Stockholm Syndrome 2- 17 Black and 29 Red (5 page)

Pip elbows his way back over to the bar. He's too sober to do this. Whatever 'this' might be. He's not been planning to do anything with anyone, but why not? It's not like he's ever going to see Lindsay again, probably. It's not like he'd be cheating.

"You can buy me a drink if you want," the kid says, suddenly appearing at Pip's shoulder. He turns round a bit to look at him, trying not to smile.

"That's generous of you."

 

"Ain't it?"

 

"What makes you think I'd wanna buy another man a drink?"

 

"Cos your t-shirt's got a unicorn on it."

 

"That's a bit shallow. How do you know I ain't married with kids?"

 

"Are you?"

 

"No."

 

"Well, then. Smirnoff Ice, please."

 

Olly shakes his head in mock-disgust when Pip yells the order to him. "I ain't funding your bad drunk decisions, this one you're paying for."

 

"Come off it, it's just a drink!"

"Is it?" the kid says in Pip's ear. "Cos if it is I'm gonna go and find someone else, alright? No offence, just don't wanna waste your time or nothing."

"Don't move. Stay there." He digs in his jeans pocket for change but Olly sprays a jet of lemonade at him and Pip gives up, laughing and nicking a bar towel to wipe the side of his face on and chucking it back at him. "No, forget it, you just wanna go?"

"Yeah."

 

"You got somewhere?"

 

"Yeah, I'm in halls, I ain't sharing a room or nothing so it's okay."

Halls. This is officially going to be the youngest shag he's ever had. That seems a bit funny, but then he's a bit drunk. They're only in the cab ten minutes, pulling up somewhere near one of the parks with lips wet and red from kissing, interrupted by the long-suffering driver saying with exasperation, "We're
here
." Pip pays him and he speeds away, and then they're just standing on the empty street in front of the building.

"We're here," Pip repeats, and the kid laughs.

 

"Yeah. Um, should've asked before but what's your name?"

 

He briefly considers giving a fake one, but what's the point? "Pip."

 

"I'm Michael."

 

"Beautiful boys on a beautiful dancefloor..."

"Yeah, cos I never heard
that
one before." But he seems pleased, he's flushed and smiling as he gets his key card out his back pocket. Pip slings an arm across his shoulder as they're walking upstairs, standing very close behind him and wrapping his arms round Michael's skinny body and kissing the side of his neck while he's trying to unlock the next door. He's breathless and laughing, fumbling with the card. "You ain't being helpful."

One more door and they're in his bedroom. He starts scurrying about picking clothes off the bed and floor, mumbling something about not expecting company, but Pip holds his wrist to stop him and pulls him closer. His blond hair is clumped together with dried sweat, flopping over his forehead and into his blue eyes, and Pip brushes it out the way to look at him but then he doesn't know what to say so he just kisses him instead. Michael's tongue is forceful against his, jabbing into Pip's mouth like it's looking for something. Pip strokes his face gently, cupping his jaw in both hands, slips one round to thread through the hair at the back of his head, trying to coax him to do it just
less
. Michael was so cocky and flirty in the club but he seems nervous now they're inside. Pip wonders whether he's actually brought anybody back before. It's not like it matters, but he's not used to being the most experienced one. It's weird. It's kind of cool.

"You alright?"
"Yeah," Michael mutters. He lunges back in with his tongue. Pip manages to put up with it for about ten seconds, then he twists away to start kissing down Michael's neck again. He can't put up with any more of this kid trying to swallow his tonsils. Lindsay always kissed like he'd invented it, like he was the world champion or something. Sometimes they could lie in bed or cuddle on the couch for hours and hours at a time just kissing. Pip didn't even care about stubble burn - any time Lindsay kissed him, he never ever wanted it to stop.

Then he makes that bit of his brain shut down and concentrates on getting Michael's t-shirt off over his head instead, then his own, then they're both trying to unfasten each other's skinny jeans at the same time, falling onto the bed and giggling like little girls. Michael's got a small black Chinese tattoo just above his hipbone. When they're both finally naked, Pip moves down the bed to kiss it and takes Michael's cock in his hand at the same time, stroking slowly. "What's that mean?"

