Fic: Not the Plan (scofield/sucre mature)

[fieves]

Title: Not the Plan
Author: fieves
Pairing: Scofield/Sucre
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Takes place during the first season, around episode 15, though there's nothing really too spoilerish.
Warnings: It's slash, therefore two men. Nuff said.



Not the Plan

Michael Scofield was distraught, that much was plain to see; worry etched deep into his face and that alone troubled Sucre. He'd seen Michael fret and plan; recalculate and evaluate numerous times, but during those times, Michael was always in control of himself. Today was different. Granted this could be due to the fact that the plan had been spoiled, altered yet again or that Michael had a good deal of flesh melted from his back yesterday. Maybe it was the pain medication he'd been forced to take, dulling his thought process, making him uneasy. Whatever it was, it wasn't usual or natural, and that made Sucre anxious.

The cell was quiet as it was lights out but neither man slept. Sucre lay on his back looking at the ceiling listening to Michael shift uneasily below him. Every once in a while he'd get up and pace, wringing his hands, pausing stiffly when the movement incensed his raw back. After the third or fourth time, Sucre sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed; neither of them would get any sleep at this rate.

"Michael?" he kept his voice low, hoping that the other man wasn't too lost in thought to come back to the present.

It took a minute, but from the darkness below he finally heard an answer. "Yeah?" the voice was soft, gruff and slightly ragged, probably from the pain.

"I know the last thing you want to do is have a night off, Papi." Sucre jumped easily to his feet, pausing the stretch his back now that he was standing again. "But if you don't relax, you're gonna make it worse."

His concern earned him an irritated glance, fully equipped with a deep sigh, but he'd been prepared for that. He eyed the other man carefully, waiting for Michael's thought process to rule out all the replies and quips he was prepared to retort with but nothing came out. Instead, Michael swallowed with some effort, easing himself to lean against the side of the bunk. He was in pain but he was trying to hide it.

"You rest tonight and tomorrow you're back at it," Sucre just shrugged, thrusting his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Besides, you go in there tonight you may not make it back. You get caught and it's all over."

That had Michael's attention. He glanced sharply at Sucre, his blue eyes flashed for a moment as the thought processed. If he did go into the wall and collapsed, it would be over. If he worked too hard he could push himself into a fevered stupor and be down for days. Sucre was right, he knew that. It didn't make him happy to accept this night of down time, there was a plan, a schedule to stick to, but he couldn't risk it, couldn't jeopardize everything. His fingers tapped out a constant beat against the metal bed frame as a million thoughts filled his mind.

"I know," Michael finally breathed out a sigh and shook his head, regretting that move when his back muscles pulled and his injury burned with pain. "There's just still so much to be done." his eyes scanned the wall in front of him, not seeing the wall, Sucre knew that. Michael was still planning.

"We'll get there," Sucre sat finally, easing himself onto the mattress next to his cell mate. Carefully, keeping the bandage in sight he draped his arm around Michael's shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. "It's gonna work, just," he wet his lips, flinching as he thought back to pulling that shirt off of Michael's burned flesh, the scream of pain echoed in his head, chilling his blood and caused his heart to thud heavily. "Just one night, ok, Papi?"

"We don't have a night."

"That's too bad." Sucre smiled softly. "Cuz you can barely get up to piss let alone crawl around inside those walls."

Michael snorted out a sort of laugh and scoff at that, thinking back to earlier. Once the adrenaline and pain meds had worn off, he had trouble getting up to relieve himself. The last thing he'd wanted to do was ask for help, but somehow Sucre knew. He must have been making distressed noises without realizing it because suddenly his cellmate was there, helping him stand and balance to get to the toilet. Definitely not one of his finest moments, but it also touched him that Sucre was there for him.

He was a logical man if nothing else, and Sucre had been right. There's just no way he could get into the walls tonight. The defeat washed over him, his posture slumped automatically. The arm still around his shoulders tightened its grip, supporting his body.

Sucre frowned slightly, letting Michael lean against him. He couldn't even imagine what was going on in that brilliant mind but it was obvious Michael was berating himself for things that were out of his control. That led his thoughts to C Note, to his suspicions. Why had he even listened to C Note anyways? Michael wasn't like that, and it wasn't until he requested the guard uniform from his cousin that he fully understood Michael's situation. He wasn't keeping information from him because he didn't trust him, it was to protect him. The less he knew the less trouble he'd be in if this whole thing went wrong. They were both at risk adding more time to their bid if they were caught, but Sucre had a feeling somehow, by keeping the information a secret, he had a plan that would get the blame squarely placed on him. That was how Michael Scofield operated, there was always a plan.

Guilt washed through Sucre a little deeper, and he pulled Michael a little closer, letting his hand rub soothingly across the warm shoulders beneath it. Why didn't he see that before? Of course Michael would find a way to make this all his fault, a way to take all the blame. Damnit, C Note was just stirring the pot, trying to keep his position in the escape secure. It's not that Sucre could really blame him, but how had he allowed himself to doubt Michael?

And maybe if they hadn't been cellies he wouldn't be included in the escape, but if Michael hadn't been his cellmate would Sucre have even bothered getting to know the man? Probably not. And that was a stupid train of thought to have anyways, because that’s not what happened, that isn't how it was. Michael was his cellmate and he was in this now, this escape was going to happen and he was included in it. He'd worked for it, sweated for it, bled for it. There was no use pondering the 'could have beens'.

Michael raised a hand and rubbed hard at his eyeballs, his body was so tense and stressed he wasn't sure he wouldn't snap, wasn't sure that he'd be able to pull this whole thing off after all. He had to do it, but everything that could go wrong - had. And everyone that he didn't want to get involved or hurt had suddenly been involved. Have a little faith, his brain reminded him but it was hard to relax with everything looming above him.

"Hector used to be like a brother to me," Sucre said finally, breaking the silence. He laughed in contempt at the idea now. "I didn't see until we were older that he was always competing with me. I didn't think like that."

Michael smiled softly, grateful that Sucre was trying to distract him, trying to comfort him and take his mind off of the escape. It was impossible but the effort was appreciated.

"I wouldn't break his ass out of prison." Sucre added after a moment, muttering curses in Spanish under his breath about his cousin.

"You know what they say," Michael felt his muscles burning and let Sucre take his full weight, settling into the gentle caress of that warm hand on his skin. It was actually helping him relax, just a little. "It takes a real friend to stab you in the front."

"I'll stab him in the front." came the grumbled reply, then after a minute. "What about you and Linc? Did you guys ever fight?"

"All the time." Michael answered easily, smiling to himself at the barrage of memories. "We're brothers, that's what brothers do."

"Yeah but," Sucre's voice rose slightly in pitch, indicating the desire to get more information. "Most people wouldn't do what you did, risk what you did. You could get killed in here, you know?"

"But he's my brother." Michael said the words with finality, not with malice or anger that Sucre didn't understand, just that the fact alone was enough, that it was a good enough reason to risk his own life. His body grew heavy and sagged even further against Sucre, thoughts of the plan failing, of Linc dying flashed through his mind like waking nightmares. He couldn't fail, it wasn't an option.

"I know you thought of everything but," it was easy to be honest in the dark quiet cell, with the way Michael was leaned against him, unusually open and accepting support, physical support anyways. He was leaned so heavily against Sucre that he could almost feel the burden and pressure weighing down on Michael pinning him too. How could anyone stand that? "You know, prison isn't like the outside. People aren't the same in here."

"I know." Michael couldn't hold himself up again longer; his body slumped gently until he was lying on his side, partially across Sucre's lap. It hadn't really dawned on him that the action might seem strange, Sucre was warm comfort right now, he was worried and concerned, his emotions radiated off of him until they were almost tangible and Michael allowed this moment to be empathetic. Something was hanging unsaid in the air between them; Sucre wasn't telling him the truth. If he allowed this one moment of vulnerability, he might get the truth. Fernando Sucre was the only other person in this escape, aside from Linc that is, that he trusted fully.

Sucre rubbed wider circles along Michael's back, along the undamaged skin as he worried his lip between his teeth. Why had he doubted Michael? The man had been upfront with him dozens of times, he was the one who changed cells at first, and he was the one that allowed C Note to plant a seed of doubt. Michael hadn't lied, his priority was his brother, and he was honest about that. Guilt chewed at him, gnawing at his stomach and throat. It seemed the guiltier he felt, the more he heard that scream, the more he saw himself tearing the uniform off of Michael, ripping his skin, hurting him, hurting him so badly.

His legs and hands shook suddenly, and he had to grip Michael's shoulder a minute to steady himself. He'd hurt Michael, and that bothered him. It wasn't in self-defense, it wasn't just typical prison yard bullying that he could brush off. In the safety of their cell, he'd made Michael scream. He’d been asked to do it, forced really, but still, it was his hands, his own actions that did it. His free hand instinctively grasped the cross around his neck and he gripped it tight.

"I'm sorry, Michael." The whisper came out before he could stop it or think it through.

"What?" Michael stilled, his brain quieting down now. When he got no immediate response he rolls slightly onto his back, staring up in the dim lighting at his cellmate. Sucre looks torn, crushed, like a man who betrayed his friend, he looks guilty as Judas. "What are you sorry for?" he asks again.

There's a hard swallow and a guilty head shake. Now that Michael's turned his body Sucre's hand is resting on his stomach, his fingertips flex like they itch, like he's about to spring into action and he squirms on the spot, not looking down at Michael. "For everything, Papi. I don't want to hurt you." Now he's looking back to Michael, eyeing his features, still looking guilty. His other hand is below Michael, gently tracing the bandage.

Scofield thinks he gets it then, when the hand on his stomach raises and brushes against his cheek, tracing his lip lightly as if to memorize the feature, like an artist hoping to capture it and recreate it on some medium later.

The moment is too tender, too intimate and Sucre blushes shaking his head, letting his hand fall back. Michael is too pretty to be here, too pure to be behind prison walls with these animals. A sense of protective possession sweeps through him, and his hand is back at Michael's waist, tightening in a slow grip. If they don't get out, if Michael takes the blame, he'll be stuck here a long time, longer than Sucre either way you slice it. And that thought suddenly fills him with dread. How could he have left this cell not knowing who would move in? What if something happened to Michael because of it? It wasn't his job to protect him, to watch out for him, Michael was a grown man and had proved he could take care of himself, but he was so blinded by the escape he wasn't as watchful as he should have been. He was always looking forward, moving forward, never looking back, and in prison that is the one place you always needed to look.

"We gotta get you out of prison," Sucre finally exhales, realizing that maybe it is his job to watch Michael's back. It's not just that the man is offering him freedom, he likes Michael. He's a good man, far too righteous to be where he is, and maybe a bit too naive about what a pretty face can do in a prison full of lifers.

He gets it, sees what's processing in Sucre's mind, and knows by the gentle touch to his face exactly what his cellmate is thinking. He's being underestimated and he knows it. "You know," he says, voice casual and belaying nothing. "I could have been put in a cell with T-Bag." And those intense eyes stare hard up into the darkness. It was a challenge of sorts, and his usual cocky smirk slid into place.

Sucre frowned, his face darkening into an angry pout. Without realizing it, his arm wound tighter around Michael's middle, holding him protectively, betraying more of his own thought pattern. "But you're with me."

And there it was on the table. It was silent again as the two men stared at each other, just breathing and watching for the other to give some sign or indication.

"I planned every aspect of this, every contingency." Michael breathed after a minute, figuring he owed Sucre a little truth here. "But until those bars closed behind me, I couldn't plan you."

Sucre's breathing faltered a little, he wet his lips, parting them slightly to take deeper breaths.

"I'm not exactly a boy scout or I wouldn't be here," that cocky smirk again. "Prison isn't exactly an island retreat, Fernando. I knew that. By every contingency, I do mean, every contingency. Including the possible outcomes of meeting my cellmate."

"Michael." Sucre closed his eyes and swallowed, give a slight shake of his head, not wanting to really hear this.

