Date: Mon, 27 Mar 2006 02:16:49 +0100 From: Matt Buck Subject: The Nurse, Part 11 The Nurse, by mattbuck Part 11 All comments, good or bad, are appreciated - email matt_v_jellicle@hotmail.com Other stories I've written can be found on my website, in the fiction section http://mattbuck.sixwinter.com The previous 10 parts to this story are at /nifty/gay/celebrity/boy-bands/the-nurse/ 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. To my mind, I've taken far too long describing the events of Danny's Christmas visit, so I'll skim over the rest. That night in bed, he made me the happiest guy alive; and somehow, cuddling up to someone seems even better after you've just... well... done them. The days passed doing all the usual pre-Christmas things. We went to buy a Christmas tree, we put it up, and then in bed I found about thirty pine needles in his pubes. I still don't understand how the hell they got there. I mean, tinsel I could see - we were still finding whole strings of the stuff around the house when I went home to visit in February, and you can usually still find little bits scattered about in August - but pine needles? In his pubes? What did he do, try and put the tree down his pants? He claimed ignorance of it, and... well, what can you do, apart from pick them out and make sure the offending area is well and truly cleaned? He tasted much better that time around - slightly sweaty, with a hint of pine freshness. I managed to avoid choking by just letting him cum over his stomach and then lapping it up before kissing him. But I digress. I digress to something very sexy, but nonetheless, I digress. Usual pre-Christmas things - we went shopping; we decorated the house; Danny insisted on taking us all out for dinner once; and on the last night, lying in bed together, we exchanged gifts. It's an interesting problem, what to buy a guy who's fucking loaded. After all, if there was something he really wanted, he could just buy it himself. Forces you to think about what to get him. Something that's individual without being gimmicky. Something to show him what he means to you. The book of Radiohead guitar tabs would be something I'd appreciate if I could play, but not for him I think. Not... happy enough. I ended up looking around this little ornament shop, searching for inspiration, and I found a paperweight. Not the most exciting of gifts certainly, but... there was just something about it. A triangular prism with a design etched into one side. Cost a lot more than you'd think a piece of glass was worth. The smile when he unwrapped it made it worth every penny. He held it by the edges at first, his finger tracing patterns an inch above the surface, as if by touching it somehow the magic would die. Holding it up to the light, a rainbow danced over his face. Beautiful. His lips met mine in a soft thankyou, a whisper of love inside his tender embrace, before he eagerly handed me his present. I've never been much of the "slowly unwrap and save the paper" kind of person, but... well, I like teasing him. Gently unsticking the tape, refusing to create a single rip, so excruciatingly slowly I thought he might tear the wrapping off himself. Finally I unfolded the paper to reveal the contents. A picture frame. No, a picture - the two of us together when we went out for coffee with my parents. Backs to the camera, hand in hand, faces turned to look at each other, a smile playing across our lips. It was... the most perfect photo I'd ever seen. I couldn't speak it was so beautiful. It was... us. I nuzzled into his shoulder and laid a trail of kisses along his neck up to his ear. I finally managed to convince my lips to whisper "thankyou" before touching his, the picture still clutched in my hands. And so, as the Moody Blues put it (in Celtic Sonant, Google tells me), the wheel keeps on turning. 2006 arrived, and I was back to uni. We spoke on the phone, online, and he sent me a CD of his holiday photos. A few rather... fun ones. For a while I had a screensaver of them and one picture of Dave Williams topless when filming Son of Dork's Eddie's Song video. Rather hot. Valentine's Day rolled around with a tutor meeting to give me back my exam results, a boring statistics lecture from a guy with acute stage fright, and something completely incomprehensible in Lagrangian and Hamiltonian Mechanics. Back to hall for lunch (lamb and mint burgers - not exactly the most appetising of lunches. Why they can't just give us beef burgers I'll never understand, but they'd run out of sandwiches, so I didn't have too much choice). I've never been a great believer in Valentine's Day - I always saw it as a rather annoying affair designed to make money and piss me