"Chow mein. I thought it was funny. My sister's got one it's meant to say peace or something but I said I bet it's chow mein cos you're never gonna know what it actually says if it's wrong, are you? You're just trusting they know what they're doing. So I got it. I like yours, you got loads ain't you? I
oh
." Pip shuts him up the only way he knows how, by drawing a wide wet line up the length of his cock with his tongue and then swirling round the head, dribbling spit all down him then closing his lips in a tight circle and sliding down all the way and then back up, again and again until Michael's thrashing about on the covers and making pleading whimpery noises instead of that slightly hysterical nervous babble from before. There's not a lot Pip
knows
he's really brilliant at, but he knows he's a good kisser and he knows he's good at this because it's the only thing that ever made Lindsay properly lose it. He was always so in control of himself, but this could make him fall apart and- Pip realises he's thinking about Lindsay
again
and frowns, stopping what he's doing long enough to dribble over his fingers as well so he can put his hand down between Michael's legs and start carefully stroking over his arsehole.

"Can I?"

 

"Oh my god why are you even
asking
?"

 

"Have you got a johnny?"

 

"I... oh fuck."

"It's alright, I think I got one." Pip leans over to find his jeans on the floor, turning one of the inside-out legs the right way so he can get at the slim red wallet in his back pocket. He emptied it out earlier so it wouldn't make his arse look fat and lumpy so it's only got a credit card, an emergency twentypound note because his grandad told him to always keep one just in case and he's never forgotten, and two foil-wrapped condoms and little sachets of lube. "Mate, you shouldn't go out pulling if you ain't got nothing."

"I know, I just never thought."

 

"You sure you want to?"

"
Yes
I'm sure I want to!" But he looks scared and Pip feels a bit sorry for him, enough to slide back up and risk kissing him again. It's alright this time because he doesn't go mad with his tongue, he just lets Pip kiss him and then doesn't really look at him when he moves back.

"You ain't done this before, have you?"

 

"I done this loads of times."

"Yeah right. I don't
care
, I ain't gonna stop just cos you're a virgin, not if you don't want me to, but you just gotta calm down, okay? Cos I don't wanna hurt you but it fucking killed me the first few times cos I was scared and I wouldn't relax. Just so you know."

"Alright," Michael says in a wobbly whisper, squeezing his eyes shut and obviously trying to steady his breathing. Pip sits back on his heels, ripping into the condom packet and rolling it on, watching Michael's face the whole time. He still looks terrified when he opens his eyes again a minute later, but slightly calmer. He even smiles, and it doesn't look fake. "I'm alright. Sorry. Yeah, I want to."

Pip takes it slowly, wet fingers first to get him used to what it feels like and then pushing Michael's knee up against his chest and easing inside him so slowly it feels like it takes all night. They left the light on and everything seems offensively harsh and bright so Pip settles down on top of him to kiss him again and while he's doing it he tugs on the dangling cord to turn off the light, thinking it might make him feel better. The darkness is sudden and startling, but there's a streetlamp somewhere outside and there's a constellation of glow in the dark plastic stars stuck on the wardrobe, another on the size of the desk. He can just about see Michael's face when his eyes have adjusted, all dark shadows and gentle orangey highlights from the streetlamp.

"I only done this to one other person before," Pip says suddenly. He doesn't know why he says it, it just falls out. "If that... I dunno, makes you feel better or something. One time. I ain't usually on top."

"You're doing alright, though." Michael's voice is quiet and shaky, but it doesn't sound like he's in pain or having second thoughts so Pip starts moving slowly, trying to interpret the gasps and whimpers. He forgot what it feels like, it was so long ago that one time Lindsay actually let him. He remembers now what he felt before, how hot and tight it was and how absolutely, sickeningly terrified he was. He can't even remember why, only that he was so scared he was almost crying. He wanted it to be
good
, he wanted Lindsay to feel what he felt every single time but all the way through Lindsay just lay there in silence, no movement and no sign he was enjoying it. He could have just stopped, said 'sorry, that was a mistake, let's do it properly' but he was too embarrassed so he carried on through the agonising nothingness and had to think up really good dirty fantasies in his head so he'd get off more quickly and get it over with. Lindsay didn't even come, he wasn't even close. Pip had to suck him off after anyway.

