A/N: First person to get the not-so-subtle movie reference gets a cookie!

The engagement party was most definitely the place to be that evening. Of all the places one could have been, the engagement party was by far and away the placiest of all of them. So full of place, it was. Vince had even talked Howard into wearing closed-toed shoes.

The venue was packed tighter than the coach cabin on a ten-hour transatlantic flight, and full of all of Howard and Vince's nearest and dearest, and of course, all the Camden elite, celebrating one last hurrah before their hero was forever off the market. (And that was definitely why they'd come, reasoned Vince, and not at all because he'd deliberately chosen the party's venue to be the place where pretty much everyone who mattered went out of a Saturday night anyway.) Vince was about to get another round in, when he was approached by a pretty, smallish woman with ginger bunches in a loud floral orange pinafore, an unfortunate woolly brown cardigan, and slightly oversized utility boots. She smiled sweetly at him.

"Hiya," she blushed, her tortoiseshell cat-eye spectacles slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose.

"All right," smiled Vince.

"So," she fluttered her eyelashes, tripping slightly over her boots as she failed to lean nonchalantly against the bar. "Umm, I'm Agnes."

"I'm Vince Noir," smiled Vince. "Nice to meet you."

"Vince," she said, desperately avoiding Vince's friendly gaze, shuffling her feet. "I think I'm in love with you. Do you think we could maybe live happily ever after?"

"Aww, I know where you're coming from, but look, everyone fancies me! It's my superpower. I'm the Confuser," replied Vince, with sweeping sexually ambiguous hand gestures.

"Oh, yeah but, do you think we could maybe be in love? Only it'd be really helpful if we were," she smiled awkwardly.

"Yeah, I don't think that's how it works," said Vince, furrowing his brow in deep thought, as if he were trying to work out if that was how it worked.

"Thing is, see, I'm a mermaid," she continued, clutching Vince's hands in her own. "I've been granted human legs for one night, that I may find my true love. If my true love rejects me, I'll be banished to the frozen seas of the Arctic forever, to spend all of eternity alone."

"Oh, Agnes, that's well sad, but I can't be your true love," Vince shrugged apologetically, with a sad smile.

"But it's you, I'm sure of it," said Agnes, desperation creeping into the timbre of her voice.

"I can't be, though! I'm already in love," said Vince, "with him."

Vince gestured in the direction of Howard, who was attempting to impress a small circle of disaffected hipsters with his interpretive dance moves.

"Him?" squinted Agnes. "Really?"

"Yeah, I am," he smiled, losing himself slightly in a moment of schmoopy affection. "Listen, have you tried anybody else? What about, I don't know, that guy?"

Vince gesticulated vaguely in the direction of the far end of the bar.

"Oh my God... that's it. He's the one! Thanks, Vince," she smiled.

Agnes kissed him softly on the cheek, then left him for a solitary figure opposite them, shrouded in darkness and sipping a glass of Baileys.

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when Howard and Vince crashed back into their bedroom after the party. Highlights of the festivities included Bob Fossil's cringe-inducing interpretive dance (which apparently was his way of explaining that that was why he was the Owner of a Lonely Heart), Naboo's heartfelt toast to the happy couple (which went something like "Don't expect me to pay you two ballbags for the week you're taking off to go on honeymoon"), and, of course, Vince's outfit. Vince's outfits were invariably the highlight of any occasion. Vince's outfit was an occasion in itself.

"Good party, Howard?" asked Vince, curling into a supple mirrorball on top of the duvet, like a sexually enthusiastic kitten, only a lot less wrong than that sounds, come to think of it.

"Very good," slurred Howard, rolling gracelessly on the bed and proceeding to maul Vince with uncharacteristic cider-fuelled confidence. "Mmm, happy engagement."

"Happy engagement," giggled Vince, squirming ticklishly.

Vince rolled Howard onto his back, blanketing him in messy kisses along his jawline, then his neck, and his collarbone, working his way downward as he slowly unburdened Howard of his somewhat unfortunately brown shirt.

"Oh, Vincey, Vincey," moaned Howard, writhing in blurry pleasure.

