A New Favorite
Title: A New Favorite
Author: happywriter06
Fandom: Prison Break
Rating: NC-17
Category: Het
Characters: Lincoln Burrows/Jane Phillips
Disclaimer: If I owned PB, Jane would’ve shown up in S3 already.
Notes: Written for pamalax's October challenge. We had to pick a character and choose four prompts. I choose Jane, apple pie, Halloween party, sexy costume, and a mask. This is the third and final story in my Baby, You Make My Heart Beat Faster Series. The first two are No More Dancing (Part 1) and For the History Books (Part 2).
He’s never been the biggest fan of Halloween. That’s what he told her. Sure he had some memorable ones like that one time when Michael went to a haunted house and came out damn near crying. He said Michael was almost fifteen then. Other than a few other bright spots, Halloween mostly meant disappointment. They had no mother to make their costumes. They had foster parents too concerned with their real kids than him and Michael. He said he’ll always remember seeing the look on LJ’s face when he showed up too late time and again, after Lisa had already taken him trick-or-treating.
He told her all this after she tells him he has to accompany her to her office Halloween party. The idea of good food and free booze wasn’t even enough of a draw. He only said yes because the silky touch of her tongue wound up some place that would leave him agreeing to anything.
She asked him early in the month not figuring he would forget about the whole thing. She sure didn’t help matters by seeming to forget he even existed in the days leading up the party. She barely called. And when he called, the first thing she said was “I’ll call you later.” She never promised to do so knowing the chances were good that she wouldn’t call back. She never made promises she couldn’t keep no matter how small.
* * *
He nearly forgot he’d agreed to go to this shindig. Jane finally remembered he was alive and called to remind him a few days before. He really wanted to tell her he wasn’t going but the sexy purr of her voice has always been able to get him to do a lot.
He should have known that the party would be some lavish affair. One only had to take one look at the company’s headquarters to know that money was no object. The Grand Ballroom of the Four Seasons Chicago is lavishly decorated in the colors of the season - lots of oranges, browns, blacks without being an assault on one’s eyesight. From his vantage point at the top of the stairs leading into the ballroom, the party is in full gear what with - he counts - six bars and six tables of food spread throughout the room. He quickly surveys the crowd looking for the blonde that maybe still belongs to him. There’s too many - most of them fake - and most of their faces he can’t make out because they are too far away.
He spends quite a bit of time making his way through the crowd of people, the vast majority of which he does not know. He’s only met a few of Jane’s colleagues the few times he’s picked her up from work. The ones he knows all ask him the same question, “Where’s Jane?” He gives them the same answer, “I don’t know.” After a fruitless search, he winds up almost where he started - at the closest bar to the staircase. He waits and grows angrier by the second. By the time his watch reads 9:13, he’s been here an hour. He doesn’t plan on making it two. He turns to the bartender dropping a couple of bills in the tip jar then turns to go.
He stops, captivated by a vision in white. She’s dressed like a Greek goddess. The sexiest Greek goddess he’s ever seen. Her blonde hair is full and lush with loose curls framing her face. The dress is made of some fabric that he can tell is nearly sheer and feather-light. It clings to her curves. The neckline is decidedly modest showing just the faintest hint of alabaster, which is fine since the split up the side isn’t the least bit modest. Not by a long shot. It begins high up, very high up, so that when she walks - like she’s doing now - the milky white expanse of skin - from almost where thigh meets hip - sends a spiral of heat from his mid section to every part of his body.
He watches her look for him - he hopes she’s looking for him - as she makes her way down. His walk down seemed to take no time but it’s like she’s operating in slow motion. He feels like he’s some leading man in some romantic comedy neither of them would watch as he watches her. She finally notices him, her pale blue eyes clear and happy, the corners of her mouth reaching those eyes. She recognizes him even in the black hat and mask.
He doesn’t smile back though. As much as the sight of her has every inch of him alive with anticipation, he won’t smile. He’s still mad at her even with the last minute phone call. It’s not like she apologized.
