This Is Spinal Tap - Velvet (U)
"Still feeling rough?"
"Hmmnng," Nigel spluttered at the bassist. He felt truly awful – the peak of 'flu (man 'flu, as David had pointed out), and he was stuck on tour in the bus. Which, he reminded himself, had knackered out its heating system. He pulled his feet up onto the edge of the sofa, tucked his knees under his chin, and coughed, a harsh hacking noise in the cool night air.
Derek looked on in sympathy. "Are you sure you wouldn't be better going to bed? No-one else is in the bedroom, you'd get a quiet evening while we're out."
Nigel shook his head pitifully. "I'm too tired to move," he mumbled, closing his eyes. He thought of the bus' 'bedroom' – a small closed-off area with five sets of bunk beds for the band and crew. It served its purpose on tour, but it was dark and just as cold as the living area he sat in now, and somehow the bus felt more empty when surrounded by nine empty beds.
"Alright," Derek said. "We're going to head off in a couple of minutes. Are you sure you don't want anyone to stay here?"
"No, no, I'm sure," Nigel croaked, looking up. "You all go and have fun. Make sure you find a good bar for next time we're this way, I'll come too, then."
"I'll do my best," Derek laughed, quietly. "We shouldn't be terribly long – we'll probably be back by one."
"Alright, I'll see you then."
"See you later."
Nigel closed his eyes again and listened to Derek's footsteps fade away, followed by the slide and thud of the bus door being shut. Dropping his chin back to his knees, he let out a tired sigh in the remaining silence. He felt terrible. The 'flu had worked its way around the crew over the previous week and, so far, he was the only member of the band to pick it up. He had no idea how the drivers had managed to keep working with it – his back ached, his throat felt raw, he had a throbbing headache behind his eyes, and he went from too hot to shivering in less time than it took to tune his guitar. Even the thought of it sent a tremble down his spine, as the hairs on his arms rose up into goose pimples.
Feeling the cold outside air from moments earlier drift down the bus, he sat up straighter and looked around for something warm to put on. He was almost tempted to get his quilt from the bedroom, but the sudden dizziness as he leaned forward to stand up dissuaded him from the idea. Sitting back to let the feeling pass, he spotted a dark shape hanging across one arm of the sofa. Leaning over to inspect it, his hand fell upon exquisitely soft material and, with a smile, Nigel realised it was one of David's jackets – his favourite, midnight blue velvet jacket, to be precise.
Guessing that it couldn't do any harm, Nigel sat up again and pulled the jacket to himself, wrapping the soft fabric around his arms and shoulders and nuzzling a cheek into its warmth. He inhaled deeply – the velvet smelt like everything he connected with the blond, an infusion of patchouli and ylang ylang, coconut shampoo, and something he couldn't quite put a name to but which was wholly David.
Pulling his feet up onto the sofa and lying down on his side, Nigel pulled the jacket around to cover himself down to his tucked up knees. Snuggling his head against the cushion and brushing the velvet collar against his chin, for the first time in days he felt like he could get some decent sleep.
Within minutes, he was snoring lightly.
"Hmmnng," Nigel spluttered at the bassist. He felt truly awful – the peak of 'flu (man 'flu, as David had pointed out), and he was stuck on tour in the bus. Which, he reminded himself, had knackered out its heating system. He pulled his feet up onto the edge of the sofa, tucked his knees under his chin, and coughed, a harsh hacking noise in the cool night air.
Derek looked on in sympathy. "Are you sure you wouldn't be better going to bed? No-one else is in the bedroom, you'd get a quiet evening while we're out."
Nigel shook his head pitifully. "I'm too tired to move," he mumbled, closing his eyes. He thought of the bus' 'bedroom' – a small closed-off area with five sets of bunk beds for the band and crew. It served its purpose on tour, but it was dark and just as cold as the living area he sat in now, and somehow the bus felt more empty when surrounded by nine empty beds.
"Alright," Derek said. "We're going to head off in a couple of minutes. Are you sure you don't want anyone to stay here?"
"No, no, I'm sure," Nigel croaked, looking up. "You all go and have fun. Make sure you find a good bar for next time we're this way, I'll come too, then."
"I'll do my best," Derek laughed, quietly. "We shouldn't be terribly long – we'll probably be back by one."
"Alright, I'll see you then."
"See you later."
Nigel closed his eyes again and listened to Derek's footsteps fade away, followed by the slide and thud of the bus door being shut. Dropping his chin back to his knees, he let out a tired sigh in the remaining silence. He felt terrible. The 'flu had worked its way around the crew over the previous week and, so far, he was the only member of the band to pick it up. He had no idea how the drivers had managed to keep working with it – his back ached, his throat felt raw, he had a throbbing headache behind his eyes, and he went from too hot to shivering in less time than it took to tune his guitar. Even the thought of it sent a tremble down his spine, as the hairs on his arms rose up into goose pimples.
Feeling the cold outside air from moments earlier drift down the bus, he sat up straighter and looked around for something warm to put on. He was almost tempted to get his quilt from the bedroom, but the sudden dizziness as he leaned forward to stand up dissuaded him from the idea. Sitting back to let the feeling pass, he spotted a dark shape hanging across one arm of the sofa. Leaning over to inspect it, his hand fell upon exquisitely soft material and, with a smile, Nigel realised it was one of David's jackets – his favourite, midnight blue velvet jacket, to be precise.
Guessing that it couldn't do any harm, Nigel sat up again and pulled the jacket to himself, wrapping the soft fabric around his arms and shoulders and nuzzling a cheek into its warmth. He inhaled deeply – the velvet smelt like everything he connected with the blond, an infusion of patchouli and ylang ylang, coconut shampoo, and something he couldn't quite put a name to but which was wholly David.
Pulling his feet up onto the sofa and lying down on his side, Nigel pulled the jacket around to cover himself down to his tucked up knees. Snuggling his head against the cushion and brushing the velvet collar against his chin, for the first time in days he felt like he could get some decent sleep.
Within minutes, he was snoring lightly.
The bus door opened with a loud clatter, and heavy footsteps trod down the main passageway from the front.
"Sorry Nige, I'm not back yet. Just popping in," a voice rang from the behind the thin doorway to the next room. The footsteps paused briefly, then continued. "Nigel? You haven't seen my blue coat, have you?"
David peered around the doorway, answering his own question when he saw the figure curled up on the sofa, gripping tightly onto the jacket covering him. His jacket, David noted with a smile. "I'll find another one, then," he whispered to no-one in particular.
He quietly continued through the living area into the bedroom, and soon emerged with another jacket in one hand and a quilt in the other. He shrugged himself into the spare coat and gently lay the quilt across Nigel, jacket and all, being careful not to disturb him. As he pulled it around the guitarist's shoulders, a brown eye opened, looking up at him.
"And Sleeping Beauty wakes up," David smirked.
Nigel laughed despite himself, before blushing with embarrassment. "Did you want your coat back?"
"Nah, I don't need it."
"Good," Nigel mumbled, closing his eyes again. "Smells nice."
David watched Nigel with a curious expression. "I'll be back in a bit, alright?"
"Mmm."
The blond put his hands in his pockets and quietly walked towards the front of the bus, stopping when he heard his name.
"David?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
David smiled. "You're welcome." He opened the bus door and stepped outside, shutting it again as gently as possible. As he headed out into the night, he decided that he'd return to the bus earlier than the others to check on the guitarist.
"Sorry Nige, I'm not back yet. Just popping in," a voice rang from the behind the thin doorway to the next room. The footsteps paused briefly, then continued. "Nigel? You haven't seen my blue coat, have you?"
David peered around the doorway, answering his own question when he saw the figure curled up on the sofa, gripping tightly onto the jacket covering him. His jacket, David noted with a smile. "I'll find another one, then," he whispered to no-one in particular.
He quietly continued through the living area into the bedroom, and soon emerged with another jacket in one hand and a quilt in the other. He shrugged himself into the spare coat and gently lay the quilt across Nigel, jacket and all, being careful not to disturb him. As he pulled it around the guitarist's shoulders, a brown eye opened, looking up at him.
"And Sleeping Beauty wakes up," David smirked.
Nigel laughed despite himself, before blushing with embarrassment. "Did you want your coat back?"
"Nah, I don't need it."
"Good," Nigel mumbled, closing his eyes again. "Smells nice."
David watched Nigel with a curious expression. "I'll be back in a bit, alright?"
"Mmm."
The blond put his hands in his pockets and quietly walked towards the front of the bus, stopping when he heard his name.
"David?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
David smiled. "You're welcome." He opened the bus door and stepped outside, shutting it again as gently as possible. As he headed out into the night, he decided that he'd return to the bus earlier than the others to check on the guitarist.