When Vince's hands reached Howard's waistline, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Uh, Vince," he began, in an attempt to stop Vince from continuing, but Vince ventured southward undaunted.

"Well, hello there, you sexual dinosaur," he began, unzipping Howard. It was then that he glanced up, puzzled. "Everything all right?"

"Something's wrong," Howard looked completely and utterly terrified. "My... wankel rotary engine won't... you know, turn over."

Vince had never seen Howard so unabashedly frightened by anything before. Even the time Vince threatened to flush his mint-condition copy of Willie "Jazz Hands" Anderson's extremely rare Jazz Hands Feel Up San Francisco LP down the toilet paled in comparison to this.

"For fuck's sake, it's all right Howard, you've had a long night and a lot to drink, it's normal" shrugged Vince with a sympathetic smile.

"But what if it's broken?" exclaimed Howard, his brow furrowed with concern. "Please still marry me, I've got so much to give!"

"You're just too drunk to fuck, you prinkle. Get a good night's sleep and we'll pick up where we left off in the morning, all right?" Vince rolled his eyes and kicked out of his jumpsuit, snuggling himself down under the duvet.

"Yeah, I guess so," sighed Howard, sitting up, his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. "I'm just going to go get a glass of water before bed."

"All right love," mumbled Vince, rolling over into tipsy slumber.

He was fast asleep and dreaming of a graham cracker canoe trip through a marsh made from marshmallows when Howard swaggered back into bed, abruptly pulling him back into the world of the waking.

"Hello beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling into Vince's hair, his hands sliding under the duvet.

"Go to sleep, Howard," moaned Vince. "It'll be fine. We'll have a proper shag in the morning."

"Howard Moon, sexual dynamo, is not so easily thwarted," protested Howard, fingers tracing lightly over Vince's ribcage. "I'm an animal, baby."

"Yeah, you're like the love-child of a bear and a bunny rabbit mating with a peacock," observed Vince.

"I'll have you know, sir, that I can ride you like a noble stallion," said Howard, gesturing emphatically.

"What, with your sweet little twitchy face? I don't think," scoffed Vince. "Hey, what's that in your hand?"

Before Howard could protest, Vince snatched the object from him, turning to the light of the window to get a proper look at it. Vince squinted at the object, a small plastic bottle with one of those stupid safety lids he could never sort out how to circumvent, which bore the label:

BOOTS

FAST-ACTING PRIAPETAMOL

48 TABLETS FOR THE PRICE OF 36

NOW WITH ADDED OWL BEAKS

"Owl beaks?" squinted Vince, allowing the sudden realization of the significance of said bird parts to wash over him. "Oh Howard, you didn't raid Naboo's magic cabinet for stiffy pills, did you? Have you taken any of these?"

"I… I was about to," mumbled Howard.

Normally, Vince was not against the idea of a little sexy magic or an enhancing spell or two – not that Naboo would let either of them near the magic cabinet in his room when he was in – but erections were serious business, and not something to be meddled with lightly.

"Did you even read the side effects of these things?" asked Vince, turning the bottle over in his hands. "'May cause: drowsiness, delayed irritability, insomnia, priapism' - guess that more or less goes without saying - 'oily discharge, glossolalia, persistent bioluminescence, frequent urination, dry mouth, facial paralysis, and wings.' Wings? That could be quite cool, actually. I've always wanted to see what I'd look like with wings."

"All right, all right, I get it," sighed Howard, blushing as red as someone who has just ingested 564372894.1 Scotch bonnets.

"Good," said Vince. "And remember, your flappy paddle gearbox -"

"Wankel rotary engine," interjected Howard.

"Your penis is fine," Vince continued. "We'll get up in the morning, have loads of really brilliant sexual times, and then make pancakes in our pyjamas. It'll be well genius!"

"Yeah, it will be," said Howard, waggling his eyebrows flirtatiously.

"Yeah, it will be," Vince rolled his eyes. "Night, Howard."

"Night Vince," said Howard, snuggling down. "Uhh, listen, I -"

but he stopped, and smiled to himself instead, as Vince had already fallen back asleep.

"Vince Noir, I'll love you 'til the day I die," he whispered, and closed his eyes for the night.