January 14th, 2008
|accio_arse||12:02 am - BOOSHFIC: MISTLETOE THREEWAY by easilyled and accio_arse|
MISTLETOE THREEWAY by easilyled and accio_arse
ORIGINAL FIC by artistsonly
Original fic posted here
Pairing: That would be telling
Characters: Howard, Vince, Dennis the Head Shaman
Summary: In a post-"Party"-verse fic, Howard finally surrenders his cherry... OH NOEZ
Word Count: It's full of words, basically
Rating: 16ish, for "adult concepts" lolz
Beta: Got a rough once-over from planetbanjo... and liked it
Disclaimer: do not pwn, mak no munny
PLUS NEW EXTENDED SCENE by accio_arse
Summary: Howard loses his cherry in much more detail.
Extra warning: Explicit sex. Lots of. NC-17
Sorry for any changes in style, folks. But – sex!
Plus more beta by planetbanjo
Crossposted to booshslashhaven on LJ
“Why are you looking at me that way, Howard?” Vince was stood behind the counter of the Nabootique, leaning on it nonchalantly and picking at the voluminous sleeve of his diaphanous, vaguely ethnic smock, as if there weren’t a ball of mistletoe floating in the air above his head.
“I’m not looking at you, am I?” Howard snapped mildly. “I’m looking at the thing above your head. What’s that about?”
“It’s genius, isn’t it?” Vince enthused. “Basically, it’s mistletoe specially treated with anti-hairspray. The chemicals in the treated mistletoe simultaneously attract and repel the chemicals in the hairspray – sold separately – and create a sort of powerful festive force field. They’re like two magnets, yeah? Or like the moon held in the earth’s gravitational embrace.” Vince embraced the air to demonstrate, his eyes closed and his pursed-lipped face a mask of serene bliss.
Howard tried to keep his own face blank, but couldn’t quite suppress a tic of a twitch affecting the entire right side of his face. He automatically swatted at it, like a fly, making Vince assume an expression of horror, which Howard feigned not to see. “And the point of that is?” he asked.
Vince took his cue from Howard and ignored his friend’s symptoms of imminent mental breakdown. “What do you mean, what’s the point? It’s to fit in as much kissing during Chrimbo as possible!”
“It’s called a hat and wire.”
“Where’s your Vision, Howard?”
“Occupied with more important things.”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
“Like creating an utopic society based on the model of Stationery Village. Lester Corncrake has already agreed to join.”
“Lester Corncrake is a Disembodied Head.”
“And so will we all be in Stationery Republic, Vince. It’s about getting past the body. Just… moving past it. Like an undertaker in the night.”
“Okay, that went in so many creepy directions, I don’t even know where to begin. Anyway, the Airborne Mistletoe is part of my line.”
“Your ‘line’? You have a ‘line’ now?”
“’Course I do. The Vince Noir Futuristic Traditions Line.”
Howard quirked an eyebrow. “That’s pretty good, actually,” he half-muttered into his mustache.
“It’ll never sell though,” Howard pronounced, poking the floating mistletoe experimentally with a pencil, wearing a little tight smile of triumph that was somewhat unpleasant to see.
“Easy, you off-sale Scroogist. Why not? Who doesn’t like kissing?”
“That much kissing? With randoms off the street? Street-randoms? The thing’s a death-magnet.” He gave it another, more aggressive poke before Vince could duck away. “Especially at this time of year. Imagine the germs!”
“You imagine the germs! And touch my line again –”
“Touch your what now?”
“- an’ I’ll obliviate you.”
“Oh yeah? That sounds serious, sir.”
“Maybe it is. So you’d better just… watch yourself. In case.”
Howard shook his head, arms akimbo, eyes lit up strangely as he continued to stare at Vince’s tiny holidaytastic satellite. “It’s nothing but an invitation to pneumonia.”
“Well it’s definitely not an invitation to you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. And your poking.”
“Just don’t come crying to me, squealing like a hungry piglet – “Ooooooh, where’s Mama Sow’s sweet gushing nipple –”
Vince gagged audibly, which Howard ignored.
“– when your wanton, derelict kissing –”
“- when it lands you in the hospital, with a machine, a thing of metal and… dials, doing your breathing for you.”
“Slow down there, Mama Sow! Don’t start composing me eulogy yet. This is not for me, is it? I’m just using it to demonstrate.”
“To demonstrate what?”
“The – product!”
Secretly gleeful that Vince had meandered into his trap, Howard made a sweeping gesture with his arm indicating Vince’s form, which was clearly visible (almost audible, Howard thought) in the inadequate covering of a loose smock, as flimsy as a sigh, over his clinging silver jumpsuit. “And what exactly is the product?”
The door opened then with a tingle of shop-bells, heralding the arrival of a pretty young woman with a brunette fringe, in a sunshine-yellow pea coat that made Vince forget Howard’s insinuation and brighten like a child handed a toy. “Alright?” he greeted her.
Howard felt a sharp twinge of anxiety in his stomach as she instantly returned Vince’s grin. But then her smile faltered. “What’s – that over your head?”
Howard grinned maniacally, waiting.
But Vince didn’t miss a beat – he only smiled wider. “It’s Airborne Mistletoe. Follows you wherever you go. So you don’t have to take your chances, hoping to catch your Special Someone at the right moment.”
Howard’s face fell faster than a shy soufflé as he saw that the girl was charmed. “That’s so romantic!” she cried.
“Romantic!” Howard thundered before he could stop himself. “Romantic is… setting a trap! Following your beloved around! Don’t worry – I mean secretly! Learning their habits, like a predator in the wild. Deciding where to plant the mistletoe. Then waiting, lurking in the shadows, for them to walk by the spot – so you can pretend it’s a coincidence. If necessary, setting up a hammock, in case you have to wait in the spot a few days, and making a small or smallish fire, to cook your omelets. THAT, you know-nothing Camden mannequins, is ROMANTIC.”
Howard paused for breath, while the girl looked at him as if deciding whether to scream. Vince watched her with concern. “Don’t mind him, yeah?” he said hurriedly, coming around the counter and taking her elbow gently. “He’s – practicing a part for a play. He’s playing a rapist stalker mentalist.” He shot Howard a look that was half-exasperated, half-pleading. “Tone down the mental, would you, Hamlet? You’re scaring the customers.”
“You’re in a play?” The girl looked at Howard with new interest, and palpable relief. “You’re very good!”
Howard simply snarled at her, making her jump and cling to Vince, who rolled his eyes and patted her back comfortingly. “Anyway. What do you think of my invention? It’s part of my new line – Futuristic Traditions.”
Lost in the warm bubbly bath of Vince’s attention, the girl had forgotten Howard and his psychotic ranting already. She giggled and replied, “Well – I’d like to try it out first, before I commit myself.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah! Sure.” Vince leaned in obligingly for the kiss.
Howard watched, torn between disbelief and rage, as Vince launched himself at the girl’s face, nibbling expertly at her lips. And felt himself die slightly inside as he thought he caught Vince momentarily suck on her tongue – before the little tart slid it deep in Vince’s mouth.
For months now, ever since his *coughcough* 32nd *cough* birthday, Howard had secretly been telling himself that even though the rest had been a lie, a desperate manoeuvre to keep the Head Shaman from ceremoniously decapitating him – that Vince couldn’t have sucked on his tongue that way without feeling some kind of attraction – of deep, powerful, molten attraction – for Howard. But of course – that was only the naïve impression of a virgin, wasn’t it? It was just a technique – like everything Vince did. Unique and flawless and designed to maximally please. And completely impersonal. Howard often wondered if Vince got any personal pleasure out of anything he did, or if his only pleasure consisted of pleasing others.
Right now, however, he was causing Howard excruciating pain as he and the girl continued to snog endlessly, relentlessly, panting and slurping away, making Howard’s skin crawl even as his stomach contracted into a ball of angry jealousy as dense as a collapsed star. He might have lost his kissing virginity that night on the roof, but he was losing his illusions only now – those precious illusions he’d always been so afraid would go swirling down the putrid urinal of experience when the rest of it went.
And then, as he continued to watch avidly as if their faces were the urinal and he was trying to catch in them the last traces of his illusions as they swirled down the dirty drain (or some such confused metaphor, Howard wasn’t thinking particularly clearly) Vince snuck a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. A glance that a neutral observer might have described as “opaque,” or perhaps, at a stretch, as seductive in its heavy-lidded haziness, but that Howard, who was far from neutral, instantly read as mischievous and mocking. And reacted, with the same instantaneousity, by charging at Vince and grabbing him by the smock, but unable to gain a purchase on that wisp of smoke, took him by the throat instead, and not only broke off the endless kiss, but shook the mistletoe creation out of its hold. It dropped to the floor with a decidedly unfestive thud, inert, and Howard shook Vince like a rag-doll while the girl shrieked, and Howard laughed, awfully. And Vince choked and stared at Howard with glassy disbelieving goggle-eyes, a squeak attempting to emerge from his throat and turn into a plea, but it was too late.
“It’s too late!” Howard shouted, shattering his fantasy – and also the kiss taking place in front of him.
“I’ll take it,” the girl told Vince when she’d caught her breath.
“50 euros,” Vince replied, looking with concern at the stockroom, where Howard had disappeared, slamming the door behind him. He was inside giving himself discreet Chinese burns.
Howard wouldn’t come out no matter how often Vince knocked on the door during the day. Vince was left to handle the pre-Christmas rush by himself. He told Vince that he was reorganizing the stockroom to make its arrangement more logical – which was actually true, and very soothing.
Vince’s sales figures were so good that Naboo let him off early. They closed up the shop and had champagne, then set off for a night on the town. Vince didn’t try to get Howard to come out again – he was angry at him by now. He didn’t know what had set Howard off that way, or what right Howard had to be upset. He’s the one who’d rejected Vince’s unspoken offer to go for the Mistletoe Threeway. Just because Howard was so fastidious was no reason to hurt his friend’s feelings that way.
Everything had been crap between them, anyway, ever since The Roof. Everything they usually did suddenly turned Weird. The midnight crimping grew awkward – Howard had even suggested that they each get their own bedrooms (or more precisely, that Vince move into the cupboard). He pretended it was because Vince woke him up by always coming in late, but why weren’t the snail-shell earplugs Vince had made for him (at the cost of two snails’ homes) good enough for that anymore? And when Vince tried to bring things back to normal by suggesting a bout of satsuma-throwing in their vests and pants, Howard made excuses, saying that he needed to go round to Lester Corncrake’s and feed him. Like he was a chia pet.
He’d rather spend time with a blind head than with Vince these days.
“He’s right,” Vince said, biting his lip. “It’s too late.”
“It only two a.m.!” Bollo replied, grooving on the dancefloor, where Vince had suddenly stopped moving. “Get with it, Vince.” And began to sing, “’But if my Daddy say I fine – No, no, no!’” He grabbed Vince by his delicate wrist and pulled him in close, grinding his generous ape-hips against Vince’s slender lady-man ones. “Show-off,” Vince thought.
Back at the shop, Howard had finally gained the courage to emerge from the stockroom, and had managed to exhaust himself with obsessive-compulsive rearranging to the point where he thought he might be able to sleep.
As he was stumbling his way to the stairwell, a towering figure stepped out of the shadows. Howard balked, catching the menacing glint of a sword, and the duller one of a bald head, in the softly glowing fairylights.
“Howard Moon,” boomed Dennis, the Head Shaman. “Where’s your little boyfriend?”
“Probably at the disco, pulling,” Howard grumbled. He was in no mood to pretend to be a gayist, or even coherent. And remembering Lester Corncrake’s fate made him burn with indignation at this disgusting bully’s presence in his shop. “What do you want, sir?”
To Howard’s surprise, Dennis lowered his eyes as if confused. Was that a rosy blush creeping into his cheeks, mingling with the blue and green of the fairylights?
“Is the blind mental around? I feel slightly sheepish for what I did to him.”
“Lester Corncrake’s Head is at home, sir, sleeping. As you should be.”
Was the bloody-minded Shaman Warrior fidgeting?
“Wife threw me out,” he muttered at last.
“Really?” Howard replied with heavy sarcasm. “You seemed so happy together. Is your plan to crash at Naboo’s, then? He’s out with Vince – but I suppose you can get into his flat using your magic, or sword, or however you got in here.”
“They left the door unlocked.”
“Oh. Fair enough.”
Howard made a move towards the beaded curtain that separated the shop from the corridor, but Dennis grabbed his arm.
Howard stiffened, and closed his eyes, waiting for the blade to fall.
But Dennis released him. “I’m lonely. I need someone to talk to.”
“Don’t you have any friends? Never mind,” Howard answered himself.
He sighed, then fetched stools for both of them.
“Got anything to drink?” Dennis asked eagerly, settling himself onto a stool.
Howard knew now that he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.
Vince tried to be quiet as he entered his and Howard’s dark bedroom. The sky was lightening outside, but the blush of the sunrise hadn’t yet reached the tops of the surrounding buildings. He stripped off his jumpsuit, sweaty from the night of dancing, and tossed it on the floor with the others, then prepared to crawl into bed carefully. Howard didn’t like being touched – except sometimes, at night, he was up for a cuddle, after a long emotional bout of crimping. But lately Vince had thought it better not to risk it.
Vince shrieked as his limbs unexpectedly encountered a meaty form on his side of the bed. He disentangled himself as quickly as he could, falling onto the floor.
On the other side of the bed – Howard’s side – someone had sat up. Vince recognized Howard’s outline.
“Howard! There’s someone sleeping in our bed!”
“Yeah, I know that, Baby Bear.”
Suddenly it dawned on Vince what was happening. He felt a perfect fool.
“Howard! Did you -?”
Howard shimmied to the end of the bed and climbed off. He came towards Vince. “Keep it down,” he told him. “It’s the Head Shaman.”
“Howard!” Vince shrieked.
Howard reflexively grabbed the back of Vince’s head and clamped a hand over his mouth. He was crouched in front of Vince – still in his clothes, which he’d worn to bed, while Vince was sprawled on the floor, legs out in front of him, propped up by his hands, naked. They always went to bed naked, but Howard hadn’t felt that was appropriate, or in fact safe, when the drunken Head Shaman had asked if he could sleep in Howard’s bed – especially after his comments about Howard’s pumpkin ass and questions about his waxing habits.
Behind Howard’s hand, muffled laughter began to emerge from Vince. Howard looked severely into his friend’s bulbous eyes, which glistened with excited mischief in the dark room.
“Will you be quiet now?” Howard asked, and removed his hand, rubbing it against his trousers to take the tickle away. He didn’t really want to hear anything Vince would say, but felt that staying that way looking at each other any longer involved an obscure danger.
“Howard!” Vince whispered, still giggling under his breath. “You had it off with the Head Shaman?”
“No!” Howard shouted.
Dennis stirred on the bed and muttered in his sleep. “Methuselah – no! Not the squash racket!”
“No,” Howard repeated, hissing it quietly and angrily this time. “He had an argument with his wife and came here. He got wasted and passed out.”
“You mean – you’ve still not had it off then?” Vince asked, his face serious now.
“Why would I let you know if I did?” Howard asked, aware that he sounded slightly sulky. “So you can put it on MySpace?”
“I’d never do that, Howard.” Vince smiled at him, stroking his arm soothingly. Howard let him – it was the first time in months Howard had let him.
“Of course not. I’m on Facebook now. MySpace is for pensioners and Lily Allen fans.”
But Howard could tell he was teasing, and couldn’t help smiling a little. And he didn’t push him away when Vince grasped his upper arms and pulled Howard towards him – and then they were kissing again, and Howard couldn’t believe it could be as good the second time as the first. Their mouths parted against each other, and Vince ran his tongue along the side of Howard’s – and suddenly the intrusive image of a bright yellow pea coat burst into Howard’s mind, like a blossoming migraine, and he pulled away. Vince opened his eyes, startled, and looked at Howard in bewilderment. There was light in the room now, and the pain in Howard’s eyes was so laceratingly clear Vince felt like he’d been slapped.
“Go on. Why did you stop?”
