This is about all I'll probably be able to post today.
Title: six days into spring, is where our story begins
Author: happywriter06
Fandom: Prison Break
Rating: PG-13
Category: Het
Characters: LJ Burrows/Sofia Lugo
Summary: Sofia was so close, any closer and she would’ve been on my lap, which would’ve made for an even more awkward situation.
Author's Notes: For chanchito_z's birthday celebration over at foxriver_ficwith the February Challenge. I chose prompts 19 (sand, heat and a blanket) and 20 (the roar of waves and the salty wetness of tears). I'd never thought about LJ/Sofia before this challenge and then 3x12 and 3x13 aired. Spoilers up to 3x12; AU after that. The title is from First Love by Goapele. Thanks to torigatesfor the beta. I had to have this betaed because I'm not - nor have I ever been or will ever be - a horny teenage boy. And my resident expert on how guys think is off in the Army.
It’s amazing what goes through your head when you think you’re going to die. Sure, your life flashes before your eyes like everyone says. The first time anyway. In my case, the second time I thought about specific moments in time, times when I’d been the happiest. It wasn’t a conscious decision on my part to think of only good things but I’m glad I did. I don’t remember what I thought of the other times, those times between the second and the last time (shit I’ve forgotten how many times I thought I was going to die). The last time one persistent thought ran through my head. I was going to die a virgin. Yup, that’s what I thought.
I couldn’t help it. It’s not like I hadn’t thought of everything else the times before. It’s not like I wasn’t a sixteen year old boy. It’s not like a hot Spanish chick wasn’t right next to me. Like right next to me. I mean it wasn’t the only thing I thought about because obviously I was thinking I was going to die. That my luck might’ve just run out. I was like, fuck faith. But the virgin sex thing was there in the back of my head despite whatever look I had on my face. You don’t grow up around my dad and my uncle without knowing how to save face when it really counts.
Sofia was so close, any closer and she would’ve been on my lap, which would’ve made for an even more awkward situation. She moved a lot so every few minutes her leg and her arm would rub against mine, which caused my feelings for her to spike. I was sweating from the heat of the van (assholes wouldn’t turn on the air back there) and from her heat that managed to soak into my skin. More than once I wanted to tell her to move the fuck over because she was driving me crazy without meaning to. But I never did because one, I did like it - I’m not going to lie about that - and two, had I been sitting where she was, I wouldn’t have wanted to be any closer to them either.
So when we were rescued, I was fucking relieved. I was going to live. And not die a virgin.
***
A year later, I’m not going to die, at least not anytime soon far as I know, but I’m still thinking about sex. And once again, it’s all her fault.
We’ve been in Columbia for four months now after looking for a place where we could really settle down. We being me, my dad, Uncle Mike and Sofia. Her boyfriend didn’t make it and my dad wasn’t willing to leave her behind. I thought maybe part of it had to do with him liking her or vice versa or both. Turns out she’s like Vee, but without them being all in love with each other, which is a relief since it’d be weird wanting your first time to be with your dad’s girlfriend.
Anyway, we’re at the beach, sitting on a blanket, the sand and air still very warm although the sun set hours ago. I come out here a lot to just watch the stars, the water, the stars on the water. Sometimes I’m alone; sometimes one of them will come and sit with me. Tonight it’s her turn.
She’s sitting close, seems like closer than normal, so close it’s almost like that day in the van. She’s talking about something. I really want to pay attention but I really can’t focus on anything but her and me alone together. For days. Naked. I’ve seen what she looks like in a bikini so it’s not hard for me to imagine just how good she’d look with nothing on.
Then she bumps her shoulder against mine. “¿Escuchas?”
“Sí,” I lie as I turn to her to see her looking at me intently, those dark brown eyes of hers searching mine, her pink mouth looking so inviting. In my head, she was looking at me like that just as I was about to kiss her.
So I do.
I think about all I had learned from Donna when she was supposed to be teaching me French verbs and not how the French kiss.
Sofia’s neck is warm and damp against my palm as her hair tickles the back of my hand. Her lips are soft just like I’ve always imagined them to be.
That’s as far as I get - a firm but brief (damn) press of my lips against hers - because she’s tense and pushing back against my hand. The roaring of the waves is nothing compared to the sound of my heart beating. I drop my hand and open my eyes. She’s already turned back to the water. I turn back, too and we sit in silence.
I want to say sorry because it seems like the right thing to do although I’d be lying. I really wanted to push her onto her back and lie on top of her, between her legs, putting my hands everywhere. Or better yet, she would’ve pushed me onto my back and took control. My best fantasies are when that happens because it’s not like I would really know what to do. At least not from experience anyway. Donna and I never got past second base.
It’s only when out the corner of my eye I see her bringing her hand to her face do I apologize. “Lo siento, Sofia. I’m so sorry. No me odia, por favor.” Please don’t hate me. I’m facing her but she’s still looking out towards the water. “Por favor,” I plead. I hate begging. Makes me sound like a kid.
“Está bien. No preocupes.” As if sensing I don’t believe her words to not worry - I don’t - she turns and smiles. It’s not forced but it’s not like she’s happy either. She hadn’t done a very good job of wiping at her face because I still see the tracks of her tears.
She’s even hotter after she’s cried, which is probably all kinds of fucked up, but I can’t help it. It’s true. I start saying a silent prayer that she’ll kiss me this time. That she was just nervous, weirded out a little that it was me, that there could be an ‘us’. I’m seventeen. She’s really close to my dad and uncle. I’m seventeen. She practically lives with us. I’m seventeen. Maybe she’s not over Whistler. She’s not seventeen. Six years. Big fucking deal.
“Really, don’t worry,” she says as the corners of her mouth turn up into a genuine smile. Then she stands and looks down at me. “Vamonos. It’s late.”
I don’t say anything. I just smile back even though I feel like crying (yes, fucking crying) and get up, gathering the blanket under my arm. We start walking and I start thinking about how I can turn this whole thing around, start over, convince her that this is a good idea when I feel her hand slipping into mine. Her hand is warm and her grip is light but sure, that I can tell.
I look at her but she doesn’t look back. I can tell she’s smiling though. It’s not a kiss but I’ll take it.
Author: happywriter06
Fandom: Prison Break
Rating: PG-13
Category: Het
Characters: LJ Burrows/Sofia Lugo
Summary: Sofia was so close, any closer and she would’ve been on my lap, which would’ve made for an even more awkward situation.
Author's Notes: For chanchito_z's birthday celebration over at foxriver_ficwith the February Challenge. I chose prompts 19 (sand, heat and a blanket) and 20 (the roar of waves and the salty wetness of tears). I'd never thought about LJ/Sofia before this challenge and then 3x12 and 3x13 aired. Spoilers up to 3x12; AU after that. The title is from First Love by Goapele. Thanks to torigatesfor the beta. I had to have this betaed because I'm not - nor have I ever been or will ever be - a horny teenage boy. And my resident expert on how guys think is off in the Army.
It’s amazing what goes through your head when you think you’re going to die. Sure, your life flashes before your eyes like everyone says. The first time anyway. In my case, the second time I thought about specific moments in time, times when I’d been the happiest. It wasn’t a conscious decision on my part to think of only good things but I’m glad I did. I don’t remember what I thought of the other times, those times between the second and the last time (shit I’ve forgotten how many times I thought I was going to die). The last time one persistent thought ran through my head. I was going to die a virgin. Yup, that’s what I thought.
I couldn’t help it. It’s not like I hadn’t thought of everything else the times before. It’s not like I wasn’t a sixteen year old boy. It’s not like a hot Spanish chick wasn’t right next to me. Like right next to me. I mean it wasn’t the only thing I thought about because obviously I was thinking I was going to die. That my luck might’ve just run out. I was like, fuck faith. But the virgin sex thing was there in the back of my head despite whatever look I had on my face. You don’t grow up around my dad and my uncle without knowing how to save face when it really counts.
Sofia was so close, any closer and she would’ve been on my lap, which would’ve made for an even more awkward situation. She moved a lot so every few minutes her leg and her arm would rub against mine, which caused my feelings for her to spike. I was sweating from the heat of the van (assholes wouldn’t turn on the air back there) and from her heat that managed to soak into my skin. More than once I wanted to tell her to move the fuck over because she was driving me crazy without meaning to. But I never did because one, I did like it - I’m not going to lie about that - and two, had I been sitting where she was, I wouldn’t have wanted to be any closer to them either.
So when we were rescued, I was fucking relieved. I was going to live. And not die a virgin.
***
A year later, I’m not going to die, at least not anytime soon far as I know, but I’m still thinking about sex. And once again, it’s all her fault.
We’ve been in Columbia for four months now after looking for a place where we could really settle down. We being me, my dad, Uncle Mike and Sofia. Her boyfriend didn’t make it and my dad wasn’t willing to leave her behind. I thought maybe part of it had to do with him liking her or vice versa or both. Turns out she’s like Vee, but without them being all in love with each other, which is a relief since it’d be weird wanting your first time to be with your dad’s girlfriend.
Anyway, we’re at the beach, sitting on a blanket, the sand and air still very warm although the sun set hours ago. I come out here a lot to just watch the stars, the water, the stars on the water. Sometimes I’m alone; sometimes one of them will come and sit with me. Tonight it’s her turn.
She’s sitting close, seems like closer than normal, so close it’s almost like that day in the van. She’s talking about something. I really want to pay attention but I really can’t focus on anything but her and me alone together. For days. Naked. I’ve seen what she looks like in a bikini so it’s not hard for me to imagine just how good she’d look with nothing on.
Then she bumps her shoulder against mine. “¿Escuchas?”
“Sí,” I lie as I turn to her to see her looking at me intently, those dark brown eyes of hers searching mine, her pink mouth looking so inviting. In my head, she was looking at me like that just as I was about to kiss her.
So I do.
I think about all I had learned from Donna when she was supposed to be teaching me French verbs and not how the French kiss.
Sofia’s neck is warm and damp against my palm as her hair tickles the back of my hand. Her lips are soft just like I’ve always imagined them to be.
That’s as far as I get - a firm but brief (damn) press of my lips against hers - because she’s tense and pushing back against my hand. The roaring of the waves is nothing compared to the sound of my heart beating. I drop my hand and open my eyes. She’s already turned back to the water. I turn back, too and we sit in silence.
I want to say sorry because it seems like the right thing to do although I’d be lying. I really wanted to push her onto her back and lie on top of her, between her legs, putting my hands everywhere. Or better yet, she would’ve pushed me onto my back and took control. My best fantasies are when that happens because it’s not like I would really know what to do. At least not from experience anyway. Donna and I never got past second base.
It’s only when out the corner of my eye I see her bringing her hand to her face do I apologize. “Lo siento, Sofia. I’m so sorry. No me odia, por favor.” Please don’t hate me. I’m facing her but she’s still looking out towards the water. “Por favor,” I plead. I hate begging. Makes me sound like a kid.
“Está bien. No preocupes.” As if sensing I don’t believe her words to not worry - I don’t - she turns and smiles. It’s not forced but it’s not like she’s happy either. She hadn’t done a very good job of wiping at her face because I still see the tracks of her tears.
She’s even hotter after she’s cried, which is probably all kinds of fucked up, but I can’t help it. It’s true. I start saying a silent prayer that she’ll kiss me this time. That she was just nervous, weirded out a little that it was me, that there could be an ‘us’. I’m seventeen. She’s really close to my dad and uncle. I’m seventeen. She practically lives with us. I’m seventeen. Maybe she’s not over Whistler. She’s not seventeen. Six years. Big fucking deal.
“Really, don’t worry,” she says as the corners of her mouth turn up into a genuine smile. Then she stands and looks down at me. “Vamonos. It’s late.”
I don’t say anything. I just smile back even though I feel like crying (yes, fucking crying) and get up, gathering the blanket under my arm. We start walking and I start thinking about how I can turn this whole thing around, start over, convince her that this is a good idea when I feel her hand slipping into mine. Her hand is warm and her grip is light but sure, that I can tell.
I look at her but she doesn’t look back. I can tell she’s smiling though. It’s not a kiss but I’ll take it.