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Looking back, he probably should have pinpointed this as the moment the real Jack showed himself. Not simply quarantining the scientists, or even trying to determine what was really going on first. He just hit the airlock release, and they were gone.
Except Gladstone. He hung onto one of the metal panes of the window for his life, and just as Tim thought he might be able to outlast Jack's impatience, debris cracked against the window and all that was left was blood.
His stomach turns when Gladstone is there one moment and gone between blinks. He feels entirely sick when Jack mutters something about it having felt good.
He acts like nothing happened, continuing to give orders to the six of them and Roland and Lilith. Once Tim is almost out the door, though, headed for the Eye, Jack calls him back.
He isn't comfortable with the tone Jack's got when he barks across the room, "One more thing", like he's ‘just remembered’ something, but the edge of excitement in his tone gives him away.
Tim turns around, staying by the door, but when Jack dismisses the rest of them for a little while to leave him and his double alone, he starts walking back to Jack's desk.
This can't be good.
Not like he’s got any choice, though,
Jack says nothing else until Roland and Lilith are on the other side of the door and the door has hissed shut. Then he grins.
"Come here."
Tim is already at Jack's desk, but he doesn't seem satisfied.
"Come here," Jack repeats, voice sharpened with impatience. Disdain from Tim’s disobedience, maybe.
Tim walks around the desk until he's at Jack's side, awkwardly alternating between looking down at Jack and looking off to the side, out the window behind him.
"Why don’t you hop on my lap real quick?" Jack asks, casually, like he’s just commenting on the weather.
Tim doesn't move, just turns bright red and swallows.
"What do you mean?" It's no louder than a whisper, and to buy him time more than anything. He knows what Jack means.
"I mean," Jack snaps, grabbing Tim by the holster at his hip, "Get up here." Jack tugs him forward suddenly, catches him off balance — manages to get Tim to fall with his back to his chest with little enough maneuvering.
He squirms, but doesn't try too hard to get away. Maybe it’s nothing! Maybe... Maybe Jack just wants him to sit on his lap for a little bit.
Jack's hands smooth over Tim's thighs, and Tim lets him spread them out over his knees when his hands get a little more forceful.
It’s definitely not nothing.
"That was exciting," Jack says casually. His hands press higher between his thighs, and Tim hopes this isn't going where he thinks it is. "Didn't it feel good, being able to dispose of someone with the press of a button?"
Tim doesn't say anything, even if he’s letting himself settle into his lap like a dog. ‘Dispose of’, like the scientists who Jack had personally vouched for maybe two hours earlier were nothing but trash. ‘Dispose of’.
Jack's hand starts rubbing him through his pants, rough and careless, more ‘pay attention to what I’m saying’ than trying to get him anywhere.
Of course that’s where it was going.
"Sweetheart, you've gotta remember you’re me now. And I thought it felt good."
Tim can feel Jack's dick under him; as calm as his voice is now, quiet against the back of Tim’s neck and deceptively sweet at the moment, Tim knows there’s only a couple directions Jack goes in. Everything leads to sex, money, or murder, one way or the other.
"So,” he starts again, “Tell me if it felt good, Jack."
Jack’s hand squeezes more deliberately, and Tim would give anything to be soft right now. He’d take all the college debt back, go through days of surgery again, anything to not, on some level, be enjoying this.
"It felt good," Tim lies through gritted teeth.
Jack starts mouthing at his neck, and Tim’s breath shakes out in a sigh he can’t stop.
"Yeah?" Jack asks, expecting more. Expecting detail, apparently. His hands go for Tim's belt.
“Yeah,” Tim sighs, lying again. He’s getting better at that.
Jack’s mouth moves to the side of his neck, pressing up and behind his ear, muttering even lower against his skin.
“Go on,” Jack says, too much breath in it now. He’s pulling Tim’s dick out of his pants, a little more finesse when he strokes it but slower and lighter now. “How’d it feel?”
Tim swallows. He’s lied to Jack before, he can lie now too.
“Really good,” he says instead. “So good.”
“Yeah?” Jack asks again.
Tim nods (mistake, because he can feel Jack’s mouth move against his neck when he does) and rocks his hips into the feeling of Jack’s hand.
