Jazz Dalek

Howard and Vince have an incident over a used CD, and their adventure takes them closer to home than one might imagine. (Not a x-over, despite the Doctor Who references)

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Length: words

Notes: Thanks to “bluestocking79” for being my beta, and “wiccarowan” for Brit Picking even though this isn’t her fandom. Thanks to “soulsister101” for our CD shopping trip that inspired the idea.

(Names are of LJ users).


Jazz Dalek by ginarsnape

[nextpage title=”Chapter 1″]
Chapter 1

Author’s Notes: Chapter 1 of 3. PG rating this chapter only


Howard slipped into his brown corduroy blazer while Vince stood by the wall hook deciding between the leopard print coat and the grey poncho. “What d’you think, Bollo? They both clash with my outfit.”

“Purple tunic frock and black PVC leggings. Go wid da diamante studded black jacket.”

“Cheers Bollo. You’re a peach!”

“Where are you two off to?” Naboo eyed them in between tokes, sat on the couch.

Vince’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning.

“We’re off to the shops to look for CDs. Gary Numan’s got a new New Man Best of the Best of, including three different versions of ‘Cars’ and a remix of ‘Love Needs No Disguise’ – the ‘COSplay is all right’ version!”

“And I’ve, uh, got something to pick up too,” Howard added quickly, eyes shifting. “For my Jazz group. Yeah.”

“Well just don’t forget what happened the last time you went lookin’ for music. You bought that vinyl and the Spirit of Jazz almost ate Vince’s brain cell,” Naboo warned. “And if you don’t find what you’re looking for – stay out of my collection yeah? Bollo and I have a gig tomorrow night and I don’t need you messing about with my stuff.”

“I promise, we won’t touch anything!” Vince whinged in gentle outrage. “Bloody ‘ell, one little book on black magic and you’d think we’d looted ‘is entire collection leavin’ ‘is room lookin’ like the bottom of a skip!”

“And my Fountain of Youth amulet. And the . . . “

“ALL RIGHT!” Vince and Howard huffed.

“C’mon, let’s go Howard.” Vince grabbed Howard’s hand and stomped down the stairs.

——-

Howard reached for the door to the record shop and held it open for Vince, who fondled the chimes on his way in. Berocca Concoctions played in the background.

Howard breathed in deeply. “Aaaah, I love the smell of vinyl. Nothing like a good vintage LP to stir the soul.”

“You going to the used section, then?” Vince asked him. “I’m heading over to new CDs to get my Gary Numan on.”

“Where ever I can find what I’m looking for, sir. My musical search knows no formatting bounds.”

“I don’t buy used CDs,” Vince replied softly. “Naboo once told me something about them – it was well scary. He said used CDs are imprinted with the stories of the people who brought them back. He says if you touch the wrong one, you could get sucked into someone else’s drama. He says they have bad juju.”

Howard scoffed.

“You don’t believe him, Howard? After all this time? Well I’m tellin’ ya.”

“Telling me what, little man? That you’ll touch the wrong CD and your hair will go flat? All the feathers will fall off your boa? A tiny demon will crawl into the bedroom in the middle of the night and clip the wedges off all your platform boots?”

Vince’s eyes went wide in horror. “Don’t even think it! Anyway, there’s some goth girls over where I’m heading. Think I’ll see if they want to check out my new shapes. Try a few moves.” He licked his lips and stared at Howard, waiting for a reaction.

“I don’t need your goth girls, Vince. I’ve got my own moves. Jazz moves. For Jazz girls.”

“Wot? With your beefy northern Jazz hands? You wouldn’t stand a chance. Anyway, there aren’t any girls in the used Jazz section. None worth knowin’ anyway. You’ve got to widen your horizons. Show an interest in someone more modern. At this rate, you’ll be playing your bassoon on your own in that tumbleweed country.”

“Don’t be casting aspersions upon the ladies of the Jazzual persuasion, my friend. Or my bassoon. I’m a multi-instrumentalist you know. There are plenty of instruments I can blow.”

Vince blushed and rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile. He popped a Satsuma out of his pocket and tossed it in the air a few times.

Howard tipped his hat, turned on his heels and headed towards the used records. “See ya later, then?”

“Yeah, awright,” Vince pouted and turned the other way.

—–

Howard’s fingers moved at a clipped pace – no, no, no, no . . . the plastic cases knocking against one another as he sought out the CD he was looking for with increasing frustration.

Billy May

Muffin Top Mavis

Jellyroll Morton – whoops, too far —

Manky Loo McKnight

A moustache-crested scowl spread across his face. “WHERE IS THE CHARLIE MINGUS?”

“Calm down, Howard! The whole shop can hear you,” Vince purred as he sauntered up behind him, hands on hips. “It’s not like you haven’t got every single record of his already. Whatchya moaning ‘bout that for?”

Somehow, Vince’s hands wound up on Howard’s hips.

“Because they don’t have any Charlie Mingus! It’s unacceptable. Not in the records. Not in the CDs. And it’s vitally important I find this one release. I wanted to give it as a gift to . . .”

“To who? Who you given’ gifts to, Howard?” Vince questioned, a hint of jealousy in his voice. Then, more mockingly, “I know it’s not for me. I hate Jazz. Wot, you going to try to woo that girl who came into the shop before your birfday party again?”

He pulled away from Howard, sliding his arms down and folded across his own chest (they had somehow found their way wrapped around Howard’s midsection).

“What? I can buy a gift for a lovely lady if I choose. And anyway, it doesn’t matter who she is.”

“Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter? Wot, you think you’re gonna woo a girl with a CD by Minging Mingus and the Whistling Winklepickers? Girls don’t like Jazz, Howard. I keep tellin’ ya. Tell me who she is, and I’ll figure out what she’s into. Awright. Or ‘ave you even met one yet? Does she know you even exist, Howard?”