She keeps smiling despite the casualness of his expression as she approaches. Ever observant she can tell he wants to smile because he clenches his fists so as to not reach for her once she gets close enough for him to touch.
“Perfect choice,” she says pressing her palms against the solid wall of muscle that is his chest. “Zorro never buttoned up either.”
“Do I know you?” he asks, grabbing her wrists as she begins to move him to his shoulders, wide and rounded with muscle. He drops her wrists quickly before the compulsion to pull her closer gets the better of him.
She opens her mouth - lips full, soft and inviting - to say his name before deciding to say, “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Not a problem,” he says, tipping his hat before heading off.
“Would you like a drink?” she asks him. He turns back to her. “It’s the least I could do.”
“What about your date?”
“I never said anything about a date. Besides I think he’s mad at me.”
“What did you do?” he asks, crossing his arms across his chest.
She takes a moment to answer as if she was going to say anything other than “You tell me.”
At the bar they sip, him a beer and her an apple pie martini. They never really have any time to play this game because colleague after colleague approaches her. She sees him roll his eyes after the tenth person leaves.
“I think I know why your boyfriend is mad at you.” He’s leaning with his forearms on the bar, his head turned in her direction.
“I never said I had a boyfriend,” she answers while looking out on the party.
He chooses ignore her answer. “You probably ignore him just like you’ve been doing to me for the past twenty minutes.”
This time she turns to him to respond. “Well don’t worry about that any longer. It was a pleasure meeting you,” she says dryly before setting down her now empty glass and walking off. She can feel his eyes watching her go as she slips into the crowd.
* * *
They spend the rest of the evening ignoring each other. He watches her flirt - the flicking of the hair, the throaty laugh, the touching of the arm of whatever guy she’s talking to at the moment. He can’t help the pangs of jealously from increasing with each passing minute.
He doesn’t know how many beers he’s had or how many women he’s turned down for dances by the time Jane is taken to dance floor by some guy who clearly wants her. He would know that look anywhere since he’s seen it reflected in her eyes since before their first kiss.
He downs the last of his beer and makes his way towards Jane and this guy. Jane’s back is to him so she doesn’t see right away what has caused whoever-he-is to stop dead in his tracks. “What?” she asks, the concern evident in her voice, before following her dance partner’s gaze.
“I’m cutting in,” Lincoln declares, leaving no room for refusal, before grabbing one of Jane’s hands to pull her flush against him. He purposefully pulls her forcefully so that she slams into him. His grip on her wrist grows tighter as he snakes his other hand around her waist. She’s rigid and so is he as they stand like that for awhile. They stare at each other waiting for the other to back down. It feels like old times.
Her eyes are like ice, piercing, but he’s not going to let them pierce his resolve to be the victor in this battle of wills. It’s not easy with her warm, sweet breath on his neck and her ample bosom pressed into his chest. They might as well be wearing nothing since that’s what it feels like.
It’s too much for her because she blinks first. When she looks at him again the ice has melted and she yields, like always, her body going lax. He yields, too, loosening his grip slightly so that it’s gentle instead of hard. He can’t same the same about his still burgeoning manhood.
They don’t say any thing to each other; they just begin to sway to the ballad pouring from the speakers.
“Sorry,” she whispers. And the only reason he hears it over the voices around them and the music is because of the ghosting of her lips against his ear.
His answer isn’t ‘I’m sorry, too’ or ‘I accept’. He asks her something instead. “You do you know that you are the sexiest woman in here?” She lifts her head to look at him with eyes that have darkened to that shade of blue that means one thing and one thing only. “Let’s get out of here.”
A certain amount of decorum is required in exiting since she has to face these people on Monday so they don’t sprint out. Thank goodness no one stops them.
“Did you get a room?” he asks before hitting the landing.
“No.” She hadn’t time to do it and apparently she didn’t have time to tell her secretary to do it either since Lucy never said a word about it.
“Just as well, the elevator ride would take too long anyway,” he says pulling hers towards the stairwell.
She can’t not agree especially when two seconds later he’s flush against her, his mouth plundering hers like he’s looking for something that he’s lost. One hand cups the back of her head, tangling in her hair, while the other has worked his way up her thigh to her ass. She can’t concentrate on any one sensation.
