Fic: Breathe Love (18/18)
Nov. 25th, 2006 01:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: Breathe Love (18/18)
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeroport_art
Rating: NC-17 overall
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 1,252
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Pretty much a recap of PB season 1, can be completely standalone. Had a REALLY hard time w/ this since I was treading over canon and kept cross-referencing everything until finally I just gave up. Will slap an AU warning on this in its final form :O. My good friend's sort of doing a post-beta job on Breathe Love so after I pop out the epilogue, the fic will get a huge reworking (he's a *great* writer) and will finally be posted without the funky decimal points and strange tense changes. Plus it'll just be more polished, so hold onto those printing queues (ha) until it's truly complete! Other than that... I'm tempted but I'll save the mushy epic-fic-conclusion stuff for the epilogue notes, yeah? ;) Feedback = Love, babes.
Summary: Michael has always wanted his brother, and Lincoln has to wrestle with the responsibility of a reciprocated love that can never be... or can it? Spanning two decades, this story attempts to explain Michael/Lincoln within the confines of canon.
For previous chapters, ( Click here )
Chapter 18
Heartbeats (Present, April ~ May 2006)
Lincoln Burrows, handcuffed, led by the chaplain. He turns around and sees the last man he ever expected to see in blue, prison-issue coveralls.
“Michael?”
This was his plan, this was his baby brother’s master plan?
They were fucked. They were so, incredibly fucked.
-----
There are hedge clippers digging into the pinky toe of his left foot.
Abruzzi waves his hand, the blades squeeze shut, finds a space between two bones and severs flesh and ligaments in shocking explosions of nerve endings.
He sees bursts of red and white behind his eyes and all Michael can think is yes.
If he hurts enough, sacrifices enough, maybe the blood will wash some of the guilt away.
-----
It’s dark in solitary. Well, that’s the whole point. It’s pitch black in solitary, enough to drive any man mad.
Lincoln doesn’t like the dark. Because when everything is gone, when only nothingness is before him, the only thought that keeps him sane is Michael.
Michael’s disturbingly beautiful eyes. Michael’s slender, sexual hands. The noise Michael makes in the back of his throat when he comes, the distinctive smell and taste of Michael’s semen.
When Lincoln has nothing left but the comprehension of how much he wants his little brother, there’s no denying how bat shit fucked up he is. The darkness reveals too much.
-----
Michael slides into the pew behind Lincoln. Laces his fingers, leans forward until his elbow is brushing the beige cloth of his brother’s shirt.
He wants to lick the spot below Lincoln’s left ear, wants to move his mouth over the lobe and gently suck it in between his teeth.
But his brother sighs in front of him, thinking about his looming death. Not the right time for seduction.
“Just have a little faith,” Michael says, smirking at his own usage of his brother’s old reassurances. Lincoln involuntarily rolls his shoulders in pleasure at the breath ghosting over his neck.
-----
Riot in Gen Pop! Like a fucking playground, and all Lincoln has to do is find the prize (Michael) and win.
Contender behind him, he didn’t want victory without a fight anyway. So he lays the smack down on his wannabe killer and fuck, does it feel good.
Prison may have subdued the beast but it’s back with a vengeance, and Lincoln relishes in connecting blows and cracking bones. This is what I’m made for, he thinks, then smashes the cartilage of the man’s nose into his skull.
-----
Chaos.
Complete, and utter chaos. The cacophony in Gen Pop is louder than the squealing static of Michael’s brain on his worst days, and that is saying a shit ton of a lot. His back to a dirty cell block with a little doodad for protection, Michael tries not to think about the government assassin out to exterminate Lincoln. Concentrates on staying alive long enough to be of any use to his brother.
This is how Michael pictured Hell.
-----
He takes the pill.
And then his insides are ripping apart, his muscles wound so tight he expects them to implode. Lincoln keels over in violent convulsions and all he can do is suffer.
He incoherently thinks that Michael is just being vindictive, now. And then he blacks out.
-----
They replaced the pipe.
They replaced the fucking pipe.
Michael had abhorred the idea of having the word “cute” tattooed onto his body, but he’d done it to erode the pipe beneath the infirmary drain. Grafted the stupid word onto his skin forevermore so that when the time came Lincoln could bust his way out of there like a surprise birthday cake.
Except that said pipe is, oh yeah, suddenly brand spanking new and Lincoln is trapped up there banging a ratty mop against two inches of titanium steel. This is supposed to be their fucking escape, damnit, and are those jingling keys he hears outside?
