Date: Mon, 27 Mar 2006 02:16:49 +0100
From: Matt Buck <matt_v_jellicle@hotmail.com>
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.