3 Stories
folder
M through R › Prison Break
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
3,374
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Prison Break
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
3,374
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.
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Twenty-eight Sundays and twenty-nine Mondays after that first Thursday, a girl he knew gave him a ride and he hugged his brother and told him he loved him and never once mentioned a single word about a single one of the eighteen million, one hundred and forty-four thousand seconds since he saw him last.
He never mentioned anything about any of the other times, either. http://clex-monkie89.livejournal.com/178924.html?style=mine
They go to the diner around the corner. Michael sits on his hands because they are freezing and makes Lincoln feed him. He grins because he has some money he took off of somebody on the bus and at least that means they won't have to run off without paying. He doesn’t bite. At least not as often as he could.
Afterwards in their hotel room, Lincoln grows restless, going through their meager things, trying to find something else to wear. Boredom strikes and Michael starts throwing things at him, even though he knows that his brother only wants the stench of prison off of him. Slowly Lincoln strips his shirt off to reveal two new scars, trailing down his back from his right shoulder. Michael stares at them, the way they move and shift with the movement of the muscles underneath, but Michael doesn’t ask and Lincoln doesn’t tell.
He hears the tap running in the bathroom and he follows the sound of the water and there's Lincoln bent over the sink, splashing water on his face and neck, his hands massaging his skull under his shortly cropped hair. Michael sighs and decides that it’s been too long since Lincoln has been gone and molds himself against his brother’s spine, even if it means messing up the designated order. Lincoln tenses slightly at Michael's touch, teeth and lips running over the scars on his shoulder. Michael leaves a trail of small bitemarks and wet saliva that glistens in the crude neon light. His fingers run through the trails, spreading them, messing them up, and he decides that he thinks it's beautiful.
His hands slide inside Lincoln’s jeans, not to start anything, but because his fingers are still freezing. The skin above Lincoln’s crotch jumps when Michael touches it and then Lincoln grabs his hands, pulls him to the front. Michael’s feet lose the ground as Lincoln lifts him up and onto the sink. “You’ll get me wet, “ he murmurs even though he doesn’t care.
Lincoln’s arms enfold Michael and he leans their heads together.
“Missed you,” he whispers.
“Missed you, too.”
The need to be closer flares up inside him again and in the flicker of a moment he is off the sink and pressing against Lincoln’s chest. He stands tiptoed on his brother’s feet, kissing his neck and Lincoln walks them back to the other room, laying him down to the bed. For a moment his brother’s large frame looms over him and then they kiss secretly under the covers because that’s what Lincoln likes best.
Lincoln’s hand sneaks under his shirt, fumbling, trying to pull it off. His fingers brush the new stitches on Michael’s back, still rough under his palm and he freezes in confusion. He looks up, his eyes full of worry, but Michael shakes his head so the shirt stays on and the questions aren’t asked; Lincoln growls, but he goes along, trying to suppress the issue. As Lincoln kisses his way down the lenth of Michael's body, nipping and wetting the skin along the way, Michael thinks of the boy who didn’t start anything and that the difference about being brothers means never having to repay your debts.
He never mentioned anything about any of the other times, either. http://clex-monkie89.livejournal.com/178924.html?style=mine
They go to the diner around the corner. Michael sits on his hands because they are freezing and makes Lincoln feed him. He grins because he has some money he took off of somebody on the bus and at least that means they won't have to run off without paying. He doesn’t bite. At least not as often as he could.
Afterwards in their hotel room, Lincoln grows restless, going through their meager things, trying to find something else to wear. Boredom strikes and Michael starts throwing things at him, even though he knows that his brother only wants the stench of prison off of him. Slowly Lincoln strips his shirt off to reveal two new scars, trailing down his back from his right shoulder. Michael stares at them, the way they move and shift with the movement of the muscles underneath, but Michael doesn’t ask and Lincoln doesn’t tell.
He hears the tap running in the bathroom and he follows the sound of the water and there's Lincoln bent over the sink, splashing water on his face and neck, his hands massaging his skull under his shortly cropped hair. Michael sighs and decides that it’s been too long since Lincoln has been gone and molds himself against his brother’s spine, even if it means messing up the designated order. Lincoln tenses slightly at Michael's touch, teeth and lips running over the scars on his shoulder. Michael leaves a trail of small bitemarks and wet saliva that glistens in the crude neon light. His fingers run through the trails, spreading them, messing them up, and he decides that he thinks it's beautiful.
His hands slide inside Lincoln’s jeans, not to start anything, but because his fingers are still freezing. The skin above Lincoln’s crotch jumps when Michael touches it and then Lincoln grabs his hands, pulls him to the front. Michael’s feet lose the ground as Lincoln lifts him up and onto the sink. “You’ll get me wet, “ he murmurs even though he doesn’t care.
Lincoln’s arms enfold Michael and he leans their heads together.
“Missed you,” he whispers.
“Missed you, too.”
The need to be closer flares up inside him again and in the flicker of a moment he is off the sink and pressing against Lincoln’s chest. He stands tiptoed on his brother’s feet, kissing his neck and Lincoln walks them back to the other room, laying him down to the bed. For a moment his brother’s large frame looms over him and then they kiss secretly under the covers because that’s what Lincoln likes best.
Lincoln’s hand sneaks under his shirt, fumbling, trying to pull it off. His fingers brush the new stitches on Michael’s back, still rough under his palm and he freezes in confusion. He looks up, his eyes full of worry, but Michael shakes his head so the shirt stays on and the questions aren’t asked; Lincoln growls, but he goes along, trying to suppress the issue. As Lincoln kisses his way down the lenth of Michael's body, nipping and wetting the skin along the way, Michael thinks of the boy who didn’t start anything and that the difference about being brothers means never having to repay your debts.