Howard mumbled something indistinct about an American girl. Vince raised his eyebrows and chuckled under his breath.

Howard then plucked a CD from the rack and turned back around to face Vince, his tiny eyes narrowed to the slimmest slits. “I don’t need you to do my bidding, sir. And that’s not the only thing I’ve got up my sleeve. I’ve also got my Jazz pencil cases.”

“A pencil case? I keep tellin’ ya Howard. Girls don’t like pencil cases. They’re not interested in stationery management. They don’t like Jazz.” He stepped back, hands on hips and looked Howard up and down. “And they don’t like brown corduroy. Look at me. Women try it on with me left and right when I go out. They’re gaggin’ for it. Leroy is always beggin’ me to give ‘im one a me castoffs. Listen to me, Howard. Get rid of that moustache. Wear a colour other than brown. Do sumpfin’ with your hair.” He stroked Howard’s hair to emphasize his point.

“Don’t touch me!” Howard snapped. Vince pulled his hand back and deflated like a piece of bubblegum that had simultaneously popped and lost all its flavour.

Howard’s smooth mocking voice broke the silence. “Maybe your little Camden dolly birds don’t like those things. But I’ve got my eyes set on another breed of vixen, and here she comes now.”

“WOT?!” Vince shrieked, and moved to snap the CD out of Howard’s hands.

Suddenly, as their fingers touched, the walls around them swirled and shifted like some psychedelic earthquake had just occurred.

Vince and Howard looked at each other quizzically.

“What’s that?!” Vince pointed at the back of the shop, where a curtain moved to reveal a back room.

“That’s the new location for my Jazz club. We’re having a Doctor Who theme gathering. Lester said it was an idea from these American girls who are joining us.”

Vince rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, it looks like they’ve sold out of the new Numan. I’m out of here.”

Howard snapped his fingers and the music in the shop shifted. Suddenly the sound of a clarinet filled the air.

Howard leaned his elbow against the edge of a display and flicked an eyebrow. “That’ll be Isfahan by Duke Ellington,” as he smoothly shifted into lecture mode. “Some of the most romantic music on the planet came from that man’s powerful lips, my friend. Much more soul than your electro ponce. Who’s got the warm nutella moves now?”

Vince shifted in his platforms, trying his best to look incredulous. Just then a girl appeared from within the back room, as though materializing out of thin air. Black hair. Pale skin. Soft round face. She wore an A-line mini dress covered in pompoms and a headband with a clarinet cellotaped to it.

She licked her lips and winked at Howard. Vince shrank in horror. Howard straightened himself out of a slouch.

“Why hello there,” Howard purred.

“Hellooooo,” she purred back.

“What’s your name?”

“Tina. Yours?”

“Howard. You here for the Whovian Jazz meet?”

“I might be. You?”

“Indeed I am. Is that an American accent I detect?”

“Ya damn right it is.”

Howard licked his lips and smoothed his moustache as a goofy grin spread across his face. Vince turned eight shades of pale and shrank in horror.

“You look like a Jazz Dalek!” Vince sneered. “Wot’s that, a bassoon stickin’ out of your ‘ead?”

“Yeah, it is, fringe face. You got something to say about it?”

“You look ridiculous!”

“Oh yeah? Well you’re a gogo boot wearing, Gary Numan stalking, Emma Peel emulating glittery vampire fat slag!” Tina snapped back.

“I’m not fat!” Vince squawked in reply.

“And your two-toned hair sucks!” she added for good measure.

The two made to lunge at one another.

“I’m gonna stuff that bassoon so far up they’ll be callin’ ya Bassoon Batty for months!”

“I’m gonna bitch slap you so hard your eyeliner comes off!”

The store manager stepped between them, arms outstretched. “Ladies! Ladies! Settle down! Or I’ll have to chuck out the lot of you.”

Vince and Tina caught their breath while Howard stood by smugly watching.

As though on cue, another girl stepped from behind the curtain. Dark skinned. Short asymmetrical hair. With a shy dimpled grin and a long knit stripey scarf.

Howard turned to Vince with a giant grin on his face and whispered. “C’mon Vince. Jazz girls. Two of them. Two of us. You game? Or maybe I’ll just go for a Whovian three-way.”

Vince spluttered, jaw dropping. “No way. You’re on your own, mate.”

“C’mon. This is my chance. I really like the look of these girls. This could be the day I finally step over that physical boundary with a girl. I need your help.”

Vince looked around, mortified at the idea that anyone might spot him chatting up Whovian Jazz girls in the back of a record shop.

“At least this one knows how to accessorize,” he bounced back in concession.

“Hey. I’m Lana,” she beamed, revealing her own American accent. “This is Four’s scarf, by the way.”

“Four who?” Vince asked.

“Yes, exactly!” Lana responded.

“Soooo, Lana,” Howard purred with a liquid voice. “How would you and Tina here like to come check out a genuine Shoreditch vintage shop? We’ve got a rare pressing of Illinois Jacquet Flies Again. And perhaps I can interest you two in some Jazz-themed pencil cases?”

The girls looked at Vince, then Howard, then Vince again.

“Don’t look at me. I’m more interested in Jaquettie than some Illinoisy Jacquet” he said loud enough to assure the entire shop he was NOT a part of this group.

Howard whispered sideways to Vince. “C’mon, I’m getting a good vibe off this one.”

Tina stepped forward and purred, batting her eyelashes. “I’d love to come check out your pencil, Howard.” She fondled his lapel. “Mmmmm, I love the feel of brown corduroy between my fingers.”

