Fic: Surprise Package
Title: Surprise Package
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Summary: Howard is having a rubbish birthday. Then it gets better.
Rating: R (dicks doth touch but doth not penetrate in the nether regions)
Warnings: poorly written with too much dialogue
Length: about 3100 words
Spoilers: See Rating
Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I know them so well, but still I don’t own them and they’re not making me any money, they’re just making me happy. Don’t ask why they make me happy in this particular way. They just do. Very happy.
Notes: Huge apologies to Connie, for whom this was intended as a slightly late birthday present for this year but is now more of a slightly early present for Christmas or next birthday. Un-beta’d and endlessly tinkered with, so all constructive feedback will be gratefully received because it’s been so long since I finished a smutty story that I honestly don’t know whether I can actually write this stuff any more...
The view of London from the roof of the Nabootique is superb this evening: rooftops gleaming, a few lights already twinkling in windows, the sky still tinted with red and gold where the sun has just slipped over the horizon, the Moon smiling down with his chalky-white face.
But all of it might as well be Leeds in the drizzle as far as Howard Moon is concerned.
This has to be the most rubbish birthday he’s ever had, EVER, in all his... thirty-three, yes thirty-three (he glares at the Moon) years.
Even worse than last year’s, and that’s saying something.
He’d thought it was bad, being tricked into a party he hadn’t wanted; finding out the pencil case girl had been bribed to attend; being dumped by Vince right after finally crossing that physical boundary.
But at least Vince had remembered it was his birthday. This year, there’s been no mention of it, no presents or cards or special treatment, just Naboo being his usual grumpy self (at least until Bollo came home with a new supply of weed), customers causing constant interruptions to the delicate work of re-categorising all the pencil cases in the shop, and Vince...
Howard grinds his teeth in frustration. In the ten months or so since he came back from Denmark, frustration has been his overwhelming emotion. And not just because things in the retail world are less than ideal. Mostly because of Vince. Because Vince is... Vince has become...
The more Howard tries not to think about Vince, the more Vince pops into his head. Vince and his outfits. Vince in his outfits. Vince out of his outfits, taking over Howard’s mind-tank and swanning around in it like he belongs there.
It started with the glam rock ski suit. Howard’s overriding memory from their Arctic adventure is not polar bears or the northern lights or even the Egg of Mantumbi, it’s Vince sprawled on his back in the snow, legs apart, the taut bulge in his crotch catching the light and shining brighter even than the ice.
The Zooniverse uniforms weren’t designed to flatter, at least if you didn’t look too closely at the way the trousers hugged Vince’s pumpkin arse; but once the zoo was closed and Vince could give his fashion sense free rein, there was no let-up. Tight drainpipes. Skinny jeans. Flowing slacks. The occasional mini-dress. All the times Vince casually stripped down to his undies. And finally the mirrorball suit.
Oh, that shiny package, all plump and proud and glittery - Howard hadn’t known where to look, he’d just known where he shouldn’t look, and it was all he could see. He can still see it now, burned into his brain; he can’t look away.
He wanted - he wants - to reach out and touch it; to run his hands over it; cup it in his palm, trace its outlines with his fingertips. To drop to his knees and rub his cheek against those swelling curves. To bury his nose in the crease beside it, and breathe deep. To mouth it, to stroke it, to watch it stir and quiver and harden under his touch...
But he shouldn’t be looking at his best friend’s private parts that way. Not that they are exactly private, in fact in Vince’s case they could more accurately be termed ‘display parts’, but it’s not appropriate, not for a Man of Action, a ladies’ man, a retail professional. Even though it’ll only ever be a matter of looking, not touching, because how on earth can he ever tell Vince that the whole I’m-Howard-Moon-don’t-touch-me thing has been a lie to cover up the certainty that once he started to do more than look, he’d never be able to tear himself away?
And yet Vince keeps touching him: patting his shoulder, sorting his hair, hiding behind him when danger threatens, apparently with no idea what this does to Howard. No idea at all.
Howard kicks irritably at a loose tile.
Vince has been wearing that red plastic-looking jumpsuit today, the one with the zip that doesn’t stay up very well. Howard has been constantly distracted, he’s not sure whether because of what the suit reveals or what it hides. And Vince giggling ‘Oops, nip slip!’ every time he hitches the zip back up is both provocative and infuriating. Howard’s torn between wanting to Superglue the damn thing permanently shut and wanting to rip it off Vince with his teeth...
‘Wassup, Howard?’
Vince’s grinning face is peering out of the skylight.
Howard glares at him. ‘Piss off.’
‘C’m on Howard, don’t be like that. It’s a beautiful evening.’ Vince hauls himself out onto the roof. ‘And it’s your birthday. You can’t be grumpy on your birthday.’
Howard stares at the darkening sky. ‘Oh, so you remembered, did you? No, you didn’t, I bet Naboo told you.’
‘I did remember.’ Vince sounds soft and a bit shy, like back at the zoo.
‘Not in time to get me a present. Or a card. Or a cake. A Jaffa Cake would have done.’
Vince giggles. ‘You can’t fit fifty candles on a Jaffa Cake. Sorry, I mean, thirty-three candles. In fact you can’t even fit one on, even if it didn’t crumble all the chocolate would melt when you lit it, or you’d blow it off the table when you made your wish.’
He plonks himself down beside Howard on the ridge tiles. ‘Great sunset. Look at them colours, it’s like sherbet and Saturn Juice all mixed together, an’ heyyyy, there’s the Moon.’ He waves. The Moon grins inanely back.
‘An’ I didn’t fink you’d want a party, after what happened last year.’
‘You thought right,’ Howard growls, and tries very hard not to think about what happened last year, in this very spot...
‘Howard,’ Vince says earnestly.
Howard ignores him.
‘Howard? Howard, Howard, Howard...’
‘What?’
‘Did you really think I’d forget your birthday?’
‘You forgot Naboo’s.’
Vince chews on his bottom lip. ‘S’pose I did, yeah, but... His is on a different date every year, the Xooberon calendar’s not the same as ours, it’s well confusin’. And I guess when you’re four hundred an’ something, birthdays don’t mean so much. He didn’t seem to mind.’
‘He was pretty high at the time,’ Howard admits.
‘He was lyin’ on the couch mumblin’ about grapefruit sandwiches if I remember rightly.’ Vince grins. ‘Anyway, listen, I would’ve remembered your birthday even if he hadn’t reminded me - ’
‘Would you.’
‘Yeah. Course I would.’ Vince’s blue eyes are wide and sincere. It’s hard not to believe him. ‘I have got a present for you. An’ a.... well, not exackly a card, but a birthday greeting. In a non-card format. If it’ll cheer you up.’
‘It might.’
‘Yeah, great!’ Vince shuffles closer. ‘Here we go, then.’
‘But -’ That outfit doesn’t have pockets. And Vince certainly can’t be hiding anything in it, there just isn’t room. Anywhere. ‘Where is it?’
‘Right here.’ Vince takes a deep breath. ‘Happy Birthday, Howard.’
He leans in and kisses Howard, just like last year, only better.
Much better.
It takes Howard a while, what with the softness of Vince’s mouth, and the firm yet gentle way Vince is gripping Howard’s face between his hands, and the distracting tickle of Vince’s hair against his neck... a while to work out in exactly what way this kiss is superior, but eventually it dawns on him that this time... this time...
He can’t help giving a little yelp of surprise, and Vince breaks off the kiss to look at him with concern in those very blue and shining eyes. ‘What?’
‘You meant it,’ Howard gasps.
‘Yeah.’ Vince lays a hand over Howard’s. ‘Bin waiting to do that since this time last year. Thought you’d like it since it was our anniversary an’ all. Well, kind of. An’ I liked it. Didn’t you?’
‘Well, yes, but - Vince, what - why - why wait a year? Why - ’
‘I was confused, OK?’ Vince stares down at his and Howard’s interlinked fingers. ‘An’ you dumped me, if you remember, an’ went off with that girl, then there was the band and your acting career and you went away an’ came back again an’ I didn’t know what to think.’
‘Does thinking ever have much to do with what you do?’
Vince looks up, and grins. ‘Nah. Thinkin’s over-rated if you ask me. Come on, Howard, it’s getting cold. Let’s stop thinking an’ just do stuff.’
Howard finds himself climbing down the ladder and following Vince to the bedroom.
‘You can have your present now, too.’ Vince closes the door carefully and stands with his back to it, peeking at Howard through his hair. ‘I thought very hard -’ he giggles nervously ‘- about what you’d like most in the whole world, an’ the more I thought about it, the more bonkers it seemed but the more sure I was, so let’s find out whether I was right.’
