Prison Break - In a Spin
Title: In a Spin
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: R
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 980
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: It was neither the smile nor the look that was the last straw, though: it was the smart suit and the perfectly adjusted tie.
Author’s Note: Thanks to yougottaletmego for the beta.
It makes his head spin.
It happened only once... he thinks it happened, anyway. When he mulls over it - which he tries to avoid - the event lingers in a surrealist fog.
It happened because he felt for a short instant a weird anger towards Michael. He can’t remember exactly what had elicited it; he just knows that Michael was talking, rejecting Lincoln’s arguments one after another. He wouldn’t shut up. He was wearing that smirk and looking at him with that look, a bit smug, a bit superior, the look that irritated Lincoln so much.
It was neither the smile nor the look that was the last straw, though: it was the smart suit and the perfectly adjusted tie. Fancy clothes that made Linc realize, sooner or later, Michael would escape him. And yet, it was the goal Lincoln had been after: a good education for Michael, a good job, a good life. Stupid to be upset because he had succeeded and got what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?
Something burned behind his eyes, swelled in his chest and threatened to burst. He balled his fists. He wanted to grab Michael, hold, squeeze and shake him until his brother begged him to stop. It wasn’t the first time he felt that combination of brutal affection and helpless exasperation. There always had been aspects of Michael that Lincoln couldn’t understand, an incomprehension that turned in frustration. But it was the first time that he lifted his hand to hit and let it fall to caress.
He won’t claim that Michael was entirely consenting; he won’t claim the contrary either. All he knows for sure is that Michael fought back just long enough, just hard enough so that Lincoln had to press him down and hold him on the couch with one hand while the other one slid down and sneaked under his clothes. He didn’t put up a real fight, though, didn’t truly try to escape Lincoln’s grip; he tensed and gasped and jerked against him, his expression darkened with dread and something else, something Lincoln couldn’t decipher. Lincoln stared him down, a silent order not to move; Michael licked his lips and complied.
Lincoln pushed past the crispy pants, pawed the muscles of the abdomen and quickly went for the velvety flesh nestled against Michael’s thighs. It wasn’t like he was here for foreplay niceties and, he might as well admit it, he craved the touch. He loved how it felt, how it weighted in the palm of his hand - already half hard, hot and smooth, moist and musky. He had a small satisfied grin when the erection grew bigger, harder under his fingers. Michael panted and held onto his wrists, lifting his hips despite himself to thrust in the circle of Lincoln’s fist. Lincoln growled and gripped him tighter. At least, the little brat wasn’t talking and bragging anymore. As a matter of fact, there was no articulated word for a few minutes, only the sound of their labored breathing and the rustling of clothes.
Lincoln wanted a surrender, and he got it when Michael slowly slumped forward and leaned against him, his face hidden in the crook of Lincoln’s neck. His teeth bit in Lincoln’s shoulder, his jaws rhythmically clenching and unclenching, the movement fierce enough for Linc to feel the vibrations through his body.
* *
Lincoln didn’t immediately take in the measure of what he’d just done. He stayed put for a moment, still restraining Michael against the couch, his hands and arms heavy, his whole body tingling with arousal. His shirt clang to the skin where Michael had been biting him, the cotton damp with saliva scratching his skin. The slight discomfort, his arm bent at a weird angle and Michael gasping for air in his neck, all this called him back to here and now. Facts fell in place, reached his brain and were processed. The craziness of what had happened hit him, and everything started to spin; for all he knows, by now, the spinning hasn’t totally stopped yet.
He jumped on his feet and looked at his hand; it was sticky with Michael’s release. With a retch, he held it as far as possible from his body. On the couch, Michael was stuffing himself back in his pants, straightening his clothes, trying to regain his breath. Lincoln stared at him with wide eyes, alarmed. His brother was flushed and still shaking, and yet, he appeared to be oddly calm.
“Michael...” Lincoln began without knowing what to say. Just knowing he had to say something. There necessarily was something to say. Thoughts whirled in his mind and words seemed even harder than usual to find. “Michael...”
“Shut up.”
“I’m...”
“Don’t dare say it,” Michael snapped.
He was sorry, yet, so really sorry. As much as the word, as any word, could express his state of mind. But since Mike didn’t want words or explanations or apologies, he obeyed and shut up.
He took the handkerchief - a white, perfectly ironed handkerchief - that Michael was handing him and he wiped his hand on it. When he tried to give it back to him, Michael did a double take and blinked. And then, that fucking smirk was back and Michael was saying, “You can keep it. Or rather, you can throw it. Whatever suits your fancy.”
* *
He did throw it. He got rid of it in the first trash bin on his way back home. Merely a second of hesitation that made his throat tighten with panic and his head spin a bit faster before he discarded it.
He said the truth to Veronica about the bruise on his shoulder: that Michael had bitten him during a fight.
* *
It took him a while to realize something: if what he had done was crazy and so utterly inappropriate, Michael had definitely responded in kind.
More spinning ahead.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome.
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: R
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 980
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: It was neither the smile nor the look that was the last straw, though: it was the smart suit and the perfectly adjusted tie.
Author’s Note: Thanks to yougottaletmego for the beta.
It makes his head spin.
It happened only once... he thinks it happened, anyway. When he mulls over it - which he tries to avoid - the event lingers in a surrealist fog.
It happened because he felt for a short instant a weird anger towards Michael. He can’t remember exactly what had elicited it; he just knows that Michael was talking, rejecting Lincoln’s arguments one after another. He wouldn’t shut up. He was wearing that smirk and looking at him with that look, a bit smug, a bit superior, the look that irritated Lincoln so much.
It was neither the smile nor the look that was the last straw, though: it was the smart suit and the perfectly adjusted tie. Fancy clothes that made Linc realize, sooner or later, Michael would escape him. And yet, it was the goal Lincoln had been after: a good education for Michael, a good job, a good life. Stupid to be upset because he had succeeded and got what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?
Something burned behind his eyes, swelled in his chest and threatened to burst. He balled his fists. He wanted to grab Michael, hold, squeeze and shake him until his brother begged him to stop. It wasn’t the first time he felt that combination of brutal affection and helpless exasperation. There always had been aspects of Michael that Lincoln couldn’t understand, an incomprehension that turned in frustration. But it was the first time that he lifted his hand to hit and let it fall to caress.
He won’t claim that Michael was entirely consenting; he won’t claim the contrary either. All he knows for sure is that Michael fought back just long enough, just hard enough so that Lincoln had to press him down and hold him on the couch with one hand while the other one slid down and sneaked under his clothes. He didn’t put up a real fight, though, didn’t truly try to escape Lincoln’s grip; he tensed and gasped and jerked against him, his expression darkened with dread and something else, something Lincoln couldn’t decipher. Lincoln stared him down, a silent order not to move; Michael licked his lips and complied.
Lincoln pushed past the crispy pants, pawed the muscles of the abdomen and quickly went for the velvety flesh nestled against Michael’s thighs. It wasn’t like he was here for foreplay niceties and, he might as well admit it, he craved the touch. He loved how it felt, how it weighted in the palm of his hand - already half hard, hot and smooth, moist and musky. He had a small satisfied grin when the erection grew bigger, harder under his fingers. Michael panted and held onto his wrists, lifting his hips despite himself to thrust in the circle of Lincoln’s fist. Lincoln growled and gripped him tighter. At least, the little brat wasn’t talking and bragging anymore. As a matter of fact, there was no articulated word for a few minutes, only the sound of their labored breathing and the rustling of clothes.
Lincoln wanted a surrender, and he got it when Michael slowly slumped forward and leaned against him, his face hidden in the crook of Lincoln’s neck. His teeth bit in Lincoln’s shoulder, his jaws rhythmically clenching and unclenching, the movement fierce enough for Linc to feel the vibrations through his body.
* *
Lincoln didn’t immediately take in the measure of what he’d just done. He stayed put for a moment, still restraining Michael against the couch, his hands and arms heavy, his whole body tingling with arousal. His shirt clang to the skin where Michael had been biting him, the cotton damp with saliva scratching his skin. The slight discomfort, his arm bent at a weird angle and Michael gasping for air in his neck, all this called him back to here and now. Facts fell in place, reached his brain and were processed. The craziness of what had happened hit him, and everything started to spin; for all he knows, by now, the spinning hasn’t totally stopped yet.
He jumped on his feet and looked at his hand; it was sticky with Michael’s release. With a retch, he held it as far as possible from his body. On the couch, Michael was stuffing himself back in his pants, straightening his clothes, trying to regain his breath. Lincoln stared at him with wide eyes, alarmed. His brother was flushed and still shaking, and yet, he appeared to be oddly calm.
“Michael...” Lincoln began without knowing what to say. Just knowing he had to say something. There necessarily was something to say. Thoughts whirled in his mind and words seemed even harder than usual to find. “Michael...”
“Shut up.”
“I’m...”
“Don’t dare say it,” Michael snapped.
He was sorry, yet, so really sorry. As much as the word, as any word, could express his state of mind. But since Mike didn’t want words or explanations or apologies, he obeyed and shut up.
He took the handkerchief - a white, perfectly ironed handkerchief - that Michael was handing him and he wiped his hand on it. When he tried to give it back to him, Michael did a double take and blinked. And then, that fucking smirk was back and Michael was saying, “You can keep it. Or rather, you can throw it. Whatever suits your fancy.”
* *
He did throw it. He got rid of it in the first trash bin on his way back home. Merely a second of hesitation that made his throat tighten with panic and his head spin a bit faster before he discarded it.
He said the truth to Veronica about the bruise on his shoulder: that Michael had bitten him during a fight.
* *
It took him a while to realize something: if what he had done was crazy and so utterly inappropriate, Michael had definitely responded in kind.
More spinning ahead.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome.