Prison Break - A Convenience
Title: A Convenience
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 665
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: When the need arises, he has a range of fantasies at his disposal.
Author’s Note: Written for April’s Fool mini-round at rounds-of-kink. Let’s say this is for ‘forbidden pleasures’ and ‘vicarious’.
Beta: Many thanks to foxriverinmate. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
When the need arises, he has a range of fantasies at his disposal, most of them including Lincoln and/or Veronica in any possible combinations. Peeping at his brother and his girlfriend when they were having sex was, in the beginning, as far as he dared to go. It was some sort of vicarious delight to watch Lincoln pleasure her and vice-versa. He’s sensible enough to realize why it gets to him the way it does and how wrong it is. Actually, more than wrong when he imagines himself with Lincoln alone, leaving Vee out of the picture.
There is only one outlet when this happens. A locked door and his hands sliding down his stomach and into his pants is the emergency solution but whenever possible, he’d rather perform a nice little ritual. He settles naked in the middle of Lincoln’s bed, breathing in his brother’s odor, his hands roaming freely over his body, pinching and scratching or, according to the mood of the moment, caressing delicately. Eventually, lubricated with whatever he found in the bathroom cabinet or the night table drawer, they close around his erection and start a game of tug and stroke that always, always brings him off in a spectacular manner.
He has a range of fantasies at his disposal, but his favorite is to imagine Linc’s eyes trained on him as he slowly strokes himself into release. No touching from his brother. It allows him to both carry on the fantasy and perpetuate the illusion that it’s not as inappropriate as Lincoln actually gratifying him would be. It would be hypocritical, this reasoning, if he wasn’t aware of the fact that it is a convenience, an expediency to allow him to have his guilty pleasure.
But tonight, between a stifled groan and a long gasp, when he opens his eyes, he discovers his brother leaning against the door jamb, a dark, weirdly lustful expression on his face. For real. Reality meeting fantasy. Michael jolts at the unexpected intrusion but is too far gone to be able to stop what he’s doing. So his hands keep desperately stroking and fondling the hard, slick flesh. They caress and lift and squeeze, fingers sliding lower between his thighs and pushing with skillful practice. Lincoln greedily follows each of his moves, of his rolls of hips and flicks of wrist; Michael shows off in response, taking his ministrations further than he would have without this kind of audience.
He’s not sure what in fact makes the pleasure overwhelming in the end; his own hands on his shaft, the grunted “Fuck!” that falls from Lincoln’s lips, the tale telling bulge in his brother’s pants, the eyes fixated on him... Probably a mixture of all that. He arches up, his hips lurching off the bed and his head digging into the pillow - Lincoln’s pillow - as release washes over him. It’s a messy situation, both being caught in the act by his big brother as he’s masturbating in his bed, and the immediate physical consequences. His mouth opens on a guttural moan as he goes still, stiff, strands of sperm squirting on his stomach, an errant filament hitting the sheets balled up against his left hip.
For about a minute, there is no sound in the bedroom other than their ragged breaths. They’re unable to stop staring at each other, each of them waiting for the other to say something, anything, until Michael heaves out a long, contented sigh. He lazily strokes up his abdomen and chest. It seems to shake Lincoln out of his stupor because his brother grumbles, “Did you really need to do this here?”
He’s too sated right now to feel ashamed. Not to mention that Linc is adjusting the seam of his pants, which makes Michael feel like smiling in sheer delight. Shame will surely happen at some point, when his post orgasm bliss vanishes, but right now he curls up into Lincoln’s blanket and answers sleepily, “The bed smelled like you.”
* *
Comments are always welcome.
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 665
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: When the need arises, he has a range of fantasies at his disposal.
Author’s Note: Written for April’s Fool mini-round at rounds-of-kink. Let’s say this is for ‘forbidden pleasures’ and ‘vicarious’.
Beta: Many thanks to foxriverinmate. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
When the need arises, he has a range of fantasies at his disposal, most of them including Lincoln and/or Veronica in any possible combinations. Peeping at his brother and his girlfriend when they were having sex was, in the beginning, as far as he dared to go. It was some sort of vicarious delight to watch Lincoln pleasure her and vice-versa. He’s sensible enough to realize why it gets to him the way it does and how wrong it is. Actually, more than wrong when he imagines himself with Lincoln alone, leaving Vee out of the picture.
There is only one outlet when this happens. A locked door and his hands sliding down his stomach and into his pants is the emergency solution but whenever possible, he’d rather perform a nice little ritual. He settles naked in the middle of Lincoln’s bed, breathing in his brother’s odor, his hands roaming freely over his body, pinching and scratching or, according to the mood of the moment, caressing delicately. Eventually, lubricated with whatever he found in the bathroom cabinet or the night table drawer, they close around his erection and start a game of tug and stroke that always, always brings him off in a spectacular manner.
He has a range of fantasies at his disposal, but his favorite is to imagine Linc’s eyes trained on him as he slowly strokes himself into release. No touching from his brother. It allows him to both carry on the fantasy and perpetuate the illusion that it’s not as inappropriate as Lincoln actually gratifying him would be. It would be hypocritical, this reasoning, if he wasn’t aware of the fact that it is a convenience, an expediency to allow him to have his guilty pleasure.
But tonight, between a stifled groan and a long gasp, when he opens his eyes, he discovers his brother leaning against the door jamb, a dark, weirdly lustful expression on his face. For real. Reality meeting fantasy. Michael jolts at the unexpected intrusion but is too far gone to be able to stop what he’s doing. So his hands keep desperately stroking and fondling the hard, slick flesh. They caress and lift and squeeze, fingers sliding lower between his thighs and pushing with skillful practice. Lincoln greedily follows each of his moves, of his rolls of hips and flicks of wrist; Michael shows off in response, taking his ministrations further than he would have without this kind of audience.
He’s not sure what in fact makes the pleasure overwhelming in the end; his own hands on his shaft, the grunted “Fuck!” that falls from Lincoln’s lips, the tale telling bulge in his brother’s pants, the eyes fixated on him... Probably a mixture of all that. He arches up, his hips lurching off the bed and his head digging into the pillow - Lincoln’s pillow - as release washes over him. It’s a messy situation, both being caught in the act by his big brother as he’s masturbating in his bed, and the immediate physical consequences. His mouth opens on a guttural moan as he goes still, stiff, strands of sperm squirting on his stomach, an errant filament hitting the sheets balled up against his left hip.
For about a minute, there is no sound in the bedroom other than their ragged breaths. They’re unable to stop staring at each other, each of them waiting for the other to say something, anything, until Michael heaves out a long, contented sigh. He lazily strokes up his abdomen and chest. It seems to shake Lincoln out of his stupor because his brother grumbles, “Did you really need to do this here?”
He’s too sated right now to feel ashamed. Not to mention that Linc is adjusting the seam of his pants, which makes Michael feel like smiling in sheer delight. Shame will surely happen at some point, when his post orgasm bliss vanishes, but right now he curls up into Lincoln’s blanket and answers sleepily, “The bed smelled like you.”
* *
Comments are always welcome.