Fic: Breathe Love (11/?)
Oct. 12th, 2006 07:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: Breathe Love (11/?)
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeroport_art
Rating: PG-13 (up to NC-17)
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 3,005
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Btw, the flashback on the lake is basically ripped off of Samuel Beckett's play, "Krapp's Last Tape". A *great* play that breaks my heart every time I read it. It's entirety is also online for perusal if you just google it! :D:D:D Anyway, Breathe Love is also on prisonbreakfic.com 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. 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.
For previous chapters, ( Click here )
Chapter 11
4 years later (October 2000)
“I said forty grand, wiseass. This shit’s been cooked up already, you think we can’t tell crack from cocaine?” Lincoln tossed the weighty bag of powder onto the low table between the four men, some of the contents spilling out into a fan against the glass.
The two men sitting across from Burrows and Mowry exchanged a glance. The one with the low-brim hat licked his teeth and leaned forward.
“Alright, forty. Can’t blame us for trying though, you samfis get so much profits off them rich kids anyway,” the words slithering out of his mouth.
At the insult, Lincoln lunged forward and clenched a viselike grip around the man’s thin neck.
“You think I don’t know what that means?,” he hissed as the victim’s partner tensed, his hand hovering over the pistol butt sticking out of his pocket. The air thickened in tension as all four men in the room waited for a movement, a signal to relax or fly into action.
“I said okay already, bredrin. Forty thousand it is. We done here,” he finally choked out, feigning casualness but his hands nervously scrabbled at Lincoln’s veined one. When the 30-year old relaxed his grip, the atmosphere visibly loosened.
“Alright.”
Lincoln glanced at Mowry and the muscled man pulled the bulletproof case out from underneath his legs and deftly unlocked it. Rows of fresh, crisp green lined the container and he reached in, plucking a coil out and handed it across the table. The trafficker examined the cash carefully before he nodded curtly, signifying the end of their business transaction.
The four men stood up out of their chairs and shook hands, sealing the deal.
“Thanks for the business,” said Lincoln as he put his hands back into the pockets of his grey slacks.
“A pleasure,” the man sneered sardonically. The two traffickers then turned around, leaving the small warehouse with the glinting silver briefcase in tow. Lincoln turned around and pulled his black cell phone out of his pocket, dialing and fitting the speaker to his ear.
“Hello, Julio. It’s done, get your drivers to pick it up by three. Forty grand, I told you, didn’t I? Yeah. Wait, what? Flight’s at 9, can’t make it,” Lincoln frowned as his boss cursed in Spanish. “Hey man, don’t blame me, you’re the one who booked it. I told you to get me first-class on the five o’ clock. Yeah fuck you too.”
The 30-year old clapped the clamshell shut and slipped it back into his pocket.
The two men waited until a white van pulled up to the garage and the man inside identified himself as Julio’s local transporter. After the three had loaded the car up with the goods, Lincoln and Mowry watched it drive off.
Business completed. Lincoln felt a sense of satisfaction emanate through his body, reveling in yet another job well done. He’d managed to knock down the price of the cocaine; while it had certainly been cooked a bit, the drugs still warranted at least a fifty thousand dollar price tag.
Damn, he was getting good. He didn’t know whether to be proud or disgusted with himself.
“C’mon Mowry, it’s been a long afternoon. I’ll get you lunch,” Lincoln said, pounding the slightly older man on his beefy shoulder as they watched the white van disappear in the dust and distance.
“Yeah, okay. I could really go for some fucking tasty ribs right now. Saw a joint on the corner,” Johnson Mowry smiled over at his longtime co-worker.
“Ribs it is, then.”
-----
6:30 PM there’s a knock on the door and Michael looks up from his cereal-and-Tribune break, then pushes back his Mackintosh chair (recently bought, set of four, expensive as hell but so worth it).
They’re early, he thinks as he strides over to the large, sliding door of his flat.
“Sorry I’m early, Michael,” Lisa appears, frayed, as she pushes her eight-year old son into the spacious room. “Got called in to work, Susan got in an accident so I have to cover her shift.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’ll be fine, just some bruises and stuff but hospital’s keeping her overnight to be safe. Anyway, sorry to dump him on you like this, but thanks!”
The mother quickly crouches down and smooths the hair of her young son.
“I’ll see you Sunday, baby. Don’t give uncle Michael any trouble now, okay?”
The boy nods, hair flopping down over his grey eyes.
“I love you,” she presses a cursory but heartfelt kiss again his forehead.
“Love you too, Mom.”
Lisa smiles goodbye to Michael before turning around and going back down the narrow flight of concrete stairs. Michael rolls the heavy door shut with a loud bang, listening to it echo off the hardwood floors and smooth walls.
“So, LJ. It’s Saturday, got anything you want to do?”
The boy looks up at his uncle for awhile before adamantly shaking his head.
“I don’t feel like going out.”
“Okay well… how about this. Come with me to the grocery store, I bet you haven’t had dinner yet.”
LJ remains quiet but his stomach growls in agreement. The boy grumpily wraps his thin arms around his belly.
“Right, so. We’ll leave soon, just hold on for a bit,” Michael pats his nephew on the head awkwardly, goes back to his kitchen table and downs the dregs of his lukewarm cereal before placing the dishes in the sink. He doubles back, swipes his keys and wallet off the nearby countertop and slides the door open again.
“C’mon, LJ,” Michael urges at the motionless boy. He’s acting awfully strange today, he frowns, noting the distinct lack of life in the usually hyperactive boy. Finally the small blonde moves forward and follows his uncle out the door.
They were at the local market within minutes, where the despondent young boy follows his uncle who is picking out vegetables and ingredients for a pasta dish. Michael had long stopped any attempts of engaging his nephew in conversation, remembering that when he himself was being reticent, he usually had good reason to be. Plus, the sensitive boy was prone to sulking and this was a clear symptom of it; LJ would tell him what was wrong eventually.
They get home by 7:30, a late dinner is made by 8:30, and Michael has managed to amuse LJ for the rest of the night by popping in the Tarzan rental. He winces as Phil Collins croons yet another melody; if he’d known the singer dominated the entire soundtrack all by his lonesome, Michael wouldn’t have gotten this particular film. Nonetheless, he accompanies his nephew, stifling the intense urge to retreat to his study and work on his laptop in peace.
Credits roll. Michael quickly nips the ending theme song in the bud with the click of the power button.
“Look LJ, I let you stay up past your bedtime. Isn’t your uncle Mikey cool?” Michael sardonically drawls, finally letting the annoyance of having to take care of a petulant child on a Saturday night (not that he ever does anything other than work, anyway) reverberate through his voice.
“No.”
“…Look kid, you know I love you, but you’re killing me here. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t make me call your father.”
At this, LJ suddenly wibbles, his baby face crinkling up in intense, child-like sadness.
“D-Dad wouldn’t even be around so not like it matters!!”
Michael stops antagonizing the kid and kneels down to look his nephew in the face.
“What do you mean? Where’s Linc?”
“H-he’s not around anymore, he’s always on *sniff* some business trip or something, him and Mom are always yelling and Dad just swears a lot and he *gulp* he’s never around anymore!!”
Michael rubs the boy soothingly on his arm, not sure of what to do with his hands other than that. A pouting, taciturn child he could handle, but not one who’s trying not to cry and failing. Two big fat drops of salty tears roll down LJ’s face.
“Hey, hey. Stop that,” Michael pleads. He wonders if he could press the boy for more information without instigating an eight-year old meltdown. “So uh, where’s Linc now? And what do you mean he’s not around, like he left your mom for good?”
He tries not to sound too hopeful.
“Dad hates me I just know it he yelled at me before he left last week because I got a bad grade on a math test and he hasn’t come back and he and Mom were fighting and I heard my name a lot and *hiccough* uncle Mikey, Dad hates me!!!”
Michael’s eyes are wide open as he attempts to discern words from his nephew’s distraught monologue. He hears something about how Lincoln hasn’t been around for a week and that he hates his son (which Michael severely doubts) and suddenly he has a wailing boy in front of him to contend with.
“Hey LJ, c’mon. Let’s go to bed, it’s late,” he says, standing up and pulling the crying boy to the guest bedroom by the hand. By the time the LJ’s been hastily tucked into bed, the boy is only hiccoughing and dabbing at his damp eyes with his forearms. Michael heaves a sigh of relief.
“Don’t worry about your dad, LJ. I know for a fact he loves you very much and he isn’t going to stop just because of some school thing. I promise,” Michael imitates his best impression of a Good Uncle. It seems to work as LJ blinks his long lashes in acquiescence.
“Anything else I can get for you before you go to sleep?”
Suddenly the little blonde is dry-eyed and bashful, twisting the blanket between his still-pudgy hands. He mumbles.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What?”
“Um… Mom tells me a story before I sleep,” he hints, an eight-year-old attempt at subtlety.
“You want a story.” Michael isn’t really the knights and princesses kind of guy.
“A happy one?” LJ blinks up hopefully and Michael caves immediately. How do you say no to your nephew who thinks his father doesn’t love him anymore?
“Okay okay. A happy story.” Michael hoists himself up onto the bed and makes himself comfortable atop the blankets, lacing his fingers together behind his head. LJ quickly snuggles in and Michael forces himself not to push the boy off.
“Happy story.” Michael thinks for a few minutes, decides against making up a some silly tale and instead searches the database of memories in his mind, filtering out the mundane, the sad, the complicated. Soon all he is left with are the heartbreaking and, as per requested, the happy recollections. All he has are memories of Lincoln, he realizes with a start.
Lincoln. He doesn’t know where to start.
“Hey kid, give me a prompt.”
“A what?”
“Give me a subject, what should I talk about?”
“Oh. I want…,” LJ thinks seriously. “Disneyland!” Last year the boy had gone on a trip to the Magical Kingdom with his best friend and her family and LJ had never quite gotten over the thrill of meeting Mickey Mouse in person.
Disneyland… Michael tries to recall the last time he’d gone to a theme park. Sifting through the cobwebs, he finally digs out the memory.
Nine, ten years ago, the Dupage county fair on a summer night. Michael, 16, Lincoln, 20. Back when they were still… something more than brothers who saw each other less than once a month.
Michael shut his eyes. He felt his nephew wriggle against his side and opened them again.
“This was when I was younger, in high school,” he began haltingly. Michael didn’t think it was in anybody’s best interest if he told LJ a romantic tale involving his uncle and father, so he struggled to form an age-appropriate version.
“It was summer back when Dupage still had its county fairs every year. You know, pigs, cows, apple pie contests. But at night, they’d keep it open for the rides and midway games. The fairgrounds would be all lit up, like a Christmas tree. One night, I was just at home like usual; I didn’t think I was going to go. We didn’t go out very much, your father and I. But that night, he came home early from work. He didn’t say why, just that his boss let him go. I knew that wasn’t true, but I didn’t bother questioning him. I was just… glad to see him. Maybe like how you feel glad when you see your father. He’s always been a busy guy.”
He felt LJ nod against his ribcage.
“So he came home early. Dragged me out in the middle of MacGyver, told me to get out of my PJs and get dressed. I changed, sort of reluctantly because I had no idea what was going on. But your Dad looked so excited so I just went along with it. He drove us maybe ten, fifteen minutes away. For miles all you could see on the freeway was the Ferris wheel, all lit up with white lights, and it was obvious we were going there. I asked your dad, We’re driving off to play at a county fair? and all he said was Hell yes.”
LJ started giggling. “What a dork, it’s just a Ferris wheel!”
“Hey, hey. Have you ever been on one before?”
The boy stilled and then sheepishly shook his head.
“It’s fun, I swear. So we got there, paid our tickets and just… let go. At first I didn’t want to do the shooting games or beanbag throws, it was kind of embarrassing. But Linc got really into it, sniping cans and stuff and winning these huge stuffed animals.
He had been embarrassed, that was certain. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t secretly pleased, having Lincoln tear through the midway games like they weren’t rigged, piling sweetly dilapidated bears and animals into Michael’s cradled arms.
“After he pretty much beat every game, except the basketball one because I won it first, we hit the food stalls and bought all kinds of things you can only get at a fair. Like cotton candy, chocolate-dipped frozen bananas—
where Lincoln had licked the cold shell with a pointed tongue, eye-fucking his little brother as he fellated his dessert—
Michael coughed. LJ nudged him to continue. “Anyway, it was pretty great. But the best part was the boat ride they had. $5 and you could row your own boat, so long as there was an adult. And by then Linc was old enough, so we rented one and he took the oars. On land the fair was really loud you know; music, people yelling and laughing, the sound of pellet guns and milk bottles crashing. But out on that lake, the sounds just drifted away… it got quieter and quieter, we rowed out so far.
The stars barely visible against the velvet drape of the navy sky, the sound of lapping water and faraway carousel melodies. Lincoln setting the oars down and stretching out, taking up the whole boat and Michael laughing, laughing at his brother’s impudence, his brother’s audacity as he slowly, obscenely spread his legs.
’There’s room for you here, Mikey.’ A quirked smile, hooded eyes. A hand rubbing suggestively at his inner thigh, absentmindedly tracing the seam line of Lincoln’s denims.
“It… it was so still. The other boats were closer to shore, and everything was in the background. When Linc stopped rowing, we drifted further, further, until we hit the water plants at the opposite end. The stalks crushed down, stopping the boat. Your father…
lowered his gaze, masking his expression as he waited patiently. Soon Michael was over him, on him, falling between the strong legs and resting, chest-to-chest with his older brother.
Lincoln opened his eyes. Let him in.
The world stilled to a single frame where Michael lost himself, drowning in the warmth that emanated from his brother’s body. The smell of greenery and summer evenings filled his lungs, but he didn’t remember breathing; he didn’t remember needing to because his brother was doing it for him, filling his chest with something physical, something so palpable that it had since become his life source.
He’d never quite learned how to breathe on his own since then.
“Uncle Mikey? Then what happened?”
“Your father… we… talked. We talked for a very long time that night. I’d never felt so close to him before, I mean, this was it. He was it, my only family, my only blood. I just felt…” he struggled to articulate himself, but there were no words. “Connected, sort of. Grounded. Like I wasn’t alone, that somebody was sharing my life with me. Promising to care about me, forever.”
Michael didn’t know what he was doing, trying to explain his anima to an eight-year old boy. But his nephew nodded resolutely.
“I know how that feels. When Dad hugs me it feels like that too.”
Michael looked down at the downy blonde head for the first time since beginning his story and focused on the boy that was in his arms. He didn’t know how to feel…skeptical, amused? But he felt his heart tug a little and Michael was suddenly flooded with a sense of kinship and understanding. He tenderly pet the messy hair, gathering it off his chest and smoothing it down the back of the boy’s small neck. LJ made a content noise and his uncle continued, scratching the boy behind the ears and stroking his hair until only the sound of the boy’s even breathing could be heard.
Michael closed his eyes.
‘I love you, Mikey’ he’d said breathlessly, cupping his little brother’s face as Michael dipped back down to taste his addiction. They’d made love that night, pitching and twining together to the tempo of the lapping waves, drinking each other in like water. Afterwards they’d lain together, rocking side-to-side and cradled together beneath the endlessly dark sky.
Back | Next
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:
aeroport_artRating: PG-13 (up to NC-17)
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 3,005
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Btw, the flashback on the lake is basically ripped off of Samuel Beckett's play, "Krapp's Last Tape". A *great* play that breaks my heart every time I read it. It's entirety is also online for perusal if you just google it! :D:D:D Anyway, Breathe Love is also on prisonbreakfic.com 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. 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.
For previous chapters, ( Click here )
Chapter 11
4 years later (October 2000)
“I said forty grand, wiseass. This shit’s been cooked up already, you think we can’t tell crack from cocaine?” Lincoln tossed the weighty bag of powder onto the low table between the four men, some of the contents spilling out into a fan against the glass.
The two men sitting across from Burrows and Mowry exchanged a glance. The one with the low-brim hat licked his teeth and leaned forward.
“Alright, forty. Can’t blame us for trying though, you samfis get so much profits off them rich kids anyway,” the words slithering out of his mouth.
At the insult, Lincoln lunged forward and clenched a viselike grip around the man’s thin neck.
“You think I don’t know what that means?,” he hissed as the victim’s partner tensed, his hand hovering over the pistol butt sticking out of his pocket. The air thickened in tension as all four men in the room waited for a movement, a signal to relax or fly into action.
“I said okay already, bredrin. Forty thousand it is. We done here,” he finally choked out, feigning casualness but his hands nervously scrabbled at Lincoln’s veined one. When the 30-year old relaxed his grip, the atmosphere visibly loosened.
“Alright.”
Lincoln glanced at Mowry and the muscled man pulled the bulletproof case out from underneath his legs and deftly unlocked it. Rows of fresh, crisp green lined the container and he reached in, plucking a coil out and handed it across the table. The trafficker examined the cash carefully before he nodded curtly, signifying the end of their business transaction.
