Taste Test: Gamers

by Gamers (lit)

  Deke was an artist, the genuine article. He had been the one to get curious about where the games came from. Actually, he'd hated playing from the instant he’d realized how limited the range was. Deke had started cussing the games, then the designers behind them, and wanted to know who these sadistic bastards were. Gerry hadn't really understood until then that making games was a job description. Once he had, he’d wanted to join the ranks.

  To Deke, this was merely typical of his love life, but he had done everything he could to help. Together they had formed a plan to make Gerry go from geeked-out waster to a working gamer. Deke had explained that it took nerves of steel to go around living off passion and creativity, but he was living proof it could still be done.

  This place Gerry had found came with a language all its own and values that simply would not translate to the real world. Inside, they simply did not care who he was or where he had come from. All that mattered was his skill, and Gerry was a true believer. It had seemed like the obvious thing, to go pro.

  Under Gerry's hands, the front edge of digital technology offered him access to worlds most people couldn't even pronounce. He knew stories and characters that no librarian had ever dreamed existed. He could flip between universes at will, and had begun to learn how they would obey his commands.

  Gerry hadn't appreciated all the rules Deke had for himself or that playing by them had kept Deke going forward when nobody cared about his art except himself. Their game took place in a drama-free zone, an absolute requirement for them to get anywhere at all with what they were individually trying to do. Physical health was the bare minimum required. Sex was necessary and non-negotiable. It had beaten soap, toothpaste, and chocolate on their unified list of priorities.

  Sex had come in a cold second to fidelity, so they had made a team game of their expectations rather than a competition. Certain tasks had to be completed within a time frame, but how and when was left up to whomever had to get it done. Everything from paid work to dusting fit in somewhere and was organized so that nobody ever had to wonder what the best use of their time might be.

  The problem was that when he got into the groove, Gerry became physically dependent on Deke. That had become a very real concern when weight loss set in during Gerry's first professional project. Deke had fed and coddled Gerry along ever since, though surely he must have been keeping up with his own work as well.

  Deke insisted that the game stuff was art, just like Deke's paintings. That required dedication and insanity, so Gerry just had to get used to this life he'd chosen. Sometimes he scared himself, but this crazy plan was getting the bills paid, so he stuck with it. The only worry was how long this could go on before one of them burned out or burned up from the pressure. Though mutual support was assumed at this point, Gerry had the luxury of understanding what kept Deke up at all hours. Gerry's world simply did not translate into regular English.

  He reached for his soda and found it was empty. The sandwich had somehow gone as well. He decided not to care and put all his attention on his work again. Spatial relationship puzzles and mazes fell to his wit, but he was undoubtedly testing the very limits of his knowledge and skill. His bladder finally complained loud enough to make him shut his console down to cool.

  Grumbling at the delay, he went ahead and cleaned up his mess. The apartment was empty, but no big surprise there. Neither of them would have any kind of life if they hung around waiting for the other one to be in sync.

  The sun was long set, though he only noticed to the point of taking the excuse and grabbing a beer. He shoved the fridge door hard, trying to make it seal and hold itself firmly shut. One day this would be a funny story, but it was usually him who hadn't been careful and cost them lost groceries. The door finally did stick, but he had to pick up all the papers and magnets that passed for a schedule. Their lives were stuck to the refrigerator door, just like in grade school. The loss of even one shred or scrap could translate to actual, financial ruin.

  He sighed over the mess, fixed it in a halfhearted fashion, and then noticed the smells. There were several of them, starting with himself, none pleasant. He looked around the kitchen and started straightening the fridge door properly. He hesitated over a grid card filled out in tiny block letters. It wasn't anything so childish as a chores list. He had found a scorecard and puzzled over it, trying to think what project he had cooking with scorecards.

  “I have fucked up,” he informed the entirely neglected kitchen. “I'm completely screwed. Deke is going to kill me.”

  Over the last three weeks, he had received over three hundred offers for sex that had been turned down. Deke had it categorized along with work hours and other daily tasks. They played as a team, but he had been fucking their stats despite everything Deke had done short of outright cold confrontation. He counted fast on the overall tally and sighed with relief. He could make it up on points if Deke got severely laid the second he got home. He thought lingeringly of soft, dark hair, and eagerly gasping lips, and tried to get ready to make a serious play.

  He was feeling very tired and a creeping sense of dread. He went straight to the bedroom, ignoring anything that might distract him from his mission. It only took a minute to arrange lube and water on the bedside table. That would be invitation enough for Deke. His whole body was buzzing under sleep deprivation and sudden worry, but he was sure he could just push right on through all that and be waiting where he belonged. He got comfortable against the pillows on Deke's side of the bed.

  When he woke he knew instantly that he'd slept the clock around. The room was blessedly dim. Some part of him had a vague recollection of a warm weight by his side. On the bedside table stood a glass of water with a sticky note in Deke's precise block print: 317 to 0.

  Gerry drank the water, grateful in his painful thirst. These crashes were worse than any hangover, but the high was worth it. He managed to make it to the bathroom without opening his eyes very far. While he showered, he slowly recalled that the primary testing on his project was done. That one brilliant moment of completion still shone inside, a secret achievement that only he could comprehend. He grinned at himself while he scrubbed his teeth free of their neglect.

  Deke was on the balcony with his colors and stuff. He turned the most innocent of smiles on Gerry. “It's nice to see you undead.”

  Gerry grinned, stuck his arms out, and went zombie-shuffling off to the kitchen, moaning for brains. He decided to settle for pizza and was halfway through the order before the note on his water glass connected in his mind with the list he'd stuck in his pocket before he crashed out.

  If it had been any other game, he would have been mad with himself. n this case, he was nervous, because Deke had him on points, fair and square. Deke was just better at being constantly, totally, entirely available to his every physical need than the reverse. Deke did not tease. If he gave a sultry smile, the game was on.

  There was no reason to be upset over their game anyway. Gerry didn't have much pride about losing. Deke was pretty specific about what he wanted in life and played fair for as long as he could. But once somebody lost, there was a winner. Things usually got pretty unfair at that point. At least he knew enough to ditch a losing strategy before it got him wasted. He got beer from the fridge and marked his one, measly point down for the record before he went to face Deke.

  “I know I fucked up,” Gerry said, leaning against the wall next to the balcony door. “I didn't do my share of cleaning, I haven't talked to you in days, and I am way overdue on... everything. I fucked up big time.”

  “Third strike, actually,” Deke said.

  “I'm not going to apologize for getting my shit done,” Gerry hedged. “I don't really know what to say about the rest.”

  “How far out from deadline are you?”

  “Two weeks, and I'm a little ahead of it now,” Gerry promptly replied, proving up on his good intentions.

  Deke kept dabbing at his canvas. “I'm working, FYI, but I'll come in for the pizza.”
<
br />   “That's fine, thanks,” Gerry backed out, grateful for Deke's even temper once again. “I got the garbage, right now.”

  “When you come back...”

  He hesitated, knowing something was coming just from that expectant tone, but he didn't even try to dodge.

  “Naked houseboy. With laundry detail.” Deke gave his innocent smile, the one that meant the most trouble for Gerry.

  “That's a lot of points in one shot,” Gerry carefully observed.

  “I expect a lot for every single one of them,” Deke smiled with cold condescension. “That's why I love it when you let me save up. Go on.”

  He carried the garbage out, three trips, and washed all the garbage cans rather than go back upstairs with another job to do. All that did was give him somewhere to put the additional mess that had started piling up all over everything the second Deke had taken enough of a lead to get his houseboy back.

  The dishes belonged on a nightmare level, and he was only armed with a plastic scrubbie and soap. There was crap stuck on plates from nine different nations’ worth of takeout. He chipped away at the accumulated grime and tried to remember how long it took to come down with scurvy.

  He startled the delivery guy by answering the door naked. The pizza smelled like real victory. When Deke had days like this, they ended up in a Japanese restaurant shooting sake and bizarre snacks. This was Gerry's idea of a reward. Deke admitted that he was starting to see the attraction.

  “I'm actually done with the testing,” Gerry finally got the nerve to report. “I have to finish the write-up, but that won't take two weeks. I'm really sorry I burned up so much time.”

  “I'm still trying to play fair. How much is this gaming thing supposed to matter to me right now?” Deke wondered, making a pizza sandwich for himself.

  “Probably not much,” Gerry said, and hid out in his beer. “It's major, though. Daritonics might be in Australia, but they like my work so far. I was talking to them about doing a design proposal.”

  “What's that?”

  “Where I think up my own world, my own game, and then get minions to make it be real,” Gerry tried to explain. “If this crap is screwing us up, stop me now. I'll go back to work at the Carpet Barn like I said. I can't quit the gaming on my own, but I will if I have to.”

  “You don't get off this hook that easy,” Deke drawled. “You make a better houseboy than salesman anyway. You will not give up what you love. But… you lost at our game to win the other one.”

  Deke stretched out on the sofa and got friendly with his pizza. For the first time in days, it registered on Gerry how handsome Deke truly was. The wild, dark curls reminded him about how tricky real elves could turn out to be. Gerry took in the ever-amused eyes and slender body that Deke went around in like it was nothing.

  They were square in the ranks of jeans and T-shirts for most of their working lives. Sometimes Deke reverted to a bathrobe-and-cigarette combo. This home was Deke's, this way of living, this freedom and acceptance. Gerry couldn't achieve his dream on his own, and he wouldn't be able to keep it if he didn't play like he wanted to win someday.

  “Rule one,” Deke quoted, smiling crookedly. “No losers.”

  “Are you gonna let me make up my points or not?” Gerry didn't quite trust it. Deke was always in the right about the rules.

  “I guess I could get all pissed off at you acting like yourself,” Deke yawned. “I can't think how it might help.”

