Date: Fri, 23 Dec 2005 21:44:49 +0100
From: tsunami@london.com
Subject: The Nurse, Part 6

The Nurse, by mattbuck
Part 6


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 Tes and Chelle for proofreading.


My other stories in the Nifty Boy Bands section are:

Dougie's Private Fantasy
Pattycake
And I Love Him
Changing Rooms
Dreamscape


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.



      The next day was the day Danny had to leave. Some press thing Fletch
had apparently sprung on them and demanded that Danny "quit faffing around
with some pot-smoking college hippy and get [his] ass back to London." I've
been called worse.  He stayed for lunch (how could he not?), but soon
enough we were again standing in the cold of Beeston station, albeit on
platform two this time. It was pretty much deserted - a few eight year olds
were arguing with the station manager on platform one about getting their
ball off the tracks, and there was an old lady sitting reading Pride and
Prejudice, but for the most part we were alone. To say goodbye. Sweet
fucking sorrow my ass. I didn't want him to go - I wanted him to stay in my
bed every night, his warm body snuggled against mine, and during the day
going around the country, riding the rollercoasters, eating the ice cream,
feeding the seagulls... but no. Maths and music got in the way - it's not
as if either of us could exactly drop what we were doing, even for each
other. Maybe that means we're doomed to failure, but he... well... he's
special. Maybe it won't last, but... in the meantime, I just enjoy the fact
that one of the most talented, nice (and, oh yes, fit as fuck) guys in the
world has fallen for me.

      "The next train on platform two is the 1411 to London Euston."

      I peered up the tracks, seeing the two white headlamps in the
distance.  Coming to take my first ever boyfriend away from me. Danny stood
by my side, discretely taking hold of my hand, squeezing gently. I turned
to him, so much said without words as we looked at each other. He pulled me
close, placing a kiss on my lips, before pulling me into a hug. I held him
tight for a few moments, whispering in his ear, trying to force a smile
onto my face. We parted only when the brakes started to screech, picking up
his bags (I still had to carry that damn guitar case) and staring through
the windows looking for a free seat. It seemed remarkably empty to be
honest, though that still tends to mean you can't get a table to
yourself. The doors hissed open, and Danny climbed aboard. I hefted the
guitar up to him, and we stood in the doorway, an awkward silence
descending.

      "You know, I never did kiss your stubbed toe better." I offered,
trying to make it a... less painful goodbye. A slight smile flitted across
his face.

      "Maybe next time. Look, Matt... thanks babe. I'll phone you later?"

      The guard whistled, and the doors closed between us. I saw him mouthe
the words "I love you" as the train jerked into motion. I started moving
down the platform, trying to keep pace with the door, keep his face in my
view a few seconds more. The train was faster than me though, and I lost
sight of him before I got near the end of the station. Of course on modern
trains you can't lean out the windows to wave. I walked dejectedly back
along the platform, and up the steps to the road bridge over the tracks. My
phone buzzed against my hip - new message. Three words - I love you.



      Even with a phonecall that evening, I couldn't help but feel rather
lonely when I went to bed. Two nights, and already the bed felt empty
without his body pressed against me. Still, he'd promised to visit me again
before the new year, so... I just went to sleep thinking what might happen
the next time we met.



      The year dragged on - two of the I Wanna Hold You CDs arrived; I went
home to visit my parents (and more importantly my cats), saw Harry Potter 4
and thus spent a few days fantasising about him (oh come on - bathroom
scene. He's semi-cute); got my hands on the McFly Live DVD (which
admittedly I have yet to watch) and the Son of Dork album (which left me
with a slight crush on the crazy bleach-blonde one - Dave is it? It was
probably more because I read a story about him and Dougie (it had the line
"You're Dougie! I really wanna do you I do!" in it, which I found
ridiculously sexy), and the fact that on that little poster (if you can
call an A4 sheet of paper that) that comes with the single, his grinning
face seems rather prominent, and all I can think of is what ought to be
filling that mouth); and eventually, four weeks later, the term was over
and I was back at home for the Christmas holidays (and about time - I'm not
exactly even-tempered at the best of times, and after twelve weeks of hall
life... it's not pretty).

      Of course, the aggravation doesn't quite stop for Christmas - one of
my cats has now taken to following me into the bathroom, then demanding to
be let out again just as you are at the most inconvenient point; and there
are exams to study for at the start of January... Still, at least the food
here is decent, though there aren't any local pizza delivery
services. Still, I could probably do without the excess fat those give me,
but they're so damn delicious...

      Anyway, I'd been home about a day when the call came - middle of
Friday afternoon, house to myself, and an off-key version of Greensleeves
starts to dance through the house. It might not have been Greensleeves, but
I know that's its alarm clock tune. I don't actually know my own ringtone,
nor how to change it frankly.  Either way, I totally failed to hear my
ringtone against the sound of Ultravox's synthesisers, since I don't tend
to spend much time close to my phone. It was luck that I happened to be
passing my bedroom later when it rang again (I looked up the missed calls
record - ten missed calls within a two hour period - he's certainly
persistent), though I didn't quite manage to get to it before he rang
off. A minute later, having first accidentally dialled Ed (whose name
appeared right below Danny's in my phonebook), I finally heard the ringing
tone - it barely managed to ring once before I felt my heart fly away in
the grip of Danny's gorgeous voice.

      "Hey babe."

      You'd think that by now I'd have in some way overcome the stage
fright slash star struckness of talking to him, but after a few days... it
just comes back, and your voice catches in your throat when you realise
what sort of a person he is, and what you mean to him. There are times when
I wonder if it's all a dream, and whether some time I'm going to wake up
and find him gone. Well, I haven't woken up yet, and I don't think that
dreams last over a quarter of a year usually, so I figure it's probably
real. I still only managed to reply with a weak "hi", followed by the usual
"how you doing?" and all that stuff.

      "I miss you." I said.

      "Me too. Can I see you before Christmas?"

      "Why not stay for Christmas? My parents do cook good food you know."
(Seriously, always appeal to his stomach. Not only is it a rather sexy part
of his body, but it tends to work. Usually.)

      "Your parents? Oh, home for Christmas, right. No, I'm going on a
cruise with Dougie and our families... Was thinking Sunday 'til Friday?
Think that's when I need to be in Portsmouth or Portugal or something. If
your parents are ok with it anyway."

      "I'll just assume they are, and be waiting by the door for you."

      A few minutes later, we'd worked out some vague sort of arrangement
about times and directions, and the fact he could actually drive to me this
time. It also meant less time waiting on a cold platform with my
extremities gradually going numb. It did however mean one thing - I'd
always thought that my sexuality was none of my parents'
business. Now... well, I was bringing my first ever boyfriend home. I
figured that counted as their business. That was not something I was
especially looking forward to.

      I'm not one for talking on the phone, so about five minutes later we
bade our farewells. I stood there a while, replaying his words in my mind -
two days. Two days, two days, two days. Then I'd have the world's greatest
boyfriend back, and I wouldn't need a blanket to feel warm in bed. Gotta
love love - so many unexpected upsides.



      That night, I told my parents Danny was coming to visit for a few
days - they gave their blessing to it (thankfully - turning him away would
be a right bugger), but I avoided the whole issue of coming out. He'd be
sleeping in my room, like any of my friends would. It was Saturday when I
decided to tell them. They'd been watching a frankly dreadful McCartney
thing live from Abbey Road studios, together on the sofa, with Smudge (one
of the cats) colonising my mum's usual chair. I sat down in the swivel
chair (with the nice colourful fabric), hands steepled, and just told
them. Told them that I was bi, had been for several years, and that Danny
was actually my boyfriend since we met at the gig, and that was why he was
coming to visit me. (To be honest, I hadn't thought about quite why they
would have thought Danny was coming - in actual fact I'm not sure I
mentioned he was Danny Jones when I first said told them he would be
staying. Maybe they assumed it was the Danny I went to school with. I'll
have to ask them someday I guess). Anyway, they didn't seem too upset - I'm
pretty certain they'd guessed before - the fact that a guy has (twelve)
pictures of a male popstar, including one life-size poster is maybe a
slight give-away (at least I wasn't infatuated with some asshole like Peter
Andre, that would just be...  no, I'm just not going there. I'd rather
avoid vomiting if I can). That and the lack of a girlfriend. I figured I
wouldn't go into details with them about our sleeping arrangements - just
asked that they help me bring a mattress and bed base up the stairs and let
me handle it from there. Borrow the spare double-bed duvet, some pillows,
sheets and all that stuff. Gave me a night in a double bed on my own, which
was appreciated by Whisky, my other cat, who likes sleeping on my bed, but
only when I'm not in it (I think I wriggle too much). So... now all I
needed was to see his car pull up in the drive.



      So, on the Sunday, I felt like I spent my entire day staring out at
the drive, my mobile right beside me. I didn't dare not look out, because I
knew the doorbell didn't work, and hadn't for years (my parents later told
me the doorbell DID work - they'd replaced the batteries while I was at uni
so my dad could use the pc while waiting for a new sofa to be delivered). I
did have a book to read (Neil Doyle - Terror Tracker - An Odyssey Into Pure
Fear - a documentary by a journalist who started investigating radical
Islamist terrorism), but I'm not sure I actually read much - I was looking
out the window every five seconds, and what I did read I just read over and
over without really taking anything in. Something about Abu Hamza I
think. At one point I left my vigil for about a minute to go to the
bathroom, and then again to grab some sausage rolls for lunch. One, two,
three o'clock before my mobile buzzed and Danny complained he was lost
somewhere between Bristol and Weston-Super-Mare. My house isn't exactly
easy to find at the best of times (when we first moved in, we always
remembered the turning because we'd go past a large tree (which we named
"not our tree") before we got to the turning (which had the (larger) "our
tree") - then "not our tree" got cut down, but by then we knew where to
turn anyway), and to someone who... well, Danny lives in London, I'm
guessing he took his driving lessons in London, and finding your way around
the countryside is rather different. To me, it's more enjoyable, but I've
never been much for cities. Too many people. That and it makes me cough
more. I was able to give him vague directions, to at least get him going
towards my house rather than heading towards... Reykjavik or somewhere.  It
took another two phonecalls before I had him on the same road as my house.

      Finally I saw his car (a fairly new Nissan Micra - one of the ugly
ones. I always thought the old box-style Micras were the best ones - my Mum
had one for about ten years) in the driveway, and I was up and almost out
the door before I realised I'd forgotten my shoes and that walking on a
cold drive barefoot would hurt, and wasn't such a great idea since I'd
managed to shove a two inch needle through my foot the previous night. I
pulled on my trainers and hurried out the door, down the steps to the drive
in time to see Danny climbing out of the car and looking around, obviously
wondering if he'd found the right place. At least it wasn't the window
cleaner this time. That was embarrassing.

      We didn't exactly do that overly clich‚ "run towards each other, arms
outstretched in slow motion" thing - I'd never be caught dead doing
something so...  you know... boring. That and I absolutely hate the music
they play to those sorts of scenes. No. I got to the drive then slowed
myself to a walk. Danny had his back to me for a moment, staring round at
our garden (it's big - about half an acre set on a hill with a load of
full-grown cherry trees at least fifty feet high - my parents rather like
gardening, and... well, it's nice to not live in the city. Quiet, starry
nights). Five paces from him he heard me, and a grin split his
face. I... ok, I broke into a run, which since he was so close was more of
a hop and a skip. We still didn't do the "throw yourself into lover's arms
and be spun around" thing - I'm slightly too heavy. I said hi, he said hi
back, then I pulled him into my arms and kissed him. Having him back
was... well, Christmas come early. Not very early, but... you know what I
mean. Never kissed at home before... hopefully that night would see the
first kiss in my bed (I don't really count the bed in my room at Nottingham
as mine. I sleep in it, but I don't own it, just rent it).

      We released each other when the threads of saliva between us were
threatening to turn into icicles. It took two trips to bring in Danny's
luggage - I don't take that much stuff to uni (at least, not if you exclude
the computer and related peripherals). My parents were notably
absent. They'd usually be sitting in the lounge, but I guess they went off
to do something else for a while. I didn't exactly announce Danny's
arrival, so they probably hadn't realised - just delaying the inevitable.

      "Ready to meet the parents?" I asked.

      "As I'll ever be. Do they know who I am?"

      "Actually, probably not, unless they match you to posters. They just
know you're called Danny. Come on."

      I led him down the corridor, stepped over Smudge (who said something
along the lines of "mreaaahrwl?"), and saw my parents looking at something
on their computer (they got a second one about a year before I went to uni
- partly because they wanted to have one when I went, and partly because
they couldn't get a look in otherwise). I cleared my throat.

      "Mum, Dad... this is Danny."

      Danny stepped forward, hand outstretched. I had visions of when Pete
Shanahan met Jacob Carter in Stargate... thankfully nothing so
awkward. After all, my father isn't a Tok'ra. In fact, it was rather an
anticlimax - my parents didn't react as if Danny was any different from any
other friend I'd had round my house. I'm not sure whether that was a
blessing or not to be honest. They settled for telling us that dinner would
be somewhere between seven and eight (I really hate how some people insist
on dinner at around five - it's way too early. At five, I still have ten
hours to be awake), and leaving me to get Danny settled in.

      One hurdle down...