PB Fic- The Heat We Leave In Our Wake
Title: The Heat We Leave In Our Wake
Authors: volatile/becisvolatile
Rating: PG
Characters: Sara/Michael
Genre: Angsty and drabblish (480 words)
Summary: Her existence is just a building block in a structure meticulously engineered by him. Her skin is a puzzle of the remains of heated kisses, rough hands and those damned long fingers.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Especially not anything related to Prison Break.
Notes: Not much to note about this. I wrote it over breakfast and managed to get Fruit Loops on the laptop. Frankly, I think this is entirely too mush for something written first thing in the morning.
Long after the drug has left her system, she can still feel it. Her veins are inflamed with the memory of something gone. Something better.
*****
She remembers the sickly splat of blood on her skin. She knows their blood, all of it, from that first gunshot to the last shanking. It isn’t warm, the memory of those splashes, soaks and splatters, it’s hot. A prickly sensory memory that makes her itch and burn. She can outline that invisible spot on her wrist where her glove stopped and Abruzzi’s blood stained her skin.
When she walks down the corridor she can see a steamy haze rise from the long gone smears of Michael’s blood. For Sara, Fox River burns with the hiss of forgotten blood.
*****
When she was young, her father would hold her hand and rub at the hollow between her thumb and fingers. That stretch of skin has been cold for nearly a decade now.
*****
At 16 she had her first serious kiss. He was two months younger than her and very nervous. He coughed as their mouths opened and, to this day, the top of her mouth is still sticky with the memory of his chewing gum.
*****
At night, she walks from her bathroom, lies down on her bed and plays games. She runs her hands over her hips, breasts, sometimes even behind her knees. She knows where and how to touch herself. She knows intimately the curve where her ass meets her legs, she knows that small curve high inside her own thigh. She knows her body. It’s ok, though, she’s a doctor.
What she doesn’t know is why her own hands leave her cold. Why she can never remember those places that she’s touched herself? Is it the same for her patients? Is her touch so easily forgotten?
*****
Sometimes she feels as though her body exists only as a map. A testament of the places he has been. Her existence is just a building block in a structure meticulously engineered by him. Her skin is a puzzle of the remains of heated kisses, rough hands and those damned long fingers.
*****
Six months after his escape she finds herself called to his old cell for an emergency. New pictures are tacked to the walls, his smell, illicit but familiar, is gone.
His heat, however, lingers, clinging to the walls and emanating from the ceiling. She turns her face up and lets his warmth fall over her in sheets.
*****
She’s afraid that her touch has left him as cold as it leaves her own skin.
*****
He’s afraid that her touch will never fade.
*****
She worries that this heat is all she has left of him.
*****
He wonders if his touch is enough to sustain her until he can return.
Authors: volatile/becisvolatile
Rating: PG
Characters: Sara/Michael
Genre: Angsty and drabblish (480 words)
Summary: Her existence is just a building block in a structure meticulously engineered by him. Her skin is a puzzle of the remains of heated kisses, rough hands and those damned long fingers.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Especially not anything related to Prison Break.
Notes: Not much to note about this. I wrote it over breakfast and managed to get Fruit Loops on the laptop. Frankly, I think this is entirely too mush for something written first thing in the morning.
Long after the drug has left her system, she can still feel it. Her veins are inflamed with the memory of something gone. Something better.
*****
She remembers the sickly splat of blood on her skin. She knows their blood, all of it, from that first gunshot to the last shanking. It isn’t warm, the memory of those splashes, soaks and splatters, it’s hot. A prickly sensory memory that makes her itch and burn. She can outline that invisible spot on her wrist where her glove stopped and Abruzzi’s blood stained her skin.
When she walks down the corridor she can see a steamy haze rise from the long gone smears of Michael’s blood. For Sara, Fox River burns with the hiss of forgotten blood.
*****
When she was young, her father would hold her hand and rub at the hollow between her thumb and fingers. That stretch of skin has been cold for nearly a decade now.
*****
At 16 she had her first serious kiss. He was two months younger than her and very nervous. He coughed as their mouths opened and, to this day, the top of her mouth is still sticky with the memory of his chewing gum.
*****
At night, she walks from her bathroom, lies down on her bed and plays games. She runs her hands over her hips, breasts, sometimes even behind her knees. She knows where and how to touch herself. She knows intimately the curve where her ass meets her legs, she knows that small curve high inside her own thigh. She knows her body. It’s ok, though, she’s a doctor.
What she doesn’t know is why her own hands leave her cold. Why she can never remember those places that she’s touched herself? Is it the same for her patients? Is her touch so easily forgotten?
*****
Sometimes she feels as though her body exists only as a map. A testament of the places he has been. Her existence is just a building block in a structure meticulously engineered by him. Her skin is a puzzle of the remains of heated kisses, rough hands and those damned long fingers.
*****
Six months after his escape she finds herself called to his old cell for an emergency. New pictures are tacked to the walls, his smell, illicit but familiar, is gone.
His heat, however, lingers, clinging to the walls and emanating from the ceiling. She turns her face up and lets his warmth fall over her in sheets.
*****
She’s afraid that her touch has left him as cold as it leaves her own skin.
*****
He’s afraid that her touch will never fade.
*****
She worries that this heat is all she has left of him.
*****
He wonders if his touch is enough to sustain her until he can return.