"I knew before I stepped foot into this place that there was a chance, a good chance that my cellmate would be a little," a slight head cock. "Over amorous. If you think rape wasn't a contingency I planned for..."

"Don't." Sucre tightened his hold, hugging Michael's waist to his body now. Madre de Dios he didn't even want to think of that. What if Michael had been stuck in a cell with T-Bag? Or Avocado? Or any of the dozen other cons that stared a little too long and hard in the showers.

"I'm just saying," Michael shrugged, seeing the obvious discomfort on his friend's face. "I was prepared for it. I am prepared for it. Anything to get Lincoln out. Anything to stick to the plan."

Misreading the situation slightly, Sucre shook his head again, brushing his fingers soothingly against Michael's cheek, feeling his heart stutter in his chest. Was Michael implying that he thought..? He let his fingers trace carefully down Michael's arm to his hand, gripping it tight, interlocking their fingers together. Then quite seriously he whispered. "I'm not that kind of guy, Papi."

Michael cocked an eyebrow, giving Sucre's hand a squeeze. "Let's just say, I'm not worried about dropping the soap."

"In a place like this, looking the way you do," Sucre eyed him up and down. "You should be worried."

The humor broke the tension and Michael relaxed slightly, noticing Sucre do the same. They were in this together now, more than any of the others for it started in their cell. They had to trust each other implicitly, witnessing the way Sucre even reacted to the mere thought of someone raping Michael warmed his chest and melted a little more tension within him. Sucre had his back, he knew that.

Normally, Michael was not one to be coddled, cajoled or fondled, but the touches between them tonight were of a different nature. Just as Michael felt responsible for Linc, Sucre began to feel responsible for Michael. It was in his nature to be protective, to defend those close to him, but Michael had been too busy planning to really notice that until now.

The air was still thick so he thought to lighten the mood. "And how do I look?" he questioned, smirking and staring upward, his eyes intense and focused.

Sucre blushed, actually blushed and Michael could see it even in the darkness of the cell. His cheeks pinked and the tips of his ears turned bright red. His mouth worked, opening and closing like a fish, trying to think of what to say, not exactly expecting that question. "I don't know, handsome?" he shifted and shrugged. "Gorgeous?" he was fumbling. "You know you're gorgeous, Papi." With a frustrated huff, he swallowed hard and rubbed a hand over his blushing face, seeming ashamed of what he admitted. He hadn't been thinking like *that*.

"Are you saying you're tempted?" Michael smiled; quirking an eyebrow at their easy banter.

Suddenly Sucre was serious, staring down hard at him almost offended. "I don't force myself on anyone."

For half a heartbeat Michael was surprised at the seriousness in his voice and before he could think about it he found his mouth speaking. "Who said anything about force?" Because really, he hadn't. Not that he'd meant to say that either, it just came out.

It was silent again and Michael thought oddly if this were a cartoon there'd be crickets chirping in the background. A mix of emotion flashed across Sucre's face but he finally smiled easily, getting with the program. "Are you offering, Michael?" he teased back, giving the man's waist a light squeeze and a gentle rub.

"I asked if you were tempted." retorts came easy, and keeping the questions aimed at someone else was a particular habit of Michael Scofield, it was easier to flip things and keep someone else in the spot light, let them sweat under the pressure. Not that he was trying to push Sucre, their banter had gone this way naturally and he'd found himself incredibly relaxed, letting his good side bear his weight, draped over Sucre’s lap, the angle it created kept the pressure off his injury and he really didn't want to try to lay on the mattress again - not yet, it hurt too much.

Their hands remained clasped together, Michael only noticed when Sucre gave his hand a little squeeze and chuckled softly. "Am I tempted to bend you over and force myself on you? No Michael, I'm not."

There it was again, that word. If Michael hadn't already figured Sucre to be the protective type it would have slapped him in the face right then. "Like I said, not force." And his stubborn side was to blame here. It was almost physically impossible for Michael to ask a question and not get an answer. It'd eat at him; make him consider all the possibilities and quandaries until he exhausted himself.

With a hard puffed exhale Sucre shifted, his eyebrows dancing across his forehead. "What do you want me to say, Michael? What are you asking me?" How the hell did they get here?

Another intense look crossed Michael's face and for a moment Sucre wondered if it was possible for him to look anything but intense. "Are you tempted to touch me, Fernando?"

Hearing his first name in such a manner had Sucre swallowing hard. His hand gripped Michael's a little tighter on its own accord before he whispered. "I am touching you."

It was easy and it was true. Michael was teasing him, he could tell, trying to cut the tension probably. He could go along with it, and at the moment he suddenly felt closer to Michael than he had with anyone in a long time. If Michael wanted to tease...

With a secretive smile, Sucre leaned down, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Michael's lips. "You're too pretty to be in prison, Papi." he chuckled, bumping their foreheads gently together.

As if answer the tease, Michael plucked his lips gently against Sucre's. "You could be in T-Bag's cell too, you know?"

Sucre's brain seemed to stop working and yet at the same moment leap into overdrive. Did Michael just call him attractive? Did Michael just kiss him? Did he just kiss Michael? A surprised surge of excitement tickled through his veins, heating his blood and suddenly his lips were back to Michael's in another kiss. Then again, a little more forceful, still gentle and yet Michael's lips puckered slightly, meeting him halfway.

Suddenly it was over, both men sighed heavily, shaken, turning their heads away to laugh as sheepishly and innocently as they could. That was... well that was something, and neither of them was going to think about it. Kissing had been the furthest thing from Sucre's mind, but it happened, here, in the dark of their cell. None one saw, no one knew and that made him smile slightly, yet not in embarrassment of the act.

Michael looked down at their intertwined hands; he'd let himself see that Sucre was troubled, opened himself up to the emotion and gotten the truth. Once again, he found himself trying to fix and control everything around him. Nothing had changed it seemed. With a soft groan he lifted his free hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. "When I was little," and he hadn't meant to say this. "Linc used to get angry with me. He said I tried to take everyone's problems and make them my own. He said I tried to fix everything, even things that couldn't be fixed."

Sucre thought for a long moment. "Maybe you can't fix everything, Papi."

"Maybe not," Michael's blue eyes flickered with an intellectual shimmer of green, easy to see even in the dark cell. "But I'd rather try and fail than not try at all."

That brought a smile to the darker man's lips; he stared down at the man in his lap in curiosity and adoration. Michael was fully relaxed now, resting on his back easily, not even fazed by the fact that he was lying what could be deemed as in an intimate position. Sucre could tell by his eyes that he was thinking again, but not the same as before, the worry ebbed away either from the slight massage, their talking, or maybe, and he blushed again, those brief kisses.

"I'm gonna help you however I can, bro." Sucre tightened his grip on Michael's hand, squeezing his fingers a little tighter now. "But can you promise me something?"

Michael stilled, blinking once before letting his eyes focus on the face above him. "Promise what?"

"Can we try to do this thing without you getting hurt anymore?" Fingers ghosted gently over the bandage on his back, and though he couldn't see it clear enough in the dark, Michael knew Sucre was looking down at his injured foot.

"I'd prefer that," he answered honestly instead, trying to ignore the warm feeling blossoming in his chest. "I came in here willing to do whatever it takes to save my brother. That's still the plan, no matter what happens." He shifted, trying to down play the mood once again though he knew it was too far past that point. "I'll get you out of here on one leg with a hook hand if I have to."

"Michael," Sucre frowned slightly. "I'm not talking about the escape; I'm talking about the risks you're taking."

"We stick to the plan."

"Then I'm sticking to my own plan," Sucre raised his voice slightly in determination.

"You have a plan?" Michael couldn't hide the mirth in his voice, though he'd tried, maybe just a little.

"My plan is to follow your plan," Sucre shrugged, his accent slightly heavier than usual; this seemed to happen whenever he got nervous or excited. "Only, with you not getting hurt anymore."

"That's a good plan." Michael smiled softly.

"There's enough of us now to take some of the risk, why should it always be you getting hurt?"

That gaze narrowed, thought kick starting up in overtime so much so Sucre could almost hear the gears turning in Michael’s head. For a moment he thought he'd over stepped the boundaries but that clear, confident voice floated up from the darkness a moment later. "It's my brother, my plan, my idea and therefore my risk."

"You're stubborn."

"You're just learning this?" Michael laughed genuinely now, watching Sucre's jaw set firmly in place.

"I'm not kidding," Sucre's accent thickened again. "I don't like that you keep getting hurt, Papi. And I sure as hell don't like being the one to hurt you."

That warmth in his chest spread further, sneaking up his throat and tightening like a fist. So that was what this was about?

"You had to get the uniform off; if they found it on me it'd be over for all of us."

"You didn't hear the way you screamed, Michael. You didn't..." Sucre swallowed, bringing both hands toward his face, wringing them together tightly. "I made you scream."

Michael looked at his hand for a moment, his thoughts drifting before he could stop them to a sense of loss; his hand felt cold now without Sucre's hand holding onto it. With a tight pinch to his heart he sat up slightly, grimacing at the pain the raw wound in his back caused though he ignored it, definitely tried not to let it show now. For once in his life, Michael Scofield didn't know what to say.

"You care about me." he managed, not quite meaning to say it out loud. It had dawned on him as much as it became a question in his mind. This wasn't about the escape; this wasn't about Michael being his means to freedom.

At those words, Sucre whipped his head back to face his cellmate. He looked incredulous as his jaw worked up and down, his eyebrows furrowed in the middle of his forehead. "Idiota!" The bright pink color crawled up his neck and burned the tip of his ears once more. And he thought Michael was supposed to be a genius. What the hell was he even doing? Maybe he was the idiot. He shifted and sighed, trying to shove the other man off him, albeit very gently.

Michael just rocked gently with the motion, not moving away, but moving closer, his voice a softer, more sincere whisper. "Hey," he tried to see Sucre's face in the dark, but the way his head was turned left his expression in shadow. Michael moved closer until he could feel the heat of Sucre's skin close to his cheek. "I'm sorry."

Sucre closed his eyes, gnawing on his bottom lip at the feel of the warm breath against his cheek, at the soft, genuine apology. His legs shook beneath him and he knew Michael could feel that. A warm hand landed on his chest gingerly, fingers splayed so carefully, almost asking permission before the press was stronger. Michael's hand rubbed in a small, soothing circular motion.

"I'm sorry you had to do that, to hear that." he offered again, letting his nose brush the warm ear in front of him. "I'm sorry, Fernando." And he was. He'd been so caught up in his plan to escape he hadn't been paying attention. Michael was empathic by nature, and now, being forced to relax a night while his back healed he allowed himself to open up to the feelings around him. It had bothered his friend beyond his own recognition to hurt him in such a manner and he hadn't taken the time to notice.

"I'm not that guy," his voice was low, his accent a soft lilt. His legs still trembled slightly at the intimacy between them, at the battle he was fighting internally. Michael had come into this prison, into this cell prepared for personal violation if it meant saving his brother. As perfect as his plan was, he couldn't predict his cellmate, he couldn't plan on Sucre. As much as he wanted to touch Michael back, to feel the warm reassurance of the skin he'd only so recently and briefly discovered, the sound of that scream echoed in his mind, the idea that this man would take anything thrown at him just to survive and save his brother...

"I know who you are." Michael whispered, his hand stilling over Sucre's heart. His long fingers tapped a gentle rhythm there.

"Who am I?" Sucre swallowed, looking up at the bottom of the bunk above them. God really needed to give him strength here.

"You're not that guy." Michael confirmed and Sucre could feel the smirk against his cheek. "You did what I asked you to do; you did what you had to do."

