Howard didn't accessorize. But that didn't mean he didn't like accessories...


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Pairing: ,






Length: words

Notes: The pairing is Howard/Howard. One-sided (and ‘implied’) Howard/Vince.

Written in response to the ‘Oscar Wilde Challenge’ over at Boosh Slash Haven Lj. Based on the quote: “The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.”

Accessories by el_gardner

“I don’t accessorize. I’m Howard Moon. There’s a simple truth to me.”

Howard smiled as he rubbed the soft towel across his skin. He was relaxed, and clean and smelling fresh from the shower now, having washed away the stresses of the day. Satisfied he was dry, he reached for his beige towelling robe and paused, a smirk slowly spreading across his face; he was alone in the flat, who was to stop him wandering around naked if he wanted to?

Whistling to himself, he dropped the towel on the floor and stepped out of the bathroom.

The sounds of Jazz-funk filled the air as he strolled down the hall, flicking the heating up as he passed the thermostat. It felt odd, to be walking around in the nude, but strangely liberating.

He smiled to himself as he thought of the evening he had planned. A bottle of red wine sat opened on the kitchen counter, breathing and readying itself to be drunk; a four hour documentary of the history of scat was already set up in the DVD player, and several books of poetry, all of a suitably dark and brooding nature, were sitting on the coffee table just waiting to be read; he couldn’t be happier.

Deciding the wine should be just about perfect now, he headed to the kitchen. The ruby red liquid made a satisfying glugging noise as he poured it into the glass and the bottle clinked against the wooden top as he set it back down.

“Ah, this is the life!” He muttered softly to himself, lifting the glass up to the light, and watching the way the liquid glistened as he tilted it. The colour reminded him of Vince’s lips as the light refracted through it. He sighed appreciatively as he bought the glass to his nose, inhaling its bouquet. He breathed deeply, smiling at the indulgence. Usually Vince would laugh at him for his penchant for red wine, and the ritualistic, almost portentous importance he placed on the sampling of it.

Slowly, he brought the glass to his lips and took a sip, swirling it around his mouth, to savour the taste, before swallowing; Black cherry and cassis burst on his tongue at first, then came the slight kick of pepper and the warm sweetness of clove. He smacked his lips together slightly, at the tannin-dryness that followed.


Smiling and humming a little, he looked around him, deciding what to do first. His stomach growled and he briefly considered cooking himself a snack, but quickly thought better of it, given his current state of undress.

Feeling a little silly, standing in the kitchen drinking red wine in the nude, he decided he should dress first, before settling down for his quiet evening.

He didn’t mind that Vince would go out without him sometimes; it gave him some much needed time on his own. Vince was a kind person, underneath all that glamour, and undeniably fun to be around, but sometimes he could be a bit much. He was just so damn hyperactive all the time.

As Howard wandered, glass in hand, through to the bedroom he shared with his colourful friend, his mind strayed.

There was something special about Vince. Something that was hard to define but undeniable all the same. A kind of effervescence, and beautiful naivete that was both charming, and ultimately frustrating, at the same time. He was a star, something to be admired from afar, lest you got too close and ended up burnt, even if Vince never intended it.

Vince was all colour, movement and life and Howard envied him. Even though he could drive him to distraction sometimes, with his energy and vanity.

He sighed affectionately as he opened the door to their room, glancing over at Vince’s side, strewn with clothes, make up, bits of paper with weird-but-wonderful drawings on them and general chaos.

Vince had posters covering the walls, of various bands and pop-stars, and his bedspread was a patchwork of different colours and textures. It was all so chaotic and vivid, but there was an almost childlike innocence there also, in the stuffed teddy that sat on his pillow and the comics littering the floor, just like his personality.

Almost absently, he set down his glass on the bedside table and began to pick up the clutter that had strayed over his side of the room from Vince’s. He knew it bugged Vince, when he tidied away his things, and he smiled, following a paper trail of scribbles across the room.

He felt vaguely naughty, as he crossed the invisible threshold to Vince’s domain. It was so different to his own, plain, and simple portion of the room.

A flash of orange caught his eye and he reached out his hand to grasp the little piece of fabric. It really wasn’t much of a shirt, just a wisp of material that barely covered Vince’s torso. Vince had worn it the previous evening, and Howard could vividly remember the look on his friend’s face as he paraded in front of him, asking his opinion of his new purchase. Howard could still see in his mind, how it had clung to Vince’s chest, tight enough to show the outline of two pert nipples, and the way it had ridden up when Vince had raised his arms, revealing the barest flash of a pale, taut stomach.

Idly, Howard ran his fingers across the fabric, it was as soft and smooth as he had imagined it to be when he had seen Vince inside it. Feeling almost guilty, he raised it to his nose, inhaling deeply. It smelt of smoke and Vince’s aftershave, with an undertone of something lighter, sweeter, almost feminine and distinctly Vince.

He could feel the first flush of arousal as he thought of his beautiful and androgynous friend. His fingers were tingling slightly and his skin felt flushed.

Folding the tiny strip of material carefully, he eyed Vince’s wardrobe. The holy grail, and not a place he usually had access to. It had always fascinated Howard; what exactly Vince had in there. It wasn’t that he was interested in Vince’s clothes, not really, and certainly not for himself, he was just curious.

And now Vince was out, who was there to stop him? He didn’t think it would hurt, not this once.

Howard’s eyes widened as he opened the wardrobe door. It was packed, from top to bottom, everything organised and neatly arranged mind, but it was still chocka. There were clothes of every imaginable colour, style and fabric inside. Bright T-Shirts, sparkly trousers, dark, Gothic-style numbers, frilly things, even something that looked suspiciously like a little black dress…

And then there were the accessories. Hats, of innumerable shapes and sizes, bandanas, bags, and what looked like an entire shoe shop on the bottom rack. There was even a selection of gloves, leather ones, studded ones, a pair of long black silky ones, that he suspected might go with the suspect little black number.

Howard had never been one for accessories himself, they never really suited him. He preferred his clothes to be comfortable and practical, rather than stylish.

Vince, on the other hand, obviously adored them, anything shiny or sparkly drew the boy’s attention like a magpie. And really, at the end of the day, where was Howard’s need to accessorize when he had Vince on his arm (figuratively speaking of course)? And Howard had to admit, they looked better on Vince than they ever would on him anyway.

Vince completed Howard and in a way he was like Howard’s own accessory; as the fashion connoisseur-come-victim would put it, he was like a pretty necklace, or a scarf that added colour, style and class to an otherwise plain outfit.

Grabbing a black hat with a feather poking from the top, and a little silky ribbon tied in a neat bow at the front, he took it out, twisting it around in his hand. Feeling cheeky, he lifted it and placed it on his head, half closing the wardrobe door to look in the full length mirror that graced the front of it. Looking at his reflection, he laughed out loud. The hat alone would have looked ridiculous enough, but teamed with his nakedness it looked positively hilarious. Shaking his head, he pulled it off, carefully setting it back in its place next to a little white fedora that looked particularly good on Vince.

Almost reverently, he stretched out his arm, running it softly along the rack of clothes. He paused, when his fingers brushed over something soft, and very fluffy. Poking his hand between a silver sparkly top and a pair of what looked to be tiny jeans, he reached in and grasped the end of a deep red coloured boa. He let his fingers stoke through the soft feathers, before he grasped the end and pulled at it.

The feathers tickled his arm as he dragged it out carefully. It was long, and it felt soft and kind of luxurious as it ran over his skin. He’d always wondered about Vince’s fascination with the long feathery scarves. There was a certain something about the way Vince looked when he was wearing them, elegant, pretty, sexy.

Slowly and carefully, he lifted it up, wrapping it around his neck. The ends trailed across his stomach, and he was surprised by how nice it felt next to his skin.

He shifted, lifting his hand and clasping the end, stroking it across his belly. His skin flexed and tingled, his stomach muscles tightening. It felt good, undeniably so and he felt a little flash of arousal.

His dick twitched a little as it filled slowly, and he risked a glance to the neon clock on Vince’s wall. It was still early, he’d have hours until Vince and the others came home. Biting his lip, he stepped away from the wardrobe, moving back to sit on Vince’s bed.

The cover felt a little scratchy beneath his backside and he pushed it out the way, groaning lightly as he felt the smooth, silk sheets that were hidden beneath it. The mattress was soft as he lay down, his head and back propped up by the plentiful cushions that were piled at the head of Vince’s bed.

There was a naughtiness to what he was doing, which only served to increase his arousal. The thought of being discovered, lying there on Vince’s bed, naked and hard and wrapped in Vince’s boa, made his belly swirl with a mixture of fear and excitement.

Slowly, he pulled the scarf from around his neck, wrapping it around his hand as he dragged it across his chest. His nipples hardened as it brushed across them, and he gasped, squirming against the sheets. He closed his eyes as he stroked it lower, suppressing a shudder as it trailed across the sensitive skin of his belly, tickling his hipbones.

Already he could feel his skin flushing and beading with moisture. His dick was fully hard now, and twitching in anticipation as the feathers of the boa brushed tantalisingly close to his groin.

Carefully, and oh-so-slowly, he brushed the scarf over the head of his erection, almost crying out as the soft feathers tickled his heated flesh. His groin was awash with sensation as he moved the boa over his length, his other hand fisting in the covers now as he turned his head and brushed his cheek against Vince’s soft, downy pillow.

Vince’s scent rose in his nostrils again, and he pressed a little harder over his length, lifting his hips and pushing up into the tickling, teasing, red plumes. His mind was playing images behind his eyelids now, and in his head it was all Vince. Vince, with that coy, wicked, and yet strangely innocent smile of his on his face.

