Bent Part 10
Title: Bent
Author: Concupid
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: R
Warnings: dub-con (manipulation not violence), very, very mild violence, language, angst, suggestion of emotional abuse, manipulation, general unpleasantness
Summary: Vince reflects on all the things Howard doesn’t know
Howard was holding him tight and gently rocking him back and forth. The motion was soothing and it made Vince feel anchored. He’d just fucked Howard twice and the Northerner was full of post-coital love and sweetness. Vince considered all the things he could say to destroy Howard in his vulnerable state, all the half-jokes that would leave his friend shaken and ashamed.
“How was that? Better than Old Gregg?”
“I’ve been getting tips from Kodiak Jack.”
“Next time, I’ll let you wear your little slave costume so you can feel pretty.”
Comments that could be passed off as harmless jokes, but that would target Howard’s deepest fears and insecurities so that he wouldn’t dare fight back. That was how Vince could make sure Howard never tried to leave.
Vince punched himself hard in the leg. The pain momentarily made him feel in control, but then Howard clutched at his hand and begged him to stop. Howard was so sweet and caring that Vince wanted to make him cry. He wanted to break Howard down until he couldn’t lift his head unless Vince told him to. Then he’d never go on another solo mission again.
“Don’t worry about it, Howard. You’ll get better with practice. Everyone is a bit rubbish at first.”
“Good thing no woman was ever interested. The world would have lost a natural bottom.”
“Looks like your dad was right.”
Vince would never have to bottom again. A few well-placed comments and Howard would be putty in his hands. It was obscenely easy to manipulate Howard. With the Goth girls, Vince had barely tried. He was aiming to get a little of Howard’s attention (away from his stupid jazz club) but instead, Howard ended up standing awkwardly still while Vince caressed his hair and took the piss out of him. Then Howard ran off to squeeze himself into one of Vince’s outfits. He’d expected Howard to balk at the suggestion of eyeliner, but he’d gone full Goth at Vince’s suggestion. He was like a whipped puppy.
On the island, he’d tried to talk reason to Howard with no result, but it was nothing to get Howard’s attention once he played to Howard’s weaknesses.
And Howard had so many weaknesses. Vince snatched his arm back from Howard and punched himself in the thigh. He could have used his free arm, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as upsetting to Howard. Howard needed to feel personally responsible for Vince’s pain. The guiltier Howard felt, the more power he gave to Vince.
“I’m so fucked up,” Vince whispered. He wanted Howard to see through him. He wanted to finally be called out on being a monster.
Howard tsked and held Vince close.
“You’re wonderful, Vince. You’re so kind and sweet…”
Vince didn’t want to hear Howard say kind things about him, but he was also annoyed that Howard hesitated after all of two qualities.
“You could talk about my hair,” Vince offered dryly. Howard had no idea how easily Vince could have him literally and figuratively on his knees. Howard didn’t even know enough to be grateful.
“It’s hard for me to talk about my feelings for you,” Howard admitted, his heart on his sleeve, ready to be crushed. “It’s… I feel…”
“Embarrassed?”
Howard flinched and Vince had to cover Howard’s mouth to stop the inevitable ardent apologies. He didn’t want to hear Howard being all lovey and oblivious to the fact Vince was playing him like a fiddle. It wasn’t right.
From the beginning, Vince had Howard pegged. Howard had a fragile ego, a desperate need to be loved, and a complete inability to read people. Vince wormed his way into Howard’s life in a matter of seconds. He could have gotten into his bed as well, but he’d been young and afraid of getting in over his head. He had been attracted to men as well as women all his life, but men scared him. Men could be violent and frightening, (so could women but he hadn’t met the Electro girls yet). He was afraid of sex with a man, even one as dopey as Howard. As soon as he worked out what it was men did together, Vince began experimenting with his fingers (and items he found around the house that seemed to be the right size and shape), but he never understood the appeal. Mostly, it just hurt.
When Vince finally worked up the nerve to go to a gay club, he hid in a corner until a fit older gentleman asked him to dance. He was grateful for the attention, but once he was pressed to the older man’s chest and having his arse groped while a creepy guy with a soul patch openly stared, Vince began to have second thoughts. He tried to make a graceful exit, but the older man was persistent and kept going on about how he “needed” Vince. Vince fancied the idea of being needed.
So Vince ended up in a Rumbelows, bent over a desk in the manager’s office. While desperately trying to focus on anything but the fact a nameless stranger seemed to be trying to a wedge a cricket bat into Vince’s arse, his eyes fell on a photograph of the older gentleman standing with two children (who looked to be about ten and twelve years of age) and his arm around a woman with sad eyes.
“That your wife and kids?” Vince asked through clenched teeth. The stranger didn’t miss a beat.
“We have an understanding.”
Vince wondered if that’s what his dad told the other women.
It was over quick enough, but the man kept touching Vince and suggesting they “rendezvous” again.
