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Patrick's Personal Card

By: TimothyM



Patrick smiled as he unlocked the door of the Personal Cards shop on one of the first days of the New Year. This was his favorite season, even better than Christmas. The single exhibit window of his small shop was already decorated with Valentine's Day cards as well as a multitude of red hearts, white courting birds and homemade silhouettes of couples kissing, dancing or walking hand in hand. Of course the next six weeks until the 14th of February were also very busy, but Patrick didn't mind. After all he had nothing better to do than being in the shop making cards and helping customers.

Since the death of his parents he didn't like to spend much time in the house. It was lonely and too full of memories of his mother's voice as she sang in the kitchen, and the smell of paint and glue in his father's workroom. From the moment Patrick had been able to hold a pair of scissors he'd spent most of his spare time helping his dad create artwork for birthday cards and Christmas cards which were sent out to the extended family and the many friends of his parents. In school he had first used his father's cards then later his own creations for the children in his class, when they had a birthday.

However, Patrick gradually learnt that not everyone appreciated his talents. It wasn't so much the fact that he was artistic, which made the other children wary of him. Rather it was his observation skills, because Patrick very early showed the ability which was now one of the main reasons that his shop was a success. Somehow he was able to see into the hearts of people and discern their innermost desire and dreams, either by talking to them or by observing them. Or rather he was able to see what kind of picture would most accurately represent those wants.

As an innocent child he hadn't always understood that other people don't necessarily like to have their secret dreams and hopes exposed. Of course nobody thought anything of it, when seven-year-old Jason from his class was given a card with picture of a Formula 1 Ferrari cut from a magazine with him standing next to it as the driver, since everyone knew Jason was mad about fast cars. And giving nine-year-old Natasha, the daughter of their neighbors, a card with a photo of the Swan Lake ensemble was even less obvious, since she went to ballet school and had already shown talent.

Neither the children nor their parents gave it any thought that Jason and Natasha hadn't told Patrick (or anyone else) that their secret dreams were to be a race car driver and to dance the dying Swan in the ballet. Most other cards were of a similar kind and easily accepted, but even so some of the children started to ask Patrick how he knew, as they realized that they hadn't told anyone of this particular wish. Usually his standard reply "I don't know, it just seemed right" averted further questions, but the unease remained. 

When Patrick gifted thirteen-year-old Melissa in his class with a card showing her pretty face surrounded by pictures of a large house, a fur coat, expensive jewelry and a four year older boy in their school, she immediately accused him of stealing and reading her secret diary. Mainly because it had contained the same picture of the boy taken from a magazine where he'd featured together with his rich parents at a charity event. Patrick denied and could even produce his own copy of magazine from which he'd cut the photo. But the damage was done.

Especially since Melissa happened to share the date of her birthday with two other children in the class, and those boys had also gotten one of Patrick's cards. They didn't show them to anyone or comment on them, but their attitude towards Patrick changed completely, and they more or less ignored him after that. The reaction of Robert hurt the most, as Patrick had felt they shared a desire. He'd very much enjoyed finding pictures of athletes with hot bodies positioned in a way that showed the most skin. But Patrick got the message, and from then on his birthday cards were neutral ones with flowers or cute puppies for the girls and 'manly stuff' for the guys.

Not that there were that many opportunities any more. They were getting too old for the usual birthday parties of children, and somehow Patrick was rarely included in the teenage stuff that replaced them. He didn't care for the dances and other social events at school, and even when he turned eighteen, he saw no point in going out to bars or clubs. In any case he was more focused on his own dream of getting a small shop, where he could sell original art work and gifts. To this end he took business classes at college and worked in WH Smith selling stationary and cards and magazines.

He still lived at home; he loved his parents and had a wonderful relationship with them. Why move out just to prove that he was grown up? But after the car accident that robbed him of their love and support, he sometimes wondered if it would have been easier, had he been less dependent on their company. On the other hand he treasured the memory of every minute spent with them and was grateful not to have wasted his time on other things. But he was desperately lonely. He had no real friends and he found it difficult to get close to people. 

Especially since most of them seemed to seek his company for his wealth rather than for himself. Because that was the other unexpected consequence of his parents' untimely demise. It turned out that they were both surprisingly rich, not so much in cash but in money tied up in various ways. Somehow, because Patrick had turned twenty-five scant days before the accident, a huge sum of money became immediately available to him, and the interests of the invested capital of the main part would be doled out as monthly income for the rest of his life. 

The young man had been too devastated from grief to grasp all the things the tight-lipped old lawyer had told him. And afterwards he didn't care to find out all the details about his maternal grandfather's fortune or his paternal grandparents' legacies. Because the funeral of his parents was also the moment the vultures on both sides of the family descended. Patrick refused to think about that awful day, but the outcome was that he cut all ties with his kin. He also had an answer for why his parents had sent so many cards yet never invited or visited any relatives.

In the past five years Patrick had pursued his own dream. The lump sum of money enabled him to buy and outfit a small shop in one of the art districts of London. During the year he spent searching for the right place and waiting for the deal to go through, he kept busy with designing and creating enough stock to start out with. As well as planning how to advertise, what his shop hours should be and hundred other details. He'd opened Personal Cards almost exactly four years ago today, and by now he was well known, if not exactly famous, for the unusual concept of unique and specific cards for all occasions.

The back third of the shop was his work area with hundreds of drawers, boxes, and shelves with folders containing the material for the creation of cards. The middle of the shop had an area with comfortable chairs, a sofa, and small tables. Here customers could sit and use tablets to go through pictures of every card Patrick (and his father) had ever made. His dad had long ago made a habit of taking a photo of each piece of art he'd created. Patrick had paid a local digital design and software company to create a system where each photo was catalogued according to theme and a few other characteristics.

So he had catalogues of Christmas cards, birthday cards, get-well cards, good-luck cards, cards to express congratulations and condolences, for Mother's Day and anniversaries, and of course Valentine cards. Patrick didn't sell mass produced cards with standard illustrations for general distribution. People who bought his cards wanted to give a special and unique gift. Especially the gift of time they spent looking through his production and then describing in detail who the card was for, what the occasion was and - most difficult of all - what they wanted to convey to the recipient.

The last part was where Patrick's special gift proved invaluable, and never more so than with Valentine cards. A man - or more rarely a woman - who came to Personal Cards to shop for Valentine's Day would only do so, if the gesture had real meaning. Not actual proposal, even though some of the cards he made did actually insinuate that the sender would probably be on his knee at some point during the coming date. But by now a lot of women in Britain were certainly aware that to receive a Valentine card with the distinctive P signature in the bottom right corner of the art work meant that she'd won the heart of a special man.

Indeed, it wasn't every customer who left with a card, no matter the occasion. It happened less frequently now, than when he'd first opened his shop, and rarely with any other occasion than Valentine's Day. Though Patrick still cringed at the memory of the time when three teenage girls came with their mother to get a card for Father's Day. The wishes he'd read in the girls' hearts (death, prison and torture) had so shocked him that he'd almost been physically ill.

Thankfully, so far that had been his only experience of such awful hate, and for once his wealth had been a blessing apart from making the shop possible. Armed with the name and address of the family, Patrick had hired a private investigator. Less than a month later a successful local business man was suddenly arrested and to the surprise and horror of most people found guilty of having sexually abused his three daughters for years. No one knew where the evidence came from, but the information delivered anonymously to the police had been explicit and convincing.

Most of the times where Patrick refused to create a card - or as he'd say: "I regret to tell you that I'm not able to make a card that will honestly express your intentions", the reasons were less dramatic, if still important. If the customer who wanted to buy a card for Valentine's Day, didn't really love the woman or man for whom it was intended, Patrick gently expressed his regrets. Over the years he'd gotten better at engaging the prospective buyer in a conversation that led to him (or her) coming to the same conclusion. For Patrick it was a victory when the person in front of him realized that it wasn't love which prompted the purchase of a card, and that it would be better to leave or buy a different card.

The love his parents had for each other was his ideal; it had been deep, selfless, caring, and full of happiness. Oh they'd argued and disagreed at times, but their marriage and life had been built on a strong foundation of love. He wasn't so naïve that he expected such devotion from every buyer of a card for Valentine's Day. But at least some kind of genuine love had to be present for him to create a Personal Card. And the stronger the feeling, the truer was the message in the art Patrick created.

As tribute to this he had his own favorite book, a printed version of the catalogue with Valentine cards. Unlike the digital catalogue which only showed not-quite-finished versions, this book had the completed cards, in some cases with the personal messages that the buyer had asked to be inscribed. On the opposite page, Patrick would gather anything he later came to know of the people involved. He was proud that more than 80 percent actually became long term couples and usually went on to be married. To his delight many of them wrote or came in to tell him about the effect of the card, and most of those sent him a photo from their wedding.

Patrick knew he was a lucky man in many ways. He had no financial problems and he owned a shop where he could do what he liked best. He enjoyed talking with his customers (with a few exceptions) and helping them select just the right Personal Card. But he knew something was missing in his life, and even though he liked the present time of year leading up to Valentine's Day, it also reminded him of this lack. He so much wanted someone to love, to share his life with. Someone who would love him back, hold him at night, laugh and joke with him, cook and clean and shop with him. And most of all, someone who'd make love to him.

At the age of thirty it's not really cool to be a virgin and totally inexperienced with sex. Not if you're living in London, are fairly good looking and a nice guy. It's ridiculous even if you're so deep in the closet, that you're not sure where the door is. Oh, Patrick knew he was gay, and he wasn't ashamed of this fact. He didn't hide on purpose, and he spent a normal amount of time on porn (written and visual) and the related activities. He knew what kind of guys he was attracted to, and he'd met gay men via his business and before that through his parents, as a fair amount of their friends were gay.

But none of the men he'd encountered had evoked any feelings in him, and to Patrick sex without love was just not possible. He wasn't a prude, and sometime he actually wished he could just go out and get laid. But by now he'd have felt embarrassed to admit to a casual lover that he was untouched, at his age. So he'd resigned himself to waiting for Mr. Right - even if it made him feel hopelessly old fashioned and out of date. The most frustrating part was that there was no lack of interest and offers from both men and women, only this was where his ability became a curse rather than a gift.

Patrick could sense exactly what was felt by every person who approached him. Some were attracted by his looks, the dark brown shoulder-length hair framing a heart-shaped face with a cute button nose, soft brown eyes and a sensual mouth. Others desired the slim body which was kept in shape by early morning runs and healthy food. Patrick wasn't short, but not very tall either. He'd never cared for sports, but he enjoyed running and swimming. His mum liked to dance, and since his dad had a knee injury which prevented him from participating, Patrick accompanied her to various activities. He'd enjoyed it, but didn't continue after she died.

The worst was when people tried to befriend him for the sake of his money. Unfortunately his wealth was no secret, another bad consequence of the horrible family debacles following the funeral. No matter that Patrick would gladly give up every penny for just another year with his parents, or that he'd rather have been poor, if he had love. The fact was that he was rich, lonely and an obvious target for every greedy man and woman he came across. His defense was to keep people at arm's length, mentally and physically, and the consequence was that he'd never met someone for whom he could become 'officially' gay. However, Patrick was still hoping.

But right now he had no time for feeling sorry for himself. He had a business to take care of and he'd already gotten the first order for a Valentine card. Patrick went through his usual routine of opening the shop, turning on the lights, getting the tablet PCs out of the safe and attached to the chargers and security wires at the tables. After all they were expensive and too easy to conceal in a bag, and he didn't have time to watch them constantly. He put on the kettle for tea and got his can of biscuits; then he switched on the CD player with Mozart, some nice romantic music to get him in the right mood.

The time passed quickly, he had the occasional customer, most of them actually not for Valentine cards, but then it was still early January. And birthdays and many of his other card types were not seasonal after all. Patrick closed the shop for half an hour for lunch at two and went home for his evening meal at eight thirty. If he was busy, he got a meal from one of the many local restaurants around seven and stayed at the shop till ten. But then he never opened his shop before ten thirty in the morning. The schedule meant that people could come by in their lunch hour and on the way home from work.

Weekends were busy of course, and he often spent twelve hours at the shop both Saturday and Sunday. Those days were mainly spent talking with customers and getting the information he needed for cards. He would design and create the cards during the week, and his normal production time from order to delivery was usually two-three days. Depending on the current work load and how complicated the wishes of the customers were. Patrick slid easily into the familiar flow of work, and days and weeks passed almost effortlessly. As the 14th of February approached he had little time to contemplate the lack of love in his own life, he was too busy helping others express their love.

Finally, Valentine's Day arrived, it was a Friday and Patrick had decided to take most of the weekend off. He always opened early on the 14th, mainly so the last customers could collect their cards, if they hadn't done so the day before. Some cards were picked up by messengers who'd deliver them with flowers or chocolate, as arranged by the buyer. The afternoon he would spend tidying the work area and preparing the window display to be put up late Sunday afternoon or Monday morning. Even if he was sad to say goodbye to the Valentine season until next year, he always felt cheered by the spring and Easter theme which displaced it.

Around midday Patrick was outside checking the sign saying Happy Valentine's Day, which he had put in the window that morning. It had tilted sideways a bit, and he'd just corrected it. The sun was shining and he was enjoying the light and the almost warm rays on his back. He hadn't seen much of the sun these past weeks. Even if it was still winter, the sunshine was a promise of thaw and spring. Patrick decided to get a cup of tea and a chair and sit on the doorstep for a while. When he returned a few minutes later, a man and his young son were looking at the window and talking in low voices.

They were both blond, the boy's hair was almost white, the father's a darker gold. He was tall and muscular with broad shoulders, and when he looked at Patrick, the blue eyes and rugged features of a Viking descendant were unmistakable. As if to confirm his guess the boy spoke and pointed at the window, and Patrick recognized the flat accents of the language from the acclaimed Danish crime thriller that had been shown on BBC a couple of years ago. "Men du kan jo få et Valentinskort her, far." The boy was maybe five or six years old, he looked a bit pale and sickly and was bundled up in a thick coat and a scarf which covered his ears.

The man answered something and gestured at Patrick, and his son turned to look. Similar bright blue eyes regarded him for a moment, before the boy nodded and pulled his dad towards the door. "Hello," the boy said, then looked up at his dad. He smiled at his son and then at Patrick, who almost recoiled in shock at the warmth of those blue eyes and sincere but somehow sad smile. "Michael was asking about Valentine's Day. It's not so common in Denmark. I tried to explain, and he wanted me to get a card. He ... he doesn't understand that I haven't got anyone to buy it for."

"Would you like to come inside and see the shop? I can make some tea and there's orange juice and biscuits." Patrick was surprised at himself, but the two Danes didn't seem to find it strange. They followed him into the shop, and while Patrick made more tea, Michael and his dad looked at the displays of art work, mobiles, and cards which decorated the front third of the shop. When the refreshments were ready, the boy shed his coat, scarf and boots and curled up in one of the seats. He drank some juice and ate one biscuit, as the two men chatted with him and each other, but soon he was nodding and falling asleep.

His dad moved him to the sofa and Patrick got a blanket. "Thank you. Michael tires quickly, and we'd already walked quite a bit." The blue eyes were sad again. "He has a heart problem. That's why we're over here, to see a specialist, who may be able to help." He sat down in the chair Michael had vacated and was now next to Patrick. "It's a school holiday in Denmark right now, so he doesn't miss out on any lessons. Though he was a bit annoyed with spending his holiday having tests and talking to doctors."


Patrick's Personal Card Ch. 02



I never thought I'd write a contest story and certainly not for Valentine's Day. But the card shop idea popped into my head one night and refused to go away. Just in case you liked it, I'd better warn you that none of my other stories are like this. So please don't go looking for romance on my story page, you'll only be disappointed.

However, I was very flattered and pleased by the comments asking for more. So I'm dedicating this sequel to all of you named and unnamed readers. Thank you for your praise and encouragement. I hope you enjoy this part too.

*

No matter what the future would bring, Patrick knew he would cherish this moment of unbelievable joy for as long as he lived. The man he'd fallen hopelessly in love with was on his knees in front of him and had asked Patrick to be his Valentine. It was as if his lonely heart had been hidden in a tightly held and secured box, and Peter's words had unlocked and flung open the lid to his secret. All of Patrick's repressed feelings poured out in a huge flood, like a dam bursting, and only the unexpected love he saw in the deep blue eyes kept him from being swept away.

In a flash of understanding Patrick realized that he'd been so focused on keeping his own emotions in check that he had failed to sense the now obvious desire in the handsome Dane. Yes he'd felt Peter's need for him, but he'd ascribed it to a wish for close friendship. Since he had no experiences with best friend relationships either, the confusion was probably natural. Or maybe all he'd missed was the moment Peter's emotions deepened into wanting more. The immense capacity for caring had been clear too, and Patrick knew it played a huge part in the attraction he felt towards the larger man.

But he'd assumed that the caring manners had been for Michael and just sort of spilled over to him. Not that he hadn't lapped up the attention, all the little things like opening doors, or helping him lift a heavy box in the shop, or insisting to pay for the entrance to museums. And the important matters like Peter listening with respectful sympathy when Patrick told just a small part of the tragedy with his parents, but still managing to show that he understood and emphasized. Patrick so badly wanted someone to care about him, love him, need him, and Peter had just offered to be that person.

None of these mind blowing insights prevented Patrick from responding to Peter's question. After a split second of stunned incredulity during which wide brown eyes latched on to hopeful sky colored eyes, a small choked voice broke the silence. "With all my heart yes. I'll make thousands of cards for us to share, if you like. Because more than anything I want us to be Valentines now and forever." Patrick couldn't help the two tears of joy that slipped out and started their trek down his face. But they never got far, because Peter's fingers caught them, his touch on Patrick's cheek tentative and careful.

With a look of quiet wonderment the blond man brought the fingertips to his own mouth as if tasting the salt drops would confirm Patrick's declaration of forever. The brown eyes shifted to fix on the way Peter licked his lips, and a quick intake of breath was followed by Patrick's grip tightening on Peter's other hand. Inside his mind was suddenly a whirl of confusing thoughts. 'Is he going to kiss me? Should I kiss him? His lips look so soft. But I don't know how! What will he think of me, when I tell him I never..." Everything stopped as a warm mouth gently touched Patrick's trembling lips.

Their first kiss, indeed Patrick's first ever lover's touch, was so brief and careful that the innocent man barely had time to feel scared or elated. Then the warm lips returned; the next kiss was longer, firmer. A flutter of excitement started deep down in Patrick's guts and grew quickly, fanned from a small ember to an intense flame by the feeling of Peter's mouth intimately joined to his. Before the heady emotion could become a hot inferno of something Patrick wasn't quite ready to face, the connection was broken. His eyes which had closed during that achingly sweet kiss flew open, and a tiny sound escaped his lips.

He stared at his Valentine as the broad shouldered Dane moved back and brought Patrick's fingers to his lips to kiss as well. Patrick was suddenly aware that his hands were trembling slightly and he was out of breath. Peter's voice was deep and husky with emotion. "I love you, Patrick. I want to hug you and kiss you and hold you forever. I never thought I'd find someone like you, and that you care for me also seems too good to be true." The blue eyes were pleading now. "I'm sorry if I went too far too fast. I swear I won't push for anything."

At once Patrick's panic took a new direction; obviously his reaction or lack of it had been some sort of signal which Peter had recognized and interpreted as reluctance or fear. No, no, he had to clear up this silly misunderstanding at once. He wanted Peter to take charge, to teach him how to kiss, to touch him and ... The direction his mind was going made Patrick blush furiously, but before he could say or do anything, Michael cried out and sat up on the sofa. In a flash Peter was at his side, picking up the frail boy and talking to him in a low soothing voice.

"Shh, Michael, far er her. Se min skat, vi er stadig her i Patricks butik. Sådan, rolig nu. Er du OK? Vil du have noget vand?" At Michael's nod Peter looked up and switched to English, "Would you get him a glass of water?" Patrick jumped up, relieved that he could do something to help, and got a water bottle from his small fridge. He undid the tight lid on the way to the sofa, and the boy grabbed the open bottle and drank eagerly. His dad's arm held him securely and one hand caressed the tussled blond hair. The fondness Patrick felt for his two Danish boys, old and young, threatened to overwhelm him and the little niggling voice of reason or doubt popping up in his head caused his guts to clench painfully.

'So he said he loves you. Wonderful. But his son comes first, of course. And you can't even talk to the boy, so you're not much use as a second parent. Even if you love both of them. After spending less than three days together. Hmf. Anyway, how will you play happy family when they live in Denmark? Even when they're over here, Peter will spend his time at the hospital with Michael. Sure, he'd probably love to stay with you one or two nights each time. And do all those things to your body that you've been reading and fantasizing about. Is that what you want? A visiting Valentine?'

If giving up his acute extra sense could've helped Patrick kick the mocking little devil out of his head, he'd have done it. Gladly. Instead he gritted his teeth and told himself to stop the useless worrying. He went over to finish the last bit of the new exhibition for his shop window, but keeping some of his attention on Peter and Michael. When the boy seemed calm, and Peter got up to fetch their coats, Patrick returned to the center of the shop. His heart felt like it was caught in a fist that threatened to squeeze it in half, but he told himself that all their belongings were still at his house. So it wasn't goodbye yet.

"Would it be OK, if we went home now, Patrick? I know you're not finished, but I think Michael needs to have a hot bath and something to eat and then go to bed early. I'll pay for a cab both ways if you want to return here." Peter's voice was calm, but Patrick could see the worry in his eyes. Nothing urgent, just the consuming need of a parent to make sure his child was safe and cared for. And a tiny cheeky angel snuck up to the nasty devil in his head and gleefully pointed out: 'He called my house home. And they're going to stay the night. So buzz off, you pessimistic prick!'

Peter was probably surprised at the smile which appeared on Patrick's face as he immediately said that going home was fine. "I'll call a cab, and I don't have to go back here. I'm almost done, and I can finish the rest tomorrow." The tall man nodded and led Michael to the toilet in the back of the shop, while Patrick rang for a London cab. They were lucky, as one happened to be in the vicinity, so five minutes later Patrick locked up and joined his guests in the warm car. Peter was in the back seat, with Michael on his lap, which suited Patrick fine. It meant he got to pay for the cab without any arguments.

It was another item on the list of things they needed to talk about, but Patrick was going to postpone the matter of his wealth for as long as possible. Peter had no clue of course, how could he as a stranger and someone completely unconnected to anyone else in Patrick's life. The slightly older Dane had enough other things on his mind than wondering about how Patrick could make a living from a card shop and afford to live where he did. Though having been told that the house was an inheritance from the deceased parents and probably not knowing the cost of living in London, the discrepancy wasn't too obvious.

Peter himself was certainly not rich but not poor either. His clothes weren't fashionable, but of good quality. He had the usual gadgets like an iPhone and a laptop and Michael seemed familiar with tablets, but there'd been no talk of expensive possessions or toys. In fact it seemed as if Peter didn't even own a car. But Patrick could relate to the advantage of doing without when you lived in a city with easily available public transport and a lack of parking spaces. Copenhagen was apparently like London in this respect, if on a much smaller scale. Also the reputation of the Danish capital as the place with more bicycles than people and cycle lanes the size of roads had reached even his ears.

In any case Peter insisted on paying most of the time during their weekend of excursions, saying that he could afford to with what he was saving on accommodation and meals. Patrick for his part had been adamant that he'd pay for food eaten in his home, whether home cooked or takeaway, and the argument of being the host was apparently convincing to his Danish guest. Nor had Peter objected when Patrick bought Michael small gifts from the museum shops, though he suspected that the boy was admonished in private not to push his luck. But the indulging grins the adults shared were almost as much fun for Patrick as the happy smiles from the grateful boy.

For Patrick the relaxed attitude about money was both intriguing and refreshing. And there was no sense of greed or duplicity. Peter seemed to just assume they'd share costs according to who felt strongest about paying. He was honest about what he thought was fair and obviously expected Patrick to be the same. When they got into the house Patrick said: "The pub down the road from the station has some really excellent fish and chips. Why don't we set up a bath for Michael and then I can pop down and pick up three portions?" A grateful smile and absentminded nod from Peter reinforced the delightful feeling of them being close -- as intimate and comfortable as family.

But Patrick knew there were more pressing matters, starting with how long the two Danes were staying. His choice would be forever, but the voice of reason had effectively put a spike in that particular piece of wishful thinking. So once dinner had been eaten, Patrick tried to work out an approach, while Peter read Michael a story before bed. Only to forget all his planning when the small boy climbed on his lap for a goodnight hug and a kiss. "Hvor sover Patrick henne?" the timid voice said as Michael snuggled up. Both of them looked at Peter for help, and Patrick was intrigued to see a hint of a blush on the fair face.

"Ehmm, he wants to know where you're sleeping."

Oh. Well. Uhm. One of the things on his list. Not at the top, but fairly close. Though Patrick would've preferred to discuss the subject without Michael being present. But then he realized that when he'd shown the two Danes around in the house, he'd omitted his own bedroom. As well as the room next to it. Maybe the boy was just curious or worried that he didn't have a place to sleep. He stood up with Michael in his arms. "Would you like to see?" The boy nodded almost before his dad had translated. Peter got up as well and Patrick could have sworn that the tall man looked curious too. They went up the stairs, and Patrick carried the boy inside his bedroom, with Peter following.

For once Patrick was grateful that he was almost compulsively neat. His bed was made and there was no dirty underwear or clutter in the room. He tried to look at the place with neutral eyes, but this was the room he'd slept in all his life. It had developed from nursery next to his parents' bedroom to a boy's room with toys and books. When he was 10, a major shift had taken place, with his parents moving to what was now the guest room, and the room next to his became his dad's workplace. At the time Patrick had just found it convenient that his favorite place to play and create was right next to his room, and pleased to make his own choices on how his room should be done up.

Only some years later when his room had undergone yet another transformation to something more suitable for a teenager, did the other reasons occur to him. His parents had insisted on buying a larger bed, not a double but big enough for two people to snuggle up. "In case you want someone to stay," his dad had said casually, conveniently ignoring that Patrick had never had friends staying overnight. They'd also redone the upstairs bathroom and extended the one near the guestroom. "So you don't have to share with us, Patrick. A young man needs his privacy." Patrick had blushed when it dawned on him that his mum and dad might also appreciate not sharing a wall with their teenage son.

His room stayed much the same for the next ten years, gradually losing the teenage posters and young adult books (lots of fantasy and some science fiction), though the latter had been stored in boxes. Six months after the death of his parents, when money matters and his most acute grief had settled, Patrick finally pulled himself together and made some decisions on the house. He couldn't bear to relocate to the downstairs bedroom, so that became a guest room. Removing all personal items, redecorating, and buying new mattresses, duvets and linens for the double bed transformed the room of his parents to something bearable. 

Peter and Michael were the first to sleep there, though, and it occurred to Patrick that he hadn't even hesitated to offer the room to them. Nor did he think of it as his parents' bedroom any more. His own room had been renovated too, and this time he'd bought two single box beds which fitted together. With a joint top mattress they worked as a king size bed. His sleep had been restless then, and he'd fallen out of his old bed more than once in those six awful months. At least now he had a large space to trash around in.

Apparently, Michael thought the bed was awesome too. The two Danes looked around and made a few comments. After Patrick admitted having this room since he was born, no one said anything for a couple of seconds. To break the awkward silence Patrick threw the boy gently on the thick, dark blue bedspread. Michael bounced a little and giggled, then proceeded to roll around on the soft satin quilt. When he got up on his knees and started taking short dives and jumps all over the bed, Peter intervened. "Hov, hov, Michael, det er ikke nogen trampolin."

Only the last word made sense to Patrick, but he doubted the small boy could do much damage, even if he did use the bed as a trampoline. He put his hand on Peter's arm to get his attention, and when the blond man turned, Patrick smiled and whispered "It's OK." The tall Dane moved closer as if to hear better and suddenly he was in front of Patrick and twinkling blue eyes caught soft brown ones. Patrick became acutely aware of how warm and soft the skin felt on the firm muscular forearm where his hand rested. When Peter laid a palm gently against the side of his head, Patrick's breath caught in his throat. 

Caressing the soft brown hair with one hand and sliding his other arm oh so slowly around the waist of his Valentine Peter coaxed Patrick into a careful embrace. A small contented sigh escaped two sets of lips as the smaller man rested his head against the top of the broad chest and let his Viking enfold his body in a warm and caring hug. Safe, he felt safe and loved and wanted. This was where he belonged, in the protective arms of Peter and surrounded by the wonderful sense of maleness and desire and joy. Moist breath against his ear and a deep voice whispering terms of endearment.

"My love, my darling Valentine, I can't resist. Please let me hold you, sweetheart. I need to have you close, Patrick, so I can believe that you're mine. Min for evigt, forever please." Patrick melted into a deeper embrace, all other things forgotten, until he suddenly heard a giggle from Michael. A subsequent torrent of Danish which made Peter tense for a second before he laughed and answered his son. "Ja, det kan du tro. Skal jeg spørge?" He untangled himself from Patrick but refused to let him go. Instead he gently moved the blushing male to sit on the bed with him. Michael immediately wriggled into position between them.

"Michael likes your room, and he thinks that we'd both prefer to stay here. So he suggested we all sleep in your bed tonight. And I promised to ask." This time Patrick was sure that Peter blushed too, but the hunky Dane seemed determined to make his son happy. "Please say if it's too much to ask. But it would be such a treat for Michael if he could sleep between us tonight. And ... for me too." The last words were almost inaudible but the pleading glance from Peter was unmistakable. He didn't want to choose between the two men in his life, and neither did Patrick. And maybe this was his chance to ease into the sharing of his bed.

"Well, I suppose the bed is big enough for all three of us, and we can fetch the pillows and duvets from your room. But I have to admit that I never thought that the first time I shared a bed with someone, I'd get two beautiful guys sleeping next to me." He looked down at Michael and nodded with a smile, and then he had to brace himself as the jubilant boy threw his arms around Patrick's neck and hugged him. When his eyes met Peter's over his son's shoulder, the expression on the handsome face showed that his lover had gotten the message.

Patrick had to suppress an embarrassed giggle at the mixture of awe and disbelief and desire. Peter actually seemed a tiny bit scared, too, before his rugged features settled on a determined look. He stood up and took charge, asking Patrick to get Michael's pillow and duvet, while he got the boy ready for bed. He was already in his pajamas, thus all he needed was to brush his teeth. They used Patrick's bathroom, so Michael knew where it was, if he needed to get up to pee in the night. Both men stayed with him, until he fell asleep, and then they went downstairs, leaving the door open and the light on in the hall.

Interestingly, Peter had a kind of modern baby monitor that looked more like a smart phone. But as he explained to Patrick, his son's heart condition made it necessary to have some sort of surveillance. "At home Michael sleeps in his own room, but if he has a bad dream, or there's a problem, I get alerted at once." They were in the kitchen making tea, and Patrick dug out some biscuits and organized a tray with mugs and milk. As if it was something they did every night, Peter picked up the teapot and held the door open for Patrick who carried the tray into the living room. He noted with approval that Peter switched off the light in the kitchen, without being asked.

Once they were settled next to each other on the sofa with a mug of hot, milky tea, Patrick decided to just ask. "What are your plans, Peter? I mean for now, but also for the future? How can we make this work when we live in two different countries?" In spite of having shown that he was quite forthright himself, Peter seemed momentarily taken aback at his lover's candid acknowledgement of their commitment. But Patrick could sense that he was pleased. Peter smiled wryly and took Patrick's hand in his. The desire to kiss the man he loved shone briefly in the blue eyes, but the Viking met the challenge head on.




Patrick's Personal Card Ch. 02



"Well, I guess this is where I should say sorry for not letting you know earlier. But I didn't expect to win your heart so fast, my darling. So then, the fact is that I'm on leave all of February. If the hospital was able to offer Michael treatment, the only way it would work was to move to London. The company which employs me has a main branch over here, and they have a position open. I have to go to the office in London tomorrow and meet with my future boss and discuss matters. The plan was that I'd spend the rest of the month looking for a place to live and organizing everything."

Patrick's mouth fell open halfway through this explanation. He couldn't believe his own ears and just stared at Peter. The blond guy chuckled and made his move. Suddenly Patrick was sitting in his lover's lap, trying to ignore a suspiciously large bulge under his butt, while Peter nuzzled his neck and hugged him tight. "You didn't really think that I'd leave the love of my life, when I'd just found him and gotten him to agree to be mine, did you Patrick?" A large warm hand moved slowly up and down Patrick's back, and he felt himself relax into the embrace of his boyfriend.

Wait a minute, boyfriend, the word just came out of nowhere. But he knew that Peter would be happy to call him that too. However, there was an even more important matter, and Patrick frowned in concern and turned to look at Peter. "But what about Michael? Who will look after him? You can't drag him around with you, and he's too young to be here on his own." Patrick didn't even mention the third impossible option, because he knew that Michael's health wasn't up to being exposed to the shop during normal opening hours. For the first time Peter looked unsure of himself. 

"Ehm yes, that's actually the bit I'm not sure how to tell you. My mother's sister is a retired nurse. She has two grown children, but no grandchildren yet, and she's very fond of Michael. Her son Kim is my age, he works for an engineering company and travels all over the world. His sister Alice is twenty-four and very beautiful. She's a model and plans to move to London this summer. So Moster Grethe offered to come over here and look after Michael." The name Peter said sounded strange, but Patrick ignored it for now. Did this mean that the three Danes would live together? Somewhere else? He didn't want to be alone anymore.

"So this Moshta Greita, or whatever her name is, when is she coming over?" Peter chuckled and explained that Moster was a Danish word that meant aunt as in mother's sister. A father's sister was called Faster. A third word was Tante and this was used for aunts by marriage but lots of people also used it for all kinds of aunts. When he tried to go on explaining that uncles and grandparents also had different designations according to how they were related to you, Patrick realized that he was being distracted. "OK, fine, so when is your Moster arriving?"

"Ah, mm, tomorrow." Peter's answer was almost inaudible but in the silence of the living room Patrick heard him anyway.

"What?! She's arriving tomorrow, and you haven't told me?" Patrick jumped up and started pacing up and down. "What on earth were you thinking, Peter? Where is she going to stay? Does she know about..." He stopped and gulped, the scaring thought of meeting a close relative of Peter's so soon had suddenly hit him. Almost as bad as meeting a prospective mother! Patrick winced a bit at the recollection of the times he'd rolled his eyes in exasperation over yet another story or movie where this was depicted as a big deal. It bloody well was! What if she disliked him? Did she even know Peter was gay? Or was it bisexual?

Patrick's mind was running round in circles, and every time he tried to get a grip, a new worry presented itself. He could almost hear his devil of doubt howling with laughter at the back of his head. The next time he turned around to pace the other way, a large Viking blocked his path. "Patrick, please stop fretting, it will be OK, I promise." Two strong arms pulled him into a protective hug, and the nervous man let himself be soothed. "Shh, min skat, calm down now. Relax, I love you, I'm here." Soft kisses on his hair, his forehead, his temple, cheek. A warm hand cupping the side of his jaw, gently tilting his head up until their lips met.

The two first kisses they'd shared in the shop had just been connections of mouths and hands. This time their bodies touched all over and Patrick was quite unprepared for the bonfire of desire which roared to life inside him, as Peter claimed his lips. He was instantly erect and his knees threatened to buckle. His mind was blank, all the worries erased, as his whole being focused on the man he loved and wanted more than anything. It was only when Peter broke their kiss and gently led him back to the sofa that Patrick realized he'd been clinging to the broad shoulders and almost-but-not-quite rubbing himself against the blond hunk.

Rather than dwell on his embarrassing lack of control just from a couple of kisses, Patrick tried to recapture his sense of outrage. But Peter kept calming him with words and touches. Nothing sexual to the relief of the nervous card maker, just little rubs of his shoulder and back, a gentle squeeze of his hand, the occasional quick kiss on his fingers. And all the time the deep, soothing voice. "Please Patrick, I can't stand it when you're hurt or worried. I'm sorry if I upset you. What can I do to make it better? I love you and I want us to be together. Even if Michael didn't need it, I'd have moved over here to stay with you. Unless you didn't want me...us to. Is that the problem? I know we've just sort of invaded your life and house and your privacy and..."

Oh no, Peter was NOT allowed to worry about that or lose his confidence. The moment he sensed the flicker of uncertainty, Patrick forgot about being shy and needy and a silly horny virgin. He climbed back in the lap of his lover and kissed him senseless. When he finally stopped, Peter stared at his cute Valentine, speechless and with huge, surprised eyes. "Stop it, you crazy Dane. Of course I want you and Michael here. I'm never letting you go, and I don't care if you invite your whole family. As long as they're OK with us being together." The unspoken question was easily detectable.

A huge smile spread all over Peter's face, and Patrick felt as if the sun had suddenly come out and made everything bright and warm and joyful. Or maybe gay was a better word; he felt a giggle start inside him. "Of course my family knows about you, about us. Oh they think I'm slightly mad for falling in love so fast, but they know I'm serious -- and that I like men. Even if I've never had a committed relationship before, I haven't hidden my preference." Suddenly Peter blushed, "That sort of became impossible, after Moster Grethe walked in on me and Kim fooling around when we were teenagers."

The giggle broke out; Patrick couldn't help it, even if he felt a little jealous of the thought of Peter being with other men. But his angel of faith was gloating over the suddenly tiny and mute devil in his head 'Did you hear that? His first serious commitment? He's never loved anyone like that before, either.' Patrick wanted to yell his utter delight out loud. He was Peter's first too. So what if his lover had sex before, that just meant they wouldn't both be fumbling around not knowing what to do. Oh and speaking of which, something hard was poking him intimately down below.

Much to Patrick's surprise Peter ignored the fact that his lover squirmed invitingly and tried to lean in for more kissing. The look in his eyes was heated but determined as he carefully eased the smaller man off his lap and on to the sofa. "Patrick min skat, jeg ... ah I mean sorry my love but I can't think when you're sitting on top of me. You're just too beautiful and delicious and I want you so much. But we need to talk." In the romances Patrick loved to read on the internet those words normally had an ominous meaning. But he knew Peter just wanted to finish his explanation. So he decided to tease a bit.

"What's this with calling me poo? You trying to give me at hint of some sort of weird fetish?" Another giggle broke out as Peter's jaw dropped and he stared at Patrick in utter confusion. He knew he was being rather ridiculous but it felt so good to let go and just fool around, secure in the knowledge that he was loved and wanted. Somewhere in the back of his mind Patrick's logical brain told him that he was a bit over the top, probably running high on endorphins and hormones, but that his reaction was only natural after being lonely for so long. "You know what scat means, don't you?"

Peter shook his head and Patrick explained, giggling again when his handsome Dane got all flustered and prudish. Peter looked funny when he made disgusted eewww-like faces. Both of them started laughing and then they kissed and Patrick snuggled into the firm shoulder and smiled up at his Valentine. The blue eyes looked at him with such fondness and pleasure that it almost took Patrick's breath away. "The Danish word skat means treasure, but I guess 'min skat' would be translated as my darling. I'll try hard not to use it again. It just sort of slipped out."

Patrick pouted: "But I love it when you call me darling or sweetheart. Please don't stop." This caused another small bout of kissing and touching, but Peter wisely kept the making out light and sensual rather than intimate. It was as if he knew that they might've gotten naked and naughty on the sofa, if the love starved innocent man in his arms let go of all his inhibitions. Instead Patrick ended up sitting in Peter's embrace, with his back against the broad chest and his head leaning on the firm shoulder. His lover kept planting small kisses on his cheek and ear as he finished explaining.

"My Moster is arriving tomorrow at nine, and originally she was meant to go to the hotel and look after Michael there. Instead of that I've booked a room for her at the pub. I noticed that they have a building next door with two family rooms and a few single rooms. I'll take Michael over there, and they can go for a walk if the weather is nice. Or Grethe might read him a story; I know she'll bring the next book in the series we're reading." Peter stopped and nuzzled his nose against Patrick's hair, obviously waiting for a reaction.

Patrick decided to see what else Peter had up his sleeve and just mumbled an OK in reply. His distraction and acceptance had nothing to do with the fact that he was being cuddled and kissed, no certainly not -- even if he had a hard time imagining objecting to anything his hunky Dane suggested. "So after my interview I thought maybe we could come by your shop. And if you've time, I could take you all out for a meal?" A deep breath and a little tension in the warm body behind him told Patrick that Peter wanted to ask a favor. "I'd really like you to meet my aunt, Patrick. I think the two of you will like each other."

Interestingly, Patrick could sense that Peter genuinely thought that his aunt would be fond of his new boyfriend. He felt less certain but still quite convinced that Patrick would appreciate his Moster. Clearest of all was his desire for Patrick to be part of his family, not just him and his son, but his extended family, and his belief that they'd welcome Patrick with open arms. Even if their relationship meant that Peter would relocate to London permanently and not just until Michael was well. For some reason this idea made tears well up and one or two managed to escape.

Patrick's voice was thick with emotion, but he knew he had to respond. "I'd love to meet your aunt, Peter." He tried to get a grip on himself, but a muffled sniff gave him away. Moments later his face was buried in the soft warm sweater, Peter was wearing, and the worried Dane tried to comfort him while working out what his love was saying. "Not sad ... I'm OK." Sniff "Happy tears, not ... I'm just so glad ... nice family ..." Long shaking breath "Hate my aunts ... stupid uncles, awful cousins ..." Hard grip and small tremors "Love you, love you so much ... want you to stay ... always. Please Peter."

This time the ensuing kisses were long, fierce and needy, and when they broke off, both men were flushed and panting hard. Patrick felt as if he might burst from all the strong feelings that emanated from Peter. Not just physical desire, but protectiveness and caring and an almost possessive love. A love that demanded closeness and sharing and intimacy, but in a good way, not with jealousy or one-way ownership. Peter ached to belong to Patrick, body, heart and soul, just as much as he longed for Patrick to be his. This was the moment the two silly beings in his head decided to join forces and pop the inevitable question: 'So you reckon he's versatile, then?'

The deliciously hot possibility was just what Patrick needed to snap out of the emotional state he was in. He giggled and pushed himself upright to sit next to his boyfriend, taking a deep breath and reaching out for his mug for a few gulps of lukewarm tea. "Sorry about that, I'm a bit giddy today. Don't know why -- oh wait might be something to do with getting a boyfriend, and my first kiss, and a family, and ... and just having the best Valentine's Day and weekend ever -- even if I never got a card." A quick glance showed that Peter was smiling, oh good, he knew Patrick was teasing. "But next year I expect us to celebrate in style."

A deep joyful laugh and Peter caught his Valentine in another loving embrace. "Don't worry I'll pay homage to St. Valentine every year from now on, in gratitude for bringing us together. Cards, flowers, chocolate, any love token you want. We'll go out for a candlelit dinner, when you've finished at the shop, and come home to make love all night. And I hope there'll be a Valentine's Day very soon, where we'll promise each other to have and to hold, to love and to cherish... forever." Shining blue and brown eyes locked in mutual exchange of love and devotion, and the deal was sealed with one last kiss of a wonderful Sunday.

*

Translation of Danish phrases, in case you want to know:

"Shh, Michael, far er her. Se min skat, vi er stadig her i Patricks butik. Sådan, rolig nu. Er du OK? Vil du have noget vand?" = Shh, Michael, daddy's here. Look darling we're still in Patrick's shop. There now, take it easy. Are you OK? Would you like some water?

"Hvor sover Patrick henne?" = Where does Patrick sleep?

"Hov, hov, Michael, det er ikke nogen trampolin." = Hey now, Michael, it's not a trampoline.

"min for evigt" = mine for ever

"Ja, det kan du tro. Skal jeg spørge?" = You bet I do. Would you like me to ask?

"Shh, min skat" = Shh my dear / darling

"Patrick min skat, jeg..." = Patrick my dear, I... 



Patrick's Personal Card Ch. 03



Patrick didn't want the kiss to end. He wanted this incredible dream to last forever. The one where he'd just had the most amazing day of his life, being proposed to by the man he loved. A little voice in his head said 'you're gonna have to breathe at some point you know', but Patrick just ignored it. Having Peter's lips on his, his strong arms holding him tight, their hearts beating at the same speed was making him dizzy with joy. He couldn't get enough.

But when Peter's tongue worked its way into his mouth and a firm hand cupped one ass cheek, Patrick broke the connection with a shuddering gasp. His lover was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry, Patrick. Got carried away for a bit there." A quick grin. "Forgot we're not quite married yet." Then Peter turned serious. He kept hold of Patrick's hands and looked into his eyes. "I guess we'll need to talk about this. And please don't be embarrassed." The blue eyes hadn't missed the blush rising on the innocent man's face.

Patrick felt torn in two directions; the earnest expression of his boyfriend calmed him but the prospect of revealing his utter lack of experience scared him. The supportive angel in his head tried to tell him that Peter loved the idea that his Valentine was pure. But the devil of doubt soon got the upper hand. 'Yeah I'm sure he'll love popping your cherry and knowing that no other guy has tapped that tight little ass. But when he finds out you've got no practice sucking a cock, no clue in spite of all the porn you've watched, your stud won't be so pleased. And he'll soon be tired of you playing untouched, nervous and reluctant, and of waiting for you to be ready.'

Patrick wanted to reach into his own head and strangle the offensive little bastard. How dared he sully Patrick's longing for the physical lovemaking he wanted with Peter with such crude words! But someone else cut off the wicked laughter which followed the nasty tirade. "Patrick my love, I know you've never been with anyone. It makes me so proud to be your first, but no matter how much I want you, we'll have to wait with actual sex. Not because of you, but because of me. I hope you can forgive me."

The anxiety which was apparent in Peter's voice instantly focused Patrick's attention. What did his boyfriend mean by that? "I want to go to a clinic and have tests to be sure I haven't got any sexually transmitted diseases. I know I don't have any of the bad ones, but I want to be certain of everything. Because even though I've always been safe with anal sex, I haven't with oral and with women." Peter seemed determined to be brutally honest, and Patrick didn't mind. Actually he was relieved to be handed the perfect excuse to wait, even if he longed for Peter to make love to him.

"I don't mind, Peter. But kissing and cuddling is OK, isn't it?" Peter smiled and nodded, and he reached out to capture his love in another hug. However his mobile phone went off, and with an apologetic glance at Patrick he picked it up and answered. While Peter spoke in Danish with whoever was on the phone, Patrick decided to tidy up the tea things and get ready for bed. Even though it was only nine o'clock, he was tired, and Peter was probably worn out too. And Patrick needed to be at the shop early tomorrow.

When he returned to the living room he heard Peter say his name. He couldn't help glancing over and the blue eyes caught him. Patrick wanted to leave, because he knew he'd get upset by not knowing what was said. But his boyfriend came over and took his hand. "What do you want to know, sister dear?" Uh oh, Peter's voice was playful but with a sharp bite. He'd only talked sparingly about his younger sister, calling her a bossy bitch and a nosy matchmaker. In spite of the harsh words Patrick had the feeling that Peter was fond of Kathrine, and he'd praised her for being a continuous support with Michael.

"Yes my boyfriend is in the room and I'm not talking about him in Danish. Even if it means I can't be completely honest." He grinned at Patrick, when he started to frown. "Well he seems to be unaware how gorgeous he is. And even though I think he's cute when he blushes, I'm not going into detail about him being handsome and sweet and clever." Another smirk, "Mainly 'cause I'm not taking the risk that he'll get mad. I want to sleep in his bed tonight." Lots of high pitched squeaking in the phone as Patrick blushed crimson. "Well, I'm afraid that's too late. Michael is already sleeping in the middle of the bed and he expects both of us to be there when he wakes up."

A long silence during which Peter bit his lip, probably to prevent himself from laughing out loud. He brought Patrick's hand up and kissed it. His sister seemed to say something, and now the blond Viking laughed. "It's not my fault that you jump to conclusions, Kat. I distinctly recall saying sleep in his bed." His blue eyes sparkled with mirth as he listened to a long tirade, but suddenly became intense. "Oh yes, I'm completely serious. Patrick is the man I'm gonna spend the rest of my life with. The three days Michael and I have been in his company are happiest I've ever had. I'm still pinching myself occasionally to be sure this wonderful guy has really agreed to marry me."

This time the excited screams at the other end were so loud that Peter winced and removed the phone from his head. Patrick just stood there with his mouth open and the weirdest feeling in his guts. The little angel in his head was running around whooping with joy 'yes, yes, I knew it, the hunk has fallen hard, and he's yours forever'. Even the sarcastic devil seemed to find the situation funny, but for once Patrick was able to ignore the niggling voice telling him that Peter's family might not be as welcoming as he supposed. Once it got quieter, the handsome Dane gingerly brought the phone back to his ear. He listened and replied patiently, but rolled his eyes now and then.

"I don't know when you'll meet Patrick." A pause, "No, I can't just bring him back with me. He has a shop to take care of." Peter squeezed the hand he was holding. "In any case I'll be busy packing and sorting out everything for moving over here... yes I know you'll help and I'm grateful. I want to go back home as soon as possible." A small smirk, "You know Michael will miss me and I think Patrick will too. I'll miss them more though." The penny seemed to drop for Patrick and Kathrine simultaneously and Peter's voice turned smug. "Yes, that's right. Our home is here with Patrick now... No, I don't have to ask Michael, he already told me so."

Finally Peter managed to end the phone call with a few more assurances that he knew what he was doing and was insanely happy. He pulled Patrick into a long hug and both men clung to each other. The silence was soothing and the closeness strengthened their bond and reduced the tension. With a sound that was half sigh and half chuckle Peter nuzzled into Patrick's neck. "I love my sister, and she means well, but she drives me crazy sometimes. She's almost worse than my mum." The embrace tightened. "I love you so much Patrick. And don't worry, my family will love you too, once they see how happy you make me."

His Valentine seemed to be developing an uncanny ability to work out what Patrick's devil of doubt plagued him about. But he wasn't going to complain if it shut the silly bastard in his head up. In any case there was an even more urgent matter. Or maybe intriguing was a better word. "Peter, when did you and Michael talk about having your home with me?" His boyfriend pulled back slightly and looked at Patrick who rushed on to reassure him. "I want that too. I'm over the moon that you're staying with me. I love you both and my home will be wherever you are." He relished the way Peter's eyes lit up with joy at the heartfelt words.

"Well, it's not that I've told Michael about us directly. But when the hospital agreed to treat him, he knew that we'd stay in London for several months. After I brushed his teeth tonight, he told me that he didn't hate the idea anymore." Peter sniffed and wiped his eyes. "He said: 'I'm okay with doing all that nasty hospital stuff as long as I get to come home to you and Patrick in between.' He likes your house and he adores you almost as much as I do. I think he instinctively knows you're the kindest person in the whole world and he feels safe here." This time Patrick initiated the hug and held his love tight as the larger man shuddered with suppressed sobs.

Just as in his vision on Valentine's Day he kissed Peter's cheek and neck, whispering comforting words in the ear hidden below soft golden hair. Once Peter had calmed down, they sat on the sofa, and he poured out all of his worries and hopes and fears about Michael. Even if it was emotionally draining Patrick felt pleased and proud that his boyfriend shared the burden weighing on his mind and heart. Wasn't this what being a partner in love and marriage meant? And the fact that Peter needed Patrick's support and not just the other way round showed that their relationship would be equal.

Of course this was the moment that the two voices in his head joined forces again and giggled. 'It's all about giving and taking. Why don't you ask him if he likes both?' Luckily at the same time Peter shook his head and chuckled at himself, saying his sister would've been clucking and worrying about him at this stage. "She's the only one I've had until now to confide in. But it feels so much better with you, Patrick. You listen and sympathize and you understand that I just need you to be strong and calm. And once it's over, you don't want to go on and on discussing every little point to bits. I don't know if it's because you're a man or just because you're you."

From that point their talk developed into Peter telling his Valentine all those sweet things that made him blush and grow hot and turned his insides to mush. But Patrick was smart enough to realize that he craved this. He felt like an almost wilted plant which unexpectedly received a soft shower of revitalizing water and nutrients. The rain of compliments and kisses and touches and loving whispers in his ear made him unfold and recharged the part of him that had been stunted by the death of his parents. Patrick knew he needed the love and honest approval from people he cared about in order to be fulfilled and happy as a human being.

His parents had given him that every day, the unconditional love and affection, the guidance and rules and approval that a child and youngster needs, and most of all acceptance and obvious pride in the man he'd become. Once Patrick started to read the many heart wrenching coming out stories on gay internet sites, he appreciated his parents even more. He'd never worried about being gay or what his parents' reaction would be. In fact his coming out at the age of fifteen had been undramatic and quite funny, when he looked back years later.

His mother had been reading a movie review in the Sunday paper and was gushing a bit about the handsome actor whose portrait filled a whole page. He was bare-chested and looked sexy as hell. When his mum had giggled about how hot he was, Patrick had blurted out his agreement. Her only reaction had been a stern look and the admonishment "I think he's too old for you, dear. You should go for a guy your own age or just a couple of years older." The next thing Patrick knew they were having a great time discussing the merits and looks of actors, sports stars, guys in his school and the neighborhood.

His father had fled the breakfast table for his work room, but when Patrick went up there later, nothing was different. Oh, his dad had insisted on having the safe sex talk, which was awkward and embarrassing, but Patrick knew it was done out of caring and protectiveness. Dad had even managed to joke, "I'm glad I don't have to worry about you getting a girl pregnant by accident." They'd laughed, but the comment had a serious background. Just two months earlier he'd overheard his parents discuss one of his unknown cousins. At the time his dad had been furious with his sister, who according to him had neglected her responsibilities as a mother.

Patrick had never heard his dad be so vicious and loudly condemning, which may have been the reason he'd stopped outside the kitchen door and eavesdropped. "She didn't get her sixteen-year-old daughter on the pill when Fiona got a boyfriend. She didn't even bother to buy her condoms and tell her to insist that her boyfriend use them, if they had sex. She just told her 'not to do anything naughty before she was married'. Fucking Hell my sister is an even bigger idiot than I thought." Patrick could hear the quotation marks in his dad's voice, and he wasn't surprised when the next part of the talk was about Fiona getting pregnant.

Patrick left at that point, not wanting to spy on his parents when they discussed private things that were none of his business. He was curious of course, but it was more like idle gossip because he'd never met this unfortunate cousin. And later on he realized that the distress and anger he sensed from his dad upset him to the point of nausea, making him flee the situation. Apart from the safe sex talk a couple of months later, the knowledge stayed buried and forgotten until his parents died. After all, the fact that his dad was fine with his son being gay and treated him no differently was a much more important memory.

At the funeral of his parents the tidbit about Fiona surfaced again, and it was actually one of the few pleasant memories Patrick had from those awful days. He'd been introduced to a mind-numbing gaggle of relatives, most of which seemed to frown or fawn at him. Now that he thought about it, he'd mostly been confronted by his parents' generation and he only had vague recollections of their various offspring. But one pretty young woman had approached him and given him a hug before he could prevent it. Afterwards he was actually glad, because the contact made him realize that she was sincere.

"I'm Fiona, your cousin on your father's side. I'm very sorry about your loss, Patrick. Your parents were the most generous and kindhearted people I knew, and they helped me ten years ago, when I needed it. If you ever..." At that moment they were interrupted by the most haughty of his aunts, and Patrick soon worked out that this was Fiona's mother. He retreated back into his shell of grief and rejection and nothing more came of the brief contact. Except that he observed that Fiona didn't have a child with her, so the problem of her pregnancy must have been solved one way or another.

All of these ponderings managed to keep Patrick occupied and slightly absentminded as he agreed with Peter's suggestion of going to bed. They collected Peter's beddings from his room, and his boyfriend also grabbed sets of clean clothes for himself and Michael. They took turns in the bathroom, with Patrick being last, and it was while brushing his teeth that he had the epiphany. Why had he assumed that his cousins were as bad as their parents? OK some of them had regarded him with disdain or indifference, but Fiona had been nice and he could recall younger faces looking shy and sad. They stayed in the distance, but Patrick's attitude probably hadn't encouraged them to talk to him.

Maybe, just maybe he could get in touch with Fiona and see if she felt like meeting. If that went well, then he could consider approaching a few other cousins. Fiona might know who were nice and might accept him no matter the money issues that marred his relations to their parents. Or the fact that he was gay. He walked into the bedroom feeling unusually content considering his mind was on his estranged family, only to have every thought but one driven out of his head. "Oh man he looks good. Yum. I want some of that!" Peter was standing at the end of his bed, naked except for a pair of black boxers and the sight took his breath away.

"I wasn't sure if you prefer one side of the bed, so I thought I'd wait and ask." Patrick managed to shake his head and indicate he was indifferent. Peter picked up his duvet and moved to the side closest to the door. "I'll take this side, just in case Michael needs help in the night." His voice was low, but it was clear that he wasn't too worried about waking his son, who was sprawled in the middle of the huge bed, fast asleep. Patrick stayed rooted to the spot a few steps into the room and feasted his eyes on the gorgeous body of his man. The only light came from the corridor behind Patrick and the small bedside spot which had been turned on to the lowest possible setting. But it was enough to reveal Peter in all his glory - well nearly all.

Patrick's eyes were drawn to the bulge in the black boxers; the size was impressive even though Peter's manhood was clearly at rest. He couldn't help wondering how large it'd be at full mast and longing to see it uncovered. Two small voices in his head started teasing him, causing a blush to spread over his face. Patrick dragged his gaze up, just to be caught by the muscular and hairy torso, which did nothing to silence the damned devil or a flustered angel. 'Oh my, he's so manly and strong. Imagine cuddling in his arms every night! Aren't you lucky.' The tiny angelic figure was jumping up and down in excitement next to the smirking evil counterpart.

But strangely enough Patrick didn't mind the bawdy suggestions flung at him, maybe because he knew they would be real at some point, but not just now. 'He's gonna hold you down and fuck you senseless. But you want it, don't you? You want this big strong Danish Viking to rape, pillage, and plunder your body, eh? To ravage your mouth and your ass and make you ride him until you shoot your spunk all over his hairy chest.' Inside his head Patrick shouted back "Yes that's exactly what I want after I've shoved my dick up his butt and claimed him as mine." He nearly had a fit of giggles as the devil's face contorted in surprise and he evaporated in a puff of dust.

Patrick hadn't thought much about whether he'd like a hairy man, but he sure considered this specimen to be utterly sexy. Peter only had a fine dusting of blond hair on his arms and legs, and from the quick glimpse he'd had of his back, that seemed smooth too. But there was a large patch of dark blond curls on his boyfriend's chest as well as a distinct treasure trail, and tufts of hair peeking from his armpits. Patrick's fingers itched to play with the hair and caress the skin over the firm pecs and abs, pinch the nipples and find out if they were sensitive like his. Oh yeah and he wanted to kiss and smell and bite and...

The sound of a throat being cleared intruded, and Patrick's brown eyes lifted to meet amused blue orbs. "Do you want me to put a T-shirt on, or is it OK, if I sleep like this?" Patrick blanched then flushed, his whole body going from cold to hot at the realization that he was completely busted ogling his semi-naked boyfriend. And even worse: Peter got into bed and stared back with an expectant smile and the awkward truth hit the blushing virgin. He was fully erect and now he was supposed to undress in front of his lover who no doubt looked forward to the show. Why, oh why had he ever agreed to sharing his bed so soon?

He knew asking for his Valentine to close his eyes would be futile, and a small and naughty part of him whispered that it'd be unfair too. Peter deserved to see his future husband almost naked and suffer the consequences of unrequited lust and want, just as Patrick would. He bowed his head to hide a small grin at the thought of doing - well maybe not a striptease, but a shedding of clothes that would definitely tease and tantalize. No matter that he was unused to compliments on his looks, Patrick knew his body was trim and well-kept. He despised false modesty just as much as bragging, and shyness and inexperience was his problem, not worry that Peter wouldn't find him attractive.




Patrick's Personal Card Ch. 03



So he removed his sweater and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, pausing now and then to sneak a look at Peter. His man's attention was completely riveted and Patrick had to bite his lip to avoid giggling. When he shed the shirt and strolled over to chuck it in the laundry basket, he allowed himself a smirk at the deep sigh from the bed. He kept his back to Peter while he removed his socks and belt and then he turned round and took a couple of steps towards the bed. Casually he scratched his neck with one hand and let it drift down over his smooth chest, grazing an erect nipple on the way, and continuing down to the button on his trousers.

The expression on Peter's face was well worth it. He did nothing to hide the desire and want, and he was completely enthralled. This was so much fun, and Patrick decided he would do anything to keep his Valentine gazing at him like that. Unbuttoning and unzipping had Peter licking his lips and swallowing, and Patrick pinched himself hard to avoid bursting into a laugh. He began pushing his trousers down, but suddenly turned his back as if shy. But of course this just meant that his ass was on display and in a pair of rather tight briefs too. A quick peek over his shoulder after he'd dropped his trousers and bent over to remove them showed Peter's gaze was fixed as expected.

