Prison Break - The Ritual of Ablutions
Title: The Ritual of Ablutions ( French version)
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 565
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Lincoln has a thing for showers. Michael wouldn’t call this fetishism; it’s rather the idea or the sensation - the belief - that water cleans and absolves them of everything.
Prompt: This picture
Author’s Note: Initially written in French for miya_tenaka’s Sex Is Not the Enemy Challenge. Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Lincoln has a thing for showers. Michael wouldn’t call this fetishism; it’s rather the idea or the sensation - the belief - that water cleans and absolves them of everything.
So he’s not the surprised when the door of the shower booth slides open behind him and Lincoln slips inside. Nine out of ten times, after they’ve spent the night together, it ends up in there. His brother joins him, not in a last expression of lust, affection or whatever else, but for the water just a tad too warm that beats on them. Lincoln soaps him up, soaps himself up, and feels better for watching the marks of their night disappear in a whirl of lather. He lets the shower run; he stays here, behind Michael, until the water becomes perfectly clear again.
Most of the time, Michael complies with the ritual without contesting or wanting more. But sometimes, like this morning, Lincoln standing right against him, flush against his back and buttocks, it’s a form of torture too refined for him to resist. Those mornings... this morning, he won’t accept the ritual without saying or trying something. He steps back of a few millimeters, pushes and rubs against Lincoln; he shifts slowly and revels in each roll of muscle, each touch and contact - always more intimate, always more electrifying.
Lincoln takes in a ragged breath. His voice a bit strangled, he lets drop a “Michael...” that mingles concupiscence and warning. What Michael wants is not meant to happen, is not allowed. They may break rules and decency together, but there are marked ways to do it. Only Linc, yet unable to follow so many other rules, can imagine that neither of them would ever be tempted to waive those ways.
“Please,” Michael murmurs. He asks, always begs for it, without real hope of obtaining what he wants.
His breath is taken away; his mouth opens on a moan, when Lincoln pulls him in closer. Hands around his face, he tips Michael’s head back and seeks out his mouth, brushes and bites the corner of his lips. Not quite a kiss, a lot more than a caress. Michael pleads again, his eyes closed and his mouth offered for Linc’s to take. He’s convincing; no doubt about this because, with a second of hesitation and a reproving growl, Lincoln turns him around - Michael’s back hits the wall a bit roughly - and slides on his knees in front of him. The move is unexpected and fluid, as fluid as the water pouring on them. The warm tiled wall behind his shoulders, the hot water beating on his face and torso, Lincoln’s hands and mouth burning him so deliciously... He holds onto his brother and digs his fingers into the strong and supple muscles. He thinks that Lincoln asks him, with a hint of reprimand in his tone, if he’s satisfied. Given the circumstances, he’s not sure his head is very clear or that Lincoln properly articulates his thoughts, but ‘satisfied’ would definitely be one of the words Michael would use right now, yes, thank you very much.
The water runs down on them the whole time Lincoln is on his knees before him. It carries away the traces of saliva and perspiration and semen. The cleanliness it leaves is physical and superficial; contrary to what Lincoln wants to believe, it washes away nothing of what they just did.
Michael doesn’t mind.
-Fin-
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 565
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Lincoln has a thing for showers. Michael wouldn’t call this fetishism; it’s rather the idea or the sensation - the belief - that water cleans and absolves them of everything.
Prompt: This picture
Author’s Note: Initially written in French for miya_tenaka’s Sex Is Not the Enemy Challenge. Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Lincoln has a thing for showers. Michael wouldn’t call this fetishism; it’s rather the idea or the sensation - the belief - that water cleans and absolves them of everything.
So he’s not the surprised when the door of the shower booth slides open behind him and Lincoln slips inside. Nine out of ten times, after they’ve spent the night together, it ends up in there. His brother joins him, not in a last expression of lust, affection or whatever else, but for the water just a tad too warm that beats on them. Lincoln soaps him up, soaps himself up, and feels better for watching the marks of their night disappear in a whirl of lather. He lets the shower run; he stays here, behind Michael, until the water becomes perfectly clear again.
Most of the time, Michael complies with the ritual without contesting or wanting more. But sometimes, like this morning, Lincoln standing right against him, flush against his back and buttocks, it’s a form of torture too refined for him to resist. Those mornings... this morning, he won’t accept the ritual without saying or trying something. He steps back of a few millimeters, pushes and rubs against Lincoln; he shifts slowly and revels in each roll of muscle, each touch and contact - always more intimate, always more electrifying.
Lincoln takes in a ragged breath. His voice a bit strangled, he lets drop a “Michael...” that mingles concupiscence and warning. What Michael wants is not meant to happen, is not allowed. They may break rules and decency together, but there are marked ways to do it. Only Linc, yet unable to follow so many other rules, can imagine that neither of them would ever be tempted to waive those ways.
“Please,” Michael murmurs. He asks, always begs for it, without real hope of obtaining what he wants.
His breath is taken away; his mouth opens on a moan, when Lincoln pulls him in closer. Hands around his face, he tips Michael’s head back and seeks out his mouth, brushes and bites the corner of his lips. Not quite a kiss, a lot more than a caress. Michael pleads again, his eyes closed and his mouth offered for Linc’s to take. He’s convincing; no doubt about this because, with a second of hesitation and a reproving growl, Lincoln turns him around - Michael’s back hits the wall a bit roughly - and slides on his knees in front of him. The move is unexpected and fluid, as fluid as the water pouring on them. The warm tiled wall behind his shoulders, the hot water beating on his face and torso, Lincoln’s hands and mouth burning him so deliciously... He holds onto his brother and digs his fingers into the strong and supple muscles. He thinks that Lincoln asks him, with a hint of reprimand in his tone, if he’s satisfied. Given the circumstances, he’s not sure his head is very clear or that Lincoln properly articulates his thoughts, but ‘satisfied’ would definitely be one of the words Michael would use right now, yes, thank you very much.
The water runs down on them the whole time Lincoln is on his knees before him. It carries away the traces of saliva and perspiration and semen. The cleanliness it leaves is physical and superficial; contrary to what Lincoln wants to believe, it washes away nothing of what they just did.
Michael doesn’t mind.
-Fin-