Prison Break - Same Difference
Title: Same Difference
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln/Sucre
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 1480
Summary: He’s the one in charge... (Season 2)
Author’s Note: Written for oxoniensis’ Porn Battle XIII: Michael/Lincoln/Sucre and any prompt.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
They manhandle him, but he’s the one in charge.
They move him to his hands and knees or roll him onto his back; they push his thighs open and use his mouth; they force his hips up and his head down. Yet, all the while, he’s the one calling the shots - a word, a look, and they would stop. That’s exhilarating to the point where he doesn’t care that they’re a bit too rough, a bit too demanding, a bit too intense.
-
It started by chance, with Lincoln walking in on Sucre and him. He stood at the door of the room, hands by his sides and lips twitching in a way Michael was familiar with. He stared for a while and eventually asked bluntly, “You’ve been fucking him, Michael?”
They weren’t doing much, an embrace, a kiss, but it was more than enough for Lincoln to draw his conclusion. Jealousy as well as arousal was thick in his tone and painted all over his face, making his eyes hard and shiny. Always possessive his big brother, no matter what he pretended.
“It’s not what...”
Sucre never had the time to finish and say what you think it is, Lincoln because Michael cut him off with a matter-of-factly “Yes”. Most cliché sentence ever, anyway, and it was exactly what Lincoln thought it was: not love, not with Sucre, but sex and comfort and affection. Michael had needed that to go through Fox River.
Sucre tried to move. Lincoln’s big hand gently pinned him to the nearest wall.
“Show me,” he told Michael.
No hesitation or trepidation. Better to face whatever had to be faced rather than grapple with the unknown. Michael tilted his head with interest.
Dread had frozen Sucre’s fine features. Realization of what Michael meant when he’d confessed to have ‘a peculiar relationship’ with Lincoln sank in at the same time that Michael obediently sank to his knees in front of Sucre and Lincoln rubbed his crotch against the back of his brother’s head.
Then Sucre was sliding into the warm velvet of Michael’s mouth, and Lincoln smirked because he knew: who would give a fuck with Michael so eager to pleasure him?
-
They’re kissing. His brother and his former cellmate, they’re kissing, only a few inches from his eyes, and Michael groans low in his throat. He can see everything; Lincoln biting into Sucre’s lips, his tongue pushing in, the way Sucre tries to fight him off before surrendering and opening wide. Lower, Lincoln is stroking Sucre’s erection, a mere brush to keep him as ready as possible, because “Michael deserves a good hard cock, don’t you think, papi?”
Sucre is too freaked out and aroused all at once to either second or contradict him, but Michael wholeheartedly agrees and lets Lincoln move him around and position him to his liking - on his back across the queen-size bed of the motel room, with his head thrown back and his knees parted wide, mouth and ass easily accessible.
“Which end do you want?” Linc asks Sucre the same way a nice host would ask his guest what he wants to drink. It’s crude and it implies that Michael is a body to enjoy, a body Lincoln can dispose of any way he likes, but it sends a pleasant buzz to Michael’s lower back. That’s not one hundred percent wrong, anyway, and he’s offering it to Sucre; it makes sense. The man Michael did all what he did for and the man who helped him accomplish the whole crazy stunt.
“His mouth. I like the way he uses his mouth.”
Sucre whispers, his face is ridiculously red, his voice unsteady, but his dark eyes are firmly fixed on Lincoln’s as he answers. Michael thinks Linc is this close to high-fiving his former cellmate for taking what he wants.
In a fluster of movements, they settle, Sucre above his head, Lincoln between his legs, and next thing Michael knows, they’re sliding into him together as if they’ve done this half of their lives. Deep in his ass, deep in his mouth; he would cry out if he wasn’t choking on a blend of pain-pleasure and over-stimulation.
He pushes back onto Lincoln’s cock, hollows out his cheeks around Sucre’s, and wriggles to get more, feel more of them; tries to reach for his own erection, only to have his wrists grabbed mid-motion and held up by Sucre. He happily yields into the firm grip. Who would have though that sweet Fernando had it in him?
“Nice,” Lincoln approves with a chuckle. “Show him who’s the boss.”
They move in synchronicity. Each pull-out is maddening, almost distressing as Michael feels the searing hot shafts withdraw slowly and threaten to leave him empty and aching; each thrust-in is on the verge of overwhelming, both mentally and physically. It’s everything he needs and a bit more, the care and attention they lay upon him, the sensation of fullness and warmth. As Lincoln raunchily puts it, he’s stuffed with cocks and loving it.
He manages to breathe out “Asshole,” for Lincoln’s benefit when Sucre pulls back and leaves his throat raw and a salty-musky taste on his tongue, but it’s only on the grounds of principle. He does love it.
Loves it when Sucre rubs down against his mouth and chin, loves it when Lincoln pistons faster into him and runs a rough finger up his cock and around the sensitive head where it smears precome. Loves it when Lincoln says in a dirty yet oddly tender voice, “He’s close. Watch that, papi, he’s going to cream himself.”
Sucre, who’s decidedly full of surprises today, leans down, half crouching on top of Michael, and takes him into his mouth. Michael jolts, no matter how securely pinned down he is. He hasn’t seen it coming, Sucre and him locked together that way or how greedily Sucre would suck him off.
He can’t do anything to hold off a bit longer, not with the weight of Sucre’s cock in his mouth, the feel of Sucre’s tongue licking him sloppily, and the press of Lincoln’s cock inside of him. He comes hard and fast, messy, splatters of semen hitting Sucre’s face and mouth.
“Here he goes,” Linc coos triumphantly. He lays his hand on the nape of Sucre’s neck and pounds harder into Michael.
Michael is lax and pliable, sprawling into the mattress, when the two other men pause for an instant. His hands, now free, distractedly touching his cock, he enjoys the sight of Lincoln kissing come off Sucre’s mouth and cheeks. They don’t give him much time to recover. Soon enough, they handle him, shift him, drag him up on his hands and knees, and they’re thrusting into ass and mouth again, chasing after their own pleasure. He whimpers with oversensitivity but can’t help shuddering long and slow as they fill him again. His cock is still hard, jerks and pulses out a late rope of come.
Lincoln grins and holds out his hand for Sucre’s inspection. No word needed, they know they have him. They can do anything and everything to him, fuck him all day-long, and he will still bend over for them.
Sucre lets go a mere second before Lincoln does. Michael clenches and tightens around them, eyes screwed shut in bliss, welcoming their ultimate frenzied thrusts. Lost in their lust and in his willingness, they’ve forgotten any form of restraint by now, and all but bounce him between them as they ram in and out of him.
Maybe they signal to each other; maybe the way he arches his back, needy and wanton, is the last straw for them. Come gushes into him from both ends at the same time, thick and sticky, overflowing and pushed back in right away with appreciative grunts.
Something burns fierce and low in his belly; it feels like a second release.
-
Later, Lincoln bends down and kisses a series of round bruises on his hip where he squeezed too hard. On his other side, Sucre watches and bites his lips, torn between guilt and concupiscence.
“Too much?” Lincoln asks. He slides down his thigh and skims over his half-asleep cock. The wet warm breaths makes it twitch. “Or not enough?” he adds.
Yes. They may fuck him hard and dirty and use him or take him as sweet and nice as ever, care about their pleasure first or cater to his, but in the end, they’ll do it on his terms because they care about him, about what he wants and needs.
And under these circumstances, ‘too much’ or ‘not enough’ doesn’t matter. Same difference.
He smiles secretively and drags Lincoln up into a kiss.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome :)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln/Sucre
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 1480
Summary: He’s the one in charge... (Season 2)
Author’s Note: Written for oxoniensis’ Porn Battle XIII: Michael/Lincoln/Sucre and any prompt.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
They manhandle him, but he’s the one in charge.
They move him to his hands and knees or roll him onto his back; they push his thighs open and use his mouth; they force his hips up and his head down. Yet, all the while, he’s the one calling the shots - a word, a look, and they would stop. That’s exhilarating to the point where he doesn’t care that they’re a bit too rough, a bit too demanding, a bit too intense.
-
It started by chance, with Lincoln walking in on Sucre and him. He stood at the door of the room, hands by his sides and lips twitching in a way Michael was familiar with. He stared for a while and eventually asked bluntly, “You’ve been fucking him, Michael?”
They weren’t doing much, an embrace, a kiss, but it was more than enough for Lincoln to draw his conclusion. Jealousy as well as arousal was thick in his tone and painted all over his face, making his eyes hard and shiny. Always possessive his big brother, no matter what he pretended.
“It’s not what...”
Sucre never had the time to finish and say what you think it is, Lincoln because Michael cut him off with a matter-of-factly “Yes”. Most cliché sentence ever, anyway, and it was exactly what Lincoln thought it was: not love, not with Sucre, but sex and comfort and affection. Michael had needed that to go through Fox River.
Sucre tried to move. Lincoln’s big hand gently pinned him to the nearest wall.
“Show me,” he told Michael.
No hesitation or trepidation. Better to face whatever had to be faced rather than grapple with the unknown. Michael tilted his head with interest.
Dread had frozen Sucre’s fine features. Realization of what Michael meant when he’d confessed to have ‘a peculiar relationship’ with Lincoln sank in at the same time that Michael obediently sank to his knees in front of Sucre and Lincoln rubbed his crotch against the back of his brother’s head.
Then Sucre was sliding into the warm velvet of Michael’s mouth, and Lincoln smirked because he knew: who would give a fuck with Michael so eager to pleasure him?
-
They’re kissing. His brother and his former cellmate, they’re kissing, only a few inches from his eyes, and Michael groans low in his throat. He can see everything; Lincoln biting into Sucre’s lips, his tongue pushing in, the way Sucre tries to fight him off before surrendering and opening wide. Lower, Lincoln is stroking Sucre’s erection, a mere brush to keep him as ready as possible, because “Michael deserves a good hard cock, don’t you think, papi?”
