I really don't know where this is going, or where it came from, but it well and truly deserves it's grown-ups only rating.

Somehow, when he'd pictured it (and he had pictured it) he'd imagined their anniversary differently. He'd kind of imagined romance and a restaurant, declarations of love and badly written cream poetry, but then, in his head, they'd both known it was an anniversary. Instead he was here, in the dingy pub down the road from their flat, downing drinks so fast Howard had to have noticed there was something wrong. He hoped Howard had noticed, because then he might ask what the problem was and Vince could tell him.

"You right, Vince?"

There it was. He knew he could rely on Howard. Good old Howard.

"Well, actually, Howard-"

He looked up and shut his mouth quickly. Howard was standing and holding his empty glass. He was obviously heading back to the bar and had been asking Vince about his own half-drunk pint. Vince picked it up, downed it in one and handed the glass shakily to his mate. Stupid, he thought. So stupid. Of course Howard didn't think there was anything wrong. Vince had drunk enough for both them but Howard hadn't exactly stayed sober. This was how it went now and most of it was Vince's fault, he thought morosely. Well, half of it anyway. It took two people to... you know.

He tried not to check Howard out as he walked to the bar, tried not think about how the night would end, because depressed and horny was not a look Vince Noir wore well. Instead he looked down at his hands and the invisible patterns they were aimlessly sketching onto the table. He needed to do something about all this, he decided. When Howard got back he'd-

"Mind my pint for me, Vince? I've got to pay a visit to the little boys room."

Vince looked up, blinking.

"Sure, Howard."

He sculled his drink so he wasn't tempted to watch Howard's arse wiggle as he walked and then, letting out a hiccup that was most definitely not a sob, he let himself think back to how this whole sorry mess had started. He was allowed that indulgence surely. It was his anniversary after all.

"So..." Vince had said as casually as he could manage, aware that Howard was on the verge of what could be either a bout of self-pitying, self-harming depression or possibly a violent tantrum.

"...Other than the whole crab thing - which we won't mention again," he added in a rush as Howard turned to him, mouth open and face already red. "Other than that, how was Denmark?"

"Cold," Howard replied sourly. He took the proffered beer from Vince with a grunt and stared at the muted MTV.

Vince sighed and plunked himself down on the couch with the rest of the six pack. There was no point leaving them in the kitchen, not tonight. He pulled a bottle free for himself and took a gulp, trying not to cough at the taste. Howard had wanted beer and so beer they were having. Let it never be said that he wasn't willing to go to great lengths for his best mate.

They sat in silence for ages and Vince wondered if watching music videos with the sound off was a metaphor for something. Even if it was he would be too dumb to understand it, he thought, finishing his beer with a grimace. He turned to take another and realised that Howard was already three bottles deep and starting on his fourth.

"Oi, Howard, slow down."

"What's the point?" Howard had slurred at him. "I mean, what's the frickin' point? Hmm? It's what you do, isn't it? You go out and you get drunk and you meet someone, anyone, and, and, and... you have... fun... don't you. Yes."

"Well, sometimes," Vince began but Howard cut him off with a laugh that sounded a lot like a cackle.

"I bet you were out every night having... fun, while I was away, weren't you, Vince?"

Vince frowned. Something was wrong and he really didn't like where this was going. 'Fun' was not something they usually discussed with one another, or at all.

"Not really, Howard, I-" but Howard cut him short again.

"I went to Holland as well, you know."

"Oh, dear."

"I went to Amsterdam, you know."

"Ooh, dear. Here we go."

"I went to the green light, no, yellow light, no! red light district there. I did."

"Did you really?"

"I did. And I went to one of those doors, next to the windows, and, and I..."

Howard took another long swig of his beer and Vince cracked open the last bottle and did likewise. He really didn't want to hear this story but if he had to sit here and listen to Howard's drunken confessions then he sure as hell didn't want to do it sober.

"I went in and I started to take off my, my things, my clothes, and then she said... D'you know what she said? She said, 'Actually I'm suddenly feeling very tired. So sorry. Could you show yourself out?'"

"Shit."

"I couldn't even, couldn't even pay someone to have ssss-" he faltered and Vince took the opportunity to drink more of his beer. This was definitely going to require more alcohol. "... to have - fun - with me," Howard rambled on. "I' m gonna die a virgin, Vince."

"No you won't," Vince grinned awkwardly. He went to take another drink, realised the bottle was empty and sprinted to the kitchen. "But I reckon this calls for something stronger than beer, don't you?"

