The Offer
by Wrestlr
3.
Ike intercepted Jack moments after he left the Doctor’s study. Jack wondered if Ike had been waiting for him, then decided that of course he had been. The Doctor said he had spoken with Ike about Jack; Ike had to know what was going on.
“So don’t keep me in suspense, baby. Did he make you The Offer?”
Jack nodded. “Uh huh.”
“Did you say yes?”
Jack shrugged. “He told me to think about it overnight and give him my answer tomorrow by noon.” Then he added, to make sure the Doctor had told Ike the most important part: “He said I could stay another night”—and then, because he did not want to seem ungrateful—“and I should ask if you need help with the chores?”
Ike nodded, still smiling, unsurprised. “Sure, baby. I’ve got some laundry going, and then—”
Jack heard the unmistakable sound of a washing machine timer: Ding!
Ike grinned. “Laundry it is.”
Jack nodded. Laundry had been part of his chores before his father evicted him. He could handle laundry.
Jack followed Ike to a utility room. A clothes washer and dryer occupied one area, part appeared devoted to storage, but the part that caught Jack’s attention was a desk with an expensive-looking computer setup with several peripheral devices Jack could not immediately identify. His family’s computer had been much simpler. “Nice,” he said, looking at it.
“Thanks. That’s where I do my video editing work. When I’m not keeping this house running smoothly and making sure everybody gets fed regularly, I do some video editing work for the Doctor’s special projects. It’s like on-the-job training because I’m also in grad school—film studies.”
“Graduate school?” Jack asked.
“Don’t sound so surprised. Yes, all this”—Ike gestured down his body, naked except for his wrist watch and jockstrap—“is more than just a pretty face, excellent pecs, six-pack abs, a perfect butt, and a big dick. I have a brain too, baby.” Ike cocked a lopsided grin, and Jack laughed too.
If he had not met Dylan first, if Dylan were not so gorgeous, Jack might have found himself interested in Ike. But without Dylan, Jack would not have met Ike, would not be standing in this house, clean, fed, rested, alive. Jack decided there was no comparison. Ike was a nice guy, smart, certainly attractive, and gay without seeming obvious about it other than calling him baby, but Jack wanted to see where this attraction to Dylan led. And Dylan had seemed at least a little interested in Jack too. Maybe they could get to know each other, go on a date, become boyfriends.
But Jack was making conversation with Ike right then, not Dylan. He asked, “So why do you call everybody ‘baby’?”
Ike chuckled. “I don’t know—never thought about it. I just do. Always have. Does it bother you? I can call you ‘pumpkin’ instead?”
Jack shook his head. Don’t be a baby, his father’s voice bellowed in Jack’s head. You can’t be a man if you’re always acting like a fucking baby? But his father was not here, would never find him here—or anyplace else. His dad and those rules were safely behind him now. And if his father ever did find him, Dylan could beat him up, or arrest him, keep Jack safe from him. Now, baby was just a word. Jack shook his head again. “I guess it doesn’t bother me.”
“Good,” Ike smiled. He opened the clothes dryer and hauled out a load of clean shirts. Jack saw his own in the pile. “Grab those hangers behind you. I’ll iron. You can handle the hanging and folding. Deal?”
Compared to panhandling on the cold sidewalk all day yesterday for money to buy a burger, another war his pride lost, laundry seemed simple and uncomplicated, domestic. “Deal,” Jack said.
Ike said, “So ... you seem awfully interested in our Officer Dylan.”
Jack froze. Had he been that obvious? What should he say?—deny it, admit it? Was Ike jealous? Jack said, “Uh ...”
“Come on. Dish. Inquiring minds want to know.”
Jack tried, “What ...?”
“Oh, come on. Of course you’re interested in Dylan. First, just look at him. He’s fucking gorgeous. He’s a real sweetheart. Plus, he looks damn fine in his uniform—if you know what I mean.” Ike winked.
Jack was in fact not sure what Ike meant. His interactions with authorities in uniform up until then, especially over the last week, did not make him think they were particularly good-looking as a whole, though he had noted, back before his father shut off their internet access, that men in uniforms were featured heavily in the gay porn scenes he found online.
Ike pulled another shirt off the pile. “Everybody’s smitten with our Officer Dylan. Second, you haven’t once tried to touch my butt—which, as you recall, we’ve already established is perfect in every way.”
Especially since it’s hanging out on full display, Jack thought.
“So obviously the reason must be because someone already stolen your heart. Call Officer Dylan—there’s a four-five-nine in progress!”
Ike grinned. Jack was not sure he got the joke, but he grinned too and looked at the floor.
“Oh, you’re no fun. I want secrets. I want dirt. Have you at least kissed yet? Dylan’s a great kisser, isn’t he?”
Jack felt himself blush. “I—uh—I—” Fuck, stop stammering like a lovesick kid, he swore at himself. “I wouldn’t know. We—I’ve never—”
Ike raised an eyebrow as he passed the freshly ironed shirt to Jack. “You never what? You never kissed a guy?”
Jack took the shirt and shook his head, blushing again. He was glad folding the shirt gave him something to look at other than Ike’s big grin.
“Oh, baby, don’t be nervous. Kissing is easy. You’ll catch on real quick, I bet.”
Jack was afraid for a moment that Ike would volunteer to demonstrate, but he did not.
“Don’t worry, baby. If you’re gonna be immune to my many, many charms, Dylan’s an excellent choice. He’ll teach you all about kissing—and lots of other things too.” Ike winked again, grinning bigger. “And I know from experience, Dylan’s got a nice, big dick. If you’re into that sort of thing. Are you?”
The image of Dylan naked and erect, with a dick like that really big one Dylan saw in a porn video once—Jack blushed more fiercely than before.
Ike seemed neither to notice nor to wait for answer. “I have it on good authority that our Officer Dylan thinks you’re awfully cute too.”
What? Before he could stop himself, Jack blurted. “He thinks I’m cute?”
“Uh huh. Just look at you. You’re adorable. Too bad Dylan stole your heart first.”
Ike’s wrist watch made a sound: Beep!
“Woops. Time for my session with the Doctor. Better not keep him waiting. There’s only three shirts left—can you finish up the ironing? I won’t be long. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator, or watch some television, or there’s a gym in the basement if you want to work out or something. Make yourself at home.”
And then Ike was gone.
Jack finished ironing and folding the last of the shirts. He looked around. That seemed to be the last of the laundry to be done. What next? He eyed Ike’s computer. Maybe Ike would not mind if Jack used it to go online and check his old email account? He still remembered the password, if the account had not been closed after years of inactivity.
He sat down and turned on the computer. It booted and went directly to the desktop. Jack found and started the web browser, and typed in the address for his last email provider. The sign-on screen looked different, but he expected that after several years. He typed in his user name and password. Nervousness tugged his stomach, but the site accepted the information and displayed the welcome screen. All he had to do was click the link to go to his Inbox.
Jack paused. Did he really want to check for messages? His old friends had never tried that hard to contact him. If he got back in touch with them, would they remember him? They had gone on with their lives. And would they do or say something that would get back to his parents? He could not risk his dad learning where to find him. No, he decided, better to let his old friends, like his family, stay safely in the past with his old life. His new life was starting now. He did not want any old fears tainting it. Whether he decided to stay in this house or not, his old life was over and he could not, would not, go back to it.
At loose ends, Jack called up a news site and read the headlines. None of the stories interested him. He did not recognize any of the sites in Ike’s bookmarks list, most of which involved film-making and cooking, and neither of which interested Jack.
He looked around on the computer desktop. He did not recognize most of the application names and decided they must be video editing programs. He knew nothing about video editing and did not want to screw up anything by playing around with the programs, especially since he did not have Ike’s permission to be using the computer.
He found a trove of video files and called one up—G&J Cum Shot Camera 2—because the file name sounded dirty. The scene seemed to be raw footage. A high-definition view of a scrotum filled the screen, then a hand wrapped around an erection, pumping quickly. A man’s voice groaned, “Oh, yeah, fuck my ass!"—too loudly—and Jack fumbled for the volume controls and hit the Mute button.
So Ike likes gay porn, Jack thought, grinning.
Onscreen, the camera kept a tight focus on the crotch-level action, as one man’s hand flogged away at his erect penis—Dick, Jack corrected himself, I can call it a dick now—while a second man’s hips pounded away at his butt. Without sound, the actions seemed surreal to Jack, but his own penis—cock—started to harden. Onscreen, the hand pressed down to the base and the masturbated dick began to shoot out thick strings of seminal fluid—cum—until the last of the man’s load flowed like lava down the fiery head.
Jack grinned at how easily the nasty words came to mind, now that he did not have to be afraid of his father finding him watching gay porn, now that he did not have to fear his father’s frequent backhand slaps—Watch your damn language, boy, show some fucking respect!—that left stinging bruises on his face.
The onscreen fucker pulled out and shed his condom. The camera zoomed in on that dick, as the fucker fisted it over the fucked man’s spent cock and balls, and the fucker ejaculated—shot—onto the fucked’s body.
Jack closed the video and shut down the computer. His erection—hard-on—tented the borrowed sweatpants, too obvious and obscene to be missed if Ike came back. Jack debated whether to sneak upstairs to the guest bedroom to play with himself—jerk off—but decided he could not risk being missed if Ike came back. He needed to cool down, needed to get his mind off sex, and Dylan, and sex with Dylan. The image of Dylan in just his boxers from last night did not help Jack’s problem, nor did the image of Dylan naked and hovering over him from his dream.
He walked back into the kitchen, willing his needy hard-on to subside, which it began to do, so slowly. If he knew which door led to the basement, he could check out the gym setup Ike had mentioned, maybe work off some of his nervous energy. He saw a chores list on the side of the refrigerator. Clean kitchen was on the list for tomorrow. He looked around the kitchen, which he thought looked pretty darned spotless already. He opened the cabinet under the sink: Cleaning supplies, as expected. I can do this, he decided. This would be both something useful he could do and the perfect distraction until his hard-on went away. He reached into the cabinet for the cleaners.