Prison Break - Working Out the Chill
Title: Working Out the Chill
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Category: Het
Rating: NC-17
Warning: No actual slash/incest but proceed with caution if Michael/Lincoln really bothers you.
Word Count: ~ 2200
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: She was cold, and not sure the weather was entirely responsible for that. She scooted on the bedcover, inching toward Michael’s heat. His warmth only made it worse. (Season 2)
Author’s Note: Written for rounds-of-kink based on a prompt by foophile.
Prompt & kink by foophile: "It's cold but there are advantages to the chill." + Nipple play.
On a side note, I'm going to stop with the threesome trend. I just don't know when *facepalm*
Ten minutes into their quick snack, Sara noticed Lincoln’s problem with watching her in the eye.
* *
His gaze was directed somewhat lower, a few inches down the modest neckline of her tee-shirt, to be more accurate. Beneath it, her breasts were shifting freely with every move she made, her nipples pointing and pushing at the soft, worn cotton. When he caught on she’d caught him, he shrugged unapologetically and pointed out “You may want to put your bra back on, Doc.”
Michael gasped and blushed on his brother’s behalf.
They were in an unremarkable motel, a couple of hundred miles outside of Chicago, Kellerman settled - locked - in the adjacent room. Logic would have suggested that Kellerman shared with the brothers and Sara got the other bedroom, but right now her position regarding logic was screw it. She didn’t feel like being alone, and since leaving Lincoln with the ex-agent was not an option either, it meant the three of them were crowded in a room with two twin beds.
“Lincoln!”
Michael’s voice cracked like a whip and made Sara grin without humor.
She ignored Michael’s reaction and explained matter-of-factly, “My bra is in the bathroom.” Then, with a hint of irony, “I’m a girl. I’ve washed my underwear; it’s drying on a rack. I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with the inconvenience for a few hours.”
Surely she shouldn’t have enjoyed the way Lincoln’s face suddenly flushed at the implication, or the fact that Michael choked on his pizza. One hadn’t probably touched a woman in three years, and the other had been left with the memory of a searing, abruptly ended kiss. Not fair of her, but she was too focused on loss and run, fear and relief, Kellerman on the other side of the thin wall and Michael right next to her, to be into fairness.
She was cold, and not sure the weather was entirely responsible for that. She scooted on the bedcover, inching toward Michael’s heat. His warmth only made it worse, made every part of her body that wasn’t touching him feel colder, including her breasts and their impertinent nipples. She grabbed his wrists and forced his fingers to her chest. It hurt when the palm of his hands brushed her, but it hurt in a good way, in a way that made her forget about attempted assassinations - from others on her, from her on Kellerman. She was oblivious to his reticence, to Lincoln’s discomfort and short breathing. She just wanted more, a physical ache that would make her overlook all the other aches.
“I’m out of here,” Lincoln grumbled, making a move to get on his feet when Michael’s hands instinctively squeezed her breasts. Her heart thumping, she reached for Lincoln. She barely brushed his forearm, but it was more than enough to hold him back. He watched her hand, so delicate on the strong muscle, and squared his jaw. “Sara, don’t. You know how this is going to end.”
Men. Why did they think they had to be chivalrous at the worst possible moment? She wasn’t asking for chivalry or principles or even restraint right now. She had more basic needs and demands. At least, Michael seemed to have understood that and got on with it. He was lovingly nuzzling her ear and fondling her right breast with a delectable roughness.
She curled her hand behind Lincoln’s shorn head, pulled him into her and licked the corner of his mouth, decided to do whatever it took to get what she wanted. She needed this. A physical release of some sort. A good hard fuck. Either this or beating up to a pulp the sick bastard quietly lying in the next room, and notwithstanding her sexual ethics, she was pretty sure that the first solution was, if not better, at least less bad than the second one.
“I didn’t think you were the kind of man who had to be talked into taking what he actually wants, Lincoln.”
Michael chuckled in her neck. Lincoln threw him a questioning glance; since Michael merely nodded, he cupped her left breast. With a smirk, he bunched the fabric of her shirt between his fingers and rubbed her with it, the plushy cotton feeling wonderful on her heated flesh. She moaned - her pleasure, her approval, her green light for them to take things further. They complied. Her tee-shirt was gone in a matter of seconds and a fuss of quick movements, her whole body whirled around on itself with her back ending plastered to Lincoln’s solid chest. He held her elbows behind her, exposing her and offering her to Michael.
It was cold; she was still cold, but the chill had its advantage. It made the skin of her breasts taut and tight, her nipples hard and pointy and dark red, when they usually were two soft pink nubs. Almost unbearably sensitive. It also made all the more delicious Michael’s hot mouth latching onto her. He was pleasantly ruthless, as though he had understood she needed it, needed this. He licked, sucked and nibbled, working around Lincoln’s thick fingers for long minutes and keeping this up until the ache became hurt, and the hurt, pain. She panted and held onto Lincoln’s arms, her head thrown back on his shoulder suddenly whipping up when Michael blew a warm, soothing breath across her chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her eyelids and her cheeks. He was whispering, the words only for her even though Lincoln could hear them too. “This isn’t how I had planned this to happen.”
“Because after all that crap, you had hopes for something to happen?”
She was teasing, mocking him kindly. Lincoln grinned and let his hand wander down her stomach. She writhed to press into it. The hand went lower, lower, and fingered her crotch.
“I like this side of her,” he told Michael. “She’s right. You are some entitled bastard if you were hoping to get laid.”
“It wasn’t like...” Michael started to protest, and left it at that, realizing how useless and untimely it was. He shook his head with resignation and helped Lincoln to slip her out of her jeans, both of them groaning in perfect synchronization when the bare curve of her bottom emerged from the stiff fabric - she had washed and put all of her underwear to dry.
She knelt and watched as they shuffled on the bed and undressed one another, her breathing coming out in short puffs. They were right on the other side of too tender with each other, lingering just a bit too long, enjoying it just a bit too much. Michael’s hand ran up his brother’s flank, Lincoln gently swatted his butt. It hardly surprised her when they kissed on the mouth, casting sideway glances at her to gauge her reaction. Her stomach churned but didn’t twist nor make her nauseous. It was another manifestation of the weird and silent complicity they had rather than lust or sexual need. She almost had expected it, this unashamed and slightly provocative display of affection; she reveled in it, her hands absentmindedly skimming over her breasts and hips.
“In my purse, I have...” she began when they turned their whole attention back to her. But Lincoln was already throwing on the bed a string of small foil squares he’d fished out of the back pocket of his pants. Michael crooked an eyebrow at him, amused and sarcastic. Sara shrugged it off. Reassured that technicalities would be taken care of, she straddled Michael high on his stomach, her chest in his face in an obvious invitation to resume his previous ministrations. She canted her hips and pushed her butt up.
“Three years, man,” Lincoln explained as he settled behind her, his knees digging into the bed on each side of his brother’s legs. “I had no intention of missing an opportunity because I’d have lacked supplies.”
Maybe she was not the kind of opportunity he’d had in mind, but she had to commend him for his adaptability.
Strong and fluttering and luscious. She certainly hadn’t anticipated Lincoln licking her there, tasting her like that, greedy and dirty. One long sweep of tongue that sent her mind reeling before he straightened up and shoved into her without ceremony. She remembered just in time Kellerman locked in the room next door and bit into her arm; the sharp cry that was about to escape her was reduced to a gurgle deep inside her throat. Under her, Michael uttered a stern “shh!” and pinched her nipples almost punitively. He craned his neck and scraped his teeth across the skin of her neck, shoulders and breasts. She’d wanted it rough, she got it rough.
She tightened around Lincoln and counted less than six of pulls in and pulls out before he totally lost it. She couldn’t blame him for not holding out longer - she did get the three years thing. What he didn’t give her in that respect, he made up for it with strong, deep thrusts, though, each of them pushing her against Michael. He came hard and fast, his fingers digging into her waist and his hips slapping against her ass. He was still shaking with his release when he leaned down and bore his weight onto her, squashing her between Michael and him. He rumbled a thanks and an apology against the sweaty skin of her back. She twisted her arm back and petted the nearest bulge of muscle she could reach. She wasn’t sure what he apologized for, fucking his baby bother’s not-quite-girlfriend, or how wildly he’d taken her.
Maybe it was another kind of apology that he delivered then; she wouldn’t complain. In one swift move, Lincoln reclined on the bed and he dragged her with him. He laid her on him, her back to his chest, his knees hooking inside of hers and spreading her thighs wide open. Michael got in motion and followed them as if drawn in by a strong thread, eyes gleaming with longing and taking in the spectacle displayed for him.
The cold was a memory. The cold of the room had been rubbed off by their conjugated caresses; the cold inside of her had been pushed down and had shrunk to almost nothing. She moved Lincoln’s hands and Michael’s face to her breasts, pleading with one soft moan.
“They say some women can come from just their breasts being fondled,” Lincoln laughed in her ear. “Want to try and prove the theory, Doc?”
She graced him with a “Smartass” and focused on Michael, who had a knack at multitasking. He pushed slowly and steadily into her while keeping his mouth busy, licking at her breastbone, the side of her boobs and the stiff peaks of her nipples. Her head spun at the over-stimulation. She begged “harder” and “faster”, rolled her hips and tried to wrap her legs around him. And failed to.
Lincoln was still restraining her, pinning her open for Michael’s utmost pleasure, and he wouldn’t let her move her legs. She couldn’t snake them around Michael’s hips, she couldn’t use them to drag him closer, she couldn’t even close them to feel some added and much needed pressure on the inside of her thighs. And her helplessness was both frustrating and turning her on in a disturbing way. Her pants became whines, which turned into moans, which became louder. This time, when Michael grabbed her thighs and pulled her briskly against him, she wasn’t able to bite down a scream.
One of Lincoln’s hands that was still toying with her boobs stole to her mouth and quickly muzzled her. “Keep it quiet, Sara. Do you want Kellerman to hear you?!”
She shook her head into the crook of his neck. She certainly didn’t.
Except for the part of her that did. A lot. The same part that got off on being held down and screwed hard and dirty, skin shiny with saliva and sweat, chaffing from kiss bites and touches and nipping and... just too much. Michael met her eyes and grinned wickedly at what he saw in them. She hadn’t lied to him, he admitted to her, she wasn’t a good girl. Definitely not a good girl.
Good girls finish last.
So she finished before him. Obviously. He followed her with a grunt that he muffled between her shoulder and his brother’s chest. But right before he did, she came with her lips fused to his, her tongue deep in his mouth, and Lincoln’s hands relentlessly tormenting her breasts.
* *
Her bra was in her purse, buried deep under things and stuff, when they left the motel. She hadn’t been able to put it back on, her breasts still sensitive, her nipples red and sore from the deliciously rough treatment they’d been put through. She shivered at the idea of both men being perfectly aware of this because they’d watched her dress and they knew. Michael had kissed the soft swell at the top of her chest through her tee-shirt, and Lincoln had looked the other way.
She settled in the car, pulled her thick wool jacket tight around her and crossed her arms on her chest.
-End-
End note: Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
--Feedback is always welcome.
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Category: Het
Rating: NC-17
Warning: No actual slash/incest but proceed with caution if Michael/Lincoln really bothers you.
Word Count: ~ 2200
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: She was cold, and not sure the weather was entirely responsible for that. She scooted on the bedcover, inching toward Michael’s heat. His warmth only made it worse. (Season 2)
Author’s Note: Written for rounds-of-kink based on a prompt by foophile.
Prompt & kink by foophile: "It's cold but there are advantages to the chill." + Nipple play.
On a side note, I'm going to stop with the threesome trend. I just don't know when *facepalm*
Ten minutes into their quick snack, Sara noticed Lincoln’s problem with watching her in the eye.
* *
His gaze was directed somewhat lower, a few inches down the modest neckline of her tee-shirt, to be more accurate. Beneath it, her breasts were shifting freely with every move she made, her nipples pointing and pushing at the soft, worn cotton. When he caught on she’d caught him, he shrugged unapologetically and pointed out “You may want to put your bra back on, Doc.”
Michael gasped and blushed on his brother’s behalf.
They were in an unremarkable motel, a couple of hundred miles outside of Chicago, Kellerman settled - locked - in the adjacent room. Logic would have suggested that Kellerman shared with the brothers and Sara got the other bedroom, but right now her position regarding logic was screw it. She didn’t feel like being alone, and since leaving Lincoln with the ex-agent was not an option either, it meant the three of them were crowded in a room with two twin beds.
“Lincoln!”
Michael’s voice cracked like a whip and made Sara grin without humor.
She ignored Michael’s reaction and explained matter-of-factly, “My bra is in the bathroom.” Then, with a hint of irony, “I’m a girl. I’ve washed my underwear; it’s drying on a rack. I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with the inconvenience for a few hours.”
Surely she shouldn’t have enjoyed the way Lincoln’s face suddenly flushed at the implication, or the fact that Michael choked on his pizza. One hadn’t probably touched a woman in three years, and the other had been left with the memory of a searing, abruptly ended kiss. Not fair of her, but she was too focused on loss and run, fear and relief, Kellerman on the other side of the thin wall and Michael right next to her, to be into fairness.
She was cold, and not sure the weather was entirely responsible for that. She scooted on the bedcover, inching toward Michael’s heat. His warmth only made it worse, made every part of her body that wasn’t touching him feel colder, including her breasts and their impertinent nipples. She grabbed his wrists and forced his fingers to her chest. It hurt when the palm of his hands brushed her, but it hurt in a good way, in a way that made her forget about attempted assassinations - from others on her, from her on Kellerman. She was oblivious to his reticence, to Lincoln’s discomfort and short breathing. She just wanted more, a physical ache that would make her overlook all the other aches.
“I’m out of here,” Lincoln grumbled, making a move to get on his feet when Michael’s hands instinctively squeezed her breasts. Her heart thumping, she reached for Lincoln. She barely brushed his forearm, but it was more than enough to hold him back. He watched her hand, so delicate on the strong muscle, and squared his jaw. “Sara, don’t. You know how this is going to end.”
Men. Why did they think they had to be chivalrous at the worst possible moment? She wasn’t asking for chivalry or principles or even restraint right now. She had more basic needs and demands. At least, Michael seemed to have understood that and got on with it. He was lovingly nuzzling her ear and fondling her right breast with a delectable roughness.
She curled her hand behind Lincoln’s shorn head, pulled him into her and licked the corner of his mouth, decided to do whatever it took to get what she wanted. She needed this. A physical release of some sort. A good hard fuck. Either this or beating up to a pulp the sick bastard quietly lying in the next room, and notwithstanding her sexual ethics, she was pretty sure that the first solution was, if not better, at least less bad than the second one.
“I didn’t think you were the kind of man who had to be talked into taking what he actually wants, Lincoln.”
Michael chuckled in her neck. Lincoln threw him a questioning glance; since Michael merely nodded, he cupped her left breast. With a smirk, he bunched the fabric of her shirt between his fingers and rubbed her with it, the plushy cotton feeling wonderful on her heated flesh. She moaned - her pleasure, her approval, her green light for them to take things further. They complied. Her tee-shirt was gone in a matter of seconds and a fuss of quick movements, her whole body whirled around on itself with her back ending plastered to Lincoln’s solid chest. He held her elbows behind her, exposing her and offering her to Michael.
It was cold; she was still cold, but the chill had its advantage. It made the skin of her breasts taut and tight, her nipples hard and pointy and dark red, when they usually were two soft pink nubs. Almost unbearably sensitive. It also made all the more delicious Michael’s hot mouth latching onto her. He was pleasantly ruthless, as though he had understood she needed it, needed this. He licked, sucked and nibbled, working around Lincoln’s thick fingers for long minutes and keeping this up until the ache became hurt, and the hurt, pain. She panted and held onto Lincoln’s arms, her head thrown back on his shoulder suddenly whipping up when Michael blew a warm, soothing breath across her chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her eyelids and her cheeks. He was whispering, the words only for her even though Lincoln could hear them too. “This isn’t how I had planned this to happen.”
“Because after all that crap, you had hopes for something to happen?”
She was teasing, mocking him kindly. Lincoln grinned and let his hand wander down her stomach. She writhed to press into it. The hand went lower, lower, and fingered her crotch.
“I like this side of her,” he told Michael. “She’s right. You are some entitled bastard if you were hoping to get laid.”
“It wasn’t like...” Michael started to protest, and left it at that, realizing how useless and untimely it was. He shook his head with resignation and helped Lincoln to slip her out of her jeans, both of them groaning in perfect synchronization when the bare curve of her bottom emerged from the stiff fabric - she had washed and put all of her underwear to dry.
She knelt and watched as they shuffled on the bed and undressed one another, her breathing coming out in short puffs. They were right on the other side of too tender with each other, lingering just a bit too long, enjoying it just a bit too much. Michael’s hand ran up his brother’s flank, Lincoln gently swatted his butt. It hardly surprised her when they kissed on the mouth, casting sideway glances at her to gauge her reaction. Her stomach churned but didn’t twist nor make her nauseous. It was another manifestation of the weird and silent complicity they had rather than lust or sexual need. She almost had expected it, this unashamed and slightly provocative display of affection; she reveled in it, her hands absentmindedly skimming over her breasts and hips.
“In my purse, I have...” she began when they turned their whole attention back to her. But Lincoln was already throwing on the bed a string of small foil squares he’d fished out of the back pocket of his pants. Michael crooked an eyebrow at him, amused and sarcastic. Sara shrugged it off. Reassured that technicalities would be taken care of, she straddled Michael high on his stomach, her chest in his face in an obvious invitation to resume his previous ministrations. She canted her hips and pushed her butt up.
“Three years, man,” Lincoln explained as he settled behind her, his knees digging into the bed on each side of his brother’s legs. “I had no intention of missing an opportunity because I’d have lacked supplies.”
Maybe she was not the kind of opportunity he’d had in mind, but she had to commend him for his adaptability.
Strong and fluttering and luscious. She certainly hadn’t anticipated Lincoln licking her there, tasting her like that, greedy and dirty. One long sweep of tongue that sent her mind reeling before he straightened up and shoved into her without ceremony. She remembered just in time Kellerman locked in the room next door and bit into her arm; the sharp cry that was about to escape her was reduced to a gurgle deep inside her throat. Under her, Michael uttered a stern “shh!” and pinched her nipples almost punitively. He craned his neck and scraped his teeth across the skin of her neck, shoulders and breasts. She’d wanted it rough, she got it rough.
She tightened around Lincoln and counted less than six of pulls in and pulls out before he totally lost it. She couldn’t blame him for not holding out longer - she did get the three years thing. What he didn’t give her in that respect, he made up for it with strong, deep thrusts, though, each of them pushing her against Michael. He came hard and fast, his fingers digging into her waist and his hips slapping against her ass. He was still shaking with his release when he leaned down and bore his weight onto her, squashing her between Michael and him. He rumbled a thanks and an apology against the sweaty skin of her back. She twisted her arm back and petted the nearest bulge of muscle she could reach. She wasn’t sure what he apologized for, fucking his baby bother’s not-quite-girlfriend, or how wildly he’d taken her.
Maybe it was another kind of apology that he delivered then; she wouldn’t complain. In one swift move, Lincoln reclined on the bed and he dragged her with him. He laid her on him, her back to his chest, his knees hooking inside of hers and spreading her thighs wide open. Michael got in motion and followed them as if drawn in by a strong thread, eyes gleaming with longing and taking in the spectacle displayed for him.
The cold was a memory. The cold of the room had been rubbed off by their conjugated caresses; the cold inside of her had been pushed down and had shrunk to almost nothing. She moved Lincoln’s hands and Michael’s face to her breasts, pleading with one soft moan.
“They say some women can come from just their breasts being fondled,” Lincoln laughed in her ear. “Want to try and prove the theory, Doc?”
She graced him with a “Smartass” and focused on Michael, who had a knack at multitasking. He pushed slowly and steadily into her while keeping his mouth busy, licking at her breastbone, the side of her boobs and the stiff peaks of her nipples. Her head spun at the over-stimulation. She begged “harder” and “faster”, rolled her hips and tried to wrap her legs around him. And failed to.
Lincoln was still restraining her, pinning her open for Michael’s utmost pleasure, and he wouldn’t let her move her legs. She couldn’t snake them around Michael’s hips, she couldn’t use them to drag him closer, she couldn’t even close them to feel some added and much needed pressure on the inside of her thighs. And her helplessness was both frustrating and turning her on in a disturbing way. Her pants became whines, which turned into moans, which became louder. This time, when Michael grabbed her thighs and pulled her briskly against him, she wasn’t able to bite down a scream.
One of Lincoln’s hands that was still toying with her boobs stole to her mouth and quickly muzzled her. “Keep it quiet, Sara. Do you want Kellerman to hear you?!”
She shook her head into the crook of his neck. She certainly didn’t.
Except for the part of her that did. A lot. The same part that got off on being held down and screwed hard and dirty, skin shiny with saliva and sweat, chaffing from kiss bites and touches and nipping and... just too much. Michael met her eyes and grinned wickedly at what he saw in them. She hadn’t lied to him, he admitted to her, she wasn’t a good girl. Definitely not a good girl.
Good girls finish last.
So she finished before him. Obviously. He followed her with a grunt that he muffled between her shoulder and his brother’s chest. But right before he did, she came with her lips fused to his, her tongue deep in his mouth, and Lincoln’s hands relentlessly tormenting her breasts.
* *
Her bra was in her purse, buried deep under things and stuff, when they left the motel. She hadn’t been able to put it back on, her breasts still sensitive, her nipples red and sore from the deliciously rough treatment they’d been put through. She shivered at the idea of both men being perfectly aware of this because they’d watched her dress and they knew. Michael had kissed the soft swell at the top of her chest through her tee-shirt, and Lincoln had looked the other way.
She settled in the car, pulled her thick wool jacket tight around her and crossed her arms on her chest.
-End-
End note: Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
--Feedback is always welcome.