off. Still, actually having a boyfriend made it seem a bit more... useful I suppose would be an apt description. So, back up to my room, skip Mathematical Shapes and Structures (boring lecture), and write Danny the best love letter I could come up with. I write the next part as a dictation, since it's apparently important that it go here, but I wasn't there to experience it, so... ladies and gentlemen... the words of Danny J (shame I can't really write the accent, but you'll have to imagine that. Suffice to say it's delivered in that voice that makes me almost melt, and that someone trying to give you a backrub is very distracting to the writer). And so it was that on the fourteenth day of the second month of the year of our lord two thousand and six that three men were on a journey when the hot one said unto the fat one, "Come, let us hither to Nottingham for to visit unto my boyfriend." And the grumpy one, he did complain as was his place, but lo he was ignored. And so unto Nottingham did they journey, amen. Too much effort to keep doing that - just write it as if I were doing it, would you? - Aw come on, it sounds cool. - You're going to be sleeping on the sofa tonight at this rate. Where was I? Oh yeah, we went to Nottingham, Tom got lost and Harry kept complaining. "Why can't your boyfriend visit you instead of dragging us halfway across the country?" He said. "He's a student. He can't leave on a whim," I said, defending my boyfriend valiantly against the evil drummer's words. "My girlfriend's a student, she still comes to visit me." I was about to reply with a brilliant riposte when the driver interjected, "Harry, your girlfriend drives a Porsche. She's hardly a typical student. Besides, we're here now." "'Bout time," Harry grumbled. You know, Nottingham Uni is really unimpressive - no big entrance gates. If I was a uni I'd want to have a great big castle of a place. Anyway, Tom pulled up in a lay-by and we got out - well, Harry didn't, he just sat sulking in the back seat. I got my bag out of the boot, and picked up the single red rose I'd bought. Matt said sometime that one flower is romantic, a bunch is just boring, and besides, roses are a big rip-off. Except the chocolates, they're worth it. I have some fun plans along those lines for later... maybe Matt'll let you read about it. I asked Tom, "How do I look?" He brushed a few crumbs off my tux and smiled. "You're every fan's wet dream. Now go in there and show him why he's the luckiest guy in the world." Tom says the nicest things. Apart from Matt of course. I was waiting by the door at least five minutes before someone actually let me into the building, though they gave me odd looks. Good thing our fans tend to be younger. Matt's the oldest fan I've ever slept with. That is if you don't count me as a fan of our music. I got the lift up to Matt's room, got a bit confused about which way to go - not really my fault, all the corridors look the same - but found it in the end, and knocked on the door. It was a minute before he answered, but when the door finally opened and his jaw dropped about as far as it would go, I said in my best sexy voice, "Happy Valentine's, Love." It's probably best if I cut off Danny there - he's actually still talking so as long as I keep writing he probably won't notice that what I'm typing bears no resemblance to what he's saying. Danny, at my door, on Valentine's Day, in a tuxedo (complete with white carnation in the button hole), holding a red rose. It really doesn't get much better than that. I invited him in, immediately pressing him up against the door, kissing lips I'd been missing for so long. We... well, let's just say we started with Danny stripping down to a thong (and that is something very nice to find under a tux), then teased each other in pretty much every way we could think of (a video Danny brought proved quite... arousing) without actually following through... until a bit later. Oh. He did notice what I was typing. I am now definitely sleeping on the sofa, he says, but he reserves the right to sleep there too. Good thing it's a fairly big sofa - a nice fabric one - hate leather. Unless it's very tight leather trousers wrapped around Danny's legs. Mainly because it shows off the curve of his ass incredibly well, and I can go around his flat groping it. Yeah, I'm actually staying at his flat now - Easter holidays from uni, figure I can have a week of relaxation... well... it's not really relaxing being with him, but... you know what I mean. A week before I start thinking about how many lectures I skipped. I have to admit, the life of a successful popstar isn't really what I imagined. There are a lot more early mornings than I expected, though