x-posted to pbslash and sweet_as_sucre
Title: Impulsive
Pairings: Michael/Sucre, Michael/T-Bag, one-sided Michael/Lincoln
Rating: Somewhere between R and NC-17
Warnings: Contains slash, thoughts of incest, tiny amount of violence, and tiny amount of strong language
Summary: Some of the escapees are hiding out in the anonymity of the desert, where boredom soon claims them all. Michael’s impulses take over as his TV reception fades.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea and the writing style.
Notes: Weeee, Michael the man slut! (And damn, boy’s got stamina!) This idea came about after I had a dream where Michael visits a random guy’s hotel room and starts making out with him. (Yes, it was fantastic!) This is not beta’d, and only about 2/3 of it is proofread because I got impatient. Oh, and thank you to my cheerleaders, zsuness and smidgy06! This is for you guys! But please excuse any extreme cheesiness. You’re bound to find that with me.
Length: Approximately 3600 words
Hitting the tiny television set quickly proved to be more of a problem than a solution. The lines making their way down the screen had multiplied rather than disappeared.
With a sigh of resignation, Michael returned to the bed to wait for the commercials to end. He chose not to think about what could have possibly made the stains on the bedspread - or whether or not it had even been cleaned.
A rerun of Malcolm in the Middle, halfway over, appeared on the screen, but it was just barely discernable. The unrelenting lines of bad reception made television veiwing damn near impossible, and Michael clicked the remote’s power button before he could go insane.
With caked-on grime, a revolting odor that permeated every corner, crappy reception, no swimming pool, no bar, and not even a single rip-off claw machine to play, the Desertside Motel was officially the worst place Michael had ever stayed - barring prison, of course; pardon the pun. Just moments before, he had seen what could only have been a giant cockroach or a tiny armadillo, and he was pretty sure armadillos didn’t come that small.
He rubbed his neck, feeling restless. He hadn’t noticed his foot rapidly tapping the floor until the movement of his knee bouncing suddenly caught his eye, snapping him out of the thought he couldn’t afford to have when he was in prison, but now... what did he have to lose?
Assuming the others were just as bored, Michael left his room and made his way down the dark, dingy hall, suppressing the urge to run his fingers along the walls as he walked.
He stopped in front of a door and stood a moment, collecting his thoughts. He was pretty sure he had read the signs right in prison, but what if he was wrong? Michael had rarely been wrong in life, but it did happen.
He softly rapped on the door and let his hand fall at his side, nervously glancing down the hallway.
As soon as the door opened, all the words in his head dissolved and a blind heat took over. With one last look down the halls, he pushed his way into the room, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it, his chest rising and falling at an accelerated rate.
“What’s wrong? Have we been found? Oh, shit, they found us?” Sucre crossed the room and peered through the crack in the curtains, but all he saw was vast desert illuminated by the moon and the faint glow of the Desertside’s flickering neon sign.
When he had turned around again, Michael purposefully strode towards him, quickly closing the gap between the two men, and, with no warning or explanation, placed his hands on either sides of Sucre’s face and pulled him into a burning kiss. All of the desire that had been building inside him for the last two months came out in that kiss.
At first, it wasn’t returned - there was even resistance - but as soon as Michael’s tongue parted Sucre’s lips, he had total cooperation. Sucre’s tense body noticeably loosened as it willingly pressed itself to Michael’s and his hands found their way to Michael’s back.
As the kiss ended, Michael was met with resistance again, an afterthought. Sucre pushed away and crossed his arms over his chest, bringing one hand up to his mouth, and stared at the floor. Michael waited.
“Fish, what is this?” His eyes flicked up to meet Michael’s. “What are you doin’ to me? I just keep thinkin’ about Maricruz back home. I thought I’d be doin’ this with her right now, you know?” He couldn’t help the moisture that glossed over his eyes, and he blinked a few times and turned his head away to try to make it stop.
Michael stepped forward and cautiously put his arms around him, pulling him into a hug and gently rubbing his back. “I know,” he said, “I know. I promise you that you’ll see her again, but it’s not safe right now.”
Sucre gave up his inner fight and gave in to the hug, closing his eyes and letting his arms slide around Michael’s torso. He gave in to the comfort, he gave in to the warmth, he gave in to the ache in his body brought on by Michael’s touch.
Michael let out a sigh and rolled his head to the side when he felt a hot open mouth press against his neck and begin licking and sucking its way up to his jaw, and soon enough it closed over his own mouth. He let himself be pushed back towards the bed.
Breaking the kiss, Michael glanced over his shoulder and asked, “Do you think they ever wash the linens?”
Sucre laughed at what he had thought was a joke, until he noticed that Michael never smiled. “You serious?”
Michael blocked out the annoying voice in his head. “You’re right, who cares.” He pulled Sucre onto the bed with him.
