To Hold a Hidden Pearl by Fearne Hill

Author:Fearne Hill [Hill, Fearne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA+, contemporary, doctors, in the closet, coming out, cross dressing, sexual tension, grieving
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2021-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Jay

“Jay-Jay, it’s me, Evan. I phoned loads and then remembered you were working nights. My bad. Just calling to arrange that beer session. Give me a bell when you wake up. Oh, by the way, someone on the ward reckoned they saw you in B&Q with Dr fucking Avery last week! How funny is that? You must have a body double walking around.”

My sleep-deprived, post-night shift, addled brain may have been responsible, but on finding out Lucien was arranging a meetup with an ex-boyfriend, an absurd level of jealousy I never knew I possessed threatened to overwhelm me. And so I kissed him since alternative methods of marking my territory, like cocking my leg and pissing on him, are socially unacceptable for many, many good reasons.

Even though the depth of my desire petrified me, from the moment I put my lips to his, burying myself in his wonderful scent and his wonderful taste, I was poised to wrestle him to the floor and claim him in another way—also deemed socially unacceptable in the anaesthetic department office at eight a.m. on a Tuesday morning.

So I had to settle for doing exactly as he’d instructed, hardly reaching the privacy of my bedroom before pulling out my dick and wanking into my hand to the picture he’d so eloquently painted. I haven’t come as quickly or as copiously since I was about fourteen. I’m thrilled, regardless, as for the first time in all my twenty-nine years, I kissed a man on the lips. And not just any man. No, for me it had to be the most confounding, scariest, hottest man alive. And fifty-eighth in line to the throne to boot. Not that I’ve been reading up on him or anything.

The night shifts were a distraction at least, and a busy distraction at that. In addition to a pile up on the M4—resulting in three casualties, each requiring an operating theatre and admission to intensive care—the poor young lad in the side room, with the horrendous burns, finally dropped off his perch on Friday night.

His condition had deteriorated by degrees throughout the week, and each night had found me spending time in his room, whether inserting new intravenous lines or making small adjustments to his treatment strategy on the advice of the microbiologists. In some ways, I’d always found him quite intimidating to talk to. What the hell do you say to someone who has had his family wiped out and has horrendous, ugly, life-threatening injuries that he knows he’s unlikely to survive? With his aura of anger, the lad was easier to avoid than to befriend. Once I cast my own inadequacies aside and got over the obvious disfigurement, breaking through his spiky defences, I discovered he was clever and sharp and not angry at all, just scared, grieving, and lonely. A bit like someone else with spiky defences that I know. In fact, although worlds apart in so many ways, the parallels between Billy-Ray and Lucien are hard to ignore.

Billy-Ray

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