Prison Break - From the Shadows
Title: From the Shadows
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Categories: Het, Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 1945
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Sara would have to remember that heat and shadows were the deadliest, sweetest combination. (Post-series, non-epilogue compliant.)
Author’s Note: Written for rounds-of-kink's New Year’s Mini-Round 2011. Prompt: shadows & heat.
Let’s say this is a prequel to Secretive.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Sara would have to remember that heat and shadows were the deadliest, sweetest combination.
- - - - -
The first time the three of them did this, it was past midnight, the air heavy and still way too hot; they had ended up on the far end of the veranda, where moon beams hardly brought any light even on clear nights. No moon at all that night, so they were surrounded by shadows. Shadows themselves as they could barely see each other. Darkness of the night, shadows of the trees around the bungalow, shadows of the past and of things to come.
The symbolism almost had Sara explode into a fit of giggles. Any temptation to giggle was cut off by hands sliding up her back and down her hips. Now wasn’t the time for laughter and jokes, no matter how much she refused to dramatize what they were about to do. So she sobered up and returned the touch. It was only fair to thank and tease them all at once in retribution, wasn’t it? They swayed together for a while, fluidly, aimlessly, until Michael hooked a finger under one of the straps of her dress and pulled it down her shoulder. It was a question; in response, she pushed the other strap and let the dress slip down. It was nice, the brush of the air over her body, even though it didn’t last very long, with their hands finding her again and finding each other in the obscurity. The stuffy atmosphere and the closeness had already made their skin damp; the caresses only added to it - sizzling sensations, whirling minds. She leaned against Lincoln’s bare chest for support, and Michael leaned against her bare back for better access. Pieces fitting together.
It was the last time that she could tell Michael from Lincoln. The feel of them mingled after this. Good thing, considering she didn’t want to tell them apart to begin with. She was also pretty sure they were fine with leaving her in the dark in all acceptations of the word, with her hands touching and stroking them, and not knowing who she was touching and stroking. In the heat and languor of the moment, she wondered if they could tell her hands from theirs. Hers were smaller, sure, but by that point, it had boiled down to skin slick with sweat sliding lazily over equally slick skin.
They untangled from their embrace and hoisted her up, her back against the wall, her legs wrapped around the trim waist of one of them. Darkness for darkness, shadows for shadows, she tipped her head back to stare at the black branches of the trees swaying limply against the equally black sky. She refused to try to guess which of them slid into her first; who kissed her neck and nibbled her nipple; when they switched places, and switched again and again; whose hands gripped the hips she was holding onto and forced a maddeningly unhurried pace; whose fingers pushed into whoever was moving in her and made him grunt and buck hard. She moaned at the sharp thrust, demanded “Again” and found out with delight how willing they were to comply with her requests. Her back scraped against the wall; she ignored the slight burn, decided she would deal with it later, tomorrow, maybe let them take care of it. If she said anything right now, there would be awkward apologies, and she didn’t want apologies; hadn’t wanted any from the beginning.
Significant looks, minute touches, carefully chosen words. Michael had hinted about what Lincoln and he had and were to each other until almost everything fell into place by itself. He eventually told her, but it had been a confirmation rather than a revelation. Not that the two of them had gone further than sharing women on one level or another a couple of times in the past. Triangulating, sublimating: it had been enough back then, or maybe it had been as far as they’d dared to push it. Never kissed, never touched like that, never... She’d whispered “Never fucked?” into his ear and grinned when he blushed, shocked not to be more shocked but enjoying her own brashness. Now, with the shadows surrounding and hugging them, it was too easy to forget whatever was holding them back years before, to let go and indulge. It certainly was too easy for Sara; and too appealing.
She kissed one of them, drew the other one into the kiss, and reveled in the smooth sliding of their lips and tongues against each other’s for a short instant. Need, want, affection mixed with a touch of desperation; she wouldn’t regret any of this. She let her forehead rest against a welcoming shoulder and listened to them as they kept kissing. She loved the sounds they were making. She loved the steady rhythm and the delicious stretch too - felt as if he was just growing damn thicker within her - and the hand sliding down her flank and palming the underside of her bottom, and... Loved all of this so much she writhed with impatience and bit one of them to muffle the scream building up in her throat.
They shifted near her and between her thighs, swift and precise, blowing soothing words into her neck at her gasped protest. She experienced a fleeting instant of emptiness, barely had the time to cry out in frustration before they started again - different partner, same confident thrusting but faster pace, overwhelming pleasure.
One of her legs slid down, because of strain or distraction or merely because the three of them were drenched in sweat and slick with it. A helpful hand pulled her leg up again, tenderly repositioned it and lingered on her thigh. She stroked the hand with affection; she couldn’t tell whom it belonged to, and she didn’t care. No matter who it was, it didn’t change the thoughtfulness of the gesture.
She caught a movement from the corner of her eye, a silhouette that moved and stepped behind whoever was buried inside her, plastered and rubbed himself against him. He pressed them against the wall, kissed and stroked any expanse of damp skin he could reach, pushed him faster-deeper-harder into her. Driven to tip them over the edge, and quite successful at it. Sara arched her back and tightened her muscles. She was high on adrenaline and lust, the fact that she couldn’t see and be seen stripping her of her last shreds of restraint. And, given the growls and pants they were exhaling, she wasn’t the only one forgetting any restraint.
“You like this so much,” she let drop contemplatively. He did like it, being trapped in the middle, muscles and curves pressed into him, rubbing desperately against him. She licked her lips. As far as she was concerned, there was something about the notion that... “Next time, he actually takes you while we...”
She got deep and sharp thrusts for this, bruising kisses, and the distant, unexpected, echo of a laugh. She also got him to surrender before she did; he came inside of her with an unrepentant grunt, his brother nibbling and licking his shoulder, still grinding against his backside. She followed within seconds. No way she could help herself, with the sounds he was making and the pounding and the wet heat that was seeping into her and... The shadows burst in red and white beneath her eye-lids, a stark and glossy contrast with the velvety black that had been surrounding them up until now. They held her firmly through her orgasm, as firmly as they could; she was dripping with perspiration, her skin almost too slippery for their grasp. They lapped it up, the thorough slide of their tongues between her breasts and on her neck not improving the whole mess but certainly adding to her elation.
Eventually, their hands slid down, freeing her, making her open her eyes and search in the penumbra. She spotted them right next to her, indistinct masses, one of them on his knees, the other with his back up against the wall - aching and needing just like she was seconds ago. Last man standing, unselfishly waiting for his own release... With a drowsy, knowing smile, she wriggled her way between the wall and him, wrapped her arms around his hips and her fingers around his erection. Petted the silky skin and smiled more widely when a tongue touched her hand and they cursed in tandem. She wanted to ask them why they were surprised, tell them she wasn’t like that - she didn’t take and give nothing in return, did she? - but settled for showing rather than telling. So much more effective and pleasant for everybody. Plus, if the sloppy state of her thought process was any indication, speaking might not allow her to reach her goal.
It was so moist. The night air, the cock in her hand and the mouth sucking on it, their breaths, the skin under her cheek. She tasted salty droplets of sweat on her tongue when she licked between the shoulder blades of who-cared-who-she-was-cuddling. The mouth sucking him intensified its pressure, lavishing him and tightening around him. She felt the other man’s cheeks hollow beneath her fingertips, she felt him thrust deeper into the accommodating throat, and she blinked, fascinated by their willingness and eagerness. Fascinated when he started to shake against her, between them, whole body hard and vibrating from pleasure and accumulated tension. It didn’t take much, really - a flick of her wrist, a luscious drag of tongue, a dirty injunction to fucking let go...
His shout when he came, his brother’s choking noise, her murmur of satisfaction... everything was swallowed down by the shadows.
- - - - -
They had collapsed onto the floor of the veranda, in the cushions they’d stolen from the hammock and chairs and spread on the hardwood. A mess of limbs and wet skin, too lazy and exhausted to move. The mere idea of getting up and walking made Sara sigh. It wasn’t as if they needed to go somewhere, anyway; it was comfortable here, with the pillows, the warm night, and the fact they were cushioning each other... Someone lifted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck, grazing it with his teeth. She helpfully bowed her head.
“We should get inside and go to bed,” Michael said eventually. First time in a while that she could tell who was who. She settled more comfortably against Michael and threw a leg over what had to be Lincoln’s hip to anchor him. “It would be more comfortable.”
“You’re right.” Lincoln didn’t even hint that he had any intention of going anywhere. “Because it’s definitely sleeping on the floor that’ll make our backs hurt like a bitch in the morning.”
Sara laughed. Since she totally was on the Not Moving team too and that majority ruled, they tackled Michael and forced him to lie down. Kissed and touched him until he pleaded “Too much” out of oversensitivity.
Even now that things and sensations had calmed down - that she had calmed down - she couldn’t see them clearly. She caught white flashes of teeth when they grinned and discerned their eyes shiny with exhaustion and remaining desire, but nothing more. Later, there would be sun and light and a different kind of heat, less sultry. Any other circumstances, any other people, ‘later’ would have been a time for ‘what now?’ and headaches, attempted rationalization and explanations.
She didn’t need any explanation. No matter whether she would be able to deal or not with all this, she’d seen and learned everything she needed from the shadows.
-Fin-
--Feedback is always welcome, and never too late/too short/too long/...
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Categories: Het, Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 1945
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Sara would have to remember that heat and shadows were the deadliest, sweetest combination. (Post-series, non-epilogue compliant.)
Author’s Note: Written for rounds-of-kink's New Year’s Mini-Round 2011. Prompt: shadows & heat.
Let’s say this is a prequel to Secretive.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Sara would have to remember that heat and shadows were the deadliest, sweetest combination.
- - - - -
The first time the three of them did this, it was past midnight, the air heavy and still way too hot; they had ended up on the far end of the veranda, where moon beams hardly brought any light even on clear nights. No moon at all that night, so they were surrounded by shadows. Shadows themselves as they could barely see each other. Darkness of the night, shadows of the trees around the bungalow, shadows of the past and of things to come.
The symbolism almost had Sara explode into a fit of giggles. Any temptation to giggle was cut off by hands sliding up her back and down her hips. Now wasn’t the time for laughter and jokes, no matter how much she refused to dramatize what they were about to do. So she sobered up and returned the touch. It was only fair to thank and tease them all at once in retribution, wasn’t it? They swayed together for a while, fluidly, aimlessly, until Michael hooked a finger under one of the straps of her dress and pulled it down her shoulder. It was a question; in response, she pushed the other strap and let the dress slip down. It was nice, the brush of the air over her body, even though it didn’t last very long, with their hands finding her again and finding each other in the obscurity. The stuffy atmosphere and the closeness had already made their skin damp; the caresses only added to it - sizzling sensations, whirling minds. She leaned against Lincoln’s bare chest for support, and Michael leaned against her bare back for better access. Pieces fitting together.
It was the last time that she could tell Michael from Lincoln. The feel of them mingled after this. Good thing, considering she didn’t want to tell them apart to begin with. She was also pretty sure they were fine with leaving her in the dark in all acceptations of the word, with her hands touching and stroking them, and not knowing who she was touching and stroking. In the heat and languor of the moment, she wondered if they could tell her hands from theirs. Hers were smaller, sure, but by that point, it had boiled down to skin slick with sweat sliding lazily over equally slick skin.
They untangled from their embrace and hoisted her up, her back against the wall, her legs wrapped around the trim waist of one of them. Darkness for darkness, shadows for shadows, she tipped her head back to stare at the black branches of the trees swaying limply against the equally black sky. She refused to try to guess which of them slid into her first; who kissed her neck and nibbled her nipple; when they switched places, and switched again and again; whose hands gripped the hips she was holding onto and forced a maddeningly unhurried pace; whose fingers pushed into whoever was moving in her and made him grunt and buck hard. She moaned at the sharp thrust, demanded “Again” and found out with delight how willing they were to comply with her requests. Her back scraped against the wall; she ignored the slight burn, decided she would deal with it later, tomorrow, maybe let them take care of it. If she said anything right now, there would be awkward apologies, and she didn’t want apologies; hadn’t wanted any from the beginning.
Significant looks, minute touches, carefully chosen words. Michael had hinted about what Lincoln and he had and were to each other until almost everything fell into place by itself. He eventually told her, but it had been a confirmation rather than a revelation. Not that the two of them had gone further than sharing women on one level or another a couple of times in the past. Triangulating, sublimating: it had been enough back then, or maybe it had been as far as they’d dared to push it. Never kissed, never touched like that, never... She’d whispered “Never fucked?” into his ear and grinned when he blushed, shocked not to be more shocked but enjoying her own brashness. Now, with the shadows surrounding and hugging them, it was too easy to forget whatever was holding them back years before, to let go and indulge. It certainly was too easy for Sara; and too appealing.
She kissed one of them, drew the other one into the kiss, and reveled in the smooth sliding of their lips and tongues against each other’s for a short instant. Need, want, affection mixed with a touch of desperation; she wouldn’t regret any of this. She let her forehead rest against a welcoming shoulder and listened to them as they kept kissing. She loved the sounds they were making. She loved the steady rhythm and the delicious stretch too - felt as if he was just growing damn thicker within her - and the hand sliding down her flank and palming the underside of her bottom, and... Loved all of this so much she writhed with impatience and bit one of them to muffle the scream building up in her throat.
They shifted near her and between her thighs, swift and precise, blowing soothing words into her neck at her gasped protest. She experienced a fleeting instant of emptiness, barely had the time to cry out in frustration before they started again - different partner, same confident thrusting but faster pace, overwhelming pleasure.
One of her legs slid down, because of strain or distraction or merely because the three of them were drenched in sweat and slick with it. A helpful hand pulled her leg up again, tenderly repositioned it and lingered on her thigh. She stroked the hand with affection; she couldn’t tell whom it belonged to, and she didn’t care. No matter who it was, it didn’t change the thoughtfulness of the gesture.
She caught a movement from the corner of her eye, a silhouette that moved and stepped behind whoever was buried inside her, plastered and rubbed himself against him. He pressed them against the wall, kissed and stroked any expanse of damp skin he could reach, pushed him faster-deeper-harder into her. Driven to tip them over the edge, and quite successful at it. Sara arched her back and tightened her muscles. She was high on adrenaline and lust, the fact that she couldn’t see and be seen stripping her of her last shreds of restraint. And, given the growls and pants they were exhaling, she wasn’t the only one forgetting any restraint.
“You like this so much,” she let drop contemplatively. He did like it, being trapped in the middle, muscles and curves pressed into him, rubbing desperately against him. She licked her lips. As far as she was concerned, there was something about the notion that... “Next time, he actually takes you while we...”
She got deep and sharp thrusts for this, bruising kisses, and the distant, unexpected, echo of a laugh. She also got him to surrender before she did; he came inside of her with an unrepentant grunt, his brother nibbling and licking his shoulder, still grinding against his backside. She followed within seconds. No way she could help herself, with the sounds he was making and the pounding and the wet heat that was seeping into her and... The shadows burst in red and white beneath her eye-lids, a stark and glossy contrast with the velvety black that had been surrounding them up until now. They held her firmly through her orgasm, as firmly as they could; she was dripping with perspiration, her skin almost too slippery for their grasp. They lapped it up, the thorough slide of their tongues between her breasts and on her neck not improving the whole mess but certainly adding to her elation.
Eventually, their hands slid down, freeing her, making her open her eyes and search in the penumbra. She spotted them right next to her, indistinct masses, one of them on his knees, the other with his back up against the wall - aching and needing just like she was seconds ago. Last man standing, unselfishly waiting for his own release... With a drowsy, knowing smile, she wriggled her way between the wall and him, wrapped her arms around his hips and her fingers around his erection. Petted the silky skin and smiled more widely when a tongue touched her hand and they cursed in tandem. She wanted to ask them why they were surprised, tell them she wasn’t like that - she didn’t take and give nothing in return, did she? - but settled for showing rather than telling. So much more effective and pleasant for everybody. Plus, if the sloppy state of her thought process was any indication, speaking might not allow her to reach her goal.
It was so moist. The night air, the cock in her hand and the mouth sucking on it, their breaths, the skin under her cheek. She tasted salty droplets of sweat on her tongue when she licked between the shoulder blades of who-cared-who-she-was-cuddling. The mouth sucking him intensified its pressure, lavishing him and tightening around him. She felt the other man’s cheeks hollow beneath her fingertips, she felt him thrust deeper into the accommodating throat, and she blinked, fascinated by their willingness and eagerness. Fascinated when he started to shake against her, between them, whole body hard and vibrating from pleasure and accumulated tension. It didn’t take much, really - a flick of her wrist, a luscious drag of tongue, a dirty injunction to fucking let go...
His shout when he came, his brother’s choking noise, her murmur of satisfaction... everything was swallowed down by the shadows.
- - - - -
They had collapsed onto the floor of the veranda, in the cushions they’d stolen from the hammock and chairs and spread on the hardwood. A mess of limbs and wet skin, too lazy and exhausted to move. The mere idea of getting up and walking made Sara sigh. It wasn’t as if they needed to go somewhere, anyway; it was comfortable here, with the pillows, the warm night, and the fact they were cushioning each other... Someone lifted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck, grazing it with his teeth. She helpfully bowed her head.
“We should get inside and go to bed,” Michael said eventually. First time in a while that she could tell who was who. She settled more comfortably against Michael and threw a leg over what had to be Lincoln’s hip to anchor him. “It would be more comfortable.”
“You’re right.” Lincoln didn’t even hint that he had any intention of going anywhere. “Because it’s definitely sleeping on the floor that’ll make our backs hurt like a bitch in the morning.”
Sara laughed. Since she totally was on the Not Moving team too and that majority ruled, they tackled Michael and forced him to lie down. Kissed and touched him until he pleaded “Too much” out of oversensitivity.
Even now that things and sensations had calmed down - that she had calmed down - she couldn’t see them clearly. She caught white flashes of teeth when they grinned and discerned their eyes shiny with exhaustion and remaining desire, but nothing more. Later, there would be sun and light and a different kind of heat, less sultry. Any other circumstances, any other people, ‘later’ would have been a time for ‘what now?’ and headaches, attempted rationalization and explanations.
She didn’t need any explanation. No matter whether she would be able to deal or not with all this, she’d seen and learned everything she needed from the shadows.
-Fin-
--Feedback is always welcome, and never too late/too short/too long/...