Fic: The Logistics of a Cuddly Bear Mating With A Peacock (8/10)
The Logistics Of A Cuddly Bear Mating With A Peacock (8/10)
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: PG-13 this chapter
Word Count: 1233, this chapter (10346, so far)
Warnings: swears, violence, love
Disclaimer: I own a box of ice cream sandwiches, thank goodness, but not the Boosh.
Author's Notes: *makes bowl of popcorn, settles in to watch the fight*
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Indeed, it appeared that certain tempers were beginning to flare at that end of the room. There stood Gary Numan and Bryan Ferry, practically shooting lasers out of their eyes at each other.
“Oh yeah?” shouted Gary Numan, his normally gentle brow furrowed in escalating rage. “Well at least I didn’t abandon my young ward on the mean streets of London so I could swan off and record Avalon, which was shit, by the way.”
“Oh yeah? It’s still a damn sight better than what you were recording at the time, Numan. You haven’t put out a good record since 1979,” retorted Bryan Ferry, hands balled into tight fists that burst into bright orange flames.
“Oh yeah? Well at least I don’t need Kate fucking Moss to sell my records for me,” snapped Gary Numan.
“At least I’m selling records,” eyerolled Bryan Ferry.
“Fuck you, Ferry, you fat fuck,” spat Gary Numan.
“That’s it,” declared Bryan Ferry, “you’ve made me angry!”
The rest of the wedding guests fell silent, and watched in shock and horror as these two men stood facing each other at the altar, not gazing at each other lovingly, but in full-on Mortal Kombative fight stance, ready to unleash their fury. A booming voice thundered down from the heavens:
“THREE… TWO… ONE… FIGHT!” came the voice, as its words flashed through the air between them.
But before any laserbeams or fireballs, airplanes or hunting rifles could be unleashed, before either musican’s green life-bar could be reduced to a sliver of red, Vince stepped in. Vince was not amused, not in the slightest.
“Fucking settle down, both of you!” he shouted, as the cloud of impending combat dissipated from the air, and in its place stood a pair of middle-aged men who both felt very, very silly. “This is my day, not yours, and I’m not having you two fuck it up by being a couple of babies.”
Bryan Ferry and Gary Numan stared sheepishly at the floor.
“Sorry,” they said quietly.
Vince’s features softened slightly, and he let his arms fall to his sides, shaking his head.
“Look, Howard and I really want you both to be here today, but not if you’re going to upstage my outfit with your stupid differences,” he said. “Think you can keep it together?”
“Yeah,” said Bryan Ferry and Gary Numan, shuffling their feet.
“Let’s get on with it, then,” said Vince, his patience having worn down so threadbare that the threads were ready to disintegrate altogether.
---
Vince leaned in close to Howard, and whispered so none of the guests could hear:
“If you mention anything about cream, I’m leaving.”
Howard glanced down at his stack of handwritten notecards sadly, and tossed them over his shoulder.
“Right,” he sighed, allowing his shoulders to slump slightly forward.
Vince smiled at Howard. Howard coughed nervously, adjusting his shirt collar, which all of a sudden seemed much, much too snug.
“Ready, Howard?” asked Gary Numan.
“Yup, yes, I suppose. Not really, not at all,” whispered Howard.
“Good,” said Gary Numan, turning his gaze to address the guests gathered before them. “Well, since these two gentlemen - Howard Moon, and Vince Noir - have lots of things to say, or something, they’ve written their own vows, which thankfully means I don’t have to say much. Howard, if you’d like to begin?”
Howard cleared his throat. Then he cleared it again. And again. And again. It sounded like he was having the most polite coughing fit the world had ever witnessed.
“Get on with it, you slag!” shouted Tony Harrison, inebriated and surly, which was a surprise to basically no one.
“Right,” said Howard, bracing himself, as Vince looked on encouragingly. He turned to face the crowd, seated in their neat little rows and all looking on expectantly. “Since time immemorial, marriage has been a sacred institution, where...”
and no one can recall what was said after about this bit, except that he channelled some apparently intense emotions and pulled a lot of impressive faces (Faroese passion, Kentish sorrow, and Baltic stoicism, to name a few) and after what felt like about five hours, trailed off.
“Oh, cock,” he said quietly, turning to Vince. “Vince Noir, I love you, you cloth-brained, superficial, lazy, beautiful, magical person. Let’s just stay together forever, okay?”
“All right, Howard,” giggled Vince, petting gently at Howard’s soft hair. Howard blushed the precise shade of 5461970384252.9 pomegranate groves.
“Vince?” said Gary Numan.
