Housepest 11

Joe sat at the kitchen table in his uniform pants, belt, and boots with a tank top on his upper half. He was waiting for breakfast with pavlovian anticipation, seething into a newspaper while Jim attempted to cobble a decent meal together. Only the disruptive, clanking slam of the fridge tore the man's dark eyes away from the morning news.

"You are out of food," the blond haired man complained. He wore nothing but his underpants and socks as he went up on his toes to open the top cupboards and stare at the empty containers. He yanked out a near-empty box of crackers and sighed, shifting things around testily and uselessly.

Finally he blew the dust off the top off the top of an oatmeal container from above the fridge and stooped to drag a pan out from under the stove. "This is going to be a really boring breakfast," Jim threatened as he held the pan under the faucet, "and there's only enough for each of us to have some. You're going to have to give me some credits so I can go to the store."

"No," Dredd said, his eyes falling back to the newsprint in his hands.

Jim stirred the oatmeal over the stove and stewed in silence for a few long seconds before he turned his head to glare at the muscled judge. "What am I supposed to eat while you are gone all day?" he posed the question with righteous indignation in his voice, the stirring spoon scraping along the bottom of the pan continuously. "Huh, Joe?"

Shifting in annoyance, Dredd met Jim's eyes once again. "I'll take you shopping tonight after my shift, pest," he returned to his reading, ignoring the noisy anger that Jim expressed by slamming the pot around and clambering two bowls from the cupboard.

When Jim set the oatmeal down in front of Joe, the spoon the clanged against the edge of the bowl. "We don't have anything sweet to add to it," Jim huffed, plopping his underwear-clad behind into his chair and stirring at his own porridge with a sneer, "Not even milk."

Joe lifted a heaped spoonful to his mouth and swallowed it down, enjoying the warmth. Jim waited for him to make a displeased face at the cardboard taste of the oats but it never came. In fact, Joe seemed to enjoy the gruel.

Jim stuck a spoonful in his own mouth and frowned. It was just on the other side of too hot and it tasted like the box it came in. He pushed the bowl away rested his head on his arms against the table with a sad push of breath.

"Eat, Pest," Joe said, nudging the bowl at him.

"Please?" Jim begged, lifting his head enough to look at Joe. When the big man continued to read undisturbed, Jim reached over and snatched the paper from Joe's grip and clutched it to his chest, scrunching it into a wrinkled mess. "Please, Joe? Let me go grocery shopping today. I wanna prove to you that I'm good for something around here."

Dredd took another bite of his oatmeal which was almost gone already. He swallowed thickly and held out his hand for the newspaper back. Jim gave him a tepid look and made no motion to hand it back. "Jim…" Dredd said and it sounded like a cross between a question and a warning.

"I know stealing the book last night was bad but I am asking for credits. You said yesterday that when I want something I should ask," Jim said, throwing Joe's words back at him. "I'm asking for money so I can buy food for both of us."

Joe breathed out his nose. "Eat your breakfast."

"I can't eat that slop" Jim said, pushing the bowl away with a full pout on his lips. "I'm going back to bed."

Jim dropped the ruined paper on the table, screeched his chair back and stalked toward the bedroom. Joe stood up quickly and hooked Jim's arm, yanking him close and looking down on the kid, "Just groceries?" he asked gruffly, tipping Jim's chin up and looking into his swimming pool eyes. "And no more stealing?" His free hand flexed so close to Jim's side that he felt the heat rising off the kid's naked skin, resisting the urge to grab at the plump behind barely contained by the stretchy cotton underpants. The judge grumbled, "And put some drokking clothes on."

A wide grin grew across Jim's face and he nodded quickly, leaning his hips into Joe seductively. The lawman drew a credit stick from his pocket and checked the balance before placing it in Jim's palm with some hesitation. "I'll have dinner waiting for you and everything," Jim promised, twisting out of Joe's grip and cradling the credit stick in his palm.

Joe shrugged his flak jacket on and pulled on his gloves. Before capping himself off with the helmet, he turned his eyes to Jim. The kid was still in his underwear, his skinny body pasty and on display as he bent over the counter, scribbling a shopping list. "Get beer," Joe said, "And be careful." Despite his self-proclaimed street savvy, Dredd knew the kid was over his head in the city.

"You be safe," Jim countered, looking up from his list with an impish grin. Dredd placed the helmet on his head and sighed, heading out for work later than usual. Jim watched him go

quietly, waiting for the door to shut before rushing to get himself dressed. He jumped into his tight red pants and pulled on a black T-shirt and a striped button-up. He checked himself in the mirror, admiring his ass before toeing into his shoes and jamming the credit stick into his front pocket.