Vince and Howard started, and Howard turned his head. Dennis was sitting upright on the bed, facing them, arms folded, his sword resting across his lap.
“Go on, I said. I want to see more of this. So you’re a virgin, are you, Moon? How… piquant. But it can’t be very easy on your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” Howard nearly screamed in frustration.
Dennis’s silver alien eyes narrowed and flitted from Howard to Vince. “So – you’re not in love?”
“I am,” Vince said quickly. “I am, but he’s not.”
“How can you say that?” Howard demanded. “I’m not the one who goes around kissing everyone I meet – and in exactly the same way!”
“What are you talking about, you strap-on sushi kit?”
“About the fact that there’s no passion – no soul – behind anything you do, Vince!”
“I try to make people happy! I try to make you happy! And the thanks I get is you accusing me of having no soul?”
“I want you to try to make me happier than you make other people – happy!”
“If you could tell me what to do to not make you always angry that would be a start!”
“I just did tell you!”
“What? I’m lost.”
“Enough arguing!” Dennis stood, gripping his sword. “I liked the kissing better. Do the kissing again.”
“Are you some kind of pervert?” Vince asked him.
“Yes,” Dennis replied. “A pervert with a very big sword.”
“Point.” Vince cast his eyes downward, distressed. There was no escape.
“I’m sure this isn’t what you wanted your first time to be,” Vince apologized to Howard, who was now naked as well, lying on the bed, on his back, with his knees bent, with Vince lying on top of him. Vince stared at the wall over Howard’s head, Howard at Vince’s small white shoulder.
“Actually, I just wanted it to be a time,” Howard replied.
Their eyes met briefly, and Howard attempted a reassuring smile. Instinctively, he planted an affectionate kiss on Vince’s shoulder, then lay his head back on the pillow. Vince bit his lip and his face dipped shyly, but he kept his eyes on Howard’s.
“I’ll try to make it good.”
“Don’t try!” Howard replied, with an edge of yearning in his voice that made Vince shiver with alertness. “That’s what I’m saying! You don’t always have to be the best and brightest with the biggest bounciest hair! Just – do what you feel, yeah?”
“Start fucking!” Dennis barked.
“Mate – why don’t you make yourself useful!” Vince snapped.
Dennis took a step towards the bed.
“Not like that! We could use a little something to – ease the process. Make a soft landing. Yeah?”
“I’m not following you.”
“Don’t play dumb, magic-boy. All extreme sports calendar models do anal. Everyone knows that.”
“Oh! You want cooking oil!”
“Exactly. Run to the kitchen, would you, love?”
Dennis left the room reluctantly, watching them over his shoulder as he went. “Don’t do anything until I get back!”
As soon as he was gone, Vince leapt out of the bed and locked the door, then leaned against it. Howard sat up and watched as Vince slid down the door, collapsing in front of it. When he was sat on the floor he pulled his skinny legs up to his chest and put his arms around them, his head back against the door, apparently scrutinizing the ceiling. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, Howard nevertheless got out of bed and went to him. He knelt beside Vince and waited, but when Vince made no move to acknowledge him, Howard made the first move.
“Alright, little man?” he asked tentatively, daring only to brush Vince’s hair off his shoulder.
“I can’t do it, Howard!” Vince groaned, shaking his head in a pique, which made the hair immediately fall back in place. Automatically, Howard brushed it away again, slightly hypnotized, this time letting his fingers drag against the smooth, soft surface of the curve of Vince’s neck.
“I don’t mind, honestly. It’s probably time to get it over with, isn’t it?”
“I mean I can’t perform under this pressure!” He looked at Howard wildly. “You know about me and pressure! I expect perfection of myself, and what happens? I fold like a pup tent in a strong breeze! So to speak.” He cast his eyes down between his legs ashamedly.
Howard smiled dreamily, now playing with Vince’s ear, his finger tracing its whorls. “You mean like that time at school when you were cast in the play?”
“I was just playing a tree! All I had to do was stand there and hold me leaves up!”
“Instead you panicked because you didn’t feel like you were doing enough, and started body-popping.”
“For twenty minutes! I couldn’t figure out how to get off!”
“The audience loved it, though. They cheered you on. I was playing the lead, but they all forgot about me. I had to abandon the speech I’d written especially for my character at a crucial moment in his trajectory.”
“You mean when he loses his hat?”
“The director always undersold the psychological ramifications of that incident.”
“Yeah. I never apologized for that, did I, Howard?”
“No. But it doesn’t matter. I’m a shit writer.”
Vince turned to look at Howard, and took Howard’s face in his hand. Vince’s hand was surprisingly warm. Howard smiled at him, and reached over and took up his other hand. He brought it to his mouth and bit Vince’s knuckles lightly, still smiling, and then held it under his chin.
“Why so serious? It’s not like you’re killing someone. And it’s not for real, is it? It’s just some pervert’s fantasy.”
“I want it to be for real,” Vince said, holding Howard’s eyes. They both wanted to look away, and neither did. The moment was held too long – and then longer. And then it started to feel not strange, but right, and Howard’s face moved closer to Vince’s, and Vince’s hand snaked around from Howard’s face through his hair to the back of his neck, which was burningly hot.
The door vibrated with Dennis’s pounding.
“Did I miss anything? I made popcorn!”
Vince stamped his foot on the floor. “This is never going to happen!”
“Don’t make me teleport in there!” Dennis warned from the other side of the door.
Howard stood, sighing, wincing as his joints creaked, and returned to the bed. He resumed the devirginization position and waited.
“Vince?” Several minutes had passed, and Howard was starting to wonder what was going on, as well as getting cold.
“I’m right here.” Vince appeared at the side of the bed so suddenly that Howard felt unnerved instead of relieved. Before he could process that feeling, however, Vince had climbed on top of him, in a strangely business-like manner. He examined Howard’s face closely and speculatively, as if it were a foreign object whose meaning he was trying to determine.
“Vince?!” Howard asked again.
“Right here! You’re a remarkably handsome man, you know.”
“I am!? Oh. Yeah. ‘Course I am. You don’t need to tell Howard Moon that…. I was voted Total Hottie of 2007 by the Librarians Who Like Jazz Association. What happened to the Head Shaman?”
“He probably got a call on his mobile from his wife.”
“Oh… that makes sense.”
“Now, Howard. I should fairly inform you that I’ve never done this before.”
“I never even considered it before that night on the roof. But I’ve done a lot of deflowering of virgins in my time.”
“This ought to be doubly pleasurable, seeing as how it’ll also be a defloration of myself.”
“My manginity. Right. Let’s do this thing.”
Vince’s lips against Howard’s were brutal, pressing down, smothering him. His tongue forced its way into Howard’s mouth, apparently searching out his tonsils. Howard wanted to protest, to push him away, overwhelmed, but his cock sprang up rebelliously, hardening against Vince’s. At last Vince pulled back. He licked his lips thoughtfully.
“Mmmmmm… good. You like it?” He grabbed Howard’s cock and pumped it in his hand, roughly.
“Vince,” Howard panted, “I don’t mean to criticize, but… where’s the romance?”
“I’ll send you flowers after, baby. If you suck my cock like a good little woman.”
“NO!” Howard grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him away, onto the bed. He scrambled on top of Vince and held him down easily with his greater weight and strength, but their erections remained squished together in a hot damp mass, throbbing, as Howard tried to regain hold of his senses. Vince was laughing, his sweaty fringe in his eyes, his eyes glittering beneath, black locks splayed against the pillow.
“What are you doing?” Howard demanded, trying to make it all make sense. “I don’t even know you!”
Something in Howard’s tone brought Vince to calm, but a malevolent smirk soon crept onto his face, and his clearly-formed words cut deep into Howard. “But I know you. Cut the bullshit. You don’t want gentleness or tenderness. You want to be taken like a bitch. Now lie down like a good boy and let Daddy tie you up and take care of you.”
Howard stared at him another moment in disbelief. Then a little whimper escaped his throat involuntarily, and slowly he nodded.
“Yes, sir, Daddy, sir.”
Howard lay on his back and raised his arms for Vince’s ministrations. He closed his eyes and sighed as he heard bedsheets being torn. Then felt the material, cool and strangely scratchy, against his wrists. “Tighter,” he instructed, frowning.
“No more talking, dickhead,” Vince told him, and shoved a thumb up Howard’s arse, without preparation.
After a moment, Howard pushed against it. It felt ridiculously painful, like someone had stuck a small fire up his bum. Wincing, he whispered, “Vince… is this it? Are we having sex?”
Vince laughed back, harshly.
Howard looked confused. “I just thought - since you’re inside me, and…”
“Fool! Aren’t you ever going to shut up?” Using the flat of his hand, Vince slapped Howard hard across the face. At the same time, he used his thumb inside to punctuate every word with a violent motion up.
At every dry stab, Howard shuddered.
Vince changed tactics. With Howard’s tightness, the thumb had hardly broken through the first clench of muscles, even after several shoves. So Vince began a series of vicious twists, each time swivelling the thumb little further. It was soon wedged in far past the knuckle.
Howard yelled in panic at the intrusion. His muscles went into spasm inside at the pain. He strained the bonds around his wrists – but the knots were firmly tight. His ankles were fixed down, too, bound to the bedposts – and he couldn’t even remember Vince doing that.
“You virgins,” Vince snorted. “Always screaming and saying no! As if that doesn’t just heat my blood. Make me want to despoil you all the more.”
Howard yelped. Every time he tried to struggle away, the thumb was just twisting and rubbing the more painfully. It was agony.
Vince’s gaze flicked up and down Howard’s body, coming to rest Howard’s cock, still treacherously half-hard on his belly.
Vince sneered in amusement. “Ha! You don’t fool me! I know what you really want. A man with a sword larger than a toddler’s leg. And who’s not afraid to use it.”
Howard forced himself to calm. The pain wasn’t so bad if he stopped moving. He took in a shaky breath.
“That’s better. Now you’ve got the right idea. Going to lie there and let Daddy get on with business?”
“Vince…?” asked Howard, weakly. He searched for a grin, a cheeky look from his friend - anything to confirm this was still a game.
Vince loomed silently over Howard. Behind the shadow of his fringe his eyes were dark and unknowable.
Then very deliberately, Vince stuck out his tongue. In one swift motion he’d licked Howard’s face, up from the jawline across Howard’s cheek and across the red mark where Howard had been slapped. But he didn’t stop there. He continued up to Howard’s left eye socket. There he jammed in the tip of his tongue and swished it wetly around.
Howard’s breath hitched. He’d shut both eyes before the tongue descended, but the exploration of his eyeball was still pretty unnerving.
“Tasty,” said Vince. The tip of his tongue was just poking out as he licked it against his lips. “Very, very tasty. Virgin tears.”
Howard blinked. His left eyelashes were weighed down with Vince’s spit.
