Author’s Notes: Warnings: Some irreverence towards goths, santa, Bram Stoker and Edith Piaf, flirtation, swearing & nudity. up. A little bit of one character is half mine, but even Fielding got his hands on that one in the NME – damn him! Authors Notes: Betaed by avon_09 who stepped in at Christmas – she’s a darling. This was originally for the angel_rpf Christmas challenge but… Some fictional characters snuck in, dirty little buggers. The character at the end was actually in place before the NME article. Then Fielding invented him to, so the character you see at the end is a bit of a combination. Part Two of this fic will be up when Vince is ready for his close-up….

The Night Before Gothmas (and a little bit of morning too)“Oi, twinkletoes, time to go!” Howard yelled up the stairs. He’d been waiting for Vince down in the Nabootique for ten minutes now. It was getting stupid; not to mention incredibly bloody irritating.

“Just gimme one more second!” came Vince’s stressed voice. “Almost!”

“If you’re not ready in one more second then I’m not going!” Howard yelled, leaning on the banister and wondering why the hell he had agreed to this in the first place.

“Alright, alright,” Vince’s voice was coming closer. He appeared at the top of the stairs. “I’m ready now, let’s go.”

Howard wasn’t sure what to say. Of all the outfits he had expected Vince to wear for an evening of carol singing and general festive jollity, this was not the one.

“You’re going as Marilyn Manson?” Howard asked.

“Fuck off,” Vince replied, teasing his back-combed hair. “You know nothing. This is a homage to Siouxsie Sioux via Nikki Sixx giving Robert Smith a good bumming.”

“And that’s what you’re wearing to go carol singing?” Howard was still blinking, wondering when the world was going to come back into focus.

“Ye-ah,” Vince pulled Howard out of the door of the Nabootique, waiting for Howard to lock it behind him. As promised, Leroy was waiting just outside in his cab. After the general greetings were made and died, Vince turned back to Howard. “You know when I said that this was a Christmas get together with singing?”

Howard nodded. He was already spotting the fatal misconception he had fallen into.

“S’not really Christmas singing,” Vince mumbled.

“You’re dragging me out on Christmas Eve when we haven’t even put the tree up yet.” Howard took a deep breath. “It’s not even Christmassy and I haven’t written any cards and we’ve still got to wrap presents and defrost the turkey and find wherever we put the Christmas puddings Bollo made in June and there’s not going to be enough time and here we are going to a Goth singalong instead and why didn’t you tell me? I would have worn my deep nutmeg polo-neck instead or I would have gone with Lester to see “Jazz The Halls with Decks of Trumpets” and…” Howard sagged in his seat panting, trying to get his breath back. Vince passed him a paper bag to breathe into.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to mention that to you,” Vince told him, biting his nails. “Um, since we were on the cover of Goth Weekly, well, me and Naboo and Bollo decided to have Gothmas instead.”

“Without telling me?” Howard squeaked, burying his head in the paper bag and breathing deeply.

Julian sat up, blinking. The vague scenes from his dream were still there, tangible enough that he could still feel Howard hyperventilating. Gothmas? That word was emblazoned across his brain in red flashing lights. The words filtered through to his mouth; he had to say it, he couldn’t stop himself it…

“Gothmas,” he said.

“Gothmas?” Noel lifted his head from reading the script they’d been writing. “Gothmas?” He grinned. “Cool.”

“You could have crackers that moan at the futility of modern living instead of banging,” Julian replied, wiping the sleep from his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep in the cafe but he was trying not to make a habit of it. “If you were really cheerful, they could drip blood too.”

“Yeah, but fake blood made from sugar,” Noel agreed. “Cos your average goff has the sweet tooth of a small child.”

“What, worn around their necks instead of shark’s teeth?”

“Yeah, they tell their mates they sacrificed the kid for Satan, but really they just bribe tired mothers into letting them pretend to be the tooth fairy.”

“Do you think goths eat brussel sprouts at Christmas?” Julian asked, trying to imagine someone wearing vampire teeth getting stuck into a big juicy green…. sprout.

“You know they do!” Noel replied. “Cos sprouts are the work of the devil. Plus, the emo goths probably feel a bit sorry for sprouts. They’re maligned and misunderstood..”

“They’re the goths of the vegetable world!”

“Yes! I tell you what really frightens the family goth at Christmas,” Noel said leaning forward. “Setting the Christmas pud on fire…”

Julian winced a hissing inhale. “All that hairspray.”

“Grandpa’s there with a fire extinguisher, little Timmy holding…”

“Tristan, at least.”

“…Tristan holding a fire blanket just in case dad’s barnet goes up,” Noel shook his head. “They have to gear themselves up for that all year, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Julian agreed. “It’s a dangerous time for a goth. You know what though? I wouldn’t mind seeing a cheeky little goth elf running around with black and red stripy arms and a veil.”

“So they’re not wearing a stripy jumper or anything?”

“Nah, they’re goth elves so they’re naturally red and black.”

“Genius.”

The waitress seemed to appear from nowhere.

“More coffee, tea?” She stood poised with her pencil and notepad.

“What’s the most gothic beverage on the menu?” Noel asked, giving her a cheeky grin.

“Erm… Espresso?” the waitress replied nervously.

“Good choice,” Noel nodded. “I’ll have a bucket of latte please.”

The waitress nodded and wrote it down. It was Noel’s usual order and failing to rise a smile these days. She looked at Julian.

“I’ll have the same,” he said yawning. “Got any cake?”

The day, or at least the writing part of the day, was done. Julia and Dee were both away, so Noel had invited Julian round for some food and a few beers. Except that Noel had legged it back to his place first, leaving Julian to follow with the food and the beer. His justification was that Julian wanted to phone Julia anyway, so if he was going to hold Noel up, he might as well do something useful on his way round. What was perhaps less justifiable, was the fact that within five minutes of walking in the door Noel was sat on his sofa, snoring…

Howard was clearly finding the whole experience a little bit daunting. It wasn’t Howard’s usual crowd and, well, even Vince had twitched slightly at the bloke dressed like a vampire who insisted on playing the cowbell all the way through ‘The Lovecats’. Mr and Mrs Nephilim hadn’t been dreadfully impressed either. Mr Nephilim had wandered off to feed the goat after the first few bars and his wife, Velouria, had whispered to Vince that she could hear Robert Smith rolling in his coffin.

“He’s not dead,” Howard had whispered after interloping into the conversation.

“I never said he was, dear,” Velouria responded.

Vince could tell that that particular statement had left Howard thinking, quaking and probably, thinking of lots of things he would say to Vince later when he was worried about Christmas cake and satsumas.

Now, they were ceremonially dressing a Christmas tree with bits of black ribbon and silver bats. It might not have been so bad were it not for the fact that the tree was dead. It wasn’t just leafless and lifeless, it was also going slightly mouldy on one side. Apparently, the tree was like that when Sylvian (real name Steven) had pulled it out of the sea in Whitby last Tuesday. He said it was relevant because of Bran Strokes or something. Vince smiled and asked if it was a new type of breakfast cereal. Howard whimpered. Vince tried not to respond. He certainly didn’t want Howard to see him looking. When he did manage to look over the silver bat he was fiddling with, he realised that it was time to leave.

“We need to go Howard,” Vince whispered as the others began singing to the tree.

“I thought you’d want to stay for the rest of the singing?” Howard asked, grinning in a grim way.

“I’ve had enough,” Vince replied. “I think I’ve gone too goth. My vision’s gone all funny. I can see black stripes over everything. We need to get out of here!”

“Ri-ight,” Howard said, pulling Vince away from the crowd. He held Vince’s arm as they walked towards home. At least the tree ceremony was only a few streets away from Nabootique.

“Do you think my eyes will go back to normal soon?” Vince asked when they were stood in the shop and Howard making him some cocoa. “I might need marshmallows in my drink to help lift the dark veil from my eyes.”

Howard dropped three pink marshmallows in a steaming cup of cocoa and passed it Vince. “You don’t need marshmallows to cure your vision, Vince.”

“I don’t?” Vince took a sip and looked back up at Howard with a pink marshmallow moustache.

“No,” Howard shook his head and lifted his hand to Vince’s face. “You’re just looking through your fringe again, you berk.”

BUUUUURRRRRRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGG!

Noel jumped at the sound of the doorbell, cursing himself for having fallen asleep. He rubbed his eyes as he made his way to the door. He let Julian in, then followed him through to the kitchen.

“I think you’ve infected me with Gothmas,” he told Julian, opening cartons of chinese takeaway. “Just had a dream.”

“Yeah?” Julian replied, pulling knives, forks and serving spoons from Noel’s kitchen drawer. “I rather like the idea of Gothmas.”

“Really?” Noel pulled a face. “We can’t write it though. Well, we could. Too many shades of Christmas special?” He laid two plates on the counter.

“Maybe. You make a pretty sexy goth though,” Julian told him with a grin. “You love the idea really, you know you do. Dee can have her fangs in…”

“And you can get your flabby northern arse out…”

“My arse is the highlight of the show and you know it!” Julian blushed slightly and began piling food onto his plate.

“I’m not sure how Julia and I think about sharing your arse with the viewers again,” Noel said winking. He filled his own plate and shoved a prawn cracker into his mouth.

“My arse is a national treasure, Noel. You’re both just going to have to get used to that fact.” Julian grabbed a beer and headed towards to the living room, plate in hand.

“The only bit of our act that’s a national treasure is my hair, and you know it,” Noel said, following.

“I think Howard fancied Vince as a goth,” Julian said when Noel sat down by his side on the settee. “He’d argue all the way through and secretly letch at Vince in leather trousers.”

“Sorry, are you still talking about Howard and Vince?” Noel replied, his mouth full. Spraying bits of egg fried rice round the room wasn’t the most delicate thing he’d ever done.

“What can I say?” Julian said, picking a bit of half chewed rice off his leg. “I have a leather kink. You should have learnt that from Mr Susan and his chamois.”

“Are you trying to buff my balls, Mr Barratt?”

Howard and Vince had graduated from cocoa to cocktails in the blink of an eye. The Gothmas preparations they undertook were motivated by strangely coloured drinks they’d created up in the flat. Vince had taken to a cocktail Howard had created and named “La Vie en Rose”, whilst Howard was partial to the odd black cocktail Vince made and called an “Evil Angel”. Those drinks had helped them wrestle the frozen turkey from the fridge. The turkey now lay in the washing up bowl covered with hot water in the hope that it would help.

“Wos lavvie end rose mean anyway, Howard?” Vince had asked after his third.

“It’s about looking at life through rose-tinted glasses Vince,” Howard replied, peering through his “Evil Angel”. “It’s a love song.” Howard blushed.

“S’bit like me then,” Vince told him, dropping a kebab skewer full of cocktail cherries into his drink. “Rosy and lovely. S’not very goth is it?”

“It’s an old French song,” Howard put his arm round Vince and hugged him tightly. “That’s got to be slightly gothic. All old French things are, I reckon.”

“Yeah, course it is,” Vince said, raising his glass. “Cheers Howard! What do I need to do now?”

“You look for Christmas Puddings, I’ll wrap presents,” Howard replied, backing up towards his bedroom. There was no way Vince was getting a peek of his gift until tomorrow.

For once, Vince took the hint and hunted for Bollo’s suspicious smelling Christmas puddings whilst Howard had wrapped up his presents. Howard emerged from his room, with Vince’s present wrapped and a carrier bag full of other gifts to wrap. He plonked himself on the settee and cast friendly looks at the gently tottering gothy Vince as he rooted through cupboards and under furniture. The fact that this involved Vince stretching and showing his pale, taut midriff might have been part of the attraction. Howard wasn’t sure, but he did look. Perhaps it was the fact that Vince was singing to the puddings whilst he looked for them. Or maybe that Vince juggled the puddings when he found them, then threatened them cheerfully with brandy and blowtorches. It was uncharacteristicly snarky for Vince, but Howard decided that was just the goth in him emerging.

After that, it was time to write cards.

“Who’s Tony Hasson?” Vince had asked squinting at Howard’s list.

“Harrison,” Howard said, blearily. “Pink shaman thing. S’got a wife too… put to both of them.”

“K,” Vince replied nodding, as he wrote ‘ Dear to both of them’ on the card in spidery handwriting. Whether anyone would ever be able read any of the cards was open to interpretation, of course. Vince had drawn little bats and reindeer in bondage neck collars inside of each. Howard couldn’t bring himself to care as he took a long swing of his “Evil Angel” and tried to remember how to spell ‘Leroy’.

Once the cards were written, Howard and Vince had run outside. It was snowing and they threw snowballs at each other on the way to post the cards. Vince had a wicked aim for someone who spent most of this free time in Top Shop. Back in Nabootique, Vince insisted on leaving a “La Vie en Rose” for Santa. This led to some slightly off colour crimps about what drunken Santa did with his elves. Giggling and giddy, the two slightly dishevelled men headed to bed.

Howard watched Vince’s arse as it swayed upstairs in front of him. He couldn’t decide if the swaying was him being drunk or Vince walking. In a strangely misguided attempt to find out, he put his hands out and cupped the leather-covered buttocks…

“Shit!”

Julian sat up in bed at the sound of Noel’s voice. The light went on.

“What did you do that for?” Noel yelped, rubbing his backside. All Julian could actually see was Noel’s backside as it, rather than Noel’s head, was resting on the pillow beside him. Thankfully, it was covered, if barely, in a pair of Spiderman y-fronts.

“Sorry, what?” Julian looked at Noel’s face through one eye. He looked grumpy. Julian shut that eye and opened the other. Noel still looked grumpy.

“You grabbed my arse!” Noel’s voice was getting quite high and squeaky. “Give a man a bit of warning!”

“Sorry, I was dreaming and…” Julian rubbed his eyes and willed both of them to open at the same time. “Sorry mate, really.”

The light went off and Noel shuffled down the bed to a more conventional sleeping position. In the half light, Julian could see Noel’s face. “Don’t open your eyes, we’re going back to sleep,” he said groggily.

“Good,” Julian said, laying back down with a spongy thump. He didn’t say anything else, not even when Noel reached down and pulled one of Julian’s hands around him, placing it firmly back on his arse.

Noel laid next to Julian, feeling cosy. His heart had slowed down somewhat after he’d been shocked awake by Julian groping his backside. If there was any danger of it happening again, he’d rather just have Julian’s hands on his backside to start with; it wasn’t the first time after all. He wondered what sort of dream Julian had had to do such a thing in the first place. It had to be something to do with Gothmas. Noel mused on what sort of strange arcane rituals Julian was thinking that involved arse-groping. On the other hand, maybe Howard did like the look of Vince in leather trousers…

Vince yelped.

“Howard!” he said, still swaying slightly from drinking copious amounts of ‘La Vie en Rose’.

Howard grinned drunkenly. “Too tempting,” he hiccuped.

Vince started to feel dizzy looking down the stairs. He pitched forward slightly, relieved when Howard lifted his hands to push him back upright.

“Le’s get upstairs little man,” Howard said, moving up a step and hitching his arm firmly around Vince’s waist. “Falling in a heap isn’t Christmassy.”

“Awways was in my house,” Vince said, giggling. “Ferry was awways shitfaced. An’ Naboo’s goin ta be off his trolley all day t’morrow.”

The two men reached the top landing and Howard pulled Vince over to the sofa. They collapsed onto it both giggling at fact they couldn’t walk in a straight line. Howard looked around the room.

“Shit!” he said loudly. “We’ve not decra…decorte…decoter… No tinsel!”

“S’Gothmas,” Vince told him, resting his head on his shoulder and closing his eyes. “No neeeeed.”

“Still need decra… Oh fuck it,” Howard said softly, closing his eyes too.

Howard woke up feeling distinctly uncomfortable. His arms ached, his head ached, his mouth was dry and his arse itched. He was also cold and face down on the bed, so breathing wasn’t great either. He tried to grab the covers and realised that he couldn’t move his arms. He tried again, still nothing. He tried harder, beginning to panic that too many “Evil Angels” had paralysed his arms. He could hear a weird, crinkly noise in the corner of the room and opened his eyes to look.

“Mornin’ Howard,” Vince said looking up from his drawing pad. “Just about done.”

“Done with what?” Howard said softly, wincing. “I can’t move Vince, something’s happened.”

“Yeah,” Vince said, tiptoeing over to the bed. “I don’t suppose you remember what happened last night, do you?” With the efficiency of a man used to tying scarves, Vince untied Howard’s arms and legs from the bed posts. Howard blushed. With a now movable arm, he put his hand down to touch his side. He was naked.

“Oop, hang on just a sec,” Vince said. The next thing Howard felt was a strange absence from his arse crack. The strange tickle from between his buttocks was gone.

“What was that?” Howard turned around, forgetting he was completely naked.

“Erm… gladioli?” Vince said with a shy grin. “You really don’t remember anything do you?”

Howard shook his head and clambered off the bed with aching limbs. He put his hands on his hips and stared at Vince. A little bit of his brain was whispering softly that he was naked. It just wasn’t loud enough for most of Howard to react.

“You might want to take that off too…” Vince pointed to Howard’s nether regions. He looked down. The voice in his head suddenly screamed; ‘YOU’RE NAKED, YOU’RE NAKED IN FRONT OF VINCE! AND YOU HAVE A BLACK RIBBON TIED AROUND YOUR TODGER!’ Howard stood stock still. He was a man in the sort of deep panic that disabled any sort of movement whatsoever.

“Do you want me to..?” Vince offered, a shaky hand reaching towards Howard’s groin.

“No!” Howard said, his hands finally making their way to his groin and covering his family jewels.

“I’ll go make a cup of tea, shall I?” Vince asked gently, making his way out of the bedroom. It was only then that Howard realised that Vince was naked too.

Julian woke up with a start. The room was still dark, but he could hear a familiar crinkly noise. He checked that he could move his arms… all feeling and movement present and correct. He opened an eye. The bedside lamp on Noel’s side of the bed was on. Noel was sat, his back resting against the headboard, his drawing pad resting on his knees. He was drawing, the tip of his tongue just visible from between his front teeth. He seemed so engrossed that he didn’t realise Julian was awake until he looked up.

“Sorry Jules,” he whispered. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“What you drawing?” Julian asked, reaching down to check there was nothing in his arse crack just in case.

Noel caught the movement and smiled. “Was this what you were expecting to find?” Noel turned to pad round to show Julian. He squinted and then laughed.

“Pretty much,” he nodded. “What happens at Gothmas, stays at Gothmas.”

“I think we should have Gothmas today,” Noel replied with a grin. “It’ll be genius, you and me, presents, mince pies, puddings, turkey…”

“They’re not very gothy though are they?” Julian said, sitting up beside Noel. “How can you goth up a mince pie?”

“Mince pies are black and white more or less,” Noel said with some degree of seriousness. “They’re fine, so are Christmas puds, I reckon.”

“Turkey’s not very gothic though is it?”

“What would be though?” Noel asked him. “Not that I would eat it anyway.”

“Reindeer!” Julian said with an evil grin. “And evil nut loaf for you.”

“Thanks,” Noel replied. “Oh I know, I can have stuffed red peppers… Rudolf’s nose.”

“We have to do this don’t we?” Julian scrunched up his face and shook his head. “You’re going to go on about it until we do, aren’t you?”

“I think the ghosts of Gothmas are talking to us,” Noel told him checking the time. “It’s 4 ‘o’clock.

Julian groaned.

“Let’s go shopping, we’ve got loads to get. Then we can come back, drink Irish coffee and have a snooze. It’ll be genius.”

Julian groaned a bit more. Noel bounced off the bed and began shuffling through his wardrobe. Julian gazed at Noel’s arse barely covered by the tightly stretched red-webbed nylon of his pants. There were better things they could be doing at this time of the morning. Noel turned to look at him and grinned. There was a pause.

“Where do you think we’ll be able to buy Christmas puddings in April?”

The supermarket was the only place open and unsurprisingly quiet at 5am on a windy Wednesday morning. Quiet enough for Julian to run through his last dream.

“Breakfast,” Noel said, arriving at Julian’s side, dumping blackberries, pancakes and cream in the shopping trolley. Julian raised an eyebrow and nodded. They had more or less completed congregating quite a bizarre selection of food and drinks. Despite being quite the perkier of the two, he was beginning to flag. His legs were heavy and he’d had an odd dizzy moment on the escalator up to the ‘not food’ section of the supermarket to get Julian a gift. He noticed there was a strange bundle in a plastic bag in the bottom of the trolley, so he knew Julian had bought him something too. More than likely from the women’s clothing department.