His hand had a mind of its own, snaking up the bare skin of Michael's back his fingers walked closer to the bandaged flesh, rubbing over it soothingly. It looked bad, it sounded horrible, and his heart had leapt into his throat when he'd had to tear the melted cloth from Michael's skin. The scream stayed with him, repeating over and over in his head sometimes. It happened now, playing again and again, it didn't matter if Michael was right here, telling him it was ok, he could still hear it. With a frustrated groan, Sucre let his head fall forward, pulling Michael against him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry." and he wasn't sure if he was apologizing for hurting Michael or hugging him at this point.

Michael smiled and wrapped his arms around the other man, holding him tight. In all the scenarios he envisioned while planning this whole thing, this was not one of them. At the most he figured if his cellmate wasn't interested in raping him, they'd only care about the escape, about the freedom he could offer. He hadn't ever thought that the man he was to share a small space with would actually care about him, would be upset when forced to do something that caused him pain. It would almost be funny if he couldn't feel by the tight grip Sucre had on him how much it really hurt the other man.

"For what it's worth," Michael quirked a brow, turning his head slightly to speak into Sucre's ear. "I won't ask you to pull melted clothes from my burned skin again." When he got no answer he'd wondered if maybe it wasn't the right time to joke, but he felt Sucre swallow against his shoulder.

"I bet you can't actually promise me that, Papi; knowing you."

"Fair enough." Michael smiled wickedly, but that smile faltered into an open mouthed soft intake of breath when Sucre nuzzled his face against his neck. The Prison was anything but cold, but the heat against his neck, along his front, under his body... it was different. His heart had to have skipped a beat.

Warm lips pressed soft, dry kisses to his neck. He could tell Sucre was smiling, happy, not thinking about his actions. "But you'll try though, right? You'll try not to get hurt?" He was squeezed in a tighter hug as he felt the barest hint of tongue; Sucre had moistened his lips.

Breathing was hard now; Michael understood everything, but he didn't quite understand this. Instead of pulling back as he felt he should, he hugged him a little tighter. "I'll try."

"You should say that like you mean it." Sucre chuckled, unaware of the turmoil building in the other man. He pulled back slightly, beaming a dazzling white smile as he bumped their noses together. It only took a second to register the confused despair on Michael's face. Instead of hindering him, flashing warning signals in Sucre's mind it only fueled him on. That look of confusion, that one moment in time when it seemed that Scofield didn't actually have a grasp on a situation, a time he didn't know what was going on or have a plan was one of the most alluring things Sucre had ever seen.

With a quick smirk of his own, without a thought to the consequences, Sucre leaned forward and placed his moistened lips against Michael's, claiming him in a soft, questioning kiss.

Michael exhaled in a sharp huff, his mind's first and only small protest whimpered out softly - this wasn't part of the plan; though it didn't stop him from kissing back, from submitting himself to the slight dominance he felt in that almost innocent kiss. But how could it be innocent? How could two men, two inmates sharing a cell kissing be anything remotely resembling innocence? And the dominance he felt radiating off of Sucre, practically dripping off him should feel wrong. Michael was not a submissive man by any definition, but this was different, different than anything he'd ever thought or imagined. He'd never been with a man, nor did he fantasize about men, but like most healthy adults he'd let his mind contemplate the 'what ifs'. Those 'what ifs' never included him kissing his cellmate in the dark, never included him being slightly submissive and most certainly never included him enjoying it.

It wasn't about place he realized just as quickly, it wasn't about an alpha or a top, about one man letting the other 'be the man' so to speak. This kiss was a conversation, one words would not suffice for. Fernando was telling him that he cared for Michael, that he wanted to protect him, that he'd hurt anyone that tried to hurt him again. Michael was man, all man, another pass of lips explained, Sucre knew that. With a tilt of his head and slightly parted lips, their mouths reconnected, it seemed Sucre had a lot to tell him.

Long fingers dugs into strong shoulders, Michael held on for dear life, his lips parted to allow his breath to pant out against the lips barely attacking his own. His mind was blank, normally filled with so much thought the emptiness almost scared him, but the space soon filled with something else - pleasure, need, desire, yes. Before he could let his lips tell Sucre this, the other man pulled back slightly, enough to look into Michael's heavily lidded eyes.

He stared hard, seeming to have his own internal battle, and for once Michael wasn't really sure what someone else was thinking. He swallowed hard and wet his lips. "I don't..." the words died in his throat. "I've never..." And again, the words failed him.

"Me either." Sucre gave a shy grin, ducking his head slightly.

"I'm not submissive." Michael's logic decided to say.

A startled look crossed Sucre's features. "You wanna be on top?" his own logic faltered there and the words left his lips before he could stop them.

Now it was Michael's turn to blush, he couldn't stop the sharp laugh or the way his hips jolted slightly from the barrage of imagery the suggestion alone created. "I didn't mean," he cocked his head, eyeing Sucre's lips. "I don't know what I meant."

He got a smile for his honesty. "Yeah?" Sucre teased, leaning forward to press another soft kiss to Michael's lips, testing the water, asking permission. "I thought you knew everything."

"About buildings, structures and engineering, sure." He plucked a soft, answering kiss in return. "About this?" And his hands would be shaking if they weren't gripping those strong shoulders so damn tight. "I have no idea."

"Is it scary?" Sucre asked, letting his lips stay pressed to Michael's longer between each word. Shouldn't he be just as scared? It's not as if he went around romantically kissing his guy friends all the time, or ever for that matter. Instead he felt calm, right. A laugh growled from his throat as he wrapped his arm tighter around Michael's waist, letting the other rub up his back until he was cupping the back of Michael's head, deepening the kiss. The urge to not only kiss him breathless but to protect him surged through Sucre's blood, heating his veins like fire before pooling in his groin, stirring his cock to life.

"It's scary..." Michael began, his breathing getting shallower as he sensed the possessiveness in the other man. "That I'm not scared." Scared was the furthest emotion from his mind. The hug had him mostly on Sucre's lap, and beneath him he could feel the other man's cock hardening. It should send him to his feet, as far across the room as he could get but it didn't. It made his own blood burn and before he had thought to stop himself, his hips ground gently, experimentally against the other man's groin.

Sucre hadn't expected that. He gasped against the other man's mouth, biting Michael's lower lip suddenly with a soft groan. "Michael..." he breathed, slowly dragging his teeth along that trapped lip.

"Wait!" And then Michael did pull back, his hand pushed at Sucre's chest, keeping him pinned to the wall. He was panting, his face that completely sexy mask of confusion and partial shame once more. His cheeks were pink, as he tried to take a few deep breaths. His mind was trying to make sense of it all.

"What's wrong, Papi?" Sucre whispered, not really sure what he thought of the whole thing yet either, though his body knew it was disappointed with the lack of kissing that was going on.

"I..." Michael swallowed, flexing his fingers against Sucre's chest. He what? He had no idea what he was trying to say. His body however, hadn't exactly stopped its soft, grinding circles and the sudden feel of Sucre's fully hard cock shifting and grinding up into his rear startled a gasp right from his lips. In some weak attempt he lowered his other hand and draped it across his own lap, as if to hide his own obvious erection in shame.

Sucre watched the action and smiled, gently he pulled Michael's hand away with one of his own hands, interlacing their fingers. "You trying to hide that from me?" he asked, amusement in his voice. As if he wasn't just as hard and conflicted.

Blue green eyes flashed in the dim light of the cell, confusion, shame, lust, and desire raced through them, battling for control.

Sucre grumbled a deep laugh, pressing their lips together again. "Michael," he growled, letting his free hand slide across Michael's lap, until he was gripping the hard bulge with it. Giving a gentle squeeze, he bucked his hips, letting his own cock dig a little harder against the tempting rear above it.

"Y-yeah," Michael stammered, nodding slightly, coming back to the moment. It wasn't just him, Sucre was... Sucre was too. "Yeah. He repeated more confidently, wrapping his arms around Sucre's torso, digging one set of fingers tight into that strong shoulder, letting the other cup the back of his warm neck. He used his nose to nudge Sucre's face to point upward and captured his mouth in another, deeper kiss. This was ok; this was good, felt good. His hips rocked, questioning and enjoying the hard length below them - really enjoying the firm hand still gripping his cock through his pants.

"Sorry I, I'm..." Michael wet his lips, letting his tongue brush against Sucre's mouth as he did so.

"You're thinking too much." Sucre finished the sentence for him, letting his tongue slip out and trace along Michael's lips. In the next breath he pushed it gently at Michael's mouth, smiling as the other man welcomed it inside.

The tongue, it seemed, changed everything. Michael shifted, rising on his knees for a moment. It dislodged Sucre's hands, broke the hug and kiss and he had to wonder if he pushed it. Though Michael was shifting with a soft whimper, the sound of sheer need that Sucre didn't realize the other man was even capable of. Hands moved, gripping Sucre by his sides, he watched in fascination as Michael attempted to push him back further, knocking him a little forcefully against the wall. Once he was positioned where Michael wanted him, he felt those long, shaking legs straddle his hips.

Sucre sucked in a breath and stiffened, sitting up eagerly to catch Michael's mouth again but he was roughly shoved back against the wall. Michael moved, shifting until he was straddling Sucre in the manner he wanted. He sat back down on the other man's lap, his hips still grinding in a small circle, harder this time, more urgent. In the new position, their cocks met and could feel each other's heat, even though the layers of clothing between them.

Now Michael settled, leaning heavily against Sucre's body. He pressed their mouths together feverishly, suckling on Sucre's lower lip, inviting his tongue once more. Sucre wasn't one to disappoint, he slid his tongue easily into Michael's mouth, searching and caressing the heat that awaited him.

"Yes." Michael groaned softly into the kiss, his hands gripping tight fistfuls of Sucre's wife beater, holding on for dear life.

"Is that better, Papi?" Sucre asked, rocking his hips up delightedly to feel that hardness rubbing against his own. He took turns, nibbling first the hot upper lip then the pouty lower lip in front of him. His hands softly rubbed up and down the naked back that felt so warm and smooth to the touch, he was gentle, beyond gentle and careful not to rub too close to the injured shoulder. When his hands skated downward, searching and groping, gripping the perfect rear offered to them, only then did the touch get firmer. Kneading and caressing, urging those hips forward against his own. "Is that how you like it, Papi?" he panted, letting his tongue roam back into Michael's mouth.

And Michael could only groan, sparks dancing behind his closed eyelids. Is this how he liked it? He had no idea how he liked it, he hadn't done this before. If the state of his cock were any indication then yes, this is exactly how he liked it. But those thoughts didn't turn into words that came out of his mouth for some reason, he couldn't say anything to save his life - which was a pretty good thing this wasn't a life threatening situation.

It dawned on Fernando Sucre at that moment that there was a reason Michael reacted almost shameful of his own arousal. This was something Michael couldn't control, a moment when his mind wasn't sharp, clear and in control. Losing control was something Michael didn't do very often, something he didn't like to do and something he couldn't afford to do here. Lust was not a map, nor a mathematical equation, there was no way to simplify or explain it, no neat box to wrap it in. Arousal left him vulnerable and open, left him speechless and defenseless and while that was incredibly arousing to Sucre, he felt the seriousness in the matter too.

"You can trust me, Michael." he whispered, nuzzling his nose to the other man's cheek.

"I know," came the surprising, guttural response. "I know, Papi."

Sucre's hips surged upward, his hands gripped Michael's ass hard, almost bruisingly so and he had to thank God in that moment he was holding Michael's ass and not his shoulders near the burn.

"Wait, wait." it was Sucre's turn to push Michael's head away gently. Try as he may though, he couldn't stop his hips from thrusting, though he did manage to slow them.

"What?" Michael was panting still, breathing hard from the lust and exertion, still weak from the medical procedure he'd undergone not that long ago. His eyes were lidded and his lips swollen, he couldn't stop licking them, tasting Sucre.

"You almost made me cum." Sucre looked serious, his tone almost scolding.

That smirk was back. "I thought that was the point?"

"Like this? In our pants?" Sucre gripped Michael's ass a little tighter, biting his lip in thought.