Vince’s face was still startlingly close. “So, you going to be a good boy for Daddy? Hmmm? Are you?” He leaned further in and whispered into Howard’s ear. His voice was strangely deep and resonant. “Because believe me, I’m not finished yet.”
Howard’s eyes widened. That voice… fear chilled his skin. But this was Vince, wasn’t it? He could trust Vince.
“I didn’t hear a yes,” warned Vince. He pushed his slim-hipped body onto Howard’s. Their hot cocks touched.
Howard let out a moan. Before he could think, he was rocking his hips up, mashing their cocks together and working himself back to full hardness. “Y…yes… Yes sir. Please sir.”
“Right decision, meathead.”
Howard moaned once more – this time in pain. Vince had yanked his thumb straight out of Howard’s arse. It was even more intense than when Vince had forced the thumb in, like Howard’s innards were being dragged out backwards.
“Now, first things first,“ announced Vince, sitting up straight, and starting to climb off Howard.
As the emptiness in his arse throbbed to a memory, Vince’s warm body was leaving him too. Howard shivered with the loss of them both.
But within seconds, something else was being shoved towards Howard, right in his face – the waving end of Vince’s cock.
“Go on - suck me off, bitch.”
Howard strained at his bonds, uselessly. “Vince – you know I… I’ve… never before…”
“Yes, yes!” Vince replied, impatiently. “I know! Less talking, more sucking!”
Vince’s cock shoved harder. It smeared moisture across Howard’s lips.
“Come on! Open up!” barked Vince.
Until recently, Howard had never even imagined this – sucking another man’s cock, or how it would taste and feel inside his mouth. But suddenly, it didn’t seem so wrong. Perhaps because the cock in question belonged to Vince.
Ever since their kiss on the rooftop, he’d been looking at Vince in a brand new way. Stealing shameful glances at him - at the bulge Vince swung around, so obvious in those tight shiny jumpsuits. Lying in bed at night, wishing more than anything that Vince would come over and slip in for a cuddle. Vince had never needed an invite before – all it took was a couple of crimps, and he’d strip off and jump right in. Why had Vince stopped?
So when Howard opened up his mouth, he didn’t question it as the erect cock slipped in quite naturally. And when he licked cautiously at the silken head and it gave a distinct leap in response, it almost felt like coming home.
In fact, pride was filling his chest. Yes - he, Howard TJ Moon, had made Vince’s cock twitch with sheer sexual pleasure. Of course it had! For years he’d wasted his mighty sexual powers, his god-given magnetism. He’d frittered it away on self-abuse like throwing tadpoles in the wind. No longer would that happen – no, sir.
Because now he had Vince.
Howard opened wider, about to take Vince further in, right to the root.
“Call that a blow job?” Vince grabbed a handful of Howard’s hair, forcing his head sharply up. Then Vince plunged aggressively, deeper into Howard’s throat. “I said suck! Not slobber like a toddler puffing into a balloon! Again!”
Howard choked, gasping for air.
“No! No! Not like that, either!”
Howard gave a half-strangled slurp, his chest rising and falling, helpless as Vince thrust in and out.
“Arrgh!” shouted Vince. “Mind the teeth!”
Howard twisted away, trying desperately to escape. But Vince was holding his head in an iron grip.
Eventually, after Howard had been spluttering and hacking over his cock for about a minute, Vince withdrew. He shoved Howard’s head away in disgust. “Useless! And your mouth showed such promise!”
Howard flopped sideways to the pillow and exploded into a coughing fit. Saliva and a string of something stickier dribbled out the corner of his mouth, forming a wet, warm puddle underneath.
Vince stood wide-legged by the bed, surveying Howard with his hands on his hips. His drool-smeared erection stuck out like a flagstaff. “Well,” he sneered, showing his teeth in a surprisingly wolfish leer. “It matters not.” He took up the Head Shaman’s sword and raised it above his head. An unearthly light glinted from its blade.
The sword came down with a swish and snick.
Pain shot through Howard’s legs. His tight ankle bonds had been hacked free by the sword’s blow. Howard brought his knees up and down again, stretching his legs out and revelling in the freedom. Pins and needles prickled inside his thighs.
“Resume position!” barked Vince, flinging away the sword. It fell with a harsh clang against the wall. And jumping on top of Howard, Vince pinned him to the bed.
As his aching limbs were forced double again, Howard felt that reality had melted and flown away.
He’d always imagined sex would be a more purely physical affair – in-out-in-out, dirty fumbles and fluid spurting. Not like this.
Like when Vince had been choking him with his cock. Howard had hated it, he’d been crying stupid, acrid tears of self-pity, and yet –oh God, he wanted it. It was foul, yet he knew he deserved every inch, and more. It was all too much.
Howard pulled at the bindings on his wrists, wishing he could caress the forceful little body on top as it tried to stab him with his cock. Wth another pang of self-disgust, Howard realised that not being able to touch Vince was only making him all the more aroused.
“Yes! Daddy’s on target!” shouted Vince, triumphantly.
Howard lifted his hips and closed his eyes, trying to welcome the battering at his already-abused entrance.
But the blunt head of Vince’s cock wouldn’t go in, no matter how many times Vince pushed and roared in frustration. Vince shoved a few more times, angrily. It achieved nothing except white-lipped whimpers from the tied-up man below.
Throwing his head back, Vince laughed theatrically. “Aha! I knew it! Such a tight little virgin after all!” He looked around. “I believe something will be required… no, not the popcorn… perhaps for later on.”
