I Have Never

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PWP - Late night drinking games lead Howard and Vince to reveal a little too much about themselves. Then they take off allllllll their clothes.

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I Have Never by Maestro

Just the sight of Vince’s hand digging around in his pocket, trying to worm its way in to his impossibly tight jeans, and Howard’s mouth went dry. Reeling slightly, he let go of the wall and crossed the corridor, placing both hands on Vince’s arse and squeezing as hard as he could. Vince straightened up almost immediately with a groan, pressing himself backward into Howard’s touch, one hand still trapped in his pocket. No wonder you never heard Vince’s keys jingle.

One hand wrapped around Vince’s waist, still standing behind him, he swept Vince’s hair away from his neck with the other, and tilted it until Vince had his head pressed against Howard’s right shoulder. He started to kiss his neck, long, sweet, sloppy kisses, tasting Vince’s aftershave, the alcohol pricking his tongue slightly. He could hear Vince’s breathing speeding up in time with his own, and gripped his waist harder, sliding his hand under his T-shirt. Vince moaned, his left leg kicking out a little involuntarily, all his weight on his right foot. He held Howard’s mouth to his neck with one hand on the back of Howard’s head, and Howard stumbled with the power of all this, of all this everything.

“I don’t get it,” Howard said doubtfully, looking around the table to see if anyone else was similarly confused.

Bainbridge scoffed, and Fossil, one eye on him as ever, scoffed a millisecond after he did. “Honestly, Moon. You’ve never played a drinking game before?”

“Yeah,” said Fossil, and Bainbridge shot him a look.

“No, thank you. I know what a drinking game is. I just…What’s this, ‘I Have Never’?” Howard looked to Vince, sat on his left, who grinned cheekily.

“It’s easy. You go round the table, and everyone says something they’ve never done. Liiiike…” Vince wrinkled his nose, trying to think.

Bainbridge jumped in. “Like, I have never used more than one tenth of my brain power.”

Vince nodded, either ignoring or not understanding the insult. “Yeah, like that. And if you have done whatever, then you take a drink. If you haven’t, you don’t. So everyone knows what you’ve done, and not done.”

Bainbridge grabbed a bottle of scotch from a passing waiter, who glared at the back of his head for a bit and then moved on. Vince took four plastic cups from a nearby table, winking at the outraged woman who was sitting there, who naturally melted at the sight.

Bainbridge filled the cups up sloppily, a sign that he, like the rest of them, had already drank a certain amount at the Keeper’s Ball that evening. He handed each of them a cup, and placed the now half-empty bottle of scotch in the centre of the table. Howard, who was directly opposite him, decided that if the whole ordeal got too embarrassing, he could always put his head on the table and hide from Bainbridge behind the bottle. Then he started to wonder how much he’d drunk that evening, and realised he couldn’t remember.

“Fossil. Why don’t you begin?” Bainbridge said with a sneer.

Bob Fossil looked up, wide-eyed. “Me, pookie?”

“Get on with it, you fool. We don’t have all night!”

Howard and Vince exchanged a look, Vince rolling his eyes, Howard relishing the intimacy of their private joke.

“Anything you say, love pump.” Fossil cleared his throat nervously. “Uh, okay. I have never…I have never…”

Howard toyed with the edge of his cup a bit, flicking it with his thumb and trying to think of what he would say when his turn came.

“I have never played golf,” Fossil finished lamely, and Bainbridge snorted at him.

“Pathetic,” he said, taking a long swig of his scotch.

Howard took a small sip of his, and Vince looked at him in expectation. “Um, my dad tried to get me interested in it when I was little. I’ve played a few games.”

“My turn,” announced Bainbridge in his extraordinarily powerful voice. “I have never…slept in a single bed.”

The other three drank their drinks.

“How is that possible?” asked Vince.

“I’m not a pauper like you, Noir.”

It figures, Howard thought. No one had said that socialising with your worst enemy would mean they’d have to be nice to you.

Vince looked up and to the left, his mouth screwed into a pout as he thought. “Ooh!” he said as inspiration struck. “I’ve never spent less than a tenner on shampoo.”

Howard glared at him, taking a long gulp of his drink, as did Fossil, which came as no surprise to anyone. Bainbridge left his cup on the table, patting at his quiff a little.

All eyes were on Howard now, and he reddened under the attention, staring into his drink to buy some time. “I’ve never…I’ve never…I’ve never had someone round to my place,” he said in a rush, then cursed himself inwardly.

Everyone else drank, and Bainbridge guffawed. “I didn’t think we’d get to the deeply embarrassing stuff so early!”

Vince nudged Howard’s knee with his. “You’ve…you’ve never…”

“No, obviously I’ve…what I mean is, I always end up going to theirs, okay?” Howard said indignantly, one eye on Vince struggling to contain a smile.

And God, this was so good. Vince writhed in his arms, and he struggled to hold him there, not done with his neck yet, holding Vince’s hair back and relishing the feel of it between his fingers. But Vince got tired so easily. He broke free and span around blindly, reaching out for Howard’s face. One hand on the back of Howard’s head, he took a step back until his arse knocked against the door to his flat. They hit it with more force than they intended, the noise echoing through the corridors, but neither of them noticed.

Vince was clawing at his clothes, one hand holding Howard’s mouth pressed to his, kissing him hungrily, open-mouthed, little gasps escaping every time they broke contact. The other hand was on Howard’s back, scrabbling to find the edge of his shirt to touch skin.

Their heads and torsos were clamped together, but as yet everything below the waist was still a little way apart, and Howard was starting to squirm. But kissing Vince was just so…God, it was everything he’d ever imagined. He moved away from Vince’s mouth, desperate to drink him in, kissing and tasting his cheek, his jaw, noting absently that Vince’s face was entirely smooth. Vince moaned and tried to drag his mouth back to his, but Howard remained firm, one hand on the wall beside Vince to give him some purchase.

There was a gasp from behind them, and Vince’s hand on his back froze suddenly, his mouth still. Howard pulled away just enough to turn and look over his shoulder.

Framed in the open door of the flat opposite Vince’s was an elderly woman with her hair in curlers, holding one of those irritating yappy dogs in her arms. She took in their little tableau without blinking, and merely nodded to them. “Good evening, Mr Noir.”

“Evenin’, Mrs Crabshaw,” Vince nodded back sheepishly. “Um, this is my friend Howard. Howard Moon.”

Without moving from his position pressed up against Vince, Howard raised one hand in a little wave. “Mrs Crabshaw,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“Mr Moon,” she nodded to him. “Perhaps you boys would like to open the door and head inside, where the walls are a little more… soundproof?” she said in the poshest accent Howard had ever heard, and only now, when Vince met his eyes, did Howard take a step back, the smallest amount of space necessary for Vince to get his keys out.

“Right…yeah…” Vince said quietly. “Sorry if we woke you.”

“Enjoy your evening,” she said coolly, the hint of a smile in her eyes, and closed her door.

Howard looked at Vince, taking in his wild eyes, his face red from Howard’s stubble, his T-shirt rucked up on one side, revealing his hipbone, and they both burst out laughing.

“I don’t believe you ate a live goldfish,” Vince said, shaking his head.

“It was the sixties! Everyone was doing it, I just wanted to be popular…” Fossil said, trailing off, one eye on Bainbridge, who looked more amused than disgusted, although the moustache made it difficult to tell.

“How old are you, exactly?” Vince asked, and Fossil spluttered.

“Your turn, lamp of my life,” he said to Bainbridge, his eyes shining in adoration.

“Fine, then. I have never…” Bainbridge met Howard’s eyes across the table. “I have never bummed a fox.”

Vince gasped a little, and Fossil went “oooh!” like one of those idiotic chat show audiences.

Howard lifted his cup up, and Vince leaned back in horror. Howard brought it up to his mouth, his eyes on Bainbridge’s, and held it there. “Sorry, Bainbridge. That’s just a rumour.” He put his cup back down, his hand shaking only a little.

Bainbridge raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to Vince. “What about you? The goth fairy?”

“Electro ponce, actually,” Vince corrected him. “And I ain’t been near Jack Cooper, thank you.”

“Fossil?”

“Pumpkin! How could you even–”

“Oh, fine,” Bainbridge sighed. “Your turn, Noir.”

Vince closed one eye, looking around the table, and Howard just knew he was going to say something obscene. Vince always did, when he was drunk enough. “I’ve never had a threesome.” Making sure they were all watching, Vince drained the rest of his cup and reached for the bottle to refill it.

Bainbridge took a drink, which was unsurprising – everyone knew about his fancy parties in Aspen. Fossil lifted his cup, but faltered under Bainbridge’s harsh glare, and put it back down again.

Howard amazed everyone by copying Vince, swallowing down the remainder of his scotch and hiding his red face by pretending to be amazingly interested in refilling his cup.

“Howard.” He looked up at Vince, his mouth a perfect ‘O’ in wonder. “You can’t just say that and not follow it up.”

“He’s lying. Look at him. He couldn’t get one girl into bed, let alone two.” Bainbridge pointed at him with a gloved finger and scoffed.

“Howard?”

