Category: The Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Warning: Smut (graphic sex scenes)
Length: 5-10k words
Warning: Smut (graphic sex scenes), Explicit sex. Self-enjoyment. Inappropriate use of objects. Big fluffy KISSING.
Beta: by planetbanjo and glynnis. Many thanks to them both.
Get Foxed by accioarse
In the end, it was the fox that did it.
But five minutes before the fox entered into his life, Howard Moon was as yet blissfully unaware, hunched over in the far corner of the Nabootique, staring into a small, gilt-framed mirror and making small, puzzled noises.
First he puckered up his face, forming it into a kind of kiss-shaped prune. Then he let the muscles drop, lifting his eyebrows high and stretching out his forehead. He poked a finger to his temples and let out a sigh. Surely all those wrinkles hadn’t been there yesterday. But new lines didn’t appear out of nowhere, just overnight—did they?
A second ago, he’d even been desperate enough to ask Vince.
Vince had just shrugged in reply, not even bothering to stop flicking through his copy of the new 100 Coolest Crimpers List. “Dunno, Howard. It’s kinda hard to tell. You already look about a hundred to me, you know?”
Howard stared even harder in the mirror, frowning, and surprised at how upset Vince’s offhand comment had made him feel. “Yeah, thanks a bunch.”
“You’re welcome.” Vince gave the matter more thought. “Or surgery—that’s always an option.”
Was a facelift really the solution? Howard pulled his cheeks out sideways. Under the tension his nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing into slatted buttonholes. With a click of saliva his upper lip lifted entirely from his gums.
Then the front door of the shop jingled. Howard speedily dropped his face, flushing with embarrassment, and spun around to face the visitor.
It was then that Howard first saw the fox.
Initial impressions weren’t favourable.
Howard narrowed his eyes, moving closer, looking the interloper up and down. Meanwhile, Vince sauntered up behind, curious to see what the fuss was all about.
“D’you see that—the thing Naboo just brought in?” Howard indicated towards it in disgust. “Two thousand and three Euros for that?”
“I dunno.” Vince tilted his head to the side, considering it from all angles. “I like it. It’s got style.”
It wasn’t so much to look at, that was true. You had to squint to see it was even an animal.
Then, suddenly, its form snapped into shape—the two tiny rounded ears on top, the suggestion of a snout, high and dainty, as if the fox had just sniffed something delicious, very far away. A long, sinuous column made the curve of the belly, and the base was formed from a tail, tucked and swirled like a mound of smooth ice cream.
Just a bit of plastic, when you came down to it, formed into a small golden statuette, and the whole thing not more than fourteen inches tall.
“You insane, Vince? Who’s going to pay thousands of Euros for that?” Howard grabbed the statue, shaking it up and down, as if searching for treasure, defying a clunk of hidden coins to prove him wrong. There was silence. “See? Completely worthless!”
Vince gently took the golden fox from Howard’s hands. He smiled. Then, using only his fingertips, he began to stroke the plastic. He started from the tiny fox chin, caressed down across the smooth golden belly and finished delicately, tickling under the sleek haunches. Then he did it all over again, even more seductively.
Finally, he held the fox next to his face, making his eyes large and innocent. “Don’t hate us, Howard.” He peeked long and sideways through his lashes. “Please. Don’t hate us. Just ‘cos we’re beautiful. We can’t help it.” His mouth twitched sideways in mischief. “Any more than you can help how you look. You potato-eyed rapist nightmare.”
It wasn’t until several cans of beer and five and a half hours later that Howard had his answer ready.
By then he’d locked up the Nabootique, rolled the shutters down, and was standing in the back room of the shop, fourteen inches of tauntingly golden plastic animal in one hand and in the other, a large bottle of cooking oil. With a stagger, Howard fell against the beaten-up old sofa in the middle of the room,. He threw the fox and bottle down, needing both hands to fumble with his belt buckle.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty-pretty-pretty? Huh? You can’t help it, you can’t help it…“
Howard’s trousers were now down around his ankles. “Fuckin’ stupid bit of plastic… likes you more than he does me… why doesn’t he like me…”
And then, all of a sudden, Howard crumpled over, head heavy against the back of the sofa, screwing his face up like a piece of waste paper and wailed. His back jerked violently with the release of emotion.
It only lasted for a few, wretched sobs. Then, still leaning against the sofa, Howard sucked in a long, deep breath. He squashed his face into the crook of his arm and wiped away his drunken tears.
Through his bleary eyes he spotted the fox, still resting in the corner of the sofa cushions. He grabbed the statue and held it in front of him, hissing—“Fuck you! Fuck you, Vince!”
After that, for a while, there was silence. Howard was using his snarling teeth to work the lid free from the top of the oil bottle.
Wobbling a bit, but with a determined look on his face, Howard took aim on the golden statue. “A rapist nightmare? I am? Am I?” Streams of oil sloshed all down its length, glistening where it gathered in the shallow grooves. “Hah! Well, sir, rape on this, sir!” With a flourish, Howard threw the half-empty bottle away. It bounced with a glug, forming a sticky circle on the floor.
Then, for a long minute, Howard just stood, staring blankly at the wall. His eyes glazed over, overspill oil dripping, seeping between his fingers and down to the floor. Howard gave a little sway, like floating on insulated air and slowly, groggily, came to. He looked at his right hand. It was shiny and oil-slicked.
Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He balled up his oily fingered hand, wincing in anticipation, and in one swift motion, shoved it under the waistband of his underpants, grabbing at his semi-erect cock. “Fuck… yes!” he gasped. Fingers slipping, he curled his body over, grunting in time. He sped his fist up and down.
“Yes… yes!” he panted. Then, “Vince!”
The moment he said Vince’s name, Howard froze dead, his hand stuck deep in his Y-fronts.
“No!” His yell was tinged with pain. “Bastard! No! Said I look like a rapist potato! I don’t!” Howard pulled his hand out of his underwear, mouth wide in distress, his body limp. “I don’t!”
Moving his gaze across to his other hand—there, he still held tight the statue of the golden fox.
In a rough, one-handed action, Howard grabbed at his underpants, pulling them down all the way to his ankles. Bending his knees, he widened his stance, reaching through his leg, blindly seeking with the hard end of the statue.
“Fuck you! Fuck you, Vince!”
Howard squirmed. Cold, oiled plastic was teasing up and down his crack, nudging under his balls and into his sensitive crevices. Suddenly, the head of the fox had reached its aim. Howard screwed up his eyes, shuddering in anticipation. He pushed the fox harder, impatient, wanting it inside. He bent over, pushing himself against the back of the sofa, and his cock rubbed against the fabric, a shiny trail pulling from the very tip, smearing wetly beneath.
A moan escaped from Howard as a flood of images arose—of Vince standing there behind him, his warmth pressing Howard’s body. Howard shuddered, trying to blank it out, but instead seeing Vince completely naked—his tight, lean body pushing in close—his hot, firm cock twitching in eagerness against the back of Howard’s thigh.
Without thinking, Howard shifted slightly, widening his stance, allowing the imaginary Vince to move into position, his cock rubbing between Howard’s buttocks, teasing at Howard’s arse.
Howard shut his eyes, picturing it even more vividly—oh, God—imagine if Vince was really here—if Vince really was hard and ready, just for him. If Vince were about to grab Howard by hips—if Howard really was about to go hoarse pleading yes and yes and begging Vince for yes please more.
Howard forced his erection even more firmly against the back of the sofa, his head swimming, his mouth watering. In blind need, he shoved his arse backwards, imagining Vince pushing into him—relentlessly, with no chance of escape. His cock lifted from the rough fabric of the sofa underneath; Howard gasped in disappointment. Pushing his erection down again, the renewed friction rubbed long and hard all the way along his length. Muscles trembled deep beneath his balls.
Slowly, slowly, Howard pushed the slippery statue further in. At first, he met with snug resistance. Howard writhed back and forward, the plastic fox lodging a just little further every time. Sweat sprung on his forehead, across the back of his neck.
Eventually, the fox began to slip inside. Even with the oil, the sensation was intense, almost beyond pleasure. At last it lodged deeply; Howard’s arse screamed with overload inside. His legs shook wildly with the effort.
Very carefully, he started to move the fox in and out. At first, the short, shallow movements made him gasp with every thrust. He bit his tongue, panting hard.
Then Howard pulled the fox back, almost entirely out, breathing deeply, preparing himself. Just one really long thrust now, extra hard and deeply smooth—just like, as he realised with a pang—just the way he wanted Vince to fuck him.
