Prison Break fic: "Once Upon Mexico" (M/S)
Title: "Once Upon Mexico"
Author: Gracie
Rating: R
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Spoilers: Through 1.7 ("Part 2")
Summary: The obligatory FluffyBajaFic!, with a parsley sprig of angst on top. I realize it's been done six ways to Sunday, but I couldn't resist.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted here were created by and are the property of people who are not me. They are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from their use.
The sun was warm, the beer was cold, and the breeze was gentle. It was another idyllic afternoon in Baja.
Sara Tancredi lounged in a hammock, a frosty long-neck bottle dangling from her fingers. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail; her skin bronzed from long hours under the Mexican sun. She had been there for nearly three weeks already, and had no immediate plans to leave. She wasn’t especially eager or curious about her vacation destination. Rather, she was simply…waiting.
It had been six months since she’d seen him-six months since the breakout. She had resigned from Fox River less than a week after it happened, still reeling from the shock and betrayal. She holed up in her apartment for a few months, wallowing in her anger and sadness, not wanting to see the triumphant look of “I told you so” on her father’s face.
Winter had come to Chicago, hard and fast and brutal, as it always did. The entire world was colored prison gray. For the first time in her life, she tapped into her trust fund, and bought a one-way ticket out of town.
She knew why she was here, although she didn’t know if she could ever admit it out loud. Michael had gotten under her skin, imprinting himself there like the ink from a tattoo. She knew it was foolish to think she might find him here. It had probably been nothing more than an offhand remark, an attempt to calm her down. But she had come anyway, in the desperate hope he had told her about it for a reason.
She took a long pull from her beer, and pushed off the deck with her foot to set the hammock swinging again. Sunshine and alcohol made her sleepy, so an afternoon siesta had become part of her routine. Her eyes drifted closed, her body lulled by the motion of the hammock.
“You’re a long way from Fox River, doc.”
Her eyes flew open, and she struggled to sit up, only to become tangled in the rope netting.
He reached out a hand to steady her; she grasped it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “Lincoln,” was all she managed to say.
He studied her, his eyes dark and serious. She could practically see him weighing his options, deciding whether or not to trust her.
“Did Michael tell you about this place?” he finally asked.
She nodded, color creeping up her neck and cheeks. “I certainly never expected to see you here.”
He grinned, and Sara realized she’d never seen Lincoln Burrows smile before. “Who do you think told Michael about it?”
She sat back down on the hammock, gazing up at him. What exactly did you say to a fugitive from justice when you ran into him in Mexico? “You’re looking well,” was all she could come up with.
“Six months of real food will do that to a guy.”
She nodded. “And…everyone else? They’re okay?”
His stare was penetrating. “He’s fine, doc. Did you come here looking for him?”
“I’m not trying to track him down and turn him in, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Did he trust her? Or did he simply think her spineless and susceptible to Michael’s many charms?
“You haven’t answered my question,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts.
She sighed. “Am I actively looking for him? No. Did I come here hoping he might be here? Yes. Happy now?”
“Are you happy, doc?”
She stared at him, and her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” She turned to walk away. Stopped. Stared.
He was there. Not ten feet away, he was actually there.
She’d never seen him in anything but prison garb before; it was…odd. Khaki shorts that reached his knees, a loose white linen shirt with the top three buttons undone. Aside from the tattoos covering his arms and legs, he looked like a typical tourist.
He watched her silently; noticed her eyes flicking up and down; could almost hear her trying to convince herself he was real.
He’d been watching her for a while now-as she drank her beer, as she talked to Lincoln. He’d sent his brother over as an envoy of sorts, unsure of how she would react to seeing them-to seeing him-again .
She looked good. She always looked good, but here she looked better, under the gold kiss of sunlight instead of the cruel washed-out fluorescence of Fox River. She was wearing a bikini top, a sarong wrapped around her waist, and he thought she looked more like a swimsuit model than a doctor.
Lincoln had conveniently disappeared, and it was just the two of them on the back deck of a little dive in Baja. He wanted to say something-anything-but he couldn’t find the words. What did you say in a situation like this? Hey, sorry I used you to break out my about-to-be-executed brother, but do you want to go make out?
No, he couldn’t find the words, so he didn’t say anything at all. He approached her slowly, as one would a scared animal; he was relieved when she didn’t run away screaming. As he got closer, he felt his heart rate speed up. He wanted so desperately to touch her, in all the ways he had denied himself before. Staring into her warm brown eyes, he didn’t think she would stop him.
He was close enough now to feel the warmth radiating from her tanned skin, to smell the faint hint of coconut from her sun lotion. Her breathing was a little rapid, and he was gratified to know she was just as affected by this as he was.
A lock of hair had slipped from her ponytail, and in a move worthy of a chick flick, he reached out to brush it back. The feel of her silken hair and soft skin beneath his fingertips was staggering, and his breath caught.
She heard the hitch in his throat, and it broke her resolve. Abandoning caution, she threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him close.
She felt his arms wrap around her waist, and she could sense the desperation in his embrace. He was warm and solid and real, and she tightened her grip.
The smooth skin of her back was so tempting beneath his palms, and all he wanted was to explore her every curve. He forced himself to hold back. He finally had her here-he couldn’t lose her now. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her neck.
The vibration of his lips against her flesh sent a rush of heat flooding through her body, and she shuddered. She tilted her head back so that she could look at him. “You could have told me,” she said, a mild reproach in her voice.
“I wanted to,” he admitted. “I couldn’t risk Lincoln’s life.”
The pain was clear and devastating in his green eyes, and she felt the last of her resistance crumble. “I know. Let me…let me help you now.”
He shook his head, but he didn’t let her go. “It’s too dangerous. It’s not even legal. We’re fugitives, Sara.”
She relished the way his name rolled off her tongue, but now wasn’t the time to focus on that. She had to make him understand. “You made your choices. I have to be allowed to make mine,” she insisted.
“I can’t let you do this.”
“It’s not up to you,” she whispered. “I came here for a reason, Michael.”
He stared into her eyes, fear and hope warring inside him. “Tell me why,” he finally said.
“For you. I came here for you,” she admitted softly. “I’m not going to let you run away again.”
He smiled then, and it was almost predatory. A delicious shiver ran up her spine; he felt her tremble in his arms. He bent his head until their lips were only a whisper apart, and then he kissed her.
She was drowning in the feel of him. His lips were making a slow, lazy exploration of hers; it was having an almost drugging effect on her. His tongue probed the seam of her mouth, and she opened to him without protest. She reveled in the heat and the taste of him.
He shifted his attention from her mouth and began to press damp kisses down the column of her neck. “Michael,” she gasped, her hands sliding down his shoulders and around to his chest.
His head dipped lower, his nose grazing the top of her breast. She felt him pause, and grasped frantically at the front of his shirt. “Don’t stop,” she panted. “Don’t you dare stop.”
“Not here,” he managed to say.
She realized they were still on the back deck, in full view of anyone who might walk past. “Inside. Now,” she commanded.
They stumbled into her room, still tangled together. It was little more than four walls and a bed-about what you’d expect for twenty bucks a night. But it was enough.
His hands were busy, working frantically at the ties on her bikini top. In a moment, it was on the floor, leaving her naked from the waist up. He gazed at her appreciatively for a moment, then attacked. Pushing her back onto the bed, he kissed a trail down the center of her chest, while his long, nimble fingers teased and massaged her breasts. She clutched at his head, her fingers raking through the short fuzz of his hair. The heat and pressure was building and pooling within her, and she knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until he was inside her.
“You know”-her voice went up half an octave as his teeth lightly scraped her nipple-“I’ve always wondered exactly where the tattoos end.
He glanced up at her through long lashes, eyes twinkling. “I’d be happy to give you a guided tour.”
She pulled him up her body, fusing their lips together again. Her hands drifted to the buttons of his shirt, but she was shaking too badly to get them undone. Her frustration got the better of her, and she let out a growl.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want to see you, and…God, I feel like an idiot.”
He cupped her face in his hands, and smiled down at her affectionately. “Good. That makes two of us.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.
“Sara…I feel like I’m back in high school and the Prom queen just asked me to dance. I don’t deserve you.”
She looked at him fiercely. “Don’t ever say that. I’m not here out of some weird sense of pity or guilt. I want you, for all you’ve done and who you are, and…” she trailed off. As she ranted, she had managed to unbutton his shirt and yank it off him. She noticed he was hiding a grin. “Nice trick.”
He laughed softly, and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “It wasn’t a trick. But it was effective.”
She smiled back at him, feeling some of her fear and nerves melting away. “Thank you.”
"For what?"
She shrugged. “Everything.”
He leered playfully. “Believe me-it’s my pleasure.”
She began to examine the tattoos on his leanly muscled chest, tracing the intricate patterns with her fingers. With a sudden move that surprised him, she rolled them over, her body now straddling his. He watched her, the intense look of concentration on her face utterly endearing. It was a look he knew well, from his time spent in the prison infirmary. It was infinitely more appealing in this setting. He reached up and pulled the elastic from her hair, letting it fall in loose waves around her shoulders. She was amazing to look at, hovering over him, glorious and powerful.
Her lips came down to join her fingers, exploring the complicated designs within the ink. She seemed mesmerized, and he was secretly relieved. He had feared she would see the tattoos as indelible reminders of his betrayal.
One of his hands threaded in her hair; the other palmed her breast, the pad of his thumb caressing her tightened bud. Her body arched up at the touch, a slight moan escaping her lips. “I’ve dreamt of this,” he murmured. “But the dreams were never this good.”
She dipped a finger into his belly button, making him flinch. “And we’re just getting started.”
She crawled up his body to kiss him again, one hand straying south to the button on his shorts. She eased the zipped down and slipped her hand inside his boxers, making the cords in his neck tighten as he hissed through clenched teeth.
He abandoned all finesse then, flipping them over once more and making quick work of the rest of their clothes. When they were both naked, he stilled for a moment, the full lengths of their bodies pressed intimately together, skin to skin. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me,” he admitted.
She smoothed her hands up and down his back, her touch soothing. “Then we’ll find out together.”
It was all the assurance he needed. He levered his body above her, positioning himself to enter her wet heat.
“Scofield!”
He sat bolt upright in bed, cracking his head on Sucre’s bunk. Bellick stood outside the cell, a nasty smirk on his face. “Get up. The doc wants to see you now.”
Michael glanced down, unable to ignore the tenting of his sheet. Not as much as I want to see her, he thought ruefully.
Climbing gingerly from the bed, he braced himself for another day at Fox River.
*end*
Yes, yes, I realize I'm a horrible, evil bitch for doing that. But seriously, did you honestly think I was going to make it that easy for them? :)
Author: Gracie
Rating: R
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Spoilers: Through 1.7 ("Part 2")
Summary: The obligatory FluffyBajaFic!, with a parsley sprig of angst on top. I realize it's been done six ways to Sunday, but I couldn't resist.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted here were created by and are the property of people who are not me. They are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from their use.
The sun was warm, the beer was cold, and the breeze was gentle. It was another idyllic afternoon in Baja.
Sara Tancredi lounged in a hammock, a frosty long-neck bottle dangling from her fingers. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail; her skin bronzed from long hours under the Mexican sun. She had been there for nearly three weeks already, and had no immediate plans to leave. She wasn’t especially eager or curious about her vacation destination. Rather, she was simply…waiting.
It had been six months since she’d seen him-six months since the breakout. She had resigned from Fox River less than a week after it happened, still reeling from the shock and betrayal. She holed up in her apartment for a few months, wallowing in her anger and sadness, not wanting to see the triumphant look of “I told you so” on her father’s face.
Winter had come to Chicago, hard and fast and brutal, as it always did. The entire world was colored prison gray. For the first time in her life, she tapped into her trust fund, and bought a one-way ticket out of town.
She knew why she was here, although she didn’t know if she could ever admit it out loud. Michael had gotten under her skin, imprinting himself there like the ink from a tattoo. She knew it was foolish to think she might find him here. It had probably been nothing more than an offhand remark, an attempt to calm her down. But she had come anyway, in the desperate hope he had told her about it for a reason.
She took a long pull from her beer, and pushed off the deck with her foot to set the hammock swinging again. Sunshine and alcohol made her sleepy, so an afternoon siesta had become part of her routine. Her eyes drifted closed, her body lulled by the motion of the hammock.
“You’re a long way from Fox River, doc.”
Her eyes flew open, and she struggled to sit up, only to become tangled in the rope netting.
He reached out a hand to steady her; she grasped it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “Lincoln,” was all she managed to say.
He studied her, his eyes dark and serious. She could practically see him weighing his options, deciding whether or not to trust her.
“Did Michael tell you about this place?” he finally asked.
She nodded, color creeping up her neck and cheeks. “I certainly never expected to see you here.”
He grinned, and Sara realized she’d never seen Lincoln Burrows smile before. “Who do you think told Michael about it?”
She sat back down on the hammock, gazing up at him. What exactly did you say to a fugitive from justice when you ran into him in Mexico? “You’re looking well,” was all she could come up with.
“Six months of real food will do that to a guy.”
She nodded. “And…everyone else? They’re okay?”
His stare was penetrating. “He’s fine, doc. Did you come here looking for him?”
“I’m not trying to track him down and turn him in, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Did he trust her? Or did he simply think her spineless and susceptible to Michael’s many charms?
“You haven’t answered my question,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts.
She sighed. “Am I actively looking for him? No. Did I come here hoping he might be here? Yes. Happy now?”
“Are you happy, doc?”
She stared at him, and her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” She turned to walk away. Stopped. Stared.
He was there. Not ten feet away, he was actually there.
She’d never seen him in anything but prison garb before; it was…odd. Khaki shorts that reached his knees, a loose white linen shirt with the top three buttons undone. Aside from the tattoos covering his arms and legs, he looked like a typical tourist.
He watched her silently; noticed her eyes flicking up and down; could almost hear her trying to convince herself he was real.
He’d been watching her for a while now-as she drank her beer, as she talked to Lincoln. He’d sent his brother over as an envoy of sorts, unsure of how she would react to seeing them-to seeing him-again .
She looked good. She always looked good, but here she looked better, under the gold kiss of sunlight instead of the cruel washed-out fluorescence of Fox River. She was wearing a bikini top, a sarong wrapped around her waist, and he thought she looked more like a swimsuit model than a doctor.
Lincoln had conveniently disappeared, and it was just the two of them on the back deck of a little dive in Baja. He wanted to say something-anything-but he couldn’t find the words. What did you say in a situation like this? Hey, sorry I used you to break out my about-to-be-executed brother, but do you want to go make out?
No, he couldn’t find the words, so he didn’t say anything at all. He approached her slowly, as one would a scared animal; he was relieved when she didn’t run away screaming. As he got closer, he felt his heart rate speed up. He wanted so desperately to touch her, in all the ways he had denied himself before. Staring into her warm brown eyes, he didn’t think she would stop him.
He was close enough now to feel the warmth radiating from her tanned skin, to smell the faint hint of coconut from her sun lotion. Her breathing was a little rapid, and he was gratified to know she was just as affected by this as he was.
A lock of hair had slipped from her ponytail, and in a move worthy of a chick flick, he reached out to brush it back. The feel of her silken hair and soft skin beneath his fingertips was staggering, and his breath caught.
She heard the hitch in his throat, and it broke her resolve. Abandoning caution, she threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him close.
She felt his arms wrap around her waist, and she could sense the desperation in his embrace. He was warm and solid and real, and she tightened her grip.
The smooth skin of her back was so tempting beneath his palms, and all he wanted was to explore her every curve. He forced himself to hold back. He finally had her here-he couldn’t lose her now. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her neck.
The vibration of his lips against her flesh sent a rush of heat flooding through her body, and she shuddered. She tilted her head back so that she could look at him. “You could have told me,” she said, a mild reproach in her voice.
“I wanted to,” he admitted. “I couldn’t risk Lincoln’s life.”
The pain was clear and devastating in his green eyes, and she felt the last of her resistance crumble. “I know. Let me…let me help you now.”
He shook his head, but he didn’t let her go. “It’s too dangerous. It’s not even legal. We’re fugitives, Sara.”
She relished the way his name rolled off her tongue, but now wasn’t the time to focus on that. She had to make him understand. “You made your choices. I have to be allowed to make mine,” she insisted.
“I can’t let you do this.”
“It’s not up to you,” she whispered. “I came here for a reason, Michael.”
He stared into her eyes, fear and hope warring inside him. “Tell me why,” he finally said.
“For you. I came here for you,” she admitted softly. “I’m not going to let you run away again.”
He smiled then, and it was almost predatory. A delicious shiver ran up her spine; he felt her tremble in his arms. He bent his head until their lips were only a whisper apart, and then he kissed her.
She was drowning in the feel of him. His lips were making a slow, lazy exploration of hers; it was having an almost drugging effect on her. His tongue probed the seam of her mouth, and she opened to him without protest. She reveled in the heat and the taste of him.
