ancientbooshartifacts

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Naming Rights

Author: Thickets

Year: 2010

Rating: G

Pairing: Howince

"Vince, they're wild animals, not toys or pets!" 

Vince stuck his tongue out at Howard and held up one tiger cub, peering intensely at its sleepy face. "Howard's boring, ain't he, Valerian?" The cub yawned in response.

"Valerian? What, you're naming them now?"

"Course I am. All the animals in the zoo have got names, haven't they?"

Howard grimaced with frustration. "Yeah, but there's ... proper procedures for naming them. We don't get to name them."

"Well, I'm naming these ones. This one over here's Lola, and that one there's called Ziggy."

"Ziggy is a terrible name for a tiger! Anyway, if anyone should get to name them, I should."

"Get out! Why don't you name that giraffe that was born the other day? These guys are mine."

Howard straightened his collar and adjusted the height of his jacket's zipper. "I think I just might do that, sir."

He stalked off in the direction of the hoofed animal enclosure. Vince cradled Valerian in one arm and tickled Lola behind the ear; Ziggy was busy trying to lick his own nose.

"He's a nutter, ain't he? Well territorial. Who does he think he is, your mum?" A pause. "Oh hell." 

*

Howard named the giraffe Eustace.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howince #vince/howard #Vince Noir #Howard Moon #Howard Moon/Vince Noir #Vince Noir/Howard Moon

[ancientbooshartifacts]

The Great Mystery

Author: AppaDarling

Year: 2010

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Howince

Naboo allows a lisped sigh to escape him as he comes to the bottom of the dusty box and his hand finds the textured surface of an old VHS. He blinks languidly, an almost imperceptible frown pulling his mouth, and retrieves the tape, replacing the collection of odd socks, empty record sleeves, childish drawings, and little creatures fashioned from stationery supplies into the cardboard box. He closes it, glancing once more at the label of strange hieroglyphs which read clearly to any Zooberonian native "ballbags," and retreats from the loft. In the sitting room he slides the tape into the VCR, plops onto the settee, and takes a long draw from his hookah. Their is static on the screen, then a large, angular face is grinning back at him. Naboo blinks and takes another drag from his hookah. "'oward, this is genius!" The frame wobbles and tilts as Vince plays around with the buttons on the camera, little pink tongue poked out of his mouth in concentration. "How d'you turn it on?" Another voice with a familiar soft northern accent comes from further away. "Whoa whoa, little man. Let's cool the jets and take a look at the directions, shall we." A rustling of paper. "Have you put in the batteries?" "S'recording! Look at that, Howard!" Vince's face leaves the frame as the camera is jostled and eventually settles on an uncomfortably close shot of his crotch clad only in electric blue pants. "Vince, don't hold it like that. Here, put your hand through the strap so you don't drop it." Mercifully, Howard's face looms into view. It zooms in and out for a bit while he's looking over the directions and eventually settles on a tight shot of his mustache, moving along with the words as he reads under his breath. A soft giggle from out of frame. "Hey, 'oward. From this angle it looks like you've got a jazzy caterpillar under your nose." Howard frowns. "Oi, look! He's wavin'!" "It says each of those tapes can hold 5 hours of video." Naboo glances at the monkey face clock on the wall and takes another drag. On screen, the frame wobbles and settles onto a view of two pairs of naked, hairy legs surrounded by a sea of festive wrapping paper. Vince's thighs are pressed to Howard's calves as the older man is hugged around his chubby middle where he is sat on the settee. "Aw, Howard, this is the best Christmas present ever!" Howard's voice sounds a little strained, but the familiar teasing lilt is detectable. "Even better than that vintage flapper gown worn by Louise Brooks?" "The best Christmas present this year!" Vince corrects. Then his body drops back into view as he shuffles towards the camera on hands and knees, grinning madly. "I'm goin' to make a movie about our band like David Bowie with Ziggy Stardust! It'll be brill-" The screen goes to static for a few seconds in which Naboo rubs discretely at his nose and, not one to disappoint, takes another drag from his hookah. The static is replaced suddenly by a side view of Vince and Howard on stage, obviously filmed from behind the curtain. The spotlights are bright and the screams of the crowd are distorted and static. Several objects fly from the crowd onto stage, obviously aimed at the two performers. They duck and run off-stage towards the camera. The frame changes abruptly as if the previous segment had been taped over. It shows a row of boots in various colors and shades of glitter set up neatly in front of a wardrobe. The camera pans across them. Then it cuts to a view of Howard's back as he faces the stockroom downstairs. He bends over to pick up a box and the camera zooms in on his round bottom. Then it changes to a pile of candy spread out across a bright blue and silver duvet. A hand comes into view and grabs a lollipop. Then it cuts to static again. The room is plunged into silence for a few long seconds wherein the only noise is the dripping of the faucet in the kitchen. Naboo sinks further down into the cushions. There is a crackling and the screen shows Vince backing away and ducking behind a makeshift booth. The blue curtain decorated with hearts and rainbows waves with unseen movement before parting nicely and being pulled to the sides. The camera is presented with a view of two sock puppets, one brown and pinstriped and the other bright orange and blue polkadotted, both with buttons for eyes. The brown one has a tuft of brown yarn over its mouth that Naboo assumes is a mustache and the orange has an arrangement of black yarn that is a perfect model of Vince's feathered coiffure. The orange sock shakes its head at the brown one. "Look what you've done now, y'muppet! Those girls were well into me, didn't you see the little striped one givin' me the eye! I could've gone for the puppet threeway!" Despite himself, a small laugh escapes Naboo on the settee. The brown one speaks in a poorly imitated northern accent. "You don't know what those girls were about, Vin. They were no good." "Aw, How, don't start in with this again. I weren't goin' to marry 'em!" "Well, I should hope not! The one wasn't even a sock, she was a stocking. And her eyes were on backwards; they weren't looking at anyone but herself." The orange one shakes angrily. "What are you sayin'?" "Only that you should choose your girlfriends with more care! What if they were some kind of serial murdering duo or a couple of double agents on the run. What if they weren't even puppets!" "Oh, here we go again wiv your conspicuous theories!" "Conspiracy." "Wotever. Look, How. If you were jealous I could've put in a word with the pretty yellow one." "Her? She was the worse of the two!" "What d'you mean? I thought she was pretty." "It wasn't that, she- Nevermind, I'm goin' home. I don't want to argue anymore." The brown one turns and moves away. The orange one bounds over to him. "No, How, what did she do?" The brown one didn't answer, but looked distinctly constipated. "Howie, was she mean to you? Did she say something?" "It doesn't matter." "She did! I won't be havin' that! Where'd she go, I'll give her what's for! I'll take her boots and come at her like rabbit, like a long-toothed rabbit with gingivitis-" "Now, hold on, little man! If anyone's coming at anyone it'll be me, sir." "I know, I just wanted to try it once." The brown one shakes its head and turns away again. "It wasn't just that, though. Maybe I was jealous a bit." "Oh, Howie, you should've said something." "I couldn't." "But we're best mates, you can tell me anything!" "Not this. You don't understand." "What don't I understand?" "The situation. The whole point of it!" "Well, then make me understand! I can't do anything about it if you won't talk to me!" The brown one whips around suddenly and attacks the orange one. At first Naboo thinks they're fighting, but the moans and breathy little noises give it away. They're kissing. Or something. After a few very gratuitous moments of the puppets snogging and rubbing, they disappear and Vince's head pops up. "And that's how it happened! Mad, huh?" He smiles and moves around the little stage towards the camera and it cuts to static. Naboo draws on the hookah and tilts his head slightly, a thoughtful little wrinkle between his brows. A loud, familiar voice breaks the silence of the flat. "Oi! I'm Vince Noir and this is a day in the life of me, Vince Noir, rock 'n' roll star." The TV shows Vince's reflection in the bathroom mirror holding the bulky camera in one hand and grinning like a kid who's just found candy mountain. The words "Vince Noir rock 'n' roll star" are superimposed in red lipstick over his image. There is a pounding in the background and a muffled demand. "Vince, you've been in there for two hours!" The frame turns to the bathroom door where Vince unlocks it and it swings open to reveal a rather disgruntled Howard in a dressing robe who becomes flustered when he spots the camera in Vince's hand. His eyes dart to the side and his cheeks flush pink. "Erm, I need to get in there." The frame moves past him and out into the hall, turning just in time to see the bathroom door slam shut. "That's me best mate Howard; he's a grumpy bugger in the morning." It moves down the hall to show the closed door of Naboo's room. It cracks open and through the gap Naboo himself can be seen sitting cross-legged, floating a few inches above the carpet. A whisper from out of frame. "That's Naboo, my landlord. He's a shaman, imagine that! He's pretty cool, but if I don't pay rent he'll turn me into a frog and smoke me." The door closes and the camera turns to an open doorway. It moves inside with a few bounces to an internal view of the room. There are two beds on opposite sides of the room. One side is bright and messy with an eyesore of coma-inducing color and glow-in-the-dark stars pasted all over the walls and ceiling. There's a large mirror beside the bed and an overflowing wardrobe. The other side is plain and neat with a bed and a chest of drawers in various shades of brown. The only personal touch seems to be a stack of old records on the chest. The camera surveys the room. "This is mine and Howard's room, you can tell which one's mine." The bed moves closer and one can see that the duvet is brown tweed woven with threads of tan and muffin. "Jazzy freak" The tone is fond and tinged with a smile. A hand moves over the material. "He's sorta like tweed, Howard is. He's sorta plain to look at and prickly and rough, but he'll keep you all warm and safe tucked up in-" "Vince, what are you doing?" comes Howard's voice and the screen goes black then cuts to a view of the living room. The next scene is of Bollo dozing on the couch. "That's my flatmate Bollo," Vince whispers. "He's a gorilla and a DJ. He helps Naboo out with shaman stuff, too." The kitchen comes briefly into frame and then it moves down the stairs and into the shop. Howard is sat at the counter flipping through a magazine. "Say hi to the camera, 'oward!" Vince chirps. The older man looks up briefly then turns from the camera bashfully. "Aw, don't be like that," Vince says. The camera pursues an annoyed looking Howard who tries his best to avoid eye-contact with the contraption. "S'wrong, Howard?" He clears his throat and hunches his shoulders a bit in an attempt to draw in on himself. "Nothing's wrong. You should put that thing away. If Naboo catches you mucking about on the job-" "Aw, Naboo's up in his room conversing with nature an' that. H'ain't worried about me." "Communing, Vince." "Same thing, innit?" "Yes, but you don't usually say 'conversing-' Just, look, put that away for a while, yeah? Here come some customers." The camera swings to the door where two elderly women are entering. It cuts to static. On the couch, Naboo puffs on the hookah and sniffs. The next frame opens up on a fuzzy, dark figure as it backs away from the camera. It's difficult to tell, but the skinny silhouette could be Vince. It moves around a dark block and a light is switched on, revealing the scene. It is the bedroom, more specifically Howard's side. The camera is facing the bed and Vince takes a seat on the edge. He looks out of frame. "You ready?" Howard slowly enters the frame, moving cautiously towards the bed and throwing nervous glances towards the camera. Vince pats the seat beside him and Howard takes a seat. "Is it on this time?" Vince nods with a small, comforting smile. "Vince, I don't-" "It's ok. It's just us, yeah? No one else is going to see it. It's just us." Their voices are soft and the words can just barely be made out. Vince is stroking Howard's arm soothingly as the older man takes a deep breath. Vince pushes him to lie back on the bed. He leans over him and rubs his chest through the material of his shirt. He looks seriously into Howard's eyes. "We don't have to. I'll turn it off if it's too much." Howard shakes his head. "No, I want to." He grins self-consciously, his teeth flashing in the low light. "We'll have something to remember this when we're too old to shag." Vince laughs and smiles. "Nah, we'll never get old. I'm like Peter Pan, I am. You can be Wendy, but only if you promise never to go away and grow up." There is a seriousness behind his mirthful smile. Howard lifts a large hand to cup Vince's cheek. "Never, little man." Vince smiles and lowers his lips to the older man's. They kiss softly and begin pulling at eachother's clothes. Howard's hand moves down Vince's back to cup his bottom. Vince moans and grinds his hips into Howard's. The screen goes black as Naboo darts forward, moving faster than he ever has, to hit the power button. After it goes off, he sits frozen on the edge of the seat, his dark eyes slightly widened. The hose of the hookah lies forgotten on the floor, having been dropped in his surprise. After a few silent moments in which Naboo and the TV engaged in a staring contest, he leans back into the couch with a shake of his head. He snatches up the hookah again and puffs on it vigorously. "I didn't need to see that," he lisps, but there is no one to hear.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howince #Vince Noir #Howard Moon #vince/howard #Howard Moon/Vince Noir #Vince Noir/Howard Moon #Naboo #naboo the enigma #bollo

[ancientbooshartifacts]

One Night at the Onion

Author: ThirstyRobot

Year: 2010

Rating: R

Pairing: Vince Noir/Ned Smanks

"Vince Noir, right?" Ned's not actually sure. Up close he looks older, and his head being normal-sized isn't helping anything either, and it might just be that Jones bloke that came by the office to get Ashcroft's stuff. "Yeah?" Vince only glances up for a second and then goes back to stirring the straw around in his drink. "I saw you at that Black Tubes gig, yeah? Juarez fucking Mexico, mate. How the fuck did you do that thing with your head? Well lost." Now Vince looks up properly. He seems to consider Ned for a moment and then smiles this smile that makes him look like he's just come up with something wicked. "Can't have everyone going round doing it, can I?" "Right, yeah. Like copyright or something?" "Yeah, something." Vince pours the rest of his drink down his throat and jerks his head towards the front of the club, where the DJ (in a gorilla suit, no fucking less) is coming back from his set break. "You dance?" "Is that back in?" Vince laughs. "What, dancing?" "The straight-on-straight gay thing." Ned sort of hopes it is. It may be all the vodka, but Vince is really pretty when he laughs. "Sounds like a load of bollocks to me. Anyway," he says, and stumbles off the stool to wrap an arm round Ned's waist, "I'm always in." This is the guy who defied maths and shit last week, with a stunt not even Nathan Barley's been able to duplicate, so Ned's inclined to believe him. Also, his hair smells really good. "Yeah, you're well in," Ned says, but it's swallowed up by a pounding thrum of techno-bhangra and they're swallowed up by the dance floor. Vince dances like he's having the best fuck of his life, pretty much. Ned would never dance like this. It doesn't look ironic, but maybe that's why it's cool. And it clearly is cool--he can see girls snapping photos on their mobiles and fanning their faces. So yeah, fuck it. He holds onto Vince's grinding hips (narrower and thinner than Rufus's, not that he ever danced with Rufus) and grinds right back and lets himself like the way Vince's fringe plasters itself to his forehead when he starts to work up a sweat (strawberries and sweets, not Lynx and the-fuckin'-shower's-fucked-again-yeah, but the rasp of cheek stubble against his neck when Vince writhes closer is the same). A man in a horrible blue safari suit comes and brings them drinks, so they don't even have to pause for trips to the bar. Ned's glasses slip down his nose, which makes Vince cackle and whisper-shout hot and damp against his ear that he looks like a drunk librarian. "I've always wanted to do a librarian," Ned answers back just for an excuse to say something, strands of strawberry-sweat hair clinging to his lips. "That what this is for?" Vince asks, and pushes a skinny hip very deliberately against the hard-on Ned was (maybe) hoping had gone unnoticed. Ned swallows. "Yeah, I--" "'Cause I think it's for me." Vince shoves a hand between them (fuck, this is going to be on two hundred girls' FriendFaces tomorrow, but that's cool, right?) and squeezes Ned's cock through his jeans (somehow he can't picture Rufus slapping him on the back when Jonatton bestows finger-applause at the morning meeting). "Yeah, maybe," Ned says, or more sort of gasps because Vince's hand is hot and surprisingly strong and is still there rubbing away right on rhythm with the music that they're still technically dancing to even though it really feels like he's just humping Vince's hand at this point. Kissing makes sense, right? Kissing's what you do here? But when Ned tries, Vince turns his face aside and Ned gets his neck, which isn't all bad, and Vince doesn't seem to mind Ned sucking the sweat off his skin (it just tastes like sweat, and some kind of soapy flowery something that's probably whatever smells like strawberries, and his neck's smooth all the way up to the hard angle of his jaw, no whiskery spots under his chin). "This one for a stupid ballbag," says the DJ (that's well Einstein, actually talking like a gorilla), and something about sailors starts playing. Vince stops dancing (he keeps his hand on Ned's crotch, though) and looks up. He doesn't look like he's having the time of his life anymore. "Let's get out of here, yeah?" Ned nods and lets Vince lead him away. 'Out of here' turns out to be the alley behind the club, where Vince shoves him up against the bricks and just stares at him for a second, like the kid in that thing who's caught whatever it was he was after but doesn't know what to do with it now he's got it. It might've been in a book. "Alright?" Ned asks. It sounds a bit stupid. Vince mutters something that might be 'fuck it' and kisses Ned, pissed-sloppy and something-to-prove rough, post-fucking-Watershed dirty kissing that makes Ned groan and grab Vince's arse. He has to bend his knees and spread his feet wider to get his groin up against Vince's (he's not a scientist or anything, but he's pretty sure wrapping his legs around Vince's waist like he wants to would make them fall over), which Vince appreciates if the way he suddenly attacks Ned's neck with his teeth is anything to go by (but not the spot behind his ear that turns his knees to jelly, which is surely just as well). "'m I gonna fuck you?" Vince slurs against Ned's collarbone. And fuck, fucking? Actual cock in his actual arse? Ned tenses. The way Vince smirks up at him has no right to be that...cute. "You wanna suck me off, then? 'Cause I'm--" "Yeah," Ned says. That, he can do. That, he knows can do the hell out of, especially once he's turned them round kneels eye to eye--well it hasn't got eyes, that'd be well wrong--with the bulge in Vince's painted-on jeans. Vince has to help him in the end to undo the belt and flies, and wriggle his hips to work the trousers far down enough for Ned to even get his hand in. It's not weird. A cock's a cock. They all work more or less the same. Still, Ned can't help noticing that Vince's cock is longer but thinner than he's what, used to? Was he used to Rufus's cock? That's thirty-seven kinds of a fucking wrong turn, and if there's a different taste to the drops of precome that hit his tongue or a different texture to the edge of Vince's foreskin, he doesn't think about it. What he does think about is Vince grabbing rough fistfuls of his hair and moaning like some kind of porno, and Ned knows enough to know (and has drunk enough not to care) that Vince's offer didn't include a return of the favour, so he gets a hand in his own pants and doesn't, doesn't think of stupid laughs or expect to be bright-eyed smiled at and kissed like a girl at the end of this. He just listens to the porno soundtrack and concentrates on getting off and looks up at Vince with his eyes closed and his careful hair gone all wild, and yeah, it's no fucking wonder everyone was snapping photos, and he's lucky, right? Vince doesn't warn him, just moans out, "Fuck, Howard," and comes in a hot choking spasm that Ned only manages to swallow out of reflex, and he decides he really doesn't want to go all the way home with sticky cold come-pants, so he just gets up when Vince is done. It seems to be only the wall holding Vince up, and when he opens his eyes they're unfocused and bleary and electric blue. "Sorry," Vince says with a slack smile. "Who's Howard?" Vince focuses, blinks. Even in the dim grungey light Ned can tell his cheeks have gone pinker. "I...thought you said your name was Howard." "I never said, mate." "Oh. Right." Vince's eyes close again. "You alright to get home?" Ned should just fuck off, because fuck it and fuck all this, but there's something about Vince that makes it seem wrong to just leave him here. "Yeah." Vince sighs and fumbles his jeans back into a state that won't get him arrested, which was good timing because the back door bangs open to admit some sort of Middle Eastern dwarf in a turban. He glares at Ned and then says, "C'mon, Vince. Bollo's packing up." "A'right, Naboo," Vince says (or something like it), and staggers over to the little man, who ushers him back into the club. Ned doesn't follow, just heads out to the street. "Well no way," he mutters to himself as he walks, but at the left-or-right point where he could either queue up at the taxi rank to go home or turn a couple of corners to Rufus's place, he leaves the taxis to the screeching hen party falling out of their tops. That's definitely not a flying carpet he sees against the moon as he turns the second corner, and the moon definitely doesn't wink.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #nathan barley #Vince Noir #Ned Smanks #vince noir/ned smanks #howince #Naboo #naboo the enigma #bollo #Howard Moon #Ned Smanks/Rufus Onslatt