“S-so good,” he stutters out. “Really good.”
“Mm,” Jack hums, and keeps going.
Tim hardly realizes how warm and fuzzy around the edges things are getting until Jack stops and pushes at his hips, making him briefly stand again. He hears shuffling, and when his hips are brought back down, he feels Jack’s dick at the base of his spine, tip wet and the length of it heating his skin where it presses.
Tim shudders.
"You are so attractive when you squirm, Jack," falls against his skin, and as much as he hates giving in to what this asshole wants, he doesn't have much of a choice.
Jack hasn't gone back to touching him yet, his hands instead wandering up Tim's shirt and running over his ribs. His fingernails scrape down Tim's sides, hard enough to redden the skin but not enough to really hurt him, and Tim's exhale shakes.
"And such a good boy, doing what you're told," he continues. The praise sounds genuine, and for a moment, Tim forgets he isn't getting felt up by a man getting off to murder.
Jack’s hand wraps around Tim’s cock again and Tim bites back a noise.
It’s good. He hates that it’s good, Jack’s fingers spreading his precum down and his palm sliding up his shaft and teasing him rubbing at the underside of the head, oh, God, it’s not his fault he’s moving his hips with Jack as he ruts up against his ass. He can’t be blamed for it, he’s technically under threat of death, right?
“Oh, God,” gets muttered out loud, and Jack rolls up into him harder.
“That’s it,” Jack purrs behind him, jerking him off a little faster like a reward. “You’re doing great, Jack.”
Tim wants to snap at him and ask if this is just an excuse to hear himself talk or if he’s really so desperate and depraved that he’s getting off talking to himself, but Jack squeezes and his other hand pulls Tim’s hips down more and it’s — it’s all getting to be too much.
“Jack,” Tim breathes, helpless in his hands. “I’m not gonna — I’m —”
“It’s okay,” Jack breathes back, stroking him with even more determination. “You want to cum? Make a mess of yourself?”
Tim swallows back the yes he wants to moan.
“Yes, please,” he shakes out, forcibly even despite the obvious tremor in his voice.
“Go on, then,” Jack sneers. “Can’t even last long enough for me to fuck you, huh? Little bitch.”
Tim would retort, but Jack has stopped focusing on his hips and put everything into jerking him off, and it’s — it’s not his fault, okay, he can’t — it isn’t —
“Fuck,” Tim finally moans. His knees try to press together and only succeed in squeezing Jack’s legs under him as he cums, onto his shirt and thighs and dripping over Jack’s knuckles and oozing between his loosened fingers.
He could be seeing stars, or it could just be the reflection of space behind them bouncing off of Jack’s shiny desk.
“Good, good boy,” Jack laughs, wiping his hand off on Tim’s shirt. “Now, stay still for me, okay?”
Tim doesn’t get the chance to agree or nod before both of Jack’s hands are on his hips, nails digging into his skin. He presses hard enough and close enough to part Tim’s cheeks and squeeze his cock in between, and with Tim wilting forward and having to prop his hands on Jack’s desk, it feels like Jack is really, truly fucking him.
“When this is over,” Jack grunts, “when we have more time, I’m going to really give it to you,” he promises. “Bend you over this desk properly and see how much better your ass feels when I can cum inside it.”
Tim swallows back a whimper. His stomach turns at the idea of Jack fucking him and cumming inside him, but it’s not like he has a choice in the matter. He belongs to Jack.
There’s thankfully little more talking between Jack promising to fuck him and Jack finishing over his ass; he grunts, and his breath picks up, and Tim can tell when he’s about to go off because the coordination in rolling Tim’s hips stutters and stops in favor of fucking against him as roughly as possible.
“Jack,” he moans when he cums, striping hot over Tim’s ass and lower back and sliding down his thighs, seeping between his cheeks insidiously. Tim would laugh at him if he were less pathetic.
His office is near-silent for a minute, as they both breathe and come down from two very different orgasms.
“Alright, princess,” Jack eventually says. He smacks Tim on one ass cheek to punctuate it. “Clean yourself up and get back out there.”
Tim could scoff.
“Yes, sir,” he says instead, like the little bitch he is.
This is just great. Great contract.
Ugh.