“How about Tuesday?” the man suggested as Vince tried to pull his clothes back into place without touching his own skin. He felt physically dirty.
“I have class.” He’d dropped out of school the day he turned sixteen, but Howard had badgered him into joining a study group at the library to help him with his GCSEs.
“How old are you?”
Vince saw the panic in the older man’s eyes. He glanced at the placard on his desk, it read Sebastian Smith. Vince liked to tell fanciful stories, but he rarely lied. For Mr. Smith, he made an exception.
“Thirteen,” he responded with all the wide-eyed innocence he could muster.
Vince left with plenty of cab fare, an encouragement to stay in school and an offer of a job at Rumbelows as soon as he was of age.
That was the first time Vince Noir had sex, and it was a pretty good representation of what was to come.
Sex was cold, often painful and far more exciting in theory than in practice.
“What’s on your mind, Li- Vince?” Howard’s face was filled with loving compassion. Without thinking, Vince reached out and pinched Howard’s stomach.
“Ow! What was that for, I was trying to be nice!” Howard fussed, rubbing his side.
“I’m just an asshole,” Vince explained. “And I hate you.”
He watched Howard struggle with the comment. It was a horrible thing to say after sex, and he wanted to see how the big man would react.
Howard frowned.
“Why? What’s bothering you, Vince? You can tell me.”
Vince tackled Howard and kissed every inch of his face. He wanted to fuck Howard all over again, but he was beyond spent. His spirit was willing but his flesh was sore and a little chafed.
“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Vince murmured between kisses. “You don’t know the first thing about men or women.”
Howard ran his fingers through Vince’s un-styled hair, seeming entranced at the strands moved through his fingers.
“You never talk about your dad,” Howard said in a poor attempt at a casual tone.
“He was a musician. He traveled a lot.”
“Like Bryan Ferry?”
“Like Bryan Ferry without the money and fame. His band did a lot of parties and weddings.”
“What was he like?”
Vince knew where Howard was heading and it wasn’t a conversation he really wanted to have.
“I dunno. He was gone a lot. He was all right. He was fun n’all.”
Vince watched Howard squirm for a few minutes before adding, “He wasn’t an abusive dickbag, it that’s what you’re wondering. He was just a guy. We used to do a lot of things together when he was home, like we’d put on rock concerts for me mum and he taught me how to punch someone in the nuts and run before I got beat up for wearing make-up.”
“What happened?”
“Charlie.”
Vince felt guilty for saying it. After all, it wasn’t Charlie’s fault.
Author: Concupid
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: R
Warnings: dub-con (manipulation not violence), very, very mild violence, language, angst, suggestion of emotional abuse, manipulation, general unpleasantness
Summary: Vince reflects on all the things Howard doesn’t know
Howard was holding him tight and gently rocking him back and forth. The motion was soothing and it made Vince feel anchored. He’d just fucked Howard twice and the Northerner was full of post-coital love and sweetness. Vince considered all the things he could say to destroy Howard in his vulnerable state, all the half-jokes that would leave his friend shaken and ashamed.
“How was that? Better than Old Gregg?”
“I’ve been getting tips from Kodiak Jack.”
“Next time, I’ll let you wear your little slave costume so you can feel pretty.”
Comments that could be passed off as harmless jokes, but that would target Howard’s deepest fears and insecurities so that he wouldn’t dare fight back. That was how Vince could make sure Howard never tried to leave.
Vince punched himself hard in the leg. The pain momentarily made him feel in control, but then Howard clutched at his hand and begged him to stop. Howard was so sweet and caring that Vince wanted to make him cry. He wanted to break Howard down until he couldn’t lift his head unless Vince told him to. Then he’d never go on another solo mission again.
“Don’t worry about it, Howard. You’ll get better with practice. Everyone is a bit rubbish at first.”
“Good thing no woman was ever interested. The world would have lost a natural bottom.”
“Looks like your dad was right.”
Vince would never have to bottom again. A few well-placed comments and Howard would be putty in his hands. It was obscenely easy to manipulate Howard. With the Goth girls, Vince had barely tried. He was aiming to get a little of Howard’s attention (away from his stupid jazz club) but instead, Howard ended up standing awkwardly still while Vince caressed his hair and took the piss out of him. Then Howard ran off to squeeze himself into one of Vince’s outfits. He’d expected Howard to balk at the suggestion of eyeliner, but he’d gone full Goth at Vince’s suggestion. He was like a whipped puppy.
On the island, he’d tried to talk reason to Howard with no result, but it was nothing to get Howard’s attention once he played to Howard’s weaknesses.
And Howard had so many weaknesses. Vince snatched his arm back from Howard and punched himself in the thigh. He could have used his free arm, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as upsetting to Howard. Howard needed to feel personally responsible for Vince’s pain. The guiltier Howard felt, the more power he gave to Vince.
“I’m so fucked up,” Vince whispered. He wanted Howard to see through him. He wanted to finally be called out on being a monster.
