Title: I got nothing yet... untitled?
Universe: X-Factor/Marvel
Pairing: Jamie Madrox/Julio Rictor
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Drabble-ish in length. Spoilers for up to issue #14 (though I'd only read 1-6 and 13 at the time of writing this, so forgive me if I'm missing something). Rictor wakes up to something unexpected. Stand alone, but was originally supposed to have a sequel with Shatterstar. The new issues kinda ruined that plot, but I'm not complaining. ;)

"Uh... Jamie. What are you doing?"

Rictor scrunched his eyes shut a few times, trying to clear his sleep-blurred vision. He didn't quite feel comfortable using his hands for the task as they were currently propping him up in his bed, keeping his face a perilous few inches from his cheerful teammate's slowly widening grin.

"Whaaaat?" Jamie drawled, managing to shrug his shoulders without changing the distance between them. "Can't a guy visit his friend, Julio?"

The look Rictor sent him from underneath his eyelashes succinctly conveyed his disbelief. "At 4 in the morning?"

Jamie's response was to slide his hand up Rictor's thigh.

Rictor froze for a moment, wondering when Jamie had managed to sneak his hand under the blanket. He could feel a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, dripping down to the white tank top he slept in.
"But 'Star..."

"...and you haven't seen each other in how long?" Jamie finished for him. "It's not like you ever took things that far anyway."

Guilt flashed briefly across Rictor's face. He'd been so wrapped up in his own problems since M-day that he'd been avoiding his best friend. He knew it was selfish, but seeing Star right now would just remind him of what he had lost. He wasn't sure he could handle Shatterstar's reaction either. Facing reality right now might result in him being on that ledge again.

His attention returned to the current "threat" he was facing as he felt the warmth of his friend's hand even farther up his thigh.

"Would this, um, have anything to do with that comment you made about not kicking me out of bed?" His body vibrated with (mostly) held in laughter upon seeing Jamie's reaction.

"Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?" Jamie moaned.

"Don't blame the shrink, amigo. It was Layla. She knows things, remember?" Rictor couldn't help but snicker at this.

Jamie rolled his eyes. That kid was so annoying sometimes.

"Yeah, well... I uh wouldn't, you know," Jamie finished lamely as he moved in until he was barely a centimeter from Julio. He could feel the warmth of the other man's breath on his lips and unconsciously reached his tongue out to brush over them.

Rictor's eyes widened at the increased closeness. Jamie's fingers were like little spiders crawling under the hem of his boxers toward the damp heat that Rictor really couldn't ignore at this point. He chewed on the corner of his lip absently, searching Jamie's eyes for... something.

"You're a dupe, aren't you?"

"Nooooo," Jamie snorted dismissively.

A pause.

"Maybe," he whispered hesitantly. It was getting harder to tell who the real Jamie was anymore.

Rictor frowned and drew in a deep breath. His lips brushed ever so slightly against Jamie's because of the movement. Rictor forced his eyes to meet his friend's.

"Promise you won't kill me in the morning?"

"Of course no-" Jamie's words were cut off as Rictor pounced and knocked him backwards onto the bed, mouths and groins smashed together insistently in a desperate bid for satiety and solace.

A plastic black spatula scraped indolently at the surface of the frying pan until its wielder was placated. He set the heavy pan back on the burner before turning to the bowl of batter and measuring out another scoop. The sizzle of the batter hitting the hot, black surface effectively distracted him from hearing the other man approach.

At least until Jamie knocked over the glass he had been pouring orange juice into. "Shit," he stated eloquently.

Rictor looked away from his future breakfast, though his hand still gripped the frying pan and spatula, to spot the intruder.

"Oh... ah, do you-... um, buenos días, Jamie." Dear God, he sounded like an idiot.

"Hey, um... uh, yeah. Morning, Rictor," Jamie responded with equal grace as he applied a paper towel to his mess.

The awkwardness that filled the room was truly awe-inspiring.

Rictor couldn't help but notice the way Jamie's ass filled out his black boot-cut jeans as he leaned over the table... He immediately turned around and focused on flipping the very dark brown pancake.

Jamie threw the used paper towels into the waste bin before pouring himself a new glass of juice. He leaned against the counter while sipping it idly, eyes darting around the room but always, eventually, landing on Rictor's back.

This continued for a while until the awkwardness in the room reached such levels that anything, literally anything, that could be said would be better than the current silence. Of course being better didn't necessarily mean good.

"So, um… about last night," Rictor broached the obvious cause of their tension.

Jamie swallowed his juice uncomfortably, proud that he hadn't sprayed it across the room. "Yeah, last night," he stalled. "I am perfectly OK with pretending that last night never happened."

Rictor nodded before turning just enough to see Jamie over his shoulder. "But I have to know… last night, was that you?"

Jamie drained his glass. He tried to appear nonchalant, but there was a sense of uncertainty and defeat in his shoulders. "Beats me," he shrugged, his smile off kilter.

Rictor frowned. "Then… are you sure everything's cool?" He would have thought that all his time tutoring 'Star would have made him better at this emotional crap.

Jamie set his empty glass in the sink without rinsing it out first.

"Look, I promised I wouldn't kill ya', right?"

"Right."

He sidled up beside Rictor, bare forearm brushing against the other man's as indecently as a forearm could. His unoccupied left arm reached out to snag three golden brown pancakes from the plate they were cooling on as the top half of him leaned in closer to Julio. Jamie's lips were a mere hair's breadth from the delicate shell of Rictor's ear, heating the skin with each exhaled breath.

Rictor wet his lips nervously, his hand convulsing around the handle of the frying pan, and a growing hardness forming underneath his beige cargo pants.

"However," Jamie whispered sweetly, "I said nothing about Teresa or M." And with that, he quickly made his escape.

Rictor remained still for a moment, then carefully, methodically, worked the spatula under the pancake and deposited it on the plate to his left. He set the frying pan down on an unoccupied burner and turned off the stove. Rubbing the back of his neck, he cast his eyes down to where his bulge had decided concavity was the wise choice. Lifting his head again and pushing his hair out of his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off the impending migraine.

"Fuck."