Date: Thu, 01 Dec 2005 19:46:43 +0100 From: tsunami@london.com Subject: The Nurse, Part 4 The Nurse, by mattbuck Part 4 All comments are appreciated - email tsunami@london.com Other stories I've written can be found on my website, in the fiction section http://mattbuck.sixwinter.com Special thanks to the guys who emailed me about the previous parts - you rock. Usual disclaiming sort of stuff, I don't know McFly, I don't know their sexualities, this story is not in any way based on real life events. Oh, and it contains gay sex, so please make sure you're 18. I swear, I must have been a zombie throughout Vector Calculus. I have a feeling the lecture was something about integrating vectors over surfaces, but that was about all. I have an excuse of course - it wasn't that the lecturer was boring, because this one was quite funny - you see, this lecture room had tiered seats. Danny, naturally, took a seat adjacent to the wall, and I took the one next to him. Then he decided he wasn't comfortable enough, so turned in his seat and stretched his legs out along the row, right across my lap. There's something about a popstar in your lap that make lectures maybe seem a bit dull by comparison. We walked back together through the slight drizzle that had descended on the campus, neither of us mentioning what happened at the top of the Tower Building. For my part, it wasn't that I hadn't enjoyed it, because I'd quite happily have stayed kissing him all night. It was more that... what I wanted might not be quite what he wanted from it. I guess an illustration would be that I've been writing stories for about three and a half years, on and off, and at the start, it was just sex stories, and it was easy to write. Recently, my thoughts are turning more towards the more emotional aspect - stories about slow exploration and finding love, or about remorse and regrets. Suddenly sex stories never seem to fill the hole that makes me write. I want... is it too much that I want Danny to love me? Just being with him makes me happy beyond belief. Being in his arms... And the way he tastes. Ambrosia for sure. That is "food of the Gods" Ambrosia, not the custard, though that's good too. It was just about six when we walked into the hall, and the dinner queue was already reaching past the doors to the JCR. Even in a small hall, food can only be served so fast. Of course, those who are sensible wait until about six thirty, maybe watching The Simpsons on Channel Four to pass the time. Stops people watching Friends anyway. Sure, I'm guilty , I watched the last series semi-religiously, but I was younger and hadn't been subjected to quite so many repeats of crappy episodes at the time. That is, a repeat of pretty much any episode. Now I just find Jennifer Aniston pisses me off; Courtney Cox vaguely hot; Ross, Chandler and Phoebe are fading into blissful obscurity; and Joey... the less said about that series the better. The lift doors opened, disgorging about six more people, including Ed (the drunkard I rather fancy). He's obsessed with me, but unfortunately not in a "let me get naked for you, Matt" way. The longest he can go in a room without saying something about my website or threatening me with a restraining order is about twenty seconds. This time it was two. New record. "Hey Matt, had any orange reef yet today?" Oh, and my drinking habits. Honestly, ONE NIGHT I get totally wasted on my favourite drink and he won't let me forget it. The fact that he's been so totally wankered he's banned from almost every club in town doesn't enter into it. Then he turned his attention to Danny. We pushed into the lift, hitting the button for fourth floor but he stuck his foot in the door. "Hey, aren't you that guy Matt fancies?" I rolled my eyes. "How did you meet him, and do you know what he writes about you?" Gods. I had to stop him before he started quoting me verbatim. He's crazy. He demands I write, then he sits in front of me, my website open, reading the most explicit story he can find, saying "Eww. This is sick. I hate this." Yet he doesn't have the sense to stop reading it. Maybe someday he'll actually admit he likes them. But not before he finds himself in Hell being sodomised by Al Gore. "Yes, thankyou Ed. It's all on the website, and I'm sure the restraining order's in the post. By the way, how's Jenny?" I pushed on his chest, making him fall back a bit, the lift doors mercifully closing in his (cute) face and the subtle jerk telling me we'd started upwards. I closed my eyes, leaning against the mirror. "So, who's Jenny?" Danny asked. I opened my eyes, taking a moment to just gaze at his gorgeous face. So kissable. Right now? No, a lift is too cliché... "I don't have a clue. Presumably some girl he ended up in bed with. It shuts him up, beyond that I don't much care." Back in my room again, sitting next to each other on the bed, in silence... awkward. I'm not exactly the most loquacious of people (how's that for a fun word to put in a story? I feel rather proud now), and, well... I was sitting on my bed, next to a guy I'd been kissing only an hour ago... it was scary in a way. But then, I'm weird (proudly so - being called normal is almost the worst insult possible). It ended up being Danny who broke the silence. "Oh, nearly forgot - I got you some presents." He went and bent over his bag, fishing inside... a wiggle? Oh that was just too much teasing dammit. Just not fair. It's at that point you realise your mouth is hanging open, because the drool starts soaking through your trousers. I shut my mouth, catching the drop of saliva on the back of my hand, bringing it back to my mouth. I never quite understood how his jeans could be so loose, yet so tight around that ass... scientific impossibility I'm sure, but still... "Ah, here we are. You can't keep the towel, though." He straightened (damn), and chucked me something tied up in a big beach towel. One with palm trees on no less. I unwrapped it, taking more time than I ever have opening presents at Christmas - I'm really not one of those "save the wrapping paper" people - I tend to rip it up and throw it on the floor for my cats to have fun trampling. You can never leave any paper on the floor of my house without it being decorated in short order with a set of muddy paw-prints. Anyway, inside the towel was a packet of Oreos (seriously, the best biscuit ever - possibly America's best export. After all, Stargate is Canadian), a box of York Fruits (oddly romantic - or just simple guestly niceness), and... "A thong?" Black, plain, and.. I chanced a quick sniff... "Oh, you should probably know Dougie was wearing that last night." "Well," I said, putting it down gently on the bed, "I guess now I know what Dougie's crotch smells like" And there was me thinking it would be Danny's I'd be smelling that night... "Are you sure the other stuff is edible after close proximity to that?" "I'll eat whatever you don't," he said, sitting down next to me again and slapping his stomach. "Besides, I have to eat next to Tom's feet. Dougie's pine- scented by comparison. Anyway, speaking of food..." His expression... well... "puppy-dog eyes". So cute. Five minutes later, I was running along the road towards the local chippie. The drizzle caused a red halo around the traffic lights as I ran across the road and back onto campus. I'd managed to order fairly quickly - we both had sausage and chips after I'd told Danny the shop didn't sell chicken or scampi. He'd decided that made it rather a crap chip shop, and I'm rather inclined to agree. The only reason I use it is because it's the closest by about a mile. Nottingham must have about thirty pizza delivery services (one of which keeps trying to sell me marijuana - do I really look that crazy?), but only three chippies. It's really rather annoying. Of course, each of those pizza delivery services offers bigger pizza than the last - the latest flyer offered a 16" pizza. I'm told that in America, 12" pizzas are regarded as rather small. Guess that explains why in America, 32" waists are regarded as rather small. I personally think I could stand to lose a few inches to be honest. Get fitter... definitely. A patch of mud - almost fell. I never quite worked out why that bit was always muddy - even in the summer. Still, a minute later I was fishing my smart card out to open the doors, the smell of chips hitting me as I was momentarily still. Smelt good anyway, but the test is in the taste. The last stragglers were leaving the dining hall as I called the lift (yeah yeah, I'm lazy. Sue me), checking my mail as I waited. Still no sign of the I Wanna Hold You CDs (to this date, only two have arrived, and HMV refuse to answer my emails asking where the third is. Put me off ever ordering from them again). The lift ride was interminable with that incredibly annoying voice "third floor - going up. Please mind the doors". I found myself running towards my room, anxious to see what devastation he'd wrought... or just to see him. A rather loud chord reverberated down the corridor. I quickly pushed open the door and was confronted with Danny doing a... Justin Hawkins impression I guess. Or Freddie Mercury, since they're rather of the same mould. You know, flamboyant gestures, and playing the guitar topless. That banner he's talked about on The Frank Skinner Show came to mind - Danny, play me like your guitar. That and a scene from Neighbours of Boyd taking off his top... "Shirt chafing you?" I asked. "Just got a little hot. So what about grub?" Talk about single-mindedness. Some men... the brain seems to be in their head, others the penis. Danny's was apparently in his stomach. He leant the guitar against my pc desk, and came over to me, totally unnecessarily pressing himself against me to lean over my shoulder and undo my backpack. I wrapped my arms around his bare back, pressing my lips against the skin of his neck, smelling slightly stale sweat - to my mind, sexy. But then... how could he not be? He'd been my foremost fantasy for about nine months at the time, though I'd thought him pretty cute when I saw the That Girl video. Before that, I'd had a "thing" for Justin Berfield (he's an actor, about nineteen now I think, maybe twenty. My age anyway. He plays Reese in Malcolm in the Middle), and before that, my friends at school. I'd like to point out that that is a VERY bad idea. It only kicks up a lot of shit when they find out. That and heartache when they get girlfriends and insist on shoving their tongues down the throats of eager young sluts at parties, ostensibly to retrieve lost chewing gum. Of course, now I was caught up in the lust they must have been feeling. Only there was no one to watch us. Not that night anyway. Danny unwrapped the chips while I found an episode of Family Guy to watch on my pc - some episode in season five. I have to say, I do love that show. After a while, The Simpsons just gets boring. Family Guy... well, there are those who might claim it's simply a rip-off of any number of sitcoms and animations, but... I think there's something different about it. The ridiculous asides for one, but... isn't this a rather ridiculous aside in itself? A topless popstar in my room and I'm thinking about a cartoon. A nuzzle against my neck, arms snaking around me, hands headed to my shirt. "It is a bit hot," I conceded, shrugging the shirt off as soon as it was loose enough. He placed a kiss on my cheek, retreating and patting the bed beside where he sat. Chips. Proper, honest-to-god English chips. One of the best creations ever. Screw French fries (which were a Belgian invention), chips shouldn't crunch - the best should melt in your mouth. Almost as delicious as his... Sausage. The repeated singing of "Peanut butter jelly time!" on the pc faded from my consciousness as he lifted a whole sausage to his lips, and shoved half of it into his mouth. It came out pretty quickly, accompanied by frenzied panting - rather hot apparently. He took a swig of drink as I leant in, "Let me kiss that better." Husky? Doubtful. Cliché? Probably. Really crap line? Pretty much. Did it work? Definitely. Our lips met, salty, and tasting slightly of vinegar, but perfect. One hand was keeping me up, the other gently exploring the side of his chest. I would have... well... The advert was always "Daddy or chips?" Change it to "Danny or chips". Then, think outside the box - chips, THEN Danny. I'd have gone for Danny, then chips, but by the time I'd had my way with him, they wouldn't taste too good. And I was a bit hungry. And so, we watched Family Guy while eating sausage and chips. There's only so much you can say about that really. We ate dinner, and went down to the hall bar, staying playing pool with various people until we got chucked out. We went back to my room, taking separate showers to get rid of the smell of cigarette smoke. Maybe early for bed by both our standards, but... somehow it seemed right. I sat on the bed to pull off my trousers - nice soft ones - jogging trousers really, not that I ever went jogging. Normally I sleep naked, but... well, what I would have done without hesitation six hours ago suddenly didn't seem what I wanted to do that very second. After all, this still counted as the first... or maybe the second date. It wouldn't be right. He deserved more than an hour or so before bedtime - a whole day couldn't do him justice. I pulled off my shirt and slipped under the covers while he unrolled his sleeping bag on the floor. The light went off, and I heard the muted jangle of pocketed keys hitting the floor. A shadow darker than the surroundings came towards me, laying a hand on my forehead and leaning down to kiss my lips, murmuring goodnight. Then the shadow climbed over me and pushed against me under the covers, warm flesh pressing against my back. "Floor looked uncomfortable," he said, in response to my unvoiced question. An arm snaked around my chest, and he nuzzled gently into the back of my neck, laying a kiss on my skin. Much more cramped than the double bed in his hotel room, but... this time I knew he meant it. "Goodnight baby," came the husky whisper. I almost cried from happiness.