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a need to be useful

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Murphy tries to be useful.

He takes up Abigail's offer to work in the infirmary, helping to treat the wounded, running errands to deliver grounder medicine, and offering basic check ups to those in the camp who ask for them, but don't actually need it. A fucking cold doesn't require wasting thirty minutes of his day.

He learns a lot. Jackson is a great teacher and Abigail is nice to him because she needs the help. In some twisted way, Murphy likes to believe she sees the good in him.

It's a month into his training and Jackson informs Murphy that the men of the Ark - now the Camp - are due a prostate examination. Only those above twenty-one, he adds when Murphy recoils, so he won't be shoving his fingers up the arse of the delinquents he doesn't like.

Murphy doesn't know what prostate cancer is at first, or any type of cancer. Apparently the medical bay in space had routine yearly screenings, but it's been much longer than a year since any have been done.

Jackson talks Murphy through the whole process, and he cringes.

"You don't have to if you don't feel up to it," Jackson promises, hand on Murphy's shoulder.

Murphy needs to be useful.

"I'll do it," he agrees all too easily. "When do we start?"

Jackson shrugs. "Whenever you're ready. There are some guards already waiting outside."

Murphy exhales steadily. It's fine. It'll only take a few minutes for each guy, and they can move on and pretend none of it ever happened. Jackson's done it before, and he's not bothered. It's not weird. This is what being a doctor is all about.

He gets used to the process quickly. He lists off his questions, writes down the answers, and proceeds to feel about the inside of their arse for three minutes or so, feeling for any lumps, bumps or general abnormalities.

Only one man comes in with concerns - blood in his urine - so Jackson whisks him away to take a urine and blood sample.

Murphy's last visit of the night is Bellamy. He pales at the sight of the older man as he steps through into Murphy's private cubicle. Bellamy takes one look at Murphy and moves to leave.

"Jackson's not free at the moment. He's running some tests on, um, can't tell you who, actually."

"I'll come back tomorrow."

"It's mandatory, and you're the last one. You might as well. I'm not going to scalpel you, Bellamy."

Bellamy draws the curtain behind him, offering some privacy even though no one else is in the medical bay. "I'm more concerned with your finger up my ass."

Murphy chokes. Yeah, makes sense.

"It's only three minutes. I know what I'm doing now, so... sit down, and let me ask you some questions."

Bellamy answers them all easily. Any history of prostate cancer? Who knows, his father wasn't in the picture. Blood in his urine? No. Blood in his sperm? Also no. Struggling to piss? All good there. Bellamy signs the consent form, stands up, shimmies his jeans and underwear down and bends over the examination table, pert ass on display. Murphy almost forgets to breathe.

"Why are you doing this?" Bellamy mutters as Murphy slides on a clean pair of gloves.

"Not enough medics around, now that Clarke's fucked off. I'm good at it."

"You've gone from killing people to saving their lives?"

Murphy squeezes a type of lubricant on his fingers and rubs them together to warm the liquid up. "Yeah," he admits. "Meanwhile you're still killing people."

Bellamy remains silent, even as Murphy presses a wet finger against Bellamy's entrance and gently pushes inside. "That's fair," Bellamy murmurs, and Murphy detects a hint of regret. "You probably have the least amount of blood on your hands."

Murphy drags a hand down Bellamy's back and over to his hip where he grips him tight. He slides his finger all the way in, rolls it around like Jackson has taught him to do. Bellamy squeezes around him and Murphy digs his nails into Bellamy's side.

"Relax," Murphy orders. "Or this is going to hurt."

Bellamy snorts. "This isn't my first time having someone's fingers up my ass."

"Alright then."

Murphy wriggles further in, and when he finds Bellamy's prostate, the older man's hips jerk forward suddenly. It's not unusual; it's happened a number of times today and he finds himself uncomfortably used to it.

Murphy knows it feels good. A majority of the men he's seen to have left with hard cocks straining in their trousers. He asked Jackson how he deals with it, but Jackson only shrugged and said it's his job.

"Sorry." Bellamy speaks quietly, and shuffles his legs further apart.

"No problem. Just going to switch fingers." Murphy pulls out, Bellamy sighs, and Murphy relaces his index finger with his longer middle finger. He brushes Bellamy's prostate again, rubs the pad of his finger against it in small circles, feeling for anything unusual.

"How long's this going to take?" Bellamy asks, breathless and evidently aroused.

"Few minutes. Three or so."

Murphy hits a particularly good spot and Bellamy moans, hips slamming against the examination table with a string of curses.

Bellamy doesn't order him to stop, so he curls the digit and strokes a little firmer, his free hand moving to spread Bellamy's cheeks apart, giving him for access. He can't feel anything strange, but he had been urged to check, check again and continue checking until absolutely sure.

Bellamy suddenly rocks back on Murphy's finger, and Murphy freezes. Bellamy clutches the towel on the table.

"Uh..." Murphy begins.

"Are you done?"

"Not really. You're too fidgety for me to get a good feel. If it feels good, just go with it. It's normal. Jackson's had two guys come today."

Bellamy scoffs.

"I'm serious. I just want to do my job properly, and well, so just... stop jerking around."

It's embarrassing. He knows Bellamy is hard and he knows his cock is resting on the table, and Murphy would really like to look or reach around and touch him, but it's not what Bellamy wants.

He does stop fidgeting. Bellamy gasps and moans as Murphy continues his examination. He's rutting back against Murphy's finger steadily, and he doesn't think Bellamy notices it so he lets him continue. He curls his fingers particularly sharply and Bellamy jolts, teeth clacking as he hisses. Murphy does it again, experimentally, and Bellamy keens.

"Murphy," he whispers, "this isn't part of the exam, is it?"

Bellamy shudders when Murphy adds a second finger but he otherwise remains silent. Murphy thrusts his fingers in and out, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

"Fuck, fuck, yes," Bellamy moans, legs shaking. Murphy shoves a third finger inside.

What is he doing?

This isn't his job but Bellamy's begging and it's so encouraging that he can't stop. Murphy's own cock twitches in his scrubs. Does Bellamy realise what's happening? He's about to come on Murphy's fingers during what should have been a prostate exam and fuck, Murphy's more turned on than is ethical.

Bellamy comes a second later, cock rubbing against the table as he rides his orgasm out by fucking back onto Murphy's hand. Murphy pulls out with a sickening pop. He snaps the gloves off and throws them into the metal tray on the counter. Bellamy's hurriedly tugging up his underwear and trousers when Murphy strips the towel off the table.

"Thanks," Bellamy mutters awkwardly

"For the check up or the orgasm?"

Bellamy's skin shines with sweat, and he's all pink-tinted. "Both."

"Well you're all clear. I need you in for a general check up next week though. Lungs and heart, and eye sight. All that."



Bellamy hesitates to leave. "You should come to my tent later tonight. If you want to. I could... return the favour."

"Maybe," is all that Murphy says as he guides Bellamy out of the room. He leans his forehead against the door and sighs.

What the fuck just happened?