  “But,” Gerry found the scorecard in the mess on the table and showed it. “I wasn't even in the game with you. I quit and that's against the rules, too.”

  “That you did, my handsome love,” Deke drawled, curling his slow-burn smile at Gerry. “I could let you make up the points again, I guess. It's not really working for me. All I want is a nice big cock up my tight ass. There's just all this work that has to happen and I can't get it done alone. Finish your pizza.”

  Gerry relaxed with his food, though he knew he wasn't off the hook by a long shot. Deke had won this way before, so Gerry was pretty sure he knew what he was in for. Deke let him stew, so Gerry went ahead and ranted over what he'd finished. It sounded hollow, especially since Deke had no way of understanding how difficult this project had turned out to be.

  “It's these fucking embedded mini-games,” Gerry tried to explain. “They're giving us all these props to try, and I have to keep sending them back for copyright. One dude said he'd never heard of Galaga, even though he'd made a ripped version of it and called it original.”

  “He had to be lying,” Deke said.

  “I had to pull screen caps and prove it,” Gerry said. “I had to play the whole fucking thing and prove that before they would hear what I was saying. Sega could have kicked the doors in on a crack that big. They're worried about having to design something to replace it and I'm worried about Sega owning their company if they don't. That's why I have to do so many things twice right now.”

  Gerry had been driven by the fear he couldn't do this job at all. None of that mattered now, so he could finally admit to it. He was up against kids ten years younger, with diplomas and raw energy that nobody minded burning up on bullshit projects.

  When he had to stand up for himself, all he could do was quote back problems in games so obsolete his work group had never heard of the titles. He was too young to feel so old, but he'd dived into the cutthroat end of the youngest industry on the planet.

  Football linebackers knew absolutely nothing at all about vicious, bloodthirsty, competitive zeal, as far as his peers were concerned. Only the pro players went harder than the designers, and he was simply not yet ready to crash their party.

  Deke paid the attention Gerry was looking for, but his mind was clearly on other things. When the pizza and half-conversation gave no more excuses, Deke had to get back to work. Gerry got up and went to the bedroom, picking over a detritus of laundry and dishes that had built up about the place. He started making piles, trying to think how the hell to take his hands off the game.

  He leaned back and yelled out toward Deke's space. “I could move back to Amy's. She won't care, and she'll break my hands if she catches me playing again.”

  Deke glanced up, edgy smile at the ready, and hesitated. He put his brushes down. “What are you doing?”

  “Laundry.” He hurried to start sorting again. “I'll take it in the car over to that place with the triple loaders. It won't take a couple of hours. Do you need anything while I'm out?”

  He could hear Deke coming up on him, cat-light and moving slow. One finger touched between Gerry's shoulders and he shivered. Then Deke began to rub and scratch all over Gerry's back, toying with the near-ticklish sensitivity that he had discovered so long ago. Gerry shivered under the touch, leaned into it, and sighed when his cock drew tight.

  “Why do you always want to quit when the games get hard?” Deke tutted, twisting his hands up in Gerry's hair. “I thought that's when you had the most fun.”

  “I am fucking you up, Deke,” Gerry insisted. “Look at this place, and I make you live like this over pixels. Do you have any idea how sexy you are compared to a dwarf? How the hell do I let myself get to be this way?”

  “Get up,” Deke insisted, jerking him up from his work. “One single touch and you are up for me.”

  “I... yeah.” He flinched away a little. “I'm just an asshole half the time. More than half. You've got the stats to prove it. I was a geeked-out neat freak before I met you. Now I can't even remember to change my clothes sometimes. I know it isn't normal. These jobs are not worth fucking your life up, and you've got more to lose.”

  “So very noble.” Deke smiled, shaking his head. “You're so green, you really think you could just go cold turkey and toe the line in a name tag again. You are so afraid of being caught acting weird or missing the mark, disappointing the world.”

  “Not the world,” Gerry stopped him. “My world. And there's only you here.”

  Deke chuckled low in his throat. “Now, are you p
repared to do what you must, to keep it that way?”

  “Yes, Deke, please, I really am sorry...”

  Deke traced the curve of his hip, stroked at rough hair then took his cock in a possessive grip. Deke stroked roughly until Gerry gasped. Deke eeled around Gerry and went to his knees, smiling as he moistened his lips. Gerry could not look away as a pink tongue reached out to taste him. The warm flutter caressed the crown, moistening it before Deke leaned forward to taste more.

  Gerry groaned under the wet scourge of sucking, felt the edges of much-needed release gathering, but Deke knew him far too well for that. Deke stroked delicately, torturing him quite plainly for his neglect. Deke could have brought him just like this and instantly. He'd offered, and had his patience tested by having his generosity snubbed.

  That didn't keep Gerry from swearing with every breath. Deke's hands kept such rebellions in check with slow squeezes at his scrotum. He heard his own desperate pleas long before Deke's nose touched his hair. Deke began to swallow and moan then, drawing out his own pleasure and disregarding his sudden desperation.