Just So You Know: Yes, my inspiration is the Gaga song of the same name. I guess I should take pride that this is the first Howard/Old Gregg fic here. I own nothing but the order these words are in.
Howard was finally warm again in the shower of his hotel room. He wanted to feel clean again so desperately, to let all the steam into his skin and wash out that musty, fish-y odor that hung on him like a damp blanket. He was gargling the water straight from the showerhead, trying to get that taste out of his mouth that was like postage stamp glue on an old herring: mildly sweet but rather salty and rotten. He washed with a concoction he'd invented back in his days at the zoo, a mixture of lavender shower gel and Febreeze. It helped a little.
He was enjoying the white noise of the water cascading over him hard and fast. It calmed him and helped him forget... things. Howard suppressed a shudder.
Of course, what was even more pleasant than being warm in the shower was being warm and dry in a big fluffy beige towel. Before he put his trousers back on, which he'd worn for several days in a row to his less-than-delight, he stood for a moment with his eyes closed, imagining he was home in his flat again; he'd be wrapped in his old striped bathrobe, listening to the birds singing through the window over his jazz records playing while he ate hot buttered toast.
Toast. How long had it been since he had eaten toast? He'd almost forgotten what it tasted like.
But he wasn't hungry for toast. There was only one option for breakfast today, and it was purring.
Howard tiptoed to the dresser, where he and his guest kept their friend in a drawer, surrounded by towels so he wouldn't leak into the woodwork.
"Good morning, Funk," said Howard, quietly, lifting the lumpy and slightly obscene purple being out of his nest of towels. The Funk said "prrrrroowwwlllllllll" and perked up some of its teats. Howard got some plastic bowls from a bag and rubbed his hands together to make sure they were warm before he began to milk the Funk. The black goo oozed out of the Funk's nipples, and Howard let it flow into a bowl until it was spent.
Howard set the Funk back in the open drawer and poured the black goo into two plastic party cups. He closed his eyes and gulped down his portion. It felt leaden in his stomach at first, but after a while it would soften and spread throughout his body with a warm, swelling sensation like a balloon blowing up inside him. He had a perverse fancy that if he kept drinking Funkmilk, the balloon would swell up until it blew out of his eyes and ears and fingertips and the blast would launch him into the air, far far away into the sky. It was a pleasant feeling. It wouldn't last, though, because--
"MmmmmmphhhhhhI'm Old Gregggggggggggg...." The mumbly sleepy noise came from the slightly soggy pile of sheets on the bed. Goddamnit, he was awake.
The sound of a great slimy mass of gangly arms and legs emerging from its damp mildewy nest was not a pleasant one to Howard's sophisticated ears. There was a rustling of wet sheets and chiffon and Old Gregg slid out of bed, clad only in tie and tutu. He grinned at Howard and Howard forced himself to smile back.
"I had a dream about you, my love," said Gregg.
"Oh, that's... that's good, Gregg."
"Don't you want to know what it was about?"
"Well, I feel that dreams are a rather private--"
"It was about you, naked and pink and soft and lying on a bed of croutons and needles--and--and your tears were made of Bailey's and I licked your eyeballs clean until all the color went out of them and I painted them with watercolors."
It took Howard a minute to get "That's very interesting, Gregg" out of his dry mouth. He held out the other plastic cup, and said "Breakfast."
"I'm not hungry for milk," said Gregg lasciviously, "and don't try to change the subject." He licked his lips and his tongue brushed his moustache.
"Oh dear," whimpered Howard.
"Would you wear my skin, Howard?"
"Wh-what?"
"I love my husband. Did you save your bathwater? I want to drink it in a cocktail."
Howard had backed up until he was pressed against the wall. Gregg was closing in on him, and Howard shut his eyes tightly.
"Do you know why I love the word 'cocktail,' Howard?"
Howard whimpered again, and Gregg was about to answer when the phone rang. Howard practically jumped over Gregg to answer it.
"Hello! I-I'm fine, really!"
The voice at the other end giggled. "Oh, Howie, you're such a kidder!" It was Liz, their agent. "You know you're supposed to be at the radio station for your lunch-hour interview today, right?"
"Oh, right, that. Yeah, I'll—We'll be there."
"Wonderful!" Liz's voice practically glittered like a diamond, it was so unbelievably happy. It gave Howard a vaguely nauseous feeling. "Just try and get you-know-who off the, ah, silly pills, okay honey?" Her voice dropped an octave. "This is big for you, and I don't want anything... awkward to happen. Let him be his lovely bizarre self, but tone it down so that it's not too strange for anyone's taste."
"Right. No silly pills. Got it. Good day, Liz." He hung up and said to Gregg, "Get dressed, we've got to be at the radio station in 2 hours."