Read Stockholm Syndrome [01] - Stockholm Syndrome for Free Online Page A

the sudden question is startling, now it's face to face and not over a transatlantic phone call, like they've reached the top of that metaphorical hill and found a sheer endless drop instead of a nice gentle slope downwards. He's gone all wide-eyed and serious. His cheeks are very pink again, but it's not the wind-chill this time. He's radiating heat – his face, his arms, the fingers creeping into Lindsay's hair, the insides of his thighs where they're pressed flush to the outsides of Lindsay's. His cock.
    "Never really thought about it," Lindsay says, pleased that his voice is holding steadier than his thoughts.
    "Can you think about it, then?"
    "What, now?"
    "Can I kiss you while you're thinking about it?"
    Lindsay's eyes flick like a reflex to Valentine's mouth, which the kid apparently takes as a 'yes'. He kisses like he does everything else –
    enthusiastically, no finesse, giggling a bit, fidgety. He stops briefly to remove Lindsay's glasses then he's off again, sucking on Lindsay's tongue, licking round the points of his canines. It's several minutes before he realises Valentine's kissing him and rubbing down against him in time with the music, and then he's laughing too, he can't help himself.
    "Get off me. No, I don't fancy you, we're not thirteen years old."
    "So what do grown-ups say, then?" Valentine's kissing down his cheek now; Lindsay's weirdly glad he bothered to shave this morning, because the people he usually sleeps with aren't that much into snogging like teenagers, and this is really nice, and Valentine doesn't seem like the kind of bloke who'd be quite as passionate with his kissing if he was getting stubble-burn on his chin.
    "Are you attracted to me? Sexually?" He sniggers at that, like he's pleased with 39

    C H A P T E R 3

    himself for saying a dirty word.
    "I won't have sex with you." He will, though. He knows he will, if it comes to it. It just wouldn't do to both be so eager.
    "Okay." He goes back to raining hot, sloppy kisses down onto Lindsay's mouth. "You will next time."
    "What next time? There's not even a this time."
    "So stop kissing me back."
    "Mmm... no, thanks, I don't think I will."
    "Ha." The kid's smiling, kissing him, unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom up as Lindsay tries to navigate the weird way he's wearing his belt – it's slung low around his hips and buckled at the side, held in place by a single loop opposite. He's oddly annoyed that it takes him so long to work it out, so he whips the belt free extra-speedily to compensate. The kid's nuzzling against him like a cat, kissing all down his jaw and neck.
    "I liked the beard," he murmurs, muffled against skin. "Was that just for disguise?"
    "Yeah. The glasses are for real, though."
    "Like them, too." Teeth on his ear and the wet point of a tongue, and Lindsay shivers. "Can I do disguises if I'm in your gang? Can I dye my hair? I hate it blond. Can I get coloured contacts? I always wanted blue eyes. Really, really blue, like it ain't even real. Like a Crayola. Can I do that? It'll be wicked."
    Oh. "I like the green."
    "I'll leave 'em green if you grow the beard back. Deal?"
    "Maybe."
    "I'll get a hat, too. No, lots . Lots of hats."
    "Will you shut up?" More kissing, hands splayed on Valentine's hips, pressing him down. "Question, anyway. What's your real name?"

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    S T O C K H O L M S Y N D R O M E

    He still doesn't know, and of course he's been away all week on business in New York where the news didn't even come close to reaching. It's a sideline, the legitimate stuff – it's got none of the thrills of the bank jobs, but he just refuses to lie to his mum about what he does for a living. Danny and Ty think it's hilarious, that, but then they're berks. He's got no idea whether this shit's hit the papers. He supposes it must have done. He could find out the kid's real name in a second just by stopping at a garage and flicking through the Sun, but that sort of feels like cheating.
    "I told you."
    "You told me a name."