-----
Last goodbyes. This should be fun.
Veronica whispers to him, “I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.”
Lincoln wonders if it was the same for him. Thinks back, realizes it wasn’t. He pushes back Veronica’s long brown hair from her tearful face and feels like scum.
-----
Michael is holding Lincoln for the last time on this Earth and, as if that fact alone wasn’t excruciating enough, there are two guards and Veronica in the room with him as well.
He has never tasted failure so bitter as this.
-----
It’s over.
Lincoln has four minutes before his execution, and funny thing is, his only regret is not telling somebody about Michael.
He’s going to die, and nobody will ever know what the two brothers shared.
It’s funny because he’s spent his whole life trying to pretend it didn’t exist but now, with three minutes and sixteen seconds to go before his heart stopped beating, he wants everybody to know. Michael and Lincoln. Sitting in a tree and Lincoln’s kicking all the other kids off because fuck yeah, this was their fucking tree.
That would be his legend, Lincoln decides.
-----
Lying down, ear smashed against a grimy drain just to feel the metal vibrate with Lincoln’s precious, finite breath.
No, not finite. “I’ve put my blood into this.”
He needs it now, he needs the sharpening tool of pain to point him to a new direction. Stands up, rears back, and punches the wall hard enough to wreck the skin of his knuckles.
“Michael? Michael!” Lincoln’s tinny voice echoes in the black-shadowed cell. Michael punches the wall again. And again, and again, and again.
When the bones in his hand are splintered and liquid pools down the wall in thick tributaries, Michael feels like a better person.
-----
There is dust in his face, dirt on his hands and knees, and Lincoln is way too damned big to fit in this tiny mole tunnel of a pipe.
But Michael is leading the pack towards safety, and his pants are snug over his hot, tight ass. Lincoln wonders if it would be impolite to grab a handful.
Instead, when Michael abruptly stops, Lincoln reacts a little slower than absolutely necessary. Bumps his face against his little brother’s rear end, accidentally bites down on the firm flesh before leaning back.
He can hear Michael smile.
-----
“Wait for me. I won’t always be like this,” he says. Watches the myriad of emotions cross the doctor’s face.
Confusion, check. Flattery, conflict, check. Check, check, check.
Like Tetris pieces falling down, Michael scoots and rearranges.
Sara glances up at Michael’s face nervously, hesitates.
God damn it, he’s good.
-----
Lincoln Burrows stands back, watches the life drain out of Westmoreland.
It’s sad, he knows it is and he knows he should be upset like Michael is, but he isn’t.
He’s actually slightly giddy, maybe from the high of escape, he’s thinking in streams of that isn’t me that won’t be me I’m not dying tonight, and he feels great.
-----
The floodlights turn on, bright like the sun has crashed to earth.
For a moment Lincoln is blinded and he sees white, am I finally dead? but he blinks the glare away and his baby brother is shimmying across a snapping cord and
Hold, on Michael and he imagines himself fluid like water and pitches himself over the edge, he only hopes somebody will anchor him but if not
-----
This is it
Stretch, touch, grasp, pull me up and into you
And go
Back | Next
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:
aeroport_artRating: NC-17 overall
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 1,252
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Pretty much a recap of PB season 1, can be completely standalone. Had a REALLY hard time w/ this since I was treading over canon and kept cross-referencing everything until finally I just gave up. Will slap an AU warning on this in its final form :O. My good friend's sort of doing a post-beta job on Breathe Love so after I pop out the epilogue, the fic will get a huge reworking (he's a *great* writer) and will finally be posted without the funky decimal points and strange tense changes. Plus it'll just be more polished, so hold onto those printing queues (ha) until it's truly complete! Other than that... I'm tempted but I'll save the mushy epic-fic-conclusion stuff for the epilogue notes, yeah? ;) Feedback = Love, babes.
Summary: Michael has always wanted his brother, and Lincoln has to wrestle with the responsibility of a reciprocated love that can never be... or can it? Spanning two decades, this story attempts to explain Michael/Lincoln within the confines of canon.
For previous chapters, ( Click here )
Chapter 18
Heartbeats (Present, April ~ May 2006)
Lincoln Burrows, handcuffed, led by the chaplain. He turns around and sees the last man he ever expected to see in blue, prison-issue coveralls.
“Michael?”
This was his plan, this was his baby brother’s master plan?
They were fucked. They were so, incredibly fucked.
-----
There are hedge clippers digging into the pinky toe of his left foot.