He dug out two shot glasses and a half-full bottle of tequila before making his way back to the couch. Howard was watching him with an intensity that made him nervous and when the bigger man slid over so that Vince was wedged in with no escape he really wished they had a bigger couch.

"You know, Vince," Howard spoke, too close to his ear. "You... you're right. I don't have to die a virgin."

He watched as Howard poured out two shots of tequila but sat motionless when Howard handed him one and then swallowed his own. He felt almost like he was having an out-of-body experience, all numb and removed. Howard picked his hand up and guided the shot glass to his lips, helping him drink it. Then he refilled the glasses.

"I know you swing both ways."

That comment snapped Vince out of it a bit. He swallowed his second shot quickly and tried not to blush.

"What?" he spluttered. "Who told you that?"

Howard shrugged cockily and filled their glasses a third time, at a leisurely pace, tipping the drink down Vince's willing throat, before replying.

"Your brain cell, actually."

"Can you stop talking like I only have one brain cell," Vince said hazily. "I am not that stupid."

"He said, that you, him, you swing both ways but you weren't feeling it with me."

"Yeah, well," Vince was genuinely starting to panic now. Howard was refilling the shot glasses and he tried to remember how many he'd already had but now Howard was leaning into his space so that he could feel the soft but strong torso pressed up against him. He couldn't focus properly when Howard was this close.

Howard held the glass up to his trembling lip and looked into his eyes and suddenly Vince felt so lost.

"I don't need you to 'feel it' with me, Vince. I don't need you to love me or rubbish like that. I don't even think I'm bisexual or anything. No. I just need you to let me fuck you."

The glass pressed more firmly against his lip and Vince shut his eyes and drank. What else could he do?

...

Howard had been, if not gentle, at least not rough, but he'd made the assumption that Vince had bottomed before. He hadn't. He'd got naked and stripped Vince like he was ripping the wrapper off a bounty bar before swooping in to suck on a nipple and palm his cock. At that point Vince had decided to do what ever Howard wanted and had let himself be led to his bed and all but thrown on to the covers. Howard had flipped him onto his stomach and climbed on top of him, leaving wet bite marks down Vince's back until his hands discovered his best friend's round arse cheeks and gave them a squeeze.

The first few attempts by probing fingers had made Vince tense up but then he'd felt the scratch of stubble against his skin and the hot, wet wriggle of Howard's tongue, and something in his brain had snapped. Howard was rimming him, had his actual tongue in Vince's actual arse, and all Vince could do was push up into it and moan for more.

Howard was moaning too and Vince could hear the shlap, shlap, shlap as he worked his cock somewhere behind him. His tongue thrust in and out like a powerful eel, on and on, until Vince could barely think.

When Howard finally removed his tongue Vince tried to catch his breath but Howard hadn't moved far. He'd snatched up a pot of Vince's face cream from the bedside table and within moments Vince, still face down in the pillow, felt slippery fingers around his newly stretched hole. Howard slipped one finger inside, twisting it slowly as Vince's back arched and his legs twitched. A second finger was added quickly, too quickly for Vince, whose mind span away from him completely. There was too much sensation. He needed it to stop. He needed it to never stop.

He was so wound up that the stroke of Howard's fingers deep inside him nearly sent him over the edge but just as he was getting close Howard slipped his fingers almost out and began to play around his rim again, stretching his entrance, teasing. He thrust his hips back, forcing the fingers back in a little and Howard chuckled. Actually chuckled, before pulling his fingers free completely.

Moments later Vince felt the blunt tip of Howard's cock, slick with face cream and pre-come, against his entrance. He felt a moment of anxiety before Howard began to push in but his worries stopped there. He almost didn't believe the sound that came out of his mouth as Howard entered him and the whimper that followed, as Howard began to thrust in and out frantically, was equally embarrassing. He, Vince Noir, was letting his best mate of nearly twenty years bum him silly. And he was enjoying it too. He was enjoying it a lot.

"Oh, fuck me, Howard," he groaned before hiding his face in embarrassment. Howard responded by biting down on the soft skin where Vince's shoulder met his neck and thrusting harder, deeper, faster.

Vince came with a whimper, the twin sensations of his cock rubbing against the sheets and Howard rubbing so deeply inside him triggering the most intense orgasm of his life. The clench of his muscles sent Howard over the edge too and Vince gasped at the feeling of Howard coming inside him. The whole experience had just been too weird.

Howard collapsed down on top of him and stayed there for several minutes before rolling off onto the bed. For a long time there was no sound but their breathing while Vince contemplated all the different ways and places he felt sticky, until Howard finally spoke.

