Prison Break - One More Step on the Way Down
Title: One More Step on the Way Down
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 880
Summary: It could be worse... (Pre-series)
Author’s Note: Written for oxoniensis’ Porn Battle XIII.
Prompts: sex toys, taboo. Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
It’s not that bad with the dildo.
At least, this is what Lincoln wants to think, and Michael needs this anyway; the dildo is the lesser of two evils.
Michael is spread-eagled on his bed, thighs splayed open and hips gyrating wantonly, hooded eyes trained on Lincoln’s face and lips red-bitten. He’s beautiful, and Lincoln, who never wants to do this when they’re safely sharing a beer or a meal at the bar down the street or in Michael’s fancy living room, isn’t so sure anymore where he stands. His brain raps out wrong and brother and going to Hell; his fingers slide on unblemished skin, fondle and part firm buttocks, and enjoy the intimacy of the gesture.
It’s not that bad with the dildo, he reminds himself, it could be worse: Michael could want Lincoln’s cock in him rather than the stupid fake stuff, and Lincoln would give it to him.
The toy is white. Michael picked it. Only Michael would pick something pure-white to have his brother fuck him with it. White, and about as thick and long as Lincoln is when he’s hard. It can’t be a coincidence.
Lincoln positions the round head of the toy between Michael’s buttocks and pushes. He forces it in lazily, unrelentingly, even - or especially - when Michael jolts and gasps because it’s too much. Not enough time to adjust to the generous width, and it’s not because Lincoln is playing it nonchalant that it helps in any way. Michael’s body gives in millimeter by millimeter on sheer stubbornness and need. Lincoln knows it hurts; it always does when he breaches him, but it must hurt good since Michael keeps wanting it so much, right?
Right.
Lincoln delights in the thought that Michael is stretched around the dildo, the perfect sharp pain making him pant and sweat, the muscles of his thighs and abdomen bunched tight. His brow creases, his eyes darken, and Lincoln keeps stuffing him with cock-shaped silicon. They’re breaking taboos Lincoln doesn’t even want to think about; it better be painful.
He pulls out the dildo in an excruciatingly slow move and thrusts it back in, again and again and again, until Michael is scratching around helplessly. He fists the sheets for a minute or two, trying to hold himself together. It’s in vain. It’s a lost cause with Lincoln so steady and sure in his rhythm. Michael throws his arms up and grips the headboard bars, lean biceps bulging and knuckles white with the effort. That’s as close to a surrender as he’ll go.
Michael doesn’t beg. Ever. Lincoln taught him that much. But here, in this situation, it’s okay to let a Please fall from his lips and hit Lincoln in the guts - not the heart, never; his heart has nothing to do with that fuckery, whatever the pang in his chest pretends.
With a smirk and a flick of the wrist, Lincoln turns on the vibrations on the toy. He only allows Michael a few seconds before setting them to the highest, fastest level. It’s always a fascinating show to watch his brother try to meet and flee his fate, all at once arching off the bed in a fruitless attempt to escape the toy and to take it deeper into him. A real treat, the way he’s taut and edgy, the syncopated frenzy of his hips and thighs, the perspiration surging on his skin. Michael comes by Lincoln’s hand, without Lincoln’s hands touching him directly. Lincoln thinks it says a lot about their sanity of mind that he holds onto that tiny difference, that tiny distance, not to run away, to come back every damn time.
The sheets are a damp mess when Michael falls back into them, lax and panting for air. The dildo is still buried deep in his ass, only the tip with its small control panel poking out. Lincoln is nice enough to cut off the vibrations, but not to remove the toy right away. Later, even though it’s bound to hurt like a bitch. Michael doesn’t seem to mind. Michael doesn’t seem to care at all, actually. As hooded as ever, his eyes are trained much lower than Lincoln’s face now, where Lincoln’s hand is tight around his own erection.
Lincoln blinks. He hadn’t even noticed that he was hard, that he was needing his release as badly as Michael. His eyes are accusing when he looks up for directions, not sure what to do with himself, but certain this wouldn’t happen, would never have happened, if Michael didn’t need this shit in the first place.
His brother barely touches him, a brush of hand on his forearm to urge him on, a quick glance down at his own stomach where the skin is painted translucent-white with his pleasure.
“Come on me”, he breathes out. He’s sprawled and offered, all velvet and trust and debauchery, all for Lincoln to do whatever he wants with him.
Lincoln’s hips snap forward on instinct - brain shut down and hand needing to slide up and down only a couple of times. Each fat drop, each glistening strand of semen marking him makes Michael’s eyes burn with euphoria.
As if the dildo thing was not bad enough.
One more step on the way down to Hell.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome :)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 880
Summary: It could be worse... (Pre-series)
Author’s Note: Written for oxoniensis’ Porn Battle XIII.
Prompts: sex toys, taboo. Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
It’s not that bad with the dildo.
At least, this is what Lincoln wants to think, and Michael needs this anyway; the dildo is the lesser of two evils.
Michael is spread-eagled on his bed, thighs splayed open and hips gyrating wantonly, hooded eyes trained on Lincoln’s face and lips red-bitten. He’s beautiful, and Lincoln, who never wants to do this when they’re safely sharing a beer or a meal at the bar down the street or in Michael’s fancy living room, isn’t so sure anymore where he stands. His brain raps out wrong and brother and going to Hell; his fingers slide on unblemished skin, fondle and part firm buttocks, and enjoy the intimacy of the gesture.
It’s not that bad with the dildo, he reminds himself, it could be worse: Michael could want Lincoln’s cock in him rather than the stupid fake stuff, and Lincoln would give it to him.
The toy is white. Michael picked it. Only Michael would pick something pure-white to have his brother fuck him with it. White, and about as thick and long as Lincoln is when he’s hard. It can’t be a coincidence.
Lincoln positions the round head of the toy between Michael’s buttocks and pushes. He forces it in lazily, unrelentingly, even - or especially - when Michael jolts and gasps because it’s too much. Not enough time to adjust to the generous width, and it’s not because Lincoln is playing it nonchalant that it helps in any way. Michael’s body gives in millimeter by millimeter on sheer stubbornness and need. Lincoln knows it hurts; it always does when he breaches him, but it must hurt good since Michael keeps wanting it so much, right?
Right.
Lincoln delights in the thought that Michael is stretched around the dildo, the perfect sharp pain making him pant and sweat, the muscles of his thighs and abdomen bunched tight. His brow creases, his eyes darken, and Lincoln keeps stuffing him with cock-shaped silicon. They’re breaking taboos Lincoln doesn’t even want to think about; it better be painful.
He pulls out the dildo in an excruciatingly slow move and thrusts it back in, again and again and again, until Michael is scratching around helplessly. He fists the sheets for a minute or two, trying to hold himself together. It’s in vain. It’s a lost cause with Lincoln so steady and sure in his rhythm. Michael throws his arms up and grips the headboard bars, lean biceps bulging and knuckles white with the effort. That’s as close to a surrender as he’ll go.
Michael doesn’t beg. Ever. Lincoln taught him that much. But here, in this situation, it’s okay to let a Please fall from his lips and hit Lincoln in the guts - not the heart, never; his heart has nothing to do with that fuckery, whatever the pang in his chest pretends.
With a smirk and a flick of the wrist, Lincoln turns on the vibrations on the toy. He only allows Michael a few seconds before setting them to the highest, fastest level. It’s always a fascinating show to watch his brother try to meet and flee his fate, all at once arching off the bed in a fruitless attempt to escape the toy and to take it deeper into him. A real treat, the way he’s taut and edgy, the syncopated frenzy of his hips and thighs, the perspiration surging on his skin. Michael comes by Lincoln’s hand, without Lincoln’s hands touching him directly. Lincoln thinks it says a lot about their sanity of mind that he holds onto that tiny difference, that tiny distance, not to run away, to come back every damn time.
The sheets are a damp mess when Michael falls back into them, lax and panting for air. The dildo is still buried deep in his ass, only the tip with its small control panel poking out. Lincoln is nice enough to cut off the vibrations, but not to remove the toy right away. Later, even though it’s bound to hurt like a bitch. Michael doesn’t seem to mind. Michael doesn’t seem to care at all, actually. As hooded as ever, his eyes are trained much lower than Lincoln’s face now, where Lincoln’s hand is tight around his own erection.
Lincoln blinks. He hadn’t even noticed that he was hard, that he was needing his release as badly as Michael. His eyes are accusing when he looks up for directions, not sure what to do with himself, but certain this wouldn’t happen, would never have happened, if Michael didn’t need this shit in the first place.
His brother barely touches him, a brush of hand on his forearm to urge him on, a quick glance down at his own stomach where the skin is painted translucent-white with his pleasure.
“Come on me”, he breathes out. He’s sprawled and offered, all velvet and trust and debauchery, all for Lincoln to do whatever he wants with him.
Lincoln’s hips snap forward on instinct - brain shut down and hand needing to slide up and down only a couple of times. Each fat drop, each glistening strand of semen marking him makes Michael’s eyes burn with euphoria.
As if the dildo thing was not bad enough.
One more step on the way down to Hell.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome :)