Date: Thu, 10 Nov 2005 22:40:39 +0100
From: tsunami@london.com
Subject: The Nurse, Part3

The Nurse, by mattbuck
Part 3

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


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.


      Just about the start of November, was it really that short a time
since we'd met? Seemed so much longer than... four weeks? We hadn't exactly
had much contact. He sent me a picture of him on Hallowe'en, asking me how
I was (better now - though that cough lasted two more weeks after the gig),
but that was it really. I would like to lend my support to the mayor of
that small town on Austria's Swiss border who was trying to ban Hallowe'en,
saying that all the witches, ghosts, pumpkins and trick-or-treating was
just a money-spinning American invention that promotes lawlessness and
gluttony among children, and bears no resemblance to traditional European
celebrations. Apparently a couple of neighbouring towns joined him. I just
try and ignore Hallowe'en entirely - Hallowe'en parties I refuse to go
near, meals I skip... you just know someone will have "decorated" the
dining hall, which will piss me off, along with all the pointless fancy
dress. Waste of fucking money.

      Incidentally, I went to the hall bar later and found that decked out
with skeletons. I just grabbed a red WKD (tastes oddly like fizzy Um Bongo
- does anyone remember that drink? I used to love it as a kid) and left.

      Anyway, that evening I was playing Counterstrike over the University
LAN - not exactly an uncommon occurrence these days - I think I'm getting
better slowly. I actually kill people before I die now. Usually. I'd played
four games that night, the first two in which I got eight of a possible
twelve kills, the third and fourth I died without firing a shot. I blame
the last game on the fact my phone went off and started vibrating itself
across the desk. [LI] Nukular killed mattbuck with a headshot from an m16
the screen read. Meh. I set it to spectate and picked up the phone. Danny
Jones, the screen read. (He would have got in as Danny, but there were two
other Dannys I know who got there before him, and putting him in as "Hot as
Fuck" would be doing him an injustice. Not an untruth, mind you, but... it
wouldn't feel right). I quickly clicked the accept button, putting the
phone to my already-hot ear.

      "Hello?"

      "Hey Matt," came that gorgeous voice through the ether. It sent a
shiver down my spine to even have him talk to me. I mean when we met he'd
probably been contractually obliged to speak to me (in which case I can
maybe sue Tom to make him speak to me... or not), and while yes he had a
choice not to take me back to his hotel... we'd barely met. The fact that
he still wanted to speak to me... made me feel special. He was good at that

      "Hey, what's up?"

      "Oh, you know. Interviews, photoshoots, wedgieing Dougie... pretty
boring really. What 'bout you?"

       "Lectures and counterstrike really. Probably more boring. I don't
live with crazy people."

      Maybe that's a lie... there are a load of semi-deranged people in the
hall... I guess I don't live in quite such close quarters though. I saw one
come out of the dining hall clutching a sheet of baking foil, calling it
"pimp wrap". Then there was the time I found five tutors playing cricket in
a corridor with a piece of cheese. After a while, you learn you're happier
not knowing why these things happen. Ignorance truly is bliss in these
cases.

      A few seconds silence. "So..." I ventured.

      "Yeah, you remember you promised I could come stay when I wasn't
feeling too good? I'm taking you up on it."

      "Now? You really don't sound ill."

      "Well, tomorrow. And I'll have you know that behind this tough
exterior I'm dying inside."

      "Oh, well. I suppose you'd better come here then," (nice thought...)
"How are you getting here?"

      "Driving, mate."

      "You'd get clamped." (Truth that. The university is rather picky
about who it allows to park on campus.)

      "Oh... train then? Do I go to Nottingham station?"

      "You could, but probably better off going to Beeston. It's a lot
closer. Let me know when you're getting in and I'll come meet you
there. Just be here by two - I have lectures three until six." Boring
lectures. Lectures I'd much prefer to spend in his arms. But lectures I'd
skipped too much already this semester, so couldn't in good conscience (or
rather in expectation of good results) skip.

      "No problem. Do I need to bring anything special?"

      Lube?

      "Uh, sleeping bag, otherwise, not really. Any drinks I should buy for
you?"

      "Orange Tango's cool. Anything I can get you?" Now that...

      "If you see some Oreos... buy them!" I laughed. I could hear his
sniggering.  I'm not very funny, but if it amuses him... who am I to argue?
"Actually, could you bring a camera? I want a few snaps to prove it's not
just a dream."

      "Sure, mate, no problem. Stops Dougie filming his sex tapes. Anyway,
got to go. I'll text you when I know what time my train gets in. See you
tomorrow." There was a noise, then cut off. And grant you, I wasn't sure,
and really, I'm still not, but...  the slight pursing and sucking of a
blown kiss? Probably not. I looked around my room. Ten or twenty minutes
tidying (read: pushing stuff into drawers out of the way) I figured and it
would be presentable. I went back to counterstrike.

