Dusk (1/1)
Title: Dusk (1/1)
Author: linzi20
Characters: Michael Scofield/Sara Tancredi
Spoilers: Scylla 4.01
Rating: NC-17 for Sexual Content *g*
Author's Note: I'm trying to write every day, since both rosie_spleen and wrldpossibility have encouraged me to build up my stamina in preparation for writing teh_novel, so you may see my writing popping up more frequently on your flist. I hope you don't get sick of me! For marap who gave the prompt: what would have happened if Wyatt had not shot through the window and inturrupted Michael and Sara? There's no dialogue in this fic, but I hope that it satisfies the prompt, even though it may not be exactly what she was looking for. No beta since she's off gallavanting in the wilderness with her boys, so all mistakes are mine.
Michael’s hand snakes between their bodies, cupping the underside of Sara’s breast, gently tickling her skin. The pleasant tease of his fingers causes her to gasp and fight for air, the sensation of his touch making her shiver. He kisses her with a gentle hunger, their tongues finding rhythm and purpose, and as Sara moves up and down above him-with each thrust she gives herself to him over and over again-they silently exchange both truths and confessions of a time painfully wasted.
They come together in a tangle of arms and legs, lips and teeth, and as Sara lies beside him afterwards, savouring the feeling of his body-his strength-next to her, she feels his mute hesitation. She knows what Michael wants, and so she turns over onto her stomach in silent permission, allowing him what he needs. Her scars will someday fade and heal, but knowing Michael the way she does, she’s terrifyingly aware that his guilt never will.
His caress is slow and cautious at first as he trails Sara’s scars with the tips of his fingers, much like he had done earlier that evening by the sill of the window. She knows they are bumpy and rough under his touch, how they must feel against his beautiful hands, but she gives him time, forcing herself to still and wait. This is as much for herself as it is for him.
Michael stops, and she’s about to turn back in mild alarm, but then he’s shifting closer to her, his body moving lower, and she’s feeling the whisper of his lips on her back. He kisses every last one of the distorted marks, and for the first time, when Sara closes her eyes, she sees more than just their ugliness, feels more than just pain. It’s as though with each press of his lips he is promising something new; a new start, a new life, an existence free of hiding.
When Michael begins to cry, his tears filling the grooves of her scars like rainfall to a gorge left by years of drought, she lets him, and when his body shudders beside hers moments later, his head resting on the softness of her breasts, Sara holds him tightly whispering words of forgiveness and confessions of love into his ear.
Time, an entity from which they have yet to benefit, stands still, and in the silence of the night, as the moon shines as though somehow witness to their soundless plea, they seek and discover the non-limits of their love, their devotion to each other, and promises now tangible in the distance.
Author: linzi20
Characters: Michael Scofield/Sara Tancredi
Spoilers: Scylla 4.01
Rating: NC-17 for Sexual Content *g*
Author's Note: I'm trying to write every day, since both rosie_spleen and wrldpossibility have encouraged me to build up my stamina in preparation for writing teh_novel, so you may see my writing popping up more frequently on your flist. I hope you don't get sick of me! For marap who gave the prompt: what would have happened if Wyatt had not shot through the window and inturrupted Michael and Sara? There's no dialogue in this fic, but I hope that it satisfies the prompt, even though it may not be exactly what she was looking for. No beta since she's off gallavanting in the wilderness with her boys, so all mistakes are mine.
Michael’s hand snakes between their bodies, cupping the underside of Sara’s breast, gently tickling her skin. The pleasant tease of his fingers causes her to gasp and fight for air, the sensation of his touch making her shiver. He kisses her with a gentle hunger, their tongues finding rhythm and purpose, and as Sara moves up and down above him-with each thrust she gives herself to him over and over again-they silently exchange both truths and confessions of a time painfully wasted.
They come together in a tangle of arms and legs, lips and teeth, and as Sara lies beside him afterwards, savouring the feeling of his body-his strength-next to her, she feels his mute hesitation. She knows what Michael wants, and so she turns over onto her stomach in silent permission, allowing him what he needs. Her scars will someday fade and heal, but knowing Michael the way she does, she’s terrifyingly aware that his guilt never will.
His caress is slow and cautious at first as he trails Sara’s scars with the tips of his fingers, much like he had done earlier that evening by the sill of the window. She knows they are bumpy and rough under his touch, how they must feel against his beautiful hands, but she gives him time, forcing herself to still and wait. This is as much for herself as it is for him.
Michael stops, and she’s about to turn back in mild alarm, but then he’s shifting closer to her, his body moving lower, and she’s feeling the whisper of his lips on her back. He kisses every last one of the distorted marks, and for the first time, when Sara closes her eyes, she sees more than just their ugliness, feels more than just pain. It’s as though with each press of his lips he is promising something new; a new start, a new life, an existence free of hiding.
When Michael begins to cry, his tears filling the grooves of her scars like rainfall to a gorge left by years of drought, she lets him, and when his body shudders beside hers moments later, his head resting on the softness of her breasts, Sara holds him tightly whispering words of forgiveness and confessions of love into his ear.
Time, an entity from which they have yet to benefit, stands still, and in the silence of the night, as the moon shines as though somehow witness to their soundless plea, they seek and discover the non-limits of their love, their devotion to each other, and promises now tangible in the distance.