the lovers, the dreamers and us (know not why; howie/arthur)
the lovers, the dreamers and us
fandom Know Not Why (the novel)
pairings: Howie/Arthur
rating: R/NC-17
summary: Three domestic scenes in the Jenkins-Kraft household (well, not really, they’re still having disputes about the name but in a really cute, slapping hands and pushing back kind of way because they’re secretly eleven-year-old girls. But, no, seriously, Howie has dibs on being the first name, because it’s alphabetically, it’s not his fault).
author's note: i'm sorry hannah but i wanted sex between the boys ergo i wrote sex between the boys. ilu. unbeta'ed and written to the rainbow connection as covered by weezer and hayley williams
1.
They’re making out in the supply closet. Normally, this isn’t such a big deal but there is honestly a reason why they’re in the supply closet in the first place and it’s not to taste the blueberry muffins Arthur made for the staff today nope no sirree they have work to do. Serious work. Work things. Employment. Working class American, all that Michael Moore shit.
“You are seriously the most horrible boss ever,” Howie says as he feels Arthur’s hand snake up his shirt, rubbing little patterns into the small of his back.
“Oh yeah?” But Arthur doesn’t even seem fazed by it, nope, he continues his assault on Howie’s neck until he’s covered all over with hickies (he never got the point of hickies, like, what, ‘I like you so much I wanna mark you like a dog except this is better than peeing?’ but my god when Arthur licks his neck, he just goes for it and Howie literally just melts there like a puddle of goo which is not at all manly and he proceeds to forget to tell him again that he bruises like a peach).
“Like, you know, as a dude, you’re awesome, and, as a boyfriend, you are top notch, really, aces. But as a boss, you barely do anything. You just make out with me, which rocks, by the way, but still.”
“Well, here’s one way of looking at it,” Arthur says before he sneaks in another long, deep kiss. It makes Howie remember that time where they were watching Les Miserables in the theatre and his hand accidentally -really, he swears, he was just reaching for the popcorn- brushes against Arthur’s knee and, you know, they hadn’t seen each other for a few days because there was a stupid family trip and Arthur just loses it. So they made out in the bathroom and Arthur proceeded to give him the most epicest of the most epic blowjobs.
“What?”
“I’m paying you to kiss me, doesn’t that reap some benefits?”
“So you’re saying, basically, I’m your hooker?”
“Well, you haven’t put out yet today so I’m not sure.”
“You’re an idiot and I should sue you.”
“Sue me and we won’t have any money to buy that couch you want from Ikea.”
“You wound me.”
Arthur smiles at him and, god, Howie’s not gonna get used to do this. this shining knight of a man, who loves him and makes him breakfast when he’s sick and puts up with his really bad jokes (sometimes they’re bad, he’s man enough to admit it) and loves him. Has he mentioned that? Because that’s the reason why they’re making out in the supply closet, because he loves him and Arthur’s not really unprofressional but he loves Howie so he kisses him when he damned well feels like it because he can and Howie will let him, time and time again.
Suddenly, he wants to kiss this man until he dies from it.
It wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
2.
“Hey, do you think we’re vanilla?” Howie asks suddenly over breakfast one day. See, since they moved in together, they have had this idea of having a completely ‘them’ space. Of course, they can’t afford a new place so they’re just staying at Arthur’s but, in an effort to create a ‘them’ space, they have pretty much thrown away all the furniture because Douchey Patrick has, in one way or another, interacted with them, and they’re buying their own furniture. It’s still in the works. Which is why breakfast in bed today means breakfast on the floor, on their lousy futon.
“Elaborate,” Arthur says, eating his eggs. Man, these eggs are good. Like they’re laced with heavenly weed or something.
“Like, in bed. Do you think we’re vanilla?”
“What flavour would you like to be, then?”
“Arthuuurrrrrr.”
“Chocolate? What about neopolitan?”
“You’ve been spending too much time with me, I think.”
Arthur smiles at him. “I don’t think we’re vanilla.”
“Maybe not you, cos you got this gay thing down, you know what dicks can do and shit. I mean, I know what dicks can do but I don’t know the full extent of what to do to make the dick do that thing.”
“You mean come.”
“Since when are you so blunt about this?”
“Since I’m your boyfriend and you have made me come several times. Successfully, might I add.”
“It’s just sometimes I don’t know how to do things and I wanna know how to do things because you make me happy all the time and I don’t know what to do about it and I just like you so fucking much and I just wanna make your dick happy, too.”
Arthur has this look on him, this fond, kind of ‘my boyfriend’s an idiot but I still love him so much’ look and he loves this look. It’s one of his top five favourite Arthur looks, right up there with the way he looks in the morning when the light from the window kind of bounces off his hair and catches on his cheekbones, making him look like an angel. Needless to say, that look is number one. Arthur takes their plates and puts them on the table.
“I wasn’t done with that!” Howie whines. But Arthur sits back down and brings his hand up to touch his cheek and all rational thoughts go out the window. He kisses him, long and sweet and lingering, sending tingles all over his body. He keeps doing this and, before Howie knows it, they’re in a lying position with Arthur on top of him. He places another kiss on Howie’s neck before he sits up, straddling his hips.
“I can show you how happy you make my dick,” Arthur says and, by god, if Arthur saying dirty things isn’t the sexiest thing on the planet.
He grounds down and Howie can feel his erection against his. “Wow, fuck,” Howie says breathlessly.
“That’s the idea,” Arthur laughs, still rocking his hips and Howie can feel his breath coming in short, like Howie’s taking some of it away. He likes that.
“We gonna do the frottage thing or are you gonna man up and fuck me?”
“You are atrocious and impatient.” Arthur gets off him and leans down to kiss his bare chest, tweaking his fingers over his nipples along the way. He kisses all the way down and pulls down Howie’s boxers. He’s still kissing him, on his happy trail and his hipbones and, as Howie Jr pops out, all over his dick. Small, tender, almost fleeting kisses all over his dick and he wants to come right there and then.
“Beautiful boy,” he whispers. Like the song.
Howie feels his finger around his hole and trembles. After months, he’s still not used to it. Not that it’s not fucking fantastic and he doesn’t want to get used to it. He’s just sayin’, you know, Arthur has this effect on him. Howie’s still a bit loose and open from last night so it doesn’t take long to prepare him but, by the end of it, he’s already writhing.
“I hate you so much.”
Arthur lines his cock up with his ass and whoosh just like that, Howie gets his breath knocked out of him. Arthur’s a prince, a king, even, but when they fuck, goddamn he takes no prisoners. Howie’s just composed of dirty groans and moans and little whimpers when Arthur does that thing where he pulls out inch by motherfucking inch and slams back in without hesitation. Howie could get into the dirty talk kind of thing, if he stopped being so wowed by Arthur’s general existence and how his cock is a magical thing.
“Yeah, give it to me,” Howie tries it out. Yeah, no.
“What?”
“Yeah, squeeze that -oh, fuck- man banana into me.”
“Howie, stop, this is embarrassing.”
“Bugger me, sailor!”
Arthur laughs and kisses the smile on Howie’s lips. “Talking dirty isn’t your forte, Howie.” He breathes it out in between moans, his hips still thrusting into him.
“Is it yours?”
“I dunno but I like fucking your tight little hole with my dick.”
“Shit shit shit. Fuck, Arthur.”
Arthur brings his hand down and strokes Howie’s cock in time with his thrusts and then he’s coming all over Arthur’s hand and his chest. Arthur keeps going, muttering Howie’s name and variations thereupon and it only takes Howie’s hand against his heart and one, two, three more thrusts before he lets out a deep groan and collapses on Howie.
Howie strokes Arthur’s hair and says, “So, we should definitely try dirty talk again,” and it makes his night when Arthur laughs.
3.
Nights like these are the best. Right after they’ve gone out with their friends and they’re still a bit drunk from happiness and each other, and they’re still lying on their futon with their nice clothes on, Howie’s head on Arthur’s chest.
“Do you ever think of leaving this place?” Howie asks softly.
“And going where?”
“I dunno, San Diego or someplace? Or a place with all four seasons, like New England, New England’s nice and they have the clam chowder and stuff. Or, like, I dunno, China. Does China put gays in prison? I forget.”
“Why are you talking about moving away?”
The air is still around them and Howie feels a need to fill it. “Because you deserve to be a concert pianist and travel around the world and have an entourage and get involved in some crazy sex scandal so someone could make a movie about you and have, I dunno, who’s hot right now? I dunno, like Andrew Garfield to play you or something and a really, really hot porn star to play me. Because, I dunno, I just think you’re better than this, man.”
“So are you.”
“Oh, I know I am but I’m just being a supportive boyfriend here and giving you a chance to follow your dreams alongside mine.”
Arthur laughs and he can feel it against him. He likes feeling Arthur’s happiness. Man, does he love this dude.
“I don’t wanna move,” Arthur answers. “Maybe not now.”
“Yeah?”
“My family’s here.”
Howie doesn’t get it at first, because Arthur’s sister and her husband are living in LA and his father’s not too close to them, and he does. His family as in Cora and Kristy and Cliff, too, and probably Amber and Dennis and Mitch, and him. Howie’s his family now. He hasn’t thought of it that way.
Howie leans up and kisses him softly on the lips. “Alrighty.”
fandom Know Not Why (the novel)
pairings: Howie/Arthur
rating: R/NC-17
summary: Three domestic scenes in the Jenkins-Kraft household (well, not really, they’re still having disputes about the name but in a really cute, slapping hands and pushing back kind of way because they’re secretly eleven-year-old girls. But, no, seriously, Howie has dibs on being the first name, because it’s alphabetically, it’s not his fault).
author's note: i'm sorry hannah but i wanted sex between the boys ergo i wrote sex between the boys. ilu. unbeta'ed and written to the rainbow connection as covered by weezer and hayley williams
1.
They’re making out in the supply closet. Normally, this isn’t such a big deal but there is honestly a reason why they’re in the supply closet in the first place and it’s not to taste the blueberry muffins Arthur made for the staff today nope no sirree they have work to do. Serious work. Work things. Employment. Working class American, all that Michael Moore shit.
“You are seriously the most horrible boss ever,” Howie says as he feels Arthur’s hand snake up his shirt, rubbing little patterns into the small of his back.
“Oh yeah?” But Arthur doesn’t even seem fazed by it, nope, he continues his assault on Howie’s neck until he’s covered all over with hickies (he never got the point of hickies, like, what, ‘I like you so much I wanna mark you like a dog except this is better than peeing?’ but my god when Arthur licks his neck, he just goes for it and Howie literally just melts there like a puddle of goo which is not at all manly and he proceeds to forget to tell him again that he bruises like a peach).
“Like, you know, as a dude, you’re awesome, and, as a boyfriend, you are top notch, really, aces. But as a boss, you barely do anything. You just make out with me, which rocks, by the way, but still.”
“Well, here’s one way of looking at it,” Arthur says before he sneaks in another long, deep kiss. It makes Howie remember that time where they were watching Les Miserables in the theatre and his hand accidentally -really, he swears, he was just reaching for the popcorn- brushes against Arthur’s knee and, you know, they hadn’t seen each other for a few days because there was a stupid family trip and Arthur just loses it. So they made out in the bathroom and Arthur proceeded to give him the most epicest of the most epic blowjobs.
“What?”
“I’m paying you to kiss me, doesn’t that reap some benefits?”
“So you’re saying, basically, I’m your hooker?”
“Well, you haven’t put out yet today so I’m not sure.”
“You’re an idiot and I should sue you.”
“Sue me and we won’t have any money to buy that couch you want from Ikea.”
“You wound me.”
Arthur smiles at him and, god, Howie’s not gonna get used to do this. this shining knight of a man, who loves him and makes him breakfast when he’s sick and puts up with his really bad jokes (sometimes they’re bad, he’s man enough to admit it) and loves him. Has he mentioned that? Because that’s the reason why they’re making out in the supply closet, because he loves him and Arthur’s not really unprofressional but he loves Howie so he kisses him when he damned well feels like it because he can and Howie will let him, time and time again.
Suddenly, he wants to kiss this man until he dies from it.
It wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
2.
“Hey, do you think we’re vanilla?” Howie asks suddenly over breakfast one day. See, since they moved in together, they have had this idea of having a completely ‘them’ space. Of course, they can’t afford a new place so they’re just staying at Arthur’s but, in an effort to create a ‘them’ space, they have pretty much thrown away all the furniture because Douchey Patrick has, in one way or another, interacted with them, and they’re buying their own furniture. It’s still in the works. Which is why breakfast in bed today means breakfast on the floor, on their lousy futon.
“Elaborate,” Arthur says, eating his eggs. Man, these eggs are good. Like they’re laced with heavenly weed or something.
“Like, in bed. Do you think we’re vanilla?”
“What flavour would you like to be, then?”
“Arthuuurrrrrr.”
“Chocolate? What about neopolitan?”
“You’ve been spending too much time with me, I think.”
Arthur smiles at him. “I don’t think we’re vanilla.”
“Maybe not you, cos you got this gay thing down, you know what dicks can do and shit. I mean, I know what dicks can do but I don’t know the full extent of what to do to make the dick do that thing.”
“You mean come.”
“Since when are you so blunt about this?”
“Since I’m your boyfriend and you have made me come several times. Successfully, might I add.”
“It’s just sometimes I don’t know how to do things and I wanna know how to do things because you make me happy all the time and I don’t know what to do about it and I just like you so fucking much and I just wanna make your dick happy, too.”
Arthur has this look on him, this fond, kind of ‘my boyfriend’s an idiot but I still love him so much’ look and he loves this look. It’s one of his top five favourite Arthur looks, right up there with the way he looks in the morning when the light from the window kind of bounces off his hair and catches on his cheekbones, making him look like an angel. Needless to say, that look is number one. Arthur takes their plates and puts them on the table.
“I wasn’t done with that!” Howie whines. But Arthur sits back down and brings his hand up to touch his cheek and all rational thoughts go out the window. He kisses him, long and sweet and lingering, sending tingles all over his body. He keeps doing this and, before Howie knows it, they’re in a lying position with Arthur on top of him. He places another kiss on Howie’s neck before he sits up, straddling his hips.
“I can show you how happy you make my dick,” Arthur says and, by god, if Arthur saying dirty things isn’t the sexiest thing on the planet.
He grounds down and Howie can feel his erection against his. “Wow, fuck,” Howie says breathlessly.
“That’s the idea,” Arthur laughs, still rocking his hips and Howie can feel his breath coming in short, like Howie’s taking some of it away. He likes that.
“We gonna do the frottage thing or are you gonna man up and fuck me?”
“You are atrocious and impatient.” Arthur gets off him and leans down to kiss his bare chest, tweaking his fingers over his nipples along the way. He kisses all the way down and pulls down Howie’s boxers. He’s still kissing him, on his happy trail and his hipbones and, as Howie Jr pops out, all over his dick. Small, tender, almost fleeting kisses all over his dick and he wants to come right there and then.
“Beautiful boy,” he whispers. Like the song.
Howie feels his finger around his hole and trembles. After months, he’s still not used to it. Not that it’s not fucking fantastic and he doesn’t want to get used to it. He’s just sayin’, you know, Arthur has this effect on him. Howie’s still a bit loose and open from last night so it doesn’t take long to prepare him but, by the end of it, he’s already writhing.
“I hate you so much.”
Arthur lines his cock up with his ass and whoosh just like that, Howie gets his breath knocked out of him. Arthur’s a prince, a king, even, but when they fuck, goddamn he takes no prisoners. Howie’s just composed of dirty groans and moans and little whimpers when Arthur does that thing where he pulls out inch by motherfucking inch and slams back in without hesitation. Howie could get into the dirty talk kind of thing, if he stopped being so wowed by Arthur’s general existence and how his cock is a magical thing.
“Yeah, give it to me,” Howie tries it out. Yeah, no.
“What?”
“Yeah, squeeze that -oh, fuck- man banana into me.”
“Howie, stop, this is embarrassing.”
“Bugger me, sailor!”
Arthur laughs and kisses the smile on Howie’s lips. “Talking dirty isn’t your forte, Howie.” He breathes it out in between moans, his hips still thrusting into him.
“Is it yours?”
“I dunno but I like fucking your tight little hole with my dick.”
“Shit shit shit. Fuck, Arthur.”
Arthur brings his hand down and strokes Howie’s cock in time with his thrusts and then he’s coming all over Arthur’s hand and his chest. Arthur keeps going, muttering Howie’s name and variations thereupon and it only takes Howie’s hand against his heart and one, two, three more thrusts before he lets out a deep groan and collapses on Howie.
Howie strokes Arthur’s hair and says, “So, we should definitely try dirty talk again,” and it makes his night when Arthur laughs.
3.
Nights like these are the best. Right after they’ve gone out with their friends and they’re still a bit drunk from happiness and each other, and they’re still lying on their futon with their nice clothes on, Howie’s head on Arthur’s chest.
“Do you ever think of leaving this place?” Howie asks softly.
“And going where?”
“I dunno, San Diego or someplace? Or a place with all four seasons, like New England, New England’s nice and they have the clam chowder and stuff. Or, like, I dunno, China. Does China put gays in prison? I forget.”
“Why are you talking about moving away?”
The air is still around them and Howie feels a need to fill it. “Because you deserve to be a concert pianist and travel around the world and have an entourage and get involved in some crazy sex scandal so someone could make a movie about you and have, I dunno, who’s hot right now? I dunno, like Andrew Garfield to play you or something and a really, really hot porn star to play me. Because, I dunno, I just think you’re better than this, man.”
“So are you.”
“Oh, I know I am but I’m just being a supportive boyfriend here and giving you a chance to follow your dreams alongside mine.”
Arthur laughs and he can feel it against him. He likes feeling Arthur’s happiness. Man, does he love this dude.
“I don’t wanna move,” Arthur answers. “Maybe not now.”
“Yeah?”
“My family’s here.”
Howie doesn’t get it at first, because Arthur’s sister and her husband are living in LA and his father’s not too close to them, and he does. His family as in Cora and Kristy and Cliff, too, and probably Amber and Dennis and Mitch, and him. Howie’s his family now. He hasn’t thought of it that way.
Howie leans up and kisses him softly on the lips. “Alrighty.”