Prison Break - Unsaid, Unstated
Title: Unsaid, Unstated
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 2320
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Some things would be best if they remained unsaid.
Author’s Note: Birthday thingie for foxriverinmate. I hope you like this - hopefully, it includes two of your favourite items, one of them being Michael ;) Happy birthday, lady.
Many thanks to skybelpb for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
I'm bad enough to have made you beta a fic that branched out from this one, Foxy, so the opening lines may sound familiar *shuffles*
Some things would be best if they remained unsaid. Stuff like...
“I like that pink shirt.”
“I would never have pegged you as the prudish kind, Linc.”
“Fuck the weather forecast. Let’s go camping.”
“I’ll do anything you want if you go with me. And I do mean anything.”
The last one? Definitely led to their current situation.
* *
“Say it.”
Michael is being difficult, not playing along when he promised he would. It both annoys and arouses Lincoln more than it should to have to insist. Annoys him because he really, really wants to carry on what they’ve been doing. Arouses him because it gives him the sensation of forcing Michael, which reaches a completely new level of dirty-bad-wrong. It’s not something he’d usually go for - as though there wasn’t already more than enough dirty-bad-wrong involved in their case - but tonight, after all the teasing and working up, the notion is quite appealing.
“Say it!” he orders again. He slaps Michael’s ass and eyes with satisfaction the rosy imprint of his hand on the smooth skin.
“Fuck me,” Michael complies dispassionately, his tone flat and conveying more boredom than conviction.
He angles his hips though, pushing his butt up. It’s a nice view and an enticing sensation: he’s on all fours on the bed, Lincoln kneeling between his spread thighs and nudging him with the tip of his cock. The squirming brings him in sharper, closer contact with the exact part of Michael’s anatomy he’s holding off from pushing in, and he has to bite back a growl. He leans back prudently; not wanting to yield to Michael’s taunting, and lets his right hand wander on the messy sheets until his fingers come in contact with cold steel. A shiver runs down his spine at the difference of texture and temperature between the hard material and Michael’s warm and moist skin.
“Fuck me... who?” he prompts. Michael throws him a you’ve got to be kidding me glance over his shoulder but all Lincoln does is quirk an eyebrow. “You promised. You’re not the kind of man who doesn’t hold to his promises, right?”
As an incentive, and a foretaste of what Michael’s postponing by being so uncooperative, he trails his hands on the broad, although faintly hunched at the moment, shoulders, down the lean muscles of Michael’s back and to his buttocks. There, he grabs and kneads the succulent muscles, slightly pulls them apart and he looks. Under his scrutiny, the puckered, hidden from anyone-but-him skin flutters and quivers, and he has to bite back another growl; at least, this one is followed with Michael’s, and his brother finally surrenders.
“Fuck me, Officer,” he drawls, then adds with a breathless, mocking tone, “Please.” There is a second glance over his shoulder, this time amused and challenging. “I really don’t get the whole deal with this role playing thing. Given your record, I’d have imagined than the law enforcement gig would make you lose your hard-on faster than light.”
Lincoln rests a hand on the small of Michael’s back, holding him in place.
“Because then, baby bro, I can put you under arrest and have you at my mercy.”
The look on Michael’s face when he realizes what is going to happen is almost comical; it certainly would be comical without how hot and bothered the idea makes Lincoln. He grips Michael’s hands and pulls his arms back, admiring the strain-and-roll of the muscles under the unexpected assault, the rippling crease between the shoulder blades, the skin damp with sweat. Reaching back, he gets the handcuffs - the real thing, not crappy, padded sex-shop stuff - lying beside him and snaps the first, then the second cuff around Michael’s wrists. Michael doesn’t really have the time to react, lest to fight. Losing his balance, he collapses face first into a pillow; a huff escapes him when his legs give under him and he roughly hits the mattress.
“And you know how much I like having you at my mercy,” Lincoln adds.
If the shiver coursing through Michael is any indication, the feeling is mutual. He’s wriggling his fingers, either to get accustomed to the restraints or to catch Linc’s attention - it unquestionably catches Linc’s attention. He straddles his thighs and, with a grin, yanks on the cuffs’ chain until Michael can wrap his fingers around Linc’s shaft. The little fucker is always so good with those fingers, able to make him come faster than Lincoln’s willing to acknowledge. The power play and the unusual clumsiness make Michael jerking him off with his hands tied a different kind of pleasure, though, one relying less on pure satisfaction than on mind games and delicious frustration when the caress doesn’t quite achieve its goal. They moan in unison as he awkwardly moves long, elegant fingers up and down the heavy cock and Lincoln thrusts into his fist, leaving faint, sticky traces of moistness. Michael can’t help a leer and squeezes a little harder - a bit too hard on purpose.
“Please tell me you’re going to want a little more than a clumsy hand job, Officer,” he taunts.
“Smartass.”
Lincoln slaps away the sinful hands and repositions him to his whims, snatching a couple of pillows to stuff them under his stomach and bend him over them, spreading his knees wide, tilting his hips up. For a few seconds, he takes in the sight, pictures what he’s about to do, how Michael will respond to it - eager, Michael’s always so damn eager. It’s a moan that tears him out of his reverie, one he’s not totally sure is of pleasure, and he has qualms, suddenly, considering how uncomfortable the position has to be. Shoulders supporting way too much of his weight, face pressed against the mattress, erection painfully squished between his stomach and the pillows, arms twisted at an awkward angle, Michael is at his mercy. In On his back, his cuffed hands are closed in fists, and Lincoln can’t tell if it’s because of anger, tension or excitation. Yet, comfortable or not, he doesn’t seem to have an issue with it, because he pushes back to rub against Lincoln and provocatively asks him whether he plans to merely enjoy the view or do some actual fucking already.
There is a rather satisfying shout wrenched out of Michael when Lincoln licks his way down his brother’s spine and between his buttocks. A shout, and a series of broken whimpers because Linc lingers here, kissing and cajoling, until he can’t stand it anymore, until his tongue and lips get tired of moving and he has to squeeze his cock not to come merely from Michael’s feel and sounds. Rising on his knees, he tugs once again on the chain, harshly enough to cause Michael to gasp, and leans in to say in his ear, “You know you have the right to remain silent, huh?”
Michael needs a couple of seconds to put his mind together. When he answers, his voice is raw, his tone defiant. “It’s not going to happen.” Lincoln smirks - didn’t imagine it otherwise.
He does remain silent; at least he tries at first, but he can’t help just a few pants while Lincoln carefully pushes into him and settles in the familiar, delectable velvety warmth. Nothing unusual, nothing Lincoln can’t take, at least for a while. However, once he’s started to move slowly and evenly, come the moans and the grunts, then the phony jokes and lewd puns about Lincoln’s knowing how to do a thorough cavity search and using his stick. Lincoln doesn’t grin or smirk anymore. The combination of heavenly friction, dirty words and Michael squirming under him, shoving back, has him hold on to Michael’s hips and thrust more forcefully than he’d like. He rocks the strong, pliable body into the bed, and revels in the growls and strained muscles. He’s a tad too rough, he’s aware of it but unable to withhold, even less when, rather than asking him to go easier, Michael pushes him even further. Blood rushing to his temples, he hears through a thick veil as Michael begs teasingly and unabashedly, challenges him to do him harder, to screw him rougher, deeper, to fill him with cock and come. For good measure, he throws a throaty “Officer” amongst the lascivious supplications, and Lincoln’s hips snap forward without his volition.
It’s Michael moving his hands helplessly on the small of his back, the skin red under the metallic cuffs, that pushes him over the edge. Eerily, he thinks how wrong it is to be that turned on by someone’s vulnerability - but then, Michael is clenching hard around him, milking him, and he wonders who’s vulnerable to whom here.
He falls forward. Spent and dizzy with pleasure, he finally collapses and lies heavy on top of Michael, trying to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. He’s probably crushing him but there are no complaints, barely a whine - that might as well be Lincoln’s - when the change of position pushes Linc’s still hard shaft a bit deeper, maybe at an awkward angle. After a while, however, Michael clears his throat and shifts beneath him.
“For the record, one of us didn’t come yet.”
The protest makes Lincoln chuckle and apologize with a “Sorry, man.” He misses Michael’s faint rolling of eyes because he’s busy grabbing his hip, a hip he left light bruises on, to roll him onto his back. He would offer to remove the handcuffs, but Michael doesn’t say anything about them; he merely lies back, leaning on his elbows. Lincoln concludes that he doesn’t mind them for now, maybe enjoys them if the way he flaunts himself, cock proudly jutted forward and thighs splayed open, is any indication.
Lincoln plans to give the flaunted goods the proper treatment in a minute or two. But before this, he latches onto Michael’s mouth, the kiss lazy and probing, soft and languid, while his hands slide down. He takes his time to stroke and pet tenderly; lingering on any hot spots he knows Michael has, all things he overlooked when he was pounding into him a few minutes ago. It tears a series of moans from Michael’s throat - the sounds quickly escalating in both intensity and frequency - and wild rolls of hips as he tries to grind his erection into Lincoln’s thigh. It feels so fucking good, for a split second, Lincoln must make an effort to remember that he already had his release and is not going to be able to start everything all over again for a while. Michael, on the other hand, doesn’t seem too happy with the indolent pace Lincoln has set up. He’s wriggling impatiently, the metallic rattle coming from behind his back reminding Lincoln that there is absolutely nothing his brother can do to force him to speed up a bit.
“Something wrong?”
“Lincoln... if you love me the tiniest little bit, just finish me off. Now. Please. I’d hate having held off from coming on a damn pillow only to come because you stroked my bicep.” After reflection, he adds, “Not that it doesn’t feel good.”
Lincoln brushes his lips against Michael’s. “I thought you could use a bit of softness after...”
“Yeah. No. Later maybe. Just...”
“Hands or mouth?” Linc asks mischievously.
Michael arches an eyebrow and doesn’t even bother answering.
So it’s hands working on the inside of his thighs, the underside of his buttocks, the root of his cock, fingers slipping inside of him, thrusting and crooking, while lips and tongue engulf and lick the engorged head. It doesn’t last. Lincoln regrets it but has to commend his brother’s stamina, which is bordering on stubbornness. Before long, Michael is thrashing on the bed and spilling into his mouth, his head thrown back in ecstasy.
Lincoln ponders only the briefest instant before deciding to swallow - and makes a show of licking his lips when the swallowing earns him a hot gaze and an appreciative groan. Still propped on his elbows, eyes hooded, cheeks red and chest heaving, Michael smirks down at him.
“You just made evidence disappear, Officer.”
* *
Later, they’re lying side by side on the bed, fed, cleaned, Michael meticulously oiled and dosed in all the places Lincoln roughened up - along with a few ones Michael made up for the kick of having Lincoln rub balm into him. Lincoln is not dumb, he knows about those little half-lies. It doesn’t matter, it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy it too anyway.
He laughs quietly when he feels Michael’s hand trailing down his flank and across his hip to rest on his crotch. Indolently lifting an eyelid, he throws him a sideway glance.
“Don’t get your hopes too high, cupcake. You wore me out.”
“Don’t cupcake me, and it’s not what I have in mind,” Michael retorts with what, if he was in a different position, would be a shrug. “I just want to touch you. Maybe you didn’t notice, but I couldn’t exactly lay my hands on you, earlier.”
Fingers glide with delicacy over him, the caress selfless, tender rather than arousing.
It’s too soon, the light touch isn’t enough to get him interested again right now. Yet, his penis, resting soft and limp against his thigh, twitches a bit, and something stirs in Lincoln’s lower belly. He places his hand on Michael’s and circles his wrist, barely brushing the skin, red and raw where the handcuffs bit into the flesh.
“Does it hurt?”
Michael watches him for an impossibly long span of time before moistening his lips and answering, “Only in the best possible way.”
* *
Some things would be best if they remained unsaid.
And then, some notions...
“I’m afraid some day, you will walk away and never come back.”
“Sooner or later, I’ll drag you down with me.”
“I wish you’d brand me as yours.”
“Maybe it has already happened.”
... some notions are best remained unstated.
