Fic: More Than This
More Than This
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: PG
Word Count: exactly 1000
Warnings: References to pyjama and boys kissing
Disclaimer: I own a Mighty Boosh ring, but I don't own these characters or whatever. DUH.
Author's Notes: Follows immediately the events of the series 3 episode "Party". Also, in the name of the narratives in my head necessarily all having to flow together (I'm wacky like that) I imagine that this precedes that thing what I wrote about the end of the world but I suppose it doesn't have to.
You’ve got to stop falling for people when they give you the slightest bit of affection.
Howard stared at the dimly lit ceiling, idly fussing with the cuff buttons of his pyjamas. Surely this wasn’t true. Vince had been showing him affection for years, and Howard certainly hadn’t fallen for him. No sir.
Apart from that time when he had tripped over his shoelaces and faceplanted on the tarmac that fateful day at school when a little mousey-haired boy (whose pointy red boots were in clear violation of the dress code, but never mind that) had come up to him at lunch and said “All right, mate? My name’s Vince,” and he never did get up again, not really.
The party had turned out quite well, all things considered: everyone seemed to have a good time on the bouncy castle - and at one point, Vince’s hand brushed against Howard’s arm, but never mind that - and by the wee hours, the party was winding down and most of the guests had gone home; Vince was slow-dancing with that cute electro-girl to a Roxy Music song, and Howard decided with a heavy sigh that it was time to make a nice cup of tea and retire to bed for the night.
It was not long after Howard had changed into his pyjamas, brushed his teeth, flossed, combed his moustache, changed into his bedtime socks, and tucked himself into bed with his warm cuppa, that Vince waltzed into the room, freefalling backwards into his mirrorball duvet.
“Damn good party, eh Howard?” he asked, rolling onto his tummy, and propping himself up on his elbows like a giddy teenaged girl.
“Yeah, it was,” agreed Howard. “Cheers, Little Man.”
“So,” grinned Vince, leaping up from his duvet and seating himself on the edge of Howard’s herringbone wool comforter, “how’d you get on with that girl?”
Howard cringed internally. This was not something he ever wished to revisit, ever, at all, ever.
“Yes, well, you know,” he stammered with all the faux-nonchalance he could muster (not much), “it wouldn’t have worked out anyway. I’ve got to spread my wings and soar, like a jazz eagle.”
Even if things hadn’t gone so pear-shaped with his “date” so soon, it gave Howard pause. It seemed as though he had always been under the implicit impression that he and Vince would one day meet nice girls and get married to them and have kids and all that, but any time that Howard ever pictured his future, all he could see was Vince. It had always been the two of them. He could not imagine any other way of living, nor did he wish to. The idea that this was not mutual (and if Vince swaying his hips with to Roxy flipping Music with some shiny girl was any indication, it wasn’t) made Howard’s heart sink like a tourist in quicksand.
“Sorry about that, Howard,” said Vince sympathetically, placing a hand on the bedspread. Howard wondered if Vince was aware that his leg was directly beneath the bit of bedspread that was directly beneath Vince’s hand. Howard blushed like 3569873969873563 3-litre economy bottles of Asda Dutch Merlot. “You’re too good for her. To be honest, I thought she looked well seedy.”
“Yep,” nodded Howard, “thanks for that, Little Man. How’d your, umm, lady friend get on... with you?"
“She seemed well keen,” beamed Vince. “Gave me her number and everything.”
Howard’s heart sank a few metres deeper. Vince produced a small slip of torn paper and handed it to him. The name “Denise” and a curiously long telephone number were scrawled in loopy, feminine handwriting. The number seemed familiar to Howard, though at first he could not identify why.
Then his eyes widened as it dawned on him. It was the number for Emergency Services. Perhaps this Denise was an ambulance driver, he thought, but even then, wouldn’t they give her her own mobile? It would be awfully silly to ring Emergency Services and have to ask if Denise was there. He looked back to Vince, who grinned at him with a cheeky wink, and chose to say nothing.
“So,” he said hesitantly, “do you think you’ll be asking her for a date?”
Vince let out a long, slow breath, staring at the ceiling.
“Probably not, really. Did you see the shoelaces she had on? Those should have been buried and forgotten back in the mid-nineties,” he said wistfully.
Neither of them had mentioned The Thing That Happened On The Roof since they tumbled into the bouncy castle together. Howard felt it safe to assume that Vince had forgotten about the incident altogether by now, and there was no point in revisiting it, if that were the case. Unspoken words and unfinished gestures hung in the air about them like weightless inflatable elephants.
“Listen, Howard, about what happened earlier, I just wanted to say -” Vince began. His hand was on Howard’s hand, now. Howard felt a flush of heat run through him, his pulse and mind racing. Vince was dangerously close. Just a little reach forward could close the gap, and - “no, it’s stupid. Never mind.”
Vince turned away, flinging off his sparkling, feathered cape as he shuffled back to his own bed and tucked himself in. Howard switched off the bedside lamp. His heart sank even further. He couldn’t leave it like that. He just couldn’t. He steeled himself as best he could, and spoke.
“Hey Little Man?” he whispered through the dark.
“Yeah?” replied Vince.
“Remember what I said about... breaking that boundary? You know, forever?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Vince. “Why?”
Howard sighed. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. “Good night, Little Man.”
“Night, Howard,” said Vince.
When he said forever, Howard thought, he meant it. Forever’s a long time; he could wait for Vince.
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: PG
Word Count: exactly 1000
Warnings: References to pyjama and boys kissing
Disclaimer: I own a Mighty Boosh ring, but I don't own these characters or whatever. DUH.
Author's Notes: Follows immediately the events of the series 3 episode "Party". Also, in the name of the narratives in my head necessarily all having to flow together (I'm wacky like that) I imagine that this precedes that thing what I wrote about the end of the world but I suppose it doesn't have to.
You’ve got to stop falling for people when they give you the slightest bit of affection.
Howard stared at the dimly lit ceiling, idly fussing with the cuff buttons of his pyjamas. Surely this wasn’t true. Vince had been showing him affection for years, and Howard certainly hadn’t fallen for him. No sir.
Apart from that time when he had tripped over his shoelaces and faceplanted on the tarmac that fateful day at school when a little mousey-haired boy (whose pointy red boots were in clear violation of the dress code, but never mind that) had come up to him at lunch and said “All right, mate? My name’s Vince,” and he never did get up again, not really.
The party had turned out quite well, all things considered: everyone seemed to have a good time on the bouncy castle - and at one point, Vince’s hand brushed against Howard’s arm, but never mind that - and by the wee hours, the party was winding down and most of the guests had gone home; Vince was slow-dancing with that cute electro-girl to a Roxy Music song, and Howard decided with a heavy sigh that it was time to make a nice cup of tea and retire to bed for the night.
It was not long after Howard had changed into his pyjamas, brushed his teeth, flossed, combed his moustache, changed into his bedtime socks, and tucked himself into bed with his warm cuppa, that Vince waltzed into the room, freefalling backwards into his mirrorball duvet.
“Damn good party, eh Howard?” he asked, rolling onto his tummy, and propping himself up on his elbows like a giddy teenaged girl.
“Yeah, it was,” agreed Howard. “Cheers, Little Man.”
“So,” grinned Vince, leaping up from his duvet and seating himself on the edge of Howard’s herringbone wool comforter, “how’d you get on with that girl?”
Howard cringed internally. This was not something he ever wished to revisit, ever, at all, ever.
“Yes, well, you know,” he stammered with all the faux-nonchalance he could muster (not much), “it wouldn’t have worked out anyway. I’ve got to spread my wings and soar, like a jazz eagle.”
Even if things hadn’t gone so pear-shaped with his “date” so soon, it gave Howard pause. It seemed as though he had always been under the implicit impression that he and Vince would one day meet nice girls and get married to them and have kids and all that, but any time that Howard ever pictured his future, all he could see was Vince. It had always been the two of them. He could not imagine any other way of living, nor did he wish to. The idea that this was not mutual (and if Vince swaying his hips with to Roxy flipping Music with some shiny girl was any indication, it wasn’t) made Howard’s heart sink like a tourist in quicksand.
“Sorry about that, Howard,” said Vince sympathetically, placing a hand on the bedspread. Howard wondered if Vince was aware that his leg was directly beneath the bit of bedspread that was directly beneath Vince’s hand. Howard blushed like 3569873969873563 3-litre economy bottles of Asda Dutch Merlot. “You’re too good for her. To be honest, I thought she looked well seedy.”
“Yep,” nodded Howard, “thanks for that, Little Man. How’d your, umm, lady friend get on... with you?"
“She seemed well keen,” beamed Vince. “Gave me her number and everything.”
Howard’s heart sank a few metres deeper. Vince produced a small slip of torn paper and handed it to him. The name “Denise” and a curiously long telephone number were scrawled in loopy, feminine handwriting. The number seemed familiar to Howard, though at first he could not identify why.
Then his eyes widened as it dawned on him. It was the number for Emergency Services. Perhaps this Denise was an ambulance driver, he thought, but even then, wouldn’t they give her her own mobile? It would be awfully silly to ring Emergency Services and have to ask if Denise was there. He looked back to Vince, who grinned at him with a cheeky wink, and chose to say nothing.
“So,” he said hesitantly, “do you think you’ll be asking her for a date?”
Vince let out a long, slow breath, staring at the ceiling.
“Probably not, really. Did you see the shoelaces she had on? Those should have been buried and forgotten back in the mid-nineties,” he said wistfully.
Neither of them had mentioned The Thing That Happened On The Roof since they tumbled into the bouncy castle together. Howard felt it safe to assume that Vince had forgotten about the incident altogether by now, and there was no point in revisiting it, if that were the case. Unspoken words and unfinished gestures hung in the air about them like weightless inflatable elephants.
“Listen, Howard, about what happened earlier, I just wanted to say -” Vince began. His hand was on Howard’s hand, now. Howard felt a flush of heat run through him, his pulse and mind racing. Vince was dangerously close. Just a little reach forward could close the gap, and - “no, it’s stupid. Never mind.”
Vince turned away, flinging off his sparkling, feathered cape as he shuffled back to his own bed and tucked himself in. Howard switched off the bedside lamp. His heart sank even further. He couldn’t leave it like that. He just couldn’t. He steeled himself as best he could, and spoke.
“Hey Little Man?” he whispered through the dark.
“Yeah?” replied Vince.
“Remember what I said about... breaking that boundary? You know, forever?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Vince. “Why?”
Howard sighed. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. “Good night, Little Man.”
“Night, Howard,” said Vince.
When he said forever, Howard thought, he meant it. Forever’s a long time; he could wait for Vince.