Stockholm Syndrome [01] - Stockholm Syndrome (28 page)

Silence.

"
Say
something, then."

The kid's voice is shaking like he's really saying 'please don't kill me'.

Lindsay feels disgusting and sore and slimy and not really in the mood for talking at all, so he doesn't, much.

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"Go and have a shower."

He gropes through the dark for his dressing gown and goes down the hall to the main bathroom to clean up. When he crawls back under the covers a quarter of an hour later Valentine's warm and clean and damp and pretending to be asleep, so he lets him pretend, just turns his back on him and does the same.

In the morning they go on pretending, like nothing ever happened, and that way when Valentine gives him an awkward tentative smile he can smile back.

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Danny's driving, and Ty needs to pick his kids up from school for the weekend, so they're gone by half eight – not a second too early, Lindsay thinks, collapsing back in his chair at the kitchen table and lighting up another cigarette as the sound of the car engine fades off down the hill. Valentine's acting on like yesterday never happened but the other two aren't that subtle, and, "No wonder you look like a fucking zombie, Jesus
Christ
, thought you were gonna drill the kid right through the bed last night, you want to invest in some soundproofing, mate, I didn't need to hear that," is
not
what you need thrown at you in a hailstorm of sniggers when you stagger downstairs at the crack of dawn to put the kettle on.

Valentine's in the living room playing on the Nintendo. Lindsay stays in the kitchen until the electronic bleeping and the kid's whooping and cursing gets too much to bear, then throws the fag end in the cold dregs of somebody's coffee and goes to run a bath. There's nothing that says "fuck off and leave me alone"

quite like a bath in the middle of the morning, although he should know by now things are never that simple. It's not that he forgets the kid's there, it's just that even after seven months he's still so used to living on his own that he doesn't

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even
think
about locking the door when he's in the bathroom. For the umpteenth time he curses himself to hell and back when Valentine wanders in for a piss.

"There's two other toilets in this house, you know," he says, disproportionately irritated by the kid's presence. Valentine just shrugs and smiles, and goes to wash his hands and slip his ridiculous blue contact lens in when he's done.

"I know." He blinks rapidly until it's settled, then turns round to lean against the counter where the sink is. Lindsay refuses to feel uncomfortable under his shameless stare and stares back. Of course, he's the first to crack. He always is.

"What?"

"What, I ain't allowed to look at you now?"

"I'm

busy."

"You're moping in the bath. Ain't the same thing. How come you've got no bubbles in?"

"Because grown-ups don't use stuff that comes in cartoon sailor bottles.

I'm not moping."

"Yeah you are."

"I'm

not."

"You

are."

"I

am

not
!"

"Are."

Lindsay scrunches up the soaking flannel and throws it at him, and he swears and dodges out the way so it bounces off his thigh instead of the middle of his t-shirt. "Out!"

He thinks for a single amazed second that the kid's going to do as he's told, but then he walks in completely the wrong direction and Lindsay groans and slides down so his head's completely submerged and wonders how long it'd 225

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take him to die. When he splashes back up, gasping for breath after deciding it's a bit of a rubbish way to go, Valentine's sitting cross-legged beside the bath with his arms folded on the rim and his chin resting on his arms, patiently waiting.

"Hi."

"Hello."

"I was gonna ask if you're okay, but I won't cos you're not."

"I'm fine," he says automatically. Valentine does a sort of half-smile and begins paddling the fingers of one hand in the water.

"Liar. Jesus, this water's hot. You're gonna boil alive like a lobster.

Like... a teabag."

"I like my baths like I like my jazz." He's trying to defuse the bomb but he knows it's going to explode anyway. Valentine plays along for a bit, pretending to throw his guts up into the laundry basket at the mere mention of the word 'jazz', but all too soon he's back again, serious again, trailing his reddening fingers through the water again.

"Did it hurt? I'm sorry. I was careful, I mean I tried, I used... you know, a
lot
. You wanna see the state of the sheet."

"I

know
the state of the sheet, I slept on the worst of it."

"It's cos you won't relax, though, you were all clammed up like a nun."

"I really don't want to talk about it, thanks."

"You never wanna talk."

"Are you a woman?" He sounds whiny and hates himself for it. "It didn't hurt, I just didn't like it."

"But-"

"And they all lived happily ever after,
the end
."

"Yeah,

but-"

"Bring it up again and I'll kill you."

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"Oh, yeah, I'm well scared of an old naked bloke stewing in the bath.

What're you gonna do, squirt shampoo in my eyes? I could fry you alive with my hairdryer, you wanna be scared of
me
."

He doesn't know what to say to that, so instead he rather childishly resorts to splashing a handful of water in Valentine's face. "You fucking fucker,"

Valentine says, but he's laughing a bit as he gropes for a towel. "Get out the bath."

"What for? I'm having a nice time boiling my flesh off my bones."

"I can't suck your cock if it's underwater."

"I'd quite like to hold your head underwater most of the time." There's a bit of hair falling down over the kid's left eye and he tugs it with his wet fingers until it's a shiny point, all clumped together and sticking to his cheek. "You know, when you're talking. Or near me. Or anything. Make you shut up."

"I'll shut up if I've got your cock in my mouth, won't I? You don't need to get all homicidal on me. Get out the bath."

"This better be worth it," he grumbles, leaning over to pull the plug and standing up out the water. He's very aware of himself, naked and wet with gangly too-long limbs and a bit of a paunch and pale skin all flushed and blotchy from the heat of the water, but Valentine's looking at him like he always looks at him, like he's Adonis. Little freak. He holds his hand out for the towel but instead Valentine slips his own hand into Lindsay's to hold him steady while he steps out the bath and gets to work with the towel himself, going up on tiptoe first to vigorously rub his hair dry and then dragging the towel everywhere else, slowly, starting at the top and working down.

"I'm not five," Lindsay says, staring at the top of the kid's head when he goes down on his knees to dry Lindsay's legs and feet. He looks up and smiles when he's done.

"Who said you were? I'm just helping."

"I wish you wouldn't."

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"Whinge whinge whinge whinge whinge whinge
whinge
. That's what it sounds like every time you open your mouth. Maybe you should suck
me
off, shut you up for a bit." He yelps when Lindsay pulls his hair, and scowls and rubs his head, and mutters, "Alright, back to Plan A, then, bossyboots."

It's bitterly cold back in the bedroom and the contrast from the steamy bathroom is almost painful. There's no frost on the windows any more, but the mountains across the bay are glittering white. Lindsay shivers and goes to get under the covers, not really caring all that much if he's going to get a blowjob or not as long as he can stay warm. He wraps himself up in the duvet and blankets like it's a cocoon, partly to be annoying as well as because his blood's turning to ice, and peeks out at Valentine through the tiniest gap so he can watch him strip off.

"Thought you said you weren't five?" He pokes Lindsay in the ribs, but he can hardly feel it through all the layers. "Let me in, you bastard, I'm freezing, my balls're the size of fucking Tic-Tacs."

He laughs at that and loses his grip on the edge of the covers. Valentine manages to worm in next to him and wraps his limbs around Lindsay's body like a baby sloth. It shouldn't be comfortable but it sort of is. And it's warmer, at least until Valentine pushes the covers back so he won't suffocate when he slides down Lindsay's body, leaving a shining trail of saliva on his skin as he goes.

"I'm cold," Lindsay whines, then smacks Valentine gently round the head when the kid bites the inside of his thigh.

"You

ever

not
complain for more than ten seconds at a time?"

He finds the edge of the crumpled stack of covers and drags them up over the kid's head and up over his own. Now his feet are cold, but it's better.

"Oh, great, smother me to death, why don't you? I can't get you off if I'm dead."

"Maybe I'll just use you anyway. Like Eva Peron and that officer."

"Evita?

You're

such
a queer."

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"I like how you're more bothered with how queer I am than the fact I just threatened to fuck your corpse."

