Let the Good Times Roll

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Old Gregg enlists the help of his old man, the Hitcher, to reunite with his beloved Howard. When Howard goes missing on their trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, Vince once again has to save Howard in every way possible.

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Chapter 27

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Chapter 27

Vince felt his cheeks flame red every time he looked at Howard. He kept seeing Howard all flushed and trembling, equal parts eager and terrified. It had felt so good to hold Howard and really… well, it was a weird combination of comforting and sex. It hadn’t been like his normal (and embarrassingly frequent) sex dreams about Howard. This dream had been all fuzzy and soft around the edges, right up until he realized he had the real Howard in his dream with him. Then it had all come into sharp focus and he realized he’d failed in his plan to jump into Howard’s dream and stave off any night terrors. Apparently, he’d gotten side tracked by the sweetly submissive Howard in his dream, a Howard that he could coddle and fuss over and call by cutsie nicknames.

Real Howard had been pretty agreeable, for that matter. Of course, whatever nightmare had sent him to Vince’s dream must have been a hell of a lot worse than what Vince was doing to him.

Hazy images from the cave flooded Vince’s brain. He could clearly see poor Howard all bruised and terrified, begging for kindness.

Vince jumped so high, he fell off the bed when Howard touched his shoulder.  Vince tried to get back on his feet with a touch of dignity but Howard was already helping him, his face full of concern.

“Sorry, Little Man, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Howard apologized. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before they both went red and looked away.

It shouldn’t have been weird, it shouldn’t have been any different from any of the other dreams or anything else they’d shared… but it was. It felt wrong and weird and selfish to have a dream about Howard doing something that Vince wouldn’t even consider asking for in real life.

Howard didn’t seem angry or even unhappy about the dream, he just seemed embarrassed. He was actually being very sweet about the whole thing, and somehow, that made Vince feel worse.

Worst of all, the dream had been so incredibly hot. Howard had been so beautiful, and just a little bit shy. Vince loved when Howard let his bravado drop and showed his fragile side. Because Vince was a horrible little brat, he often engineered opportunities to see Howard in a fragile state, like when he spread the rumors about Howard and Jack Cooper or teased him about his thin hair and crow’s feet. Vince loved when Howard looked to him for reassurance. He wouldn’t have to be such a horrible little brat if Howard would just let Vince take care of him once in a while.

They made their way to the lobby to wait for the tour bus in silence. Vince grabbed some Danish from the continental breakfast while Howard grabbed a sensible, whole-wheat-with-flax-seed bagel and low-fat cream cheese.

“That’s no way to eat in the Big Easy!” Vince teased. Howard gave him a stern look.

“I’ll have you know sir, that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Vince smiled at the familiar, lecturing tone.

And then he remembered the dream and looked away.

xxx

It was a bit of a ride to the swamp tour and this particular bus driver felt no inclination to fill the air with chatter or jokes. Vince stared out the window, “accidentally” brushing his knee against Howard’s just to assure himself his friend was still there.

“Vince?”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.”

Vince looked back out the window, his cheeks burning hot.

“Vince?”

“Yeah?”

“The dream…”

“Yeah?”

“It was, it… itwasanicedream.”

Howard was beet red and staring at the opposite end of the bus, but Vince was overjoyed. He threw his arms around Howard and kissed him on the cheek.

“Enough of that,” Howard snapped, “We’re still British.”

Vince laughed and put his head on Howard’s shoulder. Howard didn’t brush him away.

xxx

They didn’t discuss the obvious. Howard seemed confident that Harry Connick, Jr. wouldn’t be part of an evil plan. He was New Orleans’ favored son, bringing jazz to the masses. While Vince thought that was a damned good reason not to trust Harry, he did trust the Star Turtle. They climbed on the boat, hoped it wasn’t a trap, and Howard surreptitiously held Vince’s hand. As soon as the word ‘comfort’ floated into Vince’s mind, he felt a bit flushed but he was able to keep his composure. Howard had said it was a nice dream, after all.

“Ain’t you the kid on drugs, talkin’ to gators?” the captain asked Vince as soon as he boarded.

“I ain’t on drugs but, yeah, that was me.”

The captain squinted at Howard, “And this is the friend you were lookin’ for?”

Howard had been holding Vince’s hand but dropped it as the captain looked him over. Howard was standing tall, with his shoulders back. Vince had a feeling he was trying to look less like a damsel in distress.

“Yeah,” Vince said, gesturing to Howard without touching him, “This is Howard.”

“I’m glad things worked out, and you found him ‘fore you got eaten up by one of them gators. They don’t go lookin’ for people but you can’t be temptin’ them too much neither,” the captain said in gruff tone, nearly knocking Vince over with a powerful slap on the arm.

Vince melted a bit when Howard reached out to steady him and tried to play it off as the after-effects of the manly pat on the arm.

xxx

They saw several alligators before they found one in a chatty mood.

“Hey, you! Lady man!”

Vince, the only one who could understand, turned to look at the sunning gator.

“All right?” Vince called back.

That was enough to send the captain motoring toward the alligator.

“Is you the one that met the Star Turtle and a funky merman?”

“Um, yeah.”

Everyone, including Howard and the captain were staring at him. He hadn’t really cared when he was worried about Howard, but now it felt a little… strange. He hadn’t spoken to animals much since leaving the zoo, except for Bollo and he spoke English.

“The T-man wants you to know he’s done taken that merman under his wing and is teachin’ him a bit ‘bout how to be less of a fucking nut job.”

Vince felt a wave of relief and turned to Howard, “The Start Turtle is looking out for Old Gregg, trying to help him… be less of a fucking nut job.”

Howard didn’t look relieved, he looked pale.

“What about…the Hitcher?” Howard whispered.

“What about the merman’s crazy father?” Vince asked, a knot forming in his stomach. A less crazy Old Gregg might actually mean a less restricted Hitcher.

“He’s stuffed and mounted on Old Gregg’s wall,” the gator replied casually.

“He… he killed him?” Vince asked, incredulously.

“Nope,” the gator said with something like a shrug, “He’s still alive and he won’t shut up about the indignity of it all, but ya can tell he’s proud of his boy.”

“We won’t need to worry about the Hitcher for a while,” Vince assured Howard who instantly and visibly relaxed. He opted to keep the specifics to himself, Howard had enough nightmares.

“So, is Old Gregg… doing better?”

“He’s dating my sister,” the gator replied with obvious displeasure, “the family is in an uproar.”

“How’s that going?” Vince asked, not sure what else to say.

“Well, she bit his arm off…”

“So he only has one arm, now?” Vince asked. He noticed Howard looking almost concerned. He remembered how Howard had kept Sally from killing Old Gregg in the cave. There was a part of Howard that could still feel sympathy for the damaged creature, even after all he’d been through. It made Vince want to cry.

“No,” the gator sighed, “it grew back.”

Vince translated for Howard whose response was not profound, but still totally accurate.

“Eww.”