If You Were Mine
Category: The Mighty Boosh
Characters: Howard Moon, Vince Noir
Pairing: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Genre: PWP (porn without plot)
Warning: Spanking, Violence - Mild
Length: 1-5k words
Notes: Follow-up to Meant to Be a Joke. If it comes across a little repressed, I got a wee bit nervous writing it. Hmm
If You Were Mine by Thingogram
Vince didn’t see why he should have to suffer just because Howard was infatuated with Lula. Lula clearly wasn’t worth his time. She was so far up her own arse that she couldn’t see that she had nothing to be up her arse about. All she could ever see was her own rectal passage, which was always clear because all the shit came out of her mouth when she talked to people. Her name wasn’t even Lula; it was Dolores. She had just read somewhere that Dolores was another version of Lola, but decided that she preferred Lula.
And for whatever reason, probably to entertain the pack of hyenas she called her mates, she had decided to string Howard along. Vince didn’t see why Howard didn’t realise that Lula and her mates were bitches. Though to be fair, it was probably for the same reason that Vince hadn’t realised until half of them had played kiss-and-tell with him to the rest of the pack, and just what they had kissed wasn’t something Vince was anxious for the rest of the world to hear about.
So Howard was talking to Lula, and they were both talking shit. Howard couldn’t help it, and Lula probably could. He was alone, and she had the pack standing a few paces behind and giggling in the most subtle way they knew how, which meant just about audible over the DJ.
Vince felt he was being chivalrous. He was saving Howard. Saving him from embarrassment and downheartedness at the hands of Lula. The fact that he was also saving himself from another long, pointless monologue that communicated nothing but how much Howard misunderstood everything that went on around him, and the fact that he planned to save Howard in the cheekiest way possible were irrelevant.
He was dressed in silver and black; a sort of catsuit with most of it missing. Large, asymmetrical gashes had been cut from the material to show off Vince’s pale limbs and torso, including two thin, teasing rings of material that exposed his nipples. It had pissed Howard off no end.
“You’re wearing that to a party thrown by someone you don’t even like that you don’t even want to go to?” he had said, gawping in disbelief.
“That’s the point of it,” Vince had replied. “If you’re going to hate it, you have to turn up and be the sexiest person there hating it. That way, everyone else will see you hating it and they’ll realise that they have to hate it too.”
“That’s gone wrong,” said Howard in disbelief. “Go and put something else on.”
“What?” cried Vince. “No way! I’ve been planning this for weeks. I’m digging the sexy spy look.”
“I didn’t realise there’s much call for the spy that’s already been caught and tortured,” Howard retorted.
This was Vince’s cue for his widest, cheekiest grin and the pressure of his nimble fingers on Howard’s waist. “Torture doesn’t have to be an unpleasant experience, you know,” he pouted.
Howard widened his eyes a little in a way that was probably meant to be seductive, but came out a bit scary. “You’re pushing your luck,” was all he said before he had dragged Vince out by one of the holes in his catsuit.
Vince had taken this as a sign to keep on going. And so, as Lula talked down to Howard and Howard failed to notice that Lula was laughing at him internally and her mates were laughing at him in the more obvious way, Vince decided to interrupt them in the most flirtatious way he could.
He snuck up through the flashing neon lights, crept up behind Howard, wrapped his arms around him and bit him on the shoulder.
“Ooow!” Howard gasped, turning sharply to face Vince once Vince had pulled his teeth out. “What the hell was that?”
“Felt like coming over,” said Vince.
Howard glared at him. “You just bit me.”
“Didn’t you like it?” asked Vince, in the coyest voice he could pull from his versatile vocal cords. Not waiting for an answer, Vince proceeded to lick at the offending teethmarks tenderly, yet unnervingly eagerly.
Howard pushed him away. “No,” he growled. “Get off me.”
“He doesn’t leave you to anyone else, does he,” commented Lula through the cigarette she wasn’t meant to be smoking inside.
“No, he doesn’t,” agreed Howard. “Don’t worry; he’ll be dealt with.”
“What, right now in the bogs?” Vince asked, sounding like he was joking, but secretly trying to telepathically beg Howard to say yes.
Unfortunately, Howard’s response was a shove and a curt “Get away from me.”
Dejected, Vince had obeyed, and gone off to harass more attractive people he had no intention of spending the night with. He enjoyed himself, but not as much, he thought, as he would have with Howard. Vince couldn’t explain it, but there was something about Howard that made him just so much fun to tease. But unfortunately, his good-natured friendly teasing had been spurned in favour of the subtle, cutting teasing of Lula van Brust.
He was saying something to her now. And she was replying with an evil grin on her face. Then she walked away. Vince could see her snickering with her mates over where the music was quieter. He looked back to Howard, who looked shocked, appalled and very very sorry for himself.
“You alright?” he asked, coming over.
“That bitch,” moaned Howard. “That devious sly bitch.”
Vince wrapped his arms around Howard’s waist and gave him a cuddle. He couldn’t help noticing Howard letting out a little laugh.
“I’m going,” Howard told him, pushing his arms away. “Bye.”
Howard went out towards the door, and Vince followed. “I’m coming with you,” he insisted.
“Why?” asked Howard.
“Because if the best looking person there leaves early with you, then everyone knows it’s a crap party,” Vince explained, walking next to him down the street towards home.
“Thanks, Vince,” replied Howard, voice irate and dripping with sarcasm.
“Plus, it gives you some credit too,” Vince persisted. “If I’m seen leaving with someone as odd-looking and uninteresting as you, them they’ll know that you really are a cool person after all.”
“Well that’s so much nicer,” snapped Howard.
“Just ‘cause you can’t handle it.”
Howard looked down at Vince. “For god’s sake,” he sighed. “Will you put your kink away until we get home.”
“What d’you mean?” asked Vince.
“I mean you’ve been practically begging for it all evening,” replied Howard. “The flirting, the cheek, the biting. Oh, if you were mine…”
Vince smiled sweetly up at him. “I could be.”
Howard just glanced down at him, then put an arm round his waist to hurry him on.
“Right,” said Howard, smiling a particularly devious smile as they got back in. “You said you wanted it–”
“I do,” maintained Vince.
“Well you’re getting it,” Howard continued. “First off, take that ridiculous thing off and put something vaguely normal on.”
“Can’t I just take this off and put nothing on?” asked Vince.
“Right, six extra,” Howard informed him.
What? Vince hadn’t realised he was counting. He suddenly realised that his heart was pounding three sambas at once, and he as starting to shake.
“You can strip to your underwear, if you prefer,” said Howard. “Just do it quickly.”
“Erm, I’m not wearing any,” replied Vince.
Howard stared. “You went out in that, with no underwear?”
Vince gulped and nodded. Much as it excited him to think of, Howard’s dominant persona was quite a scary person.
Howard was shaking his head disapprovingly. “You little harlot, how dare you.” He took a few steps closer to Vince. “That must be worth an extra nine on its own.”
Not caring any more what Vince had to say, Howard came over, took him by the arm and pulled him along to the sofa. Vince struggled, but purely out of a sense of playfulness, planning full well, as he had been for a long time, to go along with whatever Howard wanted to do.
Howard sat down and pulled on Vince’s arm so that his smaller body fell forward onto Howard’s lap. Howard was taking his full weight this time, and his arms and legs were left to hang down to the floor. No sofa to make it comfortable this time. It sent waves of electric wonderment flowing through Vince’s body to find himself in this position again, all powerless and vulnerable, completely at Howard’s mercy and, because of the design of his catsuit, not far from bare-arsed. This time he would endure the whole thing.
“You’ve been very very naughty, Vince Noir,” Howard scolded, running his hands all over Vince’s body; down his spine, around his sides, and of course, over his round and thinly-covered bottom, always pinching and squeezing. “Very bad and cheeky indeed. What do you have to say for yourself?” He didn’t expect or wait for an answer. “It’s about time you were properly punished.”
“Hit me, Papa Moon,” Vince gasped eagerly.
Howard paused, and Vince felt like he was hanging as he waited for the smack to come, until Howard spoke. “Don’t call me Papa, Vince; that’s incest.”
“No it’s not,” argued Vince, “because you’re not really my papa.”
“Four more for arguing,” Howard told him.
“Can I call you Padre?” Vince asked, unable to stop himself from giggling. “Then you could pretend you’re a priest, and I’m your bad little altar boy.”
“Call me Papa if you have to,” Howard sighed. His hands started to run all over Vince’s body, and he laughed like he had just had the greatest idea since Bond movies. “Papa Moon, international terrorist crime lord.”
“And you, you careless little thing, will never spy on me again.”
“Bond’ll save me,” Vince argued.
“Bond’s not coming,” whispered Howard. “He’s dead.” He slipped his fingers under Vince’s catsuit and fingered his skin. “You’re mine.”
His hand moved back from under the catsuit and found its way back to the raised curve of Vince’s backside, taunting Vince as he waited for it to rise. “And you will never, ever cross me again, or betray me to those bitches at MI6.”
Even just those four swats had left him with a lingering, smouldering pain. His rear felt cold in the absence of Howard’s strong hand, and he longed for its swift return. Howard leaned down and kissed him along the back of his neck. “I’ll make sure of that.”
Howard’s hand strayed back to squeeze his tingling backside again, making the fresh pain flare up at his touch. “Oh god,” Vince gasped.
“Are you enjoying this?” Howard asked him, in a way that caused Vince to feel the aroused sneer on his face.
“Yes,” Vince breathed.
He heard Howard take a breath, almost disapprovingly, and then suddenly Howard’s hand rose from Vince’s bottom and landed with another stern smack.
“You’re not meant to be enjoying it.”
Howard pulled him forward, closer to Howard’s own abdomen, and Vince winced at some unexpected friction between his pelvis and Howard’s thigh. Howard’s arm wrapped around his waist in a strong, pinching grip, and Howard proceeded to give him a fast, hard peppering. Vince squealed and squirmed as smack after smack after powerful stinging smack bounced off his flaming backside, each new shot of hot burning pain having no chance to subside before it was hammered in by another.
Then, just as suddenly, he stopped.
“Now, my adorable little prisoner, I don’t want to hear a sound out of you,” Howard instructed. “You’ve done enough singing to my enemies. You will take your punishment in silence, and if you don’t, then I’ll whack you harder than you’ve ever been whacked in your life. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Vince said, his voice strained.
Howard gave him a sharp pinch on the rump.
“Yes Papa Moon,” Vince corrected himself.
“Good boy,” smirked Howard. “Not a sound, now.” He laughed, quite sadistically. “Feel free to squirm, though.”
Vince bit his lip just in time to feel the first slap. He breathed in sharply, and he thought that Howard had paused to listen, but if he had heard, Howard let it slide. He slapped Vince again, and again, and again, until his backside stung so much that Vince lost any ability to tell when he was being struck and when he wasn’t.
But he did as he was told and held his tongue, enduring his torture by writhing and struggling. As it began to hurt more than he could handle, he grasped at Howard’s calf, earning himself a firm smack on the back of each virgin thigh before Howard resumed his torturous thrashing on Vince’s bottom. Eventually he could take no more, and let out a strangled cry.
Howard stopped spanking.
“Get up,” he ordered.
Shaking, Vince obeyed, using the floor and Howard’s things to support him. Once he was on his feet, he swayed, feeling dizzy and unsteady. Howard stood and put his arms around Vince’s waist, just as Vince’s legs failed to hold him and he fell back.
Now being contrastingly gentle, Howard shifted Vince into the crook of his left arm, so that his right was free to stroke his hair and his flushed face. He leaned in and kissed around Vince’s eyes, and it was only then that Vince realised he’d been crying.
“Shh,” Howard soothed him. “Such a sweet, docile prisoner.”
He carried on kissing Vince, moving down his cheek, and eventually conquered Vince’s mouth with his own. This Vince hadn’t planned on. He had been dreaming of spankings and nothing more, and to see this development occurring scared him a little. This coupled with the weakness that had come after the spanking made him too tired to respond. He let Howard’s tongue invade his mouth as he lay back in Howard’s arms, drained and breathless.
As Howard pulled back, Vince realised something else, and so did Howard.
“I think my prisoner has a little prisoner of his own,” Howard laughed, eyes cast downward. “Well, some prisoners should always be set free.”
He smiled wickedly, then reached his right arm round to the back of Vince’s legs and scooped him up into his arms. “And some shouldn’t.”
He went on through to Vince’s bedroom, carrying Vince to the side of the bed and grinning wickedly.
“No,” Vince tried to plead, but Howard ignored him and dropped him down onto the bed. Vince cried out as his sore rear hit the mattress and all the pain that had gradually dissipated since the spanking ended came flooding back. Howard just laughed at him.
“Strip,” he commanded.
Obediently Vince got up, but still weak and shaking, he was forced to lean on the bed. He felt Howard come up behind him and begin to undo the various fastenings on the back of the catsuit and peel it from around his body. As he stepped out of it, feeling relieved to be free of the tight material, he twisted his head and saw Howard looking down, admiring his handiwork. Howard put his hands on Vince’s hips, and then moved them back to rest on his arse-cheeks. His touch was light and gentle and his hands felt cool on Vince’s hot flesh, and so it felt soothing rather than aggravating, as Vince had expected.
“Do you feel punished?” Howard asked.
“Yes Papa Moon,” Vince whispered in reply.
Howard’s hand snaked around his hip and fingered his erection, not enough to satisfy anything, just tightly enough to tease.
“I don’t think you’ve been punished,” Howard told him. “I think you enjoy it too much. I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you ten more, nice and slow, and if you can take them without coming, then your punishment’s over.”
“Okay,” Vince agreed.
Howard moved to Vince’s side. “Bend over,” he instructed.
Vince leant forwards with his hands on the bed as Howard rested a hand lightly on his shoulders. His other hand caressed Vince’s behind. “Can you feel that alright?” he asked.
Vince replied the affirmative.
“Good,” said Howard. “I want you to count them out loud.”
His hand left Vince’s bottom and crashed down with what felt to Vince like a small explosion.
Smack! Right cheek.
Smack! Left cheek.
Smack! Right again.
Smack! Left again.
“Four!” He almost shrieked.
Smack! Both cheeks at once.
By now he was trying not to scream, and he could feel himself about to burst at any second.
He came, spurting a white stream across the sheets.
He heard Howard give a disapproving sigh and felt Howard’s arm take him round the waist. Fear flushed through him.
“Please don’t!” he begged. “No more. I’m tired. It hurts.”
It must have sounded pathetic, but he really couldn’t handle one more stroke. To his relief, Howard’s other arm took hold of him by the other side and Howard turned him to face him, before pulling him close and letting him fall on him. Howard ran his arms up and down Vince’s naked back, slowly and soothingly. Then they came to rest on his stinging rear, still cool, but the right a little warmer after dealing out the smacks. Vince leaned on him, groaning in relief, his hands up on Howard’s shoulders. Howard’s hands left Vince’s backside and made their way back up to his head, and cradled it as Howard kissed his forehead, eyes and cheeks.
Vince noticed he’d started crying again.
“Come on,” whispered Howard. He released his warm hold and led Vince to his bed. Vince lay down on his side, and Howard lay next to him, still touching him and whispering to him comfortingly.
“Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t cry. It’s alright. You’re mine now.”
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