“Right,” Vince began. “Howard, you’re a tweedy titbox and a corduroy prinkle, and you’d rather listen to jazz fusion than the Human League, which is well criminal. And for some reason, I’m in love with you. I love with with all my heart and my entire brain cell and my arms and my hair and my cock. Especially my cock. I’ve got a really nice cock, and it’s a lot of fun. It’s brilliant! What was I saying? Oh yeah, Howard. You’re genius. All right, you’ve got the dress sense of a blind marmoset, but I just don’t ever want to be with anyone else. Sorry everybody!”
He gave the crowd an apologetic shrug. The sound of men and women quietly sobbing could be heard as far away at Ladbroke Grove.
“Hey Howard, remember that time we rescued those dolphins from extinction with the power of song?” he winked at his blushing groom. Howard squinted.
“Uhh, Vince, I don’t think this is really the - ”
but Vince’s smile was all the convincing Howard needed.
“Down in the ocean, swimming with the dolphins, sailing into space on a rocketship, rocketship, rocketship, boom, boom. Helicopter baby, won’t you help us fly around? Parachute, jammy fruit, biscuits and ice cream clouds. Fizzy jelly motorcar, running in the carpark. Fizzy jelly motorcar, running in the supermarket. Fizzy jelly motorcar, running down the aisle, walking down the aisle, wedding day. Two voices, beating as one. Boom, boom.”
They stood with heads bowed, hands over each other’s hearts, as the crowd gaped in perplexed awe. An awkward silence fell over the room for what felt like several eternities, before one awestruck hipster burst into spontaneous applause, and the other guests followed suit. Vince beamed, gathering Howard into his arms.
“Well?” he arched an eyebrow at Gary Numan.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” shrugged Gary Numan. “Uhh, I guess I declare you husband and husband. You can kiss now.”
They crashed together, coinciding with such intensity that Vince was convinced that someone had set off an intricate pyrotechnics display in his heart. It was like the special effects of an entire Kiss tour compressed into a single moment. All the people, Naboo and Bollo and Leroy and Dan and Jones and Lester Corncrake and Bryan Ferry and Gary Numan and all the people in their shiny outfits faded into white noise. It was just Vince and Howard now. It was always Vince and Howard.
Eventually, their lips parted, but Howard held onto Vince, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist, Vince’s hands gently caressing the back of his neck.
“We made it,” smiled Vince.
“That we did, Little Man,” smiled Howard. “Vince, your eyeliner’s running.”
“Fuck,” whispered Vince, with a laugh.
Chapter Nine
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: PG-13 this chapter
Word Count: 1233, this chapter (10346, so far)
Warnings: swears, violence, love
Disclaimer: I own a box of ice cream sandwiches, thank goodness, but not the Boosh.
Author's Notes: *makes bowl of popcorn, settles in to watch the fight*
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Indeed, it appeared that certain tempers were beginning to flare at that end of the room. There stood Gary Numan and Bryan Ferry, practically shooting lasers out of their eyes at each other.
“Oh yeah?” shouted Gary Numan, his normally gentle brow furrowed in escalating rage. “Well at least I didn’t abandon my young ward on the mean streets of London so I could swan off and record Avalon, which was shit, by the way.”
“Oh yeah? It’s still a damn sight better than what you were recording at the time, Numan. You haven’t put out a good record since 1979,” retorted Bryan Ferry, hands balled into tight fists that burst into bright orange flames.
“Oh yeah? Well at least I don’t need Kate fucking Moss to sell my records for me,” snapped Gary Numan.
“At least I’m selling records,” eyerolled Bryan Ferry.
“Fuck you, Ferry, you fat fuck,” spat Gary Numan.
“That’s it,” declared Bryan Ferry, “you’ve made me angry!”
The rest of the wedding guests fell silent, and watched in shock and horror as these two men stood facing each other at the altar, not gazing at each other lovingly, but in full-on Mortal Kombative fight stance, ready to unleash their fury. A booming voice thundered down from the heavens:
“THREE… TWO… ONE… FIGHT!” came the voice, as its words flashed through the air between them.
But before any laserbeams or fireballs, airplanes or hunting rifles could be unleashed, before either musican’s green life-bar could be reduced to a sliver of red, Vince stepped in. Vince was not amused, not in the slightest.
“Fucking settle down, both of you!” he shouted, as the cloud of impending combat dissipated from the air, and in its place stood a pair of middle-aged men who both felt very, very silly. “This is my day, not yours, and I’m not having you two fuck it up by being a couple of babies.”
Bryan Ferry and Gary Numan stared sheepishly at the floor.
“Sorry,” they said quietly.
Vince’s features softened slightly, and he let his arms fall to his sides, shaking his head.
“Look, Howard and I really want you both to be here today, but not if you’re going to upstage my outfit with your stupid differences,” he said. “Think you can keep it together?”