      Wait. Dougie sex tapes?

      [LI] Nukular killed mattbuck with a headshot from an m16

      Fuck.



      So, that Thursday lunchtime, I found myself sitting waiting for a
train on platform one of Beeston station. It felt slightly odd to be honest
- when I go home, I have to wait on platform two. Mind you, platform one is
equally as cold and uncomfortable, so it doesn't make that much
difference. I'd got there about ten minutes early, and had then been told
the train was twenty minutes late. I was very glad I'd brought a book to
read. Still, way better than my last trip from home to Nottingham. What
should be a three hour journey from Bristol to Birmingham to Nottingham,
all by train, turned into Bristol to Gloucester by train, Gloucester to
Birmingham by coach, Birmingham to Derby to Nottingham by train in a little
under six hours. Still, I got a taxi back to halls with a cute girl, so
maybe it was worth it.

      But I had to sit by a woman who insisted on talking to me about Star
Trek, and who couldn't get her kid to stop bawling, so in retrospect it
wasn't worth it.

      I'd do it all again if I knew Danny was waiting at the end for me.

      Finally, the train arrived. In a way I was annoyed, I'd got to about
page sixty of the book (Stargate SG1: The Cost of Honor by Sally Malcolm)
and was just in the middle of a good bit. I shoved in my bookmark (the
cover from a blutack packet) and stood, stretching in the cold air. The
train had parked itself so its middle carriage was right in front of me. I
looked up the platform - a few people were getting off the train at the
front, and behind me... was Danny. He opened his arms wide and we hugged,
me burying my face in the nape of his neck, reminding myself why it was so
intoxicating. A month, but way too long. It was just too good feeling him
against me.

      We parted, and he looked at his watch.

      "Twenty seconds without coughing. I reckon that's a record mate!"

      "Yeah, still took two weeks after meeting you for it to go away. I
guess we'll see which of us is the better nurse. What's wrong with you
anyway?"

      He blushed. "Erm... I stubbed my toe." I just started laughing,
shaking my head, grinning. He was making me feel special again. He was too
good. Way too good.

      "Come on, the taxis are this way. Do you need a hand with your
bag...s?" I said, looking for the first time at his luggage. In addition to
a fairly normal sports bag (which looked rather stuffed) there was a large
black case sitting on the platform. And I thought I packed heavy.

      "Yeah, you take the guitar case would ya?" Anticipating my question,
or possibly just after looking at my expression (I did drama GCSE, so I
tend to exaggerate body language at times), continued, "What? I might want
to write something."

      I made a great show of rolling my eyes, making him grin, and tried to
lift the case.

      "I never realised guitars were so heavy."

      "Oh, that's the amps. Or Dougie stowed away. Not in there are you,
Doug?"  He said, knocking on the case. "Nope, just amps and a guitar." He
picked up the sports bag. "That way you said?"

      "Why do I get the feeling you let me carry the heavy one?" I grumbled
as I hefted the case.

      "Because this way you can't run away from me. Go on, lead the way."
Not like I would anyway... next time, he goes first. Then I get to watch
his ass, which would make up for being used as a porter. Still, we made it
to the taxi, somehow got his stuff and my backpack into the boot and both
of us into the back seats. I learnt my lesson that the London-style cabs
are much more expensive than the firms that use normal cars. I guess you
can fit more people in them, though. A quiet trip back to halls - I've
never been much of a talker in cars. Finally, we pulled into the driveway,
got out, paid the taxi and started towards the doors. Danny was looking up
with a gaze of wonderment.

      "Care to share?" I asked.

      "I just thought university halls were like high-rise blocks of
flats. It's...  small."

      "Birmingham has blocks of flats for halls - hate Birmingham. Too
bloody boring. Anyway, we're the smallest hall on campus, but that's still
around a hundred and fifty people. The Warden - guy in charge, by the way -
says it's more like a big house. Oh, and you see that window up there? That
one's mine."

      I pulled open the doors, and for the first time when visitors came,
the lift was working. Just as well with that damn case. Apparently you can
fit twenty one people in that lift, though frankly two feels cramped. I
think I was in there with six other people once. At that point it gets
difficult to breathe, especially if anyone with you is a smoker, or has put
on perfume or deodorant recently.

      You sometimes find the next morning it smells of sick. That's never
nice on your way to breakfast.

      Finally, my key slipped into the lock and Danny Jones was in my
bedroom.  Feels good to think that. Danny was standing in the middle of my
room, slowly turning around.

      "Twelve."

      "Twelve?"

      "Yeah, twelve. Pictures of me. I was really expecting more. You know,
walls, floor and ceiling covered... You don't even have all the posters
we've done. I'm disappointed, mate." He sighed, shaking his head sadly. "I
mean... Green Day, Radiohead, a wave, John Cleese... but only one life-size
pic of me? You should redecorate."

      He shucked off his shoes, and jumped onto the bed, landing flat on
the mattress.

      "So, anyway, what are we doing today? Beer and clubs?"

      "Well, actually, I've got lectures in about... twenty-five minutes?
So I have to be off. Don't know what you want to do."

      "Guess I'm going to lectures then. Sure it'll be great fun."

      "Oh, very..."



      Foundations of Pure Mathematics. Boredom. We'd taken a table at the
back in a corner, Danny leaning back against the wall, me semi-attentively
taking notes.  Equivalence Relations (apparently relations (which in
non-maths speak means relationships) which are reflexive (x is a relation
of itself [xRx]), symmetric (xRy => yRx) and transitive (xRy, yRz =>
xRz)). Not exactly the most fun-filled area of maths, though not the most
boring either. That award goes to Probability and Statistics - the subjects
that require mindless number-crunching. I'm the sort of person who prefers
algebra and calculus (yes they DO have a use in the "real" world, I'll have
you know). Danny whispered in my ear halfway through,

      "Do you actually understand and enjoy this?" It was rhetorical of
course, but understand... yes. Enjoy? Not this particular bit. Anyway, when
the lecturer finally let us go, we were first out the door.

      "So, what now?"

      "I've got an hour free actually, then a lecture at five. I stay
around here because by the time I get back to my room I'd only have about
twenty minutes before I had to leave again, and it never seems worth it. I
tend to just sit in one of the cafes for the hour, but today... I know,
come on."

      I led him, resisting the urge to take his hand, out of the doors of
the Pope Building where the lecture had been. It's odd, you'd think that
most maths lectures would be in the Maths/Physics Building, but it's
actually pretty rare for one to be in there. We threaded our way through
the crush outside, and walked across the open area towards the
(imaginatively named) Tower Building. We took the lift up to the fifteenth
floor, then up the emergency stairs at the side until we were in the area
leading to the roof (though that door was always locked). I rather like it
up there, it's fairly quiet, and there are large windows that give you a
good view out over what's unofficially known as "Science City". You
couldn't see my hall from there - there's a rather large hill in the middle
of the campus - but a good view nonetheless. Certainly beats the view from
my room - there's a rather large conker tree in the way.

      We settled ourselves on the top step, side by side, eating a dairy
milk I'd put in my bag sometime and continually forgotten to eat. We talked
- about everything, about nothing. Fame, fortune; death and taxes (the last
two, it was once said, are the only certainties in this universe). Evening
had come, and the sky was turning from a majestic purple-blue to black, the
air getting cooler as it did, It was imperceptible at first, the shuffling
bringing us closer and closer. Arms touched, we pretended not to notice. I
shivered slightly, and a warm arm was wrapped around my shoulders. It was
almost too good, at once calm and terror. I felt safe with him, perhaps as
happy as I'd ever been, but... nagging doubts - was it just meant as a
friendly gesture rather than what I wanted to believe? Was he just more
physical with his emotions, and not actually intending... I remembered back
when I was leaving his room, when he licked my ear... How I'd felt then,
how special that of all the people in the world, he'd...  Then when I'd got
home and seen what he'd written on my poster: "Matt: it was a pleasure
taking care of you, thanks for taking care of me - Danny." I wanted him so
badly, but more than that, I wanted him to want me. Maybe he did, maybe he
didn't, I didn't, I couldn't know - but I had to find out. I let my head
loll onto his shoulder, one arm around his back, pulling him closer. The
conversation died, and we sat in silence, fingers slowly rubbing back and
forth, almost without conscious will. I felt like my world was perfect,
Utopian even, but no dream of future civilisation could come close to that
moment. Nor can words adequately convey the feeling.

      We moved, my head lifted from his shoulders, turning too face him
even as he did the same. Time seemed to stand still (cliche, but...) as our
faces came closer, neither of us quite knowing who made the first move, his
head twisting slightly to avoid banging noses, his soft lips meeting mine,
simple and caring. What I'd thought of as perfect suddenly paled to
insignificance. It was so simple, yet so...

      Fingers threaded through my hair, a whispered voice,

      "Did we do that last time?"

      "No, never," I breathed. He leant forward, brushing his nose against
mine, "Eskimo Kisses" if I remember my Swallows and Amazons.

      "Good, I want this to be special." Then his lips touched mine again,
and I was flying.