Chapter Eleven

Lucien

I’m smiling to myself as I plough through my ECT sedation list on autopilot, my thoughts dominated by images of Jay with my pearls tight around his wrists and my spunk coating his face. I’m regularly rostered for this psychiatry list because my colleagues hope I accidentally receive the treatment instead of the patient, but definitely no ECT required for me this morning. The twinge in my arse is a reminder of him every time I sit down. I’m so upbeat, they’ll be wondering if the usually spiky Dr Avery has been replaced by a friendly alien.

Replaying the whole of the last twenty-four hours is an utter delight. Jay had left me recovering on the sofa after our kitchen table exertions, and I’d been woken from my boneless haze by shouts of “You bastard, Lucien, you absolute sod!” from the direction of the scullery. Shuffling through, I’d solemnly stood next to him at the kitchen bin as he’d held together some pieces of my broken butter dish, the writing on the underside clearly visible.

“I don’t think Ikea were making dinner services in the 1850s, Lucien.” He’d glared at me, and I’d laughed, slipping my arm around his waist as naturally as if we’d been teasing each other for years.

And we’d spent the rest of the day moving my stuff from the flat and back into the east wing of the main house, which took forever, not because I have lots of belongings, but because every few minutes, I had the pressing desire to be kissing him. He seemed to understand and indulged me clambering all over him, seeming to crave it just as badly as I did.

As we’d thrown off dust sheets, opened curtains, and lugged my clobber up and down the stairs, we’d talked about Billy-Ray, which had been tough, and Oliver, which had been much, much tougher. And he’d taken the piss out of the ridiculous number of lotions and potions lining the bathroom cabinet, had been flummoxed by my extensive collection of haute couture, and hugged me and pretended he didn’t think I was completely bonkers at all as I explained about my pearls.

I’d pinch them out of my mother’s jewellery box as a toddler and taken a shine to wearing them everywhere, which, when I look back, was a horrific strangulation accident just waiting to happen. But my parents had indulged me, as was their wont, and the long string of cool, gleaming pearls became a kind of comfort blanket for me to run my hands through and rub against my face whenever solace was required. They became a family joke. Scraped knee—pearls; overtired—pearls; spat with a school friend—pearls. And so on, until I went to boarding school, when they remained behind at home, curled around my bedstead, abandoned but not forgotten. In the school holidays, I’d finger them absently and occasionally slip them on if Oliver wasn’t around to take the piss. Unsure about my sexuality as a young teen, I’d sometimes wear them under my clothes, a reassuring comfort as I navigated the tricky path towards adulthood. Until my family died, I’d not needed them for a while, but I’ve worn them since, not only for comfort but as a reminder perhaps of simpler times.

Yesterday evening, Jay had cooked for me, a plain dinner of cheese omelette and salad, and we’d shared a couple of beers while cuddling on the kitchen sofa. I’d not been sure if he would stay the night and was too scared to ask, but he did. When we tumbled into bed, into my huge four-poster back in my old room, it felt natural that I should cover his body with mine, ending the day as it had begun, with a lazy, sleepy cock rubbing. Wrapping both of our shafts in my hand, we’d fucked together gently. Afterwards, I’d fallen asleep where I lay, with my head resting on his broad hairy chest.

Towards lunchtime, my ECT sedation list finished, Annabel bustles into the office.

“Goodness me, you’re the talk of the department this morning, Lucien.”

I raise my eyebrows with interest. “Really, Annabel? Why’s that then?”

“Well, there is a rumour doing the rounds that you were seen smiling this morning and…good grief! How on God’s earth did you acquire those?”

She’s staring hard at me, or to be more precise, she’s staring at my neck. Her eyes widen. The love bites are evidently big news. In collarless theatre pyjamas, they are difficult to hide and I’ve made very little effort to try. If everyone has nothing else occupying their small lives, it’s not a concern of mine.

“The conventional way,” I reply drily.

“There is nothing conventional about a man of your age and status sporting those! No wonder you are the only topic of conversation this morning. I’m surprised there isn’t a queue forming outside this office of people wanting to see if it’s true for themselves!”

Movement in the corridor behind Annabel distracts her, and we both turn to see Jay approaching.

Annabel whispers to me, “Here’s one of them!”

A ridiculous sizzle of excitement thrums through me. In the presence of Annabel, however, I endeavour to give Jay my usual chilly Dr Avery appraisal.

“Dr Sorrentino, Annabel was just asking me about my neck. Apparently, it’s a hot topic today. She’s been sent to find out how I acquired these rather shocking purple marks.”

“From a fellow vampire, by the looks of things,” he replies, equally coolly, making a show of studying them.

I stifle a giggle. Annabel’s mouth literally hangs open in awe, staggered that anyone, let alone a junior, would have the balls to address me in such a fashion. Another little titbit of gossip to fly round the department by the end of lunchbreak.

She stares at Jay with newfound admiration, and then, pulling herself together, shakes her head with despair at me. “Aren’t you even the tiniest bit embarrassed?”

“Nope. Should I be?”

She signs with annoyance. “He’s all yours, Jay. Good luck.”

She’s spot on; I’m totally all his.

Jay takes her seat when she leaves after locking the door behind her. It’s only been a few hours, but I sink into his lap and kiss him hungrily, devouring him as if I truly am a vampire. He allows me a moment. I feel the beginning of his erection through the thin cotton of his theatre blues as I squirm into him, trying to relieve my own needy cock. With a groan, he gently stills me, a firm hand at my hip.

“Not here, Luce. It’s too risky in the middle of the day. And…” He shifts back from me slightly. “And…nothing. It’s…it’s just too risky.”

He’s pulling away, I sense it from his averted gaze. Awkwardly, and suddenly nauseous, I clamber off and take my own chair. I’ve come on too strong. I’m scaring him off. The rough sex on the kitchen table—I knew it wasn’t really his thing; I just hadn’t felt I had the emotional bandwidth for proper lovemaking, so I slipped into what I knew. Jules had enjoyed taking me like that, he never wanted to see my face when we fucked. But I’ve since realised that I’m a fool because Jay has the emotional bandwidth to carry the both of us. Everything I am—the nightdresses, my dietary idiosyncrasies, the make-up and pearls, Rossingley even—he just takes in his stride. Except believing he’d hurt me; he hated thinking he’d done that. I told Billy-Ray I didn’t deserve Jay, and I meant it. Inhaling deeply, I steel myself for rejection.

“Is there anything you came for in particular?” I ask. “I don’t believe our formal appraisal is due for another couple of weeks.”

“Don’t be like that with me,” he responds in an irritated manner. “You know it would be crazy to try anything here in the middle of the day. Annabel will be back in a minute.”

He rubs his stubbly chin, blowing out a sigh. “Sorry, but the last two days have been fucking insane. Added to the last few weeks and my head’s bloody imploding at the moment. I don’t feel like I have the space to think or breathe.”

He rubs my thigh briefly. “I meant all the things I said in bed this morning, Luce. I really did. Being with you, it’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a hell of a long time. But my problems are still there, you know? They haven’t vanished just because I’ve hidden away at Rossingley and pretended they don’t exist for forty-eight hours.”

My mouth is dry; my heart beats faster as I try to stay calm. This is it. He’s ending it before it’s scarcely begun. I put my hand up to my neck, feeling for pearls that aren’t there.

“There are so many layers to my life at the moment. I can scarcely tell if I’m coming or going. And after I left your place this morning, I felt like a dead weight had been thrown around my neck once more because all the other stuff just hit me again as soon as I got back to my own house. Ellie was leaving for work, so I had to make some bullshit excuse up about how I’d been out for an early morning drive to clear my head.”

“I thought you called the wedding off,” I point out icily. “I’m not entirely sure why you feel the need to dissemble.”

Jules’s spiteful voice echoes in my head. Falling for the straight man, Lucien?

Jay pushes a hand through his thick curls in frustration.

“Of course I’ve bloody called the wedding off! Our relationship is totally over! Since I walked out of Spangles, I’ve been kipping on a shitty camp bed in the spare room! But as much as I want to, Luce, I can’t rush headlong into another relationship with you. Not without sorting all this other shit out first. For one thing, Ellie and my family and friends will think I jilted her because I’d been with someone else all along. They’ll never believe otherwise if you and I start parading around.”

“Perhaps you care too much about what other people think,” I bite out angrily.

“No, I fucking don’t! Most people can go to hell! But my family do matter to me, and so does Ellie. I don’t want them believing I cheated on her, and she deserves me to behave decently. Throw into the mix that you’re a bloke, and they’ll think I’ve lost my fucking marbles. It isn’t how I want it to play out, and you know it.”

Deep down, I know he’s right. I should pull back. I’m going at him like a bull in a china shop. I’m too much—me and my baggage are too much for him. And niggling inside is the worry that maybe he’ll decide he’s making a mistake, that I’m a homosexual experiment, and now that he’s satisfied his curiosity, he’ll realise what he’s throwing away is worth more… Falling for the straight man, Lucien?

And the sex, for god’s sake, the sex was amazing. But why hadn’t I just played it steady? Stuck to a bit of frottage, a straightforward blow job maybe? Instead of throwing the whole smorgasbord at him. The rough stuff over the kitchen table frightened him half to death. No wonder he’s having second thoughts; he’s realised he’s chucked in his lot with a complete nutter.

I stand up to go, and the movement reminds me of the ache in my arse, that and the marks on my neck are all that remain of his gift to me. “I get it, Jay. I understand. I’ll leave you alone.”

He stands, too, and grabs my wrist, pulling me close. The scent of clean, healthy boy washes over me; what I’d give to dive into his warm, welcoming chest.

“Listen, Luce. That’s not what I want. You’re not listening to me, or perhaps I’m not explaining very well. I’ve got a lot on this week, stuff to sort out as well as a shift here every day. I’ve only just started this new job, for god’s sake—I should be concentrating on expanding my experience and making a good impression. Yet at this rate, I’m going to cock up monumentally because I can’t focus properly. I can’t even remember the last time I opened a textbook.”

Five hours ago—only five hours ago, I had him tucked up naked in my bed, with the distinct impression he was more than happy to be there. And now I’m preparing for the brush off. He’ll leave it open, of course, a vague plan to meet up sometime. He’ll let me down gently because he’s so damned nice. But incredibly, the brush off doesn’t come.

“You can say no if you like, and I don’t blame you if you do, but…”

He looks up at me shyly through his thick black lashes, and I feel a pathetic spark of hope. Whatever he asks, the answer will be yes.

“I’m working a shift on Saturday, and I promised to go to my folks for Sunday lunch. I’m not anybody’s favourite person right now; the lunch thing is an olive branch. I don’t want to turn it down. I haven’t seen them since I cancelled the wedding. But I’m going to need some moral support. So…um…I was wondering if…if you would come with me?”

He turns pink under his olive skin and quickly clarifies. “You know, just as a friend or whatever. I’ll tell them you’re my boss from work—I’ve taken people home before, you know, other doctors working a weekend away from family or whatever. It won’t seem weird or anything. And it will mean that they can’t have a go at me because you can’t have a blazing family row when you’ve got guests, can you?”

Meet the parents? Gosh, so I wasn’t expecting that request, but hell, why not? I’ve nothing else planned, apart from painting my toenails and rearranging the bookshelves, and it would mean I get to spend even more time with this boy, who has given me something approaching happiness. Even if I can’t have him all to myself. And if it’s not happiness, and if happiness and sadness are opposing points on a straight line, then he’s definitely edged me further away from the sadness end.

So we arrange a pickup time, and as he gets up to leave, we have an awkward shall-we-shan’t-we kissing moment. I think we should, he thinks we should, too, but we just end up with a brief hug. I’m favoured with a whiff of Fahrenheit, which reminds me that his blue hoodie is still neatly folded on the kitchen sofa. Oh well, he can pick it up next time.