There’s the feel of his tongue sweeping across her lips then entering her mouth again. There’s his one hand palming the rounded flesh of her ass. There’s his swollen flesh straining against the fabric of his pants as it presses upon her heat.
She grips his shoulders, pulling him closer as if such a thing is possible. She’s in pain - her lips hurt from his bruising and her back rubs against the cinder block wall roughly. But that is nothing compared to the ache that grows within her every second that he’s pressed against her and not in her.
He seems to be reading her mind for the hand that was palming her ass is tugging at the thin strap of her g-string until it gives with very little effort. She makes a sound of pleasure at the back of her throat as the fabric gives way, quickly followed by the feel of fingers pushing into her slippery softness. Her grip gets tighter as he moves in and out, stroking her core until he’s crying out in pain from her nails digging into his flesh. His pulling away leaves the both of them gasping for air heavy with scent of lust.
His hands and hers fly to his pants. He gets the belt while she undoes his button and zipper. Deftly slipping her one hand into his pants before they are down around his ankles, she takes his pulsating manifestation of want and need in her hand. This time he’s the one that makes the sound of pleasure, something low and guttural. She can’t help but smile. She knows that making him react like this will never get old.
There’s no more air between them as he reclaims her mouth with hungry urgency as she guides him into her slick, wet heat. He buries himself deep inside her all at once as he holds her up. She swallows his groans as she swallows his as they move against each other.
It’s hard and fast and everything she needs it to be as she tries desperately to hold on but can’t. He’d already brought her close to completion with his fingers so it doesn’t take much for her to slip into that space where everything is fuzzy around the edges.
* * *
They’re fully dressed again but no matter what they do look like they’ve just fucked. The sheen on exposed skin is a dead giveaway as is her smudged lipstick and messy curls.
“So are you glad you came?” she asks, her eyes still somewhat hazy.
He laughs kissing her hard on the mouth again before telling her “To the party and just now.”
“So Halloween is…”
“…my new favorite holiday.”
Author: happywriter06
Fandom: Prison Break
Rating: NC-17
Category: Het
Characters: Lincoln Burrows/Jane Phillips
Disclaimer: If I owned PB, Jane would’ve shown up in S3 already.
Notes: Written for pamalax's October challenge. We had to pick a character and choose four prompts. I choose Jane, apple pie, Halloween party, sexy costume, and a mask. This is the third and final story in my Baby, You Make My Heart Beat Faster Series. The first two are No More Dancing (Part 1) and For the History Books (Part 2).
He’s never been the biggest fan of Halloween. That’s what he told her. Sure he had some memorable ones like that one time when Michael went to a haunted house and came out damn near crying. He said Michael was almost fifteen then. Other than a few other bright spots, Halloween mostly meant disappointment. They had no mother to make their costumes. They had foster parents too concerned with their real kids than him and Michael. He said he’ll always remember seeing the look on LJ’s face when he showed up too late time and again, after Lisa had already taken him trick-or-treating.
He told her all this after she tells him he has to accompany her to her office Halloween party. The idea of good food and free booze wasn’t even enough of a draw. He only said yes because the silky touch of her tongue wound up some place that would leave him agreeing to anything.
She asked him early in the month not figuring he would forget about the whole thing. She sure didn’t help matters by seeming to forget he even existed in the days leading up the party. She barely called. And when he called, the first thing she said was “I’ll call you later.” She never promised to do so knowing the chances were good that she wouldn’t call back. She never made promises she couldn’t keep no matter how small.
* * *
He nearly forgot he’d agreed to go to this shindig. Jane finally remembered he was alive and called to remind him a few days before. He really wanted to tell her he wasn’t going but the sexy purr of her voice has always been able to get him to do a lot.
He should have known that the party would be some lavish affair. One only had to take one look at the company’s headquarters to know that money was no object. The Grand Ballroom of the Four Seasons Chicago is lavishly decorated in the colors of the season - lots of oranges, browns, blacks without being an assault on one’s eyesight. From his vantage point at the top of the stairs leading into the ballroom, the party is in full gear what with - he counts - six bars and six tables of food spread throughout the room. He quickly surveys the crowd looking for the blonde that maybe still belongs to him. There’s too many - most of them fake - and most of their faces he can’t make out because they are too far away.
He spends quite a bit of time making his way through the crowd of people, the vast majority of which he does not know. He’s only met a few of Jane’s colleagues the few times he’s picked her up from work. The ones he knows all ask him the same question, “Where’s Jane?” He gives them the same answer, “I don’t know.” After a fruitless search, he winds up almost where he started - at the closest bar to the staircase. He waits and grows angrier by the second. By the time his watch reads 9:13, he’s been here an hour. He doesn’t plan on making it two. He turns to the bartender dropping a couple of bills in the tip jar then turns to go.
He stops, captivated by a vision in white. She’s dressed like a Greek goddess. The sexiest Greek goddess he’s ever seen. Her blonde hair is full and lush with loose curls framing her face. The dress is made of some fabric that he can tell is nearly sheer and feather-light. It clings to her curves. The neckline is decidedly modest showing just the faintest hint of alabaster, which is fine since the split up the side isn’t the least bit modest. Not by a long shot. It begins high up, very high up, so that when she walks - like she’s doing now - the milky white expanse of skin - from almost where thigh meets hip - sends a spiral of heat from his mid section to every part of his body.
He watches her look for him - he hopes she’s looking for him - as she makes her way down. His walk down seemed to take no time but it’s like she’s operating in slow motion. He feels like he’s some leading man in some romantic comedy neither of them would watch as he watches her. She finally notices him, her pale blue eyes clear and happy, the corners of her mouth reaching those eyes. She recognizes him even in the black hat and mask.
He doesn’t smile back though. As much as the sight of her has every inch of him alive with anticipation, he won’t smile. He’s still mad at her even with the last minute phone call. It’s not like she apologized.
She keeps smiling despite the casualness of his expression as she approaches. Ever observant she can tell he wants to smile because he clenches his fists so as to not reach for her once she gets close enough for him to touch.
“Perfect choice,” she says pressing her palms against the solid wall of muscle that is his chest. “Zorro never buttoned up either.”
“Do I know you?” he asks, grabbing her wrists as she begins to move him to his shoulders, wide and rounded with muscle. He drops her wrists quickly before the compulsion to pull her closer gets the better of him.
She opens her mouth - lips full, soft and inviting - to say his name before deciding to say, “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Not a problem,” he says, tipping his hat before heading off.
“Would you like a drink?” she asks him. He turns back to her. “It’s the least I could do.”
“What about your date?”
“I never said anything about a date. Besides I think he’s mad at me.”
“What did you do?” he asks, crossing his arms across his chest.
She takes a moment to answer as if she was going to say anything other than “You tell me.”
At the bar they sip, him a beer and her an apple pie martini. They never really have any time to play this game because colleague after colleague approaches her. She sees him roll his eyes after the tenth person leaves.
“I think I know why your boyfriend is mad at you.” He’s leaning with his forearms on the bar, his head turned in her direction.
“I never said I had a boyfriend,” she answers while looking out on the party.
He chooses ignore her answer. “You probably ignore him just like you’ve been doing to me for the past twenty minutes.”
This time she turns to him to respond. “Well don’t worry about that any longer. It was a pleasure meeting you,” she says dryly before setting down her now empty glass and walking off. She can feel his eyes watching her go as she slips into the crowd.
* * *
They spend the rest of the evening ignoring each other. He watches her flirt - the flicking of the hair, the throaty laugh, the touching of the arm of whatever guy she’s talking to at the moment. He can’t help the pangs of jealously from increasing with each passing minute.
He doesn’t know how many beers he’s had or how many women he’s turned down for dances by the time Jane is taken to dance floor by some guy who clearly wants her. He would know that look anywhere since he’s seen it reflected in her eyes since before their first kiss.
He downs the last of his beer and makes his way towards Jane and this guy. Jane’s back is to him so she doesn’t see right away what has caused whoever-he-is to stop dead in his tracks. “What?” she asks, the concern evident in her voice, before following her dance partner’s gaze.
“I’m cutting in,” Lincoln declares, leaving no room for refusal, before grabbing one of Jane’s hands to pull her flush against him. He purposefully pulls her forcefully so that she slams into him. His grip on her wrist grows tighter as he snakes his other hand around her waist. She’s rigid and so is he as they stand like that for awhile. They stare at each other waiting for the other to back down. It feels like old times.
Her eyes are like ice, piercing, but he’s not going to let them pierce his resolve to be the victor in this battle of wills. It’s not easy with her warm, sweet breath on his neck and her ample bosom pressed into his chest. They might as well be wearing nothing since that’s what it feels like.
It’s too much for her because she blinks first. When she looks at him again the ice has melted and she yields, like always, her body going lax. He yields, too, loosening his grip slightly so that it’s gentle instead of hard. He can’t same the same about his still burgeoning manhood.
They don’t say any thing to each other; they just begin to sway to the ballad pouring from the speakers.
“Sorry,” she whispers. And the only reason he hears it over the voices around them and the music is because of the ghosting of her lips against his ear.
His answer isn’t ‘I’m sorry, too’ or ‘I accept’. He asks her something instead. “You do you know that you are the sexiest woman in here?” She lifts her head to look at him with eyes that have darkened to that shade of blue that means one thing and one thing only. “Let’s get out of here.”
A certain amount of decorum is required in exiting since she has to face these people on Monday so they don’t sprint out. Thank goodness no one stops them.
“Did you get a room?” he asks before hitting the landing.
“No.” She hadn’t time to do it and apparently she didn’t have time to tell her secretary to do it either since Lucy never said a word about it.
“Just as well, the elevator ride would take too long anyway,” he says pulling hers towards the stairwell.
She can’t not agree especially when two seconds later he’s flush against her, his mouth plundering hers like he’s looking for something that he’s lost. One hand cups the back of her head, tangling in her hair, while the other has worked his way up her thigh to her ass. She can’t concentrate on any one sensation.
There’s the feel of his tongue sweeping across her lips then entering her mouth again. There’s his one hand palming the rounded flesh of her ass. There’s his swollen flesh straining against the fabric of his pants as it presses upon her heat.
She grips his shoulders, pulling him closer as if such a thing is possible. She’s in pain - her lips hurt from his bruising and her back rubs against the cinder block wall roughly. But that is nothing compared to the ache that grows within her every second that he’s pressed against her and not in her.
He seems to be reading her mind for the hand that was palming her ass is tugging at the thin strap of her g-string until it gives with very little effort. She makes a sound of pleasure at the back of her throat as the fabric gives way, quickly followed by the feel of fingers pushing into her slippery softness. Her grip gets tighter as he moves in and out, stroking her core until he’s crying out in pain from her nails digging into his flesh. His pulling away leaves the both of them gasping for air heavy with scent of lust.
His hands and hers fly to his pants. He gets the belt while she undoes his button and zipper. Deftly slipping her one hand into his pants before they are down around his ankles, she takes his pulsating manifestation of want and need in her hand. This time he’s the one that makes the sound of pleasure, something low and guttural. She can’t help but smile. She knows that making him react like this will never get old.
There’s no more air between them as he reclaims her mouth with hungry urgency as she guides him into her slick, wet heat. He buries himself deep inside her all at once as he holds her up. She swallows his groans as she swallows his as they move against each other.
It’s hard and fast and everything she needs it to be as she tries desperately to hold on but can’t. He’d already brought her close to completion with his fingers so it doesn’t take much for her to slip into that space where everything is fuzzy around the edges.
* * *
They’re fully dressed again but no matter what they do look like they’ve just fucked. The sheen on exposed skin is a dead giveaway as is her smudged lipstick and messy curls.
“So are you glad you came?” she asks, her eyes still somewhat hazy.
He laughs kissing her hard on the mouth again before telling her “To the party and just now.”
“So Halloween is…”
“…my new favorite holiday.”