"The Centre Cannot Hold" for anisapologist
Title: The Centre Cannot Hold
Rating: NC17
Character/Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Requested by: anisapologist
Summary: Finally, Lincoln did get it. Everything fell into place. His brother didn’t want him to pay in pain, or hurt, or blood. Michael didn’t want his guilt. He wanted… something else.
The Centre Cannot Hold
We fall in a million ways. We’ve been falling since The Fall. We fall short, fall hard, fall in love, fall apart, fall off, fall in, fall out. We fall through the cracks, fall afoul. We fall and we keep falling. We never hit the bottom, because we can always fall lower. There is no bottom, just another low.
Of all the falls we’ll ever make, the most devastating and unavoidable is our fall from grace.
Fall short
Lincoln never saw his own downfalls coming. For people like him, falling was merely a fait accompli. Something already done, assumed. Fact. What did matter was keeping Michael from ever feeling the sting of hard ground against his knees. Lincoln would take two lifetimes of falls, and sometimes felt like he had, just to keep his baby brother from ever knowing the pull of gravity.
There was desperation in his desire to protect Michael, a gut-wrenching need to lead. If there was a fall to be had, he’d take it. That was the way it was meant to be…
But the way it was? The way it turned out? None of that was meant to be. It fucked with Lincoln’s unspoken order. It wasn’t right and it should never have happened. Michael took a fall to get him out and now? Now it was time for them both to pay. He’d never meant for his little brother to cover the cost of his sins. He’d never meant to be anything less than a god to his baby brother. But that’s the way things happen. He was never what Michael wanted or needed. But at the end, he was all Michael had.
Fall away
For three hours they’d been running. Linc was familiar with the term ‘A step ahead of the law’, but this? This was too close. They’d been spotted by a rather vigilant senior citizen who also, it appeared, was a loyal viewer of America’s Most Wanted. For nearly two weeks they’d managed to keep going, keep hiding. Linc knew it wouldn’t last. There was only so far they could run on the fumes of hints of suggestions of clues that maybe might exonerate him. This was as far as the road went. When he went back in, he stayed in until the very end.
That was something that Michael either wouldn’t accept or didn’t understand. Failure was a variable that his little brother had never been able to comprehend. That was OK. Linc was insanely proud that the word ‘failure’ didn’t feature in Michael’s vocabulary. He was willing to fail for them both. God only knew, failing was one of the few things he could do with flair.
Eventually, they found themselves cornered in a used car lot. Lincoln crouched at Michael’s back behind a ’72 Chevy and placed his hand in the small of Michael’s back. Michael tensed and Linc smoothed a thumb over the cotton of his shirt to let his brother know that it was only him. Michael shrugged off his hand and peered around the car to track the distant movements of a pair of police officers.
‘Michael,’ Linc rumbled lowly, trying to get his brother’s attention, ‘We’re boxed in. You tried, but we can’t keep this up.’
Michael turned, his eyes wide with betrayal. ‘You don’t trust me to get us out of this?’
‘You got something in that ink?’ Linc flicked at the hem of Michael’s shirt. Both men moved around to the door of the truck and leaned back against one wheel. ‘If it’s over. It’s over, little brother. We’ve looked. There is nothing else to find. So maybe, just this once, we play with one of my plans. I’ll be damned if I see you rot in prison for an extended sentence. So I’m gonna run that way,’ Lincoln pointed at the sunset,’ And you run that way. Quietly.’ he pointed at the coming night.
Michael simply looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow and something that was dangerously close to a sneer. ‘I go and it’s all over.’
‘It’s been over for days now. You gave up everything to give me this last chance. I took it and it was a bust. Let me give you this chance, Mikey. Let it go.’
‘Not going to happen.’ Michael inched closer to his brother and grabbed his wrist. ‘This will end happily, or not at all.’
And, really, that summed up Michael’s game plan. It was amazing how illogical his brother, Master of Deduction, could be. Lost for words, Lincoln turned, locked his eyes with Michael’s and tried not to flinch under their intensity. He merely nodded, because he could never be the one to tell Michael that his grand schemes had failed. A tense and silent moment passed. Michael smiled briefly, nervously, and pulled him closer by the wrist. Linc prepared for what he thought was a quick embrace and was stunned when Michael stopped him and quickly clashed their mouths together. Linc froze, unmoving against his little brother. His teeth were still shaking from the awkward impact as Michael pulled back and shakily surveyed the lot once more.