He perches on the edge of the bed to pull off his ludicrous boots, then wiggles fluidly out of the red jumpsuit and stands on the rug in just his pants.
‘Was I right, Howard?’
There’s a creaking noise from the sound effects guy, and Howard is immobilised.
The pants are orange. Orange y-fronts, the sort that Vince calls ‘little boy pants’, only there’s nothing little about their contents.
Nothing little at all.
Vince is starting to look slightly worried as the silence lengthens. Howard struggles to free himself from the chokes. ‘That’s -’ He clears his throat; tries again, forcing his voice back down to its normal pitch instead of a frenzied squeak. ‘That’s... quite some package you’ve got there.’
‘Birthday package.’ Vince wiggles his hips suggestively. ‘You gonna unwrap it?’
‘Um... yes, well, I suppose... yes.’ Howard steps slowly closer to Vince, unable to take his eyes off those pants. He’s standing so close now, he can feel Vince’s warmth, hear the soft sound of his breathing.
‘It’s OK, Howard, go ahead,’ Vince murmurs as Howard hesitates.
‘Thank you,’ Howard whispers, and on an impulse he drops to his knees and rubs his cheek against Vince’s erection; buries his nose in the crease beside it, and breathes deep. He can’t look up; his face is burning.
‘You can use your hands if you want,’ Vince suggests. His voice is gentle and encouraging. Howard is encouraged. He lifts a hand to stroke, to trace the outline of Vince’s shaft, to watch it stir and quiver and harden under his touch...
Those pants are far too tight. Howard pulls them down. And now his own pants are far too tight...
He’s going to want some help with all this. He scrambles to his feet again, and pulls Vince close.
‘You like your present.’ Vince’s voice is muffled against Howard’s chest. He steps out of his now redundant underwear; wiggles himself playfully against Howard’s hardness.
Howard catches his breath. ‘I do like it, but... isn’t this... moving a bit fast?’
‘What do you mean? I’ve waited nearly a whole year. An’ ten years or more before that. I don’t think that’s fast at all. In fact I think that’s slower than slow. It’s worse than waiting for syrup to drip off the spoon. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for, you so-called Man of Action, so let’s have some action and let’s have it right now. OK?’
Howard tries hard to find the words for just how OK that actually is, but there aren’t the words for it, so he just nods his head really enthusiastically instead.
Vince laughs happily and leads the way to Howard’s bed, where he makes short work of removing Howard’s shoes, socks and trousers.
‘Quite some package you’ve got there, an’ all,’ he smirks.
‘Well, whose fault’s that?’
‘Guilty as charged.’ Vince cups one hand round the very obvious bulge in Howard’s underpants. ‘Hey, that’s so weird.’
‘What’s weird?’ Howard sits bolt upright. ‘My genitalia are perfectly normal, thank you very much, sir.’
‘Course they are,’ Vince soothes, squeezing them a little tighter as though to make sure. ‘I was just expectin’ you to go “don’t touch me” like you always do, only you didn’t. That’s what was weird.’
‘Oh. Oh, I see. No, it’s - it’s fine, Vince, really. In this particular context, touching is, um, appropriate. I mean, I want you to.’ Howard lifts Vince’s hand off himself, and wriggles awkwardly out of his underwear. ‘There. Now you can touch all you like. Just... be a bit careful, you know I haven’t done this before.’
Vince hesitates with his hand poised just above Howard’s thigh. ‘Not even with any of your big-shot Scandinavian arty film friends?’
‘No. And they’re not my friends.’ Howard puts his own hand over Vince’s. ‘Let’s not think about all that any more, eh? You were the one who said thinking was over-rated.’
He guides Vince’s hand back to where it belongs, and pretty soon Vince’s mouth has replaced Vince’s hand, and Howard’s flat on his back and not thinking much at all.
Except to think fleetingly of how he used to imagine his ‘first time’ would be, and how completely wrong he has turned out to be about pretty much every aspect of it...
‘Oi.’ Vince lifts his head from between Howard’s knees. ‘What’s wrong with you? I’m doin’ my best to give you a brilliant blowie here, alright? You’re supposed to moan in sexual ecstasy, not laugh.’
‘Sorry, little man. It’s not the, erm, blowie that’s funny. It’s just... never mind, I’ll explain later.’
‘It’s just the contrast, is that it?’
