Infectious
Title: Infectious
Author: Concupiscence66
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: PG
Warnings: absolute fluff
Summary: Howard has a headache and his name is Vince Noir
Author’s note: Bit of total fluff based on a dream. So many people have been so wonderful to me lately, I hope you all enjoy it.
Howard knew better than to drink when he had a cold coming on. A cold and a beer meant an inevitable sinus infection. It happened every time, and yet Howard couldn’t help himself. After a long day of being surrounded by filthy, simple-minded creatures (not to mention the zoo animals - that was one of Howard’s), he needed to unwind. Back when Tommy was in charge, Howard would go home and listen to some jazz to unwind. Now that Fossil was in charge, Howard spent about half of his day sitting around listening to jazz to drown out the endless, nonsensical announcements from Fossil like, “Someone put a pair of pants on the baboon! When he bends over, I can see what he ate for lunch.” The newest of Fossil’s useless hires, Vince Noir, had suggested Howard play his music aloud one day. For a moment, Howard had been excited that he would have a chance to expose a young mind to the genius of Charles Mingus, but the boy fell over - covered in hives - five minutes into the first bass solo.
“Alright, Howard?” Vince called out as he walked into the Keeper Hut. His hair was chin length and bright red with streaks of black, which was a surprise since it had been shoulder length and sandy blond with white highlights the night before.
Howard grunted, unwilling to engage in idle chit chat with a nit wit when he could barely breathe. At the pub, Vince had been in Howard’s face, telling him absurd stories about being raised in the jungle by Bryan Ferry. Having made the mistake of chuckling, Howard had unintentionally encouraged Vince in his nonsense and now the boy was acting like they were friends.
“What’s wrong?” Vince asked, getting in Howard’s face once again. Vince wasn’t a tall man, but he was wearing cowboy boots with substantive heels, and they brought him close enough to Howard for him to smell the candy on the boy’s breath.
“I’m stuffed up, so quit hogging all the oxygen,” Howard snapped, trying to move away without appearing to surrender any ground. With young upstarts like Vince, if you gave an inch, they’d take a mile.
“Let’s get a kettle on,” Vince suggested. “Get some moisture in the air.”
Howard reluctantly allowed himself to be physically pulled by the wrist towards the stove. Vince might well have been raised in the jungle for all he understood physical boundaries. He appeared completely unaware of Howard’s discomfort with the uncalled for intimacy.
Howard could feel the pressure in his head easing as the kettle boiled, releasing steam into the air. He’d been raised in a rather stoic household and didn’t tend to think in terms of how to alleviate symptoms of illness. He just tried to tolerate them like a proper man - by being short and irritable.
“Get your head over here,” Vince ordered, again pulling at Howard like they were best mates rather than co-workers. “Let that steam get all up in your passages.”
Vince jammed his stubby little thumbs into Howard’s forehead above his nose and pressed outwards. Howard was appalled, but he felt a slight release in the pressure in his head.
“Will you stop touching me?” Howard snapped, waving Vince off.
“I’m good at this,” Vince argued. “My gram had sinus headaches all the time.”
Vince then rubbed his thumbs along Howard’s cheeks. The touch was far too rough to feel anything but therapeutic, but Howard could see clumps in Vince’s cheap mascara. That was far too close.
“Don’t touch me!” Howard growled. Vince jumped, but did not retreat. Howard could feel Vince’s breath on his chin.
“Why not?”
Vince’s eyes were far too pretty for a man. They were a million shades of blue, with dark (obviously tinted) eyelashes. Howard felt like he was suffocating all over again, even as his sinuses began to drain (down the back of his throat).
“Don’t ever touch me,” Howard blustered, trying to cover for his panicky response. “Not when I’m sick, not when I’m well, not when I’m writing to my MP…”
Vince looked confused for a moment, but then he smiled. It wasn’t his usual, sunny and mindless smile, but a knowing smile that sent a shiver up Howard’s back.
Vince was a slip of a thing that couldn’t intimidate anyone. When he got a bit yelly (usually over his hair), he could be a little worrisome, but Vince was a tiny little man that Howard could pick up and put in his pocket (much like Vince had done with a mouse he found in the tube that was now part of the zoo). There was no reason for Howard to feel nervous.
“Are you just going to let the water boil away or are you going to make some tea?” Howard asked, trying to re-assert his authority.
Vince gave Howard a coquettish smile.
“How do you like it? Sweet or strong?”
Howard liked it sweet.
“No sugar, no milk. Nothing,” Howard lied. It was none of Vince’s business how Howard liked his tea, any more than it was Howard’s business if Vince liked men or women. Or if he liked to be a top or bottom. Or if he liked his men sweet or strong or brainy or adventurous. Howard didn’t care if Vince wanted a strong man to sweep him off his feet or a gentle lover to write him poetry. It was simply none of Howard’s concern and never would be.
Vince spent entirely too long staring at Howard while biting on his lower lip. If Vince were a woman, it might have looked like an invitation for a kiss.
“Plain tea?” Vince said, wrinkling his nose. “Guess it takes all kinds, right Howard?”
“Sure, Little Man,” Howard replied. He meant the nickname to be derisive, but Vince smiled.
“You’re King Keeper, so I guess we’ll do things your way.”
Vince’s tone and body language were as insolent as his words were demure. Howard could tell he was going to have a battle on his hands trying to keep Vince under his authority.
As he choked down his unsweetened tea, Howard wondered if he had just won or lost their first skirmish, but he couldn’t help returning Vince’s smile. It was infectious.