The Cardmaker and the Caretaker - 3. Chapter 3 Valentine’s Kiss

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 him to be his Valentine.

It was as if his lonely heart had been hidden in a tightly held and secured box. Peter's words had unlocked and flung open the lid to his secret desires. All of his repressed feelings poured out in a huge flood, like a dam bursting, and only the unexpected and unwavering affection and desire he saw in the deep blue eyes kept him from being swept away.

In a flash of understanding Patrick realized he'd been so focused on keeping his own emotions in check he had failed to sense the now obvious need in the handsome Dane. Yes, he'd felt their affinity, but he'd ascribed it to a joint 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 kindness and comradeship had been clear, and he knew it played a huge part in the attraction he felt towards Peter. But he'd assumed 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, laughing at his jokes, helping him lift a heavy box in the shop, asking his opinion, or insisting on paying for the entrance to museums. And the important matters like the man showing genuine interest and listening with respectful sympathy when he told just a small part of the tragedy with his parents, managing to show he understood and empathized.

He badly wanted someone to love, a man who cared about him and needed him, and Peter had just offered to be that person. None of these mind-blowing insights prevented Patrick from responding to the question. After a split second of stunned incredulity during which wide brown eyes latched on to hopeful sky-coloured eyes, a shaky male tenor broke the silence.

“Yes, Peter. I'll make hundreds of cards for us to share, if you like. More than anything I want us to be friends, lovers and Valentines.”

He 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 the declaration. His own intense blue eyes were suspiciously shiny with moisture.

The brown eyes shifted to fix on the way he 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 maybe it’s too soon. Michael might wake up. What would he think if he saw me kiss his dad? Damn, I really want to kiss him.’ Everything stopped as a warm mouth gently touched his lips.

Their initial kiss was so brief and careful he barely had time to feel shocked or elated at his first intimate moment ever. Then the warm lips returned; the next kiss was longer, firmer. A flutter of passion 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 he 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 grunt of disappointment escaped his lips. He stared at Peter as the broad-shouldered Dane moved back and bit his lip. Patrick was suddenly aware his body was thrumming slightly with excitement and he was out of breath. Peter's voice was 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 his thoughts took a new turn; 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 stupid misunderstanding at once. He wanted to kiss and touch and...

The direction his mind was going made Patrick grow hot again. 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?”[1]

At the boy’s nod Peter looked up and switched to English, "Would you get him a glass of water?"

Patrick jumped up relieved 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 affection he felt for his two Danish boys, young and old, threatened to overwhelm him and the little niggling voice of reason or doubt popping up in his head caused his guts to clench painfully.

‘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. But he might stay with you some nights, and you can do all those things 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 exhibit for his shop window, but keeping some of his attention on his visitors. When the boy seemed calm, and Peter got up to fetch their coats, he returned to the centre of the shop. His heart felt like it was caught in a fist which threatened to squeeze it in half, but he told himself all their belongings were still at his house. So it wasn't goodbye yet.

“Would it be OK if we went home now? 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 he 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 imp 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 going home was fine.

“I'll call a cab, and I don't have to come back here. I'm almost done, and I can finish the rest tomorrow.”

The blond man nodded and led his son to the bathroom 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 the cardmaker locked up and joined his guests in the warm car. Peter was in the back seat, with Michael on his lap, which suited him 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 he 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 his new friend could make a living from a card and art shop and afford to live where he did. Though having been told 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 the cutting edge of fashion, but smart and of good quality. He had the usual gadgets like an iPhone and a laptop and Michael seemed familiar with iPads, but there'd been no talk of expensive possessions or toys, and the Dane had casually mentioned not owning a car. Patrick could relate to the advantage of doing without a car 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 wide cycle lanes and more bicycles than people had reached even his ears.

In any case, Peter insisted on paying most of the time during their weekend of excursions, saying he could afford to with what he was saving on accommodation and meals. Patrick for his part had been adamant he'd pay for food eaten in his home, whether home-cooked or take-away, and the argument of being the host was apparently convincing to his Danish guest.

Nor had he objected when Patrick bought Michael small gifts from the museum shops, though he suspected 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. And all of them had enjoyed looking at the dinosaur book together on Saturday night, trying to pronounce the long names, laughing at their failures and discussing favourite dinos.

For the cardmaker the relaxed attitude about money was both intriguing and refreshing. And there was no sense of greed or duplicity. Peter seemed to assume they'd share costs according to who felt strongest about paying. He was honest about what he thought was fair and obviously expected his companion to do the same.

When they got into the house Patrick said, “The pub up the road from the park has some really excellent fish and chips. Why don't we set up a bath for Michael and then I can pop over 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 he 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. Even if the soft but insistent whisper of hope kept opposing the doubts planted.

Once dinner had been eaten, he 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 good night hug and a kiss.

“Hvor sover du henne?”[2] The timid voice said as Michael snuggled up. Both of them looked at Peter for help, and he was intrigued to see the 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. He would've preferred to discuss the subject without Michael being present. But he realized when he'd shown the two Danes around in the house, he'd omitted his own bedroom upstairs, as well as the room next to it. Maybe the boy was just curious or worried Patrick 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 he could have sworn the man looked curious too. They went up the stairs, and he carried the boy inside his bedroom, with Peter following.

For once Patrick was grateful 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 ten, a major shift had taken place, with his parents moving downstairs to what was now the guest room, and the room next to his became his dad's workplace. At the time he had found it convenient his favourite 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 Patrick had never had friends staying overnight.

They'd also redone the upstairs bathroom and extended the one near their own room. “So you don't have to share with us. A young man needs his privacy.” Patrick had felt awkwardly grateful when it dawned on him his mum and dad also appreciated not sharing a wall with their teenage son, and this might have been one of the reasons for the earlier relocation of their bedroom.

His room stayed much the same for the next ten years, gradually losing the teenage posters and young adult books (lots of fantasy and science fiction apart from all the non-fiction stuff), though the books had been stored in boxes. Six months after the death of his parents, when money matters and his most acute grief had settled, he finally pulled himself together and made some decisions on the house.

He couldn't bear to relocate to the downstairs bedroom, so it 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 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 during the intense period of grief, 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 thrash 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 he threw the boy gently on the thick, dark blue bedspread. He 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, his dad intervened. “Hov, hov, Michael, det er ikke nogen trampoline.” [3]

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.”

His friend moved closer as if to hear better and suddenly he was in front of him and twinkling blue eyes caught brown ones.

“So you don’t mind your bed being bounced on?” Peter teased with a grin.

Patrick became acutely aware of how warm and soft the skin felt on the muscular forearm where his hand rested. The subtle scent from the man next to him sent signals to a part of him which had been dormant for far too long. He felt a strong urge to push Peter backwards until they fell on the bed, and give him a prolonged and thorough ‘bouncing’.

“That depends on who is doing the bouncing, and how.” He gave Peter a half-teasing, half-challenging look and squeezed his arm briefly.

The heat built between them and Peter slowly lifted his hand and laid a palm against the side of Patrick's head. Caressing the soft brown hair with one hand and slowly sneaking a friendly arm around the waist of his man, he coaxed Patrick into a mutual embrace as if he didn’t quite dare believe in his luck. A small contented grunt escaped two sets of lips as firm male bodies made close contact.

The cardmaker let the feelings of trust and desire wash through him, all other things forgotten, until he suddenly heard a giggle from Michael. A subsequent torrent of Danish made Peter tense for a second before he laughed and answered his son. “Ja, det kan du tro. Skal jeg spørge?”[4]

He untangled himself from Patrick but refused to let him go. Instead they both moved over to sit on the bed. The boy immediately wriggled into position between them.

“Michael likes your room, and he thinks we'd both prefer to stay here. He suggested we all sleep in your bed tonight. And I promised to ask.”

This time Patrick was sure the hunky Dane blushed, but he 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 Patrick wasn’t going to make him. 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 I never thought the very first time I shared a bed with someone, I'd get two good-looking 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 thin arms around his neck and hugged him. He glanced over Michael’s shoulder and the shock and disbelief on Peter's face showed his lover had gotten the message. The two silly entities in his head giggled in unison over the flabbergasted Dane. To his relief the surprise soon changed into a delighted and slightly awestruck expression, more or less identical to the way Peter had looked when he agreed to be his Valentine.

He felt Michael yawn and relax against him and knew the boy was falling asleep.

“Why don’t you go and get his duvet, so we can get him ready for bed?”

The boy was already in his pyjamas, thus all he needed was to have his teeth brushed, and a final pee.

Peter nodded and told his son where he was going. The boy just sighed contentedly and snuggled into Patrick’s shoulder. His heart swelled with happiness at the trust given by his two Danish guys. When Peter came back, he carried Michael into the upstairs bathroom, so he knew where it was, if he needed to get up to pee in the night. That is if the sleepy boy recalled it.

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 looking more like a smart phone. But as he explained, his son's heart condition made it necessary to have some sort of surveillance.

“Michael normally sleeps in his own room, but if he has a bad dream, or there's a problem, I get alerted at once. Of course, if he’s ill or feeling poorly, I let him sleep next to me. But fortunately, that happens less often now.”

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 him to carry the tray into the living room. He noted with approval when his friend switched off the light in the kitchen without being asked. Yes, they were compatible in so many ways. Perhaps it was time for some ‘adult talk.’

I guess most of us have angel/devil voices in our heads once in a while, but perhaps not quite as explicit Patrick’s visitors.
By the way, if you want to know more about Angel and Imp, there's a whole trilogy written about them.