Howard wonders, not for the first time, how Vince can be so impossibly dim about some things and yet so very sharp about other things, especially things to do with Howard. ‘How did you know?’
‘I know you. Bet you expected the first time to be all perfect an’ romantic an’ slow, an’ here we are, all disorganized an’ naked an’ straight down to the sexytimes. Talkin’ of which, let’s stop talkin’ before any bits of us lose interest. An’ try not to laugh. Here, this’ll shut you up...’
Howard draws a sharp breath as the end of his cock slips smoothly back into Vince’s mouth, Vince’s tongue caressing and licking as he takes Howard in deeper.
Right when Howard is just about to ask Vince to stop, to give him a breathing space, Vince stops. ‘Breather, yeah?’ And without waiting for a reply, he sprawls himself deliciously on top of Howard.
‘Yeah,’ Howard gasps, although to be honest it’s not all that easy to breathe with Vince’s weight pinning him to the mattress, with Vince’s naked skin warm against his chest, with Vince’s taut bum within such easy reach of Howard’s hands...
And with Vince’s bits rubbing against his own, spit-slicked, achingly hard erection.
Howard moans and grinds his hips against Vince’s, desperate for more contact, more pressure, more Vince.
More of this wonderful, disorganized, naked, sexytime.
More... more... more...
‘Yeah, yeah, alright, I’ll give you more, here, how’s that?... I’ll take that as a yes... ooh, blimey that’s good, you’re all slippery and...’
‘Shush,’ Howard manages to gasp, ‘no talking, just - ’
Just that. Whatever Vince is doing, and whatever part of him he’s doing it with, it’s the most perfect sensation Howard could ever imagine.
Suddenly someone is making quite a lot of noise, and the perfect sensation sweeps through every cell in Howard’s body, and the lights go out.
‘Howard. Howard? Howard, are you OK? Howard...’
Vince is kneeling beside the bed, clutching Howard’s hand.
‘I’m fine,’ Howard mumbles.
Vince rests his forehead on Howard’s shoulder. ‘Oh, thank fuck, I thought you’d gone into the future. I only meant to give you a birthday present, not a birthday heart attack.’
‘I’m fine,’ Howard repeats, stroking Vince’s hair. ‘Thank you, Vince. That was the best birthday present ever. Even better than the bouncy castle. Can I have that for my birthday every year from now on?’
‘You bet.’ Vince bounces to his feet and heads for the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Shower.’
Howard wriggles uncomfortably in the damp and sticky patches on his rumpled sheet. ‘Can I come too?’
‘You just did... hey, see what I did there?’ Vince grins and holds out a hand. ‘Come on, then.’
He glares at the fourth wall. ‘Not you. You lot have seen enough for one night. You don’t need to see this as well.’
Clean and warm and happier than he’s been in a long time, Howard climbs into Vince’s bed and stretches out beside him. ‘Time for a sleepy, I think.’
But Vince doesn’t turn out the bedside light, he just lies flat on his back and stares up at the ceiling, chewing on his bottom lip.
Howard reaches out and takes Vince’s hand, linking their fingers together. ‘What is it, little man?’
‘Howard, remember you said, when you crossed the physical boundary it’d be forever.... I think we’ve crossed that boundary, an’ it was pretty physical. An’ you said you wanted the same present every birthday... Um... So... is this a forever thing now? You and me?’
‘You mean, you want me to promise not to go away again?’
‘No. Who knows what other offers you might get? I don’t want you to turn down some amazin’ opportunity because of me.’ Vince turns his head and looks into Howard’s eyes, his expression unusually serious. ‘But I want us to be together. If you’re gonna go off an’ be an actor or Howard Moon Colon Explorer or whatever, I wanna come too. If my music career takes off, I’m not goin’ on tour unless you’re there as well. Does that make sense?’
‘And if neither of us is going anywhere?’
‘Then we’ll stay here. Together. Next birthday an’ the one after an’ all the ones after that. If we’ve gotta get old and bald and wobbly, let’s at least have each other to lean on.’
‘We could... do a bit more than lean.’
‘We could indeed.’ Vince’s eyes are sparkling with mischief as he kisses Howard again. ‘Starting tomorrow morning. I won’t make you wait until next birthday this time.’
‘Thank you, little man.’ Howard pulls Vince close.
‘Happy Birthday, Howard.’ Vince clicks off the light, gives a huge yawn, snuggles into Howard’s shoulder, and falls instantly asleep.
And next morning... well, that’s another story for another time.
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Summary: Howard is having a rubbish birthday. Then it gets better.
Rating: R (dicks doth touch but doth not penetrate in the nether regions)
Warnings: poorly written with too much dialogue
Length: about 3100 words
Spoilers: See Rating
Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I know them so well, but still I don’t own them and they’re not making me any money, they’re just making me happy. Don’t ask why they make me happy in this particular way. They just do. Very happy.
Notes: Huge apologies to Connie, for whom this was intended as a slightly late birthday present for this year but is now more of a slightly early present for Christmas or next birthday. Un-beta’d and endlessly tinkered with, so all constructive feedback will be gratefully received because it’s been so long since I finished a smutty story that I honestly don’t know whether I can actually write this stuff any more...
The view of London from the roof of the Nabootique is superb this evening: rooftops gleaming, a few lights already twinkling in windows, the sky still tinted with red and gold where the sun has just slipped over the horizon, the Moon smiling down with his chalky-white face.
But all of it might as well be Leeds in the drizzle as far as Howard Moon is concerned.
This has to be the most rubbish birthday he’s ever had, EVER, in all his... thirty-three, yes thirty-three (he glares at the Moon) years.
Even worse than last year’s, and that’s saying something.
He’d thought it was bad, being tricked into a party he hadn’t wanted; finding out the pencil case girl had been bribed to attend; being dumped by Vince right after finally crossing that physical boundary.
But at least Vince had remembered it was his birthday. This year, there’s been no mention of it, no presents or cards or special treatment, just Naboo being his usual grumpy self (at least until Bollo came home with a new supply of weed), customers causing constant interruptions to the delicate work of re-categorising all the pencil cases in the shop, and Vince...
Howard grinds his teeth in frustration. In the ten months or so since he came back from Denmark, frustration has been his overwhelming emotion. And not just because things in the retail world are less than ideal. Mostly because of Vince. Because Vince is... Vince has become...
The more Howard tries not to think about Vince, the more Vince pops into his head. Vince and his outfits. Vince in his outfits. Vince out of his outfits, taking over Howard’s mind-tank and swanning around in it like he belongs there.
It started with the glam rock ski suit. Howard’s overriding memory from their Arctic adventure is not polar bears or the northern lights or even the Egg of Mantumbi, it’s Vince sprawled on his back in the snow, legs apart, the taut bulge in his crotch catching the light and shining brighter even than the ice.
The Zooniverse uniforms weren’t designed to flatter, at least if you didn’t look too closely at the way the trousers hugged Vince’s pumpkin arse; but once the zoo was closed and Vince could give his fashion sense free rein, there was no let-up. Tight drainpipes. Skinny jeans. Flowing slacks. The occasional mini-dress. All the times Vince casually stripped down to his undies. And finally the mirrorball suit.
Oh, that shiny package, all plump and proud and glittery - Howard hadn’t known where to look, he’d just known where he shouldn’t look, and it was all he could see. He can still see it now, burned into his brain; he can’t look away.
He wanted - he wants - to reach out and touch it; to run his hands over it; cup it in his palm, trace its outlines with his fingertips. To drop to his knees and rub his cheek against those swelling curves. To bury his nose in the crease beside it, and breathe deep. To mouth it, to stroke it, to watch it stir and quiver and harden under his touch...
But he shouldn’t be looking at his best friend’s private parts that way. Not that they are exactly private, in fact in Vince’s case they could more accurately be termed ‘display parts’, but it’s not appropriate, not for a Man of Action, a ladies’ man, a retail professional. Even though it’ll only ever be a matter of looking, not touching, because how on earth can he ever tell Vince that the whole I’m-Howard-Moon-don’t-touch-me thing has been a lie to cover up the certainty that once he started to do more than look, he’d never be able to tear himself away?
And yet Vince keeps touching him: patting his shoulder, sorting his hair, hiding behind him when danger threatens, apparently with no idea what this does to Howard. No idea at all.
Howard kicks irritably at a loose tile.
Vince has been wearing that red plastic-looking jumpsuit today, the one with the zip that doesn’t stay up very well. Howard has been constantly distracted, he’s not sure whether because of what the suit reveals or what it hides. And Vince giggling ‘Oops, nip slip!’ every time he hitches the zip back up is both provocative and infuriating. Howard’s torn between wanting to Superglue the damn thing permanently shut and wanting to rip it off Vince with his teeth...
