Stockholm Syndrome 3 - No Beginning, No End by Richard Rider Page A

would be in it."
    "We can get a dog if you want. We can get a butch manly one so you wouldn't be embarrassed walking it, I wouldn't make you get a chihuahua or nothing. We can get a newfie. How come we ain't got no limes?" He finds a Jif lemon in the cupboard and squeezes half of that into the bottle instead, ignoring Lindsay's raised-eyebrow stare and muttered that's disgusting . "We could get a cavalier like Dory's, they ain't manly but they ain't girly ."
"We're not getting a dog. Sit down."
    He does as he's told, trying not to laugh while Lindsay fetches him the plate of bangers and mash that's been waiting in the oven. "I like you in housewife mode. Fussing round getting a nice hot dinner on the table for your breadwinner when he's done at work."
    "Shut your face. I'd earn more sitting on my arse and letting interest build up for one minute than you make working in a whole year." He's not really annoyed, Pip can read his moods like a book. It's even more obvious when he doesn't go back to his seat but pulls out the one right beside Pip and starts playing with his hair as he eats. "Your hair's wet."
    "Yeah, genius, it's raining out."
"It's going all... frizzy."
"I'm sorry I'm so repellent to look at. Leave off, alright?"
    "Did you have a good day? Tell me what you did." Lindsay shuffles his chair a tiny bit closer, as close together as they can get, and keeps on stroking Pip's hair back off his face so he can lean in and press a little line of kisses on his cheek, from his jaw up just in front of his ear. It's still tender from the tragus piercing he got last week, but not sore-tender – more like sensitive-tender, and the kisses and the heat of Lindsay's whiskey breath and the tickle of his beard make Pip shiver, a surge of goosebumps rushing through his body. He can't help laughing, shaky and breathless.
"You're bored, ain't you?" "Can't think what gave you that idea," Lindsay murmurs, pulling bits of drizzle-dotted hair between his fingertips to squeegee off the rain.
    "You're meant to have a nice time on your day off. Lounge round in your pants all day eating Frosties out the box and playing Nintendo, that's what days off are for ."
"I'm not bored, just pleased to see you."
     
"I could get used to this, being worshipped. You could let me finish my dinner first, though."
    "Charming." He finally moves away, resting the side of his face against his curled fingers and his elbow on the table, watching Pip eat like he's in a zoo. Bit off-putting. Lindsay's cheeks are very faintly flushed from drink. Whiskey always slows him down, makes him lazy and affectionate, so unlike his usual self. Best taking advantage of it while it's on offer.
    "Come upstairs," Pip says. His chair scrapes on the floor when he pushes it back to stand up. Lindsay stays where he is, propped up on his arm, smiling with half his mouth like he's still a bit asleep.
    "Whatever for?"
"You're a dirty old man. I just wanna show you something." "I bet you do."
    "Come on." He slides their fingers together, leading Lindsay by his hand like a child and picking up his bag from the foot of the stairs as they pass. There's a filthy little germ of a thought that lives in his brain, always just waiting for the right time to emerge and casually suggest a replay of that one uncomfortable switcharound all those years ago. The right time never seemed to come, there was never a time Lindsay was drunk and Pip wasn't, not until now...
He takes Lindsay into the living room instead. That can wait, but this can't.
    "I have to show you this thing I got today."
"Alright."
    He expects Lindsay to take his favourite armchair like he always does, but he tugs on their still-linked hands and goes to sit on the smallest couch instead, bringing Pip with him and only letting his hand go so he can wrap both arms around and cuddle him like a teddy bear. Pip's laughing again, he can't control it. It's not to mock but just because he's overwhelmed and happy. Lindsay's never like this, he's