Fic: Breathe Love (6/?)
Sep. 24th, 2006 06:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: Breathe Love (6/?)
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeroport_art
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 3,488
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Yikes, stayed up from 10 PM to 7 AM to write this chapter. Go jet lag, huh? Breathe Love is also on prisonbreakfic.com and is actually the more finalized version (I can't help but keep tweaking things :P) so if you'd rather read it there, sans wonky decimal point chapters, you can find it under the same screen name. On the other hand I'm going to keep posting chapters here first, lol. Anyway hope you all enjoy the chapter and as always 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 1.1
Chapter 1.2
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 4.1
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
4 months later (January 1991)
The days following the aftermath of their break-up must have been some of the most excruciating of Michael’s seventeen years. Sure, there had been bad times before. Over a decade ago his drunken, absent mess of a father had left the family for good, stranding his wife and her two young sons to fend for themselves. But at that time, his mother had wrapped her arms around the two boys and smoothed the hurt away. When she died in turn, Lincoln was there gripping Michael’s shoulder with a strong arm and steeling the pain away for both of them like a rock, letting the pounding ocean crash over him alone. Over the years the relentless waves of tribulation had whittled the older brother’s own foundation away but his inherent strength had kept the fragile younger boy aloft and safe. Michael had had his martyrs, loved ones who had faced the brunt of misfortune for him. But then suddenly, after two glimmering years of hope and warm love, he had nothing, no one. The shock of having everything snatched away from him in one instant had been enough to drive him mad.
Oh, he’d tried everything. His first knee-jerk reaction was rebellion, a month of spitting anger and incompliance with anything Lincoln asked of him. He refused to do his homework, he refused to complete his college applications, he shut his ears from whatever weak excuses or overtures his older brother had offered and resolutely ignored the older boy unless there were any signs of him repairing his mistake. In Michael’s head, he’d had it all worked out. Rebel when Lincoln was being stubborn, but reward the older boy when he gave him something to work with; a brush of skin, a break in his voice, a hushed whisper of his name. If Michael could only train Lincoln to be good, to want him back, then Michael would do whatever his older brother wanted.
For weeks he applied this equation single-mindedly; when his brother had gripped his wrist to keep him from leaving the room so rudely, Michael had done his homework that night, secretly relieved to finish a day’s worth of work since the deluge of incomplete assignments had been giving him a guilty conscience.
A few days later Lincoln had come by and kneeled next to the bed before Michael was fully asleep (the older boy had been using the couch or sometimes never coming home at all). As he kept his breathing regular while straining his ears to listen to the deeper rushes of air from his older brother’s lungs, Michael was startled to feel a trail of electric nerves igniting along his cheek. Not knowing whether it was the intense anticipation that prompted the sensation or if Lincoln had really caressed him, Michael decided to compensate the older boy nonetheless and had attended all his classes the next day.
When Lincoln refused to meet his eyes for four days straight, Michael picked a fight at school and landed himself a week’s worth of detentions that he had no intention of attending. But when Lincoln came back from work that day, stinking of lingering cigarette smoke, he stared into Michael’s unblinking eyes with such despondence and pain that Michael had gone to the detentions after all.
When Michael woke in the night a week later and tiptoed to the wan light that was peeking beneath the closed bathroom door, he heard the sound of a fist roughly and wetly slapping against skin and his own name groaned from his brother’s lips as the telltale noise stilled to a taut climax. The labored, hitching gasps that followed were mirrored by Michael’s own and the next day he had filled out his college application forms.
They were making progress, he’d thought. He only needed to keep to his plan; feed Lincoln a trail of crumbs, encouraging satisfactory behavior and punishing him for being distant. But when Lincoln finally worked out that his little brother’s seemingly erratic behavior was in fact harboring a theme, that the younger and admittedly smarter boy was treating him like some puppy that had to be trained, he balked and disappeared for two days straight. Michael had never worried so much in his life and when his brother finally came back, disheveled and disoriented from god knows what, the teenager decided that he needed a new plan.
-----
From November to Christmas, Michael lavished his older brother with his new strategy: one of obedience. If rebellion would only make Lincoln strand him alone in their empty apartment and even hurt himself with drugs or alcohol, then surely a countering plan would predictably yield a countering result. So he executed this unfalteringly, his stratagem of being a perfect, good boy. He tried not to think that this new plan was subconsciously drafted so that he wouldn’t fail out of junior year of high school; his actions were for Lincoln and Lincoln only. The fact that he could stay on track academically was merely a pleasant side effect and really, would only give him more leverage in the future.
So he raced the clock before midterms, furiously completing old assignments on top of the make-up work and extra credit like a robot set on fast-forward. When he’d had everything turned in and had explained the situation to all his bewildered teachers (a death in the family, a close aunt), Michael applied this factory-line work ethic to pleasing his brother in other agonizingly platonic ways. When the brother came back from work the small apartment would always be sparkling clean; the trash was taken out on the right days, the refrigerator re-stocked every Sunday, and dinner infallibly prepared every single night. Before he went to bed Michael would set out the next day’s breakfast (cookies or the cereal box and bowl placed on the table, sometimes just some fruit), and in the mornings he would pack a lunch for his brother to take to work. He wondered if Lincoln’s coworkers ever noticed that his brother was suddenly being taken care of; his coveralls always freshly laundered and a neat crisp brown bag taken to work every day unerringly included an appetizer, entrée, dessert, and drink.
Michael frantically fulfilled the role of a perfect lover (without the sex bit, unfortunately) over the two months and was pleased to find his brother now regularly washed and clean-shaven even on weekends, smiling more and being indulgent in his affection for Michael with brotherly punches and quick hugs that always seemed to end abruptly and awkwardly. The younger brother strove to keep the breakneck pace up, convinced that come September when he turned eighteen, his brother could no longer refuse his educated, adult decision to be with him.
On optimistic days Michael would imagine their reunion, never forgetting their old agreement that Lincoln would finally embrace and fill him in the most intimate of ways once Michael was of age. The simple thought of being completely and emotionally full of Lincoln’s body, of Lincoln’s acknowledgement of their undeniable relationship in the action of making love, even just the idea of his older brother moving deep inside him was enough to make the seventeen year old boy scrub toilets and ace exams for weeks straight.
It wasn’t until Christmas Eve that his plan showed any signs of weakness. Over the winter break, satisfied with the straight A’s he’d received for first semester, Michael was galvanized into accepting the tutoring job his counselor had recommended and had worked four hours every day during the hours when his brother wasn’t home. Although Lincoln had never allowed Michael to use the inheritance money, insisting that he save it for college tuition, at $50 an hour teaching physics, math, and English, Michael still had an increasing amount of money to spend on Lincoln’s Christmas present while still putting aside most of it to help with that month’s bills. After two weeks of agonizing over what exactly to get his older brother, Michael decided on a new leather jacket. The old one of Lincoln’s was secondhand from the beginning and had been a little short in the wrists for years now. Besides, Michael felt that it was alright to treat himself to some eye candy for all the hard work he’d put in the past couple months; Lincoln always had looked disturbingly sexy and carefree in his worn, black jacket. He could only imagine how hot he would be in a shiny new one that fit and would lend him that intimidating, unruffled look that was so singularly Lincoln Burrows.
So, he spent an afternoon with Veronica (she just happened to be back that winter from abroad) picking out a good brand with a classic style for the present and had it wrapped by the sales clerk. On Christmas Eve Lincoln was home early, as was his annual tradition, although this year he was regrettably decent and clothed. Nonetheless the two boys casually traded gifts. Michael had been extraordinarily pleased with the new clothes his brother had purchased for him (the boy had shot up four inches over the past year and was now almost eye to eye with Lincoln), boyishly content in the thought that his older brother must have been observing his body to have gotten the right fit for the two collared shirts and dark boot-cut jeans.
When it was Lincoln’s turn to unwrap the present, Michael avidly watched for his brother’s reaction, convinced that it would reveal how he felt about the gift and furthermore, how he felt towards Michael these days. When the twenty year old lifted the lid off the stiff box, Michael held his breath.
First there was delight, then contemplation, and then a smile that didn’t quite reach his older brother’s eyes. Michael furrowed his brows in deliberation as he attempted to decipher the array of complex expressions on Lincoln’s face but when the older boy pulled the jacket on and enveloped Michael in a tight, firm hug that actually lasted more than one second, the teenager could care less what the minute fractions of facial muscles had or hadn’t conveyed. He simply reveled in the rare contact of his older brother and inhaled the new, overpowering scent of leather from the leather collar.
Then Lincoln began to pull away, unbearably tantalizing in his reluctance to let go. And then Michael had involuntarily clutched him back, incapable of being cold again after he had touched Lincoln like this for the first time in months.
Shit, his mind called out, this isn’t part of the plan. I’m supposed to let him come to me, not the other way around.
And then Lincoln had brought his face within inches of Michael’s. His eyes downcast, he licked his lips and stared transfixed at Michael’s softly bitten ones. He moved forward, and Michael let his eyelids fall shut. Lincoln moved his mouth to his brother’s left ear and whispered in a warm breath.
“Michael,” he swallowed audibly. “I understand what you’re doing, I appreciate it. But I just want you to know that it isn’t going to change anything. I can’t… I won’t go back to what we were, Michael. It doesn’t matter what you do, it doesn’t matter how much I want it, I’m not going back. I’m doing this for you, kiddo.”
Michael had simply kept his eyes closed and allowed his brother to give him one more tentative hug. It was all he could do not to throw the bigger boy off and scream or cry or hit him, but he carefully kept his emotions folded inside to analyze later and sat motionless until Lincoln uncertainly cleaned up the wrapping paper and boxes and left the room.