"Oh yeah." He's silent for a second, then he laughs. "You're queer
and
sick, then. Shut up, you're putting me off." He starts licking Lindsay's hardening cock, swirling all around like it's a melting ice cream and he's trying to catch all the drips before they fall. "Love this," he says, removing his mouth and replacing it with his kneading hand so he can talk. "You know that, right? Having it in my mouth. Getting you hard. Love how you taste." He's playing the very tip of his tongue over the very tip now, and it's too dark under the covers to see but Lindsay's pretty sure the kid's looking up at him through his eyelashes in that way he's got. He squirms uncomfortably.

"I'm not interested in your dirtytalk. Get on with it, I've got stuff to do today."

"Have you fuck. You're gonna sit there with the papers pretending to be dead interested in wars and politics and stuff when you're really just sulking about yesterday."

"I'm not sulking."

"You are, though. You don't have to. It can be our secret, I ain't gonna put it on Myspace or nothing. Latest Blog Entry: Hi, world. Breaking news here.

Lindsay Brown takes it up the arse and likes it- mmngh!" The muffled, garbled sort of noise he makes is half a laugh and half surprise, when Lindsay takes his long hair in one hand and his own cock in the other and shoves it back between his lips.

"You said you'd shut up."

He's still laughing when he manages to fight free. "You're so uptight.

You don't have to be embarrassed round me. I like it when you smack me round the face and come in my hair, ain't no room in my life for being embarrassed."

"You're

unbelievable."

"Thanks very much." He's kissing all up and down the shaft now, very 229

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gently. Lindsay suddenly feels like he can't breathe, like they've used all the available air in their little den, and he throws the covers off in a panic.

Goosebumps prickle all over him as the cold air replaces their hot trapped breaths. Valentine's still kissing him.

"Hi," he says again, with a sunny smile, then he spits on his fingertips and circles one around Lindsay's arsehole, looking up at him defiantly like he's daring him to object, and Lindsay drops his head back against the pillow and squeezes his eyes shut in defeat.

"Shit,"

he

mutters.

"Please

don't."

"I

hate

you."

"I love you. I'm gonna try something. Just warning you so's you don't get surprised and kick me in the face or nothing, okay?"

"No." He doesn't know why he bothers speaking at all when he knows it's not going to pierce the kid's selective deafness.

"I'm gonna rim you."

"...Jesus. Never say that again. That's the best moodkiller I've ever heard in my whole life,
ever
."

"Shut up. I ain't done this before. Seen it in porn, though."

"Oh,

because

that's
the same thing as real life. Spray-tans and waxed cracks."

The kid lets out a burst of surprised laughter. "Yeah, well. I love you, arse hair and all. Ain't that romantic?"

"I feel a bit sick, honestly. Don't touch me."

He does, though, licking at the base of his cock and over his balls and down, gently and curiously like he's still trying to decide whether or not this was the best idea. Lindsay holds his breath until he's in pain because he doesn't want the exhalation to sound like an encouraging moan, but that was stupid because

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then it's more like a sob when he finally lets it go.

"I said don't touch me. You know this is basically rape, right?"

"No it ain't. You're such a drama queen. You'd've belted me over the face already if you didn't want it. Just... lie back and think of England, yeah? Or, Wales. Whatever." Valentine's so close Lindsay can feel the hotness of his breath as he's speaking and then, not a second later, the first inquisitive touch of his tongue as the kid shoves his knees up against his chest and gets stuck in.

"Oh god. I want to die."

"Shut up." He sounds faintly annoyed now. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to. Don't it feel nice?"

"I'm never kissing you again."

His tongue squirms its way inside like something alive and slimy.

Lindsay flings his arms over his face, hiding in the crooks of his elbows, because there's a mirror across the room – and while the kid's an idiotic little narcissist and might think it's great to watch the two of them in the undignified throes of passion,
Lindsay
can't think of much worse than the sight of himself folded in half and flailing his legs in the air like a beetle stuck on its back. He decides just to wait there blind and put up with it until Valentine gets bored. He's like a goldfish. Very short attention span. Surely he'll get bored soon.