As Others See

By Jedishampoo

Rating: M. Some language, sex.

Summary: A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

Author's Notes: This is mostly an excuse to play with the people and characterizations involved and to humiliate them in some ways. Well, that was sort of a by-product of the story. WARNING: Sex. Not TOO explicit at all; but this is ffn so I'm being careful by switching the rating. :) I give this warning not to be prurient but simply to alert those who want all fluffy kittens and may be upset. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

x x x

Chapter 7

Howell lounged on the bed in Howell's room, idly thumbing through some sort-of-familiar books of magic, and thanking his lucky stars for blessed privacy.

Away from the eyes of others he'd not needed the flattering suit. So he'd shut the door, found a comfy white lawn nightshirt, lit a few lamps, and prepared to wait out the night.

It was Calcifer's eyes that he'd mostly been avoiding. The little orange demon was figuring things out, and Howell was not yet ready for them to be figured. At least, unless he himself was doing the figuring. He flipped through a few pages in one of the larger, illustrated tomes, releasing a slightly musty, old-bookish scent into the air. These books were interesting but he doubted he'd find anything useful in them. He could only pass the time until tomorrow when he could apply to the Wizard Suliman for assistance.

Truthfully, he was hiding from Sophie as well. She was too attentive and affectionate, and he was too conditioned to be attracted to her. She kept getting so close, and tempting him with something he wanted but couldn't yet have.

So it was with no small measure of exasperation that he heard the doorknob turn and the door open, and saw Sophie slide through the gap. Who would have thought he'd have to lock it? Howell wondered. But not for long. She shut the door behind her, and the room suddenly seemed smaller than it should have.

"What--" he started to ask are you doing here? and then realized that it would have been an incredibly stupid question. So he recovered with, "is up, Sophie?"

"What a silly question," she said anyway. She set one hand at her hip and pointed the other at the side of the bed nearest the door. "Get over here. Sit," she ordered. "Let me look at your head."

"I'm fine," Howell said. He didn't want to get any closer. She was wearing a thin sort of robe-- over what he did not know-- belted at the waist, and somehow in this room, with the bed, it all seemed more uncomfortably intimate than it had when he'd been naked in the tub and she'd merely been doing laundry.

"Now," she said, and jabbed her finger on the bedspread a couple of times for emphasis. "Or I'll come over there. Let me see your head!"

She'd probably do it, Howell decided. She was being uncharacteristically bossy, acting sort of like his Sophie. He had little choice. So he scooted over to dangle his legs over the edge of the bed, making sure the nightshirt covered everything, and prepared for his medical inspection.

The inspection wasn't very clinical. Her fingers were gentle against his scalp, light and sensual as they brushed at his hair. Even more so was the way she pressed the top of his head into her shoulder so she could bend over him. He was trapped in a little circle of her warmth and the scent of freshly-washed skin. A tendril or two of her hair brushed damply against his cheek and he realized she'd probably just bathed.

"I am a wizard, in case you've forgotten," Howell said, to break the uneasy moment.

"I haven't, Love," she said in a tone that was no-nonsense and sweet at the same time. "How could I? Every day an adventure of some kind."

She didn't know the half of it. "As you can see, I'm fine," he said aloud. "So you can--"

"I see," she said before he could finish, and kissed his forehead. Her fingers slid down to sit on his shoulders.

She was very close. Howell looked up at her, hoping his expression was not too pathetic, and wondering what it would take to make her leave. Again he toyed with the idea of telling her who he really was, and again he discarded it. Only a few more hours, he hoped, and he would be back where he belonged. She need not know until it was too late to punish him for his deception.

"Poor Howl," Sophie continued, smiling tenderly. "Grumpy again, and here I'd promised to show you something."

"What?" Howell asked before thinking.

Sophie took a step back and Howell was very thankful. But only for a moment, for she grabbed one of the dangling silken ends of her robe-tie and flipped it in his face rather saucily. When he didn't take the bait she puffed out an exasperated breath, setting her silver bangs flying, and pulled at it herself. Howell stared, helpless and transfixed as she opened the robe.

He told himself he was very thankful when she dropped it to reveal a pink nightdress. Not for long, though, because the gown was somewhat revealing in itself. It was long, reaching to the floor, but the sleeves were mere pink straps and the bodice sheer, and tight. It snugged against the curves of her little breasts, and he could see the slightly darker shape of her nipples beneath it.