He leaned over and started rummaging on the floor by the bed. Howard looked down and was surprised to see a box of golden popcorn sitting on the ground. Next to that was a bottle of cooking oil, the very same brand that Bollo used to fry his eggs and bacon in - oh right, thought Howard. It must be the bottle from the kitchen. How had it got there? Perhaps the Head Shaman had magicked it or something before he’d gone off to answer his phone call.
Vince straightened up. He unscrewed the bottle and tossed the top over his shoulder. It fell without sound into the darkness. Then stretching out his arm, Vince tipped the bottle up and poured the whole lot out in one go. It gave a noisy gurgle.
Howard jumped. A stream of cold oil had hit him right on the cock and balls. The oil gushed further down and Howard arched his back. He parted his thighs wide as the coolness slid into his crack, trickling down and easing the itchy burning inside. He sighed in relief. The mattress below began to spawn two oily buttock-dimple lakes of overflow.
Vince re-positioned himself. He grabbed Howard’s thighs hard. Angry marks sprung up beneath his fingers, flaring across Howard’s flesh.
With the goal finally oiled and ready for piercing, Vince grit his teeth and tensed his buttocks.
The head of Vince’s cock inched forward in a series of shoves. When it finally forced through the tight ring of muscles at Howard’s entrance, Vince let out a sharp breath of satisfaction. But then his cock stopped short, wedged fast. Vince gave a few short, frustrated bounces, all to no avail.
“Blast to Hades’ codpiece! Out of oil!”
Vince pulled out with a short, nasal grunt, took his cock in his hand, and rubbed it across Howard’s dangling balls, up and down like a chef rolling a shushi roll. Soon it was glistening with the oil trapped in Howard’s scrotal hairs.
“Aha!” Vince preened. He cupped his length in his hands like a prize marrow oiled for ‘Best Novelty Vegetable’ at the local fair. He readied himself for re-entry.
Howard felt the prodding at his entrance. He steeled himself again.
This was it, he was going to get to have sex, to do it at least once before he died. And Vince was going to be his very first, perhaps his only... Howard thrust his hips up, trying to help the penetration.
Or perhaps they’d already had sex. After all, Vince’s cock had had been inside him, if only for a second.
At the thought of Vince’s cock inside him again, Howard wriggled his hips even more. His fingers strained, as if trying to touch something invisible and pull it closer.
“Anything,” he panted. “Anything you want. Make me do things. Anything. I’ll do it.”
Howard flushed. A memory flashed before him – of how disgusted Vince had been the first time he’d caught Howard in the cupboard, self-inducing his Chinese burns. And now this. How would he ever face Vince again?
Howard turned his face to the side, and so he didn’t see the blow about to fall.
Vince hit Howard’s face in exactly the same place he had the last time. The skin on Howard’s right cheekbone flared white, immediately flushing to an angry purple.
“Of course you want me to use you!” shouted Vince. “I’m the best! Now keep still and let Daddy do his business!”
Howard gasped – but not at the blow. The shock of the afterheat on his battered skin – it was arousing him even more. What sort of person got off on this? No wonder no one had ever wanted to have sex with him before.
But Vince was already sinking his cock into Howard, deeply, and right up to the hilt. Howard had no time to do anything now but break into a slick, all-over-body sweat and scream. And with a deep, un-Vince-like roar, the man on top drew back and started to pound into Howard.
Within seconds, Howard was being rammed up backwards against the wall. The crown of his head jammered each time Vince slammed in. Helplessly, Howard tried to push back against it with his tied hands. But it was useless. All he could do was try to ride it out, his arse afire with bizarre intensity.
Then Vince grabbed Howard’s buttocks, lifting him higher. As the angle changed, colours pinged and exploded before Howard’s eyes. Heat prickled down the inside of his thighs. His toes curled.
Howard threw his head back and stretched his mouth open wide. A thought wisped through his melting brain - this must be what pleasure feels like.
Vince thrust in once more, slick and easy with oil. He hit the same spot all over again. Howard arched up, the colours behind his eyelids even brighter. He grabbed the bindings to his wrists and pulled them as if grabbing onto life.
But Vince was speedily approaching his peak. He let out a growl, and began to come.
Howard could hardly believe it. Vince was really coming inside him. But there was no mistaking it – Howard’s insides were so abused by now that he felt every spasm, spurt and jolt from Vince with a dozen times sensitivity.
Eventually, the last tremors from Vince’s cock pumped away to a gentle tremble.
Howard wanted to hold Vince, to kiss him, to stroke him and thank him for being his first time - but Vince was sprawled on top of him, far out of reach of Howard’s bound arms.
Anyway, at least one thing was for sure, thought Howard. His virginity was long gone. When another man shot his happy juice up your arse, then goodbye maidenhood.
Eventually Vince’s cock started to retreat, slipping out in a mess of sperm and oil. Panting, Vince pulled himself to his knees.
Howard chafed at his tightly-pulled wrists. As Vince had lifted up, his body had stroked across Howard’s still-hard cock. Howard was still so painfully hard. He was so close to coming himself. “Please, Vince,” he breathed. “Please… touch me.”
But Vince was too busy examining his own genitals. There were shiny red streaks along Vince’s cock, showing neon bright in the dimness of the bedroom.
With an inquiring noise, Vince reached forward and stretched Howard’s cheeks apart. He made an inspection of Howard’s anus.
Howard leant into Vince’s slightest touch. “Yes,” Howard begged, waggling his erection, hoping that Vince would get the general idea.