Patrick didn't quite wriggle his butt as he walked back to the laundry basket, but he sure felt like doing a small victory dance. He looked down and adjusted his hard-on so that it was pointing towards his right hip and in no danger of escaping the confining briefs. Then he turned around and walked to his side of the bed as if he was oblivious to the fact that Peter was ogling his package and literally panting at the sight. Deciding to get one last tease in before getting under cover, Patrick paused at the edge of the bed. "Like what you see, darling?" It was the first time he'd used an endearment, and he almost recoiled at the heated look it earned him.

Peter's blue eyes held his and Patrick's dick lurched and shed a tear of joy at the unbridled lust which rolled in waves from the blond man. The answer to the question came not in words, but by Peter removing the duvet hiding his crotch. The unexpected flashing only lasted a few seconds, but long enough for Patrick's gaze to take in what he'd already suspected. Even though Peter's boxers reached his navel, they only barely contained his engorged manhood. Patrick quickly slid beneath his own duvet and Peter switched off the light. A whispered goodnight drifted across, both of them aware that a kiss was too dangerous.

Even though Patrick was tired, he couldn't relax enough to sleep. The vision kept intruding, and he fluctuated between aching desire and a touch of fear. He'd never seen any porn or picture that made him so eager to masturbate, and the frustration that he couldn't was driving him crazy. Outlined by the soft black boxers even the short flash had left no doubts that Peter's erect manhood was huge. Long. Thick. Not obscenely or impossibly so, but enough to make Patrick worry about the potential pain associated with penetration and having Peter take his virginity. Which he was still passionately determined to initiate as soon as possible.

But maybe he should buy a bigger dildo first. His dick launched another blob of precum in his briefs at the thought. Patrick might be inexperienced with actual sex, but for the past four years he'd owned a couple of sex toys. Once he'd acknowledged that casual sex was not going to happen, he'd bought a dildo to expand and improve his lonely self-gratification. No one was here to find out and judge him and at least he'd be better prepared, if he did meet Mr. Right. Except that the toy resembling his own dick in width and girth, while being a challenge for the first many sessions, was nowhere near what he faced now. Or soon. Hopefully.

Thus the need for something larger to practice with. Once this concept was firmly entrenched, the next one popped into his head. 'Maybe Peter would like to help.' The vision which replaced that of Peter lying in his bed with an impressive boner just from watching Patrick undress was even more compelling. Patrick naked on all fours with Peter behind him pushing a huge dildo into his ass, while both men jerked off. Oh yes, I want ... Patrick had barely indulged in the fantasy for two minutes before the inevitable happened. He only had scant moments to react, but managed to get his hand into his briefs in time.

He bit into his pillow to prevent his cries of ecstasy from escaping as his balls unloaded several blasts of cum into his palm. His whole body shuddered as the most intense orgasm he'd had for months swept through him. It was like having a wet dream while still conscious, but at least he wouldn't wake with soaked underwear. Luckily he was on his side with his back to Michael and Peter, and he carefully milked the last drops into his hand before bringing it to his mouth to dispose of the evidence. 

Once he'd calmed down a bit, he turned over on his back to sneak a look at his bedfellows. The steady breathing and small snuffling noises of Michael had already reassured him that the boy was asleep. For a moment he thought Peter was too and that the incident would remain secret. But then his boyfriend lifted his head. "Patrick, did you just..." The sentence was left unfinished probably in case Michael woke up. But the incredulous tone left no doubt that he was busted once again.

"Ehm yes. I'm sorry. I ... eh ... I have a vivid imagination. It was an accident, I didn't mean to. It just sort of happened. I didn't even touch ... ehm you know." Which was the truth, but he'd flexed his hips just enough to create friction against his underwear and the fold of bedding against his groin. "Sorry. Anyway, it was your fault. If you hadn't removed the duvet..." Suddenly a large hand came over and stroked his hair, moving down to cup his cheek and the thumb slid onto his lips to silence him.

Love and awe shone in the fond words. "Oh Patrick, sweetheart. Don't fret or apologize. I'm proud that just having me in your bed will cause such a stunning response. I'm envious too. And I may have to take a quick trip to the bathroom. Do you need a towel or something?" At Patrick's whispered reply that he'd solved the problem 'manually and orally' Peter groaned and fled the room. In less than five minutes he was back and slipped under the covers again with a relieved sigh. This time their goodnights were soon followed by blissful sleep.

The next morning Patrick woke to the unfamiliar sounds of two voices whispering behind his back. In his sleepy state he tried to work out what was going on but apart from his name the words were mostly unintelligible. Weird - oh no wait, he had two Danes in his bed, one small and cute, and one big and hot. Very hot. Ehmm maybe he shouldn't think about that, or he'd have some serious morning wood to contend with. Patrick lifted his head to see what the time was, and grunted as a body impacted him from behind. "Good morning, Patrick. Breakfast, please?"

He was smiling even before he turned over and saw Michael's blue eyes and happy grin. The boy was clearly proud that he'd managed to communicate in English. Behind him Peter was wearing an even wider smile and Patrick's heart beat faster at the sight of his handsome boyfriend. 'Oh man that's just what I want to wake up to every morning. My Valentine smiling at me. Oh and maybe a kiss and a cuddle. Preferably naked and...' Patrick stopped that train of thoughts once more, knowing where they'd most likely lead. Instead he spoke to Michael: "Yes, breakfast. Pancakes?"

"Pandekager." The translation from Peter had Michael squeal with delight and jumping up and down. Right then he didn't look like a child with a heart condition, but Patrick knew from Peter's random remarks and his own observations that the slight boy tired easily. However, the real danger was infections and anything else that put an undue strain Michael's body. His heart wasn't up to dealing with extra work, but if he rested frequently, ate well and stayed healthy apart from his cardiac issue, he'd be OK. Well, maybe not OK, but safe and capable of going through the treatment which would hopefully cure his condition.

As Patrick cooked pancakes, his own lonely heart moved further along the road to full recovery. He'd loved eating breakfast with his parents in the large but cozy kitchen, and the sturdy wooden table was one of the pivotal places of the house and his memories. Having his own brand new family fill the empty space with chattering created a warm, contented glow in his guts, no matter that Patrick was unable to understand the words. Every time Peter came over to the stove to pick up another pancake, he'd touch him. A caress on his hair, a kiss on his ear, a hug around his shoulder or waist, and often accompanied by a quiet "I love you." Or "Delicious, my darling."

To Patrick, who'd seen his parents exchange similar unobtrusive signs of love, it confirmed that giving his heart to Peter had been the right choice. He was pleased that the Dane didn't hesitate to be affectionate in front of his young son, but it added another bullet to the long list of subjects he had to discuss with his Valentine. Did Michael know that his father liked men - or rather Patrick in specific? If Peter had never had a serious relationship before, the matter probably hadn't come up. How would Michael react to living in England permanently? And what would they do about school? Maybe a private tutor would be best, and...

This was the point where his internal angel began scolding. 'Patrick, you need to stop getting ahead of yourself and agonizing about matters that are for your boyfriend to bring up.' He frowned, but couldn't deny that he had a tendency to worry about potential problems or concern himself over the future. 'I know you've had no one to rely on for almost five years, but you're in a relationship now. You can share the joys and burdens with your soul mate.' The term had the slim card maker go all soppy inside, and in his vision the angel smirked. Suddenly a large body was in front of him and Patrick looked up, startled out of his musings.

At this point he'd finished cooking and was busy with the washing up. As usual Peter took care of the drying and Michael had disappeared to watch cartoons. Patrick realized he'd paused in his task and blushed when Peter asked: "What were you thinking of just now? You had the most delightful expression on your face, and you were looking at me as if I was a box of your favorite Valentine chocolates." Patrick was mesmerized by the soft lips and next thing he knew he was molded to a warm body, fingers entwined in blond locks, and busy stealing kisses from his lover. 

Peter gave as good as he got and both men forgot everything else as they indulged in mutual tongue play. Only to be interrupted by a giggle: "Er du kærester med Patrick nu, far?" He felt the worst blush ever begin, as they separated and turned to look at Michael. He was standing next to them, and Patrick was glad to see that the boy seemed unperturbed by sight of his dad kissing another man. He was holding an empty glass and had probably returned to get more juice. At least this gave Patrick an excuse to slip away and let Peter deal with whatever his son had said. He kept an eye on them as he went to the fridge and grabbed the juice.

"Ja, det er vi. Er du OK med at få Patrick som papfar?" He understood OK and Patrick, and it was clear Peter had confirmed their relationship. He picked up his son and hugged him, and they whispered together for a bit. Then they looked at Patrick and waved him over. He was pulled into the embrace of his family, and Michael held on to both of them, hugging them tight around their necks. Patrick sighed contentedly as he once more felt safe and loved and wanted. He sent up a small prayer of thanks to their patron saint together with a wish for happily ever after. 'For all of us please...'

Translation of Danish phrases

"Er du kærester med Patrick nu, far?" = Are you and Patrick sweethearts now, dad?

"Ja, det er vi. Er du OK med at få Patrick som papfar?" = Yes, we are. Are you OK with getting Patrick as your stepdad? (Or literally 'cardboard dad' as pap means cardboard.) 

The words papfar and papmor (and later bonusfar and bonusmor) replaced the original stepfather and stepmother, which had bad connotations.



Patrick's Personal Card Ch. 04



Beginning a new day in the arms of his Valentine was the best, and Patrick decided the family embrace in the kitchen with Michael in the middle increased his joy. The young boy was still babbling on in Danish, and he caught a slightly distorted version of his name. "Jeg kan kalde ham pap-Patrick. Pappatrick, Pappa-trick, nej Pappa. Er det OK, tror du far?"

Peter's smile was tender and delighted. "Papa betyder far på fransk og engelsk, så jeg er helt sikker på, det er OK. Patrick, Michael wants to know if he can call you papa?" Patrick was speechless but managed to nod and was rewarded by two small arms wrapping around his neck and a soft voice in his ear saying 'papa' then giggling. The young boy squirmed to get down, grabbed his juice and disappeared while singing along to the tune announcing his favorite cartoon starting on the TV.

This suited the two men fine and let them indulge in more kissing and exchanging sweet words of love. All too soon Patrick had to leave for work, but he floated all the way in a pink cloud of infatuation. Not even the fact he'd agreed to meet the dreaded Moster for dinner could dampen his spirits. Luckily few customers came by during the first hours, and the besotted card maker actually managed to sort out his shop. The first important visitors arrived at half past eleven and they happened to be his favorite gay couple.

John was chatting away even as he approached Patrick, his tall, dark husband following quietly with an indulgent smile. "Hi Patrick, we have a tricky task for you. Anthony's mum will be sixty and..." The curly redhead stopped abruptly and stared at Patrick with his mouth open. They'd caught him daydreaming while staring at photos of Peter and Michael which he'd hung around his work place. During the seconds of stunned silence a deep blush developed on his cheeks, but Patrick tried to stay calm. John soon recovered.

To Patrick's consternation he was enveloped in an exuberant hug. "Oh my God, I'm so happy for you. We'd wondered, but we weren't sure, even though Anthony normally has excellent gaydar. But I can see you're in love, you're practically glowing, Patrick. Oh and what a hunk, and he has a cute son too, wow how lucky can you be. Do tell," his husband's hand on John's shoulder made him falter for a moment, "I mean only if you want to, of course, but we're delighted you've finally found someone." Anthony caught Patrick's eyes and nodded, with one of his rare smiles showing he agreed with his excited spouse.

So the next half hour was spent telling the story of the past few days, with John almost swooning over the romance of it all. Sweet and reassuring, but Patrick was even happier by having Anthony accepting every word. He'd expected the serious lawyer to be skeptical and cautious but he listened calmly and only offered words of congratulations and support. When Patrick finally managed to voice his own worry about the shortness of their whirlwind relationship and possible difficulties ahead, including monetary issues, Anthony was surprisingly relaxed.

"Patrick, there're several ways to solve this, and I'd be happy to help. But you need to tell Peter as soon as possible and be honest with him. I know the company he's going to work for; they only employ the best and they pay accordingly. Peter's salary will exceed yours by a significant amount, so I suspect he'll be pleased the reverse is the case in relation to capital fortune. The main factor is your house. He'll save a lot of money not having to rent or buy a flat, thus increasing his disposable income. Have you thought about decreasing your shop hours?"

Patrick nodded, and both John and Anthony gave him pleased smiles. Their sincere wishes for his new relationship to be a success and for him to have a life and love apart from card making colored every word, gesture and look. In addition, the tendrils of a future friendship were growing from the sharing of confidence and trust, and something prompted him to acknowledge this hope. "Would you be interested in coming over for dinner one night? Meet Peter and Michael and maybe his aunt too. Or we could go out for a meal, if she can babysit." Their reaction left no doubt of the delight this invitation afforded the gay couple, and Patrick promised to get back to them with a date and time.

After sorting out the proper card for a lady who felt bad about getting old in years when she was young in mind, Anthony and John left with a handshake and a hug. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly with a steady but scattered arrival of customers. Around six o'clock Patrick got ready to close the shop for a couple of hours. His nervousness at the approaching meeting with Moster Grethe returned and he almost wanted to text Peter and cancel. But before the devil of doubt in his head could trigger a stupid reaction with his teasing, his boyfriend arrived with his family.

All of them were carrying various bags and boxes giving off delicious smells. "Hello my love, we have brought dinner here rather than go out. Michael prefers to be in your shop, so I hope you don't mind." Peter unloaded his parcels on a table and came over to kiss his surprised boyfriend. Patrick blushed but there was no way he could refuse the hug and short but heartfelt kiss. He'd missed his Valentine all day, and basked in the sunlight of his presence. Peter's obvious need of touching and his eager lips were the answers to Patrick's cravings for love and acceptance.

When he returned to awareness of his surroundings, Michael and the woman were engrossed in laying out the feast. They chatted quietly in Danish, and the young boy proudly gestured and explained. "He's telling her how nice your shop is and all the fun he had decorating Easter eggs." At the sound of Peter's voice the woman turned and smiled at them. She said something to Michael, who immediately took her hand and dragged her over to meet Patrick.

"Se bare Moster, fars Valentin kæreste, og min pap-Patrick. Papa, dis is Moster Grethe." By now Patrick was familiar with most of the Danish words, and he knew he'd been introduced as Daddy's Valentine boyfriend and Michael's papa. The boy's struggle to say at least some words in English was cute, and he resolved to help him master the th sound.

Peter kept his arm around him, as Patrick shook the hand of the woman, who struck him as both kind and efficient. Not surprising for a retired nurse, but the way she'd managed to organize the food and let them have a private moment without even a trace of resentment for being ignored was astounding. She greeted Patrick so cheerfully he didn't even feel ashamed of his impolite distraction.

Moster Grethe was tall but graceful, obviously fit for her age, which Patrick knew was 65 years. Her hair was almost white and her face still retained some of the beauty which her daughter had inherited according to Peter. Her smile was genuine and her greeting warm. "I'm so glad to meet you, Patrick. Michael has talked about you and your shop the whole day, and I can see why you've captured my nephew's heart. I hope you don't mind us eating here. Like Michael I'm not fond of restaurants, and he should take a nap soon."

"I feel the same way, and you're very welcome in my shop. I hope you'll consider staying in the house with us, but if you prefer to have your own place, I'm sure we can work something out." Patrick's offer surprised himself as well as Peter and Moster Grethe. But his intuition told him this woman was the exact opposite of his own awful aunts. She cared about people and their feelings and he felt comfortable in her company. Even when she started teasing Peter after they'd eaten dinner, tidied up and persuaded Michael to take a rest on the sofa.

"I had a couple of interesting phone calls late last night and early this morning. Your sister called me twice Sunday, and my sister called me while I was waiting at the airport. Both of them insisted I discover where and when you're getting married. As well as asking me to find out everything about your boyfriend. The whole family is going crazy over the fact you've finally fallen in love. I even had Kim send me an email from Tokyo asking me if the rumor was true." She sighed, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

"At least I can tell them you've managed to score a handsome and cute guy, who cares about Michael and is polite and welcoming to other members of the family. Why can't my son Kim meet someone like you, Patrick?" Luckily Peter intervened before Patrick died from embarrassment.

"Moster, you know Kim isn't gay, don't you? He's not even bisexual like me."

"But he's never had a girlfriend, and I did catch you two together." 

This time Peter was the one to blush. "I'm never gonna live that down, am I? Look, have you thought about who was doing what, when you came in the room?" She shook her head. "OK, let me be blunt. There's a good reason I performed oral on Kim and not the other way round. He got to close his eyes and imagine the blond bimbo with the big boobs next door, and I could think about her older brother. I fancied him, but he was straight too. Not that this prevented him from saying yes to a blowjob once I got up the nerve to suggest it."

Peter was smirking at the stunned expression on his aunt's face. "So there's the difference, Moster. Guys who like to give orally and receive anally are definitely on the gay side of the spectrum. Guys, who go the other way, can be either gay or straight. And Kim is most definitely straight. As far as I know he's never done anything else with a man but the fooling around he and I did as teenagers."

"But he's never had a girlfriend." She seemed bewildered more than annoyed. But when Peter slapped his face with his open palm, Moster Grethe winked at Patrick, who bit his lip not to laugh.

"Ehm, that's probably because he's a nerd and shy. I mean I like my cousin, but you have to admit he's not the best in social settings. And I've never seen anyone who's worse when it comes to flirting with girls." Peter smirked again. "Why do you think we used to go out together? I'd do the chasing and Kim would hover in the background and hope one of the girls took pity."

At first Patrick was somewhat appalled by the conversation, but gradually he realized his boyfriend had managed to divert Moster Grethe's attention completely. It gave him time to compose himself. As they continued to talk about Kim, he got the impression Peter's aunt was using the opportunity to dig for information which had eluded her in the past.

"I admit I used to wonder if he had a touch of Asperger. But he's older now and doing better. Surely, some women can appreciate my son's good points?" Patrick felt the genuine sadness of the older woman, the sort of worry a loving mother has for her son. Would his mother have felt the same, if she'd seen him going through life alone? He hoped she'd rejoice in his good fortune in meeting Peter and Michael. He even allowed a tiny hope of Moster Grethe extending the motherly feelings she so obviously had towards Peter to himself.

"Well, Kim's recent job transfer to Japan might do the trick. He has all the assets which traditionally attract women in Asia - and most of them will score point with their parents as well. He's educated, has a good job, is kind and polite, keeps quiet and shows few emotions in public, and when he bothers to dress well and keep fit, he's quite good looking. Oh and once a woman gives him a chance, she'll learn of another impressive feature, which might be decisive." Peter leaned over and whispered in Patrick's ear. "Kim's hung like a horse."

Of course he managed to time his remark to the moment Patrick took a drink of water. Moments later he was sputtering and trying to get his breath back. Patrick had barely avoided doing the classic spray-your-drink-all-over-the-table mishap, but only by swallowing and getting water down the wrong way. To his chagrin Moster Grethe leapt up to help and scolded Peter while insisting on being told what he'd said. The commotion woke Michael, who was whiny and demanded his dad's attention. So once Patrick had been sorted, he called a cab and suggested they head home.

"You're welcome to spend the evening at the house, Grethe." She'd been adamant Patrick should use her first name. "Peter knows where everything is, but otherwise he can call me. We can make more plans tomorrow morning, if you come over for brunch."

When Michael caught on to the fact, Patrick meant to stay at the shop, his voice got teary and Peter looked beseechingly at his boyfriend. Moster Grethe went over and put Michael on her lap and said something which made the boy shut up and stare hopefully at Patrick. The card maker knew he'd just had his first taste of the issue Anthony had raised. Peter came over and embraced him, and the decision was made before he spoke. "Is there any way you can close the shop for tonight and come home with us? I'm sorry about asking, but..."

"Never hesitate to ask, Peter. I love you and I love Michael, and I've already made up my mind to change my opening hours. My customers will have to adapt. Family comes first. You and Michael are the most important thing in my life right now and hopefully you'll stay that way."

The kiss this little speech earned Patrick was enough to make his head spin and his knees turn to jelly. Two familiar figures popped into his head, while he was trying to recover and get his raging erection under control. 'I'm so proud of you. You made the right choices, especially telling your man how you felt.' Patrick smiled into the broad chest of his Valentine, as always feeling safe and loved in his arms. Nice to know his supportive angel approved. Naturally, the dare devil took a different approach. 

'If you'd been alone, I bet your Viking would have ravished you right then. Laid you on the shop counter and sucked your cock, or bent you over the sofa and fucked the hell out of you. Does the idea turn you on? Having sex in you shop?' By now Patrick knew how to deal with his inner pest. His silent reply "Sure. All kinds of sex with Peter will turn me on, but I think doing it outside is even more fun." caused another impish implosion, leaving Patrick and the angel high fiving each other mentally.

As the couple let go of each other, Patrick immediately looked over at Michael. The young boy was smiling triumphantly and letting Moster Grethe bundle him up in coat, scarf, hat and gloves. He seemed unfazed by the sight of his dad kissing and hugging another man. Were all Danish children brought up to be tolerant of gay people, or was Michael special? Patrick was grateful no matter what. 

He finished the last part of his closing up routine as the cab arrived. While his family got into the car, he hung up the sign advising customers to call him, as the shop was closed for the day, and locked the door. Such a novel but delightful feeling to look forward to leaving the shop and go home.

The rest of the evening was spent in casual talk, hearing about Peter's new job and making plans for the next week. Moster Grethe left around ten, saying she was tired after a long day and from her point of view it was eleven at night. Peter walked her back to the pub, while Patrick tidied up and got ready for bed. 

Once again Michael was sleeping upstairs and had made it clear he expected his daddy and papa to join him. As Patrick sat in the chair and watched the boy sprawling in the middle of his bed, he tried to come up with a solution which would prevent another mishap like last night.

He heard Peter come in and lock the door, checking the kitchen and ascending the stairs. As the handsome blond came into the bedroom, Patrick stood up and went over to hug him. "I wondered if you'd like to take a shower together?" He felt Peter twitch against him; his boyfriend dragged him into the hall and had him up against the wall, kissing him senseless.

"You know I would, you naughty man. I'm hard and leaking just imagining you naked in the shower." Patrick knew it was true, he could feel the huge bar of steel sliding against his own erect manhood. "But I want you too much. If I undress you, I'll want to suck you and make love to you. Or the other way round. I want to taste you, darling. Lick you all over; open your tight little rose bud with my tongue and my fingers, before I slide my cock into your sweet virgin ass."

Peter's mouth kept nuzzling at his neck as the seductive whispers filled Patrick's ear. Somehow the two men managed to grind against each other, and when a strong hand cupped his butt and fingers pressed into the crevice, Patrick couldn't hold back. The images in his head and the intimate touch of his lover overwhelmed him and wet pulses of semen filled his briefs as the innocent man came hard. Moments later his Valentine moaned and the rhythmic thrusts of his pelvis showed he'd gone over the edge too. 

Silence except for heavy panting, while both men tried to cope with the aftermath of the unexpected ecstasy. Peter recovered first. "I love you. I loved making you come. So much I did too. But I guess you noticed." Patrick nodded and mumbled yes into the strong shoulder supporting his head. He was quite grateful they both creamed their pants. 

Somehow it absolved him from any shame which might have ensued from being able to orgasm from Peter painting erotic pictures with his voice. Oh the close body contact helped too, but Patrick was painfully aware he'd have climaxed sooner or later from listening to Peter spell out exactly what was in store once they got naked. The mere thought of his man without clothes had Patrick hardening again, and he gasped.

Peter released him with one last kiss. "Why don't you shower first? I need to go downstairs for clean underwear. I'll shower down there, once you're done." Patrick nodded and ducked back into the bedroom to grab a new t-shirt and briefs. 

His shower was fast and he rinsed the soaked briefs and left them hanging on the faucet. Since his jeans were stained inside with cum too, he bundled them with his socks and dirty top and took them back to the bedroom to drop in the laundry basket. Tomorrow would be a good day to get some laundry done.

For some reason, Patrick didn't feel comfortable getting into bed without Peter being present. He put on his bath robe and spent the waiting time sorting out two loads of clothes. Just as he finished, his boyfriend entered the bedroom. Soon they were lying on either side of the bed looking at each other over the peacefully sleeping boy. Patrick noted they'd both chosen to wear T-shirts which helped keep his mind off naughty matters.

"I'm so grateful you're eager for us to be intimate, love. And I promise not to make you wait too long." Peter's voice held a longing which had Patrick blushing. "I actually went to a private clinic today and paid double for them to do the tests fast." Was Patrick weird for thinking this was a romantic gesture? Maybe, but he also appreciated Peter's ability to be honest and down-to-earth about these matters.

"I'm not worried about HIV, as I've been tested twice since I was last with a man. I haven't had symptoms of any venereal diseases, but I know some of them can be dormant for years. I'd never forgive myself, if I gave you something." The serious look on his boyfriend's face showed he was sincere. "I'll only desire you for the rest of my life, and I want no barriers to our love making." Patrick heartily agreed. He wanted everything, lots of it, and as soon as possible.

Suddenly a small grin appeared and the blue eyes twinkled. "I guess the next part of our talk is the big deal. I'll confess first, if you promise to be honest too." Patrick immediately knew what they were heading for as the two silly beings in his head popped up and chorused 'top, bottom or versatile?' He almost crossed his fingers waiting for his boyfriend to reveal his preference. "Okay, I suppose you've guessed I like to top?" Patrick nodded. "Well, the few times I've gone all the way with a man, I gave. So in fact I'm as inexperienced as you are, when it comes to receiving. Oh and just as eager to change my status."




Patrick's Personal Card Ch. 04



Patrick's mouth dropped open. The tiny angel in his head fluttered excitedly 'ohh how sweet, you'll be his first too', while the bawdy imp fell over laughing. 'Better get out the dildo and see if he runs away. I wager nothing larger than a finger ever made it into Mr. Valentine's virgin ass.' He realized Peter was waiting anxiously for an answer and got a grip on himself. "I want to give and receive too, so I guess we're both versatile, right?" A huge grin lit up his lover's face and he pumped his arm in a triumphant 'yes' gesture. 

Patrick decided to push a bit. "Are you sure you'll like to be - ahh to bottom? Have you tried toys - ehm like a dildo?" He checked an extra time to be sure Michael was fast asleep before whispering the last word. So far their bed talk had excluded any obvious erotic terms, but he was pretty sure words like sex, dildo, condoms and fuck would transcend the language barrier. No need to run any risk if the boy suddenly woke.

The stunned expression on Peter's face had his boyfriend struggling to suppress a giggle. Even better when he choked out "No, have you?" and Patrick nodded. The compelling blue eyes went huge and moments later filled with such lust, Patrick knew they were both erect and desperate for a relieving touch. "I... I think, we'd better not continue with this topic." Peter swallowed and his blush was both cute and hot. "But you can be sure we'll take it up, once we're alone."

"Speaking of which," Peter cleared his throat, "I guess we have to talk about more permanent sleeping arrangements." They both looked at Michael, knowing he'd probably need to share their bed many times in the difficult months to come. But he still needed his own room too. "I originally intended to rent a furnished place and only bring our personal belongings. Kathrine has promised to help pack our clothes, books and Michael's toys and dispose of the furniture. I'm going back on Thursday and I'll bring as much as I can carry and have the rest shipped by air freight. It should arrive next week, if that's OK?"

Patrick knew what Peter was asking. They hadn't discussed it in so many words, but after Peter's proposal, every talk of the future assumed Michael and his dad living in Patrick's house. It was fairly convenient for the hospital and Peter had described the commute to his workplace as 'reasonable for London'. Michael was already comfortable with the idea, and Moster Grethe had remarked how he didn't even talk about his life at home, except for vague plans about friends visiting and being shown 'all the cool stuff in London'.

"You know I'm thrilled you're moving in, but I have one condition. I'm making this into Michael's room and we'll have our bedroom next door. And I'm paying to have it done exactly the way he wants, no matter what. Including a flat screen TV and a play station or whatever he'd like. You'll have to ask him and maybe take photos of his room in Denmark if he needs this to be similar. For our room you can either let me chose or tell me your wishes and let me incorporate them. I'm hoping Moster Grethe will use the guest room downstairs, but I have another plan as well."

As Peter sputtered the expected objections about costs and spoiling his son, Patrick lined up the important part of his confession. Once his boyfriend came to a halt, the card maker took over. "You had no way of knowing, my love, but I'm rather wealthy. Apart from owning this house I have a large fortune in secure stocks and other funds and my main income is interest from the capital. The card making covers the cost of my business, but only because I own the shop premises. I can't make a living out of my hobby, although I did turn a small profit last year."

His Valentine had gone pale and quiet, and Patrick hated to see the confident Viking turn unsure by the insignificant matter of money. At least he considered worldly goods secondary to love, and he hoped Peter felt the same. "Please don't be upset. It was a way to fill my empty life with creating beauty the way my dad taught me. I love using my talent and I'll keep the shop, but with much shorter opening hours, and maybe I'll hire an assistant. I can work at home, too. The room next door used to be my dad's workroom and mine."

"You and Michael are my family now. You are the most important part of my life and I'm going to do my best to make you happy. Please understand this, Peter. I hated my wealth because I inherited the money when my parents died. And most of my relatives were either envious or tried to con me for funds. Having my card shop was a consolation which eventually made the situation bearable. But for the first time ever I'm glad to be rich, since it'll let me help you relocate. If nothing else think of Michael and how we need to do our best to ease his next year. Once he's well and has settled, I promise I'll stop spoiling him. Well almost."

The only way Patrick managed to deliver this long speech without breaking into tears was to keep a tight lid on his emotions. At the end he tried a small grin and was relieved to see Peter smile in return. The blond hunk reached over and took Patrick's hand and the gesture told the nervous male all would be well. A small part of him filed the interesting information that Peter's touch could soothe or excite according to the circumstances, but never failed to bring a sense of love and being safe. 

The rest of his mind clung to every word uttered. "I meant what I said yesterday and I guess I should have included 'for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health'. My feelings for you are the same, and the offer you made means everything to me for the care and love it shows for my son and for me. Your heart, soul, mind, and body are all the riches I need, Patrick, and my purpose in life is to make you and Michael happy. If spending your money on him does the trick, who am I to object?"

Tears were escaping brown and blue eyes in equal measure, but soon dried as the two men held hands and exchanged tender words of love. A few chaste kisses and touches of faces and hair helped restore calm and pave the way for sleep to claim them. The exhaustion from their long day and emotional night caught up with Peter first and he slipped into dreamless rest still clutching his lover's hand. Patrick spent his last moments awake wondering how this miracle could be true and who to thank. 

Less than a week ago he'd been a lonely man with no love, no friends, no family and nothing to fill his empty house and hearth. Maybe St. Valentine had been impressed with his faithful service and interceded with the Goddess of love. Or Fate had decided to make up for the cruel suffering from the twist of destiny which killed his parents. How else to explain the sudden appearance of this beautiful man whose honest love and need for Patrick had poured out in waves which threatened to overwhelm his senses. In more than one way... quite enjoyable ways... mmm...

After all, soul mates destined to meet was such a cliché. Wasn't it?

Translation of Danish phrases, in case you want to know:

"Jeg kan kalde ham pap-Patrick. Pappatrick, Pappa-trick, nej Pappa. Er det OK, tror du far?" = I can call him pap-Patrick. Pappatrick, Pappa-trick, no Pappa. Do you think that'll be OK, daddy?"

"Papa betyder far på fransk og engelsk, så jeg er helt sikker på, det er OK." = Papa means daddy in French and English, so I'm certain it'll be OK.

"Se bare Moster, fars Valentin kæreste, og min pap-Patrick." = See here Moster, daddy's Valentine sweetheart and my pap-Patrick.





Patrick's Personal Card Ch. 05



Patrick woke early the next morning. He managed to slip out of bed without waking Michael and Peter. Grabbing the clothes he'd made ready the night before, he headed for the bathroom. Even though he'd had a bath last night, he needed to have a longer shower. Preferably with a bit of self-gratification while thinking of his lover. Otherwise Patrick knew he'd be popping wood the whole morning whenever Peter touched him which would be mortifying when having brunch with Moster Grethe.

Once he'd sorted himself out, Patrick proceeded to the kitchen and checked the food situation. He made a list and left a note for Peter before leaving for the local supermarket. On the way out he ran into his next door neighbor who'd been out to get his newspaper. The old man was taciturn but not unfriendly and blessedly uninterested in gossip or sticking his nose in other people's business. He'd been a widower for almost ten years and Patrick knew his health had deteriorated the past six months.

"Good morning Mr. Archibald, how are you today?"

"Good morning lad. I'm tolerable, thank you." The man had known Patrick since he was born and had kept the habit of calling him lad now and then. He'd been one of the few people who'd understood and respected Patrick's reluctance to discuss his parents' death. After the polite but sincere condolences before and after the funeral, the old man had kept the conversation to normal neighborly matters. Not that they saw each other much with the late shop hours Patrick kept.

"I was wondering whether you're still thinking about selling your house."

"Yes, but I haven't gotten around to do anything about it. My daughter keeps telling me I should do it soon. She knows I can't manage the garden and the housework anymore, even with help." The old man sighed and Patrick knew he was sad about leaving the home he'd shared with his wife for most of their life.

"She's a good lass, takes after her mother, you know. But she's right and I need to get off my backside. She wants me to move to the old people's home over on Burkhart Road." Surprisingly Patrick felt a flare of grateful anticipation from his neighbor. "I've been over to visit and it's a nice place. Quite large rooms and pleasant staff and a huge garden with roses and old trees." Both of them looked at the profusion of rose bushes in the old man's front garden, his pride and joy. "They even said I could bring my favorite roses and plant them in front of my room." 

Patrick had never experienced the old man so eager to talk, but he was delighted to hear the next part. "It's privately owned and rather expensive, but my daughter says she want me to spend the money from the house on my own comfort and not on my children. Her husband agrees. Humpf, I may have to revise my opinion of Gerald." Mr. Archibald actually chuckled and shook his head over the son who was slightly pompous but a decent guy from what Patrick had seen.

"Well, in that case you may like my proposal of buying your house. We can get an estate agent to evaluate the property and I'll ask my parents' old lawyer to do the papers. This way the cost will be low for both of us. You can take your time with moving out and emptying the house over a few months, if you like." Patrick knew it would be a huge task to sort out the accumulation of a life time, even though there were two daughters and a son plus assorted family members to help.

His neighbor stared at him, astonished and speechless, and Patrick was surprised to see his eyes grow moist. He tried to get past the awkward moment with a joke. "And I promise to take good care of any rose bushes you leave behind. You can come by and check up on them and scold me if I'm doing anything wrong."

The old man actually reached out and clasped his shoulder and Patrick sensed his relief and gratitude and something else which was strangely close to parental joy. "Ach, laddie, t'is almost too good to be true. Would this offer to buy my house, which I'm happy to accept, have anything to do with the handsome man and the blond little lad I've seen around the past weekend?"

The astonished card maker felt a blush start, but determined to stay true to his old vows of being honest about his true self, when Mr. Right came along, he nodded. "Peter and his son Michael are over from Denmark, because the boy needs specialist treatment for a heart condition. His aunt arrived yesterday and she'll be taking care of Michael for the next six months at least. The extra house is mainly for her and any other relatives coming to visit."

Saying it out loud was almost beyond his ability, but he pushed through the anxiety in his gut. "Peter is my boyfriend. He and Michael are staying with me." He wanted to say Peter was his fiancé but felt it was too soon even if he'd more or less agreed to marry him.

"Good for you, lad. So would the aunt be the lady walking this way?" Mr. Archibald gave his shoulder a small squeeze and let go. Patrick was astonished at the old man's casual acceptance of him being gay, but decided not to question his luck. He turned around and sure enough Moster Grethe was approaching. She gave them her easy smile and once again Patrick marveled at the way she exuded comfort while still being mischievously bright.

"Good morning, Patrick. I'm pleased to see you're a lark like me and not a night owl like my nephew. Is this your neighbor?" Patrick nodded and introduced her to Mr. Archibald. "I'm glad to meet you. Please call me Grethe. I expect we'll be seeing quite a bit of each other once the weather gets warmer." She glanced at Patrick's front garden which was a tangle of the rhododendrons his mother had loved; untouched since the day she died. "I can see Patrick's garden is in need of attention, unlike yours."

Mr. Archibald was clearly taken aback by the blunt manner of the Danish visitor, but he quickly warmed to her relaxed and confident attitude. He insisted on being called Arthur in return and invited both of them in for a cup of tea "if you'll excuse the mess in my kitchen." Patrick declined with his shopping as an excuse, and Moster Grethe decided she'd better help him, as it would be convenient to get to know the local shops.

"Is there anything we can get you, Arthur?" The quick glance at his cane was the only indication she'd caught on to the older man not being in prime health. But the question had no trace of pity, only genuine helpfulness to a new neighbor. Although technically Grethe was the recent arrival. The interesting part was Patrick had offered to help a few times, but Mr. Archibald had turned him down, politely but firmly. He'd come across as fiercely independent and proud, and since he'd not been in any real distress, Patrick hadn't pressed the issue.

He watched the old man hesitate for a moment, but maybe it was harder to say no to a charming lady. "Well, I could do with some fresh milk for the tea and if there's any kind of biscuit you prefer? All I have is short bread." It was amusing to watch his neighbor hint delicately of the invitation still being in effect, and how Grethe caught on immediately.

"I quite like short bread, but I'll take a look at the selection. However, I plan to do some baking with Michael later, if he feels up to it. Maybe we can bring a plate over this afternoon, if you don't mind trying Danish biscuits, Arthur?" They parted with a few other polite exchanges and Mr. Archibald went back inside while Patrick and Grethe walked towards the supermarket. Although they'd all been warmly dressed, it was still February and early morning, so it got cold standing around even in the sun. A brisk pace and getting inside the shop solved the problem.

"Your neighbor seems to be a nice man, Patrick. Are there anyone else who's around in the daytime?"

"No, the couple next door works all day and they don't have children. They moved in two years ago, but I hardly know them." Patrick didn't mention his vague unease about the woman, whose only attempt at conversation had been to ask which church he went to. When he'd shrugged and made a vague gesture towards the local parish church, not that he ever attended, she'd turned her back with a sneer. But nothing else had happened since and she'd certainly not bothered him or anyone else with religious matters as far as Patrick knew.

They chatted amiably as they filled the cart with breakfast things and other groceries. "I've thought about it, Patrick, and if you're sure, I'd like to stay with you at least for the next couple of weeks. But only if you let me do the cooking most of the time. Plus you must promise to be honest and tell Peter if it's not working." Oh, she was clever, this Moster of his boyfriend. She knew he'd never admit having a problem to her, but lying to Peter wasn't possible.

Fortunately, he could outwit her. "As a matter of fact I was talking to Mr. Archibald about buying his house. It's getting too much for him since his hip went bad, and his daughter has found him a nice place to live nearby. We'll need to go over the matter with my lawyer and I've told my neighbor, he can take his time to move out. So it won't be for another two or three months but eventually you'll be able to move next door."

Grethe shot him a sharp glance, but she kept her mouth shut while she worked out the implications. "I guess Peter told you about Alice coming to London to work as a model." Patrick nodded. "I doubt she'll want to live with her mum, and if things work out, she'll be travelling around most of the time. But I'll be grateful to be able to offer her a place to sleep whenever she wants. Plus I've a feeling she's much closer to one of the photographers than she has admitted. If it works out, they may end up going into business together. I know Alice dreams of running her own model agency."

The white haired woman smiled fondly and Patrick found himself wishing Alice was like her mother in personality as well as looks. If so, she'd do well managing and caring for high strung models and dealing with demanding customers. And he wanted Peter's cousins to be successful if only just to make their loving mother proud and happy. She deserved it as far as he was concerned.

"Anyway, Alice will probably stay in London for a long time, and Kim is stuck in Asia for at least three more years. He might as well visit me here as in Copenhagen. Even when Michael is well again, he'll be better off having a surrogate grandmother close by. My sister, Peter's mum, can't move over here, but she'll visit of course. Staying next door with me will be the perfect solution. Nobody wants their mother in the house for two or three weeks - hell few men can tolerate their own mum for that long."

Grethe laughed and Patrick joined in. He liked this candid woman whose spoken words were in synch with the things his other senses told him. She had no hidden agenda or sly purposes, nor did she seem to suspect other people of duplicity or meanness. Peter's Moster wasn't naïve and her mind was sharp as a razor, but she had an air of acceptance and trust which resonated deeply within him. "All in all I think your idea to buy the house next door is great, and I'll be happy to contribute in any way I can. Including convincing Peter to go along with your plan."

Right there, standing at the line waiting for their turn to pay, Patrick gave in to his silly craving and hugged Moster Grethe. She didn't even hesitate but hugged him back. Apart from Fiona's quick hug at the funeral it was the first time since his mother died, he'd been embraced by a woman. And the warm motherly feelings flowing from Peter's aunt filled up another gaping pit in his soul. "You're a most remarkable young man, Patrick. I'm so glad Peter met you. He deserves some love and happiness in his life." They let go of each other and returned to the mundane matters of bagging their purchases.

They were chatting merrily when they came into the house, only to be met in the kitchen by two sets of surprised blue eyes and slightly sulking faces. "Papa, hvor var du? Moster Grethe, hvad lavede I?" At once she went over and picked Michael up, hugging him and whispering in his ear. He giggled and let her carry him into the guestroom still wrapped in the blanket, presumably to get the boy dressed. 

Patrick began sorting out the groceries, leaving the breakfast stuff out and putting the rest away. Peter got up to help and neither of them spoke for a while. Once they were done and Patrick got out a bowl to whisk egg, his boyfriend caught him against the kitchen counter.

"I tried to tell Michael you'd gone shopping for breakfast stuff. But he was pretty annoyed you weren't there when he woke."

"Looks like he wasn't the only one." Patrick thought Peter looked cute when he pouted. At the back of his mind he noted the lack of freaking out at the thought of his boyfriend being upset with him. Somehow the emotional declarations of love and devotion last night had erased the last doubts Patrick had about their relationship. He'd confessed to Peter about being rich and his boyfriend had told him he valued having Patrick's love more than anything. Even without his special gift Patrick would have known it was true.

And Moster Grethe had confirmed the genuine lack of interest in his fortune this morning. She'd hardly batted an eyelid when Patrick mentioned buying Mr. Archibald's house. Her focus was on Peter and Michael finding someone who loved them and cared about them. She'd obviously been concerned about Patrick as a person, and once she'd decided he was OK and the sudden love between him and her nephew was real, all other problems seemed a matter of finding the right solution.

From this position of being sure of their mutual love and secure in his future with Peter, the card maker could deal with anything else. Including a boyfriend who pretended to sulk: "Well, I prefer waking up and seeing you in bed next to me like yesterday. And you'd gone out, so I couldn't even get a good morning kiss and cuddle. Oh and my Moster probably likes you better than me now, since you're all chatty early in the morning. Plus you didn't give me a hug and a kiss when you came home."

During his little tirade Peter had managed to maneuver Patrick into the corner by the sink. He'd put on jeans and socks, but the upper part of his hot body was only clad in the tight T-shirt of last night. It outlined his muscular torso in the most awesome sexy way and Patrick wanted to fondle the firm pecs and kiss and lick the nipples which had enticed him the other night. The way his boyfriend had almost stalked him also turned Patrick on. By the time Peter pulled him in for a kiss, he was already half hard and slightly breathless.

They started out with lips touching and moving gently, but within moments Peter's tongue was begging for entry and Patrick let him deepen the kiss, turning it possessive and demanding. One strong hand was buried in Patrick's hair and the other pressed against the small of his back, making small moves towards his ass but retreating just before coming in contact with the swell of his butt. As distracting as this was Patrick still noticed the hard pressure of Peter's cock against his stomach and he moaned when subtle hip movements caused his own member to rub against the warm body trapping him in the corner.

"Yrk altså, nu kysser de IGEN. De må da snart blive trætte af det." Michael's voice conveyed his exasperation even if Patrick couldn't understand the words. He blushed and tried to push Peter away but the blond Viking refused to budge. He smiled down at the embarrassed card maker, as moster Grethe replied to the boy and from the sounds of saucepans and cutlery started to prepare breakfast.

"He thinks we should be bored with kissing by now. She's trying to explain how you never get tired of kissing and hugging people you love. I'll be kissing you forever, Patrick, and not just your lips."

Patrick knew he had to change the subject fast, or else risk a wet spot appearing on the front of his pants. The thought of Peter's lips and tongue exploring other parts of his body was causing delicious shivers in various places. He wanted to drag his boyfriend upstairs and get naked and ... Shit, not a good train of thoughts to pursue.

"What are your plans for today, Peter? And the rest of the week?"

"I have a meeting at the hospital at two o'clock. They want to set up a schedule for Michael's treatment at once and we need to sort out the paperwork. I have to find out if us moving here permanently makes a difference."

"Why would it?" Patrick was puzzled how this could be an issue.

"Coming over here was a bit of a long shot. The specialist at Rigshospitalet suggested we try but told me not to get too hopeful. If they agreed to take Michael, he promised to argue for remuneration by the Danish health care system. They're normally pretty good at paying for treatment abroad if all options at home are exhausted and the doctors recommend the case. However, if we immigrate to Britain, we're not entitled to national health care. I'll have to contact the authorities in Denmark when I get back and see what they say."

As Peter spoke, the familiar niggling doubts and worries began churning around in Patrick's head and guts. But his boyfriend caught on to him at once, maybe because he felt his body tense or read the anxious brown eyes. "We'll work it out, love, please don't worry before I've talked to the doctors. We'll still stay here, but I may have to keep an official address in Copenhagen and go back to stay for a week once in a while. The worst part is not being able to marry you straight away."

Patrick sighed but since Peter seemed confident, he decided to trust his man. Maybe make him feel better about the last bit. "I'm looking forward to getting married, but I guess I'll enjoy calling you my fiancé and being able to tell people we're engaged. It's kind of romantic, you know?" This got him another heated kiss until giggles from the other two people in the kitchen drove them apart.

"Far og papa kysser. Far og papa kysser. Far og Patrick er kærester." The teasing chanting of Michael had Peter roll his eyes with a tolerant smile. He took Patrick's hand and led him over to the kitchen table which was now set up for a nice brunch. Grethe was at the stove making scrambled eggs and bacon and Michael was laying the table and putting out butter, jam, juice and other breakfast items. The two men busied themselves with making toast and cutting up fruit and soon all four of them enjoyed a leisurely meal. 

Once Michael had left to watch his beloved cartoons in the living room, the adults made plans. "I'm thinking about booking a late flight to Copenhagen tomorrow night. I'll spend Thursday packing and sorting out things in Denmark, and hopefully I can return no later than Friday." Peter gave both of them an entreating look and Patrick knew what it meant. Fortunately he also knew Grethe's answer from their talk in the supermarket.

"Grethe, please stay here from now on. It'll make things easier, and I'll enjoy your company when I get home from the card shop. You can have the guest room and I assume Michael can sleep there too, while Peter is in Copenhagen?"

"Of course, and I'll try to persuade him to stay down here over the weekend too." The wink and smile she gave her nephew and Patrick had both of them blushing. "I better go over to the pub and tell them I'm definitely leaving today. I did warn them this morning and as long as I moved out before eleven they won't charge me an extra night."

"I'll come with you and help with the suitcases." Peter started to get up, but Grethe waved him off.

"No need, I'll go over and pack the few things I used and settle the account. I'll bring back my hand luggage and send you over for the suitcases, if I can't find somebody to help me. Patrick, how much should I offer in return for wheeling them over?" Once they'd settled on an appropriate amount for the teenage son of the pub owner, Grethe left with a promise of a swift return. The two men continued talking as they tidied up the kitchen.




Patrick's Personal Card Ch. 05



"So if you get back on Friday, I guess we can start reorganizing rooms during the weekend?" Patrick did his best not to blush or sound too eager.

"I'll talk to Michael about your idea of him taking over your room. Maybe Grethe can help him plan how he wants it. It would keep him occupied while I'm gone." Peter hesitated and Patrick waited patiently for him to work out the next part. "The other room you planned for us to sleep in - should we look at it and decide how we want it done up?"

Patrick knew he'd gone a bit pale and Peter had his arms around the smaller man before he could speak. "It's OK, Peter. There's nothing bad about the room, except I've used it to store my parents' personal belongings, and clearing it out is going to be difficult. But maybe I can just move the boxes to another storage and go through them later." Patrick knew he'd get depressed by the task which was why he kept postponing. However, getting to share a bed with his boyfriend might be the incentive needed.

"Do you want me to help you? I don't mean with sorting your parents' things, but just be with you and carry boxes and make tea?"

"Yes please, Peter. Having you there to cry on and to comfort me with hugs and kisses would indeed help." Patrick wanted to giggle at the surprise on his man's face. "What, did you think I was too proud to admit how bad I'm going to feel about this job? I'll always be honest with you, and I expect you to tell the truth too. And it's only fair to warn you about the chances of me freaking out once I open the door to my dad's workroom. For the first time in more than three years."

"Why don't we wait then? I don't need to see the room right now, and we can take our time with making it into our bedroom. I'm sure Michael will be happy to have his dads sleep in his room for a bit longer. And I think he'll be fine with staying with moster Grethe some nights, as long as he can wake us up in the morning and cuddle between us. He often joined me on Sunday mornings back in Copenhagen, and we'd have breakfast in bed and chat about his week and make plans for the day."

Patrick kissed Peter, relieved to be able to push the matter aside for a bit longer. He was grateful for the considerate manner of his boyfriend in dealing with the anxiety and sadness which had probably been obvious. As he relaxed against the broad chest, Patrick once more sent of a prayer of thanks to his patron saint. 'Thank you St. Valentine for sending me a man who loves and cares and understands. I promise to treasure him forever.'

Okay time for another change of subject before he got too sentimental, and Patrick knew exactly what might cheer him up. "If we're not rearranging rooms this weekend, how would you feel about inviting some people or going out for a meal with them?"

Peter was clearly a bit taken aback at the sudden shift in conversation, but rallied quickly. "I suppose it would be OK. Who did you have in mind?"

"You remember the gay couple whose wedding picture I showed you? John and Anthony?" At Peter's nod he rushed on. "Well they came in to the shop yesterday to buy a card. And - ehm - they guessed I'd met someone. Fallen in love."

"How did they find out? Did they know you're gay?"

"No, I've never told anyone except my parents. They told me they'd wondered about me being gay but had no clue. But they saw the pictures of you and Michael near my work area in the shop. They thought you're handsome and he's cute, and I had to agree." Patrick wasn't surprised when this declaration earned him several kisses and a nibble on his neck.

"Also John said I was glowing."

"Glowing?"

"Umm, yes, sort of shining with love, you know."

"They saw pictures of me and when they asked you about me, you shone with love?"

"Yes, and John hugged me, because he was so pleased for me. They both congratulated me."

"John's the excitable redhead?"

"Yes."

"And Anthony is the tall dark silent guy."

"Exactly."

"A bit cliché isn't it?"

"I know, but they're great guys and perfect for each other. And I realize it sounds silly, but I have the feeling they could become great friends. So I asked them if they wanted to meet you. Oh and Michael of course. Ehm, this was after I'd gone on about you for a while and how happy you make me. They were eager to get together, and I promised to get back to them and suggest a time and place for dinner."

"I'd be delighted to meet them. Do you want to invite them here? I'm sure moster Grethe would love to make their acquaintance too. And just so you know, Patrick," he made a teasing break and leaned in to nibble Patrick's ear, "I can see your love for me shining in your eyes, and it makes me very happy," a playful bite on the earlobe, "and very hard."

Patrick had to adjust his own manhood which swelled in response to Peter's heated whisper. A sudden vision in his mind had him biting his lip to hold back a moan. Peter above him holding his naked torso raised on two strong arms, looking down at him with blue eyes full of love and desire. Patrick knew what he'd be seeing if he tore away his gaze and let it drop towards their joined bodies. His own legs spread wide to accommodate Peter's hips as the larger man thrust into him, again and again.

The tingling in his anus and scrotum warned Patrick to shut down the vision immediately or else suffer another mortifying incidence of creaming his pants. He gasped and moved his head away from the playful mouth nibbling suggestively on his neck. At the same time he became aware of a warm hand gently cupping the bulge in his pants under the table. Fuck, no wonder he was close to having an orgasm. "Peter stop that or I'm going to..."

Amused but tender blue orbs met the gaze of his panicked brown eyes, and Peter brought both hands up to cup his face. "Sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean to be pushy. But the way you reacted when I put my hand on top of yours was irresistibly hot." Peter's lips found his and Patrick melted into another mind blowing kiss. When they pulled apart, he put his head on Peter's shoulder and sighed contentedly.

"I love you, Peter."

"I love you too."

"And you're sure you want to get together with John and Anthony?"

"You like them and think we'll be friends with them, don't you? I trust your judgment."

"Yes I do, though I've never thought about them like that before. Well, I've only met them a few times and just as customers in the shop. Yesterday was the first time we talked as friends and about me." Patrick knew the reason for the change was meeting the love of his life. It had unlocked his emotions and made him capable of connecting with other people in a personal way. 

Strange how he hadn't seen it before, but he'd only let himself sense the truth about how other people felt when it didn't apply to him. Or if their emotions were the sort to cause rejection on his part. Every time someone's interest had felt genuine, he'd walled himself away. Fiona's wish to be there for him, Mr. Archibald's vaguely paternal worry, the tentative enquiries from several of his parents' best friends, even the tight-lipped old lawyer trying to explain the ramification of his inheritance.

All of them had been trying to connect with him, to help him deal with his sorrow and loneliness in their own way. Patrick almost felt ashamed at his disregard for the people who apparently cared about him. He knew he'd subconsciously been trying to shield himself from hurt, but it was a stupid - and lonely - way to live. Meeting the two Danes had been the catalyst, being in their company had gradually weakened his walls, and Peter asking for Patrick to be his Valentine had breached his defenses. Another silent prayer of thanks rose in his mind.

They'd separated and gone back to the washing up by the time Patrick had finished his ruminations. After deciding Patrick should contact John and Anthony and suggest meeting for dinner at a local restaurant on Saturday, with the option of going back to his house for coffee, they continued with other practical matters.

"I'm going to buy a dish washer now we're four people in the house. Where should I install it?"

"Close to the sink is probably best, since you need access to water and drain. But you might want to ask moster Grethe for her opinion."

"Is she being honest when she says she enjoys cooking and wants to take over preparing meals?"

"Absolutely. As far as I can recall, dinners at moster Grethe always included wonderful food. It was something she shared with my uncle. They even took a couple of advanced cooking classes together. Michael likes to help her baking and she often finds small jobs for him when she cooks, so it works even when she'll be minding him." Peter hesitated and Patrick motioned for him to go on. 

"On the other hand I know she hates cleaning and washing, so we'll have to share those chores or get someone to come in regularly. I don't want to impose on you or dictate matters in your home, Patrick, but it can't be helped. If we're to have Michael at home between treatments, the house has to be kept perfectly clean and stay uncluttered. Sort of the way you have it now."

Peter's smile was a little wobbly, but Patrick reassured him with a laugh. "It's a miracle! I used to think my obsession with keeping my home neat and clean would be an obstacle to a relationship. Either my boyfriend would drive me mad by being untidy or I'd scare him off by freaking over dirt in the corners. And now you're telling me it's something you appreciate. How did I get so lucky?"

The handsome Dane's reaction was the same wondrous delighted laugh which happened back when Patrick persuaded him to give in to Michael's wish and stay the weekend. But this time the hug was accompanied by a quick kiss. "I love the way you can find the silver lining on any cloud and turn my needs into a favor I'm doing you or something you want even more than me. You're the most wonderful man I've ever met, Patrick, and I'm proud and amazed we've become Valentines."

The shy card maker blushed and changed the subject. "I assume Michael won't be doing anything school related for the next months?"

"No, he'll be too tired and the danger of infection means he'll be limited in where he can go and how many people he can be around."

"What about a tutor to teach him English? We could start looking for someone who's willing to schedule lessons whenever Michael feels OK. Oh and I want to learn at least some Danish."

"Hmm good idea, both of them. I'll also look into DVDs and computer programs for teaching kids. But let's get settled first, and just hearing us talk in English may prompt Michael to start using the words he knows already."

As if the repeated use of his name had conjured him from the other room, Michael was suddenly next to them. "Jeg keder mig. Hvor er moster Grethe?" Peter took the hand of his son and walked back to the living room. Patrick finished the last bits and followed. The TV was off and Peter had Michael in his lap, talking earnestly. By the expression and replies of the small blond boy the conversation made him happy.

Patrick went over and sat next to them on the sofa and found himself hugged by two thin arms as Michael threw himself onto him, jabbering excitedly. He looked over at his boyfriend, almost sure he knew the reason why, and Peter confirmed his guess.

"Michael would love to take over your room. He wants to keep the bed and he likes the color of the walls but wants lots of posters. Not surprisingly, he's also keen on the entertainment unit idea."

Just then the front door opened, and Peter got up to help his aunt with her suitcases. Michael managed to convey his wish to join the rest of the family in the guest room, and Patrick was pleased to carry him to the room. The trust of this innocent boy gave as much healing to Patrick's lonely heart as the love of Peter and the support of moster Grethe did.

Secure in the knowledge of a new family making his home a joyful place, the card maker set out for another day at his shop and spent every unoccupied moment happily making plans for the future.

Translation of Danish phrases, in case you want to know:

"Papa, hvor var du? Moster Grethe, hvad lavede I?" = Papa, where were you? Moster Grethe what were you doing?

"Yrk altså, nu kysser de IGEN. De må da snart blive trætte af det." = Eww, they're kissing AGAIN. They should be getting bored with it soon.

"Far og papa kysser. Far og papa kysser. Far og Patrick er kærester." = Daddy and papa are kissing. Daddy and papa are kissing. Daddy and Patrick are sweethearts.

"Jeg keder mig. Hvor er moster Grethe?" = I'm bored. Where is moster Grethe?



Patrick's Personal Card Ch. 06



The next two days went past quickly. Tuesday night Peter told Patrick and Grethe about the meeting with the hospital and their intention to schedule Michael for treatment at the earliest possible moment. This meant several days of testing and checking starting the following Monday. Patrick managed to absent himself physically or mentally whenever Peter started discussing medical details with his aunt. He simply couldn't bear to hear about the difficult times which awaited their sweet little boy.

On Wednesday morning Peter helped Patrick create a program on his shop website, where customers could book meetings during specific time periods on weekdays and Saturdays. Patrick also posted the new shorter opening hours and reminded his customers he could be reached via email or mobile phone in case of urgent commissions for personal cards. So far he hadn't been overwhelmed by people contacting him on his work phone and email, and even if his shop was doing better than expected, he knew it would always cater to a small exclusive group rather than a crowd.

He phoned John and arranged for the two couples to meet at the shop on Saturday just before he closed. He'd have the card for Anthony's mother ready by then. John groaned a bit at the reminder. "I'm glad we're going out with you Saturday night. It will keep my mind off the dreaded Sunday lunch. I love Tony, but most members of his family are boring bigots, penny pinching prudes or agonizing aunts. But since this is my mother's birthday, I cannot escape. At least Tony's parents are pretty cool." Patrick laughed heartily at John's alliterative insults which were surely a much repeated complaint.

Grethe had taken over the kitchen and Patrick encouraged her to rearrange it to her liking, and buy whichever implements and ingredients she wanted. They'd gone shopping for a dishwasher and managed to find a shop that could deliver and install by Friday. She'd already made several small improvements in addition to the smell of baking and the sound of happy Danish chatting which greeted him every afternoon. Grethe had wasted no time in establishing a visiting friendship with Mr. Archibald, who was more than pleased to come over for tea once or twice a day. Interestingly the old man got on well with Michael too, in spite of the language barrier. 

Although Patrick knew Mr. Archibald had several grandchildren, he'd never paid much attention to them or their relationship with his neighbor. But apparently he had a grandson who was a year younger than Michael and had a passion for LEGO. This came out on Wednesday where Patrick brought home a rather expensive set which Michael lusted after according to Grethe. Peter had gone back to Copenhagen on an afternoon flight, so he wasn't there to protest against the extravagance. Patrick's hope was to distract Michael in case he missed his father, and the plan worked beautifully. 

Especially since Mr. Archibald helped build the complicated Star Wars space ship. He'd line up the parts and assist whenever a bit of extra pressure was needed to fix the building components together. Michael was quite capable of following the instructions, but he enjoyed the attention and admiration of the adults as he slowly assembled the LEGO construction. Michael didn't say much, but stayed focused on the task and communicated by pointing and a few easy phrases such as "Press here, please. Where this? Help please." Patrick was proud of him for remembering the magic word, especially since Peter had told him there was no precise Danish equivalent of 'please'.

On Thursday afternoon Mr. Archibald's daughter arrived with not quite seven-year-old Robert, who clutched a bag with his two favorite Star Wars LEGO contraptions. The boys were equally shy but managed to spend half an hour finishing Michael's toy, assisted by Rob's granddad. Afterward they lined up the figures and space ships on the large kitchen table, while the adults talked and moster Grethe helped the boys communicate now and then. Patrick was relieved by Sheila ignoring the matter of Michael's dad being in a relationship with him, but of course the absence of Peter helped. Whether her reaction would be curiosity or censure, he felt ready for neither.

Their visitors left around six, and Patrick stood on the door step watching Rob skip next door with his granddad carrying the bag of Lego. Sheila lingered enough to say: "Thank you for the generous offer on my dad's house." When Patrick tried to protest the price hadn't even been set yet, she shook her head. "I'm not talking about the money, but about giving him time to get used to the idea and sort out his life." Mr. Archibald's daughter gave him an arch look. "And we might even get out of moving those damn rose bushes, since I've the feeling dad will be visiting his old house regularly in the future."

She left with a parting chuckle and Patrick went back in, smiling at how she'd picked up on her dad's growing fondness for tea with Danish biscuits and a chat with moster Grethe. Peter's aunt was already getting ready to make supper, and she gently chased Patrick off. "I've settled Michael for a quick nap in my room. You go and do whatever you need and supper will be ready at seven thirty." He knew better than to object and in fact did have various small tasks to do. Just as he was finishing up on his lap top, Grethe came out of her bed room carrying a still sleepy Michael. "Time to wake up, my boy, supper's ready." Just then the doorbell rang.

Patrick stood up in surprise, wondering who it could be. As he walked to the door, he got a fleeting glimpse of Grethe and Michael looking at him with equally mischievous and pleased grins. Next thing he knew two familiar figures popped into his mind wearing identical expressions of secretive glee. What on earth... But Patrick got no further in his thought, because he opened the door to find a large blond Viking with tired but happy blue eyes grinning at him. "Hi, honey, I'm b..." This was as far as his boyfriend got, before he suddenly had an excited brunet wrapped around him and kissing him right there on the door step.

Afterwards he wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up with his arms clutching Peter's neck and his legs wound around his hips, tongue kissing outside the front door. His boyfriend certainly liked the enthusiastic welcome and held him close with one arm supporting his butt and the other hand wrapped in his hair. The light from the hall illuminated them and in spite of the chilly night, Patrick felt as if steam was coming off their joint bodies. The angel voice in his head was cooing: 'oh he's home early, show him how happy you are to see him' while the little devil was chortling 'fuck yeah, go for it boy, let's give the whole neighborhood a live show right here in your front garden.'

In the silence of their small side road, the shocked gasp from next door was painfully audible. Once again the two different viewpoints in Patrick's head managed to coincide. 'Uh oh, shit's about to hit the fan!' Both men turned their heads to the side and met the outraged glare of the woman, who'd just come out of the neighboring house. The vague disapproval which Patrick had felt from her at previous encounters was now a torrent of indignant disgust and fury. Before they could react, she'd turned around and gone back inside, slamming the door behind her. "Oops we'd better get inside before she reports us for indecent exposure."

Patrick was embarrassed at the incident, but also genuinely shaken by the malice he'd felt. Profoundly grateful for Peter's attempt to joke he let his man carry him over the threshold and deposit him on the nearest living room chair. Immediately the two entities voiced their opinion as to the significance. 'Just as if you're newlyweds, so romantic.' The devil smirked 'Oh boy you think this means you'll get your cherry popped tonight?'

Peter turned around and caught Michael up in a hug, kissing the boy as he clearly bragged about something. "Vi holdt det hemlig, far, lissom du sa'. Papa vidste ikke noget." Patrick felt Grethe's hand on his shoulder and almost knew what she was going to explain. 

"He's very proud he managed to keep the secret of his dad coming home tonight instead of tomorrow. Peter wanted to surprise you."

"He certainly did. And ehm, I guess we gave the woman next door a shock too. I'm not sure she approves." Well, this might be the understatement of the year. He tried to quell the feeling of inadequacy and shame, knowing it was due to the fact his neighbor's reaction reminded him of how most of his parents' adult relatives had regarded him. Although for completely different reasons. 

Both figures shook their heads at him and left with a final joint admonishment, though worded differently. 'Fuck what those idiots think. It's your life, so go get laid.' And 'Forget the bigots and focus on the man you love and your future family.' On the rare occasions those two annoying voices in his head agreed, he knew the advice was sound.

They went back outside to haul Peter's two suitcases inside. "I brought more as freight on the plane, it should be delivered tomorrow." After a nice dinner, they relaxed in the living room. Patrick was content to let Michael have his dad's full attention, since the young boy would soon go to bed. He had the feeling moster Grethe might retire early too, which would leave them with time to talk and make decisions. When Michael began to nod sleepily on Peter's lap, the blond man rose and tried to carry him to the guest room. This caused a minor crisis and the card maker quickly intervened.

"Peter, take him upstairs to his own room, and tell him papa will be along soon. I can see you're exhausted, so go to bed too." In fact, Peter had revealed how he'd spent most of the night packing up his place, only sleeping a few hours. He'd done the paper work, met with various people and finished the packing during the day, in order to return home as fast as possible. It made Patrick's heart beat harder to hear his boyfriend use the word home for their house without even thinking about it.

He chatted a bit with moster Grethe about the plans for Friday and the weekend. She assured him she'd do her best to persuade Michael to stay with her the next nights. Patrick tried not to blush. Fortunately, the boy had decided he wanted a new bed, once he'd seen the possibilities online and realized a smaller sleeping place would free up space for a desk and more toys. Patrick had been relieved, because thinking it over, he'd concluded that having sex in a bed which subsequently would belong to their son might feel weird for both of them.

Patrick said goodnight to Grethe, went upstairs and got ready for bed, including a quick shower to take off the edge. He imagined Peter's hands sliding over his body, distributing soap over his intimate parts and whispering naughty things in his ear. A few strokes of his erect manhood and a soapy finger sliding into his ass was all it took to have him spurting and moaning Peter's name. Was it natural to be so sensitive and turned on by the man he loved? To be brought to the edge just from imagining intimacy?

He'd indulged in many erotic fantasies for the past fifteen years, but nothing made him come the way Peter's smell or touch or voice did. And they hadn't even gotten to the point of actual sex. 'I wonder what making love will do to me?' Patrick quickly dismissed the thought, to avoid having to deal with another unruly hard-on. But he couldn't help a quick prayer to his patron saint as he slid under the duvet next to his two Danish bed fellows, both fast asleep. 'Please let me experience the love of my Valentine soon. Before I go mad with longing. Thank you.'

The next day Patrick was busy at the shop, and he didn't get home till late evening. Peter came by at lunch time with a sandwich, which helped with the ache of missing his boyfriend. Well maybe the hugs and kisses were the most important parts of the visit. Peter had several errands to deal with and only stayed for half an hour, but Patrick made sure to convey his gratitude for the brief encounter. "Please drop by any time you want, my love. I just wish I could do the same, when you go back to work."

The card maker closed his shop for a couple of hours in the afternoon and went to the meeting he'd scheduled with his parents' lawyer. He'd been quite surprised the day before when he called to book an appointment, to be immediately transferred to Mr. Wickham himself and assured of being welcome any time on Friday. The old lawyer actually came out of his office to greet Patrick, before taking him back inside for their talk. He seemed pleased to hear the good news and not the least bit upset when Patrick used the word boyfriend. 

"My dear boy, it's a relief to see you looking happy for the first time in years. Of course I'll help with the acquisition of your neighbor's house, or at least with the transfer of funds. For the paperwork I'd like to refer you to a colleague with experience on estate business. Do you have any idea about the amount needed?"

The next business matter concerned the paperwork to be done in the event of marriage, a possibility which had the lawyer visibly taken aback for a moment. "Oh, I hadn't thought about this, but you're quite right to bring it up, even if it's only a future option." Patrick decided not to tell the lawyer how eager they both were to tie the knot. "Will you get married here or in Denmark? Do you want pre-nuptial agreements to differ in case of divorce? Are you going to formally adopt his son?" The list of subjects up for discussion was long, and the lawyer made it clear to Patrick how decisions on most of them needed to involve Peter. He seemed almost relieved when Patrick mentioned talking to some else who might know about the intricacies of gay marriage.

After they'd concluded this, Patrick brought up the matter of getting in touch with his cousin. Mr Wickham nodded and went to his filing cabinet. "Ms Fiona's actually my client as well, and she asked how you were doing when she was last here. Since you were adamant about not having anything to do with your relatives, I told her you're OK, but not interested in any contact. Otherwise, I'm sure she would have come by the shop or sent you an email. So I won't be breaking any client confidentiality by giving you her contact details." He wrote them down and handed Patrick the piece of paper. 

They exchanged a few more pleasantries and Mr Wickham wished Patrick luck. "Please get in touch when you need assistance on your financial matters, I'm always ready to be of service." He was too old fashioned and formal to do more than shake Patrick's hand warmly, but it was clear the old lawyer genuinely cared about him. The card maker vaguely recalled his father saying Mr Wickham having gone to Cambridge with Patrick's grandfather, but it was the first time he'd considered the lawyer as a possible family friend. Or at least someone with ties and knowledge about his relatives beyond lawyer/client matters.

When Patrick came home, Grethe had a meal waiting for him. At her request he'd phoned shortly before leaving the shop and she heated up the delicious lasagna she'd served Peter and Michael earlier on. The boy was ready for bed and greeted Patrick with a hug and cries of Papa. He insisted on sitting next to him while he ate and tell about his day with Peter translating patiently. Apparently most of it had been taken up with planning his future room, unpacking the additional boxes from Denmark and the arrival of the dish washer. Michael was annoyed at being banned from the kitchen and the fascinating sight of two guys installing it.

When Patrick was done, Michael clearly expected to be picked up and carried into the living room. He settled on his Papa's lap with Richard Scarry's Min første ordbog containing Danish and English words next to the illustrations. They spent twenty minutes saying and repeating the terms of various household objects in both languages, and Patrick had the feeling this would be an established evening ritual for the foreseeable future. Not that he minded in the least. The tender smiles and proud looks from Peter were just additional bonuses.

This time Michael didn't object when his dad took him into Grethe's room. His aunt followed after saying good night to Patrick, and the card maker managed to keep cool and act normally. As soon as she disappeared into her room, he rose, switched off the lights and went upstairs to get ready for bed. A quick shower ended his preparations and Patrick slipped into the briefs and silk pajamas he'd bought on the way back from the lawyer. He came out of the bathroom to find Peter waiting for him in the corridor. 

The blond Dane immediately fixed his compelling azure gaze on the shy brown eyes and the tension spiked within seconds. Neither man spoke, but Peter took his hand and silently led his flustered and anxious Valentine into their bedroom. Patrick didn't know what to expect, but the room looked the same except for a large candle on the chest of drawers. It was lit as was the far bedside lamp, creating a romantic and intimate atmosphere. The top of the blue bedspread was turned down, revealing two pillows and duvets in unfamiliar pristine white linen with a subtle geometric pattern. 

Peter closed the door behind them and the sound of the lock being turned was loud in the anticipatory quiet of the room. There was no doubt his Valentine wanted to be undisturbed for what'd happen next. Patrick's boyfriend was obviously in charge of the situation which suited his younger companion perfectly. He let himself be lead over and seated on the bed and Peter sat down next to him. From somewhere behind him he produced a folded piece of paper, a small black box and a red rose.

"Patrick, my love, I'm free to make love to you the way we want. The test results from the clinic are on here, if you'd like to see them." He waved the paper slightly, and Patrick shook his head. Of course he trusted his boyfriend. His attention was on the black box, which had an unknown name embossed in gold on the top.

"You've already agreed to marry me, Patrick, making me the happiest man in the world. But I'd like us to be engaged the Danish way." Peter opened the box to reveal two identical rings (except for size), and Patrick gasped at the beauty of them. White gold with a small heart-shaped ruby flanked by two diamonds inset in the wide and fairly thick bands. "They are meant to be worn on the left hand and changed over to the right when we marry. At that time we'll have them engraved with names and the date."

He took out the smaller of the two rings, and Patrick held out his left hand, which was shaking from excitement. Peter slid the ring on, making sure the pointed end of the small heart was innermost. He held out the box and Patrick managed to wrest the other ring from the velvet grip. "I love the rings, and I love you, Peter." He pushed the ring onto his fiancé's left hand and moments later their lips were crushed together in a long, intense kiss.

As they parted, Peter held out the rose, which was slightly flattened from being caught between them. "I love you, Patrick, and I want you to be mine forever." Patrick took the rose and inhaled the soft perfume from the red petals. He loved how Peter romanced him without apology for being soppy at times. The rose would be dried and kept as a cherished memento of this night, and they would wear sister blooms at their lapels when wedded. A fleeting vision of that future event teased his inner eye, but Patrick pushed it away. The present moment was too important.

His fiancé was claiming his lips again and their tongues entwined. Peter pushed him back on the bed and his hands caressed Patrick's chest and hip. "Mmm, I love the pajamas, but I want you naked in our bed, my darling. Can I take them off?"




Patrick's Personal Card Ch. 06



"Yes, but only if I get to see you naked first." Peter laughed and stood up. All he was wearing was a T-shirt and loose boxers. He peeled the top off and dropped the underwear before Patrick could do more than gasp. For the first time he saw his boyfriend completely naked in all his glory and the sight was breathtaking and arousing. Peter was fully erect and his long thick manhood rose impressively from a nest of dark blond curls. The foreskin was half retracted from the glistening head and Patrick salivated at the thought of sliding it into his mouth and tasting.

But he also wanted to play with the abundant chest hair and the nipples poking up underneath. Not to mention the taut muscular buttocks which were displayed as his lover slowly turned a full circle to let Patrick feast his eyes on the tantalizing body of his Valentine.

Next thing he knew, Peter had jumped on the bed. "Now I get to unwrap my Valentine's gift and taste every delicious part, yes?" Patrick could only nod and give himself over to the strong hands which carefully removed his clothes, the blue eyes admiring him, and the mouth which kissed and licked each body part as it was revealed. All the time Peter murmured his appreciation of his lover's smooth skin, responsive nipples, ticklish navel, taut stomach, slender hips, toned legs, cute feet, muscular back and shoulders, graceful hands, delicious neck, tasty lips, beautiful eyes, soft hair, the litany went on as he worshipped Patrick's body with fingers, lips and tongue.

Finally, Peter removed the last barrier, and Patrick sighed in relief and anticipation as his precum soaked briefs were pushed down. He wanted to beg for Peter's touch, but knew a few strokes would probably cause his aching balls to unload immediately. Not to mention how he'd react to being engulfed by a hot, wet mouth. 

"Oh, fuck you're beautiful, Patrick. I can't wait to feel you inside me. But I'm grateful you're long rather than wide." He had no time to warn Peter who ran his tongue from balls to the tip of Patrick's cock and sucked the head in. As one hand enclosed his balls and the other his shaft, the desperate brunet moaned and bucked his hips. Peter's tongue prodded the slit and circled the glans ridge once, and he was rewarded with a hoarse 'oh, no, no, no' and a burst of salty cream in his mouth. Patrick cried out in helpless ecstasy as he spurted again and again and felt Peter swallow every drop.

When it was over, Patrick shook in Peter's warm caring embrace. He tried to apologize, but was shushed and reassured. "Don't be sorry, I knew exactly what would happen. I wanted to taste you and take the edge off. Now we can take our time and explore, before I make love to you." He kissed Patrick and fondled his ass. "I particularly want to spend time on this part of your sexy body, and I have the feeling you're ready for me to do so. But please tell me honestly: do you want to take my virginity first?"

Patrick looked up into his boyfriend's anxious blue eyes. He knew Peter probably wasn't prepared for this step, the way he had done. But more importantly, he wanted to bottom before he topped, because he needed to gain experience before being in charge. However, he decided to voice the main reason he had no objection to Peter's plan.

"It's so sweet of you to offer, and I look forward to making love to you too. But the truth is I've wanted to feel you inside me ever since the first time you kissed me. I've dreamt of and longed for the moment you take me. But there's something else I want to try first."

Patrick squirmed in his lover's arms and Peter smiled and let himself be pushed flat on his back. He kept stroking the long brown tresses as his Valentine kissed and licked his way from his neck to his nipples and further down. Patrick was in heaven as he reached the prize he'd ached to touch and suck for days. Peter's cock was even more impressive close up. The head peeking from the foreskin glistened with precum leaking out of the slit.

Peter moaned in desperation when his lover paused to admire him and breathe heavily on his cock. "Please, sweetheart, please suck me. Fuck!" The last word came out as a long groan when Patrick dived in and ran his tongue over the most sensitive part of the crown. The taste seemed to set the innocent man free of any doubts and inhibitions and Patrick indulged himself in a thorough exploration of the only manhood he'd ever truly yearned for.

No amount of watching porn and reading erotic stories could prepare him for the awesome reality of taking an erect cock into his mouth for the first time and running his hand up and down the major part of the shaft. It was a hard steel rod encased in soft skin and the tip filled his mouth and pressed against his tongue in the most satisfying way. Patrick suckled and moaned and rubbed and squeezed and drooled. He switched to licking up and down the whole length, but nothing compared to sliding his lips down over the warm throbbing column of flesh and hearing his lover whimper with pleasure.

"Oh, god Patrick that feels wonderful. Be careful my love or you'll make me come." The thought had him moaning excitedly around Peter's shaft and realizing he was fully aroused again just from the joy of sucking his lover's thick manhood. His boyfriend seemed to notice at the same time, and he immediately maneuvered Patrick's body to make him straddle his face. 

This time the younger man was actually able to enjoy the amazing sensations of having his cock worked over by the expert mouth of his fiancé. He'd come too quickly before, but now he could relish the wet warm cave which engulfed him and the busy lips and tongue tickling and massaging every inch of his long slender manhood. Doing a sixty-nine had been another cherished fantasy for years and Patrick was delighted it was just as hot and satisfying as he'd hoped.

And then Peter improved the experience tenfold. His mouth travelled over Patrick's balls, nibbled its way along his taint and found his most intimate place. He'd already been caressing the taut buttocks in a possessive manner, but when he spread them to expose and lick the virgin pucker, Patrick thought he might explode from need and lust. He couldn't help the way he wriggled shamelessly, begging for more without words. Or the way he hummed his appreciation around his lover's tasty cock when Peter obliged and opened him with tongue and fingers.

Patrick knew about rimming in theory, but he'd never expected to like it this much. Fingering was another matter, he'd practiced plenty on himself and now he put the experience to good use. Two spit wet fingers found their way into Peter's crevice and pressed against his entrance. Just penetrating, not going deep, but firing up the same nerve endings which had Patrick going crazy from Peter's mouth and fingers. Apparently, his boyfriend liked it too, because suddenly he bucked his hips and cried out. 

"Oh shit, I'm gonna..." Patrick kept sucking and moments later he felt his lover's sphincter contract and the first spurt of cum hit his tongue. He'd no time to worry about the taste, Peter kept him busy swallowing. He enjoyed having the larger man reduced to incoherent gibberish as he shook and clutched Patrick's ass in the throes of unexpected orgasm. Only when Peter relaxed under him and moaned quietly, did Patrick release him and turn around. His kiss was eagerly received, no matter the cum taste, but then they'd already established this the other way round.

"God, I love you so much. The sight of your lips around my cock, then getting to play with your tight little hole, and feeling your mouth and fingers on me, it was fantastic." Peter pulled him into a closer cuddle, and kept giving him small kisses in between his whispers. "For a guy with no experience at all you give great head." Patrick sighed with relief, he'd worried about being useless at oral sex. "I could very easily get addicted to mutual morning blow jobs, you know. Or lunch break ones. Hell, I'll trade a massage from those sinfully pretty lips any time."

Peter pressed against him, and Patrick realized they were both still erect. "I'm not done with you yet. I'm going to play with this cute little ass until you beg me to fuck you. I going to make love to you in every way we can think of." His fingers had found the wet entrance to Patrick's body and teased it gently with small circles.

"Please, Peter. I need you inside me so badly. I love you." Patrick let his lover manhandle him over on his front and eagerly spread his legs, when Peter pulled on his hips to get his ass in position. More rimming, then fingers with lube preparing and stretching, and all the time kisses and caresses of his thighs, buttocks, back and neck. As predicted Patrick ended up pleading for his Valentine to take him and he felt no shame over being desperately eager to be fucked.

Peter gently guided him to lie on his back and took a few moments to add more lube, while licking Patrick's cock teasingly. "I want to see you, when we make love." Patrick agreed wholeheartedly but he could only express it by spreading his legs and whimpering, his brown eyes huge and staring beseechingly up into heated blue orbs as Peter moved into position. Their gazes never faltered as the blond man slicked up his cock and slowly pressed inside his virgin Valentine.

Patrick had read plenty of stories about the pain of penetration and he'd experienced the initial discomfort of using a dildo. But his body welcomed the intrusion and the thick shaft filling his ass brought nothing except an exquisite joy. Slowly stretching his slick tunnel and sliding over the sensitive spot inside him, making his own cock lurch and dribble precum. Withdrawing just as carefully and once more pushing deep inside, and going on to fulfilling every dream he had of making love.

Peter's naked torso was raised above him on two strong arms, and his lover was looking down at him with blue eyes full of desire and love. Patrick tore away his gaze and dropped it down to their joined bodies to see his legs spread wide, accommodating Peter's hips as the larger man thrust into him, again and again. Back up to the handsome face, taking time to admire and touch abs, pecs and blond chest hair shining with sweat, tracing the broad shoulders and muscular arms of his lover.

"So hot, so tight. It's too good. I'm not going to last." The strain in Peter's voice told Patrick how close he was. "I love you, Patrick." The intense blue eyes closed for a moment, and Patrick pulled his Valentine down and kissed him. Thank God he wasn't alone in losing control from the fabulous sensations created by their lovemaking. As his cock was trapped between their stomachs, he bucked up in time with the rhythmic thrusts of his lover. His hands grabbed Peter's ass to keep him close enough to grind against and he barely managed declare his impending orgasm.

"I'm there, just let go. Please. I love you, Peter. Oh god yes, Yes. Yeeesss." Patrick had never known how loud he could get. But having Peter swell and come inside him in wet pulses, just as he fell over the edge and unloaded between them, caused both men to utter hoarse cries of exquisite enjoyment. Peter's face was hidden against his neck and he was mumbling and panting heavily as they slowly came down from the heights of passion. Patrick had nothing to say. If this was what sex was like, he'd never get enough.

He couldn't help the spasm of his anus at the thought of being fucked again. Both men grunted, as Patrick's sphincter contracted around Peter's slowly deflating manhood. The blond Dane managed to push up on one arm and used his other hand to grab some paper towels from the nearest table. Sharing them the two men managed to extract and wipe themselves without soiling the bed. After a quick visit to the bathroom they cuddled in bed. This time Patrick noticed the soft smooth feeling of the sheet and the covers, which had to belong to Peter.

"This bed linen feels nice. Luxurious almost." 

"I bought it in Copenhagen and washed it before I came back. Moster Grethe ironed it for me this morning. It's Georg Jensen Damask, the highest quality Danish bed linen available. Only the best is good enough for you, especially your first time."

To Patrick's dismay the sweet words made him giggle. "Peter, you're even more romantic than I am." He quickly added, "but I love it. It's wonderful. I thought I was hopelessly old fashioned and soppy about love. Nice to meet a kindred spirit." A relief actually since it meant Patrick might act on various ideas he had.

Peter shrugged. "I suppose pampering your lover is romantic, though I didn't think of it like that. To me the rose was the only soppy bit. All the rest is done for my benefit too." He was disarmingly candid. "You need to be cared for, my love, and I need to have a lover to spoil and cherish. You may think me primitive for my protective urges, but I can't help it. So please let me indulge myself." Patrick nodded, secure in the knowledge that his Valentine meant every word.

If the reward for longing for love and years of loneliness was the pampering by a handsome, loving stud of a man for the rest of his life, Patrick considered it well worth the wait and the heart ache. 

Translation of Danish phrases, in case you want to know:

"Vi holdt det hemlig, far, lissom du sa'. Papa vidste ikke noget." = We kept it secret, daddy, just like you said. Papa never knew.

Min første ordbog = My first dictionary





Patrick's Personal Card



Patrick studied the sleeping boy with sympathy, he looked frail and the white locks of slightly wavy hair together with a pointed chin gave him an almost elfin appearance. "How old is he?"

"Seven." At Patrick's surprised glance, the blond man smiled. "Yes, I know. He looks much younger, but that's partly because of his heart condition. But Vibeke, his mother, was tiny in size too, and Michael looks very much like her, except for his eyes." This time the sadness was much more pronounced, the broad shoulders slumped and a small sigh escaped. Without thinking Patrick reached out and put his hand on the muscular arm near him; the past tense didn't escape his notice. No need to ask about the reason why this man had no use for a Valentine card.

A large warm hand suddenly covered his, and Patrick looked up to meet intense blue eyes which were clearly grateful, but also contained another emotion that confused him. "Anyway, we have to be back at the hospital at two and hear the result. So you'll have to excuse me, if I'm a bit distracted. I haven't even told you my name, sorry about that." A wry smile appeared and his hand turned Patrick's sideways and gave it a firm squeeze. "My name is Peter, nice to meet you." The pronunciation of his name was slightly different to the English equivalent.

Somehow Patrick managed to reply. "Hi Peter, my name is Patrick, nice to meet you too. And you're most welcome to stay here and relax. I can call a cab for you, when you have to leave for the hospital. I'm afraid I don't have a car, so I can't offer to drive you there." He returned the handshake and expected Peter to let go, but the warm hand still held his. It felt good, and maybe Peter needed the comfort of connecting with another person, even if it was a complete stranger. So the least Patrick could do was to offer whatever support and sympathy the handsome man would accept.

Wait a minute, where did that thought come from? And why did Patrick get an image of hugging Peter, of holding him tight while the taller man sobbed on Patrick's shoulder, of kissing his cheek and whispering comforting words in the ear hidden below soft golden locks. As both men let go and sat back in their chairs the vision faded, but Patrick felt so flustered, that he jumped up and took refuge in the standard British tradition for awkward moments. "How about another cup of tea?" 

Peter nodded, "Oh yes anything rather than the horrible brown fluid that the hotel and the hospital pretend is coffee." He made a disgusted face, then smiled. "Actually, tea tastes much better in England than at home, don't know why." The two men kept up a casual banter which slid into relaxed chatting until the time approached for Peter and his son to leave. 

As Patrick got up to phone the cab company, he couldn't help asking, "What are you doing after the meeting? Are you going straight back to Denmark?" He had the feeling that they were staying for the weekend as well, though nothing specific had been said.

The blond man shook his head, "No, we're just going back to the hotel. I'll mail and maybe phone a few people, depending on the prospects. Then we'll probably just have a meal there before Michael goes to bed. Tomorrow and Sunday we'll try to see some things in London, like the Science Museum and the Natural History Museum." Patrick took a deep breath, and before he could chicken out, he made the suggestion. 

"Why don't you come back here? You can use my computer and phone, and maybe Michael would like to help me unpack the Easter bunny and decorate an egg to take home." Somehow he knew that Peter didn't want his son to overhear those conversations, and he felt certain that he could distract the boy. "We can get a meal from one of the local restaurants and eat it here or go back to my house." The blond man's face brightened, and this encouraged Patrick to go on. "I have Saturday and Sunday off, and if you like I can go with you to the museums. My dad and I used to spend hours there, but I haven't been back for years now."

It was strange, but the thought of going to places that reminded him of his parents didn't make Patrick cringe. All he could think of was how much he liked spending time with Peter and how he wanted to show Michael all his favorite exhibitions, even if he couldn't talk directly to the boy about them. Patrick knew he was attracted to Peter, but that wasn't as important as the feeling that this man might become his first genuine friend. Someone he could confide in and talk to, and who maybe needed a close friend too.

At least that was how Peter came across to his special sense. As someone who welcomed Patrick's offer, both the spoken and unspoken one. It didn't matter that he was straight; they were compatible in so many other ways. No matter what they spoke of during that long weekend together, they either had similar tastes or were intrigued by the different perspective. Obviously a lot of their attention was on Michael, and in a way that was helpful too. It kept Patrick aware that Peter was off limits romantically.

Even so he couldn't help indulging himself in the harmless fantasy that they were a couple out with their young son. The boy was delightful in his appreciation of everything he saw, and he even started to say a few English terms and phrases. It turned out that Michael actually knew many English words, courtesy of various computer games as his father said with a grin. He was just too shy to talk, but when Patrick patiently read out the signs by the exhibitions, Michael would often repeat the words he knew. Peter translated back and forth, and the whole experience was one of the best times in Patrick's life.

He was aware that he should be careful about the crush that he was developing, but he told himself that he could deal with it after the two Danes went home. He would get over the infatuation, and Peter and he would be able to be good friends. After all, they wouldn't see each other that often, since they lived in different countries, but they could stay in touch by writing and other means. Peter had already asked for Patrick's mail address, and they'd exchanged business cards with the necessary information.

Whenever Michael needed a rest, often accomplished with a nap on his father's lap, the two men would talk or just sit quietly on a bench, in the Museum café, or wherever they happened to be. The one thing they didn't discuss was the issue of Michael's condition. When the two Danes returned to the card shop, all Peter had said was "There's hope." Patrick had given him a spontaneous hug, which the larger man returned briefly. Then they both turned to focus on the boy who'd immediately gone over to the large box on the other side of the room.

He'd giggled and pointed at the two long ears sticking out of the wrapping, and as Patrick had hoped, the unpacking of the huge Easter bunny and all the related decorations captured Michael's attention for the next half hour. After that Peter had joined them and Michael laughed himself silly at his dad's clumsy efforts on decorating an egg. The boy had painted two eggs himself, and both of them admired Patrick's three beautifully executed shells. But the happiest moment was when Michael gifted the two men with his eggs, after a short whispered dialogue with his dad. "Den er til dig, far. Patrick, dis is for you."

It was obvious that he'd asked his dad for instruction, and even if the th sound of this was too difficult for him, the meaning was clear. Both of them had thanked Michael profusely, and Patrick immediately set his egg on a small stand on his work table. He'd given Peter a similar stand and asked him to explain to Michael that he spent most of his time here and would be able to look at his lovely gift every day. Michael beamed with pride and Peter added that he would display his egg on the desk in his office. After this the boy took a nap on the sofa, while Patrick tidied up and Peter made another call.

No persuasion was needed to get his two new friends to visit Patrick's house. Peter had hesitated briefly, but Michael asked, and when he understood what Patrick offered, his happy expression had sealed the deal. They bought a meal on the way and took turns carrying Michael, who was still tired and could only walk for short stretches. Luckily the Underground was only ten minutes' stroll from the shop and at the other end, after six stops, Patrick's small dwelling in the row of terraced houses was only five minutes away.

After they'd eaten, and Patrick had shown them his house, Michael settled in front of the TV with a Disney movie. When it was over, he soon fell asleep with his head on Peter's leg, and the two men talked for a couple of hours. By then it was almost midnight, and when the blond Viking came back from a short trip to the bathroom, he suddenly looked like he had rowed nonstop across the North Sea. Patrick felt guilty for keeping him awake, even if Peter had given no sign that he wanted to leave. He told himself that was the only reason for his offer. "Why don't you stay the night? I have a guest room with a double bed, where you can sleep."

"If you're sure, Patrick? I have to admit I'm beat, and I don't like to wake Michael up and take him out in the cold, even if we get a cab." The relief and gratitude in the handsome man's voice and eyes made Patrick want to hug him again. But he distracted himself with getting out clean bed linden and towels and making up the bed. The guest room was chilly, so he put the electric blanket in the bed and switched it on as well as the heater in front of the grate. When he got back to the living room, Peter had taken Michaels sweatshirt and trousers off and wrapped a blanket around him.

"If you wait five minutes, the bed should be warm. I'm afraid the room is cold, and it will take some hours before the heating has made up for it." Peter nodded and followed Patrick to the guest room to be shown how to switch off the heating devices, and where the extra blankets were.

"At least you have duvets," he said with a tired grin, "I hate beds done with just sheets and blankets, always makes me feel confined and uncomfortable." Patrick couldn't help smiling; his parents had felt the same after taking a trip to Scandinavia before he was born. So he'd grown up with duvets, the thick warm version for winter and the light one for summer. Just another small instance of similarity that made him feel in tune with the hunky Dane. Before he could go any further down that road, Patrick said good night.

The next morning Michael had been thrilled with waking up at Patrick's house instead of the hotel. He chatted non-stop while he stuffed his face with scrambled eggs and toast, and Peter was clearly delighted to see his son also drink a whole glass of milk as well as orange juice. Patrick even managed to coax the boy to eat some fruit, which he'd cut into small pieces. Michael had watched as Patrick sprinkled the fruit on his yogurt, and even if he was skeptical at first, he ended up enjoying the snack.

While Patrick cleared away the breakfast things, he could hear the two Danes have an intense discussion. Michael was clearly begging and cajoling his dad for something he wanted, and Peter seemed to be gradually losing the fight. When he left the table, came up to the sink, and started drying the dishes, Patrick couldn't help smiling from the warm feeling inside him. To distract himself from the silly domestic dream which he must not harbor, he casually asked. "What was that about? Michael seemed quite upset."

Peter sighed. "He wanted me to ask you, if we could stay here rather than at the hotel. I tried to tell him that we shouldn't impose on you like that, but in some ways he's very much a spoilt child. He rarely asks for anything, so I hardly ever say no." Patrick fought to keep the huge grin down and not give away the excitement he felt. His dream of domestic bliss with these two lovable guys could come true, even if it was all platonic and only for the weekend.

"You're more than welcome to stay here, Peter. Actually, you'd be doing me a favor too. I've felt so lonely in this house, ever since my parents died, and having someone to visit is wonderful. And if you're here, it'll be easy to take small excursions over the weekend and come back when Michael gets tired." He tried to think of more arguments that would sound reasonable and not too needy, but suddenly Peter laughed. Patrick's stomach lurched when the larger man gave him a sideways hug with a strong arm around his shoulders.

"You're an amazing guy, Patrick. I can't believe you're coming up with reasons why you should be grateful to us for invading your home. But I won't deny that we'll be happy to accept." He squeezed Patrick one more time and strolled over to the door to say something in Danish to Michael. The boy had gone into the living room to watch TV, and from his yell of delight there was no doubt how he felt about the news. The sound of running feet alerted Patrick who managed to turn around just in time.

Michael leapt into his arms and hugged him hard around the neck. Patrick couldn't help grinning like mad and his eyes got damp, as he put his arms around the thin body and looked over the boy's shoulder at Peter. The tall man was smiling back, his blue eyes intense and happy as he leaned against the door frame and spoke to them. He alternated between English and Danish, and both Patrick and Michael agreed to his plan. So Peter went to the hotel to get their stuff and check out, while his son watched cartoons, and Patrick sat in a chair with his laptop, planning their outings and humming happily.

That was how the weekend began, and it only got better from there. By Sunday afternoon Patrick was totally enamored by the whole concept of playing happy families, and even if he knew it would end soon, he refused to think about it. After spending several hours at the Science Museum they returned to the card shop, so that Patrick could prepare for the week ahead. While he dismantled the Valentine's Day display, Peter sat on the sofa with Michael on his lap. They were talking in low voices and looking in the catalogue with Valentine card outlines.

At some point Michael fell asleep, and Peter offered to make tea. Patrick was grateful for a break, and the two men sat in the two chairs opposite the sofa and looked at the sleeping boy. Neither of them seemed to know what to say; Patrick dreaded to bring up the topic of the impending departure of the two Danes, and Peter seemed to be struggling with his own inner contemplations. Finally Patrick couldn't stand the silence anymore, and in desperation he went over to his safe and got out the book of finished Valentine cards.

"I saw you looking at the catalogue, so I thought you might find this interesting." Perhaps it was a breach of confidence towards his customers, but Patrick told himself that Peter would never met any of them or be able to talk to people in his shop about this. They looked at some of his favorite examples, including the most recent one of a gay couple who'd made Patrick both pleased and envious with their obvious devotion and love. The other reason it was one of his favorites was that both men had commissioned a card from him without knowing that they'd had the same idea. 

They'd come into his shop on this very day a year ago, two days after Valentine's Day, laughing and exited, with their arms around each other, to tell him they were getting married. "You're the first to know," John had gushed, giving Patrick a warm hug. "Thank you so much for the adorable cards you made for us, we'll treasure them forever." His lover, tall, dark, quiet Anthony, had looked at the bubbly redhead with amused affection, but his pat on Patrick's shoulder conveyed just as much gratitude. He complimented Patrick for not letting on that he'd already been approached by John, probably his profession as a lawyer made Anthony appreciate client confidentiality.

Peter smiled as Patrick told the story, and he seemed to be very intrigued by the book and the concept of personal cards. "I tried to explain the idea of Valentine cards to Michael, but I'm not sure I succeeded. Somehow he's convinced that if I just buy a card from you, I'll meet the love of my life. If he saw this book, I think he'd be adamant that I should ask you to make me a card." The blond man obviously tried to make a joke out of the notion, but Patrick could tell there was more to the story. He knew he shouldn't, but his feelings kept tripping him up, and he went along with the idea.

"So if I was going to make a card for you, I'd have to know what the love of your life should be like. Tell me what you want. What is your ideal woman?" Patrick knew he was heading for a broken heart, but he didn't care. It was impossible and utterly crazy, but he'd fallen in love with Peter. It was no good trying to deny his feelings, but he wasn't going to stupidly confess his love to the man next to him. He wanted Peter to be happy, nothing more. He'd make a Get Well card for Michael, and if the boy wanted a Valentine card for his dad, Patrick would create one with an unselfish hope of future love for this wonderful man.

He'd been lost in his own thoughts, but suddenly realized that Peter was looking at him with a strange expression on his face. The blond man shifted his gaze to the notebook in Patrick's lap, the one he used to write down the wishes of his customers and the ideas their conversations sparked. The blue eyes came back up to meet the soft brown orbs, and Patrick was caught like a deer in headlights, unable to tear his eyes away. Peter opened his mouth, hesitated, but then he shrugged and seemed to think 'what the hell'.

"The love of my life? What would the love of my life be like, you ask. Well, first of all he would probably be a man. A kind man, with a generous heart, accepting and honest and true to himself." The silence that followed this statement was profound and only broken when Michael sighed and moved a bit under the blanket. Both men looked at him, but the boy was fast asleep and soon stilled. When their eyes met again, the unspoken question was obvious. Peter was first to look away, a slight flush on his cheeks.

"Yes, I have sex with women, but I don't fall in love with them. Michael's mother was a casual fling, she told me she was on the pill, but that was just one of her lies. In the end she paid the ultimate price, and I was left with a baby to care for when I was just twenty-five years old. And no matter what she did, I can't hate her or be angry with her, because she gave me Michael. My son that I love more than anything in the world, probably my one chance of being a dad, even if it may only last for a limited time."

The expression on Peter's face was at once proud and bitter. "So as you can probably imagine, I've spent the past seven years working to support us after I finished my degree. And of course having a sick child who is in and out of hospitals every five months fucks up your social life, not to mention going out to meet potential boyfriends. But it didn't prevent me from dreaming about falling in love, and thinking about what I wanted." Suddenly the intense blue eyes were back on Patrick's face, and the heated gaze made his mouth go dry.

A small bubble of hope grew inside him, getting larger at every word from Peter. "I want a man who is faithful and devoted, the way I intend to be. Someone who needs me, who cares about me and Michael, and who'll let me care for him. A partner I can share my life with, both the joys and burdens, but also the daily stuff like cooking and washing the dishes. A sweet, clever, beautiful man who laughs at my silly jokes, likes the same things I do, and who tells me interesting facts about people and the world around him."

Before Patrick could react, Peter was kneeling next to him and had taken hold of his hands. "So tell me, Patrick. If I wanted you to make me a personal card that asked you to be my Valentine, would you take on the job?"