[ancientbooshartifacts]

On the Way Home

Author:  concupiscence66

Year: 2016

Rating: R

Pairing: Noel Fielding/Richard Ayoade

“Can we talk about it now?” Noel asks, as soon as he gets in the car.  Richard’s lovely wife uses the car’s vanity mirror to arrange his hair into a slightly angrier style.  Richard is fascinated as Noel rearranges his fringe and tweaks the hair standing straight up at the back of his head.  He has learned not to comment on his wife’s hairstyles.  Apparently he is “too buttoned up and boring to know a back-comb from a butt plug,” but he likes Noel’s hair.  Richard likes hair that defies gravity.  It is a big part of his personal style. “Darling, let’s not fight.  We’ve just done a lovely quiz…” Richard trails off as Noel glares at him. “You always do this,” Noel snaps.  “You always say we’ll discuss it in the car, but what you mean is we’ll never ever discuss it.  Ever.” “That isn’t fair,” Richard argues, despite the fact that it is completely fair.  Richard tries to avoid arguments by putting them off.  It never works, but Richard keeps trying.  It is his way. “I’m sorry if I upset you…” “That is a fake apology!” Noel yells, with his arms flailing.  “You never listen to me.  You don’t have to care how you do on quiz shows.  You went to Cambridge and wear spectacles.  Everyone already thinks you’re Mr. Intelligent.  I went to art school and I have this hair. And I talk like this!  Listen to how I talk, it’s half chav, half angry goose.  I have to prove there’s something going on under this magnificent barnet.” “You’re very intelligent, darling.” “Don’t be condescending.” Richard clears his throat and reaches deep down and tries to find his very most sincere voice. “You’re very intelligent, darling.” “Pull this car over right now, ‘cause I’m gonna stab you up.  I am gonna go South London on your genre-spanning ass, and no court will ever convict me.” Richard sighs. “I do think you’re intelligent. I’m just not good at conveying my feelings through words, intonations, facial expressions, or physical gestures.  That has been my burden as an award-winning actor.” Noel scowls, but then he laughs. “That is true.  You are an idiot.” “I know,” Richard agrees, not for the first time. “And that is why I love you.” Xxx Richard strokes Noel’s muscular thighs as his wife rides him with slow and measured movements. “Mmmm, that’s nice,” Noel moans.  “You feel so good.  So big.” Richard remains silent, as always.  He has no gift for sexy talk.  He has tried and failed, and no amount of coaching has been able to stop him from desperately trying to fill the silence with talk of nonsense, ranging from interesting trivia to observations about the use of stippling on the ceiling.  It is better if he remains quiet. Noel is still wearing his strangely-patterned blouse/shirt-type garment.  Richard tried to get him to strip down completely, but Noel was only willing to unbutton the shirt – not remove it entirely.  Richard knows Noel is not feeling happy with his body.  Richard has never, ever been happy with his own body, but he has reached a fairly Zen state of acceptance.  Naked, Richard looks like a skeleton wearing a pair of poorly-fitted adult footed pajamas and a fright wig.  It wasn’t the body he would have chosen for himself, but it suits his personality and his lifestyle. On second thought, maybe it is exactly the body he would have chosen.  A comedian isn’t meant to have a perfect body.  If anything, Noel is entirely too attractive for his chosen profession. When Noel leans in for a kiss, his blouse brushes against Richard’s chest.  It is silky and soft, the way he imagines Noel’s hair would be without all the hairspray.  Richard eagerly kisses Noel and strokes his back through the silken material before rolling Noel onto his back.  There is no sound but the wet and vaguely obscene sound of their passionate kisses and the absurd squelch of penetration. Xxx Lying in bed, sated and tired, Richard wants nothing more than to sleep.  It was an exhausting day, between the quiz, seeing his father for the first time in years, and taking Jack Whitehall to the park to let out some of his pent-up energy.  Noel had gone soft and allowed Jack a third fizzy drink.  Jack had gulped it down and spent the entire car ride complaining of a tummyache.  Richard and Noel are of very different minds when it comes to nutrition, and it worries Richard.  As much as Noel tries to ease his mind by saying, “We ain’t gonna have kids!  I ain’t got a uterus,” Richard still worries.  How could they ever raise a child together if they cannot agree on whether or not fruit pastilles count as a fruit? Richard spoons himself around Noel, holding him close. “Do you really think the sex went wrong?” Richard asks, because he is incapable of letting sleeping dogs lie.  “Is it still wrong?” Noel gives a low chuckle, and Richard can feel it rumbling in Noel’s chest.  The feeling is as intimate as anything else they have done.  He feels utterly connected to Noel in that moment. “It didn’t go wrong.  It just got different.” Richard accepts Noel’s reassurance.  Things had gotten a bit hairy after the third time Noel had called Richard “Ju” in bed.  Noel had tried to play it off (“Oh, Ju… feel so good inside me.  Yes ju do, Richard…”), but Richard has never been truly bothered.  Julian was and is Noel’s comedy husband.  Nothing and no one will ever change that.  Richard certainly has no desire to interfere with Noel and Julian’s relationship.  He has worked with them on many occasions, and he is well aware that being allowed to write with them and edit their work is an honor, one he does not take lightly.  Noel and Julian are protective of whatever spark it is that allows them to bring down the house with the same kind of exchange they have over morning coffee.  Richard respects that relationship and the magic that comes with it. Likewise, Noel never complains when Richard goes back to his “real wife” and kids.  They always use air quotes when discussing real life, because they know it is bullshit. Nothing is more real than the joke.  Nothing.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #IT Crowd #the it crowd #noel fielding #richard ayoade #noel fielding/richard ayoade #noelian #julian barratt

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Deerest Howard

Author: The_Reverend

Year: 2010

Rating: G

Pairing: Howard Moon/Old Gregg, Howince

“Howard…”

It wasn’t just the way that Vince said his name, like he does when they’re neck-deep in some serious (albeit ridiculous) trouble about to collide head-on with even more serious (and ridiculous) trouble, it was also the look on Vince’s face as Howard stepped onto the landing and found Vince standing in the middle of the flat, eyes wide and mouth slack.

Howard was pretty sure someone’s must have died. Or Jagger had gone bald. Hard to tell with Vince.

“What is it, Vince? What’s happened?” Howard dropped his jazzercise bag and rushed across the room to grab Vince by the shoulders. “Have I gotten a call? Has someone… Is it my dad? Say something Vince!”

Vince swallowed, sort of half smiled. “Funny you should mention your dad, Howard…”

“Oh, no.” Howard cried, dropped his arms to his sides and sagged.

“Here,” Vince said, turning away from Howard’s Russian Sorrow to fetch something from the coffee table. He held it up.

It was a fish bowl.

“Look, Vince, I don’t have time for a game of Xooberonian Go Fish, alright. I haven’t even gotten the taste out of my mouth from last time, and besides, I’m a man in mourning!” Howard’s face crumpled. “Father!”

“Look, Howard, your dad’s not dead.”

“Oh. He isn’t? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Would you just hold your trumpets, you berk!” Vince snapped and shoved the fishbowl into Howard’s arms, then turned to fetch something else from the table. Howard looked into the bowl. It was a strange looking fish. A green fish with… pink fins? Was that a moustache? Did it just smile at him?

“Here,” Vince said, holding out a damp, crumpled, and stained sheet of paper. “This came with it.”

Howard took the letter, balancing the bowl in one hand. It was written in a wavy scrawl, in multiple colors.

Deerest Howard, my sweat man peech. You holde in your big, stronge hands the frute of our gloryus onion yunion. As soon as I squeezed him out of my gloweing mangyna, I decided he belonged with his fother, that’s you, my peech. I hope you can give him the lyfe I cant, in you’re big citty with you’re fansy lady wyfe, and rase our Younge Gregg up to live amonge the humens, like I never culd. Youll forgive the dampness of this letter, that’s just my salty teers, not teers of sadness but pane, as I’ve cut my fut on a broken bottle of Bailey’s. See, theirs some of my bludd their. You’res forevver, Olde Gregg Pee Ess: I got a mobyle now. Giv me a ringading if you neede any advice. I half to screene my calls, thou, so leave me a voycemale and I’ll get back to you. I’m Olde Gregg! Pee Ess Ess: Since you culdn’t be their for the berth, I made you a watercolour of the big event.

As if on cue, Vince handed him another, even more moist and wrinkled paper. Howard looked at it and frowned, then turned it sideways.

“I think it’s a close-up,” Vince offered.

Howard paled. “Oh God.”

“I know, it’s quite realistic!”

“No, Vince,” Howard said as he sat down heavily on the sofa, tossing the letter and painting aside, fish bowl still in his hand. “I don’t know how this could have happened.”

Vince sat next to him. “Oh, I bet you can figure it out.”

“I mean, we were…” Howard made a strange gesture with his free hand.

“Careful?” Vince suggested.

“Well I was certainly careful not to be murdered, but…”

“Maybe a bit overexcited?”

“Traumatized, more like.”

“Forgot a johnny, did you?”

“Oh God.”

“Look, it’s alright, Howard.” Vince rubbed his shoulder, “You’ll make a great dad. Well… a responsible dad, at least. He’ll be the safest, most organized kid in Shoreditch.”

Howard considered this. It would be nice to have someone to whom he could pass on his love of well organized stationery.

“And women love single fathers, Howard.”

“Yeah?”

“’Course. I mean… if that’s what you want.”

“But it’s not even a child, Vince, it’s more a pet, really.” Howard held up the bowl and looked at his son, daughter, fish. Brown eyes stared into black.

“No way, Howard, think of it like this, yeah? His mum, or whatever, was half human, you’re all human, he’s half you and, well… I ain’t really good at maths but I know that makes him a bit more human!”

Howard rubbed his chin, considering. He couldn’t do the math either.

“But I can’t raise a child on my own!”

Vince shrugged. “I could help.”

Howard made a strange face, “Yeah thanks, Vince. But you’ll get bored won’t you? You can’t take a child to a club, you know.”

“Get stuffed, I helped to raise baby animals in the jungle loads of times, plus you know I’m a gifted child. I could really get on well with the little guy. And anyway,” Vince leaned in to get a better look at Howard’s swimming offspring, “I think he’s well cute.”

Howard looked closer. It was… kind of cute… in a green, scaly, moustachioed way, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Takes after his dad,” Vince said, smiling, and Howard realized just how close their faces were, both of them peering into the bowl.

“Do you love me?”

“What?” Howard asked.

“I didn’t say anything,” Vince said.

“Do you love me? Daddy?”

“Howard, I think…”

“Oh dear.”

________

There isn't much to do at first. Keep his bowl clean, give him fish flakes a few times a day, keep Vince from giving him sweets (and pretend not to see at least one or two of the times when he does), and talk to him. Life's never been very simple for Howard, even if there is a simple truth to him as a man. He knows not everyone visits other planets and lives with talking apes. But it somehow doesn't make it any less strange the first time he talks to his son. Gregg's vocabulary is simple at first, consisting mostly of the phrase "do you love me" and "mmm, creamy" and various Parliament lyrics, so that the first time Howard nervously asks Gregg "hey, where you from?" Gregg offers to lick his funky soul. But he's a clever little tadpole, seeming to grow and mature so much faster than normal--that is, less special children, so that it's not long before Gregg is responding in more usual childlike babble, repeating phrases even if he doesn't understand them. Vince helps as well. And if Young Gregg says "yeah?" and "genius!" a little more than Howard would like, he's not going to complain. Vince actually spends a lot of time with Gregg, to Howard's surprise, sits at the sales counter much of the day, Gregg's bowl on the counter next to him, reading Cheekbone aloud in a slow, careful way, pressing pictures against the glass for Gregg to see while he comments on trending fashions that are well out as soon as the pages are printed.

________

Some evenings he'll sit on the sofa with Gregg in his bowl on the end table, and read Charlie books, or turn on the telly and show him music videos until Howard comes along and makes them watch a documentary on bees or Uruaguay. Vince groans at this, but stays and watches them too. They learned quite quickly, thanks to Gregg’s frantic splashing and wailing, not to watch ones about sharks or octopi. At night Gregg sleeps in his bowl on Howard's bedside table. He doesn't sleep well. It's the biggest problem they've had with him. Howard will often wake to his tiny, watery whimpering to find Gregg, visible in the glow of the night light they bought just for him, staring down at him with a reasonable facsimile of Howard’s own beady-eyed misery. "What's wrong, little man," Howard will say, and touch Gregg's bowl, and sit up and speak low and quiet to him, trying not to wake Vince across the room, until Gregg settles again. He gets most of his sleep during the day, when Howard and Vince are both up and about and bustling around. “I’m really worried about him, Vince,” Howard says one morning as he shaves, quiet so as not to wake Gregg, asleep now that it’s morning and the house is awake. Vince stands in the doorway in pants and socks and a tee, twisting his toe into the carpet. “Me, too,” he says. Howard looks at him in the mirror. There’s genuine concern on his pointy face. At any other time, any other subject, it would be comical, what with Vince’s hair all askew as he bites his lip, eyes wide and downturned.

