Banging On The Ceiling With A Broom

British wit and humour with a (very) liberal smattering of swearing, loads of backhanded insults and compliments, oodles of banter and some rather strange characters.

Welcome to the story of Dave Nix and Tony Dean, best mates that become BEST MATES ( if you get my drift).

Through a series of events that starts with Daves annoying upstairs neighbours and Tonys suggestion of: "have you tried banging on the ceiling with a broom"? A story unfolds that will hopefully make you laugh a bit, probably cringe a bit and possibly go EW!! a few times, but I hope you enjoy it.

Please do comment, I love to see comments and always answer them.

There are some terms in the story that may not be familiar to you dear reader, but fear not, the author comes to the rescue.

If you see a* above a word there will be a little section at the bottom of the chapter that will explain it.

Many thanks and happy reading 😁😁

"Seriously"?.

Thump thump thump.

"Again"?.

Thump thump thump.

"PORTIAAAAAAAA", "OH OH TARQUIN"........

"Oh fucking SHUT UP" Dave Nix yelled.

Head in hands he stared up at the hairline crack in the ceiling, the more he focussed, the more he swore it was getting longer, following the patterns of the artex of a ceiling that had long needed attention and a coat of paint, and now probably needed an entire pot of bloody filler.

"TARQUIN OH YES YES, AAAAaaaaaaah".

"PORTIA DAAAAARLING, UUuuuuuhhhhh".

Creak thump crack, "AAAH OH TARKY YOU MONSTER", "AAAAH PORTIE PIE MY LOVE".

With one last final groan the bed upstairs ceased its cacophony, finally quietening along with the screaming aria of Tarky and Portie Pie getting their rocks off for the third time that night.

"FUCKING FINALLY". Dave groaned as yet another sleepless interlude came to an end.

He'd managed three hours sleep, almost four, which was a bloody miracle, before his sex mad upstairs neighbours had started that night, he was tired, strung out, and ready to commit murder.

"Have they finished"?.

A voice suddenly interrupted his mangled thoughts making him look to one side in shock, twisting his head so quickly he heard his neck crack, almost as loud as the bed slats upstairs.

Lazily popping out his earplugs his best mate Tony yawned and stretched beside him, "told you Day, get some of these", Tony offered up the squishy yellow noise reducers, tinged brown with wax.

"Eww, gross" Dave swatted his hand away, "and why are you here"?.

"Let myself in at 2am, got bored at home."

Tony stretched again and yawned, his broad chest rising and falling, arms taut and hands splayed out like he was anticipating a fall, his unfairly long legs rigid with the effort beneath the duvet, a crack emanating from each knee as he pushed his stretch to the absolute limit.

"I knew I'd regret giving you a key" Dave sighed, "they started at 3am this time, didn't you hear anything"?.

Dave grunted and groaned as Tony elbowed him softly in the face while recoiling back into the mattress with a moan and flailing arms that didn't seem to know quite where to go.

"Not a bloody thing mate" Tony grinned.

Dave Nix lives in the ground floor flat of an old converted Georgian mansion on the edge of town, high ceilings, wooden floors, huge windows, ornate fixings and an air of grandeur that befitted the large white house.

Gardens tended by a wizened old guy by the name of Albert, who, on a good day would greet him with a salute and a nod and on a bad day would grumble and fart and simply walk away, bordered three sides of the building, the other side enclosed by a sturdy fence.

Life was pretty good, nice part of town, decent views, until they'd moved in....... Tarky and Portie Pie, aka Tarquin Fitzmellion (who the fk even has a name like that?), and Portia StClair.

A chinless wonder with a rich father and his equally chinless girlfriend, with an even richer father.

What they did all day when they went out he could only wonder at, but he knew what they did pretty much all damn night, and so did the crack in his ceiling, that traversed it, meandering like a trickling stream.

"So what's the plan for today"?.

Tony stretched again, slapping Dave across the nose this time with a shovel hand.

"Tone, seriously"?. Dave shoved the 6ft 2 moron hard, "your pits stink, go shower" he snapped as Tony chuckled at his mates fruitless attempt to move his bulk more than a few centimetres.

"Don't be so bitchy short arse" Tony huffed giving his pits a sniff, the nose of his 5ft and some odd, 6-7 inches or so, mate, crinkling up in disgust at the very thought of burying his nose in there, "you're just salty cuz you ain't getting none" Tony grimaced as his eyes watered making Dave nod, satisfied, point made.

"That's a double negative Tone" Dave attempted to stretch himself out in the 18 inch strip of space he now inhabited, right on the edge of the king sized bed, thanks to his best mate Hulky McFatArse, Tony Dean.

"Alright alright Mr English professor".

Tony pulled himself up to sitting, plumping up the pillows behind him as Dave, finally, with some space to move, managed to sit himself up without falling off the bed.

"I'm a proofreader, not an English professor idiot" Dave screwed up his eyes as the light from the window streamed in through a gap in the curtains as Tony stretched out an impossibly long arm, sweeping the curtain to one side, "yeah I know I know, it all has to be proper English and all that" Tony sighed, "yeah well it is my job" Dave muttered quietly, "speaking of which, why aren't you at work"?.

"Week off, not much going on in the roofing game at the moment."

'So that's why he turned up at 2am' thought Dave, flinging off the duvet and flopping his averagely muscled short arse legs over the side of the bed as Tony rolled and sat up in one movement with the grace of a hippo, plonking his size 12s onto the wooden floor with a soft thud.

"So what's the plan for today"? Tony asked again, "ain't ya got that fancy pants novel you were telling me about, to check out"?.

Rising from the bed his lanky friend stood up straight and stretched again, "yes, I do have that 'fancy pants novel' to check out as you so eloquently put it" Dave half yawned as he rummaged in his bedside draw for clean boxers, pulling out a pair that was far too big for him, with a sigh and a head shake.

"Will you stop putting your bloody boxers in with mine" he grumped as he shook his head, lobbing the white boxers with red kissy lips all over, at his friend, "get your bloody machine fixed and do your own damn laundry, in your own home" he pulled out a pair to fit himself.

"Now where's the fun in that"? Tony grinned, catching the pants in one hand, scratching his arse with the other, "dibs first go in the shower" he plodded off in the general direction of the bathroom leaving Dave glaring at his back, his rather nice, shapely, strong back, and those long long legs...... "no Dave, bad Dave" Dave mentally slapped himself.

They were an odd pair Dave and Tony, the definition of mismatched.

Dave was around 5ft 6 and slim, kind of average really, with brown hair that stuck out and curled around his ears because he was too lazy to get it cut, dark brown eyes with what his mother had always referred to as 'dainty' eyebrows and 'adorable' freckles splashed across his cheeks, 'like a little cherub' she'd always teased, making him flush red and fume silently at her laughter.

He considered himself 'averagely attractive', cute even, if he squinted and turned his face to one side.

Tony on the other hand was the incredible flipping hulk.

6ft and some odd of pure bulk, not only muscle, just pure bulk, making Dave wonder sometimes if he was actually born or created in a secret lab or something, some hush hush project to build a real life incredible hulk, just not in green, that got loose and ran amok one day on the street where Dave lived.

Tony was good looking (if he did say so himself) and he knew it.

His light hazel eyes edged with golden lashes and his dark blonde close cropped hair, his rigid sharp jaw and huge shoulders and chest, in fact huge everything (Dave often wondered if that was huge too) made everyone look, except Dave apparently, that morning, three years ago.

It had been pouring with rain when Dave had braved the weather because he'd run out of milk that dark and grotty morning.

Head down, hood flapping in the wind he'd sprinted the couple of hundred yards to the corner shop and ran slap bang into the hulk of a man as his hood had flopped down over his eyes, temporarily blinding him.

His head hitting the solid chest with an "oooof" and his feet not wanting to stop when his head did, trying to keep on going, had taken them both down in a tangle of lower limbs, grunts, curses and a flying coffee cup, dumping them both in a huge puddle.

Dave had frozen at the look on the 'walls' face as he'd come face to face with the man he'd run headlong into, the sharp hazel eyes assessing his mortified face with an eyebrow raised and a blank look.

Momentarily immobilised astride the man's ample thighs, hands on the huge chest, wondering which limb he was going to lose first when the massive guy ripped him apart, Dave had solemnly read himself the last rites in his head only for the bulk of a man to pull himself up, blow a puff of air up into his fringe, flipping a stray strand up straight, grin, chuckle, then burst out laughing.

Untangled, milk acquired and a lift home offered by the dripping wet bulk of a man much to Daves surprise, a hot coffee in compensation for the spilled one, with more than a drop of something alcoholic in it, something had just slotted into place as they'd talked while their clothes dried out.

They'd been best mates ever since.

"DON'T YOU HAVE A HOME TO GO TO"? Dave shouted to cover his embarrassment at catching himself eyeing up his mates backside, "YEP, BUT IT'S NOT AS NICE AS YOURS, AND YOU'VE GOT HOB NOBS, I'LL HAVE COFFEE, TWO SUGARS" Tony laughed loudly as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him.

"Yes boss, anything you say boss" Dave muttered under his breath, rolled his eyes, then huffed a laugh as he wandered towards the kitchen.