-----
That was the end of the second plan. However, Michael didn’t believe a word Lincoln had whispered to him during that heady embrace; it did matter what the younger boy did, he could make Lincoln come back. In his lifetime Michael had found that every situation could be channeled towards the desired results, whether it was as easy as one step or as complex as a year’s worth of planning. Actions beget actions, and it only took the correct ones to achieve what he wanted. This is what Michael Scofield had believed all his life and it had yet to fail him. Lincoln was simply a little more stubborn to Michael’s expert manipulations, but that was only because he knew him so well. His brother was still a variable, still something to be influenced and ultimately gained. And Michael couldn’t lose this one, he just couldn’t lose the only person he had left, the only one who could ever understand and still want him with all his insanities and issues.
Michael retreated until the end of the year, biding his time until he could seriously distance himself from the remnants of his failed strategies in order to make a cleaner, more thought-out plan. These things took time.
-----
On December 31st, New Year’s Eve, Lincoln was out for the night and Michael tried not to be hurt by his brother’s increasing absences, consoling himself in the thought that the solitude allowed him space to think.
It isn’t about what I need from Linc anymore, it’s about what he needs from me, he slowly began his thought process, attempting to shift his point of view. So far it had always been about Michael, about what he wanted (and oh, how he wanted), but it was a new year and the significance of renewal released him from the sense of urgency he had felt during the last few months. The fresh sting of their breakup had only incurred short-sighted endeavors at winning his older brother back, but the months of emotional separation had dulled the pain to a severe but manageable ache. With the newfound control of his feelings, Michael could sit back and devise a solid, impenetrable solution.
Linc wants me, but he thinks that I’m too young to know that I want him, he thought, addressing the problem. So what I need to do is to show him that I’m mature enough to handle the complications that our relationship would create while still making him happy.
The seventeen year old furrowed his brow, pacing around the sofa and kitchen, retreating to their bedroom and back, all while diagnosing issues that Lincoln had with their relationship and formulating remedies and back-up remedies.
If I try to verbally convince him that I can make decisions for myself, it’ll only make me sound that much more immature. Besides, it never worked before and I don’t see why it would now. So I need to show Linc that I’m capable. But how do I do that?
Having crossed the apartment nearly a hundred times over the hours of thinking and walking, the boy suddenly felt awfully claustrophobic and frustrated at having gone nowhere but in circles. He stared up at the low ceiling, squinted into the fluorescent light and decided that he needed to get out of the confining building if he were to find some new perspective. Michael patted his pocket to make sure his wallet and keys were in there and after verifying their presence, strode his way over to the front door.
Just as was about to leave the house, the phone by the kitchen cabinet rang. Sighing in annoyance, he debated whether or not to pick up before the persistent rings urged him to go back inside and pick up the phone.
“Hello?,” he asked curtly.
“Hey Mikey!” a cheerful, albeit slightly wobbling voice sounded. “You’re actually home!! What about that um… baby sitter, sitting, uh… actually never mind. Me and Carrie want you to come over!! We’re at Adam’s, he can pick you up you know!!”
Michael sat blankly as he digested the happy, drunken ramblings of the recognizable voice of Jessica Windon. Another fainter voice came through the earpiece.
“Oh god Jess, I can’t believe you called him. You know he’s not going to come,” it said.
Slightly amused at the girls and the coincidence of him wanting to leave the house anyway, he spoke back into the mouthpiece.
“Actually, I can go out. You want to pick me up?”
Therefore twenty minutes later, a sober Adam Davidson and giggling, pink-faced Jessica were at his doorstop and fascinatingly peering around at what they could see in the mysterious apartment that had been privy to no-one until this moment.
“So, this is your place?” Adam asked, looking over Michael’s shoulder and glimpsing a very ordinary kitchen table and two wooden chairs. “Your brother home?”
As nice as the kids at school were, Michael didn’t need them seeing and probing into the one place that he and Lincoln shared these days. He instinctively stepped outside and shut the door behind him and the two teenagers shrugged, knowing that their classmate had always been fiercely protective of his private life. It was already a near miracle that he would be joining them that night for the New Year’s party.
“He’s not home,” Michael answered belatedly.
“Yeah? That’s cool,” the tall soccer player replied as the three of them walked (or swayed, in the girl’s case) over to the green Jeep parked in the outdoor lot.
A mere thirty minutes later, Michael was getting drunk for the first time in his life and counting down loudly with the rest of the high school juniors and seniors as the new year approached. He found himself feeling warm, a different kind of warmth than anything he had ever felt before. It was physical, visceral, like his body was glowing with heat and while it didn’t quite fill the hole that still yawned inside his chest, the spinning room, thumping beat, and dancing students were all sufficiently effective in drowning out the perpetual grief he felt. In this moment he couldn’t even remember why he was so sad all the time, and so the high school junior counted down the last moments of the year along with the boisterous crowd and the television announcer.
