(X-Men) For The Road
August 7th, 2008 00:52![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: For The Road
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: Jamie/John
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2057
Timeline: X3
Notes: Spanking. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50_smutlets, prompt "spanking".
Summary: Multiple Man, magnificent bastard, not the most cooperative of decoys.
If it doesn’t stop soon, John’s liable to kill someone. He doesn’t know why he’s being targeted, although he suspects it’s something to do with his age. He’s the youngest there, and it doesn’t matter if he’s Magneto’s right hand man, if he’s second-in-command, because he’s sure they all look down on him. He’s an ex-student of Xavier’s, and that’s just another reason they probably all dislike him. It doesn’t matter that Dr. Grey, the Phoenix, was the Professor’s star pupil in her time, because everyone’s too scared of her to say anything, so he bears the full brunt of their judgement.
He’s stood by Magneto all the way, and he deserves their damn respect, and he’s going to kill someone, roast them alive for everyone to see, if it doesn’t stop soon.
But he has no idea how to tell them to stop, because he still doesn’t know who it is, how many of them there are, and why they clearly think it’s so fucking funny, and he just gets more and more agitated the more he thinks about it.
He’s supposed to be helping Magneto lead an army, yet every time he walks through their ranks he has to bite his tongue, try not to yelp or jump too obviously, because someone keeps fucking groping him.
It all started with a pinch on the ass, and he didn’t say anything because he thought it was his imagination. There are too many mutants around with spikes and stingers, and he just dismissed it as an accidental brush past something or someone sharp.
Then there was the full-on squeeze, hand cupping his ass, and there was no mistaking that, but there was nobody there with a guilty expression when he whirled around, mouth open and eyes wide. Just a crowd of mutants, some who’d looked at him in confusion, but mostly minding their own business. No suspects, and John had stood rooted to the spot before he realised he was blushing, which wasn’t doing much good for his reputation, so he’d quickly fled to his tent.
It’s gotten out of hand very quickly. Every time he has to pass through a group of mutants, he feels hands on him, coming from all directions. There’s no way to avoid it without walking the long way around the camp and upsetting the sentries, although he did try that for a while, before Magneto began to look a little irritated that it was taking John so long to get from one place to another, what with the significant detour and all.
He grits his teeth and ignores it, because he doesn’t know what else to do. There’s never anyone there when he turns around, and they must all be covering for each other, because there’s never anyone looking at another mutant with confusion, never any sign that anyone sees.
He’s taken to spending as much time as possible alone, usually with his back pressed against a tree or a tent, and it pisses him off because he’s sure he’s look ridiculous, is sure that the culprits are probably watching him and laughing harder than ever.
He’s glaring moodily into the distance, trying not to think about it all and failing miserably, when a rich voice interrupts him.
“What’re you looking so mad about?” Jamie Madrox asks, hands shoved in his pockets and an easy smile on his face.
“Nothing,” John snaps, not in the mood for idle conversation or being belittled.
“Ah, thought so,” Jamie replies, moving to stand beside John, much to his annoyance, and staring in the same direction. “‘Cause that would be stupid, you being the mad one, when I’m the decoy.”
He glances sideways at John, and his smile seems as sardonic as his tone. John knew Magneto’s plan, of course, but he didn’t realise Jamie had already been told.
“You won’t be held for long,” John explains, not particularly feeling like trying to reassure somebody he barely knows that he should let himself be captured by the enemy. “We’ll take Alcatraz and be back for you within twenty four hours.”
“Optimistic of you,” Jamie comments, sounding bemused. “But I don’t mind. Thought about leaving, but I decided there are a few things worth sticking around for.”
John nods tightly. “Like the war,” he says, feeling the familiar flare of heat in his blood when he thinks of the battle ahead.
“Hmm,” Jamie shrugs noncommittally. “That, and a few other things.”
John narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything. He’s seen the way Jamie’s eyes follow Callisto, Arclight and Psylocke around the camp, not to mention a few other female mutants with human appearances, and a few without.
“You ready for it?” Jamie asks, and his voice is so level, so devoid of judgement and patronising, but John can’t help but consider it an insult.
He steps forward, moving away, before turning back once his temper settles. “Of course I’m ready,” he snorts, trying to sound nonplussed.
Jamie’s eyes watch him, smirk playing on his lips. “You sure? You look a little on edge,” he muses, and John realises he’s pacing back and forth across the small clearing around them.
“I’m ready,” he hisses back.
“Really? You look like you could stand to relax,” Jamie grins and then, just like that, a frustratingly familiar hand grabs at John’s ass.
He spins on the spot, an angry and surprised noise caught in his throat, and there’s no way the culprit can escape, no way Jamie can’t have seen them.
Except it is Jamie, or at least one of his multiples, looking very pleased with himself, holding up his hands in a mock-surrender that only makes John’s blood boil further.
He looks back over his shoulder, and the original Jamie is still there, leaning against the tree and apparently finding John’s expression highly amusing.
He turns back to the second Jamie, growling under his breath, hand raising and the catch on his glove poised under his thumb, when a broad hand wraps around his wrist and a third Jamie presses against his back. “I’d think twice about that, if I were you,” he murmurs, breath upsetting the hair behind John’s ear. “I’m valuable, you know. Magneto might not be too pleased with you if something were to happen to me.”
John grits his teeth and doesn’t speak, because he knows he’s Magneto’s second-in-command, but he also knows just how stupid it would be to fry somebody playing such an important part in the master plan.
“Good boy,” Jamie whispers against his neck, and John has to fight the urge not to just dig his elbow into Jamie’s ribs, not to kick him between his legs hard enough to make every one of those damn multiples writhe in pain.
Instead he remains perfectly still as the Jamie in front of him sidles closer, eyes heated and glinting. Jamie’s hands slide up into his hair, fingers rubbing in small circles along his hairline, just above his temples. “You need to relax,” Jamie mutters, and John’s never felt less relaxed in his life, but the massage still eases a little of the tension from his neck and shoulders.
It could be really easy, John knows that. Just let go, just let it happen. He’s a teenager, and he has hormones, and he’s stuck in the middle of a forest, surrounded by war-hungry mutants and nobody to help him find relief. Jamie’s there, and he’s tall and dark and good-looking, and he’s been torturing John, multiples apparently appearing behind him just to grope him and disappear before he can turn around, and John tries to hold on to that anger but it’s all too quickly becoming a struggle.
There’s a hand on his stomach, possibly the original Jamie, or maybe a third multiple, and John feels fingers tugging his t-shirt higher, sliding under the material to splay across his stomach, and he wants to stay mad but he can’t remember the last time somebody touched him.
He’s going to fight, going to put his life on the line for what he believes in, and it hasn’t occurred to him that anything could possibly go wrong. It’s not arrogance, he reminds himself, just faith in his powers, in Magneto, in his fellow mutants, but the idea of his own mortality is enough that he can dupe his own instincts into not kicking out when Jamie’s hand slides lower.
He might not live to see the end of the week. He’s pissed at Jamie, isn’t feeling quite so inclined to rescue him from the Government’s clutches once they’ve taken Alcatraz, but he’s rapidly warming to the idea of at least allowing himself some pleasure before he risks everything.
“Yes,” Jamie purrs, tongue snaking out to lick at John’s ear, and he shivers and tells himself it isn’t surrender. Jamie is his subordinate, and it helps to think of it that way, and he reminds himself that he’s the one being touched, he’s the one taking the sensation, and that he’s under no obligation to return the favour.
Take what he needs and move on, like a true leader, and he can be in control, even with Jamie’s hand unbuttoning his jeans.
He allows it, trying not to smirk indulgently, before his head tilts back as Jamie’s hand slides into his boxers, wrapping firmly around his cock. Stroking instantly, obediently, even if John didn’t issue the order for movement and friction out loud, and the Jamie in front of him presses his lips against John’s throat, sucking lightly at the skin there, but John’s already beyond caring if he leaves a mark. It’s been so long, too long, and he’s forgotten what it’s like to think about himself and his own needs. Always following Magneto, planning and issuing orders to everyone beneath him, and he can’t even remember what it was like to be a student anymore, to be safe at school and living in denial.
Jamie’s hand is firm around him, brusque enough to make John grunt but flashy enough to make his eyes squeeze shut, and there are hands pushing his t-shirt higher up his chest, fingers pinching at his nipples, and he’s already losing track of how many there are. Fingernails moving over his skin, a tongue moving over his ear, and the hand at his cock doesn’t stop moving but he hears the unmistakable sound of Jamie falling to his knees on the mossy floor, and John’s mouth suddenly feels very dry.
He has to bite back a cry when Jamie’s lips first wrap around his cock, and a hand settles over his mouth just a touch too late. There’s suction, fierce and deep, and it’s perfect, and John’s arching into it, dizzy and unsteady, leaning into the Jamie standing behind him for support. He no longer cares why he was so angry with Jamie, can’t understand why they haven’t been doing this since they first met, and his breath comes in short and pained gasps as release rapidly approaches.
He’s spinning and falling, even as he remains still, and he’s so close he can taste sex in the air, and Jamie’s hands are all over him, and Jamie’s lips are kissing everywhere they can reach, and Jamie’s mouth is the perfect smouldering heat around him, sucking and pumping over his flesh, and John can’t hold on.
And then Jamie laughs against his neck, and it all disappears.
John lets out a noise that sounds like a trapped animal, desperate and needy, and he opens his eyes but there’s nobody kneeling in front of him.
He gapes and for a moment time stands still, and then a firm and open palm lands heavily across his ass, jolting him, stinging, and the slapping noise rings around the clearing, but John doesn’t hear, cursing and swept away by the sensation, as he gasps and shudders and doubles over and comes.
He distantly hears Jamie laugh, throaty and amused, as he walks away, and John had told Magneto that Jamie shouldn’t be trusted as their decoy, and he’s rapidly remembering just why he didn’t think Jamie would appreciate the responsibility of the task. Not to mention why he was so pissed off with the arrogant bastard to begin with, and he’s pretty sure there’s going to be a handprint on his ass for days.
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: Jamie/John
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2057
Timeline: X3
Notes: Spanking. For
50_smutlets, prompt "spanking".Summary: Multiple Man, magnificent bastard, not the most cooperative of decoys.
If it doesn’t stop soon, John’s liable to kill someone. He doesn’t know why he’s being targeted, although he suspects it’s something to do with his age. He’s the youngest there, and it doesn’t matter if he’s Magneto’s right hand man, if he’s second-in-command, because he’s sure they all look down on him. He’s an ex-student of Xavier’s, and that’s just another reason they probably all dislike him. It doesn’t matter that Dr. Grey, the Phoenix, was the Professor’s star pupil in her time, because everyone’s too scared of her to say anything, so he bears the full brunt of their judgement.
He’s stood by Magneto all the way, and he deserves their damn respect, and he’s going to kill someone, roast them alive for everyone to see, if it doesn’t stop soon.
But he has no idea how to tell them to stop, because he still doesn’t know who it is, how many of them there are, and why they clearly think it’s so fucking funny, and he just gets more and more agitated the more he thinks about it.
He’s supposed to be helping Magneto lead an army, yet every time he walks through their ranks he has to bite his tongue, try not to yelp or jump too obviously, because someone keeps fucking groping him.
It all started with a pinch on the ass, and he didn’t say anything because he thought it was his imagination. There are too many mutants around with spikes and stingers, and he just dismissed it as an accidental brush past something or someone sharp.
Then there was the full-on squeeze, hand cupping his ass, and there was no mistaking that, but there was nobody there with a guilty expression when he whirled around, mouth open and eyes wide. Just a crowd of mutants, some who’d looked at him in confusion, but mostly minding their own business. No suspects, and John had stood rooted to the spot before he realised he was blushing, which wasn’t doing much good for his reputation, so he’d quickly fled to his tent.
It’s gotten out of hand very quickly. Every time he has to pass through a group of mutants, he feels hands on him, coming from all directions. There’s no way to avoid it without walking the long way around the camp and upsetting the sentries, although he did try that for a while, before Magneto began to look a little irritated that it was taking John so long to get from one place to another, what with the significant detour and all.