Howell was gaping, he knew, and he felt little surges of fever-heat radiate throughout his limbs; whether it was from arousal or embarrassment he wasn't sure. He dragged his eyes up to her face.

Her cheeks were as rosy as her nightdress, and she dropped her gaze from his. Still, her words were as bold as her actions. "I made it. Aren't you going to tell me what you think?"

"Pretty," Howell said quite truthfully, and swallowed.

"Thank you," she replied, and took a step closer until she stood between his dangling, bare legs. With him sitting and her standing they were comparable in height. Her hands clasped his shoulders again and she wouldn't look him in the eye but stared down between their bodies, silent and waiting.

Howell had to still his hands flat on the bedspread, not allowing himself to touch her, to see what she might feel like. She was formed just like his Sophie, but she wasn't her and it wouldn't be fair for Howell to take advantage of their resemblance. Sure, she was practically throwing herself at him. But that was only because she thought she was with the man who loved her.

"I'm pretty tired," he lied, trying to make his tone as soft and apologetic as possible. He wanted her gone, but found he couldn't bear to hurt her feelings.

"Oh," Sophie said, and laugh-coughed, embarrassed. "Oh. I'll let you sleep, then."

But she didn't leave right away, as a woman spurned might. She patted his shoulders once, twice, then leaned over to kiss him.

She'd kissed him before but this was different, worse than before because of their situation. It was unique and endlessly fascinating every time, it seemed. Still, Howell told himself he couldn't bear to embarrass her further, had to let her down easy; and so he kissed her back. Just for a moment, he told himself.

Except this time she opened her mouth, and barely touched his lips with the tip of her tongue. Howell couldn't resist a taste. And yes, the inside of her mouth was as excitingly slippery and sweet as Sophie's.

For his Sophie had let him kiss her this way once, for about half a minute, before she'd slapped him. This one, however, only made happy little noises and pressed closer, and Howell realized he'd let his hands roam over her back, and she was pliant and warm and it had been a very long time since he'd been wrapped around a half-naked woman in such a way, and it was lovely.

His Sophie was playing by the old rules, frustrating him with her constant company. This one, in this world, should have been doing likewise. Yet this world's Howell, despite apparently being such a nice guy, had managed to get his girl into bed with him. Howell had to congratulate him for that, at least.

The thought didn't last long; those delightful breasts he'd so admired earlier were pressed against his chest, and he found that one of his hands had slipped around her side, and that his thumb was tracing the curve of her soft, feminine flesh. This only provoked her to moan and lean into his hand, and gasp little excited breaths into his mouth.

How often had Howell looked at Sophie-- even this one-- and imagined holding her this way, getting his hands on those womanly curves? Here was his chance, half-unwrapped and shoved into his arms like a gift from the heavens. And yet she didn't know who he was.

As desirable and willing as she was, what he wanted to do was wrong. If there was a Hell, then Howell would go to Hell for that, surely.

He didn't want to find out about Hell. He yanked his hands back to the safety of the bedcovers to keep from touching her further. He would enchant her, put a spell on her that would make her back out the door and forget she'd ever been here.

And just then she backed off and Howell wondered if he'd whispered the spell without knowing. But no, she was only reaching up to untie one of the straps to her nightdress. They had ties. He hadn't noticed that earlier. And she was undoing one of them.

Howell stared, transfixed as a trapped animal once more, as the thin, blush-colored material fell away. His brain couldn't conjure the words of an appropriate spell. Her breast was as lovely and round as he'd imagined. One touch wouldn't hurt. Howell was going to Hell.

He clasped the warm weight of her flesh in his fingers, feeling the delightful scrape of her taut little nipple against his sensitive palm. Then before he realized it he was kissing the other breast, running his tongue around sweet, soap-tasting skin, and she moaned and called him her love.

And she was so many things and Howell felt them all; she was his Sophie but not at the same time; what could be, what could have been, everything all in that moment. Then her gown had fallen to the floor and she was gloriously naked and trying to crawl into his lap. Her fingers crept under the collar of his night-shirt at his nape, and they were enchantment on his skin, the sorcery of the flesh. And he was going to Hell and he didn't care, because he wanted her, painfully in fact, and she thought he was the man who loved her. And for the moment he was; he loved her desperately.

"Sophie," he said, and rolled her onto the bed under his propped elbows. And she only said "yes" and wrapped her thighs about his hips and her fingers traced more of those sorcerous lines up his sides, under his nightshirt.

In that moment she wasn't any of the things he'd imagined her to be-- not a sensitive girl or a motherly, housekeeper-sort-- just a passionate woman, unaffected and sensual, a deadly combination. Howell closed his eyes and let sensation take over, buried his face in the cool damp of her scented hair, heard her soft voice (Sophie's voice) encouraging him as he moved inside her, felt the tight grip of her around his aching, sensitive flesh. It was all just too perfect.

It might have been better if it had been a little less perfect. If she had just lain there, not tried to move, not made those lovely little noises-- After only a few minutes of this blissful activity, Howell felt his gut tighten, that breathless moment, and then the lovely and yet unavoidable release.

It had indeed been too long. He was like some green university lad, too quick on the draw. He couldn't look at her, he couldn't. He collapsed on top of her, breathless, and buried his face in the covers above her shoulders. And waited. He was sure his cheeks were flaming.

But there were no recriminations, nothing awkward, nothing he deserved; only soothing fingers on his back and the sound of breathing.

After what must have been a few minutes Sophie's gentle voice broke in on his humiliation.

"Howl, are you all right?" she whispered.

"Yes. Why?" was all he could manage.

Another few seconds passed. She spoke again, and now there was gentle teasing in her voice. "You hadn't moved a muscle in five minutes, at least. I thought perhaps you'd died."

Only of shame, Howell thought. He had plenty of reasons, after all. He didn't say it aloud. But he did roll to his side so she could move, and he lay facing the general vicinity of her chin. He was a coward. What would the other guy do? Probably say he was sorry. Howell supposed he owed her something. "Sophie, I didn't mean to do that," he said. He hardly choked on the words at all.

"What do you mean?"

She didn't know? was Howell's first thought. His second was, well, maybe she was used to it. Maybe the other fellow did this to her all the time, and she didn't know any better. The thought was enough to make Howell feel a little bit better, at least. He risked a glance up into her eyes. They were warm brown in the golden lamplight. She was smiling.

"What a day," he said, with plenty of feeling.

"My poor love," Sophie said, and clasped her fingers around his back, under his nightshirt. "Was it difficult?"

It had been very difficult, but he couldn't really tell her why. And now he wanted to die and yet she was expecting to be held and talked to.

And why shouldn't she? She didn't realize she'd just given her body to a stranger. And he hadn't even removed his nightshirt. He couldn't think of anything to say.

Her free hand, the one not buried underneath him, slid around to pat him on his stomach. "I think you've gained some weight. I approve."

Howell would swear his heart stopped. He was mortified. He couldn't even breathe for a few moments. Was she saying he was FAT? How could she say such a thing? Finally he croaked out, "What?!"

Sophie gasp-laughed, and to make it immeasurably, infinitely worse, she squeezed his side. "Don't look so horrified! I like it. You needed a few pounds."

Howell just stared at her, mouth agape. He wanted to scream. Was his humiliation never to end? She looked so earnest, and her caressing fingers were playing merry havoc with the nerves in his abdomen. How could she look so earnest, and touch him in that way, and yet say such a thing? "Eh," he meeped.

"Oh, Love, I'm sorry!" she said then, and squeezed his bottom, and kissed his chin. "I know you're tired."

Howell knew he was going to glare at her, so he rolled over onto his back and shut his eyes. He may have been royally miffed but he couldn't scream at her, not after what he'd done. "You can't even know the time I've had of it," he told her, quite truthfully.

"That bad?" She was kissing his shoulder. It was meant to be comforting, but it was a bit tickling and arousing.

"That stupid spell. I knew it was nothing but trouble. I'll never be able to face the king again. I'll have to run away."

"Oh, is that who it was for? I'd wondered." She was running her hand along his hip.

"Uh, yes," Howell said. He'd almost let something slip, there. She was distracting him with all her touching and kissing and nakedness.

"Well, you'll figure something else out."

"I doubt it. That's the one. What a load of trouble."

"Poor Howl." Her fingers were running alongside the inside of his thigh. It was more than he could take.

"Would you stop saying that?"