Was that a kiss? No. No kiss. A fumble, a trip, a mistake. But not a kiss. Brothers didn’t kiss. Not like that. But then, maybe it wasn’t like that. Maybe it was just a ‘We’re brothers, we’re here and we aren’t going to die kiss.’ Of course, that sort of kiss didn’t usually leave a taste on one’s lips… Not that it mattered. Whatever type of kiss it had been, it wasn’t that type of kiss.
Lincoln looked up at his brother and was shocked at the narrowing of Michael’s eyes and the way that his jaw was clenched. He reached out to grab Michael’s shoulder, but his hand was swatted away.
‘Did you know,’ Michael began, ‘That this lot was once owned by Abruzzi?’
Of course Lincoln didn’t know.
‘Did you know,’ Michael began moving away from the car, assuming that his brother followed, ‘that this lot was built on an old fall-out shelter?’
Fall Behind
It took Lincoln three days to approach his brother. Which, given Michael’s recent distance, was a task in itself. Not that physical distance was a problem. They’d confined themselves to a dingy motel room, blinds drawn and lights low. Michael read newspapers to pass the time. Lincoln watched Michael and felt his soul grow fainter and sicker as his guilt ate away at him.
‘Did I do something wrong?’ Because, he knew from experience, that if Michael was unhappy it was because of something he had, or hadn’t, done.
Michael looked up from the paper. Only his eyes moved, the rest of his body remained sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over the broadsheet. ‘No, Lincoln. You didn’t do anything.’
‘Was I meant to do something?’ Lincoln searched and had the feeling that this has something to do with the kiss that wasn’t a kiss.
Michael just folded the paper and sat in neatly on the floor. He turned his hands over in his lap and observed the print marks left on his hands. He searched the ink stains for a full minute before shrugging and letting his eyes drift from the ink, to the tattoos on his wrists. ‘Maybe.’ he said in a voice that Lincoln wasn’t quite sure he heard.
Fall afoul
‘Think Lincoln. There are answers. You’re just too fucking stupid to see them. We need to sort this out.’
‘It’s my problem, Mikey.’
‘Funny, I thought I was the one with a body covered in scars. With the police on my ass.’
Lincoln shrugged, ‘You did this to yourself.’ It was a lie and he knew it. But the truth? The dreadful truth that Michael was there to save him? That didn’t sit well with him.
It got worse, not better. One moment Lincoln was watching free, albeit poorly made, porn on the small TV in their room. In the next, Michael was throwing barbs that Lincoln found as refreshing as cool rain. He wanted to encourage his ire, as if Michael’s anger and insults could cleanse him. Michael swung a fist at him and Lincoln leaned into the blow. If he could suffer all the violence visited upon his flesh then maybe he could be absolved of his sins. He wanted more, another blow, another insult. Most of all he wanted Michael to acknowledge that this was his crime. His fault. Because until Michael blamed Lincoln, he could not forgive him.
Fall in
Michael stumbled back like a possessed man, newly free of his demons, ‘I - I hit you?’
Lincoln rubbed his jaw, ‘Well spotted.’
‘I’m… Jesus. This has to stop.’
‘What has to stop, Michael? Tell me what is going on; tell me what you want from me.’
Michael sat down, leaned back against the head board and rested his hands over his bare stomach. ‘You really don’t get it? I thought it was a pretty big moment, but maybe you missed it. How about I try again?’
Michael crawled across the bed until he sat upright, spine stiff and feet planted firmly on the carpet. He reached up and pulled Lincoln down to his knees so that they were on the same level. This time, there was no mistaking his intent as he leaned slowly in towards Lincoln.
Finally, Lincoln did get it. Everything fell into place. His brother didn’t want him to pay in pain, or hurt, or blood. Michael didn’t want his guilt.
He wanted… this.
Fall apart
It was an artless clash of tongues and lips. Lincoln sat back on his heels and drew Michael down closer. If he didn’t think he could do it. If he didn’t let his conscience run wild as it screamed ‘Brother!!’ in the back of his skull he could manage. He could even appreciate the taste of stale coffee against the back of his tongue, where the rough tip of Michael’s own tongue brushed in its clumsy attempts to deepen their kiss. Like this, he could appreciate the soft brush of his baby brother’s scalp under his finger tips. He could smell the hotel soap rising from their heated skin and closing in, choking him.