Clothing was quickly removed from overheated skin. Michael lay back against the pillows and let Sucre’s hands work their way down, pausing every now and then to trace along various parts of his impressive tattoo. As he got lower, he began to trace them with his tongue. Lower and lower... Michael closed his eyes and made an appreciative noise.
He let Sucre’s mouth work its magic for a while, but when he got close to the edge, he stopped him. “Wait,” he panted, pushing against Sucre’s shoulders.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He sat up and put a hand on Sucre’s arm, staring into his eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”
Sucre was astonished. “Seriously? You ever done that before? I mean, you ever had that, uh... done... to you?”
Michael’s lips curled into a mischievous smile and he slowly nodded. “College isn’t all homework and exams.” Sucre mirrored his smile.
Placing a hand on the back of Sucre’s head, Michael pulled him in for a kiss, before falling back against the pillows and ordering him to grab some lotion from the bathroom. Sucre wasted no time.
A minute later, he positioned himself between Michael’s legs, lotion in hand, and lubed up the both of them. “Here we go,” he said, dropping the bottle of lotion to the floor.
All pent-up sexual tension melted away. The two men fell into a steady rhythm, even their panting and moaning becoming synchronized. As the pace quickened, the bed creaked and popped as if it were being punished. Beads of sweat soaked into the bedspread, mixing with whatever else had been spilled their previously.
Michael’s fickle hands had been everywhere within reach. They never knew what to do with themselves. He wanted to touch Sucre, but the intense sensations traveling through him in waves gave him a need for gripping the blankets at his sides.
The friction between the two feverish bodies, added to the continual bursts of pleasure, was enough for Michael and he threw his head back with a guttural groan as he came. Sucre followed moments later, crying out in Spanish, and collapsed on top of Michael.
As they regulated their breathing, Sucre pushed himself up from the sticky mess spread across their bellies and rolled onto his back.
“That’s gross, hombre,” he remarked, glancing down at his midsection. They looked at each other and burst into laughter.
“What, never done this before?”
“Well, not that. Not with a guy. Had a girl once who let me go there. That was way back in high school. But I’ve done other stuff with guys.”
“I could tell,” Michael grinned.
“So,” Sucre hesitantly started, picking at a small scab on his hand, “how come... how come you never tried that when we were in prison? You never touched me in the cell. Had plenty of time. Plenty of opportunity.” He dropped his hands to the bed and faced Michael.
Flashing him another smile, Michael replied, “We had prison reps to uphold.”
“Oh, come on, that was my stupid excuse. We had that sheet hung all the time. You never made a move.”
“My mind was all business back then. I was only in prison for one reason. It had nothing to do with my wants or needs, except for needing my brother to live. But believe me, it was hard.” Upon seeing Sucre’s knowing grin, Michael realized how poorly he had chosen his last words. “I mean, it was tough. It was tough not giving in to temptation. Well, okay, honestly, it was hard too. It’s all about the careful readjustments.” Sucre laughed at that.
“I’d better get back to my room now,” Michael said after the laughter had died down.
“Yeah, I s’pose.” Propping himself on his elbows, Sucre watched as Michael left the bed and entered the bathroom. He heard the water run, followed by a curse - the water wasn’t exactly sanitary. Michael returned to the main room and collected his clothes.
Once dressed, Michael opened the door and tossed one more glance at Sucre. “See ya.”
“Adios.”
On his way down the hall, Michael thought that boredom never felt so good. While passing a door to his left, Michael slowed to a stop. Pressing his ear to the door, he realized he had been right - the occupant was singing.
A smile spread its way across Michael’s face. The night had only just begun.
Three quiet knocks and the singing stopped. A moment of silence passed before the door swung inward.
“Well, well, well. What brings you to my door this time of night? Have a nightmare?”
“’Fraid not. Nothing I dream of could ever come close to the horrors you’ve described to me.”
T-Bag stepped closer and leaned against the doorframe, studying Michael’s wrinkled clothing. “Come to check my room for innocent victims? Ya know, there’s this pretty little thing that comes around to clean the rooms. She don’t do a very thorough job, but she brings fresh towels. I haven’t seen her in the last day or so, have you?”
“Very funny. I saw her this morning. Besides, she can’t be younger than 28. I don’t see her as being your type.”
“She’d work in a pinch. Why are you here, Pretty?” T-Bag sucked his lips into his mouth and narrowed his eyes.
Michael shrugged, never averting his gaze from T-Bag’s eyes. “I was bored,” he coolly revealed.
“Bored? You mean to tell me you wasn’t watchin’ that delightful comedy ‘bout the four raucous boys who drive their parents to madness?”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you were?”
“Not really. Reception wasn’t so good. Say, seein’ as you’re just dyin’ for some excitement, why don’t you step inside? But you’ll have to excuse the mess. If I knew you were comin’ over, I’d have picked up a little. Maybe fixed some Twinkies or somethin’.” He stepped back and gestured inside the room.
“Not a problem. You and I have some unfinished business.” Michael stepped inside, amused by T-Bag’s obvious surprise.
T-Bag closed the door and watched with growing curiosity as Michael crossed to the bed and sat down, removing his shoes and making himself comfortable.
“Every incarcerated man and his uncle know I’ve got some unfinished business with you, but what’s this business you speak of?”
Michael leaned back on his hands and looked up at T-Bag. “Same as yours,” he replied with a grin.
T-Bag looked long and hard at Michael’s face, finally saying, “This is a joke, ain’t it? When does Sink come barrelin’ through my door to beat me to a bloody pulp?” He turned around, half expecting to see that really happen. When he turned back, he nearly bumped into Michael, who had gotten up and now stood so close that T-Bag would have been able to feel his breath if Michael spoke.
Licking his lips, T-Bag regarded Michael with a skeptical eye. “I don’t like games, Scofield,” he informed him, his tone becoming menacing, “unless I’m the one orchestrating them.”
Michael remained calm, maintaining eye contact, but as soon as he raised a hand, in a flash he found himself shoved against a wall with T-Bag’s hand to his throat. “I’m serious, boy, what kinda games you playin’? And no matter what you tell me,” he said, leaning in closer to whisper the rest in Michael’s ear, “I guarantee I got a game ten times more fun.” He licked Michael’s neck, tasting the salty sweat there.
T-Bag’s grip on Michael’s neck wasn’t enough to choke him, but it was enough to be uncomfortable, and Michael struggled to pry the hand away. “I’m not playing any games,” he insisted, his voice strained.
A moment longer and T-Bag decided to finally let up. He removed his hand and shoved Michael to the floor. Looking down, he crossed his arms and smirked. “Well, look who’s finally where he belongs.”
“Is this what you want?” Michael got to his knees and made his way to T-Bag’s legs, reaching out to grab his pants.
More than a little shocked and confused, T-Bag swatted Michael’s hands away. “Now, wait just a second. What’s gotten into you, Fish? If I recall correctly, you wanted nothin’ to do with me. You repudiated the pocket, you rejected all my ideas, you struck me with a sledgehammer, and you condoned the plan to have me exterminated. Now, what’s got you so friendly all’a sudden?”
“You weren’t part of the plan. Simple as that. I wasn’t going to risk everything by entering into any unnecessary deals. I needed John, but you were, technically, expendable. And just for the record, I did not condone the plan to kill you. I had no idea what John was planning. He can be cryptic.” Michael knew he was in for a challenge when he knocked on T-Bag’s door, but he wasn’t expecting there to be so much talking.
“And now that we’re out?” T-Bag cocked an eyebrow. He had a good idea where this conversation was heading, but he wanted to hear it from Michael’s pretty mouth.
“Now...” Michael rose to his feet and, keeping his eyes locked with T-Bag’s, slowly slipped his hand into T-Bag’s pants pocket. “...I can do whatever I want.” He pulled the pocket out, gripping it tight.
It was at this point that Michael finally began to feel a twinge of fear. There was no telling what might come next. Whatever was coming, Michael would welcome it. He had appeared at T-Bag’s door willingly. It was his own fault if he emerged from the room bruised and bloody - or didn’t emerge at all.
A pause had stretched on for an eerie period of time, until T-Bag suddenly grabbed Michael roughly by the arms, rattling his senses. “You do realize what this means, don’t you?” he spoke into Michael’s face, mere inches away. “You belong to me now.” His eyes were wild and reminded Michael of Haywire, full of purpose but still utterly insane.
T-Bag wrapped an arm around Michael’s head, pulling it to the side so he could mark his territory. He nipped at the delicate flesh, creating a pattern of his own next to the elaborate ink job.
Michael rather enjoyed the sensations. Still grasping the pocket, he stood perfectly still and allowed T-Bag to do as he pleased.
When he felt a hand slide down the front of his pants, he audibly gasped. His head may have still been trapped in T-Bag’s arm, but his hands were free to wander and he decided to return the favor. Dropping the pocket, he felt his way to the front of T-Bag’s pants, making quick work of the button and zipper. He soon had his hands shoved inside, and he smiled at the groan he was able to elicit.
“I always knew you were good with your hands, Pretty, but I got a better idea,” T-Bag breathed into Michael’s ear, the hot bursts of air sending ripples of desire through Michael’s lower half. He removed his hands and attempted to press himself against T-Bag’s body, but he was rejected.
“Uh-uh-uh.” T-Bag shoved him away. “Hang a sheet,” he ordered. He shook his head in amusement, shrugging. “Sorry. Habit.”
Not waiting for orders, Michael began to undress.
“Someone’s an eager beaver,” T-Bag remarked, letting his eyes explore the exposed skin, his tongue unconsciously darting out to trail along his bottom lip.
Fully exposed to the stale air, Michael stood uncertainly. Wasting no more time talking, T-Bag spun him around and pitched him on the bed, face-down. He straddled his legs and pinned Michael’s head to the mattress by pressing down on the back of his neck.
Reaching down, T-Bag tested Michael with a finger. He was surprised to find the opening slick with some sort of cloudy substance. He slid a couple more fingers in and, as he stretched the skin, more of the sticky liquid seeped out.
T-Bag leaned forward and placed his mouth near Michael’s ear. “What do we have here, Pretty? You been makin’ the rounds? Otherwise, there’s somethin’ severely wrong with your biological make-up.” He eased up on Michael’s neck and sat back on his heels.
Michael lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. “I told you I was bored.” He eased back onto his hands and knees, pushing his ass against T-Bag’s groin.
Catching Michael’s gyrating hips before they could do any more damage, T-Bag teasingly replied, “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna judge you.”
Michael could hear the rustle of clothing behind him and eagerly awaited what he knew would be coming next.
A bolt of piercing pleasure surged through him, knocking him to his elbows and triggering an onslaught of deep-throated moans and expletives. T-Bag certainly didn’t take his time. Michael pushed into each thrust, large bits of bedspread tightly bunched in his fists. One hand eventually made its way to his own erection.
T-Bag’s heavy panting turned to a shuddering groan as he came. The explosion of heat brought Michael to his own climax and he collapsed to the bed, his abdominals and quadriceps aching from the strain.
T-Bag smacked Michael’s ass and collapsed onto his back beside Michael’s spent body. “This is the point when I would remove the sheet so everyone can see the damage I’ve done. Lucky for you, you’re gettin’ off pretty easy. I can’t promise it’ll always be like this.”
Michael finally moved, rising to his elbows and looking at T-Bag. “And that’s what makes you so charming,” he flatly replied.
He slid off the bed and entered the bathroom, getting himself cleaned up. Exiting the bathroom, he collected his clothes for the second time that night and got dressed. T-Bag never once moved, save for his watchful eyes.
At the door, Michael paused at the sound of T-Bag’s voice. “I’m going to venture a guess,” he said, “and say that your horny ape of a brother was the one who got to you first.”
“What? My brother?” Michael sounded less disgusted than he probably should have. His brother....
Without any sort of answer, Michael slipped out the door and closed it behind him. He wasn’t positive, but he thought he heard T-Bag laughing.
His gait was slow, his mind clouded by thoughts he had only considered once before. He passed another door on his left, almost to his own room, but something made him stop before he got there. Paused in the middle of the hall, he ran over some lines in his head. With a deep breath, he backed up until he stood before the door he had just passed not less than two minutes ago.
Softly knocking, he could feel his chest tightening and his face growing hot. The panicky feeling only increased as shuffling footsteps were heard on the other side, and then the door opened and there he was.
“Michael?” He rubbed his eyes. “What’s up? It’s, like… what the hell time is it?”
“Late, I know. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Well, come in.” Lincoln stepped aside and let his brother through. He recalled many nights like this from their childhood.
The two sat on the edge of the messy bed, neither speaking for a while.
It was Lincoln who broke the silence. “Wanna tell me what’s up?”
Michael had been using the silence to go over some lines in his head again, but this was it. “When’s the last time you had sex?” That blew all of his careful planning. Michael silently cursed himself.
Lincoln laughed at that - loudly. “Why?”
“No reason. But, I mean, don’t you ever get restless?”
“This is why you can’t sleep? You’re wondering about my sex life?”
“No, I just....” Michael was sweating. “Was there something you wanted to tell me? Ever? I mean, back in college, that one day when you came to visit me and you brought all those drugs -”
“Whoa, whoa, stop, stop, stop.” Lincoln held up an authoritative hand. “Are you coming on to me?”
Michael was momentarily stunned, any boldness he may have still had, gone. After stumbling over a few opening words, he finally managed, “Excuse me?”
Lincoln lightly chuckled and clapped a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Relax, Mike, I’m kidding. Now, what’s this all about?” He happened to glance down and spot what appeared to be the start of an erection. “Whoa, wait a minute....” Lincoln ran a hand over his head, his mind racing.
Michael’s eye went wide. “Uh, you know what? It’s nothing. Everything’s cool.” Michael jumped to his feet, making a careful readjustment as he hurried to the door, leaving a perplexed Lincoln in his wake.
Back in his room, Michael sat on his bed staring at the wall. He had let his impulses take over and there would be consequences for everything.
Tomorrow was going to be... interesting.
Pairings: Michael/Sucre, Michael/T-Bag, one-sided Michael/Lincoln
Rating: Somewhere between R and NC-17
Warnings: Contains slash, thoughts of incest, tiny amount of violence, and tiny amount of strong language
Summary: Some of the escapees are hiding out in the anonymity of the desert, where boredom soon claims them all. Michael’s impulses take over as his TV reception fades.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea and the writing style.
Notes: Weeee, Michael the man slut! (And damn, boy’s got stamina!) This idea came about after I had a dream where Michael visits a random guy’s hotel room and starts making out with him. (Yes, it was fantastic!) This is not beta’d, and only about 2/3 of it is proofread because I got impatient. Oh, and thank you to my cheerleaders, zsuness and smidgy06! This is for you guys! But please excuse any extreme cheesiness. You’re bound to find that with me.
Length: Approximately 3600 words
Hitting the tiny television set quickly proved to be more of a problem than a solution. The lines making their way down the screen had multiplied rather than disappeared.
With a sigh of resignation, Michael returned to the bed to wait for the commercials to end. He chose not to think about what could have possibly made the stains on the bedspread - or whether or not it had even been cleaned.
A rerun of Malcolm in the Middle, halfway over, appeared on the screen, but it was just barely discernable. The unrelenting lines of bad reception made television veiwing damn near impossible, and Michael clicked the remote’s power button before he could go insane.
With caked-on grime, a revolting odor that permeated every corner, crappy reception, no swimming pool, no bar, and not even a single rip-off claw machine to play, the Desertside Motel was officially the worst place Michael had ever stayed - barring prison, of course; pardon the pun. Just moments before, he had seen what could only have been a giant cockroach or a tiny armadillo, and he was pretty sure armadillos didn’t come that small.
He rubbed his neck, feeling restless. He hadn’t noticed his foot rapidly tapping the floor until the movement of his knee bouncing suddenly caught his eye, snapping him out of the thought he couldn’t afford to have when he was in prison, but now... what did he have to lose?
Assuming the others were just as bored, Michael left his room and made his way down the dark, dingy hall, suppressing the urge to run his fingers along the walls as he walked.
He stopped in front of a door and stood a moment, collecting his thoughts. He was pretty sure he had read the signs right in prison, but what if he was wrong? Michael had rarely been wrong in life, but it did happen.
He softly rapped on the door and let his hand fall at his side, nervously glancing down the hallway.
As soon as the door opened, all the words in his head dissolved and a blind heat took over. With one last look down the halls, he pushed his way into the room, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it, his chest rising and falling at an accelerated rate.
“What’s wrong? Have we been found? Oh, shit, they found us?” Sucre crossed the room and peered through the crack in the curtains, but all he saw was vast desert illuminated by the moon and the faint glow of the Desertside’s flickering neon sign.
When he had turned around again, Michael purposefully strode towards him, quickly closing the gap between the two men, and, with no warning or explanation, placed his hands on either sides of Sucre’s face and pulled him into a burning kiss. All of the desire that had been building inside him for the last two months came out in that kiss.
At first, it wasn’t returned - there was even resistance - but as soon as Michael’s tongue parted Sucre’s lips, he had total cooperation. Sucre’s tense body noticeably loosened as it willingly pressed itself to Michael’s and his hands found their way to Michael’s back.
As the kiss ended, Michael was met with resistance again, an afterthought. Sucre pushed away and crossed his arms over his chest, bringing one hand up to his mouth, and stared at the floor. Michael waited.
“Fish, what is this?” His eyes flicked up to meet Michael’s. “What are you doin’ to me? I just keep thinkin’ about Maricruz back home. I thought I’d be doin’ this with her right now, you know?” He couldn’t help the moisture that glossed over his eyes, and he blinked a few times and turned his head away to try to make it stop.
Michael stepped forward and cautiously put his arms around him, pulling him into a hug and gently rubbing his back. “I know,” he said, “I know. I promise you that you’ll see her again, but it’s not safe right now.”
Sucre gave up his inner fight and gave in to the hug, closing his eyes and letting his arms slide around Michael’s torso. He gave in to the comfort, he gave in to the warmth, he gave in to the ache in his body brought on by Michael’s touch.
Michael let out a sigh and rolled his head to the side when he felt a hot open mouth press against his neck and begin licking and sucking its way up to his jaw, and soon enough it closed over his own mouth. He let himself be pushed back towards the bed.
Breaking the kiss, Michael glanced over his shoulder and asked, “Do you think they ever wash the linens?”
Sucre laughed at what he had thought was a joke, until he noticed that Michael never smiled. “You serious?”
Michael blocked out the annoying voice in his head. “You’re right, who cares.” He pulled Sucre onto the bed with him.
