Prison Break - Theoretically...
Title: Theoretically...
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Sara/Jane
Categories: Het, femslash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 2490
Summary: So, they have this fantasy... (Post-series, alternate canon)
Long, long ago, I wrote a Lincoln/Sara/Jane PWP. When commenting on it, someone at prisonbreakfic.net suggested a Michael/Sara/Jane one. I kept the idea in a corner of my mind, but writing a smutlet when one of the characters has never met the other two requires either to come up with some plot or on the contrary the hell of an absence of plot. I’m afraid I went for the latter here... ^__^
Let’s assume this follows Atypical Days and How It’s Done, even though you don’t need to read those before.
Thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Michael likes Jane.
It’s hard not to. When they finally meet, she’s nice, friendly, and aims a few sarcasms at Lincoln (something about head-butts and split lips) in a way that has Michael decide within half an hour that she’s an outstanding person.
She stands, sits and hovers a bit too close to Sara, but it takes him a whole week to notice. It’s not as if it’s that obvious or a big deal.
Yet, it does become a big deal when, in the middle of a family dinner, Sara accidentally-purposefully brushes her hand over the other woman’s hip and stares at Michael, or when she smiles at him with those sparks in her eyes and those dimples in her cheeks. A familiar fire burns him from inside out then. It has to show. Sara, Jane and Lincoln, maybe even Sofia, have to see it; a blush creeping up his face, warmth coiling in his lower belly and making him edgy on his seat.
Sara ambushes him in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, sparks brighter than ever in her eyes, fingers teasing his wrists, hint of breasts showing in the opening of her modest shirt.
“You like Jane?” she asks him.
He thinks hard before answering because he’s pretty sure there’s a question beneath the question.
He nods his head, says how nice and friendly she is, not to mention the sarcasms directed at Linc that work in her favor, and waits for the other shoe to drop. He doesn’t mention how pretty - aka hot - she is; no need to add fuel to the fire.
“You remember what we discussed the other day?” Sara says with a smile.
He’s sure is redder than Lincoln who spent the day in the sun without sun block lotion. It’s not only what they discussed the other day. It’s also the fact there are people in their living room, Jane’s eyes on them, and Jane certainly knowing what’s going on.
He remembers. It’s not the kind of discussion - and following imagery - you can easily forget.
He says no, and Sara will act as though nothing ever happened. Maybe they’ll have sweet, loving and uncomplicated sex after their guests are gone.
He says yes, it’s saying yes to the whole thing.
He swallows and is unexpectedly saved by Lincoln who bellows from the couch, “Bring back some beer, will you, Mike?”
Right, beer. Bringing beer is easier and less risky than picturing how what they discussed the other day could go. For example...
Sara
So, she has this fantasy. The one where she and Jane pamper Michael and share him; and, okay, maybe they also rough him up a bit. She knows him. No matter how nice and considerate he is in broad daylight, he enjoys this kind of licentiousness in bed. All that physical and intellectual energy has to burn in one way or another.
She tells him she wants to make him feel good. He smirks: she always makes him feel good; great even. She says he’s a smartass and she means the overwhelming kind of good, the one where he would chuck any restraint and take what he wants.
Theoretically, it could happen like that:
She and Jane roll him onto his stomach. His arms are stretched above his head and folded under a pillow. He’s received the stern instruction not to move or otherwise... They let the threat hang in the air, the punishment unspoken but unavoidable if he doesn’t behave. When they’re sure he will comply, they start a four-hand massage that warm baby oil makes even smoother and softer. Their hands glide across slick skin, their knuckles press into the muscles and wrench grunts out of his throat. Sara licks her lips. She likes seeing him like that, lax and vibrating with tension all at once. Her fingers meet Jane’s on the small of Michael’s back. They wander towards his buttocks and linger there - Sara might lean down and bite the succulent muscle - until he’s sighing and almost purring into the pillows. He deserves it for all the crap he faced during the last couple of years.
Just as he deserves the firm and stinging slap on his bottom when he tries to turn around to watch or maybe touch them. He’s just broken his promise, and action must be taken, promised punishment enforced. Sara strikes first; Jane is quick on her trail. The two of them admire the pink mark of their fingers on the fair skin and laugh a throaty laugh when he gasps and casts them a shocked yet heated glance over his shoulder. He didn’t see that one coming. He should have. For all what he did, he deserved a good spanking as much as he deserved the massage and the soft caresses.
It stings; it stings his ass as much as his ego, although not quite enough yet to push him over the edge. Just a bit more, Sara whispers to Jane.
When they finally allow him to lie on his back, Sara lets Jane take care of him and gently urges the other woman’s head into his lap. She knows how good Jane is with her mouth, her tongue, her fingers, after all, and she settles for the show. She sits on her heels and watches Michael blush but throw his head back and clutch the sheets in his fists as he struggles not to press Jane’s face closer. He looks at Sara with glazed eyes and says “I love you,” but he’s a good boy who’s learned his lesson the first time, and he won’t move.
Or maybe he will. At last.
Sara kisses Jane and tastes him on her lips, bitter and salty. That’s the last straw for him, that sloppy kiss they share, the way Sara rubs down on Jane’s knee. Not caring about threats and spanking and consequences, he grabs and topples them on their backs, squashing them beneath him. His roughness is only partially faked, and a fair comeback for their earlier treatment of him. He takes them hard and fast; Jane first until she arches up and moans into Sara’s mouth; then Sara, with deep kisses and slow and intense thrusts that send her into frenzy.
He’s only lax when he collapses between them; the vibrating tension has left his mind and his body.
Jane
So, she has this fantasy. The one where the three of them sleep together. Of course, not a lot of sleep actually happens, not right away at least. In the end, they’re sated, satisfyingly exhausted, and they fall asleep in an entanglement of limbs and slow, steady breathing.
Purely theoretical, obviously, but she assumes the beginning is fuzzy and messy. Lot of wet kisses, hands sliding and touching whoever is within reach, fingers circling stiff velvety flesh or sneaking into damp warmth. It goes on for long minutes in a lazy flurry of kisses and brazen caresses. None of them, usually reserved and guarded, is shy or restrained when they lie together.
Sara can be bossy, bossier than you would suspect when watching her pretty face and sweet smile. Not that Jane complains. She loves the way the other woman places Jane’s wrists into Michael’s hands and asks him to pin her down. She licks her way down Jane’s body, down and then up, up, up until she leans sideways, reaches Michael’s mouth and pants against his lips, “Your turn.”
Jane also loves that Michael follows Sara’s suggestions without batting an eyelid.
Comes the moment where they have to decide how it’s going to happen, and not to be demanding, but Jane wants Michael. The first time she thought about this, it surprised her. She’s had sex with Sara before, liked it, fancied renewing the experience if given the opportunity. Yet, it’s writhing on top of Michael that she pictures herself, taken gently but mercilessly - she’s good at figuring out people, and she’s pretty sure he can be appropriately ruthless.
Maybe she wants Michael because he gets to fuck Sara as much and often as he wants, as much and often as Sara wants. Sex by proxy. She’s never pegged this as fun, but don’t say you don’t like something until you’ve tried it.
She eases down into Michael’s embrace, her back to his chest, and lets the two of them do whatever they want with her. She’s not a fan of passivity, but relinquishing all control when you know you’re going to be taken care of is a special brand of nice and exciting. Sara opens her for Michael, guides him into her and, with a complicit glance at her husband, lies on her side beside them.
Sara stares, gazing at the two of them with relish for a few seconds before getting into motion. She leans down and kisses their necks, their lips, slides and circles her slender fingers right where her husband is sheathed and moving oh so leisurely into Jane. She matches Michael’s rhythm; or maybe, he follows hers.
Jane’s head lolls back in abandon. Their combined touch is warm and considerate, stirring and moving, and she’s fucking melting down, faster and harder than she’d like to. She would take the time to find fascinating their trust and love for one another, how it lets them include her in their intimacy, how the whole thing never feels tacky. She can’t. Not when her skin feels too tight and when Michael’s thick inside of her and when Sara caringly palms her breast and bites her lips and...
She’s still shaking with pleasure when Michael slips out of her. She doesn’t wait, can’t wait to shift and push Sara onto her back, slide down and finish her. She feels her arch off the bed, body taut and bowing, as all the tension accumulated during the last minutes is released. She tastes her, salty and dripping wet, just the way she’s been remembering her. She hears her sharp cry, the sound raw enough to push Jane’s tongue deeper into her.
She welcomes Michael’s help to keep Sara lying down and her thighs conveniently splayed open.
This, she thinks, this. Sara writhing, panting, damp with sweat and pleasure, holding onto the two of them for dear life. Very likely, this is the outcome Jane had in mind right from the start.
Michael
So, he has this fantasy. The one where he watches them together. And yes, he joins in, at some point. What do you want? He is a man, and you can’t blame a man for dreaming - and sometimes daydreaming - about what lies behind those so-friendly glances and touches. He doesn’t say he wants to see it happen. That’s why they’re called fantasies, isn’t it?
He doesn’t say he doesn’t want to see it happen either. To be fair, the dirty little movie of the two of them pressed together and wrapped into each other’s arms and legs, or maybe lying head to tail and keeping their mouths and fingers busy, has played a few times. Only in his mind, for now, only in theory.
They kiss. Sara’s hand cups the back of Jane’s head the way it usually cups the back of Michael’s head, casual and tender. They kiss as if they’ve done it dozens of times, but he can’t see a thing because a veil of blond and red hair steals the spectacle from him. It only serves to make it more scrumptious.
He knows they slept together once. Sara told him, said it was after she’d escaped Gretchen’s custody. Their paths crossed, and it just happened, just once, and how was it? Nice, cozy, and friendly, comforting - which she needed a lot at the time - thank you very much, let’s move on. Her eyes sparked with amusement at his blatant interest and jealousy. She made love to him as tenderly as possessively that night, and it was almost enough to blur the hot-maddening image playing in his mind.
She and Jane kiss in the middle of the bedroom, they kiss as they amble toward the bed, and they keep kissing as they tumble across the mattress. They tear at one another’s clothes, clumsy in their lazy haste. He can’t decide whether it’s puzzling, amusing or a plain turn-on to see them fumble with tiny buttons and bra hooks they usually manage with their eyes closed. He steps in to help, works on Jane’s simple cotton underwear and cups her breasts when he frees them. Sara laughs and tugs him down, dragging him on top of them.
“What do you want?” she asks him.
Round breasts and silky thighs pressed into him, long hair mingling and snaking on his chest, lips and hands assaulting him in the most delicious way, and he’s supposed to know what he wants?
He kisses Jane, partly because he wants to see that sizzling light in Sara’s eyes - how is it from this side of the mirror? - partly because Jane’s mouth seems, and indeed is, quite enticing.
“You,” he tells Sara. She’s all he wants. Isn’t she always all he wants?
Maybe with a twist, tonight.
He shifts her onto her hands and knees and positions her until her face is hovering above Jane’s flat stomach. What he wants is rather clear, he thinks, as he grips her hips from behind. He wants to see what she did to Jane, that night months ago, how she drives the other woman mad with lust, how it turned her on and she enjoyed it. And he craves for the slick tightening of her body around him as she does it again tonight.
Jane’s body coils in anticipation. She strokes Sara’s cheek and smirks at Michael over the red head leaning into her, over the perfect curve of Sara’s back and bottom.
“Later,” Sara promises before welcoming him, before burying her face between Jane’s thighs. “Later, we will share you, and I swear...”
She trails off. He’s deep inside her in one swift thrust and she can’t talk anymore, can only clench around him and nuzzle into Jane. He traces her spine with the tip of his fingers. She doesn’t need to promise or swear, anyway. He knows.
“How does she feel?” Jane asks him knowingly.
He smiles and doesn’t answer.
- - - - -
Lincoln and Sofia have left. It’s just the three of them and a pot of herbal tea on the veranda now. It’s dark and warm, the night pleasantly less stuffy than the day, more bearable, and filled with hundreds of small sounds. Jane is sitting in a low chair, her blue eyes following their every move. Michael wonders if she ever finds rest, let alone peace.
“It’s late,” Sara says softly. She glances at her and Michael’s bedroom door across the living room, then back at her companions on the veranda, and Michael feels his heart thump hard in his chest. “Maybe it’s time to go to bed.”
END
End notes: Comments? Ideas? Is any of this happening? Whose scenario? ;)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Sara/Jane
Categories: Het, femslash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 2490
Summary: So, they have this fantasy... (Post-series, alternate canon)
Long, long ago, I wrote a Lincoln/Sara/Jane PWP. When commenting on it, someone at prisonbreakfic.net suggested a Michael/Sara/Jane one. I kept the idea in a corner of my mind, but writing a smutlet when one of the characters has never met the other two requires either to come up with some plot or on the contrary the hell of an absence of plot. I’m afraid I went for the latter here... ^__^
Let’s assume this follows Atypical Days and How It’s Done, even though you don’t need to read those before.
Thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Michael likes Jane.
It’s hard not to. When they finally meet, she’s nice, friendly, and aims a few sarcasms at Lincoln (something about head-butts and split lips) in a way that has Michael decide within half an hour that she’s an outstanding person.
She stands, sits and hovers a bit too close to Sara, but it takes him a whole week to notice. It’s not as if it’s that obvious or a big deal.
Yet, it does become a big deal when, in the middle of a family dinner, Sara accidentally-purposefully brushes her hand over the other woman’s hip and stares at Michael, or when she smiles at him with those sparks in her eyes and those dimples in her cheeks. A familiar fire burns him from inside out then. It has to show. Sara, Jane and Lincoln, maybe even Sofia, have to see it; a blush creeping up his face, warmth coiling in his lower belly and making him edgy on his seat.
Sara ambushes him in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, sparks brighter than ever in her eyes, fingers teasing his wrists, hint of breasts showing in the opening of her modest shirt.
“You like Jane?” she asks him.
He thinks hard before answering because he’s pretty sure there’s a question beneath the question.
He nods his head, says how nice and friendly she is, not to mention the sarcasms directed at Linc that work in her favor, and waits for the other shoe to drop. He doesn’t mention how pretty - aka hot - she is; no need to add fuel to the fire.
“You remember what we discussed the other day?” Sara says with a smile.
He’s sure is redder than Lincoln who spent the day in the sun without sun block lotion. It’s not only what they discussed the other day. It’s also the fact there are people in their living room, Jane’s eyes on them, and Jane certainly knowing what’s going on.
He remembers. It’s not the kind of discussion - and following imagery - you can easily forget.
He says no, and Sara will act as though nothing ever happened. Maybe they’ll have sweet, loving and uncomplicated sex after their guests are gone.
He says yes, it’s saying yes to the whole thing.
He swallows and is unexpectedly saved by Lincoln who bellows from the couch, “Bring back some beer, will you, Mike?”
Right, beer. Bringing beer is easier and less risky than picturing how what they discussed the other day could go. For example...
Sara
So, she has this fantasy. The one where she and Jane pamper Michael and share him; and, okay, maybe they also rough him up a bit. She knows him. No matter how nice and considerate he is in broad daylight, he enjoys this kind of licentiousness in bed. All that physical and intellectual energy has to burn in one way or another.
She tells him she wants to make him feel good. He smirks: she always makes him feel good; great even. She says he’s a smartass and she means the overwhelming kind of good, the one where he would chuck any restraint and take what he wants.
Theoretically, it could happen like that:
She and Jane roll him onto his stomach. His arms are stretched above his head and folded under a pillow. He’s received the stern instruction not to move or otherwise... They let the threat hang in the air, the punishment unspoken but unavoidable if he doesn’t behave. When they’re sure he will comply, they start a four-hand massage that warm baby oil makes even smoother and softer. Their hands glide across slick skin, their knuckles press into the muscles and wrench grunts out of his throat. Sara licks her lips. She likes seeing him like that, lax and vibrating with tension all at once. Her fingers meet Jane’s on the small of Michael’s back. They wander towards his buttocks and linger there - Sara might lean down and bite the succulent muscle - until he’s sighing and almost purring into the pillows. He deserves it for all the crap he faced during the last couple of years.
Just as he deserves the firm and stinging slap on his bottom when he tries to turn around to watch or maybe touch them. He’s just broken his promise, and action must be taken, promised punishment enforced. Sara strikes first; Jane is quick on her trail. The two of them admire the pink mark of their fingers on the fair skin and laugh a throaty laugh when he gasps and casts them a shocked yet heated glance over his shoulder. He didn’t see that one coming. He should have. For all what he did, he deserved a good spanking as much as he deserved the massage and the soft caresses.