“6!... 5!... 4!...”
Michael suddenly stopped yelling after his mouth formed the number “four” and the stared in amazement as the solution to the problem that had been plaguing him all evening emerged seemingly from nowhere.
“3!”
Michael realized that he needed to know this feeling, that he needed to experience and explore this side of humanity that everybody else in the room seemed to welcome easily but that he was just feeling for the first time. The freedom, the mindless celebration of anything and everything, it was so foreign yet comfortable. He needed to feel this more. He needed to feel something other than the necessitation of Lincoln’s presence and touch that had swallowed his life ever since the two boys had left the Donovans.
“2!!”
He would do it and he would be them, he would be these gorgeous writhing youths and he would become what his brother always feared yet desired for his younger brother.
“1!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!” and somewhere somebody turned up the music even louder and Michael would be everything for his brother and in the end he would still come back to him. And Lincoln would accept him when he had nothing to be afraid of anymore and they could all live happily ever after, and it was somewhere in between imagining Lincoln rutting against him and the image of the two being surrounded by cute babies where Michael passed out on the hallway floor.
-----
When the seventeen year old boy finally arrived at the front door of his apartment, dressed in yesterday’s clothes and stinking of late night partying, his older brother was there to snatch the door open and shove the youth in, ignoring the other teenager Adam whose eyes had widened with recognition at the older sibling and then recoiled as the door slammed in his face.
“Where the fuck were you??” Lincoln asked heatedly, once inside.
“Where the fuck were you? I was just out with some friends,” Michael shot back, irritated at the unreasonable interrogation as well as the overly loud voice. That was his first time getting drunk after all and all he really wanted to do was lie down and try to pass out in blissful unconsciousness again. Alas, Lincoln was far from finished.
“I don’t need to explain myself to you, you’re the minor in this family--”
“As you so often remind me,” Michael interrupted. Fuck, this isn’t how I want this to go, he thought hazily, just wishing Lincoln would leave him alone to recuperate in peace. He’d discovered his new direction for wooing his older brother but he hadn’t had all the details worked out yet. Somehow he imagined that antagonizing the older boy wasn’t going to help.
Yet fortunately, and unexpectedly, Michael’s bitter retort had actually succeeded in quieting the older boy.
After a pause, “Look, I didn’t mean to yell. I just didn’t think you’d go out last night.” He caustically thought, Nor did I think you’d come stumbling in at 11 AM smelling like alcohol and vomit.
“Yeah, well. I did, it was sort of on a whim. So uh… I’m going to go to now,” the younger brother said, wincing as the nausea threatened to bubble up. Michael slowly trudged towards the bathroom.
As the door clicked shut, Lincoln finally gathered his things and left the apartment for the loan shark’s, needing to meet that month’s exorbitant payment with the cash he’d only just made the night before. As he drove towards the seedier side of Chicago to the dingy location where he’d originally borrowed the 90 grand, he let his thoughts run free. He first noted with dismay at knowing that his baby brother had been well and drunk the night before, then squashed his hypocritical anger and told himself that his night was spent no better. In fact, it was spent in much, much worse settings than at some rich kid’s house party and he swiftly refrained from thinking too much about his own night either. Lincoln wasn’t proud of his method of making money or alleviating stress in the recent weeks but resolved to ignore his deeply entrenched guilt and vague disgust with himself, because there were more important things at stake.
Anything he could do to keep his hands off his beautiful brother and those penetrating blue eyes was something that Lincoln had to continue doing. Because from the looks it of last night, Michael had a life waiting for him, a normal and hopefully not-too-wild life that would let him finally become whatever it was that he could be. An so in the meantime, Lincoln would have to lick his wounds and watch out for his little brother from afar. Even if it meant dealing and dabbling in drugs, even if it meant sleeping with easy women to stave off the loneliness. Anything to keep his mind and inappropriate touches away from Michael.
Back | Next
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:
aeroport_artRating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 3,488
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Yikes, stayed up from 10 PM to 7 AM to write this chapter. Go jet lag, huh? Breathe Love is also on prisonbreakfic.com and is actually the more finalized version (I can't help but keep tweaking things :P) so if you'd rather read it there, sans wonky decimal point chapters, you can find it under the same screen name. On the other hand I'm going to keep posting chapters here first, lol. Anyway hope you all enjoy the chapter and as always 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 1.1
Chapter 1.2
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 4.1
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
4 months later (January 1991)
The days following the aftermath of their break-up must have been some of the most excruciating of Michael’s seventeen years. Sure, there had been bad times before. Over a decade ago his drunken, absent mess of a father had left the family for good, stranding his wife and her two young sons to fend for themselves. But at that time, his mother had wrapped her arms around the two boys and smoothed the hurt away. When she died in turn, Lincoln was there gripping Michael’s shoulder with a strong arm and steeling the pain away for both of them like a rock, letting the pounding ocean crash over him alone. Over the years the relentless waves of tribulation had whittled the older brother’s own foundation away but his inherent strength had kept the fragile younger boy aloft and safe. Michael had had his martyrs, loved ones who had faced the brunt of misfortune for him. But then suddenly, after two glimmering years of hope and warm love, he had nothing, no one. The shock of having everything snatched away from him in one instant had been enough to drive him mad.