Vince rolled his eyes and bit his tongue as she shot daggers at him.

“I say we go,” chimed in Lana. “Vintage shops are awesome.”

Tina grabbed Howard’s hand and led him out the door, Vince and Lana tripping behind them.

“He doesn’t like to be touched!” Vince yelped, to no effect.

Lana gave Vince a soft smile and offered him some ‘American candy’.

“So, tell me about this scarf, then,” Vince chatted amiably. “What about hats? Do you wear hats?”

“I have a fez,” she replied as they disappeared into the horizon.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .


[nextpage title=”Chapter 2″]
Chapter 2

Author’s Notes: Word Count: 2603

Rating: PG-13 (this chapter)

Warnings: None

Challenge: n/a. Although I am writing this story as a kind of personal challenge to myself, as I’ve tried to write it like an actual episode of the show. Wow, it’s really not easy!

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters and make no profit. May I be banished to Xooberon if I infringe upon copyright laws and overstep the terms of fair use.

Author’s Notes: Thanks to for being my beta, and for Brit Picking part 1 even though this isn’t her fandom. Thanks to for our CD shopping trip that inspired the idea.

Please note part 2 has not been brit-picked. If anyone would like to offer their native British English-speaking services please let me know!


:sound of footsteps:

“Awright,” Vince greeted Naboo, who was sitting on the couch with Bollo.

“Yeah, we’re just gonna entertain some laaaadies for a bit, if you don’t mind clearing off,” Howard jumped in, feigning cool while making a brushing off gesture with his hand.

Bollo looked Howard up and down , rolled his eyes, then turned to Vince. “Just be safe,” he grunted.

“Don’t worry, we locked the front door,” Vince assured him. Naboo shook his head, grabbed his bong, and retreated back to his bedroom.

“I got a bad feeling about dis,” Bollo muttered as he followed Naboo.

The four sat on pillows on the floor, in a circle. Lana fondled the tassles at the end of her scarf. Tina gazed at Howard, pulled the bassoon off her headband and stroked it unconsciously.

“Sooooo, how are you ladies enjoying London?” Howard asked in his best smooth sounding voice before slipping on his pillow, resulting in a rug burn to his palm.

“It’s nice. It’s a lot like New York, actually,” Lana offered.

“New York? Wow!” Vince lit up. “The furthest I’ve ever been is Luton airport. Me mates and I nearly went to Bordeaux once. Got on the plane and ev’rything. But then the plane got caught in a giant Kestral egg dropping. Thousands of ‘em, yeah? Just flew over us and dropped their eggs. Imagine that! Whooooaaaaa, gonna scramble you travellers up. I was well disappointed we couldn’t take off. Bordeaux is one of my favourite colours. I’ve always wanted to be surrounded by it!”

“I keep telling you, Vince, the city isn’t . . . “ Howard gritted between his teeth.

“Yeah, wha’ever,” Vince cut him off.

“I am a man of the world,” Howard shot back, jockeying to impress the girls again. It’s less a question of where I’ve been, more a question of where haven’t I been. Har har. That’s me. Howard Moon. Travelmeister. Conquers all over Europe!”

“Wot? You played conkers all over Europe?” Vince questioned.

“Nooooo, little man. Conquers. As in I’m the man who’s conquer . . . “

“Your balls, then? Did you take your kit off in front of people like that time in Leicester Square when . . .”

The girls shifted on their pillows and looked at one another.

“Ever take a bite out of the Big Apple, Howard?” Tina interrupted, pursing her lips. “You should come to our side of the Atlantic. I’d give you a big juicy tour of . . .”

Suddenly Lana’s mobile rang, interrupting the flow of conversation with the sound of the Doctor Who theme. She stood up and went in her purse to see who it was.

“Oh, I quite like the sound of that!” Vince jumped up. “Electropop. I’ve got Cars for my ringtone.”

“It’s Ten’s version, but I like them all,” she replied while peeking at the caller ID before tossing the mobile back into her purse and suppressing a smile. Vince tilted his head in mild confusion.

Tina screwed up her face in annoyance before quickly regaining composure, and reached out towards Howard. Vince shot her a look and she stuck out her tongue at him.

“Maybe you should pop in that CD you picked up at the shop,” Tina shot back through gritted teeth, while giving Vince the stink eye. She scooted a little closer to Howard. “After all, it was a JAZZ meetup where we met, not some electro crap get together. And I’d looove to feel some Jazz inside me. Would you like to feel a little Jazz inside you, Howard?” she circled one of the pompoms on her dress with a finger and then leaned over to stroke Howard’s knee.

Howard stammered. Vince made a vomit gesture. Lana smiled in embarrassed agreement with Tina. Blushing profusely, Howard picked up the case and walked over to the stereo. “I’ll just pop it in then, shall I?”

“Yeeeah, pop it IN Howard,” Tina cooed, licking her lips. “Let is creep inside ya.”

Vince took a double-take of Tina. He could swear he saw a flash of red in her eyes. Shaking it off, he shifted on his cushion and pulled a hand mirror from beneath the couch to check his fringe.

Soon, a cacophony of sounds filled the air.

Vince dropped the mirror and shrieked. “That’s terrible! Shut it off! I’m gettin’ hives!!!!” he wailed. “How many Euros did you pay for that rubbish?!”

“Actually, I forgot to pay for it.” Howard confessed. “I was so distracted by the lovely ladies here that I just walked right out with it.” He winked at Tina, who winked back.

As the music filled the air, Howard started to fall into a Jazz trance miming playing a trumpet. Tina cheered him on. “Oh yeah, Howard. Play it. Play that trumpet. Let the music get inside you. Ooooh. Ooooh.”

Vince went to smack him out of it, but Tina dropped her bassoon and pushed him away.

