Prison Break - Give and Take
Title: Give and Take
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 4590
Warning: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: They argued a lot, but fights per se weren’t that frequent. Sometimes, just sometimes, Michael wished they happened a tad more often.
Author’s Note: Written for rounds-of-kink, based on a prompt by foophile. Many thanks to mystressxoxo for the beta. Lingering mistakes are all mine.
Prompt by foophile: Spanking, swallowing and the sentence The only thing worse than fighting with Lincoln was....
“Jackass.”
It was the second insult, delivered in a cold and flat out tone, Michael had shot at Lincoln tonight. It elicited as much response as the first one, which was almost none at all.
Michael would admit that he was aiming for a fight, a real, actual, messy fight. Lincoln deserved to be grilled, and he deserved retribution. He wouldn’t bet his right hand on a success here, though. They argued a lot, but fights per se weren’t that frequent. Sometimes, just sometimes, Michael wished they happened a tad more often because the only thing worse than fighting with Lincoln was to not be able to fight with him when they - when Michael, at any rate - had a valid reason to. God knows they had a lot of valid reasons, yet the fights to reasons ratio remained incredibly low. Between the times where Lincoln was too moody to even talk, too high to realize there was a problem or care about it, too deep into troubles to make a good and healthy clash possible, and between the fact that Linc was the master of evasive maneuvers and he had an incredible high tolerance to Michael’s jabs and sarcasms... they didn’t fight as much as anyone would have imagined. It frustrated Michael to no end, not being able to confront him about whatever the issue of the moment was. He felt like it was Lincoln’s ultimate way to shut him out, and this always left him restless and inwardly boiling; powerless and unable to reach Lincoln. He suspected that Linc was perfectly aware of how much it aggravated him and carried on on purpose; he doubted his brother realized how painful it was, though.
The outcomes were nothing very original. One out of two times, they ended up having sex anyway because it was both a way to try to have the upper hand and to apologize. The only real differences were the volume and fierceness of the shouting and whether blows and knocks had been exchanged before. Actual fights led to yelling and occasional punching and ended with slammed doors or rough sex. Aborted fights resulted in snarky comments from Michael, eluded responses from Lincoln and, depending on how much Michael was pissed off, make-up sex or displays of the cold shoulder. Tonight, he was definitely going for the ‘cold shoulder’ resolution, and Lincoln wasn’t making a secret of his dismay; it brought a gloomy satisfaction to Michael.
Admittedly in peculiar ways, they’d always had a give and take relationship. Lincoln provided, Michael swallowed. Michael meant this with a hint of sarcasm, and in a figurative way as much as in a literal one: his brother had always fed him.
When he was younger, he ate the food Lincoln had supplied and put on the table of their dingy apartment. It didn’t matter that it was a dingy apartment because the operative word here was ‘their’. He chewed, chomped away and licked his lips for his own benefit as much as for Linc’s appreciation.
Later, he had gorged on the lies and promises Lincoln fed and lavished on him. He still did, to be honest. Linc looked him in the eye when he was lying to him and trying to convey some fake sincerity, but not when he was making promises he believed in. He didn’t need eye contact when he could kiss and stroke vows and pledges directly into Michael mouth and skin.
And then, on a regular basis, he gulped down the sticky and salty result of a blow job he had just performed on Lincoln, whether on his knees in a small back alley, lying on the bed at Linc’s delighted mercy, or sucking, licking and controlling the whole game. Eagerly or teasingly obedient, he pumped Lincoln until he gave up every last drop; he reveled in his feel and groans, feasted on his flavor and texture, and felt his own blood flow faster when the bitter substance hit his tongue and slid down his throat.
There would be no such things tonight. He was not in the mood for obedience and swallowing any of the bullshit Lincoln was dropping on him. He was fed up with the lies and ‘the devil may care’ attitude; because of this - and even more so because Lincoln had dodged any attempt to discuss the subject and let the discussion escalate - he gave his brother the worst case of cold shoulder he'd given him in months. He didn’t yield when Lincoln fondled him through his pants and shirt, didn’t capitulate when he shed his own clothes, didn’t surrender when, showing off impishly, Lincoln wrapped his hand around his erection and started to stroke himself.
He didn’t cave in, but he averted his eyes and focused on not paying attention to Lincoln’s clean, musky scent and bulk frame crowding him. He did his best to avoid indulging in the mouth-watering indecency of Lincoln flaunting himself in the middle of the tasteful luxury of the living room. Even when Lincoln’s hand slipped under Michael’s tee shirt and teased the skin of his stomach, he ignored the prickling sensation that commanded him to return the touch. He just shrugged his shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to push Linc away.
“Don’t be a bitch,” Lincoln grumbled. Impatience was creeping in his voice now, and he rutted against Michael to rub his bare cock on the soft material of the pants. “It’s been a while.”
He bit the skin of Michael’s neck and immediately swept his tongue to soothe the tingle of the biting; the combination of the caress and the remark riled Michael up.
“It’s been a while because I took engagements on your behalf and you broke them,” he spat. “It’s been a while because you screwed up the job I’d found you and disappeared again. It’s been a while because...”
He was interrupted by a sloppy kiss, Lincoln messily licking and worrying his lips to make him pay the fact that he wouldn’t unclench his teeth and grant him full access to his mouth. He backed off with an exasperated mutter and glared at him. He hated this, hated that Lincoln thought he just had to show him how much he wanted him and everything would be forgotten. Even more, he hated that Lincoln was probably right to think so.
“I got the general idea. You should know better than taking engagements for me by now, huh?” Linc replied unapologetically. “Come on, Mike, I know you want it. I bet your dick is as stiff as your attitude.”
He didn’t even try to feel him up to prove his point. Just one last provocative squeeze of Michael’s clad bottom and Lincoln was turning his back on him and heading for the couch. He was so sure he would get what he demanded; Michael felt his blood pressure darken his vision and make his ears buzz. His exasperation, nourished by his helplessness, turned into anger, and in two long strides, he had caught up with Lincoln. Gripping his shoulders, he gave him a rough push and bent him over the couch arm, face down and pressed into the leather. It was so fast and smooth; Lincoln didn’t even protest or ask what was in the well was going on. Michael himself barely had the time to realize that he was lifting his hand and letting it fall hard on his brother’s bare backside. Truth be told, acting so instinctively, so forcefully felt exhilarating.
The smack resonated loudly in the quiet apartment. It was followed with a few seconds of total stillness and ragged breathing. The gesture itself took them aback; so did how easily Lincoln had been wrestled down; the fact that he wasn’t already turning around to punch Michael in retaliation was quite a surprise too. Above all, the realization that they found the exquisite mixture of burning pain and stinging pleasure enjoyable slowly dawned on them. When Michael eventually looked down and saw the very neat and very pink imprint of his hand on Lincoln’s pale skin, he dug his teeth in his bottom lip to bite back a murmur of appreciation. His fingers glided on the mistreated muscle, the touch tentative and almost questioning.
They never toughened up things unilaterally; the escalation was always mutual, some sort of ultimate agreement on disagreeing. This... this was a hitch in their usual pattern, and they were stunned into silence as they tried to figure out how to handle the situation.
“Tell me...” Michael’s throat was too dry and tight; he faltered, swallowed hard and tried again. “Tell me to stop.”
Lincoln didn’t reply. Moving with caution and not looking at Michael, he merely shifted on the sofa. He adjusted his position to brace himself, his torso resting on the seat, his legs stretched behind him, his butt pushed in the air and offered. Michael watched him with rapture as he extended his arms above his head and held onto the cushions. He was on display right before him, a perfectly defined figure prone and standing out against the black leather of the couch. Michael reached out for the muscles rolling and coiling under the strain, under the unusual position. So hot and smooth and strong beneath his hand. He let his fingers slide down with reverence and spread them on the dip of Lincoln’s back.
“You’re beautiful.”
The words spilled out of his mouth, low and breathy, before he could get a grip on himself, and of course, they were answered with a snide retort. Lincoln could take the compliment - no problem, thank you very much - but he wouldn’t pass over its sappiness, or what he considered to be sappiness.
“Cut the mushy crap, Romeo, and get on with the program already.”
Asshole. Michael thought it, yet didn’t say it. He let his hand communicate the message and swatted Linc’s left buttock, the one untouched by the first smack. The slapping noise was nice, Lincoln’s reflexive jerk even nicer, and the warm sensation on the palm of Michael’s hand was so good that he had no other choice than hitting again. So, he did it again, and again, alternating between soft small taps that felt more like a caress than like a blow, forceful whacks that made Lincoln pant and jolt, and every variation in-between. He gripped Lincoln’s hip in part to prevent him from writhing, but mainly because he needed something to grab on to and steady himself. Lincoln didn’t thrash and try to escape as much as Michael had thought he would, anyway; Michael had to give him credit for that. He was taking his ordeal with good grace. He gasped every now and then and clutched at the cushions, making small indents into the smooth leather, but he wasn’t fighting back. Of course he wasn’t fighting back. Obviously, he had decided that he wouldn’t give Michael this satisfaction. The forged passivity fired Michael’s exasperation, pushed him to deliver smarter slap, heightened his fervor as Lincoln’s buttocks took on much darker shades of red. More. He wanted more and wondered if he would ever get it, if it would ever be enough as long as Lincoln would duck and elude him.
By the time Michael paused, the warmth born in his palm had spread to his whole body, and he was sweating in his clothes, feverish and almost shaking. This was definitely not only anger anymore, not with the way his gut had tightened and the heat had pooled in his belly. His hand and arm hurt, and Lincoln’s ass sported two bright scarlet spots. Scratch that: Lincoln’s ass was two bright scarlet spots, all throbbing and blotchy. Michael groaned at the sight and leaned in to press his crotch on the inflamed flesh. The contact wasn’t nearly enough to appease him, even momentarily, and he rubbed harder, sighing when he experienced a pressure more substantial than the meager one provided by his clothes.
For the first time tonight, Lincoln protested faintly, maybe because the touch was too heavy or maybe the contrary because it was too light. Sweaty and mouth wide open, he was panting and drooling, reflexive tears prickling the corner of his eyes and rolling down, the head of his dick leaking as he worked his hips to get a bit of friction against the seat of the sofa. Too bad for the overpriced furniture, but if having Lincoln undone in such way was the result, ruining it was worth it a hundred times.
Michael’s lower belly clenched in arousal. The relative distance he’d been able to maintain so far because he was in charge started to slip away, and he dropped on his knees. He relished Lincoln’s obvious anticipation as he kissed him from waist to thighs to soothe the flame of the spanking. Eventually, finally, when he’d decided that Lincoln had been waiting long enough, he snaked his tongue between the abused buttocks. Just one time, just one long luscious lick before he rested his cheek against the back of Lincoln’s thigh. Eyes close and a hand clasped on his groin, he breathed deeply in the combination of perspiration, pre-come, musk and remaining fragrances of soap, and extended his tongue to taste it, amazed as ever that the raw flavors of Lincoln’s body could turn him on that much. He licked again, following a curve on the underside of Lincoln’s buttock, and smacked his lips together.
“Turn around,” he asked softly.
He got on to his feet and watched with fascination as Lincoln rolled over docilely, limbs following in a lazy way. The sofa creaked under his weight. Lincoln winced and cursed sotto voce when his over-sensitive ass connected with the leather and stuck to it. The ache lasted, or at least mattered, barely a second. The next moment, he was wiping on his forearm any traces of dampness from his face and settling comfortably, thighs open and the hollow of his knees resting on the couch arm. He laid a hand low on his stomach, right near his erection but not quite touching it, as if waiting for a permission he knew he wouldn’t get. Enthralled by the image and by the notion, Michael pulled his tee shirt over his head somewhat hastily, slowing down only when he noticed how much Lincoln seemed to enjoy the show.
“You are beautiful,” Linc told him with a smirk, a teasing echo of the reversed statement. Affection and unabashed lust had seeped into the mockery, though, and a light blush flushed Michael’s cheeks. He worked a bit more frantically on his belt, tugging down his pants and boxers and kicking them away. Lincoln grinned at that keenness and shoved a hand behind his head. Eerily, Michael thought he should be furious, at Lincoln or maybe at himself, because his brother knew all too well how to push his buttons. He discarded the thought for now. He would consider it later, when he didn’t have anything better to do, when he didn’t have Lincoln sprawling just for him, offering in a sultry voice, “You want to fuck me, Mikey?”
To his consternation, Michael whimpered; he whimpered, and to add insult to injury, his cock twitched. Lincoln really had a knack at making him feel like a needy kid rather than the smooth and sophisticated grown-up he was. He squeezed his hard-on and tried to contain himself. He wanted to say yes. Or better, he wanted to say nothing at all, push Linc’s knees up against his chest and take him slow and hard until that damn smirk subsided. They did it so rarely this way, even more rarely at Lincoln’s initiative. The times Lincoln let Michael have him like that, negotiations and conditions were involved. So, he had to hold on to the couch and fight hard to shake his head, refusing with a soft, “Later maybe.” As appealing as the offer sounded, he had his mind set on something else and didn’t feel like relinquishing now.
“You sure?” Lincoln asked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It may be a one-time offer.”
Michael bent down and wormed a hand between the couch and Lincoln’s ass. The skin was still excessively hot; it boosted his confidence.
“It may be a themed night, and I may have a small whip somewhere,” he retorted.
Lincoln chuckled and welcomed him, wiggling a bit to accommodate the length of his body when he climbed and nestled on top of him. They let out a synchronized groan of pleasure, almost of relief, to finally be lying together, pressed flush against each other. Michael bore down and writhed like a gigantic cat, clingy and flexible, hissing included when Lincoln grabbed his ass and tried to pull him up.
“I want you to...”
“I know what you want,” Lincoln cut him off.
Of course he knew; he always knew. He knew what Michael wanted and didn’t want; he also knew what Michael wanted even though he shouldn’t want it. It didn’t mean he was willing to give him everything every time, just that he had the ammo to make him crazy - depending on the day, it could be the good or the bad kind of crazy.
“C’here. I’m not going down, you’re coming up.” He snatched a small cushion and stuffed it under his head. “If it’s okay with you?” he added smugly.
Michael kissed him. Since the way Lincoln coated his mouth with saliva earlier could hardly be considered like a kiss, it occurred to him that it was the first time tonight they’d actually kissed. He indulged a few seconds before gnawing at the lips beneath his because he was losing the upper hand - an upper hand Lincoln had granted him - and he started to crawl up awkwardly until he could straddle Linc’s shoulders.
It was an interesting position, to say the least, one that Lincoln usually enjoyed assuming. Michael totally got why. Not that he didn’t take pleasure in it the other way around, but different strokes and perspectives were a nice thing. Lincoln had to be thinking the same way because he craned his neck to press his face into Michael’s groin, making him moan in a really embarrassing way. Lincoln kept nuzzling, his stubble deliciously chaffing Michael; apparently he did not care - or maybe he liked it - that faint traces of gluey fluid dribbled from the erection offered to him and smeared his chin and cheeks.
A shiver ran down Michael’s spine. The idea of Lincoln lying beneath him and getting marked this way, the hands stroking up and down his thighs, the hot mouth skimming and teasing but not quite kissing yet was... Bracing against the couch with one hand, he wrapped the other one around himself and forced Lincoln’s mouth. He would acknowledge that he didn’t need to try very hard: Lincoln opened up and sluggishly trailed a wet tongue from the root to the tip of his dick - Michael didn’t have anything against excessive salivation anymore at this point - before fastening his lips over the heated flesh and starting to suck. He might have burbled something that sounded like an appreciative “Fuck... yeah...” but knowing him, Michael could already assert that he would deny it later.
It didn’t matter what Lincoln would or would not admit. It was perfection. Perfect heat encasing him, perfect pressure, perfect suction. To add to the thrill, Lincoln’s hands glided up the back of his thighs and palmed his ass. They kneaded his buttocks, alternatively prying them apart and pressing them together, and urged a back and forth movement to his hips. This move stole Michael the feeling that he was in control of the fellatio, but it was not like he couldn’t actually thrust in at any moment he wanted to - and just to be sure, just make a point, he shoved a bit harder.
There was a choking-gurgling sound deep in Lincoln’s throat that went straight to Michael’s groin. The gurgling was one thing; the fact that Lincoln didn’t protest or even try to move away but, quite the opposite, sucked more eagerly sent his mind reeling. With stammered and somewhat phony apologies, he retreated enough so that just the head of his cock remained in Lincoln’s mouth. Linc breathed in and got to work with a laudable zeal, thick lips and swirls of tongue and so delicate grazing of teeth having Michael wonder how long he would be able to hold off, shaking with desire and need as he was.
With a wicked smile, Lincoln turned his head to the side and let him slip out of his mouth just long enough to advise, “Don’t go that deep again. I want to taste you when you blow your load.”
Fuck. Michael was almost sure he said this aloud. Almost. With a forefinger suddenly venturing between his buttocks and teasing to breach him, the lewd declaration hanging heavy in the air and Lincoln taking him back in his mouth and sucking so hard that his cheeks hollowed, surely, he could be forgiven if he was not one hundred percent sure. A couple of seconds later, it didn’t matter anymore, anyway, because pleasure was catching up with him. There was a deathlike grip on his hip, preventing him from thrusting too hard if he couldn’t follow the recommendations on his own, the whole time he spilled into Lincoln’s mouth. He had barely enough presence of mind to pull away a bit and look down. Fascinated, dizzy with fulfillment, he stared at Lincoln, whose swollen lips and pink tongue were marred with translucent white fluid.
Lincoln locked eyes with him and made a show of swallowing the semen, rolling it on his tongue and gulping it down slowly, deliberately. The deglutition sound wrenched a last burst from Michael, a vagrant spurt that landed on Lincoln’s cheekbone. He collected it on his fingers and dipped those past Linc’s lips. There was a groan and greedy suction and a dirty wink when Michael rubbed his fingers against the tongue that was lapping at them.
He collapsed, drenched in sweat and exhausted, just alert enough to feel the hot throb of a still erect cock against his abdomen. Small effort, nice reward: it only took a few pulls and tugs before Lincoln came on him, coating his fingers and softening penis. Michael brought his hand up, observed it, and held it out for Lincoln to lick it clean. Linc complied, gliding a plump and sticky tongue all over his palm and digits. When he swallowed, Michael sighed happily and snuggled under his chin to nuzzle at his bobbing Adam’s apple.
“You good?” Lincoln asked lazily.
He nodded. He was totally good. That being said... “I’m still fucking you later,” he croaked in a hoarse voice.
He did: in the spotless bedroom, on the fresh sheets of his huge and neat bed, and with the small whip - since he had a small whip - lying just out of Lincoln’s reach. Harsh, slow and long, just as he had planned it. He rocked into Lincoln and rocked Lincoln into the mattress, listening to the hitches and glitches in his breathing, attentive to make it pleasurable for him but without letting him get off on it. It earned him a few “Bastard” and “Little shit” in the process. He ignored the mishmash of threats and pleads, just came hard for the second time of the night, pulled off with a wet noise and plopped down on his stomach near Lincoln, trying to catch his breath.
The light stinging of leather lashes on his ass called him back to the moment as he was about to doze off. He turned his head to Lincoln brandishing the whip with a not too benevolent look on his face.
“I think you’re forgetting something,” Lincoln pointed out and nodded down at his hard-on. It was red and engorged, leaking pre-come and imploring to be properly sucked. Roused from the slumber he’d started to fall in, Michael slipped his hands under the pillow and fisted the sheets underneath to refrain from moving and diving between Linc’s legs.
“I hate it when you don’t fight back. When we have an argument.”
It makes me feel irrelevant. He didn’t say it because it would have been too much of a weakness and neediness admission.
“You didn’t seem to complain tonight.”
“Yeah. I still don’t like it.” He rolled on his side and inched towards Lincoln. “Does it hurt?” he asked, petting the side of a bloated buttock.
“You mean outside or inside?”
Lincoln crooked an eyebrow; Michael blushed at the implication and blushed a little harder when he thought that maybe, next time, Linc would fight back. Then, a hand was wrapping around the back of his skull and Lincoln was pulling him close and kissing him. Languid and thoughtful, with just the right amount of saliva, teeth and tongue, like a belated apology for the sloppy excuse of a kiss he’d given him before.
“It hurts good,” Lincoln admitted. He looked him in the eye and added, “I’m sorry for the job.”
Michael nodded. It didn’t matter whether Lincoln meant it or not; it wouldn’t make any difference anyway because Michael wanted to believe him. He took the whip from Lincoln’s hands and trailed the straps on his chest and stomach, all the way down to his crotch. There, he flicked his wrist the slightest bit, just hard enough for the lashes to tickle Lincoln’s member, not hard enough to risk hurting him.
“I’m not that much into this shit,” Lincoln said hesitantly.
Michael handed him the whip back. He kissed his jaw... “Neither am I.” ... lingered under his chin... “Just bought it on a whim.” ... licked the hollow at the base of his throat and smiled when he felt it work under his mouth.
“Kinky bastard.” His head was tilted up, a warm and moist tongue dipping into his ear as Lincoln drawled in a sultry tone, “I like your hands better. You’ll like my hands better when I’m spanking you,” he added, the menace threaded with a delicious promise.
The whip handle was pressed into his shoulder, and taking the hint, Michael slowly started to kiss his way down Linc’s body. He didn’t loiter or linger, but he took his time and was thorough in his ministrations. By the time he reached Lincoln’s cock, his brother was breathing hard and on the verge of begging. Michael was tempted to delay the moment he would take him in his mouth. Just because Lincoln deserved it, just because it was a damn turn_on seeing him like this, just because. He certainly would have delayed it if he hadn’t longed for it as much as Linc.
The thin lashes swept over the expanse of his back and he halted his descent. Purely accidental, just Lincoln shifting and moving his hands helplessly, having forgotten that he was still holding the thing. One of said hands reached down for purchase on the nape of Michael’s neck in a soft yet authoritarian way.
He looked up. Lincoln was slowly but surely losing it, head lolling back in abandon, eyes unfocused and glassy with pleasure. Watching him between his eyelashes, Michael flicked his tongue against Lincoln’s cock, lapping and savoring the pearly liquid that oozed from the slit. Lincoln bucked under him to urge him on. Non-fights and faked pleas and broken promises forgotten, Michael complied and took whatever Lincoln was willing to provide, give or offer.
When Lincoln climaxed, Michael swallowed everything.
