Fic: Flying Lessons (8/12)
Flying Lessons (8/12)
by Me, doctorpancakes
Fandoms: Boosh/Barley crossover
Pairings: Dan/Jones and Howard/Vince
Rating: PG-13, this chapter
Word Count: 1539, this chapter (10365 so far)
Warnings: dust
Disclaimer: I recycle my newspapers on a biweekly basis. I don't own Boosh or Barley, much as I sure wish I did.
Author's Notes: This chapter's goofy. Apologies in advance. For those of you just tuning in, here's a recap: Howard and Vince, on their way back from the book launch, get lost on the streets of New York City. They stop to ask a kindly old man for directions. HOW WILL THEY EXTRICATE THEMSELVES FROM THIS STICKY SITUATION???
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
“Out for a romantic evening stroll?” asked the old man as the pair approached him.
“Actually, we were wondering if you could direct us to the nearest subway station,” said Howard.
“Sure, sure,” said the elderly man, with a friendly twinkle in his eye. “But since you're here already, why don't you stop in for a Campari and orange juice, if you're not in a big hurry?”
“Well, sir, we've really go to be - “
“Now, now,” interrupted the man, “you wouldn't begrudge a dying man a little company in his final hours, would you?”
“Howard,” Vince whispered as forcefully as he could, glaring at Howard, giving him a look that all but screamed oh HELL no.
“Just one little drink?” asked the old man.
Howard's resolve crumbled like a fresh block of feta over a bowl of pasta salad. “One drink,” he acquiesced, and the pair grudgingly followed the old man into his home.
The living room was dark, and lined with piles of old newspapers so high that the walls were completely obscured, and so old that they were coated in a thick patina of dust and old tobacco smoke. Vince made a note of coughing pointedly at strategic intervals in response. Crackly gospel music played quietly on a staticky old radio. Vince shifted a stack of papers from the plastic-covered floral sofa, trying in vain to touch them as little as possible, and the pair reluctantly sat down.
“So, tell me about yourselves,” said the old man, pouring copious amounts of dusty red hooch into a trio of chipped coffee mugs featuring mismatched but equally quaint portraits of things like kittens, children with unusually large eyes, and no doubt highly poisonous mushrooms.
“Well sir, my name's Howard Moon, and this is Vince Noir,” said Howard.
“Vince,” repeated the old man. “That's a lovely name. A lovely name for a lovely lady.”
“Uhh, hang on a minute,” protested Vince, as the old man shoved a drink in his hand.
“You two must have traveled a long way to get to the big city,” said the old man. “I don't suppose they have big cities over in Australia.”
“We're English, actually,” said Howard, choking on his bitter beverage.
“Would you like to see some of my religious art?” asked the old man.
“... sure?” ventured Howard.
The old man shuffled about for a time behind a stack of newspapers, muttering to himself.
“Howard,” Vince whispered, nudging Howard very hard with his elbow. “I think we should get out of here now.”
“Vince, that's impolite,” scolded Howard, taking another sip of his drink, trying his darnedest not to gag on it.
“I think this guy's a vampire,” whispered Vince. “I mean look at this place, he's got no mirrors up, for one thing. That's just not right.”
“Honesty Vince, just because he isn't as vain as you are doesn't make him a vampire,” retorted Howard.
“Fine. But that, and the velvet curtains? This place looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in hundreds of years! And that Campari? It's NOT Campari. Trust me,” glared Vince.
Howard choked on his drink. “Eugh, I've had four sips of it already!” he exclaimed.
Just then, the old man turned back to them, brandishing a sculpture, and he placed it gently atop a pile of newspapers which presumably hid a coffee table somewhere under them, and squeezed himself directly between Howard and Vince on the sofa.
“This one's a portrait of Saint Paul,” he said proudly. It was all Howard and Vince could do to mask their distaste.
“No it isn't,” said Howard. “It's a dead rat that's been nailed to an empty juice box, isn't it?”
“It's symbolic,” corrected the old man. “Vince understands, don't you, dear?” he leaned in as he spoke, patting Vince on the knee. “My, this Campari just goes straight to my head,” he continued, . “You know, if I may be so bold, and your husband doesn't object, I wonder if I might trouble you for a kiss? One last kiss from a beautiful lady, for a dying man.”
Vince inched as far away as the sofa would allow at the old man advanced on him with surprising vigor for such a frail-looking creature, smiling menacingly, flashing an unusually sharp set of canines. Howard, fuming, took a deep breath, steeled himself, and proceeded to club the old man with his fists.
“Hands...”
BIFF
“...off...”
BAM
“...my...”
KER-POW
“...boyfriend!” he shouted. And that was that.
Howard lowered his fist slowly, out of breath, eyes wide (or at least as wide as Howard's teensy little eyes would go) with shock at his own sudden violent outburst. The old man sat, dazed, on the floor. Howard quickly grabbed Vince by the hand and the two booked it out of the building.
“You can find your own goddamn way to the subway station, then,” the old man muttered after them. “Boyfriend?”
Howard and Vince walked briskly down the road, arms linked.
“Howard,” Vince stared up at his companion, wide-eyed and positively giggling with adrenaline, “that was amazing.”
“I beat up a defenseless old man, Vince,” protested Howard.
“Came to my rescue, more like,” countered Vince, as they descended a sticky set of stairs into the city's underbelly. “It was proper heroic. You didn't see his pointy teeth, all flashy! That man was dangerous!”
Howard puffed up a little taller. “He was, wasn't he?”
Vince nodded. The train doors swooshed open just as they arrived on the platform. They fell quickly into two empty seats in a mostly empty car. Their few fellow passengers were either passed-out drunk or quietly reading to themselves.
“Do you know who I am?” asked Howard. “I'm Howard Damage Moon, sir! I laugh in the face of danger! Ha! Ha!” he laughed maniacally.
“You?” scoffed Vince with raised eyebrow. “Laugh in the face of danger? One look at danger's profile and you crumble like a Weetabix.”
“Oh yeah? Well what about the time I took down that vampire?” asked Howard.
“You mean that one time just now?” replied Vince.
“... yeah,” said Howard, shuffling his feet.
“Yeah,” admitted Vince, “that really was pretty amazing.”
“Cheers Vince,” smiled Howard.
Their eyes met, and they grinned conspiratorially, before spontaneously bursting into a crimp.
“Vampires, vampires, vampires, oh no!
Sucking out your lifeblood, like a human juice box,
dust them here, dust them there,
dusting in your underwear.
Polishing the cabinets, vacuuming the cobwebs,
spiders are all confused! Spiders are all confused!
Don't forget your spider monkey vaccination!”
Howard was never one to initiate first contact. Under normal circumstances, he would tense for a moment and have to resist the urge to flee before remembering that the person snuggling into him/kissing his neck/unbuttoning his trousers was Vince, and he liked Vince - he loved Vince - and he liked finding new and creative ways of tearing down physical boundaries with Vince very much. But under normal circumstances, he would wait for Vince to make the first move. Not so this time. This time, Howard, feeling even more confident than usual following his success in saving Vince from the strange old vampire and so moved by Vince's kind words, was going to be a man of romantic action. He reached an arm around Vince's shoulders, and left it there.
“Howard, you're going to have to undress me as soon as we're back in the room,” whispered Vince, glancing about nervously.
“Umm, Vince?” Howard was confused.
“Look at these trousers, Howard,” said Vince frantically, indicating his epic drainpipes. “These are the tightest trousers known to man. It took a team of specialists to get me into them. If the two of us get any more enthusiastic while I've got these on, these trousers will break my penis.”
They were both thankful for being in an especially soundproof room that evening. At long last, Vince lay sprawled over their bed, face flushed and blissfully out of breath. He looked over at Howard, propped up on his elbows, a self-satisfied smile creeping onto his face.
“Wow,” gasped Vince.
“You can say that again,” said Howard.
“I can't believe it took us half an hour to get me out of those trousers,” said Vince, rolling lazily onto his side, an exploratory hand sneaking beneath the waistband of Howard's pants.
“Maybe this will convince you that you don't need to wear such snug legwear, VinOHMYGOODNESS!” exclaimed Howard, scrambling to his feet.
Vince stared at him, hands on hips. “Settle down, will you? Look, I know this is still a bit of a mysterious new world for us, but if you’d stop panicking, you’d remember how much you like having my hand in your pants.”
“Just... Just a moment,” said Howard, catching his breath. Deep breaths. Inhale, and exhale. Inhale, and exhale. There. Howard Moon, Man of Action, was not one to say no to such an exquisite example of glam-rock debauchery sprawled supine and firm of member on a soft, soundproof mattress. One more breath, and he leapt, like a large and uncoordinated gazelle, onto his lover.
By the time Dan and Jones arrived back at the suite, all that could be overheard was the gentle rumble of Howard's satiated snoring.
