The Nurse, by mattbuck Part 16
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 15 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.
I woke up on the second Monday from a weird dream involving Justin Berfield and Frankie Muniz (Malcolm in the Middle stars) naked to a morning whose utter inhospitality was tempered only by having someone to keep me warm in bed.
It was that sort of morning.
It took a while of gentle kissing before we decided to brave the other side of the bedroom door, and some good natured arguing followed as I made myself some pƒt‚ sandwiches and Danny ate his Coco Pops, but it was only about whether Annie Lennox or Madonna was the better live singer. (For those who are interested, my "must see live" list is: U2, Radiohead, Madonna, The Who, Robbie Williams, and Annie Lennox.) By the time that ended, it was merely drizzling. That seemed like as good an excuse as any to go on a railway. Not the Ffestiniog - most of that would be up in the clouds. Ditto for the Snowdon Mountain Railway, with the added impossibility of getting on it at short notice. That, out of the ones in not overlong car trip vicinity, left only the Welsh Highland Railway. Dad started organising things, which boiled down to "we'll get lunch ready, you two go do the shopping and don't get distracted." As if we'd get distracted - the very idea is preposterous. I'd wiggle my eyebrows but that would be a bit stupid since you can't see them. But now you know, you can visualise me writing on a creaky stool in our bedroom, scribbling this down and wiggling my eyebrows. Hope that makes you happy.
So anyway, nabbing my dad's rainbow umbrella from the car on the way, the two of us set off down the hill into Porthmadog. The umbrella proved singularly useless at keeping off the drizzle, so I used it as a walking stick, doing an impression of Paul Merton doing an impression of Ian Hislop as an upper class toff.
"More tea, Vicar, don't'cha know?" It had Danny laughing at least. I came in close for another "don't'cha know" as he looked at me. I grinned and gave him a quick kiss. Every appreciative audience deserves a reward.
Wonder if I can get Danny to go and watch the filming of Have I Got News For You with me sometime.
First stop was the bank, partly to get cash, partly because I was down to the last few pence of credit on my phone (yes Lin, that's how much phoning you cost, not including the large chunk of my sanity). The shopping we decided could probably be done at Spar - that and we didn't want to have to traipse all the way to Tesco. Pƒt‚, Ministrels, ham, butter... I grabbed the essentials while Danny ogled the top shelf of the magazine rack. After I'd gone round the shop once and he was still standing there looking through something I decided to go and find out quite what it was he was so interested in.
"What'cha doin'?" Very Jack O'Neill I feel. Like in Episode 401 (Small Victories) when he looks up through Carter's magnifying glass. Yeah, I love Stargate too much.
"Harry's on the cover of Gay Boys UK." He managed to keep the deadpan expression for precisely three seconds before descending into a fit of giggles. It's for that reason I refuse to go see Just My Luck - I have no more faith in Tom, Harry or Dougie's acting talents than I do in his. That and it's a chick flick, and I had my fill of those after being dragged to see Maid in Manhattan and How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days three or four years (i.e. not long enough) ago. I plucked the magazine from his hands while he tried to get over the joke. Bizarre Magazine, open at a story entitled "Sex 'N' Custard". Kinky and delicious.
"You know me too well." I said, ruffling his hair. He smirked back,
"Go pay babe, I'll be out in a few minutes."
So, those few minutes later I was standing outside the shop, putting away my student card (they refused to let me buy the mag without it).
"Back."
I turned round - he was standing there with a carrier bag, looking incredibly smug. He held it open for me - a six pack of tinned custard. I ran my tongue over my lips - he would be in for some (custard-covered) fun.
Later.
So, back up the hill we went, only stopping to buy some jam doughnuts at the bakery. Even with the drizzle, we still arrived back rather hot and sweaty, and I really wished we had the time to spare to enjoy it (in bed or in the shower) properly. Instead, we were marched back out the door almost immediately and into the car for the fairly long drive to Rhyd-Ddu (reed thee... rid foo... something like that anyway). Now it's not that Rhyd-Ddu is particularly far from Porthmadog, it's just that it's pretty much in the middle of nowhere, so it takes a while to get there on windy roads.
Why build a railway to the middle of nowhere? Well, the Welsh Highland Railway (Rheilfford Eryri - meaning literally railway in the nest of eagles) was originally built between Caernarfon and Porthmadog (which still has a mile of the track, albeit owned by a different company), running through the pass at Aberglaslyn, and up through Beddgelert and then to Dinas Dinlle. It was never a real success though, and was dismantled, much of the track bed being turned into a footpath. But in 1977, the track between Caernarfon and Dinas was relaid, and passenger services started using locomotives imported from South Africa. The company was then taken over by the Ffestiniog Railway Company, and with help from millennium money, the line is slowly being rebuilt towards Porthmadog, for a projected completion date of 2009.
So why build a station in the middle of nowhere? Because almost everything between Caernarfon and Porthmadog counts as the middle of nowhere. Well, apart from Beddgelert (Beth-gell-ert), but that's only a little village with a pizzeria at the top of the Aberglaslyn pass.
We reached the station and picked out the first class carriage. It was rather odd. I mean, most carriages you get benches rather than proper seats. In first class we got arm chairs. Bouncy ones too, with an annoying bit to whack your head on if you tried to turn to look to the opposite side of the carriage. It was a good thing they weren't bolted down, so you could actually twist them a bit. Seemed a bit unsafe, but who am I to judge? What seemed odder than armchairs in first class was that we were there on our own, eating a picnic.
We'd finished the picnic mostly by the time we reached Waunfawr (worn-four), which was about half way to Caernarfon. When we finally saw some blue poking through the clouds (and the mist and the rain), we just had to sing E.L.O.'s Mr Blue Sky. We are a very odd family. Danny I don't think had ever heard of them. For someone who's in a band, he really does have remarkably little knowledge of famous bands.
Still, at least he'd heard of Dire Straits, which is more than most people I speak to.
We finally arrived at the Caernarfon terminus, within a few hundred yards of the castle we'd spent so much time in just two days before. I followed Danny up onto the bridge over the tracks, watching the diesel engine (named, appropriately, Caernarfon Castle) drive around to the opposite end of the train. It wasn't exactly the most romantic of engines, I had to admit. But, I guess as long as it gets the job done... No smoke to hide a good grope and snog, though. Very disappointing. Still, a sweet smile and a hand covering yours makes up for a lot of things. Ice cream on the way back makes up for even more.
Now, I'd like to tell you a lot more stories. About how we went to Portmeirion, the little Italianate hotel village built by Clough Williams Ellis, and booked ourselves into the hotel, enjoying a twilight walk through the deserted village, paddling in the crystal blue waters of the fountain, before going back to our chalet for a candlelit dinner and a passionate night in bed together. I'd like to, only it didn't happen. There were a lot of things that I wanted to do that we never quite got round to for one reason or another. The Portmeirion thing was because we only visited it on the last full day of the holiday, and so couldn't stay the night because we needed to be out of the house early the next morning. Still, that day we did get to go swimming (in shorts this time - Danny lent me his spare pair) in a lake called Llyn Dinas while my parents went off to a viewpoint opposite Snowdon. Beautiful blue water, though it was a bit painful getting in to the lake due to sharp stones. Once you were there though...
And so, it was the final night of the holiday (and I do mean night - about four in the morning), and I was standing at the balcony of our room, looking out at the dark sky. Danny was snoring happily, sucking his thumb. I really had to wonder what went through his head sometimes.
Finally the air could actually be said to be cool, and the occasional breeze created goosebumps on my skin. It was really rather nice, though I couldn't help but think I should probably put on some underwear.
Clear skies... it would be another beautiful day by the look of it. The sky to the east seemed to be a very slight shade of blue lighter than the rest of the sky. Dawn was coming. I walked back over to the bed, sitting down softly next to his sleeping form, taking a moment to just watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest. My Danny. God, even now I still get a kick out of saying that. I managed to keep from laughing as I pulled his thumb from his mouth, then leant in and placed a tender kiss on his lips. Sliiiight aftertaste... not that that was a bad thing. He still tasted good. He always tasted good. To me anyway. Dougie once told me he thought Danny tasted of sour milk. Pity I never thought to ask what Dave tasted of.
The sleeper didn't wake. Typical. You try and wake someone in a nice romantic way and what do they do? Snore. I gave up and went for the shake the shoulder approach. That woke him up with a groan.
"Come on babe, time to get up." I whispered. He groaned again and rolled over, snuggling into the pillow. I pulled the duvet from his grasp and gazed at his naked body. So deliciously perfect. I tried to lift him up, but I couldn't get the right leverage, and he was wriggling his way towards the centre of the bed. I took hold of a foot and pulled him back towards me, running my tongue over the sole, making him squirm.
"Get up babe."
"Why?" (Another groan).
"We're going out."
There was another groan, and he made another attempt to snuggle the pillow, so I licked him again.
"Now?"
"Now." I affirmed, pulling him off the bed as I did so. He landed with a muffled thump on the duvet. Five minutes later, when I'd convinced him to put on some clothes, I picked up the pack of Malteasers from the dining table and we made our way out of the house. I started the car as he climbed in beside me, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes. Before we'd got to the bottom of the hill he was snoring again.
Porthmadog high street was deserted as I drove through before taking the turn towards Morfa Bychan (more-fa bick-an). It's a beach, a pretty large one actually. One of those ones you can drive a car onto (though you do have to be careful - I had to help push one car out once when the tide came up past it). The sky was slowly getting lighter as the dawn arrived. I gave Sleeping Beauty a punch in the arm.
"We're here."
He yawned and stretched.
"Where's here?"
"The beach. Come on." I got out - there were a few clouds now near the horizon, shining with the sun's light. Silence, apart from the waves on the tide line. There's an odd thing about cars on beaches - you always park facing the sea. Don't know why. I stood on the driver's side, facing the eastern horizon and the hills beyond Harlech. His head obscured my view as he climbed out and wandered round to stand by me, resting a hand on the small of my back.
"So..."
"Well... you take me to all these romantic places, candlelit dinners and things like that. I just thought it would be nice to watch the sunrise with you. It's not something I've ever done before."
He pulled me closer and planted a kiss on my cheek. I felt myself glow under his touch.
We waited. It was about another ten minutes of almost perfect silence before we finally saw the sun crest the hill, boiling the clouds into a golden splendour. The beauty hurt my eyes, but I couldn't really look away. Well, except for one glance at the beauty standing beside me. A glance which set off a smile when our eyes met, his reflecting the sun's radiant glory, the distance between our lips closing until we met in a... dare I say perfect kiss? To be honest, every kiss with him feels like the best ever, but this one... call it super-perfect I guess. Slow. Very slow, but oh so tender. I can't help but smile at the memory and close my eyes in remembered bliss. Before I met Danny, I used to wonder whether you would want to be given the perfect kiss, because after that, you could only go down. But that's not how it works. You can remember the exquisite taste of that one kiss, but still never be disappointed, because every kiss is special - every one perfect.
Just that one was the best.