Le Petit Prince

Vince needs some cheering up, but it’s nothing a little rough n’ tumble with Howard Moon won’t cure.

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Length: words

Notes: This was based on the Zooniverse RPG that yours truly plays Vince in. (Er, played? Ack, it’s been so long.) Anyway, wrote this in the hiatus during which we had no Howard player and thought it was entertaining enough to share.

Vaguely useful back-story: Dan and Vince are fairly good friends, but Dan has developed a thing for Vince and is feeling severely guilty about it, since he’s in a relationship with Jones and Vince is similarly taken. Dan overreacts in typical fashion by trying to avoid Vince, who goes and cries about it or whatever…

Le Petit Prince by fecklesslyfine

Vince huffs loudly as he flops down next to Howard on the sofa – leaning over to briefly confirm that, no, Howard is not flipping through anything remotely interesting, just an old copy of Global Explorer – and stretches like taffy over his lap, until his feet are nudged up against one armrest and his back is propped up against the stockpile of pillows at the opposite end.

Howard adjusts to the intrusion and makes a noncommittal noise, the tone of which generally means he’s pleased to see Vince but wishes he could keep his legs elsewhere. He makes it at least twice a day, on average. Vince sips his tea, checking his reflection in the wobbly amber surface. Howard isn’t going to ask him why he’s huffing, of course, so he may as well just tell him.

“I don’t think Dan likes me anymore, Howard.” His gaze flickers up, establishing that Howard is indeed not fully listening, before continuing. “I mean, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. One minute he’s all my mate, the next he’s completely ignorin’ me. I’m well cut up about it, and the thing is, yeah, I don’t even think I did nothin’.” Vince pauses, tapping on his lips in contemplation. “D’you think he’s just got the menopause, maybe?”

Howard looks up from his magazine with a snort. “Vince, menopause is only for women, believe it or not.”

Vince frowned quite convincingly, lips quirking themselves into a series of questioning poses. “But… haven’t you got menopause? I thought it happens when you get a bit older and life isn’t going as well as you’d like it to, and you start just getting all hot and cranky for no reason.” Innocently, he added, “I mean, that is why you’re always well grumpy, yeah?”

Howard sets the magazine down on Vince’s shins, looking at him quite sternly despite the telling twinkle in his squinty eyes, just visible in the space between his eyebrows and his ‘tache.

“You’re a’cruisin for a bruisin’, sonny Jim.”

Vince can’t help snorting aloud at that, covering his mouth to restrain his giggle, then yelping and trying to keep his hot tea from dripping as it sloshes over the side of his cup. “Oi, you’ve been watching those American gangster films again, haven’t you?” He winces as he surveys the damage – luckily these drainpipes were a fairly dark tint, but he’d still want to get them into the washing sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Howard replies smoothly, picking up the mag once more and flipping to a new page. “So, you’re upset that there’s apparently one person in the whole universe as we know it who perhaps doesn’t like you at the moment?”

Vince huffs, swinging his legs off Howard’s lap and setting the cup of tea on the side-table, standing and immediately getting to work on his zip. “Please, Howard. S’just cos he’s our mate, y’know? M’ thinkin of makin’ him a poncho, yeah?” His trousers peeled off his damp thighs, Vince sets to extricating his feet from the vice-grip of the ankle openings – all three centimetres of them.

Howard raises an eloquent, if not slightly lewd eyebrow. “Vince, if you wanted some intimate time alone together, you could’ve just asked.”

Vince scrunches up his face, playfully tossing him the ‘V’ as he hops unsteadily on one foot, not quite making any great headway on the trouser removal. “Sod off, tea stains are no laughin’ matter!”

Howard is already rising up off the couch, setting the magazine neatly on the cushion beside him before leaning in and scooping up a suddenly-shrieking Vince – it takes him a moment to straighten with Vince in his arms, the trousers flopping from Vince’s ankles. Howard’s perhaps not as strong as he used to be, and Vince isn’t exactly as light as he seems. But least they’re both equally in denial about these respective facts.

“What’re you doin’, you batty crease?!” Vince laughs, breathlessly, as he instantly clocks the direction he’s being hauled in.

“I would’ve thought that was quite obvious, sir.” Howard’s voice betrays no cheekiness, but Vince knows better than to fall for that act. Again.

“Bloody horny pervert, can’t drop my guard for a moment,” Vince exclaims as Howard delicately side-steps through the doorway, followed by an unceremonious dumping on the mattress.

“Oi, you brute,” Vince is almost properly scowling now, though the brief moment of man-handling has clearly had an interesting effect on the contents of his little, pink pants. “Gerroff!”

Howard catches his wrist as he goes to wriggle off his trousers. “Shh, leave it.”

Vince acquiesces slightly, once it becomes apparent that Howard has taken it upon himself to act as the official Remover of the Trousers in this situation. He manages, not without some difficulty, to unhook the tight denim from around Vince’s ankles. At which point, Vince, who is poised and ready for some hot Moon action to commence in the vicinity of his dick, is disappointed to see Howard stand and fold the trousers delicately, before walking over to the door.

“What’s this?!” Vince is flabbergasted, sitting up on the bed, legs akimbo, hair attractively disheveled. “Where’re you going?”

“Tea stains are no laughing matter,” Howard reminds him, ever so smugly, as he slips back out into the hallway and makes in the direction of the laundry. The door stays open a crack behind him; Vince can hear cabinet doors opening, then the tell-tale squeak of plastic and the spray of stain remover being applied.

“Anal bastard,” he mutters to himself as he sits up and attempts to tame his hair. “Wasn’t that important it couldn’t wait a few minutes.”

Howard reappears in time to catch the tail end of Vince’s monologue, smiling in close-lipped innocence. “We’ve got a problem,” he says, to Vince’s further chagrin.

“What now?” He’s all but scowling in his admittedly-childish petulance. But he feels somewhat justified – after all, Howard seems to have developed a habit lately of getting him all hot under the collar, then conveniently finding some errand to run or some chore that needs his immediate attention, leaving Vince all but gagging for it until he returns. It’s usually not too bad, since he’s generally as up for it as Vince and doesn’t seem interested in torturing himself for too long. But Vince doesn’t want to take chances.

After all, there was that one time when Howard was gone for all of three hours, leaving Vince to barricade himself in the bathroom and style his hair about twelve different times – by the end of which, of course, he was this close to just giving up on Howard and having a little fun with the shower-head attachment instead. Luckily for both him and the shower-head, Howard returned from his inexplicable errand just in time to catch Vince sopping wet with his pants around his ankles, hair done up in Heidi braids, and proceeded to bugger him silly over the bathroom counter. (Vince has to concede that it had been pretty hot, especially watching themselves in the fogged-up mirror, but he isn’t really in the mood for one such drawn-out episode today.)

Luckily, Howard’s grin has swung toward the aroused end of the spectrum, and Vince feels an inexplicable heat at the way Howard crosses his arms and looks down at him, unabashedly. It was getting harder and harder to recognize the blushing virgin he’d been not too long ago, though Vince still had a few tricks to coax it out of him. Now, though, he feels like the giggling maiden in this situation.

“Your pants.” Howard says, leaning forward to kneel at the edge of the bed, a large palm moving to cup Vince’s groin. A sharp hiss escapes Vince’s lips, and he can’t help arching his hips up into the touch, shameless thighs falling apart to accommodate, to invite. His eyes slide half shut as Howard kneads him silently – almost unnerving, how quiet he is now, making Vince’s little gasps and unintelligible pleas ring out all the louder.

“Teasing bastard,” Vince groans, approvingly, eyes shutting fully as Howard’s fingers drift down to trace patterns through the taut fabric, moving away from his cock to tease lower and lower, until he’s pressing ever so lightly against Vince’s entrance. Howard still doesn’t say anything, but Vince knows he’s smiling in satisfaction as he lets his fingers move away over Vince’s thigh, scattering goose pimples across his heated skin in their wake. Teasing bastard, indeed.

Maybe it’s just his way of getting one up over Vince, but Howard seems to enjoy this part just as much as the actual sex. It’s not something they talk about, really, but Vince gets the feeling that Howard really gets off on it, on making him writhe and squirm and beg. On making him wait. Which isn’t really fair, when he’s pretty sure it’s mostly Howard’s fault that it took them so long to get together – but oh, he’s tried fruitlessly to pretend he doesn’t enjoy it. Being rather at Howard’s mercy is something entirely new, and entirely thrilling.

Howard’s lips have found their way to Vince’s inner thigh, and despite all his squirming and wordless encouragements, they seem to be moving downward instead of the direction he’d like them to be traveling toward. Despite his earlier comment, Howard doesn’t seem to have any intention of removing his pants any time soon, and Vince feels the semi-uncomfortable, semi-arousing sensation of wet fabric against his tip. He’s fiendishly turned on, and Howard is milking it for all it’s worth, tongue lapping at the sensitive skin in the crook of Vince’s knee, which unexpectedly makes his lower back arch, delicious tingles spreading down to his toes.

“Howard,” Vince tries to think of something that will make him hurry up, but he knows it’s futile. Howard is nothing if not determined when he’s like this, and actually, Vince isn’t minding this bit, Howard delicately holding his foot as he nibbles at the slight jut of Vince’s ankle. This is entirely new; where did he learn all these tricks, eh? Vince makes a mental note to ask him later, not wanting to interrupt as suddenly, he feels Howard’s tongue lapping at one of his toes. An unexpected jolt of pleasure rushes straight to his groin. He cries out, helplessly, trying to pull away from the warm, tickly, arousing sensation. But Howard has his foot properly captured and seems to have no intent of letting it go.

Through the haze of pleasure washing over him as Howard goes to town, Vince feels vaguely that he should find this a bit weird. Certainly, it’s not the most out-there of kinks, and it isn’t as if he doesn’t have what are, undoubtedly, the most hygienic feet in all of Camden, if not London proper. It’s just not something he’d ever figured Howard to be into – or himself, for that matter. His hard-on is pressing most insistently against its fabric confines, and it’s all Vince can do to not press the heel of his hand against it as Howard sucks on his toes. What’s the Northern berk trying to do, actually kill him? He peeks open his eyes to watch, morbidly curious, but Howard’s gaze flicks up to lock with his, and it’s too intense for Vince to hold for more than a moment. His entire body is trembling with pent-up desire and Vince is fairly certain he’ll come the instant Howard touches him again.

Thankfully, or perhaps regrettably, his torture finally ends as Howard licks a stripe up the arch of his foot, then lowers it gently back down to the bed. His toes feel cold, and somewhat sticky, but he doesn’t think he minds. Vince makes a pathetic whine in the back of his throat, arching his hips up to get Howard’s attention. Peeking open his eyes again, he’s treated to a bit of a show as Howard leans back and stands up to finally divest himself of his clothing. Vince can’t help a whimper as Howard’s cock is freed, springing up in a florid arc towards his stomach. It glistens wet at the tip and Vince has to squeeze his eyes shut at the sight. It’s too much, he’s finally had it, he needs to touch himself.

Howard, being a little quicker on the draw in this particular moment, leans in to bat Vince’s hand away, settling between his spread thighs to align their bodies. Vince keens like an animal, eyes flying open as he feels the heat of Howard’s hardness rutting up against his. A deep rumble emanates from the nadirs of Howard’s chest as he rocks his hips down into Vince’s, drawing more agonized noises out of him as he leans in to suck at Vince’s sweat-pricked neck.

“Howard, Howard, Howard,” Vince can’t stop saying his name, despite the fact that Howard seems to be conspiring to make him come in his pants like a randy sixteen-year-old, utter bastard that he is. “Howard – oh, for fucksake, Howard.”

Finally taking the hint – and is that a laugh?! – Howard leans back, resting on his knee. He drags Vince’s pants off, barely getting them halfway down his thighs before he’s yanking Vince’s hips back til his exposed arse is flush up against him. Vince doesn’t need any prompting, wrapping his legs up over Howard’s hips, enjoying the sensation of Howard’s warm, sparsely-haired thighs beneath his buttocks. Howard presses two fingers to Vince’s parted lips and he greedily sucks at them, lapping at the thick knuckles until the digits are pulled from his eager mouth with a wet pop. Vince feels them press against his arsehole not a second later, and makes such a howl that Howard has to literally cover his mouth with his hand to get him to shut up. Naboo’s already on their case as it is.

Vince bites down on the underside of Howard’s fingers, whining low in his throat as Howard’s fingers breach him. His eyes roll back, lashes fluttering uncontrollably as the stretch and heat overwhelms him. Howard’s thumb is pressing hard against the muscle at the juncture of his thighs, and as his fingers begin to scissor in and out, inside of Vince, he feels his orgasm fast approaching. “Touch me,” he tries to say into Howard’s palm. “Please, pleeease, m’ so close–”

His words are muffled, but Howard seems to get the point. Removing his hand from Vince’s mouth to reach between his legs, he navigates around the pink pants that stretch taut across Vince’s thighs, fist closing around Vince’s cock just as he grazes Vince’s prostate from inside. “Get in m’ wheelbarra, y’cheeky vixen,” Howard growls, half in jest, half because he knows it does things to Vince. Shameful, shameful things. Defenseless against such an onslaught, Vince sees white. His whole body is somehow both writhing and paralyzed, and he doesn’t know if he makes any sound until his vision clears and he realizes Howard is once again holding a hand over his mouth, looking down at him in some sort of aroused amusement.

“Those’re some lungs you’ve got on you, little man,” He says, voice almost comically husky, and Vince feels dazed and almost as if he’s floating when Howard’s cock pushes inside him, the pleasure almost too intense after his climax. Howard doesn’t last long, large hands gripping Vince’s hips for leverage as he thrusts into him. He comes with a soft groan, his movements growing slower and erratic as he rides out his orgasm. Vince smiles blearily up at him, filled with so much – ugh, he’s such a woman, really – so much love and affection and maybe a little bit of secret, pleased annoyance that after only a few months, Howard already knows all his buttons and just how to push each one to maximum effect. Should’ve known, this one’d be a dark horse.

“You’re a bastard,” he says, still slightly breathless as Howard pulls out of him and tries to catch his own breath. “A complete, utter bastard.”

Howard just chuckles, makes as if he’s going to try and pull Vince’s pants back up over his hips until Vince smacks him with an outraged laugh. “You didn’t seem to mind it too much just a few minutes ago,” He gloats, only half-joking as he watches Vince tug off the little pink pants and half-heartedly wipe his own release from his stomach and chest. “I think you like being teased, hm?”

Vince shoots him a death-glare – or, rather, what would be a death-glare were it not so blatantly obvious that he was in complete, utter agreement. Plus, it’s kind of hard to be intimidating when you’re laying on your back, freshly shagged, knees still pointing to the ceiling while you’re mopping your own cum out of your bellybutton. But still, one has to try.

“It’s okay,” Howard continues, both smug and affectionate as he settles down against Vince on the bed, absently reaching down to stroke the curve where his buttock turns into thigh. “I know you won’t admit it, but that’s all right. You don’t have to – can’t keep anything from Howard Moon, no sir.”

Vince snorts, head lolling to the side to look at him. A sated smile makes its way onto his face. “Oh, trust me. There’s depths here you haven’t even begun to plunge.”

Howard’s eyebrow quirks in interest, as do his lips.

“I’m free all this week.”

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