Fic: Chiaroscuro
Mar. 21st, 2007 10:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: Chiaorscuro
Pairing: Lincoln/Michael
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeroport_art
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bondage
Word Count: 865
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made, go 'way.
Notes: Written for PB fic exchange, prompt was "His nerve ends were still singing from the beating he had received." This fic was so hard to dream up, for some reason. I think that's a sign that this is my adieu to the Prison Break fandom :0 It just isn't doing it for me anymore! *wipes tear*
Summary: Lincoln's been a very bad boy.
“Wait” was the last thing Lincoln said before Michael gagged him, silk scarf tight between Lincoln’s teeth and uncomfortable against his cheeks. He wouldn’t get to speak anymore that night, not until Michael allowed it.
Lincoln protests loudly around the fabric in his mouth as his wrists are lifted and bound; silk sneaks, then pinches into skin as Michael secures the bindings.
“I’m sorry Linc, but this is how it has to be,” Michael says as he stretches his brother’s arms up and up, so tight that Lincoln’s shoulders threaten to pull out of their sockets. “I told you, no one else. No one else but me.”
When Michael deems the knots serviceable, his elegant hands flutter down, fingertips whispering over coiled muscles and straining ligaments. Lincoln’s body glows in the orange bath of streetlight pouring in from the sixth-story bedroom window, and the ridges of his abs and pecs cast smudged, charcoal shadows. Lincoln’s face too is obscured in black as his head lolls helplessly against his chest. He looks like chiaroscuro, he looks like art.
Michael moves forward on knees and cups his brother’s face up.
“Why did you do it, Linc?” Michael asks, voice clear and unequivocal in the silence. “Too horny, too impatient to wait for me? Do you think I like to come home to the sight of you fucking some slut in my bed? In my sheets?” Michael squeezes his brother’s jaw, fingers digging into the rigid roll of fabric that keeps Lincoln from replying.
“Like a dog, humping anything that’ll get you off. Big tits, a wet cunt, my mouth. Are you really such a slut, Linc?”
Lincoln makes a noise in the back of his throat. Michael doesn’t know, doesn’t care what it means. He moves behind Lincoln, lets the quiet air stagnate into paranoia, then lifts his palm and brings it down on his brother’s right ass cheek with a cotton-muted crack.
Lincoln grunts as he jolts forward. Grunts again, when Michael strikes his other cheek.
God, his nerve ends are still singing from last night’s beating. At this rate, he won’t be able to sit down for a week.
As if reading his thoughts, Michael smoothes a hand over Lincoln’s ass, caresses the sting into a gentle, pulsing thrum.
“You know, Linc,” Michael says, sinuously. “I’m beginning to think you’re doing it on purpose.”
Lincoln makes a defiant noise, a nasal noise that reverberates around the back of his tongue that’s pushed deep into his throat by sodden silk.
Michael continues, “Why else would you make it easy? So obvious, unless you wanted me to…“ Michael tugs the waistband of Lincoln’s shorts down, revealing swaths of curved ass, skin quietly glowing from the outside streets and cars. Michael gets down, spreads his brother’s knees and sharply bites the back of a thigh. Jerking away, Lincoln scrapes his own flesh as it wrenches from between Michael’s teeth.
At first, Michael does nothing, immobile and silent. Lincoln’s panting, his chest thudding with nervousness.
Then, like a switch turned on, Michael snaps forward and yanks Lincoln’s remaining clothing down, unmindful when the elastic roughly snags on his brother’s half-hard erection. He shoves Lincoln so far forward that bound wrists are the only things holding him up, black shorts fully ripped off and flung onto high-pile carpet.
“You don’t say no to me,” Michael growls, fingers scrabbling between the cleft of Lincoln’s ass and prying flesh apart. When Michael’s furious tongue worms its way into his clenching hole, Lincoln grunts and looks down, watches distantly as every shallow thrust of Michael’s tongue pumps blood to Lincoln’s swelling dick.
By the time Michael’s sunk his middle finger inside of him, Lincoln’s cock is helplessly bouncing against his lower stomach. He humps at air as Michael’s every knuckle fucks a song into his ass, wrangling melodies that sound like wrong and sin.
Lincoln lets Michael take him that night.
Oh, who was he kidding? Michael took him that night, fucking Lincoln like he could brand his name inside his brother’s ass if he thrust fast enough, came hard enough. Dug his nails into Lincoln’s biceps hard enough, hard enough to leave crescent-shaped welts that Lincoln would gingerly touch at work the next day, reminding himself not to look, not to flirt.
That morning, Michael had left first. He’d kissed Lincoln awake and told him he loved him, petted him with words and warnings. Be good he’d said, making sure Lincoln understood as he fucked him quick and clean, squirting his semen inside. He didn’t let Lincoln clean himself up, told him Just a reminder.
Lincoln shifts his stance, feels the sticky, gluey come drag uncomfortably against his ass and boxers. As his coworker chatters on, Lincoln wonders what punishment he might receive were he to take her home tonight. He knows he can, knows she would.
Be good, Michael had said. Or else, he hadn’t said.
Lincoln licks his teeth, steps in close and places a palm on the girl’s forearm. She stills.
He smiles.
Pairing: Lincoln/Michael
Author:
aeroport_artRating: NC-17
Warnings: bondage
Word Count: 865
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made, go 'way.
Notes: Written for PB fic exchange, prompt was "His nerve ends were still singing from the beating he had received." This fic was so hard to dream up, for some reason. I think that's a sign that this is my adieu to the Prison Break fandom :0 It just isn't doing it for me anymore! *wipes tear*
Summary: Lincoln's been a very bad boy.
“Wait” was the last thing Lincoln said before Michael gagged him, silk scarf tight between Lincoln’s teeth and uncomfortable against his cheeks. He wouldn’t get to speak anymore that night, not until Michael allowed it.
Lincoln protests loudly around the fabric in his mouth as his wrists are lifted and bound; silk sneaks, then pinches into skin as Michael secures the bindings.
“I’m sorry Linc, but this is how it has to be,” Michael says as he stretches his brother’s arms up and up, so tight that Lincoln’s shoulders threaten to pull out of their sockets. “I told you, no one else. No one else but me.”
When Michael deems the knots serviceable, his elegant hands flutter down, fingertips whispering over coiled muscles and straining ligaments. Lincoln’s body glows in the orange bath of streetlight pouring in from the sixth-story bedroom window, and the ridges of his abs and pecs cast smudged, charcoal shadows. Lincoln’s face too is obscured in black as his head lolls helplessly against his chest. He looks like chiaroscuro, he looks like art.
Michael moves forward on knees and cups his brother’s face up.
“Why did you do it, Linc?” Michael asks, voice clear and unequivocal in the silence. “Too horny, too impatient to wait for me? Do you think I like to come home to the sight of you fucking some slut in my bed? In my sheets?” Michael squeezes his brother’s jaw, fingers digging into the rigid roll of fabric that keeps Lincoln from replying.
“Like a dog, humping anything that’ll get you off. Big tits, a wet cunt, my mouth. Are you really such a slut, Linc?”
Lincoln makes a noise in the back of his throat. Michael doesn’t know, doesn’t care what it means. He moves behind Lincoln, lets the quiet air stagnate into paranoia, then lifts his palm and brings it down on his brother’s right ass cheek with a cotton-muted crack.
Lincoln grunts as he jolts forward. Grunts again, when Michael strikes his other cheek.
God, his nerve ends are still singing from last night’s beating. At this rate, he won’t be able to sit down for a week.
As if reading his thoughts, Michael smoothes a hand over Lincoln’s ass, caresses the sting into a gentle, pulsing thrum.
“You know, Linc,” Michael says, sinuously. “I’m beginning to think you’re doing it on purpose.”
Lincoln makes a defiant noise, a nasal noise that reverberates around the back of his tongue that’s pushed deep into his throat by sodden silk.
Michael continues, “Why else would you make it easy? So obvious, unless you wanted me to…“ Michael tugs the waistband of Lincoln’s shorts down, revealing swaths of curved ass, skin quietly glowing from the outside streets and cars. Michael gets down, spreads his brother’s knees and sharply bites the back of a thigh. Jerking away, Lincoln scrapes his own flesh as it wrenches from between Michael’s teeth.
