Fic: Breathe Love (3/9)
Sep. 8th, 2006 11:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: Breathe Love (3/9)
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeroport_art
Rating: R (eventual NC-17)
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 1,883
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Feedback = love.
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.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
2 years later (1988)
He had tried. He had really, really tried, and nobody could fault him for the way things ended up. Lincoln had dated Veronica Donovan for four years, a period considered a lifetime for high schoolers, but in the end he couldn’t stay with her. It wasn’t her fault; on the contrary, the girl was beautiful, kind, intelligent, with a promising future ahead of her. She would have given Lincoln anything and in return he wanted so much to make her happy. For a couple years he had even entertained the thought of marrying her in the hopes of creating the stable family structure that his little brother Michael so sorely needed. The Donovans could be their surrogate parents, Veronica the older female figure that Michael could look up to. They would be free of their monetary struggles and Lincoln could perhaps even go back to school one day, finishing his high school degree and finding a proper job that saw daylight and government regulated wages. They could’ve been happy, they really could’ve, if only Lincoln had the strength to touch Veronica in ways he didn’t want. If only Lincoln could love Veronica in a way that he didn’t feel.
Veronica looked up at Lincoln with her warm brown eyes and he hated her for being so beautiful and perfect while he himself was nothing but a sick, fucked up high-school dropout. She reached out to him with her milky arms and placed one of his coarse hands on her soft, pliant breasts.
“V, I… I can’t do this.”
“Of course,” she stated disappointedly, removing his hand and pulling the sheets over her chest. “Because seventeen year olds are still too young to make love. Or is it Michael again?”
Lincoln’s breath caught.
“Michael? What do you mean?”
“You’re always so worried that he’ll hear us or that he’ll walk in the room,” she explained, glancing at his stricken face.
He let the temporary relief wash over him before swallowing hard and taking his girlfriend’s hand between his.
“Veronica,” he started haltingly. “You… you know that I love you so much, that nobody can ever replace you.”
She searched his face, attempting to discern what terrible news she was sure was coming. Her heart clenched in pain as she finally came to terms with what his dark gaze eyes revealed; deep down inside, she had always known there was something Lincoln walled off and kept to himself. She had hoped that over the years he could learn to trust her, to love her, yet the barricades had stayed upright and strong and now she knew, looking into those shuttered eyes, that she would never know that part of Lincoln Burrows.
“I think we should break up,” he finally bit out, brokenly.
“I know, Linc. I know,” she replied.
Lincoln looked at her and suddenly something within him cracked, and he couldn’t stop the tears that fled to his eyes and overflowed in warm rivers. It was the first time he had cried since their mother’s funeral four years ago, and Veronica gathered his head against her naked breasts and shushed him until he fell asleep, his body wracked from the years of fervent attempts to conform to something he could never be.
-----
Michael looked up from his textbook as Veronica opened their bedroom door with a soft click.
“Are you leaving already? It’s only eight o’clock,” he asked her, puzzled by her mussed hair and red-rimmed eyes.
“Michael… take care of your brother, won’t you?” She eventually replied, gathering her purse and shoes, then slipping out the front door.
The fourteen year old boy watched her go, his mind racing at the possibilities of what had just happened. Finally, unable to sort out the deluge of questions he had running through his head, Michael ditched his half-finished homework and entered the bedroom to find his brother.
Lincoln was sprawled on top of the covers despite the winter chill, clad in only his boxers. Michael swallowed the flash of possessiveness he felt in knowing that Veronica had seen his older brother exposed like this, then placated his mind by reasoning that she had left early and that likely nothing had transpired between the two older teenagers.
He watched his brother breathe, his chest moving up and down with each intake and exhalation of air, his right forearm slung over his eyes. Stepping closer, Michael noted the film of goose bumps that covered his brother’s tanned skin and he inched forward, fascinated at how all the little hairs stood up because of the cold.
“Michael, please, not right now. I’m so tired,” came the deep voice of his older brother, vibrating with the exhaustion of a young man who had bore the weight and suffering of one well past his years.
The younger boy ignored the request and lightly made his way onto the bed, rolling onto his side and cradling his head in the soft spot between Lincoln’s shoulder and chest. His brother inhaled deeply and Michael placed his left hand over the rising sternum, feeling the air moving beneath his fingers.
“I’m so tired of fighting, Michael, please just leave me alone,” Lincoln repeated, his voice cracking as he felt his younger brother rub small circles onto his skin in a misguided attempt to quell the goose bumps forming on his skin.
“Then don’t fight it,” the boy replied, not entirely sure of what he meant. “Just relax Linc, I just want to make you feel better.”
At those words, Michael climbed on top of his big brother, bracing his thin arms around Lincoln’s pillowed head and examining the older teenager below him. Lincoln’s eyes were closed, too weary to even keep his eyelids open. The strong jaw and handsome features went under scrutiny as Michael leisurely memorized every dip and shadow of his brother’s face, reveling in the proximity that the older sibling was for once allowing him. He bent his neck down, nuzzling the side of Lincoln’s rough cheek and inhaled his clean, musky scent, the aroma so distinctly Lincoln that it made his throat tighten with the recognition and his heart swell with the closeness and intimacy that he craved.
Lincoln’s breaths continued in an uninterrupted, if tensely controlled rhythm and he instinctually fought to ignore the effects his younger brother’s presence had on him, a habit that had become draining in its chronic necessity. While his mind rejected the intoxicating nearness of his younger brother, he had long exhausted his capacity for lying to himself. He made no move to brush Michael off, his inaction serving as acquiescence to whatever tension was building between the two.
Spurred by his brother’s newfound permission, Michael languidly lowered the entire length of his body down against Lincoln’s firm build and exalted at the feeling of being pressed up against the one person in the world that he loved. He leaned forwards with his elbows buried in the pillow and slowly began tracing the grooves and bone structure of his brother’s face, his warm breath ghosting over Lincoln’s lips and skin. It felt so good, so astonishingly good that if Michael had known that it would be like this, he would have aligned his body with Lincoln’s years ago, despite whatever protests or excuses his brother would have had at the time. He would have taken the older boy and leaned against his strong chest, entwined their legs together and breathed the laundry detergent and soap scent off his skin, and he would’ve forced his way into Lincoln’s arms years and years ago if only he knew how warm, how hot it felt to be the only one allowed in this space.
“Michael, please. Please…,” Lincoln trailed off, as if unsure of what it was that he was pleading for in the first place. Michael nipped at his brother’s neck in reply, tucking the skin between his teeth and rolling it back and forth experimentally. Michael felt the subsequent gasp as his brother’s chest pushed him up and it pleased him to no degree. Emboldened, he surged forward and licked the same spot while firmly running his hands down Lincoln’s shoulders, and along his arms until their palms met and their fingers intertwined. Lincoln moaned at the ministrations his brother performed on his neck, drunk with the intense pleasure that he had denied himself for years.
“Michael, god, Michael you feel so good,” Lincoln gasped involuntarily as Michael lost interest in his neck and moved up to his ear, licking the shell and breathing hot, warm air that tickled the cooling skin.
“Linc,” he whispered, careful not to exhale too much air into his brother’s sensitive ear. “Linc, can I kiss you? I’ve never kissed anybody before.”
Lincoln registered that while a portion of his brain was screaming at him, begging him to find the willpower to stop whatever sick sexual attraction he harbored for his little brother, the rest of him was hypnotized by the bliss that was Michael’s lean, taut form that wriggled and rubbed against his in desperate want. So he said nothing, refused nothing, and his little brother leaned down and gently touched their lips together.
Michael let his eyes flutter shut, concentrating on the tactile feel of his brother’s moist breath escaping into his own mouth, mentally imprinting the softness of his first kiss into his brain for posterity. As they gradually parted, the younger boy slowly opened his eyes and found himself blinking into the deep wells of Lincoln’s dark, stormy eyes. He balked at the conflict he saw in them and sought to erase any doubt from his older brother’s mind by crushing his mouth down again, fighting his inexperience by moving his lips insistently in the hopes that by pouring his yearning through the heat of his mouth, he could make his brother see that Michael loved him, and that there wasn’t anything sick or wrong about love.
In the midst of his little brother’s territorial kisses Lincoln felt for the second time Michael’s erection, nudged against Lincoln’s inner thigh. As if telepathically, Michael bore down, seeking more pleasure, more goodness, and he nearly stopped breathing when he felt his brother’s own delicious hardness pulsing back through his thin boxers.
Oh, fuck. Lincoln abruptly sat up on his elbows, nearly knocking Michael’s bowed forehead with his chin. Choking back a strangled noise, the larger boy pushed his little brother off of him and tore out the door.
Michael wordlessly watched his brother dash inside the bathroom and heard the lock click shut. He frowned in confusion, feeling chilled as all the warmth left the room in his brother’s wake. He slipped under the covers, mutely grasping for anything that Lincoln had left behind, miserably trying to comfort himself in the vestiges of his brother’s body heat and smell. He imagined his own arms were Lincoln’s, wrapped around his stomach, but his limp, thin arms were no substitute for the drowning comfort that his older brother’s provided.
Michael fought to stay awake as he waited for his brother to return to bed, but the lull of sleep stole away his consciousness before Lincoln ever came back. When he woke for school, the empty spot beside him was cold and untouched.
Back | Next
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:
aeroport_artRating: R (eventual NC-17)
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 1,883
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Feedback = love.
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.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
2 years later (1988)
He had tried. He had really, really tried, and nobody could fault him for the way things ended up. Lincoln had dated Veronica Donovan for four years, a period considered a lifetime for high schoolers, but in the end he couldn’t stay with her. It wasn’t her fault; on the contrary, the girl was beautiful, kind, intelligent, with a promising future ahead of her. She would have given Lincoln anything and in return he wanted so much to make her happy. For a couple years he had even entertained the thought of marrying her in the hopes of creating the stable family structure that his little brother Michael so sorely needed. The Donovans could be their surrogate parents, Veronica the older female figure that Michael could look up to. They would be free of their monetary struggles and Lincoln could perhaps even go back to school one day, finishing his high school degree and finding a proper job that saw daylight and government regulated wages. They could’ve been happy, they really could’ve, if only Lincoln had the strength to touch Veronica in ways he didn’t want. If only Lincoln could love Veronica in a way that he didn’t feel.
Veronica looked up at Lincoln with her warm brown eyes and he hated her for being so beautiful and perfect while he himself was nothing but a sick, fucked up high-school dropout. She reached out to him with her milky arms and placed one of his coarse hands on her soft, pliant breasts.
“V, I… I can’t do this.”
“Of course,” she stated disappointedly, removing his hand and pulling the sheets over her chest. “Because seventeen year olds are still too young to make love. Or is it Michael again?”
Lincoln’s breath caught.
“Michael? What do you mean?”
“You’re always so worried that he’ll hear us or that he’ll walk in the room,” she explained, glancing at his stricken face.
He let the temporary relief wash over him before swallowing hard and taking his girlfriend’s hand between his.
“Veronica,” he started haltingly. “You… you know that I love you so much, that nobody can ever replace you.”
She searched his face, attempting to discern what terrible news she was sure was coming. Her heart clenched in pain as she finally came to terms with what his dark gaze eyes revealed; deep down inside, she had always known there was something Lincoln walled off and kept to himself. She had hoped that over the years he could learn to trust her, to love her, yet the barricades had stayed upright and strong and now she knew, looking into those shuttered eyes, that she would never know that part of Lincoln Burrows.
“I think we should break up,” he finally bit out, brokenly.
“I know, Linc. I know,” she replied.
Lincoln looked at her and suddenly something within him cracked, and he couldn’t stop the tears that fled to his eyes and overflowed in warm rivers. It was the first time he had cried since their mother’s funeral four years ago, and Veronica gathered his head against her naked breasts and shushed him until he fell asleep, his body wracked from the years of fervent attempts to conform to something he could never be.
-----
Michael looked up from his textbook as Veronica opened their bedroom door with a soft click.
“Are you leaving already? It’s only eight o’clock,” he asked her, puzzled by her mussed hair and red-rimmed eyes.
“Michael… take care of your brother, won’t you?” She eventually replied, gathering her purse and shoes, then slipping out the front door.
The fourteen year old boy watched her go, his mind racing at the possibilities of what had just happened. Finally, unable to sort out the deluge of questions he had running through his head, Michael ditched his half-finished homework and entered the bedroom to find his brother.
Lincoln was sprawled on top of the covers despite the winter chill, clad in only his boxers. Michael swallowed the flash of possessiveness he felt in knowing that Veronica had seen his older brother exposed like this, then placated his mind by reasoning that she had left early and that likely nothing had transpired between the two older teenagers.
He watched his brother breathe, his chest moving up and down with each intake and exhalation of air, his right forearm slung over his eyes. Stepping closer, Michael noted the film of goose bumps that covered his brother’s tanned skin and he inched forward, fascinated at how all the little hairs stood up because of the cold.
“Michael, please, not right now. I’m so tired,” came the deep voice of his older brother, vibrating with the exhaustion of a young man who had bore the weight and suffering of one well past his years.
The younger boy ignored the request and lightly made his way onto the bed, rolling onto his side and cradling his head in the soft spot between Lincoln’s shoulder and chest. His brother inhaled deeply and Michael placed his left hand over the rising sternum, feeling the air moving beneath his fingers.
“I’m so tired of fighting, Michael, please just leave me alone,” Lincoln repeated, his voice cracking as he felt his younger brother rub small circles onto his skin in a misguided attempt to quell the goose bumps forming on his skin.
“Then don’t fight it,” the boy replied, not entirely sure of what he meant. “Just relax Linc, I just want to make you feel better.”
At those words, Michael climbed on top of his big brother, bracing his thin arms around Lincoln’s pillowed head and examining the older teenager below him. Lincoln’s eyes were closed, too weary to even keep his eyelids open. The strong jaw and handsome features went under scrutiny as Michael leisurely memorized every dip and shadow of his brother’s face, reveling in the proximity that the older sibling was for once allowing him. He bent his neck down, nuzzling the side of Lincoln’s rough cheek and inhaled his clean, musky scent, the aroma so distinctly Lincoln that it made his throat tighten with the recognition and his heart swell with the closeness and intimacy that he craved.
Lincoln’s breaths continued in an uninterrupted, if tensely controlled rhythm and he instinctually fought to ignore the effects his younger brother’s presence had on him, a habit that had become draining in its chronic necessity. While his mind rejected the intoxicating nearness of his younger brother, he had long exhausted his capacity for lying to himself. He made no move to brush Michael off, his inaction serving as acquiescence to whatever tension was building between the two.
Spurred by his brother’s newfound permission, Michael languidly lowered the entire length of his body down against Lincoln’s firm build and exalted at the feeling of being pressed up against the one person in the world that he loved. He leaned forwards with his elbows buried in the pillow and slowly began tracing the grooves and bone structure of his brother’s face, his warm breath ghosting over Lincoln’s lips and skin. It felt so good, so astonishingly good that if Michael had known that it would be like this, he would have aligned his body with Lincoln’s years ago, despite whatever protests or excuses his brother would have had at the time. He would have taken the older boy and leaned against his strong chest, entwined their legs together and breathed the laundry detergent and soap scent off his skin, and he would’ve forced his way into Lincoln’s arms years and years ago if only he knew how warm, how hot it felt to be the only one allowed in this space.
“Michael, please. Please…,” Lincoln trailed off, as if unsure of what it was that he was pleading for in the first place. Michael nipped at his brother’s neck in reply, tucking the skin between his teeth and rolling it back and forth experimentally. Michael felt the subsequent gasp as his brother’s chest pushed him up and it pleased him to no degree. Emboldened, he surged forward and licked the same spot while firmly running his hands down Lincoln’s shoulders, and along his arms until their palms met and their fingers intertwined. Lincoln moaned at the ministrations his brother performed on his neck, drunk with the intense pleasure that he had denied himself for years.
“Michael, god, Michael you feel so good,” Lincoln gasped involuntarily as Michael lost interest in his neck and moved up to his ear, licking the shell and breathing hot, warm air that tickled the cooling skin.
“Linc,” he whispered, careful not to exhale too much air into his brother’s sensitive ear. “Linc, can I kiss you? I’ve never kissed anybody before.”
Lincoln registered that while a portion of his brain was screaming at him, begging him to find the willpower to stop whatever sick sexual attraction he harbored for his little brother, the rest of him was hypnotized by the bliss that was Michael’s lean, taut form that wriggled and rubbed against his in desperate want. So he said nothing, refused nothing, and his little brother leaned down and gently touched their lips together.
Michael let his eyes flutter shut, concentrating on the tactile feel of his brother’s moist breath escaping into his own mouth, mentally imprinting the softness of his first kiss into his brain for posterity. As they gradually parted, the younger boy slowly opened his eyes and found himself blinking into the deep wells of Lincoln’s dark, stormy eyes. He balked at the conflict he saw in them and sought to erase any doubt from his older brother’s mind by crushing his mouth down again, fighting his inexperience by moving his lips insistently in the hopes that by pouring his yearning through the heat of his mouth, he could make his brother see that Michael loved him, and that there wasn’t anything sick or wrong about love.
In the midst of his little brother’s territorial kisses Lincoln felt for the second time Michael’s erection, nudged against Lincoln’s inner thigh. As if telepathically, Michael bore down, seeking more pleasure, more goodness, and he nearly stopped breathing when he felt his brother’s own delicious hardness pulsing back through his thin boxers.
Oh, fuck. Lincoln abruptly sat up on his elbows, nearly knocking Michael’s bowed forehead with his chin. Choking back a strangled noise, the larger boy pushed his little brother off of him and tore out the door.
Michael wordlessly watched his brother dash inside the bathroom and heard the lock click shut. He frowned in confusion, feeling chilled as all the warmth left the room in his brother’s wake. He slipped under the covers, mutely grasping for anything that Lincoln had left behind, miserably trying to comfort himself in the vestiges of his brother’s body heat and smell. He imagined his own arms were Lincoln’s, wrapped around his stomach, but his limp, thin arms were no substitute for the drowning comfort that his older brother’s provided.
Michael fought to stay awake as he waited for his brother to return to bed, but the lull of sleep stole away his consciousness before Lincoln ever came back. When he woke for school, the empty spot beside him was cold and untouched.
Back | Next
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Wow
Date: 2006-09-09 05:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-25 11:30 am (UTC)Great work!
no subject
Date: 2006-10-16 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-24 08:26 pm (UTC)A couple of notes,
"Michael, please. Please…,” Lincoln trailed off, as if unsure of what it was that he was pleading for in the first place."
This sentence is way too long for something that's just clarifying a sexual exclamation. If the please meant a bizarre halfway between 'please stop' and 'please don't stop' then it would be one thing, but as it is, the words are already loaded with enough force. The additional comment could be made much shorter ("unsure of what he was pleading for.") or cut entirely.
The dialogue was better in this part than it was in the first couple. I also think this is the strongest section thus far in terms of characterization, with all the events revolving around the one monolithic mental wall that Lincoln is running up against. That really came through.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-25 01:00 am (UTC)