“Really?” Howard asks. “’Course,” Vince sounds offended, “poor little guy. I remember what it was like, awake all night in the jungle when Brian was on tour and Jahooli was visiting his sister in Somerset. I couldn’t sleep, all alone in the treehouse, monkeys chattering outside the windows, the wind whistling through the bus tickets. Augh, it was a nightmare, Howard!” “Well this is hardly the jungle is it? Or a cave beneath a lake. It’s safe here. He’s completely safe.” “Yeah but he might not know that. Something’s wrong, Howard, the way he cries like that. It’s well heartbreaking.” Howard nods, rinses his face and dries it with a towel before he turns to Vince. “Wait a minute, how do you know what it sounds like? You sleep through it.” “As if I could!” Vince’s says, voice high but still soft, face full of concern, not irritation at being woken as Howard might expect. “I wake up every time, I hear you cooing and calming him. It’s quite sweet really.” He looks down. “Only, I don’t get out of bed ‘cause… I just reckon, you know, it ain’t my place.” Howard feels a swell of affection for Vince, frowning at his own socked feet, arms crossed defensively, concerned for someone besides himself. “Of course it is, Vince,” he says, putting a hand to Vince’s shoulder and squeezing when Vince looks up at him, blue eyes wide and soft, and Howard means to say something meaningful and encouraging, but then he realizes his hand is still on Vince’s shoulder, and instead he mumbles about tea and brushes past him in the doorway. ________ Gregg is awake by breakfast and swimming laps in his little bowl where it sits on the kitchen table. He and Vince seem to be in some secret confidence, Vince eyeing Howard over his shoulder when he thinks he’s not looking, and Gregg flitting from one side of his bowl to the other, alternately communicating with Vince in some wordless, child-fish way, then back to the other side to watch Howard’s back. Howard pretends not to notice, either being watched or their real goal, to feed Gregg bits of syrup-soaked pancakes. He whistles while he cooks, adding fishy puree to a small cup of batter. Bollo eyes Gregg’s bowl warily when an overexcited Gregg splashes water onto the table. “Bollo not think that sanitary,” he says. “You’re not sanitary, you grumpy monkey,” Naboo says, then flashes Vince a far-off but reassuring smile before he goes back to reading the Shaman Daily. “Bollo not see why Harold’s fish so special.” “Because he’s not my fish, Bollo,” Howard says defensively, pointing at Bollo with a rather dangerous looking spatula. “He’s my son. And I’ll thank you to refer to him that way!” “Him fishy freak.” “Oi!” “Whoa there!” “Alright, you prick!” Howard’s glad to have the rest of the house to back him up, but the combined outburst is loud and sudden, and in the silence that follows there’s a tiny noise, a sniffle, a whimper, and by the time they’ve all turned to look at the little bowl on the table, the fish-child within it, Gregg’s cries have started in earnest, loud and wobbly, bubbling up out of the water in great sobs. “You’ve frightened him!” Vince says to Bollo, screwing his face up in his best cockney snarl. “Not Bollo,” Bollo says, “you ballbags.” “I’ll have you, you... Christ I can’t even get my cockney bitch on.” Vince says, suddenly more miserable than angry. “Howard, fix him!” Howard picks up Gregg’s bowl and peers inside, his face big in the glass. “C’mon, little man, it’s okay.” “You’re just gonna scare ‘im more like that,” Naboo suggests. “I got somewhat could calm him down.” “No!” Howard and Vince shout in unison, upsetting Gregg further. “Oh, Howard… why’s he crying? I can’t stand it. Makes my heart all squeezy.” “He’s only startled, Vince. It’ll pass.” But Howard doesn’t feel as sure as he sounds. “Here, Howard, try this!” Vince says, trotting softly but quickly to the stereo and rifling through albums. “What are you doing?” Vince drops a record on the turntable. “Bowie, yeah?" Howard shakes his head. "How's that going to help? Wouldn't he prefer Parliament or Rick James, all things considered? Or maybe Coltrane?" "No way, Howard. He's got to have some awful associations with funk by now. And no one needs jazz. You want to kick him while he's down? But Bowie always mellows me out. And he loves it, we listened to it the other day, he did flips out of his bowl, it was genius!” “He can do flips?” “Yeah, you were down in the shop, it was that day I took off for personal hair reasons. We touched up my roots and listened to ‘Space Oddity’ on repeat.” “He can do flips?” “Look, just… everybody quiet, alright?” Howard looks down at the bowl in his hand, feeling helpless as Gregg looks up at him, eyes wide and pitiful, crying endlessly. The music starts, quiet and slow, and Gregg just continues to cry, gulping in little mouthfuls of water now and then. It’s difficult to watch. Howard didn’t think it was possible to feel so miserable. Suddenly there’s a ripple on the water that shouldn’t be there, and Howard is surprised to find his cheeks wet with his own tears. He quickly wipes them away and holds Gregg’s bowl out so there aren’t any more mishaps like with the koi carp. “How’s he doin’?” Vince asks, stepping closer. “Oh, well,” Howard looks and, to his surprise, Gregg’s stopped crying. He’s only frowning. But soon he’s waving his little tail and pushing himself along in time, and before the song’s over Howard gets to see him do a flip, fishy mouth grinning wide as he arcs gracefully and splashes neatly back into the bowl. Howard beams. Gregg smiles up at him. And Vince kisses his cheek. If Vince notices the salty taste of dried tears, he doesn’t mention it. _____ That night when Howard wakes once again to soft, watery cries, Vince is already padding lightly across the room. “He alright?” Vince asks, face drawn and sleepy in the dim glow of the night light. He sits on the edge of Howard’s bed and rubs at his eyes. Howard pushes himself up onto an elbow to check on Gregg who’s still sniffling but no longer whimpering. Vince leans in and smiles at him and Gregg presses his face against the glass and smiles back, then goes about his business of lazy night-swimming. Howard watches the affectionate exchange. “It’s you,” he says when Vince turns to him, smiling still, although it slips when Vince asks what he means. “You’re why he cries. I mean, because he wants you.” He pushes himself up in bed. “That’s not true, Howard, he just—“ Vince tries to argue but Howard knows there’s isn’t any denying it. “Howard…” He says softly. “It’s alright, Vince. Everyone loves you, don’t apologize for it.” “What, everyone?” Vince asks with a suggestive smirk but Howard ignores it, watching his hands, dark against the pale sheets. “I don’t think I’m right for this, Vince. Maybe I’m not meant to be a father. I didn’t even know he could do flips! Maybe… maybe he’d have been better off with his moth—with Gregg.” Vince scoffs. “I know that ain’t true.” “Look,” Howard says, breathing heavily, “you take him alright, let him sleep with you.” Vince draws back a bit, as if Howard has suggested he take tuba lessons. “No way, I won’t do that! He belongs with you, Howard, you’re a great dad. He’s just, you know, well I spend a lot of time with him, yeah? I’m more like a mate. Maybe—“ “Just take him, Vince.” Howard reaches out and picks up Gregg’s bowl, pushes it into Vince’s chest so that he has no choice but to take it. “Howard…” Vince looks miserable. Looking at him, brows drawn in concern, holding the familiar bowl, Howard feels almost like he did that morning. “Please,” he says, and waits for Vince to argue. When he doesn’t, Howard slides back down beneath the sheets, and turns over onto his side, his back to Vince and his son. After a moment he feels the bed shift, feels Vince stand and hears him walk across the room. The gentle sound of the Gregg’s bowl being sat on Vince’s bedside table is as loud as a shot in his heart. He’d been wrong. It is possible to feel more miserable. He tries to sleep. He can’t of course. So he’s awake when the sniffling begins again. “Howard,” Vince says as he taps Howard’s shoulder, standing beside his bed, Gregg’s bowl in hand. “What’s wrong Vince?” But he already knows. “It ain’t me, Howard. I think…” Vince places the bowl back where it belongs, next to Howard’s bed, and Howard turns to watch even as Vince sits again. As before, Gregg quickly quiets and settles, watching them through the glass. Howard looks up at Vince, astonished. Vince smiles softly. “I think it’s both of us, Howard.” Before Howard knows he’s doing it, he hears himself laughing quietly. “Shift a bit?” Vince asks and Howard does, allowing Vince to crawl in bed beside him. “Just…” Howard says. “I know!” Vince whispers with his hands raised in the universal gesture of ‘I won’t touch you!’ They’re almost asleep when something occurs to Howard. “Maybe you’re not so much a mate,” he says, “more like… a step dad?” “Step mum?” Vince suggests in a sleepy slur and Howard agrees with an amused hum. _________ In the morning Howard wakes beneath a pile of Vince, and Gregg’s so hard and fast asleep he’s practically floating. Howard has to tap the bowl to stop himself panicking, watches as Gregg twitches and swims a bit, still asleep. Howard sighs in relief, then settles back down against the bed and, in defiance of all his own rules of timeliness and efficiency, tucks in for a bit more sleep. At breakfast Vince whispers into the bowl, breath rippling the water as Gregg nods with childish glee. Howard watches. He’s not sure it’s possible to be more happy. Bollo lumbers in, shoulders drooping, clearly feeling the glares of the others as he sits at the table. "Morning, Bollo," Howard says as he sips his tea, hoping to dispel the tension. Bollo hangs his head when Naboo glares at him. "Bollo sorry he insult Howard's fish-- er, son," he corrects when Naboo kicks his hairy shin with a curly shoe. "Him not fishy freak. Well, maybe him fishy freak, but Bollo talking ape. Live in stone house. Throw glass." "Thanks, Bollo," Howard says. "Go on, then," Vince is whispering to Gregg who shyly swims to face Bollo's end of the table. He opens his little red lips as if to speak, but only bubbles come out. He looks at Vince for approval. "S'alright, he deserves it." "Vince, what--" but Howard is interrupted by Gregg's excited, watery voice. "Uncle Bollo is a monkey idiot!" "Vince! Gregg!" Howard cries. Vince only laughs and Gregg joins him, swimming circles around his bowl. Naboo grins, although it's not really any different from the expression he's been wearing all morning. "Sorry, Bollo," Howard says, but Bollo's too busy watching Gregg's antics with surprised affection. "Bollo always wanted to be uncle. Not in creepy way. Bollo teach him ways of the jungle. And DJ skills." "I was thinking I might share a few Shaman secrets with him, bit of basic magic. Potions, yeah? He could be my apprentice." "No way, he's going to be the first hybrid merman popstar! My glam rock protégé! Right, Howard? Howard?" But Howard's too busy smiling his unsettling smile at the group gathered around the breakfast table, heart fit to burst like a trumpet blast, surrounded by this unlikely group that is apparently, illogically, his family.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #Howard Moon #old gregg #Vince Noir #howince #old gregg/howard moon #howard moon/old gregg #vince/howard #Howard Moon/Vince Noir #Vince Noir/Howard Moon #Naboo #naboo the enigma #bollo

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Queerly Beloved

Author: SmilesAwakeYou

Year: 2009

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Garth Marenghi, Dean Learner, Todd Rivers, Dr. Rick Dagless, Lucien Sanchez, Liz Asher, Thornton Reed, Julian OC, Noel OC

Adjusting his tie and shifting the book in his hand, Garth regarded the camera aimed at his handsome face. He raised a brow and opened the pages of Blood Gush to read the genius that lied therein. Mustering all of his strength, he tried to think of what exactly it was he was trying to convey to the camera. What did newscasters call it again? Ah yes. Gravity. So, with all the gravity he could muster, he stared the camera down as inspired words tumbled from his lips. “’Ah,’ she yelled, clawing at the bloody stump that was once her beautiful pearly alabaster arm. ‘My arm, my bloody arm, what have you done with it you ruddy bastard?’ “’Eaten it, of course,’ replied the rabid magical badger who was still noshing on the bloody vestiges of her once beautiful appendage. With that, she kicked ‘im in the head so hard, his eyeballs popped out and exploded like two water balloons full of cream getting hit by a lorry.’” Turning his full attention back to the camera, Garth arched his eyebrow once more. “Hello. That was my terrifying and harrowing epic Blood Gush, a tale of a woman caught in a lie betwixt herself and a satanic cult of terrifying woodland animals.” He allowed a small smile to flit across his face. “Let’s see if you can muster up the courage to travel alone in the woods again after reading that bit of literature.” He killed the smile as a sudden burst of gravity hit him, causing him to scowl. “In my television program, Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace, I sought to venture into the deepest, darkest, most dankest vestibules of my twisted psyche. What were my fears? What were my terrors? What had made me most whiz the bed as a kid? “As I answered those and many other unanswerable questions, I came to realize that the horror I had to spill upon the unsuspecting world would leave her crippled, mangled, like a bird that’s run into a closed window because it’s so stupid it can’t see that it’s glass and then leaves a streak of blood there that I’ve then got to go and clean up because my wife’s too squeamish, even though Sheffield United is playing. Because of this, Darkplace was canceled. That and the Beeb found out it had more stock footage of baby animals than it had originally thought, leading to the premiere of Baby Animals Yawning Are Quite Cute, Yeah? now entering its 25th season. “Anyway, as I questioned and pondered and schemed and was generally brilliant, I came up with an episode so mind-shakingly and bowl-movingly earth-shattering that it was never allowed on air… much like the other six episodes. Of course, it dealt with very sensitive issues and, with the help of my producer Dean Learner” – a picture of Dean and Garth flashed across the screen, both of them looking dapper as Dean stroked his glorious moustache – “we wrote what proved to be the most harrowing episode yet. An episode that dealt with… the Gay Issue.” Garth paused, waiting for such a monumentous statement to really sink in and stick to his viewers’ sides. “So join me now and sift through the demented horrors from my brain as this episode, previously unaired on British television, is seen for the first time. Unless you’re from Finland. They got a hold of it there somehow. We may be suing.” ******* CUE OPENING CREDITS EPISODE #7: “QUEERLY BELOVED” DR RICK DAGLESS, MD walks down a hallway in slow motion. Various hospital goers look on in impressed wonderment. He is truly a great man, as is evident from his walking prowess. DAGLESS [voiceover] Darkplace. It’s a bit mad to work in a place this dark. All this mad darkness can get to a lesser man. Sometimes I think I might just have to blow this popsicle stand and go somewhere a bit less mad and dark. LIZ and SANCHEZ walk by, waving merrily. But, hey, they people here ain’t so bad. Plus, were I to leave everything would go to shit. Cut to THORNTON’s office. THORNTON is sitting at the desk, smoking a cigar and stroking his moustache. DAGLESS [voiceover] Thornton Reed. Now there’s a mangy old grizzly bear if I’ve ever seen one. Which I haven’t but I have seen specials on the Beeb and they are quite impressive. Anyway, Thornton had called me in to discuss some very important business which was business as usual, given the fact that I was his official important-business go-to guy. DAGLESS So, what’s the word, Thornton? THORNTON Puts down his phone Oh, Dag! I cannot believe how mad and dark this place is. So mad and dark! If you were to leave, everything would go to shit. DAGLESS [voiceover] See? DAGLESS Well what dark madness is afoot today? THORNTON Well, you see, there’s some mess happening with one of our morticians. Turns out he’s gone missing! DAGLESS Missing you say? THORNTON Yes. DAGLESS Well, that’s no good. Probably off fucking about with one of the cadavers. THORNTON Laughs heartily before looking deadly serious. Now Dag, dead bodies aren’t something to joke about. Especially since all the cadavers are male! Necrophilia is one thing but gay necrophilia is a horse of a different color. Specifically all the colors… meaning a rainbow-painted horse. A gay, rainbow-painted, dead horse. DAGLESS Gives a manly laugh. If that’s one thing I can’t abide by, it’s anal sex with dead bodies. SANCHEZ and LIZ enter SANCHEZ What’s Rick talking about? His normal Friday night? LIZ Now come on fellas, there’s a lady present. DAGLESS Hardly! Everyone laughs at the hilarious joke. LIZ Still laughing. Oh, I find it so attractive when men put me in my place! THORNTON Striking his desk with resolve. Now now. Let’s come to order. As I was telling Rick, there’s a small order of business concerning a missing mortician. DAGLESS Necrophiliac you mean. Everyone laughs. THORNTON Now Dag, while I too find the prospect of a man getting his jollies by do the genital jamboree with some dead sod downright hilarious, we still need to figure out just where in the Dickens he might have got to. LIZ Is it possible he might have gone home? THORNTON Trust a woman to come up with such a stupidly hair-brained idea. He shakes his head. No, Liz, he hasn’t gone home because he CAN’T go home. He sleeps here. Prefers to, actually. Plus he’s contractually obligated. All the morticians are. Can’t have them running about, giving away secrets of the dead to just anyone. SANCHEZ Well where could he have got to? DAGLESS I don’t know. But wherever he’s got, we’ll find him. I think we should start in the basement. THORNTON Right, you three go down there to the morgue and I will stay here and make sure he’s not skulking about in the proper hospital. DAGLESS Sounds like a plan. ********* INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER Dean, his mustache twitching thoughtfully, gave the camera a baleful look. “Now, when Garth came to me with this idea, I thought he was downright mad. A whole episode about the gays? Preposterous! But then he sat me down and actually talked out the plot with me and, well, I’ll be diddled with a fiddle stick if it wasn’t downright brilliant.” INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI Arching an eyebrow, Garth regarded the camera. “Now, you might find it interesting to know that we actually created more of a stink with our talk about morticians than the homos. Surprising, that. Turns out morticians are very easily offended. It’s not our fault that their jobs almost invariably involve bumming the dead.” INTERVIEW WITH TODD RIVERS Todd, shifting in his chair, steepled his fingers as he contemplated the camera. “Well, yes, when Garth told me about the subject matter of this episode, I was duly alarmed but it is my duty as an actor to overcome all obstacles, no matter how gay. Actually, the thing I ended up taking issue with the most was all that bad-talking about morticians. I got an advanced copy of the script and told Garth, ‘Hey now! What have you got against morticians?’ You see, my grandfather worked in a morgue and I remember many a happy childhood day spent romping about, putting make-up on corpses and coming home smelling of grandma’s pie and formaldehyde. But Garth stuck to his guns and, yes, I think the episode benefited from it in the end.” ******* Cut to the basement. It is dreary and dripping noises sound from all around. DAGLESS [voiceover] Now this was certainly an odd case. Morticians are notorious for being boring and not having much of a life, so where could this one have disappeared to? It was quite a mystery indeed. SANCHEZ Oh, hey now, what was that? LIZ I didn’t hear anything. DAGLESS That means absolutely jack shit, Liz. It’s a well-known fact that men have a superior sense of hearing to women. What did it sound like, Sanch? SANCHEZ It sounded like a distant moaning. DAGLESS A distant moaning? SANCHEZ Yes. DAGLESS My, that is odd. LIZ Perhaps we should go down to the morgue? DAGLESS My God, Liz, no one likes a pushy woman. But perhaps you’re right. LIZ I’m sorry, Rick, that was out of line. DAGLESS It’s alright. There’s a wailing noise, like man mourning the loss of a child. Or that of a wounded monkey. SANCHEZ Hey now, what could that be? LIZ It sounds like it’s coming from the morgue. DAGLESS Only one thing to do then. Let’s go! They all begin to run in slow motion. Cut to MORGUE. DENNIS THE MORTICIAN pulls up his pants and whirls around. DENNIS Oh, Dr. Dagless. Other doctors. I didn’t hear you coming. SANCHEZ Well, you seem like you were too busy doing some “coming” yourself. DENNIS His small eyes dart about like a shrimp. I was just changing my pants. DAGLESS Right, well, we’re not here to discuss your disgusting habits. We came here to discuss a missing mortician. DENNIS Oh, you mean Maurice? Yes, he’s been missing since this morning. DAGLESS Any idea where he could’ve got to? DENNIS No. Not one. Though he did say that one of the bodies was behaving… strangely. Everyone exchanges a look. SANCHEZ Strangely, you say? DENNIS Yes. Strangely. Then he buggered off. Suddenly, the moaning noise is heard again. SANCHEZ Sweet holy moley, Dag, what was that? DAGLESS I dunno, but it’s sending chills right up the old spine chord. LIZ Perhaps we should go investigate? DAGLESS You and your bright ideas, Liz. The moaning continues. But perhaps this once you’re right…. Again. SANCHEZ Pulls out his pistol. C’mon lads! And lady. Let’s go find us a mortician! DAGLESS, LIZ, SANCHEZ and DENNIS all take off, running in glorious slow motion with intense music drumming in the background. They enter a small, dark room with candles and spiderwebs everywhere. DAGLESS [voiceover] As soon as we entered the room, I knew something was afoot. This was some bad joojoo. SANCHEZ I don’t feel good about this, Dag. DAGLESS I know. I know. DENNIS whips around and points to a corner. DENNIS Oh God! What is that? LIZ shrieks. LIZ Oh my, how horrible! A man with fantastic hair lurches forward, flinging out his arms and doing jazz hands in a sparkly red jumpsuit before grabbing SANCHEZ as his gun goes off. SANCHEZ and the man grapple and wrestle until DAGLESS jumps in to pull them apart. Throwing the man off of SANCHEZ, he pulls a cross out of his shirt. DAGLESS Be gone, foul creature! The man hisses and sashays away. DENNIS My God, that was Maurice! DAGLESS It’s too late now. You’re friend has become a vampire. A demon of the night. Nosferatu. LIZ Oh my! How could such a thing happen? DAGLESS Well, when you’re messing about with dead bodies all day, it’s no wonder that a vampire might sneak its way in. Turns to SANCHEZ. You alright? You’re holding your neck. SANCHEZ Holding his neck. Oh, I do believe I’ll be alright, old friend. He falls to his knees. But I think I also got bitten. He falls completely on the floor. DAGLESS drops to his knees and rips open his shirt. DAGLESS Nooooooo!! SANCHEZ picks his head up. SANCHEZ Well, I don’t think I’m dead yet, so you might still be able to save me. His head falls to the floor again. DAGLESS Oh. Alright. ******** INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER “People actually seemed surprised that Garth and I wrote this episode together. To be fair, it was Garth’s concept to begin with. But then I got in on the action which some people – i.e. my wife - found rather suspect. I mean, what’s so strange about two men researching an episode about gayness by going to pubs that cater almost exclusively to homosexuals? Sure, the experience was disgusting, but it was also educational.” He paused. “And hazy.” ****** Cut to a hospital bed where SANCHEZ is lying down, a bandage around his neck. SANCHEZ Thanks for dragging me out of that hell hole, friends. DAGLESS Not a problem, mate. I know you’d do the same for me. DAGLESS [voiceover] The problem was that we didn’t know when the vampirism would manifest itself. Or how. LIZ Don’t worry, Sanchez. You’ll be good as new soon. SANCHEZ Thanks, Liz. DAGLESS turns to DENNIS. DAGLESS Now you: go and try and find out where Maurice or whatever’s left of him could’ve disappeared to. I’ve got to go talk to Reed. Cut to THORNTON’S office. THORNTON Pounding his desk authoritatively. I don’t like it, Dag, I don’t like it one bit. A vampire? In this hospital? Now that is just a pain in my arse. And neck. DAGLESS I don’t like it much either, Reed. Not at all. And there was something a bit off with this vampire. He was a bit… fabulous. THORNTON Fabulous? What in God’s great glorious manteats do you mean by that? DAGLESS …I don’t know, Reed. I just don’t know. DAGLESS [voiceover] But I did know. Or at least, I had an inkling. I suspected that this vampire might be the rare kind… the campy kind. A gay vampire. ******* INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER “It was actually my idea to make it be vampires that would spread the gayness. Because, you know, gayness – just like vampirism – is spread through the blood.” He glanced over behind the camera to where the producer was shaking his head. “Oh, it isn’t? Well, anyway, that’s what we thought at the time. I originally wanted to call the vampires ‘campires’ – get it? Campy vampires? – but Garth didn’t get it and I thought… it Garth doesn’t get it, who in blue blazes will? So we chucked it. Best decision I’ve ever made.” INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI Garth regarded the camera with an annoyed look. “We ended up running into a bit of a problem with the gay community given the fact that the gayness could be transmitted through the blood. Something about AIDS or some bollocks. So I just said, ‘look, I don’t get all uppity when one of you tries to play it straight, alright? So don’t get in my face when I try and give you people some airtime.’” He smirked and settled back in his chair. “And that ended that argument.” He paused. “Although we weren’t allowed to air the episode. But that’s neither here nor there.” ******* Cut to SANCHEZ’s bedside. He is unconscious and DAGLESS sits beside him, looking manly and concerned. DAGLESS [voiceover] I was worried about Sanchez. Would he be turned gay? Or would he just become a vampire? I wasn’t sure which was worst. Sure, getting my blood sucked out by my best friend was bad enough but getting chatted up by him as well? That was just bone-chilling. SANCHEZ stirs. DAGLESS Can you hear me buddy? It’s your friend, Dag. Just know that I won’t rest until you’re back to normal. Of course, I might also have to give you a stake through the heart but, well, that’s something I’d be willing to do to save you. SANCHEZ In a faint voice. …Dag? DAGLESS moves in closer. DAGLESS Yeah, mate? SANCHEZ I… I feel strange… like… like someone’s doing the electric boogaloo in my Johnson… I’ve got the strange urge to… to dance to ABBA… DAGLESS Shh, it’s ok old friend. SANCHEZ I… I think I might fancy… Boy George… DAGLESS Fight it, Sanch, fight it! SANCHEZ I… Dag? DAGLESS Yeah? SANCHEZ What am I wearing? With that he pulls down his sheets to reveal that he is wearing cut-off jean shorts and a bedazzled silver top as well as a kerchief. His eyes have also gone red and vampire fangs appear. DAGLESS raises an anguished fist. DAGLESS Nooooo! THORNTON and LIZ burst in as SANCHEZ prances up to try and bite DAGLESS. They struggle until DAGLESS gets out his cross again, throwing the transformed SANCHEZ off of him. SANCHEZ cowers in glorious slow motion. SANCHEZ Waaaaargh! ******** INTERVIEW WITH TODD RIVERS Todd crinkled his forehead, his fingers still steepled. “Uh, in that scene I was actually meant to kiss Dagless rather fervently on the mouth. But, as I’ve stated in previous interviews, there’s no limit to my acting… save when it comes to making whoopee with another man. Because while I may be a professional, I’m still straighter than two jockstraps filled with testosterone. And me trying to do the tongue tango with a bloke, well… it just wouldn’t be convincing. Even if I acted my ruddy pants off.” ********* The fighting continues until SANCHEZ is thrown off DAGLESS, causing him to lash out at both LIZ and THORNTON. DAGLESS Get away from them you animal! But it is for naught because both LIZ and THORNTON are bitten. THORNTON Oh, oh ow! That ruddy hurts, it does! LIZ Oh, I do believe I have been wounded! SANCHEZ pauses before running out and DAGLESS goes to the doorway. DAGLESS I will find you and get you! LIZ and THORNTON both fall to the floor. Oh no! Liz! Reed! He looks to the sky. Noooooooo! Sanchez! You gay bastard! Dennis bursts in. DENNIS Dagless! I believe I found out who the root of the problem is! He looks around. What happened here? DAGLESS They got bitten by Sanchez. I’ve got to go stop him before he bites anyone else. DENNIS But wait! You know that body that Maurice had said was behaving strangely? DAGLESS Yes? DENNIS Turns out he’s the head vampire! Only he, uh, bit me too. He continues to look unharmed. DAGLESS looks him up and down. DAGLESS Where? DENNIS shifts uncomfortably before gesturing to his bathing suit area. Ah. Well, where is this vampirical bummer? DENNIS Downstairs. Hurry! DAGLESS runs out of the door. Cut to the basement again. It is still dark and dank and drippy. DAGLESS is running through the halls in slow motion. DAGLESS [voiceover] Now this was worrisome. The head vampire? Here? In this very basement? That was quite the head scratcher. Why here? Why Darkplace? Why Sanchez? This bastard was going to answer those questions. And more. DAGLESS enters the cave-like room that MAURICE was in before. There is a man standing there in a purple cape with his back to DAGLESS. DAGLESS Oi! You! The vampire turns around. He has on sparkly gloves and a pink fedora. He hisses. VAMPIRE How did you find me, lovie? DAGLESS By my own wits. That and Dennis told me you were down here. VAMPIRE Really? He didn’t seem to mind me too much before. DAGLESS Scowls in disgust. Hey, what you do in the privacy of your own home is your business. Except for when you’re at my hospital. The VAMPIRE starts to advance but DAGLESS whips out his cross again, stopping him in his tracks. Nope, not so fast. Now tell me… why are you here? VAMPIRE Very well. I can tell your will as well as your heterosexuality is too strong for me to sway. He sweeps his cloak and walks around the room, DAGLESS mirroring him. I came to this hospital by accident – I had been hiding out after wreaking havoc on a naval yard by posing as a dead body – and couldn’t help but bite that pretty Maurice when I saw him. Now that I’ve seen this place, I’ve realized that the hostpital is no place for a woman… it is a place for big, beautiful, capable men doctors. And I love it! Not even you can stop me from making this into one big poof factory! Because that is the goal of the gay vampire: MAKE EVERYONE ELSE GAY! DAGLESS I can stop you and I will stop you! Just you wait! The VAMPIRE cackles before disappearing in a plume of smoke, leaving DAGLESS alone and coughing. The others! DAGLESS dashes out of the cave. ******** INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI “Now, there were accusations that this episode was homophobic.” Garth scoffed, leaning forward to regard the camera. “So, yeah, maybe I do find bumming grotesque, but this episode is about awareness, yeah? To show that homos are people too. Or rather anyone can be gay.” He thought for a moment. “Or a vampire.” INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER “Yeah, I heard lots of things, right, like ‘oh, you’re perpetuating the stereotype that gay is contagious’ but no!” Dean pointed a decisive finger at the camera. “No. We were trying to show that it’s not contagious.” He paused, stroking his moustache. “Lest of course you exchange bodily fluids. Big difference.” ****** Cut to THORNTON’s office. SANCHEZ and THORNTON are dancing to loud techno music while DENNIS and MAURICE throw satsumas at each other in their underwear and giggle. THORNTON is dressed only in a mesh shirt and a banana hammock. Everyone has fangs. DAGLESS bursts in, breathless. DAGLESS No! No men! Remember you’re men, not poofs! Everyone ignores him. SANCHEZ runs his fingers through THORNTON’s hair and grinds against him. ****** INTERVIEW WITH TODD RIVERS Todd’s hands fell into his lap and he shifted, avoiding the camera lens with his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t actually remember filming that scene.” ********* DAGLESS Turn off the techno! Put on your pants! Stop with the glitter! The VAMPIRE enters in a cloud of smoke, laughing. VAMPIRE All are powerless to the draw of manflesh! He outstretches his hand, flashing his fangs at DAGLESS. Join us, Rick! Join usssss. DAGLESS Never! At that moment, LIZ enters. Her arm is wrapped around another very attractive nurse. LIZ Hi, Dag. So you found the head vampire? DAGLESS nods. Oh, well, I’m a lesbian now. This is Nancy. NANCY Hi! LIZ Isn’t she adorable? DAGLESS Er… LIZ and NANCY begin to snog. It is very hot. Everyone stops dancing to stare at them. MAURICE drops a satsuma. VAMPIRE What? Why did you stop dancing? Keep going! Grind on each other! DAGLESS laughs a manly laugh. DAGLESS You forgot, vampire, the only thing a heterosexual man can never forget: that lesbians are HOT. VAMPIRE Nooooo! DAGLESS And now, for your weakness… He pulls out a wooden stake. Stake to the heart! At that, he thrusts the stake into the VAMPIRE’s heart. He shrieks and disappears. The techno music turns off and everyone goes back to wearing their normal clothes save MAURICE, who stays in the red jumpsuit. LIZ and NANCY stop making out, causing everyone to groan. SANCHEZ Come on, Liz! Don’t stop now! LIZ Sorry fellas, I’m back on men. SANCHEZ Hey-o! LIZ …Except for Sanchez. SANCHEZ …Hey! THORNTON Thank Christ on a cracker for you Dag! I was actually beginning to think Duran Duran was a stellar band! And Sanchez’ pecs were driving me absolutely nutty. SANCHEZ Thanks, Reed. But thank you more, Dag. Without you, we all would have been bumming within the hour. MAURICE Yeah, thanks for saving us! DAGLESS Don’t mention it. Just remember to be more careful when you muck about with those dead bodies from now on, ok? DENNIS Will do. Now we need to get back downstairs to those cadavers. DAGLESS And your necrophilia! Everyone laughs for a good two minutes. MAURICE Alright, thanks again! MAURICE and DENNIS begin to leave, holding hands. SANCHEZ Um, you fellows do know you don’t need to do that anymore right? They exchange a look and drop their hands. DENNIS Right, yes, sure, it’s a… a mortician thing. THORNTON Right… or a gay thing! Everyone laughs again as the camera pans to look at each of their mirthful faces. Cut to the roof of Darkplace. DAGLESS is standing, solitary, overlooking the city below. DAGLESS [voiceover] That day we dealt with vampires, sparkly shirts, gays and, most importantly, the hotness that is two women snogging each other. What did we learn? Was there a point to it all? Had that mortician really been boning a dead body? Was there a reason why that other mortician had been dressed like a very tarty woman? Did Liz have any lingering bisexual tendencies? These and other questions had to be pondered. But for now, we were all a little bit older, a little bit wiser and a little bit more wary about going into the basement. ********** INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER Dean shifted in his chair, cocking his head and lighting a cigar. “Sure, so maybe the focus groups didn’t go wild for the episode but I thought it was a hell of a success.” He paused, looking wistful and taking a puff. “I just didn’t see why my wife felt the need to use it as evidence during our divorce.” INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI Garth leaned back in his chair, an earnest look on his face. “So, as you can see, there was absolutely no homophobia in this episode. Only truth. And two hot women getting it on. So, really, the gays didn’t need to get all up in arms about it. And the guy who played the Vampire? Absolutely did not need to sue us. I mean, how was I to know he was actually gay? You should really warn people about that before they accidentally make jokes about poofters and shirt-lifters in front of you, expecting you to laugh.” Garth regarded the camera with utmost seriousness. “It’s just common courtesy.” CUE END CREDITS

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #Garth Marenghi's Darkplace #darkplace #garth marenghi #Dean Learner #Todd Rivers #liz asher #Lucien Sanchez #rick dagless #Thornton Reed #dean learner/todd rivers

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Breakfast on Pluto

Author: Silent_Fields

Year: 2010

Rating: G

Pairing: Howard/Vince

Howard spends the night a few months after becoming friends with Vince. After endless hours full of fun and mischief, Howard is roused in the morning by breakfast in bed. Vince hands him a plate of thick, star-shaped pancakes dusted with pale blue sugar, covered in swirls of syrup. Howard had no idea breakfast could be like this. "It's a Plutonian friendship breakfast!" Vince explains as he balances a knife and fork on the edge of Howard's plate. "Plutonian?" "Yeah! Pluto's so far out in space, not a lot of people live there. So when they do manage to make friends they go all out." When Howard doesn't reply Vince gets a sinking feeling in his stomach that ruins his appetite. Howard is his first human friend and Vince still has trouble figuring out how to behave around children his age. What if he doesn't like pancakes? Or breakfast?? "Howard, you'll still be my friend on Pluto, right?" Vince asks, biting his lip. Howard looks up from his unbelievable breakfast, at the first person in his ten years of life that's ever wanted to be his friend. "I'd be your friend on any planet in the universe," he replies.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #Howard Moon #Vince Noir #howince #vince/howard #Howard Moon/Vince Noir

[ancientbooshartifacts]

A Day in the Life

Author: Hat_FM

Year: 2010

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Harold Boom/Lance Dior

It's nine in the morning and Harold's been up for at least an hour already when Lance wanders into their extremely tiny kitchen. Harold doesn't even look up from the paper he's reading. He doesn't have to look to know that Lance, his life-long friend and flatmate, is in an ugly mood.

"You're up early today," he says, attempting to make some sort of small talk. "I couldn't sleep last night," Lance replies through gritted teeth, pulling a box of horribly sugary cereal from a shelf and pouring it into the nearest bowl. "I just keep wondering... what's he doing right now, the smug little shit. He's even in my fucking dreams, Harold." "Milk?" Harold holds out the bottle and doesn't flinch when it's snatched roughly from his hand. Pretty soon, the cereal is drowning in a sea of dairy, being furiously devoured. Harold finally looks up from his reading. "I'd slow down if I were you. I doubt that's doing much for your digestion." "Thank you so very for your insightful commentary on my dietary habits. I'll be sure to keep your advice well in mind," Lance says bitterly, throwing the spoon down in disgust. "Fuck this. I'm going back to sleep." ***** It's now a quarter to one and Lance is perched, precariously on a stool, busily flipping through the latest issue of Cheekbone Magazine, oblivious to the rest of the world. The smell of chicken stir-fry heavy in the air as Harold prepares their afternoon meal. "Lance, taste this. Tell me what you think. "Harold hands him a forkful of vegetables. He chews, swallows and hands the fork back. "It's good," he mutters noncommittally before turning back to the glossy pages of his magazine. At least his mood's improved. ***** Three forty-five and they're in the Nabootique. Lance is sequestered behind a clothes rack, studying Vince Noir's every move and failing utterly to be subtle about it. What few customers there are are all staring at him, peeking through the drainpipes and jackets like some sort of glam wilderness explorer. Harold tries in vain to distract himself from this embarrassment by flipping intently through the rack of jazz LPs. He can feel his cheeks burning with shame at the spectacle his companion is making of himself and he would like nothing more than to grab Lance by wrist and drag him out of there. Instead, he flips through the records yet another time and tries to pretend he's somewhere else.

Five o'clock even and the two of them are sitting in a tiny, hole-in-the-wall café. Lance is talking animatedly about some band Harold's never even heard of, his triple caramel mocha latte sitting untouched in front of him. Harold doesn't say anything, just slowly but steadily sipping his mug of French Roast. "Why do you even bother with him Lance," Harold interjects, the question already out of his mouth before he can think to stop it. "What... what do you mean?" Lance becomes silent, a look of utter perplexity on his angular face. "I mean why do you keep trying to copy this Vince Noir fellow? You aren't enjoying it. It doesn't make you happy. It's like a job for you. No wonder you're dreaming about him." Harold takes another sip of coffee. "So tell me. Why do you keep doing this if it makes you so bloody miserable?" Lance looks absolutely tiny now and utterly deflated. "I don't even know. Because I hate myself so much, I want to be someone else, even if it is copying." "I know. Maybe you should take a little holiday from your lucrative career emulating Mr. Noir." Harold smirks, arching an eyebrow suggestively. "A holiday." Lance fixes him with a withering stare. "I'm supposed to just drop everything and go gallivanting about?" "Well it wouldn't be all that far. Just down the road for some booze and some take-away. Give me one good reason why we shouldn't do this and I will concede." "I... I just can't." Lance stares down at his untouched coffee and frowns. "Not good enough, I'm afraid. Any more excuses or is that it?" "If you don't mind my asking, why are you so keen on me going on this little pseudo-holiday anyway?" Harold puts down his coffee and gently takes Lance's face in his hands. "Because I want you to be happy and to stop being such a miserable bastard all the time. So... what do you say?" Lance is speechless. ***** It's well past midnight now as they come staggering into their flat, arms laden with take-away and booze coursing through their veins. Harold is smiling as he guides his wayward companion to a nearby armchair and goes to deposit their bounty of food in the kitchen. Looking back, he catches a glimpse of Lance, stretched out contentedly, luxuriating like some spangly jungle cat. For once, he seems at ease, comfortable in his own skin. Harold knows it won't last, that promises will be forgotten and old habits taken up once again but for now, he's determined to enjoy it. Even a short holiday is better than none.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #Vince Noir #lance dior #harold boom #lance dior/harold boom #harold boom/lance dior

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Man to Man

Author: Eggnogged & The_Reverend

Year: 2010

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Dean Learner/Todd Rivers

"Come on, sweetheart, a bit more enthusiasm? Fucking fake it if you have to, Christ. Good thing you've got some nice tits because you won't be getting anywhere in this business on your acting chops alone." The girl had been okay with the threesome. She’d taken Dean’s matter-of-fact bossy attitude in stride, she had only looked mildly annoyed when Dean had slapped her arse and told her to get on her knees. But that? That clearly strikes a nerve. Even Todd winces, his mouth stretching in a clear ‘yikes’ expression as the girl, a young aspiring actress whose name he doesn’t even know, stands up from between them, slaps Dean hard across the face, makes a quick grab for her discarded clothes, and walks out of the door, her high heels clacking loudly on the hardwood floor of Dean’s home office cum lounge. Dean looks unperturbed, just smirks a bit at Todd and rolls his eyes, as though this is the sort of thing that happens to him all the time. Which it probably does. Todd realizes he’s still got his own cock in his hand and quickly releases it, feeling a bit awkward. This is a new development in what’s becoming a regular tryst in Dean’s home, and now that the girl’s gone, it might not be deemed appropriate to keep on jerking off. But then Dean shoves his smoldering cigar between his teeth to free both of his hands, one of which lands on a huge television remote to unmute the porno that's been playing on the large television, the other goes to his groin naturally, to fondle his still spit-slick cock. So Todd takes up his own once again, following Dean’s lead and turning to face the television. Dean shrugs. "Fuck her," he says after he's removed the cigar again. It smokes unchecked in the hand not on his dick. "Well, not anymore." "That's why the skin business is so successful, Todd, manic fucking birds like that, can't take a bit of criticism. It's no wonder I'm in a multi-million dollar industry. Look at her," He points to the screen and Todd realizes he'd been watching Dean the whole time. There’s a blonde with big, red lips getting fucked between her enormous tits and she's moaning like a cock on her chest is what she always wanted as a little girl, rather than a pony. Dean continues, "She knows how to take it. Criticism, I mean. She isn't gonna be offended if you tell her faster, wetter, bit more ball fondling. She isn't gonna get up and strop off as long as there's a dick left standing, you know what I mean?" Todd nods but he's only half listening. His gaze had abandoned Dean's perfect woman not long after landing on her, and now they're cut painfully to the side, watching as Dean alternates rhythm, stroking himself between his open fly. Both of them are half undressed, shirts open where the girl had giggled over the curls on Dean's chest, and had pinched at Todd's sensitive nipples. But somehow, where Todd feels disheveled and awkward, Dean looks a treat, pressed and wrinkled in all the right places, long and lean, thick and hard. And warm, so warm even though they're not quite touching, close enough for Todd to smell Dean's aftershave. “You need a thick skin if you want to make it in this business, she’s going to learn that pretty sharpish – she’ll come crawling back soon enough. They all do, in the end. You can take yourself as seriously as you like, talk about your ‘art’ and your ‘career’, but in the end it’s all about sex, Todd. These projects of Garth’s, they’re good, nice for your public image. But they don’t bring in the money. Fucking, on the other hand! Fucking always brings in the money.” It surprises him, this comfortable monologue, not that Dean's ever been anything but comfortable talking about sex. Todd knows too well that Dean can describe, with graphic if not exactly poetic detail, every nipple, arse and snatch of his acquaintance. “Yeah,” Todd says, and turns his head just a fraction, so he can take in Dean’s wet lips, swollen from kissing that girl, and the way the muscles of his forearm move under his smooth skin as he jerks himself off, an image a million times more appealing than any porno in the world. Dean doesn’t seem to notice where Todd’s attention is focused, his eyes still on the Technicolor pink flesh jiggling on the screen. “I’ve told you before, Todd, if you’re ever in need of more work, all you gotta do is ask. I’m sure I can find a place for you in one of my productions.” Dean turns to glance at Todd as he says it, and it’s too late to look away, too late to pretend he hasn’t been staring. But Dean just smirks, undaunted, and raises an eyebrow. He moves his arm to give Todd a clear view of his cock, angling his hips just so, putting on a bit of a show. “Of course, that might not be to your tastes. That’s alright. I’ve been considering branching out. I hear there’s a big market at the moment for upscale gay porno.” Dean turns his gaze back to the screen, not waiting to see how his comment lands, just keeps his hand moving steadily in an easy, practiced rhythm, and takes a long drag off of his fat cigar, his lips wrapped tightly around the end of it. He has to know the images that the gesture immediately conjures in Todd’s brain, it has to be deliberate. Todd licks his lips and his mouth suddenly feels very dry. It seems useless to try to be covert about it now. But even as he feels himself flush and look away, and back again when it's invited (and because he just can't not look), he's surprised by this easy acceptance. Fear of looking another man in the eye or not, Dean's a ladies' man through and through. Todd expected name-calling, red-faced accusations, being tossed out on his arse should his eyes wander from the girl's tits to Dean's cock for too long. It's why he agreed to this little party, why this isn't their first, why he's so hard he can't think straight. All for Dean, whos’s stroking himself like an offering, not like he's actually trying to get off, and sucking on his cigar like he can't get his fill and letting the smoke drift lazily from the sides of his mouth where he smiles around it. "Or have I got it wrong?" Dean asks, cigar in hand again, but Todd can tell from the smirk that he knows he hasn't. "Dean," Todd says even though he doesn't really know what he's going to say, and it doesn't matter once Dean settles a little deeper into the sofa cushions beside him, stretches and spreads those endlessly long legs invitingly. He isn't looking at Todd, he's watching his dick where he fondles it easily, teasingly, a show, and when Todd thinks he's going to burst with wanting, Dean finally cuts his eyes over and smiles. "Don't you want to finish what she started?" ______ It isn't like this is Dean's first blowie from a bloke, though those encounters usually don't extend past the casting couch, young kids he doesn't plan to hire anyway. It's a little more delicate when he knows he's got to turn around and work with them the next day. But he has always wondered about Todd's full-lipped mouth, pouty like a woman's, like it was made for sucking cock. He reckoned from the first scene they'd shot with Madeleine Wool and Todd together that the guy might be a bum jockey, but he hadn't really been sure until the first of their little group activities, feeling Todd's heavy-lidded eyes more on him than the girl they were both fucking. And even if the girls have always done their best to get Dean off, brought their finest work to the table, their determined seductions never get Dean going like the barely concealed lust in Todd's hungry, secretive gaze. It’s that desire that gets him. Dean is not an idiot, he knows that most of the girls who throw themselves at him do it because of his status. Todd, however, Todd clearly doesn’t give a shit about Dean’s money. He’s not trying to get a part in one of Dean’s productions, he’s not trying to get one of his books published, he’s not doing it to get to some other celebrity of Dean’s entourage. He’s doing it because he loves cock, pure and simple. There’s something attractive about that kind of honest desire, and Dean is not above encouraging it, or even using it to get off. It’s gratifying, the way Todd nearly swallows his own tongue at Dean’s invitation and he watches Todd’s eyes flick back and forth between his face and his crotch, where Dean’s fondling himself lightly, not enough to get off but just enough to keep Todd interested and remind him of what’s on offer. “Dean…” Todd repeats, choking on the word. He looks hesitant and disbelieving and eager all at once, and Dean is put in mind of a dog being presented with a juicy steak, eyeing its master like it can’t believe it’s actually going to be allowed to eat it. “Well, don’t you? Because it would only take me two minutes to get another girl who can get the job done, if you’d rather just sit there and stare at my dick.” That’s all it takes for Todd to scramble off of the sofa and onto his knees. There’s something a bit pathetic about his eagerness, but something quite satisfying about it, too. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, will you? Because my career—” That’s cute, the way he asks it. Naïve. Todd should know that most men will say anything if it means they might get a blow job out of it. No, Dean probably won’t tell anyone about it, but it’s nice knowing he could. Knowledge is power, and Dean likes power. “You have my word, Todd, but fucking get on with it.” ______ Todd’s head is a bit swimmy and he’s sure he’s sweating, kneeling between Dean’s spread legs, and with permission no less. He swallows, keeps his gaze down lest Dean spook from the intimacy and deny him after all. But oh, there’s plenty to look at down here. He can’t help but run his hands along the expensive fabric of Dean’s trousers, to feel the warmth of him beneath them. He tugs at the material, meaning to pull them down a little more and Dean lifts his hips a bit to accommodate, until Dean’s naked to his upper thigh. Dean has amazing legs, Todd’s always appreciated that, and they’re as good or better up close, dotted with dark hairs, hot where the insides of his thighs, his knees, nudge at Todd’s sides. There's a smear of red lipstick halfway up Dean's shaft and Todd frowns at it, but tries to put it out of his mind. It’s too good, being surrounded like this, by Dean, the feel, the smell (expensive cologne, cigars, and a hint of ladies’ perfume) and—Todd thinks as he licks his lips and watches the way Dean strokes himself lazily—the taste. Oh God, if anyone knew just how much he wanted this, that he was doing it, on his knees for Dean Fucking Learner… Well, honestly, it’s not like he’d be the first. "Are we getting on with this sometime soon or have I got to fish out another VHS? You haven’t got to fall in love with it, Rivers, just put it in that rosy little mouth and suck it, alright?” Todd gives him a withering look and Dean just smiles. "Go on," the bastard says, "don't pretend you won't even if I insult you, not like that bird. I could call you a queer if I want, a cocksucker. Cause you are one, aren't you, Todd? Why don't you earn it already." It's not that Dean's words don't sting, and it's not that Todd doesn't want to prove him wrong (at least about walking out), it's just that he's not sure he'll ever have the chance again. So he motions Dean's hand away with a nod of his head, buries his fingers in the warm, pressed fabric of Dean's tailored shirt, and licks his (rosy, he thinks) lips. Dean’s cock waves heavy and low and Todd only has to raise up a little to slide his lips over the head, teasing slowly and sucking luxuriantly, pleasure as vengeance. Dean coos something appreciative that might be "nice form" but Todd can hardly hear it for the rush of blood in his head, loud in his ears, and fucking aching in his cock. It's worse (better) still when warm fingers touch his face, surprising him. "Bit more," Dean says softly, "there's a lad." His fingers leave Todd's face to wrap around his erection, offering Todd more, and Todd follows those fingers defiantly, past that line of lipstick, taking Dean in suddenly and deeply. Dean hisses sharply. He tastes slightly of expensive champagne and strawberries and Todd knows it's from the girl, so he sucks more wetly, backs off enough to swallow, trying to rinse the taste away, wanting only the taste of Dean. The weight and the thickness are perfect on his tongue, filling his mouth, and Todd hums, feeling drunk on the sensation. He fucking loves this, craves it, and Dean is right, of course, he’s a queer, a cocksucker – and a bloody good one, at that. ______ The kid's mouth is better than he thought, and there's nothing like a queer for sucking cock. You can’t buy that kind of genuine enthusiasm, and Lord knows he’s tried. On the television screen, the big-breasted girl is on her knees too, her mouth similarly occupied. Dean takes a second to admire the angle of the shot – it was one of his best hiring decisions, getting that particular cameraman – before reaching between the sofa cushions to grab the remote control. The music and the moans coming out of the speakers are bit distracting, so Dean mutes the porno again. The wet sucking noises that Todd is making around his cock suddenly seem amplified tenfold in the silent room and it sounds filthier and grittier than any porn soundtrack. Dean slides his fingers into Todd’s carefully coiffed hair, gripping tightly enough to pull at Todd’s scalp, and the lad moans loudly around Dean’s cock, his eyes snapping up to meet Dean’s gaze. He’s pretty enough, young Rivers, with his full lips and his shiny hair, and he’s popular on set, the girls like him. They might not like him as much if they saw him now, like this, on his knees with his mouth full and his eyes glazed over. But then, maybe they’d like him all the more for it – it certainly makes for a pleasing visual. Dean tightens his grip in Todd’s hair to make him moan again, barely managing to suppress a groan of his own at the resulting vibrations. He smiles, his lips parted, and shifts his hips up a bit, driving his cock a bit deeper into Todd’s mouth. Todd just takes it, greedy and eager, swallowing around him, and fuck, it’s been too long since Dean’s had head like this – he almost regrets all those threesomes, all those wasted opportunities with ditzy girls who were worried about smearing their lipstick when he could’ve had Todd, who deepthroats like he was born to do it. “My, you’re a natural, Todd,” Dean says, a bit breathless, a bit dizzy. “Never mind the –ah, there! Fuck. Never mind the acting, sucking cock is clearly your true calling.” ______ Todd wishes he wasn’t so fucking turned on by the praise but he is, so much, reveling in each word of encouragement, each twitch of Dean’s thigh under his clammy fingers, each ripple of Dean’s smooth stomach. Todd aches to touch himself, but he won’t allow himself the relief, not yet. He wants to make this the best blow job of Dean’s entire life. He wants to make sure that each time Dean looks at him from now on, he’ll remember this moment, remember how hard Todd made him come. He pulls back a bit so he can suck on the head of Dean’s erection again, swirling his tongue to taste the pre-come there and eliciting a stuttered gasp from Dean. Emboldened by the sound and the increasingly erratic rhythm of Dean’s breathing, Todd reaches a hand in between Dean’s legs to cup his balls, rolling them gently between his fingers and Dean gasps, grips Todd’s hair tighter, rolls his hips and pushes Todd’s head down hard to take him deep again. Todd goes willingly, with a moan and what little smile he can manage with a mouth so full, slides his free hand back to Dean’s arse, plenty of room to get at it the way Dean’s lifting his hips to fuck his face now. It’s just this side of brutal and Todd loves it like this, with his mouth full one second, nose pressed into pubic hair, and near empty the next, cheeks hollowed out, and again, with Dean’s fingers tight in his hair, directing the pace. This is so much more than he expected. So much better. The sounds Dean’s making throb like a bassline in his groin, and Todd wonders if could come just from the invisible caress of them if they did this long enough. So he’s almost sorry when Deans starts swearing breathlessly, aimlessly, “Jesus fuck, Todd, cunting Christ,” then seems to stop breathing altogether, cants his hips up hard enough to bump Todd’s nose a little too hard and Todd’s eyes water. He’s blinking and swallowing and groaning around Dean as Dean comes so deep in his throat Todd doesn’t even taste it. A shame, he thinks. ________ There’s funny shapes behind his eyes he’s got them closed so tight, and yet all Dean can see is the perfect vision of Todd’s mouth sliding down his shaft. He hasn’t come like that since… well since that hummer he got at the racetrack during a test run, but that had ended in tragedy and so it probably didn’t count. Apart from that, though, not since before he got into the business, when he was still a hopeful young buck, too optimistic and too trusting. When he comes down from the high of it, it’s to the slightly uncomfortable sensation of Todd backing his mouth off of him, sucking at Dean’s head one last time, to taste him, Dean thinks, even as he hisses at the contact to over-sensitive skin. The girls never linger that way. Dean’s still got a hand in Todd’s hair and there are fingers stroking hot against his backside when Todd sits back and looks up at him, half guilty, all need, mouth swollen and red at the corners. In spite of that, Dean can’t help but feel like the kid got the better of him, making him come so hard, carry on so foolishly. He smiles a little, then moves one hand to Todd’s mouth to trace those plump red lips. “You loved, that, didn’t you? This must be getting you so hard, Todd, the proverbial oaken staff, eh? You must be soaking your knickers wanting it. Maybe next time we’ll invite that Monkey Boy you liked so much.” Todd backs away as if he’s been burned, eyes narrowing, “How the fuck do you—” “I can assure you, Todd, if anything worth knowing happens on set, it finds its way to my ears sooner or later.” Dean had been holding on to that bit of information for a while now, about the time he’d caught a glimpse of the Monkey Boy and Todd sucking face, with their hands in each other’s hair and down each other’s trousers behind Dean’s garage. One never knows when these tidbits of information will come in handy, and it was worth keeping that one to pull it out now, if only to extinguish the smug glint in Todd’s eyes. Now that he feels like he’s back in charge, Dean feels better about leaning back against the sofa and pulling his trousers up, tucking himself in. Todd’s looking at him like he’s not sure whether he should be angry about how Dean is toying with him, or further aroused by the prospect of a repeat performance. “You’re a fucking rat bastard, Dean, you know that,” Todd says in a tight voice, pushing himself to his feet. The former, then. Todd’s even beginning to pull his trousers up, like he’s actually intending to walk out of the room with a throbbing erection concealed in his pants, and Dean feels something a bit like regret. A bit like pity. So instead of laughing, he grabs Todd’s wrist and gives it a slight tug. “Oh, don’t sulk, Rivers. We’re friends, aren’t we?” “Are we?” “Of course we are. Let’s not let a little blow job between mates ruin a long-lasting friendship. Sit down.” Todd’s still frowning, but it’s easy enough to guide him back to the sofa so they’re sitting side by side, thighs touching. He won’t meet Dean’s eyes anymore, fixating instead on the television, watching it with a blank expression. Dean knows that this scene involves two girls in schoolgirl outfits, but he’s not really paying attention to that. He’s seen it all before. But he’s never seen Todd quite like this, with his lips parted and his hands twitching by his sides, his cock heavy and damp with precome against his stomach. He looks on the verge of self-combustion but he’s waiting for… what? For permission? For Dean to blow him in return? Dean’s not willing to reciprocate quite to that extent, but he can and does take Todd��s hand, clammy and tense, and direct it to Todd’s straining erection, encouraging, dictating the rhythm. Todd’s eyes slide shut with a groan that’s almost a sob, his head falling forward. “That’s it, that’ll make you feel better,” Dean says softly, withdraws his hand and rests it instead against Todd’s thigh, a little offering. Dean leans back against the cushions, returning his attention to the porno on screen. He turns the volume back up so he has something else to focus on other than the sounds of Todd wanking off next to him, and gives Todd’s thigh a little pat and a slow, steady rub with his thumb. _________ Dean’s hand on Todd’s thigh burns like fire and feels heavy and huge with his eyes closed, concentrating on that little contact. They’ve touched more than this while fucking one of Dean’s girls but somehow this, that hand so near his dick—harder than he’s ever been in his life, he’s sure of it—is so much more intimate than a shared fuck, than passing glittering, smug grins over a smooth shoulder and blonde hair. “I feel sorry for you, Todd, that I don’t suck cock,” Dean says in that soft tone of his that goes a little deeper than his usual speaking voice and Todd can’t help but lean into it. “Not to say I haven’t before, mind.” The hand on his thigh inches higher, teasing, tickling lightly and Todd’s so close. “You don’t get to where I am in this business…” So goddamned close that a moan catches in his throat and he throws his head back as Dean’s long fingers squeeze at his thigh. “…without a bit of spunk on your face now and then.” That clinches it. Todd’s orgasm hits him like a wave and he’s shouting, undignified and unrestrained as he comes over his own hand, stomach and shirt, with such a flood of relief it’s like being caught from a near deathfall and yet falling anyway, all at once. The girl on screen is shouting too, a couple of octaves higher but it still makes Todd feel a bit foolish as he tries to catch his breath and Dean pats his leg again, sort of friendly and says, “See? That’s the medicine. Feeling better already, aren’t we?” Todd turns to him, head lolling on the couch, mouth dry and useless, to see Dean smiling and smoking that damned cigar once again, looking smug and energetic and fucking perfect. He tries to give Dean a disgusted look but it feel more like adoration and Dean just winks at him, nudges Todd’s shoulder with his own. “I’m feeling like a drink, Todd. How ‘bout you? Gin? Whiskey? Or maybe after that, you’re more in the mood for a cocktail.” He laughs at his own joke, sounding pleased, and with that he stands, adjusts himself somewhat elaborately in his trousers, then practically dances off to the bar to fix them both a drink. “Just a beer, thanks.” Todd hates that he watches that pinstriped arse as he tucks himself away. As a consolation, he pulls the handkerchief from Dean’s coat to clean the ejaculate from his stomach and shirt, then stuffs it back into Dean’s coat pocket before Dean comes back with their drinks. Then, really, it’s like any other time they’ve sat on Dean’s sofa sharing drinks, watching porn or discussing business. Still, even the beer he’s gulping can’t quite erase the sense memory of having just had Dean’s cock in his mouth. For Dean, though, it seems to be business as usual. Todd is only half-listening as Dean gives director’s commentary on the film that’s still strobing garishly on the television screen. He tries to ignore the sick feeling growing in his stomach. When he finally gathers up the courage to leave, Dean accompanies him to the door and leans against the door jamb, watching Todd put his coat on. Dean’s shirt is still open and there’s lipstick smeared near his collarbone, but he seems unaffected, perfectly at ease. Clearly it takes more than a one-off blow job from a male colleague to ruffle Dean Fucking Learner. That’s it, then, Todd thinks, that’s the end of that – but as he’s about to walk out the door Dean surprises him with a touch on the shoulder and a quirked smile. “Drop by next weekend, Rivers. Maybe I’ll have someone here that’s more to your tastes, next time. Maybe we’ll make it into a little party.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dean.” But just looking at him there, all long and lean, with his lazy smile and his dark, knowing eyes, Todd already knows he’ll be there. “Well, you know where I live, should you change your mind. See you tomorrow, Todd.”

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #darkplace #garth marenghi's darkplace #dean learner #todd rivers #dean learner/todd rivers

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Oh Lolly Lolly

Author: The_Reverand

Year: 2010

Rating: PG

Pairing: Howince

Howard waved his hand over the sales counter of the Nabootique with a flourish, producing as if by some previously unrevealed magic a shimmering rainbow of crystalline joy, all wrapped in shining cellophane, a prismatic promise of ecstasy. Vince stared, jaw open slightly. "Lollies..." he said. "Not just any lollies," Howard corrected, stepping around the counter and between his friend and the fan of colorful candies, "magic lollies." Vince tried to sidestep him, gave Howard an irritated and dubious look when he couldn't. "There's no such thing, Howard" "You doubt?" "Yeah! Now what flavors are they? Raspberry tart? Appletini turnover? Bavarian cherry?" He reached out but Howard stopped him short. "No flavors, my confectionate comrade, only sorcery." "Get stuffed, let me try the lemon one." "That's not lemon, Vince. That's Fertility." "Augh, that sounds awful. You can't go callin' sweets by names like that. You won't sell a single one. They've got to sound delicious, or maybe have a really cool theme, like... rock lollies! 'Paint it Blackberry', 'The Grape Gig in the Sky'--" "Let it Brie?" "Er." "That doesn't matter, look," Howard said, picking up the lolly closest to him, a green one with bits of black. He held it up to the light as if to divine its magical contents. "These aren't your typical lollies, Vince, they're not to be taken lightly. We're going to make a fortune! They're absolutely--" "Awful," Vince said, making a face, holding an unwrapped red lolly in one hand, flakes of gold shimmering through its saliva-slick surface. Howard paled. "Vince... you didn't." "Well I won't again that's for sure." He dropped the lolly, stumbled a bit. "Oh Howard... I feel weird." "Oh dear." Vince panicked. "Howard... Howard, what was that one! What did I do to meself?!" He grabbed Howard by the collar, looking desperate. "Am I gonna get taller? Thinner? I can’t have that, my clothes won't fit! Is me head gonna get all big to accommodate a massive superbrain? Am I gonna have a litter of puppies? Aw, I can't have puppies, Howard, I'm crap with pets, you know!" He was panting but somehow less frantic, and gradually his breathing slowed and he began to calm. He loosened his grip on Howard's shirt, Howard's soft shirt, Howard's sensual shirt, oh! It felt nice beneath his fingers. Howard watched the change. He knew what the gold-flecked red lolly was for. He knew why Vince was suddenly smiling slyly up at him, moving in close, leaning up onto his tiptoes and breathing a laugh against Howard's lips. He knew why, soon after, Vince's hands roamed 'round to his arse and then up, under Howard's shirt to tickle at his back. He knew. He knew next time he'd buy more of the red ones.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howince #vince noir #howard moon #vince/howard #vince noir/howard moon #howard moon/vince noir

[ancientbooshartifacts]

The Art of Shaman Persuasion

Author: Bamfwriter

Year: 2009

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Naboo, Vince, Howard, Bollo

"You'd better get some magic potions out, Mowgli, or we're gonna hurt you!" Vince's eyes were desperate, and by the tone of his voice, he meant business.

"Give me a break," Naboo said with a grin.

"What, you think we're bluffing?" Noir asked in disbelief, "We're dead serious, aren't we Howard?"

"Absolutely," Howard said smugly, "Make with the magic, shorty, or you'll be sorry."

"You know I can't," Naboo said, spreading his hands with an elegant little shrug. "I'm bound by shaman law to..."

"Yeah yeah, noble cause, we know that bit," Vince said impatiently, "but this IS a noble cause!" He leaned closer and glared at the smaller man. "Helping us will save a shaman from bodily harm!"

"Yeah right," Naboo scoffed, rolling his eyes, "I know you both too well; You'd never hurt me."

"We're desperate men, Naboo," Howard said sternly. "There's no telling what we're capable of at a time like this!" The corners of Howard's mouth twitched up as he fought not to grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vince was trying not to laugh. Somehow, he just knew that Vince was thinking the same thing he was.

"Tell you what," Naboo said, wrinkling his nose, "I'll go put the kettle on while you two decide what sort of dastardly methods of persuasion you plan to try on me." He shifted to the edge of the bed and started to stand. "But keep in mind, I AM a shaman; I don't fold easily. You want eggs or kippers?"

"Alright," Howard said with a grin, pointing, "grab him!"

"Righto," Vince muttered, lunging across the bed at Naboo. The shaman yelped and tried to jump out of reach, but Noir snagged him by the waistband of his pajama trousers and yanked him back.

"Oi, leggo!" Naboo demanded, grabbing his pants as they very nearly slid right off his hips.

Vince wrapped his arms around Naboo's naked torso and pulled him back down onto the bed. The diminutive mystic struggled and kicked, but the mod was too strong. Noir pinned Naboo's right arm to the mattress and laid on top of it, taking care not to put too much weight on the twisting limb. Then he grabbed the shaman's left wrist, pulled it above Naboo's head and likewise pinned it down, effectively immobilizing the smaller man's arms.

Meanwhile, at the foot of the bed, Howard had thrown himself across Naboo's legs, like Vince, taking care not to crush his smaller friend. He moved onto his side, leaning on one elbow, facing his friends.

"Geroff!" Naboo was growling, ineffectively struggling under the weight of both of the much larger men, "This isn't fair!" He started to laugh. After a moment, he gave up and just lay there, defeated.

"Now then," Howard began, grinning, "Will you reconsider, Naboo? Will you brew us something to help us find the new sound?"

"Piss off," Naboo sneered, "I'll brew something that'll make your wangers fall off if you ballbags don't let me up."

Vince cackled. "Oh man, Howard, he's not gonna budge. He obviously needs persuasion."

"Indeed," Moon said with a nod, "You got him?" he asked, his grin widening.

"Oh yeah," Vince replied with a sinister smile at their intended victim. He tightened his hold on Naboo's wrist. "He's not going anywhere."

Unnerved by the look on Vince's face, Naboo's eyes widened. He looked from Vince to Howard, swallowing hard. "Wait...," he began, trying to sit up.

"Too late!" Howard sang, "You had your chance to be reasonable." He reached up and began drawing little circles on Naboo's tummy with his fingertips.

"HEY!" the mystic squeaked, trying to squirm away from Moon's fingers, "Howard! Quit it!" He struggled, twisting, starting to giggle.

"You asked for this, Naboo," Howard said innocently, chuckling.

"Yeah, we warned you, you crease," Vince added, laughing along with Howard. "We gave you a chance to help us, and you refused." The mod reached over and used his long fingers to delicately stroke the skin under Naboo's arm.

"No, STOP!" Naboo wailed, trying to pull his arm down, "Please! Viiiiiince!"

"You know what you have to do, Naboolio," Howard said softly, "You know what we want." He began to lightly rake his fingers back and forth through the little patch of hair around the shaman's navel, eliciting another screech from his diminutive victim.

"EEK! Guys, c'mon, STOP!" Naboo squealed, trying frantically to buck Howard off him, with no effect. He wrenched at his trapped arms, arched his back, trying anything to escape the tickling fingers. "ST-ST-STOP! Please, please, pleeeeease... I ca... I can't..." Whatever it was Naboo couldn't do was lost as the tiny mystic dissolved into helpless, hysterical laughter.

Howard grinned even more widely, and began to tickle softly up and down the hollows at the edges of Naboo's spasming stomach muscles, first one side, and then the other. "We're waiting," he prompted.

Naboo couldn't speak, all he could do was laugh. After a few moments, even his laughter became silent, and the shaman just lay there, shaking with soundless mirth.

Howard took mercy, and removed his hand. He watched Naboo laying there, little body trembling, fuzzy chest heaving, his face flushed and black hair plastered across his brow with sweat, tears streaming from his eyes.

"Do you give in?" the mustachioed man asked, raising his eyebrows.

Naboo shook his head, breathing hard.

"Really?" Moon asked, astonished. He raised one hand, and wiggled his fingers threateningly. "More torture, then?"

"Fuck you!" Naboo growled.

Howard looked across the shaman's body to Vince, whose eyeliner had run down his face from laughing. The mod shrugged.

"Well, what do you think?" Vince asked Howard.

Howard gestured toward Vince. "Go for it," he said with a smile.

Vince leaned over to leer into Naboo's face for a moment. Then he reached down and began scuttling his fingers over the shaman's ribs, and his victim shrieked.

"AUGH, NO! NOOOOOO!" Naboo was immediately overcome with laughter again, thrashing his head back and forth, eyes squinted shut as he pleaded for mercy. "VINCE, PLEASE PLEEEEEEASE, NO!"

Meanwhile, Howard sat up and lifted Naboo's legs into his lap. Pinning the bony shins under his arm, he ran the tip of his index finger up and down the soles of the little shaman's feet.

Naboo gave a screech that set the neighbor's dogs to barking, and with Herculean effort, was somehow able to kick and twist his way out of his friends' grips. He rolled onto his stomach, but before he could rise, Vince jumped on him, straddled him and began ruthlessly kneading his sides. The shaman screamed with laughter, bucking, pounding the mattress with his fists and feet, desperately trying to dislodge the mod.

Howard climbed off the bed, and knelt beside it, putting his face at eye-level with the shaman. He couldn't hold back his own laughter at the sight of Naboo's red face, and he realized how infrequently he'd seen the smaller man laugh. As he watched, he heard the shaman's voice begin to grow hoarse, and the laughter was replaced by a coughing fit. Moon quickly motioned for Vince to stop, and the mod removed his hands.

"Stop... stop... you win... please...," Naboo gasped out each word between huge intakes of air, the last traces of merriment making his voice tremble. As Vince climbed off of him, Naboo rolled onto his back and lay there, spent, sweaty, and giddy.

"You'll help us, then?"

The shaman nodded breathlessly. "Got just the thing...," he wheezed, "Liquid Music." He got shakily to his feet, and Howard and Vince followed as he moved to his supply table. He grabbed a few ingredients, blended them well, and poured the orange concoction into two matching beakers, which he then handed to his friends.

Five minutes later, Howard and Vince were on their way to the recording studio. Naboo was sitting on his bed with Bollo, discussing The Boosh and their chance at signing on with the record company. Bollo asked him if he thought the potion would really help Vince and Howard.

"I doubt it," the shaman replied, wrinkling his nose, "That was just lucozade..." He laid back on the bed, smiled, and smugly folded his arms behind his head.

"...And a LOT of Dulcolax."

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #naboo #naboo the enigma #vince noir #howard moon #bollo

[ancientbooshartifacts]

What Goes On Tour…

Author: LoveIsBlack

Year: 2010

Rating:

Characters: Naboo, Bollo, Dennis, Kirk, Tony Harrison, Old Gregg, The Hicther

"Down in one! Down in one!"

Naboo, in a daze, set his turban down and proceeded to collapse.

"Naboo? Naboo?" Bollo slapped Naboo over the face.

"You batty crease! I'm awake!" Naboo sat up. However, the sun was far too much for him, and he laid back down with his vodka soaked, peacock coloured turban covering his face. Bollo grunted before walking over to Harrison. On the way, he saw Kirk running around, kicking the air.

"Kirk, what you doing?"

"AAAAARGH! The pinecones, the pinecones with their squinty noses shining in the rainbow hedgehog, I tell you!"

Bollo was shocked. One, because Kirk was, what, about eight, and obviously high, two, because he'd heard Naboo saying the same thing before he passed out, and three, because he had never heard Kirk talk before.

"Sorry I asked." Bollo made his way to Harrison and Dennis.

"Bollo!" Tony Harrison said in his ever-so-droning voice. "How's it going?"

"Good."

"Ah, Bollo. How about a spot of thin soaking?"

"What?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Dennis! We've been through this. Skinny dipping! Christ…"

"Shut up, Harrison. Or I will unleash the sexual power of Kirk onto your face."

"Ha. Kirk will have been all over your body."

"Lay off it, you hairy sod."

"Why would I lay off you? You are pink dickhead. Literally. You pink, you have dick for head."

"Yeah, well you… FUCK!"

"Why would Bollo want fuck Harrison?"

"Turn around! Prepare for the ultimate mental scarring…"

"What?" Bollo said, but before he could ask, he turned around. All there was was Dennis, flailing around in all his glory (If you could call it that) running into the ocean.

"Ooh, I coulda lived without seeing that." Harrison exclaimed.

"Come on, everyone!" Dennis yelled, now submerged in the salty sea. Not surprisingly, nobody moved. For a while, anyway.

"Coming, Dennis!" Naboo slurred. Naboo was stripping down whilst spinning with a bottle of vodka in his hand. It wasn't quite as bad as Dennis, as Naboo has no genitalia, or as I prefer to call them, "dangly bits," but it was still a sight to behold.

"Weeeeeee!" Naboo yelled, as he span around one last time before falling into the sea.

"Naboo! Christ…" Bollo ran down to try and get Naboo out of the water.

"Bollo, you fuck knuckle! They'll never let you out of there!" Harrison slowly made his way down to the ocean.

Nobody knows what happened after that. Some say that Old Gregg emerged from the sea at about 2am and gave everyone watercolour lessons. Some say that Dennis thought he was getting raped by an octopus but really he just sat on Harrison. Some say that Vince kept calling Naboo to save himself and Howard from the Hitcher, but instead forced Naboo to drink 16 more turbans full of grog. Some say that it was more "sexually oriented." But we'll never know. And do you know why?

We are mighty magic men,

We stay up 'til 5 a.m.

Although we're bound by Shaman Law,

What goes on tour,

Stays on tour!

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #naboo #naboo the enigma #bollo #dennis #dennis the head shaman #kirk (mighty boosh) #kirk #tony harrison #old gregg #the hitcher #vince noir #howard moon

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Guilt Sick

Author: ExoticMushroom

Year: 2009

Rating: PG

Pairing: Howince

He always felt guilty about it.

Vince couldn’t help but rejoice in the times he could touch Howard. When he was allowed to stroke his hair, and revel in the sighs and moans coming from his best friend.

Touching his fevered skin, feeling it goose-pimple under his hand. The effect he had on the man under his tender ministrations.

Undressing him with tender care, making him shiver. Holding him close as he trembled, and feeling his hot breath against his neck.

The sighs, followed by words breathed out so softly he had to lean closer to hear. “I love you, Vince.” They made his stomach flip and his heart ache.

Too soon the man receiving his attention would sleep.

The morning would come and the declarations of love would be forgotten. The “Don’t touch me.” rule firmly back in place.

But he knew it would happen again. He hoped for it, longed for it to happen again. Sometimes he even wished for it.

He always felt guilty about that.

Wishing Howard would get sick again.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howince #vince noir #howard moon #vince noir/howard moon #howard moon/vince noir #vince/howard

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Naboo tries to help

Author: IzzyTheSkittle

Year: 2009

Rating: PG

Characters: Naboo, Vince,Howard

At the time Naboo had though it would be a good idea. After all, Howard was always complaining that he wasn’t as skinny as he used to be and Vince constantly moaned about how bored he was.

It gave them something to do, together, on the evenings when Vince wasn’t out. Naboo had thought it would bring them closer together, and maybe be a step towards stopping the arguments that seemed to flow between them on a daily basis.

But watching Vince now, throwing the Wii remote across the room, Naboo was seriously considering never trying to be helpful again.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #naboo #naboo the enigma #vince noir #howard moon

[ancientbooshartifacts]

No Matter What

Author: El_Gardner

Year: 2009

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Howince

Vince had been fine when Howard had left him a little over three hours ago - preening himself in front of the mirror as usual in preparation for another night out. So when Howard returns to the flat from Jazzercise (and a couple of pints in the pub after), to say it’s a surprise to find Vince sat huddled up on the sofa, knees tucked up to his chest and chin resting on them as he hugs his legs, wearing one of Howard’s cardigans, well, it would be a bit of an understatement. “Vince?” Howard tries quietly, one hand still on the wall as he drops his bag to the floor with a loud thud. Vince doesn’t even flinch, and Howard’s frown deepens. He tries again, a little louder this time, “Vince?” and steps forward. Vince looks around finally, frowning, and blinking at Howard as if he'd only just noticed his presence. His face is all tear tracked and his hair is mussed. “Oh. Hi.” He tries to smile, but it’s tight and false and it doesn’t reach his eyes. Howard doesn’t smile back. He’s really worried now. He doesn’t know Vince like this - hasn’t seen him cry since, well, he can’t even remember how long ago it had been since he’d seen Vince cry. “What’s wrong?” Vince sniffles and drops his eyes again, resting his cheek on his knee. Howard just about makes out his shoulder shrugging. “‘S nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” “Fine?” Howard’s eyebrows lift at that, his voice rising. “Fine? Vince. You’re sat on the sofa on a Saturday night, on your own, crying. And your hair is a mess and you look - terrible. You’re obviously not fine! You‘re wearing one of my favourite cardigans for goodness sake!” By the end of his little speech he’s shouting, but Vince still shows no sign of reacting to what he’s saying, not even to the hair comment, which worries Howard even more. He does lift his head though, at the last bit, looking down at the brown top he’s wearing in surprise, as if he’s only just remembered he’s got it on. He swallows heavily, and lifts a shaky hand to the top button, fumbling with it as he tries to undo it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers quietly. “I forgot. Here, you can….” Howard stops him though, with a tentative hand on his ankle as he kneels down in front of him. He doesn’t know what to do as Vince looks up at him, his eyes glistening and lashes wet and tacky, mascara and eyeliner all smudged. Vince bites on his lip as he sniffs, looking so much like a lost, scared, little boy that Howard just wants to wrap his arms around him and tell him it’ll all be okay. But he doesn’t even know what’s wrong yet, and he can’t say it; can’t say that’ll it’ll all be alright because he doesn’t know. This is worse than the whole Lance Dior situation. He’s anxious and unsure and completely out of his depth. “You can keep it on,” Howard whispers. “If you want to that is.” Vince nods, still sniffling. “I’d like that, yeah. Thank you.” He sounds so quiet and subdued, and all Howard can think is that it must have been something pretty terrible to get him like this. And terrible things never happen to Vince. It’s just not right. Vince shifts, sighing as he pushes down his legs, tucking them under him and sitting on his feet now. It gives Howard a clearer view of his face and he feels a tightening in his chest as his eyes linger there. Reaching out slowly, like he's trying to pet a feral kitten, he brushes a thumb beneath Vince’s eye. It comes back wet and streaked with black, and Howard frowns as he looks down at it. “Vince, I’m really….” “Don’t, Howard. Please. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry.” Howard sighs, defeated and worried. “Okay. Okay, fine. How about I make us a cuppa, yeah? Some nice sweet tea, that’ll make you feel better. Then you can … talk to me about whatever’s wrong after, if you want to. How does that sound?” Vince chews on his bottom lip for a second, then nods slowly and Howard smiles at him softly. “Why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up a bit while I make it? Wash your face and brush your hair? It might make you feel better?” “Maybe.” Vince nods again. He’s sucking on the end of his thumb now, his lips closed around the tip. Howard frowns again, staring at Vince uncertainly - he needs to do something, but he doesn‘t know what. He sighs, carefully squeezing Vince’s folded knee with his hand, offering Vince a smile that feels forced and watching as Vince returns it with one just as false. Finally, he climbs awkwardly to his feet, wincing as his hip clicks - he really is getting old - and nodding at Vince as he turns to walk to the kitchen. A few minutes later, as he’s stirring a teaspoon through one of the two steaming mugs, he hears the sofa springs squeak, and he looks up, watching as Vince shuffles across the room towards the bathroom. He looks small in Howard’s cardigan, the sleeves hanging over his hands and the hem reaching down to just above his knees. His shoulders are slumped and he’s staring at his feet as he walks. It makes Howard’s heart ache. Sighing, he stretches up his hand and opens the cupboard above him, rummaging around in it until he finds the little bottle of whiskey he’s got stashed at the back. It had been a gift from Leroy, years ago, and he’d never opened it. It looks like good stuff. He’s been saving it for a special occasion. There isn’t anything nice or special about this occasion. But if anytime calls for the whiskey, then it‘s now. He opens it, taking a small sip straight from the bottle, wincing slightly at the burn. It is good stuff. He takes another, longer swig, then shares the rest between the two teas, adding an extra sugar to Vince’s to take off the sharpness of the alcohol. When he looks up again from the tea, he almost jumps, seeing Vince stood only a few feet away from him. Vince is watching him, his expression unreadable save for the soft sadness in his eyes. His face is clean now, and his hair is tidy, but he still looks - so small and un-Vince-like. Howard sighs, reaching a hand forward to touch Vince’s shoulder, but as he does so, Vince seems to crumble, letting out a shaky sob as his eyes fill rapidly once more. Howard frowns, pausing for a second in shock as he watches the tears spill over Vince’s cheeks. Then he shakes himself mentally, his hand continuing its forward movement. But instead of landing on Vince’s shoulder, it keeps going, linking with his other behind Vince’s back as he tentatively hugs him close. Vince clings to Howard, his chin resting heavily on Howard’s shoulder as he shakes. Howard twists his head to look at Vince, his brow creasing and his eyes softening in absolutely confused concern. “Oh. Vince. Please don’t cry. I can’t….” Howard tightens his hold, feeling the wetness from Vince’s eyes seeping through the fabric of his jumper. “What is it?” “C … can’t.” Vince shakes his head, his hair brushing Howard’s cheek and Howard sighs as he buries his nose in the soft, dark waves. He holds him like that for what feels like forever, until the tears dry up. Even then Vince seems reluctant as he pulls away, whispering his apologies as he realises how damp Howard’s shoulder is. “It’s … it’s okay, Vince.” Howard says, straightening up and sighing as Vince roughly wipes at his eyes. He reaches forward, gently pulling Vince’s hands away from his face and carefully cupping his cheeks. “You’re really … you’re really scaring me now, little man. What’s upset you so much? Please talk to me. Are you … sick?” Vince shakes his head, pulling away from Howard’s grasp. “It’s not … it’s not anything like that, Howard. It’s….” he trails off, shaking his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he frowns and rakes a hand through his hair. “Did you make that tea? I’m thirsty.” Howard sighs as Vince changes the subject, but he nods and points to the tea anyway. Vince whispers a quiet ‘thank you’ as he picks his up, wrapping his hands around it as he walks back to the sofa. Howard stands in the kitchen for a minute, just watching his retreating back and wondering what he should do, before he sighs again and picks up his own tea, following him slowly. They sit in silence, neither of them drinking or looking at each other, for what feels like an age to Howard. Eventually Vince moves, taking a sip of his tea quietly. He frowns as he swallows it, turning his head towards Howard. “Is there … something in this?” “Yeah. Whiskey.” Howard smiles softly. “I thought you looked like you needed it. I certainly do.” “Oh. What? That stuff you were saving? You shouldn’t have. I’m not worth….” “Don’t.” Howard’s not sure where it comes from, but there’s a vehemence in his tone that shocks even him. “Don’t say you’re not worth it. Don’t you dare.” His voice is shaking slightly, too, but there’s no doubt about his conviction. Vince’s eyes widen and he bites his lip. “But I’m….” “You are. You are worth it, Vince.” Vince stares at Howard for a second, his expression still one of surprise. “I … thank you.” Vince smiles softly, his eyes warming just a touch. It makes Howard’s chest tighten again, that he’s had such an affect on Vince. Just from a few kind words. That Vince seems to care about his opinion so much, it makes him feel almost proud. Important. Vince ducks his head, sipping at his tea once more, and Howard doesn’t know whether to believe it or not, but he’s sure he’d seen the tiniest of flushes colouring Vince’s cheekbones before he’d turned away. Silence descends again, as they both drink their whiskey spiked teas in silence. Finally, Vince sighs as he drains his cup, staring at the empty bottom of it for a second before he sets it down on the floor with still shaky hands. “I …” Vince’s voice is quiet, but it still seems to echo around the otherwise silent flat. “There were some people on the bus when I went to town. They were, I dunno, teenagers I guess. Lads. Maybe early twenties. Young. They were … making fun of me. Saying I looked like a girl and stuff. That my hair was stupid. One of them said I looked like a slag. It was….” “Is this what’s upset you, Vince?” Howard doesn’t know whether to feel angry or relieved. Angry at the lads on the bus, or relieved that it’s not something worse. This he can handle. He knows how to compliment Vince, how to make him feel good about himself. It’s something he does, when it’s just the two of them, reassuring Vince when he gets worried or upset about something. It doesn’t happen very often, and it has never been this bad before, but it has happened. But just as he’s about to open his mouth to speak, Vince shakes his head. “No. I mean. It’s upset me, but not, not because of them.” Howard’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand. What … why has it upset you then? Was it…. Did something else happen in the club?” Vince shrugs. “I didn’t make it to the club.” “Something on the way then?” Howard’s starting to get worried again, Vince seems so - matter of fact as he’s talking, almost detached. There’s a little knot of tension in Howard’s gut that’s growing rapidly, tying up his insides as a feeling of dread chokes up in his throat. He just about manages to ask, “Did something happen to you? Did someone do something to you? Did they … hurt you?” Vince shakes his head quickly, and Howard feels the tension sink out of him as quickly as it had come, relief making him feel almost dizzy. The thought of anyone doing anything to Vince was too much. He banishes it quickly, shaking his head a little to clear it. He’s still confused though. Vince is talking in riddles. “Then what is it? Honestly, Vince. You‘re going to have give me a clue here, because I’m lost.” Vince smiles then, soft and indulgently affectionate, just for the briefest moment, and something inside Howard twists again. Then it’s gone, and Vince is frowning again, looking down at his hands that are fiddling in his lap suddenly - his fingers rubbing and twisting at the hem of Howard‘s cardigan. “I … Bryan called.” “Bryan?” Howard’s puzzled for a moment before he realises. “Ferry?” “Yeah,” Vince whispers, so soft Howard can barely hear it. “I … is he okay? There’s nothing wrong is there? Vince. Please.” “It’s Jahooli. He’s … gone.” “Gone?” Howard frowns. “What do you mean? I thought he came back after we got rid of that green weirdo. Where’s he gone now?” “I … no, Howard.” Vince looks up at him, and Howard can see the wetness welling up in his eyes once more. Vince’s blinks it away, shaking his head, his face twisting in frustration and distress. “Not like that. He’s gone. For good. He’s not coming back. Not ever. He … can‘t.” Vince sniffs again, choking back a tiny whimper as he buries his head in his hands. His shoulders are shaking. Howard just stares for a second, realisation dawning rapidly. Jahooli. Vince’s childhood friend. Gone. Nothing lasts forever, Howard knows that. And Jahooli had lived a long life as it was. But it was still a shock. Awful enough for him even, but for Vince…. No wonder he’s so upset; they’d been so close. “Vince. I….” Howard stutters, wanting to say something, needing to say something, but knowing that nothing can change this. Nothing he can do can make this better. “I’m so sorry,” he finishes softly finally. He shifts closer to Vince, one hand stroking through his hair gentlt until Vince looks up at him, his eyes damp again and bloodshot, the blue dimmed and liquid. Howard can’t stand it, and he reaches forward, drawing Vince into him as he wraps his arms around him again. Vince sobs as he buries his head in Howard‘s neck, his hands clutching at Howard’s jumper, pulling and twisting and holding tight. Howard says nothing, just rocks him gently, feeling his own heart breaking. “Oh, Vince,” Howard says after a few minutes, guilt coiling in his stomach. How long had Vince been like this? Alone. While he’d been enjoying himself down the pub. He feels terrible. “Why didn’t you phone me? I … I’d have come straight back if I’d have known. How - when did Bryan call you?” Vince sniffs and shakes his head. “‘Bout ten I guess, I was just getting to the club. I came straight back here. It’s okay though. I didn’t want to spoil your evening.” “Oh, you … you bloody idiot,” Howard says, but his tone is soft, gentle and caring, not angry. He holds Vince tighter - not swaying him now, just pressing him close, trying both to comfort Vince, and to push back the feeling of regret closing up his throat, before it forces its way out and he ends up crying, too. Ten O’clock. It’s nearly twelve now. He strokes a hand through Vince’s hair again, smoothing it down until his hand feels fuzzy from the slide of silky strands beneath his palm. He doesn’t stop though, just keeps the same deliberate, steady rhythm, until he feels Vince slowly begin to calm. Eventually, Vince pulls away, sniffing and blinking up at Howard. “Thank you,” he says, hardly more than a whisper, as he runs his hands down Howard’s cheek to his jaw, letting them rest there lightly. The contact feels more intimate, in a way, even than having Vince pressed up tight against him. Vince’s warm, soft palms on his face, teamed with the way he’s looking at him, softly adoring and reverent, like he's holding the stars in his hands. He hasn’t seen that look in a long time. It’s giving him butterflies. “I….” Vince smiles softly, his thumb running over the bridge of Howard’s nose. He leans forward, and Howard feels his heart jump in his chest as Vince’s lips ghost over his own. Just a shadow of a touch. It still makes little fizzing tingles run up and down his spine. He runs his own hands up to Vince’s shoulders, squeezing them gently in reply. “Vince….” Howard cups Vince’s neck. The air is electric between them. There’s still the faintest trace of kohl under Vince’s eyes, smudged and clinging to the line of his lower lashes where Vince had missed it. Vince blinks slowly, inhaling shakily as he opens his eyes. The look in them is dizzying. Then Vince sniffles softly and the moment is broken. The reason they’re where they are coming back to Howard with a bang, making his stomach drop and fall. He’s … Vince is upset and grieving, and all he can think about is…. The guilt returns, twisting up his insides until he feels sick with it. He moves to draw back, but Vince blinks at him, his soft smile fading. Howard traces the outline of his jaw with his thumb. Something comes back to him - Vince’s words from earlier, about the lads on the bus. He frowns, wondering where it all fits in. Vince sighs when he asks him, pulling away and ruffling a hand through his hair self-consciously. “He … Jahooli,” Vince’s voice quivers around the word and he pauses, taking a deep breath. “He used to call me his little cub. He said - I wasn’t like all the other humans, that hunt and kill animals for fun. He said I was one of them; that I understood them. That I was kind and caring and special. The last time I … Before he … I haven’t seen him in so long. I’ve changed. I … I don’t know if he’d recognise me now.” Vince takes another deep breath, shaky this time, as he rubs the hem of Howard’s cardigan between his finger and thumb. Howard frowns. “Is this what this is about?” Slowly, minutely, Vince nods. “Vince….” Howard sighs. Vince has changed, but then everyone does. Nothing stays the same, it’s not natural. It’s not a bad thing, change. Although he can see how Vince would think it was - Vince likes things he knows. Familiarity comforts him, he likes things to stay the same. Growth, change, it unsettles him. And to suddenly realise that he’s the one that’s changed, well, Howard can see how upsetting for him that would be. But what to say - how to explain it to Vince ... how to make him feel better? “If you’d really changed that much, well, you wouldn’t care, would you? You wouldn’t be worrying yourself and upsetting yourself over it so much.” Vince frowns, his forehead creasing. “What?” “You’re still you. What Jahooli saw in you; it’s still there. You’re still kind, Vince. You still care. You’re still special; I can see that. And if I can see it, then Jahooli would, too. He knew you loved him, Vince. And he loved you, too.” “You think?” Vince asks, quiet and unsure, his wide blue eyes so open and questioning and … trusting, and Howard pauses for a second, just staring into them. When he speaks again, his voice is almost as quiet as Vince’s, “Yeah. Yes, I do.” Vince’s smile is soft, but it’s definitely a smile. There’s a strand of hair falling in front of his eyes as he looks at Howard. And Howard’s fingers itch to push it back. “I … but,” Vince pauses frowning again, “look at me. The way I dress and the places I go. I have changed.” Howard smiles. “I don’t see anything wrong with what you’re wearing, Vince. It’s very … sophisticated in my opinion.” Vince frowns, then looks down, laughing and rolling his eyes as he looks back at Howard. “Oh. Shut up.” He swipes at Howard with one overlong sleeve. “It’s awful. Too … brown,” his mouth twists around the word, and the sarcasm in his tone couldn’t be more welcome to Howard. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s so dull.” “There’s nothing wrong with a nice bit of toasted muffin.” Vince giggles, tugging at the arm. “Is that what you call this colour? Toasted muffin? You’ve gone wrong.” Howard’s smiling now, along with Vince as he shakes his head, his eyes widening in mock outrage. “How dare you! And stop stretching it! You‘ll make it all out of shape.” “Shape? What shape? It’s completely shapeless. It’s like a dress.” “Just because you’re a runt. I’ll have you know that cardigan looks much better on my broader, more manly frame.” “If broader is another word for chunky.” Vince is still laughing, but as he stares at Howard, he sobers, shaking his head slowly as his wide grin falls to a softer smile. He sighs. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Howard.” Vince’s tone is serious, honest and weighty and Howard swallows heavily, the atmosphere thickening. “Good job I’m not going anywhere then, isn’t it.” It’s softly spoken - a statement, not a question, and there’s a whole heap of hidden meaning that he’s not saying. I’m sorry I left you before. I won’t ever. Not again. No matter what. It killed me being without you. He can’t say the words, but he hopes that Vince will hear them anyway. And when Vince smiles, tiny and soft, but real, he thinks he just might have. “Thanks.” Vince pulls back, ruffling a hand through his hair self consciously. Howard watches the movement carefully. He’s sighs. “Jahooli - he was a bit wild wasn’t he? He didn’t always do what he was supposed to do. I think - I think he’d approve of you. He just wanted you to be happy. You’re unique Vince. Change isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes … sometimes, it’s good. You grew up, that’s all. Your style - it’s a part of who you are. But it’s not everything. Despite what you might think, there’s a lot more to you than what’s on the surface. As … beautiful as that is. It’s - it’s your kindness, and your empathy, how much you care about people and how good you are at knowing what they need to cheer them up or make them feel better. That’s what I really love about you. I‘m not … I‘m not very good with people. I never know what to say to them, but you - people look up to you. They love you.” Somewhere during his speech, Howard’s hand had moved, and when he looks down, he realises he’s brushing his thumb back and forth over the back of Vince’s hand, feeling his soft skin stretched taut over the bumps of his knuckles, where his fingers are still curled in the fabric of Howard‘s cardigan. “You love me?” Vince asks, and Howard flushes as he looks up. "You think I'm beautiful." Vince’s smile is quirked, cheeky, but despite that, the softness in his eyes is unmistakable, and Howard knows there‘s more to the question than teasing. Howard bites his lip, but nods anyway, whispering a quiet ‘Yes’. “I love you, too.” It’s so soft Howard only just hears it, but it still makes his stomach flip. He smiles, running a hand over Vince’s cheek softly. Vince’s eyes fall shut as he leans into the contact. The atmosphere has changed again; it’s still charged, but less sharp and tense and static, softer and more natural. Something’s shifted between them, and he doesn’t know what. But it still feels right. It’s okay. Because it’s still just them. Vince’s eyes are shining when he opens them, affectionate and soft, lighter than usual and still watery, delicate like cornflowers. “There’s the … funeral next week. Will you come with me?” Howard takes Vince’s hand in his, squeezing gently as he nods. “Of course.” Vince squeezes back. “Thanks.” He smiles, the action broken by a sudden yawn. He blinks at Howard sheepishly as his mouth closes. “Sorry.” “‘S okay,” Howard says, his thumb once more brushing Vince’s knuckles. “You’ve had a lot to deal with this evening. Maybe it’s time you tried to get some sleep?” “I….” Vince frowns, shrugging a shoulder. “Maybe.” Howard moves to stand, but Vince just grips his hand tighter again. He turns questioning eyes to Vince, who just ducks his head, his lip worried between his teeth again. “I don’t really want to go to bed. Can’t I just, stay here? With you? I don't want to move,” he asks quietly, and Howard shakes his head softly, a tiny, indulgent smile on his face. “You should really go to bed, Vince. You’ll sleep better. It’ll be more comfortable.” “I’ll sleep better with you,” Vince says, and his expression is so endearing that Howard can’t say no. He sighs and shakes his head softly as he exhales, making a show of resisting. But as Vince smiles and thanks him and snuggles up against him, his head on Howard’s shoulder and his nose buried in Howard’s neck, his breath warm against his skin, Howard knows there’s no place he’d rather be. Howard leans back into the sofa, twisting around to grab the throw from the back of it and wrapping it around them both. And as his arms cradle Vince’s slender frame close, and he shifts beneath him to make sure he’s comfortable, he knows there’s no place he’d rather have Vince. And in the morning, when he wakes up, his back aching and his neck cricked, the look that Vince gives him as he blinks himself awake, his eyes so affection filled and sleep soft and adoring, makes all the discomfort worthwhile. And in that moment, he knows that he’d do anything for Vince. He knows that he won’t always be able to protect him from what life may throw at him. And he knows that while bad things don’t normally happen to Vince, when they do, they hit him hard. He hates to see him cry, but he knows he’s privileged to be the one Vince turns to for comfort, out of everybody he knows. And more than anything, he knows that there's nothing they can't deal with, just as long as they're together. No matter what.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howince #vince noir #howard moon #vince noir/howard moon #vince/howard #howard moon/vince noir

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Shake It

Author: Jazz_Passion

Year: 2009

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Howince

He needs to stop this. He’s feeling older and pervier every time he does. To be fair, it’s not really Howard’s fault. Vince is the one who’s always wearing jeans that stick to the skin, flattering it so perfectly. Almost looks like he’s not wearing jeans at all.

He’s always dancing in front of Howard too. Swaying his hips in time to the rhythm in his head. Shimmying past Howard though corridors, past the shop counter, passing him into the bathroom when their morning routines collide.

Vince models clothes for Howard too. Howard acts like he doesn’t care but secretly loves Vince’s Top Shop binges. Every pose practically begs Howard to look… to touch.

Why should he feel bad when every time Vince bends down to pick up new stock or forgotten clothes round the flat, Howard peeks. Feeling a rush of excitement every time he gets away with it. And should he feel bad when he asks Vince to rearrange the items in the shop to lower shelves, so customers have better access, and his eyes happen to fall on that bottom while he’s checking up on him.

He needs to stop this… but not until Vince does first

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howince #vince noir #howard moon #vince noir/howard moon #vince/howard #howard moon/vince noir

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Just Another Night

Author: AppaDarling

Year: 2009

Rating: R

Pairing: Howince

Sigh.

Sigh.

"Mmm, Howard. 'S a little chilly in 'ere."

"Here, get under the duvet, ya clingy limpet."

Shuffle. "Ah, 's better. 'M all cozy on my little space heater."

"Space heater? Is that all I am to you? Accessories and furniture?"

"Nah, Howard, you're just my boyfriend. 'S what you're 'ere for, an' all. To keep me warm after you get me all sweaty an' I get chilled."

"And here I thought it was for emotional fullfillment."

"Don't be such a woman, Howard. I just keep y'round for the sex."

"..."

"Ah, Howard, you know I love you. I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, I know. It's not that."

"What, then? You had a look on your face like-... Howard, d'you have the remote under here?"

"Erm- no?"

"Then what's- Howard, again?"

"You said the word sex. It got my cogs reelin'."

"What? The one's in your cock?"

"Can't help it."

"Alright, maybe if we ignore it, it'll go away."

"You talk about it like it's some kind of parasite that won't leave you alone."

"'S about right."

"What was that?"

"Nothin'. Let's just go to sleep. 'M so tired."

"Yeah, alright."

Snuggle.

Sigh.

...

"Howard, it's still there."

"Well, I can't do anything about it, can I? It's not like I can just tell it to mind itself and go back to sleep."

"It's diggin' into me hip."

"Take care of it, then."

"Take care of it? You're wearin' me out. I need a few hours, I'm all sexed out."

"C'mon, just a quick one."

"No, y'horny sea urchin. I'm not like you, I ain't got a life's worth o' sex juice backed up in me pipes. I've been at this for years, I'm exhausted."

"Vince, look at him. All alone, lying there-"

"Lyin'?"

"Standin' there like a lost little lamb."

"Ugh, don't go comparin' your cock to a lamb. That is well wrong, Howard."

"He needs a home, Vince. Give 'im a home."

"Are you off your tits? Go take care of it yourself. Or do it right there, I don't care."

"I like it better when you do it."

"Well, I am pretty good."

"Mm, that thing you do with your tongue."

"You like that, d'ya?"

"Obviously."

"I'm like the Beckham of blowjobs."

"The Beckham of blowjobs? What does that even mean?"

"It means I'm the best, Howard. If blowing was an Olympic sport, I'd be bringin' home the gold for Britain, I can tell you that."

A laugh. "I've seen little evidence of that, little man."

"'S not what you were sayin' yesterday, behind the counter. Remember that, hm?"

"You're all mouth and no trousers."

"If I am, 's only because you've got me trousers down round me ankles or your cock down my-"

"Alright, that's enough of that, sir." "I know what you're tryin' to do, Howard. Tryin' to goad me into doin' it by sayin' I can't." "I never said you couldn't!" "Y'said I weren't good." "I did not, sir!" "Y'did, too. You're goin' to give me a complex." "You don't even know what a complex is. All this arguing has thrown my mood, anyway. Just go to sleep."

Kiss. "I'll make it up to ya in the morning, Howard."

"Yeah."

Sigh.

...

"Howard?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Genius..."

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howince #vince noir #howard moon #vince noir/howard moon #howard moon/vince noir #vince/howard