Prison Break - Feels of Plushness
Title: Feels of Plushness
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 510
Warning: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Plush is not something that belongs with Lincoln. Usually.
Author’s Note: Written for April Fool’s 2011 mini-round at rounds-of-kink, with the prompts ‘plush’ and ‘toys and devices’. It probably works for ‘power issues’ too.
Many thanks to putu2sleep for the beta.
Plush is not something that belongs with Lincoln. Usually.
* *
The hotel room is plush; luxurious and smart. Not Lincoln’s kind of place. After he’s dropped his battered bag onto a chintz-covered bench - not that he knows or cares what chintz is, it’s just that Michael tells him - Lincoln points out that he feels like a fucking trophy wife. Michael just smiles and kisses him; it only serves to increase the trophy wife feeling.
The comforter is plush; smooth and elaborate. It ends up messily pushed down at the foot of the bed, bunched under and around Lincoln’s ankles. It feels nice. There are upsides to being a trophy something that your brother has brought along with him on a business trip because it would be “the occasion to spend the weekend together, Lincoln...”
The butt-plug is plush; sleek and refined. You can trust Michael not to come up with something tacky. He brandishes it in Lincoln’s face, lets him examine the toy, its dark and velvety soft material, before coating it in lubricant and carefully sliding it into Lincoln. Lincoln scrunches his nose, not too sure about having some piece of plastic (It’s silicone, Linc. - If you want.) inserted in there. He ends up writhing in pleasant embarrassment as the thing finds its place inside of him, stretches him and rubs all the right spots.
Michael’s lips are plush; silky and luscious. They slide all the way down from Lincoln’s mouth to his crotch, lingering to kiss skin here, bruise a nipple, latch onto Linc’s navel or suck on a hidden hot spot there. They wrap around Lincoln’s erection and glide up and down in this dirty elegant way Michael has the secret for.
“Don’t come,” Michael orders as he pulls off and looks at Lincoln, swollen red lips and darkened eyes indicating he has something else in mind, something else in store for him.
Michael moves up and straddles him, and he’s the incarnation of plush even though as he’s sinking onto Lincoln’s member - smart, smooth, sleek, and so, so luscious. Lincoln arches up, thrusts up, hands bundling the fresh cotton sheets and ripping them off the mattress. Michael leans down and waves something between them, the plush - soft and rich - scarf he’s been wearing outside, in the New-York cold. He slides it under Lincoln’s neck and tugs on its ends to lift Lincoln’s face up and towards him. The kiss is everything the night hasn’t been, up until now, messy, sloppy, urgent.
Michael circles his hips above him and whispers into his mouth, “You feel so good. So big and hot and... Just perfect.”
Lincoln kisses him back and waits. He waits for Michael to writhe, pant and beg. He does come, then; ankles tangling a bit more in the plush comforter, inner muscles clenching tighter around the plush butt-plug, and parted lips letting out harsh grunts in the swanky atmosphere of the plush bedroom.
* *
Plush is not something that belongs with Lincoln. But every now and then, he could get used to it.
-End-
--Feedback is always welcome.
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 510
Warning: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Plush is not something that belongs with Lincoln. Usually.
Author’s Note: Written for April Fool’s 2011 mini-round at rounds-of-kink, with the prompts ‘plush’ and ‘toys and devices’. It probably works for ‘power issues’ too.
Many thanks to putu2sleep for the beta.
Plush is not something that belongs with Lincoln. Usually.
* *
The hotel room is plush; luxurious and smart. Not Lincoln’s kind of place. After he’s dropped his battered bag onto a chintz-covered bench - not that he knows or cares what chintz is, it’s just that Michael tells him - Lincoln points out that he feels like a fucking trophy wife. Michael just smiles and kisses him; it only serves to increase the trophy wife feeling.
The comforter is plush; smooth and elaborate. It ends up messily pushed down at the foot of the bed, bunched under and around Lincoln’s ankles. It feels nice. There are upsides to being a trophy something that your brother has brought along with him on a business trip because it would be “the occasion to spend the weekend together, Lincoln...”
The butt-plug is plush; sleek and refined. You can trust Michael not to come up with something tacky. He brandishes it in Lincoln’s face, lets him examine the toy, its dark and velvety soft material, before coating it in lubricant and carefully sliding it into Lincoln. Lincoln scrunches his nose, not too sure about having some piece of plastic (It’s silicone, Linc. - If you want.) inserted in there. He ends up writhing in pleasant embarrassment as the thing finds its place inside of him, stretches him and rubs all the right spots.
Michael’s lips are plush; silky and luscious. They slide all the way down from Lincoln’s mouth to his crotch, lingering to kiss skin here, bruise a nipple, latch onto Linc’s navel or suck on a hidden hot spot there. They wrap around Lincoln’s erection and glide up and down in this dirty elegant way Michael has the secret for.
“Don’t come,” Michael orders as he pulls off and looks at Lincoln, swollen red lips and darkened eyes indicating he has something else in mind, something else in store for him.
Michael moves up and straddles him, and he’s the incarnation of plush even though as he’s sinking onto Lincoln’s member - smart, smooth, sleek, and so, so luscious. Lincoln arches up, thrusts up, hands bundling the fresh cotton sheets and ripping them off the mattress. Michael leans down and waves something between them, the plush - soft and rich - scarf he’s been wearing outside, in the New-York cold. He slides it under Lincoln’s neck and tugs on its ends to lift Lincoln’s face up and towards him. The kiss is everything the night hasn’t been, up until now, messy, sloppy, urgent.
Michael circles his hips above him and whispers into his mouth, “You feel so good. So big and hot and... Just perfect.”
Lincoln kisses him back and waits. He waits for Michael to writhe, pant and beg. He does come, then; ankles tangling a bit more in the plush comforter, inner muscles clenching tighter around the plush butt-plug, and parted lips letting out harsh grunts in the swanky atmosphere of the plush bedroom.
* *
Plush is not something that belongs with Lincoln. But every now and then, he could get used to it.
-End-
--Feedback is always welcome.