Prison Break - No, Yes, In-Between
Title: No, Yes, In-Between
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest, consent play
Word Count: ~ 1030
Summary: He’s said no. He’s said no, but Lincoln rarely takes seriously this kind of refusal. (Pre-series)
This was supposed to be a very short thank-you drabble for foxriverinmate for all kind of beta help and for being her. Of course, it grew a bit fatter longer than I’d planned...
Oddly enough, this also works for the ‘held down’ square of my kink_bingo ;)
Many thanks to putu2sleep for the beta.
He’s said no.
He’s said no, and Lincoln acts as though he didn’t hear him or doesn’t care: he gently pushes him onto his back and kisses him silent. The smooth move is followed by handcuffs clinking closed around his wrists, the hard and cold material making a stark contrast with Lincoln’s soft, soft warm kisses. He should be furious. As a matter of fact, he’s said no because he was mad at Lincoln in the first place. So, now, he should be furious and humiliated that Lincoln did what he does so often and simply ignored his decision.
And let’s get this straight, he is furious. But the kisses, the cuffs, Lincoln’s hands sliding across his torso, rough and soothing at the same time, the warm weight of his body, the sweet nonsense whispered against his skin... it all feels so good. So perfect that he’s not sure anymore the white heat coursing through his body is anger-induced.
He’s said no, but Lincoln rarely takes seriously this kind of refusal. In his asshole of a brother’s defense, Michael rarely means it. He knows how bad it looks, how bad it sounds, and he hates himself for it; for the weakness and the sick logic that Lincoln disregarding his rebuff is merely evidence that he loves and wants him to the point that he can’t help himself and would force Michael if he had to.
The handcuffs are tight around his wrists and the steel bites into his skin. He didn’t say no to the handcuffs. He never says no to the handcuffs. Something else that is sick about him. No matter how he feels about Lincoln, his brother just has to dangle the damn things in front of his eyes, and he surrenders; he offers his mouth, spreads his legs, lies back or bends over, anything Lincoln wants from him. The more pissed off he is at Linc, the more aroused the handcuffs make him. That’s definitely something he’d rather not look into too deeply.
He’s naked on his bed and Lincoln is looming over him, still fully clothed. He wouldn’t bet his right hand that Linc will bother undressing anytime soon. He rolls his hips and the tip of his erection grazes against Lincoln’s jeans, leaving a thin trail of fluid on the rough fabric. It borders on painful, and the ache itself feels amazing.
“Don’t,” Lincoln chastises when he tries to arch up higher and, doing so, yanks on the chain tying him up to the bedpost. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Then, Linc doesn’t talk anymore because he wraps his lips around the crown of Michael’s cock and slides down the shaft, slow, lewd and careful. He’s all lips and tongue, mindful not to scrape the delicate flesh with his teeth. Michael bucks up and swallows back a nauseating impulse to ask - demand - for more. Lincoln pushes him deeper into the mattress and holds his hips down, forbidding him any movement. He’s going to make him insane; he’s going to make him beg for it when ten minutes ago, Michael was saying no.
Saying no is easier than admitting, even only to himself, that he wants this; the sex, of course, but above all, the way Lincoln owns him.
Linc lets go of his cock for a few instants to shimmy up and kiss him on the mouth, so sweet and tender that Michael wishes he had it in him to bite him and tells him to fuck off. He tries to pull on the handcuffs again, but Lincoln doesn’t leave him the chance to move. He strokes up his arms and forearms, making sure they rest comfortably on the pillows under him. Maybe he shouldn’t have tightened the cuffs so much if he was afraid that they might hurt Michael - but then, that isn’t how this thing between them works.
“I’d stop if you wanted me to, Mike. Wouldn’t even start anything. You know it, right?”
Michael parts his lips to Lincoln’s tongue and squeezes his eyes shut. He knows. Maybe that is the worst part, not that he relishes being pushed into making love, but the fact that Linc can tell his heartfelt ‘no’ from his phony ones.
He doesn’t want to think of the day he will mean no and Lincoln won’t get it. Right here and right now, the thought only arouses him all the more, and that’s too much to cope with.
When he opens his eyes again and looks down, Lincoln is back to taking him into his mouth. Deep and wet, his thick lips stretched, hollowing out his cheeks with indecent eagerness, eyes bright with satisfaction because Michael’s breathing is one long string of gasps. The sight gets to Michael almost as efficiently as the sensations.
He yanks again on the handcuffs, and one more time when Lincoln glances up at him in disapproval. The flesh of his wrists throbs. He will have bruises tomorrow and he will need to hide them beneath long sleeves.
He tries to move his hips and thrust deeper into Lincoln’s mouth, but his brother’s grip is unrelenting, maddening. He breathes out “Lincoln,” and hopes he won’t have to insist or say anything else. Wishful thinking: Linc is not going to make it easy for him. The strained “please” he volunteers sends him down the proverbial slippery slope. Another and another one and then a litany roll off his tongue, until moans and pleas are a never-ending flow, spilling out of his mouth as fast and desperate as his release is spilling down Lincoln’s throat.
He comes down here and now to Lincoln looking thoughtfully into his eyes, waiting for him to breathe and think again. He takes a lungful of air and cranes his neck to press their mouths together.
“Good?” Lincoln merely asks.
Words he’s usually so good at using and manipulating come to his mind fast and jumbled, unsuited for forming a decent sentence. Maybe it’s for the best since, otherwise, more pleas and a thread of fucking-amazing-moremoremore would escape him.
So he whispers instead, breathing out a single word that has Lincoln settle more heavily on top of him and kiss his neck.
“Yes.”
-Fin-
--Feeback is always welcome.
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest, consent play
Word Count: ~ 1030
Summary: He’s said no. He’s said no, but Lincoln rarely takes seriously this kind of refusal. (Pre-series)
This was supposed to be a very short thank-you drabble for foxriverinmate for all kind of beta help and for being her. Of course, it grew a bit fatter longer than I’d planned...
Oddly enough, this also works for the ‘held down’ square of my kink_bingo ;)
Many thanks to putu2sleep for the beta.
He’s said no.
He’s said no, and Lincoln acts as though he didn’t hear him or doesn’t care: he gently pushes him onto his back and kisses him silent. The smooth move is followed by handcuffs clinking closed around his wrists, the hard and cold material making a stark contrast with Lincoln’s soft, soft warm kisses. He should be furious. As a matter of fact, he’s said no because he was mad at Lincoln in the first place. So, now, he should be furious and humiliated that Lincoln did what he does so often and simply ignored his decision.
And let’s get this straight, he is furious. But the kisses, the cuffs, Lincoln’s hands sliding across his torso, rough and soothing at the same time, the warm weight of his body, the sweet nonsense whispered against his skin... it all feels so good. So perfect that he’s not sure anymore the white heat coursing through his body is anger-induced.
He’s said no, but Lincoln rarely takes seriously this kind of refusal. In his asshole of a brother’s defense, Michael rarely means it. He knows how bad it looks, how bad it sounds, and he hates himself for it; for the weakness and the sick logic that Lincoln disregarding his rebuff is merely evidence that he loves and wants him to the point that he can’t help himself and would force Michael if he had to.
The handcuffs are tight around his wrists and the steel bites into his skin. He didn’t say no to the handcuffs. He never says no to the handcuffs. Something else that is sick about him. No matter how he feels about Lincoln, his brother just has to dangle the damn things in front of his eyes, and he surrenders; he offers his mouth, spreads his legs, lies back or bends over, anything Lincoln wants from him. The more pissed off he is at Linc, the more aroused the handcuffs make him. That’s definitely something he’d rather not look into too deeply.
He’s naked on his bed and Lincoln is looming over him, still fully clothed. He wouldn’t bet his right hand that Linc will bother undressing anytime soon. He rolls his hips and the tip of his erection grazes against Lincoln’s jeans, leaving a thin trail of fluid on the rough fabric. It borders on painful, and the ache itself feels amazing.
“Don’t,” Lincoln chastises when he tries to arch up higher and, doing so, yanks on the chain tying him up to the bedpost. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Then, Linc doesn’t talk anymore because he wraps his lips around the crown of Michael’s cock and slides down the shaft, slow, lewd and careful. He’s all lips and tongue, mindful not to scrape the delicate flesh with his teeth. Michael bucks up and swallows back a nauseating impulse to ask - demand - for more. Lincoln pushes him deeper into the mattress and holds his hips down, forbidding him any movement. He’s going to make him insane; he’s going to make him beg for it when ten minutes ago, Michael was saying no.
Saying no is easier than admitting, even only to himself, that he wants this; the sex, of course, but above all, the way Lincoln owns him.
Linc lets go of his cock for a few instants to shimmy up and kiss him on the mouth, so sweet and tender that Michael wishes he had it in him to bite him and tells him to fuck off. He tries to pull on the handcuffs again, but Lincoln doesn’t leave him the chance to move. He strokes up his arms and forearms, making sure they rest comfortably on the pillows under him. Maybe he shouldn’t have tightened the cuffs so much if he was afraid that they might hurt Michael - but then, that isn’t how this thing between them works.
“I’d stop if you wanted me to, Mike. Wouldn’t even start anything. You know it, right?”
Michael parts his lips to Lincoln’s tongue and squeezes his eyes shut. He knows. Maybe that is the worst part, not that he relishes being pushed into making love, but the fact that Linc can tell his heartfelt ‘no’ from his phony ones.
He doesn’t want to think of the day he will mean no and Lincoln won’t get it. Right here and right now, the thought only arouses him all the more, and that’s too much to cope with.
When he opens his eyes again and looks down, Lincoln is back to taking him into his mouth. Deep and wet, his thick lips stretched, hollowing out his cheeks with indecent eagerness, eyes bright with satisfaction because Michael’s breathing is one long string of gasps. The sight gets to Michael almost as efficiently as the sensations.
He yanks again on the handcuffs, and one more time when Lincoln glances up at him in disapproval. The flesh of his wrists throbs. He will have bruises tomorrow and he will need to hide them beneath long sleeves.
He tries to move his hips and thrust deeper into Lincoln’s mouth, but his brother’s grip is unrelenting, maddening. He breathes out “Lincoln,” and hopes he won’t have to insist or say anything else. Wishful thinking: Linc is not going to make it easy for him. The strained “please” he volunteers sends him down the proverbial slippery slope. Another and another one and then a litany roll off his tongue, until moans and pleas are a never-ending flow, spilling out of his mouth as fast and desperate as his release is spilling down Lincoln’s throat.
He comes down here and now to Lincoln looking thoughtfully into his eyes, waiting for him to breathe and think again. He takes a lungful of air and cranes his neck to press their mouths together.
“Good?” Lincoln merely asks.
Words he’s usually so good at using and manipulating come to his mind fast and jumbled, unsuited for forming a decent sentence. Maybe it’s for the best since, otherwise, more pleas and a thread of fucking-amazing-moremoremore would escape him.
So he whispers instead, breathing out a single word that has Lincoln settle more heavily on top of him and kiss his neck.
“Yes.”
-Fin-
--Feeback is always welcome.