Stockholm Syndrome [01] - Stockholm Syndrome (20 page)

"
I can't stand you
," he spits again, but he slides his bookmark back between the pages and puts it on the bedside table with his glasses neatly folded on top. "I mean it, don't touch me with that sea monster."

"No way, I ain't sharing, that's mine. It looks wicked. You're all uptight, you won't appreciate it properly so you're not allowed a go."

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He lies there against the pillows, passively letting the kid manoeuvre him about. "Fine by me."

"Fine. Here, pass me the bottle." Before Lindsay can stop him, he's squirted out a huge slimy mess of lube all over him, emptied almost the whole bottle so he's glistening wet from nipples to navel, and dumped the... thing down in the middle of it. "Get that ready."

"It's not going up me."

"Not everything's about
you
, pushy. I wanna suck you first, that's all."

He immediately does what he says, not bothering to remove Lindsay's pyjama trousers first but licking wetly all over the blue stripy cotton, taking the head in his mouth and working up a big gobful of dribble to saturate the fabric so it's clinging a couple of inches down his shaft. Lindsay's trying to prop himself up on his elbows so he can see, at the same time wiping his slippery hands up his sides to catch the sliding blobs of lube threatening to fall onto the sheet. He grabs hold of the vibrator so it doesn't fall off and get everywhere messed up. It feels revolting, all rubbery with little squashy lumps all over it.

"Excuse me. What are you doing?"

Valentine looks up at him, tucking his hair behind his ears and smirking around his mouthful before he pulls away to speak. "You're being all half-arsed about wanting it. I can play that way, if that's what you like. Clothes staying on."

"I don't think so."

"I think so."

"But I
don't
think so. You don't tell me what to do."

"I do when I've got your cock in my mouth," he says, or at least that's what Lindsay assumes he says. It sounds more like, "I hoo eh I hah or oh ih ha how." He smiles again so Lindsay can see his teeth, as if he couldn't feel them already grazing at his flesh through the wet cotton. It's not a bite, just a very gentle grip, but he's not sure he likes it all the same.

"Come here," he says, to distract the kid from his teasing. "Turn round.

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Let's get this ridiculous ordeal over with." It's not as easy as it sounds. Valentine spins round like a dervish, arranging himself so he's straddling Lindsay's hips in the opposite way to normal and pressing their cocks together, bare against cotton. He's squirming excitedly, completely without embarrassment, although the looks he keeps throwing back over his shoulder are getting more and more annoyed and frowning as Lindsay turns the thing round in his hands trying to figure out with way up it's supposed to go.

"Come
on
, I'm dying here!"

He squirms a wet fingertip into Valentine's arse to shut him up and tide him over while he works the sea monster out, then another two because he likes the noises he makes from it. "Okay, I think I've got it. What am I meant to do, then, just shove it in?"

"You wanna be a bit more careful than just shoving it in. It's bigger than you, innit?"

"Cheeky swine." He removes his fingers and smacks him sharply on the back of the thigh, and Valentine flips his head back round to glare.

"It is, though!"

"Not
much
."

"And it's got them lumpy little tentacle bits on it and you don't."

"No, I should hope not." He wipes the thing again through all the goo smeared on his chest, scooping up as much as he can, and gets to work.

"Oh," Valentine says, or it might be, "Ow." Lindsay stops and waits to see which it was, and the kid starts whining, plucking at Lindsay's pyjama leg with his fingers like it's going to make him get on with it. "Don't stop, don't
stop
, what are you doing? Come on!" An 'oh', then. He takes his time slipping the rest of it inside, and gives it a gentle twist as the last couple of inches slide out of view, just a tiny little fraction of a movement but it's enough to make Valentine's arms go wobbly where he's holding himself up and he sort of half-collapses over Lindsay's legs, still on his knees with his backside waving in the air and this red 161

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rubber thing with arms hanging out of it – Lindsay starts laughing, he can't help it, and Valentine bites him on the leg.

"What's so funny?"

"Everything."

"What's it look like? Does it look good? I bet it looks brilliant."

"You look like you're being bummed by a half-hatched alien pupa."

"Take photos next time, I wanna see what it looks like. Or a video."

"What next time?"

"Next time!"

"Oh, I'm not enough for you now?"

Valentine kisses the spot he bit a minute ago. "I'll do it when you're reading. You can read as long as you want then, you can read the whole Encyclopaedia Britannica if you like, I won't complain."

"You tart."

Valentine laughs, a bit breathless and a bit desperate. Lindsay can see the thing making little movements where he must be clenching his muscles and feels kind of light-headed, remembering the way that feels, the heat and the tightness and the give and the soft, wet grip of him...

"This is such a
waste
," he blurts out, "sticking a chunk of rubber up there."

"For
you
, maybe," Valentine says, and he's not even trying to hide the smirk in his voice so Lindsay follows the cable and finds the control and turns the thing on to shut him up, only that doesn't work because he starts whimpering and cursing and moaning. Still, at least he's stopped talking.

"Thought that'd shut you up," he says. "I'm reading my book now."

He accidentally smears a wet thumbprint over the lens of his glasses and gets lube all over the pages but it's worth it for the outraged little snarl Valentine

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makes. Easy enough to deal with that – calmly, finding his place and tucking the bookmark in the back cover so he doesn't lose it when he needs it later, he presses the button to turn the vibrations up to 2.

After seven pages of taking the speed up and down at random every couple of sentences, Valentine is calling him every name under the sun and thrusting desperately into his own hand. He goes quiet when he's close, just breathing raggedly, then goes still all over and makes a weird choked little cry.

Lindsay gives him a minute then says, "Done?" and the kid turns round to stare at him furiously but he can't carry it on for long, he breaks down giggling.

"That thing's mental, you should try it."

"No thanks."

"Here, help me, take it out." He edges back and waves his arse in Lindsay's face.

"Ugh, stop it. Get off."

"Just did, I think." He goes a bit weak again when Lindsay grasps the thing by the arms and pulls it out, but he recovers quickly enough and crawls up on top of him, sliding in the mess of lube still coating his skin, snatches his book away and throws it in the vague direction of the pink vibrator from earlier, removes his messy glasses, and kisses him until Lindsay has to tug his hair to get him away so he can catch his breath. The kid's not bothered by being dragged around, he moves back down the bed quite willingly and actually bothers to take Lindsay's pyjamas off this time before he dives on with his mouth. Much better.

"You know what else I got?" Valentine says after a minute. His hair keeps dropping down over his face and getting in his mouth. He pushes it back behind his ears impatiently and returns his fingers to Lindsay's cock, gripping him firmly and putting tiny tender kisses everywhere not covered by his hand.

Lindsay squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to squirm.

"Oh Jesus. How should I know? A sex doll that looks like Marc Bolan?"

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"What, like a crash test dummy with a hole in it?"

"That's tasteful."

"Shut up. You ain't allowed to talk about good taste, you don't even like him, you weirdo." He laughs quietly through his nose when Lindsay reaches down and winds a hand through his hair to urge him on. He's using lots of tongue, easily drawing him deeper and working his throat until Lindsay's making pathetic noises he hates himself for and pushes him away. The kid goes on talking like he hadn't even been stopped. "There's this thing. I can, like, do a cast of your cock and make a vibrator out of it. How cool's that? Cos then, right, then I can suck you off
and
have you fucking me at the same time, like there's two of you. I've gone all tingly."

Lindsay doesn't know what to say for a second so he just stares at Valentine with something he imagines must look like horror. "What the hell am I doing with you?"

"Broadening your horizons. Or something."

"I must be crazy."

"That's okay, that's why it works. We're both a bit warped. Together we make sort of one whole person."

"Just shut up and suck," Lindsay says, tiredly, and fists his hand in Valentine's hair again to bring him back to the job.

