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

Button, zip, open in two blinks. "Real people aren't called Pip Valentine."
    "No, well. I ain't a real person, am I?" He's squirming as Lindsay slides his hand into his jeans, and making these funny noises that are mostly heavy breaths but almost little laughs. "I'm a figment of your imagination. You're having a wet dream. Any minute now you're gonna wake up in a mess and spend the rest of the night all frantic trying to fall asleep again and pick it up where it left off like it's Eastenders, cos I'm the fucking best wet dream you've ever had."
    "Oh, please. Eastenders? I'm a very deep and complex man."
    "I am, too." He absolutely is not; Lindsay's worked his hand right inside Valentine's pants, and the first touch of bare fingers on bare cock makes him whimper and arch, white-knuckled on the steering wheel with one hand and the other pinching hard into Lindsay's shoulder.
    "You are not deep and complex. You're the most 2-D person I've ever met in my life. Miyazaki drew you and threw you straight on the scrap pile because you look too anime."
    "Wow." The kid sits there in contemplative silence for a bit, then turns his smile up like the Blackpool Illuminations and lets Lindsay's shoulder go so he can slip his hand up the side of his neck and wind bits of his hair around his fingers instead. It's strange gesture, Lindsay thinks – even more intimate, somehow, than what he's doing himself, sliding his thumb over the wetness on 41

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    Valentine's cock until he shivers all over from holding a moan back. "You know, that's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me."
    "Well, then, that's a bit depressing."
    "If I'm Miyazaki, you're like a bent James Bond."
    "Oh?"
    "All this... cars and stuff. Guns and disguises. License to thrill."
    Don't laugh, Lindsay tells himself, don't laugh, don't laugh, that was awful, so don't laugh. "Yeah, that's a deal-breaker, that. Take it back or I'm shooting you in the head." Shit, he's laughing. He bends his head to lick a long line up Valentine's neck to cover it, from where his t-shirt starts right up to his ear, and Valentine protests in bubbly giggles just like a girl. "What's so funny?
    You think I'm kidding?"
    " Fuck ," Valentine says when he feels the gun barrel nudging the skin above his throat, but he doesn't sound scared or angry; he sounds like he means what he says.
    "Want to hear a secret?"
    His mouth's open, just slightly, and his breathing is noisy. His chest's going like mad. He looks like a heroine off the front of a Mills & Boon romance, all slack wet lips and flush-stained cheeks. "Yes please."
    "I've never actually shot anybody."
    The kid's eyes stutter closed, and he sort of smiles. "You're like a virgin.
    I'll be your first time." Slowly, slowly he moves his head back so the gun stops pressing into the soft underside of his chin. Lindsay doesn't move his hand, he just waits to see what he's doing; his breath lodges in his throat when Valentine bumps his nose on the cool metal and then, eyes still closed, takes the end of the gun in his mouth. Of course it's suggestive. Everything the little twat does is suggestive.
    He tugs on Valentine's t-shirt until he kneels up, and with his free hand he sets about pulling his jeans down his skinny thighs, just enough. It's incredible

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    how hard he is. The kid's crooked teeth clack noisily against the gun barrel when Lindsay's fingers wrap round his cock. He glances back at the kid's face; his eyebrows are drawn together and there's a tiny bubble of spit at the corner of his lips, smearing against the metal. His eyes are open – begging, but not for his life.
    Less than a dozen strokes and it's finished, he's whimpering around the gun barrel and coming hot and hard over Lindsay's hand. Lindsay bends to kiss the goosebumps erupting on his bare arm, and the kid takes a shaky breath and smiles, moving back off the gun.
    "So that's being held at gunpoint, is it?" he says. "I don't know