His mind played out the fantasy of how they met in a club one evening:

He’d approach Vince. Having seen the young beauty sat alone at the bar, sipping idly from a tall cocktail glass, looking almost nervous. Vince would smile shyly when Howard introduced himself, biting his lip and nodding as Howard slipped easily into the stool next to him. Vince would be coy, sultry as he looked up at Howard through thick lashes. He’d be wearing tight black jeans, that red feather boa wrapped around his neck, ends dangling down loosely over a tight white top. His hair would be feathered around his face, his eyes lined in soft brown kohl. He’d be wearing that hat, the white cowboy one with the black studded detailing, that Howard loved so much. He’d seduce Vince, slow and tenderly, with clever lines and little not-so-casual touches until the younger man was eating out of his palm.

They’d go home in a taxi, Vince throwing glances at him all the way there; the air surrounding the back seat charged with tension.

As soon as the door to Howard’s flat closed, he’d push the younger boy against it, Vince clinging onto his hips as he kissed him. It would be slow and sensuous at first. Vince kissing back tentatively, moaning softly, fingers clenching in Howard’s shirt as Howard drew his tongue across his bottom lip. Slowly, Vince would open for him, melting into Howard’s embrace as he submitted to Howard’s skilful lips and tongue.

It would become more heated quickly, Howard manoeuvring Vince into the bedroom. Gradually, Vince would become more confident, his lips and body pressing up against Howard fervently. He’d push Vince down on the bed, slowly stroking his hands across clothed skin, dipping occasionally below the fabric to touch soft, warm flesh, drawing low, needy moans from deep within Vince’s chest.

Eventually, when Vince was writhing below him, clawing at his back and rocking his denim clad groin against Howard’s, he would lean down, kissing a line along Vince’s jaw to whisper in his ear: “Strip for me.”

Vince would be nervous again at first, tentative as he crawled off the bed to stand at the foot of it. But slowly, gradually, he’d gain in confidence until his hips were swaying softly to some unknown beat. He’d strip slowly, peeling his clothes off sensually, the crimson feathers dark against his pale and perfect skin…

“Oh, fuck.” Howard moaned, surprised at the detail of his fantasy, but uncaring, as the end of the boa dropped down, brushing across his balls. He trembled slightly, biting his lip as he pulled back a little, shifting his grasp on the boa and winding it around his length.

The Vince in his head had changed now, grown more self-assured, almost cocky as he teased Howard, pushed him down onto the bed, spreading Howard’s legs and climbing between them.

The muscles of his stomach clenched, and in his head it was Vince’s hands clutching the boa; Vince’s slender, yet strong fingers wrapped around the soft feathers, pressing them against his sensitive skin and stroking.

Vince, wearing nothing but those white, knee-high boots and Howard’s favourite fedora.

He moaned loudly, low and guttural, arching his back as his hand squeezed tighter and moved faster.

It wouldn’t be long now and he prised his hand from the silken sheets and dragged it across his chest. His skin was slicked, moistened with sweat as his fingers trailed across it. His back arched, as pleasure spread out from his groin, along his spine and his toes curled. Tension coiled in his belly.

Vince smiled at him, licking his lips as he lowered his head, trailing a hand across his balls gently, rolling them in his palm as he wrapped the boa around his shaft, pulling it over his skin, tongue licking at the slit…

White flashed behind his eyelids as the vision faded and he threw his head back. The coils twisted tighter, his breath catching in his throat as he stroked harder, and then finally, finally everything burst hard at the base of his spine, white heat flooding his nerves as he came hard. He gasped, crying out as he jerked and shuddered his release, sticky seed spurting and staining the deep red feathers.

His breath came in heavy pants as he sank back down on the bed, the soft padded mattress cushioning his weak, sated limbs.

He lay there, still, for a few moments, as he breathed slowly and steadily, little soft curls of pleasure still tingling in his veins, dying down gradually to a low hum. He sighed then, lifting his head and looking down at the boa lying across his thigh now. His hand was shaky as he raised it, plucking the scarf up carefully and wiping at the droplets of sticky come that had landed on his stomach. He felt groggy still, almost drunk though as he sat up, running a hand through his hair.

His stomach twisted again, this time with guilt as he slowly came down from his high. The realisation of what he had done crashed over him and he swallowed thickly.

The feather boa hung loosely from his fingers now, feathers sticky in places, tainted. Inhaling deeply, he held the air in his lungs for a second more than was comfortable before he released it slowly, willing his heart to stop beating so wildly against his rib cage.

Faint echoes of the fantasy still played at the edges of his mind, and he frowned, trying to push them away.

He felt boneless, but somehow he pushed himself off the bed, smoothing the sheets and the bedspread down to it’s former neatness. Closing the wardrobe door, he had a careful glance around to check he hadn’t left any evidence behind, before he crossed quickly to his side of the room again, stuffing the boa under his bed to hide it from Vince until he could wash it.

The glass of wine was where he had he left it on the bedside table still, and he took a large swallow of the alcohol. It calmed him a little, and he shook his head as he set it back down.

No one need know.

Smiling a little to himself, he fetched a simple pair of black trousers and a beige shirt out of his own, decidedly less colourful selection of clothing.

It would be his little secret.

It was true; he didn’t accessorize, never would.

But that’s not to say he didn’t like accessories.

They did, after all, have their uses…

And they looked very good on Vince.

“The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.”

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