‘Wassup, Howard?’
Vince’s grinning face is peering out of the skylight.
Howard glares at him. ‘Piss off.’
‘C’m on Howard, don’t be like that. It’s a beautiful evening.’ Vince hauls himself out onto the roof. ‘And it’s your birthday. You can’t be grumpy on your birthday.’
Howard stares at the darkening sky. ‘Oh, so you remembered, did you? No, you didn’t, I bet Naboo told you.’
‘I did remember.’ Vince sounds soft and a bit shy, like back at the zoo.
‘Not in time to get me a present. Or a card. Or a cake. A Jaffa Cake would have done.’
Vince giggles. ‘You can’t fit fifty candles on a Jaffa Cake. Sorry, I mean, thirty-three candles. In fact you can’t even fit one on, even if it didn’t crumble all the chocolate would melt when you lit it, or you’d blow it off the table when you made your wish.’
He plonks himself down beside Howard on the ridge tiles. ‘Great sunset. Look at them colours, it’s like sherbet and Saturn Juice all mixed together, an’ heyyyy, there’s the Moon.’ He waves. The Moon grins inanely back.
‘An’ I didn’t fink you’d want a party, after what happened last year.’
‘You thought right,’ Howard growls, and tries very hard not to think about what happened last year, in this very spot...
‘Howard,’ Vince says earnestly.
Howard ignores him.
‘Howard? Howard, Howard, Howard...’
‘What?’
‘Did you really think I’d forget your birthday?’
‘You forgot Naboo’s.’
Vince chews on his bottom lip. ‘S’pose I did, yeah, but... His is on a different date every year, the Xooberon calendar’s not the same as ours, it’s well confusin’. And I guess when you’re four hundred an’ something, birthdays don’t mean so much. He didn’t seem to mind.’
‘He was pretty high at the time,’ Howard admits.
‘He was lyin’ on the couch mumblin’ about grapefruit sandwiches if I remember rightly.’ Vince grins. ‘Anyway, listen, I would’ve remembered your birthday even if he hadn’t reminded me - ’
‘Would you.’
‘Yeah. Course I would.’ Vince’s blue eyes are wide and sincere. It’s hard not to believe him. ‘I have got a present for you. An’ a.... well, not exackly a card, but a birthday greeting. In a non-card format. If it’ll cheer you up.’
‘It might.’
‘Yeah, great!’ Vince shuffles closer. ‘Here we go, then.’
‘But -’ That outfit doesn’t have pockets. And Vince certainly can’t be hiding anything in it, there just isn’t room. Anywhere. ‘Where is it?’
‘Right here.’ Vince takes a deep breath. ‘Happy Birthday, Howard.’
He leans in and kisses Howard, just like last year, only better.
Much better.
It takes Howard a while, what with the softness of Vince’s mouth, and the firm yet gentle way Vince is gripping Howard’s face between his hands, and the distracting tickle of Vince’s hair against his neck... a while to work out in exactly what way this kiss is superior, but eventually it dawns on him that this time... this time...
He can’t help giving a little yelp of surprise, and Vince breaks off the kiss to look at him with concern in those very blue and shining eyes. ‘What?’
‘You meant it,’ Howard gasps.
‘Yeah.’ Vince lays a hand over Howard’s. ‘Bin waiting to do that since this time last year. Thought you’d like it since it was our anniversary an’ all. Well, kind of. An’ I liked it. Didn’t you?’
‘Well, yes, but - Vince, what - why - why wait a year? Why - ’
‘I was confused, OK?’ Vince stares down at his and Howard’s interlinked fingers. ‘An’ you dumped me, if you remember, an’ went off with that girl, then there was the band and your acting career and you went away an’ came back again an’ I didn’t know what to think.’
‘Does thinking ever have much to do with what you do?’
Vince looks up, and grins. ‘Nah. Thinkin’s over-rated if you ask me. Come on, Howard, it’s getting cold. Let’s stop thinking an’ just do stuff.’
Howard finds himself climbing down the ladder and following Vince to the bedroom.
‘You can have your present now, too.’ Vince closes the door carefully and stands with his back to it, peeking at Howard through his hair. ‘I thought very hard -’ he giggles nervously ‘- about what you’d like most in the whole world, an’ the more I thought about it, the more bonkers it seemed but the more sure I was, so let’s find out whether I was right.’
