Valentine's Day

"Watch it!" Peter hissed.

"Sorry, old fella," Nick replied with a smirk. "Didn't see you shuffling round there. Wouldn't a thought you'd still be up to this sort of thing, to be honest."

"Don't you worry about me, Nicky boy," Peter shot straight back. "I've still got the moves, don't I, love?" he asked Carla who he was leading around the makeshift dance floor that had been created in the dining hall of the home specially for the annual Valentine's Day dinner-dance.

"I'm keeping right out of this," Carla declared.

"So are we," Leanne added, grabbing hold of Nick's arm and dragging him away from his old adversary. "Come on!"

"Yeah, go on!" Peter scowled after their retreating forms, before focusing his annoyance on his wife. "Thanks for that," he snapped, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"For what?"

"For backing me up with that ponce."

"No, babe," Carla shook her head. "I ain't encouraging that kind of childish behaviour."

"But he –"

"Shhh..." Carla whispered, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "Whisper something romantic in my ear."

Peter merely stared at her, his eyebrows raised, stubbornly refusing to forgive her for the imagined slight on him and for siding with Tilsley.

"Go on, baby, it's Valentine's Day," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair and nuzzling into his jawline with her lips. "You can't be mad at me on Valentine's Day."

"Hmmpphhh!" Peter snorted defiantly, all the while his defences slowly crumbled as Carla's lips worked their magic, kissing his cheek, his forehead, and his lips, so softly they pressed against them. "I guess not."

Peter wrapped his arms tighter around Carla as they slowly circled around the dancefloor. He leaned into her neck and kissed her softly on her collarbone, before moving up slowly, kissing her neck, her jawline, all the way up to her ear, nibbling on her earlobe gently, and whispering in her ear.

"It's not very romantic though, is it?"

Carla pulled back and glared at him.

"What?"

"This!" Peter swept his head in an exaggerated nod that took in the entire room. "I mean, the tacky decorations, love hearts and roses, the simpering sickening sentimental music that you, admit it, love, you would make fun of it every other day of the year." Not that Peter gave Carla a chance to admit it, he was on a roll with his rant and all Carla could do was smirk her amusement. "But no, today, on this random day, everyone has to be all lovey dovey and romantic and spend a small fortune on flowers and chocolates and fancy dinners. For what?"

"I dunno, babe," Carla shrugged. "You're telling the story."

"I mean, when did we become the sort of couple to celebrate what is, you know it's true, a purely commercial, a consumerist day? I don't need an excuse to be romantic with my wife."

"No, you don't."

"You've got no complaints, do you?"

"Generally, no."

"Generally?" Peter's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean… generally?"

"I mean that right now, Peter, I do have a complaint," Carla declared. "A very serious complaint."

"Hey?" Peter asked, suddenly fearful. "Complaint about what?"

"You talking about, I don't even care what, when you should be kissing me."

"Oh, I see," Peter said, a smile replacing his scowl in an instant. "If it's kissing you want..."

"It is," Carla nodded, her gaze flickering between Peter's eyes and his lips. "Very much so."

"Well then..."

With Carla's arms wrapped firmly around his body, he cupped her face in his hands, his palms pressed gently against her cheeks and his thumbs stroking her soft warm skin. And then he kissed her, his lips pressing against hers, his tongue sweeping across her lips and into her mouth.

"Let's get outta here, yeah?" Peter murmured into Carla's ear. "All this schmaltz is giving me a headache."

"And do what?"

"Go to bed."

"You tired?"

"No."