"Thanks Vince," he said getting to his feet and stretching. "I needed that. It was good. Good to be home."

And then he'd walked out of the room and closed the door.

Vince had wanted to go after him and figure things out. He'd wanted to get up and pace and analyse the whole thing. He'd wanted to do something, but he couldn't move. He was drunk and tired and stiff and sticky and all too soon he fell asleep.

That had been Sunday and they'd managed to act like nothing had happened for a whole week. They'd joked and crimped and annoyed Naboo and things were going really well. Until Sunday rolled around again and Howard came home with a six pack of beer and a fresh bottle of tequila.

Sunday night became Bumming Night and while Vince couldn't complain about the sex - which was still mind blowing - he was far from happy. Howard thought it was great. He thought it was friends with benefits, the perfect way to get free sex without the hassle of having to talk to anyone except Vince.

But Vince knew, with a dreaded certainty, that over the six months they'd been going at it he'd well and truly, finally, fallen for Howard. And that Howard didn't, couldn't feel the same.

Howard came back with two shot glasses of their usual tequila and Vince felt his stomach rebel. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or his emotional turmoil that was making him feel sick but he was pretty sure he couldn't stomach hard liquor tonight.

"Oh, you finished your beer," Howard smiled. "Ill get you another, shall I?"

"No, Howard, wait," Vince croaked. "Just sit down for a minute, yeah?"

Howard sat down with a shrug and pushed one of the shots toward Vince. He shook his head.

"I don't want it," he said, glaring at the drink. "I don't need it."

"Vince?" Howard asked, the cheerfulness leaving his voice and forcing Vince to look up. "Are you alright, little man?"

This was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? For Howard to ask him, genuinely, if he was ok? So that he could say no? So why couldn't he say it now? He shook his head instead and Howard shuffled closer in the booth, concern obvious on his face.

"Can you tell me what's wrong? Are you not feeling well?"

Vince wished he could sink into the cheap leather seat and disappear but he wasn't that lucky. He shook his head again and Howard leaned over to pull him into a half hug. Vince relaxed into the touch and took a deep breath. After so many years of not being allowed to touch Howard, and Howard refusing to offer any physical comfort, the new easiness with which Howard hugged him was wonderful. It was probably also a big part of why Vince had fallen in love. The sex was fantastic but it was the hugs, occasional as they were, and the way Howard pressed himself up against Vince when they sat at home on the couch, just like he'd always wanted, that had flicked Vince's last switch. He was scared to point it out to Howard, just in case he freaked out and it all stopped again. Vince couldn't bear that, couldn't stand the thought of going back to the way they had been, but at the same time he needed... he needed...

"D'you... d'you know what's special about today, Howard?" he mumbled against Howard's shoulder.

"Well, I know it's Sunday," Howard said with leer but dropped it quickly and bundled Vince into a proper hug when the smaller man began to sob quietly.

"Hey? Hey, what is it? Vince, what's the matter? What's today? It's not your birthday, that's next week. I haven't forgotten. What's going on, little man?"

Vince hated himself for crying. He never cried, it just wasn't his thing, but he'd had far too much beer and had far too many thoughts swimming around in his headspace. Why did Howard have to be so sweet?

"It's just," he took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. "It's six months, today. Since you... got back from Denmark."

"Oh."

He could feel Howard's confusion and pulled away from the cuddle reluctantly.

"Is that," Howard took Vince's chin between his thumb and fingers and made him look at his face. "Is that why you're more dressed up than usual?"

Vince snorted. He was wearing a new shirt and his favourite boots but really, he considered this look to be stylishly dressed down. Still, at least Howard had noticed the effort.

"Yeah, Howard," he whispered, uncomfortable with the eye contact.

"Vince, are you... What do you think is going on here, Vince?"

And then Vince started to panic. It was obvious that Howard thought he was a love-sick nutter and he couldn't have this conversation in a pub. He didn't want to get chucked in public, by Howard, again.

He slid out of the booth and stumbled to his feet, clutching the table as the room started to spin. Perhaps the six beers had been a bad idea. A really bad idea. He glanced at Howard, sitting on his own and looking sexily, adorably, lovably confused, and then walked as quickly as he could manage towards the door. Howard called after him but didn't follow and once outside, Vince lit a cigarette with shaky fingers and began the short walk home, wishing he could have ignored his stupid heart and just enjoyed having his best friend back, and a fuck buddy to boot.