He perches on the edge of the bed to pull off his ludicrous boots, then wiggles fluidly out of the red jumpsuit and stands on the rug in just his pants.
‘Was I right, Howard?’
There’s a creaking noise from the sound effects guy, and Howard is immobilised.
The pants are orange. Orange y-fronts, the sort that Vince calls ‘little boy pants’, only there’s nothing little about their contents.
Nothing little at all.
Vince is starting to look slightly worried as the silence lengthens. Howard struggles to free himself from the chokes. ‘That’s -’ He clears his throat; tries again, forcing his voice back down to its normal pitch instead of a frenzied squeak. ‘That’s... quite some package you’ve got there.’
‘Birthday package.’ Vince wiggles his hips suggestively. ‘You gonna unwrap it?’
‘Um... yes, well, I suppose... yes.’ Howard steps slowly closer to Vince, unable to take his eyes off those pants. He’s standing so close now, he can feel Vince’s warmth, hear the soft sound of his breathing.
‘It’s OK, Howard, go ahead,’ Vince murmurs as Howard hesitates.
‘Thank you,’ Howard whispers, and on an impulse he drops to his knees and rubs his cheek against Vince’s erection; buries his nose in the crease beside it, and breathes deep. He can’t look up; his face is burning.
‘You can use your hands if you want,’ Vince suggests. His voice is gentle and encouraging. Howard is encouraged. He lifts a hand to stroke, to trace the outline of Vince’s shaft, to watch it stir and quiver and harden under his touch...
Those pants are far too tight. Howard pulls them down. And now his own pants are far too tight...
He’s going to want some help with all this. He scrambles to his feet again, and pulls Vince close.
‘You like your present.’ Vince’s voice is muffled against Howard’s chest. He steps out of his now redundant underwear; wiggles himself playfully against Howard’s hardness.
Howard catches his breath. ‘I do like it, but... isn’t this... moving a bit fast?’
‘What do you mean? I’ve waited nearly a whole year. An’ ten years or more before that. I don’t think that’s fast at all. In fact I think that’s slower than slow. It’s worse than waiting for syrup to drip off the spoon. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for, you so-called Man of Action, so let’s have some action and let’s have it right now. OK?’
Howard tries hard to find the words for just how OK that actually is, but there aren’t the words for it, so he just nods his head really enthusiastically instead.
Vince laughs happily and leads the way to Howard’s bed, where he makes short work of removing Howard’s shoes, socks and trousers.
‘Quite some package you’ve got there, an’ all,’ he smirks.
‘Well, whose fault’s that?’
‘Guilty as charged.’ Vince cups one hand round the very obvious bulge in Howard’s underpants. ‘Hey, that’s so weird.’
‘What’s weird?’ Howard sits bolt upright. ‘My genitalia are perfectly normal, thank you very much, sir.’
‘Course they are,’ Vince soothes, squeezing them a little tighter as though to make sure. ‘I was just expectin’ you to go “don’t touch me” like you always do, only you didn’t. That’s what was weird.’
‘Oh. Oh, I see. No, it’s - it’s fine, Vince, really. In this particular context, touching is, um, appropriate. I mean, I want you to.’ Howard lifts Vince’s hand off himself, and wriggles awkwardly out of his underwear. ‘There. Now you can touch all you like. Just... be a bit careful, you know I haven’t done this before.’
Vince hesitates with his hand poised just above Howard’s thigh. ‘Not even with any of your big-shot Scandinavian arty film friends?’
‘No. And they’re not my friends.’ Howard puts his own hand over Vince’s. ‘Let’s not think about all that any more, eh? You were the one who said thinking was over-rated.’
He guides Vince’s hand back to where it belongs, and pretty soon Vince’s mouth has replaced Vince’s hand, and Howard’s flat on his back and not thinking much at all.
Except to think fleetingly of how he used to imagine his ‘first time’ would be, and how completely wrong he has turned out to be about pretty much every aspect of it...
‘Oi.’ Vince lifts his head from between Howard’s knees. ‘What’s wrong with you? I’m doin’ my best to give you a brilliant blowie here, alright? You’re supposed to moan in sexual ecstasy, not laugh.’
‘Sorry, little man. It’s not the, erm, blowie that’s funny. It’s just... never mind, I’ll explain later.’
‘It’s just the contrast, is that it?’
Howard wonders, not for the first time, how Vince can be so impossibly dim about some things and yet so very sharp about other things, especially things to do with Howard. ‘How did you know?’
‘I know you. Bet you expected the first time to be all perfect an’ romantic an’ slow, an’ here we are, all disorganized an’ naked an’ straight down to the sexytimes. Talkin’ of which, let’s stop talkin’ before any bits of us lose interest. An’ try not to laugh. Here, this’ll shut you up...’
Howard draws a sharp breath as the end of his cock slips smoothly back into Vince’s mouth, Vince’s tongue caressing and licking as he takes Howard in deeper.
Right when Howard is just about to ask Vince to stop, to give him a breathing space, Vince stops. ‘Breather, yeah?’ And without waiting for a reply, he sprawls himself deliciously on top of Howard.
‘Yeah,’ Howard gasps, although to be honest it’s not all that easy to breathe with Vince’s weight pinning him to the mattress, with Vince’s naked skin warm against his chest, with Vince’s taut bum within such easy reach of Howard’s hands...
And with Vince’s bits rubbing against his own, spit-slicked, achingly hard erection.
Howard moans and grinds his hips against Vince’s, desperate for more contact, more pressure, more Vince.
More of this wonderful, disorganized, naked, sexytime.
More... more... more...
‘Yeah, yeah, alright, I’ll give you more, here, how’s that?... I’ll take that as a yes... ooh, blimey that’s good, you’re all slippery and...’
‘Shush,’ Howard manages to gasp, ‘no talking, just - ’
Just that. Whatever Vince is doing, and whatever part of him he’s doing it with, it’s the most perfect sensation Howard could ever imagine.
Suddenly someone is making quite a lot of noise, and the perfect sensation sweeps through every cell in Howard’s body, and the lights go out.
‘Howard. Howard? Howard, are you OK? Howard...’
Vince is kneeling beside the bed, clutching Howard’s hand.
‘I’m fine,’ Howard mumbles.
Vince rests his forehead on Howard’s shoulder. ‘Oh, thank fuck, I thought you’d gone into the future. I only meant to give you a birthday present, not a birthday heart attack.’
‘I’m fine,’ Howard repeats, stroking Vince’s hair. ‘Thank you, Vince. That was the best birthday present ever. Even better than the bouncy castle. Can I have that for my birthday every year from now on?’
‘You bet.’ Vince bounces to his feet and heads for the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Shower.’
Howard wriggles uncomfortably in the damp and sticky patches on his rumpled sheet. ‘Can I come too?’
‘You just did... hey, see what I did there?’ Vince grins and holds out a hand. ‘Come on, then.’
He glares at the fourth wall. ‘Not you. You lot have seen enough for one night. You don’t need to see this as well.’
Clean and warm and happier than he’s been in a long time, Howard climbs into Vince’s bed and stretches out beside him. ‘Time for a sleepy, I think.’
But Vince doesn’t turn out the bedside light, he just lies flat on his back and stares up at the ceiling, chewing on his bottom lip.
Howard reaches out and takes Vince’s hand, linking their fingers together. ‘What is it, little man?’
‘Howard, remember you said, when you crossed the physical boundary it’d be forever.... I think we’ve crossed that boundary, an’ it was pretty physical. An’ you said you wanted the same present every birthday... Um... So... is this a forever thing now? You and me?’
‘You mean, you want me to promise not to go away again?’
‘No. Who knows what other offers you might get? I don’t want you to turn down some amazin’ opportunity because of me.’ Vince turns his head and looks into Howard’s eyes, his expression unusually serious. ‘But I want us to be together. If you’re gonna go off an’ be an actor or Howard Moon Colon Explorer or whatever, I wanna come too. If my music career takes off, I’m not goin’ on tour unless you’re there as well. Does that make sense?’
‘And if neither of us is going anywhere?’
‘Then we’ll stay here. Together. Next birthday an’ the one after an’ all the ones after that. If we’ve gotta get old and bald and wobbly, let’s at least have each other to lean on.’
‘We could... do a bit more than lean.’
‘We could indeed.’ Vince’s eyes are sparkling with mischief as he kisses Howard again. ‘Starting tomorrow morning. I won’t make you wait until next birthday this time.’
‘Thank you, little man.’ Howard pulls Vince close.
‘Happy Birthday, Howard.’ Vince clicks off the light, gives a huge yawn, snuggles into Howard’s shoulder, and falls instantly asleep.
And next morning... well, that’s another story for another time.