Fic: Flying Lessons (13/12)
Flying Lessons (13/12)
by Me, doctorpancakes
Fandoms: Boosh/Barley crossover
Pairings: Dan/Jones and Howard/Vince
Rating: PG-13, this chapter
Word Count: 1315, this chapter (16352 in total)
Warnings: MAJOR FROMAGE, mentions of intimate acts and name-dropping of bands I listen to
Disclaimer: I own a pint of Haagen Dazs half-fat dulce de leche ice cream, that I'm using in lieu of half-and-half in my coffee. OH MAN. If you still think I own any of these characters, what planet are you from?
Author's Notes: Yes, this is chapter 13 of 12. And yes, this is the actual last chapter. And yes, our heroes will all be returning in exciting new adventures sometime in the near (Gosh willing) future. And for those of you for some reason still reading these things, thanks for sticking with me! I truly love you all.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Not only was the art museum educational and full of fascinating, glittering canvases, it was also just capitalist enough that the merchandise was extensive. Vince endured Howard’s extensive prattlings-on with regard to this painting and that sculpture, albeit grudgingly. Howard endured Vince’s whirlwind tour of the impressive gift shop, which he left with an impressive collection of mostly useless, but pretty, things. Afterwards, they retired to a tiny restaurant - one of those bizarre secrets Vince seemed to instinctively know about, as there was no sign above the door, and indeed, no door to speak of. It was as though they had passed through a gateway to a parallel dimension that served nothing but really, really good pizza.
“So, since we still have a few hours before we need to be at the gate,” Howard began, taking a sip of his apple juice, “I thought we might - ”
“Marry me.”
Vince stared at Howard with a small smile.
“What did you say?” Howard was certain he had misheard.
“Marry me, Howard,” repeated Vince.
“What did you do that for?” Howard was thoroughly weirded out. “I was going to ask you.”
“Oh, really?” laughed Vince.
“I was going to take us up the Empire State Building, get down on one knee overlooking the city. Bought a ring and everything. And you just had to go and ruin it by getting it in first, didn’t you?” asked Howard, perturbed.
“Aww, cheers Howard, that’s so sweet! See, I thought I’d get it out of the way, and then I figured the building’s got enough floors that we’d have time to celebrate with a cheeky shag in the lift,” said Vince with an exaggerated wink, gesticulating lewdly with his pizza crust.
“Vince, that’s unsafe. We don’t know where that lift’s been. It could be crawling with...” and he lowered his voice considerably before continuing, “social disease.”
“Oh yeah? What happened to Howard Moon laughs in the face of danger?” asked Vince.
“There’s danger, and then there’s reckless lunacy, Little Man,” replied Howard. “You don’t want to catch an elevator disease. It’s a well-known fact that elevator diseases are the most unpleasant of all the diseases you can catch in buildings. What if something happened to, you know, Little Vincey?”
“Point taken,” conceded Vince. “Oi, what do you mean, Little Vincey? Impressively Large Vincey, I think you’ll find.”
“Point taken.” Howard had a hand in his jacket pocket, carefully turning over and over the small object he had hidden there. “What are the odds that we’d both get the idea to propose on the same day?”
Vince facepalmed, cracking up.
“Howard, you daft penguin, I could hear you rehearsing your little speech this morning when you thought I was asleep,” giggled Vince, taking hold of his companion’s hand. “It got a bit long-winded, so I thought I’d do a bit of editing for you. Boom! Engagement.”
“You... heard my speech, then?” Howard blushed.
“I might have tuned out after about an hour and a half,” admitted Vince. “The itemized list of all known animals that mate for life was a bit much.”
“But the best bit was right after that,” moaned Howard. “You missed where I outlined the history of matrimonial traditions in Britain from the fourth century to the present day. You see, in Old English, the word for - ”
“That's... all right, Howard,” said Vince, grimacing slightly, patting him on the arm. “You haven’t answered me yet, you know.”
Howard raised an eyebrow.
“Since I did ask first,” he elaborated. “You going to leave me hanging forever or what?”
“But... it was my idea,” said Howard, puzzled. “And I’m the one with a ring in his pocket. You should be answering me.”
“The fact that I’m asking is an answer, isn’t it?” countered Vince. “Just say yes and give me the ring, you ridiculous jazz dinosaur.”
“Right. Okay. Yep. Yes. Of course I will, Little Man,” Howard nodded, blushing such an intense shade of crimson that it seemed to radiate from him like an electric tomato.
“Cheers, Howard,” giggled Vince.
Howard pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a glitter-encrusted bauble so bright and shining and fabulous that it very nearly required the use of special sunglasses in order to look at it directly. Vince beamed even brighter.
“Genius,” he smiled, as Howard slipped the ring onto his finger. “Everyone with taste is going to be well jealous. Too bad you don’t really accessorize, or you could wear one too.”
“I am wearing one, Vince,” replied Howard, gazing off into the poetic distance, “on my heart.”
“I think that might be dangerously constricting your blood flow,” observed Vince. “What happened to safe fun?”
“It’s a metaphor, you sad peacock,” explained Howard.
“Whatever,” said Vince, rolling his eyes. “So are we going to kiss or something, now we’re engaged?”
“Oh, of course,” grinned Howard, blushing. “Pucker up, love.”
Howard leaned in, closing his eyes, when he felt a sudden and unpleasant squish beneath his elbow.
“Eugh, Howard, you turnip!” exclaimed Vince, “you’ve gone and got your elbow all over my pizza!”
Howard grinned. “Not to worry, Little Man, these stain-resistant elbow patches mean I’m prepared for just such an emergency as this,” he said proudly, wiping off the last bits of spiced tomato with a napkin.
“Yeah, but I can’t eat this now,” Vince moaned. “Probably got jazz germs all up in it from that horrid tweed.”
“Vince,” said Howard, with an exasperated sigh, “if you’re afraid of getting jazz germs from the proud tweed of my traveling ensemble, shouldn’t you be even more afraid of contracting jazz germs from me when we’re... intimate?”
“That’s different,” handwaved Vince. “You’re not unfashionable when you’re all naked. Just... you know, sexy.”
Vince put down the remainder of his crust, stopping to lick the crumbs from his thumb, in as deliberately seductive a manner as he could; drawing it in with the tip of his tongue, sucking it between his glossy pink lips. Howard blushed like 569879345987245987.8 square metres of cranberry fields, his composure weakening.
“So, you sure I can’t change your mind about that shag in the lift?” asked Vince, fluttering his eyelashes.
“Social disease,” stammered Howard.
“You’re a social disease,” replied Vince. “Cheeky blowie in the airport toilets, then?”
“I’d rather not take our chances around airport security,” said Howard. “They’re pretty ruthless.”
“Fine,” shrugged Vince. “But let’s just say that I can’t be held responsible for anything my hand might get up to under your blanket on the airplane.”
---
As the plane taxied round the runway, Jones fished a music magazine out of his bag, and began absentmindedly skimming through it.
“That band's shit... that band's shit... oh, Diskjokke, brilliant... that band's shit... that band's rubbish... hey, we met them at Shambhala... new album's shit...” he said quietly to himself as he flipped through the glossy pages.
“One day,” said Dan.
“What?” asked Jones, looking up from a spread on Young Rival (on whom he was no doubt about to pass judgment as to whether or not they were rubbish).
“I've thought. About us having a kid. One day, you know, when we're ready,” said Dan, shredding the edges of his packet of complimentary airplane pretzels and looking as though he really wished their flight wasn't nonsmoking.
