Prison Break - Manicure and Face Pack and Lipstick (and Breasts; Not Forgetting Breasts)
Title: Manicure and Face Pack and Lipstick (and Breasts; Not Forgetting Breasts)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Categories: Het, slash
Rating: R
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 1065
Summary: Well... there is manicure, face pack and lipstick. And one of the characters has breasts; I’ll let you guess which one. Moreover, it’s a bit crackastic. (Post-series, non-epilogue compliant.)
Author’s Note: Written for
kink_bingo ( my card). Set in the Secretive ‘verse.
Kink/prompt for kink-bingo: This is for ‘gender play’.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the read-through.
Michael
His hands are fine-looking.
That’s not misplaced pride, that’s a mere fact. He’s been told it often enough to have started to believe it, enjoy and sometimes use it. Back in Chicago, he regularly visited a beauty parlor to have them pampered and taken care of: muscles and flesh delicately massaged, smooth skin oiled and lotioned, perfect nails trimmed and filed with care. To others, as well as to himself, he pretended it was because of his job, that he had to be well-groomed to the tiniest details.
The truth was he just liked to see them, neat and totally masculine despite all the delicate treatment he subjected them to, grab files, blueprints and tools. Acknowledgement rather than vanity. For his whole life, he’d been told his brain worked in amazing ways. He could use his hands too, and call attention upon them.
There are not many beauty parlors around here, even less for men. So every other week he puts his hands into Sara’s and watches her take care of them. She performs on him ministrations she rarely bothers performing on herself. When she’s done, she turns his palms up and kisses them, lips parted, tongue darting out and running up the heart line. The beauticians in Chicago, with their deftly manicured nails, never ever did that to him, obviously. He thinks that’s the hell of an improvement to have someone to do that to him; an extra little thing that only Sara would be entitled to add.
Not a lot of files and blueprints to grab anymore, but still tools. And more importantly, shoulders to hold onto, skin to caress, legs to pull open, hips to grip, breasts and buttocks to fondle; both Sara’s and Lincoln’s. Both of them deserve hands as handsome and neat as possible to pleasure and love them.
He slips one perfect hand between Sara’s equally perfect thighs, and raises up the other one to offer his fingers to Lincoln’s mouth. His brother sucks on them languidly; if he ever thought “Girl!” because of Michael’s fondness for manicures - so loud that Michael could hear him - he’s swallowing back any sarcasm, right now.
Lincoln
It’s for the unusual and oh so pleasant sensation. Nice feeling on his skin, nice self-indulging minutes.
The first time, he steals the face pack from Sara’s cabinet because he has a sun burn and the stuff smells nice and feels refreshing on his skin. It helps. He looks ridiculous with the thick pinkish lotion spread all over his cheeks and forehead, but it cools down the fire. Job done, and that’s all Lincoln asks.
The second time... He’s not sure there’s an explanation for the second time. He just feels like it. He dips his fingers into the creamy texture and awkwardly applies it, avoiding the area around his eyes and generously coating his neck just like the label advises to do.
He stops counting after the third time. Regrets it when Sara catches him and pointedly asks who is using her face pack, leaving traces of dry stuff on the container and on the collar of his damn half-open shirt.
Busted.
Michael is on the verge of smirking but doesn’t because he has just had his hands done and yeah, bad timing for laughing at his big brother’s beauty kinks.
“Just let me give you a facial, it will work better,” Sara offers.
Lincoln throws her a shocked glance, gathers from the stunned look she returns at his own shock that they’re facing a huge vocabulary gap, and lets it slide. Michael does smirk, this time.
“I don’t even want to know what you two are thinking,” she sighs, motioning Lincoln to lie down on the patio lounger.
It does work better with her soft and nimble hands cleaning, massaging lightly and rubbing the stuff into his skin. He wonders if - hopes that - Michael and his pampered hands will join in later. Maybe even on lower parts of his anatomy.
Sara
She has breasts.
“I don’t want to see a rom com. I don’t like rom coms.”
“But you’re a girl...”
If looks could kill, etc.
“I’m a woman, Lincoln, not a girl, and I’m a woman who doesn’t like rom coms.”
She’s speaking out of the corner of her mouth, trying not to move too much. She’s spread out across the untidy bed, and dark red lipstick, glossy and oily, slides on her lips. It’s not her kind of color at all, but for some reason Freud would have loved to explain, men seem to enjoy red lipstick - and it’s two men who are applying the lipstick on her mouth.
It had started out with a comment about clichéd feminity and masculinity, Michael making a reckless remark she replied to with an amused, “Now you think I’m not feminine enough?” Lincoln wisely advised his brother not to reply to such a question. Never reply to such a question. Can only bring trouble, whatever he says. It branched out to outfits, her old and new outfits.
“The green top from the race track,” Michael whispered musingly, eyes dreamy.
“You say that because you didn’t see her in that golden bikini.”
Which brings them to the fact that she has breasts, whether they’re hidden under a white lab coat, encased in a green top, a golden bikini or... well, in plain sight, like now. They’re pretty breasts at that. She’s a bit taken aback by the mesmerized way the brothers are staring at her boobs between two careful applications of lipstick on her lips. By now, they must have noticed the boobs, right? It’s hard to miss them.
In a mindful attempt to prove her right, Michael licks her nipples while Lincoln, satisfied with their work, closes the lipstick tube and sets it on the night stand.
“What now?” Sara asks with lips as mesmerizing as her breasts, if she trusts the look on the guys’ faces.
They consider her and one another.
Lincoln kisses her first. Doing so, he smudges around her mouth the carefully applied lipstick and then spreads some of it on his brother’s lips when he turns his attention to him. The slippery substance smears on their skin - a neat metaphor for blurring the lines of femininity and masculinity, one of them whispers sarcastically.
His face pressed against Lincoln’s smooth and fresh cheek, Michael cups Sara’s breast in his manicured hand.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome and enjoyed :)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Categories: Het, slash
Rating: R
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 1065
Summary: Well... there is manicure, face pack and lipstick. And one of the characters has breasts; I’ll let you guess which one. Moreover, it’s a bit crackastic. (Post-series, non-epilogue compliant.)
Author’s Note: Written for
kink_bingo ( my card). Set in the Secretive ‘verse.
Kink/prompt for kink-bingo: This is for ‘gender play’.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the read-through.
Michael
His hands are fine-looking.
That’s not misplaced pride, that’s a mere fact. He’s been told it often enough to have started to believe it, enjoy and sometimes use it. Back in Chicago, he regularly visited a beauty parlor to have them pampered and taken care of: muscles and flesh delicately massaged, smooth skin oiled and lotioned, perfect nails trimmed and filed with care. To others, as well as to himself, he pretended it was because of his job, that he had to be well-groomed to the tiniest details.
The truth was he just liked to see them, neat and totally masculine despite all the delicate treatment he subjected them to, grab files, blueprints and tools. Acknowledgement rather than vanity. For his whole life, he’d been told his brain worked in amazing ways. He could use his hands too, and call attention upon them.
There are not many beauty parlors around here, even less for men. So every other week he puts his hands into Sara’s and watches her take care of them. She performs on him ministrations she rarely bothers performing on herself. When she’s done, she turns his palms up and kisses them, lips parted, tongue darting out and running up the heart line. The beauticians in Chicago, with their deftly manicured nails, never ever did that to him, obviously. He thinks that’s the hell of an improvement to have someone to do that to him; an extra little thing that only Sara would be entitled to add.
Not a lot of files and blueprints to grab anymore, but still tools. And more importantly, shoulders to hold onto, skin to caress, legs to pull open, hips to grip, breasts and buttocks to fondle; both Sara’s and Lincoln’s. Both of them deserve hands as handsome and neat as possible to pleasure and love them.
He slips one perfect hand between Sara’s equally perfect thighs, and raises up the other one to offer his fingers to Lincoln’s mouth. His brother sucks on them languidly; if he ever thought “Girl!” because of Michael’s fondness for manicures - so loud that Michael could hear him - he’s swallowing back any sarcasm, right now.
Lincoln
It’s for the unusual and oh so pleasant sensation. Nice feeling on his skin, nice self-indulging minutes.
The first time, he steals the face pack from Sara’s cabinet because he has a sun burn and the stuff smells nice and feels refreshing on his skin. It helps. He looks ridiculous with the thick pinkish lotion spread all over his cheeks and forehead, but it cools down the fire. Job done, and that’s all Lincoln asks.
The second time... He’s not sure there’s an explanation for the second time. He just feels like it. He dips his fingers into the creamy texture and awkwardly applies it, avoiding the area around his eyes and generously coating his neck just like the label advises to do.
He stops counting after the third time. Regrets it when Sara catches him and pointedly asks who is using her face pack, leaving traces of dry stuff on the container and on the collar of his damn half-open shirt.
Busted.
Michael is on the verge of smirking but doesn’t because he has just had his hands done and yeah, bad timing for laughing at his big brother’s beauty kinks.
“Just let me give you a facial, it will work better,” Sara offers.
Lincoln throws her a shocked glance, gathers from the stunned look she returns at his own shock that they’re facing a huge vocabulary gap, and lets it slide. Michael does smirk, this time.
“I don’t even want to know what you two are thinking,” she sighs, motioning Lincoln to lie down on the patio lounger.
It does work better with her soft and nimble hands cleaning, massaging lightly and rubbing the stuff into his skin. He wonders if - hopes that - Michael and his pampered hands will join in later. Maybe even on lower parts of his anatomy.
Sara
She has breasts.
“I don’t want to see a rom com. I don’t like rom coms.”
“But you’re a girl...”
If looks could kill, etc.
“I’m a woman, Lincoln, not a girl, and I’m a woman who doesn’t like rom coms.”
She’s speaking out of the corner of her mouth, trying not to move too much. She’s spread out across the untidy bed, and dark red lipstick, glossy and oily, slides on her lips. It’s not her kind of color at all, but for some reason Freud would have loved to explain, men seem to enjoy red lipstick - and it’s two men who are applying the lipstick on her mouth.
It had started out with a comment about clichéd feminity and masculinity, Michael making a reckless remark she replied to with an amused, “Now you think I’m not feminine enough?” Lincoln wisely advised his brother not to reply to such a question. Never reply to such a question. Can only bring trouble, whatever he says. It branched out to outfits, her old and new outfits.
“The green top from the race track,” Michael whispered musingly, eyes dreamy.
“You say that because you didn’t see her in that golden bikini.”
Which brings them to the fact that she has breasts, whether they’re hidden under a white lab coat, encased in a green top, a golden bikini or... well, in plain sight, like now. They’re pretty breasts at that. She’s a bit taken aback by the mesmerized way the brothers are staring at her boobs between two careful applications of lipstick on her lips. By now, they must have noticed the boobs, right? It’s hard to miss them.
In a mindful attempt to prove her right, Michael licks her nipples while Lincoln, satisfied with their work, closes the lipstick tube and sets it on the night stand.
“What now?” Sara asks with lips as mesmerizing as her breasts, if she trusts the look on the guys’ faces.
They consider her and one another.
Lincoln kisses her first. Doing so, he smudges around her mouth the carefully applied lipstick and then spreads some of it on his brother’s lips when he turns his attention to him. The slippery substance smears on their skin - a neat metaphor for blurring the lines of femininity and masculinity, one of them whispers sarcastically.
His face pressed against Lincoln’s smooth and fresh cheek, Michael cups Sara’s breast in his manicured hand.
-End-
--Comments are always welcome and enjoyed :)