Prison Break - Oblivion
Title: Oblivion
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 500
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: On nights like these, he can never fall asleep right away.
Author’s Note: This is meant to be a birthday thingie for halfshellvenus. Happy birthday, and may you have a peaceful year.
Many thanks to mystressxoxo for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
On nights like these, he can never fall asleep right away. His body, as fulfilled as it may be, is still thrumming with a residual excitement that keeps him awake. His mind, always operational, rarely at peace, keeps working, reviewing, analyzing what they just did - judging. So, as soon as Lincoln has dozed off, he gets up and snatches a drink in the fridge. When he comes back to the bedroom, he settles in an armchair a few feet away from the bed and starts some sort of watch.
There are a few upsides to his insomnia.
He can observe Lincoln sleep to his heart’s content, sprawled all over the bed in the messy sheets. Such a pleasant, appeasing sight. In his slumber, his brother’s features are softened, broad shoulders and chest rising and falling in a slow and steady rhythm, ridged stomach muscles and skin glowing under the faint light. Michael’s fingers hitch to touch him. If he yielded to the temptation, he would lay his hand on him and let it slide all the way down, retracing patterns he drew earlier with his mouth and tongue. He doesn’t move, though, barely dares to breathe. He’d rather enjoy the moment and relish the anticipation of things to come.
He likes that, eventually, Lincoln half emerges from sleep and scans the room, looking for him. When Linc spots him, he yawns and fights to pry his eyes open before grumbling, “Come the fuck back to bed.” It prickles Michael’s spine, the thrill of Lincoln asking, his tone sultry and demanding: not a lot of things can rival this. Nor can it beat Linc shifting to make room in the bed and lifting the covers up to coax Michael back in. When they’re lying flush against each other, he adds, “It’s creepy, the way you have to watch me.” Michael kisses him. He knows he doesn’t actually mean it: even though as he utters the words, he’s smiling in Michael’s neck.
He likes how the cold of the bedroom has had the time to seep in his bones while he was up, because then, he can bask in Lincoln’s body heat. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, lets the proximity warm him up and Lincoln wrap his arms around him. When he rubs down, grinding their hips together in a less that subtle overture, Lincoln smirks and calls him insatiable. Maybe he is, maybe Linc is right. It doesn’t matter; the first encounter of the night is usually too frantic and eager to appease him, and it’s not like Lincoln minds an encore anyway.
And this is what he likes the most: how, with the threat of impending release delayed, their kisses and caresses are slow and lazy and selfless. Time and pleasure seem to stretch forever as Lincoln’s relentless touch drives him mad with arousal and wears him out into oblivion. Then he can wallow in what they’re doing rather than thinking about it. Then he can fall asleep, his brother a heavy and comforting weight against him.
* *
Comments are welcome and cherished.
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 500
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: On nights like these, he can never fall asleep right away.
Author’s Note: This is meant to be a birthday thingie for halfshellvenus. Happy birthday, and may you have a peaceful year.
Many thanks to mystressxoxo for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
On nights like these, he can never fall asleep right away. His body, as fulfilled as it may be, is still thrumming with a residual excitement that keeps him awake. His mind, always operational, rarely at peace, keeps working, reviewing, analyzing what they just did - judging. So, as soon as Lincoln has dozed off, he gets up and snatches a drink in the fridge. When he comes back to the bedroom, he settles in an armchair a few feet away from the bed and starts some sort of watch.
There are a few upsides to his insomnia.
He can observe Lincoln sleep to his heart’s content, sprawled all over the bed in the messy sheets. Such a pleasant, appeasing sight. In his slumber, his brother’s features are softened, broad shoulders and chest rising and falling in a slow and steady rhythm, ridged stomach muscles and skin glowing under the faint light. Michael’s fingers hitch to touch him. If he yielded to the temptation, he would lay his hand on him and let it slide all the way down, retracing patterns he drew earlier with his mouth and tongue. He doesn’t move, though, barely dares to breathe. He’d rather enjoy the moment and relish the anticipation of things to come.
He likes that, eventually, Lincoln half emerges from sleep and scans the room, looking for him. When Linc spots him, he yawns and fights to pry his eyes open before grumbling, “Come the fuck back to bed.” It prickles Michael’s spine, the thrill of Lincoln asking, his tone sultry and demanding: not a lot of things can rival this. Nor can it beat Linc shifting to make room in the bed and lifting the covers up to coax Michael back in. When they’re lying flush against each other, he adds, “It’s creepy, the way you have to watch me.” Michael kisses him. He knows he doesn’t actually mean it: even though as he utters the words, he’s smiling in Michael’s neck.
He likes how the cold of the bedroom has had the time to seep in his bones while he was up, because then, he can bask in Lincoln’s body heat. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, lets the proximity warm him up and Lincoln wrap his arms around him. When he rubs down, grinding their hips together in a less that subtle overture, Lincoln smirks and calls him insatiable. Maybe he is, maybe Linc is right. It doesn’t matter; the first encounter of the night is usually too frantic and eager to appease him, and it’s not like Lincoln minds an encore anyway.
And this is what he likes the most: how, with the threat of impending release delayed, their kisses and caresses are slow and lazy and selfless. Time and pleasure seem to stretch forever as Lincoln’s relentless touch drives him mad with arousal and wears him out into oblivion. Then he can wallow in what they’re doing rather than thinking about it. Then he can fall asleep, his brother a heavy and comforting weight against him.
* *
Comments are welcome and cherished.