Did he want this? It didn’t matter. Michael wanted it and that was all that counted. ‘Incest’ was a nasty word. He wouldn’t use it; he knew that Michael would never recover from such a plain statement. But Lincoln knew, in the clearest part of his mind, that this was a payment beyond any he’d ever imagined. He was willing to die for his brother, willing to pay for Michael’s sacrifices with every last breath. But was he willing to fuck his brother? Michael wanted an ultimate sacrifice. An indisputable display of love. Lincoln drew back, breathing heavily, and felt the weight of the situation crush his chest.
Michael wasn’t offering him absolution; he was offering to alleviate the burden of Lincoln’s guilt in exchange for his committing a much weightier sin.
Linc shut his eyes tightly and tugged his shirt over his head. Michael pulled back, ‘You’re sure?”
No, actually, he was sure only of the fact that he wasn’t sure. But he smiled and nodded. ‘I love you Michael. You know I’d do anything for you.’
Michael’s answering smile alone was enough to sustain him through the moments that would follow.
Lincoln knew how this was done in prison. Bite your pillow and pray for the best. But for Michael? He’d do it right. He crawled up onto the bed and straddled Michael’s thighs, as the larger of the two he was mindful to support most of his weight with his own legs. He pushed his brother back down onto the bed and clawed his fingers over his abdomen, before splaying them and sliding them the flesh mosaic of sin and savior. His hands continued up and over his shoulders, where he slowed to knead the muscles and lower his mouth to one nipple. First, a sweep of the tongue, then a brush of teeth and soothing drag of lip. The small of Linc’s back burned where he could feel Michael’s fingers clutching at him.
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong… God, he’s hard.
They fumbled and shuffled up the bed until Michael could reach back and clutch at the bed head. Linc kissed his way down his torso and slowly ran his tongue around Michael’s bellybutton as he worked on the button and fly of his brother’s jeans. His fingers seized up with cold, but the heater in the room was fully operational. This was a cold that his own mind was generating. The fly finally gave; he parted the denim and slid his hand under the rough fabric and into the waistband of Michael’s shorts. With a shift of bodies, Michael’s remaining clothes were pushed free and Lincoln was left to work on his own jeans as his brother lay next to him nuzzling his neck.
It was a shock to his system, that first moment when their naked bodies pressed together. Michael’s skin felt almost feverish, while his own alternated between burning and cold. Michael rolled on top of Linc to lock eyes. You can’t escape, his eyes said. This is ME, they cried. You’re about to fuck your little brother.
With a groan, Lincoln roughly pushed at Michael’s shoulder, turning him face down onto the mattress. He couldn’t bear to see those fucking eyes. If he had to look at those eyes he would have hurt him. He would have been angry, rough, and that would defeat the purpose.
Michael struggled to his hands and knees; Lincoln bought his hand up to his brother’s hip and let it wander over the curve of his hipbone. Simultaneously, he used his knee to widen Michael’s legs and his hand to pull the leg from under him. Michael crashed into the bed, legs sprawled and hips tilting upwards and back at the gentle urging of Lincoln’s hands. Linc moved one hand from his hip and traced the tattoo up Michael’s spine. He leaned in to lick at the barely healed burn on his shoulder, coating the pink, bubbly flesh with his spit and then blowing across it. Michael shivered under the assault on the sensitive scar tissue.
Knees positioned firmly between Michael’s legs, so that he couldn’t close them, Lincoln continued his oral exploration of the designs on Michael’s back. Maybe he could lick away, or eat, those marks of Michael’s sacrifices. Maybe he could consume the taint that the blue ink represented.
Lincoln moved his hand from Michael’s shoulder and bought it around to clutch at the large muscles of his thigh. He crept up to Michael’s ass, then moved in, closer, deeper, until he held just one rough and dry finger at Michael’s entrance. He felt his brother tense as his fingertip moved over that most intimate place. He pressed against Michael until just his fingertip was inside of him.
Michael touched his forehead to the mattress and clutched at the sheets, as if he was expecting something hard and fast.
Lincoln pulled away, but kept one hand on Michael’s back to keep him still. With the other he smoothed his hand of the muscles of Michael’s behind before exposing him and sitting back on his heels. For a full moment he just observed that place where Michael wanted him. His brother wriggled uncomfortably and even tried to get up, Lincoln kept him in place.
He drew in a breath and descended to sweep his tongue over that impossibly small pink cluster of muscles once, then again, before taking a moment to slowly circle it with his tongue.
Michael’s breathing picked up, he muffled a groan against the bed and pushed back against Lincoln’s mouth. It was enough of a response to encourage Linc to attend to the task with renewed enthusiasm. After some time Lincoln felt the tension leaving Michael’s body, but could not deny the tension he felt. A tension that came with a swift rush of blood to the cock.
Lincoln drew back and Michael hissed in disappointment. He hushed him with a quick kiss to the shoulder as he pulled his brother’s hips up and reached around to palm Michael’s erect cock. Sweat began to bead across Lincoln’s shoulders and he knew this was the point of no return (although, he was sure some might argue that sticking your tongue in your brother’s ass was pretty far gone).
He moved up closer to Michael and took a moment to position himself before he slowly flexed his hips, pushing past that initial resistance. It began with slow, short flexes. His hand on Michael mimicked his own intensity and depth. Michael rolled his spine and then pushed back, eagerness winning out over inexperience. Michael shifted again and Lincoln forgot to breathe.
He took a moment to remind himself that he absolutely, positively, did not want this.
The, with a final thrust, drove home and his fist slid tightly up Michael’s length. It took one pump, maybe two, before he felt Michael tense and spill over his hand in a splat of searing heat.
Lincoln stilled. He wasn’t finished. He withdrew his hand and ran it up the length of Michael’s spine once more, smearing his seed across his shoulder blade. He could fell the contrast between his own hipbones and the soft curve of Michael’s behind, he wanted to continue with a wild and punishing pace. Instead he continued slowly, whispering words of love and faith into Michael’s back. He let go, groaning in a bittersweet completion that both saved and robbed him of his brother.
Michael gathered Lincoln into his arms and, for an age, they stared at the ceiling, falling apart together.
Fall guy
For Lincoln, it was a fall that he had to take. He could be the one for Michael; he could do this for him. Because, finally, he had something Michael needed. He had something Michael wanted. He could find forgiveness for fucking up Michael’s life, in exchange for forfeiting what was left of his soul.
…Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold....
-W. B Yeats “The Second Coming”
Thank you for participating! :)
Rating: NC17
Character/Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Requested by: anisapologist
Summary: Finally, Lincoln did get it. Everything fell into place. His brother didn’t want him to pay in pain, or hurt, or blood. Michael didn’t want his guilt. He wanted… something else.
The Centre Cannot Hold
We fall in a million ways. We’ve been falling since The Fall. We fall short, fall hard, fall in love, fall apart, fall off, fall in, fall out. We fall through the cracks, fall afoul. We fall and we keep falling. We never hit the bottom, because we can always fall lower. There is no bottom, just another low.
Of all the falls we’ll ever make, the most devastating and unavoidable is our fall from grace.
Fall short
Lincoln never saw his own downfalls coming. For people like him, falling was merely a fait accompli. Something already done, assumed. Fact. What did matter was keeping Michael from ever feeling the sting of hard ground against his knees. Lincoln would take two lifetimes of falls, and sometimes felt like he had, just to keep his baby brother from ever knowing the pull of gravity.
There was desperation in his desire to protect Michael, a gut-wrenching need to lead. If there was a fall to be had, he’d take it. That was the way it was meant to be…
But the way it was? The way it turned out? None of that was meant to be. It fucked with Lincoln’s unspoken order. It wasn’t right and it should never have happened. Michael took a fall to get him out and now? Now it was time for them both to pay. He’d never meant for his little brother to cover the cost of his sins. He’d never meant to be anything less than a god to his baby brother. But that’s the way things happen. He was never what Michael wanted or needed. But at the end, he was all Michael had.
Fall away
For three hours they’d been running. Linc was familiar with the term ‘A step ahead of the law’, but this? This was too close. They’d been spotted by a rather vigilant senior citizen who also, it appeared, was a loyal viewer of America’s Most Wanted. For nearly two weeks they’d managed to keep going, keep hiding. Linc knew it wouldn’t last. There was only so far they could run on the fumes of hints of suggestions of clues that maybe might exonerate him. This was as far as the road went. When he went back in, he stayed in until the very end.
That was something that Michael either wouldn’t accept or didn’t understand. Failure was a variable that his little brother had never been able to comprehend. That was OK. Linc was insanely proud that the word ‘failure’ didn’t feature in Michael’s vocabulary. He was willing to fail for them both. God only knew, failing was one of the few things he could do with flair.
Eventually, they found themselves cornered in a used car lot. Lincoln crouched at Michael’s back behind a ’72 Chevy and placed his hand in the small of Michael’s back. Michael tensed and Linc smoothed a thumb over the cotton of his shirt to let his brother know that it was only him. Michael shrugged off his hand and peered around the car to track the distant movements of a pair of police officers.
‘Michael,’ Linc rumbled lowly, trying to get his brother’s attention, ‘We’re boxed in. You tried, but we can’t keep this up.’
Michael turned, his eyes wide with betrayal. ‘You don’t trust me to get us out of this?’
‘You got something in that ink?’ Linc flicked at the hem of Michael’s shirt. Both men moved around to the door of the truck and leaned back against one wheel. ‘If it’s over. It’s over, little brother. We’ve looked. There is nothing else to find. So maybe, just this once, we play with one of my plans. I’ll be damned if I see you rot in prison for an extended sentence. So I’m gonna run that way,’ Lincoln pointed at the sunset,’ And you run that way. Quietly.’ he pointed at the coming night.
Michael simply looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow and something that was dangerously close to a sneer. ‘I go and it’s all over.’
‘It’s been over for days now. You gave up everything to give me this last chance. I took it and it was a bust. Let me give you this chance, Mikey. Let it go.’
‘Not going to happen.’ Michael inched closer to his brother and grabbed his wrist. ‘This will end happily, or not at all.’
And, really, that summed up Michael’s game plan. It was amazing how illogical his brother, Master of Deduction, could be. Lost for words, Lincoln turned, locked his eyes with Michael’s and tried not to flinch under their intensity. He merely nodded, because he could never be the one to tell Michael that his grand schemes had failed. A tense and silent moment passed. Michael smiled briefly, nervously, and pulled him closer by the wrist. Linc prepared for what he thought was a quick embrace and was stunned when Michael stopped him and quickly clashed their mouths together. Linc froze, unmoving against his little brother. His teeth were still shaking from the awkward impact as Michael pulled back and shakily surveyed the lot once more.
Was that a kiss? No. No kiss. A fumble, a trip, a mistake. But not a kiss. Brothers didn’t kiss. Not like that. But then, maybe it wasn’t like that. Maybe it was just a ‘We’re brothers, we’re here and we aren’t going to die kiss.’ Of course, that sort of kiss didn’t usually leave a taste on one’s lips… Not that it mattered. Whatever type of kiss it had been, it wasn’t that type of kiss.
Lincoln looked up at his brother and was shocked at the narrowing of Michael’s eyes and the way that his jaw was clenched. He reached out to grab Michael’s shoulder, but his hand was swatted away.
‘Did you know,’ Michael began, ‘That this lot was once owned by Abruzzi?’
Of course Lincoln didn’t know.
‘Did you know,’ Michael began moving away from the car, assuming that his brother followed, ‘that this lot was built on an old fall-out shelter?’
Fall Behind
It took Lincoln three days to approach his brother. Which, given Michael’s recent distance, was a task in itself. Not that physical distance was a problem. They’d confined themselves to a dingy motel room, blinds drawn and lights low. Michael read newspapers to pass the time. Lincoln watched Michael and felt his soul grow fainter and sicker as his guilt ate away at him.
‘Did I do something wrong?’ Because, he knew from experience, that if Michael was unhappy it was because of something he had, or hadn’t, done.
Michael looked up from the paper. Only his eyes moved, the rest of his body remained sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over the broadsheet. ‘No, Lincoln. You didn’t do anything.’
‘Was I meant to do something?’ Lincoln searched and had the feeling that this has something to do with the kiss that wasn’t a kiss.
Michael just folded the paper and sat in neatly on the floor. He turned his hands over in his lap and observed the print marks left on his hands. He searched the ink stains for a full minute before shrugging and letting his eyes drift from the ink, to the tattoos on his wrists. ‘Maybe.’ he said in a voice that Lincoln wasn’t quite sure he heard.
Fall afoul
‘Think Lincoln. There are answers. You’re just too fucking stupid to see them. We need to sort this out.’
‘It’s my problem, Mikey.’
‘Funny, I thought I was the one with a body covered in scars. With the police on my ass.’
Lincoln shrugged, ‘You did this to yourself.’ It was a lie and he knew it. But the truth? The dreadful truth that Michael was there to save him? That didn’t sit well with him.
It got worse, not better. One moment Lincoln was watching free, albeit poorly made, porn on the small TV in their room. In the next, Michael was throwing barbs that Lincoln found as refreshing as cool rain. He wanted to encourage his ire, as if Michael’s anger and insults could cleanse him. Michael swung a fist at him and Lincoln leaned into the blow. If he could suffer all the violence visited upon his flesh then maybe he could be absolved of his sins. He wanted more, another blow, another insult. Most of all he wanted Michael to acknowledge that this was his crime. His fault. Because until Michael blamed Lincoln, he could not forgive him.
Fall in
Michael stumbled back like a possessed man, newly free of his demons, ‘I - I hit you?’
Lincoln rubbed his jaw, ‘Well spotted.’
‘I’m… Jesus. This has to stop.’
‘What has to stop, Michael? Tell me what is going on; tell me what you want from me.’
Michael sat down, leaned back against the head board and rested his hands over his bare stomach. ‘You really don’t get it? I thought it was a pretty big moment, but maybe you missed it. How about I try again?’
Michael crawled across the bed until he sat upright, spine stiff and feet planted firmly on the carpet. He reached up and pulled Lincoln down to his knees so that they were on the same level. This time, there was no mistaking his intent as he leaned slowly in towards Lincoln.
Finally, Lincoln did get it. Everything fell into place. His brother didn’t want him to pay in pain, or hurt, or blood. Michael didn’t want his guilt.
He wanted… this.
Fall apart
It was an artless clash of tongues and lips. Lincoln sat back on his heels and drew Michael down closer. If he didn’t think he could do it. If he didn’t let his conscience run wild as it screamed ‘Brother!!’ in the back of his skull he could manage. He could even appreciate the taste of stale coffee against the back of his tongue, where the rough tip of Michael’s own tongue brushed in its clumsy attempts to deepen their kiss. Like this, he could appreciate the soft brush of his baby brother’s scalp under his finger tips. He could smell the hotel soap rising from their heated skin and closing in, choking him.
Did he want this? It didn’t matter. Michael wanted it and that was all that counted. ‘Incest’ was a nasty word. He wouldn’t use it; he knew that Michael would never recover from such a plain statement. But Lincoln knew, in the clearest part of his mind, that this was a payment beyond any he’d ever imagined. He was willing to die for his brother, willing to pay for Michael’s sacrifices with every last breath. But was he willing to fuck his brother? Michael wanted an ultimate sacrifice. An indisputable display of love. Lincoln drew back, breathing heavily, and felt the weight of the situation crush his chest.
Michael wasn’t offering him absolution; he was offering to alleviate the burden of Lincoln’s guilt in exchange for his committing a much weightier sin.
Linc shut his eyes tightly and tugged his shirt over his head. Michael pulled back, ‘You’re sure?”
No, actually, he was sure only of the fact that he wasn’t sure. But he smiled and nodded. ‘I love you Michael. You know I’d do anything for you.’
Michael’s answering smile alone was enough to sustain him through the moments that would follow.
Lincoln knew how this was done in prison. Bite your pillow and pray for the best. But for Michael? He’d do it right. He crawled up onto the bed and straddled Michael’s thighs, as the larger of the two he was mindful to support most of his weight with his own legs. He pushed his brother back down onto the bed and clawed his fingers over his abdomen, before splaying them and sliding them the flesh mosaic of sin and savior. His hands continued up and over his shoulders, where he slowed to knead the muscles and lower his mouth to one nipple. First, a sweep of the tongue, then a brush of teeth and soothing drag of lip. The small of Linc’s back burned where he could feel Michael’s fingers clutching at him.
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong… God, he’s hard.
They fumbled and shuffled up the bed until Michael could reach back and clutch at the bed head. Linc kissed his way down his torso and slowly ran his tongue around Michael’s bellybutton as he worked on the button and fly of his brother’s jeans. His fingers seized up with cold, but the heater in the room was fully operational. This was a cold that his own mind was generating. The fly finally gave; he parted the denim and slid his hand under the rough fabric and into the waistband of Michael’s shorts. With a shift of bodies, Michael’s remaining clothes were pushed free and Lincoln was left to work on his own jeans as his brother lay next to him nuzzling his neck.
