Fic: Role Reversal
Title: Role Reversal
Pairing: Vince/Howard
Summary: Vince fancied a change, but who would have thought that a moment of inspiration would lead to such a chain of events?
Word Count: ~3000
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Bad jokes, swears, implied sexy times, kissing (which jumps out of nowhere), in-jokes, incorrect physiology lectures, Howard in a mini dress.
Challenge: Vince wakes up and fancies a change.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh, but I do own my hair.
Dedication: Thanks to knightaimee and my beta sisidraig for proof reading! Also, thank you hermitknut for giving me the prompt (even if it was just to shut me up).
Vince could not quite place what had given him the sudden inspiration (or taken away his sanity) to wear the plainest, dullest, and most ‘awful’ outfit from his wardrobe, but now he had and was observing himself in the full length mirror on his wall. He thought it was good; Genius, even.
He made a dash to the bathroom so that he could fit in a quick shave before work, knowing that he would have time to perfect his look later (probably including another shave after only having time to do a minimal job of it in the time he had remaining) before showing off his new look to the masses in Camden that evening. However, once Vince reached the sink, and he studied himself in the bathroom cabinet mirror, he thought that it would be a smart move (perhaps even a stroke of brilliance?) to start planning the growth of a moustache. He knew exactly what this would involve, and because there is no time like the present, he immediately started to style the template for his new facial hair.
He raised the blade to the side of his face, realising he now had a difficult decision to make. If he was making a new look for himself, did that mean he should change any existing traits? Shortly after the idea first jumped into his mind Vince recoiled in horror at the idea of chopping off his beautiful ebony locks. If his hair would remain, then so could other features; the side burns could stay for now.
*
“What are you wearing?” a voice sputtered as Vince arrived on the shop floor. He turned to his small-eyed friend with a grin.
“Tweed!” Vince revealed with an excited shiver. There was a stunned pause. Howard’s brow furrowed in confusion, which Vince took as a cue to explain himself further, “It’s so great! Check out the texture…” the Prince of Camden ran his hands over the angry-muffin brown jacket that was draped over his own thin frame.
“Vince…” Howard squeaked, “You’ve gone wrong.”
“Are you joking?” Vince said, incredulously, “You’re the one always banging on about how I should appreciate all the subtleties brown has to offer!” Ever the actor, Vince stood tall, looked past Howard’s shoulder and raised a clenching fist to add to the effect, “ ‘There’s more to me than meets the eyes- some shades are undetectable by the human retina!’ and all that.”
“Are you taking the piss?” Howard snarled, only just recognising the tell-tale signs of a giant joke.
“A little bit.” Vince admitted.
“Go and get changed, you little shit-box,” snapped Howard.
“Why? I like it!” he insisted.
“Don’t over do it now, Vince,” warned the maverick.
“What do you mean?” asked Vince, his blue eyes wide and innocent.
“Stop acting like… a middle-aged stationary collector. That’s my angle.”
“You shouldn’t get jealous just ‘cos I can pull off the look better than you, Howard.”
“I didn’t say that,” he protested.
“I’m good at reading in between the lines.” Vince smirked.
“Well that’s lucky,” Howard quipped, “at least you’ve got something to fall back on when you can’t even read the lines themselves.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vince retorted feeling mildly offended.
“It mean’s that you can’t read any prose that isn’t accompanied by pictures.”
“Well… Yeah, but what’s your point?”
“Have you ever heard of grey matter, Vince?”
“The band?”
“No. It’s your brain, Vince. Have you ever thought of using it?”
“Fuck you, Howard. You couldn’t put an outfit together even if you had two brains!”
There was a pause where the two men glance at the other’s clothes, only to confirm the sudden realisation that they are wearing the same outfit.
“Well,” Vince continued, “I’m sure that was just luck on your behalf.”
“I very much doubt that, little man.” Howard grumbled. “I thought you said that you used instinct to choose you’re outfit?”
“Yeah, but instinct involves the brain, don’t it?”
Howard opened his mouth to retort, but found that he did not know the answer. The joy of studying Mammalian Behaviour was left for the advanced Biology class, something that Howard, regrettably, had never partaken in. Still, not one to lose an argument, he decided to come up with a plausible answer: “Of course it doesn’t involve the brain, Vince. Instincts are like reflex actions- they occur before your brain has even had time to process them. The impulse travels from your muscles, down your nerves, hits your spine and bounces straight back to the muscles which make you carry out the action. It’s basic biology.” Well, the answer was semi-plausible. Kind of.
“So the spine is what gives you good instincts?”
“Exactly.” Howard felt himself grow hot under the collar of his tweed jacket.
“Well that means that you don’t have any then.”
“What?” The taller man queried, thinking he had missed something.
“You’ve got no back bone, Howard,” Vince said, smugly. “You may have brains, but at least I’ve got a spine to bounce the instincts off.”
“No, no, no, little man,” objected Howard, “You’ve got it all wrong…”
“Whatever, Howard. The point is, I like what I’m wearing, and I aint gonna change just ‘cos you want all the glory. So stop your whining and live with it.” Vince pushed past him and grabbed a clipboard which was lying on the side. “Right,” Vince continued, “are we actually going to get our stock taking done today or what?”
Howard puffed out his chest in an attempt to appear more ‘alpha male’. “I stock take every day, sir.”
“Yeah, so why is this clipboard blank?”
Howard stumbled, “That’s… a new clipboard.”
“It’s got last week’s date on it!”
“I…” Howard’s chest deflated, “shut up.”
Vince studied Howard’s shifty eyes and felt himself forced to ask: “Have you been lying to me?”
“No.” the older, creepier man replied, sharply.
Cautiously, though with a mischievous glint in his eyes, Vince continued his interrogation: “You haven’t ever done a stock take, have you Howard?”
“Stop it.” Howard pulled at his collar.
Vince smirked and tutted lightly, “I’m very disappointed, Howard.” The former electro poof patronised, “I always thought you were a man of great retail…”
“I am!”
“I think I’m going to have to let Naboo know about this.” Vince gently shook his head and turned to leave the shop floor.
“No!” Howard begged, “Please!” he cried after Vince, who stopped and turned in the doorway.
“Alright.” He said simply. Howard, who had been expecting more of a fight, gave a sigh of relief.
“On one condition.” Vince added. Howard felt his heart race again. His mouth went dry and his palms felt sweaty. He waited for the undoubtedly embarrassing and soul destroying favour that Vince was going to ask of him.
“If any girls come in and ask about your outfit, you say that I designed it, yeah?” Vince ordered. Howard frowned is that it?
Vince was looking at him expectantly. Howard figured that he should probably answer: “Ok.”
Then it was Vince’s turn to frown. “Ain’t you gonna argue about it or nothing?”
Howard felt like an actor who had forgotten his lines. “Uh, yes… of course.” There was short pause before he realised that that would not suffice as a proper man-of-action comeback. “How… dare you.” He continued, “I invented this look.”
“You can’t ‘invent’ looks, Howard.” Vince drawled.
“I did.” the other man boasted. “Got a copyright and everything.”
“You can’t copyright tweed, Howard; even you ain’t that old.”
Hearing some of the kindest words ever to be spoken to him, Howard felt his chest swell with pride and a small tear form in his left eye.
“Tell the girls that I designed it, or Naboo’s going to hear about what a shoddy job you’ve been doing looking after this store.” Vince directed.
Howard snapped back to reality, “How is that fair, Vince? You haven’t done an honest hard day’s work in your life!”
“It’s not me Naboo’s going to turn his back on, though, is it?” smirked Vince. Howard glared at Vince, who clipped him around the back of his head with the clipboard, “Now get to work!”
“Yes Sir!” The small-eyed man squeaked.
*******
Vince was strutting about the shop floor, aplomb. He had successfully completed half of the stock taking for the entire antiques shop, and thought it was about time to take a short tea break. After putting up a ‘Gone For Lunch’ sign in the shop door window, the younger man made his way up the stairs to the kitchen to start the kettle.
Realising that he had not seen Howard since he had disappeared about an hour ago, (allegedly to answer the phone), Vince decided that the optimum time to track down the maverick would be while waiting for the water to boil. It was unlike Howard to vanish for a great deal of time during shop hours and Vince was beginning to feel a hint of apprehension when he couldn’t find Howard in his room.
Hearing the kettle click off, Vince started to make his way back towards the kitchen, when all of a sudden the bathroom door swung open and Howard Moon stood before him.
Vince stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what his friend was wearing; a luminous pink, leopard print mini dress, stretched too tightly over his torso and the tops of his thighs, along with neon green leggings. The older man’s large feet had been painfully forced into a pair of Vince’s silver platform boots. Howard’s previously brown, wispy hair was now carrying copious amounts of glitter and was held in its literal ‘just out of bed’ look with what appeared to be several cans of hairspray.
“That better not be my hairspray, small eyes!” Vince shrieked, pointing at the offending style.
“Of course it’s not.” Howard grumbled, “Not that you’d notice it missing from your multi-million supply in the cellar.”
“You better not be making any remarks about my vital supply of products, neither.” Vince glared.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t have to get me involved in it every time a new shipment comes in!” countered the other man.
“I can’t carry those crates, can I? I’d do my back in!”
Howard rolled his shoulders, and they both winced at the clicking noises the joints created. “You could learn to go down to the cellar to fetch them for yourself each morning though, Vince. They’re not that heavy on their own.”
“I couldn’t do that!” Vince shot Howard a horrified look, “You don’t know what lives down there!”
“There’s nothing down there apart from hairspray, Vince.”
“You can’t see what’s waiting in the dark, Howard; I’ve heard stories.”
“You can’t believe everything Leroy tells you, Vince.”
“Of course I don’t believe everything he tells me,” the younger man reassured him with a roll of his eyes, “he doesn’t believe in the tooth fairy, for one.”
“Well that’s silly of him, isn’t it, little man?”
Vince hummed in response, before realising that they had digressed spectacularly.
“What the hell are you wearing, Howard? You look like a drag queen gone wrong!”
“Be careful of what you say, Vince- you can only hurt yourself, seeing as I’m wearing your clothes.”
“Why would you do that, you clown?” Vince gasped, stunned.
“Well, if you’re going to wear my clothes, then I’m going to wear your clothes. I think it’s only fitting, don’t you?”
Vince eyed the zip which was beginning to rip from the material under the strain of being wrapped around a man too big for it. “Not that fitting, Howard.” he grimaced.
“Nevertheless, I believe this attire is quite suited to the point I am trying to make.”
“Yeah…” Vince asks, “What point are you trying to make?”
“The point, sir, of being an individual!” declared Howard.
“You look ridiculous, Howard.”
Howard stalled, “what do you mean?” he frowned, “This is what you usually wear, isn’t it? I thought you liked this kind of stuff?”
“It’s well un-cool, now, small eyes! Get with the programme- it’s all about mavericks and geography teacher chic these days,” indulged Vince. “You were bringing the moustache and stuff back in, weren’t you? I thought you’d be happy- you’re finally in fashion!”
“I don’t want to be in fashion.” Howard blurted.
Vince’s face fell, “but why not?”
“I don’t want to be cool. I want to be…” He searched for the right word, “different.”
“You want to be misunderstood, you mean.” corrected Vince.
“Shut up.” Howard muttered, turning away from Vince dramatically.
Vince chuckled and absently smoothed down the creases in his own tweed suit, “Oh, Howard, I love you, you silly moose.”
Then they both froze, breath held, as the words that echoed their minds sunk in to create a meaning. Slowly, Howard turned back towards his friend, a terrified expression upon his face.
“I didn’t mean- I mean… it just came out. Sorry,” Vince spluttered, “didn’t mean to make it awkward-”
“Shut up, Vince.” Howard interrupted. Their eyes locked and fleeting emotions passed through them. Before either man had a chance to think upon the situation any longer, they were embracing; hands in hair, legs intertwined, lips upon bare skin.
They did not notice when they fell to the floor in each other’s arms, nor did they care for the bruises they were undoubtedly acquiring from the rough action.
Tweed suits were ripped, neon clothing was discarded, ties were used and glitter flew in the air.
*************************************************************
It had been an awkward afternoon in A&E. Following The Sex (as it shall now be known), Howard had started to complain of a sore eye. Naturally, the more he rubbed his left eye, the itchier and more painful it became. Having small eyes, it did not take long before Howard’s eye had become so red and swollen that he could no longer use it for sight (though it was still a perfectly functioning calculator). Vince, fed up of Howard’s whining, had dragged the older man down to the nearest open clinic and demanded to see a physician who could help them. Holding hands in a hospital waiting room was not Vince’s idea of a post-sex cuddle. Regardless, the show stopper still gave Vince a chance to reflect upon The Sex.
It had been good. Role reversal. Completely the opposite of how he imagined it would be; for once it had been Howard wearing the glitter and heels... Vince, himself, had grown rather fond of the tie that had adjourned his outfit that morning as nothing more than an accessory, but inevitably became an important asset to their games.
He smiled and rested his head on Howard’s tense shoulder. Howard jumped at the sudden increase in contact and Vince pulled away, only to gaze into his friend’s eyes adoringly.
“Alright?” Vince quietly questioned. The waiting room was reasonably empty for a Friday afternoon; thankfully no homophobes to cause a fuss and Freak Out Howard during this delicate early phase of their relationship.
“It hurts.” Howard whined rather pathetically.
“I know, darling.” Vince smiled with a hint of condescension.
“How long have we been waiting? This service is awful.”
“It’s only been half an hour, Howard.” Vince remarked, “They’re busy people, you know- They work hard.”
“I want to go home.” The older man cried.
“Yeah?” Vince smirked, “I want to go to be-”
“The doctor is ready to see you now.” Someone of importance interrupted his connotation filled sentence and indicated for them to follow.
*******
Removing the glitter did not take the doctor long at all; plenty of rinsing with a salty solution and a tissue for Howard’s corresponding runny nose. However, the new couple found answering the questions, which had been born out of curiosity, a much tougher challenge.
“How exactly did you manage to get the glitter in your eye?” asked the doctor, her pen poised over a clipboard.
“Oh…” Howard panicked, “me and Vince… we um, play a game; Glitter eye… we try to get glitter… in each other’s eyes.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow, looking confused.
Vince started to laugh, “Oh, he’s only joking. We were making a card for his niece; she’s six tomorrow,” Vince lied, “I told him that glitter would be a good decorating material- what I didn’t realise is how clumsy he is!” Vince patted Howard on the shoulder, patronisingly.
Howard gives his friend a glare, before turning back to the doctor, “Yes, Vince seems to have a knack for knowing what six year old girls like,” trying to accuse his androgynous friend of being immature.
The doctor did not understand the inside joke, and her facial expression became one of horror.
“I ain’t a pervert of nothing!” Vince blurts, “He just means I’m good with kids!”
The doctor seemed to accept this excuse, and jotted down a few notes on her clipboard.
“He’s right, though.” Howard blurted, “We were just making a birthday card. That’s it. We weren’t doing anything else - Oww!” Vince had stamped on Howard’s foot.
The raven-haired man turned to the doctor, “sorry, he babbles when he’s nervous- doesn’t like hospitals much.”
The doctor nodded, understandingly, a hint of a smile on her face, “Well I think you’re free to go now Mr Moon,” She dismissed. “Be careful not to get any more glitter in your eye when you need to make the next birthday card.”
“I don’t think we’ll use glitter again.” Howard muttered, rising from where he was seated on the hospital bed, “To make cards, I mean.” He added unnecessarily as they left the cubical.
“We could always use feather, Howard; They’re genius!” Vince grinned with excitement and intent.
Howard shivered at the implications, “I doubt that, Vince. I’m rather ticklish.” he mumbled, “what about Blu-tack?”
Vince shot him a look of disgust. And then burst into a fit of giggles; “Whatever rocks your boat, Howard.”