moonlettuce: (Comic: Bamf)
[personal profile] moonlettuce
Title: Standard Division
Author: Claire
Fandom: Marvel comic!verse
Pairing: Jamie Madrox/Jamie Madrox
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He swears it'll be the last time…
Notes: With glomps to [ profile] temaris and because I've always maintained that Jamie being screwed by one of his own dupes is really just a fucked-up form of masturbation.

Every time Jamie Madrox swears it'll be the last time he means it. He means it until he finds himself drumming a steady beat against his desk, Rahne throwing him looks that screams she just wishes he'd shut up. Or go away. Jamie doesn't think she's fussy.

So he goes. He goes away still meaning it.

He means it right up until he's sitting in the bar, nursing the same drink he's had in front of him for the past two hours, and he finally realises the guy next to him is hitting on him, all soft smiles and fingers that touch.

He means it right up until he says thanks but no thanks and walks out into the cold night air. And he thinks about a cab, but his apartment's only a few blocks away so it seems like such a waste of cash.

He means it right up until he's locking his door behind him and closing his blinds to shut out the world. His clothes fall where he drops them, trailing their way into the bedroom until he stands naked. The bed's not made, but that doesn't matter

His hand slaps against the wall, just enough pressure, just enough force. After all, it's hardly the first time he's done this. And then the dupe's in front of him, just as naked but with an insolent smirk. They all seem to be wearing one of those these days and Jamie knows he should care, knows he should speak to Xavier or, god forbid, Moira but he just can't bring himself to pick up the phone. He doesn’t know how he'd start the conversation even if he did.

He doesn't say any words, doesn't need to, just lies face down on the bed and waits, heart racing as there's that moment of uncertainty that's getting longer and longer with each time. But then the bed dips, weight settling between his spread legs and fingers, slick and cold, are pressing into him.

The stretching's perfunctory, quick and harsh before the fingers are removed and something bigger, harder, there, is pressing into his ass. His fingers tighten on the comforter, sharp flare of pain before the dupe's cock is in him, bottoming out in one thrust.

There's no hesitation, no chance to adjust before the dupe is moving, cock sawing in and out of his barely prepared body and balls slapping against his own. He shifts his legs wider, tilts his hips slightly and the change in angle sees his prostate nailed every time. And the hitch that wells in his throat is buried into the pillow.

The silence is broken only by the harsh grunts and the slap of sweat-slick flesh meeting its likeness. His own cock throbs, trapped between the bed and his body, but he doesn't need to touch, never needs to touch, as another push against his prostate forces his orgasm from him, come slicking the bed beneath his stomach.

His own orgasm triggers the dupe's and he can feel the cock twitching inside him, can feel the drag of muscles as it leaves him.

He reabsorbs the dupe as soon as it's pulled out of him, memories settling into his mind of a tight ass, a trembling body and the taste of sweat over skin.

And Jamie wraps his arms around himself and swears it'll be the last time.


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May 2017

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