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...