It was a shock to his system, that first moment when their naked bodies pressed together. Michael’s skin felt almost feverish, while his own alternated between burning and cold. Michael rolled on top of Linc to lock eyes. You can’t escape, his eyes said. This is ME, they cried. You’re about to fuck your little brother.
With a groan, Lincoln roughly pushed at Michael’s shoulder, turning him face down onto the mattress. He couldn’t bear to see those fucking eyes. If he had to look at those eyes he would have hurt him. He would have been angry, rough, and that would defeat the purpose.
Michael struggled to his hands and knees; Lincoln bought his hand up to his brother’s hip and let it wander over the curve of his hipbone. Simultaneously, he used his knee to widen Michael’s legs and his hand to pull the leg from under him. Michael crashed into the bed, legs sprawled and hips tilting upwards and back at the gentle urging of Lincoln’s hands. Linc moved one hand from his hip and traced the tattoo up Michael’s spine. He leaned in to lick at the barely healed burn on his shoulder, coating the pink, bubbly flesh with his spit and then blowing across it. Michael shivered under the assault on the sensitive scar tissue.
Knees positioned firmly between Michael’s legs, so that he couldn’t close them, Lincoln continued his oral exploration of the designs on Michael’s back. Maybe he could lick away, or eat, those marks of Michael’s sacrifices. Maybe he could consume the taint that the blue ink represented.
Lincoln moved his hand from Michael’s shoulder and bought it around to clutch at the large muscles of his thigh. He crept up to Michael’s ass, then moved in, closer, deeper, until he held just one rough and dry finger at Michael’s entrance. He felt his brother tense as his fingertip moved over that most intimate place. He pressed against Michael until just his fingertip was inside of him.
Michael touched his forehead to the mattress and clutched at the sheets, as if he was expecting something hard and fast.
Lincoln pulled away, but kept one hand on Michael’s back to keep him still. With the other he smoothed his hand of the muscles of Michael’s behind before exposing him and sitting back on his heels. For a full moment he just observed that place where Michael wanted him. His brother wriggled uncomfortably and even tried to get up, Lincoln kept him in place.
He drew in a breath and descended to sweep his tongue over that impossibly small pink cluster of muscles once, then again, before taking a moment to slowly circle it with his tongue.
Michael’s breathing picked up, he muffled a groan against the bed and pushed back against Lincoln’s mouth. It was enough of a response to encourage Linc to attend to the task with renewed enthusiasm. After some time Lincoln felt the tension leaving Michael’s body, but could not deny the tension he felt. A tension that came with a swift rush of blood to the cock.
Lincoln drew back and Michael hissed in disappointment. He hushed him with a quick kiss to the shoulder as he pulled his brother’s hips up and reached around to palm Michael’s erect cock. Sweat began to bead across Lincoln’s shoulders and he knew this was the point of no return (although, he was sure some might argue that sticking your tongue in your brother’s ass was pretty far gone).
He moved up closer to Michael and took a moment to position himself before he slowly flexed his hips, pushing past that initial resistance. It began with slow, short flexes. His hand on Michael mimicked his own intensity and depth. Michael rolled his spine and then pushed back, eagerness winning out over inexperience. Michael shifted again and Lincoln forgot to breathe.
He took a moment to remind himself that he absolutely, positively, did not want this.
The, with a final thrust, drove home and his fist slid tightly up Michael’s length. It took one pump, maybe two, before he felt Michael tense and spill over his hand in a splat of searing heat.
Lincoln stilled. He wasn’t finished. He withdrew his hand and ran it up the length of Michael’s spine once more, smearing his seed across his shoulder blade. He could fell the contrast between his own hipbones and the soft curve of Michael’s behind, he wanted to continue with a wild and punishing pace. Instead he continued slowly, whispering words of love and faith into Michael’s back. He let go, groaning in a bittersweet completion that both saved and robbed him of his brother.
Michael gathered Lincoln into his arms and, for an age, they stared at the ceiling, falling apart together.
Fall guy
For Lincoln, it was a fall that he had to take. He could be the one for Michael; he could do this for him. Because, finally, he had something Michael needed. He had something Michael wanted. He could find forgiveness for fucking up Michael’s life, in exchange for forfeiting what was left of his soul.
…Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold....
-W. B Yeats “The Second Coming”
Thank you for participating! :)