Abruzzi waves his hand, the blades squeeze shut, finds a space between two bones and severs flesh and ligaments in shocking explosions of nerve endings.
He sees bursts of red and white behind his eyes and all Michael can think is yes.
If he hurts enough, sacrifices enough, maybe the blood will wash some of the guilt away.
-----
It’s dark in solitary. Well, that’s the whole point. It’s pitch black in solitary, enough to drive any man mad.
Lincoln doesn’t like the dark. Because when everything is gone, when only nothingness is before him, the only thought that keeps him sane is Michael.
Michael’s disturbingly beautiful eyes. Michael’s slender, sexual hands. The noise Michael makes in the back of his throat when he comes, the distinctive smell and taste of Michael’s semen.
When Lincoln has nothing left but the comprehension of how much he wants his little brother, there’s no denying how bat shit fucked up he is. The darkness reveals too much.
-----
Michael slides into the pew behind Lincoln. Laces his fingers, leans forward until his elbow is brushing the beige cloth of his brother’s shirt.
He wants to lick the spot below Lincoln’s left ear, wants to move his mouth over the lobe and gently suck it in between his teeth.
But his brother sighs in front of him, thinking about his looming death. Not the right time for seduction.
“Just have a little faith,” Michael says, smirking at his own usage of his brother’s old reassurances. Lincoln involuntarily rolls his shoulders in pleasure at the breath ghosting over his neck.
-----
Riot in Gen Pop! Like a fucking playground, and all Lincoln has to do is find the prize (Michael) and win.
Contender behind him, he didn’t want victory without a fight anyway. So he lays the smack down on his wannabe killer and fuck, does it feel good.
Prison may have subdued the beast but it’s back with a vengeance, and Lincoln relishes in connecting blows and cracking bones. This is what I’m made for, he thinks, then smashes the cartilage of the man’s nose into his skull.
-----
Chaos.
Complete, and utter chaos. The cacophony in Gen Pop is louder than the squealing static of Michael’s brain on his worst days, and that is saying a shit ton of a lot. His back to a dirty cell block with a little doodad for protection, Michael tries not to think about the government assassin out to exterminate Lincoln. Concentrates on staying alive long enough to be of any use to his brother.
This is how Michael pictured Hell.
-----
He takes the pill.
And then his insides are ripping apart, his muscles wound so tight he expects them to implode. Lincoln keels over in violent convulsions and all he can do is suffer.
He incoherently thinks that Michael is just being vindictive, now. And then he blacks out.
-----
They replaced the pipe.
They replaced the fucking pipe.
Michael had abhorred the idea of having the word “cute” tattooed onto his body, but he’d done it to erode the pipe beneath the infirmary drain. Grafted the stupid word onto his skin forevermore so that when the time came Lincoln could bust his way out of there like a surprise birthday cake.
Except that said pipe is, oh yeah, suddenly brand spanking new and Lincoln is trapped up there banging a ratty mop against two inches of titanium steel. This is supposed to be their fucking escape, damnit, and are those jingling keys he hears outside?
-----
Last goodbyes. This should be fun.
Veronica whispers to him, “I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.”
Lincoln wonders if it was the same for him. Thinks back, realizes it wasn’t. He pushes back Veronica’s long brown hair from her tearful face and feels like scum.
-----
Michael is holding Lincoln for the last time on this Earth and, as if that fact alone wasn’t excruciating enough, there are two guards and Veronica in the room with him as well.
He has never tasted failure so bitter as this.
-----
It’s over.
Lincoln has four minutes before his execution, and funny thing is, his only regret is not telling somebody about Michael.
He’s going to die, and nobody will ever know what the two brothers shared.
It’s funny because he’s spent his whole life trying to pretend it didn’t exist but now, with three minutes and sixteen seconds to go before his heart stopped beating, he wants everybody to know. Michael and Lincoln. Sitting in a tree and Lincoln’s kicking all the other kids off because fuck yeah, this was their fucking tree.
That would be his legend, Lincoln decides.
-----
Lying down, ear smashed against a grimy drain just to feel the metal vibrate with Lincoln’s precious, finite breath.
No, not finite. “I’ve put my blood into this.”
He needs it now, he needs the sharpening tool of pain to point him to a new direction. Stands up, rears back, and punches the wall hard enough to wreck the skin of his knuckles.
“Michael? Michael!” Lincoln’s tinny voice echoes in the black-shadowed cell. Michael punches the wall again. And again, and again, and again.
When the bones in his hand are splintered and liquid pools down the wall in thick tributaries, Michael feels like a better person.
