g-a-y

This is technically an addition to The Nurse, but it stands up on its own as a story.

Sometimes, people’s driving scares me. People in other cars I just call idiots or jerks (and there is now statistical proof that “white van men” are more dangerous drivers than any other colour of van), but when I’m in the passenger seat, it’s a different story. I’ve been driven at more than double the speed limit on a dual carriageway trying to catch a train. I’ve had twenty years of coping with my mum’s driving. I’ve been in the car when my Dad crashed into a lamp post. But none of them scared me more than being in Danny’s Micra doing eighty on the M4 headed back to London.

Not one.

Due to McFly stuff, he couldn’t stay at my house for more than a night after the holiday, and that night was spent catching up on lost sleep from the night before. To make up for it, he invited me to come back to London with him for a week… or two… or three… he really wasn’t specific. It wasn’t hard to say yes, nor was it especially hard to pack – just chuck all the clothes back into my bag (if it was dirty, it could get more dirty), copy a few things onto CD – the hardest part was getting our bags into his car. Micras really aren’t big enough for two.

Then there was the problem with his air conditioning meaning we were driving in our underwear with all the windows open. That plus leather seats really isn’t nice.

So, into London (my least favourite city, apart from Birmingham – I’ve never much liked big city life), amazingly getting to his flat without getting lost, carrying the bags up to his room, getting all hot and sweaty, then jumping onto the bed, getting hotter (and sweatier).

I was sure that when we started the door was open and the flat was empty, not door closed and flat full of topless McFly.

“Hey, Matt, I’ve got something for you.” Tom said on the doorstep of the flat as he and Dougie were about to leave. “Where’d I put it…” He fumbled around in his shirt pocket (I was rather sad to see the star covered up again), pulling out various folded up bits of paper (I didn’t ask) before he found the right one and passed it to me. Pink. A ticket of some sort.

“Ticket for our gig next Sunday. A club called G-A-Y.”

“With lesbians!” Dougie chimed in.

“Front row my side. Was going to Giovanna, but she didn’t want to be seen at a gay club. Oh, and you get a backstage pass too. Just don’t tire him out before we go on.” He blocked the punch to the arm Danny hurled his direction then hugged me, though I’m not quite sure if that was just so he could use me as a human shield. “Don’t keep Harry up either. See ya guys.” He even gave a little wave on the way out the door. God he’s cute.

So, on the Sunday evening I found myself at a gaybar for only the second time in my life. I’d gone in the back way, shared a few kisses before they started getting ready, then was pushed out to the front of the stage. There was already a fair crowd of people there, and I’m sure there were more than a few envious glances as I made my way to the front row, armed with a couple of bottles of orange reef. Didn’t want to get thirsty. That’s the nice thing about gay clubs – they have all the “gay” drinks. Not one place in Wales stocked Reef.

But you don’t want to hear about that, or if you do, you’re even sadder than me.

Or a Reef sales rep I suppose.

It was a fairly normal gig for the most part – that is, based on the one I attended back in October – various slashy goings on with spanking and the like, all of which was lapped up by a very appreciative audience. Of course, the gig really got started when they started stripping off one bit of clothing per song. It started off with Dougie taking his shirt off because of the heat (yeah right), then it was Danny and Tom topless as well… Harry was a song behind.

Please, Please played in boxer shorts is just… well…

Front row was ever so slightly brilliant – I really don’t know why Giovanna would want to give it up. Heck, I survived being hit on by a rather scary looking guy with lime green hair, she could have survived a few lascivious lesbians. It was worth it since I got to be about five metres away from Tom playing in boxer and (union jack) ankle socks… come to think of it they were all wearing ankle socks… do they always do that? Tom and a Danny who seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time next to him.

So, the final chords of Please, Please faded away, and they didn’t exactly have anything much to take off… It was Dougie who took off his boxers first, though he refused to let anyone see what he had there (hands… Dougie… honestly). He didn’t quite get them off – they stuck around his ankles and when he went offstage he had to do it waddling.

Then Tom… god, if it weren’t for the trio of good reasons for not jumping on him (Danny, security, I can’t jump that far) then I’d have jumped on him. I was close enough to see the sweat running down his chest, over that gorgeous tattoo… Yes, he could probably do with putting on a bit of weight, but never ever claim he is not incredibly hot. Hard nipples looked so lickable… I think it was me who started the “hand off, Tom!” chant as he stood there, saluting with one hand, covering himself with the other. That is, some of himself. I could still see some… and it was impossible to cover up all his pubes. Brown… wonder why he doesn’t dye them when he does his hair. It leaves me wondering if I’d fancy him so much if he did. I dunno, blonde pubes just don’t do it for me…

Finally, my Danny. I’ve said it before, but I always get a kick out of those two words. I should probably have been jealous as his sweat-soaked boxers made their way down his legs, but the world deserved to see him naked.