-End-
Comments are almost as good as chocolate.
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 2320
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Some things would be best if they remained unsaid.
Author’s Note: Birthday thingie for foxriverinmate. I hope you like this - hopefully, it includes two of your favourite items, one of them being Michael ;) Happy birthday, lady.
Many thanks to skybelpb for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
I'm bad enough to have made you beta a fic that branched out from this one, Foxy, so the opening lines may sound familiar *shuffles*
Some things would be best if they remained unsaid. Stuff like...
“I like that pink shirt.”
“I would never have pegged you as the prudish kind, Linc.”
“Fuck the weather forecast. Let’s go camping.”
“I’ll do anything you want if you go with me. And I do mean anything.”
The last one? Definitely led to their current situation.
* *
“Say it.”
Michael is being difficult, not playing along when he promised he would. It both annoys and arouses Lincoln more than it should to have to insist. Annoys him because he really, really wants to carry on what they’ve been doing. Arouses him because it gives him the sensation of forcing Michael, which reaches a completely new level of dirty-bad-wrong. It’s not something he’d usually go for - as though there wasn’t already more than enough dirty-bad-wrong involved in their case - but tonight, after all the teasing and working up, the notion is quite appealing.
“Say it!” he orders again. He slaps Michael’s ass and eyes with satisfaction the rosy imprint of his hand on the smooth skin.
“Fuck me,” Michael complies dispassionately, his tone flat and conveying more boredom than conviction.
He angles his hips though, pushing his butt up. It’s a nice view and an enticing sensation: he’s on all fours on the bed, Lincoln kneeling between his spread thighs and nudging him with the tip of his cock. The squirming brings him in sharper, closer contact with the exact part of Michael’s anatomy he’s holding off from pushing in, and he has to bite back a growl. He leans back prudently; not wanting to yield to Michael’s taunting, and lets his right hand wander on the messy sheets until his fingers come in contact with cold steel. A shiver runs down his spine at the difference of texture and temperature between the hard material and Michael’s warm and moist skin.
“Fuck me... who?” he prompts. Michael throws him a you’ve got to be kidding me glance over his shoulder but all Lincoln does is quirk an eyebrow. “You promised. You’re not the kind of man who doesn’t hold to his promises, right?”
As an incentive, and a foretaste of what Michael’s postponing by being so uncooperative, he trails his hands on the broad, although faintly hunched at the moment, shoulders, down the lean muscles of Michael’s back and to his buttocks. There, he grabs and kneads the succulent muscles, slightly pulls them apart and he looks. Under his scrutiny, the puckered, hidden from anyone-but-him skin flutters and quivers, and he has to bite back another growl; at least, this one is followed with Michael’s, and his brother finally surrenders.
“Fuck me, Officer,” he drawls, then adds with a breathless, mocking tone, “Please.” There is a second glance over his shoulder, this time amused and challenging. “I really don’t get the whole deal with this role playing thing. Given your record, I’d have imagined than the law enforcement gig would make you lose your hard-on faster than light.”
Lincoln rests a hand on the small of Michael’s back, holding him in place.
“Because then, baby bro, I can put you under arrest and have you at my mercy.”
The look on Michael’s face when he realizes what is going to happen is almost comical; it certainly would be comical without how hot and bothered the idea makes Lincoln. He grips Michael’s hands and pulls his arms back, admiring the strain-and-roll of the muscles under the unexpected assault, the rippling crease between the shoulder blades, the skin damp with sweat. Reaching back, he gets the handcuffs - the real thing, not crappy, padded sex-shop stuff - lying beside him and snaps the first, then the second cuff around Michael’s wrists. Michael doesn’t really have the time to react, lest to fight. Losing his balance, he collapses face first into a pillow; a huff escapes him when his legs give under him and he roughly hits the mattress.
“And you know how much I like having you at my mercy,” Lincoln adds.
If the shiver coursing through Michael is any indication, the feeling is mutual. He’s wriggling his fingers, either to get accustomed to the restraints or to catch Linc’s attention - it unquestionably catches Linc’s attention. He straddles his thighs and, with a grin, yanks on the cuffs’ chain until Michael can wrap his fingers around Linc’s shaft. The little fucker is always so good with those fingers, able to make him come faster than Lincoln’s willing to acknowledge. The power play and the unusual clumsiness make Michael jerking him off with his hands tied a different kind of pleasure, though, one relying less on pure satisfaction than on mind games and delicious frustration when the caress doesn’t quite achieve its goal. They moan in unison as he awkwardly moves long, elegant fingers up and down the heavy cock and Lincoln thrusts into his fist, leaving faint, sticky traces of moistness. Michael can’t help a leer and squeezes a little harder - a bit too hard on purpose.
“Please tell me you’re going to want a little more than a clumsy hand job, Officer,” he taunts.
“Smartass.”
Lincoln slaps away the sinful hands and repositions him to his whims, snatching a couple of pillows to stuff them under his stomach and bend him over them, spreading his knees wide, tilting his hips up. For a few seconds, he takes in the sight, pictures what he’s about to do, how Michael will respond to it - eager, Michael’s always so damn eager. It’s a moan that tears him out of his reverie, one he’s not totally sure is of pleasure, and he has qualms, suddenly, considering how uncomfortable the position has to be. Shoulders supporting way too much of his weight, face pressed against the mattress, erection painfully squished between his stomach and the pillows, arms twisted at an awkward angle, Michael is at his mercy. In On his back, his cuffed hands are closed in fists, and Lincoln can’t tell if it’s because of anger, tension or excitation. Yet, comfortable or not, he doesn’t seem to have an issue with it, because he pushes back to rub against Lincoln and provocatively asks him whether he plans to merely enjoy the view or do some actual fucking already.
There is a rather satisfying shout wrenched out of Michael when Lincoln licks his way down his brother’s spine and between his buttocks. A shout, and a series of broken whimpers because Linc lingers here, kissing and cajoling, until he can’t stand it anymore, until his tongue and lips get tired of moving and he has to squeeze his cock not to come merely from Michael’s feel and sounds. Rising on his knees, he tugs once again on the chain, harshly enough to cause Michael to gasp, and leans in to say in his ear, “You know you have the right to remain silent, huh?”
Michael needs a couple of seconds to put his mind together. When he answers, his voice is raw, his tone defiant. “It’s not going to happen.” Lincoln smirks - didn’t imagine it otherwise.
He does remain silent; at least he tries at first, but he can’t help just a few pants while Lincoln carefully pushes into him and settles in the familiar, delectable velvety warmth. Nothing unusual, nothing Lincoln can’t take, at least for a while. However, once he’s started to move slowly and evenly, come the moans and the grunts, then the phony jokes and lewd puns about Lincoln’s knowing how to do a thorough cavity search and using his stick. Lincoln doesn’t grin or smirk anymore. The combination of heavenly friction, dirty words and Michael squirming under him, shoving back, has him hold on to Michael’s hips and thrust more forcefully than he’d like. He rocks the strong, pliable body into the bed, and revels in the growls and strained muscles. He’s a tad too rough, he’s aware of it but unable to withhold, even less when, rather than asking him to go easier, Michael pushes him even further. Blood rushing to his temples, he hears through a thick veil as Michael begs teasingly and unabashedly, challenges him to do him harder, to screw him rougher, deeper, to fill him with cock and come. For good measure, he throws a throaty “Officer” amongst the lascivious supplications, and Lincoln’s hips snap forward without his volition.
It’s Michael moving his hands helplessly on the small of his back, the skin red under the metallic cuffs, that pushes him over the edge. Eerily, he thinks how wrong it is to be that turned on by someone’s vulnerability - but then, Michael is clenching hard around him, milking him, and he wonders who’s vulnerable to whom here.
He falls forward. Spent and dizzy with pleasure, he finally collapses and lies heavy on top of Michael, trying to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. He’s probably crushing him but there are no complaints, barely a whine - that might as well be Lincoln’s - when the change of position pushes Linc’s still hard shaft a bit deeper, maybe at an awkward angle. After a while, however, Michael clears his throat and shifts beneath him.
“For the record, one of us didn’t come yet.”