Chapter Nine
by Me, doctorpancakes
Fandoms: Boosh/Barley crossover
Pairings: Dan/Jones and Howard/Vince
Rating: PG-13, this chapter
Word Count: 1539, this chapter (10365 so far)
Warnings: dust
Disclaimer: I recycle my newspapers on a biweekly basis. I don't own Boosh or Barley, much as I sure wish I did.
Author's Notes: This chapter's goofy. Apologies in advance. For those of you just tuning in, here's a recap: Howard and Vince, on their way back from the book launch, get lost on the streets of New York City. They stop to ask a kindly old man for directions. HOW WILL THEY EXTRICATE THEMSELVES FROM THIS STICKY SITUATION???
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
“Out for a romantic evening stroll?” asked the old man as the pair approached him.
“Actually, we were wondering if you could direct us to the nearest subway station,” said Howard.
“Sure, sure,” said the elderly man, with a friendly twinkle in his eye. “But since you're here already, why don't you stop in for a Campari and orange juice, if you're not in a big hurry?”
“Well, sir, we've really go to be - “
“Now, now,” interrupted the man, “you wouldn't begrudge a dying man a little company in his final hours, would you?”
“Howard,” Vince whispered as forcefully as he could, glaring at Howard, giving him a look that all but screamed oh HELL no.
“Just one little drink?” asked the old man.
Howard's resolve crumbled like a fresh block of feta over a bowl of pasta salad. “One drink,” he acquiesced, and the pair grudgingly followed the old man into his home.
The living room was dark, and lined with piles of old newspapers so high that the walls were completely obscured, and so old that they were coated in a thick patina of dust and old tobacco smoke. Vince made a note of coughing pointedly at strategic intervals in response. Crackly gospel music played quietly on a staticky old radio. Vince shifted a stack of papers from the plastic-covered floral sofa, trying in vain to touch them as little as possible, and the pair reluctantly sat down.
“So, tell me about yourselves,” said the old man, pouring copious amounts of dusty red hooch into a trio of chipped coffee mugs featuring mismatched but equally quaint portraits of things like kittens, children with unusually large eyes, and no doubt highly poisonous mushrooms.
“Well sir, my name's Howard Moon, and this is Vince Noir,” said Howard.
“Vince,” repeated the old man. “That's a lovely name. A lovely name for a lovely lady.”
“Uhh, hang on a minute,” protested Vince, as the old man shoved a drink in his hand.
“You two must have traveled a long way to get to the big city,” said the old man. “I don't suppose they have big cities over in Australia.”
“We're English, actually,” said Howard, choking on his bitter beverage.
“Would you like to see some of my religious art?” asked the old man.
“... sure?” ventured Howard.
The old man shuffled about for a time behind a stack of newspapers, muttering to himself.
“Howard,” Vince whispered, nudging Howard very hard with his elbow. “I think we should get out of here now.”
“Vince, that's impolite,” scolded Howard, taking another sip of his drink, trying his darnedest not to gag on it.
“I think this guy's a vampire,” whispered Vince. “I mean look at this place, he's got no mirrors up, for one thing. That's just not right.”
“Honesty Vince, just because he isn't as vain as you are doesn't make him a vampire,” retorted Howard.
“Fine. But that, and the velvet curtains? This place looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in hundreds of years! And that Campari? It's NOT Campari. Trust me,” glared Vince.
Howard choked on his drink. “Eugh, I've had four sips of it already!” he exclaimed.
Just then, the old man turned back to them, brandishing a sculpture, and he placed it gently atop a pile of newspapers which presumably hid a coffee table somewhere under them, and squeezed himself directly between Howard and Vince on the sofa.
“This one's a portrait of Saint Paul,” he said proudly. It was all Howard and Vince could do to mask their distaste.
“No it isn't,” said Howard. “It's a dead rat that's been nailed to an empty juice box, isn't it?”
“It's symbolic,” corrected the old man. “Vince understands, don't you, dear?” he leaned in as he spoke, patting Vince on the knee. “My, this Campari just goes straight to my head,” he continued, . “You know, if I may be so bold, and your husband doesn't object, I wonder if I might trouble you for a kiss? One last kiss from a beautiful lady, for a dying man.”
Vince inched as far away as the sofa would allow at the old man advanced on him with surprising vigor for such a frail-looking creature, smiling menacingly, flashing an unusually sharp set of canines. Howard, fuming, took a deep breath, steeled himself, and proceeded to club the old man with his fists.
“Hands...”
BIFF
“...off...”
BAM
“...my...”
KER-POW
“...boyfriend!” he shouted. And that was that.
Howard lowered his fist slowly, out of breath, eyes wide (or at least as wide as Howard's teensy little eyes would go) with shock at his own sudden violent outburst. The old man sat, dazed, on the floor. Howard quickly grabbed Vince by the hand and the two booked it out of the building.
“You can find your own goddamn way to the subway station, then,” the old man muttered after them. “Boyfriend?”
Howard and Vince walked briskly down the road, arms linked.
“Howard,” Vince stared up at his companion, wide-eyed and positively giggling with adrenaline, “that was amazing.”
“I beat up a defenseless old man, Vince,” protested Howard.
“Came to my rescue, more like,” countered Vince, as they descended a sticky set of stairs into the city's underbelly. “It was proper heroic. You didn't see his pointy teeth, all flashy! That man was dangerous!”
Howard puffed up a little taller. “He was, wasn't he?”
Vince nodded. The train doors swooshed open just as they arrived on the platform. They fell quickly into two empty seats in a mostly empty car. Their few fellow passengers were either passed-out drunk or quietly reading to themselves.
“Do you know who I am?” asked Howard. “I'm Howard Damage Moon, sir! I laugh in the face of danger! Ha! Ha!” he laughed maniacally.
“You?” scoffed Vince with raised eyebrow. “Laugh in the face of danger? One look at danger's profile and you crumble like a Weetabix.”
“Oh yeah? Well what about the time I took down that vampire?” asked Howard.
“You mean that one time just now?” replied Vince.
“... yeah,” said Howard, shuffling his feet.
“Yeah,” admitted Vince, “that really was pretty amazing.”
“Cheers Vince,” smiled Howard.
Their eyes met, and they grinned conspiratorially, before spontaneously bursting into a crimp.
“Vampires, vampires, vampires, oh no!
Sucking out your lifeblood, like a human juice box,
dust them here, dust them there,
dusting in your underwear.
Polishing the cabinets, vacuuming the cobwebs,
spiders are all confused! Spiders are all confused!
Don't forget your spider monkey vaccination!”
Howard was never one to initiate first contact. Under normal circumstances, he would tense for a moment and have to resist the urge to flee before remembering that the person snuggling into him/kissing his neck/unbuttoning his trousers was Vince, and he liked Vince - he loved Vince - and he liked finding new and creative ways of tearing down physical boundaries with Vince very much. But under normal circumstances, he would wait for Vince to make the first move. Not so this time. This time, Howard, feeling even more confident than usual following his success in saving Vince from the strange old vampire and so moved by Vince's kind words, was going to be a man of romantic action. He reached an arm around Vince's shoulders, and left it there.
“Howard, you're going to have to undress me as soon as we're back in the room,” whispered Vince, glancing about nervously.
“Umm, Vince?” Howard was confused.
“Look at these trousers, Howard,” said Vince frantically, indicating his epic drainpipes. “These are the tightest trousers known to man. It took a team of specialists to get me into them. If the two of us get any more enthusiastic while I've got these on, these trousers will break my penis.”
They were both thankful for being in an especially soundproof room that evening. At long last, Vince lay sprawled over their bed, face flushed and blissfully out of breath. He looked over at Howard, propped up on his elbows, a self-satisfied smile creeping onto his face.
“Wow,” gasped Vince.
“You can say that again,” said Howard.
“I can't believe it took us half an hour to get me out of those trousers,” said Vince, rolling lazily onto his side, an exploratory hand sneaking beneath the waistband of Howard's pants.
“Maybe this will convince you that you don't need to wear such snug legwear, VinOHMYGOODNESS!” exclaimed Howard, scrambling to his feet.
Vince stared at him, hands on hips. “Settle down, will you? Look, I know this is still a bit of a mysterious new world for us, but if you’d stop panicking, you’d remember how much you like having my hand in your pants.”
“Just... Just a moment,” said Howard, catching his breath. Deep breaths. Inhale, and exhale. Inhale, and exhale. There. Howard Moon, Man of Action, was not one to say no to such an exquisite example of glam-rock debauchery sprawled supine and firm of member on a soft, soundproof mattress. One more breath, and he leapt, like a large and uncoordinated gazelle, onto his lover.
By the time Dan and Jones arrived back at the suite, all that could be overheard was the gentle rumble of Howard's satiated snoring.
Chapter Nine