Identity Check

Chapter 10

"So you're not coming out with us on Friday?"

"No, sorry." Patrick stopped and yawned hugely, barely hiding it behind his hand. "Sorry. Um, maybe we'll come join you after we eat. God, I need more coffee."

"You look like hell," Phil said, frowning at him. "Better not let Gwen see you. She gets annoyed when people come in hung over."

"I'm not hung over. Just tired." He laughed while he searched the top drawer of his desk for change for the coffee machine. "Very tired. You got any change?"

Phil rummaged in his pockets and passed some coins to Patrick. "Must be an expensive restaurant in one of those hotels. Is he trying to impress you?"

"He managed that last night."

Phil grimaced. "Too much information. Way too much."

"No!" Patrick protested, then lowered his voice. "I mean his flat and stuff. He's loaded. Must be really successful."

"Whoop dee do. Here, get me a hot chocolate." He passed Patrick more change.

Patrick nodded and headed for the coffee machine. He had to cover up another yawn as he waited for it to dispense. He'd left David's at just after five that morning, and rushed home in a cab, that the driver said was on 'Mr King's account.' A couple of hours sleep before his alarm went off and he'd only barely managed to keep himself from calling in with a spurious illness to take the day off to sleep.

Coffee had helped, as did Colin telling him he'd accepted Ray's offer of a job at the Circle. That woke Patrick right up while he grabbed toast to run out of the door with. It occurred to him that having Colin around in the club might just cramp the hell out of his style.

Of course, now he was with David, would he be going out looking for other guys so much? He caught himself already thinking of himself as David's boyfriend. Did David want more than a one night stand too? He'd been the one to suggest the date - the word made Patrick smile - at the fancy restaurant.

He took out his phone for a glance before he picked Phil's hot chocolate out of the vending machine. Not looking for a message from Simon this time, but just to see David's name and number there in his contacts list. Crazy. He slid the phone closed and took Phil his drink.

*

Patrick had another shift dancing at the Circle before Friday. Of course he watched for David coming in, but saw no sign. God, Friday was too long in coming, ages away!

Okay, tomorrow.

But still... too long. He got a bottle of water when he went on his break and wandered around behind the scenes for a while. His mind wouldn't leave that flat, David's bed, David's arms. Easily the best lover since Simon. Experience was the key, he supposed. David was younger than Simon, but a few years older than most of the guys Patrick had been with. He had confidence and self-control and could take his time, whereas Patrick always felt on the edge of finishing before he'd even started.

He sighed heavily, hoping that would change as he got older.

"I heard that sigh from in here."

Ray's voice made him look up, to see he was outside the open door of the manager's office.

"You okay?" Ray said, looking up at Patrick from behind his desk.

"Fine." Patrick smiled. He was fine. Very fine. Except... now he was worried he would screw this to buggery by acting like an idiot kid. What did David even see in him anyway? Well, aside from the obvious... But then, why did he want to see Patrick again? And not just in his bed, but in a restaurant, where they would have to talk. What could he say to someone like that? Did David like football?

"Don't stand there blocking the door," Ray said, "come in."

Patrick did, dropping into the seat in front of Ray's desk.

"So how's it going," Ray asked, turning from his PC screen and picking up a mug of tea from his desk. "Are you still enjoying working here?"

"Oh, definitely, yes. The rest of the staff are all great."

"Good," Ray said, looking pleased. "Everyone likes you too, Patrick. I haven't had any complaints about you. I hope you'll be with us for a good long time yet."

"I hope so." He went silent for a moment and Ray took a sip of tea and glanced back at his PC screen. "Ray, do people really call me 'dream boy'?"

Ray choked on his tea and nearly spat it at the screen, but got himself under control and swallowed it instead. "I've, um, heard a few customers call you that. I'm not sure where it came from."

Patrick knew. Had David talked about Patrick, before he'd ever approached him? Did other men talk about him, about what they'd like to do to him? Men who watched him dancing?

"Ray," he said, "how long were you with Tom before you decided to be exclusive?"

Ray didn't object to the personal question. After all he'd said in the past that he liked Patrick's directness.

"About a year. It was a gradual thing. It got to the point that neither of us had actually been with anyone else for months anyway, so we just decided to go for it. It worked out. Then we got the Civil Partnership and that made it official to us."