-----
There is dust in his face, dirt on his hands and knees, and Lincoln is way too damned big to fit in this tiny mole tunnel of a pipe.
But Michael is leading the pack towards safety, and his pants are snug over his hot, tight ass. Lincoln wonders if it would be impolite to grab a handful.
Instead, when Michael abruptly stops, Lincoln reacts a little slower than absolutely necessary. Bumps his face against his little brother’s rear end, accidentally bites down on the firm flesh before leaning back.
He can hear Michael smile.
-----
“Wait for me. I won’t always be like this,” he says. Watches the myriad of emotions cross the doctor’s face.
Confusion, check. Flattery, conflict, check. Check, check, check.
Like Tetris pieces falling down, Michael scoots and rearranges.
Sara glances up at Michael’s face nervously, hesitates.
God damn it, he’s good.
-----
Lincoln Burrows stands back, watches the life drain out of Westmoreland.
It’s sad, he knows it is and he knows he should be upset like Michael is, but he isn’t.
He’s actually slightly giddy, maybe from the high of escape, he’s thinking in streams of that isn’t me that won’t be me I’m not dying tonight, and he feels great.
-----
The floodlights turn on, bright like the sun has crashed to earth.
For a moment Lincoln is blinded and he sees white, am I finally dead? but he blinks the glare away and his baby brother is shimmying across a snapping cord and
Hold, on Michael and he imagines himself fluid like water and pitches himself over the edge, he only hopes somebody will anchor him but if not
-----
This is it
Stretch, touch, grasp, pull me up and into you
And go
Back | Next
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Stunning
Date: 2006-11-25 01:48 pm (UTC)All the best, and my full admiration,
stage_master
Re: Stunning
Date: 2006-11-25 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-25 03:18 pm (UTC)I especially adored these parts:
I've always been more intrigued by Michael's character but your portrayal of Lincoln just left me in awe! What I quoted just fit him perfectly! You actually made me like him more.
I'm really looking forward to reading more fics by you :D
no subject
Date: 2006-11-25 11:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 01:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-25 03:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 04:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 10:06 pm (UTC)Lol anyway I'm glad you enjoyed :3
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 12:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-28 05:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-25 11:37 pm (UTC)I can't wait to read the epilogue... This being the last chapter should make me incredibly sad, but it hasn't. It's as though I can continue to read your fic just by watching Season 2...
so much <3 !!!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 02:06 am (UTC)Ever considered writing Wentworth/Dominic? *grin*
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 03:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 05:11 am (UTC)I have a feeling that may have something to do with his past problems with alcohol abuse :P
Even though he's married, when I write W/D, there is no wifey or kiddies! It's RPS with a massive AU twist, i suppose...
I don't watch Supernatural (unfortunately, from what it seems!) but slashing Wentworth with anyone else just seems wrong to me! LOL!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 09:58 am (UTC)Lol the PB fandom got me into Supernatural! Well,
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 10:12 am (UTC)I watched the first 15 min or so of the first Supernatural episode, but I was home on my own and didn't know how scary it'd be! I decided it was safer to watch something else hehe. I'll probably start downloading it during the PB hiatus, but who knows. The last thing I need at the moment is another obsession :D
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 10:24 am (UTC)You're Australian? It's funny how universal fangirl-ism is XD
Stretch, touch, grasp, pull me up and into you...And go.
Date: 2006-11-26 06:19 am (UTC)Re: Stretch, touch, grasp, pull me up and into you...And go.
Date: 2006-11-26 10:00 am (UTC)Re: Stretch, touch, grasp, pull me up and into you...And go.
Date: 2006-11-27 08:23 am (UTC)Re: Stretch, touch, grasp, pull me up and into you...And go.
Date: 2006-11-27 06:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-28 02:09 am (UTC)Anyway, I repeat myself from a while ago: I still think it is one of the best stories in PB fandom.
You took your time with the brothers and this last fragmented chapter is really beautiful.
It sets a perfect ending.
Perfect mood. Great story.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-28 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-04 07:39 pm (UTC)But about the story, it was such a great thing to read, I simply felt with the characters throughout the whole storyline. It's definitely amongst my favourites of fics I've ever read and that's funny since I didn't even know this whole fandom existed before just a couple of weeks ago. But thank you so much for writing^^
And I love that icon of yours^^
no subject
Date: 2006-12-05 03:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-05 04:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 06:51 pm (UTC)And the end? Exactly right! The perfect way to finish the story!
Just the epilogue to go now. *feels a little sad*