Howard tsked and held Vince close.
“You’re wonderful, Vince. You’re so kind and sweet…”
Vince didn’t want to hear Howard say kind things about him, but he was also annoyed that Howard hesitated after all of two qualities.
“You could talk about my hair,” Vince offered dryly. Howard had no idea how easily Vince could have him literally and figuratively on his knees. Howard didn’t even know enough to be grateful.
“It’s hard for me to talk about my feelings for you,” Howard admitted, his heart on his sleeve, ready to be crushed. “It’s… I feel…”
“Embarrassed?”
Howard flinched and Vince had to cover Howard’s mouth to stop the inevitable ardent apologies. He didn’t want to hear Howard being all lovey and oblivious to the fact Vince was playing him like a fiddle. It wasn’t right.
From the beginning, Vince had Howard pegged. Howard had a fragile ego, a desperate need to be loved, and a complete inability to read people. Vince wormed his way into Howard’s life in a matter of seconds. He could have gotten into his bed as well, but he’d been young and afraid of getting in over his head. He had been attracted to men as well as women all his life, but men scared him. Men could be violent and frightening, (so could women but he hadn’t met the Electro girls yet). He was afraid of sex with a man, even one as dopey as Howard. As soon as he worked out what it was men did together, Vince began experimenting with his fingers (and items he found around the house that seemed to be the right size and shape), but he never understood the appeal. Mostly, it just hurt.
When Vince finally worked up the nerve to go to a gay club, he hid in a corner until a fit older gentleman asked him to dance. He was grateful for the attention, but once he was pressed to the older man’s chest and having his arse groped while a creepy guy with a soul patch openly stared, Vince began to have second thoughts. He tried to make a graceful exit, but the older man was persistent and kept going on about how he “needed” Vince. Vince fancied the idea of being needed.
So Vince ended up in a Rumbelows, bent over a desk in the manager’s office. While desperately trying to focus on anything but the fact a nameless stranger seemed to be trying to a wedge a cricket bat into Vince’s arse, his eyes fell on a photograph of the older gentleman standing with two children (who looked to be about ten and twelve years of age) and his arm around a woman with sad eyes.
“That your wife and kids?” Vince asked through clenched teeth. The stranger didn’t miss a beat.
“We have an understanding.”
Vince wondered if that’s what his dad told the other women.
It was over quick enough, but the man kept touching Vince and suggesting they “rendezvous” again.
“How about Tuesday?” the man suggested as Vince tried to pull his clothes back into place without touching his own skin. He felt physically dirty.
“I have class.” He’d dropped out of school the day he turned sixteen, but Howard had badgered him into joining a study group at the library to help him with his GCSEs.
“How old are you?”
Vince saw the panic in the older man’s eyes. He glanced at the placard on his desk, it read Sebastian Smith. Vince liked to tell fanciful stories, but he rarely lied. For Mr. Smith, he made an exception.
“Thirteen,” he responded with all the wide-eyed innocence he could muster.
Vince left with plenty of cab fare, an encouragement to stay in school and an offer of a job at Rumbelows as soon as he was of age.
That was the first time Vince Noir had sex, and it was a pretty good representation of what was to come.
Sex was cold, often painful and far more exciting in theory than in practice.
“What’s on your mind, Li- Vince?” Howard’s face was filled with loving compassion. Without thinking, Vince reached out and pinched Howard’s stomach.
“Ow! What was that for, I was trying to be nice!” Howard fussed, rubbing his side.
“I’m just an asshole,” Vince explained. “And I hate you.”
He watched Howard struggle with the comment. It was a horrible thing to say after sex, and he wanted to see how the big man would react.
Howard frowned.
“Why? What’s bothering you, Vince? You can tell me.”
Vince tackled Howard and kissed every inch of his face. He wanted to fuck Howard all over again, but he was beyond spent. His spirit was willing but his flesh was sore and a little chafed.
“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Vince murmured between kisses. “You don’t know the first thing about men or women.”
Howard ran his fingers through Vince’s un-styled hair, seeming entranced at the strands moved through his fingers.
“You never talk about your dad,” Howard said in a poor attempt at a casual tone.
“He was a musician. He traveled a lot.”
“Like Bryan Ferry?”
“Like Bryan Ferry without the money and fame. His band did a lot of parties and weddings.”
“What was he like?”
Vince knew where Howard was heading and it wasn’t a conversation he really wanted to have.
“I dunno. He was gone a lot. He was all right. He was fun n’all.”
Vince watched Howard squirm for a few minutes before adding, “He wasn’t an abusive dickbag, it that’s what you’re wondering. He was just a guy. We used to do a lot of things together when he was home, like we’d put on rock concerts for me mum and he taught me how to punch someone in the nuts and run before I got beat up for wearing make-up.”
“What happened?”
“Charlie.”
Vince felt guilty for saying it. After all, it wasn’t Charlie’s fault.