Prison Break - Upper Hand, Lost Battle
Title: Upper Hand, Lost Battle
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael, Mahone (Michael/Mahone-ish)
Category: Slash-y
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~ 255
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Mahone handcuffs Michael. (Season 2)
Author’s note: I usually don't write Michael/Mahone in any way, shape or form, but this was for foxriverinmate.
Thanks to foxriverinmate for the read-through.
“Not too tight, Michael?”
Mahone’s voice is almost friendly under the triumphant tone.
Michael barely throws him a nasty glance and doesn’t utter a word. It was an honest question and Mahone wishes Michael understood this, understood that Mahone doesn’t want to hurt him if he can avoid it. It would be counterproductive and lacking... something. Yes, Mahone wants the upper hand on his prey but even more than that, he wants to get him, to delve into his brain and pick it - him - apart. What good would too-tight handcuffs do? Michael already went through way worse for his brother than metal chafing his wrists.
Mahone secures the chain of the handcuffs with his left hand and slips his right forefinger under the cold steel, on the inside of Michael’s wrist. The skin is warm and so baby-soft there, Mahone would swear he can almost feel the lines and the swirls of the tattoos on his fingertip.
He moves his finger from right to left and back, once, twice, loses the count, and stops.
Damn.
Never good to lose track of anything as long as Scofield is involved.
Michael looks at him, now; he watches him, piercing eyes trained on his face and the hint of a smile curling his lips. Observing, analyzing, processing. Curious, amused, cunning. No wonder Sara Tancredi, Henry Pope and others fell into his traps.
Mahone roughly yanks on the chain of the handcuffs, but it’s useless. It’s worse than useless: not only has he lost that particular battle, but he just admitted that he did.
END
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael, Mahone (Michael/Mahone-ish)
Category: Slash-y
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~ 255
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Mahone handcuffs Michael. (Season 2)
Author’s note: I usually don't write Michael/Mahone in any way, shape or form, but this was for foxriverinmate.
Thanks to foxriverinmate for the read-through.
“Not too tight, Michael?”
Mahone’s voice is almost friendly under the triumphant tone.
Michael barely throws him a nasty glance and doesn’t utter a word. It was an honest question and Mahone wishes Michael understood this, understood that Mahone doesn’t want to hurt him if he can avoid it. It would be counterproductive and lacking... something. Yes, Mahone wants the upper hand on his prey but even more than that, he wants to get him, to delve into his brain and pick it - him - apart. What good would too-tight handcuffs do? Michael already went through way worse for his brother than metal chafing his wrists.
Mahone secures the chain of the handcuffs with his left hand and slips his right forefinger under the cold steel, on the inside of Michael’s wrist. The skin is warm and so baby-soft there, Mahone would swear he can almost feel the lines and the swirls of the tattoos on his fingertip.
He moves his finger from right to left and back, once, twice, loses the count, and stops.
Damn.
Never good to lose track of anything as long as Scofield is involved.
Michael looks at him, now; he watches him, piercing eyes trained on his face and the hint of a smile curling his lips. Observing, analyzing, processing. Curious, amused, cunning. No wonder Sara Tancredi, Henry Pope and others fell into his traps.
Mahone roughly yanks on the chain of the handcuffs, but it’s useless. It’s worse than useless: not only has he lost that particular battle, but he just admitted that he did.
END