A/N: Written for Kelly's birthday. Prompt: straddling, writing on skin with eyeliner pencil, eskimo kisses.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. No copyright infringement intended, it's just for fun :)

Howard’s hand snaked up and caught hold of Vince’s wrist.

“What,” he demanded, without opening his eyes, “Exactly are you doing?”

Vince’s eyes widened at being caught in the act and he began worrying his lip between his teeth. Howard’s eyes flickered open and he took in Vince’s guilty look, the fact that Vince was currently straddling him and the fact that the hand he’d grabbed hold of was grasping not a pair of scissors, as he’d expected from the self-proclaimed ‘Midnight Barber’, but an eyeliner pencil.

“Is that what I think it is?” Howard wanted to know; indicating the pencil with a jerk of his head, the issue of the straddling forced to take a back seat now that he was faced with this more pressing evil.

“That depends,” Vince said eventually.

“On?”

“On what you think it is. Cos if you think it’s a strawberry meringue, then no, it’s not what you think it is.”

“I think it’s an eyeliner pencil, Vince,” Howard said, fixing him with what he hoped was a stern stare.

“Oh. Well, in that case, yeah, it is what you think it is.”

“And what,” Howard said, sighing, “Exactly are you doing with it?”

The tip of Vince’s tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth, a sure sign, Howard noted, that the younger man’s brain cell was exerting itself in pursuit of a fantastical excuse. Sure enough, Vince began to lie through his teeth.

“Well, there was a bee on your nose, right? Doing a little bee dance, mocking you with his little stripy outfit and his teeny tiny bee moves. And then I remembered that bees are really allergic to the lead in pencils and so I was trying to coax it away?”

“Do you expect me to believe that, Vince?” Howard said wearily.

“Not really, no,” Vince admitted cheekily.

“So what were you doing?

“Well, I was going to draw you a moustache, but it looks like someone beat me to it…”

“Ha ha. Have you written something rude on my head?”

“Not yet…”

“Vince, were you giving me a makeover?”

“…Maybe,” Vince admitted in a small voice.

“You know they sell dolls for that kind of thing. I am not a doll sir, to be poked and scribbled on. I am a man, with dignity and…”

“And poise, yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t look very dignified right now, though, do ya?” And slipping his wrist out of Howard’s relaxed grasp, Vince swiftly drew a line across Howard’s forehead.

“Oi, you little titbox, what d’you think you’re doing?” Howard attempted to wrestle the pencil out of Vince’s hands but failed miserably as somehow the struggle ended with Vince pinning Howard’s hands down behind his head, the eyeliner pencil tucked mischievously behind one ear. Howard sank back defeated against the soft cushions of the sofa as Vince grinned triumphantly at him. “Will you at least let me up so I can wash it off?” Howard asked.

“No,” Vince grinned at him, making no move to release Howard. “I’m quite enjoying having you at my mercy.”

“Yeah?” Howard said, wondering at the slight shiver that rippled down his spine at those words.

“Yeah, Vince replied in a low voice. Their eyes met, just for a second, and Howard suddenly forgot how to breathe. Looking down, Howard didn’t notice Vince take the pencil from behind his ear until it was almost poking him in the eye.

“Vince, stop it!” Howard protested, flapping at Vince’s hand.

“Hold still, I need to do this eye to match the other one otherwise you’d look well silly.” And he continued his artistry, tongue poking from the corner of his pink mouth in concentration once again.

“Yeah, then I’d look silly,” Howard muttered, but he held still all the same. Make up was a dangerous business. Who knew, he might end up losing an eye. Good job it wasn’t mascara, he feared there would be a serious possibility of blinding. He suddenly conceived a new and grudging respect for Vince, after all, the little man was clearly taking his life in his hands every time he went out. And that was without considering hair straightener burns or aerosol related asphyxiation.

“There,” Vince said at last, rocking back and admiring his handiwork, “Check you out. Well sexy.”

“What?” Howard said, feeling the burning flush creping over his face, and surprised to note that Vince’s pallid complexion was now tinged with pink. “Don’t mock me,” Howard said, shaking his head with a bitterness he hadn’t realised that he had been harbouring until that moment.

“I’m not,” Vince said, wide eyes blinking at him. “Howard, I’m not mocking you,” he continued, seriously, “You look gorgeous. That’s what I thought last time an’ all.”

“You make a habit of creping up on me when I drop off on the sofa and drawing on my skin?” Howard asked, one eyebrow raised in not-entirely-feigned horror.

“No, you ninny, last time you let me. When those goth girls came round. You looked…” Vince’s eyes glazed over slightly.

“Oh.” Was all Howard said, but inwardly his stomach churned with a curious mixture of pride, confusion, hope and desire. Although what, exactly, it was that he hoped for and desired he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Which only added to the storm of confusion in which his pounding heart was currently floundering helplessly. “Vince, do you…” He stopped, not sure what he was going to say.

“Do I what?” There was a palpable tension in the air between them. Howard felt a flutter of panicked claustrophobia as he realised just how little air there was between them.

“Er…do you think we’ll ever see those girls again?” Howard improvised hastily. He thought he saw Vince’s face fall ever so slightly.

“I doubt it. I don’t much care though. Do you?”

“No,” Howard admitted. He couldn’t look at Vince now and he wasn’t even sure why. He was very aware of their relative positions, the feel of Vince’s thighs on his own, the soft brush of Vince’s fingers which having abandoned the eye pencil were playing absent-mindedly with the ends of Howard’s hair. He really wanted Vince to move. He could feel the proximity alarm in his mind creeping up to red alert. And yet…he didn’t want this simultaneously nice and alarming feeling to stop. Ever. Howard felt paralysed, not quite able to throw Vince off and yet not quite able to…do anything else. Not that he was even sure what this mythical ‘something else’ that his mind was beginning to suggest to him might actually involve.

“Howard, look at me,” Vince commanded, letting go of Howard’s hair to grab hold of his chin and force the nervous maverick to look at him. “Look at me,” he repeated. “You. Are. Gorgeous.” He said firmly. “You just need someone to bring it out, that’s all.”

But what did that mean? Howard asked himself. Someone to bring it out? Was Vince talking here in purely fashion terms? Was he offering his services as a make-up artist or as…something else? Howard closed his eyes. He couldn’t think with Vince’s face this close to his own, with those big blue eyes staring into his and making him all mixed up in his mindtank. His eyes quickly opened again though when he felt the soft scratch of a pencil against his skin.

“What are you doing now?” he asked warily. Then, honestly, “Vince I’m out of my depth here.” He knew he wasn’t speaking purely in fashion terms. Although it was true on that level as well. Did Vince realise that?

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Howard,” Vince said, his voice soothing and his eyes hypnotic as his face moved closer to Howard’s. “It’s only make-up after all.” But Howard could feel his breath against his face and the light touch of Vince’s nose against his own and he knew that it wasn’t just make-up. Not at all.

Vince’s nose bumped his again, deliberately this time, Howard suspected. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling. In fact, it was quite the opposite, if the warm chills which were chasing gleefully down his spine with wanton disregard for their own contradictory nature were anything to go by.

“What are you doing?” Howard asked for the umpteenth time that evening. His voice, quite without his intending it to, came out as a breathy whisper. “Your nose is all pointy.”

“Oi,” Vince said, nudging him with the offending appendage. “This is how Eskimos kiss, you know.”

“Eskimos don’t have such pointy noses,” Howard complained.

“You want me to stop?” Vince asked, pulling away with a pout. Before he had a chance to think about it, which was probably just as well, Howard reached out and cupped Vince’s cheek.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You know,” Vince said after a pause. “We’re not actually Eskimos.” His lips brushed tantalisingly close to Howard’s own and the heat which suffused Howard’s lower body at this gesture would be enough to melt an igloo, he felt sure.

“No, we’re not,” Howard agreed, a hunger gnawing at his heart as he became more and more convinced that the vague craving for something else was nothing more or less than the desire to feel Vince’s lips against his. They both moved at the same time, their lips brushing softly together, a gossamer kiss, delicate, tender and definitely not nearly enough to satisfy the newly awoken hunger in Howard’s breast. He pulled Vince to him, meshing their mouths together, revelling in the warmth of Vince’s mouth, the slick wet slide of his tongue and the insistent press of his lips nipping firmly at his own. Howard’s heart was thundering as though a herd of wild horses had decided to go on the rampage through the middle of it, which was, he thought, most inconsiderate of them.

“Oh Howard,” Vince sighed between kisses, admiringly, longingly. Howard had dreamed all his life of hearing his name uttered in such loving tones although if he’d ever imagined it would be Vince doing the uttering he would have laughed himself under the table. And yet, it didn’t seem something to laugh about, now. It seemed totally and utterly perfect. Vince fancied him. Vince actually fancied him. Howard did laugh, then, out of sheer exhilaration. Vince began to pout. “What’s funny?” he demanded petulantly. “Don’t you…”

“Oh Vince,” Howard sighed, running his hand over the other man’s cheek. Vince leaned into the touch, but kept his eyes on Howard’s questioning. “You know I…” He froze. What? I fancy you? I want you? I love you?

“Yeah, I know,” Vince smiled, saving Howard from his own indecision. “It’s written all over your face,” And he snuggled into Howard’s shoulder and began to nibble at the exposed skin of Howard’s neck.

It was a long time later before Howard got to look in a mirror; Vince had some very interesting methods of distracting him, but when he did, finally, he saw that it did indeed, say ‘Howard luvs Vince’ on his face. In eyeliner pencil. Howard smiled crookedly. He couldn’t really argue with that, after all.