The four men stood up out of their chairs and shook hands, sealing the deal.
“Thanks for the business,” said Lincoln as he put his hands back into the pockets of his grey slacks.
“A pleasure,” the man sneered sardonically. The two traffickers then turned around, leaving the small warehouse with the glinting silver briefcase in tow. Lincoln turned around and pulled his black cell phone out of his pocket, dialing and fitting the speaker to his ear.
“Hello, Julio. It’s done, get your drivers to pick it up by three. Forty grand, I told you, didn’t I? Yeah. Wait, what? Flight’s at 9, can’t make it,” Lincoln frowned as his boss cursed in Spanish. “Hey man, don’t blame me, you’re the one who booked it. I told you to get me first-class on the five o’ clock. Yeah fuck you too.”
The 30-year old clapped the clamshell shut and slipped it back into his pocket.
The two men waited until a white van pulled up to the garage and the man inside identified himself as Julio’s local transporter. After the three had loaded the car up with the goods, Lincoln and Mowry watched it drive off.
Business completed. Lincoln felt a sense of satisfaction emanate through his body, reveling in yet another job well done. He’d managed to knock down the price of the cocaine; while it had certainly been cooked a bit, the drugs still warranted at least a fifty thousand dollar price tag.
Damn, he was getting good. He didn’t know whether to be proud or disgusted with himself.
“C’mon Mowry, it’s been a long afternoon. I’ll get you lunch,” Lincoln said, pounding the slightly older man on his beefy shoulder as they watched the white van disappear in the dust and distance.
“Yeah, okay. I could really go for some fucking tasty ribs right now. Saw a joint on the corner,” Johnson Mowry smiled over at his longtime co-worker.
“Ribs it is, then.”
-----
6:30 PM there’s a knock on the door and Michael looks up from his cereal-and-Tribune break, then pushes back his Mackintosh chair (recently bought, set of four, expensive as hell but so worth it).
They’re early, he thinks as he strides over to the large, sliding door of his flat.
“Sorry I’m early, Michael,” Lisa appears, frayed, as she pushes her eight-year old son into the spacious room. “Got called in to work, Susan got in an accident so I have to cover her shift.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’ll be fine, just some bruises and stuff but hospital’s keeping her overnight to be safe. Anyway, sorry to dump him on you like this, but thanks!”
The mother quickly crouches down and smooths the hair of her young son.
“I’ll see you Sunday, baby. Don’t give uncle Michael any trouble now, okay?”
The boy nods, hair flopping down over his grey eyes.
“I love you,” she presses a cursory but heartfelt kiss again his forehead.
“Love you too, Mom.”
Lisa smiles goodbye to Michael before turning around and going back down the narrow flight of concrete stairs. Michael rolls the heavy door shut with a loud bang, listening to it echo off the hardwood floors and smooth walls.
“So, LJ. It’s Saturday, got anything you want to do?”
The boy looks up at his uncle for awhile before adamantly shaking his head.
“I don’t feel like going out.”
“Okay well… how about this. Come with me to the grocery store, I bet you haven’t had dinner yet.”
LJ remains quiet but his stomach growls in agreement. The boy grumpily wraps his thin arms around his belly.
“Right, so. We’ll leave soon, just hold on for a bit,” Michael pats his nephew on the head awkwardly, goes back to his kitchen table and downs the dregs of his lukewarm cereal before placing the dishes in the sink. He doubles back, swipes his keys and wallet off the nearby countertop and slides the door open again.
“C’mon, LJ,” Michael urges at the motionless boy. He’s acting awfully strange today, he frowns, noting the distinct lack of life in the usually hyperactive boy. Finally the small blonde moves forward and follows his uncle out the door.
They were at the local market within minutes, where the despondent young boy follows his uncle who is picking out vegetables and ingredients for a pasta dish. Michael had long stopped any attempts of engaging his nephew in conversation, remembering that when he himself was being reticent, he usually had good reason to be. Plus, the sensitive boy was prone to sulking and this was a clear symptom of it; LJ would tell him what was wrong eventually.
They get home by 7:30, a late dinner is made by 8:30, and Michael has managed to amuse LJ for the rest of the night by popping in the Tarzan rental. He winces as Phil Collins croons yet another melody; if he’d known the singer dominated the entire soundtrack all by his lonesome, Michael wouldn’t have gotten this particular film. Nonetheless, he accompanies his nephew, stifling the intense urge to retreat to his study and work on his laptop in peace.
Credits roll. Michael quickly nips the ending theme song in the bud with the click of the power button.
“Look LJ, I let you stay up past your bedtime. Isn’t your uncle Mikey cool?” Michael sardonically drawls, finally letting the annoyance of having to take care of a petulant child on a Saturday night (not that he ever does anything other than work, anyway) reverberate through his voice.
“No.”
“…Look kid, you know I love you, but you’re killing me here. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t make me call your father.”
At this, LJ suddenly wibbles, his baby face crinkling up in intense, child-like sadness.
“D-Dad wouldn’t even be around so not like it matters!!”
Michael stops antagonizing the kid and kneels down to look his nephew in the face.
“What do you mean? Where’s Linc?”
“H-he’s not around anymore, he’s always on *sniff* some business trip or something, him and Mom are always yelling and Dad just swears a lot and he *gulp* he’s never around anymore!!”
Michael rubs the boy soothingly on his arm, not sure of what to do with his hands other than that. A pouting, taciturn child he could handle, but not one who’s trying not to cry and failing. Two big fat drops of salty tears roll down LJ’s face.
“Hey, hey. Stop that,” Michael pleads. He wonders if he could press the boy for more information without instigating an eight-year old meltdown. “So uh, where’s Linc now? And what do you mean he’s not around, like he left your mom for good?”
He tries not to sound too hopeful.
“Dad hates me I just know it he yelled at me before he left last week because I got a bad grade on a math test and he hasn’t come back and he and Mom were fighting and I heard my name a lot and *hiccough* uncle Mikey, Dad hates me!!!”
Michael’s eyes are wide open as he attempts to discern words from his nephew’s distraught monologue. He hears something about how Lincoln hasn’t been around for a week and that he hates his son (which Michael severely doubts) and suddenly he has a wailing boy in front of him to contend with.
“Hey LJ, c’mon. Let’s go to bed, it’s late,” he says, standing up and pulling the crying boy to the guest bedroom by the hand. By the time the LJ’s been hastily tucked into bed, the boy is only hiccoughing and dabbing at his damp eyes with his forearms. Michael heaves a sigh of relief.
“Don’t worry about your dad, LJ. I know for a fact he loves you very much and he isn’t going to stop just because of some school thing. I promise,” Michael imitates his best impression of a Good Uncle. It seems to work as LJ blinks his long lashes in acquiescence.
“Anything else I can get for you before you go to sleep?”
Suddenly the little blonde is dry-eyed and bashful, twisting the blanket between his still-pudgy hands. He mumbles.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What?”
“Um… Mom tells me a story before I sleep,” he hints, an eight-year-old attempt at subtlety.
“You want a story.” Michael isn’t really the knights and princesses kind of guy.
“A happy one?” LJ blinks up hopefully and Michael caves immediately. How do you say no to your nephew who thinks his father doesn’t love him anymore?
“Okay okay. A happy story.” Michael hoists himself up onto the bed and makes himself comfortable atop the blankets, lacing his fingers together behind his head. LJ quickly snuggles in and Michael forces himself not to push the boy off.
“Happy story.” Michael thinks for a few minutes, decides against making up a some silly tale and instead searches the database of memories in his mind, filtering out the mundane, the sad, the complicated. Soon all he is left with are the heartbreaking and, as per requested, the happy recollections. All he has are memories of Lincoln, he realizes with a start.
Lincoln. He doesn’t know where to start.
“Hey kid, give me a prompt.”
“A what?”
“Give me a subject, what should I talk about?”
“Oh. I want…,” LJ thinks seriously. “Disneyland!” Last year the boy had gone on a trip to the Magical Kingdom with his best friend and her family and LJ had never quite gotten over the thrill of meeting Mickey Mouse in person.
Disneyland… Michael tries to recall the last time he’d gone to a theme park. Sifting through the cobwebs, he finally digs out the memory.
Nine, ten years ago, the Dupage county fair on a summer night. Michael, 16, Lincoln, 20. Back when they were still… something more than brothers who saw each other less than once a month.
