Prison Break - Lazy Morning Cycle
Title: Lazy Morning Cycle
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Lincoln/Sara, Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Categories: Het, slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 1155
Summary: They’re derogating from rules they’ve never spelled out, but always followed. (Post-series, alternate canon.)
Author’s Note: That thing has been sitting on my hard drive for almost a year: maybe it is time I post it... Set in the Secretive ‘verse, no plot whatsoever.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Set in the Secretive ‘verse.
Sighs soft as silk and rustle of sheet, scent of familiar musk and clean sweat, warmth of the morning sun brushing his back and heat radiating from the two persons in bed with him: he wakes up to a delicious blur of sensations, and to the unmistakable feel of Sara and Lincoln making love near him, Michael still half-asleep, passed out from the night’s activities. Which is derogating from rules they’ve never spelled out, but always followed. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, and Sara and Lincoln form an indistinct shifting shape to his right. Only one shape - too close to each other for Michael to tell them apart.
The reminder mixed with reproach he was about to grumble gets stuck in his throat when he manages to take a good look at them. Sara is on top because Lincoln, the bastard, is lazy like that in the morning; or maybe he just enjoys the show. Michael can’t be mad at him for this. Her head thrown back and her mouth slightly parted, Sara rocks slowly and steadily on Linc’s erection, intent on giving and getting as much pleasure as possible. A thin layer of perspiration and the pinkish flush of sleep, night warmth and sexual contentment cover her from head to toe; her breasts and lips and skin seem even softer, more luscious than usual. Really, how could Lincoln not enjoy the show?
Lincoln himself is a mouth-watering display of tanned skin, strained muscles and sinews beneath her, his big hands skimming over Sara’s legs and hips with a smoothness that Michael is not surprised at anymore, but always craves. For himself, and for her too - when they play by the rules, at least. For now, he has to fight the instinctive reaction of scooting towards them and rubbing himself on Sara’s hip or against the side of Linc’s thigh. Instead, he shifts the slightest bit and pushes down into the mattress, the resistance beneath his belly nice but not sufficient by a long shot.
They haven’t noticed he is awake; they keep moving in tandem as though he isn’t even here. Although he does know they would never have started something if he wasn’t right next to them, his arousal is fired up with a pang of jealousy. It twists his guts, pushes him deeper into the rumpled bedding, and eventually rolls him onto his side. His hand slides down without conscious thought. He doesn’t stop when he realizes what he’s doing, though; he settles more comfortably. This morning, he may have to rely on his hand, anyway.
“Don’t.”
Lincoln’s voice is low and gravely, his command imperative; his fingers land heavily on Michael’s arm and halt what he was about to do. All right, Michael thinks, opening his already curling fingers. Maybe they have noticed he was awake. Maybe the whole show is, at least partially, for his benefit. If it was meant to stir him up, it certainly has met its goal and a bit more. Sara grabs the sheet that modestly covers him up to his waist, and she pulls the piece of fabric down. Her lips curve in a smile that, for not showing any surprise, doesn’t lack sensuality. He takes her hand and strokes the center of her palm.
“Come here.” Lincoln crooks two fingers and waves them at him, signaling him to move up. Now. Michael complies, not without taking a kiss from Sara first, and kneels at the head of the bed. A pillow is in the way and he throws it carelessly to the floor, eliciting smirks from his smartasses of wife and brother. His right arm and flank pressed into the ornamented bed head, he hovers above Lincoln. To their shared enjoyment, he uses - abuses - his position to hump down and press a bit too hard against Lincoln’s face. Linc nuzzles him and, when he can turn his head far enough, bites the inside of his thigh. It almost chases away the remnants of sleep - the biting and Sara’s appreciative groan.
His eyes move back and forth between her and Lincoln. He can’t decide who to look at: Lincoln who’s taking him into his mouth with a debauchery of licking and sucking, his lips stretched around him in a perfect, tight circle; or Sara who is so enthralled by the picture they give that she’s slowed down to a rhythm matching the languid pace of the ministrations Lincoln is providing to his brother. She reaches for them, cups Lincoln’s jaw and strokes Michael’s lower stomach. Her hips roll, drawing an ellipse above Lincoln; the move is answered with an urgent grunt and an increasing pressure of Lincoln’s mouth on Michael’s shaft.
“He likes it when you do that,” Michael points out. “This thing with your hips...” His forefinger emulates the circle her hips initiated. She does it again, and again, and observes with delight the effect it has on the man between her legs. Lincoln does like it. He makes a defiant sound in the back of his throat, but the way one of his hand grips Michael’s buttock, the way he thrusts up into Sara speaks volumes about his appreciation of the situation he put himself in. He’s past his usual eagerness, and downright greedy. Associated with the shameless coiling and uncoiling of Sara’s body mere inches from him, it’s the guarantee that Michael won’t last more than a few minutes. Remaining bliss from the night associated with way too fervent Lincoln and complicit Sara gets to him every fucking time. They know this; just as they know that Linc slipping a finger coated with saliva into him or Sara bending down and craning her neck to add oh so briefly her mouth to Lincoln’s will throw him over the edge, satiate and exhaust him in the most delectable way.
It seems to last forever, the laziness of the morning extending to the quality of his release. He comes in long waves into Lincoln’s mouth, his lips fastened to Sara’s, one of his hands palming her breasts, the other one holding onto Linc to steady himself. To try to steady himself. The muscles of his thighs are quivering, his hands suddenly shaking and clumsy, his mouth smashing artlessly against Sara’s. He barely had the time to wake up that drowsiness is catching up with him already.
He collapses and rolls down on the bed, almost falling back right away into the sleep they drew him from a few minutes ago. From the corner of his eye, he sees Lincoln pulling Sara down for a messy kiss. He knows all too well what his brother is making her taste.
He drifts into a haze full of pleasant sounds, sensations and scents. From far away, he can hear harsh breathing, the staccato of Sara’s moans, and then Linc’s hoarse voice stating that they’ll have to wake him up again in a couple of hours.
-End-
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Lincoln/Sara, Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Categories: Het, slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 1155
Summary: They’re derogating from rules they’ve never spelled out, but always followed. (Post-series, alternate canon.)
Author’s Note: That thing has been sitting on my hard drive for almost a year: maybe it is time I post it... Set in the Secretive ‘verse, no plot whatsoever.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Set in the Secretive ‘verse.
Sighs soft as silk and rustle of sheet, scent of familiar musk and clean sweat, warmth of the morning sun brushing his back and heat radiating from the two persons in bed with him: he wakes up to a delicious blur of sensations, and to the unmistakable feel of Sara and Lincoln making love near him, Michael still half-asleep, passed out from the night’s activities. Which is derogating from rules they’ve never spelled out, but always followed. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, and Sara and Lincoln form an indistinct shifting shape to his right. Only one shape - too close to each other for Michael to tell them apart.
The reminder mixed with reproach he was about to grumble gets stuck in his throat when he manages to take a good look at them. Sara is on top because Lincoln, the bastard, is lazy like that in the morning; or maybe he just enjoys the show. Michael can’t be mad at him for this. Her head thrown back and her mouth slightly parted, Sara rocks slowly and steadily on Linc’s erection, intent on giving and getting as much pleasure as possible. A thin layer of perspiration and the pinkish flush of sleep, night warmth and sexual contentment cover her from head to toe; her breasts and lips and skin seem even softer, more luscious than usual. Really, how could Lincoln not enjoy the show?
Lincoln himself is a mouth-watering display of tanned skin, strained muscles and sinews beneath her, his big hands skimming over Sara’s legs and hips with a smoothness that Michael is not surprised at anymore, but always craves. For himself, and for her too - when they play by the rules, at least. For now, he has to fight the instinctive reaction of scooting towards them and rubbing himself on Sara’s hip or against the side of Linc’s thigh. Instead, he shifts the slightest bit and pushes down into the mattress, the resistance beneath his belly nice but not sufficient by a long shot.
They haven’t noticed he is awake; they keep moving in tandem as though he isn’t even here. Although he does know they would never have started something if he wasn’t right next to them, his arousal is fired up with a pang of jealousy. It twists his guts, pushes him deeper into the rumpled bedding, and eventually rolls him onto his side. His hand slides down without conscious thought. He doesn’t stop when he realizes what he’s doing, though; he settles more comfortably. This morning, he may have to rely on his hand, anyway.
“Don’t.”
Lincoln’s voice is low and gravely, his command imperative; his fingers land heavily on Michael’s arm and halt what he was about to do. All right, Michael thinks, opening his already curling fingers. Maybe they have noticed he was awake. Maybe the whole show is, at least partially, for his benefit. If it was meant to stir him up, it certainly has met its goal and a bit more. Sara grabs the sheet that modestly covers him up to his waist, and she pulls the piece of fabric down. Her lips curve in a smile that, for not showing any surprise, doesn’t lack sensuality. He takes her hand and strokes the center of her palm.
“Come here.” Lincoln crooks two fingers and waves them at him, signaling him to move up. Now. Michael complies, not without taking a kiss from Sara first, and kneels at the head of the bed. A pillow is in the way and he throws it carelessly to the floor, eliciting smirks from his smartasses of wife and brother. His right arm and flank pressed into the ornamented bed head, he hovers above Lincoln. To their shared enjoyment, he uses - abuses - his position to hump down and press a bit too hard against Lincoln’s face. Linc nuzzles him and, when he can turn his head far enough, bites the inside of his thigh. It almost chases away the remnants of sleep - the biting and Sara’s appreciative groan.
His eyes move back and forth between her and Lincoln. He can’t decide who to look at: Lincoln who’s taking him into his mouth with a debauchery of licking and sucking, his lips stretched around him in a perfect, tight circle; or Sara who is so enthralled by the picture they give that she’s slowed down to a rhythm matching the languid pace of the ministrations Lincoln is providing to his brother. She reaches for them, cups Lincoln’s jaw and strokes Michael’s lower stomach. Her hips roll, drawing an ellipse above Lincoln; the move is answered with an urgent grunt and an increasing pressure of Lincoln’s mouth on Michael’s shaft.
“He likes it when you do that,” Michael points out. “This thing with your hips...” His forefinger emulates the circle her hips initiated. She does it again, and again, and observes with delight the effect it has on the man between her legs. Lincoln does like it. He makes a defiant sound in the back of his throat, but the way one of his hand grips Michael’s buttock, the way he thrusts up into Sara speaks volumes about his appreciation of the situation he put himself in. He’s past his usual eagerness, and downright greedy. Associated with the shameless coiling and uncoiling of Sara’s body mere inches from him, it’s the guarantee that Michael won’t last more than a few minutes. Remaining bliss from the night associated with way too fervent Lincoln and complicit Sara gets to him every fucking time. They know this; just as they know that Linc slipping a finger coated with saliva into him or Sara bending down and craning her neck to add oh so briefly her mouth to Lincoln’s will throw him over the edge, satiate and exhaust him in the most delectable way.
It seems to last forever, the laziness of the morning extending to the quality of his release. He comes in long waves into Lincoln’s mouth, his lips fastened to Sara’s, one of his hands palming her breasts, the other one holding onto Linc to steady himself. To try to steady himself. The muscles of his thighs are quivering, his hands suddenly shaking and clumsy, his mouth smashing artlessly against Sara’s. He barely had the time to wake up that drowsiness is catching up with him already.
He collapses and rolls down on the bed, almost falling back right away into the sleep they drew him from a few minutes ago. From the corner of his eye, he sees Lincoln pulling Sara down for a messy kiss. He knows all too well what his brother is making her taste.
He drifts into a haze full of pleasant sounds, sensations and scents. From far away, he can hear harsh breathing, the staccato of Sara’s moans, and then Linc’s hoarse voice stating that they’ll have to wake him up again in a couple of hours.
-End-