“This is a bit mad, isn’t it?” he said to Julian as they started dumping their odd haul onto the checkout conveyor belt.

“Yeah,” Julian said with a wry smile. “Sort of nice too though.”

“What do you think happened between Howard and Vince then?” Noel said trying to decide whether to lay the bottle of whisky on its side or standing.

Julian blinked for a moment. The bottle of whisky fell over.

“I think that Howard wouldn’t leave the idea of decorating the flat alone.” Julian said, beginning to unload shopping again. “So Vince tied him up and…got his revenge.” Julian was holding two blood oranges in his hands, waving them slightly as he spoke.

“So what do we do with them?” Noel asked, wondering if he could steal a sweet from the packet of blackjacks he’d bought.

“What do you mean?” Julian replied, putting the last few items on the conveyor belt. Noel nodded to the confused looking man on the checkout and wandered down to the packing area.

“We’ve got to do something with them Howard, I mean Julian,” Noel shook his head.

“Well it’s your turn,” Julian replied, joining Noel in stuffing shopping in bags. “It was my dream last time, your’s now.”

“Bollocks.”

Though Noel was quite normally a little bundle of bouncing energy, When he crashed, boy did he crash. By the time the two men had wandered back to Noel’s house lighter of wallet and drooping of well… more or less everything, he was a shadow of his earlier buzzy self.

Back at the house, Julian had looked at Noel with a fuzzy sort of one-eyed expression. Noel hadn’t said a word and just crammed the bags, whatever they contained, in the fridge and dragged Julian back to bed. There was very little complaining from the older man. Also, very little undressing from either of them. Either man may have cared about this at other times, but today wasn’t one of them. Noel draped himself casually over his friend and promptly fell asleep.

The evil angel watched Vince making tea. The angel was not a kind being. His best friend at school had been the Hitcher and the friendship had lasted; in so much that friendships can last between two people who call themselves pure evil. Since being foiled in trying to get his hands on the fountain of youth, the Hitcher wanted revenge; though the fact that he was currently a bowl of green soup was a bit of a drawback. The evil angel stepped in.

Vince was tricky. He had been fairly easy to plant with the idea with his joy of all things goth and festive. Naboo and Bollo had taken a little more work, though the angel had still called them away so Vince and Howard couldn’t be saved. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or alarmed with the current developments however. Howard hadn’t reacted the way he wanted. Even intoxication had failed to bring anger. The angel had gone for a touch of old-fashioned sexual harassment. That hadn’t worked either. Even when he’d tempted them both with mystical Viagra in the middle of the night and planted them both with ideas of mystical kinky sex games, followed by a nice dose of amnesia for Howard, Vince had smoothed it over. The evil angel decided it was time to up the ante.

Vince was almost hopping when he took Howard his tea. He had barely passed it to Howard before the words started.

“Can we open our presents now, can we, please Howard, can we?” Vince looked at Howard like an over-eager puppy.

Howard, now clothed in his Christmas jumper, cords and festive red desert boots blushed. “About last night…”

“Presents first, that later,” Vince replied with a smile. “You dirty old fox you. Are you sure that you don’t remember anything..?”

Howard started to look haunted and panicky.

“I’ll take that as a no then,” Vince added. His smile had dropped just a little. “Presents, let’s do presents!” He grabbed his kimono and ran back to the living room, bouncing off the walls and door frames.

The angel tiptoed into the bedroom, invisible to Howard’s eyes. He walked up behind him as Howard made his way out to the living room.

“Another Christmas with no presents for you, Howard…” the angel whispered. “Another year alone…”

Howard stopped. He turned and looked behind him, a frown on his face and then walked into the living room.

“You have bought me a present this year, haven’t you Vince?”

“Vince?”

“VINCE!?”

Julian’s eyes flickered open. It was Noel’s dream last time, but he’d been there. He’d felt the angel take over, like an itchy hair-shirt that wrapped him up and stole into his mind. There was no one on the bed beside him. His heart began beating faster.

“Noel?” he shouted, jumping out of bed. He ran to the top of the stairs. “Noel!”

“Keep yer hair on old man.” Came a voice from downstairs. His friend appeared at the bottom of the steps. “It’s time for Irish Coffee and the coffee maker’s on.” Noel turned and walked away.

Taking a few short deep breaths to calm himself and tell his inner being, that it was all just a dream, Julian ran down the stairs as if the carpet was on fire.

“Where’s he gone?” Julian asked Noel when he reached the kitchen. “Do you know?”

“No idea,” Noel said pouring cream over the back of a spoon to make it float on top of the highly alcoholic-smelling black coffee. Noel smiled when the cream floated and thought for a second. “Who are you talking about?”

“Vince!” Julian replied, resisting the urge to shake Noel a bit. “I don’t know why, but I had your dream.”

“Yeah, I had it too,” Noel said calmly, handing Julian a coffee. “Knew you were. Don’t know why. It’s a bit strange that we’re both having this dream really though, so it’s not like we can complain that it’s got a bit stranger.”

“Well, there is that,” Julian said before taking a sip of coffee and coughing as his eyes watered.

“Who would we complain to anyway?” Noel continued. “That angel’s not the type to listen. I suppose if there was a Dream Minister…”

“The Dream Chancellor,” Julian said taking up the theme. “The guy who sets up the budget for how many dreams and what they cost.”

“Can he afford to dream about llamas tonight? Nah, just shove a bunny in,” Noel took a sip of his coffee and, annoyingly, didn’t react at all.

“Shall we put Nicole Kidman in it? Nah, can’t afford her wages… he can have Sharon from Eastenders.” Julian remembered having a dream about Sharon once. He still couldn’t bear to look at muesli.

“How many wet dreams you can have in a year and how much you have to pay in…”

“I think that’s quite enough of that.” Julian looked around the kitchen, a worried expression on his face. “You’ve put decorations up.”

“D’ya like ‘em?” Noel asked with a grin. Silver and black tinsel was hanging in swags from the shelves. On the far wall, there were two drawings; one of Howard in festive bound and gagged trim, and another which made Julian shudder a little. Noel followed his gaze. “It’s him,” Noel said softly. “But dressed like goth Santa.”

Julian nodded. Oh, it was him alright. The image in the picture was a man with small piercing black eyes and a complexion of alabaster. He showed no emotion. His black velvet suit was trimmed with live minks; red-eyed angry little sods with their bodies writhing, their jaws snapping. Goth Santa sat astride a nasty looking, mangled motorbike. It was a mass of circuitboard-like tubes and tanks, with thick blue smoke emanating from its exhaust. A reindeer’s head, still dripping blood was impaled between the handlebars. This was the man who had kidnapped Vince, Julian knew it now. He was the Evil Angel.

[nextpage title=”Chapter 2″]
Chapter 2

Author’s Notes: Warnings: Contined festive irreverence, m/m sex, mentioned of het, swearing and general cheekiness.

Author’s Notes: Betaed by avon_09

Gothmas and the AngelVince clung to the back of the Evil Angel’s motorbike as it sped through the Camden streets. That was a bit of an understatement, they were travelling at a face-wrinkling, lung-crushing speed which left Vince clinging to the Angel, despite being petrified of him. The city streets became the snarled up M25, but the Angel didn’t slow down. The bike seemed to skip between and over cars, and then, in the blink of an eye, there were fields as far as the eye could see. The bike stopped abruptly outside a farmyard barn and Vince was pushed off the back and into a puddle.

“Watch it,” Vince said, unable to control himself. “This kimono’s real silk you know.”

The Angel strode over to Vince.

“I have clothes for you to wear,” the Angel said, his eyes shining like deep red roses blooming in the snow. “You won’t need any others.”

“Then I go home and I can wear my own stuff again?” Vince asked, looking up at the Angel, dressed in black.

“You will not see your home again,” the Evil Angel said, his voice unchanging in tone or speed. He spoke in a beautiful but dangerous English accent, like Christopher Lee reading Shakespeare.

“You’re going to move me to a nice, little house in the country?” Vince suggested. “I do have hayfever though, so….”

“You will not need a cottage,” The Angel stooped and pulled Vince up by the collar of his dressing-gown.

“A flat?”

“No, you will not need an abode.”

Vince’s feet left the floor, his legs dangling like ropes.

“Am I going to be an angel too? I could really brighten up that outfit with some…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the Angel said, his voice changing to become quicker, higher, more… common. “I’m tryin to tell ya that you’re going to die, you dopey nonce. How do you expect me to be full-on evil if you’re going to be such an idiot.”

“I am not an idiot,” Vince said, kicking the Angel in the kneecap. He turned around and began running towards the barn. “I’m just really, really shallow!”

“You will pay, pathetic human,” the Angel said, his voice melodiously dark once more, as he rubbed his knee. A clod of mud landed on the side of his head. “You sneaky little bastard!”

Julian blinked. He hadn’t even made it to sleep this time before the dreams began crowding in. He was, allegedly, adding extra decoration to a Black Forest gateau. So far, this involved extra cream and almost drowning it in Kirsch. The gateau was what he and Noel had decided should substitute for all other Christmas puddings on their Gothmas day. This was mostly due to the fact that it had black in the title. He looked over his shoulder to Noel, who was supposed to be grating chocolate. Instead, Noel was looking at him.

“You’re worried about Vince, aren’t you?” Noel said, a strange little smile quirking at the edges of his mouth.

“Aren’t you?” Julian asked, wondering why he was as worried as he was.

“I’m more worried about Howard,” Noel said, shaking his bowlful of chocolate curls. “He must be pacing the walls right now.”

“The walls?”

“Whatever.”

“It all seems really real though, doesn’t it?” Julian said, putting his spatula down. “The dreams and you and I having them and doing this and…”

“Vince’ll be okay, Ju,” Noel said, walking to put his arm around Julian’s shoulder. “He’s resilient. Like a cat; he always lands on his feet. And the Angel won’t keep Bollo and Naboo at bay for long.”

“I hope so,” Julian replied. He rested his head against Noel’s shoulder.

“I know so.”

Howard was on the phone. He was cradling the receiver as if it was made of paper-thin bone china.

“Naboo, something happens, it’s all gone wrong!” he said down the receiver. “Vince is gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Naboo’s voice didn’t even hint at panic.

“He’s been taken, he was about to open presents and now he’s gone,” Howard said, rubbing his eyes.

“We’ve got to him Howard, we’ve changed the Angel’s plans,” Naboo said matter-of-factly. “You made sure Vince was drinking the potion all night?”

“Put it in a pink cocktail,” Howard told him. “Worked like a charm. I drank the evil, black drinks all night.”

“Nice one, Howard,” Naboo sounded surprised. “That was good thinking. Did anything else happen?”

“I woke up naked and tied to the bed with a gladioli up my arse,” Howard blushed, despite the fact that Naboo wasn’t with him.

“I don’t want to know about your sex life, Howard,” Naboo said. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I can’t remember it, Vince can and he was the one who tied me up,” Howard felt like crying. “I think.”

“Weird,” Naboo sounded thoughtful.

“Do you think it’s a clue?”

“Nah, I just thought Vince had better taste,” Naboo said lightly. “Listen, I’ll send reinforcements. Me and Bollo will stay here just in case he turns up. Expect a knock in the window in five and take the rest of the potion and the… thing we mentioned with you.”

The line went dead.

Someone knocked at the window.

“Did Naboo mean five seconds?’ Howard thought as he made his way to the window and opened it up. A flying carpet hovered outside the window, its occupants well-known to Howard.

“Are you Harold?”

“Howard, yes, that’s me,” Howard said. “Hang on.”

Howard collected his coat and made a silent prayer that they would reach Vince in time. He picked up the potion and a strange, woollen lump. He paused for a moment, remembering the jollity of the night before. Remembering that he’d not told Vince of the danger. He could hear the two Shamen arguing outside the window.

“If you can’t even remember the man’s name, Tony, what are you going to do when we get to the crunch?” Saboo said in his rather nasal tones.

“Leave it out,” Tony Harrison replied. “You didn’t know his name either. And besides, I’ve got things on my mind. Mrs Harrison was very annoyed by me coming out on Christmas Eve. Normally, this is when we decorate our tree…”

“Let me guess, you sit on the top and pretend to be the Christmas fairy,” Saboo suggested.

“It’s an outrage!”

Howard sighed, then climbed out of the window and joined Tony Harrison and Saboo to go and find Vince.

Julian was laying upside down on the sofa looking at Noel. His head was hanging off the side of the seat, though his deerstalker hat (his present from Noel) remained in place. Noel was sat on the stairs outside the door talking to Dee and telling her about Gothmas. He was wearing the black, net blouse Julian had bought him. He looked like Penelope Keith gone goth.

“Me and Jules are having a dream about Vince & Howard too,” Noel told Dee. He knew his voice always got louder when he was excited. Julian was looking straight at him. “We’re having it in stages, like we’re writing an episode in our sleep. It’s well weird.”

“We spend too much time with each other,” Julian said in a strangled upside-down sort of voice.

Noel smiled. Dee had just said the same thing. “Julian’s all worried that Vince is in danger.”

“What happened, did someone nick his hair straighteners?” Dee said, a smile in her voice. “Which reminds me…”

“ I did notice that you took them, yes,” Noel told his girlfriend. “I look a complete fright. Vince has been kidnapped by the Evil Angel.”

“Has he got funky black wings?” Dee asked.

Noel bit his lip. “No, not really.”

“Well that’s disappointing,” Dee told him. “Naboo to the rescue?”

“Yeah. I knew Naboo would have a plan,” he told Dee looking at Julian who shrugged. The unspoken worry that something sinister was afoot was clearly in Julian’s mind. The whole thing was creeping Noel out too, but where would they be if they both panicked?

“I knew Howard would too,” Julian grinned.

“Yeah,” Noel said. “Howard and Naboo have been working together. I don’t really know whether they’re using Vince as bait..”

