Read Online Stockholm Syndrome 2- 17 Black and 29 Red by Richard Rider - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Rider
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his and that isn't helping at all.
"Get off," he tries to say, but it comes out in an incomprehensible mumble. Olly mumbles something back, just as unclear, and nestles in closer with his arm over Pip's waist and his face lost somewhere in Pip's messy hair. He feels lips press gently against the back of his neck, Olly's morning-hard cock sliding against his arse...
"Oh shit, it's you," Olly says, a sleepy little mutter right against Pip's ear so the breath tickles and makes him shiver. "Sorry. Serves you right. You shouldn't use girly shampoo, you smell like one."
"Sorry." He bites his lip to hold back a protest when Olly shifts away a little bit, trying to resist the urge to follow him and nudge their curves back together like spoons in a drawer. "Morning glory, innit? Nothing to worry about."
"I need a piss."
"Not in bed you don't, get up."
Olly laughs and staggers to the bathroom wearing only his boxers. Pip's feeling too lazy to move at all so he stays where he is, pressing his face into the pillow to make the inside of his head as dark as possible. He's not expecting to be disturbed again because usually when Olly gets out of bed he's out for good. There's always something that needs doing, screaming fights that need breaking up or breakfast that needs making or whatever, but now Pip hears the flush of the toilet and the tap running, footsteps on the carpet again, and then he feels the lurch of the mattress when Olly gets back in bed behind him.
"Ain't even six-thirty yet, what kind of fucking time is that to be up?"
"Really? Shit, I thought I was tired. Shut up, lemme sleep."
He rolls over onto his back, scrubbing at both eyes with his fingertips. They feel filthy, crummy with last night's make-up and sweat. He feels filthy all over, disgusting and grimy from dancing all night and not showering before bed. If it's already this hot this early, the day is going to be unbearable. He's just trying to decide whether it'll be cooler to kick the tangled sheet away from where it's wrapped round his calves or save the energy and just leave it there when Olly clears his throat gently and says, "You know you got a bit of a tent going on there, mate?"
"So? So did you." He turns back over onto his side anyway. He's not exactly embarrassed - they've known each other long enough not to be embarrassed by anything any more - but it's only polite. "I was having a wicked dream."
"You slag."
Pip's wide awake now, still so tired he could die but suddenly not at all sleepy. It feels like before, years ago, sharing beds as teenagers when they stayed over at each other's houses, only this time Olly knows he's lying there breathless and hard. He was always asleep before. It was like this massive guilty secret. Sometimes Pip would lie like this, his back to Olly's warm sleeping body so he could spin out late-night fantasies about him maybe waking up and touching him, furtively from behind because not looking makes it less bent or something. Sometimes he'd go further, carefully shuffling back until they were touching, and he'd go to sleep like that and pretend it happened accidentally in the night while they were both passed out. A couple of times Pip turned over and stayed there for ages like a creeper just watching Olly sleep, sometimes sharing his pillow, sometimes touching his hair or gently holding his hand. One time he kissed him, but Sleeping Beauty didn't wake up. Thank god. All those years of wanting it and it only ever happened in stupid games of truth or dare, or because boys kissing boys made girls at parties giggle and swoon. The one time it went too far when they didn't have anything to blame, Olly punched him and split his lip. Even that wasn't enough to put him off, not really. It dimmed when he met Lindsay, but it's crept back now and he didn't even realise. Funny how not-awkward it feels. Maybe that's the tiredness. It all feels woozy and slow, like it's a dream. He can feel Olly's knee nudging at the back of his,
"Get off," he tries to say, but it comes out in an incomprehensible mumble. Olly mumbles something back, just as unclear, and nestles in closer with his arm over Pip's waist and his face lost somewhere in Pip's messy hair. He feels lips press gently against the back of his neck, Olly's morning-hard cock sliding against his arse...
"Oh shit, it's you," Olly says, a sleepy little mutter right against Pip's ear so the breath tickles and makes him shiver. "Sorry. Serves you right. You shouldn't use girly shampoo, you smell like one."
"Sorry." He bites his lip to hold back a protest when Olly shifts away a little bit, trying to resist the urge to follow him and nudge their curves back together like spoons in a drawer. "Morning glory, innit? Nothing to worry about."
"I need a piss."
"Not in bed you don't, get up."
Olly laughs and staggers to the bathroom wearing only his boxers. Pip's feeling too lazy to move at all so he stays where he is, pressing his face into the pillow to make the inside of his head as dark as possible. He's not expecting to be disturbed again because usually when Olly gets out of bed he's out for good. There's always something that needs doing, screaming fights that need breaking up or breakfast that needs making or whatever, but now Pip hears the flush of the toilet and the tap running, footsteps on the carpet again, and then he feels the lurch of the mattress when Olly gets back in bed behind him.
"Ain't even six-thirty yet, what kind of fucking time is that to be up?"
"Really? Shit, I thought I was tired. Shut up, lemme sleep."
He rolls over onto his back, scrubbing at both eyes with his fingertips. They feel filthy, crummy with last night's make-up and sweat. He feels filthy all over, disgusting and grimy from dancing all night and not showering before bed. If it's already this hot this early, the day is going to be unbearable. He's just trying to decide whether it'll be cooler to kick the tangled sheet away from where it's wrapped round his calves or save the energy and just leave it there when Olly clears his throat gently and says, "You know you got a bit of a tent going on there, mate?"
"So? So did you." He turns back over onto his side anyway. He's not exactly embarrassed - they've known each other long enough not to be embarrassed by anything any more - but it's only polite. "I was having a wicked dream."
"You slag."
Pip's wide awake now, still so tired he could die but suddenly not at all sleepy. It feels like before, years ago, sharing beds as teenagers when they stayed over at each other's houses, only this time Olly knows he's lying there breathless and hard. He was always asleep before. It was like this massive guilty secret. Sometimes Pip would lie like this, his back to Olly's warm sleeping body so he could spin out late-night fantasies about him maybe waking up and touching him, furtively from behind because not looking makes it less bent or something. Sometimes he'd go further, carefully shuffling back until they were touching, and he'd go to sleep like that and pretend it happened accidentally in the night while they were both passed out. A couple of times Pip turned over and stayed there for ages like a creeper just watching Olly sleep, sometimes sharing his pillow, sometimes touching his hair or gently holding his hand. One time he kissed him, but Sleeping Beauty didn't wake up. Thank god. All those years of wanting it and it only ever happened in stupid games of truth or dare, or because boys kissing boys made girls at parties giggle and swoon. The one time it went too far when they didn't have anything to blame, Olly punched him and split his lip. Even that wasn't enough to put him off, not really. It dimmed when he met Lindsay, but it's crept back now and he didn't even realise. Funny how not-awkward it feels. Maybe that's the tiredness. It all feels woozy and slow, like it's a dream. He can feel Olly's knee nudging at the back of his,
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