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Lindsay's making tea when he hears a strange noise in the other room that turns out to be, on investigation, Valentine pushing the hoover round the carpet. He can't quite formulate a verbal response to this, he just goes over and puts his hand on the kid's forehead. Valentine turns the hoover off and Lindsay can feel the movement under his palm when he raises his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Show me your tongue."

"What for?"

"I said show me your tongue."

He sticks it out and waggles it lasciviously. "Hee huhee oo i?"

"Excuse me?"

"See something you like?" he repeats, more clearly when his tongue's back where it belongs.

Lindsay smacks him gently round the head and goes to sit cross-legged in his armchair with the newspaper so his feet don't get in the way. "Thought you 165

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might be horribly ill or something, you
never
clean up without being asked.

Continue."

Valentine gives him a black look, but turns the hoover back on. "Need it clean," he says over the noisy hum. "Need the space."

"What for?"

"Cutting something out?"

"Cutting what out?"

"Never you mind."

"...no, what?"

"You'll only laugh. Fucking philistine."

Of course the curiosity is burning –
blazing
in him, like napalm – but he makes himself turn his attention back to his paper and pretend he doesn't give a shit, because the little twat's clearly just after attention and giving in to him is only going to make him worse. He'll cave soon enough and tell without being asked, he always does.

Valentine turns the vacuum off after a minute. "Lindsaaay," he says, soft and whining.

Bingo. "What?"

"You ain't got a costume yet, have you?"

"What for?"

"You
know
what for!" Of course he knows what for, Ty and Ellie have been throwing their New Year fancy-dress parties for a decade. He's just uselessly hoping, like he does every time, that ignoring it will make it go away.

"I'm going as myself."

"Like fuck you are!" There doesn't seem to be a transition between Valentine standing halfway across the room with his hands on his hips and Valentine straddling him in the armchair after snatching his paper away, it just

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seems to happen instantly. "Don't be such a spoilsport! You're such a fucking miserable old man sometimes, what's wrong with you?"

"Get off me!" He goes to stand up and tip the kid off him, but Valentine kisses him and he changes his mind. "Okay, don't get off me. Just shut up."

Valentine laughs into his mouth, stroking his fingers down Lindsay's face, over the prickly stubble on his jaw, and Lindsay wraps his arms round the kid's skinny body, moves his hands up his back, into his hair, down to hold him gently at the hips, and all the time he's really
kissing
him, like if he makes it feel like he means it then Valentine's going to forget what they were talking about. Stupid, really.

"I got a confession," he says, slurring the words a bit because he doesn't stop kissing, not until Lindsay shoves at him and
makes
him stop.

"What?"

He starts playing with the button at Lindsay's open shirt collar, not really looking him in the eye, and whispers, "I
might
've borrowed your credit card again."

"You mean you stole it."

"I borrowed it!"

"Borrowing without asking is called 'stealing', Philip."

He frowns slightly at the name, but doesn't drop his ridiculous sorrowful coy act. "I
might
've stole your credit card."

"I see."

"Do you forgive me?" Valentine's voice is low, just a warm breath touching Lindsay's cheek. He moves his fingers down to the next button and slips it through its hole, just brushing the beginning of Lindsay's chest hair with the flat of his nails; a surge of warmth races through his skin, radiating out from the point of contact, and he tightens his grip on the kid's bony hipbones without meaning to. "I mean... am I in big trouble? Are you gonna tell me off now?

Becau-"

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Lindsay kisses him halfway through his word, and he can feel, hear, taste the kid laughing into his mouth, kissing him back eagerly and working on the rest of his buttons.

"Don't you wanna know what I bought?"

"No, I want you to shut up and hold still while I fuck you."

Valentine ducks his head and bites gently at Lindsay's collarbone, sucks the same spot hard enough to hurt, then soothes it with his wet rough tongue before Lindsay's got it together enough to thump him and return the bruise.

There's still laughter in his eyes when he looks up, but there's desperation as well, and quite a lot of lust. "You know what you're really really fucking good at? Making me think I'm gonna come in my pants like a twelve-year-old buying his first Sun newspaper."