As long as some bits were left for me alone.

I was a bit surprised that he was last to strip (apart from Harry, who just didn’t). He did parade most though, one hand waving, the other hand covering (well… mostly. Like Tom, he couldn’t quite cover his pubes, which were growing back happily. I still wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing, but it did at least keep him from scratching so much).

Both gigs I’ve been to he’s got his kit off. Is this going to happen every time?

So, after Harry, Dougie, Danny and Tom had (respectively) smarmed, waddled, walked and wandered offstage to be greeted with towels for their waists, I made my way back past security to the dressing room. I knocked and waited until I heard Dougie yelling “come in”. I’d barely got a foot inside before I had Danny jumping on me into a lip-bruising kiss, nearly knocking me back out the door. I think stripping made him horny. I managed to get his lips away for a second – just long enough to gasp hi – then he was on me again, pressing himself against me, his towel… oh. No towel. That made things more interesting. Were the others watching? All the better. I moved my hands down on to his sweet… wet… arse. He hadn’t made much use of that towel, judging from that and the way my shirt was now soaked with his sweat. Still, that was the best perfume.

Would anyone buy McFly sweat on eBay?

Danny took a few steps back and hopped up onto the bench, splaying his legs, manhood… growing. The others had turned their backs, though Dougie appeared to be staring intently at the mirror while whistling “innocently”. I smiled and tapped Tom on the shoulder.

“Tom, thanks for the best seat in the house.” He turned round a bit and I met him with a kiss. Cheating on Danny? Maybe, but Tom deserved it. Besides… after that performance, I really had the hots for him. His hand really did drift low this time. I let him take his lips from mine, but kept my arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“I take it you enjoyed it then?” He asked breathlessly.

“The gig or the kiss?”

He still hadn’t moved his hand from my arse (and my trousers weren’t exactly thick), and Danny apparently decided that was the time to break it up.

“Come on Tom, hands off my boyfriend.”

“Aww, but Danny,” I whined, leaving one arm around Tom, “he’s so cute.” I licked my finger and ran it over his star, “and isn’t his tattoo so lickable?”

Danny’s erection jerked slightly with enthusiasm – whether at the thought of me with Tom, or doing Tom himself I don’t quite know. He came over and let me guide one finger around the star. The other two had to be staring by now. I looked into his eyes, seeing the flame of excitement and mischief reflected in them.

“So how about it then Tom,” he asked huskily as my hand moved down to stroke him. “Want a threesome?”

I really don’t know what was more comical – Tom’s verbal backpedalling (“Um, thanks, but no thanks. Giovanna probably wouldn’t like it and I don’t really like guys, not that you’re not…”) or his physical backpedalling which involved him walking backwards and falling over a chair, to the mirth of everyone present (except him).

I made my exit and waited outside the door until Danny had actually got dressed. Of course, he took longest. Tom walked past still red-faced (and now red-shirted), Harry smiled at me, and Dougie puckered his lips at me as he went past. I didn’t really feel like kissing Dougie… not that night anyway. I walked back in to find Danny had put on his jeans and was in the process of making sure his boxers poked above the belt. I stood and watched for a few moments before wandering over and wrapping my arms around him from the back, pressing against his (lovely) back.

“Mmmm.” He was right, it really is rather mmmm rubbing yourself against his arse. I closed my eyes, resting against him, happy just to stand there breathing in his scent, feeling his warm body against me, even in that hot room. The idea of just doing it in there passed through my mind, but I rejected it, simply because I was so content to just be there.

It was he who broke the silence eventually.

“Would you do Tom?”

I took a moment to consider my words, before replying,

“Yes, but only if you said I could. He’s sweet, but he’s not you.”

Danny leant his head back to rest on my shoulder, twisting slightly to place a kiss on my cheek.

“I love you.”

“I love you too babe. Only you.”

He grinned.

“Everyone’s gone. D’you want to…”

I smiled back.

“Nah. I want to dance. After all, we’re in a gaybar – what else can we do?”

He picked up a shirt and slung it over his shoulder, taking my hand in his.

There really is nothing like dancing.