Key Lime - Michael/Sara - NC-17
Title: Key Lime
Fandom: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Universe
Characters: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Length: 1,852 words
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lick. Sip. Suck. What could possibly be complicated about that?
Author's Note:Written for the Bottoms Up Challenge at pbhiatus_fic and my first foray into the lovely universe at pbinanotherlife. Set a few weeks after #222 (the #222 in my head, obviously, not the one that actually appeared on the screen) and will eventually be a companion to a more serious story. /rambles.
~*~
Tequila is the preferred drink of outlaws. ~ Tom Robbins
There are many days when he mourns the spacious layout of the Christina Rose. Their current vessel is totally seaworthy, but it is cramped and uninspiring, and there are times when he feels as though there’s not enough air to breathe. But as Sara strokes her fingertips down the sole of his right foot, her eyes sparkling with mischief, that doesn’t seem to matter.
“What do you mean you never went to Spring Break?”
“I was volunteering at the shelter most of the time.” His foot twitching pleasantly in her lap, he stretches his arms above his head as he gives her a lazy smile. “I’m surprised that Governor Tancredi let his impressionable young daughter indulge in such antics.”
“Ah, well,” she murmurs, her fingernails now grazing the sensitive tops of his feet. “There were a lot of things the Governor didn’t know about his daughter’s college life.”
He glances across the small cabin to where his brother is stretched out on the other bunk, snoring softly. They’ve been on the move since early that morning, traveling towards their rendezvous point with LJ and Jane, and the late afternoon heat is pleasantly oppressive. He and Sara had moored the boat almost an hour ago, but Michael hadn’t had the heart to wake his brother. Feeling the delicate brush of Sara’s fingers over the insteps of his feet, he can’t help regretting the decision.
“Such as?” His head is suddenly filled with all the media footage he’s ever seen of Spring Break, his imagination implanting Sara squarely in the midst of the drunken, half-naked mayhem, and he shifts restlessly on the narrow bunk.
Her slow, secretive smile doesn’t help matters. “Oh, you know. The usual things. Wet t-shirt competitions, hot tubbing, body shots.”
The blood circulating his body does an abrupt detour, making a beeline for his groin. Christ, would he ever stop reacting like a teenaged boy when it came to her? “Seriously?”
She laughs softly, casting a wary eye across the cabin towards the other bunk. “Well, body shots anyway.”
He raises his eyebrows at her. “What’s a body shot?”
She teasingly mirrors the gesture, one elegantly shaped eyebrow quirking. “And to think I once had you pegged as a player, Scofield.”
He flushes. “Not my fault if I was too busy doing good deeds.”
She smirks. “You know how to do a tequila shot, I assume?”
He nods. “Sure.”
Wrapping her hands around his ankles, she leans towards him, her t-shirt-clad breasts pressing softly against his toes. “Well, in the interests of filling in the gaps of your social education, a body shot is when one person - let’s call them Person A - takes a shot of tequila while the other person - who will have to be Person B, of course - puts a wedge of lime between their teeth.”
His pulse does an odd little jig, suspecting he knows exactly where this story is going. “Okay.”
“So, then Person A licks Person B somewhere, say on their neck or their stomach or -” She pauses delicately, then continues in a mild, almost professional tone, sounding for all the world as though she’s discussing a patient report, “or wherever else might be available.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Person A sprinkles salt on the damp place they’ve just licked on Person B, then Person A licks the salt, throws back the shot of tequila, then sucks on the lime wedge.”
He studies her carefully, a dozen tiny details flashing through his mind. The way her hands are fluttering against his ankles, the faint flush of colour creeping up her chest to her neck, the almost feverish glitter in her toffee coloured eyes. “I have one question for you.”
She looks at him. “What?”
“Are there any limes on this boat?”
As she laughs, Lincoln suddenly clears his throat very loudly on the other side of the cabin. “Where are we?”
Michael darts a faintly embarrassed glance at Sara, then hastily brings his brother up to speed. “We hit La Peñita about an hour ago.”
“Cool.” Lincoln’s feet hit the floor with a loud thud. “I’m going ashore for a while, kids.”
Any other day, Michael would have offered to go with him, but it’s been days since he and Sara had a moment alone. They’ve made love precisely four times, and the thought of bumping their tally up to five is more than enough to keep him on board. “Stay out of trouble,” he tells his brother cheerfully, and Lincoln smirks at him over his shoulder.
“I could say the same to you, man.”
There are limes on the boat. There is also half a bottle of tequila.
Leaning in the doorway to the cramped sleeping compartment, Sara watches him, her expression a mixture of amusement and anticipation, as he uses the only sharp knife to cut the lime into wedges, then unearths the salt shaker from the small cupboard in the galley. As he reaches for two small glasses, she moves to stand beside him, slipping her arms around his waist. “None for me, thanks,” she murmurs, the words hot against his throat.
He pauses, the second glass already in his grasp. “You sure?”
She nods with a jerk of her head, and he feels the spectre of the past lurking at the edges of the sanctuary they’ve built for themselves. Turning his head, he presses a lingering kiss to her temple, inhaling the scent of her hair. “More for me, then.”
Her soft laugh ripples across his skin, then she’s kissing him, her tongue teasing his bottom lip before sliding deep into his mouth, sending a bolt of raw lust straight to his groin. Fitting her hips against his, she arches into him in silent, sweet invitation, then slides her mouth to his jaw, her teeth gently nipping his chin. “Hand me the salt, college boy.”
He grins, his pulse spiking. “Why do I have the feeling that’s not the first time you’ve said that?”
She takes his earlobe between her teeth as her right hand gropes for one of the lime wedges. “It’s the first time I’ve said it to you,” she says simply, as though that should be enough of an explanation, and strangely enough, it is.
Feeling as though he’s already downed several shots of tequila, he follows her instructions carefully, ignoring her teasing remarks about his habit of turning everything into a science experiment. When he presses her back against the small table and runs his tongue up the length of her pale throat, tasting sweat and the faint traces of sandalwood soap, she falls silent, save for a tremulous sigh.
“Uh, okay, step two?” Her hand is shaking as she hands him the salt shaker, tilting her head to one side as he sprinkles the white crystals on her skin, then putting the lime wedge between her teeth. “Ready?” she asks in a muffled voice, and he lifts his glass of tequila in a playful toast.
“Here’s to filling in the gaps in my social education.”
She rolls her eyes, then he licks the salt from her throat, deliberately tasting her skin in a long, slow slide, and she shivers despite the heat. His eyes lock with hers as he throws back the generous shot of tequila, the salty burn of it barely washing over his tongue before he puts his mouth on hers, sucking gently on the lime between her teeth. The pure alcohol explodes hotly in the pit of his stomach as her hands come up to clutch at his shoulders, then the lime wedge is gone and she’s kissing him hungrily, her hands sliding down his back to grip his hips tightly, and he can no longer tell the difference between the buzz from the alcohol and the buzz from her. After a few minutes, he pulls away with what feels like a Herculean effort, studying her passion-dazed expression with immense satisfaction. “I like step four.”
Her eyes are glowing. “So do I.”
Without saying another word, she smiles and puts her hands on his chest, shoving him none too gently in the direction of the sleeping compartment. Never one to be slow on the uptake, he quickly complies, pulling his t-shirt over his head before reaching for the hem of hers, helping her peel it up and over her head. His mouth, still on fire from the cheap tequila, goes dry at the sight of her, all creamy skin and curves barely concealed by her simple cotton bra. He has enough time to kiss the hollow between her breasts, then she’s pushing him backwards onto the bunk and kneeling between his legs. Her hands go to the drawstring of his shorts, her eyes gleaming with an intent that makes what’s left of his thought processes grind to a sudden halt.
“When you’re doing the other steps, you get real good at finding ways to adapt,” she tells him with a heated smile, then she bends down and licks his stomach, her tongue teasing his navel before trailing downwards and oh, my God he can’t believe she’s doing this now and he’s suddenly afraid he’s about to wake up in his cell in Fox River. He doesn’t, of course, and when the slick warmth of her mouth engulfs him, the breath leaves his lungs in a loud woosh, his hips arching off the bunk, his right hand scrambling for purchase on the smooth wall beside him. “Dear God.”
She chuckles, her laughter vibrating through his flesh, then he closes his eyes as she touches him, her hands cupping and kneading, the feel of her tongue and her teeth driving him to the point of seeing red behind his eyelids, his pulse slamming through his veins. Her breasts brush against his thighs with every breath she takes, making every hair on his body stand on end. A tiny voice in the back of his head is whispering that they don’t have enough time to do everything they want to do and he desperately needs to be inside her before it’s too late. Not quite believing he’s doing this and knowing he’ll probably hate himself for it later, he tangles his hands in her hair, gently lifting her head.
She looks at him in surprise, her softly parted lips swollen and faintly reddened. “Hmm?”
He smiles at her, feeling as though his heart is about to pound clean through his chest. “Come here.”
Grinning, she shuffles up the narrow bunk on her knees, the lean muscles of her arms flexing as she reaches back to unhook her bra. Well used to racing against the clock, they quickly dispose of her shorts and underpants, then she’s pressed against him, all warm smooth skin and intriguing hollows, making him shudder with delight. Her long legs wrapped around his waist, he slides into the slick heat of her body in one smooth thrust, her gasp of pleasure making his head spin more than any tequila possibly could. Bending his head to hers, he kisses her, tasting lime and salt and musky heat, and he knows he doesn’t need the Christina Rose to feel as though he’s truly free.
