Lost

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A series of six shorts charting a developing intimacy.

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Meat

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Meat

Vince bounced into the flat with his usual enthusiasm, grinning at Howard’s somewhat stunned expression. He gave the maverick a twirl.

“Like it?”

“Um…” Vince’s current attire had a vague similarity to his Goth outfit—except for the tie-dyed silk sleeves attached to the torn black t-shirt with leather laces. And the rainbow coloured Doc Martens on his feet. And the glitter tear on his cheek. And the black lipstick and stark black eyeshadow. And the rainbow streaks in his hair. So, apart from the tight leather trousers, not really much like the Goth gear at all then… Howard frowned. “Don’t you be going all emo on me, now!”

Vince tossed his head, rolling his eyes. “That’s so last week! I’m all punk-hippy now…”

Howard stared, mentally shaking his head, wondering whether to point out the inherent contradiction in the two terms, then decided not to bother. Vince wouldn’t listen anyway—or if he did, he wouldn’t understand. Or pretend not to understand, anyway. Howard sometimes thought there was more of a working brain inside that fluffy head than experience would otherwise suggest.

“Well, it’s certainly… different…” Of course it suited him. Howard had never yet seen Vince wear anything that didn’t suit him. (Well, apart from that one time with that daft hat, but that had been Howard’s fault anyway… ) Bloody annoying it was. But he’d learned it wasn’t wise to say so if he didn’t want Vince to spend the rest of the day preening in front of a mirror. “Not sure about the lipstick though. It’s a bit dark for you, isn’t it?”

“I’m expressin’ the darkness inside me.”

“We’ve had this discussion before. You aren’t dark, Vince. There’s no darkness in you. At all. Ever.”

Vince sighed.

“Yeah, all right, I know.” He scrutinised himself in the mirror. “It’s a bit… all over the shop, innit?”

“Not up to your usual distinctive but coherent style, no.”

“P’raps the world ain’t ready for punk-hippy yet.”

“You’re ahead of your time, little man. But perhaps this time the look needs a bit more thought…”

“Yeah…” Vince grinned and rubbed Howard’s stomach in the old familiar greeting, then paused and frowned, pulling his hand away and prodding instead.

“Wha’s this? You been pilin’ on the sushi?

“Sushi’s low fat, low carb food, Vince. The Japanese are a slim and svelte race, very spiritual, very powerful.”

“Yeah, right, raw prawns an’ rice an’ seaweed. What kind of food is that?” Vince shook his head. “You’ve gone podgy, mate. That jazzercise stuff you do? Hate to tell you, but it ain’t workin’.”

Howard glanced down worriedly at his—shit… where’d that… bulge come from? —lower body and sucked in his belly.

“Good manly muscle, that, Vince. You don’t get that prancing around at a disco.”

“Too right, small eyes! That’s disgustin’. You gotta go on a diet, man. I don’ wanna be seen with a walrus in cords with eyes like a crab.”

Howard would have objected, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Vince was right. He glanced at himself sideways in the mirror, and wasn’t too happy with what he saw…

“Go live in forest for month. Get fit, catch own food.”

Howard eyed Bollo doubtfully.

“That’s all very well for you to say—you were born there. I’m a civilised man, a man about town. The only jungle I know is the urban one.”

“Howard want to lose weight, make Vince happy?”

“Yes… well, I suppose… yes, I do.” He did, too. Not that it was competitive, of course—after all, he was big-boned and solidly built, the complete opposite to Vince’s waif-like proportions, he’d never be thin, and in any case it would never suit him. But Vince had taken to giving little melodramatic shudders every time he looked Howard’s way, and pressing himself hard against the wall on his toes every time they passed each other in the flat, regardless of how much space there was between them. That he did so with his usual cheeky grin and a twinkle in those big blue eyes softened the insult a little, but Howard still felt uneasy about the situation. To himself he admitted that Vince’s opinion had started to mean a lot more to him than it should do. And he hated the thought of disappointing his partner.

At the same time, he didn’t want Vince to realise what he was up to. He wanted to shape up privately, so that when his new, fit body was revealed, Vince would be suitably impressed, surprised and pleased.

He wasn’t entirely sure that disappearing into the forest for a month was the right way to go about it, though. Unobservant and shallow as Vince could be, it was unlikely he’d not notice the Howard-shaped hole in the flat while the maverick was gone…

“Bollo tell Vince Howard had to go away for a bit. Do some business back home.”

Howard gazed doubtfully at the gorilla, unsure of the wisdom of the plan. Bollo gazed back and nodded.

“Bollo get Naboo to help.”

“Well…” Howard looked at himself in the mirror again, and sighed. He couldn’t get away from the fact that he looked portly. No wonder Vince was ashamed of him. “OK. I’ll do it.”

“Good. Howard go now. Come back sooner.”

“Can’t wait to get rid of me, can you?” Howard muttered under his breath, closing the door to the bedroom. Laid on his bed was the old tweed utility suit, a little the worse for wear and now sporting Survival Patches on the elbows and knees: Howard stripped and climbed into it, finding to his horror that it really didn’t fit any more. He sucked in his stomach and stretched, forcing the zips closed, then, trying not to breathe too deeply, made his way quietly out to the van.

He paused at the driver’s door, wondering if it was a bit of a cheat to take it. But neither Vince nor Naboo could drive, and since Bollo had lost his license it wasn’t as if anyone else would be using it. And anyway, how else was he to get to the wilderness?

“Awright?” Laden down with bags, Vince grinned at Bollo on his return from Top Shop. The apron-clad gorilla put down his large mixing bowl and wooden spoon and nodded.

“Vince found bargains?”

“Yeah! Check this out!” Vince rummaged in one of the larger bags and pulled out something that seemed to be all pink fur and feathers, purple leather straps and large shiny silver buckles. Bollo regarded the item from several different angles then scratched his head.

“What is it?”

“Not sure. But it was half-price! What a find…” He undid all the buckles and held the garment in front of him, twisting it this way and that in puzzlement, then shrugged it haphazardly over his shoulders and grabbed for another of the bags. “And I got this to go with it!

“

The ‘this’ in question was, possibly, a hat, an oddly elegant construction involving a lot of pink and purple feathers and a diamante-studded brim. He placed it on his head and posed for the gorilla.

“Vince look like bird of paradise.”

“Genius! I gotta show Howard.”

Bollo raised a paw.

“Howard not here.”

Vince was still admiring himself in the mirror.

“Where’s he gone?”

“Business trip.”

Vince frowned.

“Business trip? Without me?”

“Home business.”

“Oh.” Vince looked crestfallen. “When’ll he be back?”

“Next month.”

“What?!” Vince’s voice was an octave higher than normal. “He can’t be gone that long! What’m I s’posed to do while he’s gone?”

“Vince have fun.”

“Well, yeah—but it’s not so much fun if small eyes in’ here…” he flumped on the settee, pouting irritably. “Why din’ he tell me?”

“Urgent business. No time.”

Vince sighed and headed for the phone. “I’d better give him a bell, check he’s all right.”

Bollo raised his arms in alarm.

“No! Vince not do that.”

“Why not?”

“Um…”

Vince frowned.

“Bollo… what’s goin’ on?”

“Howard not want Vince to know.”

“Know what? C’mon you hairy git. Where’s he gone?”

“Howard gone to forest.”

Vince stared at the gorilla, confused.

“Why’s he gone there?”

“To get fit.”

“… what?…”

“Howard go native. Get fit. Lose weight.”

There was a moment’s silence, then Vince collapsed on the settee, arms wrapped around his stomach as he dissolved into helpless laughter.

“Howard? In the forest? By himself? Oh my cockney godfather… Bollo, why’d you let him do somethin’ that daft?”

Bollo stuck out his lower lip and avoided Vince’s eyes.

“Bollo thought it good idea.”

“He’s got no idea how to survive in the forest! He’ll die. He’ll get eaten! Bollo you twat, you should’ve stopped him.” Vince pushed himself upright and pulled off the headgear and strappy… thing, dumping them on the settee. “I’d better go an’ rescue him before he gets into trouble.”

“Howard only been gone six hour.”

“Yeah, well, Howard can get himself in deep shit in a couple of minutes…”

“… is true, Vince right…”

Howard was being stalked.

He wasn’t fully aware of it yet, as he was still trying to come to terms with being out here in the wilderness in only his hat, boots and swimming trunks—the zips had finally burst under the strain and the rest of the utility suit fallen apart. It was raining, and it was a lot colder than a forest had any right to be, and he was lost.

Lost. He had to admit it to himself. His jungle tracking skills simply weren’t as good as he’d always believed them to be. In fact, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that they were just about non-existent…

Then he heard the low growl in the undergrowth behind him, and froze in terror.

Not much point appealing to the wildlife that he had so much to give.

There was a tree in front of him. A tree that looked like it might offer some sort of shelter—assuming that whatever was behind him couldn’t climb, anyway.

Not that Howard could climb either, but somehow he managed it, forced to a halt half way up when the branches became too thin to hold his weight, clinging to a dangerously-creaking bough, and squinting down at the ground ten feet below.

There was a large leopard sitting at the base of the tree, staring up at him and licking its lips.

Howard whimpered in fear and closed his eyes as the bough began to break…

Several branches and a bush helped to break his fall, but he still landed with a bone-shaking, massively-bruising thud that drove the breath from his lungs. He curled up into a ball, shivering, images from his life flitting through his mind as he waited for the leopard’s attack… he’d not said goodbye to Vince, and now Vince would never know what had happened to him… he’d never told Vince how he felt…

What was taking the ruddy animal so long? Why couldn’t he just get it over with? Hang on, what was that…?

Howard frowned to himself. He must be hallucinating. He could swear he could hear Vince…

“Howard? You OK?”

The maverick cautiously uncurled, wincing with pain, and looked in the direction of the voice. And there was Vince, sitting on the mossy ground, with the leopard curled around him.

Vince grinned.

“See you met Jahouley, then.”

Howard stared disbelievingly.

“What?”

Vince gestured to the leopard, who licked his hand.

“Jahouley. Me best friend from when I was a nipper.”

“Thought you said he was dead.”

“Nah. He was in that animal prison place. He got out when Ivan attacked that green geezer.”

Howard moved carelessly, hissing as something that shouldn’t move shifted painfully in his chest. Vince frowned and moved to squat beside him.

“Wassup? You hurt?”

“Think I’ve broken something.”

With surprisingly gentleness Vince eased Howard over onto his back, inspecting the damage with the lightest of touches as the maverick gritted his teeth and tried not to scream.

“Don’t think you’ll be movin’ for a bit.”

“I can’t stay here.”

“Hm.” Vince sat back for a moment, eyeing his partner thoughtfully. “The van’s about a mile back. Think you can make it?”

Howard slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, sweating with the effort and the pain of what felt like at least one broken rib. It took all of his strength, and he felt faint afterwards—but Vince had moved to sit beside him, supporting him with an arm carefully laid across his shoulders.

“OK?”

“I’ll live…” Though whether he’d enjoy it or not was a moot point at this juncture. His entire body felt like one enormous aching bruise. He glanced at Vince, trying to move as little as possible. “How the hell did you get here, anyway?”

Vince shrugged. “Hitched a lift off a passing zebra.”

Oh. Of course you did… Howard closed his eyes, and for a moment there was silence. At least the rain had stopped.

“Howard?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’re you doin’ this? Comin’ here to get fit, I mean.”

He was in too much pain to prevaricate. “… didn’t want you to be embarrassed… ashamed of me.”

“Aww, you did it for me?” Vince grinned. “Ya great Northern pillock! I’m not that bothered by yer blubber.”

“Yes, well, I…” Howard fell silent, suddenly realising that Vince had come after him. Rescued him. And was now holding him, protecting him. He began to shake, and Vince eyed him with alarm.

“Howard? What’s wrong?”

“Sh… shock…?”

There was a hint of panic in Vince’s voice. “What’m I s’posed to do for shock?”

“D…. dunno…” Howard’s eyes fluttered closed as he finally passed out.

There was a dead animal in front of him when he came to.

He stared at it, for a moment not remembering where he was. Then it all came back to him, and with the memory came his awareness of pain.

But Vince was still there, sitting at his side, supporting him—though he must have been unconscious for several hours if the fading light was any indication of the passing of time. He dragged his head up from where it had been resting on the smaller man’s shoulder and tried to move, to take more of his weight himself: Vince must be uncomfortable by now.

“Hey, s’OK. Hold still.” A slim hand cupped his face, gently pushing his head back down to the thin shoulder. “How you feelin’?”

Aching, pain spearing through him if he so much as breathed, legs cramping from sitting immobile for too long, neck stiff from being slumped against Vince—he felt like hell. And unspeakably happy. Vince was here…

“You need to eat, yeah? Jahouley got us a gazelle.” Vince hesitated for a moment. “But it’s raw. I can’t make a fire. That OK?”

“I’m sure I can manage, just this once.” It hurt to smile. But Vince lifted small pieces of gazelle to his lips, and after several mouthfuls of the soft, tasty meat he felt warmth spreading through him, the meal settling easily into his stomach and helping him recover his strength.

The urge to snuggle into Vince was almost irresistible—would have been had it not hurt so much to move. But eventually he’d eaten as much as he could without feeling nauseous, and managed to push himself a little more upright.

“If you can help me back to the van, I think I can drive.”

Vince sounded almost wistful. “You want to go back?”

“I think I need a doctor. Or Naboo. Or something.”

“Oh. Yeah. You not goin’ to pass out again, are you?”

“I don’t think so. We’ll drive very slowly. If I feel faint, I’ll pull over.”

“OK then.” Vince helped him to his feet, an operation that took several minutes as Howard tried to stretch cramped muscle without making his injuries any worse. It was well past midnight when the pair, accompanied and guarded by Jahouley, finally reached the van.

Howard slumped into the driver’s seat and closed his eyes. He was dimly aware of Vince outside, talking to his leopard friend. He wondered what was being said.

“He’s a good one. You should keep him.”

Vince stroked under Jahouley’s chin, grinning.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll do me best—but it’s not just up to me, is it? Howard gets a say in it too.”

Jahouley’s purr rumbled deep in his chest.

“The man isn’t as silly as he seems. His scent when you are with him—I’ve smelt the same, between lifemated beasts.”

Vince’s beaming smile was a beautiful thing to see.

Jahouley blinked slowly in the feline equivalent, then twitched an ear towards the van. “But he is hurt, and you should care for him. Go safely, old friend.”

Vince pressed a kiss to the leopard’s forehead and scrambled into the van…

“Howard?” It was whispered, but the maverick was having a lot of difficulty sleeping, even with the pain medication he’d been prescribed. Three broken ribs, a couple of dislocated joints and several torn ligaments will do that to you. He mumbled an irritable “What?”, and Vince slipped into the room with something hidden behind his back. He seated himself carefully on the edge of Howard’s bed and regarded him sombrely.

“How you feelin’ now?”

“Pissed off. Why can’t Naboo do something to help? Surely he’s got something that’ll heal broken bones.”

Vince shrugged.

“I asked, but he said no. Dunno if he was tellin’ the truth though. Anyway, don’ worry about that. Look what I found!” He brought his hand out from behind his back and presented Howard with something LP-sized and flat. Howard took it, moving carefully, frowning at the shape in his hands.

“It’s a record.”

“Yeah! Took me ages to find, too.”

The maverick eased the disc from its plain white cardboard sleeve and tilted it towards the light. His eyes widened.

“Voodoo Scat? But… there was only ever one…”

Vince grinned wickedly.

“Turns out there was two. Dunno if this one has blood in it though.” He grimaced. “Hope not.”

Howard goggled helplessly.

“But…”

Vince laughed.

“It’s the real thing. Honest. I checked.”

“But… why?”

“‘Cause… ‘cause I should never have broke it in the first place. You don’t do that to mates. Sorry.”

Had Howard been able to move his arms properly there was no doubt in his mind he’d have hugged the life out of the little ponce. Since he couldn’t, he took Vince’s hand, squeezing gently, deep brown eyes warm and wide in a pale, pain-haunted face.

“Thanks.”

“S’nuffin.”

Wincing infinitesimally, he raised his hand to cup Vince’s cheek. Did Vince push back against his palm, just a little?

“Oh, it’s a lot more than ‘nuffin’, little man…”