Prison Break - You Do
Title: You Do
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: R
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 410
Summary: You don’t think of your brother that way. (Pre-series)
Author’s Note: This is a small ficlet for halfshellvenus’ birthday, loosely based on a prompt she offered months ago (Michael/Lincoln, secret longing). Happy birthday and many happy returns :)
I know second person voice is not everyone’s cup of tea, but the first sentences came up with that point of view, and I couldn’t get rid of it. Sorry if sorry applies ;)
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
You don’t think of your brother that way. You don’t consider him that way. He’s your brother. You don’t dream of him and wake up huddled up, beads of sweat surging between your shoulder blades and fingers clutching the sheets to prevent your hand from sliding down your stomach and into your pajamas. You don’t daydream about lying on your back and welcoming him on top of you, you don’t wish you could run your lips and tongue down his neck, and you don’t imagine what his kisses would taste like. You don’t want him to be everything and a bit more to you - he is already, though, in way too many senses.
You don’t long for it to be reciprocal; you don’t think that if you prayed, you would pray it was reciprocal. You don’t love your brother that way.
No one does.
You look at Lincoln sprawled out in his battered jeans and tee-shirt on your squeaky-new leather couch, half stoned or half drunk or maybe both, and you hold onto the back of the stupid designer chair you bought last week. Stomach knotted and vision blurred, throat tight and mouth watering, heart beating wildly, wildly, wildly; always wildly for Linc. You hear his words but you don’t understand them; your brain is on overload and whatever he’s saying doesn’t sink in.
He gives you a lazy grin and motions you to come closer. Valiantly, you try to say “No, I have something to do in the kitchen, I’ll be right back,” you shake your head and step back, and yet you move forward, toward him all the same. You follow the index finger he waves at you like a beacon and you sit on the coffee table. Moth to the flame. You always end up burnt in more than one acceptation, and you never mind it nearly as much as you should.
He doesn’t know; he can’t know. Wait. Maybe he knows but consciously or not pretends he doesn’t since you don’t love your brother that way.
No one does.
No one wants their sibling to hold, touch, kiss, love, love them. No one craves to lie beneath his strong muscles and undivided attention, twist and arch up into hungry kisses and words too tender and too dirty all at once. No one fantasizes about hearing this sort of I love you, and coming undone by their brother’s hands and mouth and...
No one.
-Fin-
--Feedback is always welcome.
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: R
Warning: Incest
Word Count: ~ 410
Summary: You don’t think of your brother that way. (Pre-series)
Author’s Note: This is a small ficlet for halfshellvenus’ birthday, loosely based on a prompt she offered months ago (Michael/Lincoln, secret longing). Happy birthday and many happy returns :)
I know second person voice is not everyone’s cup of tea, but the first sentences came up with that point of view, and I couldn’t get rid of it. Sorry if sorry applies ;)
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
You don’t think of your brother that way. You don’t consider him that way. He’s your brother. You don’t dream of him and wake up huddled up, beads of sweat surging between your shoulder blades and fingers clutching the sheets to prevent your hand from sliding down your stomach and into your pajamas. You don’t daydream about lying on your back and welcoming him on top of you, you don’t wish you could run your lips and tongue down his neck, and you don’t imagine what his kisses would taste like. You don’t want him to be everything and a bit more to you - he is already, though, in way too many senses.
You don’t long for it to be reciprocal; you don’t think that if you prayed, you would pray it was reciprocal. You don’t love your brother that way.
No one does.
You look at Lincoln sprawled out in his battered jeans and tee-shirt on your squeaky-new leather couch, half stoned or half drunk or maybe both, and you hold onto the back of the stupid designer chair you bought last week. Stomach knotted and vision blurred, throat tight and mouth watering, heart beating wildly, wildly, wildly; always wildly for Linc. You hear his words but you don’t understand them; your brain is on overload and whatever he’s saying doesn’t sink in.
He gives you a lazy grin and motions you to come closer. Valiantly, you try to say “No, I have something to do in the kitchen, I’ll be right back,” you shake your head and step back, and yet you move forward, toward him all the same. You follow the index finger he waves at you like a beacon and you sit on the coffee table. Moth to the flame. You always end up burnt in more than one acceptation, and you never mind it nearly as much as you should.
He doesn’t know; he can’t know. Wait. Maybe he knows but consciously or not pretends he doesn’t since you don’t love your brother that way.
No one does.
No one wants their sibling to hold, touch, kiss, love, love them. No one craves to lie beneath his strong muscles and undivided attention, twist and arch up into hungry kisses and words too tender and too dirty all at once. No one fantasizes about hearing this sort of I love you, and coming undone by their brother’s hands and mouth and...
No one.
-Fin-
--Feedback is always welcome.