Jones smiled, stilling Dan's restless hands with his own, lacing their fingers together. Dan nestled his head on Jones' shoulder, as Jones gingerly placed one earbud in Dan's ear and one earbud in his own ear, queuing up the seven-hour Transatlantic Flight Mix he'd prepared for them in anticipation of their homeward journey.
by Me, doctorpancakes
Fandoms: Boosh/Barley crossover
Pairings: Dan/Jones and Howard/Vince
Rating: PG-13, this chapter
Word Count: 1315, this chapter (16352 in total)
Warnings: MAJOR FROMAGE, mentions of intimate acts and name-dropping of bands I listen to
Disclaimer: I own a pint of Haagen Dazs half-fat dulce de leche ice cream, that I'm using in lieu of half-and-half in my coffee. OH MAN. If you still think I own any of these characters, what planet are you from?
Author's Notes: Yes, this is chapter 13 of 12. And yes, this is the actual last chapter. And yes, our heroes will all be returning in exciting new adventures sometime in the near (Gosh willing) future. And for those of you for some reason still reading these things, thanks for sticking with me! I truly love you all.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Not only was the art museum educational and full of fascinating, glittering canvases, it was also just capitalist enough that the merchandise was extensive. Vince endured Howard’s extensive prattlings-on with regard to this painting and that sculpture, albeit grudgingly. Howard endured Vince’s whirlwind tour of the impressive gift shop, which he left with an impressive collection of mostly useless, but pretty, things. Afterwards, they retired to a tiny restaurant - one of those bizarre secrets Vince seemed to instinctively know about, as there was no sign above the door, and indeed, no door to speak of. It was as though they had passed through a gateway to a parallel dimension that served nothing but really, really good pizza.
“So, since we still have a few hours before we need to be at the gate,” Howard began, taking a sip of his apple juice, “I thought we might - ”
“Marry me.”
Vince stared at Howard with a small smile.
“What did you say?” Howard was certain he had misheard.
“Marry me, Howard,” repeated Vince.
“What did you do that for?” Howard was thoroughly weirded out. “I was going to ask you.”
“Oh, really?” laughed Vince.
“I was going to take us up the Empire State Building, get down on one knee overlooking the city. Bought a ring and everything. And you just had to go and ruin it by getting it in first, didn’t you?” asked Howard, perturbed.
“Aww, cheers Howard, that’s so sweet! See, I thought I’d get it out of the way, and then I figured the building’s got enough floors that we’d have time to celebrate with a cheeky shag in the lift,” said Vince with an exaggerated wink, gesticulating lewdly with his pizza crust.
“Vince, that’s unsafe. We don’t know where that lift’s been. It could be crawling with...” and he lowered his voice considerably before continuing, “social disease.”
“Oh yeah? What happened to Howard Moon laughs in the face of danger?” asked Vince.
“There’s danger, and then there’s reckless lunacy, Little Man,” replied Howard. “You don’t want to catch an elevator disease. It’s a well-known fact that elevator diseases are the most unpleasant of all the diseases you can catch in buildings. What if something happened to, you know, Little Vincey?”
“Point taken,” conceded Vince. “Oi, what do you mean, Little Vincey? Impressively Large Vincey, I think you’ll find.”
“Point taken.” Howard had a hand in his jacket pocket, carefully turning over and over the small object he had hidden there. “What are the odds that we’d both get the idea to propose on the same day?”
Vince facepalmed, cracking up.
“Howard, you daft penguin, I could hear you rehearsing your little speech this morning when you thought I was asleep,” giggled Vince, taking hold of his companion’s hand. “It got a bit long-winded, so I thought I’d do a bit of editing for you. Boom! Engagement.”
“You... heard my speech, then?” Howard blushed.
“I might have tuned out after about an hour and a half,” admitted Vince. “The itemized list of all known animals that mate for life was a bit much.”
“But the best bit was right after that,” moaned Howard. “You missed where I outlined the history of matrimonial traditions in Britain from the fourth century to the present day. You see, in Old English, the word for - ”
“That's... all right, Howard,” said Vince, grimacing slightly, patting him on the arm. “You haven’t answered me yet, you know.”
Howard raised an eyebrow.
“Since I did ask first,” he elaborated. “You going to leave me hanging forever or what?”
“But... it was my idea,” said Howard, puzzled. “And I’m the one with a ring in his pocket. You should be answering me.”
“The fact that I’m asking is an answer, isn’t it?” countered Vince. “Just say yes and give me the ring, you ridiculous jazz dinosaur.”
“Right. Okay. Yep. Yes. Of course I will, Little Man,” Howard nodded, blushing such an intense shade of crimson that it seemed to radiate from him like an electric tomato.
“Cheers, Howard,” giggled Vince.
Howard pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a glitter-encrusted bauble so bright and shining and fabulous that it very nearly required the use of special sunglasses in order to look at it directly. Vince beamed even brighter.
“Genius,” he smiled, as Howard slipped the ring onto his finger. “Everyone with taste is going to be well jealous. Too bad you don’t really accessorize, or you could wear one too.”
“I am wearing one, Vince,” replied Howard, gazing off into the poetic distance, “on my heart.”
“I think that might be dangerously constricting your blood flow,” observed Vince. “What happened to safe fun?”
“It’s a metaphor, you sad peacock,” explained Howard.
“Whatever,” said Vince, rolling his eyes. “So are we going to kiss or something, now we’re engaged?”
“Oh, of course,” grinned Howard, blushing. “Pucker up, love.”
Howard leaned in, closing his eyes, when he felt a sudden and unpleasant squish beneath his elbow.
“Eugh, Howard, you turnip!” exclaimed Vince, “you’ve gone and got your elbow all over my pizza!”
Howard grinned. “Not to worry, Little Man, these stain-resistant elbow patches mean I’m prepared for just such an emergency as this,” he said proudly, wiping off the last bits of spiced tomato with a napkin.
“Yeah, but I can’t eat this now,” Vince moaned. “Probably got jazz germs all up in it from that horrid tweed.”
“Vince,” said Howard, with an exasperated sigh, “if you’re afraid of getting jazz germs from the proud tweed of my traveling ensemble, shouldn’t you be even more afraid of contracting jazz germs from me when we’re... intimate?”
“That’s different,” handwaved Vince. “You’re not unfashionable when you’re all naked. Just... you know, sexy.”
Vince put down the remainder of his crust, stopping to lick the crumbs from his thumb, in as deliberately seductive a manner as he could; drawing it in with the tip of his tongue, sucking it between his glossy pink lips. Howard blushed like 569879345987245987.8 square metres of cranberry fields, his composure weakening.
“So, you sure I can’t change your mind about that shag in the lift?” asked Vince, fluttering his eyelashes.
“Social disease,” stammered Howard.
“You’re a social disease,” replied Vince. “Cheeky blowie in the airport toilets, then?”
“I’d rather not take our chances around airport security,” said Howard. “They’re pretty ruthless.”
“Fine,” shrugged Vince. “But let’s just say that I can’t be held responsible for anything my hand might get up to under your blanket on the airplane.”
---
As the plane taxied round the runway, Jones fished a music magazine out of his bag, and began absentmindedly skimming through it.
“That band's shit... that band's shit... oh, Diskjokke, brilliant... that band's shit... that band's rubbish... hey, we met them at Shambhala... new album's shit...” he said quietly to himself as he flipped through the glossy pages.
“One day,” said Dan.
“What?” asked Jones, looking up from a spread on Young Rival (on whom he was no doubt about to pass judgment as to whether or not they were rubbish).
“I've thought. About us having a kid. One day, you know, when we're ready,” said Dan, shredding the edges of his packet of complimentary airplane pretzels and looking as though he really wished their flight wasn't nonsmoking.
Jones smiled, stilling Dan's restless hands with his own, lacing their fingers together. Dan nestled his head on Jones' shoulder, as Jones gingerly placed one earbud in Dan's ear and one earbud in his own ear, queuing up the seven-hour Transatlantic Flight Mix he'd prepared for them in anticipation of their homeward journey.