Identity Check Chapter 32

Identity Check

Chapter 32

Phil opened the door and frowned at Patrick. "Um, are those for me?"

"What?" Patrick realised what he meant - the bunch of flowers he carried. "Of course not, they're for your mum."

"Oh, good." He looked relieved. "Come in then."

He thought I was going to treat him like the girlfriend, Patrick thought, as he went in. No wonder he looked relieved. Patrick remembered how David had treated him like the girlfriend. How had he been so blind not to see that David just wanted a compliant boy-wife. It made him shudder to think of it now. Just like the way Simon wanted him to be a compliant and silent muse. Why had he ever tried to be those things for them? Phil didn't want him to be anyone but himself.

"I'll put these in some water," Phil said, taking the flowers and leading Patrick into the kitchen. "I'm sure Mum will love them."

"Is she out?"

"No, she's upstairs. She knows we have some talking to do, so she's gone to bed early."

"Okay." So he had discussed it with her. Had she given him at least a metaphorical clip around the ear? He certainly seemed less defensive than he had at the supermarket.

"You want a cup of tea or anything?" Phil said, after he'd put the flowers in a vase and taken them into the living room.

"No thanks."

"Okay, well. . ." He put the flowers on a table. "Well, sit down then."

They sat on the sofa, where they'd shared a few pleasant evenings, and done a lot of talking. Easier conversations than this one.

"I talked to my mum," Phil said. "And I talked to Russ. And they're both people I listen to, but this time they're telling me two different things. My mum said that if I don't take a chance on you that I'm a fool. That life is too short to play it safe. That if she hasn't taught me that, then I can't have been listening to a word she's said since -" He broke off.

Since she was diagnosed with a life-shortening illness, Patrick knew he meant.

"And Russ?" Patrick said.

"He said I'd be a fool to take that chance. That it's not a chance at all, that it's a certainty that you will hurt me."

"Oh?" A surge of anger at Russ passed through him, but receded quickly. Russ loved Phil. The anger he'd displayed last night could only come from that. He didn't want Phil hurt. But neither did Patrick. "I don't intend to hurt you, Phil."

"What you intend and what happens are two different things."

"But that's true of everything, not just love."

"Love?" Phil shook his head, barked a laugh. "Come on, Pat. You don't have to try to convince me you love me. I don't know why you really want me, but there's no way you love me, I know that."

"I don't know that. I don't know if I love you or not, not yet. But I think I could. I already think you're amazing."

Now Phil snorted. "God, you've got the patter down haven't you? Me? Amazing? I'm not making Britain's Top Ten Eligible Gay Bachelors any time soon. And I'm not just talking about looks. I'm not any kind of a great catch. I've got responsibilities. I don't have any spare money to spend."

"Oh, please, I don't even have a job," Patrick said. "You think I care about money? And as for responsibilities? The fact you live up to them the way you do, is one of the things that makes you so amazing. I don't want some shallow idiot who spends all his time thinking about shoes or his damn abs." He raised a hand cautiously, waiting for Phil to ask him to stop but he didn't; he let Patrick touch the side of his face. Patrick's fingers traced down Phil's face, feeling the bristle of beard growth, felt the muscles move under his fingertips as Phil spoke.

"And you think I believe you won't mind coming second in my life?"

"Give me a chance to prove that I won't before you make assumptions."

His fingers slowly trailed along Phil's jaw. He had a good jaw line, strong without being heavy. A long, elegant neck, that Patrick wanted to stroke his fingers down. But he didn't. Didn't have that permission yet. Phil sighed and his eyes closed briefly. Torn about his feelings? Or a sigh of pleasure at Patrick's touch. Impossible to say.

"Whose advice are you going to follow, Phil?" He smiled when Phil opened his eyes, looked back at Patrick again. Patrick took his hand away, but rested it on Phil's where it lay on his knee. Again, Phil didn't object, so Patrick left it there, his thumb stroking over Phil's hand.

"What do you actually want, Patrick? What kind of relationship, I mean. Because I can't do the fuck-buddy thing. Not with you."

"That's not what I want. I want it to be real. I want to be your. . ." The word 'boyfriend' almost came out. But it was a silly word. Phil was no boy. "Your lover."

"Exclusive?"

"I haven't done well at that in the past."

"Right." Disappointment appeared in Phil's eyes.

"But with the right man, it could be different. David wasn't the right man."

"I can't imagine anyone David could be the right man for, except maybe someone who deserved to suffer."

Patrick grinned at that and thought about that letter again, from the anonymous private detective agency employee. Would he be sitting here now if he hadn't read that? Would that tiny morsel of doubt have kept him from trusting Phil? Or could he have forgiven him for it? It didn't matter anymore.

"I won't let you walk all over me, Patrick," Phil said. "I may not be a catch, and I may love you more than you will ever love me, so you've got that power over me. But I have some self-respect. I'd rather be without you than let you hurt me over and over."

"The more you talk, the more you make me want you."

"Oh, good grief. You're so cheesy." But he was grinning as he said it.

"I'm so cheesy you could grate me and top a pizza with me."

Phil laughed and his hand moved under Patrick's, turned upwards so that their palms pressed together. Patrick laced his fingers between Phil's, held his hand. They sat there in silence for a few moments, Phil not looking at Patrick, but across at the flowers on the table. Patrick gave him the time, let him think it over. Better for him to give it real thought than decide on a whim and regret it later. At last, he turned back to Patrick, and smiled.

"You know, I've always thought that a boy should do what his mother tells him."

Patrick grinned and wanted to grab him there and then, but restrained himself. "I think it depends on the mother," he said. "But in your case, I absolutely agree."

A momentary awkwardness struck them both, as if they didn't know what to do next, though really the next step was an obvious one. Their hands were still locked together, but Phil raised the other hand and reached towards Patrick, adjusting his position on the sofa, to face him more. Patrick moved closer even before Phil touched him, even before Phil's hand slid around his waist. He closed his eyes, bent his head, let Phil take the lead.

Phil kissed him. Cautious at first, but Patrick's instant response encouraged him and they deepened it, lips opening, bodies pressing closer. Patrick's free hand ran through Phil's hair, his heart pounding now, heat rising in him. His skin must be flushing red, it felt so hot. Abruptly, he pulled back, aware he'd started to push Phil down on the sofa and met some resistance.

"I'm moving too fast. I'm sorry. It's just been a while and I got carried away."

Phil, looking rather flushed too, breathing fast, smiled at him. "That's okay. You took me by surprise a bit. Kind of intense. Let's, ah, try again, a bit slower this time."

Time to count backwards from one hundred, Patrick thought as they kissed again. He'd only had to do that actually during sex before, to slow himself down, not when just kissing. Of course, there was nothing about this that he'd call 'just' kissing.

They stopped kissing, but stayed in each other's arms. Phil spoke softly in Patrick's ear. "Is this a dream? I dreamt of this so many times. Wished for it. Thought if I wished hard enough I could make it real."

He'd lost the caution, now he'd made the decision to take the chance. Lost all of his defensiveness and opened his heart. If this was a dream, Patrick wanted to stay in it forever.

"It's real," he said. "So I suppose the wishing must have worked."

Phil chuckled softly. "Well now that's sorted, I'll start wishing to win the lottery."

Patrick felt like he already had. He pressed his lips to Phil's again, bodies moulded to each other, not even aware they'd ended up lying on the sofa, until they came up for air again.

"Maybe we should move this upstairs?" Phil said, and Patrick had to agree, because he needed to get out of his clothes before he ruined these trousers. He could feel, and see that Phil was in the same situation. They were at the foot of the stairs when Patrick hesitated, suddenly self-conscious.

Phil turned. "You're thinking about my mum being in the house, aren't you?"

"Um, well, yes."

"Thing is, she always will be, that's kind of the point." He smiled, showing some mercy. "We have good sturdy doors, and my bed doesn't squeak. Mum's a heavy sleeper, or if she's awake she's usually listening to some music on her MP3 player, or watching the telly. We just have to not yell and scream too much."

"I can't guarantee that," Patrick said. "I'm kind of noisy." But he started up the stairs again and Phil went on ahead of him.

Phil's bedroom was neat and tidy, and quite small, the double bed taking up a lot of the available space. But Patrick had no objection. The less distance between them and the bed the better. Phil pulled off the duvet, revealing white sheets and they kicked off their shoes and fell onto that pristine surface. Urgency made them both clumsy as they tried to undress each other and themselves with shaking hands.

It was over too quickly the first time. Patrick still had his shirt on, Phil his trousers open but not off, but neither had the time to wait. Patrick hadn't had sex for several months, and wondered if Phil had. Had he been too heartbroken to go looking for casual partners? So both were ready to finish almost before they started, and simply pressed close, on their sides, rubbing together. Each of them had one hand wrapped around their thrusting cocks, fingers entwined, pulling on them, rhythm synchronised.

They kissed between gasps and moans until, all too soon, Phil silenced Patrick with a kiss as he cried out when he came. Phil followed a second later and their bodies shuddered and trembled, until they flopped against each other, panting, sticky, sweaty.

"God, Phil. I'm sorry, I was too fast. I'm always too fast."

"It's okay," Phil said softly, voice muffled against his neck. "Wasn't exactly winning any awards for staying power myself." He laughed, the rumble of it against Patrick's neck a very pleasant sensation.

So strange. He'd had better sex, long slow sessions, with Simon, with David. But he wouldn't swap any of them for this rather hasty and makeshift few moments. He'd call that a quickie, if it had been with someone he'd just met. But with Phil, it was their first time, and fast or not, it was precious. Beautiful.

Phil kissed him again. "I had all kinds of fantasies about going to bed with you the first time. They involved champagne and massage oil and maybe even rose petals." He blushed. "Sorry I couldn't live up to that."

"Well the great thing about a first time is that it's a first time. Which means there's going to be plenty more."

"That's true."

"And that's just tonight."

Phil laughed again, and stirred in his arms, sitting up. "Let's get sorted then and settle in."

"Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty."

In a few minutes, they'd got out of the rest of their clothes, cleaned up and climbed back into bed, pulling the duvet up around them. For a few minutes, they lay holding each other, warm skin on skin.

"I love you, Patrick," Phil said. "You don't have to say it back," he went on quickly, before Patrick could reply. "Don't say it if you don't feel it. It's too important to lie about."

Patrick nodded. He'd said "I love you" to Simon and David, and it had come easily, perhaps because it wasn't real, not deep down. Now that it could be, it was impossible to say, until he was sure.

"Those words," Patrick said. "They're pretty huge."

"What, one letter, four letters and three letters?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do. That's why I don't want you to say them now, because if you ever do say them, I want to know that you mean them. I want to know they don't come from pity, or guilt."

They wouldn't. They'd come from his heart. And from his head, that he'd finally got straightened out, after a severe battering with the clue stick. He snuggled closer to Phil and started kissing his neck, making him sigh with desire.

For the first time Patrick realised that this was what 'making love' meant. That the sex could build the commitment and intimacy. That it could gradually turn his still ambivalent feelings into love. Make them as strong as Phil's already were. He smiled at the thought. In that case, they'd better have a lot of sex.

"Phil," he said. "Promise me something."

"What?" Phil said, opening his eyes.

"Promise you'll never be subtle with me."

"Subtle?" Phil grinned and put on a mock offended tone. "What kind of man do you take me for? Accusing me of subtlety!"

"I mean it," Patrick said, staying serious, though his voice shook a bit as Phil's fingers trailed along his side and stroked his hip, making circles. "Because if you are angry with me about something, but you don't tell me straight out, I won't realise. And then you'll get even more angry, and I'll realise then, but I still won't know why and. . ." He stopped, grinning sheepishly, into Phil's surprised stare. "I'm just not the most sensitive guy. You know that."

Phil smiled and chuckled. "Okay, I promise. No subtlety. Whatever I need you to know, I'll come straight out with it."

"Is there anything you need me to know right now?" He knew what he wanted to hear, and Phil's teasing expression said that he did too.

"Well, I really hate it when someone leaves toast crumbs in the butter."

"Okay. I won't do that."

"And the cat is allergic to cheese; don't give him any."

"I'll remember that."

"Oh, and I love you."

Patrick slid his arms around Phil and pulled him closer.

"I'll make a note."

The End

Index