At first, Michael does nothing, immobile and silent. Lincoln’s panting, his chest thudding with nervousness.
Then, like a switch turned on, Michael snaps forward and yanks Lincoln’s remaining clothing down, unmindful when the elastic roughly snags on his brother’s half-hard erection. He shoves Lincoln so far forward that bound wrists are the only things holding him up, black shorts fully ripped off and flung onto high-pile carpet.
“You don’t say no to me,” Michael growls, fingers scrabbling between the cleft of Lincoln’s ass and prying flesh apart. When Michael’s furious tongue worms its way into his clenching hole, Lincoln grunts and looks down, watches distantly as every shallow thrust of Michael’s tongue pumps blood to Lincoln’s swelling dick.
By the time Michael’s sunk his middle finger inside of him, Lincoln’s cock is helplessly bouncing against his lower stomach. He humps at air as Michael’s every knuckle fucks a song into his ass, wrangling melodies that sound like wrong and sin.
Lincoln lets Michael take him that night.
Oh, who was he kidding? Michael took him that night, fucking Lincoln like he could brand his name inside his brother’s ass if he thrust fast enough, came hard enough. Dug his nails into Lincoln’s biceps hard enough, hard enough to leave crescent-shaped welts that Lincoln would gingerly touch at work the next day, reminding himself not to look, not to flirt.
That morning, Michael had left first. He’d kissed Lincoln awake and told him he loved him, petted him with words and warnings. Be good he’d said, making sure Lincoln understood as he fucked him quick and clean, squirting his semen inside. He didn’t let Lincoln clean himself up, told him Just a reminder.
Lincoln shifts his stance, feels the sticky, gluey come drag uncomfortably against his ass and boxers. As his coworker chatters on, Lincoln wonders what punishment he might receive were he to take her home tonight. He knows he can, knows she would.
Be good, Michael had said. Or else, he hadn’t said.
Lincoln licks his teeth, steps in close and places a palm on the girl’s forearm. She stills.
He smiles.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-03-26 05:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-26 03:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-26 05:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-28 04:09 pm (UTC)However, I must say that this is so hot I melted. Of course, descriptions of Lincoln's ass and bruises are super hot, but even the descriptions of the gag throughout are spicily sensual.
as every shallow thrust of Michael’s tongue pumps blood to Lincoln’s swelling dick
So simply true, and yet so incredibly hot.
as Michael’s every knuckle fucks a song into his ass, wrangling melodies that sound like wrong and sin
Excellent imagery.
Michael took him that night, fucking Lincoln like he could brand his name inside his brother’s ass if he thrust fast enough, came hard enough.
Perfect.
Of course, to me, Michael is generally the sub, but that just makes reversal fics all the hotter. And I can totally see Michael behaving in this way - his generosity is conditional, I think that's clear even in canon. He frees Lincoln because he wants and needs him, not so much just for Lincoln's sake. I've always thought that, though. So even though this is wild, I still think the characterisation is good.
And I can also see Lincoln getting into it. For him, I can see it all being about the sex - whatever gets him off = good (to paraphrase CMT). I think he always felt comfortable in his relationship with Mikey to not have a particular need for power. And it's probably refreshing to let some of the power go, because with it goes some of the responsibility. Plus, it probably helps him unconsciously to alleviate any sort of lingering guilt he has. So, again, good characterisation.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-29 01:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-28 08:32 pm (UTC)This fic was so hard to dream up, for some reason. I think that's a sign that this is my adieu to the Prison Break fandom :0 It just isn't doing it for me anymore! *wipes tear*
Does this mean you're really leaving us for good? Now I'm extra sad... :(
Oh well, these things can't be forced...
no subject
Date: 2007-03-29 01:55 am (UTC)*points to the SPN bandwagon* Hop on!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 12:13 am (UTC)I just can't lose the love for some reason. It might have to do with Wentworth. That man is just too beautiful for me to leave Michael behind, maybe. Oh, who am I kidding? I love my brothers, even when canon is stupid. Just me, I guess.
So, will you still be my friend? *whines like a four-year-old*
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 12:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 01:00 am (UTC)