Prison Break - Too-Close Quarters
Title: Too-Close Quarters
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael, Lincoln (Lincoln/OFC)
Categories: Not really gen, but not quite slash either
Rating: R
Warning: No graphic slash or incest, but proceed with caution if Michael/Lincoln really bothers you.
Word Count: ~ 480
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Michael wants his privacy. Maybe. (Pre-series, season 2.)
Author’s note: Prompt by camille-miko. The prompt was ‘promiscuité’, which I translated as ‘close quarters’.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
1.
It has never bothered him before, quite the contrary since he’s always liked having Lincoln around. But now, he’s reached the age where he needs his privacy. His damn fucking privacy.
Yes, Michael knows that Lincoln knows what he’s doing when he hangs out in his bedroom for hours or locks himself in the bathroom. Lincoln was his age, once. No big mysteries here. Michael could still live without the innuendos and the winks. The worst part? Linc is not being sarcastic or mocking him. Linc thinks he’s being helpful. He’s not.
Then, there are the times when Lincoln disappears for a couple of days, sometimes more, and comes back looking like something the cat would have dragged in. Each time, Michael wonders if he will ever see him again. Each time, it reminds Michael that being at such close quarters isn’t so bad, after all.
2.
The woman in Lincoln’s bedroom has been moaning for fifteen minutes. It’s high-pitched and continuous, only interrupted every now and then by Lincoln’s rougher grunts. It can only mean two things: that the girl is a screamer or that Lincoln is as good at it as he brags about being.
Actually, it can mean a third thing: that Michael should have stayed at Loyola for the weekend. If he wants to hear people fucking senseless all night long, the guy in the next room at his dorm can provide the sound track.
It’s a bit disturbing that it’s when Lincoln becomes louder that Michael’s hand closes around his own erection without his consent and starts pulling, tugging, twisting, stroking...
It’s totally disturbing that, later in the kitchen, the woman looks him up and down and asks him if he wants to join them; that Michael’s not so sure of his answer; and that Lincoln smiles like it’s no big deal.
3.
They’re in the tiny cabin aboard the cargo ship en route to Panama and, at least, Lincoln has had the decency to wait ten minutes after they turned off the light. It’s enough time for Michael to fall asleep, in theory.
Except that Michael’s not asleep and that Linc...
“You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”
“I’m not trying to be subtle.”
The sound of the sheets rubbing over his fist as his fist strokes his flesh... down there doesn’t stop. Nor does his breathing quieten down. Michael is awake and knows what he’s doing, and yet, he keeps doing it.
“You’re a big boy, Michael. Stop yapping. I should be dead by now, so excuse me if...”
A satisfied groan cuts off his sentence, followed by more groans and a few expletives. And more groans again.
Right. Another kind of situation where, all things considered, too-close quarters aren’t that bad.
Michael slides his hand under the sheets and into his boxer-shorts, and closes his ears to Lincoln’s chuckle.
END
--Comments of any length and kudos are greatly appreciated and always welcomed, either at LJ or on AO3. Thanks for reading :)
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael, Lincoln (Lincoln/OFC)
Categories: Not really gen, but not quite slash either
Rating: R
Warning: No graphic slash or incest, but proceed with caution if Michael/Lincoln really bothers you.
Word Count: ~ 480
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Michael wants his privacy. Maybe. (Pre-series, season 2.)
Author’s note: Prompt by camille-miko. The prompt was ‘promiscuité’, which I translated as ‘close quarters’.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
1.
It has never bothered him before, quite the contrary since he’s always liked having Lincoln around. But now, he’s reached the age where he needs his privacy. His damn fucking privacy.
Yes, Michael knows that Lincoln knows what he’s doing when he hangs out in his bedroom for hours or locks himself in the bathroom. Lincoln was his age, once. No big mysteries here. Michael could still live without the innuendos and the winks. The worst part? Linc is not being sarcastic or mocking him. Linc thinks he’s being helpful. He’s not.
Then, there are the times when Lincoln disappears for a couple of days, sometimes more, and comes back looking like something the cat would have dragged in. Each time, Michael wonders if he will ever see him again. Each time, it reminds Michael that being at such close quarters isn’t so bad, after all.
2.
The woman in Lincoln’s bedroom has been moaning for fifteen minutes. It’s high-pitched and continuous, only interrupted every now and then by Lincoln’s rougher grunts. It can only mean two things: that the girl is a screamer or that Lincoln is as good at it as he brags about being.
Actually, it can mean a third thing: that Michael should have stayed at Loyola for the weekend. If he wants to hear people fucking senseless all night long, the guy in the next room at his dorm can provide the sound track.
It’s a bit disturbing that it’s when Lincoln becomes louder that Michael’s hand closes around his own erection without his consent and starts pulling, tugging, twisting, stroking...
It’s totally disturbing that, later in the kitchen, the woman looks him up and down and asks him if he wants to join them; that Michael’s not so sure of his answer; and that Lincoln smiles like it’s no big deal.
3.
They’re in the tiny cabin aboard the cargo ship en route to Panama and, at least, Lincoln has had the decency to wait ten minutes after they turned off the light. It’s enough time for Michael to fall asleep, in theory.
Except that Michael’s not asleep and that Linc...
“You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”
“I’m not trying to be subtle.”
The sound of the sheets rubbing over his fist as his fist strokes his flesh... down there doesn’t stop. Nor does his breathing quieten down. Michael is awake and knows what he’s doing, and yet, he keeps doing it.
“You’re a big boy, Michael. Stop yapping. I should be dead by now, so excuse me if...”
A satisfied groan cuts off his sentence, followed by more groans and a few expletives. And more groans again.
Right. Another kind of situation where, all things considered, too-close quarters aren’t that bad.
Michael slides his hand under the sheets and into his boxer-shorts, and closes his ears to Lincoln’s chuckle.
END
--Comments of any length and kudos are greatly appreciated and always welcomed, either at LJ or on AO3. Thanks for reading :)