The protest makes Lincoln chuckle and apologize with a “Sorry, man.” He misses Michael’s faint rolling of eyes because he’s busy grabbing his hip, a hip he left light bruises on, to roll him onto his back. He would offer to remove the handcuffs, but Michael doesn’t say anything about them; he merely lies back, leaning on his elbows. Lincoln concludes that he doesn’t mind them for now, maybe enjoys them if the way he flaunts himself, cock proudly jutted forward and thighs splayed open, is any indication.
Lincoln plans to give the flaunted goods the proper treatment in a minute or two. But before this, he latches onto Michael’s mouth, the kiss lazy and probing, soft and languid, while his hands slide down. He takes his time to stroke and pet tenderly; lingering on any hot spots he knows Michael has, all things he overlooked when he was pounding into him a few minutes ago. It tears a series of moans from Michael’s throat - the sounds quickly escalating in both intensity and frequency - and wild rolls of hips as he tries to grind his erection into Lincoln’s thigh. It feels so fucking good, for a split second, Lincoln must make an effort to remember that he already had his release and is not going to be able to start everything all over again for a while. Michael, on the other hand, doesn’t seem too happy with the indolent pace Lincoln has set up. He’s wriggling impatiently, the metallic rattle coming from behind his back reminding Lincoln that there is absolutely nothing his brother can do to force him to speed up a bit.
“Something wrong?”
“Lincoln... if you love me the tiniest little bit, just finish me off. Now. Please. I’d hate having held off from coming on a damn pillow only to come because you stroked my bicep.” After reflection, he adds, “Not that it doesn’t feel good.”
Lincoln brushes his lips against Michael’s. “I thought you could use a bit of softness after...”
“Yeah. No. Later maybe. Just...”
“Hands or mouth?” Linc asks mischievously.
Michael arches an eyebrow and doesn’t even bother answering.
So it’s hands working on the inside of his thighs, the underside of his buttocks, the root of his cock, fingers slipping inside of him, thrusting and crooking, while lips and tongue engulf and lick the engorged head. It doesn’t last. Lincoln regrets it but has to commend his brother’s stamina, which is bordering on stubbornness. Before long, Michael is thrashing on the bed and spilling into his mouth, his head thrown back in ecstasy.
Lincoln ponders only the briefest instant before deciding to swallow - and makes a show of licking his lips when the swallowing earns him a hot gaze and an appreciative groan. Still propped on his elbows, eyes hooded, cheeks red and chest heaving, Michael smirks down at him.
“You just made evidence disappear, Officer.”
* *
Later, they’re lying side by side on the bed, fed, cleaned, Michael meticulously oiled and dosed in all the places Lincoln roughened up - along with a few ones Michael made up for the kick of having Lincoln rub balm into him. Lincoln is not dumb, he knows about those little half-lies. It doesn’t matter, it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy it too anyway.
He laughs quietly when he feels Michael’s hand trailing down his flank and across his hip to rest on his crotch. Indolently lifting an eyelid, he throws him a sideway glance.
“Don’t get your hopes too high, cupcake. You wore me out.”
“Don’t cupcake me, and it’s not what I have in mind,” Michael retorts with what, if he was in a different position, would be a shrug. “I just want to touch you. Maybe you didn’t notice, but I couldn’t exactly lay my hands on you, earlier.”
Fingers glide with delicacy over him, the caress selfless, tender rather than arousing.
It’s too soon, the light touch isn’t enough to get him interested again right now. Yet, his penis, resting soft and limp against his thigh, twitches a bit, and something stirs in Lincoln’s lower belly. He places his hand on Michael’s and circles his wrist, barely brushing the skin, red and raw where the handcuffs bit into the flesh.
“Does it hurt?”
Michael watches him for an impossibly long span of time before moistening his lips and answering, “Only in the best possible way.”
* *
Some things would be best if they remained unsaid.
And then, some notions...
“I’m afraid some day, you will walk away and never come back.”
“Sooner or later, I’ll drag you down with me.”
“I wish you’d brand me as yours.”
“Maybe it has already happened.”
... some notions are best remained unstated.
-End-
Comments are almost as good as chocolate.