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Merrick hadn't liked Tom Lincoln from the first time the man came to the Institute. The Scotsman's eyes scanned everything, lips twisted in a faint sneer that said, I could've designed this shite better. True creators never really got along well, each saw his products, his art, as the most important thing in the world, an affliction that made the works of others, by necessity, seem trivial. While Lincoln saw him as providing a service, like the spa and boating club, albeit more important than either, Merrick saw Lincoln's designs as shallow toys, made for others with too much money and too little sense of their own mortality.

As his PR staff reminded him time and again, it wasn't necessary to like the clients. Just to pretend the proper level of concern that would allow them to open up their checkbooks. Merrick found even that was hard to muster for men like Tom Lincoln who'd abused their bodies to the point the flesh rebelled and then expected others to fix it for them. They weren't like the couples who found they were unable to have a child or the people who were dying of accident or affliction they did not bring down upon themselves. Merrick never forgot the grateful smiles and tears of the latter any more than he could forget Tom Lincoln and his sneer.

The same look that Lincoln 6 Echo fixed on him when he'd asked the product about the nightmares he'd been having. What do you think they mean? he'd asked the clone, and Lincoln gave him that insufferable look and said, "Why don't you tell me?"

It was how they'd ended up in one of the exam rooms, Lincoln sitting on the edge of the table, flinching as a needle slipped into his vein. "I told you I'm not sick. Never felt better." He tapped his chest. "I don't need any... There's no reason to..." Lincoln paused, frowned. "I don't feel..." His voice trailed off and he swallowed. "Don't... Don't... feel..."

Merrick caught Lincoln as he slumped over, tilted his head back to check that his pupils dilated, eyes unfocused. The product blinked owlishly, trying to focus as Merrick pushed him back on the table and strapped his arms down at his sides. He took off Lincoln's pants, folding them carefully and placing them on the desk, before he hoisted the clone's legs into the stirrups, strapping his ankles into them, spreading the product open for him. He removed his own glasses, setting them near the clothes.

When Merrick stepped back between Lincoln's legs, one hand was sheathed in a latex glove. The fingers glistened from the lubricant he'd applied. Without preamble or warning, he slid a slick finger into Lincoln, then replaced it with two that thrust, twisted, scissored. Lincoln squirmed. "Don' this test."

Merrick didn't respond: what Lincoln liked or didn't like was of no consequence to him. Lincoln tensed when he felt the blunt tip of Merrick's cock nudging against him. "You should relax," Merrick said in a smooth conversational tone. "It will go better that way." The product didn't listen or couldn't, twitching as much as he was able in the restraints as Merrick pushed against him. Merrick gritted his teeth against the pressure, shifting his hips against Lincoln until he felt the unwilling body begin to give. When Merrick finally slipped inside, he groaned as Lincoln clamped down hard around his shaft. "There we are." He pushed in a little further fighting delicious friction. "There we are."

Lincoln shook his hips, rocking them from side to side. It was all the resistance he was able to offer. "Hurts..." he gasped, eyes closed tightly.

"No, it doesn't." Merrick slipped into the soothing tone he took with product and client alike reflexively. By the way Lincoln's body gripped him, he was certain it did hurt, and that pleased him almost as much as the tight, clenching heat.

Lincoln cried out as Merrick pressed deeper. "It does!"

"No, it doesn't." It felt wonderful, strong muscles milking Merrick's cock. Abandoning any show of care, he thrust in hard, forcing Lincoln open for him.

"Does," Lincoln whined, the sound turning to a sharp cry as Merrick pushed in. "It does hurt. It does. It does. It..." The product shuddered and exhaled a ragged breath as Merrick stopped, buried in him. He spread his legs wider, shook his hips in a vain attempt to dislodge Merrick's cock. Merrick appreciated the effort as he slid a fraction deeper.

The product was too tight, his own anger and lust too hot for Merrick to last long. His fingers curled tight around the edge of the table, which would not bruise under his grip, as he started fucking Lincoln. He savored the friction of the slow glide out, the way Lincoln's head snapped back, mouth open around a moan as he shoved back in. The product's fingers fumbled against the table; his toes curled and uncurled. Merrick fucked him without breathing a word, a sigh. The only sound he allowed himself was a soft moan as his hips hitched and jerked against Lincoln when he came.

By the time Merrick pulled out, Lincoln was hard. Merrick wrapped his gloved hand around Lincoln's cock, gave it several pulls before tightening his fingers around it, then releasing it quickly. Lincoln's eyes went wide at Merrick's touch, and he whined when it was taken from him, hips thrusting futilely and fruitlessly into empty air. He pulled at his bonds, trying to free his hands, reach his cock. That was not something Merrick was going to allow. If they were sharing a secret tryst, a forbidden affair, Merrick might have watched as Lincoln worked to bring himself off, but Merrick was clear about what this was and what it wasn't.

In the room's refrigerator, along with the drugs that needed to be kept cool and behind two bottles of Diet Pepsi someone had carelessly left behind, Merrick found the cold packs. He smiled at the desperate cry Lincoln made when he settled them around the product's erection. By the time he'd cleaned himself up, straightened his clothes and tie, settled his glasses back squarely on the bridge of his nose, Lincoln's cock was limp from the cold, and the product had slipped into a half-aware doze, which made cleaning and dressing him a simple matter.

Merrick programmed a follow-up visit for Lincoln in a few days, his cock twitching sluggishly as he did. Products, after all, were made to be bought and sold, used and discarded, as this one would be when his liver was harvested for Tom Lincoln. Until Lincoln had need of the organ, Merrick didn't see any reason why he shouldn't make use of the rest.