Sand - Prison Break ficlet (Michael/Sara)
Title: Sand (1/1)
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara
Genre: Alternate Universe
Rating: NC-17
Length: 732 words
Summary:When you leave the beach behind you, the sand can linger almost as long as your memories.
Author's Note:This is the second of two stories that I wrote for a very dear friend's birthday which happens to be today, someone who never ceases to amaze me. Whenever she reads this, I know she will appreciate the sentiment behind these birthday ficlets. *hugs her* I gave myself two prompts for this particular occasion: thongs and cracks, for reasons that should be obvious. It is set in the Full Circle universe and has no spoilers for anything.
~*~
“I hate sand.”
Admiring the sight of her wrapped in a beach towel that barely covers the curve of her bottom, Michael takes a moment to process this unexpected statement before handing her a small bottle of water. “Just today, or is this going to be an ongoing issue?”
“The outside shower gets the worst of it off, but it still gets everywhere,” Sara mutters, taking the water from him with a quick smile of thanks. She’s been for an early morning swim, and her face is flushed, her wet hair plastered to her shoulders. “The bathroom, the kitchen, the bedroom-”
“Not to mention the nooks and crannies,” he points out helpfully, thinking of the thin layer of sand that is a constant sight at the bottom of their shower stall. She laughs, brushing one damp foot against his.
“God, don’t remind me.” Walking across to the kitchen sink, she twists her wet hair into a thick rope with one hand, squeezing out at least half a cup of water. “Maybe we should invest in a swimming pool.” She darts a mischievous glance over her shoulder. “I know you like the ocean, but chlorine’s not without its charm.”
He grins, unable to resist the urge to tease her. “We could put it next to the gym.”
One elegantly shaped eyebrow rises. “Building a gym now, are we?”
Perhaps he should try to string her along for a while, but her beach towel is now trailing on the floor and her green one-piece swimsuit dips far lower in the back than he remembers. And she’s right about the sand, he realises. A faint dusting clings to her skin, pale streaks dotting her thigh and the small of her back.
“Maybe you just need someone to wash your back."
“It’s not my back that’s the problem,” she mumbles before finishing off the bottle of water in three long gulps. “It’s the nooks and crannies that are the problem.”
If he’d been wearing a shirt, Michael thinks, he’d be loosening the collar right about now. “Is that right?”
“Hmmm.” Tossing the empty water bottle into the trash, she leans back against the edge of the kitchen counter, a gleam in her eyes that looks very much like a challenge. “Not to mention the cracks.”
He’s tempted to see if one of them has accidentally turned on the oven, because at this moment, the kitchen feels at least ten degrees hotter than he knows it should. “Right.”
Pushing herself away from the kitchen counter, she crosses the room to brush past him, close enough for him to catch the fresh scent of her, sunscreen and salt and skin flushed with exertion. “I thought you had to go to work this morning,” she remarks in a casual voice that takes nothing away from the subtle sway of her body towards his.
He curls his hand around her arm. “I do.” Her skin is cool and damp against his palm. If he touched his tongue to the crook of her elbow, he thinks, he would taste the pleasant tang of salt water, the sweetness of her skin beneath. “But I’m very good at multi-tasking.”
When she smiles, he leads her - or perhaps she leads him - down the hallway to the bathroom, her damp feet slapping loudly on the floorboards. She shivers when the warm water hits her skin, her quiet sound of protest quickly becoming a moan of pleasure as he slides his soapy hands down the length of her back, digging his thumbs into any knots of tension he finds along the way. “Nooks and crannies, you said?” he whispers as he leans her back against the tiles, slowly peeling her damp swimsuit downwards, watching as the thin fabric does its best to cling to the cool, pale skin underneath.
She nods, her bare breasts rising full and soft against his chest. “And cracks,” she tells him in a faintly strangled voice, kicking away the sodden swimsuit that has somehow landed on the floor of the shower. "Don't forget the cracks."
He smiles, feeling the tiny grit of the beach beneath his toes. “As if I could.” As he falls to his knees in front of her, cupping her in his palm and his mouth, damp curls and hot slippery flesh as salty as the sea, he knows there could be worse things than having to listen to complaints about sand.