Clothing was quickly removed from overheated skin. Michael lay back against the pillows and let Sucre’s hands work their way down, pausing every now and then to trace along various parts of his impressive tattoo. As he got lower, he began to trace them with his tongue. Lower and lower... Michael closed his eyes and made an appreciative noise.
He let Sucre’s mouth work its magic for a while, but when he got close to the edge, he stopped him. “Wait,” he panted, pushing against Sucre’s shoulders.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He sat up and put a hand on Sucre’s arm, staring into his eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”
Sucre was astonished. “Seriously? You ever done that before? I mean, you ever had that, uh... done... to you?”
Michael’s lips curled into a mischievous smile and he slowly nodded. “College isn’t all homework and exams.” Sucre mirrored his smile.
Placing a hand on the back of Sucre’s head, Michael pulled him in for a kiss, before falling back against the pillows and ordering him to grab some lotion from the bathroom. Sucre wasted no time.
A minute later, he positioned himself between Michael’s legs, lotion in hand, and lubed up the both of them. “Here we go,” he said, dropping the bottle of lotion to the floor.
All pent-up sexual tension melted away. The two men fell into a steady rhythm, even their panting and moaning becoming synchronized. As the pace quickened, the bed creaked and popped as if it were being punished. Beads of sweat soaked into the bedspread, mixing with whatever else had been spilled their previously.
Michael’s fickle hands had been everywhere within reach. They never knew what to do with themselves. He wanted to touch Sucre, but the intense sensations traveling through him in waves gave him a need for gripping the blankets at his sides.
The friction between the two feverish bodies, added to the continual bursts of pleasure, was enough for Michael and he threw his head back with a guttural groan as he came. Sucre followed moments later, crying out in Spanish, and collapsed on top of Michael.
As they regulated their breathing, Sucre pushed himself up from the sticky mess spread across their bellies and rolled onto his back.
“That’s gross, hombre,” he remarked, glancing down at his midsection. They looked at each other and burst into laughter.
“What, never done this before?”
“Well, not that. Not with a guy. Had a girl once who let me go there. That was way back in high school. But I’ve done other stuff with guys.”
“I could tell,” Michael grinned.
“So,” Sucre hesitantly started, picking at a small scab on his hand, “how come... how come you never tried that when we were in prison? You never touched me in the cell. Had plenty of time. Plenty of opportunity.” He dropped his hands to the bed and faced Michael.
Flashing him another smile, Michael replied, “We had prison reps to uphold.”
“Oh, come on, that was my stupid excuse. We had that sheet hung all the time. You never made a move.”
“My mind was all business back then. I was only in prison for one reason. It had nothing to do with my wants or needs, except for needing my brother to live. But believe me, it was hard.” Upon seeing Sucre’s knowing grin, Michael realized how poorly he had chosen his last words. “I mean, it was tough. It was tough not giving in to temptation. Well, okay, honestly, it was hard too. It’s all about the careful readjustments.” Sucre laughed at that.
“I’d better get back to my room now,” Michael said after the laughter had died down.
“Yeah, I s’pose.” Propping himself on his elbows, Sucre watched as Michael left the bed and entered the bathroom. He heard the water run, followed by a curse - the water wasn’t exactly sanitary. Michael returned to the main room and collected his clothes.
Once dressed, Michael opened the door and tossed one more glance at Sucre. “See ya.”
“Adios.”
On his way down the hall, Michael thought that boredom never felt so good. While passing a door to his left, Michael slowed to a stop. Pressing his ear to the door, he realized he had been right - the occupant was singing.
A smile spread its way across Michael’s face. The night had only just begun.
Three quiet knocks and the singing stopped. A moment of silence passed before the door swung inward.
“Well, well, well. What brings you to my door this time of night? Have a nightmare?”
“’Fraid not. Nothing I dream of could ever come close to the horrors you’ve described to me.”
T-Bag stepped closer and leaned against the doorframe, studying Michael’s wrinkled clothing. “Come to check my room for innocent victims? Ya know, there’s this pretty little thing that comes around to clean the rooms. She don’t do a very thorough job, but she brings fresh towels. I haven’t seen her in the last day or so, have you?”
“Very funny. I saw her this morning. Besides, she can’t be younger than 28. I don’t see her as being your type.”
“She’d work in a pinch. Why are you here, Pretty?” T-Bag sucked his lips into his mouth and narrowed his eyes.
Michael shrugged, never averting his gaze from T-Bag’s eyes. “I was bored,” he coolly revealed.
“Bored? You mean to tell me you wasn’t watchin’ that delightful comedy ‘bout the four raucous boys who drive their parents to madness?”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you were?”
“Not really. Reception wasn’t so good. Say, seein’ as you’re just dyin’ for some excitement, why don’t you step inside? But you’ll have to excuse the mess. If I knew you were comin’ over, I’d have picked up a little. Maybe fixed some Twinkies or somethin’.” He stepped back and gestured inside the room.
“Not a problem. You and I have some unfinished business.” Michael stepped inside, amused by T-Bag’s obvious surprise.
T-Bag closed the door and watched with growing curiosity as Michael crossed to the bed and sat down, removing his shoes and making himself comfortable.
“Every incarcerated man and his uncle know I’ve got some unfinished business with you, but what’s this business you speak of?”
Michael leaned back on his hands and looked up at T-Bag. “Same as yours,” he replied with a grin.
T-Bag looked long and hard at Michael’s face, finally saying, “This is a joke, ain’t it? When does Sink come barrelin’ through my door to beat me to a bloody pulp?” He turned around, half expecting to see that really happen. When he turned back, he nearly bumped into Michael, who had gotten up and now stood so close that T-Bag would have been able to feel his breath if Michael spoke.
Licking his lips, T-Bag regarded Michael with a skeptical eye. “I don’t like games, Scofield,” he informed him, his tone becoming menacing, “unless I’m the one orchestrating them.”
Michael remained calm, maintaining eye contact, but as soon as he raised a hand, in a flash he found himself shoved against a wall with T-Bag’s hand to his throat. “I’m serious, boy, what kinda games you playin’? And no matter what you tell me,” he said, leaning in closer to whisper the rest in Michael’s ear, “I guarantee I got a game ten times more fun.” He licked Michael’s neck, tasting the salty sweat there.
T-Bag’s grip on Michael’s neck wasn’t enough to choke him, but it was enough to be uncomfortable, and Michael struggled to pry the hand away. “I’m not playing any games,” he insisted, his voice strained.
A moment longer and T-Bag decided to finally let up. He removed his hand and shoved Michael to the floor. Looking down, he crossed his arms and smirked. “Well, look who’s finally where he belongs.”
“Is this what you want?” Michael got to his knees and made his way to T-Bag’s legs, reaching out to grab his pants.
More than a little shocked and confused, T-Bag swatted Michael’s hands away. “Now, wait just a second. What’s gotten into you, Fish? If I recall correctly, you wanted nothin’ to do with me. You repudiated the pocket, you rejected all my ideas, you struck me with a sledgehammer, and you condoned the plan to have me exterminated. Now, what’s got you so friendly all’a sudden?”
“You weren’t part of the plan. Simple as that. I wasn’t going to risk everything by entering into any unnecessary deals. I needed John, but you were, technically, expendable. And just for the record, I did not condone the plan to kill you. I had no idea what John was planning. He can be cryptic.” Michael knew he was in for a challenge when he knocked on T-Bag’s door, but he wasn’t expecting there to be so much talking.
“And now that we’re out?” T-Bag cocked an eyebrow. He had a good idea where this conversation was heading, but he wanted to hear it from Michael’s pretty mouth.
“Now...” Michael rose to his feet and, keeping his eyes locked with T-Bag’s, slowly slipped his hand into T-Bag’s pants pocket. “...I can do whatever I want.” He pulled the pocket out, gripping it tight.
It was at this point that Michael finally began to feel a twinge of fear. There was no telling what might come next. Whatever was coming, Michael would welcome it. He had appeared at T-Bag’s door willingly. It was his own fault if he emerged from the room bruised and bloody - or didn’t emerge at all.
A pause had stretched on for an eerie period of time, until T-Bag suddenly grabbed Michael roughly by the arms, rattling his senses. “You do realize what this means, don’t you?” he spoke into Michael’s face, mere inches away. “You belong to me now.” His eyes were wild and reminded Michael of Haywire, full of purpose but still utterly insane.
T-Bag wrapped an arm around Michael’s head, pulling it to the side so he could mark his territory. He nipped at the delicate flesh, creating a pattern of his own next to the elaborate ink job.
Michael rather enjoyed the sensations. Still grasping the pocket, he stood perfectly still and allowed T-Bag to do as he pleased.
When he felt a hand slide down the front of his pants, he audibly gasped. His head may have still been trapped in T-Bag’s arm, but his hands were free to wander and he decided to return the favor. Dropping the pocket, he felt his way to the front of T-Bag’s pants, making quick work of the button and zipper. He soon had his hands shoved inside, and he smiled at the groan he was able to elicit.
“I always knew you were good with your hands, Pretty, but I got a better idea,” T-Bag breathed into Michael’s ear, the hot bursts of air sending ripples of desire through Michael’s lower half. He removed his hands and attempted to press himself against T-Bag’s body, but he was rejected.
“Uh-uh-uh.” T-Bag shoved him away. “Hang a sheet,” he ordered. He shook his head in amusement, shrugging. “Sorry. Habit.”
Not waiting for orders, Michael began to undress.
“Someone’s an eager beaver,” T-Bag remarked, letting his eyes explore the exposed skin, his tongue unconsciously darting out to trail along his bottom lip.
Fully exposed to the stale air, Michael stood uncertainly. Wasting no more time talking, T-Bag spun him around and pitched him on the bed, face-down. He straddled his legs and pinned Michael’s head to the mattress by pressing down on the back of his neck.
Reaching down, T-Bag tested Michael with a finger. He was surprised to find the opening slick with some sort of cloudy substance. He slid a couple more fingers in and, as he stretched the skin, more of the sticky liquid seeped out.
T-Bag leaned forward and placed his mouth near Michael’s ear. “What do we have here, Pretty? You been makin’ the rounds? Otherwise, there’s somethin’ severely wrong with your biological make-up.” He eased up on Michael’s neck and sat back on his heels.
Michael lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. “I told you I was bored.” He eased back onto his hands and knees, pushing his ass against T-Bag’s groin.
Catching Michael’s gyrating hips before they could do any more damage, T-Bag teasingly replied, “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna judge you.”
Michael could hear the rustle of clothing behind him and eagerly awaited what he knew would be coming next.
A bolt of piercing pleasure surged through him, knocking him to his elbows and triggering an onslaught of deep-throated moans and expletives. T-Bag certainly didn’t take his time. Michael pushed into each thrust, large bits of bedspread tightly bunched in his fists. One hand eventually made its way to his own erection.
T-Bag’s heavy panting turned to a shuddering groan as he came. The explosion of heat brought Michael to his own climax and he collapsed to the bed, his abdominals and quadriceps aching from the strain.
T-Bag smacked Michael’s ass and collapsed onto his back beside Michael’s spent body. “This is the point when I would remove the sheet so everyone can see the damage I’ve done. Lucky for you, you’re gettin’ off pretty easy. I can’t promise it’ll always be like this.”
Michael finally moved, rising to his elbows and looking at T-Bag. “And that’s what makes you so charming,” he flatly replied.
He slid off the bed and entered the bathroom, getting himself cleaned up. Exiting the bathroom, he collected his clothes for the second time that night and got dressed. T-Bag never once moved, save for his watchful eyes.
At the door, Michael paused at the sound of T-Bag’s voice. “I’m going to venture a guess,” he said, “and say that your horny ape of a brother was the one who got to you first.”
“What? My brother?” Michael sounded less disgusted than he probably should have. His brother....
Without any sort of answer, Michael slipped out the door and closed it behind him. He wasn’t positive, but he thought he heard T-Bag laughing.
His gait was slow, his mind clouded by thoughts he had only considered once before. He passed another door on his left, almost to his own room, but something made him stop before he got there. Paused in the middle of the hall, he ran over some lines in his head. With a deep breath, he backed up until he stood before the door he had just passed not less than two minutes ago.
Softly knocking, he could feel his chest tightening and his face growing hot. The panicky feeling only increased as shuffling footsteps were heard on the other side, and then the door opened and there he was.
“Michael?” He rubbed his eyes. “What’s up? It’s, like… what the hell time is it?”
“Late, I know. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Well, come in.” Lincoln stepped aside and let his brother through. He recalled many nights like this from their childhood.
The two sat on the edge of the messy bed, neither speaking for a while.
It was Lincoln who broke the silence. “Wanna tell me what’s up?”
Michael had been using the silence to go over some lines in his head again, but this was it. “When’s the last time you had sex?” That blew all of his careful planning. Michael silently cursed himself.
Lincoln laughed at that - loudly. “Why?”
“No reason. But, I mean, don’t you ever get restless?”
“This is why you can’t sleep? You’re wondering about my sex life?”
“No, I just....” Michael was sweating. “Was there something you wanted to tell me? Ever? I mean, back in college, that one day when you came to visit me and you brought all those drugs -”
“Whoa, whoa, stop, stop, stop.” Lincoln held up an authoritative hand. “Are you coming on to me?”
Michael was momentarily stunned, any boldness he may have still had, gone. After stumbling over a few opening words, he finally managed, “Excuse me?”
Lincoln lightly chuckled and clapped a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Relax, Mike, I’m kidding. Now, what’s this all about?” He happened to glance down and spot what appeared to be the start of an erection. “Whoa, wait a minute....” Lincoln ran a hand over his head, his mind racing.
Michael’s eye went wide. “Uh, you know what? It’s nothing. Everything’s cool.” Michael jumped to his feet, making a careful readjustment as he hurried to the door, leaving a perplexed Lincoln in his wake.
Back in his room, Michael sat on his bed staring at the wall. He had let his impulses take over and there would be consequences for everything.
Tomorrow was going to be... interesting.