Chanel AU, part 7
Title: Fate and perfume (7 of 8/9)
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Summary: Vince is the most famous male model in the world, Howard is a struggling poet. Vince runs away from a red carpet event and into Howard's life.
Word Count: 1391
Rating: PG for this chapter
Warnings: AU, cheesy fluff
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh, Chanel or Nicole Kidman, among other things. The list of things I don't own is long and various.
Author’s Notes: I think that this is almost finished now. I think I'll have a "reunion" of a less PG variety in the next chapter *winkwink nudgenudge say n'more* and then an epilogue. Or I may do something entirely different, I may just leave it here, only time will tell.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
In the end there was only really one decision he could have made. Vince sought out his tour manager and announced that he was taking a car for the day to drive to Stanford. The overworked administrator barely looked up from his laptop and nodded absently, giving him the instruction to take a bodyguard and that he needn't be trying to run off again.
*
After the drive he felt warm and uncomfortably sticky. He left the driver to park the car and went with the bodyguard into the large university campus. He checked the newspaper article again and stopped a girl wheeling a bicycle for directions.
“Oh my god, you're Vince Noir,” she said, looking up when he tapped her politely.
“Yeah, right. Listen, you can't tell me where to find this place?” he pointed at the article and the girl stopped fishing in her bag for her camera phone and studied it intently.
Three photos, an autograph and a hello to her best friend later, he was on his way again. Eventually, he found himself in vaguely the right place when he started to see posters up for the reading. Fewer people recognised him here when he asked for further directions.
He slipped into a lecture hall after glancing at a schedule on the door. He was still in time to see H. Moon, whoever he turned out to be. He lurked in the back while a tall dark woman read out poetry about frogs and physics. It was mostly over his head, but it sounded nice.
As more poets came and went, Vince began to get nervous. What if he'd been wrong? The chances that it had been his poet from Leeds whose first initial was H. was looking slimmer as time went by. He felt his palms sweating and he shifted nervously in his seat. He closed his eyes and felt his heart beating in time to the footsteps of the next poet.
“H-hello, I'm Howard Moon and I'll be reading Ode to a Phantom Lover.”
Vince's eyes shot open and he saw Howard standing at the top of the hall, holding a few sheets of paper awkwardly. He began to read slowly. His body language was closed off and tense and he was looking down nervously. But his voice, Vince could listen to that voice for days. When he reached the end of his poem, Howard looked up shyly and saw Vince sitting at the back. His small eyes went wide and he dropped his carefully typed sheets of paper and started to walk off the stage and into the seated crowd. Vince stood up and ran to meet him halfway.
“What're you doing here?” Howard asked.
“Just passing through,” Vince shrugged, “though I was expecting a kiss, to be honest.”
Howard smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Vince was having none of it and threw his arms around the writer's neck and kissed him full on the mouth enthusiastically. They broke apart to the sound of a smattering of applause.
“That better have been for the poem,” Vince said and the gathered academics chuckled gently.
“You're very good, you know,” he said quietly to Howard, “Was that about me?”
“I wrote it a year and a half before I met you,” he said, “But it was still about you.”
Vince kissed him again.
“Let me take you away,” he whispered against his lips.
“I have to sell books,” Howard said reluctantly.
“Afterwards?” Vince asked hopefully.
“Alright, I haven't got much on,” Howard replied.
*
Howard looked up from the toilet bowl blearily. That was it, he thought. Oh, oh no it wasn't, he quickly realised as he tried to stand up and heaved, narrowly missing his shoes. He'd always had stage fright. Even reading out one line in the school nativity play when he was a kid had almost crippled him with nerves for hours before the play. He'd managed to pull himself together when there was talk of sending someone else on to read his sentence and him being a sheep instead. In this particular instance, Howard thought that he wouldn't mind being a sheep.
The hassled looking woman who was organising the event was knocking on the door and telling his that he was on after the next poet. Oh god....
He walked out onto the stage clutching his notes tightly. He tried to forget about the people he was reading to and kept his eyes glued to his notes throughout the duration of the poem. This was probably not the best tack, but if he looked up, he would be sick again. Writing poetry was piddle compared to reading it out and exposing himself emotionally to a crowd of strangers for critical appraisal. At least his voice was clear and he didn't trip over his words.
When the end eventually came, he peeked up nervously at the audience. For a second he thought he was hallucinating. Vince was sitting at the back, fidgeting in his seat with his lips parted slightly. In a daze he let his notes drop to the ground and walked off the stage slowly but purposefully. Vince stood up suddenly and ran towards him. Howard walked faster until the younger man was crashing into his arms, warm and real and there. He started to lean in closer, but Howard stopped him by abruptly asking him why he was there, while his mind screamed at him that it didn't bloody matter.
“Just passing through,” Vince grinned and shrugged, “though I was expecting a kiss, to be honest.”
Howard felt his cheeks flush and once more tried to forget about the people around him as he pressed his lips to the model's perfect (if slightly clammy and unshaven) cheek. He could feel Vince scowl as he twisted around to capture his lips. The assembled poets and students clapped warmly and he felt even more embarrassed. But happy, so happy. Vince told them off cheekily, to their delight, before turning to look him in the eyes and rest his forehead against Howard's and whisper to him softly.
“You're very good,” he said sincerely, “Was that about me?”
Howard looked into those clear blue eyes and realised that it was, it always had been.
*
He sold all of the books that he had brought with him and had received many requests for more. He was not naive enough to think that this was a reflection of how well he had read or even how much they liked his work. The fact that more than a few copies of the book had been pushed underneath Vince's nose to sign was a clear indicator of the real reason he was suddenly so popular.
Vince seemed to be upset by it, but he couldn't bring himself to care much either way. Money was money and he really didn't care what anyone thought of him at the moment. Well, anybody bar one.
He looked over Vince's shoulder to see the supermodel writing
'Dear Pam,
I'd best not see this on ebay. Read my boyfriend's poetry and ignore this poncey inscription
Love and kisses,
Howard's fella
(Vince Noir)'
“You're lovely,” he murmured into Vince's ear and kissed his neck, causing the young woman waiting for her book to turn an interesting shade of pink and smile dreamily.
“They should be here for you and I made it all about me,” Vince frowned, “I'm a total arse.”
Howard nuzzled his neck gently and made soothing noises into his skin. The girl was now positively puce.
“Are you my fella, then?” he asked teasingly, “Because, honestly, I don't think I'll last another five years without you.”
“Neither would I,” Vince said, “Come with me?” He looked so nervous and uncertain.
“I don't want to freeload on you or hold you back,” Howard said softly.
“Please? I can't not have you around. Not now that I know what being with you is like,” Vince said with his bottom lip between his teeth.
“If you want me, I'm yours,” Howard said simply.
The girl wandered away some time latter looking slightly dazed and clutching the book to her chest tightly.
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Summary: Vince is the most famous male model in the world, Howard is a struggling poet. Vince runs away from a red carpet event and into Howard's life.
Word Count: 1391
Rating: PG for this chapter
Warnings: AU, cheesy fluff
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh, Chanel or Nicole Kidman, among other things. The list of things I don't own is long and various.
Author’s Notes: I think that this is almost finished now. I think I'll have a "reunion" of a less PG variety in the next chapter *winkwink nudgenudge say n'more* and then an epilogue. Or I may do something entirely different, I may just leave it here, only time will tell.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
In the end there was only really one decision he could have made. Vince sought out his tour manager and announced that he was taking a car for the day to drive to Stanford. The overworked administrator barely looked up from his laptop and nodded absently, giving him the instruction to take a bodyguard and that he needn't be trying to run off again.
*
After the drive he felt warm and uncomfortably sticky. He left the driver to park the car and went with the bodyguard into the large university campus. He checked the newspaper article again and stopped a girl wheeling a bicycle for directions.
“Oh my god, you're Vince Noir,” she said, looking up when he tapped her politely.
“Yeah, right. Listen, you can't tell me where to find this place?” he pointed at the article and the girl stopped fishing in her bag for her camera phone and studied it intently.
Three photos, an autograph and a hello to her best friend later, he was on his way again. Eventually, he found himself in vaguely the right place when he started to see posters up for the reading. Fewer people recognised him here when he asked for further directions.
He slipped into a lecture hall after glancing at a schedule on the door. He was still in time to see H. Moon, whoever he turned out to be. He lurked in the back while a tall dark woman read out poetry about frogs and physics. It was mostly over his head, but it sounded nice.
As more poets came and went, Vince began to get nervous. What if he'd been wrong? The chances that it had been his poet from Leeds whose first initial was H. was looking slimmer as time went by. He felt his palms sweating and he shifted nervously in his seat. He closed his eyes and felt his heart beating in time to the footsteps of the next poet.
“H-hello, I'm Howard Moon and I'll be reading Ode to a Phantom Lover.”
Vince's eyes shot open and he saw Howard standing at the top of the hall, holding a few sheets of paper awkwardly. He began to read slowly. His body language was closed off and tense and he was looking down nervously. But his voice, Vince could listen to that voice for days. When he reached the end of his poem, Howard looked up shyly and saw Vince sitting at the back. His small eyes went wide and he dropped his carefully typed sheets of paper and started to walk off the stage and into the seated crowd. Vince stood up and ran to meet him halfway.
“What're you doing here?” Howard asked.
“Just passing through,” Vince shrugged, “though I was expecting a kiss, to be honest.”
Howard smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Vince was having none of it and threw his arms around the writer's neck and kissed him full on the mouth enthusiastically. They broke apart to the sound of a smattering of applause.
“That better have been for the poem,” Vince said and the gathered academics chuckled gently.
“You're very good, you know,” he said quietly to Howard, “Was that about me?”
“I wrote it a year and a half before I met you,” he said, “But it was still about you.”
Vince kissed him again.
“Let me take you away,” he whispered against his lips.
“I have to sell books,” Howard said reluctantly.
“Afterwards?” Vince asked hopefully.
“Alright, I haven't got much on,” Howard replied.
*
Howard looked up from the toilet bowl blearily. That was it, he thought. Oh, oh no it wasn't, he quickly realised as he tried to stand up and heaved, narrowly missing his shoes. He'd always had stage fright. Even reading out one line in the school nativity play when he was a kid had almost crippled him with nerves for hours before the play. He'd managed to pull himself together when there was talk of sending someone else on to read his sentence and him being a sheep instead. In this particular instance, Howard thought that he wouldn't mind being a sheep.
The hassled looking woman who was organising the event was knocking on the door and telling his that he was on after the next poet. Oh god....
He walked out onto the stage clutching his notes tightly. He tried to forget about the people he was reading to and kept his eyes glued to his notes throughout the duration of the poem. This was probably not the best tack, but if he looked up, he would be sick again. Writing poetry was piddle compared to reading it out and exposing himself emotionally to a crowd of strangers for critical appraisal. At least his voice was clear and he didn't trip over his words.
When the end eventually came, he peeked up nervously at the audience. For a second he thought he was hallucinating. Vince was sitting at the back, fidgeting in his seat with his lips parted slightly. In a daze he let his notes drop to the ground and walked off the stage slowly but purposefully. Vince stood up suddenly and ran towards him. Howard walked faster until the younger man was crashing into his arms, warm and real and there. He started to lean in closer, but Howard stopped him by abruptly asking him why he was there, while his mind screamed at him that it didn't bloody matter.
“Just passing through,” Vince grinned and shrugged, “though I was expecting a kiss, to be honest.”
Howard felt his cheeks flush and once more tried to forget about the people around him as he pressed his lips to the model's perfect (if slightly clammy and unshaven) cheek. He could feel Vince scowl as he twisted around to capture his lips. The assembled poets and students clapped warmly and he felt even more embarrassed. But happy, so happy. Vince told them off cheekily, to their delight, before turning to look him in the eyes and rest his forehead against Howard's and whisper to him softly.
“You're very good,” he said sincerely, “Was that about me?”
Howard looked into those clear blue eyes and realised that it was, it always had been.
*
He sold all of the books that he had brought with him and had received many requests for more. He was not naive enough to think that this was a reflection of how well he had read or even how much they liked his work. The fact that more than a few copies of the book had been pushed underneath Vince's nose to sign was a clear indicator of the real reason he was suddenly so popular.
Vince seemed to be upset by it, but he couldn't bring himself to care much either way. Money was money and he really didn't care what anyone thought of him at the moment. Well, anybody bar one.
He looked over Vince's shoulder to see the supermodel writing
'Dear Pam,
I'd best not see this on ebay. Read my boyfriend's poetry and ignore this poncey inscription
Love and kisses,
Howard's fella
(Vince Noir)'
“You're lovely,” he murmured into Vince's ear and kissed his neck, causing the young woman waiting for her book to turn an interesting shade of pink and smile dreamily.
“They should be here for you and I made it all about me,” Vince frowned, “I'm a total arse.”
Howard nuzzled his neck gently and made soothing noises into his skin. The girl was now positively puce.
“Are you my fella, then?” he asked teasingly, “Because, honestly, I don't think I'll last another five years without you.”
“Neither would I,” Vince said, “Come with me?” He looked so nervous and uncertain.
“I don't want to freeload on you or hold you back,” Howard said softly.
“Please? I can't not have you around. Not now that I know what being with you is like,” Vince said with his bottom lip between his teeth.
“If you want me, I'm yours,” Howard said simply.
The girl wandered away some time latter looking slightly dazed and clutching the book to her chest tightly.