Prison Break - (No) Apologies
Title: (No) Apologies
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lisa Rix
Genres: Het, PWP
Rating: R
Words: ~ 2490
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: It wasn’t the first she’d seen him like that, and she just wanted to comfort him because she suddenly wondered whether, this time around, anybody else would. How things spiraled that way, she honestly doesn’t understand.
Notes: This is a fleshed-out version of one of The Stories I Won’t Write. Written for the Let’s Get It On! Challenge at pbhiatus_fic. Many thanks to slysionnachnano for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Honestly, Lisa doesn’t know how it happened. He was sitting next to her on the couch in her living room, kind of sad, kind of pissed off, all serious featured, teary eyes and tense shoulders. He looked so lost and miserable. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him like that, and she just wanted to comfort him because she suddenly wondered whether, this time around, anybody else would. How things spiraled that way, she honestly doesn’t understand.
One moment she was holding him against her almost the way she would have held LJ: kind and thoughtful, with just a hint of embarrassment on his part because he was not accustomed to this kind of thing, and a dash of clumsiness on her part because hugging him was not that easy - he grew up and undeniably gained some well needed weight and muscles since the last time she’d seen him. He recoiled when she wrapped her arms around him, an instinctive reaction, then gradually relaxed until he rested his forehead in the crook of her neck and clang to her, his hands holding on to her waist.
The next moment, between a sympathetic pat on his back, the assurance that, “It’s going to be okay,” and her blouse discarded to the floor, they were kissing. It began with a brush of lips, almost accidental, still friendly, when he lifted his head. It kept going on with a bit more pressure when he softly pushed her against the armrest of the couch. It ended up in a full mouth kiss - tongue and teeth and saliva and hard breathing. Things escalating way quicker than she would have thought it possible. Her shirt was opened and removed, his fingers already fumbling with the button of her slacks when the piece of clothing hit the floor. Bending a bit, he dipped his head lower and mouthed her nipple through the lace of her bra, humming with satisfaction when it hardened beneath his tongue. She arched her back under the caress and heard him, felt him murmur, “Please,” against her skin. She realized he wouldn’t stop unless she asked him to; she also realized she had no intention to ask him to stop. She didn’t feel like it. There were a dozen reasons to put and end to it and pretend it never happened, and only a couple not to stop - he needed it and maybe she did too - but damn it...
She tried to think about it, to pin down what she shouldn’t have done, and the events seemed to roll backwards. Definitely, she shouldn’t have given him this affectionate peck on the lips since it eventually turned into real kiss. But the peck on the lips had been nothing more than the outcome of a light kiss on the cheek, and she’d kissed him on the cheek plenty of times. A couple of times anyway. Before the pecks-and-kisses and the following make-out session on the couch, she offered him a coffee after she invited him in on their way back from the tribunal. Because in the car, he was already kind of sad and kind of pissed off. Which brought back to the notion that she just wanted to comfort him.
The fact that said comfort was eventually conveyed by her hands sliding under his shirt and his mouth trailing down her throat and between her breasts was an issue she would have to address later. Just as she would have to consider why she was doing it since she highly doubted that ‘feeling like it’ and ‘not coping with his reaction to Lincoln’s last exploits’ were good enough reasons, even tough those were the only ones that came to her mind. Right now, the real matter was him mumbling “I’m sorry” between each lick on her neck and chest, each line his fingers traced on her skin. She moved back slightly, grabbed his chin and tilted his head up to look him in the eyes.
“It’s okay. It’s not a big deal, Michael.”
“You don’t even like me,” he pointed out. He didn’t stop what he was doing, however. His fingers slid in the waistband of her pants and sought for the curves of her butt while his mouth attacked her shoulder, showering it with light kisses and nibbling it softly.
She answered without thinking about what she said, distracted by his ministrations, by the way she was starting to react more eagerly to his touch, muscles tightening and skin prickling with pleasure. “It doesn’t matter.” He lifted his head and stared at her, hurt flashing in his eyes and - shit - she bit her tongue. “I do like you,” she amended, actually meaning it, “it’s just that you’re...”
“... nothing more than Lincoln’s boring little brother?”
“You’re way more than that,” she replied firmly, thwarted by his ability to lessen himself, and added, “And I wouldn’t say boring, rather... annoying.”
He had a faint smile at her teasing. “Well, thanks. I’m already feeling better.”
“You are annoying,” she insisted, her tone light-hearted and serious altogether. “You’re the kind of guy to bring up your brother when getting sex offered by his ex-girlfriend.”
Before, when she was dating Lincoln, he’d been the kind of kid to get in the way so, yes, even if she didn’t dislike him - she truly had no reason to - she’d found him annoying. He’d been ever so present, demanding, clingy and weird, in a shy and nice way that had always prevented her from telling him to leave them alone. More than once, she’d had the feeling to compete with him for Lincoln’s attention. They had operated in a same, small space, always polite, thoughtful and a bit wary of each other, not distanced enough to be strangers but not close enough to be friends or family, having too much in common to be mere acquaintances. It had never been a comfortable place and she had probably been way too young to know how to deal with that, back then.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to... Linc’s in jail and Vee’s gone and...”
“It’s okay,” she assured him again. She fidgeted with his shirt and cast him a glance, arching her eyebrows. He took the hint, got on his feet and hurriedly stripped off his clothes, fingers clumsy in his hast, as if he was afraid that she changed her mind. Or maybe that he did. That one of them snapped out of whatever they had fallen into and called everything off. It didn’t keep him from picking up her shirt from the floor and laying it on the coffee table near him, though, adding his own clothes as they were removed, and she couldn’t help smiling. She kept on smiling but for a different reason when he turned towards her, lowered his eyes and met hers with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. What he was hoping for, brave enough to hint at but not bold enough to ask straightforwardly, was glaringly obvious. Figured. Given their respective positions, she couldn’t blame him for that. She licked her lips and his hips instinctively jutted forward, betraying his eagerness.
She ran her hands up his thighs and hips, down his belly and to his crotch, and closely followed them with her mouth. Tasting his skin and scent, enjoying the roll of muscles beneath her fingers and lips, savoring his erratic intakes of breath. Out the corner of her eye, she saw him clench his fists and taunted him with a “Is it good?” He couldn’t help chuckling at her question. As a response, a hand left his side, flew to the back of her head and almost entwined in her hair before he caught himself and merely rested it on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Michael,” she repeated. He swayed a bit and stiffened, a small gasp escaping him when she closed her lips around him and slowly let him slide into her mouth.
She thought it would be hesitant, fast and serious; not to mention awkward - especially awkward.
She didn’t need more than a couple of minutes to figure out that serious wasn’t going to happen. At some point, he startled as if he’d been stung, not because of the ministrations she was providing him but for some unknown reason. He whimpered slightly when her tooth scraped his flesh because she’d been surprised by his sudden move and, holding hard on to her shoulder, he breathed out, “LJ?” She pulled back in a hurry, her eyes darting to the door of the apartment with dread, her heart in her throat, her arousal dropping, and then dropping a bit more.
“No, I mean, where is LJ?” he amended, his tone apologetic.
Relief washed over her. She rested her forehead against his stomach and tried to catch her breath, feeling like on a fucking roller coaster. For a couple of seconds, she wondered, really wondered, whether she would or would not continue this, whether he deserved that she continued this. He squeezed her shoulder in apology and she inhaled sharply.
“School,” she answered, breathing hard. “And you’re still annoying. This was way worse than bringing up your brother.”
“I’m...”
“I swear to God, say again that you’re sorry and I’m going to bite you. Might hurt.”
“Might also defeat the whole purpose of what you were doing,” he shot back with a smile in his voice.
Well. Now she could get why Lincoln often added smartass after his brother’s name. Not that it was the right time to think about Lincoln.