of course the pain of waking up is mollified somewhat by the person sharing the bed. I was oddly surprised by the flat not smelling totally of Harry's cigarettes - there's a slight tinge in the air, but that's mostly covered by air fresheners. Apparently there's some fire regulation about no smoking inside - I can't help but smile seeing him out on the balcony in the cold air (where is spring this year) looking thoroughly miserable. I'm one of those people who believes smokers should have no place in this world. Don't get me wrong - I'm very happy for them to make their own choices to smoke - after all, it lowers the chance of their stupidity contributing to the gene pool - I just don't see why I should be forced to have all my clothes smelling of it. I want to smell my hot and sweaty boyfriend, not a drummer slowly committing suicide. There are also a lot of recording sessions I'm not allowed to go to, though I was allowed in on one of their practices in Tom's flat (as long as I kept quiet). Danny even managed to get them to play a version of Radiohead's Exit Music (For A Film) - what I consider possibly one of the most emotional and downright brilliant tracks ever recorded (listen to it in a darkened room with your eyes closed. Think of Romeo and Juliet. Then cry. It's that good). The evenings tend to follow one of two patterns - order a take-away and watch a film together, or try and cook something and then go out clubbing and bet on how long Dougie can keep the dinner down (Danny has a real knack for winning those bets). Harry tried to convince me to drink something more "manly" than orange Reef (but he turned out to be a Carlsberg drinker, so I didn't care what he thought about my drinks); and Tom just tried to get me to drink more, which just like the last time I got totally off my face, ended up with me squeezing his ass and then trying to kiss slash wrestle him in the toilets while he was having a piss (Tes - you know I didn't mean it. I was drunk, he was teasing me, these things happen...). Well, the last time it happened it was with a guy called Ed, but the principle's the same. I have to say though - Tom, Harry and Dougie have been a lot more at ease with me than I expected. I mean, I was never exactly comfortable around my friends' girlfriends (though that was mainly because I was jealous of them), and since the four of them have been living in each other's laps for so long now, I'd have thought an extra person would throw the whole thing off-balance. But it's not at all like that. Really... they're great. Sure, Harry's a bit grumpy, but that's probably from all the sitting out in the rain. Tom... well, the three of them were waiting for me in Danny's flat, and the first thing he does is hug me. Huge bear hug. I don't really know how good he is at kissing (I didn't quite get our lips to touch in the club toilets) but if it's anything like his hugs... well, Giovanna is a lucky girl and Danny has some competition as Kissing King. As for Dougie... he's even weirder in real life than he is on TV, and that I find impressive. While I think of it, I have a bit of news for you all. Or maybe a bit of a story. We were lying in bed, having just found out that baby oil makes condoms burst (a bit unfortunate... and painful - I should probably be glad it hadn't got near my arse when it decided to give up. I had to kiss Danny better a lot before it stopped hurting. Or he just claimed it was hurting anyway - I don't doubt he liked the attention). Either way, we were under the covers, snuggling against each other. "I've been meaning to ask you," I started, "About the summer..." You know what? It doesn't quite work as a story, so I'll just leave it as a piece of news - Danny's coming on holiday with me and my parents to Wales this summer. And maybe staying the few days before... and after... we'll see what happens. I'm just hoping for a nice quiet holiday with the person who means most to me. Something romantic, but hopefully with lots of excuses for him to take his shirt off. Not that that's too likely in Wales. Still, if our holiday to the Lake District last year could be all sun (seriously - in the Lake District? It's meant to be about the wettest place in the UK), Wales stands a good chance. Alternatively, we could have used up our "sun quota" for the next few hundred years and are doomed never to see the sun again. I guess we'll find out. There are other ways to get his shirt off. Anyway, looks like I need to go and reserve a space on the sofa next to Danny, for tonight we are apparently watching Independence Day and eating pizza - and I fancy seeing quite how excited I can get him without the others noticing. Until the next time.