“Yeah,” said Bryan Ferry and Gary Numan, shuffling their feet.
“Let’s get on with it, then,” said Vince, his patience having worn down so threadbare that the threads were ready to disintegrate altogether.
---
Vince leaned in close to Howard, and whispered so none of the guests could hear:
“If you mention anything about cream, I’m leaving.”
Howard glanced down at his stack of handwritten notecards sadly, and tossed them over his shoulder.
“Right,” he sighed, allowing his shoulders to slump slightly forward.
Vince smiled at Howard. Howard coughed nervously, adjusting his shirt collar, which all of a sudden seemed much, much too snug.
“Ready, Howard?” asked Gary Numan.
“Yup, yes, I suppose. Not really, not at all,” whispered Howard.
“Good,” said Gary Numan, turning his gaze to address the guests gathered before them. “Well, since these two gentlemen - Howard Moon, and Vince Noir - have lots of things to say, or something, they’ve written their own vows, which thankfully means I don’t have to say much. Howard, if you’d like to begin?”
Howard cleared his throat. Then he cleared it again. And again. And again. It sounded like he was having the most polite coughing fit the world had ever witnessed.
“Get on with it, you slag!” shouted Tony Harrison, inebriated and surly, which was a surprise to basically no one.
“Right,” said Howard, bracing himself, as Vince looked on encouragingly. He turned to face the crowd, seated in their neat little rows and all looking on expectantly. “Since time immemorial, marriage has been a sacred institution, where...”
and no one can recall what was said after about this bit, except that he channelled some apparently intense emotions and pulled a lot of impressive faces (Faroese passion, Kentish sorrow, and Baltic stoicism, to name a few) and after what felt like about five hours, trailed off.
“Oh, cock,” he said quietly, turning to Vince. “Vince Noir, I love you, you cloth-brained, superficial, lazy, beautiful, magical person. Let’s just stay together forever, okay?”
“All right, Howard,” giggled Vince, petting gently at Howard’s soft hair. Howard blushed the precise shade of 5461970384252.9 pomegranate groves.
“Vince?” said Gary Numan.
“Right,” Vince began. “Howard, you’re a tweedy titbox and a corduroy prinkle, and you’d rather listen to jazz fusion than the Human League, which is well criminal. And for some reason, I’m in love with you. I love with with all my heart and my entire brain cell and my arms and my hair and my cock. Especially my cock. I’ve got a really nice cock, and it’s a lot of fun. It’s brilliant! What was I saying? Oh yeah, Howard. You’re genius. All right, you’ve got the dress sense of a blind marmoset, but I just don’t ever want to be with anyone else. Sorry everybody!”
He gave the crowd an apologetic shrug. The sound of men and women quietly sobbing could be heard as far away at Ladbroke Grove.
“Hey Howard, remember that time we rescued those dolphins from extinction with the power of song?” he winked at his blushing groom. Howard squinted.
“Uhh, Vince, I don’t think this is really the - ”
but Vince’s smile was all the convincing Howard needed.
“Down in the ocean, swimming with the dolphins, sailing into space on a rocketship, rocketship, rocketship, boom, boom. Helicopter baby, won’t you help us fly around? Parachute, jammy fruit, biscuits and ice cream clouds. Fizzy jelly motorcar, running in the carpark. Fizzy jelly motorcar, running in the supermarket. Fizzy jelly motorcar, running down the aisle, walking down the aisle, wedding day. Two voices, beating as one. Boom, boom.”
They stood with heads bowed, hands over each other’s hearts, as the crowd gaped in perplexed awe. An awkward silence fell over the room for what felt like several eternities, before one awestruck hipster burst into spontaneous applause, and the other guests followed suit. Vince beamed, gathering Howard into his arms.
“Well?” he arched an eyebrow at Gary Numan.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” shrugged Gary Numan. “Uhh, I guess I declare you husband and husband. You can kiss now.”
They crashed together, coinciding with such intensity that Vince was convinced that someone had set off an intricate pyrotechnics display in his heart. It was like the special effects of an entire Kiss tour compressed into a single moment. All the people, Naboo and Bollo and Leroy and Dan and Jones and Lester Corncrake and Bryan Ferry and Gary Numan and all the people in their shiny outfits faded into white noise. It was just Vince and Howard now. It was always Vince and Howard.
Eventually, their lips parted, but Howard held onto Vince, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist, Vince’s hands gently caressing the back of his neck.
“We made it,” smiled Vince.
“That we did, Little Man,” smiled Howard. “Vince, your eyeliner’s running.”
“Fuck,” whispered Vince, with a laugh.
Chapter Nine