Howard glared at Bainbridge, his voice louder than he’d intended, the alcohol loosening his tongue. “I was at a party, we were all drunk, things got outta hand. I was young.”

Vince nodded, understanding.

“Girls?” There was a mocking edge to Bainbridge’s voice, and he smiled slowly as Howard faltered.

“It was…one girl. And one boy. Man, I mean.” He stared back into his drink, not looking at Vince, not thinking about Vince, his head spinning a little.

“Me too. Best way, I think.” Vince’s voice was cool and controlled, and when Howard looked at him he gave him a little wink. “Your go, Howard.”

How long could it take to open a door? It felt like an age, standing behind Vince while he jangled away at the lock, wanting desperately to touch him but feeling strangely exposed after their encounter with his neighbour. He watched the curve of his back under his T-shirt, his shoulderblades shifting and turning as Vince moved, and thought about tracing the edges of them with his tongue. About tasting Vince again. He swallowed, wrapping his arms around himself, the waiting almost painful.

Vince stumbled forward as the door opened suddenly, and threw his keys on a table just inside. Howard pushed him over the threshold fully, and followed him in, closing the door decisively behind them.

Vince turned a little, balanced on one silver boot, biting his lip. Howard didn’t stop, he just kept walking, and Vince found himself backing away across his living room, grinning, like they were performing some strange dance. Their footsteps matched each other perfectly, Howard’s eyes never leaving Vince’s for a second as he walked him into the far wall, not allowing them to touch until Vince’s back hit plaster.

He continued, walking straight into Vince’s arms, kissing him with a force that had half to do with momentum, and half to do with lust. Their teeth clicked together awkwardly, and Howard tilted his head, repositioning himself to get a better angle on Vince’s mouth. His eyes closed, he reached for Vince’s hands only to find that Vince was doing the same. Their fingers intertwined, and Howard pressed Vince’s hands against the wall, pushing himself into Vince as hard as he dared, feeling the air rush out of Vince’s lungs and into his own. With one knee he nudged Vince’s legs apart, pressing his thigh against Vince’s crotch and feeling the pressure there.

Vince broke for air. “Fuck, Howard,” he gasped, and Howard burned to hear him say his name like that, thick with passion and need and wanting. He pressed his face to Vince’s chest, breathing him in, their hands writhing against the wall, fighting for dominance but neither was quite sure of what.

“A shop counts as a public place!” Vince said angrily, his words slurring together.

“It was closed,” Bainbridge said with an air of finality. “You might as well have been in a hotel room. There was no chance of getting caught, so it doesn’t count.”

“There were security guards!”

Fossil murmured something into his cup, and Bainbridge shouted at him to stop mumbling like a retard. “I said, I can’t believe you had sex in my office,” Fossil said glumly, and Howard found he felt sorry for him in spite of himself.

“My go,” Bainbridge said, holding up his cup. He smirked at Vince, his expression triumphant. “I have never given a blow job.”

The three of them looked at Vince, Howard’s heart sounding awfully loud all of a sudden. Vince looked from Bainbridge, to Fossil, and finally straight at Howard, his eyes dark and impossible to read.

He took a gulp of his drink.

Bainbridge laughed, a strange and loud barking sound, like a seal, odd mainly because Fossil didn’t join in. Rather, he quickly took a sip of his drink without meeting anybody’s eyes.

“Robert!” Bainbridge said to him in shock.

Howard paid no attention though, his eyes on Vince. He nudged him under the table with his knee. “Have you really–”

“That a problem?” Vince interrupted, his face flushed, and Howard froze. He thought about Vince on his knees somewhere, some sleazy pub toilet, the harsh light buzzing overhead, bleaching out his hair and making it look dull. Those beautiful lips wrapped around someone else’s cock.

“Is it someone I know?” he asked.

Vince’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, someone?”

Howard spluttered into silence under Vince’s fierce gaze.

“My go,” Vince said, his voice sharp. Howard flinched a little, hoping that Vince wouldn’t pick on him. He knew almost everything about him. If he chose to reveal something he had an embarrassment of riches to choose from.

But when he looked up he saw that Vince was looking from Fossil to Bainbridge. Holding his cup in one hand, by the tips of his fingers, he spoke. “I have never paid for sex.”

No one drank, but Bainbridge went an interesting shade of maroon.

“Any time you’re ready, Bainbridge,” Vince sneered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you queen.”

“Schnookums?” Fossil blinked at Bainbridge, his expression heartbreaking.

“Really?” Vince let his cup dangle from his fingers, his wrist cocked. “Seems I remember an article in the paper a ways back. Some high-class hooker’s address book got stolen and leaked to the press. There were a lot of names in there.”

“Now listen, Noir–” Bainbridge began, pointing at Vince, but he cut him off.

“As well as a list of all her clients’ turn-ons. Who knew Dixon Bainbridge liked to be spanked?” Vince smiled, an expression that had nothing to do with amusement.

Howard simply gaped. He’d never heard about this. Vince read the paper? Since when?

Bainbridge got to his feet. “This game is over. I won’t play with this detritus. Come on, Fossil.” He jerked his head sharply, and Fossil got to his feet, scampering after him.

“That wasn’t true what he said, was it, sweetness?” Howard could hear Fossil ask quietly as they left.

He and Vince were left in the silence of the empty ballroom, the bottle of scotch on the damp tablecloth between them.

Howard knew, with the logic of the highly intoxicated, that this was a turning point. This was one of those moments that could change your life forever. It felt like…like a jigsaw, maybe. Like a whole bunch of pieces coming together, and almost, very nearly, slotting into place, but requiring care. Vince’s hair had fallen down over his eyes, and Howard couldn’t see his expression. It would be very easy to fuck this up.

Howard reached for the bottle and managed to grab it on his third or fourth try. He refilled his cup, aware of Vince’s eyes on him. “Whose go is it, then?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and ordinary.

“You want to keep playing?”

“I was having fun,” Howard said simply. “Weren’t you?”

Vince sighed, closing his eyes and running a hand over his face in exhaustion. “Howard…” he began, and Howard could tell from his voice that he was going to stop it, stop everything. Maybe, had he been sober, he would have let him. Had they not both already revealed more about their sex lives than they ever had before.

Instead, he reached for Vince’s cup, cutting him off. “Want me to refill yours too?”

“Howard. Howard. Howard.”

It was a mindless repetition, a litany, but every time Vince called his name Howard felt that it meant something different. It meant: Oh God please. And it meant: Don’t stop.

Faster.

Closer.

More.

They were pressed together against that wall, Howard with his face clamped to Vince’s neck, a part of his body he’d never really noticed before but now seemed irresistible. You couldn’t have found a sliver of space between their bodies, locked together perfectly, like they were made for nothing more than this. Vince’s hands were on his back, scratching and rubbing and oh so sweet. Howard was simply holding on to Vince’s sides, rocking them both back and forth, relishing the changes in pressure and touch.

Vince made a strange sort of keening sound, high and desperate, his voice cracking like it did when he got overexcited about something stupid, like Bowie. Howard growled to hear it, the purest and most intense form of lust imaginable. He moved back slightly, kissing Vince furiously, and pulled at his T-shirt.

It was so tight that it literally peeled off, like a second skin. Vince’s head barely fit through, and there was a crackle of static electricity when his face re-emerged, something Howard imagined, in his drunken and passionate state, to be a symptom of their closeness. He ran his fingers along Vince’s torso, brushing lightly over the nipples that were the lightest shade of pink, wincing a little as he felt Vince’s ribs, far too prominent in his opinion. Vince tipped his head back, his eyes closed and his mouth parted, and Howard could do nothing but dart forward and lick Vince’s chest, a wide streak from belly button to the hollow at his throat. He kissed Vince again, and it was like coming to the surface after drowning, both of them scrabbling for as much as they could get, missing each other’s lips more often than not, Vince’s eyelids fluttering beautifully.

“Oh God, Vince. Oh God.”

Vince bit his lip and smiled a very small amount. “Well, then. It’s your stupid idea. You go first.”

All or nothing, Howard thought to himself. “I’ve never been in love with another man.” His eyes on Vince’s, hoping that he realised that this was, this was to match his little blow job story, he took a sip of his drink. Hoping that Vince would understand.

Vince watched him carefully, one eye hidden by his fringe. Then he took a sip of his drink, easily. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked, and Howard’s breath caught in his throat. What did he think? Some youthful fling? Tommy, maybe?

He shook his head. “Let’s keep playing, first.”

“Okay.” Vince stared into the distance, and Howard could see his mind working. What did he want to know about Howard that Howard wouldn’t tell him when he was sober? His eyes flashed, and he grinned. “I’ve never gone without sex for longer than…a month.”

Howard took a drink.

“Six months?” Vince said, his tone light but pressing, no trace of mockery there.

Howard took another drink.

“A year?”

Howard drained his cup.

“Wow,” Vince breathed, and Howard shot him a look. Vince held up his hands in a ‘whoa there’ gesture. “No, I just meant…how long has it been?”

Howard stared at the tablecloth. This wasn’t exactly what he wanted to talk about. “There was a girl at a party, last year,” he said dully. “I don’t remember her name.” And before that, it had been a long time before that.

