Prison Break - Finding Warmth
Title: Finding Warmth
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Category: Het
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 965
Summary: It was something she had forgotten about the Chicagoan winters... (Post-series, alternate canon.)
Notes: Written for New Year 2013’s mini-round at rounds_of_kink.
Kink and prompt for rounds_of_kink: Wall!sex & Snow. Let’s say this is set in the same universe as White Christmas - thirty or thirty-five years earlier.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Sara half closed her eyes in the darkness of the lobby. They hadn’t bothered turning on the light. They hadn’t taken the time to turn on the light. Michael was kissing her, hot and deep, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his chin still chilling from outside. She leaned against the wall right near the entry door and opened up, lax and lazy. She could see where this was going. The kiss was all lips and tongue, slow and eager at the same time; not the kind of kiss you gave someone at the end of the evening before going to bed, good night and sleep tight.
His hands glided down, tearing at the buttons of her coat, at the same time that he moved from her mouth to her chin, her jaw, the side of her neck. He bit softly, and then less softly when she ground into him.
“We have a bed, you know? A large, comfortable bed.” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, rough and suggesting she couldn’t care less if they didn’t take this to said large and comfortable bed.
Michael’s fingers were freezing cold on the warm underside of her thighs and butt as he lifted her up and held her against the wall. Sara shivered, both at the contrast of temperatures and in pleasure.
“I know,” he slurred.
She tilted her head back and watched him carefully. Nice sight. It was something she had forgotten about the Chicagoan winters, how they colored cheeks in pink, made eyes glitter, and sprinkled delicate snowflakes on hair and eyelashes. Even though Michael’s pink cheeks and glittering eyes might be due less to the Chicagoan winter than to his hands finding their way into her clothes.
It was their first visit to Chicago in years. New Year Eve at LJ’s, with Lincoln, Sofia and only a few friends. She would have never imagined she would miss the city so much. She had.
“Bed’s too far,” he whispered into her ear, voice like velvet and honey; like he needed to seduce and convince her; like she wasn’t already wrapping herself around him.
It was her hands that moved, opened their coats, his pants, lifted up her skirt just enough to offer him access. Frozen snowflakes fell from his coat and scarf and melted on her skin, into the silk of her gown.
“You prefer to go to bed?” he offered gently.
She shook her head. The wall was good enough behind her back; it was all what she needed as long as he was pinning her against it. She gasped and bucked when his fingers pushed her panties aside. Cold. Gasped and bucked again when he started to slide into her. Warm, almost burning hot.
“You okay?” he asked stopping mid-way, concerned and careful and driving her crazy.
She shifted around him, trying and managing to draw him deeper. He was killing her. What was that? You either fucked someone against a wall fast and dirty or you took them like a porcelain doll, but what was that? Cold lips and warm tongue sucked onto her pulse, slid up her neck and to her mouth.
Such a desperate and needy kiss. She took his face between her hands and looked him in the eye.
“Don’t hold back, Michael.”
“No?”
“No. You’d better not.”
With a devious grin, he parted her legs wider, hooking her right knee over the corner of the small credenza near the door, and he thrust into her, deep and hard, unceremoniously shoving her into the wall. That was more like it. She arched and thrust back, focusing on the few spots where she could feel him. Face, hands, cock; that was it, really. It was a stark contrast with the layers of clothes between them, the coats, the suit and shirt, dress, scarves, stockings - earlier tonight, he’d watched her put the stockings on with the obvious delight of the man for whom stockings won over pantyhose anytime - that, at her twisted pleasure, got in the way. It made the sensation of the smooth and hard flesh inside her all the more intense.
She hunched forward, her arms around his shoulders. The cold from outside clinging to their clothes was ebbing away fast, replaced with steamy breath and sweaty hands. She warmed the shell of his ear with a sweep of tongue and a languid kiss. Something else she had forgotten about the winters around here, how nice it was to warm up when they’d left you cold and shivering.
She raised her head and sighed when he came inside her, kissed his cheeks that were now reddening out of embarrassment; sighed again and let her sighs morph into moans when he slid to his knees before her, his head between her legs, against her belly, his fingers and his lips working, working...
Yes, the cold was all gone. She leaned heavily against the wall, supporting herself on Michael’s shoulders with both hands, face and chest flushed, stomach and inner thighs burning, breathing hot and moist.
The last snowflakes had done melting under her fingertips sometime between the moment where he’d eased his way into her and the moment he’d knelt before her. She rubbed her fingers on the wool of his coat, kneading him through the heavy garment.
She remembered the bed in the next room. Huge and comfortable, piled with soft and fluffy blankets, perfect for lazing and cuddling. She half-walked, half-let him carry her to the bedroom.
The bed was all welcoming warmth. So was Michael as she spooned him and nestled her chin between his jaw and his shoulder. She felt asleep with the sight of the whirlwinds of snow cushioning the windows and the comforting smoothness of Michael’s back against her breasts and belly.
FIN
--Feedback wouldn't hurt. Just sayin' ;)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Category: Het
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 965
Summary: It was something she had forgotten about the Chicagoan winters... (Post-series, alternate canon.)
Notes: Written for New Year 2013’s mini-round at rounds_of_kink.
Kink and prompt for rounds_of_kink: Wall!sex & Snow. Let’s say this is set in the same universe as White Christmas - thirty or thirty-five years earlier.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Sara half closed her eyes in the darkness of the lobby. They hadn’t bothered turning on the light. They hadn’t taken the time to turn on the light. Michael was kissing her, hot and deep, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his chin still chilling from outside. She leaned against the wall right near the entry door and opened up, lax and lazy. She could see where this was going. The kiss was all lips and tongue, slow and eager at the same time; not the kind of kiss you gave someone at the end of the evening before going to bed, good night and sleep tight.
His hands glided down, tearing at the buttons of her coat, at the same time that he moved from her mouth to her chin, her jaw, the side of her neck. He bit softly, and then less softly when she ground into him.
“We have a bed, you know? A large, comfortable bed.” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, rough and suggesting she couldn’t care less if they didn’t take this to said large and comfortable bed.
Michael’s fingers were freezing cold on the warm underside of her thighs and butt as he lifted her up and held her against the wall. Sara shivered, both at the contrast of temperatures and in pleasure.
“I know,” he slurred.
She tilted her head back and watched him carefully. Nice sight. It was something she had forgotten about the Chicagoan winters, how they colored cheeks in pink, made eyes glitter, and sprinkled delicate snowflakes on hair and eyelashes. Even though Michael’s pink cheeks and glittering eyes might be due less to the Chicagoan winter than to his hands finding their way into her clothes.
It was their first visit to Chicago in years. New Year Eve at LJ’s, with Lincoln, Sofia and only a few friends. She would have never imagined she would miss the city so much. She had.
“Bed’s too far,” he whispered into her ear, voice like velvet and honey; like he needed to seduce and convince her; like she wasn’t already wrapping herself around him.
It was her hands that moved, opened their coats, his pants, lifted up her skirt just enough to offer him access. Frozen snowflakes fell from his coat and scarf and melted on her skin, into the silk of her gown.
“You prefer to go to bed?” he offered gently.
She shook her head. The wall was good enough behind her back; it was all what she needed as long as he was pinning her against it. She gasped and bucked when his fingers pushed her panties aside. Cold. Gasped and bucked again when he started to slide into her. Warm, almost burning hot.
“You okay?” he asked stopping mid-way, concerned and careful and driving her crazy.
She shifted around him, trying and managing to draw him deeper. He was killing her. What was that? You either fucked someone against a wall fast and dirty or you took them like a porcelain doll, but what was that? Cold lips and warm tongue sucked onto her pulse, slid up her neck and to her mouth.
Such a desperate and needy kiss. She took his face between her hands and looked him in the eye.
“Don’t hold back, Michael.”
“No?”
“No. You’d better not.”
With a devious grin, he parted her legs wider, hooking her right knee over the corner of the small credenza near the door, and he thrust into her, deep and hard, unceremoniously shoving her into the wall. That was more like it. She arched and thrust back, focusing on the few spots where she could feel him. Face, hands, cock; that was it, really. It was a stark contrast with the layers of clothes between them, the coats, the suit and shirt, dress, scarves, stockings - earlier tonight, he’d watched her put the stockings on with the obvious delight of the man for whom stockings won over pantyhose anytime - that, at her twisted pleasure, got in the way. It made the sensation of the smooth and hard flesh inside her all the more intense.
She hunched forward, her arms around his shoulders. The cold from outside clinging to their clothes was ebbing away fast, replaced with steamy breath and sweaty hands. She warmed the shell of his ear with a sweep of tongue and a languid kiss. Something else she had forgotten about the winters around here, how nice it was to warm up when they’d left you cold and shivering.
She raised her head and sighed when he came inside her, kissed his cheeks that were now reddening out of embarrassment; sighed again and let her sighs morph into moans when he slid to his knees before her, his head between her legs, against her belly, his fingers and his lips working, working...
Yes, the cold was all gone. She leaned heavily against the wall, supporting herself on Michael’s shoulders with both hands, face and chest flushed, stomach and inner thighs burning, breathing hot and moist.
The last snowflakes had done melting under her fingertips sometime between the moment where he’d eased his way into her and the moment he’d knelt before her. She rubbed her fingers on the wool of his coat, kneading him through the heavy garment.
She remembered the bed in the next room. Huge and comfortable, piled with soft and fluffy blankets, perfect for lazing and cuddling. She half-walked, half-let him carry her to the bedroom.
The bed was all welcoming warmth. So was Michael as she spooned him and nestled her chin between his jaw and his shoulder. She felt asleep with the sight of the whirlwinds of snow cushioning the windows and the comforting smoothness of Michael’s back against her breasts and belly.
FIN
--Feedback wouldn't hurt. Just sayin' ;)