Prison Break - Unfocused
Title: Unfocused
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Category: Het, mild slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest (mostly implied)
Word Count: ~ 775
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Every now and then, they will focus on her until she loses it, and loses herself into them. (Post-series, alternate canon. Set in The Sum of the Parts ‘verse.)
Author’s note: Written for rounds-of-kink New Year’s 2014 mini-round. Kinks and prompt: Messiness and markers of arousal / Focus
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
She’s slick with sweat, saliva, and other bodily fluids she won’t name but is perfectly aware of. Her arms, legs and whole body weigh a ton and she won’t move. It isn’t an issue for them as they shift and delicately position her to their smallest desires and whims - on her back, her head pillowed on Michael’s shoulder, her knees pulled apart by Lincoln’s hands, her nipples tightening under the stroke of his tongue. She relaxes and lets it happen. It’s not as if she didn’t enjoy it, after all.
Every now and then, before settling in bed for the night, Michael and Lincoln trade a look and a smile, and Sara knows they will focus on her - focus on her until she loses it, and loses herself into them. They make a mess of her in so many ways on those nights, with a too-blatant-to-be-true lack of deference and always lovingly, but a mess all the same. Eventually, everything becomes fuzzy and hazy for her, a blur of mouths and hands and cocks taking care of her and undoing her.
She knows. It’s not about her, not only at least. It’s about Michael sharing her with Lincoln; it’s about the complicity between the brothers. It’s fine because two or twenty nights from now, the focus will shift, and Lincoln or Michael - depending on whom she will smile to that night - will end up in her situation, as slick, messy and far gone as she is tonight, panting and begging for more even though he can barely take anymore than what they’re already giving him.
She is begging for more even though she aches. She can feel pangs of arousal under their ministrations and kisses, at the thought of what they lick off her breasts and her neck, from between her thighs, at the perspective of what they’ll do next.
Michael has moved; he’s looming over her. She’s sprawled on her back in the middle of the bed, a pillow under her shoulders; she’s on display for their fantasy, her body offered and at their disposal, her head thrown back in the moist and rumpled sheets. Michael dips a hand into her tangled hair and brushes the softest kiss over her lips, calls her name and asks her to open her eyes for just a few seconds.
Oh now, he wants her to focus, after they fucked her into oblivion, filled her with come and lust and love? Not gonna happen. She won’t open her eyes and watch him. She’s quite sure that’s why they stuff the pillow under her shoulders anyway, so that she can’t see what’s going on below her chin. In her position, she would have to lift onto her elbows to see what’s going on below her chin. She’s incapable of moving so much, right now.
One of them slips two fingers inside her and teases her. She gasps at the sensation. Not the sensation of the caress per se - though it’s far from unpleasant - but the sensation of not knowing which one of them is doing this to her. She not only doesn’t mind, she loves it. She loves how wanton and debauched it feels. She loves the trust it implies, from her, from Michael, from Lincoln even.
Michael kisses her deeper, and she tastes a combination of the three of them on his tongue.
“Lincoln thinks you’ve had enough. I think you can take some more.”
She grins lazily and flaunts herself, breasts pushed forward and hips rolling in synchronization with the fingers shoving and crooking inside her. She knows a challenge when she hears one, and whether this one comes from Michael, Lincoln or from both of them doesn’t matter.
They’re merciless, thrusting, licking, and switching, never letting her know who’s doing what. Michael’s entertaining her dirty little fantasy, either because she’s blurted it out without even realizing it, or because he knows her inside and out.
It’s not exactly accurate that they push her until she can’t focus anymore. It’s rather that her focus shifts, she guesses? Right. It shifts. They push her to another level of focus. A split second - or an eternity - where her whole world is sucked into blinding, deafening pleasure. She barely feels one them kissing her neck and the other her mouth when she cries out, barely senses their hands trying to pin her down, barely hears their soothing whispers.
They settle on each side of her, nestling her between them. A few more things she can focus on before falling asleep: the kiss they share, the one they lay on her shoulder, how slick and warm they feel against her...
Her focus slips away.
END
--Feedback is always welcome and appreciated :)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara/Lincoln
Category: Het, mild slash
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest (mostly implied)
Word Count: ~ 775
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Every now and then, they will focus on her until she loses it, and loses herself into them. (Post-series, alternate canon. Set in The Sum of the Parts ‘verse.)
Author’s note: Written for rounds-of-kink New Year’s 2014 mini-round. Kinks and prompt: Messiness and markers of arousal / Focus
Many thanks to foxriverinmate for the beta.
She’s slick with sweat, saliva, and other bodily fluids she won’t name but is perfectly aware of. Her arms, legs and whole body weigh a ton and she won’t move. It isn’t an issue for them as they shift and delicately position her to their smallest desires and whims - on her back, her head pillowed on Michael’s shoulder, her knees pulled apart by Lincoln’s hands, her nipples tightening under the stroke of his tongue. She relaxes and lets it happen. It’s not as if she didn’t enjoy it, after all.
Every now and then, before settling in bed for the night, Michael and Lincoln trade a look and a smile, and Sara knows they will focus on her - focus on her until she loses it, and loses herself into them. They make a mess of her in so many ways on those nights, with a too-blatant-to-be-true lack of deference and always lovingly, but a mess all the same. Eventually, everything becomes fuzzy and hazy for her, a blur of mouths and hands and cocks taking care of her and undoing her.
She knows. It’s not about her, not only at least. It’s about Michael sharing her with Lincoln; it’s about the complicity between the brothers. It’s fine because two or twenty nights from now, the focus will shift, and Lincoln or Michael - depending on whom she will smile to that night - will end up in her situation, as slick, messy and far gone as she is tonight, panting and begging for more even though he can barely take anymore than what they’re already giving him.
She is begging for more even though she aches. She can feel pangs of arousal under their ministrations and kisses, at the thought of what they lick off her breasts and her neck, from between her thighs, at the perspective of what they’ll do next.
Michael has moved; he’s looming over her. She’s sprawled on her back in the middle of the bed, a pillow under her shoulders; she’s on display for their fantasy, her body offered and at their disposal, her head thrown back in the moist and rumpled sheets. Michael dips a hand into her tangled hair and brushes the softest kiss over her lips, calls her name and asks her to open her eyes for just a few seconds.
Oh now, he wants her to focus, after they fucked her into oblivion, filled her with come and lust and love? Not gonna happen. She won’t open her eyes and watch him. She’s quite sure that’s why they stuff the pillow under her shoulders anyway, so that she can’t see what’s going on below her chin. In her position, she would have to lift onto her elbows to see what’s going on below her chin. She’s incapable of moving so much, right now.
One of them slips two fingers inside her and teases her. She gasps at the sensation. Not the sensation of the caress per se - though it’s far from unpleasant - but the sensation of not knowing which one of them is doing this to her. She not only doesn’t mind, she loves it. She loves how wanton and debauched it feels. She loves the trust it implies, from her, from Michael, from Lincoln even.
Michael kisses her deeper, and she tastes a combination of the three of them on his tongue.
“Lincoln thinks you’ve had enough. I think you can take some more.”
She grins lazily and flaunts herself, breasts pushed forward and hips rolling in synchronization with the fingers shoving and crooking inside her. She knows a challenge when she hears one, and whether this one comes from Michael, Lincoln or from both of them doesn’t matter.
They’re merciless, thrusting, licking, and switching, never letting her know who’s doing what. Michael’s entertaining her dirty little fantasy, either because she’s blurted it out without even realizing it, or because he knows her inside and out.
It’s not exactly accurate that they push her until she can’t focus anymore. It’s rather that her focus shifts, she guesses? Right. It shifts. They push her to another level of focus. A split second - or an eternity - where her whole world is sucked into blinding, deafening pleasure. She barely feels one them kissing her neck and the other her mouth when she cries out, barely senses their hands trying to pin her down, barely hears their soothing whispers.
They settle on each side of her, nestling her between them. A few more things she can focus on before falling asleep: the kiss they share, the one they lay on her shoulder, how slick and warm they feel against her...
Her focus slips away.
END
--Feedback is always welcome and appreciated :)