Hey so this story will hopefully just be a bit of Howince fluff but who knows what could happen later. This is my first fic so I hope it's not terrible ...
Disclaimer: The Mighty Boosh does not belong to me. It belongs to the gorgeous Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding.
--
I'm your electro nightmare
Bright clothes, black hair
My suit is sparkly silver
I'll trap you with my piercing glare
Vince was in his element. A new band, another first gig and he could tell that the crowd were enjoying themselves. He was proud of the lyrics. He'd written them himself in an attempt to appear darker, he was going for yet another new look ... although he wasn't quite sure what it was yet. All he knew was that 'dark' was almost certainly going to be favoured in the next issue of 'Cheekbone'. The song ended almost too quickly and the band was brought to the end of their set. Vince turned around to give the thumbs up to the rest of the band, they were obviously pleased but a little confused at Vince's over-excitement. Of course this was one of the first gigs he had been involved with where something hadn't gone wrong. There was the time Howard was possessed by the Spirit of Jazz ... and the time Vince himself had started scatting... He didn't mind that they didn't share his enthusiasm though, because he was happy.
--
Vince bent down to get the key from under the doormat - he wasn't trusted with his own one - and tried to open the door quietly. Shutting it softly, he tip-toed up the stairs so as not to wake Howard (he knew that Naboo and Bollo would still be out DJ-ing) and crept almost silently into bed. Sleep came fairly quickly and he slipped into dreams of angry flowers and horror stories written on books made of cheese, for double the nightmares. The kind of dreams only Vince Noir could have.
--
Howard woke up. He felt calm and sleepy, all he wanted to do was stay in bed all day and listen to his jazz records. Maybe he could finish the book he was reading. As usual though, Howard doubted he would be able to get that kind of peace and quiet. He heard a knock on his door, confirming his thoughts and without waiting for an answer, Vince bounded into the older man's room.
"HowardHowardHoward!"
"Yes, Vince?" Howard replied through a yawn.
"Last night was AMAZING! You should have been there."
"You wouldn't let me come, remember? Said I would 'cramp your style'."
"Oh. Sorry, Howard. Well you should come next time, yeah? Tonight at the Velvet Onion."
"Mmhm ok. Now get out my room."
Howard was happy that Vince's gig had gone well but he was too tired to be enthusiastic about it, he never understood how the smaller man could stay out all night and still have enough energy for both of them in the morning. Then do it all again the next night. Howard stretched his arms out and decided that since he was up now and wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, he'd pick up the phone next to his bed and dial Lester Corncrake's number. Answer machine.
"Please leave your message after the beep."
"Hi, it's Howard. Yeah, um, can't make Miles Davis Night tonight .. got something more important to do."
He'd probably never admit it to Vince but he loved watching the smaller man on stage, he looked powerful and in control. Although Vince was already confident, the added element of him being on stage meant that he was cockier and a little more manly, making Howard feel a bit ... vulnerable around him.