His tone was nasty; her fingers and the kissing stopped all at once. She was silent. Howell opened his eyes to see an awful, surprised look at on her face, like a child that had been slapped. Her mouth was slightly open.

"Huh," she said. "I'm sorry." She rolled over, facing away from him, and lay there for a minute or so.

Howell felt awful. He was some kind of monster. Not only was he deceiving her terribly, but he was being an ass.

Sure, he was frustrated at being stuck here in the wrong world. And she'd said you were fat, an evil, inner voice reminded him. Contrite Howell remembered that well, yes, so the other Howell's pants had been a little tight on him. He was still getting used to the existence of a contrite Howell. He didn't know why this woman made him feel so guilty.

But she'd cared for his injury, given him fluffy towels, made food for him, and had given him her amazing body sweetly and sensually and without reservation. All he did was take, take, take, and then snap at her over something that was not her fault. He was going to Hell.

He owed her another-- something. "Sophie--" he began.

"Don't," she said. She sat up and dangled her legs off the edge of the bed, still facing away from him, then stood. Outrage and hurt showed in every inch of her expressive little figure. "I should have left you alone. I just thought--" and here it seemed that her voice cracked a bit. She shook her head, silver locks flying.

"Sophie--" Howell began again, reaching out to her.

"Oh, never mind." Sophie bent over, giving him a lovely view of her rounded backside. He was a lecher. He was a monster. She was digging around on the floor beside the bed. "Where's my nightgown? Where's my robe? Argh!"

Howell scrambled over to the edge of the bed and caught her, wrapping his arms around her, and buried his forehead in the nape of her neck. Her hair hadn't even dried.

"Sophie. I-- I wasn't myself." Howell couldn't believe that was the best he could come up with. At least it was true, in a way. But he was going to make a terrible husband. Still, he felt some of the tension leave her muscles.

"I knew you were tired," she said.

And that made Howell feel even worse. He kissed her shoulder, the salt-sweat-soap-skin-taste of her. The other Howell was going to kill him. And he deserved it. On top of all his other sins, he'd made the other fellow's girl cry.

But he found that now, after making love with her, it had become for him something beyond 'the other fellow's girl.' Now it was intimate, personal. Between himself and Sophie. Not just "this Sophie," but Sophie.

"Look at me," he whispered. Howell turned her around to face him in the circle of his arms. It was a parody of their earlier position, when she'd first come into the room. He'd done the wrong thing before, and he sensed he was going to do it again. But this time, he was bloody well going to do it correctly.

Sophie gave him a little smile to let him know she might be willing to forgive him. The sun shone; Howell's entire body tingled with its light. He thought of her wrapped around him, and of the taste of her skin, and felt a tingling, throbbing ache in his belly. He wanted her, more than before.

He hadn't even kissed her properly. And he wanted to. If he was going to be murdered, then at least wanted to make it all worth it, and to do his best to make her feel better.

"Dear Sophie," he whispered, and cradled her cheeks in his fingers, admiring her pale, lovely skin in the lamplight, and the way its warm glow gave her hair the barest sheen of gold. And this time he kissed her tenderly rather than all in a schoolboy rush, and savored the feeling of the slow sweep of her tongue against his, and the silken feel of her flesh under his fingertips. And this time, when he lay Sophie back onto the top of the gold bedcovers it was not the same at all, just infinitely more lovely to feel her stomach muscles moving under his and to taste the sweat on her shoulder. For bits and moments through it all, he was madly in love with her. He said things, things that meant everything and nothing, and he forgot them as soon as he'd uttered them. And when he heard her gasps and cries and felt the tight contraction of her climax around him, he thought it the most wonderful thing in the world.

And later, as he drifted off with his arm draped over her naked, sleeping body, he wondered if this was what it would be like with his own dear Sophie. And he wondered whether or not he could ever learn to be a good husband. And if there was a Hell.

x x x

End Chapter 7.

AGAIN, I do VERY MUCH appreciate your comments and reviews, positive or negative, all is good and HELPFUL. This scene is actually what made me think of writing the story. What do you think? How about the way the Sophies are portrayed? It's been weird writing it due to everything having to be in the Howell/Howl's POVs, and in one case the Sophie doesn't know what's going on. Yet. Heh.

Next: back to two worlds per chapter; sorry, but these two were longish chapters and I had to make some last-minute changes to this one based on events a couple of chapters down the road.