Vince refilled his cup for him. “It’s your go.”

Howard stretched his fingers, looking at his hands laid flat on the table. If he could just find the right question. If he could find the magic words that would make everything go his way.

Where he’d been careful, tender even, in removing Vince’s top, Vince showed no such restraint. He grabbed at Howard’s shirt, not unbuttoning it, simply yanking it wholesale over his head. Howard was lost in the fabric for a moment, feeling stupidly exposed standing there with his arms trapped either side of his head, and he reflected that there were downsides to Vince’s impatience.

He could hear Vince laughing close by, and tugging at him. With an ‘ooof’ his head came free, his hair standing up crazily and his face all red. His arms still trapped in the cuffs, Vince held them down by his waist by hanging on to the shirt, and kissed him deeply.

“Mmmm…Vince? Help?” he managed, and Vince simply cackled, holding him in place with the shirt, kissing his face. Howard flailed a little, trying to worm his way out of the shirt, and cursed his tendency to button his cuffs. Vince ran his free hand over his torso and he arched into the touch, his hands moving instinctively to take hold of Vince, but unable to free himself.

“For fuck’s sake, Vince!” he murmured, in desperation, and Vince took pity on him. He lifted one leg, and brought his boot down firmly on Howard’s shirt, pulling it and Howard to the floor. Howard’s face was perfectly level with Vince’s crotch, and he swallowed, looking from the tight denim up to Vince.

Vince raised an eyebrow. “Pull.”

Howard looked down at his arms, and the shirt trapped under Vince’s boot, and pulled gently, the material straining but holding in place. His hands were free.

Remaining on one knee, he put his hands either side of Vince’s waist, and looked up at him again. Vince bit his lip, letting it out between his teeth slowly, and Howard thought it was maybe the most decadent thing he’d ever seen. Vince’s hands spread out on the wall, his fingers clutching at the plaster a little, his nails stained with the remnants of polish.

Howard unbuttoned Vince’s jeans and slid down the zip, tugging his trousers down as far as he could, which with Vince’s penchant for skin-tight clothing, turned out to be halfway down his thighs. But there was something about Vince trapped there, naked from the waist up, but still wearing his wickedly pointed boots, that was just so appealing, so evocative of stolen moments, and not being able to wait, that he made no move to force them lower.

And there it was. He was face to face with the bulge in Vince’s underwear. His breath hitched suddenly as he thought about how he’d imagined this. How the sex in his head had just been a glorious mixture of limbs and wrestling and electric pleasure, and had involved no such problems as how, exactly, one sucked cock.

He felt a hand playing with his hair, and leaned into the touch.

“Howard.” God, Vince’s voice was just so perfect. It had deepened from need, rasping and soft and blurred. “Howard you don’t…I mean, fuck, it would be fantastic if you did, but I mean…”

He looked up at Vince, who closed one eye. “I mean, you haven’t done this before.”

“No.”

Vince smiled sadly. “Come back up here.”

That decided it.

Howard tucked his fingers inside the waistband of Vince’s underpants, running them all the way around to loosen where it was stuck to Vince’s skin with sweat. He heard Vince’s faltering “Howard? You don’t–” before he took hold of them and pulled them down to where the jeans had got stuck. Vince’s cock sprang free almost comically. He heard Vince’s breathing speed up, and repositioned himself, the bulge in his own trousers rubbing painfully against the fabric.

“H-howard, really…”

He took hold of Vince’s dick with one hand, figuring that would be a good place to start, and whatever it was that Vince had been about to say was cut off in a strangled choking sound, just a sort of yelp that then melted into a gasp.

Howard leaned forward and took as much as possible into his mouth, barely getting more than halfway down. He felt Vince bump against the back of his throat, and gagged slightly, so pulled back a little until it was more comfortable.

Whatever trepidation he might have felt was lost in the amazing sounds Vince was making, noises he’d always imagined but never actually heard, just writhing and breathing and mouthing his name but never actually managing to form consonants. A vowel-filled cry that was coupled with Vince’s hand in his hair, twisting.

Howard sucked as hard as he could, hearing the corresponding change of pitch in Vince’s voice. His cock tasted of salt and sweat and something very Vince, the semi-sweet taste that was all over his body. He found that by varying the pressure and angle he could coax the most amazing noises out of him, and found himself being turned on almost despite himself. It was difficult and confusing, sort of like patting your head while…well, while wanking. But if he was inexperienced, if he was doing badly, Vince didn’t seem to think so.

His breathing got faster, his moans, he tried to form words. “H-how…Oh God…f-fuck, Howard, you…fucking…yes, oh yes…”

Howard felt Vince’s hips tense suddenly, and Vince clutched at his shoulder, pulling his mouth free. Howard could do nothing but watch as Vince came, spectacularly, bucking from the hips. Vince cried out, his head thrown back, calling to the stars. Howard couldn’t breathe.

Vince stilled, breathing deep, one hand rubbing a little at the stickiness on his belly and hips. Howard reached for the nearest approximation to a towel – his shirt – and handed it to Vince, who made only the most cursory of attempts to clean himself up. Howard got to his feet, feeling his knees as weak as Vince’s were, shaking, and just pressed himself against Vince, skin on skin.

Vince kissed him, long and slow. “Howard. You…you’re going to get the sex of a fucking lifetime.”

“I think I might be a bit pissed.” Vince giggled at the solemnity of Howard’s voice, and clutched at his arm, the joke so much funnier for the alcohol content of his blood.

They were standing outside the hall where the Annual Keeper’s Ball had been staged, and where the irritated waiters had finally thrown them out of a few minutes earlier. They were drunk, tired, and hysterical, and it was the middle of the night.

“What now?” Vince asked him.

Howard stopped laughing, breathless. “Well, I have my car. But I can’t possibly drive like this.”

Vince shook his head vigorously, looking out of control. His hair flicked Howard’s cheek gently. “No, you can’t.”

They stood there side by side, Vince still clutching at Howard’s arm, neither one wanting to suggest it first.

“Your place is a bit far to walk, isn’t it?” Vince said carefully.

“Just a bit, yeah. Pity there’s nowhere closer I could stay.” Howard cursed himself for his lack of subtlety, but Vince didn’t seem to notice, just staring at the pavement.

“You could…I mean, it’s just an option. You could come back to mine.”

Howard felt his chest go tight, felt those pieces he’d imagined knocking against one another get ready to click into place. Don’t screw this up, he told himself frantically. You will never do this again.

“That’d be perfect, thanks,” he managed, keeping his voice light.

Vince looked up at him through his eyelashes, pushing his fringe aside with the back of his hand. “The thing is…the thing is. There’s only one bed.”

The world stopped spinning.

“That’s, um, not a problem.”

They grinned at one another. It was the sheer unrestrained joy of being on the same page, of having spent an entire evening trying to figure one another out, but now knowing that each wanted the same thing, had been heading for the same outcome. They were young, and they were drunk, and they were going to have hot sex.

Vince smirked. “Yeah. I didn’t think it would be, somehow.”

Howard couldn’t stop smiling, and his smiles broke out into strange sort of half-laughs, his eyes shining under the streetlights. “Right. Yeah. Right.”

Vince took hold of his hand, a strangely childish gesture that was now filled with so much meaning, and swung it lightly. Howard tugged on it, and Vince stumbled forward, putting out an arm to steady himself and hitting Howard’s chest, where his heart beat a drum’n’bass classic.

And that was it, really. Howard dipped forward, Vince leaned up, their lips met, and it was fireworks, tidal waves, rockets taking off, all the silly images you ever thought were overdone and clichéd were right there in the best thing that had ever happened to either of them. Howard made a little whining sound when Vince pulled away, trying to clutch at him, but Vince simply pulled on their joined hands.

“Let’s go home so we can do this properly.”

He broke their grip, and took a couple of steps backwards, his hands on his hips cockily, pure sex. “The things I’m going to do to you, Howard.” His voice was husky, and Howard could do nothing but pursue.

Vince kicked off his silver boots and they clattered to the floor, one sliding a little way, spinning like a coin. Howard leaned against the wall, aching with need but patient, and watched Vince strip off his jeans and underpants from where they had been stuck around his thighs. There was a knack to it, obviously, as what had been almost immovable to Howard took Vince only a few short moments.

Vince stood there, naked in the electric light streaming in from the street outside, two spots of red in his cheeks the only colour on his goth-pale skin. He jerked his head backwards, beckoning Howard to his bedroom, and turned.

Vince’s arse was a sight to behold. Howard had always found his eyes drawn to it, the strange, almost-perfect spherical shape of it, and naked it was even better. He crossed the floor to walk up behind Vince and gave him a light slap there. Vince looked at him over his shoulder, indignant, but didn’t turn around. And there was something so perfect about Howard, still in his trousers, his cock oh-so-ready to nudge between Vince’s buttocks, but held in place by the fabric, pressed to Vince from behind. The friction drove him crazy.

Vince grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bedroom, flicking the light on. Childishly, Vince leapt onto the bed, bouncing a little. There was something so bizarre about the image of a nude Vince jumping up and down on his bed that Howard giggled.

Vince lay back on the pillows luxuriously. “Strip, Moon,” he ordered, waggling his eyebrows.

Howard shucked his shoes by simply standing on the backs, too eager to think about anything as mundane as shoelaces. He removed his trousers and pants equally fast, and stood there nervously. It was scarier than being naked in front of a woman. A woman might think that your penis was too small, but she could keep that to herself. If you didn’t measure up to a man, you could see right away. Howard climbed onto the bed, telling himself not to be silly.

Vince burst out laughing, one hand pressed to his mouth like a schoolgirl.

Howard froze, his mouth open, mortified.

He started to stand up, but Vince caught hold of his wrist, still smirking. He nodded at Howard’s ankles.

Howard was still wearing his black knee socks.

“Shit, sorry…” he muttered, blushing, and started to peel them off, but Vince tugged at his hand.

“No, don’t. I like it.” Vince leaned in, and put his mouth close to Howard’s ear. “It turns me on.”

His voice was like a direct link to Howard’s cock, an electric pulse down his body, something which Vince couldn’t fail to notice. He kissed Howard on the tip of his nose, something which he found vaguely insulting at the time, and then pulled hard on his hand, swivelling with his hips, forcing Howard onto his back on the bed with Vince on top, straddling his thighs.

“God, Howard,” he breathed, running his hands down Howard’s torso and back up again. “You have just no idea how long I’ve thought about this.” He pressed his body to Howard’s slowly, and kissed him full on the mouth, long and hard, while one hand crept up his chest and gently stroked his nipple.

Howard gasped to feel it, Vince’s touch expert in pressure and speed. Vince broke the kiss, a wicked grin on his face, and ducked his head to the other nipple, sucking it into his mouth and biting it slightly. Howard arched into it, his back leaving the sheets, but Vince pushed him back down. Howard’s hands fisted in the sheets, unable to do anything but clench and unclench.

Vince’s hand left Howard’s nipple, sliding down in gentle circles, around and around, back and forth across his chest, darting lower, and lower… His finger scraped across Howard’s balls suddenly, and Howard yelped, jumping, but Vince pushed him back down with his body, leaning to the side a little to give his hand better access to Howard’s groin.

Vince sat up from chewing on Howard’s now rather erect nipple, and positioned his face directly above Howard, one hand pillowing his cheek, propped up on his elbow, the other still coyly circling Howard’s belly button. Howard had one hand on Vince’s back, the other still entangled in the sheets, and it was this one that he raised to try to pull Vince in for a kiss. Vince ducked it, holding himself close enough to Howard that he could whisper and still be heard, but not allowing Howard to touch him.

Howard lay back passively, dimly aware that Vince was sort of showing off, but really really not minding.

“Do you have any idea what it’s been like?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His hand edged lower, his fingers drifting in and out of the hair between Howard’s legs. “Being around you, all day, every day, but not being able to touch you?”

Howard drew in a shuddering breath.

“I used to think about this, all the time. Standing at the kitchen counter, when you’d come up behind me, I used to fantasise about what it would be like to have you just grab me and fuck me, right there at the window.” His eyes never left Howard’s, dark and unfamiliar, and his hand dipped lower, almost but not quite making contact.

“I prayed for the both of us to get the night shift, just so I could lie next to you in my sleeping bag and touch myself, hoping to God you wouldn’t wake up, watching you in the darkness, thinking what it would be like to hear you call out my name.”

Vince brought his hand up and licked it from wrist to fingertip, and then finally took hold of Howard’s cock, wrapping it carefully around the base but not moving. Yet.

Howard couldn’t help it, he gasped Vince’s name, short and sharp.

Vince smiled. “That’s it. Just like that. Just for me.” He ran his hand up Howard’s cock from base to tip, and then back down again, painfully slowly. “I’d think about you, spread out and breathless underneath me, calling my name out, and I’d get hard, Howard. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

Howard watched Vince in fascination, but when he started to pump he couldn’t help himself, he had to close his eyes or die. He bucked up from the sheets, making stupid little moaning sounds, animal and instinctive.

Vince sped up slightly. “That’s it, Howard. That’s it.”

The combination of filthy images, of Vince’s voice so pornographic and perfect just above him, and the idea of Vince in a sleeping bag, doing this, of them together, naked on the floor of the zookeepers’ hut, it was all too much.

“Vince, fuck, Vince, yes,” he repeated mindlessly, only dimly aware of Vince rolling sideways slightly and reaching for his own cock, pressing against his thigh. He knew he should do something, but he was powerless, uncontrollable, jerking up from the bed in time with Vince’s strokes, which were now coupled with Vince’s own moaning.

It didn’t take long.

Howard came, hard and fast, feeling like his soul was being torn out. He wanted to call out Vince’s name, but founding himself just calling out ‘yes’ instead. He saw stars, perfect blue electric images behind his eyes, like looking at a sparkler, and he fell back onto the bed.

And he should help, really, but when he opened his eyes Vince was already so close, his mouth parted, his hair stuck to his face with sweat, his eyes on Howard’s. A guttural moan, a shouted expletive, and Vince lay spent on the bed, half on him.

They just lay there panting for a moment, Howard’s head still filled with all the things that Vince had said, his mind seemingly only now making the connection that this creature lying next to him was the man he’d seen every day for the past ten years, and lusted after for the best part of that.

“Vince?”

“Mmmm?”

They lay on the bed still, sheets pulled up around them, Howard’s head on Vince’s chest and Vince’s hand in his hair, stroking gently. Funny, thought Howard. I always imagined it the other way around.

“Are you going to sleep?” he asked him, hating himself for sounding so pathetic. Vince, his eyes closed, yawned but didn’t answer, his hand tracing patterns lazily on Howard’s scalp.

“Vince?”

“Yes, Howard.”

“That was…I mean, that was alright, yeah?” Howard bit his cheek in frustration. “Fuck, don’t answer that. Fuck.”

Vince snorted, one eye open. “It was fantastic, is what it was.”

“Yeah.”

Somehow Howard didn’t believe him. Or, he believed him, but he wasn’t sure it was anything more than that. He remembered another occasion like this, many years ago, a girl and a guy lying entangled in a bed, with him sleeping close by but not actually touching, an outsider. Remembered that sinking feeling as the sun rose, of having exactly what he’d always wanted but only for one night, like some sort of fairy story. Of sneaking out before they woke, worried that their new-found love shining for each other would just make him seem pale and ordinary in comparison. Not wanting to see the pity in their eyes. In his eyes.

He sat up, and Vince made a little noise of disapproval, his hand falling limp from Howard’s head.

“I need to…I’m just going to, you know.” He got up and crossed the room, closing the door behind him. Vince didn’t need to tell him where the bathroom was, he’d been to his flat enough times. He walked through the living room, their clothes mingling on the floor, the smell of sex everywhere.

In the bathroom he forced himself to meet his own eyes in the mirror, to study his own face. Just enjoy it, he told himself. Even if it’s just for tonight. His head felt like it was already pounding from the alcohol, although that probably wasn’t it.

He pissed quickly, frowning a little at the stickiness on his belly, and on his thigh. He had a quick look around the room. There were two flannels by the sink, one crumpled up haphazardly, the other folded in half neatly. He picked up the neat one, figuring that Vince wouldn’t want him using his facecloth to wipe spunk off himself, and hastily wiped off the worst of it. He hurried back to Vince’s room, suddenly cold.

He closed the door behind him, and turned. Vince opened one eye, looking up at him, and frowned. His mouth twitched, and his face creased up as he laughed, slapping the bed with one hand in hysterics.

Howard frowned, sighing. “What? Fuck, Vince, I wish you’d stop laughing at me when I’m naked…” He trailed off, remembering the socks, and looked down.

His belly was streaked in glitter, those little plastic shapes you sometimes saw young girls wearing on their faces in town, little plastic gems. His cock and balls sparkled in the bedroom light.

“F-fuck, Howard…” Vince could barely speak, tears streaking down his face as he lay breathless on the bed, wiping his eyes. “I mean, I like glitter, but r-really…you didn’t have to…”

Howard couldn’t help it. He held onto his sides, bent at the waist, and laughed until he ached. Every time he thought he’d stopped he heard Vince titter again, and the whole thing would restart.

Eventually Vince got out of bed and padded over to him, still giggling. “I had all my glitter for going out tonight in a flannel by the sink,” he explained. Howard simply held onto his shoulders, shaking all over.

“Fuck me, Howard, but I love you,” Vince said with a grin, and kissed him full on the mouth, pressing up close. When they pulled apart Vince was lightly speckled in glitter, which of course just made them laugh more.

They got back into bed again, Vince wrapping himself around Howard, still letting out the occasional giggle. There was something about it that had reminded Howard what this was – it was him and Vince. It was their little double act. This…tonight…it had been no different to a day in the zoo, not really, it was still a partnership, still all about them and the chemistry they had which they could never find anywhere else. He tangled his hand in Vince’s hair and breathed in the scent deeply, Vince already asleep next to him.

Tonight was no different to yesterday, really. And the same as tomorrow, except that tomorrow he’d have his energy back. He yawned, and drifted into sleep, dreaming of a moonless night, a wooden floor, and a single sleeping bag…

Maestro
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