The Offer
by Wrestlr
10.
When Jack burst out of his room, fully dressed now except for his thin coat still hanging in the foyer, from the top of the stairs he saw Dylan and Ike huddled in conference. Dylan was still dressed for the frigid weather, coat on, though he had already shed his snow-covered boots. They looked up as Jack trampled down the stairs.
Dylan pushed a grocery bag at Ike and intercepted Jack at the foot of the stairs, blocking his way with one hand on the rail and the other against the wall. Dylan asked, “Where are you going?”
“Well, I was going to the police station to find you.”
“I’m not working today. I have the day off after that double shift yesterday. I’m gonna watch the game on television with the guys. I went to the grocery store for healthy snacks. You know the kind of crap these guys eat. I wanted to make sure there’s things I can eat too.”
Jack tried to push past, but Dylan’s hand on the rail never shifted. “Uhm, you can let me by.”
“No. Not ’til you talk to me, Jack.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
“No, but I want you to stay. You’re entitled to another night, and you don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“He had no right to film me—us—I didn’t—He had no fucking right—”
Dylan’s interruption was quiet. “Look, Jack, I wanted more than anything for your first time to be special. I know you wanted it to be with me, and believe me, I’m honored. And if I hadn’t been so exhausted last night, I’d have tried everything in my power to give you the best first time possible. But ... Well, shit happens. Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want, and all I can say is I’m sorry, and I want you to stay.”
“He—I—”
“Oh, for the love of—” Ike pushed his way under Dylan’s arm and confronted Jack. “Listen, baby, Dylan’s right. You know he is. Sometimes something happens and you just have to live with it. You just gotta put one foot in front of the other until you get past it. You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing. None of us want you to be upset, and I bet you don’t really want it either. It’s easy to calm down. Just take a second. Take a deep breath”—Ike inflated his chest so Jack would follow along—“and close your eyes, and imagine yourself taking that first step on the trail into that peaceful forest you know so well. You know how easy it is.”
“Ike ...,” Dylan growled.
Jack blinked. Fuck! he swore at himself. He had almost done exactly what Ike said—had almost imagined himself taking that first step and felt a little downward tug on his thoughts. If he had taken that step along the path in his imagination, he would not have stopped. He pushed Ike away and ran back up the stairs, the only thing that he could think of to do.
He heard Dylan say, “Let him go,” as Jack reached the top and sprinted to his room.
His door had no lock, but Jack pushed the dresser and chair in front to barricade himself in. He balled himself on the bed and tried to think of a way out, someplace he could go. Anywhere but there. Maybe Dylan would come with him—they could leave together. Dylan would have some cash—they could get bus tickets to Jack’s distant cousin in another city. Maybe the cousin would let them stay until he and Dylan could find jobs. Or maybe Dylan had some savings and they could get an apartment. All of his plans involved Dylan agreeing to leave with him.
Dylan knocked on his door. “Jack? You okay in there? I’m sorry about Ike. You want to talk?”
Jack did not answer. Dylan eventually walked away.
Dylan returned later. “Jack? Ike’s really sorry. Me too. You want to come watch the game with us? It’s starting soon.” Dylan waited, but Jack’s only response was to clamp his eyes tighter. “Well ... okay. Come join us if you want. I got some of those cheese puffs you like.”
Moping isn’t getting me anywhere, Jack thought. While he was not much of a sports fan, in spite of his father requiring him to play sports before withdrawing him from school, Jack decided he would not mind watching the game with the others. Maybe he could get Dylan alone later, tell him his plan, convince Dylan to leave with him. After Jack’s outbursts, Dylan probably thought he was a petulant child. Spending time watching the game with them would prove Jack was mature, was making a good decision—the right decision. Dylan would have to see that. Dylan would have to leave with him.
Jack pushed his makeshift barricade away from the door. His socked feet made little sound as he walked down the hall. He heard the other men in the living room below yelling their disappointment as a player on television bungled a play.
He looked over the railing at them—Dylan, Jeff, and Greg on the couch, Ike in an adjoining chair. He liked these guys ... Maybe he should stay? Maybe Dylan was right and this was all a big misunderstanding. No—no, leaving was the right decision. The Doctor’s offer came with too many catches. If the other guys did not see that, Jack suspected he could say nothing to convince them, but he and Dylan had to leave.
The guys were hooting, and Jeff bellowed, “Oh, you fucker,” at the screen and threw a handful of the popcorn he was in the process of chewing. Ike kicked him and threatened to withhold dinners for a week unless Jeff cleaned up his mess after the game. Everybody laughed. Jack watched them from the top of the stair. He caught himself grinning; their horseplay was infectious.
The Doctor walked into the room. “Where’s Jack?”
“New dude’s upstairs being all pouty and stuff,” Jeff said around his latest half-chewed mouthful of popcorn.
The Doctor said, “Ah. Well, I can work with just the four of you.” He picked up one of the remote controls, pointed it toward the television and poked a few buttons.
Greg asked, “What’re you doing?”
“Recording the game for you. It’ll be waiting when you’re done. Right now, though, it’s time for your session.”
Greg said, “But—”
“It’s time for your session,” the Doctor said firmly. “You can watch the game later.”
“Yes, sir,” Greg and Jeff said as they and Ike stood up.
Yes, Jack thought, I should go downstairs for my session.
He caught himself just before his foot would have descended onto the first stair step. What am I doing? he swore at himself. Wait—what had Ike said through the door that morning when Jack wanted to sleep in? It’s time for your session. That had been when Jack realized he needed to go downstairs for his daily meeting with the Doctor? Session. The Doctor must have built some sort of post-hypnotic suggestion into that word, a compulsion.
Downstairs, Dylan said, “But I already ... this morning ...”
“A virile young man like you can easily handle more than one session per day, Dylan. You know that. In fact, you like having more than one session per day, don’t you. You want to be part of this session too, don’t you.” This was not a question.
Dylan stood. “Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. Now come with me.”
Jack held back and watched. They walked toward the Doctor’s office. Jack waited—one minute, two—then crept down the stairs.
The door to the Doctor’s office was not shut completely. Jack peeked through the opening. The office light was on, but the office was empty. He heard voices from deeper inside. He crept across the office in his sock-feet. The opposite door was open. He remembered the four-part room. He knelt and edged his eye around the corner. In the quadrant done up like a locker room, Jeff, Greg, and Dylan wore blue and white basketball uniforms. Ike walked over, wearing a similar red and yellow uniform.
Based on what they were saying for the camera—Jack had a brief flash of it as a bird’s face, but told himself, forced himself to see it as, what it really was: a camera—the scene being enacted was basic. The guys in blue and white were part of the team that had just lost the big game to Ike’s team. Ike played a member of the winning team who unfortunately had chosen a locker too close to the losing team’s.
Jeff, Greg, and Dylan closed in around Ike, giving him grief over some foul that the referee had not caught and how it cost them the game. Ike was pushed back against the lockers.
“We should teach this cocksucker a lesson!” Jeff yelled.
“Yeah!” Greg hollered.
Ike put up a struggle that looked real at first and fake toward the end, and the others soon had him on his knees, his mouth first in the crotch of Greg’s shorts, then Jeff’s. Ike mouthed their erections through the material. Shirts came off, then shoes and socks and shorts and jockstraps. Cocks poked into Ike’s mouth—Greg’s, then Jeff’s, then Dylan’s.
Four naked bodies shifted, and Ike was on the locker room bench, on his back with his legs in the air. Greg and Dylan stroked themselves while Jeff fed his erection into Ike’s ass.
“Teach this fucker a lesson. Yeah! Fuckin’ teach his ass a lesson!” Greg snarled. He grabbed Ike’s head and pushed his dick into Ike’s mouth.
Greg and Jeff fucked Ike from both ends, while Dylan stood alongside and watched and stroked himself. Jack hoped Dylan was not joining in directly because he was being faithful to Jack, but that fantasy ended when Dylan pushed Greg out of the way and stuffed his dick into Ike’s gaping mouth.
Jack found himself erect, his cock stiff like steel in his jeans. He told himself it was the sex. Four hot guys having sex would make anyone hard, he decided, even if the four guys were not doing it of their own free will. He slowly, quietly unzipped his jeans and fished out his erection. He stroked it while he watched.
Greg, fucking Ike’s ass now, pulled out his cock and yanked off the condom with a snap and fast-jacked himself. His cum spurted out across Ike’s chest. Dylan pulled out of Ike’s mouth and grumbled deep in his chest and fired his load across Ike’s face and chest too.
Bodies moved. Greg and Dylan leaned against the lockers in the background, kissing and slowly exploring each others’ chests. Jeff bent over the bench, masturbating while Ike buried his face between Jeff’s ass cheeks. Rimming, Jack realized. He has seen it done in some porn scenes he downloaded, but had never thought he would see it in real life. Did guys really like having their tongues up other guys’ asses? It seemed dirty, but somehow fascinating too. Jack decided maybe he would like to try it sometime, if Dylan was into it.
Minutes later Ike was fucking Jeff doggy-style, while Jeff jerked himself off. Watching them, Jack felt his orgasm build. He bit his lower lip, an old trick to ensure he would climax quietly, and cupped one hand in front of his cockhead, ready, as he jacked with the other. He slowed down, not wanting to cum while there was still more to see.
Ike pulled out and came on Jeff’s back and ass cheek for the camera. Jeff rolled out on the bench on his back, and fisted his cock quickly. He gasped and shot his cum across his own chest.
Jack came too and caught his cum in the palm of his hand. He was practiced at leaving no evidence. He’d have to tuck away his softening penis and zip up later—first, he had to back out of there before somebody saw him.