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M through R › Prison Break
Rating:
Adult +
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3,375
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
M through R › Prison Break
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
3,375
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Prison Break, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
203
Rule two hundred and three states that Lincoln will never, ever, ever tease Michael about wetting the bed and that he will never complain about waking up covered in urine. http://clex-monkie89.livejournal.com/129706.html?style=mine
At least that’s the theory. Not that it actually covered all those nights where when Lincoln woke up and kicked him out of bed, stripping off the blankets and both of their pajamas. Michael always felt like he should be ashamed, but there was a strange intimacy in sitting in the bathroom and watching his brother, naked and barefoot, cursing under his breath as he stuffed the washer. It almost made it worth it.
Those nights, Lincoln would grab him under the armpits and set him into the tub before climbing in himself. He hosed them down quickly and then half carried, half dragged Michael back to their room before falling into bed, this time Michael’s untouched bed. Oh yes, definitively worth it.
Michael isn’t sure when exactly it had turned into some kind of game. It wasn’t that hard to control, just cut back on the consumption of liquids before bed. He never had any “accidents” when he slept alone. Lincoln never caught on, figuring that it just coincided with Michael crawling into his bed because he couldn’t sleep out of stress or fear.
The most conscious time had been that one summer at Lake Wildwood... Lincoln was fast asleep, his arm around Nina, one of the local girls. Michael was growing bored watching them. The heat was stinging his eyes and he ruffled his fingers through the dry grass. He got up and walked over to them, staring at their pale bodies in the half shade. He wasn't sure what possessed him, seeing them sleeping there like that, but he pushed down his swimming trunks. He knew it was insane even as he cradled himself and aimed for Linc’s taunt, ripped belly.
A moment later Linc’s eyes flew open and suddenly he was running, screaming and laughing with Lincoln in hot pursuit. He still remembers the way the water invaded his lungs and he coughed and sputtered because he couldn’t stop laughing even as Lincoln gabbed him and pushed him under water over and over again. In fact, he couldn’t stop laughing the whole day, not when Lincoln stalked off angrily towards the showers, not during dinner, where Lincoln kept slapping the back of his head to finally shut him up, and not when they crawled back into their tent at night.
“You should have seen your face.”
“Fuck you.” Lincoln growled and Michael couldn’t stop another bout of laughter. They fought that night, Michael trying inch closer to Lincoln and snuggling up to him, Lincoln pushing him away tersely. Michael grinning, trying to dive under his brother’s defences, giving him his sweetest smile, showering him with kisses and tenderly sinking his teeth into the skin over Lincoln’s shoulder. Linc would groan, close his eyes in exasperation and give up. Michael would burry his nose in Lincoln’s chest only to erupt in another fit of giggles and the game would start anew. He still isn’t sure how either of them got any sleep that night.
He isn’t sure why he does it. He has some ideas. There is the marking, leaving his scent all over Lincoln just to prove that he can. There is the payback, to punish Lincoln for being gone too often. There is the insurance, the chance to assure himself of all the things Lincoln will do for him, because even if he might not show it all the time, there are some things you would do only for the people you really love, right? He loves to taunt Lincoln, to test the limits of just how far he can go. Every time he wants to stop, every time he wants to acknowledge that maybe it is time to grow up after all, there is a little devil’s voice inside his head daring to see if he can get away with it just one more time.
Sometimes he thinks that he should just kiss Lincoln instead, force his lips open while he is asleep and taste the inside of his brother’s mouth and mark him like that instead.
He has run the scenario through his head more times than he can count, explored every possible angle. Lincoln not waking up and the disappointment of that (chance: 20-90%, depending on intended intensity). Lincoln looking at him and pretending it never happened (unlikely; not corresponding to Linc’s temperament; percentage might rise with increased levels of intoxication). Lincoln beating the shit out of him. Lincoln beating the shit out of him and causing permanent damage. Lincoln giving him “a talk”. Lincoln being understanding.
Lincoln kissed him once before. Michael was 8 and Lincoln was in love with his art teacher and desperate not to fuck it up. Back then Michael wiped his mouth and thought it was gross. How could anybody do that for fun? Now, looking back, he just wishes he’d been older, old enough to understand.
They play many different games. Michael likes order, but sometimes he will leave clothes lying around on the floor just to make Lincoln stumble and piss him off. They rarely seem to be home at the same time, missing each other by minutes or passing each other in the hallway. Sometimes Michael thinks that laying something in Lincoln’s way is the only way to make sure he’s still there.
When Lincoln lies half comatose on the couch and refuses to answer Michael’s questions Michael will bite him. He takes his hand and bites the middle and index finger between the first and second digit, or the soft spread between the thumb and second finger. It gives him an angry satisfaction to sink his teeth into Lincoln’s rough skin and he will keep gnawing until Lincoln smacks him. At least when they fight and yell and slam doors it’s better than not talking at all.
Some part of him likes the anger in Lincoln’s face, likes to trigger the single minded rage; it doesn’t mind being shaken around a bit if it means that the mad glitter will break through the daze in his brother’s eyes. It doesn’t mind being roughed up a little if it means they get to touch. They say that a kiss can sometimes sting like a slap. He knows that it doesn’t work like that the other way around. Somehow that does not keep him from trying.
He doesn’t know why he wants to kiss Lincoln. He only knows that some part of his mind is convinced that if he does, some magical spell will be broken and maybe, just maybe things will be different and he’ll be able to move on. But even now, in situations like this, that are the closest to being safe, with Lincoln asleep and vulnerable, there’s still an invisible barrier. Fear? Decency? Sanity?
So instead he traces the contours of Lincoln’s face, filled with a strange tenderness even as he edges closer and listens into his body, to identify the need, capitalize on it and release. And so restarts the cycle.
At least that’s the theory. Not that it actually covered all those nights where when Lincoln woke up and kicked him out of bed, stripping off the blankets and both of their pajamas. Michael always felt like he should be ashamed, but there was a strange intimacy in sitting in the bathroom and watching his brother, naked and barefoot, cursing under his breath as he stuffed the washer. It almost made it worth it.
Those nights, Lincoln would grab him under the armpits and set him into the tub before climbing in himself. He hosed them down quickly and then half carried, half dragged Michael back to their room before falling into bed, this time Michael’s untouched bed. Oh yes, definitively worth it.
Michael isn’t sure when exactly it had turned into some kind of game. It wasn’t that hard to control, just cut back on the consumption of liquids before bed. He never had any “accidents” when he slept alone. Lincoln never caught on, figuring that it just coincided with Michael crawling into his bed because he couldn’t sleep out of stress or fear.
The most conscious time had been that one summer at Lake Wildwood... Lincoln was fast asleep, his arm around Nina, one of the local girls. Michael was growing bored watching them. The heat was stinging his eyes and he ruffled his fingers through the dry grass. He got up and walked over to them, staring at their pale bodies in the half shade. He wasn't sure what possessed him, seeing them sleeping there like that, but he pushed down his swimming trunks. He knew it was insane even as he cradled himself and aimed for Linc’s taunt, ripped belly.
A moment later Linc’s eyes flew open and suddenly he was running, screaming and laughing with Lincoln in hot pursuit. He still remembers the way the water invaded his lungs and he coughed and sputtered because he couldn’t stop laughing even as Lincoln gabbed him and pushed him under water over and over again. In fact, he couldn’t stop laughing the whole day, not when Lincoln stalked off angrily towards the showers, not during dinner, where Lincoln kept slapping the back of his head to finally shut him up, and not when they crawled back into their tent at night.
“You should have seen your face.”
“Fuck you.” Lincoln growled and Michael couldn’t stop another bout of laughter. They fought that night, Michael trying inch closer to Lincoln and snuggling up to him, Lincoln pushing him away tersely. Michael grinning, trying to dive under his brother’s defences, giving him his sweetest smile, showering him with kisses and tenderly sinking his teeth into the skin over Lincoln’s shoulder. Linc would groan, close his eyes in exasperation and give up. Michael would burry his nose in Lincoln’s chest only to erupt in another fit of giggles and the game would start anew. He still isn’t sure how either of them got any sleep that night.
He isn’t sure why he does it. He has some ideas. There is the marking, leaving his scent all over Lincoln just to prove that he can. There is the payback, to punish Lincoln for being gone too often. There is the insurance, the chance to assure himself of all the things Lincoln will do for him, because even if he might not show it all the time, there are some things you would do only for the people you really love, right? He loves to taunt Lincoln, to test the limits of just how far he can go. Every time he wants to stop, every time he wants to acknowledge that maybe it is time to grow up after all, there is a little devil’s voice inside his head daring to see if he can get away with it just one more time.
Sometimes he thinks that he should just kiss Lincoln instead, force his lips open while he is asleep and taste the inside of his brother’s mouth and mark him like that instead.
He has run the scenario through his head more times than he can count, explored every possible angle. Lincoln not waking up and the disappointment of that (chance: 20-90%, depending on intended intensity). Lincoln looking at him and pretending it never happened (unlikely; not corresponding to Linc’s temperament; percentage might rise with increased levels of intoxication). Lincoln beating the shit out of him. Lincoln beating the shit out of him and causing permanent damage. Lincoln giving him “a talk”. Lincoln being understanding.
Lincoln kissed him once before. Michael was 8 and Lincoln was in love with his art teacher and desperate not to fuck it up. Back then Michael wiped his mouth and thought it was gross. How could anybody do that for fun? Now, looking back, he just wishes he’d been older, old enough to understand.
They play many different games. Michael likes order, but sometimes he will leave clothes lying around on the floor just to make Lincoln stumble and piss him off. They rarely seem to be home at the same time, missing each other by minutes or passing each other in the hallway. Sometimes Michael thinks that laying something in Lincoln’s way is the only way to make sure he’s still there.
When Lincoln lies half comatose on the couch and refuses to answer Michael’s questions Michael will bite him. He takes his hand and bites the middle and index finger between the first and second digit, or the soft spread between the thumb and second finger. It gives him an angry satisfaction to sink his teeth into Lincoln’s rough skin and he will keep gnawing until Lincoln smacks him. At least when they fight and yell and slam doors it’s better than not talking at all.
Some part of him likes the anger in Lincoln’s face, likes to trigger the single minded rage; it doesn’t mind being shaken around a bit if it means that the mad glitter will break through the daze in his brother’s eyes. It doesn’t mind being roughed up a little if it means they get to touch. They say that a kiss can sometimes sting like a slap. He knows that it doesn’t work like that the other way around. Somehow that does not keep him from trying.
He doesn’t know why he wants to kiss Lincoln. He only knows that some part of his mind is convinced that if he does, some magical spell will be broken and maybe, just maybe things will be different and he’ll be able to move on. But even now, in situations like this, that are the closest to being safe, with Lincoln asleep and vulnerable, there’s still an invisible barrier. Fear? Decency? Sanity?
So instead he traces the contours of Lincoln’s face, filled with a strange tenderness even as he edges closer and listens into his body, to identify the need, capitalize on it and release. And so restarts the cycle.