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.