Sucre is too freaked out and aroused all at once to either second or contradict him, but Michael wholeheartedly agrees and lets Lincoln move him around and position him to his liking - on his back across the queen-size bed of the motel room, with his head thrown back and his knees parted wide, mouth and ass easily accessible.
“Which end do you want?” Linc asks Sucre the same way a nice host would ask his guest what he wants to drink. It’s crude and it implies that Michael is a body to enjoy, a body Lincoln can dispose of any way he likes, but it sends a pleasant buzz to Michael’s lower back. That’s not one hundred percent wrong, anyway, and he’s offering it to Sucre; it makes sense. The man Michael did all what he did for and the man who helped him accomplish the whole crazy stunt.
“His mouth. I like the way he uses his mouth.”
Sucre whispers, his face is ridiculously red, his voice unsteady, but his dark eyes are firmly fixed on Lincoln’s as he answers. Michael thinks Linc is this close to high-fiving his former cellmate for taking what he wants.
In a fluster of movements, they settle, Sucre above his head, Lincoln between his legs, and next thing Michael knows, they’re sliding into him together as if they’ve done this half of their lives. Deep in his ass, deep in his mouth; he would cry out if he wasn’t choking on a blend of pain-pleasure and over-stimulation.
He pushes back onto Lincoln’s cock, hollows out his cheeks around Sucre’s, and wriggles to get more, feel more of them; tries to reach for his own erection, only to have his wrists grabbed mid-motion and held up by Sucre. He happily yields into the firm grip. Who would have though that sweet Fernando had it in him?
“Nice,” Lincoln approves with a chuckle. “Show him who’s the boss.”
They move in synchronicity. Each pull-out is maddening, almost distressing as Michael feels the searing hot shafts withdraw slowly and threaten to leave him empty and aching; each thrust-in is on the verge of overwhelming, both mentally and physically. It’s everything he needs and a bit more, the care and attention they lay upon him, the sensation of fullness and warmth. As Lincoln raunchily puts it, he’s stuffed with cocks and loving it.
He manages to breathe out “Asshole,” for Lincoln’s benefit when Sucre pulls back and leaves his throat raw and a salty-musky taste on his tongue, but it’s only on the grounds of principle. He does love it.
Loves it when Sucre rubs down against his mouth and chin, loves it when Lincoln pistons faster into him and runs a rough finger up his cock and around the sensitive head where it smears precome. Loves it when Lincoln says in a dirty yet oddly tender voice, “He’s close. Watch that, papi, he’s going to cream himself.”
Sucre, who’s decidedly full of surprises today, leans down, half crouching on top of Michael, and takes him into his mouth. Michael jolts, no matter how securely pinned down he is. He hasn’t seen it coming, Sucre and him locked together that way or how greedily Sucre would suck him off.
He can’t do anything to hold off a bit longer, not with the weight of Sucre’s cock in his mouth, the feel of Sucre’s tongue licking him sloppily, and the press of Lincoln’s cock inside of him. He comes hard and fast, messy, splatters of semen hitting Sucre’s face and mouth.
“Here he goes,” Linc coos triumphantly. He lays his hand on the nape of Sucre’s neck and pounds harder into Michael.
Michael is lax and pliable, sprawling into the mattress, when the two other men pause for an instant. His hands, now free, distractedly touching his cock, he enjoys the sight of Lincoln kissing come off Sucre’s mouth and cheeks. They don’t give him much time to recover. Soon enough, they handle him, shift him, drag him up on his hands and knees, and they’re thrusting into ass and mouth again, chasing after their own pleasure. He whimpers with oversensitivity but can’t help shuddering long and slow as they fill him again. His cock is still hard, jerks and pulses out a late rope of come.
Lincoln grins and holds out his hand for Sucre’s inspection. No word needed, they know they have him. They can do anything and everything to him, fuck him all day-long, and he will still bend over for them.
Sucre lets go a mere second before Lincoln does. Michael clenches and tightens around them, eyes screwed shut in bliss, welcoming their ultimate frenzied thrusts. Lost in their lust and in his willingness, they’ve forgotten any form of restraint by now, and all but bounce him between them as they ram in and out of him.
Maybe they signal to each other; maybe the way he arches his back, needy and wanton, is the last straw for them. Come gushes into him from both ends at the same time, thick and sticky, overflowing and pushed back in right away with appreciative grunts.
Something burns fierce and low in his belly; it feels like a second release.
-
Later, Lincoln bends down and kisses a series of round bruises on his hip where he squeezed too hard. On his other side, Sucre watches and bites his lips, torn between guilt and concupiscence.
“Too much?” Lincoln asks. He slides down his thigh and skims over his half-asleep cock. The wet warm breaths makes it twitch. “Or not enough?” he adds.
Yes. They may fuck him hard and dirty and use him or take him as sweet and nice as ever, care about their pleasure first or cater to his, but in the end, they’ll do it on his terms because they care about him, about what he wants and needs.
And under these circumstances, ‘too much’ or ‘not enough’ doesn’t matter. Same difference.
He smiles secretively and drags Lincoln up into a kiss.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome :)