Prison Break - Syllogism II (Fluffy Reality for Modern Couples)
Title: Syllogism II (Fluffy Reality for Modern Couples)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara
Category: Het
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 700
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Michael is fine with Sara sharing her fantasies. More than fine, really. (Post-series, alternate canon)
Author’s note: This is a small addendum to Syllogism (Harmless Fantasies...) / snippet for another take on the same bunny. Written for mmom.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Modern couples may share fantasies every now and then.
Michael is one half of a modern couple.
Ergo, Michael is fine with Sara sharing her fantasies.
(More than fine, really.)
“You’re a wicked, wicked woman,” he whispers into her ear. He’s standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her impeding her freedom of movement.
That’s one fantasy she didn’t have, him restraining her; she kind of regrets it, now, because it’s a nice one.
“Objectifying inmates. Fantasizing about jumping their bones.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was a prison doctor. You really want to compare notes on being objectified, Scofield?” He’s sneakily finding his way under her dress; she has no difficulty picturing how this is going to end. “It was only your bones, and it wasn’t like that,” she adds unnecessarily.
“I know.” He kisses her neck. “I know.” The kiss is sweet and tender, a stark contrast with his fingers pulling her panties down - blue cotton for the record - gliding through the curly hair at the V of her thighs, and entering her in one cautiously harsh thrust.
She pants and bends forward in his embrace, shocked and pleased, her amused arousal morphing into bright lust.
“I did it too,” he admits in a velvety-dirty voice that sends shivers down her spine.
“Objectifying inmates and wanting to jump their bones?”
He bites her shoulder in punishment. “You could be nicer with me about that. I shared a cell with Sucre. The man snores and he dreams out loud. It wasn’t easy to evoke... pleasant images.”
He doesn’t seem to hold her a grudge for her cheekiness, that said, because he’s doing things to her down there that have her writhe and make her knees wobble.
“Don’t stop,” she pleads.
“Never.” His fingers easily slide deeper into her. She’ll be embarrassed later - or you know, probably not - at how wet and open she’s become for him within the span of a few confidences. “You feel so good.” His tone lowers, roughens. “Better than I’ve ever imagined back then.”
There’s an actual timidity in his admission, as if he imagines that she believes he’s only had sweet, clean thoughts about her.
“Tell me about it. What did you picture?”
He’s hard against the small of her back, but she knows he’s not going there for now. With the press of his body and the urgency of his caresses, she can feel his determination to bring her to her release the way they’ve started it. This is mainly for her, even if he definitely finds his fair share of pleasure in it.
“Pinning you against the wall of your infirmary,” he starts coyly. She grins. Classical. “Having you straddle me on that exam table.” More grinning because it was expected; he likes it when she’s on top. “And then...” She closes her eyes. She knows that voice, that rhythm, slow and intense; she knows the effect it has on her. “... out of Fox River, a huge bed in a nice room and all the time in the word to fuck you senseless, over and over again...”
She can’t hear the rest of it, not with blood rushing through her temples as she jolts on his hand and comes, longue waves of pleasure arching her into him. She’s grateful for the arm holding her steadily, for the whispering into her ear, for the way he gently turns her around and kisses her when she stops shaking. She grabs onto him and laughs, tells him that he’s damn good with his hands - but he already knows that, doesn’t he? - and eventually realizes he’s still unraveling his threads of fantasies. Or perhaps they’re plans; something else he’s good with, plans.
“... maybe I would tie your hands to the bedpost to have you at my mercy? Not that I would show any mercy.”
She’s a wicked woman - his words, not hers - so she has no qualm pressing herself hard against him and smirking when he groans at the contact.
“You know, we have the huge bed in the nice room and all the time in the world. If you manage to hold yourself together long enough to actually tie my hands to the bedpost, I’m all yours.”
END
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara
Category: Het
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 700
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Michael is fine with Sara sharing her fantasies. More than fine, really. (Post-series, alternate canon)
Author’s note: This is a small addendum to Syllogism (Harmless Fantasies...) / snippet for another take on the same bunny. Written for mmom.
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
Modern couples may share fantasies every now and then.
Michael is one half of a modern couple.
Ergo, Michael is fine with Sara sharing her fantasies.
(More than fine, really.)
“You’re a wicked, wicked woman,” he whispers into her ear. He’s standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her impeding her freedom of movement.
That’s one fantasy she didn’t have, him restraining her; she kind of regrets it, now, because it’s a nice one.
“Objectifying inmates. Fantasizing about jumping their bones.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was a prison doctor. You really want to compare notes on being objectified, Scofield?” He’s sneakily finding his way under her dress; she has no difficulty picturing how this is going to end. “It was only your bones, and it wasn’t like that,” she adds unnecessarily.
“I know.” He kisses her neck. “I know.” The kiss is sweet and tender, a stark contrast with his fingers pulling her panties down - blue cotton for the record - gliding through the curly hair at the V of her thighs, and entering her in one cautiously harsh thrust.
She pants and bends forward in his embrace, shocked and pleased, her amused arousal morphing into bright lust.
“I did it too,” he admits in a velvety-dirty voice that sends shivers down her spine.
“Objectifying inmates and wanting to jump their bones?”
He bites her shoulder in punishment. “You could be nicer with me about that. I shared a cell with Sucre. The man snores and he dreams out loud. It wasn’t easy to evoke... pleasant images.”
He doesn’t seem to hold her a grudge for her cheekiness, that said, because he’s doing things to her down there that have her writhe and make her knees wobble.
“Don’t stop,” she pleads.
“Never.” His fingers easily slide deeper into her. She’ll be embarrassed later - or you know, probably not - at how wet and open she’s become for him within the span of a few confidences. “You feel so good.” His tone lowers, roughens. “Better than I’ve ever imagined back then.”
There’s an actual timidity in his admission, as if he imagines that she believes he’s only had sweet, clean thoughts about her.
“Tell me about it. What did you picture?”
He’s hard against the small of her back, but she knows he’s not going there for now. With the press of his body and the urgency of his caresses, she can feel his determination to bring her to her release the way they’ve started it. This is mainly for her, even if he definitely finds his fair share of pleasure in it.
“Pinning you against the wall of your infirmary,” he starts coyly. She grins. Classical. “Having you straddle me on that exam table.” More grinning because it was expected; he likes it when she’s on top. “And then...” She closes her eyes. She knows that voice, that rhythm, slow and intense; she knows the effect it has on her. “... out of Fox River, a huge bed in a nice room and all the time in the word to fuck you senseless, over and over again...”
She can’t hear the rest of it, not with blood rushing through her temples as she jolts on his hand and comes, longue waves of pleasure arching her into him. She’s grateful for the arm holding her steadily, for the whispering into her ear, for the way he gently turns her around and kisses her when she stops shaking. She grabs onto him and laughs, tells him that he’s damn good with his hands - but he already knows that, doesn’t he? - and eventually realizes he’s still unraveling his threads of fantasies. Or perhaps they’re plans; something else he’s good with, plans.
“... maybe I would tie your hands to the bedpost to have you at my mercy? Not that I would show any mercy.”
She’s a wicked woman - his words, not hers - so she has no qualm pressing herself hard against him and smirking when he groans at the contact.
“You know, we have the huge bed in the nice room and all the time in the world. If you manage to hold yourself together long enough to actually tie my hands to the bedpost, I’m all yours.”
END