Fic: Beat Cop - Chapter 2
Title:Beat Cop
Rating:R
Category:Slash, Angst
Characters:Lincoln, Michael/Cop
Author's Notes:First chapter can be found here. This was written also for the February Challenge at foxriver_fic, inspired by (though not strictly for) the Michael/Lincoln non-con pairing. It's not exactly Michael and Lincoln who are paired non-con-ishly. =)
===== Chapter 2: Together =====
Michael is back in his bed as Lincoln wakes up and gets ready to go to work. He desperately wants to stay home and try to help his brother-- the only person he has left after years of running and hiding. He knows what Michael (Well, the *sane* Michael who will actually talk to him) would say about that, though... "Linc, if you don't show up to work, people might notice. The more you are noticed, the more people pay attention to you, and the more people pay attention to you, the greater your chances are of being recognized. Your hair and your clothes can only hide so much." And the unspoken, but ever present: "And if you are recognized, we have to run again." Running had taken its toll on both of them.
---
Lincoln couldn't focus at work. He left as soon as his shift was over, said goodbye to no one, climbed in his nondescript silver civic, and drove home. He swore at a driver who cut him off on the interstate, and was only mildly surprised to note that it was the first word he had uttered since Michael had stormed out the previous night.
---
The first thing Lincoln notices when he walks into the apartment is the smell of soap and the slightly warm, humid air that tells him that the shower has been running. He dares to hope that Michael has recovered, until he walks into the room they share and sees his brother lying, soaking wet, on their bed. He knows that reason and logic are probably the only things that someone as intellectually focused as his brother could be comforted by, but as he is no good at verbalizing either of these things, he does the only thing he can think of.
Lincoln walks over to the bed and sits down next to the sodden, unresponsive form of his brother. When Michael doesn't respond, he reaches down to pull him into the fiercest, most loving hug he can remember ever giving. Michael fights him, initially, trying to escape his brother's strong grip, but it is mere seconds before his movement ceases. Lincoln feels his brother curl up against his chest, hugging himself even closer like Lincoln is the only thing anchoring him to reality. And perhaps he was.
---
Michael was glad that Lincoln didn't want to talk. He was more than inclined to stay here, wrapped securely in the arms of the only person who had ever given a shit about him, and never speak of Jordan again... or how Jordan's fingers had bit into his shoulders as he violated every inch of Michael's being. He had gone along with it, the first few times... it wasn't as if he hadn't made out with other guys in college when he was drunk, and if it kept the nosy cop with the good memory from turning them in, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. He should have known, right from the start, that Jordan was going to want more than that. He should have told Lincoln before it all spiraled out of control. Now he wanted to cross the very line he had vowed never to even approach... the line which he thought separated himself from T-bag and the worst of the inmates in Sona. With every thrust, he imagined himself driving a knife into Jordan's heart. Cutting open the muscled chest he hated himself for admiring and silencing that moaning voice forever. Murder was a line he would not-- could not-- cross, but he could not go on with this any longer. He could still feel the traces Jordan's fingers had made on his chest as they kissed on the couch Lincoln had bought them for Michael's first birthday at the apartment. Could still smell the musky odor of the cop as his mouth worshipped at the altar of his iminent destruction. The only thing that was worse than being fucked up against your own refrigerator as payment for keeping your whereabouts a secret was the face of your brother floating to the forefront of your thoughts as you climax against your will.
But right now, he felt safe. His skin felt clean for the first time in days, and all at once his exhaustion flooded to the surface and he fell, quietly, to sleep.
---
Lincoln felt it when Michael drifted off to sleep. He looked down at the sleeping man in his arms and noticed, all too suddenly, that Michael was still naked. The idea of his naked brother curled up with him scared him far less than he knew it should, and he smiled a little bit to himself. If his arms were the only thing that could calm Michael down, he figured it wouldn't hurt to let him sleep there. He laid back against the pillows on the bed, pulling the sleeping form of his brother along with him. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt Michael shift unconsciously to bring himself into closer contact with his protector. The last thing Lincoln thought before he drifted off to sleep was how right this felt. He knew that, in the morning, Michael would be able to tell him whatever was wrong, and they would face it. Together.
To be continued...
Comments are greatly appreciated!
===== Chapter 2: Together =====
Michael is back in his bed as Lincoln wakes up and gets ready to go to work. He desperately wants to stay home and try to help his brother-- the only person he has left after years of running and hiding. He knows what Michael (Well, the *sane* Michael who will actually talk to him) would say about that, though... "Linc, if you don't show up to work, people might notice. The more you are noticed, the more people pay attention to you, and the more people pay attention to you, the greater your chances are of being recognized. Your hair and your clothes can only hide so much." And the unspoken, but ever present: "And if you are recognized, we have to run again." Running had taken its toll on both of them.
---
Lincoln couldn't focus at work. He left as soon as his shift was over, said goodbye to no one, climbed in his nondescript silver civic, and drove home. He swore at a driver who cut him off on the interstate, and was only mildly surprised to note that it was the first word he had uttered since Michael had stormed out the previous night.
---
The first thing Lincoln notices when he walks into the apartment is the smell of soap and the slightly warm, humid air that tells him that the shower has been running. He dares to hope that Michael has recovered, until he walks into the room they share and sees his brother lying, soaking wet, on their bed. He knows that reason and logic are probably the only things that someone as intellectually focused as his brother could be comforted by, but as he is no good at verbalizing either of these things, he does the only thing he can think of.
Lincoln walks over to the bed and sits down next to the sodden, unresponsive form of his brother. When Michael doesn't respond, he reaches down to pull him into the fiercest, most loving hug he can remember ever giving. Michael fights him, initially, trying to escape his brother's strong grip, but it is mere seconds before his movement ceases. Lincoln feels his brother curl up against his chest, hugging himself even closer like Lincoln is the only thing anchoring him to reality. And perhaps he was.
---
Michael was glad that Lincoln didn't want to talk. He was more than inclined to stay here, wrapped securely in the arms of the only person who had ever given a shit about him, and never speak of Jordan again... or how Jordan's fingers had bit into his shoulders as he violated every inch of Michael's being. He had gone along with it, the first few times... it wasn't as if he hadn't made out with other guys in college when he was drunk, and if it kept the nosy cop with the good memory from turning them in, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. He should have known, right from the start, that Jordan was going to want more than that. He should have told Lincoln before it all spiraled out of control. Now he wanted to cross the very line he had vowed never to even approach... the line which he thought separated himself from T-bag and the worst of the inmates in Sona. With every thrust, he imagined himself driving a knife into Jordan's heart. Cutting open the muscled chest he hated himself for admiring and silencing that moaning voice forever. Murder was a line he would not-- could not-- cross, but he could not go on with this any longer. He could still feel the traces Jordan's fingers had made on his chest as they kissed on the couch Lincoln had bought them for Michael's first birthday at the apartment. Could still smell the musky odor of the cop as his mouth worshipped at the altar of his iminent destruction. The only thing that was worse than being fucked up against your own refrigerator as payment for keeping your whereabouts a secret was the face of your brother floating to the forefront of your thoughts as you climax against your will.
But right now, he felt safe. His skin felt clean for the first time in days, and all at once his exhaustion flooded to the surface and he fell, quietly, to sleep.
---
Lincoln felt it when Michael drifted off to sleep. He looked down at the sleeping man in his arms and noticed, all too suddenly, that Michael was still naked. The idea of his naked brother curled up with him scared him far less than he knew it should, and he smiled a little bit to himself. If his arms were the only thing that could calm Michael down, he figured it wouldn't hurt to let him sleep there. He laid back against the pillows on the bed, pulling the sleeping form of his brother along with him. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt Michael shift unconsciously to bring himself into closer contact with his protector. The last thing Lincoln thought before he drifted off to sleep was how right this felt. He knew that, in the morning, Michael would be able to tell him whatever was wrong, and they would face it. Together.
To be continued...
Comments are greatly appreciated!