"Am I?"

 

"Yeah. Go harder."

The reflex to do as he's told is still there, he doesn't think it's ever going to go away. He starts moving faster, thrusting in harder and trying to stroke Michael's cock at the same time, clumsy and losing his rhythm until Michael reaches down to do it himself. It doesn't take very long, it's over in a few minutes. Michael comes first, arching his back and stretching his neck so he's looking up, as if his broken gasps are secrets he needs to tell to the headboard and pillows. He puts his arms up round Pip's neck to pull him down, kissing him furiously, and maybe it's the accidental hairpull that does it but Pip comes almost straight away then, crying out into Michael's mouth and around his insistent tongue.

It's all a bit strange and awkward after that. Pip's forgotten what this feels like too, the strangeness after a one-night stand when you're getting dressed again. It's not even eleven o'clock yet. It feels too early to go home, like even after what just happened it'd be a wasted night to go home now.

"It's still early," he says, trying to find his other boot and zip it on in the darkness. "You wanna go back out?"

 

"Can't really, I got lectures."

"Fair enough." He's ready to go. He doesn't want to turn the light on to check how crap and smudgey his eye make-up is now so he just wipes his fingertips under his eyelashes and hopes for the best. "Can I get out without your key card thing?"

Michael's still on the bed, suddenly shy enough to have pulled a blanket over himself when he was finished wiping his own come off his body with tissues. "Yeah, everything opens from the inside."

"Alright. See you around, yeah?"

 

"Yeah, maybe."

An hour or so later he's bent over a skip behind the club with his jeans round his ankles, getting fucked by a man whose name he didn't bother asking. It's rough and fast in case they get caught, hard enough to make tears roll and drip down the length of his nose, although he's not properly crying. It's just watering eyes from the vicious burning stretch of the cock inside him and the rotten stink of bins. Flakes of rust are prickling his palms where he's holding on to the rim of the skip, stinging and grazing like crumbly splinters. The man, whoever he is, throws the knotted johnny over Pip's head into the bin when he's done and leaves him there exhausted and shaking with wobbly weak knees that don't seem to want to hold him up any more. He feels disgusting and used and ashamed but, weirdly, kind of better. Olly won't understand, he never did. Pip doesn't bother going back inside to get judged for the second time tonight. He just brushes the red rust off his palms, pulls his jeans back up, and wanders down the alley to find the main road and a cab back home.

6.
August 2010

The noise of the airport is harsh, like its electric lights. Lindsay's had a headache more or less since take-off back in Heathrow, all through the flights, all through the wait between planes. Flying first class doesn't mean you can't still
hear
all the people in the back, screeching babies and bored children who keep running to the front and trying to evade the hostess bimbos to get a look in the cockpit.

"What are you running away from?" his mother had asked him gently when she came to see him off. He'd just shrugged his shoulders, a bit awkward, a bit sulky and monosyllabic like he was fifteen again and embarrassed by the idea of being seen in public with her. "You're still going to miss him whether you're here or Mars."

"I'm running away from
you
and your
constant fucking nagging
," he snapped back, but she just gave him a look and went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and hug him, one of those big warm mum-hugs you crave when you're five and feel stupid about when you're pushing forty. She knew. She always knew everything. Valentine always said that's why he was so repressed, because he'd grown up with a mum who knew how to read his moods and he never had to be nice to be understood or get his way. Scowling and rubbing his slapped face five seconds later, Valentine said
See what I mean?
and Lindsay slammed the front door and went off for a drive, screeching tyres noisily just to make his point.

There's the greasy, meaty stench of fast food coming from somewhere. Lindsay wrinkles up his nose and moves on with his case, weaving between idiots in shorts and dayglo t-shirts until he finds a coffee shop and downs a double espresso. It doesn't make his head feel any better, but it's the strongest drug he's allowed now... not that there's anybody around to stop him any more, he realises. It's not a realisation, strictly speaking, it's more that he's letting himself think it for the first time in ages instead of resolutely ignoring the vague idea that's been simmering somewhere beneath his consciousness for a while now. It's stupid. It's really really fucking stupid, but why not?