Lather - Michael/Sara (1/1)
Title: Lather (1/1)
Fandom: Prison Break
Genre: Het, AU, Fluff, Sex, Non-Epilogue Compliant.
Pairing:Michael/Sara
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1,000 words
Summary:Everything looks different by candlelight. Set in the Full Circle universe, but you don't really need to read all those hundreds of thousands of words before you read this one. Written at the urging of scribblecat to help me get back on the horse, so to speak, God love her. She gave me two different prompts - lather and black out. I took the liberty of combing them *and* using the Australian transation of the second one, which means something quite different to passing out. For the lovely people who have been waiting for me to update "The Right Road" (and can't read locked posts), the delay has been due to Real Life being very unkind on the family side of things for me over the last three months, and I thank you for your patience.
~*~
The power goes out just as suddenly as the thunderstorm had begun fifteen minutes earlier. It plunges the bathroom into a thick darkness, leaving her stranded in the bathtub. “Damn it.” Of all the nights to decide to have a bath rather than a shower, she thinks with faint irritation. She puts a hand on either side of the bathtub, then considers slippery tiles and wet feet. “Michael?”
“On my way.”
The storm seems to be lingering, and she strains to hear his approach over the sound of the rain on the roof. The glow of a candle soon heralds his arrival, giving enough light to reveal his grin. “Need a hand?”
His gaze slides down to her toes and back again as he speaks, lingering on damp flesh revealed by fading scented foam, and she feels another type of heat begin to burn. She lifts a languid hand, her eyes fixed on his. She had planned on heading straight to bed - together, hopefully - after her bath, but it seems a shame to waste good candlelight.
“Yes.”
He carefully sets down the candle on the vanity, then turns to her, his hand wrapping itself firmly around hers. “In or out?”
She’s soaked to the skin, but her mouth still goes dry. “What?”
His smile is quite different now. “Are you getting out, or am I getting in?”
She drops her hand, her fingertips trailing through the bubbles. “It is designed for two.”
“I know.” He leans over the tub, his tanned shoulders bronzed by the candlelight. “I chose it, remember?” His eyes follow the movement of her hand, watching avidly as she brushes aside silken lather from of her knee. She arches her back a fraction, feeling the touch of cool air on her breasts as the foamy water ebbs and flows, and sees him swallow a visible lump in his throat.
They haven’t made love in over a week. He’d spent two days on a fishing trip with his brother and nephew, and the usual biological inconvenience had stymied any reunion plans she may have had. Tonight, though, there is only them and a generous bathtub and an unexpected power outage.
A perfect match, she thinks.
Michael, it seems, shares her view. One hand braced on the side of the tub, he slides his fingers through her damp hair, lifting her face to his. “Siren,” he whispers in a sweet accusation, then his mouth is on hers, soft and hot and infused with a lazy hunger that draws her upwards to him like a magnet. She reaches for him but he’s already moving, deftly stepping out his shorts and into the tub, water spilling onto the floor as he drops to his knees, one hard thigh pressed high between her legs.
Cupping his face in her hands, she kisses him as she pulls him downwards. Everything is slick and warm, her breasts slippery against his chest. She has time to think that the touch of his hand is strangely weightless as it glides down her belly, then he cups the growing ache between her thighs and the impact echoes through every inch of her body.
The rain pounding on the roof seems to be keeping time with her frantic heartbeat, the flickering candle flame mimicking the breath that keeps catching in her throat. He kisses her again and again, his hands moving gracefully through the water as he touches her, his long fingers splayed wide on her thigh as she arches beneath him, one arm hooked around his neck. “Hurry,” she murmurs against his ear, smiling at the shudder that runs through him at the warmth of her breath on his skin, “before we both drown.”
“Sirens can’t drown,” he whispers, a smile vibrating in his voice, then he moves against her, making her grip his shoulders at the sudden, delicious invasion of heat and pressure, and there is no more time for talking, no time for anything but the feel of him inside her. Wrapping her arms around his back, she buries her face against his chest and rides out the rest of the storm, cresting a wave of pure, mindless pleasure.
Afterwards, she lifts her flushed face from his shoulder and swishes one foot lazily through the rapidly cooling bathwater. “We should get out before the candle burns down, I guess.”
“There’s no rush.” He chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath her palm. “I may have grabbed the twelve hour one.” She raises her eyebrows, and his expression is immediately that of an innocent man wrongly accused. “It was the first one I found, I swear.”
“All the same,” she tells him with a smile as she struggles to sit up. “I think we’d be much more comfortable in bed.” She rubs her fingertips together - she can’t see them, but they feel as wrinkled as week-old prunes that have been left out in the Panamanian sun. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, by the way.”
He smiles as he pulls himself up to sit beside her, and even in the dim light the tenderness in his eyes makes her chest tighten. “All in a day’s work.”
They dry themselves by candlelight - she hides a smile at the way he polices the distance between towel and flame - then make their way to their bedroom. Stretched out in a drowsy tangle of limbs, the candle long snuffed out, she has one last pressing thought. “Michael? Did you turn off the television when the power went out?” She’d remembered to flick off the bathroom light as they’d left the room, but hadn’t ventured into the rest of the house. A soft snore is her only answer, however, and she smiles ruefully. “I guess we’ll know soon enough,” she murmurs, brushing her lips against the healed burn on his shoulder, closing her eyes as she inhales the smell of scented bubbles still clinging to his skin. It had been a good night to have a bath, after all.
~*~
Fandom: Prison Break
Genre: Het, AU, Fluff, Sex, Non-Epilogue Compliant.
Pairing:Michael/Sara
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1,000 words
Summary:Everything looks different by candlelight. Set in the Full Circle universe, but you don't really need to read all those hundreds of thousands of words before you read this one. Written at the urging of scribblecat to help me get back on the horse, so to speak, God love her. She gave me two different prompts - lather and black out. I took the liberty of combing them *and* using the Australian transation of the second one, which means something quite different to passing out. For the lovely people who have been waiting for me to update "The Right Road" (and can't read locked posts), the delay has been due to Real Life being very unkind on the family side of things for me over the last three months, and I thank you for your patience.
~*~
The power goes out just as suddenly as the thunderstorm had begun fifteen minutes earlier. It plunges the bathroom into a thick darkness, leaving her stranded in the bathtub. “Damn it.” Of all the nights to decide to have a bath rather than a shower, she thinks with faint irritation. She puts a hand on either side of the bathtub, then considers slippery tiles and wet feet. “Michael?”
“On my way.”
The storm seems to be lingering, and she strains to hear his approach over the sound of the rain on the roof. The glow of a candle soon heralds his arrival, giving enough light to reveal his grin. “Need a hand?”
His gaze slides down to her toes and back again as he speaks, lingering on damp flesh revealed by fading scented foam, and she feels another type of heat begin to burn. She lifts a languid hand, her eyes fixed on his. She had planned on heading straight to bed - together, hopefully - after her bath, but it seems a shame to waste good candlelight.
“Yes.”
He carefully sets down the candle on the vanity, then turns to her, his hand wrapping itself firmly around hers. “In or out?”
She’s soaked to the skin, but her mouth still goes dry. “What?”
His smile is quite different now. “Are you getting out, or am I getting in?”
She drops her hand, her fingertips trailing through the bubbles. “It is designed for two.”
“I know.” He leans over the tub, his tanned shoulders bronzed by the candlelight. “I chose it, remember?” His eyes follow the movement of her hand, watching avidly as she brushes aside silken lather from of her knee. She arches her back a fraction, feeling the touch of cool air on her breasts as the foamy water ebbs and flows, and sees him swallow a visible lump in his throat.
They haven’t made love in over a week. He’d spent two days on a fishing trip with his brother and nephew, and the usual biological inconvenience had stymied any reunion plans she may have had. Tonight, though, there is only them and a generous bathtub and an unexpected power outage.
A perfect match, she thinks.
Michael, it seems, shares her view. One hand braced on the side of the tub, he slides his fingers through her damp hair, lifting her face to his. “Siren,” he whispers in a sweet accusation, then his mouth is on hers, soft and hot and infused with a lazy hunger that draws her upwards to him like a magnet. She reaches for him but he’s already moving, deftly stepping out his shorts and into the tub, water spilling onto the floor as he drops to his knees, one hard thigh pressed high between her legs.
Cupping his face in her hands, she kisses him as she pulls him downwards. Everything is slick and warm, her breasts slippery against his chest. She has time to think that the touch of his hand is strangely weightless as it glides down her belly, then he cups the growing ache between her thighs and the impact echoes through every inch of her body.
The rain pounding on the roof seems to be keeping time with her frantic heartbeat, the flickering candle flame mimicking the breath that keeps catching in her throat. He kisses her again and again, his hands moving gracefully through the water as he touches her, his long fingers splayed wide on her thigh as she arches beneath him, one arm hooked around his neck. “Hurry,” she murmurs against his ear, smiling at the shudder that runs through him at the warmth of her breath on his skin, “before we both drown.”
“Sirens can’t drown,” he whispers, a smile vibrating in his voice, then he moves against her, making her grip his shoulders at the sudden, delicious invasion of heat and pressure, and there is no more time for talking, no time for anything but the feel of him inside her. Wrapping her arms around his back, she buries her face against his chest and rides out the rest of the storm, cresting a wave of pure, mindless pleasure.
Afterwards, she lifts her flushed face from his shoulder and swishes one foot lazily through the rapidly cooling bathwater. “We should get out before the candle burns down, I guess.”
“There’s no rush.” He chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath her palm. “I may have grabbed the twelve hour one.” She raises her eyebrows, and his expression is immediately that of an innocent man wrongly accused. “It was the first one I found, I swear.”
“All the same,” she tells him with a smile as she struggles to sit up. “I think we’d be much more comfortable in bed.” She rubs her fingertips together - she can’t see them, but they feel as wrinkled as week-old prunes that have been left out in the Panamanian sun. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, by the way.”
He smiles as he pulls himself up to sit beside her, and even in the dim light the tenderness in his eyes makes her chest tighten. “All in a day’s work.”
They dry themselves by candlelight - she hides a smile at the way he polices the distance between towel and flame - then make their way to their bedroom. Stretched out in a drowsy tangle of limbs, the candle long snuffed out, she has one last pressing thought. “Michael? Did you turn off the television when the power went out?” She’d remembered to flick off the bathroom light as they’d left the room, but hadn’t ventured into the rest of the house. A soft snore is her only answer, however, and she smiles ruefully. “I guess we’ll know soon enough,” she murmurs, brushing her lips against the healed burn on his shoulder, closing her eyes as she inhales the smell of scented bubbles still clinging to his skin. It had been a good night to have a bath, after all.
~*~