It stings; it stings his ass as much as his ego, although not quite enough yet to push him over the edge. Just a bit more, Sara whispers to Jane.
When they finally allow him to lie on his back, Sara lets Jane take care of him and gently urges the other woman’s head into his lap. She knows how good Jane is with her mouth, her tongue, her fingers, after all, and she settles for the show. She sits on her heels and watches Michael blush but throw his head back and clutch the sheets in his fists as he struggles not to press Jane’s face closer. He looks at Sara with glazed eyes and says “I love you,” but he’s a good boy who’s learned his lesson the first time, and he won’t move.
Or maybe he will. At last.
Sara kisses Jane and tastes him on her lips, bitter and salty. That’s the last straw for him, that sloppy kiss they share, the way Sara rubs down on Jane’s knee. Not caring about threats and spanking and consequences, he grabs and topples them on their backs, squashing them beneath him. His roughness is only partially faked, and a fair comeback for their earlier treatment of him. He takes them hard and fast; Jane first until she arches up and moans into Sara’s mouth; then Sara, with deep kisses and slow and intense thrusts that send her into frenzy.
He’s only lax when he collapses between them; the vibrating tension has left his mind and his body.
Jane
So, she has this fantasy. The one where the three of them sleep together. Of course, not a lot of sleep actually happens, not right away at least. In the end, they’re sated, satisfyingly exhausted, and they fall asleep in an entanglement of limbs and slow, steady breathing.
Purely theoretical, obviously, but she assumes the beginning is fuzzy and messy. Lot of wet kisses, hands sliding and touching whoever is within reach, fingers circling stiff velvety flesh or sneaking into damp warmth. It goes on for long minutes in a lazy flurry of kisses and brazen caresses. None of them, usually reserved and guarded, is shy or restrained when they lie together.
Sara can be bossy, bossier than you would suspect when watching her pretty face and sweet smile. Not that Jane complains. She loves the way the other woman places Jane’s wrists into Michael’s hands and asks him to pin her down. She licks her way down Jane’s body, down and then up, up, up until she leans sideways, reaches Michael’s mouth and pants against his lips, “Your turn.”
Jane also loves that Michael follows Sara’s suggestions without batting an eyelid.
Comes the moment where they have to decide how it’s going to happen, and not to be demanding, but Jane wants Michael. The first time she thought about this, it surprised her. She’s had sex with Sara before, liked it, fancied renewing the experience if given the opportunity. Yet, it’s writhing on top of Michael that she pictures herself, taken gently but mercilessly - she’s good at figuring out people, and she’s pretty sure he can be appropriately ruthless.
Maybe she wants Michael because he gets to fuck Sara as much and often as he wants, as much and often as Sara wants. Sex by proxy. She’s never pegged this as fun, but don’t say you don’t like something until you’ve tried it.
She eases down into Michael’s embrace, her back to his chest, and lets the two of them do whatever they want with her. She’s not a fan of passivity, but relinquishing all control when you know you’re going to be taken care of is a special brand of nice and exciting. Sara opens her for Michael, guides him into her and, with a complicit glance at her husband, lies on her side beside them.
Sara stares, gazing at the two of them with relish for a few seconds before getting into motion. She leans down and kisses their necks, their lips, slides and circles her slender fingers right where her husband is sheathed and moving oh so leisurely into Jane. She matches Michael’s rhythm; or maybe, he follows hers.
Jane’s head lolls back in abandon. Their combined touch is warm and considerate, stirring and moving, and she’s fucking melting down, faster and harder than she’d like to. She would take the time to find fascinating their trust and love for one another, how it lets them include her in their intimacy, how the whole thing never feels tacky. She can’t. Not when her skin feels too tight and when Michael’s thick inside of her and when Sara caringly palms her breast and bites her lips and...
She’s still shaking with pleasure when Michael slips out of her. She doesn’t wait, can’t wait to shift and push Sara onto her back, slide down and finish her. She feels her arch off the bed, body taut and bowing, as all the tension accumulated during the last minutes is released. She tastes her, salty and dripping wet, just the way she’s been remembering her. She hears her sharp cry, the sound raw enough to push Jane’s tongue deeper into her.
She welcomes Michael’s help to keep Sara lying down and her thighs conveniently splayed open.
This, she thinks, this. Sara writhing, panting, damp with sweat and pleasure, holding onto the two of them for dear life. Very likely, this is the outcome Jane had in mind right from the start.
Michael
So, he has this fantasy. The one where he watches them together. And yes, he joins in, at some point. What do you want? He is a man, and you can’t blame a man for dreaming - and sometimes daydreaming - about what lies behind those so-friendly glances and touches. He doesn’t say he wants to see it happen. That’s why they’re called fantasies, isn’t it?
He doesn’t say he doesn’t want to see it happen either. To be fair, the dirty little movie of the two of them pressed together and wrapped into each other’s arms and legs, or maybe lying head to tail and keeping their mouths and fingers busy, has played a few times. Only in his mind, for now, only in theory.
They kiss. Sara’s hand cups the back of Jane’s head the way it usually cups the back of Michael’s head, casual and tender. They kiss as if they’ve done it dozens of times, but he can’t see a thing because a veil of blond and red hair steals the spectacle from him. It only serves to make it more scrumptious.
He knows they slept together once. Sara told him, said it was after she’d escaped Gretchen’s custody. Their paths crossed, and it just happened, just once, and how was it? Nice, cozy, and friendly, comforting - which she needed a lot at the time - thank you very much, let’s move on. Her eyes sparked with amusement at his blatant interest and jealousy. She made love to him as tenderly as possessively that night, and it was almost enough to blur the hot-maddening image playing in his mind.
She and Jane kiss in the middle of the bedroom, they kiss as they amble toward the bed, and they keep kissing as they tumble across the mattress. They tear at one another’s clothes, clumsy in their lazy haste. He can’t decide whether it’s puzzling, amusing or a plain turn-on to see them fumble with tiny buttons and bra hooks they usually manage with their eyes closed. He steps in to help, works on Jane’s simple cotton underwear and cups her breasts when he frees them. Sara laughs and tugs him down, dragging him on top of them.
“What do you want?” she asks him.
Round breasts and silky thighs pressed into him, long hair mingling and snaking on his chest, lips and hands assaulting him in the most delicious way, and he’s supposed to know what he wants?
He kisses Jane, partly because he wants to see that sizzling light in Sara’s eyes - how is it from this side of the mirror? - partly because Jane’s mouth seems, and indeed is, quite enticing.
“You,” he tells Sara. She’s all he wants. Isn’t she always all he wants?
Maybe with a twist, tonight.
He shifts her onto her hands and knees and positions her until her face is hovering above Jane’s flat stomach. What he wants is rather clear, he thinks, as he grips her hips from behind. He wants to see what she did to Jane, that night months ago, how she drives the other woman mad with lust, how it turned her on and she enjoyed it. And he craves for the slick tightening of her body around him as she does it again tonight.
Jane’s body coils in anticipation. She strokes Sara’s cheek and smirks at Michael over the red head leaning into her, over the perfect curve of Sara’s back and bottom.
“Later,” Sara promises before welcoming him, before burying her face between Jane’s thighs. “Later, we will share you, and I swear...”
She trails off. He’s deep inside her in one swift thrust and she can’t talk anymore, can only clench around him and nuzzle into Jane. He traces her spine with the tip of his fingers. She doesn’t need to promise or swear, anyway. He knows.
“How does she feel?” Jane asks him knowingly.
He smiles and doesn’t answer.
- - - - -
Lincoln and Sofia have left. It’s just the three of them and a pot of herbal tea on the veranda now. It’s dark and warm, the night pleasantly less stuffy than the day, more bearable, and filled with hundreds of small sounds. Jane is sitting in a low chair, her blue eyes following their every move. Michael wonders if she ever finds rest, let alone peace.
“It’s late,” Sara says softly. She glances at her and Michael’s bedroom door across the living room, then back at her companions on the veranda, and Michael feels his heart thump hard in his chest. “Maybe it’s time to go to bed.”
END
End notes: Comments? Ideas? Is any of this happening? Whose scenario? ;)