So, if not cheerful, undeniably not serious. And not fast either. She took her time when she slid back her mouth around him, licked, teased and stroked. Her lips and tongue and fingers moved accordingly to the intensity of the groans that escaped him, one of her hand caressing him while the other restrained the shallow, erratic thrusts of his hips. It was slow and thorough, and she made it last until he started to pant and squirm, gripping spasmodically her shoulders to warn her - it was probably more than enough and she’d better stop before something regrettable happened. Releasing him, she reclined against the cushions and waited.
He was a bit hastier than she’d been when he helped her to her feet and finished undressing her, but he did take the time to linger on each extent of skin he bared. By the time she kicked off her pants, he had wrapped his arms around her and was kissing, caressing and reaching for every sensitive spots he discovered. To be honest, he was quite good at finding and pleasuring them.
There was no hesitation in the way she gently pushed him on the couch, motioning him to lie on his back, and then straddled him. He complied readily, curled a bit to avoid hitting his head, bent his knees to fit his legs in and slid his hands up her thighs. No hesitation either in they way he seized her waist and guided her, the long fingers grazing her flesh with impatience. His eyes widened slightly when she took him inside of her, and blinked at the small gasps that she let out.
“You like that?” he asked, uncertain.
She stilled above him and held his gaze. It was gleaming with arousal. There still was this hint of sadness, which she thought nothing would make go away, and it was fine, she didn’t mean to. She also spotted a glimpse of doubt and that pissed her off. “What, you thought I was doing it purely out of good heart? Built yourself an ego, Michael. Take after your brother.”
A sly smile twisted his mouth, “Now, who’s annoying?” and disappeared almost as fast as it had showed up when she rose on her knees and sank back, clenching hard around him. There was a muttered “Fuck!” a thrust of hips and he desperately tugged her forwards. He lifted up a bit until he could half-sit against the armrest, then snaked his arms around her, holding her flush against him. His head buried in the crook of her neck, he kissed her throat. It was sweet and affectionate, and despite the escalating tension, they were somewhat back at the beginning - comfort.
He whispered, his lips brushing the moist skin below her ear. “It’s nice, what you’re doing.”
The last threads of her exasperation faded away with the murmured words and - okay - with one of his hands coming up to gently cup her breast, the pad of his thumb rubbing the nipple.
“Just nice?”
“Among other things,” he admitted with a smirk.
* * *
There definitely was no hesitation at all in the way the moved together. Sure, it was a bit clumsy and syncopated to begin with, but then they found a rhythm that worked for the both of them and it became smooth, slow and easy.
She pressed down hard when she felt the first tingling of her release and writhed between his hands, holding them on her with her own. The remains of his self-control crumbling apart, he grabbed her hips to roll them over and thrust deep inside her, clinging to her and panting in her neck.
He needed a few minutes to catch his breath, open his eyes, be able to talk again. He couldn’t move, not yet, so he was still lying, heavy on top of her, when he asked considerately, “Am I crushing you?”
“Yes,” she said good-humorously.
“I’m sor...”
She bit him. Sank her teeth in the muscle of his shoulder and bit hard.
* * *
She had thought it would be awkward and, ultimately, it was. When they had to get up, pick their clothes from the pile on the coffee table and dress again. If there could be a good kind of awkward, this unquestionably was it, though.
“So,” he said, buttoning up his shirt and looking everywhere but at her, “we had agreed that next week, I would take LJ to the zoo.”
“I remember.”
“Maybe it would better if I, huh, go get him at his school?”
She nodded her head. “Yeah, probably.”
“Okay, then.”
They faced each other for a while, quiet and not having the slightest idea of what to say or do. Both equally awkward. She had, quite accurately, predicted awkwardness - not an unexpected feeling when one had just fucked their almost ex-sibling-in-law, although she experienced an amusement that he probably didn’t share. Finally, he tilted his head towards the door and murmured, “I’d better get going.”
“Yes.”
He bent towards her and, for a weird split second, she thought he was about to kiss her. At her relief, his lips landed on her cheek and planted there a quick and friendly peck. Then he was speaking right into her ear with this soft, smooth voice, and she smiled at his words.
“I’m not sorry, Lisa.”
Not that it enlightened her on how it happened, but neither was she.
-End-
Comments are always welcome.
24 May-7 June 2008
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lisa Rix
Genres: Het, PWP
Rating: R
Words: ~ 2490
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: It wasn’t the first she’d seen him like that, and she just wanted to comfort him because she suddenly wondered whether, this time around, anybody else would. How things spiraled that way, she honestly doesn’t understand.
Notes: This is a fleshed-out version of one of The Stories I Won’t Write. Written for the Let’s Get It On! Challenge at pbhiatus_fic. Many thanks to slysionnachnano for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Honestly, Lisa doesn’t know how it happened. He was sitting next to her on the couch in her living room, kind of sad, kind of pissed off, all serious featured, teary eyes and tense shoulders. He looked so lost and miserable. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him like that, and she just wanted to comfort him because she suddenly wondered whether, this time around, anybody else would. How things spiraled that way, she honestly doesn’t understand.
One moment she was holding him against her almost the way she would have held LJ: kind and thoughtful, with just a hint of embarrassment on his part because he was not accustomed to this kind of thing, and a dash of clumsiness on her part because hugging him was not that easy - he grew up and undeniably gained some well needed weight and muscles since the last time she’d seen him. He recoiled when she wrapped her arms around him, an instinctive reaction, then gradually relaxed until he rested his forehead in the crook of her neck and clang to her, his hands holding on to her waist.
The next moment, between a sympathetic pat on his back, the assurance that, “It’s going to be okay,” and her blouse discarded to the floor, they were kissing. It began with a brush of lips, almost accidental, still friendly, when he lifted his head. It kept going on with a bit more pressure when he softly pushed her against the armrest of the couch. It ended up in a full mouth kiss - tongue and teeth and saliva and hard breathing. Things escalating way quicker than she would have thought it possible. Her shirt was opened and removed, his fingers already fumbling with the button of her slacks when the piece of clothing hit the floor. Bending a bit, he dipped his head lower and mouthed her nipple through the lace of her bra, humming with satisfaction when it hardened beneath his tongue. She arched her back under the caress and heard him, felt him murmur, “Please,” against her skin. She realized he wouldn’t stop unless she asked him to; she also realized she had no intention to ask him to stop. She didn’t feel like it. There were a dozen reasons to put and end to it and pretend it never happened, and only a couple not to stop - he needed it and maybe she did too - but damn it...
She tried to think about it, to pin down what she shouldn’t have done, and the events seemed to roll backwards. Definitely, she shouldn’t have given him this affectionate peck on the lips since it eventually turned into real kiss. But the peck on the lips had been nothing more than the outcome of a light kiss on the cheek, and she’d kissed him on the cheek plenty of times. A couple of times anyway. Before the pecks-and-kisses and the following make-out session on the couch, she offered him a coffee after she invited him in on their way back from the tribunal. Because in the car, he was already kind of sad and kind of pissed off. Which brought back to the notion that she just wanted to comfort him.
The fact that said comfort was eventually conveyed by her hands sliding under his shirt and his mouth trailing down her throat and between her breasts was an issue she would have to address later. Just as she would have to consider why she was doing it since she highly doubted that ‘feeling like it’ and ‘not coping with his reaction to Lincoln’s last exploits’ were good enough reasons, even tough those were the only ones that came to her mind. Right now, the real matter was him mumbling “I’m sorry” between each lick on her neck and chest, each line his fingers traced on her skin. She moved back slightly, grabbed his chin and tilted his head up to look him in the eyes.
“It’s okay. It’s not a big deal, Michael.”
“You don’t even like me,” he pointed out. He didn’t stop what he was doing, however. His fingers slid in the waistband of her pants and sought for the curves of her butt while his mouth attacked her shoulder, showering it with light kisses and nibbling it softly.
She answered without thinking about what she said, distracted by his ministrations, by the way she was starting to react more eagerly to his touch, muscles tightening and skin prickling with pleasure. “It doesn’t matter.” He lifted his head and stared at her, hurt flashing in his eyes and - shit - she bit her tongue. “I do like you,” she amended, actually meaning it, “it’s just that you’re...”
“... nothing more than Lincoln’s boring little brother?”
“You’re way more than that,” she replied firmly, thwarted by his ability to lessen himself, and added, “And I wouldn’t say boring, rather... annoying.”
He had a faint smile at her teasing. “Well, thanks. I’m already feeling better.”
“You are annoying,” she insisted, her tone light-hearted and serious altogether. “You’re the kind of guy to bring up your brother when getting sex offered by his ex-girlfriend.”
Before, when she was dating Lincoln, he’d been the kind of kid to get in the way so, yes, even if she didn’t dislike him - she truly had no reason to - she’d found him annoying. He’d been ever so present, demanding, clingy and weird, in a shy and nice way that had always prevented her from telling him to leave them alone. More than once, she’d had the feeling to compete with him for Lincoln’s attention. They had operated in a same, small space, always polite, thoughtful and a bit wary of each other, not distanced enough to be strangers but not close enough to be friends or family, having too much in common to be mere acquaintances. It had never been a comfortable place and she had probably been way too young to know how to deal with that, back then.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to... Linc’s in jail and Vee’s gone and...”
“It’s okay,” she assured him again. She fidgeted with his shirt and cast him a glance, arching her eyebrows. He took the hint, got on his feet and hurriedly stripped off his clothes, fingers clumsy in his hast, as if he was afraid that she changed her mind. Or maybe that he did. That one of them snapped out of whatever they had fallen into and called everything off. It didn’t keep him from picking up her shirt from the floor and laying it on the coffee table near him, though, adding his own clothes as they were removed, and she couldn’t help smiling. She kept on smiling but for a different reason when he turned towards her, lowered his eyes and met hers with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. What he was hoping for, brave enough to hint at but not bold enough to ask straightforwardly, was glaringly obvious. Figured. Given their respective positions, she couldn’t blame him for that. She licked her lips and his hips instinctively jutted forward, betraying his eagerness.
She ran her hands up his thighs and hips, down his belly and to his crotch, and closely followed them with her mouth. Tasting his skin and scent, enjoying the roll of muscles beneath her fingers and lips, savoring his erratic intakes of breath. Out the corner of her eye, she saw him clench his fists and taunted him with a “Is it good?” He couldn’t help chuckling at her question. As a response, a hand left his side, flew to the back of her head and almost entwined in her hair before he caught himself and merely rested it on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Michael,” she repeated. He swayed a bit and stiffened, a small gasp escaping him when she closed her lips around him and slowly let him slide into her mouth.
She thought it would be hesitant, fast and serious; not to mention awkward - especially awkward.
She didn’t need more than a couple of minutes to figure out that serious wasn’t going to happen. At some point, he startled as if he’d been stung, not because of the ministrations she was providing him but for some unknown reason. He whimpered slightly when her tooth scraped his flesh because she’d been surprised by his sudden move and, holding hard on to her shoulder, he breathed out, “LJ?” She pulled back in a hurry, her eyes darting to the door of the apartment with dread, her heart in her throat, her arousal dropping, and then dropping a bit more.
“No, I mean, where is LJ?” he amended, his tone apologetic.
Relief washed over her. She rested her forehead against his stomach and tried to catch her breath, feeling like on a fucking roller coaster. For a couple of seconds, she wondered, really wondered, whether she would or would not continue this, whether he deserved that she continued this. He squeezed her shoulder in apology and she inhaled sharply.
“School,” she answered, breathing hard. “And you’re still annoying. This was way worse than bringing up your brother.”
“I’m...”
“I swear to God, say again that you’re sorry and I’m going to bite you. Might hurt.”
“Might also defeat the whole purpose of what you were doing,” he shot back with a smile in his voice.
Well. Now she could get why Lincoln often added smartass after his brother’s name. Not that it was the right time to think about Lincoln.
So, if not cheerful, undeniably not serious. And not fast either. She took her time when she slid back her mouth around him, licked, teased and stroked. Her lips and tongue and fingers moved accordingly to the intensity of the groans that escaped him, one of her hand caressing him while the other restrained the shallow, erratic thrusts of his hips. It was slow and thorough, and she made it last until he started to pant and squirm, gripping spasmodically her shoulders to warn her - it was probably more than enough and she’d better stop before something regrettable happened. Releasing him, she reclined against the cushions and waited.
He was a bit hastier than she’d been when he helped her to her feet and finished undressing her, but he did take the time to linger on each extent of skin he bared. By the time she kicked off her pants, he had wrapped his arms around her and was kissing, caressing and reaching for every sensitive spots he discovered. To be honest, he was quite good at finding and pleasuring them.
There was no hesitation in the way she gently pushed him on the couch, motioning him to lie on his back, and then straddled him. He complied readily, curled a bit to avoid hitting his head, bent his knees to fit his legs in and slid his hands up her thighs. No hesitation either in they way he seized her waist and guided her, the long fingers grazing her flesh with impatience. His eyes widened slightly when she took him inside of her, and blinked at the small gasps that she let out.
“You like that?” he asked, uncertain.
She stilled above him and held his gaze. It was gleaming with arousal. There still was this hint of sadness, which she thought nothing would make go away, and it was fine, she didn’t mean to. She also spotted a glimpse of doubt and that pissed her off. “What, you thought I was doing it purely out of good heart? Built yourself an ego, Michael. Take after your brother.”
A sly smile twisted his mouth, “Now, who’s annoying?” and disappeared almost as fast as it had showed up when she rose on her knees and sank back, clenching hard around him. There was a muttered “Fuck!” a thrust of hips and he desperately tugged her forwards. He lifted up a bit until he could half-sit against the armrest, then snaked his arms around her, holding her flush against him. His head buried in the crook of her neck, he kissed her throat. It was sweet and affectionate, and despite the escalating tension, they were somewhat back at the beginning - comfort.
He whispered, his lips brushing the moist skin below her ear. “It’s nice, what you’re doing.”
The last threads of her exasperation faded away with the murmured words and - okay - with one of his hands coming up to gently cup her breast, the pad of his thumb rubbing the nipple.
“Just nice?”
“Among other things,” he admitted with a smirk.
* * *
There definitely was no hesitation at all in the way the moved together. Sure, it was a bit clumsy and syncopated to begin with, but then they found a rhythm that worked for the both of them and it became smooth, slow and easy.
She pressed down hard when she felt the first tingling of her release and writhed between his hands, holding them on her with her own. The remains of his self-control crumbling apart, he grabbed her hips to roll them over and thrust deep inside her, clinging to her and panting in her neck.
He needed a few minutes to catch his breath, open his eyes, be able to talk again. He couldn’t move, not yet, so he was still lying, heavy on top of her, when he asked considerately, “Am I crushing you?”
“Yes,” she said good-humorously.
“I’m sor...”
She bit him. Sank her teeth in the muscle of his shoulder and bit hard.
* * *
She had thought it would be awkward and, ultimately, it was. When they had to get up, pick their clothes from the pile on the coffee table and dress again. If there could be a good kind of awkward, this unquestionably was it, though.
“So,” he said, buttoning up his shirt and looking everywhere but at her, “we had agreed that next week, I would take LJ to the zoo.”
“I remember.”
“Maybe it would better if I, huh, go get him at his school?”
She nodded her head. “Yeah, probably.”
“Okay, then.”
They faced each other for a while, quiet and not having the slightest idea of what to say or do. Both equally awkward. She had, quite accurately, predicted awkwardness - not an unexpected feeling when one had just fucked their almost ex-sibling-in-law, although she experienced an amusement that he probably didn’t share. Finally, he tilted his head towards the door and murmured, “I’d better get going.”
“Yes.”
He bent towards her and, for a weird split second, she thought he was about to kiss her. At her relief, his lips landed on her cheek and planted there a quick and friendly peck. Then he was speaking right into her ear with this soft, smooth voice, and she smiled at his words.
“I’m not sorry, Lisa.”
Not that it enlightened her on how it happened, but neither was she.
-End-
Comments are always welcome.
24 May-7 June 2008