Prison Break - Under Her Skin
Title: Under Her Skin
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara
Category: Het
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 510
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Sometimes, an unwanted yet delicious image will flash through her mind... (Season 1)
Author’s Note: Written for oxoniensis’ Porn Battle XI with the prompts desk and prison.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Sometimes, an unwanted yet delicious image will flash through her mind, and Sara will blame it on hormones because no matter how clichéd it is, it’s easier and safer to rely on such an explanation than thinking and analyzing why and how Michael Scofield gets under her skin. It’s not bad enough that he sneaks his way into her sleep and dreams - she can’t be held responsible for those, right? Now it also happens when she’s fully awake, working, moving between the exam bed and the sink of the infirmary. That is something she’s responsible for. Kind of.
She doesn’t know what do with that. She came fully prepared for this kind of situation, except for the part where nothing could fully prepare her for this kind of situation. It’s a... on-the-spot-training, and you can’t know how you will react until it slaps you in the face.
And it slapped her. Rather hard and fast.
Michael’s waiting for her, casually leaning against the desk. Her desk. Invading her space as he invades way too intimate thoughts. Arms crossed, small smirk curling his lips, ass half resting on a file, and long legs extended in front of him. Calm, collected and just on this side of the taunting that brings so many troubles on him in the yard.
It revives her daydreaming. Her pulse quickens up, her pupils blacken and enlarge, her breasts strain under the protective layers of her shirt and lab coat, something throbs and twitches low in her stomach - like... low in her stomach. He probably can see it, smell it, that damn wave of arousal. It’s not like he’s oblivious to such things. She squints at him, at the kind but cocky smile he gives her.
Once, just once. She wishes that just once she could make him scoot back on the desk filled with files, until he properly sits on it, his legs dangling freely. She would straddle him and ignore the mess they would make; she would ride him, beg and make him beg. Sweaty skin pressed into sweaty skin, knees squeezing his hips, her hands on his shoulders, and her mouth...
“Doctor Tancredi? Are you all right?”
He crooks an eyebrow and she wonders how long he’s been talking to her. She blinks, glares at the wrinkled sheets of paper stuck between his blue pants and her desk, and she orders “Get your butt off my desk, Mister Scofield, and take your place on the exam table.”
She’s swift to the point of briskness - clean and stick the needle and deliver the injection.
“Are we in a bad mood, today?” he asks pleasantly.
He’s slightly hunched forward, shirt pulled down a bit more than he usually cares for. Her eyes moves up and down a few times, and she may be imagining things, but on the other hand... probably not. It’s not like she’s oblivious to such things.
She knows that in one hour or tonight, in an image flashing though her mind, she will let him lay her on her back across the desk and settle between her open legs.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome.
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara
Category: Het
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 510
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Sometimes, an unwanted yet delicious image will flash through her mind... (Season 1)
Author’s Note: Written for oxoniensis’ Porn Battle XI with the prompts desk and prison.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Sometimes, an unwanted yet delicious image will flash through her mind, and Sara will blame it on hormones because no matter how clichéd it is, it’s easier and safer to rely on such an explanation than thinking and analyzing why and how Michael Scofield gets under her skin. It’s not bad enough that he sneaks his way into her sleep and dreams - she can’t be held responsible for those, right? Now it also happens when she’s fully awake, working, moving between the exam bed and the sink of the infirmary. That is something she’s responsible for. Kind of.
She doesn’t know what do with that. She came fully prepared for this kind of situation, except for the part where nothing could fully prepare her for this kind of situation. It’s a... on-the-spot-training, and you can’t know how you will react until it slaps you in the face.
And it slapped her. Rather hard and fast.
Michael’s waiting for her, casually leaning against the desk. Her desk. Invading her space as he invades way too intimate thoughts. Arms crossed, small smirk curling his lips, ass half resting on a file, and long legs extended in front of him. Calm, collected and just on this side of the taunting that brings so many troubles on him in the yard.
It revives her daydreaming. Her pulse quickens up, her pupils blacken and enlarge, her breasts strain under the protective layers of her shirt and lab coat, something throbs and twitches low in her stomach - like... low in her stomach. He probably can see it, smell it, that damn wave of arousal. It’s not like he’s oblivious to such things. She squints at him, at the kind but cocky smile he gives her.
Once, just once. She wishes that just once she could make him scoot back on the desk filled with files, until he properly sits on it, his legs dangling freely. She would straddle him and ignore the mess they would make; she would ride him, beg and make him beg. Sweaty skin pressed into sweaty skin, knees squeezing his hips, her hands on his shoulders, and her mouth...
“Doctor Tancredi? Are you all right?”
He crooks an eyebrow and she wonders how long he’s been talking to her. She blinks, glares at the wrinkled sheets of paper stuck between his blue pants and her desk, and she orders “Get your butt off my desk, Mister Scofield, and take your place on the exam table.”
She’s swift to the point of briskness - clean and stick the needle and deliver the injection.
“Are we in a bad mood, today?” he asks pleasantly.
He’s slightly hunched forward, shirt pulled down a bit more than he usually cares for. Her eyes moves up and down a few times, and she may be imagining things, but on the other hand... probably not. It’s not like she’s oblivious to such things.
She knows that in one hour or tonight, in an image flashing though her mind, she will let him lay her on her back across the desk and settle between her open legs.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome.