Well somehow this piece of smut gained momentum in my brain and now there's a second chapter.
sThe usual disclaimers apply as well as this important one: the sexytimes in this chapter are part of a dream and do not reflect realistic intercourse. Howard reads too many trashy romance novels for his own good, which I think is going to be an important point in where this story is heading.
In an another bed, in another city, another man was also suffering from the effects of a dream. Howard sat on the edge of the bed in his tiny flat and ran his fingers through his lengthening hair. He stared at the wall, at the floor, at the open suitcase in the corner, and then at the digital clock on his bedside table, trying to calm his breathing but to no avail. He watched the blinking red lights as they told him that it was eight minutes to three and tried to forget what he'd been dreaming. What he'd been doing in his dream. What he'd been doing... with Vince.
It wasn't the first time he'd had the dream. Back home, when all that separated his bed from Vince's was a few meters of carpet, the dream would creep up on him on an average of once a month. Since he'd left Vince and London behind in favour of Jurgen and Denmark it had happened every night. It was bad enough that his days were filled with the humiliation of filming Jurgen's crab advert and trying to negotiate his way around a city where he didn't speak the language but every night for a week he'd woken up in a sweat with an erection that refused to go away on its own.
He checked the clock again: two minutes to three. He had to be up in three hours and he wouldn't be getting back to sleep at this rate. And today Jurgen had promised to show him his latest project, the one he'd promised to Howard in return for being the Angry Crab of Trapped Wind. He really needed his sleep, which meant only one thing.
Taking a shuddering breath Howard lay back on his narrow bed and threw the covers over himself. He wasn't entirely comfortable watching himself do this, even though he knew these days that he wouldn't end up blind, it still felt rather shameful. He let his hand creep down and slip under the elastic of his flannel trousers, breathing sharply through his nose. His body jerked as his fingers, so cold they were practically numb, touched the painful heat of his erection and he groaned when he finally wrapped his hand around his throbbing length and gave a few tugs.
He'd never really enjoyed this the way he'd been led to believe men were supposed to. It got him off but Howard was a romantic. He wanted to be serenaded and taken carer of and worshipped and, well, loved. There wasn't a lot of love going on between him and his hand. But in the dreams...
Howard closed his eyes and summoned the scene. He'd been through the dream so many times it was easy to bring to his mind and he settled himself more comfortably against his pillow. He could almost smell the dream, it was that familiar, and he gave his cock a tight, delicious, squeeze as he let himself get carried away by the invented memory.
He looked up from his book as the bathroom door opened, watching the steam drift out slowly, curling in the cooler air and seeming to invite him to look. Somewhere, quietly, a Peggy Lee record played and the smell of Vince's coconut bodywash drifted into the room.
When Vince himself appeared in the doorway, his chest was bare and slightly damp, his hair glossy - combed but not styled - and only a small towel covered his more intimate body parts. He walked forward leisurely, letting Howard take in his beauty, and came to stand between Howard's legs in front of the sofa.
"Alright, Howard?" he asked in a sultry voice, running his fingers through Howard's hair and caressing his scalp.
Howard nodded but couldn't look up. All he could see was Vince's towel: the weave of the flannel, that one loose thread, the way it curved over the swelling beneath. It was only a towel but it was mesmerizing too and he wanted desperately to see what was beneath - but couldn't. Didn't dare. Vince's hands tightened in his hair and guided him forward until his face was pushed against the towel, and the hardness of Vince's manhood. Howard let out a moan, which Vince answered with a wry chuckle, circling his hips and using Howard's face to create the pleasurable friction he needed.
"Are you ready, Howard?" Vince purred and Howard nodded, whimpering as Vince stroked his hair and pushed his hardness against his mouth. Howard opened his lips, even though the towel was still in the way, and tried to imagine he could taste, even ever so faintly, what was so essentially Vince.
"I'm ready," he gasped. "I'm ready, Vince," but whined when Vince let go of his hair and stepped away. His hands were gripping the sofa desperately but he didn't dare move them. He didn't know what he was doing. He needed Vince to tell him what was supposed to happen.
"Knees on the couch, Howard" Vince urged him, his pale hand wandering to the corner of his towel.
Howard turned and did as he was told as his chest heaved and the sweat began to prickle on his body. He heard the towel drop to the floor behind him but he didn't turn to look. He couldn't look. He heard the sound of Vince stepping up behind him and spread his thighs a little wider, enjoying the appreciative exhalation he heard from the other man. And then Vince touched him.
Vince's hands were warm and sure as they trailed down his back to massage his arse and Howard tilted his hips to help Vince along, trying to keep some measure of control and failing as he felt his friend's fingers rub and squeeze his flesh in a way that made his whole body begin to throb with need. When a hand slid down and around the inside of his thigh to rub over his balls Howard moaned loudly and Vince's throaty laugh made him delerious.
"You're ready now, Howard," Vince whispered, leaning forward to suck on Howard's neck as his erection pushed firmly between his arse cheeks.
"Yes," Howard answered as he felt Vince push slowly and so smoothly inside until he was completely filled.
This was what he needed, Howard knew. This was the way it was supposed to be. And as Vince began to thrust in and out of him, telling Howard he was beautiful and perfect and doing so well, Howard couldn't help the whisper that escaped his lips.
"I love you, Vince."
Howard opened his eyes with a shudder and his orgasm hit a moment later. The clenching and spasming of his muscles was more intense than usual and Howard tried to hold on to the fantasy of having Vince inside him for another minute. It felt so good, even though it was no more than his imagination, and he promised himself (again) that one day he would actually try to replicate the feeling with a finger, or anything at all. But not tonight.
He tried to breathe through the aftershocks and not think about the four words the dream always ended with. He didn't love Vince. Not like that. It was just a dream, just a fantasy that happened to involve Vince because he was the person Howard saw the most during the day and was therefore the easiest for his brain to conjure up at night. Simple. Except that he hadn't seen Vince for a week. And every romance novel he'd ever read (and he'd read a lot!) seemed to suggest that the person you loved was the one who invaded your dreams and stayed in your thoughts even when cruel destiny separated you.
Howard screwed his face up in denial. He couldn't love Vince. Vince had done everything he possibly could to push Howard away, even before he'd kissed him on his birthday to get out of being killed... And said he loved Howard... and claimed he would never love again...
Howard opened his eyes slowly and reached for the tissues. Was there possibly something more to Vince's actions than he'd initially thought?
His body sent a pulse of need from his brain to his groin, exhausted though he was, at the thought of Vince dreaming of him the way he dreamed of Vince but he was too tired to follow the thought through to its conclusion. He couldn't love Vince. It was twelve minutes past three and he had to be up in three hours to begin his career as a serious actor. All of this would just have to wait. Until around the same time tomorrow night probably. Howard rolled over and groaned. He needed to get this out of his system somehow.