He grits his teeth and ignores it, because he doesn’t know what else to do. There’s never anyone there when he turns around, and they must all be covering for each other, because there’s never anyone looking at another mutant with confusion, never any sign that anyone sees.
He’s taken to spending as much time as possible alone, usually with his back pressed against a tree or a tent, and it pisses him off because he’s sure he’s look ridiculous, is sure that the culprits are probably watching him and laughing harder than ever.
He’s glaring moodily into the distance, trying not to think about it all and failing miserably, when a rich voice interrupts him.
“What’re you looking so mad about?” Jamie Madrox asks, hands shoved in his pockets and an easy smile on his face.
“Nothing,” John snaps, not in the mood for idle conversation or being belittled.
“Ah, thought so,” Jamie replies, moving to stand beside John, much to his annoyance, and staring in the same direction. “‘Cause that would be stupid, you being the mad one, when I’m the decoy.”
He glances sideways at John, and his smile seems as sardonic as his tone. John knew Magneto’s plan, of course, but he didn’t realise Jamie had already been told.
“You won’t be held for long,” John explains, not particularly feeling like trying to reassure somebody he barely knows that he should let himself be captured by the enemy. “We’ll take Alcatraz and be back for you within twenty four hours.”
“Optimistic of you,” Jamie comments, sounding bemused. “But I don’t mind. Thought about leaving, but I decided there are a few things worth sticking around for.”
John nods tightly. “Like the war,” he says, feeling the familiar flare of heat in his blood when he thinks of the battle ahead.
“Hmm,” Jamie shrugs noncommittally. “That, and a few other things.”
John narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything. He’s seen the way Jamie’s eyes follow Callisto, Arclight and Psylocke around the camp, not to mention a few other female mutants with human appearances, and a few without.
“You ready for it?” Jamie asks, and his voice is so level, so devoid of judgement and patronising, but John can’t help but consider it an insult.
He steps forward, moving away, before turning back once his temper settles. “Of course I’m ready,” he snorts, trying to sound nonplussed.
Jamie’s eyes watch him, smirk playing on his lips. “You sure? You look a little on edge,” he muses, and John realises he’s pacing back and forth across the small clearing around them.
“I’m ready,” he hisses back.
“Really? You look like you could stand to relax,” Jamie grins and then, just like that, a frustratingly familiar hand grabs at John’s ass.
He spins on the spot, an angry and surprised noise caught in his throat, and there’s no way the culprit can escape, no way Jamie can’t have seen them.
Except it is Jamie, or at least one of his multiples, looking very pleased with himself, holding up his hands in a mock-surrender that only makes John’s blood boil further.
He looks back over his shoulder, and the original Jamie is still there, leaning against the tree and apparently finding John’s expression highly amusing.
He turns back to the second Jamie, growling under his breath, hand raising and the catch on his glove poised under his thumb, when a broad hand wraps around his wrist and a third Jamie presses against his back. “I’d think twice about that, if I were you,” he murmurs, breath upsetting the hair behind John’s ear. “I’m valuable, you know. Magneto might not be too pleased with you if something were to happen to me.”
John grits his teeth and doesn’t speak, because he knows he’s Magneto’s second-in-command, but he also knows just how stupid it would be to fry somebody playing such an important part in the master plan.
“Good boy,” Jamie whispers against his neck, and John has to fight the urge not to just dig his elbow into Jamie’s ribs, not to kick him between his legs hard enough to make every one of those damn multiples writhe in pain.
Instead he remains perfectly still as the Jamie in front of him sidles closer, eyes heated and glinting. Jamie’s hands slide up into his hair, fingers rubbing in small circles along his hairline, just above his temples. “You need to relax,” Jamie mutters, and John’s never felt less relaxed in his life, but the massage still eases a little of the tension from his neck and shoulders.
It could be really easy, John knows that. Just let go, just let it happen. He’s a teenager, and he has hormones, and he’s stuck in the middle of a forest, surrounded by war-hungry mutants and nobody to help him find relief. Jamie’s there, and he’s tall and dark and good-looking, and he’s been torturing John, multiples apparently appearing behind him just to grope him and disappear before he can turn around, and John tries to hold on to that anger but it’s all too quickly becoming a struggle.
There’s a hand on his stomach, possibly the original Jamie, or maybe a third multiple, and John feels fingers tugging his t-shirt higher, sliding under the material to splay across his stomach, and he wants to stay mad but he can’t remember the last time somebody touched him.
He’s going to fight, going to put his life on the line for what he believes in, and it hasn’t occurred to him that anything could possibly go wrong. It’s not arrogance, he reminds himself, just faith in his powers, in Magneto, in his fellow mutants, but the idea of his own mortality is enough that he can dupe his own instincts into not kicking out when Jamie’s hand slides lower.
He might not live to see the end of the week. He’s pissed at Jamie, isn’t feeling quite so inclined to rescue him from the Government’s clutches once they’ve taken Alcatraz, but he’s rapidly warming to the idea of at least allowing himself some pleasure before he risks everything.
“Yes,” Jamie purrs, tongue snaking out to lick at John’s ear, and he shivers and tells himself it isn’t surrender. Jamie is his subordinate, and it helps to think of it that way, and he reminds himself that he’s the one being touched, he’s the one taking the sensation, and that he’s under no obligation to return the favour.
Take what he needs and move on, like a true leader, and he can be in control, even with Jamie’s hand unbuttoning his jeans.
He allows it, trying not to smirk indulgently, before his head tilts back as Jamie’s hand slides into his boxers, wrapping firmly around his cock. Stroking instantly, obediently, even if John didn’t issue the order for movement and friction out loud, and the Jamie in front of him presses his lips against John’s throat, sucking lightly at the skin there, but John’s already beyond caring if he leaves a mark. It’s been so long, too long, and he’s forgotten what it’s like to think about himself and his own needs. Always following Magneto, planning and issuing orders to everyone beneath him, and he can’t even remember what it was like to be a student anymore, to be safe at school and living in denial.
Jamie’s hand is firm around him, brusque enough to make John grunt but flashy enough to make his eyes squeeze shut, and there are hands pushing his t-shirt higher up his chest, fingers pinching at his nipples, and he’s already losing track of how many there are. Fingernails moving over his skin, a tongue moving over his ear, and the hand at his cock doesn’t stop moving but he hears the unmistakable sound of Jamie falling to his knees on the mossy floor, and John’s mouth suddenly feels very dry.
He has to bite back a cry when Jamie’s lips first wrap around his cock, and a hand settles over his mouth just a touch too late. There’s suction, fierce and deep, and it’s perfect, and John’s arching into it, dizzy and unsteady, leaning into the Jamie standing behind him for support. He no longer cares why he was so angry with Jamie, can’t understand why they haven’t been doing this since they first met, and his breath comes in short and pained gasps as release rapidly approaches.
He’s spinning and falling, even as he remains still, and he’s so close he can taste sex in the air, and Jamie’s hands are all over him, and Jamie’s lips are kissing everywhere they can reach, and Jamie’s mouth is the perfect smouldering heat around him, sucking and pumping over his flesh, and John can’t hold on.
And then Jamie laughs against his neck, and it all disappears.
John lets out a noise that sounds like a trapped animal, desperate and needy, and he opens his eyes but there’s nobody kneeling in front of him.
He gapes and for a moment time stands still, and then a firm and open palm lands heavily across his ass, jolting him, stinging, and the slapping noise rings around the clearing, but John doesn’t hear, cursing and swept away by the sensation, as he gasps and shudders and doubles over and comes.
He distantly hears Jamie laugh, throaty and amused, as he walks away, and John had told Magneto that Jamie shouldn’t be trusted as their decoy, and he’s rapidly remembering just why he didn’t think Jamie would appreciate the responsibility of the task. Not to mention why he was so pissed off with the arrogant bastard to begin with, and he’s pretty sure there’s going to be a handprint on his ass for days.
