Lost

A series of six shorts charting a developing intimacy.

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Nuts

Contents

Nuts

Author’s Notes: There’s a sort of a spoiler for The Strange Tale of the Crack Fox here. Vince, after stating that he and Howard went to school and college together, then spent their gap year travelling together after Howard had spent the intervening week looking for the perfect flask, adds “you wanted a different flask for every continent.” Which would definitely be Howardish, but which also inspired this fic… The first line of the ostrich bit was inspired by a photo from a friend who went on safari last year.


It was unusual for Vince to be apprehensive, but he’d spent much of the rest of the night—a mostly sleepless night—torn between hoping and fearing Howard would speak to him. He couldn’t decide which he’d prefer. What would he do if Howard came straight out—well, perhaps ‘straight’ was the wrong word, in context—and declared his feelings? How would he respond? Come to that, how did he actually feel about the whole… thing?

What were his feelings for Howard, anyway?

Had it not been so heartbreaking, Howard’s perception of Vince would have been incredibly flattering. It was so much at odds with the way Howard seemed to see him in the real world—what was it he’d said? “I already have a shallow mate who dresses like a futuristic prostitute”; Howard didn’t appear to have any respect for him at all. Yet he was still oddly protective of his friend. And he dreamed of Vince, dreamed of him as a fabulous and completely unattainable creature from myth.

It wasn’t true, of course. All Howard had to do was stretch out his hand. Vince was always there. Always had been.

That morning Howard kept giving Vince little glances, frowning slightly, his lips parting as if he was about to speak—then closing again as he went about whatever makework he was currently engaged upon. It was driving Vince round the bend. Was he going to say something or not?

“Vince?”

Vince jumped, swallowed and smiled at his partner.

“Yeah?”

“I… did you…”

“Spit it out, small eyes.”

Howard licked dry lips and tried to smile back.

“Do… do you remember when we were in Italy?”

Vince would swear that was not what Howard wanted to say. But he grinned and nodded.

“Gap year, yeah. Remember the Coliseum?”

“Ah yes…

“Big round Roman O

All sandy in the middle

Spaghetti hoops and parmesan

Chuck a christian at a lion

Mozzarella sangria

Tomato calamari

Spagbol monster sleepin’ in me suitcase

Wake ‘im up

No let him sleep

Wake ‘im up

No let him sleep

Straighten up the leanin’ tower of Pisa.’“

Vince laughed. “Yeah, and then you got drunk and took off all your clothes and went and jumped in the Trippy Fountain…”

“Trevi Fountain, and thanks, I’ve been trying to forget that for years…”

“… an’ all those tourists took photos and you was arrested for being drunk in charge of a deranged bicycle…”

Howard gave him a baffled look.

“I don’t remember that.”

“You was very drunk.”

Howard was frowning, and shook his head.

“No, I’m sure I’d have remembered something like that…”

Vince shrugged.

“Whatever. Is it lunch time yet?”

Vince watched Howard, covertly, as they ate. He gave the big man an awful lot of stick about his eyes—but really, they weren’t that small. And they were a lovely lickably-chocolate-brown colour. And they were actually very expressive, if you bothered to really look at them.

When his face was relaxed, like now, he was quite good-looking too. Almost handsome, in a big northern pillock sort of way. And now he’d lost some weight and had been jazzercising, his bod wasn’t bad either. The pot-belly was gone. And he had that broad chest that was so comfy to lie against.

Pity about his hair though.

Though Vince was sure he could do something with it—if he could get his hands on it. That was something to keep in mind for later. Along with getting Howard out of those ‘orrible clothes and—eventually—into something a bit more stylish.

Vince sighed mentally. Well, the fact that he was thinking along those lines probably meant he’d already decided he wanted Howard. And the fact that Jahouley thought the match was a good idea had pretty much confirmed it for Vince: he trusted the leopard in such matters, despite his irresponsibility in others.

And Vince dreamed of Howard as a knight, his knight, the one who protected him. The one he always instinctively hid behind when anything threatened. That said an awful lot about how Vince felt about his mate, even if he never quite properly articulated it.

It probably helped that everyone else seemed to think he was Howard’s wife, already. At least no-one would be that surprised when they hooked up.

“Ready, little man?”

Vince blinked, and almost blushed. Howard was gathering up the plates and glasses ready for dumping in the sink for washing, and was eyeing his partner curiously: looking down, Vince realised he’d only picked at his lunch. He managed a grin.

“Yeah. Not all that hungry.”

“Was it OK? I can always make you something else if you didn’t like it.”

“Nah, was tasty. I prob’ly ate too many sweets this mornin’.”

Howard sighed.

“They’re not good for you, you know. They give you cavities. And make you fat.” He paused and ran his gaze down Vince’s skinny body. “Well, OK, that’s probably not something you have to worry about…”

“Yeah, OK, I’ll eat somefin’ later, yeah?”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll make something nice for dinner.” Howard dropped the dishes into the washing-up bowl and turned to Vince. “Shall we get back to work then?”

“Oi, Howard?”

The maverick straightened up from where he’d been bent nearly double cleaning shelves and winced as his back complained.

“What is it?”

Vince tilted his head.

“D’you remember when we got to Africa?”

Howard groaned melodramatically and shook his head, eyes closing.

“How could I ever forget…

“Ostrich on the seashore

Where do you run to?

Long legs, long neck,

Limbo dancing hurdler—

Where have your eggs gone?

Big eggs—HUGE eggs,

Cosmic eggs—galactic eggs!

Bigger-than-your-head-eggs.

Fry ‘em up for breakfast.’“

Howard chuckled. “And lunch, and dinner, and supper. But at least they kept us going.”

Vince grimaced. “Put me off eggs for years.”

Howard smirked. “And you insisting on trying on tribal gear and dancing with the Maasai.”

“Yeah—it was genius!”

“It was female clothing. You looked a right prat.”

“Did not!”

“Yes you did.”

Vince pouted. “Well at least I didn’t try to climb that mountain in it.”

Howard winced: he’d hoped his partner had forgotten about his attempt at climbing Mt Kilimanjaro on elephant-back…

Vince’s eyes were sparkling. “I tol’ you he din’t want to do it. And then when he chucked you in that water-’ole I ‘ad to put up wiv ‘is bellyachin’ for hours. I’m tellin’ you, that elephant was not ‘appy with you.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t exactly overjoyed myself. Especially when that crocodile grabbed me.”

Vince rolled his eyes. “An’ I ‘ad to promise I’d marry ‘im to make ‘im let go! I can’t never show me face at that water-’ole again. He’ll ‘ave me for breach of promise or summin’.”

Howard chuckled. “It was fun though, wasn’t it?”

Vince grinned cheekily. “Yeah. It was.”

The maverick’s smile became almost wistful. “Be nice to go again, some day.”

And Vince nodded, although both of them knew it would never happen.

“So, what do you want for dinner?”

“Brontosaurus burger.”

Howard eyed him with mock exasperation.

“Have you been watching BBC 2 documentaries again?”

“The Flintstones.”

“Fair enough. But we’re right out of bronto-burgers. Might I suggest a cheeky little chicken teriyaki, as being the closest we can come to dinosaur these days?”

“Whatever.” Vince laid down the latest copy of Cheekbone magazine and gazed up at Howard from under strands of his fringe. It had been a strange day, both of them pretending everything was normal—well, as normal as things ever got in their vicinity, anyway—ignoring the simmering tension underneath, and Vince was very close to speaking out. The only thing stopping him was the fear that Howard would deny his own feelings. For Vince, used to saying the first thing that came to mind, regardless of how appropriate it was under the circumstances, this seemed particularly stupid—but it wouldn’t be the first time Howard had done it. And Howard didn’t think he deserved Vince, he’d said as much in the dream. So this really should be handled with delicacy. Like patiently encouraging an injured shrew out of its den and into the light to be tended to…

Or he could just get Howard off his tits drunk and drag him to bed.

That would be a simpler option, admittedly, and he wondered if Howard would find it easier to have control just taken from him. Quite possibly, he thought. But that would hardly be fair. And he did want things to be fair…

He was, he realised with a sense of shock, thinking commitment here, thinking equality.

“Vince? You all right, little man?”

“What?” Vince blinked rapidly, focussing on Howard’s concerned eyes.

“You suddenly went pale. Well, paler, anyway. I didn’t think that was possible, but you managed it. What’s wrong?”

Vince hesitated, then sighed.

“Prob’ly just hungry.”

Howard sat beside him, one big hand cupping his chin, the other laid across his forehead under his fringe.

“You sure you’re not ill? You do feel a bit warmer than normal.”

Yes, well, that’s ‘cause you’re touchin’ me… Vince shivered at the feel of Howard’s cool skin, and flopped back on the settee, closing his eyes. Howard frowned.

“Vince?”

“I do feel a bit… hot… P’raps I’m going down with summin…”

“Let’s get you into bed.” Howard stood, then leaned down to pull his partner to his feet. Vince slumped against him, concentrating on the sensation of Howard’s arm wrapping his waist, supporting him.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

“Mm?” Vince glanced up at his mate, eyes half-closed. “Oh. Yeah. Please.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Howard swept him up into strong arms, bride-fashion, knowing what he did of the maverick, but it still made him shiver with pleasure. Howard mistook the shudder for a symptom of whatever was wrong with his partner and hurried him through to the room, setting him down carefully on the bed and sitting down on the edge. He looked worried.

“Can you get yourself undressed?”

Feeling guilty—but only a little—Vince gazed up at him, eyes wide and pleading. Laying it on with the proverbial trowel.

“Not sure.”

Howard’s hands shook as he oh-so-carefully eased the tight top over Vince’s chest and head, then knelt on the floor to pull off the boots. Then focussed on the fastenings of the tight jeans. Still kneeling he looked up at his partner, face reddening.

“Um…”

It was so tempting to groan and fake-swoon, forcing Howard to take action. Though that might be just to cover Vince with the duvet rather than try to take off the rest of his clothes. The smaller man smiled weakly at his mate.

“S’awright. I can do the rest.”

Vince couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or relief in Howard’s face as he hauled himself up from the floor.

“You climb in. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Wha…? Where you goin’?”

Howard glanced back over his shoulder.

“To make you some soup. Something wholesome and easy to digest. You need feeding up.”

He left the door ajar. Vince dragged off the rest of his clothing and slid under the duvet, pulling it up to his chin and watching the door for Howard’s return.

It was rather nice being cared for.

Five minutes later Howard was back, a tray in his hands.

“Tomato soup with croutons. Should set you up fine.”

Vince crossed his legs and perched the tray on his knees, holding the bowl steady as he took small, quick spoonfuls. It was good, tastier than the usual tinned stuff. Howard smiled at his expression.

“I put a little sherry in it.”

“S’nice.”

“It’ll do you good. Do you want me to call a doctor?”

“Nah—it’s nuffin. Probly just shakin’ off a lurgy.”

“Perhaps you should stay in bed tomorrow, anyway. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Awright. Sorry.”

Howard smiled and brushed hair back from his forehead.

“Hey, don’t apologise. Not your fault you’re ill.”

Vince shoved the feelings of guilt very firmly to the back of his mind and locked them in a cabinet. He finished the soup and lay back on the pile of pillows, smiling up at his mate.

“Thanks Howard.”

“Any time, little man.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.”

Vince turned back the corner of the duvet.

“I mean, really with me?”

Howard looked doubtfully at the bed, then back at Vince.

“In the bed?”

“Yeah. I feel… safer when you’re near.”

“But you aren’t in danger. You’re ill.”

“I’d feel better if you were in ‘ere with me.”

“But what if I catch it?”

“Catch what?”

“Whatever it is you’ve got.”

Vince wriggled down and over, making space for Howard. He grinned.

“Then I can look after you, can’t I?”

Howard frowned.

“No offence, Vince, but strawberry bootlaces and black jacks aren’t my idea of food. Especially when you’re ill.”

Vince pouted. “I can do soup! I can even put sherry in it.”

Howard opened his mouth to object that that would probably mean a bowl of sherry with a little soup at the bottom, but then it occurred to him that Vince was inviting him to spend the night. In bed. With him.

“I’ll get changed…”

Vince’s hand on his wrist stopped him from heading for his own bed, and the pyjamas he kept under the pillow.

“You don’t need ‘em.”

Vince hadn’t known Howard could blush like that. He chuckled nd pulled the maverick back down onto the edge of the bed.

“S’more comfy without. Cooler too.”

“But…”

Please, Howard. It’d make me feel much better.”

Head spinning, Howard slowly pulled off his clothing and slid into the bed beside his partner; Vince immediately nestled against him, head on his shoulder and arm across his chest—and groin against his hip.

Howard was absolutely rigid, all but the part of him that should be rigid. Vince sighed to himself and gently stroked his mate’s neck and shoulder, scratching at the stubble, trying to get him to relax. He brushed a light kiss against the broad chest.

“D’you remember Oz?”

Howard tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and all that came out was a strangled squeak. He coughed, swallowed, and tried again.

“Oh yes. Ayers Rock. The Great Barrier Reef.”

“Sydney ‘arbour Bridge…”

“And the opera house…”

“And the kangaroos…

“Kangaroo

Bouncing in the sunset

Kangaroo

With your little pocket

Like an apron

Pull out a koala

Wallaby, wallabye

Emu, emu

Didgeridoo

Bebop jellyfish waving in the water

Blind date with a platypus

Quacking in melody.’“

Vince chuckled. Howard had relaxed a little during the crimp: he’d enjoyed their stay in Australia. Even though they’d had to leave Melbourne in a hurry when the Killeroo, who’d been doing some sort of charity fight there, caught sight of him and threatened to rip his balls off before eating his face…

“Howard?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re great, y’know that?”

“What’re you after now?”

“Nuffin. Just thought I’d let you know.”

“… sleep, little man. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

I wouldn’t bet on it, said that irritating little voice. You’ve got him this far—now what?

But for once, Vince wasn’t going to hurry. He snuggled a little closer, comfortable and content, eyes closing as he listened to the sound of Howard’s breathing.

This was very nice.