Breathing Torture - PB fanfic
So, using this as a place to save my creative shit, I'm going to post some of my old fics. I only ever wrote fics for one fandom, Prison Break, when I was sixteen and basically wrote every day. I also used a different pen name back then, faiths_angel, and posted it on the official PB-fic-site. The first fic, is called 'Breathing torture'.
Title: Breathing Torture
Published: 04/08/07
Rating: R, for language
Characters: Sara Tancredi, Michael Scofield, Agent Paul Kellerman
Categories: Sexual situations, Extreme language, spoiler S2
Summary: She doesn’t remember the day, the moment, when her deep, soothed loathing against Paul Kellerman, turned into animalistic, primal lust. Maybe it was the moment she realised how Michael's gentle nature suffocated her sometimes. Maybe since that moment she needed something completely opposite of gentle, tender love making.
Sara thinks about the two opposite men in her life.
Disclaimer: I do not own Prison Break
There is Michael. The saint, the hero, the damn savior. With him, there could be a house with white picket fences, three adorable kids and a cute dog. All the suffocating things she thought she ever wanted. Until Lance, Paul or whatever his fucking name might be, came along. With him, there could be danger, recklessness, a sickening amount of adrenaline and everything she needed to keep the urge for syringes and morphine far away from her.
She has never been sure about what makes her go back to him every time. After all, she’s happy. With Michael. Her safe haven, her supposed soul mate or her salvation. But he’s too safe for her. After robbing a bank, spending time in Fox River and being chased by the entire FBI squad, Mr. Scofield wanted to take things slow. Right when she needed the rush of adrenaline that came with their high-speed adventures.
She knows he isn't perfect, but he treats her like she's a porcelain doll. Like she’ll shatter in to a million little pieces if he doesn‘t watch her every move. His delicateness is becoming more of a poison every single day, more dangerous than the morphine that invaded her veins so long ago. But then again, he cares.
At least she thinks he does. He says her name with care and touches her with more love than she has ever experienced. But that doesn't stop her from doubting his intentions. One minute he tells her he loves her and the next he's more distant than ever. He tries to reassure her, that she isn’t just something he needs for redemption. To convince himself it was all worth it and to make him stop doubting himself. Because if having indirectly caused numerous deaths for one man to live, doesn’t make you doubt yourself or your means, then wondering if the woman you love is screwing the man who tortured her does.
That, she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand how it happened, why it happened or when it happened. She doesn’t remember the day, the moment, when her deep, soothed loathing against Paul Kellerman, turned into animalistic, primal lust. Maybe it was the moment she realized how Michael's gentle nature suffocated her sometimes. Maybe since that moment she needed something completely opposite of gentle, tender love making.
So finding out he wasn’t gay, at all, was a treat. Because Paul knew how hard and rough she did need it. From that first time he stepped into her apartment, after her revelation, he had known how she wanted it. Up against the cold wall, on the table, on the iron balcony and on the kitchen counter. Everywhere but in bed. Never in the sacred bed she kept untouched for Michael's sake. So if Michael would some day ask if there had been another man in their bed, there would be at least one inch of truth in her answer.
No words were needed. So Paul was quiet at the moments where Michael usually whispered her name, redefining it’s meaning every time. Instead, Paul worked on hearing unwilling moans of pleasure escape from her lips, which encouraged him enough to do her even harder.
And he understood. Because while she was thinking of new ways to strangle him, he did fill her more than Michael ever had. And knowing that, had been more torturous than being strapped to that chair or being drowned in that bathtub.
It doesn't surprise her; she's always maintained a self-destructive behavior. Paul is just another step to that final point of destruction. Because now, that torture is what she breathes, exhales and what she lives for. And Paul gives it to her, like Michael never could. He lets her have him, all of him, just so he can enjoy the knowing smirks he can give Michael when he talks about her.
She use to hate everything about him. His looks made her sick and his voice sent new levels of nausea through her fibers every time. Now, every time he thrusts deeper inside her, she’s forced to face how far gone she really is. What kind of woman takes pleasure in fucking her torturer? She knows she’s too far gone to be saved. And if you’re so far gone, why would you go through the trouble of going back to being the person you once were?