Stockholm Syndrome 2- 17 Black and 29 Red (18 page)
Read Stockholm Syndrome 2- 17 Black and 29 Red Online
Authors: Richard Rider
Can
I?"
"Tame you? Is that even possible?" He bites down viciously on Pip's shoulder and rakes hard parallel lines into the small of his back with his fingernails, making him whimper helplessly like a scolded puppy. It's ridiculous how easily he's come unwound. He can hardly even stand up. He sags against Lindsay and finally has to let his hands drop from their place on the door, draping over Lindsay's shoulders and slipping his fingers into his hair to pull him back for more kisses.
"You can try." He stops talking and kissing long enough to get Lindsay's shirt off, pulling it over his head when he can't do the buttons quickly enough. "What are we still doing here? You gonna fuck me up against the door like a porno?" He's not forgotten the rules of the games. He makes it just brash and cocky enough for Lindsay to raise an eyebrow and then slap him across the face. It's not hard, but it's quick and sharp and Pip feels like his heart is leapfrogging beats.
"He wouldn't let me leave til I got some out the machine." Pip's jeans are getting uncomfortably tight now and he pops the button and zip before getting the box out his pocket to show Lindsay. "You wanna see a trick?"
He tucks the box away for now and slips his fingers into Lindsay's waistband, teasingly stroking the hot skin just under the fabric. "You gotta take all your clothes off first." That's easy and quick enough, with both of them working at it. "Then you gotta go and sit on the bed."
He does, although he looks embarrassed and unsure of himself now, just like he always used to when Pip saw him completely naked in anything more than pitch black midnight darkness. "And then?"
It's a few years since he's done it, but it's impossible to forget and infinitely more fun than riding a bike. He gets the box out of his pocket again, never looking away from Lindsay, slides one of the little foil squares out, tears a ragged strip off one edge, and puts the rubber in his mouth. It tastes as foul as ever but he hides it well, dropping to his hands and knees and crawling the few steps to the edge of the bed so he can slide his hands up Lindsay's legs and gently mouth it onto his cock, all lips and sliding tongue. Lindsay's got both hands bunched tight in the covers and Pip strokes his fingers softly until he lets go and follows the direction to hold Pip's hair instead, twisting his hand sharply so the tug hurts and makes his eyes water.
month
after?"
"You really are a slut, aren't you?" He wrenches hard at Pip's hair until he gets the message and stands up to let Lindsay pull him onto the bed, right on top of him, and kiss him until the nasty rubbery taste is gone.
"My... ," he settles on, curling his fingers tight around Pip's cock and starting to stroke him slowly. Pip decides that's the best he's going to get and struggles not to smile just as much as he's still struggling to be sensible about it all.
Pip doesn't answer straight away, just leans forward and kisses Lindsay again, hard and forceful and too much tongue, until he gets a strong hand wrenching his hair hard, silently telling him to stop. It makes involuntary tears spring up in his eyes again, spilling over this time and wetting his cheeks and the creases at the sides of his nose. "
That
," he says. His voice is jagged. "If you want."
I
want? How selfless of you."
"Olly won't. He don't like hurting me, he seen me duffed up enough at school and round our estate and at home and everything, he won't do it, I tried telling him it ain't the same thing but -
ah
!" He can't help the noise he makes when Lindsay winds his fingers back through and yanks his hair again, vicious and relentless.
"Is that what you want? It's not enough to just..."
"No, no, it's enough, it is, I swear." Lindsay's fingers are still tangled there close to Pip's scalp, and he moves his head again to feel the tightness just on this side of pain when the hair pulls taut. "It's okay if you don't want. But if you want. I mean... nothing's changed."
"Everything's changed," Lindsay says quietly. He carefully untangles his fingers and sits up, and they stay there in silence for a while. He's completely naked. Pip is still wearing his jeans, although they're unfastened and flapping loose and falling down his hips so his cock and the stark darkness of his hair show in the V between the two halves of his zip. "How can I hurt you?" Lindsay eventually says, stilted and awkward like he's not sure how to word it. "You've done nothing wrong."
Pip thinks for a moment, then he sits up too and bites Lindsay's shoulder - quickly enough to do the damage before Lindsay can pull away, hard enough to leave a ring of purple teeth-marks that'll bloom and bruise by morning. He has to laugh then because Lindsay says, "Ow!" in such a shocked, injured way he sounds like he's five. His hands shoots up to cover the teethmarks, wiping away the spit and carefully feeling around the edges, trying to see it although it's too close to his neck to look at comfortably.
"You're unbelievable." Quicker than Pip expected, Lindsay grabs him round the wrist and flings him face-down so he's resting awkwardly over Lindsay's lap, tugs his jeans down around his thighs, and starts slapping him lightly. It feels strange - of course everything
has
changed. Strange and embarrassed and clumsy, like Lindsay's forgotten how to do it, or like he's forgotten how not to be ashamed when he's the one who's meant to be in charge. He stops after half a minute and spits on his fingers to slip down between Pip's cheeks instead, circling carefully and maddeningly slowly. That's okay too. For about three seconds. Pip sits up again when he can't stand any more teasing and rolls the drawer open in the cabinet beside the bed, finding a bottle of lube there next to a box of condoms - unopened, he notices happily. Not that that means or proves anything. Five years ago it would have driven him mad with rage thinking about Lindsay with other people, but it doesn't seem to matter now. He can't help wondering what they were like, how many of them there were, whether they were good, but it doesn't make him want to do a furious sobbing murder-suicide like it would have before.
"What?" Lindsay says, defensive and self-conscious as if he knows what Pip's thinking. Pip just smiles and shakes his head, sliding the drawer closed and flicking up the bottle cap so he can squeeze out the contents gracelessly over Lindsay's cock, spilling onto the sheets and his legs.
"Cos I'm
happy
, you berk." The sentence doesn't end properly, but turns into a ragged gasping little whine when Lindsay puts his hand down between Pip's legs and starts stroking him very gently with two wet fingertips this time. "Oh. Please. I mean... do you want to?"
"Nothing." He tries to stay still and not squirm but it's just not enough and he starts wriggling impatiently trying to get more, which of course only makes Lindsay move his hand away altogether. "Come
on
, I did say please."
"Yes please." Then Lindsay's hand is over his mouth, the other is back on his cock, and he's inside him in one vicious thrust. Pip's mouth falls open against Lindsay's palm, breathing noisily through his nose and making pathetic little muffled curses until the delicious burn eases off a bit and he shuts up.
"Go slow," he says, a hot breathy whimper against Lindsay's neck as soon as the hand is off his mouth. He feels Lindsay nod and slow down, but not for long; after a minute he's driving in hard again, deep and fast with the crook of his arm hooked up behind Pip's knee and shoving it against his chest to get a better angle, and it's
good
, it's amazing, but it's not right, it's not what he wants. He grabs Lindsay's chin and tugs so they're face to face, noses bumping clumsily. "Go
slow
," he says again, and Lindsay frowns and bites his hand.
"Tell you what to do, yeah, whatever." Lindsay's stopped altogether now. Pip kisses him again, gentle and placating. "Go slow," he repeats softly. "And look at me."
Lindsay
always
had a problem with that, actually making eye-contact when they were in bed, anything that might be interpreted as romance or intimacy or tenderness or some other disgusting soppy emotion. He does as he's asked, he starts moving again slowly and smoothly, but he keeps dropping his head down to hide his face against Pip's shoulder or his bristly cheek in Pip's hair; every time he does, Pip holds his face again and gently brings it back. "Look at me," he keeps saying. "Slow. Please." It seems so important but he can't find the words to explain so he doesn't offer any, not until Lindsay makes a frustrated, awkward sort of noise and asks him.
always
."
"Mm." Lindsay's hiding again. Pip winds his fingers through the hair at the back of his head and tilts his face up, kissing him on the mouth and the nose and forcing eye contact. "You was my boyfriend before. I lived in your house. I weren't going nowhere after. But what if... right, after, what if I go home and you spaz and you don't wanna see me no more cos you think it's a stupid mistake and you regret everything?"
"I won't. It won't." He pulls Pip's legs up around his waist so both hands are free for him to stroke through Pip's hair, cup his face and kiss him and, finally,
look
at him properly, so direct and intense it's like the awkwardness never happened. Pip winds his arms up around Lindsay's neck and kisses him back, and this time
he's
the one to close his eyes and escape into darkness so there's nothing in the world except the soft curls under his fingers and the touch of Lindsay's breath on his mouth and the slow, sliding friction.
"I do when I remember to," Lindsay says quietly, but he doesn't stop moving and he doesn't stop kissing him for a long time, on his trembling mouth and his sweaty forehead and his wet, closed eyes.
Lindsay wakes in the morning, slowly and with difficulty like he's swimming up through treacle and can't quite make it to the surface before he gives up. He can't make himself open his eyes, he can only lie there where he is, motionless except for his hand reaching out to the other side of the bed. It's empty but still warm from Valentine's body. Lindsay splays his fingers out over the creases in the sheet and yawns so wide it hurts his jaw. He can hear Valentine moving about in the bathroom. He hasn't bothered shutting the door
- it must have been the sound of the shower that woke Lindsay up, although it's off now.
He should move. He really, really should move. He can't do it. He's too warm and comfortable. The bed smells like it should, stupid girly cherry shampoo and sweat.
"Good morning, starshine," Valentine says from the doorway in a loud stage whisper. "You awake?" Lindsay's not awake enough to answer, but he's not too sleepy to smile. It's a big ridiculous dopey smile, he
knows
he must look a complete idiot, but there's no way of stopping it so he doesn't bother trying. There's a grin in Valentine's voice as well when he speaks again, coming over to get back on the bed and nuzzle his face in against Lindsay's neck. "Heyy. Lazybum. Wake up. It's sunny. Sunny Sunday. Laaazy Sunday afternoon," he sings softly. "Ain't really afternoon, though, ain't even eight yet. Ain't Sunday neither. You don't have to wake up, stay in bed. I've got work for like two hours then Lillian's got a hockey match but then nothing and that means me and you are meeting up for lunch, okay? I don't care where. You can pick. I'll phone you in a bit when you're awake. I'm gonna text you lessthan-threes all day and well get on your nerves but you'll let me off, right?" He starts pressing tiny tiny soft little kisses over Lindsay's face, up his jaw and across his cheek and over his nose and down to his mouth until, sleepy or not, he can't help laughing.
