Prison Break - Long-Term Thanks
Title: Long-Term Thanks
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Lincoln/Sucre
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 710
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary/ Prompt by yoruichiyoshi12 in comment_fic: The brothers’ way of saying thank you, Michael/Lincoln/Sucre or Michael/Lincoln/Sara. This one is for Michael/Lincoln/Sucre.
Author’s Note: A slightly *cough* belated birthday ficlet for amodalie *hugs* Also for the prompt above because I’m cheap ;)
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
“Thank you.”
Michael’s voice is a silky whisper, almost entirely stifled by the running water in the lockers’ showers; his hands and mouth move fast and efficiently down Sucre’s chest. They don’t have a lot of time. The guards, or even worse Abruzzi, T-Bag or C-Note, can barge in at any moment. Sucre is not sure about Lincoln, but he suspects the risk only fuels Michael’s arousal a bit more. His cellmate is just that kind of twisted.
Sucre asks, “For what?” and Michael murmurs “Everything,” before kissing him on the mouth. Lincoln watches them and waits for his turn; Sucre’s mind reels. Even by prison’s standards, he’s not supposed to want this, but as Lincoln pointed out while quietly and firmly pushing him into the corner of the small room, it has nothing to do with prison’s standards. This is blowing off the steam and bonding and, above all, appreciation. Gratefulness, from them to him. They show off a bit, sure, but how could Sucre mind?
Annoyed with the wait, Lincoln forgets about kissing him and settles for the string of yellowish bruises on his collarbone. They’ve started to fade but still stand out; Lincoln’s tongue is thorough in its exploration. Thorough and considerate. How thoughtful Lincoln can be is not something Sucre had anticipated. Big hands, impossibly gentle and working with Michael’s to take care of him. Sucre would say he yields, but yielding would imply that he tried to fight either them or the need they elicit; he didn’t. He’s taken up the offer and now basks in it.
His back to the tiled wall, he’s encased between the two of them. His dick is proudly pointing up, theirs rubbing against his hips. He hardens a bit more - and can feel them throbbing against him - when Lincoln asks him with a smirk what he likes, if he wants to fuck Michael’s nice tight ass. They all know they don’t have enough time for this, but Michael plays along and crooks an eyebrow in a half-hearted protest.
Sucre shakes his head, partly amused and partly impatient to get to the point.
“Just... your hands...” he demands, shifting against the wall to steady his stance. They comply readily. Sucre holds onto Michael’s shoulder and bites into Lincoln’s arm to muffle the sounds spilling from his mouth as said hands glide down and join around his hard-on. Michael starts at the root, Lincoln at the head, and they end up entwining their fingers, running them up and down the length of his cock. They work him with too much ease and smoothness for it not to have been done before, possibly practiced on a more or less regular basis. Or maybe they’re just that attuned to each other - and if so, it’s a can of worms he’d probably better not look into.
Michael is the first to lose it. His humping of Sucre’s hip becomes frantic and desperate to the point that, for a few seconds, his grip is too tight, almost painful. Seconds during which Lincoln lets go of Sucre and takes hold of his brother instead, stroking him until Michael spills all over the helping hand.
Sucre doesn’t have the time to linger on what just happened. Michael is already dropping to his knees in front of him and taking him into his mouth. Him, and to Sucre’s lack of shock, Lincoln alternately. His pink lips form a neat O around the erections moving in and out of his mouth. Once he’s put himself into this position, he doesn’t really have his say anymore about what Lincoln does with him. His brother’s hand must be as heavy and authoritative on his neck, directing his every move, as it feels on the small of Sucre’s back. Michael may be in charge as far as his plan is involved but here, he revels in relinquishing the upper hand and having Lincoln run the show. Not that Sucre is complaining. It’s not - not only - the brazen lust they display for him and for one another; it’s also the trust they grant him. Lincoln’s lips crushing Sucre’s, his come-covered finger finding its way into his body, Michael’s so welcoming mouth, it’s the immediate thank you they whispered to him earlier; the trust is the long-term kind.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome.
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Lincoln/Sucre
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 710
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary/ Prompt by yoruichiyoshi12 in comment_fic: The brothers’ way of saying thank you, Michael/Lincoln/Sucre or Michael/Lincoln/Sara. This one is for Michael/Lincoln/Sucre.
Author’s Note: A slightly *cough* belated birthday ficlet for amodalie *hugs* Also for the prompt above because I’m cheap ;)
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
“Thank you.”
Michael’s voice is a silky whisper, almost entirely stifled by the running water in the lockers’ showers; his hands and mouth move fast and efficiently down Sucre’s chest. They don’t have a lot of time. The guards, or even worse Abruzzi, T-Bag or C-Note, can barge in at any moment. Sucre is not sure about Lincoln, but he suspects the risk only fuels Michael’s arousal a bit more. His cellmate is just that kind of twisted.
Sucre asks, “For what?” and Michael murmurs “Everything,” before kissing him on the mouth. Lincoln watches them and waits for his turn; Sucre’s mind reels. Even by prison’s standards, he’s not supposed to want this, but as Lincoln pointed out while quietly and firmly pushing him into the corner of the small room, it has nothing to do with prison’s standards. This is blowing off the steam and bonding and, above all, appreciation. Gratefulness, from them to him. They show off a bit, sure, but how could Sucre mind?
Annoyed with the wait, Lincoln forgets about kissing him and settles for the string of yellowish bruises on his collarbone. They’ve started to fade but still stand out; Lincoln’s tongue is thorough in its exploration. Thorough and considerate. How thoughtful Lincoln can be is not something Sucre had anticipated. Big hands, impossibly gentle and working with Michael’s to take care of him. Sucre would say he yields, but yielding would imply that he tried to fight either them or the need they elicit; he didn’t. He’s taken up the offer and now basks in it.
His back to the tiled wall, he’s encased between the two of them. His dick is proudly pointing up, theirs rubbing against his hips. He hardens a bit more - and can feel them throbbing against him - when Lincoln asks him with a smirk what he likes, if he wants to fuck Michael’s nice tight ass. They all know they don’t have enough time for this, but Michael plays along and crooks an eyebrow in a half-hearted protest.
Sucre shakes his head, partly amused and partly impatient to get to the point.
“Just... your hands...” he demands, shifting against the wall to steady his stance. They comply readily. Sucre holds onto Michael’s shoulder and bites into Lincoln’s arm to muffle the sounds spilling from his mouth as said hands glide down and join around his hard-on. Michael starts at the root, Lincoln at the head, and they end up entwining their fingers, running them up and down the length of his cock. They work him with too much ease and smoothness for it not to have been done before, possibly practiced on a more or less regular basis. Or maybe they’re just that attuned to each other - and if so, it’s a can of worms he’d probably better not look into.
Michael is the first to lose it. His humping of Sucre’s hip becomes frantic and desperate to the point that, for a few seconds, his grip is too tight, almost painful. Seconds during which Lincoln lets go of Sucre and takes hold of his brother instead, stroking him until Michael spills all over the helping hand.
Sucre doesn’t have the time to linger on what just happened. Michael is already dropping to his knees in front of him and taking him into his mouth. Him, and to Sucre’s lack of shock, Lincoln alternately. His pink lips form a neat O around the erections moving in and out of his mouth. Once he’s put himself into this position, he doesn’t really have his say anymore about what Lincoln does with him. His brother’s hand must be as heavy and authoritative on his neck, directing his every move, as it feels on the small of Sucre’s back. Michael may be in charge as far as his plan is involved but here, he revels in relinquishing the upper hand and having Lincoln run the show. Not that Sucre is complaining. It’s not - not only - the brazen lust they display for him and for one another; it’s also the trust they grant him. Lincoln’s lips crushing Sucre’s, his come-covered finger finding its way into his body, Michael’s so welcoming mouth, it’s the immediate thank you they whispered to him earlier; the trust is the long-term kind.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome.