Prison Break - Painting the Picture
Title: Painting the Picture
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Lincoln/Sara, Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Category: Het
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 1400
Summary: The dark grey lace is a gift for him. (Post-series, alternate canon)
Author’s Note: This can be read as an independent story or as a part of the Sum of the Parts ‘verse. Written for rounds-of-kink’s Halloween mini-round.
Prompts and kinks for rounds-of-kink: Lace, Charcoal; Physical responses, Coming without being touched, might work for Hand fetishization too.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
The dark grey lace is a gift for him. Sara rarely bothers with anything else but plain cotton, but she knew he would relish the visual, and he does. So much.
Another gift for him; the picture Lincoln and she are painting. He can envision it. Maybe he will draw it later, after, when they’re done. He will pick up a large creamy white piece of paper, a fresh box of charcoals and draw it; draw them, wanton and debauched and beautiful.
They lie on the bed, Sara’s back to Lincoln’s chest, his legs pinning down and holding hers wide open. Even from where Michael sits a couple of feet away, he can smell the spicy scent of her arousal and see the wet, darker spot on the delicate lace of her panties.
He breathes in synchronization with her; faster and faster, almost panting.
Lincoln’s big hands slide down her body, careful and thorough in this unique way of Lincoln’s - one would think he touches and grabs mindlessly, and one would be wrong. He knows what she likes and what will make her strung out almost as well as Michael does; he always relishes bringing her to the edge and catching her when she finally falls.
Her eyes bore into Michael’s, inviting and amused all at once, as Lincoln eases one index finger into the crease of her cleavage. Her bra pushes her breasts together, making them even rounder, and the gesture added to Lincoln’s grin is enough to make Michael shift in his seat. Linc spreads his fingers, cups her and strokes her until her nipples are clearly visible through the scant fabric.
“More?” he asks her.
Michael answers for her. A nod, a ‘yes’, a ‘drive her crazy’.
She rolls her hips and tries to arch up, but Lincoln’s thighs are strong and unrelenting around her, and they hold her down. Michael licks his lower lip. He would swear that wet spot on her panties is growing larger and messier by the second. He can imagine her flesh throbbing, the entrance to her body clenching and unclenching, twitching with want beneath the thin veil of the lace. He marvels that Lincoln has the restraint to take it slow, and he mentally thanks him for that. No need to rush anything.
They paint the most perfect picture for him. Lincoln in falsely neglected linen pants and shirt; Sara, all glossy skin, fancy underwear, and offered body writhing in tempo with Lincoln’s teasing and ministrations.
They kiss. Michael has a love-hate relationship with the way they kiss. Sara kisses Lincoln with almost the same abandon and affection with which she kisses him. He equally loathes and adores that she doesn’t want Lincoln quite as much as she wants him.
Linc forces her thighs to spread wider and, in doing so, presses her butt into his crotch. The two of them jolt at the sensation. Michael follows their lead because he’s only human, and how could he not move restlessly when they taunt him that way?
“Would you like him to fuck me?” Sara offers in a low voice.
Lincoln’s fingers linger on her breastbone, skim across her belly and dance on the edge of her underwear. The panties hug her hips and go all the way up to her waist. Michael loves that they’re not the tiny, minimalist kind, but actually cover some skin. It makes the mental - and soon, very real - image of Lincoln’s large hand pushing into them even tastier.
He shakes his head to answer Sara’s question. Not tonight; not for now, anyway. Her first. It’s her who he wants to see lose it, beg and drip with pleasure. Lincoln gives him a dirty, knowing wink, and palms her through the lace, a light touch to give her a taste of what’s going to happen. His fingers trace her contours, play with the elastic band of her underwear, and retreat at the last second. Sara moans at the loss; Michael moans too, as needy as her.
“Michael...” Lincoln shakes his head and smirks. “You knew what you were asking for.”
He did know. Watching one of them messing with the other is as maddening, and in the end as satisfying if not more, as Sara messing with him.
Lincoln draws slow ellipses on the stretched fabric of her panties, scratching with his nails every now and then. Sara’s not watching Michael anymore; too far gone. Head thrown back, eyes half closed, she rubs down against Lincoln and utters soft sighs and long whimpers. She’s still nice and sweet; she won’t stay that way for long. Soon enough, she will throw curses and demands that Lincoln will be all too happy to meet.
“Go for it,” Michael tells his brother.
Sara hears him. Her whole body ripples at the prospect and she looks up. They both look up and watch him as Lincoln slips his hand under the lace and finds his way into her panties. After having performed the same caress on her countless times, Michael knows how warm and slick she is, how good and smooth she feels. Lincoln has no qualms reminding him of it, anyway, telling him how damp and ready and eager for it she is. His hand stretches the flimsy lace in a deliciously obscene way. He moves and repositions his fingers. From the way Sara gasps and shifts, Michael can tell when Linc pushes two digits into her, adds a third and circles her clit with his thumb. Not original, but oh so efficient.
She reaches up for Lincoln, wraps an arm around his neck and pulls him closer to her face, searches for his mouth and kisses him again. She’s close, whole body flushed and sweaty, rising and falling. Lincoln pushes her further, strokes deeper and faster, his free hand toying with her breasts, scratching her stomach or tenderly touching the nape of her neck. Michael holds onto the edges of his armchair, this close to doing... something; anything.
Lincoln twists his wrist and chuckles at Sara’s shout and at Michael’s soft expletives.
“I’m going to make you pay for this,” Sara rasps.
Michael doesn’t know whether she means Lincoln or includes both of them, but that doesn’t matter; the prospect is mouth-watering all the same, and he can’t help it anymore. He gets up from his seat, moves forward to the bed and crouches between their tangled legs. He aims straight for Sara’s thighs, covered with salty moisture, licks and kisses her greedily before moving onto Lincoln’s hand. He finds the exact spot where the thick fingers are buried deep into her and he latches onto it through the soaked lace; feasts on the familiar taste of Sara mingled with that of Lincoln’s skin.
He hears Lincoln’s threat-promise to fuck her into the mattress until she screams and make Michael watch, later; he hears her moans morphing into cries; he feels her coming, wet and messy on Lincoln’s hand, bucking irrepressibly and almost forcing Lincoln to relinquish his hold on her.
Michael comes too, from Sara’s pleasure and Lincoln’s dirty overtures and demands, without anyone having to touch him, not even himself. The moistness spreads, soaks his boxers and stains the light fabric of his pants. He blinks, startled and wondering at the same time why it surprises him - he knows what kind of effect they have on him, each of them and all the more when they’re together. It feels exhilarating to come undone so easily through them. He keeps kissing Lincoln’s hand and Sara’s groin, leaning into their combined caress when their fingers cup the back of his head and stroke his face.
He straightens up and sits back into his armchair to watch them kiss again; those damn kisses that, even after he came, send warm sparks down his spine.
“You owe me one,” Lincoln grumbles. He adjusts himself and shifts Sara on top of him to ease the pressure on his lower stomach.
She doesn’t bother helping him; she cares even less about last shreds of modesty and closing her legs. She lies there, exposed to Lincoln’s wandering hands and Michael’s hungry eyes. She smiles lazily at him, sated and complicit. Lincoln gives him a pointed look, one meaning that in five minutes or in five hours, when Sara is up for it, she’d better finish what they started.
That’s another appealing picture Michael would crave to gaze at and draw.
-End-
--Feedback is always welcome :)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Lincoln/Sara, Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Category: Het
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 1400
Summary: The dark grey lace is a gift for him. (Post-series, alternate canon)
Author’s Note: This can be read as an independent story or as a part of the Sum of the Parts ‘verse. Written for rounds-of-kink’s Halloween mini-round.
Prompts and kinks for rounds-of-kink: Lace, Charcoal; Physical responses, Coming without being touched, might work for Hand fetishization too.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
The dark grey lace is a gift for him. Sara rarely bothers with anything else but plain cotton, but she knew he would relish the visual, and he does. So much.
Another gift for him; the picture Lincoln and she are painting. He can envision it. Maybe he will draw it later, after, when they’re done. He will pick up a large creamy white piece of paper, a fresh box of charcoals and draw it; draw them, wanton and debauched and beautiful.
They lie on the bed, Sara’s back to Lincoln’s chest, his legs pinning down and holding hers wide open. Even from where Michael sits a couple of feet away, he can smell the spicy scent of her arousal and see the wet, darker spot on the delicate lace of her panties.
He breathes in synchronization with her; faster and faster, almost panting.
Lincoln’s big hands slide down her body, careful and thorough in this unique way of Lincoln’s - one would think he touches and grabs mindlessly, and one would be wrong. He knows what she likes and what will make her strung out almost as well as Michael does; he always relishes bringing her to the edge and catching her when she finally falls.
Her eyes bore into Michael’s, inviting and amused all at once, as Lincoln eases one index finger into the crease of her cleavage. Her bra pushes her breasts together, making them even rounder, and the gesture added to Lincoln’s grin is enough to make Michael shift in his seat. Linc spreads his fingers, cups her and strokes her until her nipples are clearly visible through the scant fabric.
“More?” he asks her.
Michael answers for her. A nod, a ‘yes’, a ‘drive her crazy’.
She rolls her hips and tries to arch up, but Lincoln’s thighs are strong and unrelenting around her, and they hold her down. Michael licks his lower lip. He would swear that wet spot on her panties is growing larger and messier by the second. He can imagine her flesh throbbing, the entrance to her body clenching and unclenching, twitching with want beneath the thin veil of the lace. He marvels that Lincoln has the restraint to take it slow, and he mentally thanks him for that. No need to rush anything.
They paint the most perfect picture for him. Lincoln in falsely neglected linen pants and shirt; Sara, all glossy skin, fancy underwear, and offered body writhing in tempo with Lincoln’s teasing and ministrations.
They kiss. Michael has a love-hate relationship with the way they kiss. Sara kisses Lincoln with almost the same abandon and affection with which she kisses him. He equally loathes and adores that she doesn’t want Lincoln quite as much as she wants him.
Linc forces her thighs to spread wider and, in doing so, presses her butt into his crotch. The two of them jolt at the sensation. Michael follows their lead because he’s only human, and how could he not move restlessly when they taunt him that way?
“Would you like him to fuck me?” Sara offers in a low voice.
Lincoln’s fingers linger on her breastbone, skim across her belly and dance on the edge of her underwear. The panties hug her hips and go all the way up to her waist. Michael loves that they’re not the tiny, minimalist kind, but actually cover some skin. It makes the mental - and soon, very real - image of Lincoln’s large hand pushing into them even tastier.
He shakes his head to answer Sara’s question. Not tonight; not for now, anyway. Her first. It’s her who he wants to see lose it, beg and drip with pleasure. Lincoln gives him a dirty, knowing wink, and palms her through the lace, a light touch to give her a taste of what’s going to happen. His fingers trace her contours, play with the elastic band of her underwear, and retreat at the last second. Sara moans at the loss; Michael moans too, as needy as her.
“Michael...” Lincoln shakes his head and smirks. “You knew what you were asking for.”
He did know. Watching one of them messing with the other is as maddening, and in the end as satisfying if not more, as Sara messing with him.
Lincoln draws slow ellipses on the stretched fabric of her panties, scratching with his nails every now and then. Sara’s not watching Michael anymore; too far gone. Head thrown back, eyes half closed, she rubs down against Lincoln and utters soft sighs and long whimpers. She’s still nice and sweet; she won’t stay that way for long. Soon enough, she will throw curses and demands that Lincoln will be all too happy to meet.
“Go for it,” Michael tells his brother.
Sara hears him. Her whole body ripples at the prospect and she looks up. They both look up and watch him as Lincoln slips his hand under the lace and finds his way into her panties. After having performed the same caress on her countless times, Michael knows how warm and slick she is, how good and smooth she feels. Lincoln has no qualms reminding him of it, anyway, telling him how damp and ready and eager for it she is. His hand stretches the flimsy lace in a deliciously obscene way. He moves and repositions his fingers. From the way Sara gasps and shifts, Michael can tell when Linc pushes two digits into her, adds a third and circles her clit with his thumb. Not original, but oh so efficient.
She reaches up for Lincoln, wraps an arm around his neck and pulls him closer to her face, searches for his mouth and kisses him again. She’s close, whole body flushed and sweaty, rising and falling. Lincoln pushes her further, strokes deeper and faster, his free hand toying with her breasts, scratching her stomach or tenderly touching the nape of her neck. Michael holds onto the edges of his armchair, this close to doing... something; anything.
Lincoln twists his wrist and chuckles at Sara’s shout and at Michael’s soft expletives.
“I’m going to make you pay for this,” Sara rasps.
Michael doesn’t know whether she means Lincoln or includes both of them, but that doesn’t matter; the prospect is mouth-watering all the same, and he can’t help it anymore. He gets up from his seat, moves forward to the bed and crouches between their tangled legs. He aims straight for Sara’s thighs, covered with salty moisture, licks and kisses her greedily before moving onto Lincoln’s hand. He finds the exact spot where the thick fingers are buried deep into her and he latches onto it through the soaked lace; feasts on the familiar taste of Sara mingled with that of Lincoln’s skin.
He hears Lincoln’s threat-promise to fuck her into the mattress until she screams and make Michael watch, later; he hears her moans morphing into cries; he feels her coming, wet and messy on Lincoln’s hand, bucking irrepressibly and almost forcing Lincoln to relinquish his hold on her.
Michael comes too, from Sara’s pleasure and Lincoln’s dirty overtures and demands, without anyone having to touch him, not even himself. The moistness spreads, soaks his boxers and stains the light fabric of his pants. He blinks, startled and wondering at the same time why it surprises him - he knows what kind of effect they have on him, each of them and all the more when they’re together. It feels exhilarating to come undone so easily through them. He keeps kissing Lincoln’s hand and Sara’s groin, leaning into their combined caress when their fingers cup the back of his head and stroke his face.
He straightens up and sits back into his armchair to watch them kiss again; those damn kisses that, even after he came, send warm sparks down his spine.
“You owe me one,” Lincoln grumbles. He adjusts himself and shifts Sara on top of him to ease the pressure on his lower stomach.
She doesn’t bother helping him; she cares even less about last shreds of modesty and closing her legs. She lies there, exposed to Lincoln’s wandering hands and Michael’s hungry eyes. She smiles lazily at him, sated and complicit. Lincoln gives him a pointed look, one meaning that in five minutes or in five hours, when Sara is up for it, she’d better finish what they started.
That’s another appealing picture Michael would crave to gaze at and draw.
-End-
--Feedback is always welcome :)