo's bedroom, Howard waited while Naboo rummaged about in his magic supplies, and tried not to think about the last time he'd been into Naboo's stuff, and the book now hiding under Howard's bed.
Naboo found a salve that tingled intriguingly when he slathered it over Howard's injured hand, and the pain eased almost immediately. “Didn't know you had it in you,” he said, and threw Howard an enigmatic smirk that may have been pride.
Bollo was waiting in the doorway when Howard went to go back to Vince. Howard braced himself for ridicule, and instead got a heavy pat on the shoulder that made his knees buckle. “Harold did good. Protect precious Vince.” He sniffled alarmingly.
“Bollo,” Naboo warned, and Howard was treated to a gust of banana scented gorilla breath as Bollo huffed.
“Howard,” the ape grunted. “Howard did good.” And he immediately disappeared into the bathroom, where Howard could here him blowing his nose with a sound like a sea lion on heat.
Vince smiled like sunshine when Howard sat down next to him with two cups of tea. He took a dainty sip and smiled into the rim of the mug, before putting it, and Howard's, on the coffee table, and shuffling closer to Howard to lean against his side.
“Careful,” Howard said, embarrassed. “This cardigan is extra beige. You might catch something.”
“Librarian germs,” Vince agreed, but he settled himself closer anyway.
“They'll make even you like libraries,” Howard said, fighting a smile.
“They'll turn me into a library.” Vince grinned into the shoulder of Howard's cardigan (which was actually more of an aged fawn colour). “Don't underestimate the power of your beige. It can turn anything into a library. As you walk down the street, poof, libraries.”
“What would happen to libraries? That were already libraries, I mean.”
“They'd explode in a shower of geography teachers. All with the power of your beige.”
Howard let the smile escape. He could still feel Vince's shaky, chaotic thoughts flying around in a storm of emotion in his head. He wriggled an arm free and slung it around Vince's shoulders, remembering the way Vince had snuck a cuddle last time when he thought Howard wasn't paying attention.
Vince's thoughts slowed and lightened, just a little.
“I miss the zoo,” he said suddenly, and Howard wondered what else was floating around in that mental maelstrom.
“Even Bob Fossil?” he asked, smirking down at Vince's dark feathered head.
Vince snickered a little. “I can't even escape him, anyway, he's always around, bein' creepy, down at the Velvet Onion, showing up at the shop.”
“Bainbridge, then.”
“Oh yeah,” Vince laughed. “I miss his proud, bushy moustache. It made my life complete.”
Howard frowned, sulky.
Vince looked up at him and gave him a strange, soft smile. “Guess I'll have to make do with yours.”
Howard felt himself go a bit pink.
“But I miss the keeper's hut,” Vince continued, smile fading. “When it was just you and me, and we didn't have to go anywhere.”
“We went all the way to the arctic,” Howard pointed out.
“But that was still just us. And that nice polar bear.” He worried at a loose thread hanging off one of the buttons of Howard's cardigan, completely unaware he was doing it. “And I miss the animals.”
“Do you miss the jungle?”
Vince thought for a minute. “No. Not as much. I miss Bryan sometimes. And the animals.” He thought of his animal friends with bittersweet fondness, wondering how many of them were still alive now. “The elephants were better than the ones in the zoo – people would paint them, did you know? For festivals and things. Cover them in colours. They loved to show off, they'd come find me to talk about colour schemes.”
The image in his mind was beautiful. Vince remembered himself as a small child, stretching up on his tip toes to press colourful paint handprints onto the elephants' warm, winkled skin. They had pulled him up with their trunks to sit on their backs, telling him what colours they liked best as he scrambled over their mountainous bodies, painting sprawling, intricate patterns with his tiny hands.
“The colours were so bright there,” Vince whispered, and Howard knew, because he could see it too, in Vince's memories. “I'd like to take you there, one day.”
Howard 'hmm'ed in answer, lost in the vivid technicolour of Vince's thoughts.
“How'd you find me today, anyway?” Vince said suddenly, and Howard froze.
“Oh, er...” he thought fast. “I don't know really. I thought you seemed a bit off colour, and you were gone for ages, so I went out to see if there was a problem at the shop.”
“Milk emergency?”
“Something like that,” Howard agreed. “And then I heard some noises, and thought someone might be in distress. Just got lucky, I guess.”
Vince nodded against his shoulder, apparently satisfied with that, and certainly not thinking too deeply about it. “I used to think we were psychically linked.”
Howard nearly had a coronary.
“Isn't that stupid?” Vince continued. “Only you always seemed to know how to cheer me up, and I always seemed to know when you were in trouble and needed rescuing.” Howard tried to control his breathing. “Though, it was the other way around, today,” Vince said, and Howard could hear the smile in his voice and feel it in his mind, warm and sweet. “And we finished each other's sentences – with the crimps and everything. I don't think normal people can do that.”
“Maybe not,” Howard thought. Vince in a thoughtful, melancholy mood was proving to be a dangerous thing. Then he got an idea. “Wait here,” he said, and carefully dislodged Vince.
He retreated to his bedroom and went straight for the cupboard, where he kept his emergency supply of gifts for Vince – things he saw when he was out and knew Vince would like them, stashed at hand to dispel bad moods or derail tantrums. Vince was like a magpie, and thankfully had a short attention span.
He could feel Vince's curiosity as he waited in the living room, and he rummaged hurriedly through the pile. There, that would do.
He pulled out a scarf he'd gotten months ago, before winter set in. It was long and made of something silken, sort of woven, so that when you stretched it in your hands it revealed a surprisingly delicate pattern. It was a pale, muted silver, shot through with tiny threads of brighter colours, blues, reds, greens and yellows that glittered when they caught the light.
Vince's face lit up when he realised Howard was giving him a present. His mind buzzed with anticipation and childish glee. He inspected it thoroughly when Howard draped it carefully around his neck, running his fingers over the silken fabric before bringing it to his cheek. His thoughts were mostly variations of 'ooh shiny' and 'mmm soft'.
But it was not what Howard expected. He could tell Vince liked it, and his mood was definitely vastly improved, his mind gone all soft and bright with joy. But it wasn't really the gift.
It was Howard.
Everything is alright, Vince thought, which was good and all. Everything is alright, as long as he still loves me. Even if no one else in the world does. He closed his eyes and smoothed the scarf through his hands. Even if everything else goes wrong, as long as I still have Howard.
The most startling thing of all was that these thoughts seemed old and worn and familiar, as if this was what Vince thought every time Howard bribed him with gifts.
Howard just stared, completely thrown. It was astounding. This beautiful, strange creature, curled up on a worn settee and thinking Howard was the most important thing in the world.
And it finally clicked. Howard finally, finally, worked out how to interpret Vince's emotions.
Vince loved him.
Sweet stocky Jesus, Vince loved him.
Now, Howard had always sort of believed Vince was his soulmate. They weren't exactly normal mates, he'd always known they belonged together, that he needed Vince more than he would ever need anyone else.
Howard had spent so much of his life desperately trying to woo ladies into love because he was convinced he would end up dying a virgin, practically married to his best friend. He knew no woman would want to come second best to Vince, and they would come second best. Who could possibly compare to this sparkly, vain lunatic who was the centre of Howard's world?
He loved Vince. He knew this. He'd confessed, blurting it out like vomit, when he thought they were dying in the arctic. He'd always just carried this knowledge around as one of the facts of life. The sky was blue, water was wet, Howard loved Vince more than anyone else in the world.
But Vince loved him back. He'd said he had, in the arctic, but he'd laughed first, and Howard had given up the idea of his best friend ever feeling this same helpless, embarrassing devotion that tied them together.
Then things had gotten so tense between them, the peace so easily shattered. Vince had gotten cruel and resentful, lashed out when he was hurt or angry, and Howard had worried Vince didn't even like him anymore.
Apparently, he needn't have worried.
He'd been staring at Vince too long.
“Howard!” Vince barked, as if he'd said it about fourteen times before.
Howard jumped. “What?”
“Are you alright?” Vince frowned, concerned.
Howard nodded. “Just distracted, sorry.”
Vince smiled a little, but Howard could feel his lingering concern. “I said thank you for my present, were you listening?”
Thank you, Howard thought, completely inanely. “Oh, uh, you're welcome. No problem. Just something I had lying around.”
Vince smiled again, properly this time. “I think I'll have an early night. This day was a bit exciting for me, I need some beauty sleep.”
“Okay. Good idea.” Howard stared for a second.
“Goodnight Howard.”
And Howard stepped forward and pulled Vince in closer to bundle him into a hug.
Howard could feel the other man's surprise and joy, and – affection, it was affection, he was sure of it now. The force of it was still shocking, all warm and fearless, so wrapped up in something essentially Vince. Those skinny arms held him with surprising strength.
“Goodnight,” he said quietly into Vince's ear, and released him.
Vince grinned, bright and beautiful and artless, and as he left for his bedroom he kept turning back to look at Howard, and the smile was still there.
Howard collapsed on the settee.
His mind was blown. Completely blanked by the awe inspiring knowledge that Vince knew him completely and loved him even with that knowledge. Even with all the twisty, insecure, boring, annoying, beige and generally horrible parts that made up Howard T.J. Moon.
He could feel Vince fluffing around getting ready for bed, and it was nice, just being around him, even if not physically, as he went about his routines and settled into bed, mind all loose and lazy like his limbs.
It's alright, Vince was thinking as he started to drift off, his thoughts getting softer and more distant, less distinct. This is alright. I can live with this, he reassured himself, convincing and soothing all at once. This is enough, this way, I can live without more from him. Howard is enough. I can live with this, I don't need more. And he drifted off to sleep.
While Howard had another mental crisis.
More? What did he mean more? He had all of Howard already. He had complete and total ownership of everything Howard was. How could he possibly want MORE?
Howard got up and tried to make more tea, but he kept getting distracted and repeating steps, until he'd used three mugs, and now had a cup with two tea bags and about eight sugars, and no milk.
There wasn't any more to Howard! Did Vince think he was hiding something? Holding something back? This was all there was. He knew it wasn't very impressive, but Vince seemed to be alright with it (now Howard had worked out what that unbridled affectionate feeling he kept sensing was).
Vince was deeply asleep by the time Howard finally gave in and went to bed himself. He wasn't dreaming this time, but it still took Howard forever to fall asleep as his thoughts warred and tumbled around his head, confused and overwhelmed.
Eventually he slipped away, still warmed to the core by Vince's love, but terrified by the thought that Vince wanted something more, wanted something Howard didn't have to give.
***
He woke late in the night, or early in the morning, he supposed, confused and sweating, and lay for a moment, catching his breath and trying to work out what had disturbed him.
There was a ripple of unease from Vince, and Howard caught on.
Vince was dreaming of the jungle again, but this time the landscape was dirty grey concrete and crumbling brick. The monkeys were back too, but instead of Vince's face they were indistinct human faces with gaudy gold chains around their necks, hurling nonsense insults in thick chav accents.
They didn't approach Vince where he sat cross legged on the ground, barefoot again, but stayed perched on low hanging brick branches, sniggering and pointing.
“The carpet doesn't even have an exchange rate,” one of them muttered, and made a rude gesture. Vince looked at the ground.
“Your cheese is too old!” another called, and they all laughed derisively.
“Venetian blinds with white wine sauce,” one of them leered suggestively, and winked at Vince.
There was a trail of ants walking in a perfect circle around Vince, and as Howard watched, Vince began to pick them up and stack them on top of each other. He seemed to be building something, and the monkeys kept trying to get his attention, calling half heartedly to him.
“You spread the jam too far South,” one of them snapped, but Vince just kept stacking ants into two oddly shaped piles.
All at once, he seemed to be finished, and the piles of ants were suddenly a pair of plain black chelsea boots. Vince tugged them on with ease, and when he stood the ground was tweed.
When he walked away, the monkeys didn't follow, but they seemed disappointed that he was leaving them. “Everyone's waiting for your pockets!” one of them called after him, a dispirited parting shot.
Howard's point of view followed Vince when he walked out of the scraggly cement underbrush and into a hilly landscape of dull brown wool and cardboard trees. One of the trees had a shiny brass knob on it, and when Vince casually twisted it and pulled, it opened onto his bedroom, and then Howard was there too.
Except, Howard was still in his own bed, and floating around Vince's dream without a body or a proper point of view, watching the proceedings. But at the same time, there he was, standing in Vince's bedroom in the dream.
He appeared to be wearing every cardigan he owned.
“I knitted you a new one,” Vince said, and started unbuttoning the outermost one. The dream Howard just watched him, and when Vince reached the last button he pushed the fuzzy grey garment back off Howard's shoulders and dropped it to the floor.
He proceeded to do the same to the rest, but they just kept coming, until there was a fairly sizeable pile of soft wool in muted tones of grey and brown and the odd olive, gathered around and under their feet. Finally he seemed to reach the end of the endless supply of cardigans, leaving Howard in only one, in a startling shade of bright, blood red.
“There isn't any more,” dream Howard said, looking down at his own chest.
Vince made a motion like brushing dust off Howard's shoulder, and the red cardigan vanished into smoke. “No,” he agreed.
Howard – the real Howard, still in bed in his own room – was fairly sure his face was about the same shade as the last cardigan.
His dream self, however, seemed perfectly comfortable standing around shirtless in Vince's bedroom. Vince didn't seem to mind either.
Especially when the dream Howard gathered Vince into his arms with ease, and kissed him soundly on the mouth.
Howard froze in his bed.
In the dream, Vince wasn't pushing him away. Quite the opposite, it appeared, if the way he was plastering himself along Howard's front and winding his arm's around the taller man's neck were anything to go by. They were just. Snogging. Him and Vince. Going at it like there was no tomorrow.
Also, thanks to the magic of dreams, they now appeared to be standing around in their pants.
It was completely and utterly bizarre. Howard knew he was still lying in his own bed, comfortably wrapped in his thick fleecy pyjamas, but he could see himself, clear as day, with his tongue in Vince's mouth.
Aaaand his hand on Vince's arse.
It was a perfect likeness. He even moved like the real him – the same awkward jerkiness to the limbs, the same sullen, slumping posture. But it wasn't him. He had no control over this, couldn't push Vince away, or look into his eyes, or grab him by the hands or pull him closer.
Howard was actually having a coronary, he was sure of it. He should be doing something, should be concentrating on jazz to make the images go away.
But he couldn't help watching.
Dream Howard buried a hand in Vince's hair and Vince made a beautiful, unguarded noise against his mouth. It seemed that for the moment they only wanted to stand around kissing (and copping a feel, on Howard's part), nipping eagerly at each other's lips and panting against each other's mouths.
But it was clear this was no chaste, romantic wooing, or loving reading of cream poetry. This was no long walk on the beach, no hands clasped over a candlelit table. It was nothing Howard had imagined before.
Then Howard blinked, and his dream counterpart was on his back on the bed of discarded cardigans, and Vince was straddling his hips, and now they were naked, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen in his entire life.
They started up with the kissing again, and the real Howard flailed and twisted around, trying to throw off his blankets and stand up, and do... something, all at once. But his blankets caught on his bed side table and rocked the whole thing precariously to one side, so that everything on top hit the floor with a crash at the same instant the bedside table itself fell back on its feet with an almighty thump.
And Vince woke up.
Howard froze, still barely sitting up in bed, and silently cursed himself with every rotten word he knew, and then became soul destroyingly embarrassed at the fact that he appeared to be disappointed he'd interrupted Vince's perverted fantasy of him (his fantasy! Vince had a fantasy, about him!).
Vince sat up in bed, dazed, bleary eyed and confused.
And really, really hard.
Which, okay, Howard wasn't really faring any better himself, but at least he wasn't the only one. Howard was still reeling from the whole mutual love discovery, his brain had pretty much signed off for the rest of the day. Month. Possibly forever. He couldn't be expected to exercise rationality and self control in the face of his best friend's scorchingly hot sex dreams.
Usually, a part of Howard's brain giggled helplessly at even the thought of sex, but thankfully, that part appeared to have checked out with his reason. So Howard was feeling unusually liberated at that point.
And so, apparently, was Vince, because he was topping off the whole sex dream experience by having a wank.
Holy Christ on a tortilla, Howard should not have been seeing this. It was a whole new level of invasion of privacy, and unbearably awkward, and weird, and really not helping the uncontrollable arousal thing.
At which point Howard had to give in and also indulge in a nice late night wank, because the last of his self restraint had collapsed under the realisation that Vince was thinking about him.
He clearly remembered at least some of the dream, because that was where the fantasy started, with the kissing, and then the naked kissing, with Vince straddling Howard's hips and leaning down to kiss him, only it was better than the dream because there were details, and laws of physics (and no oddly helpful cardigans).
That really seemed to be working for Vince (and Howard certainly had no complaints), but apparently he wanted more, because then he started imagining up new things.
Like Howard fucking him over the shop counter.
Howard whimpered and then bit his tongue trying to keep quiet. Vince was impressively thorough with his imagination, from the feel of the far edge of the counter digging into his palm where he gripped it to anchor himself, to the sound of their harsh breaths and satisfied groans. And he kept thinking up new things, like Howard's short fingernails digging into his hips, and the surface of the counter gone slick with sweat, and faint whisker burn when Howard bit his shoulder.
But the sensations he was imagining were his own, so Howard's point of view was all askew; it was confusing enough to hold him back from oblivion, so that he was cursing when he realised he was going to outlast Vince.
But then Vince came with a strangled sigh and his eyes fluttered open, so that Howard could see him, stomach splashed with his own come, and he was flushed and glistening with sweat, wrecked and beautiful and real, and Howard smothered a shout as he came.
Howard could barely function for a while, made brainless and boneless in their combined afterglow. Slowly, unbearably slowly, reason crept back into his mind.
He'd just used a magic spell to spy on his best friend's fantasies of them together, so that they could both have a wank in secret.
Well. Shit.
Vince was cleaning himself up, gone lazy and sleepy and relaxed again, and his mind was all dark, delicious satisfaction.
But while Howard was completely freaking out at the weirdness of it all, Vince wasn't alarmed at all. In fact, he seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride, like a routine, as if...
Vince had done this before.
Now he'd thought of it, Howard was sure of it, he could feel it in Vince's mind, the familiarity of it.
Vince Noir had had sexy dreams about and/or wanked over Howard Moon many times before.
Howard was fairly sure he was having another epiphany. It was shocking enough that Vince could ever find him attractive. But for him to get off on the thought of kissing him, touching him, and more...
More!
Howard sat bolt upright. Vince wanted more from him. And he finally placed that achey, hungry feeling he kept getting off Vince, finally worked out it was Vince wanting – wanting him.
Vince didn't love him – he was IN love with him.
Oh christy. He'd invaded Vince's brain to find out what he wanted for christmas, but what he really wanted... was Howard. In more ways than one, apparently.
But somehow, somehow, what was more shocking was... Howard wasn't opposed to the idea.
He loved Vince. He always had. He was his best friend in the whole world, his other half. They drove each other crazy, always needling each other, having ridiculous fights that left them seething. And always, they gravitated back together, back into each other's orbits.
And, well... Vince was beautiful. He always had been, and no matter how much he changed over the years. His cheeky grin and sweet smile, blue eyes speaking volumes and warm, lithe body finding Howard's at every opportunity.
And he wanted to be with Howard.
In his own room, Vince was settling back down to sleep. The desperate hunger had faded from his mind, but so had the satisfaction. All that remained was the bittersweet resignation, that knowledge that Howard was his best friend and probably always would be, and that was all he could ask for.
Howard dropped his head into his hands. He was completely out of his depth, lost and confused and terrified that he would fuck this up and lose Vince forever. He had no idea how to be what Vince wanted. He deserved better.
But Howard didn't know if he could be better, if he could be good enough for Vince.
He was sure of something. One way or another, things were going to change.
PART SIX
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Date: 2011-02-10 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-11 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-10 07:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-10 09:57 pm (UTC)Sweet memories of painting elephants! Surrealistic dreams that make total dream-sense, and hot telepathic sex! This yarn just keeps getting better. :)
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Date: 2011-02-11 03:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-10 10:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-11 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-11 12:14 am (UTC)Oh..man..just...my god. The chavs, the dreams again, the hot hot hotness, Howard's love...THE LOVE EMANATING FROM THIS FIC. I can't get enough of it.
This is so engrossing, one more part, please please post it soon! I need more! :O :O :O This is just fantastic, bravo, bravo, bravo
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Date: 2011-02-11 02:51 am (UTC)Still, guess you win either way.
Glad you enjoyed it!
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Date: 2011-02-11 12:35 am (UTC)Ahem. I'm in love with this fic, deeply and unreservedly. Things are going to change, eh? <3
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Date: 2011-02-11 02:55 am (UTC)Naaaw, thank you! <3
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Date: 2011-02-11 03:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-11 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-12 12:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-11 08:03 am (UTC)I LOVED that scene where Howard saves Vince from the chavs.
And OM-EFFING!!!-G the Vince's sex dream turns wank turns into mutual wank via Howard's psychic voyeurism scene....yeahhhh- that was sooo hot- mmmmm, just: Yes. - wow, thank you for this, and I cant wait to read the next installment! This whole story has been just amazing, but this has been my favorite segment so far! Prolly cause I'm a big perv, lol. ;)
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Date: 2011-02-11 04:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-11 06:34 pm (UTC)*flaaaaaaaaaaaail*
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Date: 2011-02-12 04:03 am (UTC)Although the answer is pretty much 'not a lot'
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Date: 2011-02-12 12:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-12 04:04 am (UTC)dayyear.no subject
Date: 2011-02-12 06:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-12 08:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-12 10:35 am (UTC)Oh, and I'm already working on two more things XD
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Date: 2011-02-12 07:02 pm (UTC)Favorite part of the whole thing:
He'd always just carried this knowledge around as one of the facts of life. The sky was blue, water was wet, Howard loved Vince more than anyone else in the world.
SO SWEET.
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Date: 2011-02-13 06:53 pm (UTC)And, bloody hell, Howard. It took you long enough!