~*~
Fandom: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Universe
Characters: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Length: 1,852 words
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lick. Sip. Suck. What could possibly be complicated about that?
Author's Note:Written for the Bottoms Up Challenge at pbhiatus_fic and my first foray into the lovely universe at pbinanotherlife. Set a few weeks after #222 (the #222 in my head, obviously, not the one that actually appeared on the screen) and will eventually be a companion to a more serious story. /rambles.
~*~
Tequila is the preferred drink of outlaws. ~ Tom Robbins
There are many days when he mourns the spacious layout of the Christina Rose. Their current vessel is totally seaworthy, but it is cramped and uninspiring, and there are times when he feels as though there’s not enough air to breathe. But as Sara strokes her fingertips down the sole of his right foot, her eyes sparkling with mischief, that doesn’t seem to matter.
“What do you mean you never went to Spring Break?”
“I was volunteering at the shelter most of the time.” His foot twitching pleasantly in her lap, he stretches his arms above his head as he gives her a lazy smile. “I’m surprised that Governor Tancredi let his impressionable young daughter indulge in such antics.”
“Ah, well,” she murmurs, her fingernails now grazing the sensitive tops of his feet. “There were a lot of things the Governor didn’t know about his daughter’s college life.”
He glances across the small cabin to where his brother is stretched out on the other bunk, snoring softly. They’ve been on the move since early that morning, traveling towards their rendezvous point with LJ and Jane, and the late afternoon heat is pleasantly oppressive. He and Sara had moored the boat almost an hour ago, but Michael hadn’t had the heart to wake his brother. Feeling the delicate brush of Sara’s fingers over the insteps of his feet, he can’t help regretting the decision.
“Such as?” His head is suddenly filled with all the media footage he’s ever seen of Spring Break, his imagination implanting Sara squarely in the midst of the drunken, half-naked mayhem, and he shifts restlessly on the narrow bunk.
Her slow, secretive smile doesn’t help matters. “Oh, you know. The usual things. Wet t-shirt competitions, hot tubbing, body shots.”
The blood circulating his body does an abrupt detour, making a beeline for his groin. Christ, would he ever stop reacting like a teenaged boy when it came to her? “Seriously?”
She laughs softly, casting a wary eye across the cabin towards the other bunk. “Well, body shots anyway.”
He raises his eyebrows at her. “What’s a body shot?”
She teasingly mirrors the gesture, one elegantly shaped eyebrow quirking. “And to think I once had you pegged as a player, Scofield.”
He flushes. “Not my fault if I was too busy doing good deeds.”
She smirks. “You know how to do a tequila shot, I assume?”
He nods. “Sure.”
Wrapping her hands around his ankles, she leans towards him, her t-shirt-clad breasts pressing softly against his toes. “Well, in the interests of filling in the gaps of your social education, a body shot is when one person - let’s call them Person A - takes a shot of tequila while the other person - who will have to be Person B, of course - puts a wedge of lime between their teeth.”
His pulse does an odd little jig, suspecting he knows exactly where this story is going. “Okay.”
“So, then Person A licks Person B somewhere, say on their neck or their stomach or -” She pauses delicately, then continues in a mild, almost professional tone, sounding for all the world as though she’s discussing a patient report, “or wherever else might be available.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Person A sprinkles salt on the damp place they’ve just licked on Person B, then Person A licks the salt, throws back the shot of tequila, then sucks on the lime wedge.”
He studies her carefully, a dozen tiny details flashing through his mind. The way her hands are fluttering against his ankles, the faint flush of colour creeping up her chest to her neck, the almost feverish glitter in her toffee coloured eyes. “I have one question for you.”
She looks at him. “What?”
“Are there any limes on this boat?”
As she laughs, Lincoln suddenly clears his throat very loudly on the other side of the cabin. “Where are we?”
Michael darts a faintly embarrassed glance at Sara, then hastily brings his brother up to speed. “We hit La Peñita about an hour ago.”
“Cool.” Lincoln’s feet hit the floor with a loud thud. “I’m going ashore for a while, kids.”
Any other day, Michael would have offered to go with him, but it’s been days since he and Sara had a moment alone. They’ve made love precisely four times, and the thought of bumping their tally up to five is more than enough to keep him on board. “Stay out of trouble,” he tells his brother cheerfully, and Lincoln smirks at him over his shoulder.
“I could say the same to you, man.”
There are limes on the boat. There is also half a bottle of tequila.
Leaning in the doorway to the cramped sleeping compartment, Sara watches him, her expression a mixture of amusement and anticipation, as he uses the only sharp knife to cut the lime into wedges, then unearths the salt shaker from the small cupboard in the galley. As he reaches for two small glasses, she moves to stand beside him, slipping her arms around his waist. “None for me, thanks,” she murmurs, the words hot against his throat.
He pauses, the second glass already in his grasp. “You sure?”
She nods with a jerk of her head, and he feels the spectre of the past lurking at the edges of the sanctuary they’ve built for themselves. Turning his head, he presses a lingering kiss to her temple, inhaling the scent of her hair. “More for me, then.”
Her soft laugh ripples across his skin, then she’s kissing him, her tongue teasing his bottom lip before sliding deep into his mouth, sending a bolt of raw lust straight to his groin. Fitting her hips against his, she arches into him in silent, sweet invitation, then slides her mouth to his jaw, her teeth gently nipping his chin. “Hand me the salt, college boy.”
He grins, his pulse spiking. “Why do I have the feeling that’s not the first time you’ve said that?”
She takes his earlobe between her teeth as her right hand gropes for one of the lime wedges. “It’s the first time I’ve said it to you,” she says simply, as though that should be enough of an explanation, and strangely enough, it is.
Feeling as though he’s already downed several shots of tequila, he follows her instructions carefully, ignoring her teasing remarks about his habit of turning everything into a science experiment. When he presses her back against the small table and runs his tongue up the length of her pale throat, tasting sweat and the faint traces of sandalwood soap, she falls silent, save for a tremulous sigh.
“Uh, okay, step two?” Her hand is shaking as she hands him the salt shaker, tilting her head to one side as he sprinkles the white crystals on her skin, then putting the lime wedge between her teeth. “Ready?” she asks in a muffled voice, and he lifts his glass of tequila in a playful toast.
“Here’s to filling in the gaps in my social education.”
She rolls her eyes, then he licks the salt from her throat, deliberately tasting her skin in a long, slow slide, and she shivers despite the heat. His eyes lock with hers as he throws back the generous shot of tequila, the salty burn of it barely washing over his tongue before he puts his mouth on hers, sucking gently on the lime between her teeth. The pure alcohol explodes hotly in the pit of his stomach as her hands come up to clutch at his shoulders, then the lime wedge is gone and she’s kissing him hungrily, her hands sliding down his back to grip his hips tightly, and he can no longer tell the difference between the buzz from the alcohol and the buzz from her. After a few minutes, he pulls away with what feels like a Herculean effort, studying her passion-dazed expression with immense satisfaction. “I like step four.”
Her eyes are glowing. “So do I.”
Without saying another word, she smiles and puts her hands on his chest, shoving him none too gently in the direction of the sleeping compartment. Never one to be slow on the uptake, he quickly complies, pulling his t-shirt over his head before reaching for the hem of hers, helping her peel it up and over her head. His mouth, still on fire from the cheap tequila, goes dry at the sight of her, all creamy skin and curves barely concealed by her simple cotton bra. He has enough time to kiss the hollow between her breasts, then she’s pushing him backwards onto the bunk and kneeling between his legs. Her hands go to the drawstring of his shorts, her eyes gleaming with an intent that makes what’s left of his thought processes grind to a sudden halt.
“When you’re doing the other steps, you get real good at finding ways to adapt,” she tells him with a heated smile, then she bends down and licks his stomach, her tongue teasing his navel before trailing downwards and oh, my God he can’t believe she’s doing this now and he’s suddenly afraid he’s about to wake up in his cell in Fox River. He doesn’t, of course, and when the slick warmth of her mouth engulfs him, the breath leaves his lungs in a loud woosh, his hips arching off the bunk, his right hand scrambling for purchase on the smooth wall beside him. “Dear God.”
She chuckles, her laughter vibrating through his flesh, then he closes his eyes as she touches him, her hands cupping and kneading, the feel of her tongue and her teeth driving him to the point of seeing red behind his eyelids, his pulse slamming through his veins. Her breasts brush against his thighs with every breath she takes, making every hair on his body stand on end. A tiny voice in the back of his head is whispering that they don’t have enough time to do everything they want to do and he desperately needs to be inside her before it’s too late. Not quite believing he’s doing this and knowing he’ll probably hate himself for it later, he tangles his hands in her hair, gently lifting her head.
She looks at him in surprise, her softly parted lips swollen and faintly reddened. “Hmm?”
He smiles at her, feeling as though his heart is about to pound clean through his chest. “Come here.”
Grinning, she shuffles up the narrow bunk on her knees, the lean muscles of her arms flexing as she reaches back to unhook her bra. Well used to racing against the clock, they quickly dispose of her shorts and underpants, then she’s pressed against him, all warm smooth skin and intriguing hollows, making him shudder with delight. Her long legs wrapped around his waist, he slides into the slick heat of her body in one smooth thrust, her gasp of pleasure making his head spin more than any tequila possibly could. Bending his head to hers, he kisses her, tasting lime and salt and musky heat, and he knows he doesn’t need the Christina Rose to feel as though he’s truly free.
~*~