"Right." A year. Wow, that was a long time. "Did you know from the start that that's the way it would go with him?"

Ray shook his head. "Not really. Like I said, it was gradual. It wasn't a lightning bolt love at first sight kind of thing."

"Oh." Patrick finished the bottle of water. "Okay. I should get back to work."

"Patrick, if you need to talk..."

"I know, thanks. Maybe in a little while. See how things pan out." Did Ray know what he was talking about? Who he was talking about?

"Door's always open, kid."

Patrick went back outside to the dance floor and onto his podium. Dream boy was back. As he danced he felt more than usually aware of the eyes of the men on him. What fantasies were they having about him? What fantasies had David had? How long had he watched?

Dammit, why wasn't it Friday already?

*

Now it was Friday.

After a day of clock-watching at work, Patrick, wearing his best suit, stopped in the kitchen on his way out. Nick and Colin looked up from their dinner of fish fingers and chips.

"You're meeting that new fella of yours tonight, aren't you?" Nick said. "Going somewhere nice?"

"Yes, French restaurant on the Quayside."

"I hope he's paying," Colin said.

Patrick frowned. He hadn't really considered that. This place would be expensive, but he couldn't just let David pick up the whole bill, could he? The champagne back at the Circle had been one thing - David was clearly trying to make an impression then. But it wouldn't be very... manly to let David pay the bill. Would David expect him to chip in?

Damn, now he was going to be worrying about that all night. Perhaps he should stop at a cash machine on the way. Of course, David would probably use a credit card, not a bunch of grubby tenners, but Patrick didn't have a credit card.

"Pat?" Nick said. "You okay?"

"What? Oh, yes. Fine. I'd better go." He turned his back to them and craned his neck to look over his shoulder. "Back view okay?"

"If you're fishing for compliments about your arse, you're in the wrong pond," Colin said.

"Looks fine," Nick said, glaring at Colin.

"My shoes?" He didn't want to look down at heel and let the suit down.

"They're fine. Go. Have a nice time."

"Bring us back a doggy bag!" Colin called as Patrick waved and left the kitchen. His winter coat hung in the hallway, still in the dry cleaner's plastic cover. He tore the plastic off and slipped the coat on. The long tails swirled around his legs, and he briefly stopped in front of the hall mirror to adjust it.

"Looking good," he muttered to himself, then stepped out into the chilly night.

Conscious of the money he'd need to pay the bill later, he didn't even get a taxi from the Metro station to the Quayside, once he got into town, but hopped onto the bus that ran down there. In his suit and overcoat he felt distinctly overdressed, strap-hanging among the more casual revellers. But he got admiring looks from women and after he got off a feminine wolf-whistle and some shouts floated after him from the window, making him grin.

At the hotel he found the cloakroom first, and the attendant said, "beautiful coat, sir," as she gave him the ticket for it. He straightened his jacket and tie in a mirror beside the cloakroom, smoothed down a stray lock of his loose hair, then headed for the restaurant.

"Good evening, sir," a fearsome looking, maître-de said. He'd be more fearsome if it wasn't for the suit, Patrick knew. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Party of two under the name of King?"

"Of course, sir. Mr King is in the bar. Your table will be ready in a moment."

"Thank you." Patrick headed into the small bar the maître-de indicated, where he found David sitting in an armchair. David rose as Patrick came in, eyes widening for a moment. A blush touched Patrick's cheeks and he resisted the urge to preen.

"Hello, Patrick. You look wonderful."

A man and woman at another table looked at him oddly for a moment, but David didn't seem to notice. He took Patrick's arm and steered him to a chair, waving a hand to a waiter as he did.

"What will you have to drink? I'm having wine, but you have whatever you like."

"Whatever single malt you carry," Patrick told the waiter. Unbuttoning his jacket, he sat.

"That's a nice suit," David said.

"Harvey Nicks," Patrick said.

"Oh." He sounded surprised. "Well, it certainly fits you beautifully."

The waiter came back with the whisky on a tray along with a small jug of water and a bowl of ice cubes.

"Just ice, please," Patrick said and the waiter used small tongs to drop a couple of cubes of ice into the glass, before leaving again. Patrick sipped the whisky. Different from the Glenlivet Ray drank. He hadn't a clue what brand it might be, but could bluff well enough to look as if he knew all about single malt.

"So, how's work been?" David asked.

"Fine. Just too long, waiting for tonight," Patrick said, giving him a sexy smile.

David blushed and leaned forward, spoke in a low voice. "You are going to get me banned from here if you go on that way."

"I'll behave, cross my heart," Patrick said, making a cross over his chest.

"I think that was the wrong side."

"Damn, you'd think I'd pick some things up from those medical students. I live with my cousin and another house-mate," he explained. "They're medical students at the university."

"Ah. I've never done the house share thing, always had a place of my own. It must be... fun?"

"Sometimes," Patrick said, chuckling. "And it's... well it's good to have other people there to come home to. If I want to talk, there's almost always someone there."

"Are they comfortable with your lifestyle?"

"Oh, they're fine. They're both straight, but they're cool." He shook his head. "It still amazes me. I feel such a fool now that I used to think Nick would hate me for it, be disgusted. That's how I was taught straight guys would react. But he didn't, he's been great."

"That's good. And unusual. I wish my family was as supportive."

"Most of mine aren't though," Patrick said. "My mother..."

"Your table is ready, sir," a waiter said appearing at David's side.

David nodded to him, and turned to Patrick. "We'll talk about that later. Let's enjoy ourselves now."

"Oh course." Patrick grimaced as he stood up. David doesn't want to hear all that stuff. Maybe he should try talking about something other than himself, just for a change? His own voice sneered at him in his head.

"Don't worry about the menu," David said, after they were seated and given menus, all in French of course. "I'll order for you, if you prefer."

"I really fancy some lamb," Patrick said, and looked up at the hovering head waiter. "Which lamb dishes do you recommend?"

He went into a spiel at once and Patrick chose one he liked the sound of. The waiter whisked the menu away and turned to David, who was staring at Patrick.

"M'sieur King?" the waiter asked. "Are you ready to order?"

"Hmm? Oh, ah..." He hastily looked at the menu and ordered a beef dish. "And send the wine waiter over, please."

"Well, ah, you certainly aren't intimidated by the snooty bastards," David said, smiling as the head waiter left. Patrick shrugged and sipped the whisky he'd brought in with him from the bar. He'd watched his mother and Alistair deal with waiters in fancier restaurants than this. He wasn't intimidated, no. What had David expected? That he'd ask which dishes came with chips? The wine waiter approached.

"Ah, Jean-Paul," David said, recovering his smoothness. "I'm having beef and my companion is having lamb, so I think a nice full-bodied red."

Jean-Paul handed him the wine list, with a curious glance at Patrick, perhaps wondering about the word 'companion'. Slightly odd word, Patrick thought. David seemed to be rather enjoying himself in here, acting like the young lord. Well, why not? No reason not to make the most of it. Patrick could be back home eating fish fingers. Would he prefer that?

Still he worried about the bill, as David ordered a Merlot that Patrick knew was expensive. He had stopped at a cash machine on the way and taken as much out as it would give him. He could only hope it would be enough to keep him from looking like a fool.

A hoard of junior waiters swarmed around with the appropriate glasses and cutlery for their order. Jean-Paul the wine waiter returned with the Merlot and David tasted it and nodded, allowing Jean-Paul to pour.

Patrick would admit that he'd missed this, even though when taken out to eat by his mother and Alistair he usually wanted to be back home. But the elegant surroundings, soft conversations, the restaurant sounds of tinkling glasses and gurgling wine, it was soothing, after so many months away from it. The restaurants he'd been to in the last few months with his new friends were lively, but the food at its best could be called cheap and cheerful.

Of course, what he'd learnt spending Christmas at the Mason's came back to him, that it was the company that counted. But - he smiled at David as the last of the waiters left them alone - here, he had both, good food and good company.

David talked about his work, but it wasn't dull, as Patrick felt sure his own would be. He told amusing anecdotes in a witty manner and made Patrick laugh and wow, he would love to grab David and kiss him right now. Get them both thrown out, but definitely worth it. Calm down. David's flat was only a few hundred yards away. As soon as they were done here... well he really shouldn't think about that yet.

The food arrived. David clucked over Patrick a bit, asking if it was all right, the sauce wasn't too rich, was it? His solicitude made Patrick smile. Patrick assured him it was more than all right, quite superb, in fact.

After the main course, David asked for the dessert menu, and this time didn't offer to order for Patrick, but watched him read the menu and then order from the waiter. Patrick would have been happy enough to skip dessert and get the heck out of there, so when it arrived his was gone in a few bites. He chided himself for doing that, since it deserved to be savoured properly, but David caught the urgency from him, and said no thanks to coffee.

"I have coffee at home," he said to Patrick, and winked, when the waiter went to fetch the bill. It arrived in a leather folder, and David took out his credit card. Patrick reached into his inside pocket.

"Oh, please," David said, seeing him taking the money out. "That's not necessary, this is my treat."

"David, I should pay something. I am working."

"But I'm using my credit card. It's quite all right."

"Please, I insist."

David looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "What about if you pay the gratuity?" He glanced at the bill in its folder. "That should be thirty pounds." he smiled at Patrick. "And next time we go out, you choose the restaurant and you can pay."

The tip is thirty quid? Patrick thought. Hell, wherever he took them the whole bill would be that - drinks included! As much as he felt at home in a place like this, his wallet didn't.

Wait, a part of his brain that had been paying attention said. You missed something there. Something important. He smiled. Ah yes. The 'next time we go out.'

So Patrick left the tip and thanked the head waiter for the excellent food and service.

"Thank you, m'sieur. It was a pleasure to wait on you. I hope we will see you again soon."

David smiled at him as they collected their coats from the cloakroom. "Do you charm everyone, wherever you go, Patrick?"

"Just a knack I picked up from my dad."

He got his taste in coats from his dad too and David stared again when Patrick put it on with a swish of the tails that he'd perfected for proper dramatic effect. Another tip, just a couple of pound coins this time, for the cloak room attendant, who smiled her thanks and wished them a good night.

They strolled along the Quayside, close to the railing, the water lapping at high tide below them. David had a thoughtful expression on his face and after a few minutes of walking in silence, he turned to Patrick.

"I have to apologise to you, Patrick. I had the wrong idea about you. When you said you were from a small village... well, I think I expected certain things. But I was obviously wrong. You've got great taste and style and, well, I apologise for not realising that."

"That's okay. I lived in London until I was fourteen. And my parents, my step-father anyway, he's wealthy. I've been to lots of restaurants like that one."

"And your clothes... that suit and that coat?"

"My family paid for them. My mother wanted me to have a good suit for university interviews. Which... well, didn't work out. The coat... I just like the coat. Long coats, my dad used to wear them too."

"Your dad... um, is he...?"

"He died in a car accident when I was twelve."

"I'm terribly sorry."

They turned up a side street then, away from the Quayside, to get to the entrance to David's building. On the dark and empty street David took Patrick's hand, making him look down in surprise then smile at David. He never even thought about taking another man's hand outside of a gay club or bar. But how good it felt! Why couldn't they have walked down the quayside like that?

David unlocked the door and held it open for Patrick to enter first. He walked into the dark entranceway, and reached for the switch to turn on the light, but David caught his hand before he could. He pulled Patrick into his arms, holding him around the waist, hands under Patrick's coat and jacket. Pressing him back against the wall, David kissed him hard.

They broke after a while, Patrick short of breath, and shaky about the knees.

"I'm sorry," David said, "I couldn't wait any longer. I swear, I have no idea how I kept from dragging you across that table and ravaging you right there in the restaurant."

Patrick laughed. "Funny, I was thinking exactly the same thing."

"I don't think we'd have been welcome back after that."

"Might have depended how good a show we put on."

"Oh, you are saucy, sweet thing." They kissed again and David ran a hand through Patrick's hair, making the butterflies start up their party in his stomach. "You know, it's only ten-thirty. We could go on somewhere if you want."

"I don't want to go anywhere but right here. Well... upstairs. I expect having sex in the common areas is against the building rules."

David laughed softly. "Yes indeed. I wish someone would remind the straights about that sometimes. There've been parties..." They heard the sound of a door closing somewhere and the hallway lights flickered on. David stepped away. "Never mind, forget the breeders. Come on." He led Patrick upstairs.