Fic: Nostalgia
Title: Nostalgia
Summary: Vince and Howard are getting older.
Pairings: Howard/Vince
Rating: G
Word Count: 948
Disclaimer: It's a shame but sadly the Boosh is still not mine.
Notes: It's a bit short and a bit overwritten, but even so this is a present for everyone in what I honestly believe is the best and loveliest community on LJ.
The years pass and Howard watches as Vince pirouettes through the seasons. To someone like Vince time is relative; he bends it to his own shape and in return he never ages, forever twenty-one while for everyone else time builds up in the corners and blocks the cracks. Vince doesn’t live every day like it’s his last, but like it’s his first. He spins and kicks and moves so fast that Howard can barely keep up with him.
Howard has been worrying about time since the day he was born. He knows life is too short and he wants to do everything he can so that people don’t forget him when he’s gone, not realising that it’s more important that people don’t forget him while he’s still there. Howard wants to spend his life chasing something: wants adventure, light, excitement, so when Vince goes flying past him like a whirling dervish he latches on with both hands and goes running after him, half a step behind.
In Spring Vince’s eyes are like puddles. He’s painfully young and stands out like a sore thumb in his regulation jacket and feather-cut hair, but his speech is carousel music and his laughter garishly painted. He sweeps up the dust when he moves and Howard is swept up in the process. Time is all around them in those days: in the withering old animals and the squealing newborns. Howard can’t escape the shudder he feels when he thinks about death, but Vince just takes the chill and turns it into wonder like it’s play-doh in his slim hands. He moulds adventure from nothing. Even when Howard is trapped in Hell he knows, somehow, that as long as he’s with Vince time won’t catch up to him. Not yet. Not as long as Vince is laughing too loudly and dancing and spinning, spinning, spinning like a planet in orbit.
When Summer begins to crawl towards them Vince spins faster than ever before, magnificent and delirious, too fast for Howard to follow. His hair is black and his smile is sharp. He hisses and spits and punches at the world until Howard begins to wonder if his friend feels the same terrifying pull of time on his ribs. By now Howard has begun to look at his own heart, and what he finds scares him, because there will never be enough years for them to spend together, not enough time for Howard to learn everything he can about this impossibly beautiful creature. Vince still creates adventure, but aggressively, beating the universe into shape so that what used to be exciting is now tinged with fear. Summer boils and burns their blood. Howard begins to feel the ticking clock in every breath. He packs up his bags and runs away.
He quickly finds that running isn’t quite so fun when you have nothing to run to. When the Copenhagen sky drains of its blueness and the moon stops talking to him, Howard begins to feel a cool Autumn wind on the back of his neck, so he turns and sets sail for home.
It soon becomes apparent that Vince too is beginning to feel the creak of the world on its axis, but when Howard finally feels the soft touch of lips against his it doesn’t seem quite as scary as he’d anticipated.
They spin together as the season burns gently behind them. Vince moves as fast as ever, with colour oozing from his fingertips and a defiant smile, but now it’s easier for Howard to move in tandem with him. It’s a curious sort of dance, this rebellious railing against time. The backdrop begins to change, but the story doesn’t. Vince’s hands are still slim as they rest on Howard’s cheeks.
One Autumn day the rain runs rivulets down the window. Vince sits curled up on the sofa watching each individual drop sinking to the ground. Howard sits at the table and looks at his lover’s hair, still long but now tinged with an irredeemable grey. Vince wears skinny jeans with faded denim and his hands are lined. His face is beautiful and his eyes are puddles and his skin is fashionably creased. When Howard blinks he thinks he can see that boy still, with a shy youth and whirling laughter.
Vince turns and grins at him. “What’re you staring at me for?”
Even though it’s been years (days. Years that seem like days) since Denmark Howard still can’t help but feel the rising blush spreading up his cheeks. “Nothing…” he mumbles. “I was just thinking how stunning you are.”
Vince shakes his head. “You old sap,” he says fondly.
“Less of the ‘old’, you,” Howard smiles, even though the argument has no justification, not any more.
Vince turns back to the window. “Howard?”
“What is it, Little Man?"
There’s a small grin at the old nickname. “Let’s go somewhere.”
Howard thinks about this for a moment before nodding. “Where were you thinking?”
“I dunno…New Orleans. Rio. Somewhere where I won’t get offered a discount at the bar.”
Howard laughs at that. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
There isn’t much time left, after all. Howard is starting to feel a small, barely noticeable creak in his bones these days; a small shiver in his blood. Adventures may be few and far between, but now Vince’s hands are moving again, shifting, creating. It’s Autumn and the world is just as colourful now as it ever was. They can afford one more escapade before the last leaf hits the ground; before the Winter comes calling.
“Genius. Love you, Howard.”
Howard grins. “I love you, too.”
There’s not enough time in the world to stop them spinning.
Summary: Vince and Howard are getting older.
Pairings: Howard/Vince
Rating: G
Word Count: 948
Disclaimer: It's a shame but sadly the Boosh is still not mine.
Notes: It's a bit short and a bit overwritten, but even so this is a present for everyone in what I honestly believe is the best and loveliest community on LJ.
The years pass and Howard watches as Vince pirouettes through the seasons. To someone like Vince time is relative; he bends it to his own shape and in return he never ages, forever twenty-one while for everyone else time builds up in the corners and blocks the cracks. Vince doesn’t live every day like it’s his last, but like it’s his first. He spins and kicks and moves so fast that Howard can barely keep up with him.
Howard has been worrying about time since the day he was born. He knows life is too short and he wants to do everything he can so that people don’t forget him when he’s gone, not realising that it’s more important that people don’t forget him while he’s still there. Howard wants to spend his life chasing something: wants adventure, light, excitement, so when Vince goes flying past him like a whirling dervish he latches on with both hands and goes running after him, half a step behind.
In Spring Vince’s eyes are like puddles. He’s painfully young and stands out like a sore thumb in his regulation jacket and feather-cut hair, but his speech is carousel music and his laughter garishly painted. He sweeps up the dust when he moves and Howard is swept up in the process. Time is all around them in those days: in the withering old animals and the squealing newborns. Howard can’t escape the shudder he feels when he thinks about death, but Vince just takes the chill and turns it into wonder like it’s play-doh in his slim hands. He moulds adventure from nothing. Even when Howard is trapped in Hell he knows, somehow, that as long as he’s with Vince time won’t catch up to him. Not yet. Not as long as Vince is laughing too loudly and dancing and spinning, spinning, spinning like a planet in orbit.
When Summer begins to crawl towards them Vince spins faster than ever before, magnificent and delirious, too fast for Howard to follow. His hair is black and his smile is sharp. He hisses and spits and punches at the world until Howard begins to wonder if his friend feels the same terrifying pull of time on his ribs. By now Howard has begun to look at his own heart, and what he finds scares him, because there will never be enough years for them to spend together, not enough time for Howard to learn everything he can about this impossibly beautiful creature. Vince still creates adventure, but aggressively, beating the universe into shape so that what used to be exciting is now tinged with fear. Summer boils and burns their blood. Howard begins to feel the ticking clock in every breath. He packs up his bags and runs away.
He quickly finds that running isn’t quite so fun when you have nothing to run to. When the Copenhagen sky drains of its blueness and the moon stops talking to him, Howard begins to feel a cool Autumn wind on the back of his neck, so he turns and sets sail for home.
It soon becomes apparent that Vince too is beginning to feel the creak of the world on its axis, but when Howard finally feels the soft touch of lips against his it doesn’t seem quite as scary as he’d anticipated.
They spin together as the season burns gently behind them. Vince moves as fast as ever, with colour oozing from his fingertips and a defiant smile, but now it’s easier for Howard to move in tandem with him. It’s a curious sort of dance, this rebellious railing against time. The backdrop begins to change, but the story doesn’t. Vince’s hands are still slim as they rest on Howard’s cheeks.
One Autumn day the rain runs rivulets down the window. Vince sits curled up on the sofa watching each individual drop sinking to the ground. Howard sits at the table and looks at his lover’s hair, still long but now tinged with an irredeemable grey. Vince wears skinny jeans with faded denim and his hands are lined. His face is beautiful and his eyes are puddles and his skin is fashionably creased. When Howard blinks he thinks he can see that boy still, with a shy youth and whirling laughter.
Vince turns and grins at him. “What’re you staring at me for?”
Even though it’s been years (days. Years that seem like days) since Denmark Howard still can’t help but feel the rising blush spreading up his cheeks. “Nothing…” he mumbles. “I was just thinking how stunning you are.”
Vince shakes his head. “You old sap,” he says fondly.
“Less of the ‘old’, you,” Howard smiles, even though the argument has no justification, not any more.
Vince turns back to the window. “Howard?”
“What is it, Little Man?"
There’s a small grin at the old nickname. “Let’s go somewhere.”
Howard thinks about this for a moment before nodding. “Where were you thinking?”
“I dunno…New Orleans. Rio. Somewhere where I won’t get offered a discount at the bar.”
Howard laughs at that. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
There isn’t much time left, after all. Howard is starting to feel a small, barely noticeable creak in his bones these days; a small shiver in his blood. Adventures may be few and far between, but now Vince’s hands are moving again, shifting, creating. It’s Autumn and the world is just as colourful now as it ever was. They can afford one more escapade before the last leaf hits the ground; before the Winter comes calling.
“Genius. Love you, Howard.”
Howard grins. “I love you, too.”
There’s not enough time in the world to stop them spinning.