“Oi. What you do that for?” he confronted her. But a voice deep inside him whispered to step back. “You’re not right!” he declared. Tina gave him a menacing grin and then closed her eyes to sway in time with Howard’s air-trumpet playing.

Lana offered to put on something else, but Tina wasn’t having it.

“He’s deep in the juju,” she hissed. “And he’s mine now. Look at how willingly, too. Oooooooooh.” She wiggled her fingers and grimaced.

Vince’s eyes went wide.

Then with one last ooooooooooooooh, she burst into flames. Vince let out a yelp and jumped back. Lana plugged her ears with her fingers, and ran toward the kitchen looking for a fire extinguisher.

“HOT! HOT! Le Jaazzzzz hot, baby!” she crooned, seemingly unaffected by her sudden immolation. Then in the blink of an eye, she morphed into the Spirit of Jazz. “Won’t you play me, baby? This Jazz is HOT, baby.”

Vince shrieked in horror and Lana stood gobsmacked. Howard seemed totally oblivious to the presence of the Spirit of Jazz in his living room, continuing his Jazz trance.

Hearing Vince’s shrieks, Naboo and Bollo came running out of their room.

“What the hell is going on here?” Naboo yelled before taking in the full scene in the living room. “Oh no, not again.”

“I’m here for Howard,” the Spirit of Jazz informed him. “Ain’t no Hoover gonna stop me now sucka.”

“Yeah, thanks for statin’ the obvious,” Naboo shot back dryly. “How’d you get here this time, then?”

“I’z used one of my minions to get Howard to play this here CD, freeing me from it’s confiiiinement. Never trust a CD, ya here. One scratch and it’s ovah. Vinyl reckids are the only way to go for Jazz. Scratches just add depth and warmth. And CDs corrupt the sweet sweet souuuuwnd, ya know. Anywayz, now I’m here Imma gonna creep inside him like a worm in an apple. Get him to play all them juicy Jazz notes for me.”

Vince looked at Lana with a wounded look. “Well I knew not to trust the Jazz Dalek over ‘ere. But I trusted you! You listen to electro. And you accessorize. You even gave me sweets!” he squeaked.

Lana held up her hands. “Don’t look at me! I didn’t know she was a carrier for the Spirit of Jazz!”

Naboo picked up the CD case and held it to the light. “Oh noooo. This isn’t her fault. Look here. It’s got Saboo’s marking on it. He must have trapped the Spirit of Jazz in the CD. Guess I’d better summon him.

Sighing, as though having the Spirit of Jazz was more of a buzz kill than a danger, he closed his eyes and sang. “Saboo has a lot of dresses. Most of them by Halston. I never get tired of tell him, they’ll never sell in my shop in Dalston.”

Suddenly Saboo appeared, looking very annoyed. “I told you to stop summoning me with that stupid rhyme, you berk. It doesn’t even scan properly. Mary had a little lamb. Pfuh. And anyway, they would sell. You just have no fashion sense. Now why am I here? I was in the middle of writing an email to Tony Harrison, explaining to him for the eighty-seventh time why he has never and will never beat me at table tennis.”

“Just have a look, you idiot!” Naboo shot back, scrunching his face in frustration. “Look at the state of this room! It’s all your fault.”

“My fault? How is it MY fault?”

He then spotted the Spirit of Jazz panting and egging Howard on in his Jazz trance. “Oh, all right then. Give it here,” he motioned to the CD case. He waved a hand over it, but nothing happened.

“Bloody buggery bollocks! I can’t get him back in here. Someone in this room actually likes this crap music. The whole reason I trapped him in that CD was because I never believed anyone in their right mind would listen to it. What manner of progeny could possibly have been spawned to enjoy this audio assault?”

He looked Howard up and down. “There’s no hope for that one!”

“No!” Vince wailed. “I can’t lose Howard! Not to the Spirit of Jazz, Dalek, girl, whatever!”

“He’s a mine, now, little lady,” the Spirit of Jazz taunted back at Vince, gently edging the bassoon from Tina’s costume into Howard’s hand. “Just one little note, Howard. I knows you ken do it.”

“You’ll never have him!” Vince declared, surprising even himself with the sudden bravery. “Bugger off!”

“Whatchoo think I was gonna do? Just pop on over and make him a sandwich? Pick his nose? Give him a spongebath? His sweet ass is miiiiine. Ain’t nuthin’ you can do about it.” He rubbed his hands together and positioned Howard’s fingers on the bassoon.

Just then, Lana’s mobile rang.

DO DEE DOOOO, DEEEE DO DOOOOO. DA DA DA DA DAAAAH DUH DOOOOOH.

“Look! He’s frozen!” Vince squealed with delight. “Your ringtone put him in an electro trance!”

“But it won’t ring forever. Do something else. Quick!” Lana pleaded.

Vince grabbed the satsuma from inside his pocket and chucked it at the stereo, shutting off the CD. Then in a flash, he shot over to the Spirit of Jazz and his arms jutted about in a whirl of motion.

Saboo, Naboo, Bollo and Lana stared motionless as Vince’s cyclone of movement seemed to speed up time. He spun around the Spirit of Jazz, working some kind of magic.

“Howard’s mine!” he shouted triumphantly, as he spun around. “You’ll never get him!”

The Spirit of Jazz regained his composure.

“Oh yeah? And how are you gonna stop me?” he taunted.

Grinning widely, Vince picked up his hand mirror from the floor and pointed it toward the Spirit of Jazz. “This is how!” he scowled triumphantly. “I’ve got a BTEC National in Hair Design. Look at what I’ve done to your dreadlocks!”

Lana, Saboo, Bollo and Naboo gasped in unison.

The Spirit of Jazz looked in the mirror. “Noooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!! What did you do to my hair, mother licker? You done destroyed my look! Do you know how long it takes to grow dreadlocks that long? And now I gotta start all over again?!”

He had a high top fade with the words “Scat sucks” shaved into one side of his head and “Electro rules” on the other.

Vince let out a triumphant laugh. The Spirit of Jazz burst into tears and ran down the stairs. “I’m the Spirit of Jazz and you got me lookin’ like some god damned Kid n’ Play. This ain’t the 80s! I hate you!”

Howard came to and fell into Vince’s arms before the weight of him caused the two of them to fall onto the couch. Howard fell on top of Vince and clung to him. Vince stroked Howard’s hair, wrapped a platform booted leg around the back of his thigh and held him tight.

Lana and Saboo looked away. There was a moment of silence and then Naboo cleared his throat. Howard jerked back, sitting upright on the couch and Vince followed suit.

“Uh, as I was saying, Vince, Bordeaux is a colour, but that’s nothing to do with the place.”

“I see what you mean now,” Vince nodded in a pantomime of comprehension.

Bollo shook his head and muttered “Pathetic.”

Lana looked at Saboo, who looked her up and down.

“Thanks for nuffing, Saboo,” Naboo scowled. “Next time, don’t go leavin’ things where idiots like these can get their hands on ‘em.”

“Oh, you mean like you did with that book of dark magic? And like you could be of any use in this situation. You know nothing of the crunch!” Saboo shot back.

“Yeah, wha’ever,” Naboo replied, waving his hand down and shuffling back into his room. “I don’t need to tell you boys to clean this mess up, right? My buzz is wearing off.”

Vince and Howard looked at each other and nodded at Naboo like two schoolboys who’d just been scolded.

Lana picked up her mobile, curious to see who it was that rang her the second time. The name “M Berry” flashed on the screen. She blushed.

“What else you got on there?” Saboo asked her.

“Oh, you know. Bowie. Roxy Music. Stuff like that. I’ve got Bowie’s entire discography actually,” Lana beamed. “Bowie’s Berlin trilogy really changed my life.

Saboo rolled his eyes. “Oh here we go. Low. Heroes. Lodger. All his best work in your mind, right? The only thing that saves Bowie’s Berlin trilogy is Brian Eno’s production. Otherwise all you’d have are the crap songs of a deranged addict.”

Lana narrowed her eyes, jabbed a pointed finger in his direction and hissed. “You take that back! Bowie is a God. That’s blasphemy!”

“You know I’m right, little girl,” he taunted back.

Lana gasped and clutched her scarf in disbelief. “I know nothing of the sort! You’re mad. Seriously. What planet are you from?”

“Not this insignificant blue marble!” he scoffed.

Lana looked momentarily confused, but regained her composure. “And I suppose you hold the same opinion about Roxy Music?”

“Eno’s touch adds brilliant nuance to Roxy Music. That’s just self-evident,” Saboo responded tauntingly. “Much better than the bullshit munching romantic crap that came after he left.”

“Roxy Music was waaaay better post-Eno!” Lana countered. She stepped back and looked Saboo up and down. “You know what? I was wrong about you. It’s obvious you know nothing about music.”

“Oh and I suppose you swoon like a schoolgirl every time you hear Avalon,” he sneered.

“As a matter of fact, I do!” she replied confidently. “And if you had any ear for music, or knew anything about women for that matter, you’d know that album has a 100% success rate for getting one into bed.”

“Well, I might just have to see that to believe it,” he scowled, leaning in closer to her face.

“Well I just might have to play it for you, then!” she scowled back, a corner of her mouth turning up in betrayal.

“Well ok then. Maybe you should grab your purse,” he taunted.

“Well maybe I should!” her mouth now in a wide grin.

Saboo grabbed her hand and the two took off.

Vince looked at Howard, who sat sullen on the couch.

“Howard?”

No response.

“Howard?”

. . .

“Howard?”

. . .

“Howard? You fancy some sweets?” Vince pulled some strawberry boot laces out of his pocket. “Aw, c’mon Howard. Ev’rything will be all right.”

Howard took a strawberry boot lace and slumped further into the couch, chewing sullenly.

TO BE CONTINUED!


[nextpage title=”Chapter 3″]
Chapter 3

Author’s Notes: At last, the NC-17 ending you’ve been waiting for. Special thanks in part 3 to my friend Guy who enthusiastically provided “technical advice” from a gay male perspective for the scene with teh sexah tiems.


Howard got up from the couch and ambled towards the kitchen. Uncharacteristically speechless, Vince stuffed his sweets back into a pocket and sat waiting. Anxious and worried about Howard, he started chipping the varnish off his fingernails.

“I’ll just cook the tea then, shall I?” Howard offered, to break the silence.

“All right,” Vince nodded, smiling tentatively. “You know, I’m rubbish at cooking. But you’re brilliant. How’s about the beans on toast you made the other day? With the fried egg and the cheese laid out like a smiley face? Genius!”

Howard cracked a slight smile that quickly turned into a frown. “Well it’s not exactly rocket science, beans on toast, is it?” he half growled. But looking at Vince’s face with his hopeful sweet smile and pinkish cheeks, he feigned an acknowledgement, then slumped his shoulders and started rifling through the cupboards.

Sensing the tension in the flat, Naboo and Bollo slipped out down the stairs. Naboo didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to get back at Saboo anyway, so he was straight off to Tony Harrison’s to form a plot.

Taking an unspoken cue, Vince nicked off to the bedroom for a bit and left Howard alone. He only emerged at the scent of food. He’d changed into pyjamas, but with the makeup still on as he couldn’t be fussed to remove it. The tight fit of his jammies, on him they looked like some sort of glam flannel jumpsuit in purple with silver threading.

Vince sat down on the couch and was greeted with a cup of tea. Howard held the cup a moment, even as he handed it over. He wasn’t sure why.

Sipping slowly, Vince fidgeted in the silence. In not too long a time, he was greeted with a plate of mash, peas, and carrots. Howard barely looked at him as he slumped back to the kitchen to grab some fried tofu squares.

An uncomfortable silence ensued as Vince rolled the peas around his plate like miniature billiard balls. Howard stared at him in wonder. “How can he always be so happy? So content? Look at him. He’s an idiot! Maybe I’m just too clever to be happy.”

Vince had fashioned the food into a face with a lot of green spots. Howard smiled despite himself. Somehow, watching Vince play with his food made his heart ache in a slightly different way. It was almost too sweet to bear.

Howard looked down and smiled to himself, just missing Vince looking up to gaze back at him with tender eyes. “Howard? Can I tell you something?” he began softly.

But before Vince could get out his words, Howard blurted, “It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? Always something. The Spirit of Jazz. Old Gregg. I’ll never have anyone . . . “

Vince swallowed hard and then, barely audible, uttered, “You’ll always have me.”

Howard grunted, dropped the tofu squares on the table with an aggressive thunk, and turned back around to get some drinks. Hot tea, strongly brewed. “A man’s drink,” he thought to himself. And a strawberry Ribena for Vince, who preferred something sweet and fruity. He’d forgotten already that he’d handed Vince a cuppa just moments earlier.

“You don’t really count, though. Do you Vince?” he barked. “You’ve always got the attention of others. Always off with Leroy, or Mama Zoom, at the pubs in Kentish Town, all the little mice following behind you like a glam rock pied piper. You don’t need me and my spitting camel coloured cardigans and crumb catching moustache.”

When he turned back around, Vince had rearranged the food on his plate again. Now it was a frown, with little pea tears streaming down the plate and around the potato mash chin, accentuated by a river of butter.

Howard sat down and Vince looked at him earnestly. This was no mean feat, considering Vince’s eyeliner had smudged and was streaming its way from his eyes down his cheeks.

Vince fingered the hair on his crown nervously, cocking his head to one side.

“Howard?”

“What?”

“I mean it, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever. I know how it goes. You’re happy to sit here, making faces out of my food, feeding me sweets. But it’s not the same, is it?”

“Well, you’re going about it the wrong way, aren’t ya!” Vince spat back, exasperated. “You get all excited at just the hint that some girl might show up to your Jazz club, that someone might be interested in ya, and you’re all over her. You don’t even stop to think you might not like her. Or that she might not be perfect! You got to get to know someone first, you berk.”

“But you don’t have any trouble getting attention. I can’t even get that.”

“That’s because it ain’t about True Love for me, is it? I’m just trying it on, looking to get off, have a bit of fun. I’m not lookin’ to form a lasting bond when I flirt with these girls, am I? It comes off as desperate if you do.”

“Well I’m not like that Vince. You know how it is for me. “

“Forever sir!” they hummed in unison. And then both blushed and looked away from each other.

They ate in awkward silence until Vince worked up the courage to say something. He knew it was time for a change of tactics. “I know, Howard! Crimpin’ always makes things better. And seein’ as how you made them tofu squares I like . . . ”

“Yeah?” Howard shot back incredulously. “You think a crimp about our dinner will just wash away a lifetime of romantic failure, do you? I’m Howard T. J. Moon. Nothing will penetrate my gloom – the deep, dark, powerful black hole of lovelessness that is my life Vince. Not even a crimp.”

“But it’s Pablo Panko!” Vince squealed. “He’s a Latino-Japanese superhero!!!” He picked up one of the tofu squares (they were breaded in panko breadcrumbs) and made out like it was dancing.

Howard raised an eyebrow and folded his arms. Soon, however, he found himself unable to resist – swaying in time with Vince, waving his arms and crimping.

Pablo Panko crunchy and delicious

Pablo Panko probably not nutritious

Pablo Panko dips his toe in canola oil

Crunchy Crunchy ooh

Crunchy Crunchy ooh

Pablo Panko, is he Japanese or Mexican?

Pablo Panko his breadcrumbs make a nice tan

Pablo Panko better than a jellied eel

Crunchy Crunchy ooh

Crunchy Crunchy ooh

Sittin’ in my tummy, he really was so yummy!

I love my Pablo panko, mash, and peasy plate!

Howard smiled despite himself, his heart swelling a wee bit as he took a long gaze at Vince who sat eating and grinning, content and oblivious. “He really is like a five year old,” Howard repeated his earlier thought. “A sweet, sexy five year old. Only without the paedophilia.”

Vince hummed along, chuffed at his success in snapping Howard out of his gloom. Until he looked up and noticed Howard grinning like an idiot.

“You all right mate? Only, you ain’t taken another bite what you put on your plate.”

“Never better,” Howard smiled back, then tucked in to his food.

After they finished, Vince piled the plates in the sink and grabbed the remote. “How’s about some Colobus the Crab, then?” he offered.

Flicking off the lights, Vince plopped down on the couch and tucked his knees under his chin. He looped one arm into Howard’s and curled into him, resting his head on Howard’s shoulder. They sat quietly, though Howard seemed a bit stiff.

“That was Colobus the Crab,” the BBC announcer came on. “Next up on BBC-3 is Captain Cabinets at 9:15. Can he get out? Will he get out? Stay tuned to find out.”

Vince shifted on the couch, moving his legs so his feet dug into the couch and his knees pushed against Howard’s thigh. He nestled his head against Howard’s shoulder again. Howard’s pulse increased.

“Howard?” Vince spoke nervously. “You know how you’re always bangin’ on about me getting off with the girls? Well, when I am ready for forever, I won’t be acting like that. I won’t have to. It’ll be someone I know. Someone I trust, like. Someone I don’t have to wonder about. Someone I’ve gotten to know already. Who I can be me’self around.”

Howard paused at this, unsure of how to respond. Opting for his tried and true pity party, he replied, “But I’ll never get to know anyone . . . you know I’m paranoid and don’t trust anyone but you . . . it doesn’t matter anyway. I can love intensely from afar . . .”

He rested his head on top of Vince’s, bewildered at the thought of having such a friend. It was so easy for him, even sitting there in his pjs like some sexy man-child, all glowing smiles, bright eyes and impossible cheekbones. Howard found himself yearning to kiss him.

“Whoa there, Howard” he thought to himself. “Where did that come from?” He quickly shoved the thought aside and made to retreat from Vince’s gentle grip but decided to live with the physical contact.

“I’ll always have you,” he questioned, albeit in statement form. “But do I *really* have you?” he toyed.

“Yeh, you do, ya nob,” Vince replied defensively.

“But do I REALLY have you?” he asked again, almost jokingly. “I suppose it’s because you’d be dead if I didn’t feed you, aye?” he kidded.

Vince lifted his head and looked at him, confused.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispered, quiet and shy like. Somehow, their normal banter had given way to something more uncertain, tenuous, serious. Vince’s glittery defense mechanisms failed him for once. “It’s always been you Howard,” he confessed. His heart pounded in his chest faster than a new rave beat.

Howard and Vince turned and faced one another, arms still hooked. Howard’s eyes locked with Vince’s. Their hearts pounded, like a jazzy drumming duet. Could it be possible? Is this why Vince got so upset in the record shop? Started the fight with the girl. And why he came to his rescue in the flat earlier? Why he always comes to his rescue? Why he sticks by him even though he’s got all the trendies of Camden in his pocket? He thought of their kiss on the roof during his birthday party. It was he, not Vince, who declared himself. Yet it was Vince, not he, who said he’d never love again. He remembered back to that time on the frozen tundra, when he declared his love and Vince laughed at him. “No, stop foolin’ yourself, ya northern fool.”

Vince stared wide-eyed and angelic at Howard, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. His palms became sweaty as he gazed into Howard’s tiny eyes. “What if I’ve gone wrong? What if I try it on with Howard and it ruins everything? I can’t lose me best mate. Sure, everybody fancies me. But the only time I’ve ever been chucked, it was by Howard!”

Belying his trendy, confident exterior, Vince swallowed hard and reached out to stroke Howard’s hair. His hand shook. Howard clasped his hand over Vince’s, mid-stroke, and held his breath. Vince leaned in and gave him a kiss. Lips, tentative and soft, then confident and strong as tongues entwined and they went dizzy. Vince’s knees pressed into Howard’s lap as Howard tugged at Vince’s pyjamas and they folded into one another, kisses becoming increasingly frantic.

Howard let out a moan and Vince pulled away, blushing with embarrassment.

“Howard? You know how people say I’m the confuser? Confuse me for being your girlfriend an’ all? Well I’m just thinkin’. I mean, I am bisexual, but also I. . .”

Howard sat with a massive grin on his face. “Isn’t it clear, Vince? All the failure with girls. All the confusion. I really am a gheyist! And I have you to thank!”

Howard paused a moment, tenderly smeared the eyeliner on Vince’s face with his thumb, and responded to Vince’s unfinished, unspoken concern.

“And the only girl for me is you, Vince.”

Vince’s grin grew three sizes at that. And they kissed again.

Kisses spun into more kisses, into hands in hair, over shoulders, around torsos, thighs and hands squeezing and stroking and sliding and bumping. Lips on ears, jawlines, throats, tongues thrusting, wet and wanting.

In a powerful move of confidence and physical strength, Howard scooped up Vince under his knees and carried him to the bedroom. Vince wrapped his arms around Howard’s neck and kept kissing until Howard put him down. They stood, now, face-to-face, moment of truth, breathless. The blood pounded in their ears . . . and other places.

Howard tenderly pulled at the snaps in Vince’s pjs and slid a hand underneath to stroke his skin. Vince gasped at the touch and pulled Howard’s shirt off, tugged at his belt and slipped it out through the loops of his trousers with trained hands. Before he knew it, Vince had Howard’s trousers down to the floor and Howard had pulled Vince’s pjs down to his waist, freeing his arms and torso from their purple encasement. They kissed again, and Vince’s eyes flared at the site of the bulge in Howard’s y-fronts.

Howard blushed. Vince laid a hand on his bulge and held it there for a moment before softly slipping his fingers between and beyond the fabric.

“Oh Howard. I can feel it movin’ under me hand,” he gasped. “It’s so warm, and smooth, and, and, and hard. And pulsing! You’re makin’ me harder.”

Howard thrust his pelvis, urging Vince’s hand, as he placed his own hand on the small of Vince’s back to pull him closer. They kissed softly as Vince gently squeezed Howard’s shaft.

“Take my pj’s off me, Howard. Please?” It was such a sweet request. Almost innocent sounding. Howard slipped off his pants then licked a trail down Vince’s neck, palming his torso until he reached his waist, then tugged down the fabric with nervous hands. Vince’s erection sprang forth and Howard half gasped and half grunted a nervous laugh as it flicked him on the nose. He wrapped his hand around it and just stared and swallowed. Vince ran his fingers through Howard’s hair and lifted his chin, an impish smile on his face that broke Howard from his trance. Howard stood back up and Vince pressed his swollen head into Howard’s belly. Their mouths met in hungry kisses and Howard placed his hands on Vince’s backside to pull him closer. Their erections met, rubbing, rolling, thrusting, sliding, dueling. Vince palmed both their heads with one hand, moist with pre-cum, and stroked them both with it. Howard moaned again, speechless and overwhelmed from the sensation and the intimacy. Both their knees shook.

“Check it out, Howard! Our dicks. They curve toward one another. It’s like they want to hug each other n’ mate all on their own. How cool is that?”

Howard let out a hard breath. It was all so much for him. But Vince was like a kid in a sweets shop. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at Vince’s unbridled enthusiasm.

“Why you talking about my dick, Vince? You’re makin’ me nervous. You’re always havin’ a poke at me, at my body. I’ve never done this before!”

“To be fair, Howard. I am actually literally having a poke at you,” his voice thick in his throat. “I’m just so amazed. I want to touch you everywhere. I never thought it could be like this with another man . . . uh, with you I mean.”

“Surely Vince had been with other men?” Howard’s panicky internal dialogue unraveled. “Was it only women up to this point? What about that time in the pub when Howard returned from the loo and saw a very drunk Vince getting felt up by that bloke when he thought Howard wasn’t looking? What does this mean?”

But there was Vince, unabashedly aroused, taking sunshine to a whole new level. Opting not to succumb to the paranoia, Howard kissed Vince again, hard on the mouth, devouring. Large hands on tiny hips, he guided them both to his bed. They fell, tumbling and bouncing into the duvet. Vince slid a leg between Howard’s. On their sides, they wriggled and kissed and stroked and thrust. Their erections continued to roll and rub and duel. Vince licked a nipple and buried his nose into Howard’s chest, drawing in his scent deeply. He smelled of musk and Pritt Stick and records. Vince smelled of strawberry ribena and hair products.

Vince reached down to stroke Howard’s cock, felt the response to his touch in his palm and in his fingers. It excited him even more, the feel of an erection other than his own in his hand. He gripped his hold a bit tighter. Howard let out a breathy moan, pushed his hand away, rolled Vince onto his back and held him down by the wrists. Grinding himself into Vince’s belly, feeling their erections digging into each other’s skin, furthering each other on, his head throbbed as the underside of his cock ground into the hair on Vince’s belly.

“Oh, Howard. Keep doin’ that. It’s genius!”

Howard needed no encouragement. He squeezed Vince’s wrists and kissed him hard on the mouth, shutting up Vince’s passionate chatter that then gave way to moans. Their skin, electric, all thoughts erased from their heads, Vince pushed up into Howard and arched his back. More tongue on throat and the faint tickle of moustache on skin. Hands roaming and toes curling, they sweated, and stiffened, and panted as one and Vince came with a high-pitched yelp. The sensation of wetness tipped Howard over the edge, and he came a few seconds later. A flood of cum trickled and smeared on their bellies as they became slippery and soft. Then they lay still, thighs hugging, chest on chest, arm in arm, balls pressed together in their sticky mess, the weight of Howard on Vince’s body making him feel enveloped in a way he’d never felt before.

“I love you, Howard.” Vince surprised himself, hearing the words fly out of his lips, a fragile, tiny-voiced confession.

Howard hugged him with his entire body and then rested his weight on his elbows. Gently sliding the sweat-soaked fringe off Vince’s forehead, he kissed him softly on the lips and ran his fingers through Vince’s hair. “I love you too, little man.”

Then he shifted his weight so that his right hip lay on the bed and his head on the pillow next to Vince’s. They passed out like this – holding hands, legs intertwined, noses gently touching.

* * *

Several hours later and Vince woke up first, whimpered slightly and tapped Howard on the shoulder.

“Howard. Howard. Howard? Howard!” he whispered, eventually succeeding in waking the other man.

“Oi, mate. I’m sorry to wake you, only, I think we’ve landed in a spot of bother.”

He pointed down and slipped a hand between their bellies. Inexperienced and enthusiastic as they both were, neither thought to wipe off before passing out. Their collective cum had dried and stuck to the thick ribbon of hair trailing down Vince’s belly. Very carefully, they pulled apart.

“Only slightly ouchy” Vince declared playfully, as he stood up to head to the loo and brushed the remaining bits off.

“You might want to put this on!” Howard shot back quickly, and tossed him his flowery silk kimono. Vince giggled and took the robe. “Ssshhh! We might wake Naboo and Bollo!” Howard might have taken him more seriously if Vince’s morning wood wasn’t staring back at him. That and the mischievous grin on his face. Howard responded with a snort and an eyeroll.

Vince wrapped himself in the robe and gave Howard a morning kiss. Howard tried to slip his hand under the robe, but Vince playfully slapped Howard’s hand away and tip-toed out of the room. “I really got’a go to the loo!”

Howard put on his own robe (an amorous amber terrycloth) and padded softly into the kitchen to put the kettle on. In a moment Naboo walked in and looked him up and down.

“Since when do you wear smeared eyeliner?” he frowned and lisped. Howard touched his face and turned a deep shade of red.

“Listen. Next time you two decide to go at it, don’t forget to shut the bedroom door, yeh? I didn’t need to come home and see your ball bag as you slept, ya ball bag.

Vince came twirling into the room and free-fell onto the couch with a bounce. “What are you on about?” he asked, unaware of the conversation.

“Nothing, Vince,” Naboo replied. “I’m off to Shamansbury’s for supplies. Don’t forget to clean these dishes from last night, yeah?”

He looked at Howard again. “You want those owl beaks now, mate?”

Vince let out a choking laugh, grin overtaking his face. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” He winked at Howard and sucked the tip of his thumb with a broad grin.

THE END

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