~*~
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara
Genre: Alternate Universe
Rating: NC-17
Length: 732 words
Summary:When you leave the beach behind you, the sand can linger almost as long as your memories.
Author's Note:This is the second of two stories that I wrote for a very dear friend's birthday which happens to be today, someone who never ceases to amaze me. Whenever she reads this, I know she will appreciate the sentiment behind these birthday ficlets. *hugs her* I gave myself two prompts for this particular occasion: thongs and cracks, for reasons that should be obvious. It is set in the Full Circle universe and has no spoilers for anything.
~*~
“I hate sand.”
Admiring the sight of her wrapped in a beach towel that barely covers the curve of her bottom, Michael takes a moment to process this unexpected statement before handing her a small bottle of water. “Just today, or is this going to be an ongoing issue?”
“The outside shower gets the worst of it off, but it still gets everywhere,” Sara mutters, taking the water from him with a quick smile of thanks. She’s been for an early morning swim, and her face is flushed, her wet hair plastered to her shoulders. “The bathroom, the kitchen, the bedroom-”
“Not to mention the nooks and crannies,” he points out helpfully, thinking of the thin layer of sand that is a constant sight at the bottom of their shower stall. She laughs, brushing one damp foot against his.
“God, don’t remind me.” Walking across to the kitchen sink, she twists her wet hair into a thick rope with one hand, squeezing out at least half a cup of water. “Maybe we should invest in a swimming pool.” She darts a mischievous glance over her shoulder. “I know you like the ocean, but chlorine’s not without its charm.”
He grins, unable to resist the urge to tease her. “We could put it next to the gym.”
One elegantly shaped eyebrow rises. “Building a gym now, are we?”
Perhaps he should try to string her along for a while, but her beach towel is now trailing on the floor and her green one-piece swimsuit dips far lower in the back than he remembers. And she’s right about the sand, he realises. A faint dusting clings to her skin, pale streaks dotting her thigh and the small of her back.
“Maybe you just need someone to wash your back."
“It’s not my back that’s the problem,” she mumbles before finishing off the bottle of water in three long gulps. “It’s the nooks and crannies that are the problem.”
If he’d been wearing a shirt, Michael thinks, he’d be loosening the collar right about now. “Is that right?”
“Hmmm.” Tossing the empty water bottle into the trash, she leans back against the edge of the kitchen counter, a gleam in her eyes that looks very much like a challenge. “Not to mention the cracks.”
He’s tempted to see if one of them has accidentally turned on the oven, because at this moment, the kitchen feels at least ten degrees hotter than he knows it should. “Right.”
Pushing herself away from the kitchen counter, she crosses the room to brush past him, close enough for him to catch the fresh scent of her, sunscreen and salt and skin flushed with exertion. “I thought you had to go to work this morning,” she remarks in a casual voice that takes nothing away from the subtle sway of her body towards his.
He curls his hand around her arm. “I do.” Her skin is cool and damp against his palm. If he touched his tongue to the crook of her elbow, he thinks, he would taste the pleasant tang of salt water, the sweetness of her skin beneath. “But I’m very good at multi-tasking.”
When she smiles, he leads her - or perhaps she leads him - down the hallway to the bathroom, her damp feet slapping loudly on the floorboards. She shivers when the warm water hits her skin, her quiet sound of protest quickly becoming a moan of pleasure as he slides his soapy hands down the length of her back, digging his thumbs into any knots of tension he finds along the way. “Nooks and crannies, you said?” he whispers as he leans her back against the tiles, slowly peeling her damp swimsuit downwards, watching as the thin fabric does its best to cling to the cool, pale skin underneath.
She nods, her bare breasts rising full and soft against his chest. “And cracks,” she tells him in a faintly strangled voice, kicking away the sodden swimsuit that has somehow landed on the floor of the shower. "Don't forget the cracks."
He smiles, feeling the tiny grit of the beach beneath his toes. “As if I could.” As he falls to his knees in front of her, cupping her in his palm and his mouth, damp curls and hot slippery flesh as salty as the sea, he knows there could be worse things than having to listen to complaints about sand.
~*~