“Hmm. Less blood than for your average devirginization,“ stated Vince. “Probably not the fabled arse-hymen. Pity.” And, inspection over, Vince bunched up a corner of sheet from the end of the bed and coolly began to wipe the stains from his penis.
Howard couldn’t care less what rubbish Vince gibbered. He only wanted those hands around his cock, pumping it up and down. “Vince! Stop messing about! You’re not going to leave me like this?”
Vince had retrieved the box of popcorn and was sitting strangely straight-backed on the end of the bed, picking out the largest kernels in a pompous, overly fussy way. It reminded Howard of something or someone he couldn’t quite remember. But Howard had other, more urgent things on his mind.
“Vince?” cried Howard, in frustration. He thrashed about, desperate to find anything to rub himself against to relieve the pressure. “Oh God, please!”
“Ahhh...” Vince munched on the popcorn with obvious pleasure. “This has really been a most enjoyable encounter.” He looked over at Howard. His eyes suddenly narrowed. “You are a quite remarkably attractive man.”
“Then why won’t you touch me, Vince?” howled Howard.
Vince tilted his head as he considered this. He set down his popcorn. “Well - I usually have a rule about virgins - but I think I’ll make an exception for you.”
Vince moved towards the bed. Howard’s hopes rose.
“So you enjoyed performing as my cock-sucking little bitch?”
“Just pull me off, Vince!” shouted Howard, losing all dignity. “You worked me up so that I’m close to bursting! I can’t bear it!”
Vince laughed. “So eager for more! Well,” he stepped up close. Howard could feel his breath. “Stay that way. And we’ll see.”
And Vince placed one last lick onto Howard’s face, pressing down hard across the colouring bruise. Then he smiled - the same eerie smile as before, which narrowed his eyes and ended in a hint of snarl.
“What? We’ll see? Fuck that!” wailed Howard, pulling at his bonds. “What about now, you bastard! At least untie me so I can wank myself off!” Howard widened his eyes. “No Vince, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it – don’t go!”
But Vince had hefted up the Head Shaman’s sword under one arm and, sticking the box of popcorn under his other, was making his way out the door, still totally naked.
Howard was left alone in the darkness of the night, with only a hard on for company, and thinking – so that was sex. Wondering if the aching in his frustrated balls could possibly get any worse.
Yes. Probably it would. The night was young.
The ache when he woke up, some time in the afternoon, was terrible – in his arms, which were still tied to the bedposts, and in his arse. His cock, however, was bobbing cheerfully at his stomach.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Vince moving around, doing something with his clothes. Probably deciding what to wear, from the rate he was throwing them around.
“Good morning?” he called shyly.
Vince stopped moving. He came to the bed and stood over Howard. He met Howard’s eager expression with a look of haughty contempt, complete with flared nostrils, that Howard only knew him to wear when he was both furious and hurt. It had happened then, just as Howard had feared.
He’d always known that if he ever had sex with anyone, they’d hate him for it afterwards.
“Oh. You’re awake, are you, Casanova?” Vince sneered.
“Vince, I’m sorry. Can we just forget it ever happened?”
“Do you even know what happened?”
“What do you mean?” Now that he was beginning to wake up more fully, he was becoming irritated with Vince as well. What right did he have to act this way? Hadn’t he been the one who wanted it to happen?
“It wasn’t ME, you berk!” Vince cried, his voice cracking.
“Now wait a minute. We were both involved. Everything was consensual. You may regret it now, but don’t pretend that you weren’t even here….”
“Want to know where I was? Up there!” Vince pointed at the ceiling over the bed. “Out of me body. Just a floating consciousness. I couldn’t even get off. Just watch you and him go at it!”
“Him? Who?” Fully awake now, Howard was starting to wonder if Vince had simply gone mad.
“The Head Shaman, you twit! He occupied my body to get off with you! You lost your cherry to a murdering madman! And you couldn’t even tell the difference between us.”
“This… is a dream. There’s something wrong here….”
“Wrong!?” Vince’s voice sounded strangled. “I’ll show you wrong!” He snatched something glittery off the floor and held it up for Howard to see.
“Vince!” Howard’s voice was hushed, scared. “Who did that to the mirror-ball suit?”
“Your little matey, Dennis! He tore it up to tie you up! It’s in pieces now!” Vince was nearly in tears.
“You can wear it that way and say it’s your new look,” Howard pointed out consolingly.
“Not a bad idea actually,” Vince admitted reluctantly. “But that’s not the point, Howard!” he cried.
“Look, Vince, would you just untie me, so we can talk!”
“No way! You can stay that way, you dirty manwhore. I’m leaving. I’m getting me own room, elsewheres.” Vince hefted a giant trunk – Howard realized now that he’d been packing – towards the door, but soon gave up. “Oi! I’ll send for my stuff later.”
“Vince… where are you going?” Howard pleaded.
“Away from you!”
After Vince had left, Howard waited, the blazing ache in his back and arms and shoulders and arse almost overpowering any ability to feel the loss of Vince – of their friendship or any hope of a relationship. He hoped it would also overpower his humiliation at being discovered by Naboo and Bollo when he called for their help. Which he would have to do soon, because he wouldn’t be able to take it much longer. And then, after they’d laughed at him (he figured for about an hour, depending on how much weed they’d had), he’d be fired. Out on the streets, days before Christmas. A street-random.
It wasn’t nearly as bad he’d thought losing his virginity would be.
Part two by easilyled on its way!