“They SO wouldn’t do that,” Dee said sharply. “It’d be like using a puppy to catch an alligator.”

Noel looked at Julian who was shaking his head.

“Might have been,” Noel pouted. “Anyway, I suppose Jules and I ought to start on Gothmas dinner.”

“You two worry me,” Dee told him. “Have fun, love you.”

“Love you too,” Noel said softly, blushing. Julian was grinned at him.

“Aw,” he said. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up.” Noel stood up and wandered into the living room. “Come and help me cook, you lazy git.”

Julian threw a bit of broccoli at Noel.

“So are we working on the principle that if we have Gothmas,” he said, “that it’ll stop us having this dream then?”

“Nah,” Noel said, playing keepie-uppies with the broccoli. “That’s just for fun. We’ve just been writing too long. It’s started to send us mad. Any minute now, I’m going to start wearing a souffle as a hat and you’ll sit in the corner drooling and reciting Pam Ayres poetry.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Julian nodded and went back to disemboweling vegetables.

“I tell you what would be annoying,” Noel told him, checking how aesthetically pleasing his stuffed pepper was before it was cooked. “If we couldn’t write in any other way but through dreams. We’d have to sleep together all the time so we could get writing as soon as we woke up.”

“I’m sure Dee and Julia would absolutely love that,” Julian told him. “Well…”

“They’d be alright as long as the bed held all four of us, and you know it!” Noel had clearly decided that his pepper was a work of genius and began carving carrots into pumpkin heads.

“Stop!” Julian said with a grin. Rather irritatingly, Noel did have a point. “Can we actually stop preparing and cook something soon?”

“You’re such a lightweight,” Noel replied, waving a tomato with a face carved in it in Julian’s face. “Go and make us a cup of tea and we’ll have a biscuit.” Noel pointed to the plate of rich tea biscuits that he had iced skeleton heads onto. They might have been scarier if they didn’t have beards made with hundreds and thousands and little silver balls for eyes.

Julian put the kettle on and sat down at the kitchen table. It occurred to him as his head drooped that he had started seeing the story from Vince’s side. That was weird too, right? Then he realised that none of this made sense. His head lolled. He wasn’t sleeping… no, he was just resting his eyes.

“What do you want with me?” Vince howled. He was a tormented man. He was wearing the clothes the Angel had decided he should wear and they were not good. He was, in effect, a goth elf. He had funny Naboo booties, which were alright. For Naboo. He had tights on. TIGHTS! If they had been black opaque, that might have been okay. They were black and patterned with funny little skeleton heads with beards. Since Vince had hairy legs, the effect was that he was wearing moth-eaten mohair leggings. In addition to that, the black jerkin and leather shorts had a slight tinge of lederhosen-like severity mixed with Blackadder. If Blackadder was a goth and also a bit of a mentalist. Come to think of it…

The little hat with bells on that Vince was also wearing… Well, actually Vince rather liked that. It was like the first known iPod and it pleased him to think that this was probably what people did in the 50’s before Walkmans were invented. Not that he remembered Walkmans. No. Far too young.

“You will help me deliver my presents,” the Evil Angel told him. “Everyone knows that Santa only goes to people who are good. Few people know that I am what happens to those who are bad.”

Vince shivered. He’d seen the presents and it was clear that the Angel had seen ‘The Godfather’ and taken the horse head in the bed as inspiration. He had expanded though. Not all the heads had belonged to horses. Vince assumed that the goldfish head was for people who had only done something a little bit naughty. The elephant head on the other hand…

“I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job, Mr Evil Angel,” Vince told him, tying a bow around a hamster head. “Your bike makes me feel a bit dizzy.”

“I could tell,” the Angel said. “It was nice.” The Angel shook his head. “But, Mr Noir, you seem to think you have a choice in this matter. You do not. You will help or your head will be one of the presents I give out tonight. Perhaps to your friend, Howard?”

“No!” Vince shouted. “You can’t do that to Howard. I’ve got hat hair, it’ll look really bad.”

“You do not persuade me, human,” the angel said. “Oh, and by the way, call me Kevin.”

Noel was putting the finishing touches to the gateau. He was trying to make the cherries on top look like blood and guts. Oddly enough, it wasn’t that hard.

He could sort of feel Vince’s fear somehow. Julian’s dream had crept into his subconscious and the feeling of fight or flight was running through him. He decided that this was something he should take advantage of and, leaving his handiwork for a moment, went and ran up and down stairs. Julian stuck his head out of the living room door.

“Is this like Rocky?” Julian asked as his eyes followed Noel up and down. “Should I come up with some training montage music?”

“You’re awake!” Noel said loudly and ran downstairs and promptly bounced on Julian. He was impressed with Julian’s reactions. He was caught and bundled into the living room before being dumped unceremoniously on the sofa. Julian wobbled and fell on top of him, so Noel decided that he may as well have a snog since they were so close. “Had a bit of a mad energy rush,” he said when he pulled his lips from Julian’s. He tasted like sugar and cigarettes. “Want to fuck you.”

“I’ve got to be bounced on then?” Julian asked, beginning to get up.

“Don’t… can’t we just..?” Noel was trying to cling on to Julian’s shirt and keep him where he was.

“I thought you wanted to bounce on me?” Julian said with a smile, flopping onto the floor. “I would have been impressed though if you could have managed that from being flattened into the sofa.”

Noel grinned and clambered off the settee. He stood for a moment, stripping off his clothes, watching Julian wriggle around on the floor whilt also trying to disrobe.

“Wait,” he whispered, running into the kitchen. He grabbed the butter from off the counter and ran back to Julian, dropping it onto the floor by his side.

“Very ‘Last Tango in Paris’,” Julian commented, digging his fingers into the butter. Noel clambered onto the floor and astride Julian’s chest, facing his legs. He closed his eyes when Julian’s finger entered him, wriggling his backside. Julian’s erection grew more pronounced as another finger entered alongside the first and Noel couldn’t resist but lean forward and take the tip into his mouth. He sucked the head, grinning inwardly as Julian groaned. By the time Julian had a third finger inside him, Noel couldn’t take it anymore. After scraping his fingers in the butter, he slicked-up Julian’s cock. Then, he climbed over Julian so that he was facing him and grabbed his dick, guiding it inside him. The thick stretch and burn as he was entered made him inhale sharply, hissing between his teeth. He liked the feeling; the tightness, the fullness. Julian was gulping in lungfuls of air as he reached up blindly. Noel reached out and grabbed his hands, squeezing his fingers.

“Fucking hell,” Noel whispered. Braced, he fucked himself on Julian’s cock. The slick sounds of their bodies coming together made him groan. He loved everything about this and he started a fast pace and didn’t slow down. Julian grabbed Noel’s cock and stroked it in time to Noel’s movements. “Yes, touch me, make me fucking come all over you,” he moaned. He knew he wouldn’t last long and knew Julian wouldn’t either. This was about adrenalin and need and only a quick, hard fuck would do. He shivered, picturing himself fucking his best friend in the middle of the living room floor in the middle of the morning. He loved that he could do this. “Fuck, I needed this. Love you inside me, feels fucking filthy. Love fucking you. Want you to come in me Jules, no time, just need to fucking come, want to feel you so fucking much.”

Noel threw his head back, his skin felt sensitive, hot and cold all at the same time, and his blood pounded in his ears. He clamped his teeth together, so fucking close. He felt Julian below him, tightening and arching like a bow as he came inside him in hot spurts. Noel wrapped his hand around Julian’s on his own cock, pumping faster until the sensation blocked out everything from the carpet burns on his knees to the cramp building in his thighs. He whimpered, feeling the warm moisture of his release spray then ooze between his fingers. He rocked on his knees breathing heavily until Julian reached up and held him by the waist. When he opened his eyes, Julian was looking at him carefully.

“Good?” Julian asked. He smiled and ran his fingers along the sweat running down Noel’s chest.

“Good,” Noel confirmed, shifting himself so he could fall and lay by Julian’s side. He watched Julian trail his sweaty fingers trail through the mess on his belly and then Noel closed his eyes.

Howard was on the verge of tears. He was worried about Vince sure, but what was making him cry was the ridiculous speed of whipping through the air on one of Persia’s finest. He could barely breath. There was also the fact that Tony Harrison and Saboo could barely shut up for a second.

“There!” shouted Tony Harrison at the top of his lungs. Below them, the patchwork effect of fields and hedges stretched out, cut by farms and roads. As they swooped lower, in the direction of Tony’s flailing tentacle, a barn came into focus. It was hazy to Howard, something on the edge of seeing. What he could see was a small speck of black running around a motorbike. Howard assumed he was being chased and, every now and then he would see something that might have been a shape. A shape pursuing Vince. Then he would blink and the shape would disappear. What was clear was the fact that Saboo and Tony could see it.

“Get him, Saboo,” Tony Harrison screeched.

“We’re heading for the Crunch Tony, stop telling me what to do,” Saboo said, leaning forward as the carpet sped downwards. “This is my department.”

“The crunch department?” Tony Harrison asked. “What is this? Debenhams?”

“Shut it, you testicle,” Saboo shouted. “I’ve had enough. Welcome to the crunch.”

Poor Tony Harrison was booted off the side of the carpet, falling, with quite an impressive turn of speed, to the ground. Except that as Howard watched, it seemed as if Tony hit something before the ground and, as they were only 8 or so feet above the earth, he could hear a muffled “Oooof!” And suddenly, Howard could see the Angel. Though the Angel had fallen, he was conscious. He kicked Tony Harrison out the way and pointed at Vince.

“Speak your last!” the Angel commanded.

“Howard!” Vince shouted. “Help!”

With less thought than Howard would normally put into such things, he jumped from the carpet and flattened Vince to the floor. A beam of power screamed through the air and Howard could feel it pulling at his clothes. He rolled Vince over and over again until the motorbike was between the Angel and them.

“How are you feeling?” Howard asked, searching Vince’s blue eyes. He didn’t like what he saw.

“What do you mean, how am I feeling?” Vince sobbed. “I’m bloody terrified!”

“Drink this, Vince,” Howard said, pulling the bottle of Naboo’s potion from his pocket. “It’ll help, I promise.”

Vince took the bottle and smelled it warily.

“This isn’t the time for cocktails! Are you off your nougat?”

“It’s one of Naboo’s potions, Vince. I need you to drink this because you can stop the Angel. You Vince! You can stop him. Drink the potion!”

Vince blinked, nodded and upended the bottle, drinking its contents in one go.

“Good lad,” Howard said, peeking over the side of the motorcycle. “A few seconds more and we’ll be ready.”

“Ready for what, Howard?” Vince was poking over the edge too. Saboo appeared to be wrestling the Angel. Howard never realised Shamen work was so hands on.

“Anytime you’re ready, Howard…” Saboo shouted.

“Is it the crunch?” the feeble voice of Tony Harrison called from the near distance.

“How do you feel?” Howard asked Vince. He could feel the glow from his friend’s smile without looking.

“Good,” Vince said. “Have you noticed that fella in black’s got ferrets on his jacket? Bet that’s a boring job. I don’t know how they stick it. Mind you, they don’t look very happy do they?”

“They look miserable Vince,” Howard said with a broad grin. “Why don’t you go and have a chat?”

The mink were pissed. One minute they were scampering around doing what mink do, the next, some bloke with brake-lights for eyes was tying them to his coat. The mink had all heard Mummy mink’s stories that people would turn them into a fur coat if they strayed too far from the burrow, but none of them expected it to be like this.

Vince had chatted to the mink whilst Saboo attempted to stop the Evil Angel from throttling him. The Angel was angry at Vince, he could tell. Naboo’s potion had made Vince feel all glowy again, like he’d eaten Ready Brek and then swallowed an energiser battery. Howard’s words hadn’t hurt either. Vince could do this. He could stop Kevin.

Ginger the mink was coughing politely in Vince’s direction.

“Awright Ginger, what’s up?” Vince leaned his head down close to listen to the mink. The Angel screeched, trying to grab Vince. Saboo began to mutter a strange incantation and turned the Angel’s hands into sponge cake.

“Nice plan, Ginger,” Vince said nodding at the mink’s words. “Really? I know just the man. Give me a squeak when you’re ready.”

Vince crawled over to Howard.

“Me and the mink have got a plan, Howard,” Vince told his friend. “We need your help though. You wouldn’t be able to whip some jazz up from somewhere would you?”

“It’s a good job I bought this with me,” Howard said, reaching behind him and confronting Vince with the strange woollen object he’d been carrying.

“Jazz, Howard. Not knitting.”

Howard didn’t reply, he just fought with the woollen thing a bit until he managed to produce a gleaming trumpet from its fluffy depths.

“Genius!” Vince turned round and gave the thumbs up to Ginger.

With a squeak, Ginger began to wriggle and bite the Angel. His other mink buddies did the same. One of them managed to bite the Angel’s hands off, leaving Saboo to charge the Angel and knock him to the floor. Once he was there, the mink pinned him to the floor by his clothes, refusing to let him move. Ginger squeaked again.

“Now Howard!” Vince shouted before jamming his fingers in his ears. He could still hear the jazzy notes fly from Howard’s trumpet. The Angel writhed.

“No!” the Angel yelled struggling to block his own ears from the sound. “NO!”

The mink held on tightly to the Angel as he began to smoke. The Angel may have been pure evil, but not even he could withstand the dark power of jazz. As the waterfall of notes fell upon him, the Angel began to burn and crumble.

“Is this the only way?” Tony Harrison asked, sidling up to Saboo.

“We have crossed over, Tony,” Saboo said solemnly. “We are in the land beyond the Crunch.”

“Why isn’t Naboo here to deal with this shit?” Tony Harrison asked as the Angel became a pile of dust.

“Because the Angel only has one place to go,” Saboo watched as the dust began to rise and head again towards London. “And Naboo will be there waiting.”

Julian was stirring gravy, watching the tale unfold in the dark brown depths. Trust Vince to get help from a bunch of jumped-up ferrets, he thought.

Cooking wasn’t one of Julian’s normal activities. Normally, if he reached for a saucepan, Julia would remind him that fire brigade was on speed-dial. Noel however, was more relaxed. He was shuffling around, his hair still damp from the shower. It felt quite cosy the two of them pottering around.

“Good old Ginger,” Noel said, squeezing Julian’s arse as he walked past.

“It’s all down to the power of jazz, and you know it,” Julian huffed. “That’s why the Evil Angel drink couldn’t touch Howard. He’s infused with jazz.”

“Whatever,” Noel said, standing on tiptoe to brush his lips against Julian’s cheek. “Howard was awesome.”

Julian shivered involuntarily. There was a whisper of a draft and an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. There was a pattering sound, like raindrops against the window. Both he and Noel looked towards the kitchen window. The pane was covered in ash.

“That can’t be good,” Noel said, wide-eyed.

The doorbell rang.

Julian looked at Noel and he looked right back.

“It can’t be?” They both said. The ash at the window reversed and slammed itself against the pane, swarming around the edges, trying to find a way in.

Julian ran towards the door.

“Mike?” Noel said, looking out from behind Julian.

“Not today,” came the reply and Naboo the enigma (dressed as Mike Fielding) walked into the flat. “This place isn’t nearly as nice as mine,” he told Noel as he walked towards the kitchen.

Julian followed Naboo and, before Noel could shut the front door, Dave walked in. Noel couldn’t help but notice that he was walking like Bollo. He was also holding a bucket of green slime. A single, large, white polo mint floated on the surface.

Bollo nodded at Noel. “Vince’s dressing-gown nicer,” he said before following Naboo and Julian into the kitchen. Noel was trying not to think about Bollo wearing a Dave-suit and not the other way around. However, it seemed that there was little to do but follow so that was what he did.

The ashes were circling Naboo’s head. Noel knew it was the Evil Angel, no matter how impossible it might have seemed. The small Shaman lifted his hands. Bollo held out his bucket. Naboo spoke.

“Stop your evil, Angel dust

The story’s done and so are you

Stop your evil, that’s a must

Melt the ash and turn to goo.”

The Angel ash fizzled angrily before turning to black, oily liquid which spun around the room for a moment then poured itself into the bucket. The green goo turned to a horrible muddy colour, then it rose to the top and the polo popped onto the surface with a hiss.

“Was that the Hitcher?” Noel said, pointing into the bucket.

“Yeah,” Naboo said, dropping his hands. “Well, Kevin and the Hitcher are they’re old mates, so they might as well share.”

“Also,” Bollo added. “Less storage room needed.”

Noel nodded. Julian caught his eye and Noel knew they were both thinking the same thing.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“Howard was the key really,” Naboo said after his fifth glass of claret. Julian wasn’t sure how he managed to imbibe that much alcohol, but then he’d wondered the same about Mike. Not that Mike drank claret. That was something he’d never known about Naboo. He was an enigma indeed. “Julian was right, the jazz kept him safe. No matter how much of the Evil Angel’s poison he drank, the swing in his blood and the bee-bop in his soul kept him real.”

Bollo nodded sagely. Well, actually, Julian was fairly sure that Bollo was asleep. He’d eaten as many of the over-cooked vegetables as Julian and Noel had put in front of him. Now, apart from the flatulence, he was quiet.

“But surely Vince is fluffy and happy enough not to fall for the evil?” Noel said. He looked slightly peeved at this point. Julian felt that he should step in.

“Vince is the sunshine kid,” Julian told Naboo.

“But Vince loves Goth,” Naboo said. “He has a touch of evil in his soul. It was open for the Angel to step in. The potion just kept him happy, like liquid Abba. Nothing can touch it. Without it, the story could have ended very differently.”

“Well, I’m grateful that you took control, Naboo,” Julian said and raised his glass. The three men clinked glasses. Bollo slept on.

“No more dreams then,” Noel said a little sadly. “Bit of a shame really.”

“Think positive,” Naboo told him, trying to rest his elbow on the table. He missed by a few inches. “The Angel went for Vince and Howard, not you. We didn’t have to give you two any potion at all, you’re strong enough without it. Plus, they don’t know it yet, but Howard and Vince are going to have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow.”

“Hm.” Bollo grunted awake with a start. “I’ve got a bad feeling about that.”

“You’ve always got a bad feeling,” Naboo said yawning. “I’m pretty tired now.”

“We better get home before other two wake up,” Bollo said as he reached out to pull the small Shaman to his feet. “I drive,” Bollo said to Naboo. “You take bucket.”

“It’s my carpet,” Naboo whinged.

“You been drinking. Bollo drive,” Bollo said.

Julian walked them to the door. “How did you and he…?”

Bollo turned round and looked at him. “If Mike or Dave call,” he said rolling his eyes as if the answer was obvious. “Tell them go back to sleep. Tell Dave not to take gorilla suit off.”

Julian nodded. He was still nodding long after the flying carpet, carrying an inebriated shamen and a great ape who looked like a man, had gone. He didn’t hear Noel walk up behind him, but felt his arms slip around his waist.

“I vote we don’t tell the girls about this bit,” Noel said quietly.

“Good idea,” Julian said, holding Noel’s hands around him. “Can we eat the gateau now?”

Howard had insisted on driving the Angel’s motorbike back home.

“Finders keepers,” he told Vince, settling himself on the seat. “Jump aboard, little man.”

Vince climbed on, trying to hide the fact that he’d shoved Ginger under his kimono. He’d pulled his elf clothing off so fast after the Angel disappeared, that Tony Harrison was still telling Saboo that it wasn’t fair to enforce such a thing on him after he’d been drop kicked into the crunch. Saboo was too busy looking at Vince’s arse.

“Where’s Naboo and Bollo anyway?” Vince asked, looking back at the bickering Shamen as they drove up the rutted farm track back the motorway. Their pace was much more sedate than it had been when the angel was driving.

“Some sort of alternate universe-y thing,” Howard said, revving the motorbike’s engine. There was funny little button on the right side of the handlebar. It had flames on it.

“Thank you for saving me, Howard,” Vince told his friend, holding onto him tighter. He had a feeling that Howard was about to do something all action-mannish. Normally he would laugh, but today..? Today he didn’t mind so much. “I was really scared.”

“Me too,” Howard replied before choking. He’d forgotten that opening your mouth when riding a motorbike in the countryside, was fraught with the possibility of inhaling your own body weight in insects. “Hold tight, Vince. Let’s see what this baby can do.”

Vince clung onto Howard and closed his eyes. He heard the roar of acceleration and felt the speed rush over him, ruffling his kimono in the wind. He wasn’t scared this time though. He was with Howard.

End Notes: Finished!

crowson75

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The Night Before Gothmas (two part fic)