Prison Break - In Retribution
Title: In Retribution
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Genre: Slash
Rating: PG-13/R
Warning: Incest
Word count: ~ 1000
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: He kissed Lincoln once. Lincoln deserved it.
Notes: Thanks to torigates for the beta.
Read entry in light format
He kissed Lincoln once.
Lincoln deserved it. He deserved some kind of retribution, a payback of one kind or another for getting drunk again, ending up on Michael’s doorstep and then slumping onto the expensive couch of the neat apartment, ruining Michael’s nice, quiet night. He deserved it because this happened more and more frequently, because Lincoln showed up when he was drunk or high or needing money - or all three of them rolled into one, for that matter.
Michael sat next to his brother and stayed impassive and silent for a while but Lincoln kept on babbling and grumbling snide comments about pretty much anything. Exasperation and resentment bubbled inside of him and in the end, fed up with the intrusion, the drinking and the rambling, Michael just grabbed Lincoln’s chin and kissed him. Hard and full on the mouth. He dug his fingers into Linc’s jaw, bit his lips and forced his way into his brother’s mouth. It elicited an incongruous whimper then shut him up for good, and Michael reveled in the sudden silence. He licked Lincoln’s teeth, pushed against his tongue and explored the silky flesh of the inside of his cheeks. It was thorough, methodical and demanding, aggressive, punitive and exciting for a dozen reasons, all of them bad and wrong. It was crazy but it didn’t matter as much as it should have because Lincoln was so drunk that he wouldn’t remember any of it anyway.
Or maybe it was even worse because Lincoln wouldn’t be able to remember any of it. His mind reeling with this idea, Michael deepened the kiss. It was slick and soft and hot in there, the sensations alien and oddly familiar altogether, almost making him lose sight of his goal. He tasted cheap alcohol on Lincoln’s tongue, he heard him choke, he felt him jolt; he waited for Linc to pull away - violently - but it didn’t happen. There was nothing more than a feeble attempt to fight him, almost a pretense, that only fueled Michael’s desire even more, and then Lincoln was kissing him back. His hands closed on Michael’s forearms and squeezed spasmodically. It didn’t stop until Lincoln started to pant, to really pant, out of arousal and because he was lacking air.
Michael lifted his head and let him go, stroking Lincoln’s jaw to soothe the red marks that his fingers had left on the rough skin. Ignoring the light bruises, Lincoln blinked, inhaled sharply and smacked his lips together.
“’Twas hot,” he let drop against all odds, his eyes glassy and trained on Michael’s mouth, “although you know... I’m not usually into men, baby bro.”
Michael couldn’t help the smirk that curled his lips. “Yes, because sexual orientation is the real issue here.” Lincoln looked up quizzically, the expression on his face showing without a doubt that Michael’s words didn’t hit home. “I’m going to bed. You can sleep here if you want, just... try not to barf on the couch, will you?”
Those words obviously didn’t register either, because Lincoln rubbed the pad of his thumb against Michael’s lips, pressing just the hint of a nail into the sensitive flesh, and asked, “Do it again?”
“No.” His rebuttal came with a second of hesitation that made his head spin. He grabbed the leather cushions of the couch and held onto them, waiting for the room to stop whirling around him.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Michael asked. His brother had a few things to be sorry for and Michael really didn’t care to guess which one he was meaning, right now.
Lincoln scratched the back of his neck and cast Michael a cautious glance. “Whatever I have to be sorry for.” He lay on the couch and tugged Michael down with him. He settled here, his head on Michael’s shoulder, an arm flung across his middle, trapping him against the back of the sofa. He was heavy and not worrying whether he was crushing Michael, who absurdly enjoyed the feeling. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Yeah.” Michael didn’t even try to struggle and get up, it was pointless. He squirmed and reached out for the small blanket neatly folded on the couch arm, then spread it out on them. Lincoln mumbled his approbation.
“You’re a nice brother when you’re not acting like a fucking smart-ass.”
“Thank you, Lincoln,” he answered because he was pretty sure that Linc actually meant it like a compliment.
“You’re kind of a nice pillow too,” Lincoln added, patting the soft fabric of Michael’s sweeter. “And you can kiss.” He raised his head and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on Michael’s mouth before he resumed his previous position.
Wincing, Michael licked his lips to clean them of the saliva and the aftertaste of alcohol that Lincoln had left. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, it wasn’t supposed to please Lincoln. It was supposed to punish him, to take advantage of him in a way he wouldn’t even have been aware of. It was meant to be an ultimate and sneaky retaliation. Instead, it was back lashing on Michael. He knew that he would wake up with a stiff neck and a numb arm; with Lincoln drooling on his cashmere sweater and, in all probability, with Lincoln’s morning hard-on pressed into his hip; not to mention the mandatory bad breath going along with the inevitable hangover.
This really was a bad idea.
“Go to sleep,” he muttered to Lincoln, “Don’t steal the blanket and don’t retch on...”
“Yeah, yeah. You know, I like you better when you kiss me. At least, you shut up then.”
Well. Fuck.
He let his head fall back against the cushions and closed his eyes.
* *
He kissed Lincoln once and even though Lincoln totally deserved it, he felt bad about it. Really he did. About a split second tops, before he kissed him and then again two weeks after he did.
Then Lincoln showed up again on his doorstep at two in the morning, high and needing money.
* *
End notes: Written based on an unused snippet from They Dance.
6-7 March 2008
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Genre: Slash
Rating: PG-13/R
Warning: Incest
Word count: ~ 1000
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: He kissed Lincoln once. Lincoln deserved it.
Notes: Thanks to torigates for the beta.
Read entry in light format
He kissed Lincoln once.
Lincoln deserved it. He deserved some kind of retribution, a payback of one kind or another for getting drunk again, ending up on Michael’s doorstep and then slumping onto the expensive couch of the neat apartment, ruining Michael’s nice, quiet night. He deserved it because this happened more and more frequently, because Lincoln showed up when he was drunk or high or needing money - or all three of them rolled into one, for that matter.
Michael sat next to his brother and stayed impassive and silent for a while but Lincoln kept on babbling and grumbling snide comments about pretty much anything. Exasperation and resentment bubbled inside of him and in the end, fed up with the intrusion, the drinking and the rambling, Michael just grabbed Lincoln’s chin and kissed him. Hard and full on the mouth. He dug his fingers into Linc’s jaw, bit his lips and forced his way into his brother’s mouth. It elicited an incongruous whimper then shut him up for good, and Michael reveled in the sudden silence. He licked Lincoln’s teeth, pushed against his tongue and explored the silky flesh of the inside of his cheeks. It was thorough, methodical and demanding, aggressive, punitive and exciting for a dozen reasons, all of them bad and wrong. It was crazy but it didn’t matter as much as it should have because Lincoln was so drunk that he wouldn’t remember any of it anyway.
Or maybe it was even worse because Lincoln wouldn’t be able to remember any of it. His mind reeling with this idea, Michael deepened the kiss. It was slick and soft and hot in there, the sensations alien and oddly familiar altogether, almost making him lose sight of his goal. He tasted cheap alcohol on Lincoln’s tongue, he heard him choke, he felt him jolt; he waited for Linc to pull away - violently - but it didn’t happen. There was nothing more than a feeble attempt to fight him, almost a pretense, that only fueled Michael’s desire even more, and then Lincoln was kissing him back. His hands closed on Michael’s forearms and squeezed spasmodically. It didn’t stop until Lincoln started to pant, to really pant, out of arousal and because he was lacking air.
Michael lifted his head and let him go, stroking Lincoln’s jaw to soothe the red marks that his fingers had left on the rough skin. Ignoring the light bruises, Lincoln blinked, inhaled sharply and smacked his lips together.
“’Twas hot,” he let drop against all odds, his eyes glassy and trained on Michael’s mouth, “although you know... I’m not usually into men, baby bro.”
Michael couldn’t help the smirk that curled his lips. “Yes, because sexual orientation is the real issue here.” Lincoln looked up quizzically, the expression on his face showing without a doubt that Michael’s words didn’t hit home. “I’m going to bed. You can sleep here if you want, just... try not to barf on the couch, will you?”
Those words obviously didn’t register either, because Lincoln rubbed the pad of his thumb against Michael’s lips, pressing just the hint of a nail into the sensitive flesh, and asked, “Do it again?”
“No.” His rebuttal came with a second of hesitation that made his head spin. He grabbed the leather cushions of the couch and held onto them, waiting for the room to stop whirling around him.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Michael asked. His brother had a few things to be sorry for and Michael really didn’t care to guess which one he was meaning, right now.
Lincoln scratched the back of his neck and cast Michael a cautious glance. “Whatever I have to be sorry for.” He lay on the couch and tugged Michael down with him. He settled here, his head on Michael’s shoulder, an arm flung across his middle, trapping him against the back of the sofa. He was heavy and not worrying whether he was crushing Michael, who absurdly enjoyed the feeling. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Yeah.” Michael didn’t even try to struggle and get up, it was pointless. He squirmed and reached out for the small blanket neatly folded on the couch arm, then spread it out on them. Lincoln mumbled his approbation.
“You’re a nice brother when you’re not acting like a fucking smart-ass.”
“Thank you, Lincoln,” he answered because he was pretty sure that Linc actually meant it like a compliment.
“You’re kind of a nice pillow too,” Lincoln added, patting the soft fabric of Michael’s sweeter. “And you can kiss.” He raised his head and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on Michael’s mouth before he resumed his previous position.
Wincing, Michael licked his lips to clean them of the saliva and the aftertaste of alcohol that Lincoln had left. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, it wasn’t supposed to please Lincoln. It was supposed to punish him, to take advantage of him in a way he wouldn’t even have been aware of. It was meant to be an ultimate and sneaky retaliation. Instead, it was back lashing on Michael. He knew that he would wake up with a stiff neck and a numb arm; with Lincoln drooling on his cashmere sweater and, in all probability, with Lincoln’s morning hard-on pressed into his hip; not to mention the mandatory bad breath going along with the inevitable hangover.
This really was a bad idea.
“Go to sleep,” he muttered to Lincoln, “Don’t steal the blanket and don’t retch on...”
“Yeah, yeah. You know, I like you better when you kiss me. At least, you shut up then.”
Well. Fuck.
He let his head fall back against the cushions and closed his eyes.
* *
He kissed Lincoln once and even though Lincoln totally deserved it, he felt bad about it. Really he did. About a split second tops, before he kissed him and then again two weeks after he did.
Then Lincoln showed up again on his doorstep at two in the morning, high and needing money.
* *
End notes: Written based on an unused snippet from They Dance.
6-7 March 2008