"What did you have in mind?" Michael bit his own lip, rocking their hips together a little more urgently. The longer they stopped the more he thought, not that he'd stop this, not now, he was too riled up for that. Honestly, the tension had been coiling and wound so tight within him for days, not sexual tension, the other, worse kind. When he got his release now he knew it was going to utterly drain his body and empty his mind, at least for a few minutes, and the promise of such a release was too tempting for even a man of his control to ignore.

"In mind?" Sucre blushed again; he didn't have anything in mind, did he? Or did he? What was he expecting? Honestly, once his dick had gotten hard he'd stopped thinking about the rest of it, funny how that happened. He saw the finish line, saw it a little too closely a moment ago and realized he didn't want to go out like that, not exactly. Not that he minded what they were doing, it felt great, better than great - amazing. And not that he minded making a sticky mess in his pants, but he wanted something, uh, he exhaled, something a little more. Also, he decided, there was far too much blushing going on for grown men here, but damn if Michael didn't give him actual butterflies, he couldn't help himself.

Seeming to settle on a decision he moved his hands to Michael's crotch, fumbling for the rim of the prison issue sweat pants. When the other man's breathing caught, Sucre looked up, hopeful and skittish. "Is this ok?" he asked, tugging gently on the band of the pants, as if to pull them down.

"That depends," Michael swallowed hard, fixing his intent gaze on the wide dark eyes below him. "Is what exactly ok?"

"What wouldn't be ok?" Sucre asked instead, almost holding his breath, not willing to reveal more than Michael at the moment. Someone had to lay their cards on the table but they were both being cautious still. Which after all that had happened already seemed rather foolish.

They studied each other's features for a while, neither seeming to really notice their bodies were still grinding together. The primal need took over there, something neither of them could control, just how much give and take was offered up however... The silence washed over them a beat too long, almost making the situation awkward before Michael finally answered.

"Are you offering me a blow job?"

Sucre halted his hips jolting as he turned redder than he'd managed all evening. He gulped in air and stammered over himself, letting his hands grip Michael's hips tight to still them. He knew the words, knew the phrase and what it meant but for some reason hearing such a thing come from Michael's proper lips shocked him from his senses. He felt as if he'd been thrown overboard into a storm, drowning in his own words. "A b... a b-blow job?" he repeated. "I d-don't know." And it's not that the idea offended him or disgusted him, quite the opposite. Curiosity and lust urged him to ask Michael for more, to pull his pants down and see what exactly was giving him so much pleasure. Though he'd thought hands first, his mouth hadn't even been thought of. Now he couldn't stop thinking about it and it made him throb so hard it hurt.

The question from earlier sprung to mind, and almost timidly, Sucre peered up at Michael. "Would a blow job be ok?" he asked, his voice soft.

Michael smirked and nodded, shrugging almost nonchalantly. "A blow job would be ok."

Sucre smiled for half a second, then jerked and dug his fingers into Michael's hips. "Papi, are you offering *me* a blow job?" The idea had come full circle.

Michael stilled and flushed a little himself. Of course, if Sucre was willing to give him one then he'd return the favor, it wasn't really a problem, not that he'd ever done it but he'd had it done to himself and well it was a rather logical thing to perform, it didn't seem as it would be that difficult to pull off. Though for some reason the idea of getting to his knees for Sucre, kissing his cock, licking it and suckling on it seemed so damn intimate he couldn't help but blush.

Sucre wasn't fazed by the silence; he merely groaned and whimpered softly in the back of his throat. "Is more ok? Are you offering me more, Papi? Are you saying I can fu-"

"Fernando." Michael steadied himself, feeling his body clench tightly and burn deeply in a place he didn't normally associate with sexual encounters. His mouth was suddenly too dry to swallow. They were both breathing deeply, their chests heaving in the small, warm space of the cell bunk.

"Shit," Sucre swore, and it wasn't often he did so. It pulled Michael from the heart pounding, incredibly and surprisingly arousing idea of having Sucre deep inside of him. "N-not today, Papi." He fumbled between them.

Michael was watching his face at the moment and not his hands, wondering if the idea wasn't as appealing to Sucre as it was to him, but it was only a moment later that he felt cool air at his groin. He looked down, his mind a step behind what was already happening. His cock was freed and suddenly pressed against something hot and hard, Sucre's cock. He'd been opening their pants in that moment. Michael watched it happen now, holding his breath, still a step behind the action as a warm, wide hand wrapped around his cock, holding it against Sucre's. He was holding them together, working his fist over both their cocks, jerking them both slowly.

It was as if someone had thrown cold water over him, Michael gasped loudly, a little too loudly, his hearing came back into play as he thrust into Sucre's hand. His own hands fumbled, one groped blindly in the dark for a shoulder to hold, the other strayed toward their laps, wrapping partially around Sucre's hand and their cocks, urging him to squeeze just a little harder.

"N-not gonna last, Papi." Sucre breathed out a soft laugh, biting his lip after to try and hold himself in check.

It was wet; he realized almost too slowly, Sucre was already leaking. Oh shit, he groaned to himself, it wasn't just Sucre, he was leaking profusely. When did that happen?

"If I were offering more," Michael had no idea how he managed to keep his voice so calm, thrusting into his cellmate's tight fist. "W-would you take it?"

At first he got a string of rapid, barely audible Spanish. Sucre bit his lip and threw his head back, his hips stopped moving but his hand squeezed tighter. "Fuck, Michael!"

"That's what I'm asking, would you?" he teased, now that the question had been asked, the suggestion offered, he needed an answer.

That wonderfully warm hand stopped stroking; his own hand was slapped away momentarily. He felt a tug on his wrist and he was directed to grip Sucre's cock, when he finally did so, that warm fist was back, gripping his own cock again. This time it wrapped fully around him, tugging and pulling insistently in a frantic manner.

"Yes, yes! I'd take it; I'd take it all night, Papi." Sucre realized then that he would, he really would, and what's more he wanted to. He wanted to right now but there's no way he'd make it that far, especially not now that Michael's crafty hand began to stroke and squeeze him in a perfectly timed manner.

"Good to know." Michael gruffed back, unable to stop the expressions washing over his face, whimpering softly, trying not to moan out loud. Sucre's hand was incredibly warm and tight, it had been so long since someone had... hell, since he'd even...

"Oh yeah?" Sucre's voice was teasing now, on his next stroke up, he twisted his wrist gently toward the head of Michael's cock, stroking the sensitive underside just right. "I thought you weren't submissive?" he cantered a brow upward, slipping his other hand into the back of Michael's pants, gently kneading his knuckle against his perineum.

The extra stimulus and the implication of the words was far too much, Michael thought he didn't think when he was sexually aroused but the sheer volume of input and data that exploded in his mind with the bright white light of orgasm shocked a startled grunt from his lips. A little too loud and obvious in the prison environment but he didn't care. He held onto Sucre's cock for dear life, thankful it seemed that the other man liked it a little rough because he wasn't sure he would be able to unclench his fist. Mouth parted, face strained, he shut his eyes tight and let the heat surge through his body. Release, yes, this! He felt his hips jerking, his cock spurting strings of cum, lots of cum - he had the ability to realize that as his whole body wracked.

Had he been doing this to himself, this is the point his hand would have stopped, but Sucre's did not, it worked up and down that slick shaft urging more cum from his body, prolonging the incredible sensations. That wonderfully naughty knuckle massaged his perineum again and Michael lost it. He fell forward, his hand slipped off of Sucre's cock as he gripped the other man's shoulders hard. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Sucre's neck, panting and gasping there, trying to keep quiet but Goddamnit; Sucre just wouldn't stop touching him!

"Fernando!" he rasped quietly, half in pleasure, half pleading him to stop. Stop, stop now or I'm going to...

At the sound of his name, Sucre let Michael's softening cock go, gripping his own with his now cum slicked hand. He jerked himself hard, using his nose to urge Michael's head forward. Just as he felt the spring coil tighter, he nudged his knuckle again to the tight bundle of nerves, hearing Michael yelp loudly in overwhelming pleasure. He quickly captured the other man's lips in a kiss, swallowing the moans and cries of pleasure as best he could. His own orgasm took him easily; the heat shot from belly straight to his cock, adding to the warm sticky mess Michael had already left between them. His insistent hand milked his own cock, continuing to massage Michael intimately as he suckled on the drained man's tongue. Michael was simply melting against him, jolting with each long, drawn out massaging rub.

Michael panted for air, unable to stop thrusting his tongue into the other man's mouth, in what, thanks for the incredible orgasm? Because Sucre's mouth was so hot and his suction so tight it made heat coil in Michael's belly all over again? He couldn't stop regardless and the other man wouldn't stop stroking that area which made thought completely impossible.

Sucre felt drained and lazy, kissing his new lover, still gently petting over a sensitive area to keep him stimulated and interested, but content to just pet and kiss hotly for now. He hadn't even heard the few curious catcalls from other cells and soft murmuring as the other inmates tried to figure out who was making the racket. Apparently Michael didn't hear it either, he was collapsed on top of Sucre, their mouths slipping away from one another allowing them to both draw in deep gulps of fresh air.

A few long minutes passed, and while Sucre still pet him, his touch gentled to the barest of tickles. Their breathing had calmed slightly, though both their chests heaved and their hearts still raced. Michael wondered what exactly to say after that, he felt a 'thank you' was in order, but wondered if it'd be inappropriate to say such a thing.

"Hey, Papi." Sucre almost purred, petting his free sticky hand against his own pant leg before rubbing Michael's back with it. "Are you okay?"

Michael exhaled slowly; his face was pressed into Sucre's neck, enjoying the warmth and comfort of their positions. He muffled his reply into the other man's skin. "Never better."

After a minute, he felt Sucre swallow. "Are we okay?"

Blue green eyes peered open, staring intensely at the skin of Sucre's neck, since he didn’t have the energy to lift himself and look in the other man's eyes. "Are we okay?" he asked by way of an answer.

Sucre chuckled, nudging his knuckle against that bundle of nerves harder. "That's what I'm asking you, Papi." he teased, laughing again when Michael gasped and suddenly gripped his shoulders tight in warning. He was still too sensitive.

"We're okay." Michael confirmed, squirming slightly, noticing the sticky mess between them now as the movement practically peeled them apart momentarily. "Ugh, we're uh," he wet his lips. "A little sticky, though."

"Mmm," Sucre hummed a little noncommittal sound, obviously not bothered by the mess. "S'ok." he murmured after a minute, appearing on the brink of sleep.

Michael froze; trying to summon up energy from somewhere, though it seemed the orgasm literally drained him of all the strength in his body. "Sucre, we cannot fall asleep like this." he warned, they hadn't even hung a sheet.

"Wish we could," he got as a sleepy reply, then felt Sucre jerk underneath him, his body going stiff as he seemed to wake up and realize what he said. "Uh," another swallow. "I'll wet some tissues..." He started to move but Michael stopped him, waiting for him to settle back in place.

He managed to lift his head, smiling down at Sucre's sheepish and apologetic expression. "In a minute." he whispered, locking their gazes.

Sucre relaxed again, letting his hand pet over Michael's back soothingly. He didn't think anything of it, it was what he did after making love, he'd soothe and pet, coddle and caress his lovers, so it didn't even dawn on him to act differently with Michael.

"Sorry I couldn't..." Sucre trailed off, pursing his lips. "You know," he frowned, averting his gaze from Michael. "That I didn't get to b...blow you. I was too excited, Papi."

Michael smirked, letting out another exhale, one he didn't even realize he'd been holding in, suddenly, more than the orgasm, he felt relieved. "Next time." he whispered confidently.

"Next time?" Sucre couldn't hide the hope in his voice, though he did try. His grip tightened on Michael, the hug once again turning possessive.

He merely nodded, hoping the next time they'd be outside these walls, but not at all disappointed in the fact that next time could be tomorrow. "Next time."

This is my first post here, I hope you guys enjoy this fic!
Also posted at AO3 in case it is easier to read there for you.