Ficlet: Clear As Broken Ice (Prison Break)
Pairing: Alex Mahone/Michael Scofield/Paul Kellerman
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Written for the Porn Battle. Prompt: precarious.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine.
- - -
Mahone awakens with Michael Scofield’s breath on the back of his neck, and Paul Kellerman’s hand stroking possessively over his waist.
Inhales, abruptly, before he remembers what’s happened. All three of them, the night before - and the world is closing in outside, maybe the Company has decided that Mahone wasn’t kidnapped unwillingly after all. Maybe they’ve gotten to his family.
“Wow,” says Kellerman. “Here I thought no one could think quite as annoyingly loud as Scofield, but looks like I’m wrong.”
“What?” asks Scofield, sleepily, from behind them.
Mahone grits his teeth, for a moment. This was such a mistake. - even though Mahone can still feel the way Scofield touched him, fingers pressing into Mahone’s hip, the way he fucked…
Mahone hisses, as Kellerman’s hand closes around his cock. Reaches out, draws Kellerman into a kiss, more battle than connection, more frustration than any sort of affection. These are the same hands that shot him -
“You like that, Alex?” asks Scofield, shifting such that he’s pressed against Mahone, his palm moving to cover the not-quite-healed bullet wound.
“Christ, how can you tell?” Kellerman tightens his grip, just right - Mahone bites back the noise he wants to make. “He’s the quietest person I’ve ever seen during sex.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the loudest I’ve ever-” and the words trail off, into a hiss, as Scofield’s fingers press inside him, one at a time.
“That works, then,” says Kellerman, pressing a kiss to Mahone’s mouth - and Mahone almost flinches away, but Kellerman catches him, seduces him all over again. “Would be a real pain if both of us were trying to fill the airwaves, so to speak.”
“It’s enough of a pain with you doing it,” says Scofield. “…fuck,” his voice a little breathless.
Mahone twists against the pull of Scofield’s fingers, his breath shallow and fast.
“What?” asks Kellerman, to Scofield’s expletive.
“You’re still wet,” says Scofield, hoarse, almost a whisper in Mahone’s ear. “From last night.”
Mahone does make a noise, this time, into the inside of his wrist, but there are Kellerman’s hands, pulling his arm away. “Oh, come on,” says Kellerman. “It’s no fun if we can’t hear you.”
“I assure you,” manages Mahone, through gritted teeth, “this is a lot of things. Fun is not one of them.”
“Quiet, both of you,” says Scofield, and he urges Mahone onto his back, with Scofield half-over him. Close enough that Scofield’s fingers are still inside him, stroking, stroking, but Scofield can kiss him, from this angle, and Mahone relents to it, eyes closing, his palm scraping over Scofield’s shave-shortened hair.
“I’ll make you come like this,” says Scofield. It sounds more like a dare than a decision. “That sound good to you?” continues Scofield, “both of us touching you, just like this.”
If it’s not one of them talking, it’s the other, thinks Mahone, irritably, but the next stroke of Scofield’s fingers sends thought fleeing, sensation clenching ice-hot all the way through him. Kellerman’s hand is back, then, and Mahone lets his head fall back against Scofield’s shoulder. It’s too much.
It should be awkward, between the two of them. Mahone has more tangled, darker emotional history than he does with anyone - maybe, maybe with the exception of Pam - and their presence, Scofield’s especially, reminds Mahone of everything he’s not.
It should be awkward, yes. But it’s not. It feels more natural, more right, than anything else Mahone has done lately.
He seizes up, in climax. Lets Kellerman pull him through it; lets Scofield take him down from the high. And Mahone can breathe easy - and it doesn’t hurt. Like the moment just after the pills hit his bloodstream, except sharp-fresh and clear. Precarious and beautiful, in that clarity.
“Awesome,” says Kellerman. “Could we pay attention to me now?”
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Written for the Porn Battle. Prompt: precarious.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine.
- - -
Mahone awakens with Michael Scofield’s breath on the back of his neck, and Paul Kellerman’s hand stroking possessively over his waist.
Inhales, abruptly, before he remembers what’s happened. All three of them, the night before - and the world is closing in outside, maybe the Company has decided that Mahone wasn’t kidnapped unwillingly after all. Maybe they’ve gotten to his family.
“Wow,” says Kellerman. “Here I thought no one could think quite as annoyingly loud as Scofield, but looks like I’m wrong.”
“What?” asks Scofield, sleepily, from behind them.
Mahone grits his teeth, for a moment. This was such a mistake. - even though Mahone can still feel the way Scofield touched him, fingers pressing into Mahone’s hip, the way he fucked…
Mahone hisses, as Kellerman’s hand closes around his cock. Reaches out, draws Kellerman into a kiss, more battle than connection, more frustration than any sort of affection. These are the same hands that shot him -
“You like that, Alex?” asks Scofield, shifting such that he’s pressed against Mahone, his palm moving to cover the not-quite-healed bullet wound.
“Christ, how can you tell?” Kellerman tightens his grip, just right - Mahone bites back the noise he wants to make. “He’s the quietest person I’ve ever seen during sex.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the loudest I’ve ever-” and the words trail off, into a hiss, as Scofield’s fingers press inside him, one at a time.
“That works, then,” says Kellerman, pressing a kiss to Mahone’s mouth - and Mahone almost flinches away, but Kellerman catches him, seduces him all over again. “Would be a real pain if both of us were trying to fill the airwaves, so to speak.”
“It’s enough of a pain with you doing it,” says Scofield. “…fuck,” his voice a little breathless.
Mahone twists against the pull of Scofield’s fingers, his breath shallow and fast.
“What?” asks Kellerman, to Scofield’s expletive.
“You’re still wet,” says Scofield, hoarse, almost a whisper in Mahone’s ear. “From last night.”
Mahone does make a noise, this time, into the inside of his wrist, but there are Kellerman’s hands, pulling his arm away. “Oh, come on,” says Kellerman. “It’s no fun if we can’t hear you.”
“I assure you,” manages Mahone, through gritted teeth, “this is a lot of things. Fun is not one of them.”
“Quiet, both of you,” says Scofield, and he urges Mahone onto his back, with Scofield half-over him. Close enough that Scofield’s fingers are still inside him, stroking, stroking, but Scofield can kiss him, from this angle, and Mahone relents to it, eyes closing, his palm scraping over Scofield’s shave-shortened hair.
“I’ll make you come like this,” says Scofield. It sounds more like a dare than a decision. “That sound good to you?” continues Scofield, “both of us touching you, just like this.”
If it’s not one of them talking, it’s the other, thinks Mahone, irritably, but the next stroke of Scofield’s fingers sends thought fleeing, sensation clenching ice-hot all the way through him. Kellerman’s hand is back, then, and Mahone lets his head fall back against Scofield’s shoulder. It’s too much.
It should be awkward, between the two of them. Mahone has more tangled, darker emotional history than he does with anyone - maybe, maybe with the exception of Pam - and their presence, Scofield’s especially, reminds Mahone of everything he’s not.
It should be awkward, yes. But it’s not. It feels more natural, more right, than anything else Mahone has done lately.
He seizes up, in climax. Lets Kellerman pull him through it; lets Scofield take him down from the high. And Mahone can breathe easy - and it doesn’t hurt. Like the moment just after the pills hit his bloodstream, except sharp-fresh and clear. Precarious and beautiful, in that clarity.
“Awesome,” says Kellerman. “Could we pay attention to me now?”