Seeds (Michael/Lincoln, R, dark)
Title: Seeds
Author: callmetofu
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-con, incestslash, underage, abuse, dark subject matter
Disclaimer: Not mine
Beta: The amazingly wonderful deadbeat_nymph
Notes: For the February challenge. Michael/Lincoln non-con
Michael's hand was small in his and he almost stumbled as Lincoln pulled him up, up the stairs. The hallway was narrow and murky, specs of dust dancing in the dim light. He tested each door until at last one handle gave way and, stepping inside, he strung Michael along with him. The floor beneath them creaked as their feet skated over it. Standing still, Lincoln's hands found Michael's shoulders. He grabbed him under the armpits and hoisted him up on a wooden table. Michael's feet dangled and it took him a while to sit still.
Affectionately, Lincoln ran his hand over Michael's cheek as if to calm him and then turned. He didn't want to leave Michael just yet and his fingers ached as he shut the door behind them, sliding a chair underneath the doorknob to bolt it against intruders. Michael's barely stifled sob made Lincoln's heart contract and in a second he was back with his brother.
He tilted Michael's face towards him tenderly, so small and pale between his hands. Bright tears glittered on those long lashes and again Lincoln's heart twinged. Michael looked so lost and out of place in the borrowed, rumpled suit, two sizes too large. He'd been so brave all day, so brave, trying to suppress the tears.
In the beginning, it had almost worked. When it'd been just the two of them, the two of them and their mom. When it'd been still her as they lowered her into the ground, still her with them as they looked out over the lake so the darkness of the ground wouldn't be what they'd remember of this day.
Michael hadn't faltered until later, as they were ushered back at the parish. Too many people, too many helpful neighbors. They had stood defensively against the wall, frozen inside as they shook hand after hand, old church ladies in big bouncing dresses all in black like giant crowing birds descending in a flock. Michael had broken a little bit further with every hand he held, with every time he smiled bravely when a stranger expressed what a great person their mother had been, how she would be missed.
Lincoln hadn't been able to take it anymore, grabbing Michael and needing to steal him away from those intruding eyes, from all those strangers who came to attend the freak show of the two poor little orphans. The young one, so much promise, they'd whisper to each other on the sly, those poor kids!
Lincoln hated them, hated every last one of them. He hated their sympathy. He hated that they laid their hands on Michael. He hated that it was only their words that made Michael realize that Christina Rose was really truly dead. That's how they had always known her, the beautiful Christina Rose, like a vision of almost angelic beauty floating around the neighborhood. Tenderly, he traced Michael's cheekbones, looking into those eyes that were so much like hers.
Beneath his hands Michael began to tremble, those held back tears flowing freely now, and Lincoln bent to kiss them all away. I love you, he thought. Don't look, we don't need any of them. They've never helped us before. His arms wound more tightly around Michael's torso and he nibbled quietly on Michael's cheek, his mouth open, tasting tears with the tip of his tongue.
Inside his arms Michael groaned like a wounded animal and braced his hands against Lincoln's shoulders. Michael's body felt so small and fragile, the fabric of his oversized jacket sliding easily over his skin when Lincoln stroked across it. His heart surged with pride for his brave baby brother and he kissed him. Michael's whole body jerked and he gave just one strangled sob. Lincoln caught him, caught his arms with his hands and held him. He loved him. He loved him.
He tasted just the slightest hint of wetness with his lips and then let them wander across Michael's cheek, up to his temple. Then he took his journey down Michael's throat, pressing dry kisses against the sensitive skin. His hand found Michael's shoulder. Nimble fingers hooked into the collar of Michael's shirt. He pulled it aside and pressed his nose against the newly revealed flesh of his collar bone. I love you, he thought. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. It was just the two of them now and he needed his brother like air to breathe.
By now Michael's tremblings had grown into full grown shakes, not unlike when he went into one of his seizures. Pain radiated from him like a blinding light. He was crying openly now in labored, breathless sobs and Lincoln wanted nothing except find a way to get him to stop, to reach inside and take all that pain away. He caught Michael's arms quickly and held them firm behind his back. His hands encircled Michael's wrists, not to too tightly, just to keep them in place as he nudged down Michael's chest. One by one the buttons of Michael's shirt bumped into his nose. Lincoln followed their path all the way down until he was down to his knees, crouching between his little brother's splayed legs. Taking one deep breath, he leaned forward and he nuzzled Michael's lower belly. Michael's knees twitched as his legs dangled freely in the air, nervously swinging back and forth as far as Lincoln's embrace would allow.
Carefully, Lincoln nipped at the underside of Michael's shirt with his teeth. It frustrated him and annoyed him that it was too hard to work, so he let go of one of Michael's hands and smoothed his own forward to Michael's front, pulling the shirt out of Michael's waistband. Michael's body had fallen still as Lincoln had kissed his way down, frozen almost, interrupted only by occasional sobs that wreaked through his chest.
Lincoln bent down and pressed one kiss against the metallic top button of the cheap black trousers before jostling it open with his hands. Lips followed fingers as he eased the zipper down, tooth by tooth. He touched his mouth to fresh white underwear, feeling the difference in fabric where he kissed the tiny rockets imprinted all over it. He pulled down the briefs as well and his fingers closed around Michael's penis, the touch of skin sending an almost electric charge up his arms. It was much smaller than his own and Lincoln awoke it with a few deft strokes before leaning in to take it in his mouth. It tasted clean and fresh, barely sweaty at all and it fit into Lincoln's mouth with ease.
It will feel good, I promise, he thought. A little unsure about the right technique, be began to suck and bobbed his head. I know you play yourself with a bit. It always feels funny at first. Even if you can't shoot yet, it feels good and it keeps feeling good more and more in your belly and then it's really good. Up and down. Up and down. He'd let go of Michael's hands, needing both arms wrapped around Michael's middle to keep himself focused. Michael's spine had grown rigid and his sobs had stopped. His arms hung limply by his side. It was almost like he'd stopped breathing. I got you, Lincoln thought. Just trust me, and he didn't stop.
It felt hard and warm against his tongue. Lincoln's heart fluttered. He loved it. He loved Michael, so how couldn't he love this too? He suckled and tugged lightly, making it all wet with his spittle, pushing away memories that threatened to rise to the surface. It was all he could think of doing. Leaning in further, he buried his nose in Michael's groin. He could sense the tears starting up anew. Quietly again this time, and then Michael's legs were trembling just as before. Lincoln held them down and squinted upward just in time to see Michael, his breathing rapid, his wet cheeks spotted with red blotches as his head fell back, his jaw slack. His whole body jerked and Lincoln held him tight through the tremors, intensely aware of his brother's dry orgasm.
He felt guilty because he wasn't sure if Michael had ever done this before. Maybe Michael would be scared because he had never felt this before. Lincoln waited till he was sure that Michael was finished and then let Michael's penis slip from his mouth. He rose slowly, his knees creaking, and wiped his lips. Michael sat silently, exhausted and still trembling a bit. Effortlessly, Lincoln's fingers weaved into his hair and he touched his lips to Michael's. Michael didn't resist and this time Lincoln kissed him longer, his mouth a bit open, slipping just bit of tongue back to Michael, tasting, needing.
Reaching down, he rearranged Michael's dick again, putting it back, pulling the briefs over it before pulling the dress pants closed again. Michael sucked in one ragged breath, his small, slim fingers finding movement and wandering down to fix his shirt. Lincoln met them with his own hands, fingers brushing against fingers, both fumbling to get everything back in place.
“Michael?”
They both jerked up. Lincoln turned around and stepped forward, one hand still interlaced with Michael's. “We're here,” he called hesitantly. With a small tug, he nudged Michael off the table and moved to wrench the chair away from the door. “We just wanted to be alone for a bit,” he muttered under his breath and, with one last gesture, he ran his hand through Michael's hair.
He pulled the door open and they stepped back out into the world.
*
Michael's legs felt like they were made out of Jell-O. With each step he thought he would fall down, not just to the floor, but through it. His cheeks burned and he felt relieved when Lincoln's hand slipped from his grasp.
They were ushered back down the stairs, across the community room, past the kitchen and then out into the street. It was hard to breathe again, the small crowd of people enough to suffocate him. His sides ached and his vision blurred.
Michael blinked and when he could see again his brother was already talking to somebody, somebody big in a dark suit. Just like before, like when the wake had started, he couldn't hear them anymore. All noises drifted towards him like through a wall of water. The people's lips moved but even their features dissolved slowly in front of his eyes.
Right ahead, the people opened the door to a large yellow cab and Lincoln slid inside. He turned to Michael and smiled, his hand lying outstretched on the back seat, palm turned upward like a white patch of light.
Michael's throat constricted instinctively and his legs wanted to run, just as they were about to melt and collapse from under him. He looked around and then back down at the concrete under his feet. Behind him the crowd's whispers grew into an expectant rumble. He knew they couldn't be more than four or five behind him and still they surged like a rising tide, threatening to envelop him. Even as his feet steered away from him with each step, he plunged forward into that darkness.
He had nowhere else to go.
*
They were prodded, packaged, processed, ushered from one place to the next. There were questions and Michael didn't say anything. There were hands and Michael didn't shake them. There were things and Michael wouldn't look at them.
There was a dark room and bunk beds made from metal and the breathing of other kids in the dark. There were garbage bags with draw strings, filled with things, that lay heavy on his shoulder. There was an office and papers and Lincoln's hand gliding over documents, pen between his fingers. At last there was a house and people and fathers and mothers and Michael sat quietly and still wouldn't speak. There was a kitchen table and a floor and at least that seemed like something he had known before. There were other kids and curious stares and a bedroom. He learned to sleep with open eyes even though Lincoln never tried to touch him again.
It took his brother less than three days to pick a fight and they came to take him away. Michael didn't see them coming - he didn't see much of anything these days - but he felt it, felt them walking up to the door. He knew what he should do, what he had to do, you never betray your brother.
Instead he hid below the staircase, making himself small, so small, hoping that they wouldn't see him and take him as well. He heard the angry voices, twitching despite himself at each loudly uttered sentence. There was tumbling noise, something heavy falling over and that's how he knew they were leaving.
They escorted Lincoln off the premises, hands wedged behind his back. Michael watched without a word as they led him away. He stood with his back against the wall, not up front inside the doorway. His gaze traveled across the whole hall and followed them. It was just better to have a wall to steady you. They walked Lincoln sternly and put their hands on his head to make him duck as he stepped into the car. Lincoln looked around and for a moment Michael thought that he seemed small.
The doors fell shut and for the first time in he couldn't remember how long he could breathe. Maybe this way it would be over, he thought, maybe this would be a good house. Maybe this was where the nightmares would end. A strange new hand was placed on his shoulder as he watched the car leave that carried his brother away from him.
It was inside that house on Pershing Avenue that Michael learned that there were nightmares worse than Lincoln.
Author: callmetofu
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-con, incestslash, underage, abuse, dark subject matter
Disclaimer: Not mine
Beta: The amazingly wonderful deadbeat_nymph
Notes: For the February challenge. Michael/Lincoln non-con
Michael's hand was small in his and he almost stumbled as Lincoln pulled him up, up the stairs. The hallway was narrow and murky, specs of dust dancing in the dim light. He tested each door until at last one handle gave way and, stepping inside, he strung Michael along with him. The floor beneath them creaked as their feet skated over it. Standing still, Lincoln's hands found Michael's shoulders. He grabbed him under the armpits and hoisted him up on a wooden table. Michael's feet dangled and it took him a while to sit still.
Affectionately, Lincoln ran his hand over Michael's cheek as if to calm him and then turned. He didn't want to leave Michael just yet and his fingers ached as he shut the door behind them, sliding a chair underneath the doorknob to bolt it against intruders. Michael's barely stifled sob made Lincoln's heart contract and in a second he was back with his brother.
He tilted Michael's face towards him tenderly, so small and pale between his hands. Bright tears glittered on those long lashes and again Lincoln's heart twinged. Michael looked so lost and out of place in the borrowed, rumpled suit, two sizes too large. He'd been so brave all day, so brave, trying to suppress the tears.
In the beginning, it had almost worked. When it'd been just the two of them, the two of them and their mom. When it'd been still her as they lowered her into the ground, still her with them as they looked out over the lake so the darkness of the ground wouldn't be what they'd remember of this day.
Michael hadn't faltered until later, as they were ushered back at the parish. Too many people, too many helpful neighbors. They had stood defensively against the wall, frozen inside as they shook hand after hand, old church ladies in big bouncing dresses all in black like giant crowing birds descending in a flock. Michael had broken a little bit further with every hand he held, with every time he smiled bravely when a stranger expressed what a great person their mother had been, how she would be missed.
Lincoln hadn't been able to take it anymore, grabbing Michael and needing to steal him away from those intruding eyes, from all those strangers who came to attend the freak show of the two poor little orphans. The young one, so much promise, they'd whisper to each other on the sly, those poor kids!