Opening his mouth wide, and pausing only to sob out Vince’s name one more time, Howard plunged the fox deep, the sculpted surface stroking every inch of the way….
And at that moment, the front door jangled open.
A cheerful voice called out. “Howard? That you—out the back, with the light on?”
Howard froze in terror.
“I had to come back—my hair went wrong. Can you believe it? Limp and crunchy, like a cornflake in the wind. Total nightmare!”
Howard’s eyes flicked to a box just three feet away from him—Vince’s emergency stash of grooming products. Vince always kept a supply here out back, just in case.
The sound of Vince’s steps grew louder.
Scarce seconds later, Vince arrived in the doorway of the back room. By that the time, Howard had managed to arrange himself on the sofa, still pretty much unclothed from the waist down, but with the worst of his shame safely cupped behind his hands.
Vince stopped dead in his tracks. He took in the scene before him. Howard’s trousers and pants were round his ankles, his legs were bare, and on the floor, a half-empty bottle of Value Rapeseed Cooking Oil lay sideways, its contents oozing a sticky puddle.
“What’s up, Howard?” Vince took a cautious step back on his silver platforms, bewilderment on his face. “Why’re your legs all naked like that?”
For some strange reason, Howard seemed to have become as sober as it was possible to be. He gestured with one hand, casually, implying that men of action needed no particular reason to air their limbs of an evening. Then he remembered his nakedness, and hastily pulled his hand back onto his lap.
Vince approached very cautiously. “And why is your face is all scrunched up? It looks like that time you tried to hang shelves in the shop and nailed your elbow to the wall.”
Bizarre expressions were indeed passing across Howard’s face, mostly due to being on friendly internal terms with a golden plastic fox while trying to pretend that he wasn’t.
“I heard a great big racket just outside the shop just there. Was that you? Were you yelling out ‘Vince’?”
“Perhaps,” admitted Howard, “I might have been.”
Vince pulled his eyebrows together. He looked up and down, focusing on the orange patterned underpants bunched around Howard’s ankles. “Why?”
Howard opened his mouth, discovered he had nothing to say, and shut it. He shifted nervously in his seat, then, as the fox made itself painfully known, really wished he hadn’t.
With a blithe little skip, Vince sauntered over. He slung himself onto the sofa beside Howard, pulled his knees up and poked Howard in the shoulder. “So, then, d’you think you might finally have gone mental or anything?”
Oh God—now Vince was touching him. Howard became even more aware, if it was possible, of the lack of clothes over his genitals.
He fearfully peeked to the side—and there were Vince’s blue eyes, his luminous pale skin, those dark tufts of chest hair poking out from the V of his nipple-skimming shirt. And from this distance, Vince smelled amazing too, that unique-to-Vince-smell, of fresh sweat and minty balls with an undertone of the sweet black tar you only find on the undercarriage of toy cars. Howard felt himself starting to get aroused all over again. He tried to cross his legs, and suffered an uncomfortable yet strangely enjoyable internal friction.
Very slowly, Vince leaned over. Howard held in his breath, hardly daring to hope. Vince’s lips drew closer to Howard’s face.
“Aha!” shouted Vince. “I knew it!”
Howard looked down, appalled—for while he’d been distracted, Vince had snuck his hand to the top of Howard’s naked thigh.
“You were having a sneaky wank, weren’t you? I can tell! I can feel the stiffy!” Vince’s face shone with triumph.
“Hey!” Howard pushed Vince’s hand away.
“I knew it! You dirty bitch! And what’ve you got up your arse, then? I know you’ve got something up there ‘cos you’re sitting like a lego duck!”
Howard hunched himself over, vainly trying to hide his arousal.
Vince bit on his lip, his eyes big and nervous. Cautiously, he put his hand back on Howard’s leg. “Howard… can’t I play too?”
Howard looked up, almost at the edge of panic. What the hell was happening now?
“Is that a yes, then?” asked Vince, his hand moving upwards, ever closer towards Howard’s crotch.
“But I thought…” began Howard, totally bewildered—but the rest of his words were cut off, silenced by Vince’s mouth suddenly launching onto his.
Vince’s lips were pressed against Howard’s, kissing and sucking on Howard’s lower lip. Howard reeled in shock—and then again, as his cock was grabbed in a dextrous hand. His thigh muscles gave an involuntary kick of pleasure and he groaned loudly into Vince’s mouth. This was almost more than he could handle.
Vince’s eyes flickered wide. “Alright?” he panted, his mouth still on Howard’s.
In reply, Howard, groaned again, took hold of Vince’s hand and pressed it even more firmly down. Vince’s hand closed around once more; Howard sucked in a deep breath.
Vince wriggled, his hipbone pushing against Howard’s bare skin. Vince was wearing tight red trousers, two white lightning bolts at the front framing a now-obvious bulge.
“I’ve got one and all, you know,” Vince whispered, pushing his erection closer to Howard.
Howard’s hand shook. He almost didn’t dare. Cautiously, he reached out…
Losing patience, Vince fumbled with his side zipper and yanked his trousers down past the dark trail of hair on his stomach. Howard swallowed painfully as with a leap, Vince’s cock sprung free.
Then, before he could stop himself, Howard heard himself shouting out—“I’ve got a fox shoved up my arse!”
As soon as the words had left his lips he just wanted to die. That was it. However it had happened, for one brief moment Vince had really wanted him—had actually been hard for him. Probably never again.
Vince stopped mid-strip, his trousers still around his knees. “A what?”
“Fox.” Howard mumbled into his chest. “The plastic statue thing. The one you were giving big love to earlier on. Remember?”
Vince bent over double, and began to make some very strange noises. Howard put his hand on Vince’s back, concerned—was he having some kind of fit? After a while, though, Vince straightened up, and Howard saw that the only thing Vince had been suffering from was an excess of giggles.
“No—way!” gasped Vince, gasping and close to hysteria. “No way! Oh… God—show… me!”
Howard wasn’t at all certain that was a good idea. In fact, he was pretty sure that bending over and waving his arse-fox at Vince would involve a certain loss of dignity on his part.
“Howard—you complete sideways fool! You’re a genius!” Vince grabbed at Howard’s hands, which were already pulled back, defensively covering his lap. “That’s so fucking hot!” Vince knelt down, pushing at Howard’s legs, trying to force them open to work himself in closer. “Can I watch? Can I? While you bum yourself with the plastic fox? Can I suck you off while you do it?”
And without even waiting for an answer, Vince pulled off Howard’s unresisting fingers and dove right in.
Howard felt two hands, one on his thigh and one on the ticklish area over his hip. Then Vince’s warm, wet mouth had plunged down, right down over his cock, right to the base. Howard gasped and arched his back against the sofa. Vince’s fingers stroked under his balls, nudging and massaging, and Howard‘s toes curled in pleasure.
That statue was still inside, and as Howard arched back it shifted, stimulating him deeply and—urrgh—now Vince was licking—round and around the incredibly sensitive head of Howard’s cock, using the flat of his tongue. Oh God, now Vince was sucking, up and down, deep and wet, drawing the pleasure like an itchy fire from Howard’s balls, and…
No! No! Too soon!
Howard flailed towards Vince, trying to grab him by the shoulder. “Stop! Gonna come!”
“Don’ min’,” slurped Vince messily. “Wan’ me ‘o swa’ow?”
“No!” Howard pushed again, harder. Vince fell backwards between Howard’s feet, a hurt and puzzled look on his face.
Avoiding eye contact, Howard turned his head away. When he spoke, it was in a small, reluctant voice—“…want you inside me.“ He pushed his face against the sofa. “Please.”
“Yeah?” asked Vince, his grin instantly reappearing. “Really? You want me to fuck you? Ace! ‘Cos I’m completely up for that!”
Oh God… Vince was so eager… Howard closed his eyes, feeling a hot rush rising. He had to calm down. Keep his cool. If things kept like this he’d not last a couple of seconds more. Then Vince would laugh and jeer, think Howard was pathetic at sex, and never want to do it with him, ever again.
“Right… “ Howard stood up, bending awkwardly over the sofa arm and taking several deep breaths. “How d’you want me? Like this?” He raised a leg, one hand protectively back over his genitals. “Like this?”
Vince giggled. “Howard! I’ve seen your cock! I just had it in my mouth, for Christ’s sake!”
Howard let his hand drop, exposing his desperately hard erection and hunching his shoulders over with nervousness. “Oh… yes… right…”
“No, the question is, what we gonna do about this?” For Vince had spotted the end of the fox sticking out of Howard’s arse. He immediately pounced and began to jiggle it about, sending earthquakes of sensation up and down inside Howard.
“Ohhhh!” yelled Howard. “Arrrgh! No! Don’t! No—really, don’t! It’s…. really, really sensitive.”
Vince stopped. “Yeah, so I’ll pull it out slowly, then?”
Howard paused, uncomfortably. “No. I’ll do it. You turn around first.”
“Because I’ll have to… and I’m not wearing anything…”
Vince shook his head in amazement. “You do know where I’m about to stick my dick, don’t you?”
“Yes… just don’t look, okay?”
“Idiot.” Vince slung his arms around Howard’s shoulders. He kissed him on the lips. “How about I do this, then? Then I won’t be interfering with your rear.”
“Yeah, well—it’s not really very practical, is it?” Awkwardly, Howard bent over, trying to reach around to the fox, Vince hanging off his neck.
“Are you about to pull it out yet? Howard? Tell me when you do, ‘cos I think it’s dead sexy.”
Howard sighed. “Yes, I’m about to pull a small statue of a fox out of my arse.”
Vince wrinkled up his nose. “Funny. I’d always wondered what it would be like, snogging a fox bummer.”
“Well,” said Howard. “Technically, so far, it’s been the fox doing all the bummin….”
But then the end of his words were lost as Vince’s mouth pushed up against Howard’s. Vince’s mouth was so soft, his breath warm, and then his tongue was tickling, pushing into Howard’s mouth. Their two tongues met, and it was so intense that Howard nearly fell over.
Just as suddenly, Vince pulled away. “Has it popped out yet?”
Howard shook his head, his lips cooling, already missing Vince’s mouth. He wanted more.
“You pull it out while we’re snogging, right? Then it’s like I’m helping.”
Howard cleared his throat. “It’s not really a help, Vince. If anything, it’s a distr…”
But Vince had started lightly teasing at the corners of Howard’s mouth, taking tiny nibbles. Giving up on trying to do anything else, Howard just kissed back, wrapping an arm around Vince’s shoulders and leaning in. At the same time, Vince’s hands were everywhere they could reach—running through Howard’s hair, stroking his back, tweaking his nipples.
Again, Vince pulled away, far too soon.
“Oh, go on, Howard.” Vince was practically bouncing up and down. “I want to be the one to pull it out—please, please, pleeeeease?”
Grudgingly, Howard mumbled a yes, and Vince scooted down towards Howard’s stern.
“Hey!” protested Howard a second later, from his position on his hands and knees on the floor. He twisted his head round. “What was that about? Why’d you hit me?”
Vince giggled. “But Howard—your arse is so wicked! It was calling out to me—I couldn’t help it!”
“Never mind! Lay off the… ahhhh! Fuck! Ahhhh….”
“Beh-er?” asked Vince, his words muffled.
“Fuck, yes!” Howard tilted his hips, wedging his forehead down, and tried to give Vince better access.
“Mmm—hmm,” said Vince, his incoherent words vibrated round the plastic fox, as his licks tingled the sensitive nerve endings around Howard’s arse.
Then, with a shudder, Howard felt the object start to move inside him. At first it rocked with tiny actions, internal trembles, as Vince tried to work it free. The motions grew stronger. Vince was shoving it in and out, increasing the thrusting with every pulse.
Howard closed his eyes. Vince was back there, controlling this thing, pushing it in and out of him—and by the sounds he was making, he was getting off on it too. Howard felt another hot stab of blood rush to his cock at the thought, and pushed back against the statue, feeling it fill him tightly.
But then, instead of more thrusting, Howard felt cold withdrawal. The plastic fox was being pulled out—slowly now, a little further—nearly free. And with a final, sucking pop, it was gone. Howard flopped down, conscious of a strange sense of loss.
So was that it? Was it all over—this unlikely sexual interlude?
After all, Vince had been stroking that fox statue very strangely earlier, almost pervertedly. And he did just say that he’d always wanted to snog a fox bummer.
Yes—that must be it. Vince just must have a bizarre sexual fascination with fox statues—or something like that. He couldn’t possibly be interested in Howard, not for himself. For Vince to want Howard would be like an iridescent butterfly among the flowers suddenly deciding to go and bum a barnacle-covered whale.
And as Howard knew, the world just didn’t work like that.
Then a movement caught Howard’s eye—Vince’s hand, holding the half-empty bottle of cooking oil and shoving it in Howard’s direction. This was closely followed by a cock, waving about happily in front of Howard.
Vince pointed at his erection. “My turn to be the fox, right?”
Howard poured out a palmful of oil, and trembling, held it above Vince’s cock, letting it trickle down. He watched the path of the oil. Vince’s cock was a thing of beauty—flushed with colour, smooth and wonderfully silky.
Vince’s eyes were half-lidded “Rub it in?” he breathed.
Howard gently smoothed his fingertips across the cock’s sensitive head, then grasped the shaft more firmly in his hand. As Vince’s cock gave a definite, excited leap, Howard felt his own twitch in reply. For a moment, Howard and Vince stared into each other’s eyes. A warmth filled Howard’s chest.
Vince began humping with a series of needy little motions, pushing his cock against Howard’s palm, resting his head on Howard’s shoulder, and mouthing open-mouthed kisses into Howard’s neck. Howard groaned, stretching back to give Vince better access, Vince’s warm length still in his hand.
As one, they fell to the floor, rolling around on top of each other. Vince’s tight trousers were still around his knees; Howard pushed at them, shoving at them with his feet, wanting as much naked Vince as possible. In return Vince pulled off Howard’s clothes—the fiddly buttons on his cardigan, the laces of his boots.
Vince’s shirt got stuck above his head, and Howard took advantage. He held down Vince’s arms, biting on his nipples and licking along his skinny ribs. Vince fought back, wriggling fiercely while Howard straddled his hips—yet when Howard stopped the attack, Vince let out a disappointed gasp.
Vince finally pulled his shirt free, whooped a noise of joyous victory, and jumped on top of Howard, pinning him to the ground. He bent down and hissed into Howard’s ear, “Yeah! I’m gonna fuck you now, Howard!”
Howard whimpered, embarrassed at how incredibly desperate those few words from Vince could make him. He rolled over, dislodging Vince as easily as a piece of tumbledown dandelion fluff, rising onto his hands and knees and presenting his naked arse to the air. He needed to have Vince inside him, and he was praying he wouldn’t have to beg. He hoped that Vince could guess how much he needed him. But he really shouldn’t start pleading. That would be undignified. He lifted his hips even higher in expectation.
Vince ran his finger down Howard’s crack, teasing and circling. Howard moaned, pushing himself into the finger, feeling it slip past his already well-stretched entrance. Above him Vince was breathing loud and fast, clearly wanting as much as he did. Thank God… thank God…
Howard felt Vince’s hands, pulling his hips up close, and finally, what he’d been waiting for—Vince’s cock, seeking admittance. Howard pushed back, desperate, face pushed against the floor. He whispered, “Yes… please, Vince—please…”
Then, with a last, powerful thrust from Vince, and a sudden, blissful release of pressure, they were joined. Wriggling, Vince gave a few more thrusts, working himself deeper inside Howard with every push.
After Vince’s mouth on him earlier, Howard knew he was close—far too close. He itched to touch himself—but he couldn’t, a few strokes would be all it would take.
Vince changed his angle of thrust, and Howard arched his back in response, gasping, eyes squeezed tight. Oh God—how did Vince do that? Something incredible at the end of each long, smooth thrust—a twist or a flick, just at the right place, sending massive shudders through Howard’s body. His arms shook as he desperately tried to support himself.
This was a hundred times better than any stupid fox. So hot, so alive, so Vince—Vince, actually inside him, pushing in and out of his arse.
Then Vince started reaching around Howard, feeling blindly—and as soon as Howard realised what Vince intended, he dropped his head and moaned, grateful, overwhelmed and terrified all at once.
But he had to hold off. Vince wouldn’t like him coming too soon.
He had to ignore the throbbing in his bollocks, aching to spurt out each time Vince pounded into him—again—and again—“Ahhh!” Howard stretched his mouth open wide.
Then Vince’s hand made contact round Howard’s cock, and Howard flinched, trying to repress the shuddering in his balls.
“Sorry!” he warned Vince, “Gonna come!”
“Yeah! Me! Too!” panted Vince, gasping in time to his deep thrusts. Sweat was trickling from his forehead, dripping down onto Howard’s back. “Now!”
And then, with one final, deep and forceful thrust, Vince began to shake. Howard felt the tremors inside him, Vince’s cock spurting as it wedged thickly inside, and in relief he let himself go too.
For a brief second, Howard was scared—that after all that restraint he might not even be able to come. But then Vince reached around to Howard’s cock—and all Howard’s fears vanished in a rush as with a rush, he came. His skin flashed like pins and needles, in big hot waves from his balls to toes to face and back down again. It was all he could do to keep from falling flat against the floor in a pancake of gratitude, Vince’s hand still sticky on his stomach, and pathetically weak from the orgasm.
Eventually Howard’s shakes started to fade. Once more, he became aware of his where he was—sprawled, entirely naked on the staff room floor, with a with well-lubricated fox statue ten inches from his nose and Vince’s cooking-oiled cock still up his rear.
This wasn’t quite what he’d expected to be doing with his Saturday night.
However, Vince wasn’t showing any signs of regret. He slung his tired arms around Howard and gave a happy little sigh. “Thank fuck for that! I thought you’d gone off me! You really had me worried there.”
Howard was so surprised that he flinched, nearly dislodging Vince’s cock, which was softening and retreating in a ticklish, entirely pleasurable way.
Vince hugged happily against Howard’s back, smiling. “’S been nearly a month, you know. C’mon—that’s way too long!”
Howard lay there, frowning.
“Howard?” Vince paused. “Your shoulders have gone all jumpy. What’s up? Didn’t you like it or something?”
“It was you,” muttered Howard.
“What?” asked Vince, puzzled.
By now Vince’s cock had slipped fully out. Howard felt it go with a sad regret. He curled up on the carpet, making space between his body and Vince’s. “It wasn’t me. It was you. You said my face needed surgery. That I looked like a rapist potato.”
“Howard—“ Vince sounded confused. “What’re you on about?
Howard replied quietly, “You think I’m hideous.”
“What?” Vince was shocked. “I never said that!”
“Last week you said I look like a buffalo.”
“Yeah, right!” said Vince. “You can talk! Yesterday you said my face is made entirely from acute angles!”
“Well.” Howard’s back was still to Vince. “That’s a sort of compliment, isn’t it? Everybody likes cheekbones.”
“And that I sublet my fashion sense out at the weekends…
“Did I?” Howard turned around.
“…to Mr Blobby.”
“Oh. Yeah, I remember that one now.”
“And that my hair’s the dead feathers of disappointed crows.”
Howard looked at Vince. “But crows are famous for their fine, glossy plumage.”
“Same as potatoes,” replied Vince. “Famous for their tiny little eyes, they are.”
“And their raping tendencies?” asked Howard. He narrowed his eyes, still suspecting mockery.
“Only the Maris Pipers. They’re right raping bastards. But come on Howard, you know how much I like my chips!”
“So calling me a rapist-eyed potato—you’re saying that was some sort of chat up line?”
Vince put his arms around Howard’s waist. “If you like. It wasn’t meant to put you off, anyway.”
Howard thought about this for a few moments. Slowly, he began to relax, leaning into the arms around him. Vince’s hands felt warm against the small of his back. “Okay, then. But if I’m a rapist potato, you should be some sort of deviant vegetable too.”
“Genius!” Vince’s face lit up. “Can I be a rent boy mango? They’re well exotic.”
“Nope.” Howard touched the side of Vince’s face gently. He pushed a few wisps of dark hair out of Vince’s eyes. “Mangoes aren’t even vegetables, you idiot. And I get to do the choosing.”
“Okay then.” Vince looked at Howard in expectation.
“And I say… “ Howard considered the subject seriously. “You’re a mother-tossing cabbage.”
“What?” Vince wrinkled up his nose. “But that’s not very…”
But Howard was grinning, and leaning closer. And then they were kissing. And Vince was too busy snuggling in, and Howard was too busy holding tight, and both of them were too happy, too relieved that things were the way they were before, to spare a thought for plastic foxes, or the proper definition of vegetables, or even to debate the size of the eyes of the famously vicious Maris Piper potato.
At least for now.
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