Oh, he’d tried everything. His first knee-jerk reaction was rebellion, a month of spitting anger and incompliance with anything Lincoln asked of him. He refused to do his homework, he refused to complete his college applications, he shut his ears from whatever weak excuses or overtures his older brother had offered and resolutely ignored the older boy unless there were any signs of him repairing his mistake. In Michael’s head, he’d had it all worked out. Rebel when Lincoln was being stubborn, but reward the older boy when he gave him something to work with; a brush of skin, a break in his voice, a hushed whisper of his name. If Michael could only train Lincoln to be good, to want him back, then Michael would do whatever his older brother wanted.
For weeks he applied this equation single-mindedly; when his brother had gripped his wrist to keep him from leaving the room so rudely, Michael had done his homework that night, secretly relieved to finish a day’s worth of work since the deluge of incomplete assignments had been giving him a guilty conscience.
A few days later Lincoln had come by and kneeled next to the bed before Michael was fully asleep (the older boy had been using the couch or sometimes never coming home at all). As he kept his breathing regular while straining his ears to listen to the deeper rushes of air from his older brother’s lungs, Michael was startled to feel a trail of electric nerves igniting along his cheek. Not knowing whether it was the intense anticipation that prompted the sensation or if Lincoln had really caressed him, Michael decided to compensate the older boy nonetheless and had attended all his classes the next day.
When Lincoln refused to meet his eyes for four days straight, Michael picked a fight at school and landed himself a week’s worth of detentions that he had no intention of attending. But when Lincoln came back from work that day, stinking of lingering cigarette smoke, he stared into Michael’s unblinking eyes with such despondence and pain that Michael had gone to the detentions after all.
When Michael woke in the night a week later and tiptoed to the wan light that was peeking beneath the closed bathroom door, he heard the sound of a fist roughly and wetly slapping against skin and his own name groaned from his brother’s lips as the telltale noise stilled to a taut climax. The labored, hitching gasps that followed were mirrored by Michael’s own and the next day he had filled out his college application forms.
They were making progress, he’d thought. He only needed to keep to his plan; feed Lincoln a trail of crumbs, encouraging satisfactory behavior and punishing him for being distant. But when Lincoln finally worked out that his little brother’s seemingly erratic behavior was in fact harboring a theme, that the younger and admittedly smarter boy was treating him like some puppy that had to be trained, he balked and disappeared for two days straight. Michael had never worried so much in his life and when his brother finally came back, disheveled and disoriented from god knows what, the teenager decided that he needed a new plan.
-----
From November to Christmas, Michael lavished his older brother with his new strategy: one of obedience. If rebellion would only make Lincoln strand him alone in their empty apartment and even hurt himself with drugs or alcohol, then surely a countering plan would predictably yield a countering result. So he executed this unfalteringly, his stratagem of being a perfect, good boy. He tried not to think that this new plan was subconsciously drafted so that he wouldn’t fail out of junior year of high school; his actions were for Lincoln and Lincoln only. The fact that he could stay on track academically was merely a pleasant side effect and really, would only give him more leverage in the future.
So he raced the clock before midterms, furiously completing old assignments on top of the make-up work and extra credit like a robot set on fast-forward. When he’d had everything turned in and had explained the situation to all his bewildered teachers (a death in the family, a close aunt), Michael applied this factory-line work ethic to pleasing his brother in other agonizingly platonic ways. When the brother came back from work the small apartment would always be sparkling clean; the trash was taken out on the right days, the refrigerator re-stocked every Sunday, and dinner infallibly prepared every single night. Before he went to bed Michael would set out the next day’s breakfast (cookies or the cereal box and bowl placed on the table, sometimes just some fruit), and in the mornings he would pack a lunch for his brother to take to work. He wondered if Lincoln’s coworkers ever noticed that his brother was suddenly being taken care of; his coveralls always freshly laundered and a neat crisp brown bag taken to work every day unerringly included an appetizer, entrée, dessert, and drink.
Michael frantically fulfilled the role of a perfect lover (without the sex bit, unfortunately) over the two months and was pleased to find his brother now regularly washed and clean-shaven even on weekends, smiling more and being indulgent in his affection for Michael with brotherly punches and quick hugs that always seemed to end abruptly and awkwardly. The younger brother strove to keep the breakneck pace up, convinced that come September when he turned eighteen, his brother could no longer refuse his educated, adult decision to be with him.
On optimistic days Michael would imagine their reunion, never forgetting their old agreement that Lincoln would finally embrace and fill him in the most intimate of ways once Michael was of age. The simple thought of being completely and emotionally full of Lincoln’s body, of Lincoln’s acknowledgement of their undeniable relationship in the action of making love, even just the idea of his older brother moving deep inside him was enough to make the seventeen year old boy scrub toilets and ace exams for weeks straight.
It wasn’t until Christmas Eve that his plan showed any signs of weakness. Over the winter break, satisfied with the straight A’s he’d received for first semester, Michael was galvanized into accepting the tutoring job his counselor had recommended and had worked four hours every day during the hours when his brother wasn’t home. Although Lincoln had never allowed Michael to use the inheritance money, insisting that he save it for college tuition, at $50 an hour teaching physics, math, and English, Michael still had an increasing amount of money to spend on Lincoln’s Christmas present while still putting aside most of it to help with that month’s bills. After two weeks of agonizing over what exactly to get his older brother, Michael decided on a new leather jacket. The old one of Lincoln’s was secondhand from the beginning and had been a little short in the wrists for years now. Besides, Michael felt that it was alright to treat himself to some eye candy for all the hard work he’d put in the past couple months; Lincoln always had looked disturbingly sexy and carefree in his worn, black jacket. He could only imagine how hot he would be in a shiny new one that fit and would lend him that intimidating, unruffled look that was so singularly Lincoln Burrows.
So, he spent an afternoon with Veronica (she just happened to be back that winter from abroad) picking out a good brand with a classic style for the present and had it wrapped by the sales clerk. On Christmas Eve Lincoln was home early, as was his annual tradition, although this year he was regrettably decent and clothed. Nonetheless the two boys casually traded gifts. Michael had been extraordinarily pleased with the new clothes his brother had purchased for him (the boy had shot up four inches over the past year and was now almost eye to eye with Lincoln), boyishly content in the thought that his older brother must have been observing his body to have gotten the right fit for the two collared shirts and dark boot-cut jeans.
When it was Lincoln’s turn to unwrap the present, Michael avidly watched for his brother’s reaction, convinced that it would reveal how he felt about the gift and furthermore, how he felt towards Michael these days. When the twenty year old lifted the lid off the stiff box, Michael held his breath.
First there was delight, then contemplation, and then a smile that didn’t quite reach his older brother’s eyes. Michael furrowed his brows in deliberation as he attempted to decipher the array of complex expressions on Lincoln’s face but when the older boy pulled the jacket on and enveloped Michael in a tight, firm hug that actually lasted more than one second, the teenager could care less what the minute fractions of facial muscles had or hadn’t conveyed. He simply reveled in the rare contact of his older brother and inhaled the new, overpowering scent of leather from the leather collar.
Then Lincoln began to pull away, unbearably tantalizing in his reluctance to let go. And then Michael had involuntarily clutched him back, incapable of being cold again after he had touched Lincoln like this for the first time in months.
Shit, his mind called out, this isn’t part of the plan. I’m supposed to let him come to me, not the other way around.
And then Lincoln had brought his face within inches of Michael’s. His eyes downcast, he licked his lips and stared transfixed at Michael’s softly bitten ones. He moved forward, and Michael let his eyelids fall shut. Lincoln moved his mouth to his brother’s left ear and whispered in a warm breath.
“Michael,” he swallowed audibly. “I understand what you’re doing, I appreciate it. But I just want you to know that it isn’t going to change anything. I can’t… I won’t go back to what we were, Michael. It doesn’t matter what you do, it doesn’t matter how much I want it, I’m not going back. I’m doing this for you, kiddo.”
Michael had simply kept his eyes closed and allowed his brother to give him one more tentative hug. It was all he could do not to throw the bigger boy off and scream or cry or hit him, but he carefully kept his emotions folded inside to analyze later and sat motionless until Lincoln uncertainly cleaned up the wrapping paper and boxes and left the room.
-----
That was the end of the second plan. However, Michael didn’t believe a word Lincoln had whispered to him during that heady embrace; it did matter what the younger boy did, he could make Lincoln come back. In his lifetime Michael had found that every situation could be channeled towards the desired results, whether it was as easy as one step or as complex as a year’s worth of planning. Actions beget actions, and it only took the correct ones to achieve what he wanted. This is what Michael Scofield had believed all his life and it had yet to fail him. Lincoln was simply a little more stubborn to Michael’s expert manipulations, but that was only because he knew him so well. His brother was still a variable, still something to be influenced and ultimately gained. And Michael couldn’t lose this one, he just couldn’t lose the only person he had left, the only one who could ever understand and still want him with all his insanities and issues.
Michael retreated until the end of the year, biding his time until he could seriously distance himself from the remnants of his failed strategies in order to make a cleaner, more thought-out plan. These things took time.
-----
On December 31st, New Year’s Eve, Lincoln was out for the night and Michael tried not to be hurt by his brother’s increasing absences, consoling himself in the thought that the solitude allowed him space to think.
It isn’t about what I need from Linc anymore, it’s about what he needs from me, he slowly began his thought process, attempting to shift his point of view. So far it had always been about Michael, about what he wanted (and oh, how he wanted), but it was a new year and the significance of renewal released him from the sense of urgency he had felt during the last few months. The fresh sting of their breakup had only incurred short-sighted endeavors at winning his older brother back, but the months of emotional separation had dulled the pain to a severe but manageable ache. With the newfound control of his feelings, Michael could sit back and devise a solid, impenetrable solution.
Linc wants me, but he thinks that I’m too young to know that I want him, he thought, addressing the problem. So what I need to do is to show him that I’m mature enough to handle the complications that our relationship would create while still making him happy.
The seventeen year old furrowed his brow, pacing around the sofa and kitchen, retreating to their bedroom and back, all while diagnosing issues that Lincoln had with their relationship and formulating remedies and back-up remedies.
If I try to verbally convince him that I can make decisions for myself, it’ll only make me sound that much more immature. Besides, it never worked before and I don’t see why it would now. So I need to show Linc that I’m capable. But how do I do that?
Having crossed the apartment nearly a hundred times over the hours of thinking and walking, the boy suddenly felt awfully claustrophobic and frustrated at having gone nowhere but in circles. He stared up at the low ceiling, squinted into the fluorescent light and decided that he needed to get out of the confining building if he were to find some new perspective. Michael patted his pocket to make sure his wallet and keys were in there and after verifying their presence, strode his way over to the front door.
Just as was about to leave the house, the phone by the kitchen cabinet rang. Sighing in annoyance, he debated whether or not to pick up before the persistent rings urged him to go back inside and pick up the phone.
“Hello?,” he asked curtly.
“Hey Mikey!” a cheerful, albeit slightly wobbling voice sounded. “You’re actually home!! What about that um… baby sitter, sitting, uh… actually never mind. Me and Carrie want you to come over!! We’re at Adam’s, he can pick you up you know!!”
Michael sat blankly as he digested the happy, drunken ramblings of the recognizable voice of Jessica Windon. Another fainter voice came through the earpiece.
“Oh god Jess, I can’t believe you called him. You know he’s not going to come,” it said.
Slightly amused at the girls and the coincidence of him wanting to leave the house anyway, he spoke back into the mouthpiece.
“Actually, I can go out. You want to pick me up?”
Therefore twenty minutes later, a sober Adam Davidson and giggling, pink-faced Jessica were at his doorstop and fascinatingly peering around at what they could see in the mysterious apartment that had been privy to no-one until this moment.
“So, this is your place?” Adam asked, looking over Michael’s shoulder and glimpsing a very ordinary kitchen table and two wooden chairs. “Your brother home?”
As nice as the kids at school were, Michael didn’t need them seeing and probing into the one place that he and Lincoln shared these days. He instinctively stepped outside and shut the door behind him and the two teenagers shrugged, knowing that their classmate had always been fiercely protective of his private life. It was already a near miracle that he would be joining them that night for the New Year’s party.
“He’s not home,” Michael answered belatedly.
“Yeah? That’s cool,” the tall soccer player replied as the three of them walked (or swayed, in the girl’s case) over to the green Jeep parked in the outdoor lot.
A mere thirty minutes later, Michael was getting drunk for the first time in his life and counting down loudly with the rest of the high school juniors and seniors as the new year approached. He found himself feeling warm, a different kind of warmth than anything he had ever felt before. It was physical, visceral, like his body was glowing with heat and while it didn’t quite fill the hole that still yawned inside his chest, the spinning room, thumping beat, and dancing students were all sufficiently effective in drowning out the perpetual grief he felt. In this moment he couldn’t even remember why he was so sad all the time, and so the high school junior counted down the last moments of the year along with the boisterous crowd and the television announcer.
“6!... 5!... 4!...”
Michael suddenly stopped yelling after his mouth formed the number “four” and the stared in amazement as the solution to the problem that had been plaguing him all evening emerged seemingly from nowhere.
“3!”
Michael realized that he needed to know this feeling, that he needed to experience and explore this side of humanity that everybody else in the room seemed to welcome easily but that he was just feeling for the first time. The freedom, the mindless celebration of anything and everything, it was so foreign yet comfortable. He needed to feel this more. He needed to feel something other than the necessitation of Lincoln’s presence and touch that had swallowed his life ever since the two boys had left the Donovans.
“2!!”
He would do it and he would be them, he would be these gorgeous writhing youths and he would become what his brother always feared yet desired for his younger brother.
“1!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!” and somewhere somebody turned up the music even louder and Michael would be everything for his brother and in the end he would still come back to him. And Lincoln would accept him when he had nothing to be afraid of anymore and they could all live happily ever after, and it was somewhere in between imagining Lincoln rutting against him and the image of the two being surrounded by cute babies where Michael passed out on the hallway floor.
-----
When the seventeen year old boy finally arrived at the front door of his apartment, dressed in yesterday’s clothes and stinking of late night partying, his older brother was there to snatch the door open and shove the youth in, ignoring the other teenager Adam whose eyes had widened with recognition at the older sibling and then recoiled as the door slammed in his face.
“Where the fuck were you??” Lincoln asked heatedly, once inside.
“Where the fuck were you? I was just out with some friends,” Michael shot back, irritated at the unreasonable interrogation as well as the overly loud voice. That was his first time getting drunk after all and all he really wanted to do was lie down and try to pass out in blissful unconsciousness again. Alas, Lincoln was far from finished.
“I don’t need to explain myself to you, you’re the minor in this family--”
“As you so often remind me,” Michael interrupted. Fuck, this isn’t how I want this to go, he thought hazily, just wishing Lincoln would leave him alone to recuperate in peace. He’d discovered his new direction for wooing his older brother but he hadn’t had all the details worked out yet. Somehow he imagined that antagonizing the older boy wasn’t going to help.
Yet fortunately, and unexpectedly, Michael’s bitter retort had actually succeeded in quieting the older boy.
After a pause, “Look, I didn’t mean to yell. I just didn’t think you’d go out last night.” He caustically thought, Nor did I think you’d come stumbling in at 11 AM smelling like alcohol and vomit.
“Yeah, well. I did, it was sort of on a whim. So uh… I’m going to go to now,” the younger brother said, wincing as the nausea threatened to bubble up. Michael slowly trudged towards the bathroom.
As the door clicked shut, Lincoln finally gathered his things and left the apartment for the loan shark’s, needing to meet that month’s exorbitant payment with the cash he’d only just made the night before. As he drove towards the seedier side of Chicago to the dingy location where he’d originally borrowed the 90 grand, he let his thoughts run free. He first noted with dismay at knowing that his baby brother had been well and drunk the night before, then squashed his hypocritical anger and told himself that his night was spent no better. In fact, it was spent in much, much worse settings than at some rich kid’s house party and he swiftly refrained from thinking too much about his own night either. Lincoln wasn’t proud of his method of making money or alleviating stress in the recent weeks but resolved to ignore his deeply entrenched guilt and vague disgust with himself, because there were more important things at stake.
Anything he could do to keep his hands off his beautiful brother and those penetrating blue eyes was something that Lincoln had to continue doing. Because from the looks it of last night, Michael had a life waiting for him, a normal and hopefully not-too-wild life that would let him finally become whatever it was that he could be. An so in the meantime, Lincoln would have to lick his wounds and watch out for his little brother from afar. Even if it meant dealing and dabbling in drugs, even if it meant sleeping with easy women to stave off the loneliness. Anything to keep his mind and inappropriate touches away from Michael.
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no subject
Date: 2006-09-24 06:05 pm (UTC)I like these stories. I like that you take your time, not rushing things. I like your insight.
It's a wonderful serie, very believable.
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Date: 2006-09-25 03:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-25 04:04 am (UTC)*http://mooyoo.livejournal.com/59888.html?thread=809712#t809712
no subject
Date: 2006-09-25 04:23 am (UTC)There I used all the vocab words! *cackles*
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Date: 2006-09-25 01:58 pm (UTC)Smuff is good! And as Mooyoo argues, it's more than fluffy PWP:
And hmm, smuff vs. PWP. I definitely think there's a difference. PWP generally means that there's no discernable plot in the fic, just sex and maybe some emotions behind the sex. With smuff there's a suggestion of plot, some depth, even if it's simply happy and nice and fluffy. Fluff can still be plotty, more so than PWP, I think, so I would think smutty fluff would have a bit more meat to it than a PWP (not that there's anything wrong with PWPs, of course).
So, in conclusion, please more 4.somethings? I'll be good, I promise!
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Date: 2006-09-25 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-24 06:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-25 03:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-25 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-25 06:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-25 09:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-25 01:19 pm (UTC)*off to read the next chapter*
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Date: 2006-09-25 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 12:02 pm (UTC)Strikes me that both have a kind of plan; one to keep the distance, one to do away with their distance altogether. Michael, with his superior intellect, would have my money on him to succeed because poor Lincoln has so many other things to worry about and Michael is a master of strategy anyway.
I do find this manipulative Michael a little scary! But I still want him to have what he desires most!
Another great chapter and...yes, I think I have time for another!!
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 08:26 pm (UTC)Yay another chapter down :3
no subject
Date: 2006-11-24 10:34 am (UTC)*hugs*