Prison Break - Stretches of Time
Title: Stretches of Time
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 2310
Summary: It takes about twenty seconds - of bliss, granted, but still barely twenty seconds. (Pre-series)
Written for the ‘celibacy/virginity square of my second kink_bingo card.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
It takes about twenty seconds - of bliss, granted, but still barely twenty seconds.
Lincoln fondles his balls, licks the underside of his cock, and before Michael can do anything about it, he’s coming into his brother’s mouth. Messy and dirty-hot, thick white fluid spurting onto Lincoln’s lips and tongue. Lincoln swallows on auto-pilot, too surprised to even think that he could, say, spit. A bit of come trickles down his chin, and a late and fat drop hits his right cheek. Michael manages to avoid his eyes, which is a good thing because Lincoln really hates it when...
Michael crashes into the sheets.
Honestly, who gives a fuck about what Lincoln really hates right now? For a few heavenly moments, Michael slackens into the pillows, high on pleasure, head and body swimming. It had been too long. He needs to catch his breath and collect himself - no pun intended - he needs to...
“Wow,” Lincoln says with a smirk when he’s done gulping down, making a disgusting and mocking show of it. “That was fast. Correct me if I’m wrong: I was the one in jail, right?”
Michael glares at him to the best of his ability. The way you glare at someone when you’re still bathing in post-passion haze. Lincoln absent-mindedly wipes and licks the remaining come off his face and mouth, and Michael’s cock jerks in interest against his thigh - his stupid dick got to be kidding him.
“That’s right,” Michael wheezes. “You were in jail.”
See what Michael just did here? How Lincoln put the emphasis on ‘I’ when Michael put it on ‘jail’? He’s quite proud of himself for mastering his speech patterns even when he’s half fucked out.
“Aww,” Lincoln all but coos. It doesn’t matter. Michael can tell when he hides emotion beneath sarcasm, and he’s doing it right now. A fleeting light shines in his eyes that he quickly blinks away, even though he’s not fast enough for Michael and his laser-like, post-orgasmic, smitten baby brother vision.
“Pure, chaste and faithful?” Lincoln says. “So adorable. Please tell me you jerked off at least a couple of times during the last five months? At your age, it can’t be good for you to...”
“Fuck you,” Michael says amiably without moving. Seriously. He doesn’t screw around. It’s not that he doesn’t have the opportunity - opportunities, plural, thank you very much - he just doesn’t. Lincoln should know.
Lincoln does know. He’s just messing with him.
He stares at the stained ceiling. If he looks at Lincoln now, he’s going to kick him in the balls. Maybe not in the balls-balls because he has other plans for Lincoln’s equipment today, but kicking his shins sounds quite attractive at the moment.
The apartment is dingy. He could be at his not-too-bad dorm on the campus, but instead, he’d come here yesterday to clean and tidy, went to Statesville to pick up Linc and give him a ride back home like a good brother. He’s planned to spend the rest of the week here to be with Lincoln - maybe not exactly like a good brother, but that’s another story - not to hear him be an asshole about jerking off and (perfectly understandable) premature ejaculation.
“Fuck you,” he repeats because it deserves to be said again.
Lincoln tilts his head and considers him pensively. He’s impossibly hard and doesn’t seem over-impatient to do something about it, which only makes it more maddening. Michael casually stretches out and slips his hands under the pillows so as not to reach out and grab him or lunge forward and suck him until both his jaw and Lincoln’s cock hurt.
“You want to?” Lincoln offers.
“Huh?” It’s a smart ‘huh’; he’s a smart guy even though Lincoln does everything it takes to reduce him to onomatopoeias.
Lincoln caresses the tip of Michael’s cock the way he would pet a small animal. The gesture manages to be dripping with affection and contrived condescendence at the same time. Somehow, the combination lights up (again) something in Michael’s lower belly. Cue more stupid dick-twitching.
“Do you want to fuck your big brother, Mikey?”
Isn’t it dangerous for his cock to fill up and perk up so quickly? It can’t be good for blood to run south so fast and so hard. Maybe if he’d taken more biology classes and less math ones, he would be sure.
Also, maybe he should have jerked off more often during the last five months.
He tries not to because he doesn’t want to give Linc this satisfaction, but he can’t help whimpering and bending his knees a bit in an instinctive gesture. Almost jumps out of his skin when the large and warm hand carefully strokes him again into full hardness.
“The marvels of youth,” Lincoln drawls while playing with him. He drums his fingers up and down the shaft, weighs his balls - fucking balls that betrayed Michael minutes ago - and ventures a middle finger lower, between his buttocks. He’s not playing fair as he knows exactly what gets Michael off. Of course, right now, pretty much anything can match that definition.
“I’m nineteen. I’m not a kid anymore.” He’s aware this is exactly what a kid would say, so he adds, “And it’s not as if you’re so old and wise.”
“You’re right. I’m just old enough not to blow my load in a blink of an eye.” He stops his ministrations before anything bad, anything jeopardizing what’s about to happen, ruins the moment. “So, do you want it?”
Michael squints and looks up and down between Lincoln’s face and his cock - hard, dribbling precome, mouth-watering cock. He wants to taste him; taste it. On the other hand, the perspective of Lincoln’s warm and without-a-doubt-tight ass welcoming him is too good to pass on. He’s not going to decline it for a blow job he can give Linc later, in one hour or tonight or... anytime; it’s not like he’ll need to beg Lincoln for it.
“Have you done it before?” he asks cautiously. Have you done it before, liked it and I’m the only one around with a cock to give it to you? is what he really means. Not that the answer would impact his decision.
“Nope.”
“What if you don’t like it?”
“You seem to like it fine. It has to feel somewhat good.”
Fair enough. Michael’s not going to admit that it feels mind-blowingly good with Linc or use stupid comparisons. He hasn’t found something that can measure up to it yet, anyway.
Lincoln is a conceited bastard who knows that he got Michael when he first made his suggestion: he doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. Slowly, he lies down on top of Michael and presses a small bottle into his hand. He’s not totally past making fun of Michael, and the gleam in his eye as well as the exaggerated care with which he moves proves it, but he also blows a soothing shush and grips the base of Michael’s erection to keep him in line.
“Breathe.”
Michael complies. Even when Lincoln fumbles with his fingers to egg him on to open the container he placed in them, he keeps breathing. He runs his free hand across the width of Lincoln’s shoulders and down his back. He needs to touch skin; he craves the warmth and smoothness of it. He longs for deep kisses, moist puffs of air against his face and maddening words whispered into his neck. This is why jerking off on a regular basis during the last five months didn’t help that much, by the way.
“I know,” Lincoln admits into his mouth.
They kiss nice and clean - as much as nice and clean is possible given what they are to one another and what they’re doing to each other.
Michael flicks open the lid of the bottle and lets the liquid trickle directly between Lincoln’s buttocks. His brother jolts against him and growls something about the fucking stuff being fucking cold; not freezing cold but still cool enough to contrast with his body temperature, especially now.
“I know,” Michael shoots back.
“Little shit.”
They’ve done this before, Michael’s fingers finding their way into the secretive heat of Lincoln’s body. It never gets old, though, the way his face pinches in worry for a split second and then relaxes as soon as Michael is in knuckle-deep. He slides in a third finger and stares as Lincoln’s eyes fall closed. He doesn’t even need to move; Linc takes care of this for him, fucking back onto his hand, short grunts of exertion rumbling low in his throat. Somehow, he’s still gripping the base of Michael’s erection even though that’s not necessary anymore. Michael is not going to come now, not before he gets everything he’s been offered.
His eyebrows quirk when Lincoln starts moving up to straddle his lap.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“I think I want you on your back, and you sitting on my cock is not you being on your back.”
Lincoln freezes, smirks and clenches around Michael’s fingers.
“Aren’t we snotty today?”
The bedroom flips around Michael and he winds up on his stomach between Lincoln’s splayed thighs. His fingers are free again, still hot and musky from Lincoln’s ass, which shouldn’t be the turn on it is.
He rises up on his knees and lets his eyes wander down the muscular body tucked beneath him. He knows it like the back of his hand, the strong chest, the narrow hips and flat stomach, just as he knows the ways to make it shudder and twist in pleasure. He swats Lincoln’s hand off his cock and replaces it with his own then he looks lower, to the tiny hidden opening. Lincoln’s knees are bent, his thighs spread wide in a nonchalant display.
Michael bites his lips.
“Do you need...?”
He doesn’t even know how to finish this sentence, what he wants to ask. It’s a good thing that Lincoln shakes his head against the pillow. He’s not smirking, smiling or teasing anymore. He watches him with dark eyes, his pupils almost blown. For the first time today, Michael thinks that Linc is not doing this only to play or be nice to him. He wants it, as much as Michael usually aches for it.
He bows down toward Lincoln’s stomach and wraps his tongue around the tip of his cock to steal a quick taste of it before positioning himself. He grits his teeth and tries to be nice, to make it slow and gentle, just the way Lincoln did with him the very first time. He pushes in bit by bit, fascinated by the concentration on his brother’s face, the way his brow creases or how his mouth forms an indecent O. He’s making a good job of being slow and gentle - up until the moment where Lincoln grabs his hips and drags him in fast and dirty, and oh fucking Hell. Tight and warm and the rhythmical squeezing of Lincoln’s muscles around him do nothing, nothing to help.
They growl in unison and Lincoln tugs him down to kiss him.
“Try to last at least thirty seconds before creaming me.”
Michael pulls a face. “You’re disgusting.”
“Not quite yet, but I’m sure you’ll make me all sloppy soon enough.”
“Sleaze.”
His hands are still clutching Michael’s hips. Michael removes them, forces his arms up and presses his wrists into the pillow. He’s not making the same mistake twice.
“You asked me if I wanted to fuck you,” he reminds him.
“So?”
“So you lie there and let me fuck you.”
Lincoln must already be a bit gone because he doesn’t say anything. No protest, no smartass comment. He moves his hands to Michael’s neck and shoulders but keeps them off his hips and lets him set the pace.
He does last more than thirty seconds, even though he couldn’t say how much longer if his life was at stake. Timing the whole thing is not his main concern. It’s okay, anyway. Head tossed back, corded muscles of his neck standing out, Lincoln meets every thrust and locks solid thighs around Michael’s hips in a silent plea to go deeper, rougher. What matters is that Michael lasts long enough to see Lincoln lose it and to feel the hot slickness of his come splattering their stomachs.
Lincoln drags his fingers through it and slips the digits into Michael’s mouth. Michael sucks them greedily, hardly hearing Lincoln when he points out that - look at that! - he creamed them first and concedes that Michael feels damn good. Truth be told, Michael’s cock feels as amazing as his cute little ass, and if he could just give it to Lincoln before Lincoln totally falls apart...
Michael’s head buzzes. His whole body buzzes, sure, but his head above all.
No one before him. It’s the thought that shakes him out of his steady rhythm and drives him into a frenzy. He shoves into Lincoln’s willing body with abandon. No one before him has had Lincoln on his back, ass offered and begging to be taken; no one before him has made Lincoln come that way.
Michael once read somewhere that being someone’s first doesn’t matter, that it’s being his last one that counts. Before collapsing into Lincoln’s chest, he looks down into his glazed eyes and Cheshire cat’s grin, and he begs to differ.
Large hands cup his face and turn it up, a warm mouth seeks his and steals the little breath he still has. He holds onto his brother and parts his lips wider when Lincoln’s knees squeeze his hips to keep him impossibly close.
Time stretches out. Michael doesn’t even have it in him anymore to brag and ask Linc if he fucking lasted long enough. Seconds, minutes, or a lifetime; same difference.
-End-
-- I'm never averse to feedback, and said feedback is never too short, too late, too long... :-)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 2310
Summary: It takes about twenty seconds - of bliss, granted, but still barely twenty seconds. (Pre-series)
Written for the ‘celibacy/virginity square of my second kink_bingo card.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
It takes about twenty seconds - of bliss, granted, but still barely twenty seconds.
Lincoln fondles his balls, licks the underside of his cock, and before Michael can do anything about it, he’s coming into his brother’s mouth. Messy and dirty-hot, thick white fluid spurting onto Lincoln’s lips and tongue. Lincoln swallows on auto-pilot, too surprised to even think that he could, say, spit. A bit of come trickles down his chin, and a late and fat drop hits his right cheek. Michael manages to avoid his eyes, which is a good thing because Lincoln really hates it when...
Michael crashes into the sheets.
Honestly, who gives a fuck about what Lincoln really hates right now? For a few heavenly moments, Michael slackens into the pillows, high on pleasure, head and body swimming. It had been too long. He needs to catch his breath and collect himself - no pun intended - he needs to...
“Wow,” Lincoln says with a smirk when he’s done gulping down, making a disgusting and mocking show of it. “That was fast. Correct me if I’m wrong: I was the one in jail, right?”
Michael glares at him to the best of his ability. The way you glare at someone when you’re still bathing in post-passion haze. Lincoln absent-mindedly wipes and licks the remaining come off his face and mouth, and Michael’s cock jerks in interest against his thigh - his stupid dick got to be kidding him.
“That’s right,” Michael wheezes. “You were in jail.”
See what Michael just did here? How Lincoln put the emphasis on ‘I’ when Michael put it on ‘jail’? He’s quite proud of himself for mastering his speech patterns even when he’s half fucked out.
“Aww,” Lincoln all but coos. It doesn’t matter. Michael can tell when he hides emotion beneath sarcasm, and he’s doing it right now. A fleeting light shines in his eyes that he quickly blinks away, even though he’s not fast enough for Michael and his laser-like, post-orgasmic, smitten baby brother vision.
“Pure, chaste and faithful?” Lincoln says. “So adorable. Please tell me you jerked off at least a couple of times during the last five months? At your age, it can’t be good for you to...”
“Fuck you,” Michael says amiably without moving. Seriously. He doesn’t screw around. It’s not that he doesn’t have the opportunity - opportunities, plural, thank you very much - he just doesn’t. Lincoln should know.
Lincoln does know. He’s just messing with him.
He stares at the stained ceiling. If he looks at Lincoln now, he’s going to kick him in the balls. Maybe not in the balls-balls because he has other plans for Lincoln’s equipment today, but kicking his shins sounds quite attractive at the moment.
The apartment is dingy. He could be at his not-too-bad dorm on the campus, but instead, he’d come here yesterday to clean and tidy, went to Statesville to pick up Linc and give him a ride back home like a good brother. He’s planned to spend the rest of the week here to be with Lincoln - maybe not exactly like a good brother, but that’s another story - not to hear him be an asshole about jerking off and (perfectly understandable) premature ejaculation.
“Fuck you,” he repeats because it deserves to be said again.
Lincoln tilts his head and considers him pensively. He’s impossibly hard and doesn’t seem over-impatient to do something about it, which only makes it more maddening. Michael casually stretches out and slips his hands under the pillows so as not to reach out and grab him or lunge forward and suck him until both his jaw and Lincoln’s cock hurt.
“You want to?” Lincoln offers.
“Huh?” It’s a smart ‘huh’; he’s a smart guy even though Lincoln does everything it takes to reduce him to onomatopoeias.
Lincoln caresses the tip of Michael’s cock the way he would pet a small animal. The gesture manages to be dripping with affection and contrived condescendence at the same time. Somehow, the combination lights up (again) something in Michael’s lower belly. Cue more stupid dick-twitching.
“Do you want to fuck your big brother, Mikey?”
Isn’t it dangerous for his cock to fill up and perk up so quickly? It can’t be good for blood to run south so fast and so hard. Maybe if he’d taken more biology classes and less math ones, he would be sure.
Also, maybe he should have jerked off more often during the last five months.
He tries not to because he doesn’t want to give Linc this satisfaction, but he can’t help whimpering and bending his knees a bit in an instinctive gesture. Almost jumps out of his skin when the large and warm hand carefully strokes him again into full hardness.
“The marvels of youth,” Lincoln drawls while playing with him. He drums his fingers up and down the shaft, weighs his balls - fucking balls that betrayed Michael minutes ago - and ventures a middle finger lower, between his buttocks. He’s not playing fair as he knows exactly what gets Michael off. Of course, right now, pretty much anything can match that definition.
“I’m nineteen. I’m not a kid anymore.” He’s aware this is exactly what a kid would say, so he adds, “And it’s not as if you’re so old and wise.”
“You’re right. I’m just old enough not to blow my load in a blink of an eye.” He stops his ministrations before anything bad, anything jeopardizing what’s about to happen, ruins the moment. “So, do you want it?”
Michael squints and looks up and down between Lincoln’s face and his cock - hard, dribbling precome, mouth-watering cock. He wants to taste him; taste it. On the other hand, the perspective of Lincoln’s warm and without-a-doubt-tight ass welcoming him is too good to pass on. He’s not going to decline it for a blow job he can give Linc later, in one hour or tonight or... anytime; it’s not like he’ll need to beg Lincoln for it.
“Have you done it before?” he asks cautiously. Have you done it before, liked it and I’m the only one around with a cock to give it to you? is what he really means. Not that the answer would impact his decision.
“Nope.”
“What if you don’t like it?”
“You seem to like it fine. It has to feel somewhat good.”
Fair enough. Michael’s not going to admit that it feels mind-blowingly good with Linc or use stupid comparisons. He hasn’t found something that can measure up to it yet, anyway.
Lincoln is a conceited bastard who knows that he got Michael when he first made his suggestion: he doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. Slowly, he lies down on top of Michael and presses a small bottle into his hand. He’s not totally past making fun of Michael, and the gleam in his eye as well as the exaggerated care with which he moves proves it, but he also blows a soothing shush and grips the base of Michael’s erection to keep him in line.
“Breathe.”
Michael complies. Even when Lincoln fumbles with his fingers to egg him on to open the container he placed in them, he keeps breathing. He runs his free hand across the width of Lincoln’s shoulders and down his back. He needs to touch skin; he craves the warmth and smoothness of it. He longs for deep kisses, moist puffs of air against his face and maddening words whispered into his neck. This is why jerking off on a regular basis during the last five months didn’t help that much, by the way.
“I know,” Lincoln admits into his mouth.
They kiss nice and clean - as much as nice and clean is possible given what they are to one another and what they’re doing to each other.
Michael flicks open the lid of the bottle and lets the liquid trickle directly between Lincoln’s buttocks. His brother jolts against him and growls something about the fucking stuff being fucking cold; not freezing cold but still cool enough to contrast with his body temperature, especially now.
“I know,” Michael shoots back.
“Little shit.”
They’ve done this before, Michael’s fingers finding their way into the secretive heat of Lincoln’s body. It never gets old, though, the way his face pinches in worry for a split second and then relaxes as soon as Michael is in knuckle-deep. He slides in a third finger and stares as Lincoln’s eyes fall closed. He doesn’t even need to move; Linc takes care of this for him, fucking back onto his hand, short grunts of exertion rumbling low in his throat. Somehow, he’s still gripping the base of Michael’s erection even though that’s not necessary anymore. Michael is not going to come now, not before he gets everything he’s been offered.
His eyebrows quirk when Lincoln starts moving up to straddle his lap.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“I think I want you on your back, and you sitting on my cock is not you being on your back.”
Lincoln freezes, smirks and clenches around Michael’s fingers.
“Aren’t we snotty today?”
The bedroom flips around Michael and he winds up on his stomach between Lincoln’s splayed thighs. His fingers are free again, still hot and musky from Lincoln’s ass, which shouldn’t be the turn on it is.
He rises up on his knees and lets his eyes wander down the muscular body tucked beneath him. He knows it like the back of his hand, the strong chest, the narrow hips and flat stomach, just as he knows the ways to make it shudder and twist in pleasure. He swats Lincoln’s hand off his cock and replaces it with his own then he looks lower, to the tiny hidden opening. Lincoln’s knees are bent, his thighs spread wide in a nonchalant display.
Michael bites his lips.
“Do you need...?”
He doesn’t even know how to finish this sentence, what he wants to ask. It’s a good thing that Lincoln shakes his head against the pillow. He’s not smirking, smiling or teasing anymore. He watches him with dark eyes, his pupils almost blown. For the first time today, Michael thinks that Linc is not doing this only to play or be nice to him. He wants it, as much as Michael usually aches for it.
He bows down toward Lincoln’s stomach and wraps his tongue around the tip of his cock to steal a quick taste of it before positioning himself. He grits his teeth and tries to be nice, to make it slow and gentle, just the way Lincoln did with him the very first time. He pushes in bit by bit, fascinated by the concentration on his brother’s face, the way his brow creases or how his mouth forms an indecent O. He’s making a good job of being slow and gentle - up until the moment where Lincoln grabs his hips and drags him in fast and dirty, and oh fucking Hell. Tight and warm and the rhythmical squeezing of Lincoln’s muscles around him do nothing, nothing to help.
They growl in unison and Lincoln tugs him down to kiss him.
“Try to last at least thirty seconds before creaming me.”
Michael pulls a face. “You’re disgusting.”
“Not quite yet, but I’m sure you’ll make me all sloppy soon enough.”
“Sleaze.”
His hands are still clutching Michael’s hips. Michael removes them, forces his arms up and presses his wrists into the pillow. He’s not making the same mistake twice.
“You asked me if I wanted to fuck you,” he reminds him.
“So?”
“So you lie there and let me fuck you.”
Lincoln must already be a bit gone because he doesn’t say anything. No protest, no smartass comment. He moves his hands to Michael’s neck and shoulders but keeps them off his hips and lets him set the pace.
He does last more than thirty seconds, even though he couldn’t say how much longer if his life was at stake. Timing the whole thing is not his main concern. It’s okay, anyway. Head tossed back, corded muscles of his neck standing out, Lincoln meets every thrust and locks solid thighs around Michael’s hips in a silent plea to go deeper, rougher. What matters is that Michael lasts long enough to see Lincoln lose it and to feel the hot slickness of his come splattering their stomachs.
Lincoln drags his fingers through it and slips the digits into Michael’s mouth. Michael sucks them greedily, hardly hearing Lincoln when he points out that - look at that! - he creamed them first and concedes that Michael feels damn good. Truth be told, Michael’s cock feels as amazing as his cute little ass, and if he could just give it to Lincoln before Lincoln totally falls apart...
Michael’s head buzzes. His whole body buzzes, sure, but his head above all.
No one before him. It’s the thought that shakes him out of his steady rhythm and drives him into a frenzy. He shoves into Lincoln’s willing body with abandon. No one before him has had Lincoln on his back, ass offered and begging to be taken; no one before him has made Lincoln come that way.
Michael once read somewhere that being someone’s first doesn’t matter, that it’s being his last one that counts. Before collapsing into Lincoln’s chest, he looks down into his glazed eyes and Cheshire cat’s grin, and he begs to differ.
Large hands cup his face and turn it up, a warm mouth seeks his and steals the little breath he still has. He holds onto his brother and parts his lips wider when Lincoln’s knees squeeze his hips to keep him impossibly close.
Time stretches out. Michael doesn’t even have it in him anymore to brag and ask Linc if he fucking lasted long enough. Seconds, minutes, or a lifetime; same difference.
-End-
-- I'm never averse to feedback, and said feedback is never too short, too late, too long... :-)