Patric's Personal Card

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.