-End-
Comments are almost as good as chocolate.
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 4590
Warning: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: They argued a lot, but fights per se weren’t that frequent. Sometimes, just sometimes, Michael wished they happened a tad more often.
Author’s Note: Written for rounds-of-kink, based on a prompt by foophile. Many thanks to mystressxoxo for the beta. Lingering mistakes are all mine.
Prompt by foophile: Spanking, swallowing and the sentence The only thing worse than fighting with Lincoln was....
“Jackass.”
It was the second insult, delivered in a cold and flat out tone, Michael had shot at Lincoln tonight. It elicited as much response as the first one, which was almost none at all.
Michael would admit that he was aiming for a fight, a real, actual, messy fight. Lincoln deserved to be grilled, and he deserved retribution. He wouldn’t bet his right hand on a success here, though. They argued a lot, but fights per se weren’t that frequent. Sometimes, just sometimes, Michael wished they happened a tad more often because the only thing worse than fighting with Lincoln was to not be able to fight with him when they - when Michael, at any rate - had a valid reason to. God knows they had a lot of valid reasons, yet the fights to reasons ratio remained incredibly low. Between the times where Lincoln was too moody to even talk, too high to realize there was a problem or care about it, too deep into troubles to make a good and healthy clash possible, and between the fact that Linc was the master of evasive maneuvers and he had an incredible high tolerance to Michael’s jabs and sarcasms... they didn’t fight as much as anyone would have imagined. It frustrated Michael to no end, not being able to confront him about whatever the issue of the moment was. He felt like it was Lincoln’s ultimate way to shut him out, and this always left him restless and inwardly boiling; powerless and unable to reach Lincoln. He suspected that Linc was perfectly aware of how much it aggravated him and carried on on purpose; he doubted his brother realized how painful it was, though.
The outcomes were nothing very original. One out of two times, they ended up having sex anyway because it was both a way to try to have the upper hand and to apologize. The only real differences were the volume and fierceness of the shouting and whether blows and knocks had been exchanged before. Actual fights led to yelling and occasional punching and ended with slammed doors or rough sex. Aborted fights resulted in snarky comments from Michael, eluded responses from Lincoln and, depending on how much Michael was pissed off, make-up sex or displays of the cold shoulder. Tonight, he was definitely going for the ‘cold shoulder’ resolution, and Lincoln wasn’t making a secret of his dismay; it brought a gloomy satisfaction to Michael.
Admittedly in peculiar ways, they’d always had a give and take relationship. Lincoln provided, Michael swallowed. Michael meant this with a hint of sarcasm, and in a figurative way as much as in a literal one: his brother had always fed him.
When he was younger, he ate the food Lincoln had supplied and put on the table of their dingy apartment. It didn’t matter that it was a dingy apartment because the operative word here was ‘their’. He chewed, chomped away and licked his lips for his own benefit as much as for Linc’s appreciation.
Later, he had gorged on the lies and promises Lincoln fed and lavished on him. He still did, to be honest. Linc looked him in the eye when he was lying to him and trying to convey some fake sincerity, but not when he was making promises he believed in. He didn’t need eye contact when he could kiss and stroke vows and pledges directly into Michael mouth and skin.
And then, on a regular basis, he gulped down the sticky and salty result of a blow job he had just performed on Lincoln, whether on his knees in a small back alley, lying on the bed at Linc’s delighted mercy, or sucking, licking and controlling the whole game. Eagerly or teasingly obedient, he pumped Lincoln until he gave up every last drop; he reveled in his feel and groans, feasted on his flavor and texture, and felt his own blood flow faster when the bitter substance hit his tongue and slid down his throat.
There would be no such things tonight. He was not in the mood for obedience and swallowing any of the bullshit Lincoln was dropping on him. He was fed up with the lies and ‘the devil may care’ attitude; because of this - and even more so because Lincoln had dodged any attempt to discuss the subject and let the discussion escalate - he gave his brother the worst case of cold shoulder he'd given him in months. He didn’t yield when Lincoln fondled him through his pants and shirt, didn’t capitulate when he shed his own clothes, didn’t surrender when, showing off impishly, Lincoln wrapped his hand around his erection and started to stroke himself.
He didn’t cave in, but he averted his eyes and focused on not paying attention to Lincoln’s clean, musky scent and bulk frame crowding him. He did his best to avoid indulging in the mouth-watering indecency of Lincoln flaunting himself in the middle of the tasteful luxury of the living room. Even when Lincoln’s hand slipped under Michael’s tee shirt and teased the skin of his stomach, he ignored the prickling sensation that commanded him to return the touch. He just shrugged his shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to push Linc away.
“Don’t be a bitch,” Lincoln grumbled. Impatience was creeping in his voice now, and he rutted against Michael to rub his bare cock on the soft material of the pants. “It’s been a while.”
He bit the skin of Michael’s neck and immediately swept his tongue to soothe the tingle of the biting; the combination of the caress and the remark riled Michael up.
“It’s been a while because I took engagements on your behalf and you broke them,” he spat. “It’s been a while because you screwed up the job I’d found you and disappeared again. It’s been a while because...”
He was interrupted by a sloppy kiss, Lincoln messily licking and worrying his lips to make him pay the fact that he wouldn’t unclench his teeth and grant him full access to his mouth. He backed off with an exasperated mutter and glared at him. He hated this, hated that Lincoln thought he just had to show him how much he wanted him and everything would be forgotten. Even more, he hated that Lincoln was probably right to think so.
“I got the general idea. You should know better than taking engagements for me by now, huh?” Linc replied unapologetically. “Come on, Mike, I know you want it. I bet your dick is as stiff as your attitude.”
He didn’t even try to feel him up to prove his point. Just one last provocative squeeze of Michael’s clad bottom and Lincoln was turning his back on him and heading for the couch. He was so sure he would get what he demanded; Michael felt his blood pressure darken his vision and make his ears buzz. His exasperation, nourished by his helplessness, turned into anger, and in two long strides, he had caught up with Lincoln. Gripping his shoulders, he gave him a rough push and bent him over the couch arm, face down and pressed into the leather. It was so fast and smooth; Lincoln didn’t even protest or ask what was in the well was going on. Michael himself barely had the time to realize that he was lifting his hand and letting it fall hard on his brother’s bare backside. Truth be told, acting so instinctively, so forcefully felt exhilarating.
The smack resonated loudly in the quiet apartment. It was followed with a few seconds of total stillness and ragged breathing. The gesture itself took them aback; so did how easily Lincoln had been wrestled down; the fact that he wasn’t already turning around to punch Michael in retaliation was quite a surprise too. Above all, the realization that they found the exquisite mixture of burning pain and stinging pleasure enjoyable slowly dawned on them. When Michael eventually looked down and saw the very neat and very pink imprint of his hand on Lincoln’s pale skin, he dug his teeth in his bottom lip to bite back a murmur of appreciation. His fingers glided on the mistreated muscle, the touch tentative and almost questioning.
They never toughened up things unilaterally; the escalation was always mutual, some sort of ultimate agreement on disagreeing. This... this was a hitch in their usual pattern, and they were stunned into silence as they tried to figure out how to handle the situation.
“Tell me...” Michael’s throat was too dry and tight; he faltered, swallowed hard and tried again. “Tell me to stop.”
Lincoln didn’t reply. Moving with caution and not looking at Michael, he merely shifted on the sofa. He adjusted his position to brace himself, his torso resting on the seat, his legs stretched behind him, his butt pushed in the air and offered. Michael watched him with rapture as he extended his arms above his head and held onto the cushions. He was on display right before him, a perfectly defined figure prone and standing out against the black leather of the couch. Michael reached out for the muscles rolling and coiling under the strain, under the unusual position. So hot and smooth and strong beneath his hand. He let his fingers slide down with reverence and spread them on the dip of Lincoln’s back.
“You’re beautiful.”
The words spilled out of his mouth, low and breathy, before he could get a grip on himself, and of course, they were answered with a snide retort. Lincoln could take the compliment - no problem, thank you very much - but he wouldn’t pass over its sappiness, or what he considered to be sappiness.
“Cut the mushy crap, Romeo, and get on with the program already.”
Asshole. Michael thought it, yet didn’t say it. He let his hand communicate the message and swatted Linc’s left buttock, the one untouched by the first smack. The slapping noise was nice, Lincoln’s reflexive jerk even nicer, and the warm sensation on the palm of Michael’s hand was so good that he had no other choice than hitting again. So, he did it again, and again, alternating between soft small taps that felt more like a caress than like a blow, forceful whacks that made Lincoln pant and jolt, and every variation in-between. He gripped Lincoln’s hip in part to prevent him from writhing, but mainly because he needed something to grab on to and steady himself. Lincoln didn’t thrash and try to escape as much as Michael had thought he would, anyway; Michael had to give him credit for that. He was taking his ordeal with good grace. He gasped every now and then and clutched at the cushions, making small indents into the smooth leather, but he wasn’t fighting back. Of course he wasn’t fighting back. Obviously, he had decided that he wouldn’t give Michael this satisfaction. The forged passivity fired Michael’s exasperation, pushed him to deliver smarter slap, heightened his fervor as Lincoln’s buttocks took on much darker shades of red. More. He wanted more and wondered if he would ever get it, if it would ever be enough as long as Lincoln would duck and elude him.
By the time Michael paused, the warmth born in his palm had spread to his whole body, and he was sweating in his clothes, feverish and almost shaking. This was definitely not only anger anymore, not with the way his gut had tightened and the heat had pooled in his belly. His hand and arm hurt, and Lincoln’s ass sported two bright scarlet spots. Scratch that: Lincoln’s ass was two bright scarlet spots, all throbbing and blotchy. Michael groaned at the sight and leaned in to press his crotch on the inflamed flesh. The contact wasn’t nearly enough to appease him, even momentarily, and he rubbed harder, sighing when he experienced a pressure more substantial than the meager one provided by his clothes.
For the first time tonight, Lincoln protested faintly, maybe because the touch was too heavy or maybe the contrary because it was too light. Sweaty and mouth wide open, he was panting and drooling, reflexive tears prickling the corner of his eyes and rolling down, the head of his dick leaking as he worked his hips to get a bit of friction against the seat of the sofa. Too bad for the overpriced furniture, but if having Lincoln undone in such way was the result, ruining it was worth it a hundred times.
Michael’s lower belly clenched in arousal. The relative distance he’d been able to maintain so far because he was in charge started to slip away, and he dropped on his knees. He relished Lincoln’s obvious anticipation as he kissed him from waist to thighs to soothe the flame of the spanking. Eventually, finally, when he’d decided that Lincoln had been waiting long enough, he snaked his tongue between the abused buttocks. Just one time, just one long luscious lick before he rested his cheek against the back of Lincoln’s thigh. Eyes close and a hand clasped on his groin, he breathed deeply in the combination of perspiration, pre-come, musk and remaining fragrances of soap, and extended his tongue to taste it, amazed as ever that the raw flavors of Lincoln’s body could turn him on that much. He licked again, following a curve on the underside of Lincoln’s buttock, and smacked his lips together.
“Turn around,” he asked softly.
He got on to his feet and watched with fascination as Lincoln rolled over docilely, limbs following in a lazy way. The sofa creaked under his weight. Lincoln winced and cursed sotto voce when his over-sensitive ass connected with the leather and stuck to it. The ache lasted, or at least mattered, barely a second. The next moment, he was wiping on his forearm any traces of dampness from his face and settling comfortably, thighs open and the hollow of his knees resting on the couch arm. He laid a hand low on his stomach, right near his erection but not quite touching it, as if waiting for a permission he knew he wouldn’t get. Enthralled by the image and by the notion, Michael pulled his tee shirt over his head somewhat hastily, slowing down only when he noticed how much Lincoln seemed to enjoy the show.
“You are beautiful,” Linc told him with a smirk, a teasing echo of the reversed statement. Affection and unabashed lust had seeped into the mockery, though, and a light blush flushed Michael’s cheeks. He worked a bit more frantically on his belt, tugging down his pants and boxers and kicking them away. Lincoln grinned at that keenness and shoved a hand behind his head. Eerily, Michael thought he should be furious, at Lincoln or maybe at himself, because his brother knew all too well how to push his buttons. He discarded the thought for now. He would consider it later, when he didn’t have anything better to do, when he didn’t have Lincoln sprawling just for him, offering in a sultry voice, “You want to fuck me, Mikey?”
To his consternation, Michael whimpered; he whimpered, and to add insult to injury, his cock twitched. Lincoln really had a knack at making him feel like a needy kid rather than the smooth and sophisticated grown-up he was. He squeezed his hard-on and tried to contain himself. He wanted to say yes. Or better, he wanted to say nothing at all, push Linc’s knees up against his chest and take him slow and hard until that damn smirk subsided. They did it so rarely this way, even more rarely at Lincoln’s initiative. The times Lincoln let Michael have him like that, negotiations and conditions were involved. So, he had to hold on to the couch and fight hard to shake his head, refusing with a soft, “Later maybe.” As appealing as the offer sounded, he had his mind set on something else and didn’t feel like relinquishing now.
“You sure?” Lincoln asked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It may be a one-time offer.”
Michael bent down and wormed a hand between the couch and Lincoln’s ass. The skin was still excessively hot; it boosted his confidence.
“It may be a themed night, and I may have a small whip somewhere,” he retorted.
Lincoln chuckled and welcomed him, wiggling a bit to accommodate the length of his body when he climbed and nestled on top of him. They let out a synchronized groan of pleasure, almost of relief, to finally be lying together, pressed flush against each other. Michael bore down and writhed like a gigantic cat, clingy and flexible, hissing included when Lincoln grabbed his ass and tried to pull him up.
“I want you to...”
“I know what you want,” Lincoln cut him off.
Of course he knew; he always knew. He knew what Michael wanted and didn’t want; he also knew what Michael wanted even though he shouldn’t want it. It didn’t mean he was willing to give him everything every time, just that he had the ammo to make him crazy - depending on the day, it could be the good or the bad kind of crazy.
“C’here. I’m not going down, you’re coming up.” He snatched a small cushion and stuffed it under his head. “If it’s okay with you?” he added smugly.
Michael kissed him. Since the way Lincoln coated his mouth with saliva earlier could hardly be considered like a kiss, it occurred to him that it was the first time tonight they’d actually kissed. He indulged a few seconds before gnawing at the lips beneath his because he was losing the upper hand - an upper hand Lincoln had granted him - and he started to crawl up awkwardly until he could straddle Linc’s shoulders.
It was an interesting position, to say the least, one that Lincoln usually enjoyed assuming. Michael totally got why. Not that he didn’t take pleasure in it the other way around, but different strokes and perspectives were a nice thing. Lincoln had to be thinking the same way because he craned his neck to press his face into Michael’s groin, making him moan in a really embarrassing way. Lincoln kept nuzzling, his stubble deliciously chaffing Michael; apparently he did not care - or maybe he liked it - that faint traces of gluey fluid dribbled from the erection offered to him and smeared his chin and cheeks.
A shiver ran down Michael’s spine. The idea of Lincoln lying beneath him and getting marked this way, the hands stroking up and down his thighs, the hot mouth skimming and teasing but not quite kissing yet was... Bracing against the couch with one hand, he wrapped the other one around himself and forced Lincoln’s mouth. He would acknowledge that he didn’t need to try very hard: Lincoln opened up and sluggishly trailed a wet tongue from the root to the tip of his dick - Michael didn’t have anything against excessive salivation anymore at this point - before fastening his lips over the heated flesh and starting to suck. He might have burbled something that sounded like an appreciative “Fuck... yeah...” but knowing him, Michael could already assert that he would deny it later.
It didn’t matter what Lincoln would or would not admit. It was perfection. Perfect heat encasing him, perfect pressure, perfect suction. To add to the thrill, Lincoln’s hands glided up the back of his thighs and palmed his ass. They kneaded his buttocks, alternatively prying them apart and pressing them together, and urged a back and forth movement to his hips. This move stole Michael the feeling that he was in control of the fellatio, but it was not like he couldn’t actually thrust in at any moment he wanted to - and just to be sure, just make a point, he shoved a bit harder.
There was a choking-gurgling sound deep in Lincoln’s throat that went straight to Michael’s groin. The gurgling was one thing; the fact that Lincoln didn’t protest or even try to move away but, quite the opposite, sucked more eagerly sent his mind reeling. With stammered and somewhat phony apologies, he retreated enough so that just the head of his cock remained in Lincoln’s mouth. Linc breathed in and got to work with a laudable zeal, thick lips and swirls of tongue and so delicate grazing of teeth having Michael wonder how long he would be able to hold off, shaking with desire and need as he was.
With a wicked smile, Lincoln turned his head to the side and let him slip out of his mouth just long enough to advise, “Don’t go that deep again. I want to taste you when you blow your load.”
Fuck. Michael was almost sure he said this aloud. Almost. With a forefinger suddenly venturing between his buttocks and teasing to breach him, the lewd declaration hanging heavy in the air and Lincoln taking him back in his mouth and sucking so hard that his cheeks hollowed, surely, he could be forgiven if he was not one hundred percent sure. A couple of seconds later, it didn’t matter anymore, anyway, because pleasure was catching up with him. There was a deathlike grip on his hip, preventing him from thrusting too hard if he couldn’t follow the recommendations on his own, the whole time he spilled into Lincoln’s mouth. He had barely enough presence of mind to pull away a bit and look down. Fascinated, dizzy with fulfillment, he stared at Lincoln, whose swollen lips and pink tongue were marred with translucent white fluid.
Lincoln locked eyes with him and made a show of swallowing the semen, rolling it on his tongue and gulping it down slowly, deliberately. The deglutition sound wrenched a last burst from Michael, a vagrant spurt that landed on Lincoln’s cheekbone. He collected it on his fingers and dipped those past Linc’s lips. There was a groan and greedy suction and a dirty wink when Michael rubbed his fingers against the tongue that was lapping at them.
He collapsed, drenched in sweat and exhausted, just alert enough to feel the hot throb of a still erect cock against his abdomen. Small effort, nice reward: it only took a few pulls and tugs before Lincoln came on him, coating his fingers and softening penis. Michael brought his hand up, observed it, and held it out for Lincoln to lick it clean. Linc complied, gliding a plump and sticky tongue all over his palm and digits. When he swallowed, Michael sighed happily and snuggled under his chin to nuzzle at his bobbing Adam’s apple.
“You good?” Lincoln asked lazily.
He nodded. He was totally good. That being said... “I’m still fucking you later,” he croaked in a hoarse voice.
He did: in the spotless bedroom, on the fresh sheets of his huge and neat bed, and with the small whip - since he had a small whip - lying just out of Lincoln’s reach. Harsh, slow and long, just as he had planned it. He rocked into Lincoln and rocked Lincoln into the mattress, listening to the hitches and glitches in his breathing, attentive to make it pleasurable for him but without letting him get off on it. It earned him a few “Bastard” and “Little shit” in the process. He ignored the mishmash of threats and pleads, just came hard for the second time of the night, pulled off with a wet noise and plopped down on his stomach near Lincoln, trying to catch his breath.
The light stinging of leather lashes on his ass called him back to the moment as he was about to doze off. He turned his head to Lincoln brandishing the whip with a not too benevolent look on his face.
“I think you’re forgetting something,” Lincoln pointed out and nodded down at his hard-on. It was red and engorged, leaking pre-come and imploring to be properly sucked. Roused from the slumber he’d started to fall in, Michael slipped his hands under the pillow and fisted the sheets underneath to refrain from moving and diving between Linc’s legs.
“I hate it when you don’t fight back. When we have an argument.”
It makes me feel irrelevant. He didn’t say it because it would have been too much of a weakness and neediness admission.
“You didn’t seem to complain tonight.”
“Yeah. I still don’t like it.” He rolled on his side and inched towards Lincoln. “Does it hurt?” he asked, petting the side of a bloated buttock.
“You mean outside or inside?”
Lincoln crooked an eyebrow; Michael blushed at the implication and blushed a little harder when he thought that maybe, next time, Linc would fight back. Then, a hand was wrapping around the back of his skull and Lincoln was pulling him close and kissing him. Languid and thoughtful, with just the right amount of saliva, teeth and tongue, like a belated apology for the sloppy excuse of a kiss he’d given him before.
“It hurts good,” Lincoln admitted. He looked him in the eye and added, “I’m sorry for the job.”
Michael nodded. It didn’t matter whether Lincoln meant it or not; it wouldn’t make any difference anyway because Michael wanted to believe him. He took the whip from Lincoln’s hands and trailed the straps on his chest and stomach, all the way down to his crotch. There, he flicked his wrist the slightest bit, just hard enough for the lashes to tickle Lincoln’s member, not hard enough to risk hurting him.
“I’m not that much into this shit,” Lincoln said hesitantly.
Michael handed him the whip back. He kissed his jaw... “Neither am I.” ... lingered under his chin... “Just bought it on a whim.” ... licked the hollow at the base of his throat and smiled when he felt it work under his mouth.
“Kinky bastard.” His head was tilted up, a warm and moist tongue dipping into his ear as Lincoln drawled in a sultry tone, “I like your hands better. You’ll like my hands better when I’m spanking you,” he added, the menace threaded with a delicious promise.
The whip handle was pressed into his shoulder, and taking the hint, Michael slowly started to kiss his way down Linc’s body. He didn’t loiter or linger, but he took his time and was thorough in his ministrations. By the time he reached Lincoln’s cock, his brother was breathing hard and on the verge of begging. Michael was tempted to delay the moment he would take him in his mouth. Just because Lincoln deserved it, just because it was a damn turn_on seeing him like this, just because. He certainly would have delayed it if he hadn’t longed for it as much as Linc.
The thin lashes swept over the expanse of his back and he halted his descent. Purely accidental, just Lincoln shifting and moving his hands helplessly, having forgotten that he was still holding the thing. One of said hands reached down for purchase on the nape of Michael’s neck in a soft yet authoritarian way.
He looked up. Lincoln was slowly but surely losing it, head lolling back in abandon, eyes unfocused and glassy with pleasure. Watching him between his eyelashes, Michael flicked his tongue against Lincoln’s cock, lapping and savoring the pearly liquid that oozed from the slit. Lincoln bucked under him to urge him on. Non-fights and faked pleas and broken promises forgotten, Michael complied and took whatever Lincoln was willing to provide, give or offer.
When Lincoln climaxed, Michael swallowed everything.
-End-
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