Lincoln hated them, hated every last one of them. He hated their sympathy. He hated that they laid their hands on Michael. He hated that it was only their words that made Michael realize that Christina Rose was really truly dead. That's how they had always known her, the beautiful Christina Rose, like a vision of almost angelic beauty floating around the neighborhood. Tenderly, he traced Michael's cheekbones, looking into those eyes that were so much like hers.
Beneath his hands Michael began to tremble, those held back tears flowing freely now, and Lincoln bent to kiss them all away. I love you, he thought. Don't look, we don't need any of them. They've never helped us before. His arms wound more tightly around Michael's torso and he nibbled quietly on Michael's cheek, his mouth open, tasting tears with the tip of his tongue.
Inside his arms Michael groaned like a wounded animal and braced his hands against Lincoln's shoulders. Michael's body felt so small and fragile, the fabric of his oversized jacket sliding easily over his skin when Lincoln stroked across it. His heart surged with pride for his brave baby brother and he kissed him. Michael's whole body jerked and he gave just one strangled sob. Lincoln caught him, caught his arms with his hands and held him. He loved him. He loved him.
He tasted just the slightest hint of wetness with his lips and then let them wander across Michael's cheek, up to his temple. Then he took his journey down Michael's throat, pressing dry kisses against the sensitive skin. His hand found Michael's shoulder. Nimble fingers hooked into the collar of Michael's shirt. He pulled it aside and pressed his nose against the newly revealed flesh of his collar bone. I love you, he thought. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. It was just the two of them now and he needed his brother like air to breathe.
By now Michael's tremblings had grown into full grown shakes, not unlike when he went into one of his seizures. Pain radiated from him like a blinding light. He was crying openly now in labored, breathless sobs and Lincoln wanted nothing except find a way to get him to stop, to reach inside and take all that pain away. He caught Michael's arms quickly and held them firm behind his back. His hands encircled Michael's wrists, not to too tightly, just to keep them in place as he nudged down Michael's chest. One by one the buttons of Michael's shirt bumped into his nose. Lincoln followed their path all the way down until he was down to his knees, crouching between his little brother's splayed legs. Taking one deep breath, he leaned forward and he nuzzled Michael's lower belly. Michael's knees twitched as his legs dangled freely in the air, nervously swinging back and forth as far as Lincoln's embrace would allow.
Carefully, Lincoln nipped at the underside of Michael's shirt with his teeth. It frustrated him and annoyed him that it was too hard to work, so he let go of one of Michael's hands and smoothed his own forward to Michael's front, pulling the shirt out of Michael's waistband. Michael's body had fallen still as Lincoln had kissed his way down, frozen almost, interrupted only by occasional sobs that wreaked through his chest.
Lincoln bent down and pressed one kiss against the metallic top button of the cheap black trousers before jostling it open with his hands. Lips followed fingers as he eased the zipper down, tooth by tooth. He touched his mouth to fresh white underwear, feeling the difference in fabric where he kissed the tiny rockets imprinted all over it. He pulled down the briefs as well and his fingers closed around Michael's penis, the touch of skin sending an almost electric charge up his arms. It was much smaller than his own and Lincoln awoke it with a few deft strokes before leaning in to take it in his mouth. It tasted clean and fresh, barely sweaty at all and it fit into Lincoln's mouth with ease.
It will feel good, I promise, he thought. A little unsure about the right technique, be began to suck and bobbed his head. I know you play yourself with a bit. It always feels funny at first. Even if you can't shoot yet, it feels good and it keeps feeling good more and more in your belly and then it's really good. Up and down. Up and down. He'd let go of Michael's hands, needing both arms wrapped around Michael's middle to keep himself focused. Michael's spine had grown rigid and his sobs had stopped. His arms hung limply by his side. It was almost like he'd stopped breathing. I got you, Lincoln thought. Just trust me, and he didn't stop.
It felt hard and warm against his tongue. Lincoln's heart fluttered. He loved it. He loved Michael, so how couldn't he love this too? He suckled and tugged lightly, making it all wet with his spittle, pushing away memories that threatened to rise to the surface. It was all he could think of doing. Leaning in further, he buried his nose in Michael's groin. He could sense the tears starting up anew. Quietly again this time, and then Michael's legs were trembling just as before. Lincoln held them down and squinted upward just in time to see Michael, his breathing rapid, his wet cheeks spotted with red blotches as his head fell back, his jaw slack. His whole body jerked and Lincoln held him tight through the tremors, intensely aware of his brother's dry orgasm.
He felt guilty because he wasn't sure if Michael had ever done this before. Maybe Michael would be scared because he had never felt this before. Lincoln waited till he was sure that Michael was finished and then let Michael's penis slip from his mouth. He rose slowly, his knees creaking, and wiped his lips. Michael sat silently, exhausted and still trembling a bit. Effortlessly, Lincoln's fingers weaved into his hair and he touched his lips to Michael's. Michael didn't resist and this time Lincoln kissed him longer, his mouth a bit open, slipping just bit of tongue back to Michael, tasting, needing.
Reaching down, he rearranged Michael's dick again, putting it back, pulling the briefs over it before pulling the dress pants closed again. Michael sucked in one ragged breath, his small, slim fingers finding movement and wandering down to fix his shirt. Lincoln met them with his own hands, fingers brushing against fingers, both fumbling to get everything back in place.
“Michael?”
They both jerked up. Lincoln turned around and stepped forward, one hand still interlaced with Michael's. “We're here,” he called hesitantly. With a small tug, he nudged Michael off the table and moved to wrench the chair away from the door. “We just wanted to be alone for a bit,” he muttered under his breath and, with one last gesture, he ran his hand through Michael's hair.
He pulled the door open and they stepped back out into the world.
*
Michael's legs felt like they were made out of Jell-O. With each step he thought he would fall down, not just to the floor, but through it. His cheeks burned and he felt relieved when Lincoln's hand slipped from his grasp.
They were ushered back down the stairs, across the community room, past the kitchen and then out into the street. It was hard to breathe again, the small crowd of people enough to suffocate him. His sides ached and his vision blurred.
Michael blinked and when he could see again his brother was already talking to somebody, somebody big in a dark suit. Just like before, like when the wake had started, he couldn't hear them anymore. All noises drifted towards him like through a wall of water. The people's lips moved but even their features dissolved slowly in front of his eyes.
Right ahead, the people opened the door to a large yellow cab and Lincoln slid inside. He turned to Michael and smiled, his hand lying outstretched on the back seat, palm turned upward like a white patch of light.
Michael's throat constricted instinctively and his legs wanted to run, just as they were about to melt and collapse from under him. He looked around and then back down at the concrete under his feet. Behind him the crowd's whispers grew into an expectant rumble. He knew they couldn't be more than four or five behind him and still they surged like a rising tide, threatening to envelop him. Even as his feet steered away from him with each step, he plunged forward into that darkness.
He had nowhere else to go.
*
They were prodded, packaged, processed, ushered from one place to the next. There were questions and Michael didn't say anything. There were hands and Michael didn't shake them. There were things and Michael wouldn't look at them.
There was a dark room and bunk beds made from metal and the breathing of other kids in the dark. There were garbage bags with draw strings, filled with things, that lay heavy on his shoulder. There was an office and papers and Lincoln's hand gliding over documents, pen between his fingers. At last there was a house and people and fathers and mothers and Michael sat quietly and still wouldn't speak. There was a kitchen table and a floor and at least that seemed like something he had known before. There were other kids and curious stares and a bedroom. He learned to sleep with open eyes even though Lincoln never tried to touch him again.
It took his brother less than three days to pick a fight and they came to take him away. Michael didn't see them coming - he didn't see much of anything these days - but he felt it, felt them walking up to the door. He knew what he should do, what he had to do, you never betray your brother.
Instead he hid below the staircase, making himself small, so small, hoping that they wouldn't see him and take him as well. He heard the angry voices, twitching despite himself at each loudly uttered sentence. There was tumbling noise, something heavy falling over and that's how he knew they were leaving.
They escorted Lincoln off the premises, hands wedged behind his back. Michael watched without a word as they led him away. He stood with his back against the wall, not up front inside the doorway. His gaze traveled across the whole hall and followed them. It was just better to have a wall to steady you. They walked Lincoln sternly and put their hands on his head to make him duck as he stepped into the car. Lincoln looked around and for a moment Michael thought that he seemed small.
The doors fell shut and for the first time in he couldn't remember how long he could breathe. Maybe this way it would be over, he thought, maybe this would be a good house. Maybe this was where the nightmares would end. A strange new hand was placed on his shoulder as he watched the car leave that carried his brother away from him.
It was inside that house on Pershing Avenue that Michael learned that there were nightmares worse than Lincoln.