This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction and I'm not sure what I think. It's a songfic, but I'm not giving you the lyrics. I used to hate songfics, but I've read some really good ones recently and thought I'd try one in a different way. The song is "Cross my Heart" by Marianna's Trench and it always reminds me of Howard and Vince.
Cross My Heart
'So here's another day I'll spend away from you. Not that I mind. No sir, not the pillar of manhood known as Howard Moon. I'm not in the least affected by some Electro fairy going off on an edgy rock tour and leaving me alone. Not at all.' Howard stood behind the counter in the shop wearing an expression that was causing passerbys to become physically ill on the Nabooutique's front step. His inner workings were desperately trying to convince him that he in no way missed Vince. Howard didn't miss his jokes, or his ridiculous outfits or his huge blue eyes. He especially didn't miss the way those eyes lit up when they fell on his face, or how they would follow the jazz maverick around the shop sparkling and seducing him. He realized that he was slowly crushing a pencil from Stationary Village into dust and let out a weary sigh. He let the massacred pencil drop into the bin and went to turn the sign around to closed, reflecting that it hardly mattered that it was two hours too early to close shop because he hadn't encountered a single customer all day. He climbed the stairs wearily and went to the kitchen to fix a cup of tea. Vince had joined a band called the Electric Floor Tiles, or some other tripe, a few months ago, and they had become preposterously popular almost overnight. Since then it seemed that Vince was never home, between tours and interviews Howard hardly saw him anymore. He found himself missing Vince more than he would have thought possible. Having never been apart from him for longer than a week this much time spent apart was taking an immense toll on Howard. Worse was the fact that he and Vince were quite a bit more than friends, and had been for a while. Howard refused to let his mind drift back to the night that they had realized they had both been fooling themselves and given in to how they felt. He found it too hard to repress the sadness of not having Vince with him when he thought of things like that. Howard knew he wasn't being very manly about the whole issue; in fact he was being a bit of a baby, moping about the flat instead of being happy for Vince and his band. The problem was that Howard missed everything, big and small, that was Vince. He missed the stupid little things like that smile Vince got when he thought he was being sneaky, the way his face could light up at the smallest thing, and even the way that he had kicked Howard out of bed at three am on the first day of his very first tour to straighten his hair. And the times back when he first went away when the phone would ring and Howard would hear Vince's voice uttering the despicable and delectable things that he would do to him, that made Howard turn bright red and fumble with the phone every time. He felt his cheeks warming at those memories, and the others that they inevitably led to. Vince didn't have time to call anymore. Howard moaned and slumped down on the couch, flipping on the telly. There was a documentary on Hot Wee-Wee Jefferson on, which he was disturbed to find didn't excite him at all. He covered his eyes with his hand and settled down to a long night of trying to forget about Vince. Howard wondered if, in his seedy little hotel room, Vince felt even remotely the same as he did. He sank deeper into the cushions, hating himself more than usual. Next time Vince went on tour he resolved to be a true man of action and say something. Obviously he couldn't ask Vince to stay and give up his dream, but maybe he could ask to go with him on tour, just to be near him. The request, Howard decided, had to be potent, but simple so Vince would understand all the words. After some thought Howard settled on "Take me with you. I start to miss you," which, considering his dark past filled with cream poetry, he reckoned wasn't half bad.
Vince threw himself into the hard bed in yet another nondescript hotel in whichever town his band happened to be in. He didn't really pay much attention to those sorts of things, preferring to spend most of his time getting his look perfect. All the hotels basically looked the same to him, so that didn't help much either. Though he would never admit it to anyone the rock n' roll lifestyle wasn't really what he thought it would be. In fact he spent most of his time wishing he could just go home. He used to love being a star. He loved the thrill he got from the crowd and the lights and the noise. He had loved being wanted by entire crowds of screaming people, all of them loving how he looked and wishing that they could get closer to him. It was well genius. But now all he felt was tired. He was tired of all the fake people and all the fake love and fake glamour. Sure, he looked fantastic, but music wasn't as fun without Howard there writing it and playing it. Vince missed the high he used to get from being a star. The high that now only came when he was with Howard. He basically just missed Howard. Vince sighed into his pillow. He didn't want to spend another night alone in a single bed. He found himself wondering what Howard was doing, and if he missed him. Of course he did! Who wouldn't? But Vince frowned as he realized that he missed Howard just as much as he assumed Howard missed him. He wondered if Howard was jealous of the attention he was getting from all of his fans. Vince knew that he always started to doubt himself when Vince wasn't around. 'He shouldn't though, he's the sexiest man I know,' Vince thought, groaning as he thought of Howard kissing him, his hands stroking his skin and teasing him until he thought he would explode. He wondered how in the world they had gone so long without shagging back when they were just friends. Vince closed his eyes and thought of all the other reasons he missed Howard besides the (mind blowing) sex. He scowled into his pillow and wished harder than he had ever wished before that Howard would come and save him.
'Right, act natural,' Howard thought, tugging at the hem of his Hawaiian shirt. Vince was coming home. He would be walking through the door any minute and Howard felt a bit sick. He was always a strange mixture of nerves, excitement and bone aching happiness when Vince was due home. He wondered vaguely if he should have stuck with a simple nutmeg shade shirt before remembering that Vince hated all of his clothes equally. This thought somehow made Howard slightly less nervous, after all it was the same old Vince, not some new stranger that was coming home. At least Howard hoped it was. He paced the floor anxiously, wondering if he should head down to the shop and meet him at the door or stay up in the flat and act nonchalant. He started as he heard the door downstairs creak open, making his decision for him. Howard was hyperaware of the sound of Chelsea boots crossing the floor, and then climbing the stairs. When Vince came into view his smile was radiant and Howard twitched in a distinctly non-nonchalant manner. Suddenly he too was smiling and in an instant his arms were full of Vince and a pair of warm, glossed lips were pressed up to his. Though Howard hadn't left, he felt like he had himself just returned home. Suddenly Vince's tongue was in his mouth and Howard moaned softly. When they finally broke apart for air Howard asked "How was the tour?" Vince's eyes sparkled and his smile was purely wicked as he leaned up and whispered "Come to the bedroom and I'll tell you all about it," into an extremely aroused Howard's ear. Howard didn't hear the details of the tour until much, much later.
'Less than a week,' Vince thought angrily. Less than a bloody week of being where he belonged before the twats in his band decided it was time for another fucking tour. He was packing the third of his trunks with Howard sullenly watching him from their bed. He chucked clothes into his case as haphazardly as he dared, though he made sure that none of them got wrinkled in the process. He looked up at Howard and was surprised by the look of desperation on his face. At least Vince assumed it was desperation, although it looked more like a cross between pain, sadness and the face one would pull when they caught a whiff the Crack Fox. Vince shuddered a little at that before going over to the bed and sitting beside Howard. "What's wrong?" he asked, all concern and tenderness, though a part of his mind was still a bit focused on making sure he had brought every outfit he would need. He knew Howard missed him when he went away, but Vince knew Howard wanted him to have whatever he wanted. 'All I realy want is you,' Vince thought in frustration. 'Just ask me to stay and I will,' he silently willed Howard. For a minute it looked as though Howard might say something, but then he seemed to lose his nerve and simply replied "Nothing little man." Vince nodded, wishing that Howard had said something like "Don't go, I need you," or something else equally as soppy. Anything to let him know that he wouldn't be disappointed if he left the band and never looked back. The last thing Vince wanted to do was disappoint Howard. He pressed his lips against Howard's, feeling a spark that thrilled him to his core and made his toes curl. A few minutes later Howard broke away gasping for breath. Vince smiled and got up to pack the rest of his clothes, wishing he could just say sod the band and stay with the dishevelled looking man panting on his bed.
Howard was driving Vince to the train and driving himself insane. In his head a mantra of his cleverly crafted sentence was running through his head. 'Take me with you I start to miss you.' Unfortunately, he just couldn't bring himself to say it. He was scared Vince would just laugh, or stare at him that way he sometimes did, like he was the stupidest man on the planet. Vince fidgeted uncomfortably beside him, probably feeling awkward in the thick, laden silence of the car. All too soon Howard pulled up at the train station. He helped Vince unpack his trunks, and then stood awkwardly, staring at Vince. "Well, I guess I'll see you around," he finally said, cursing himself as soon as the stupid words crossed his lips. The mantra was getting louder and louder, as though a crowd of people was screaming inside his head. "Ya, I'll see ya," Vince replied looking... what? Sad? Howard wasn't sure. Vince turned and struggled with his luggage. When he had figured out how to carry it he began to walk away from Howard, haltingly because of the sheer mass of trunks he was laden down with. The screaming in Howard's head was reaching an all time high. This was it, it was now or never. He opened his mouth to call Vince back when he suddenly felt lips devouring his mouth hungrily. He felt a shocked jolt of lust spike through him as a tongue found its way into his mouth and Vince's hand grabbed his arse firmly. Vince pulled away, looking Howard straight in his tiny eyes. "Take me home Howard. I don't wanna be alone tonight." Howard thought he might faint with happiness. "What about your band?" he asked breathlessly. "I don't care about the band, I just want you," Vince replied, his eyes full of some emotion that made it difficult for Howard to breathe and squeezed at his heart. Howard beamed. "Okay little man, let's go home."
Hopefully you enjoyed it, though I feel like it is too thought centered with not enough dialogue. Oh well, thanks for reading!