Jim picked up his identity and key cards and fled the apartment happily. He felt electric on the elevator, excited to buy food in the grocery store without worrying about a budget. Jim hadn't ever had this many credits in his whole life.

On his way to the grocery store, he stopped in front of a little book store stuffed into one of the old buildings that nestled between the Starscrapers of the new world. His blond head bobbled at the display window, hot breath fogging the view of the old, brown tomes on display. Toes inverted, hips leaning forward, Jim felt the little, digital credit stick in his pocket pressing into his side, calling to him.

However, he was on a mission to prove himself to Joe so he peeled away from the store window without even going in because he knew his willpower would crumble if he stepped inside. He pushed forward until the massive supermarket came into view. Jim pulled out a cart from the rows, his hands flexing on the metal handle as he pushed through the sliding doors into the big store.

With a growling stomach, Jim grabbed every kind of food that looked good to him and in no time at all, he was leaning his chest into the heaped cart just to get it down the isles. Abandoning his list, Jim was finally able to get his hands on all the cookies and meals that he never could afford before. He was nearly ready to check out when the cart stopped moving altogether.

He pushed against it uselessly and wondered if he had overfilled it with the cases of beer when he heard a familiar laugh and looked up, his face drained of color from fear.

"So it's true," the man on the other side of his cart said in false awe, "I almost didn't believe it when one of my boys said they saw you skipping into this store."

Jim was silent, his eyes darting to the sides in search of an easy escape. Shadows of other men fell around him on all sides and he knew that there was no safe exit.

"Here I thought, all this time, you was rotting in a cube," the man clutched his chest theatrically. "I was so sad and worried about you, Jimmy. Not to mention that I was suffering, too, losing one my cooks and my best bitch in one go."

"I'm…" Jim started to apologize but chewed his lip instead. Roach was a cruel man and Jim had all but forgotten how it made him feel to be around the ruthless drug lord and pimp.

Roach came around the cart and leaned his head in close to Jim, bending his ear with two fingers, waiting to hear what the young blond man had to say. When Jim was silent for too long, the thug grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt and slammed him into an aisle. It rained canned goods down on Jim's blond head painfully as his shoulders rocked the shelves. "Where've you been all this time, you drokking little bastard?" Roach demanded, "Been so much judge activity in the block we've had to relocate. You little snitch. Is that how you got money to buy these fancy new clothes and all this drokking food?"

Jim's mouth hung open uselessly and his jaw worked silently.

"Look at you, dressed like a rich little tart," he said, grabbing at Jim's shirt and ripping it open, sending buttons down both directions of the aisle. Jim gasped at the air. "I bet you got some sugar daddy putting these fancy clothes on you, huh?" Roach punctuated the end of his sentence with a heavy slap to the side of Jim's face with his cupped hand, boxing his ear. "Answer me, Jimmy," he said, smacking his ear again.

Jim howled in pain, a trickle of blood ran from his ear as he winced and tried to protest but Roach moved his hand up to his throat. Roach rocked his face forward, slamming his forehead into Jim's nose, sending blood cascading down his lips. Unable to breath, Jim's hands fumbled desperately over the disheveled shelves until he gripped at a can of recycled munce and slammed it into Roach's head as hard as he could, forcing the man to drop him hard against the tiled floor.

Blood dripped down from Roach's hairline and his lackeys began to advance on Jim but the injured ringleader held out an arm to stop them. Jim gasped for air, light bruises on his neck already forming from the fingers that pressed at his windpipe. "At ease, boys," Roach insisted, "Nobody wants to pay for damaged goods. He's mine, remember that."

Jim coughed for air still as Roach approached slowly, pulling a small but heavy leather sap from his back pocket and looping it around his wrist. Jim shied away from the advancing criminal and squeezed his eyes shut in preparation.

He cracked one eye when he heard a gurgling noise and the hushed sound of horrified murmurs. Towering over him was Roach with his eye bulging out of his head, clawing at his throat while a thick-gloved hand closed around it. A familiar, deep voice informed, "He's not yours anymore."

Jim pulled his legs up to his chest as Judge Dredd informed Roach in a slow, even keel that his crimes were numerous and terrible, and that the sentence was death. When he was finished, the man still twitching in the air, his dark eyes boring into Jim, Joe asked, "How do you plead, creep?"

Roach gurgled in response, about the only thing he could muster. Joe put a fist in the base of his spine, eliciting a sharp hollar from the useless dealer. Then the judge placed the lawgiver at the base of his skull and put a bullet through his head, ending his noisy protest permanently.

The lackeys were in suspended motion for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. One man turned around and ran down the aisle, his sneakers squeaking. Dredd pointed his lawgiver and shot a stun round at the fleeing man who shook and fell to the ground, immobile.

"You're all going to the cubes, twenty years, mandatory," Dredd informed the group, "Put down your weapons and surrender."

The six remaining men glanced nervously at each other for half a second before charging the judge, some with chains and crude weapons, others brandishing guns. A man with a blue mohawk and a fashionable gas mask took the judge headon. Joe took him out swiftly with a bullet to the head. As he hit the ground, his gun clattered from his hand and slid across the floor and came to rest at Jim's foot.

The judge slammed his fist under the chin of another approaching thug, flipping him to the ground and slamming his boot in the middle of his back. A bullet ricocheted off the curve of his helmet and hit a gallon of juice by Jim's head, sending the liquid glugging out of the bottle.

One of the thugs swung a heavy chain that crashed against Joe's back, wrapping around to his stomach. A heavy metal rod rang against the back of his helmet and then again across his shoulders, thudding on the thick body armor. The judge gritted his teeth at the barrage of weapons, grunting as closely discharged bullets thudded dully into his body armor over and over again.

Jim raised the gun in his hands and pointed it at one of the criminals, squeezing the trigger and taking the man out, giving Dredd the opening he needed to swing around and use lawgiver to hastily dispatch the rest. He lifted his fist and growled into the com that he had seven bodies for resyk and one perp for the cubes. Then he turned his gaze to Jim whose arms were still locked, hands around the gun, shaking uncontrollably. There was blood down the side of his face from his right ear and drying on his chin and neck from his nose.

Dredd walked over and put his hand over the top of the gun barrel, taking it from Jim with a careful jerk and tossing it atop the bodies behind him. He swayed slightly as Jim attached himself to his leg. The blond man wrapped his arms around one armored thigh, pressing the side of his face into the leather-clad muscle and squeezing with all this might. The judge paused a moment and sighed before reaching down and pulling Jim to his feet, placing on hand under his chin and inspecting his nose and then his ear with a deep scowl.

"He...he...he ruined my new shirt," Jim stammered, still in shock.

Dredd stared at the kid through his tinted visor in disbelief for a few beats before turning and heading down the aisle to zip the stunned perp lying face down by the dairy freezers, temporarily unable to move. When he returned, he said, "C'mon pest, let's get you home."

Jim smeared at the blood on his face with the hem of his ruined shirt and stood still. "I-I'm sorry, Joe," he squeaked pathetically, his shoulders rounding. His ear ached and he could hear nothing on the left side of his head but a high pitched ringing. Sharp jolts of pain shot down his neck from his ear. He turned his good ear toward Joe, unwilling to admit how hurt he was in an effort to lessen the impact of this epic failure.

Joe put a hand on Jim's shoulder and gave it a squeeze then nodded toward the exit.

Jim was surprised but complaint, still not certain he wasn't in some kind of trouble. However, he felt a little better knowing Joe's seething wasn't at him. He pointed at his massive cart of groceries, somehow unscathed and still upright despite the ordeal.

"We don't need all of that," Joe said, turning his head to scope their surroundings.

"I came here and went through all that bullshit just to get this food," Jim huffed, "I'm not leaving without it." His breath still shook but he turned his bloody face up to Dredd defiantly.

Joe picked through the top of the overburdened cart with a sneer. They'd need a cab to get this home. He had followed Jim to the store on foot. Jim shoved the cart toward the checkout with determination despite his ringing head and bloody face, sniffling.

Joe let him go, setting up a cordon on the aisle where juice and blood and were mingling on the floor. Jim waited for the robot to ring and bag his groceries, his chest constricting painfully from the aftermath, tugging at his ruined clothing in frustration.

After hailing a cab and loading his groceries, Joe climbed into the back seat beside Jim who rubbed at his sore, delicate nose with the heel of his fist. " Rowdy Yates," Jim snapped at the driver and rested his back into the chair. His head hurt from the assault and his neck bore Roach's prints in the shape of black and purple bruises.

Dredd sat watching him as the cabbie drove the very short distance home. Jim broke the awkward silence by saying, "You followed me."

Dredd grunted, halfway between righteous and amused.

"You didn't trust me to shop on my own," Jim huffed as the cab came to a halt in front of their home block and he kicked the door open and stepped out into the road before the big man could answer. Dredd paid the cabbie and followed Jim around to the trunk, gathering the heavy groceries on his arms. With over-loaded arms they made their way to the elevator and up into the apartment.

The bags couldn't fit on the counter, flooding the floor. Jim dug through for perishables first, cursing when he found a bag of melted ice cream, a bullet having pierced the container. "Drokk!" he complained lifting the whole bag into the sink. He ran the water over the sticky, chocolate ooze and kicked at the lower cabinets several times until his foot crashed through the door. He pulled his foot out, the shoe dropping off under the sink, sending him stumbling backwards over the bags on the floor and landing on his ass.

Joe took his helmet off and blinked at the kid who was losing his shit over melted ice cream. Jim rubbed at his neck unpleasantly, still crusted with his own blood, then slammed his elbows back into the cabinets in a furious huff. .

Joe stalked over and hauled Jim up off the floor and dragged him to the bathroom. He sat the pathetic creature on the counter and turned the water on full blast in the sink. Once it was hot, Joe soaked a washrag and rang it out, cleaning off the blood under the kid's nose and under his ear. Jim winced in pain at each tilt of his head but Joe was unperturbed.

"You can't throw a fit when things do work out, pest," Joe said, inspecting Jim's ear in concern.

"What?" Jim asked. Joe was speaking into the bad side of his head.

Joe pulled back and looked at him, eyes searching. "Can you hear out of this ear?"

Jim bit his lip and shook his head slowly.

Joe breathed out a frustrated grumble and put his hands on Jim's shoulders. "Take a shower," he ordered, "and get in bed."

"No," Jim said, slipping off the counter and heading back to the kitchen. He dug through the bags and shoved food into cabinets and the fridge. His stomach was growling and his hands were shaking. He wanted to prove to Dredd that he could be helpful and useful. Instead he nearly died and needed to be saved, again.

"Jim," Joe said, watching the kid's frenzied hands.

"I can't even buy milk without causing you trouble," Jim said, checking the eggs before putting them in the fridge. He slammed the door and went for the next grocery bag.

No longer willing to watch the pathetic creature lurch around the kitchen, Joe grabbed Jim by the shoulders and directed him forcibly to the kitchen table, setting him down in a chair. He put one hand under the kid's chin and lifted it, again checking his busted ear. "Stay put, pest," Joe insisted, talking a little louder so the kid could hear him for sure, "I'm going to make you some food before you get into bed."

The big man poked through the bags on the counter and the floor, looking for something quick. He settled on making the kid an omelet. Jim leaned his head on his folded arms, his aching ear pointed down so he could watch Joe break eggs into a pan and cut vegetables with crude precision. Jim's eyes leaked down into his shirt sleeves and his ear stung. His neck ached and the top of his head throbbed where canned goods had rained down on him.

Joe nudged Jim upright in order to set the plate down in front of him. Jim's stomach growled and he dug into the food with a sore jaw. Joe moved back to the stove and made another plate for himself and sat across from Jim to eat, still in his uniform.

"Were you there the whole time, Joe?" Jim asked, cutting through the silence and letting his fork fall to the empty plate. He leaned his elbows on the table and studied the older man, his bright blue eyes looked raw and tired.

The lawman nodded curtly, taking a sensible bite. He waited patiently for Jim to overreact.

The blond was silent for a while, looking down at his hands. When he looked up, his eyes glittered. "Thanks," he said softly.

Joe looked at him a moment then nodded again.

Jim stood up and went into the bathroom and started the shower. While the kid showered, Joe finished putting away the groceries. The cupboards were overflowing, causing the frustrated man to shove boxes of crackers and jars of peanut butter under the sink. He pulled Jim's shoe out and inspected the hole kicked into the cabinet with a deep sigh.

When he was done, Joe found Jim in bed, the covers pulled up to his neck, curled and brooding, the dried blood no longer matted into his hair. When the bigger man came into the room to grab his helmet, Jim looked at him before letting his eyelids fall shut softly. It figures Joe had to get back out there and patrol the city, now that his incompetent boy was home safe and sound.

When Jim felt Joe slide into the covers beside him, he was almost afraid to turn around and confirm that he wasn't just dreaming. Then a big hand slipped over his naked hip and across his belly, pulling him gently backwards against the hard, warm body.

Jim turned into Joe's arms, resting his forehead into the middle of his chest. Joe slid his palm down Jim's shoulders and back, gripping a generous handful of Jim's backside.

Jim pressed his lips into Joe's chest, rubbing his nose against the hair that grew in a soft patch there. He felt the hand on his ass fall away and a finger probe gently at his sore ear. "M'fine," Jim insisted, his words vibrating into Joe's skin.

"You'll see a doctor tomorrow," Joe informed, brushing his thumb beneath Jim's jaw.

Jim shook his head, which made his ear and neck shoot with pain. "No drokking way," he huffed. He hadn't been to the doctor since he was a kid getting his mandatory vaccination and he wasn't going back.

Dredd said nothing, running a hand through Jim's damp hair. The kid was mistaken if he thought visiting the doctor was optional.

The stress of the day and the heavy warmth of the blankets mixed with Dredd's steady heart rhythm drove Jim steadily toward sleep. He drooled on Joe as he napped, afternoon sunlight burning in through the tiny window and illuminating the dust particles in the air with silver and yellow light.

Joe woke Jim with a squeeze to his shoulder. The kid snoozed like a rock ever since he started sleeping in the lawman's bed. He woke and turned, wincing as his sore ear sent electric, high pitched pain down the side of his neck.

"Still hurtin', Kid," Joe said, it wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Nah," Jim lied, rubbing at the back of his head. The lumps on the top of his head had matured into swollen, painful nodes.

Joe set a pair of pants and a shirt down on the bed next to Jim. "Get dressed," he ordered.

Jim looked unhappily at the clothing. He wasn't in the mood to move, let alone get out of bed. However, he dragged the shirt over his head and slid to the edge of the bed to pull his pants on, all under the steady gaze of the waiting judge.

At the doctor's office, Jim learned that he had a perforated eardrum. It would take three months to heal completely and Jim had to hold still while a patch was laid over his ruptured drum. Then his ear was packed with gauze and taped. The doctor prescribed an oral antibiotic and instructed to keep the ear dry.

Eager to leave, Jim was busy gathering his things while Joe took notes on the kid's care. Despite the pain of the situation, Jim was relieved that Roach would no longer bother him. It was worth the possible loss of hearing in his right ear. However, with Joe watching over him, Jim was fairly certain he'd heal properly and punctually.

When they returned to the apartment, Jim slumped into the kitchen and dropped into a chair, his head thrumming still from his bludgeoning. Joe popped the top on the antibiotic and poured Jim a full glass of water. He took Jim's hand and placed the pill in his palm then held the water out.

Jim tossed the pill in his mouth and drank the water. Pleased with Jim's willingness to comply, Joe pulled him to his feet and wrapped his big arms around the slight shoulders of his injured ward. Jim tilted his head up to kiss at Joe's stubbled jawline.

The fevered hands at his pants startled Joe who took a step back and observed Jim's pinkening lips and heaving chest. Joe stepped forward, scooping Jim up into the air and carried him to the bedroom, setting him down gently on the bed.

Jim watched curiously as Joe pulled slowly out of his gear, setting everything meticulously in its proper place. When turned his attention back to Jim, he helped the kid out of his shirt carefully and let it fall to the floor. Next he worked at Jim's pants, looking up, his tongue sliding over his lips in concentration.

Dredd put a hand on the side of Jim's face and Jim placed his over the top of Joe's. Jim was nestles into the pillows comfortably and his eyes were wet and alive as he observed the larger man who hovered over him.

A surprising blush crept up the neck of the muscled judge. He sat up and peeled delicately at the band of elastic that held Jim's underpants to his lithe hips. When Joe freed the little, pink cock, Jim felt his face burn.

Dipping down, Joe rested his upper lip on the tip of Jim's cock which stirred at the attention. Once he was done inhaling the clean and heady scent, Joe drove his mouth down over the warm member with determination. Jim breathed out hard, his body tensing at the sensation. Joe's hands slid down the kid's chest and rested on each side of his ass, holding at the curve of his backside so he could lift Jim ever so slightly.

Jim's hands ached to yank at Joe's hair. Then he pulled at the pillow around his head. It felt great to have the blood in his pounding head travel to a lower part of his body and Joe, despite his obvious hesitation, seemed to observe and respond to Jim's body language like an expert.

After several minutes of intense pleasure, Jim felt the building pressure in the stem and he moaned, "Jh-jhoe," his teeth raking over his bottom lip, "I'm ghonna…"

Joe pulled his lips away and used his hand to tug at the organ until Jim gasped in released, catching most of the mess on his tummy. While Jim laid back and breathed through the intense orgasm that left his toes curled and his eyes tired, Joe cleaned him up with a tissue and tucked the covers around his chin, leaving him to rest.

While Joe dressed himself for duty, Jim watched through cloudy eyes, sleep threatening overtake him. He couldn't tell if he dreamt the kiss to his forehead in the tender, soft reality between waking and sleeping. Jim's heavy lids closed at the same time the door to the apartment swung shut as Judge Dredd reported for duty.