He shifted his attention from her mouth and began to press damp kisses down the column of her neck. “Michael,” she gasped, her hands sliding down his shoulders and around to his chest.
His head dipped lower, his nose grazing the top of her breast. She felt him pause, and grasped frantically at the front of his shirt. “Don’t stop,” she panted. “Don’t you dare stop.”
“Not here,” he managed to say.
She realized they were still on the back deck, in full view of anyone who might walk past. “Inside. Now,” she commanded.
They stumbled into her room, still tangled together. It was little more than four walls and a bed-about what you’d expect for twenty bucks a night. But it was enough.
His hands were busy, working frantically at the ties on her bikini top. In a moment, it was on the floor, leaving her naked from the waist up. He gazed at her appreciatively for a moment, then attacked. Pushing her back onto the bed, he kissed a trail down the center of her chest, while his long, nimble fingers teased and massaged her breasts. She clutched at his head, her fingers raking through the short fuzz of his hair. The heat and pressure was building and pooling within her, and she knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until he was inside her.
“You know”-her voice went up half an octave as his teeth lightly scraped her nipple-“I’ve always wondered exactly where the tattoos end.
He glanced up at her through long lashes, eyes twinkling. “I’d be happy to give you a guided tour.”
She pulled him up her body, fusing their lips together again. Her hands drifted to the buttons of his shirt, but she was shaking too badly to get them undone. Her frustration got the better of her, and she let out a growl.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want to see you, and…God, I feel like an idiot.”
He cupped her face in his hands, and smiled down at her affectionately. “Good. That makes two of us.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.
“Sara…I feel like I’m back in high school and the Prom queen just asked me to dance. I don’t deserve you.”
She looked at him fiercely. “Don’t ever say that. I’m not here out of some weird sense of pity or guilt. I want you, for all you’ve done and who you are, and…” she trailed off. As she ranted, she had managed to unbutton his shirt and yank it off him. She noticed he was hiding a grin. “Nice trick.”
He laughed softly, and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “It wasn’t a trick. But it was effective.”
She smiled back at him, feeling some of her fear and nerves melting away. “Thank you.”
"For what?"
She shrugged. “Everything.”
He leered playfully. “Believe me-it’s my pleasure.”
She began to examine the tattoos on his leanly muscled chest, tracing the intricate patterns with her fingers. With a sudden move that surprised him, she rolled them over, her body now straddling his. He watched her, the intense look of concentration on her face utterly endearing. It was a look he knew well, from his time spent in the prison infirmary. It was infinitely more appealing in this setting. He reached up and pulled the elastic from her hair, letting it fall in loose waves around her shoulders. She was amazing to look at, hovering over him, glorious and powerful.
Her lips came down to join her fingers, exploring the complicated designs within the ink. She seemed mesmerized, and he was secretly relieved. He had feared she would see the tattoos as indelible reminders of his betrayal.
One of his hands threaded in her hair; the other palmed her breast, the pad of his thumb caressing her tightened bud. Her body arched up at the touch, a slight moan escaping her lips. “I’ve dreamt of this,” he murmured. “But the dreams were never this good.”
She dipped a finger into his belly button, making him flinch. “And we’re just getting started.”
She crawled up his body to kiss him again, one hand straying south to the button on his shorts. She eased the zipped down and slipped her hand inside his boxers, making the cords in his neck tighten as he hissed through clenched teeth.
He abandoned all finesse then, flipping them over once more and making quick work of the rest of their clothes. When they were both naked, he stilled for a moment, the full lengths of their bodies pressed intimately together, skin to skin. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me,” he admitted.
She smoothed her hands up and down his back, her touch soothing. “Then we’ll find out together.”
It was all the assurance he needed. He levered his body above her, positioning himself to enter her wet heat.
“Scofield!”
He sat bolt upright in bed, cracking his head on Sucre’s bunk. Bellick stood outside the cell, a nasty smirk on his face. “Get up. The doc wants to see you now.”
Michael glanced down, unable to ignore the tenting of his sheet. Not as much as I want to see her, he thought ruefully.
Climbing gingerly from the bed, he braced himself for another day at Fox River.
*end*
Yes, yes, I realize I'm a horrible, evil bitch for doing that. But seriously, did you honestly think I was going to make it that easy for them? :)