Fic from beansidhe_baby? This is most irregular
Title: New Romantic
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Summary: Vince knows that he loves Howard. He also knows that nothing can come of it without ruining their friendship
Word count: 2310
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst, Unrequited(?) love
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh and I doubt Julian Barratt, Noel Fielding and Baby Cow productions would not thank me for pretending I do. Nor do I own the song New Romantic by Laura Marling, in case you were wondering.
Authors' Notes: This was written because I had a bunny and I've decided that the best way to get through writer's block is to try and plough through it. That said, I'm veeery rusty, so, um.... oil can! Oil can! Or, you know, con crit :P
Vince was in love with Howard. He had no illusions about it, he knew that he was. It was just a part of him, like his eyes being blue and his nose being too big for his face.
It had been a part of him for a long time now, maybe even from the start. They'd known each other for so long, he wasn't sure he could remember how things had changed and how they'd stayed the same over the years. It was hard to tell certain things for sure sometimes. Aside from anything else, there were some things that had happened to them that seemed so completely absurd and made-up but were completely true; and then, there were other things felt so real but had never happened at all.
For example- Vince was sure he could remember running through fields in Yorkshire with the long, dew-wet grass slapping across his shins and the dampness sinking into the ends of his trousers while he looked over his shoulder and laughed at Howard running after him.... He could remember the smell and taste of the pies Howard's grandmother made every Sunday, with thick pastry and too much gravy, and the feeling of wholesome domesticity that they seemed to bring into a room.... The image of hard boiled sweets in domed jars made of thick greenish glass in the shop window Howard walked past every day on his way to school until he was eight was so fixed and vivid in his memory that he could close his eyes and see them painted across the backs of his eyelids in a slightly sepia tint.
But Howard and Vince hadn't even met before Howard moved to London and Vince had never been further North than Camden. When Howard was eight, Vince was still a happily naked and practically feral toddler running around a fairytale version of India, who'd never even heard of hard boiled sweets.
He wasn't sure how he'd acquired such vivid second hand memories, he couldn't remember Howard ever telling him many stories of living up North and he certainly would have told him more about shops that sold stationary, or maybe jazz records (how old was Howard Moon when he'd picked up his freakish jazz fixation anyway?), rather than sweets if he had. Were they even memories at all then? Did they ever happen or were they just what his overactive imagination had produced out of a childish youthful wish that they'd been together always when they finally had met- a skinny kid in a uniform two sizes too big and an awkwardly tall boy with a face two sizes too small?
Either way, for as long as he could remember, he'd been in love with Howard. His heart had always fluttered nervously when he'd put his hand on Howard's shoulder, he'd always found it easier to sleep when he could hear Howard breathing quietly in the same room, every love song he'd ever heard was about them and every picture of his future had always had Howard in it.
When he was younger this wasn't a painful thing, it just was. He'd held out hope for so long. He waited and waited dropping increasingly obvious hints.
It wasn't that Howard didn't care for him, he just was a bit thick, he needed time and an encyclopedia to figure things out. But Vince had just assumed back then that once Howard eventually had gotten it together and figured stuff out, that they would move quietly and without hassle into "more than friends” territory.
More than friends. He hated that phrase now, because there was nothing more than friends, not really. Taking someone to the pictures a few times was nothing next to a lifelong friendship, how could anyone call that being “more than” friends. Going out with someone meant far, far less than loving someone too much ruin it with sex.
Over time he'd gotten more cynical, or maybe just more realistic. Yes, he loved Howard. Yes, Howard, maybe-possibly-probably loved him back. No, nothing would or should ever come of it. They were far too different. As friends their fallings out blew over without too much angst, but who could tell how things would change if they... if they changed too? If by some miracle they actually did get into a “more than friends” situation, he might fuck it up, or Howard might. They wouldn't mean to, but if they did and they fell apart and drifted away from each other (because it would hurt far too much to stay together and “still be friends”, after they tried and failed at something like that).... He didn't want that.
The chance of being with Howard properly was nowhere near tempting enough to risk losing Howard forever. And so he kept telling himself: nothing could be more than what he and Howard had... and he and Howard could be nothing more than friends.
Besides, sex was just sex, whatever anyone said about it meaning more with someone you loved, and he could have it off with almost anyone else he fancied. He'd get at least three phone numbers on a night out without even trying and he could charm most women, and not an inconsiderable number of men, into bed when he felt like it.
Not that he did all that much, to be more honest than he usually was, however much of a sex god most of his friends assumed he was. He didn't like taking people home, it felt wrong the next morning at the breakfast table with some nameless stranger sitting in last night's clothes while Howard served them eggs and brusquely enquired what their parents did and where their people were from. It was hideous, having his two worlds crash into each other in polite awkwardness. Not to mention the headfuck of fucking someone you didn't know quietly so that you didn't wake the love of your life who was sleeping across the room.
It was even worse when he'd be sending his erstwhile shag off home with a kiss on the cheek and an insincere promise to call (he changed his phone often enough that he was able to say, without lying, if and when he ever saw them again that he'd lost their number) and they'd say that his dad was nice. Or, worse still, when Howard would try and encouragingly tell him that So-and-So seemed like such an interesting young... person. It was too horrible and he'd only go through the motions whenever he started to get genuinely medically worrying blue balls. He could, of course, just go to theirs, but he didn't like spending the night away and he felt like a right dick sneaking off in the middle of the night as soon as he was finished.
Sex was overrated anyway, it was one of the few parts of a relationship you could more of less do by yourself. Kisses, hugs, someone caring about you, those were the things that you couldn't reproduce alone. And he got them all, albeit not from one person, but wasn't that the next best thing?
He was adored and kissed by pretty strangers who held him close in clubs and gave him the comfort of a warm welcoming body pressed against his while he danced.
He loved and was loved by Howard in a quiet unspoken way that they could never name for fear of it disappearing. But it was enough, it was enough. It had to be.
Of course it wasn't ideal, of course he wished that he could love someone properly and have anniversaries and sleep in the same bed as someone. He wished he could forget about Howard and find someone who wasn't nameless or a stranger, someone who he had everything and nothing in common with who he could laugh with and tease and love forever. But he couldn't. He used to try, he'd take people on proper dates, not one night stands. He'd listen to their stories, he'd laugh at their jokes. He was even friends with some of them after everything all fizzled out, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't make himself fall in love with them. He couldn't love someone who wasn't Howard.
He almost hated him for that after a while. He got cattier, sharper, nastier, resenting Howard for robbing him of the happily ever after that he'd always innocently taken for granted as his when he was younger and less jaded, but still loving him so much that it hurt.
Ironically, things had all come to a head when he'd been trying to be nice and thrown Howard a party for his eighth consecutive thirty second birthday. What a disaster that had been.... He'd have been better off making a trifle and letting Howard pick what to watch on TV instead of the bloody orgy he'd ended up hosting. Poor Howard... completely out of his depth and incapable of being even a little bit cool. Still, even if Vince should have known that Howard would make a tit out of himself, or at the very least not enjoy himself, he couldn't have known just how badly it would go.
It might have been cruel, but Vince's first reaction when he saw Howard's face drop after he'd been tricked into revealing his virginity was glee. He was so glad that no one else had touched Howard. While he'd always had his doubts about Howard's track record he'd always worried away in a quiet part of his mind every time Howard went on about his rapport with the ladies and it was an enormous weight off his mind knowing for sure. He was also glad that Howard was as alone and as lonely as he was, and he instantly felt bad for the vindictiveness of the thought. He knew it wasn't Howard's fault, but he couldn't help but get a rush of satisfaction at seeing his humiliation.
That should have been the worst part of the night, but it wasn't, not by a long shot. The worst part of the night was knowing that he was right. When Howard had gone off on his spiel about being a “massive gayist” he didn't let himself be swept away and just go with it, because he knew it wasn't real. He knew that Howard was just a lonely guy who'd never been kissed. But it still hurt, being proved right, when they fell onto the bouncy castle and all it took was a smile from some girl, that Vince had paid to give him the time of day in the first place, to get him to forget about his newly discovered massive gayness.
They didn't talk about that night. Just like they didn't mention each other's real ages or how much they'd cheated on whatever diet or exercise regime one or other of them had half heartedly taken up, they politely pretended that none of Howard's party had happened.
In a way it brought a peace of mind. He didn't have to doubt himself and wonder if he'd gotten it wrong anymore. He knew for sure that he was right and that he wouldn't get what he wanted. He could grieve it properly now and get over it. And he would.
The girl he was kissing was beautiful. Her hair was all the way down her back and copper red and her skin was clear and soft. He liked the feel of her slight body pushing against his and her tiny hands gripping his collar tightly. He liked that she had to stand on her toes to kiss him and that he still had to hold her up a bit in his arms. She was lovely and more perfect now than she would ever be again.
When they broke apart, she shifted her feet and he loosened his arms around her to let her down. Already the sick smell of the taxi rank and the sleazy looks of the drivers were creeping into the moment, making it dirtier and exposing the imperfection of it.
“Do you want to share a taxi?” she asked, eyes shining up at him but he just smiled and shook his head.
“Better not darlin', I've got a really early start in the morning an' my boss'll have my nads if I'm late again. But it was lovely meeting you.”
He kissed her again and wished that he could want to take her home with him.
But he just wanted to go home now. There was still only one person who he wanted to go home to every night.
**
Howard knew that the apocalypse wasn't coming, but only from experience. Anyone who wasn't used to the sound of Vince drunkenly negotiating the stairs and trying to be quiet would have been forgiven for thinking otherwise. Howard sighed and squinted at his alarm clock in the gloom. It could have been anything from midnight to half six with the curtains drawn, but it was only about ten to three. Howard snorted. Only ten to three. Early for Vince though.
Howard rolled over to face the wall and pretended to be asleep, keeping his eyes shut tight as he heard the younger man kick off his boots and fall on top of the covers still dressed. He tried not to be glad that Vince was back, because if he admitted why, then he'd have to admit that whenever Vince came back later, the possibility that he was coming back from someone else's house rather than from a club gnawed at Howard's insides angrily and made him confused and unhappy. He wished that Vince didn't go out without him so much. Not that he liked going out, at least not to the places that Vince went to. He just wished... he wished that he wasn't so easy to leave behind every night.
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Summary: Vince knows that he loves Howard. He also knows that nothing can come of it without ruining their friendship
Word count: 2310
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst, Unrequited(?) love
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh and I doubt Julian Barratt, Noel Fielding and Baby Cow productions would not thank me for pretending I do. Nor do I own the song New Romantic by Laura Marling, in case you were wondering.
Authors' Notes: This was written because I had a bunny and I've decided that the best way to get through writer's block is to try and plough through it. That said, I'm veeery rusty, so, um.... oil can! Oil can! Or, you know, con crit :P
Vince was in love with Howard. He had no illusions about it, he knew that he was. It was just a part of him, like his eyes being blue and his nose being too big for his face.
It had been a part of him for a long time now, maybe even from the start. They'd known each other for so long, he wasn't sure he could remember how things had changed and how they'd stayed the same over the years. It was hard to tell certain things for sure sometimes. Aside from anything else, there were some things that had happened to them that seemed so completely absurd and made-up but were completely true; and then, there were other things felt so real but had never happened at all.
For example- Vince was sure he could remember running through fields in Yorkshire with the long, dew-wet grass slapping across his shins and the dampness sinking into the ends of his trousers while he looked over his shoulder and laughed at Howard running after him.... He could remember the smell and taste of the pies Howard's grandmother made every Sunday, with thick pastry and too much gravy, and the feeling of wholesome domesticity that they seemed to bring into a room.... The image of hard boiled sweets in domed jars made of thick greenish glass in the shop window Howard walked past every day on his way to school until he was eight was so fixed and vivid in his memory that he could close his eyes and see them painted across the backs of his eyelids in a slightly sepia tint.
But Howard and Vince hadn't even met before Howard moved to London and Vince had never been further North than Camden. When Howard was eight, Vince was still a happily naked and practically feral toddler running around a fairytale version of India, who'd never even heard of hard boiled sweets.
He wasn't sure how he'd acquired such vivid second hand memories, he couldn't remember Howard ever telling him many stories of living up North and he certainly would have told him more about shops that sold stationary, or maybe jazz records (how old was Howard Moon when he'd picked up his freakish jazz fixation anyway?), rather than sweets if he had. Were they even memories at all then? Did they ever happen or were they just what his overactive imagination had produced out of a childish youthful wish that they'd been together always when they finally had met- a skinny kid in a uniform two sizes too big and an awkwardly tall boy with a face two sizes too small?
Either way, for as long as he could remember, he'd been in love with Howard. His heart had always fluttered nervously when he'd put his hand on Howard's shoulder, he'd always found it easier to sleep when he could hear Howard breathing quietly in the same room, every love song he'd ever heard was about them and every picture of his future had always had Howard in it.
When he was younger this wasn't a painful thing, it just was. He'd held out hope for so long. He waited and waited dropping increasingly obvious hints.
It wasn't that Howard didn't care for him, he just was a bit thick, he needed time and an encyclopedia to figure things out. But Vince had just assumed back then that once Howard eventually had gotten it together and figured stuff out, that they would move quietly and without hassle into "more than friends” territory.
More than friends. He hated that phrase now, because there was nothing more than friends, not really. Taking someone to the pictures a few times was nothing next to a lifelong friendship, how could anyone call that being “more than” friends. Going out with someone meant far, far less than loving someone too much ruin it with sex.
Over time he'd gotten more cynical, or maybe just more realistic. Yes, he loved Howard. Yes, Howard, maybe-possibly-probably loved him back. No, nothing would or should ever come of it. They were far too different. As friends their fallings out blew over without too much angst, but who could tell how things would change if they... if they changed too? If by some miracle they actually did get into a “more than friends” situation, he might fuck it up, or Howard might. They wouldn't mean to, but if they did and they fell apart and drifted away from each other (because it would hurt far too much to stay together and “still be friends”, after they tried and failed at something like that).... He didn't want that.
The chance of being with Howard properly was nowhere near tempting enough to risk losing Howard forever. And so he kept telling himself: nothing could be more than what he and Howard had... and he and Howard could be nothing more than friends.
Besides, sex was just sex, whatever anyone said about it meaning more with someone you loved, and he could have it off with almost anyone else he fancied. He'd get at least three phone numbers on a night out without even trying and he could charm most women, and not an inconsiderable number of men, into bed when he felt like it.
Not that he did all that much, to be more honest than he usually was, however much of a sex god most of his friends assumed he was. He didn't like taking people home, it felt wrong the next morning at the breakfast table with some nameless stranger sitting in last night's clothes while Howard served them eggs and brusquely enquired what their parents did and where their people were from. It was hideous, having his two worlds crash into each other in polite awkwardness. Not to mention the headfuck of fucking someone you didn't know quietly so that you didn't wake the love of your life who was sleeping across the room.
It was even worse when he'd be sending his erstwhile shag off home with a kiss on the cheek and an insincere promise to call (he changed his phone often enough that he was able to say, without lying, if and when he ever saw them again that he'd lost their number) and they'd say that his dad was nice. Or, worse still, when Howard would try and encouragingly tell him that So-and-So seemed like such an interesting young... person. It was too horrible and he'd only go through the motions whenever he started to get genuinely medically worrying blue balls. He could, of course, just go to theirs, but he didn't like spending the night away and he felt like a right dick sneaking off in the middle of the night as soon as he was finished.
Sex was overrated anyway, it was one of the few parts of a relationship you could more of less do by yourself. Kisses, hugs, someone caring about you, those were the things that you couldn't reproduce alone. And he got them all, albeit not from one person, but wasn't that the next best thing?
He was adored and kissed by pretty strangers who held him close in clubs and gave him the comfort of a warm welcoming body pressed against his while he danced.
He loved and was loved by Howard in a quiet unspoken way that they could never name for fear of it disappearing. But it was enough, it was enough. It had to be.
Of course it wasn't ideal, of course he wished that he could love someone properly and have anniversaries and sleep in the same bed as someone. He wished he could forget about Howard and find someone who wasn't nameless or a stranger, someone who he had everything and nothing in common with who he could laugh with and tease and love forever. But he couldn't. He used to try, he'd take people on proper dates, not one night stands. He'd listen to their stories, he'd laugh at their jokes. He was even friends with some of them after everything all fizzled out, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't make himself fall in love with them. He couldn't love someone who wasn't Howard.
He almost hated him for that after a while. He got cattier, sharper, nastier, resenting Howard for robbing him of the happily ever after that he'd always innocently taken for granted as his when he was younger and less jaded, but still loving him so much that it hurt.
Ironically, things had all come to a head when he'd been trying to be nice and thrown Howard a party for his eighth consecutive thirty second birthday. What a disaster that had been.... He'd have been better off making a trifle and letting Howard pick what to watch on TV instead of the bloody orgy he'd ended up hosting. Poor Howard... completely out of his depth and incapable of being even a little bit cool. Still, even if Vince should have known that Howard would make a tit out of himself, or at the very least not enjoy himself, he couldn't have known just how badly it would go.
It might have been cruel, but Vince's first reaction when he saw Howard's face drop after he'd been tricked into revealing his virginity was glee. He was so glad that no one else had touched Howard. While he'd always had his doubts about Howard's track record he'd always worried away in a quiet part of his mind every time Howard went on about his rapport with the ladies and it was an enormous weight off his mind knowing for sure. He was also glad that Howard was as alone and as lonely as he was, and he instantly felt bad for the vindictiveness of the thought. He knew it wasn't Howard's fault, but he couldn't help but get a rush of satisfaction at seeing his humiliation.
That should have been the worst part of the night, but it wasn't, not by a long shot. The worst part of the night was knowing that he was right. When Howard had gone off on his spiel about being a “massive gayist” he didn't let himself be swept away and just go with it, because he knew it wasn't real. He knew that Howard was just a lonely guy who'd never been kissed. But it still hurt, being proved right, when they fell onto the bouncy castle and all it took was a smile from some girl, that Vince had paid to give him the time of day in the first place, to get him to forget about his newly discovered massive gayness.
They didn't talk about that night. Just like they didn't mention each other's real ages or how much they'd cheated on whatever diet or exercise regime one or other of them had half heartedly taken up, they politely pretended that none of Howard's party had happened.
In a way it brought a peace of mind. He didn't have to doubt himself and wonder if he'd gotten it wrong anymore. He knew for sure that he was right and that he wouldn't get what he wanted. He could grieve it properly now and get over it. And he would.
The girl he was kissing was beautiful. Her hair was all the way down her back and copper red and her skin was clear and soft. He liked the feel of her slight body pushing against his and her tiny hands gripping his collar tightly. He liked that she had to stand on her toes to kiss him and that he still had to hold her up a bit in his arms. She was lovely and more perfect now than she would ever be again.
When they broke apart, she shifted her feet and he loosened his arms around her to let her down. Already the sick smell of the taxi rank and the sleazy looks of the drivers were creeping into the moment, making it dirtier and exposing the imperfection of it.
“Do you want to share a taxi?” she asked, eyes shining up at him but he just smiled and shook his head.
“Better not darlin', I've got a really early start in the morning an' my boss'll have my nads if I'm late again. But it was lovely meeting you.”
He kissed her again and wished that he could want to take her home with him.
But he just wanted to go home now. There was still only one person who he wanted to go home to every night.
**
Howard knew that the apocalypse wasn't coming, but only from experience. Anyone who wasn't used to the sound of Vince drunkenly negotiating the stairs and trying to be quiet would have been forgiven for thinking otherwise. Howard sighed and squinted at his alarm clock in the gloom. It could have been anything from midnight to half six with the curtains drawn, but it was only about ten to three. Howard snorted. Only ten to three. Early for Vince though.
Howard rolled over to face the wall and pretended to be asleep, keeping his eyes shut tight as he heard the younger man kick off his boots and fall on top of the covers still dressed. He tried not to be glad that Vince was back, because if he admitted why, then he'd have to admit that whenever Vince came back later, the possibility that he was coming back from someone else's house rather than from a club gnawed at Howard's insides angrily and made him confused and unhappy. He wished that Vince didn't go out without him so much. Not that he liked going out, at least not to the places that Vince went to. He just wished... he wished that he wasn't so easy to leave behind every night.