Michael shut his eyes. He felt his nephew wriggle against his side and opened them again.
“This was when I was younger, in high school,” he began haltingly. Michael didn’t think it was in anybody’s best interest if he told LJ a romantic tale involving his uncle and father, so he struggled to form an age-appropriate version.
“It was summer back when Dupage still had its county fairs every year. You know, pigs, cows, apple pie contests. But at night, they’d keep it open for the rides and midway games. The fairgrounds would be all lit up, like a Christmas tree. One night, I was just at home like usual; I didn’t think I was going to go. We didn’t go out very much, your father and I. But that night, he came home early from work. He didn’t say why, just that his boss let him go. I knew that wasn’t true, but I didn’t bother questioning him. I was just… glad to see him. Maybe like how you feel glad when you see your father. He’s always been a busy guy.”
He felt LJ nod against his ribcage.
“So he came home early. Dragged me out in the middle of MacGyver, told me to get out of my PJs and get dressed. I changed, sort of reluctantly because I had no idea what was going on. But your Dad looked so excited so I just went along with it. He drove us maybe ten, fifteen minutes away. For miles all you could see on the freeway was the Ferris wheel, all lit up with white lights, and it was obvious we were going there. I asked your dad, We’re driving off to play at a county fair? and all he said was Hell yes.”
LJ started giggling. “What a dork, it’s just a Ferris wheel!”
“Hey, hey. Have you ever been on one before?”
The boy stilled and then sheepishly shook his head.
“It’s fun, I swear. So we got there, paid our tickets and just… let go. At first I didn’t want to do the shooting games or beanbag throws, it was kind of embarrassing. But Linc got really into it, sniping cans and stuff and winning these huge stuffed animals.
He had been embarrassed, that was certain. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t secretly pleased, having Lincoln tear through the midway games like they weren’t rigged, piling sweetly dilapidated bears and animals into Michael’s cradled arms.
“After he pretty much beat every game, except the basketball one because I won it first, we hit the food stalls and bought all kinds of things you can only get at a fair. Like cotton candy, chocolate-dipped frozen bananas—
where Lincoln had licked the cold shell with a pointed tongue, eye-fucking his little brother as he fellated his dessert—
Michael coughed. LJ nudged him to continue. “Anyway, it was pretty great. But the best part was the boat ride they had. $5 and you could row your own boat, so long as there was an adult. And by then Linc was old enough, so we rented one and he took the oars. On land the fair was really loud you know; music, people yelling and laughing, the sound of pellet guns and milk bottles crashing. But out on that lake, the sounds just drifted away… it got quieter and quieter, we rowed out so far.
The stars barely visible against the velvet drape of the navy sky, the sound of lapping water and faraway carousel melodies. Lincoln setting the oars down and stretching out, taking up the whole boat and Michael laughing, laughing at his brother’s impudence, his brother’s audacity as he slowly, obscenely spread his legs.
’There’s room for you here, Mikey.’ A quirked smile, hooded eyes. A hand rubbing suggestively at his inner thigh, absentmindedly tracing the seam line of Lincoln’s denims.
“It… it was so still. The other boats were closer to shore, and everything was in the background. When Linc stopped rowing, we drifted further, further, until we hit the water plants at the opposite end. The stalks crushed down, stopping the boat. Your father…
lowered his gaze, masking his expression as he waited patiently. Soon Michael was over him, on him, falling between the strong legs and resting, chest-to-chest with his older brother.
Lincoln opened his eyes. Let him in.
The world stilled to a single frame where Michael lost himself, drowning in the warmth that emanated from his brother’s body. The smell of greenery and summer evenings filled his lungs, but he didn’t remember breathing; he didn’t remember needing to because his brother was doing it for him, filling his chest with something physical, something so palpable that it had since become his life source.
He’d never quite learned how to breathe on his own since then.
“Uncle Mikey? Then what happened?”
“Your father… we… talked. We talked for a very long time that night. I’d never felt so close to him before, I mean, this was it. He was it, my only family, my only blood. I just felt…” he struggled to articulate himself, but there were no words. “Connected, sort of. Grounded. Like I wasn’t alone, that somebody was sharing my life with me. Promising to care about me, forever.”
Michael didn’t know what he was doing, trying to explain his anima to an eight-year old boy. But his nephew nodded resolutely.
“I know how that feels. When Dad hugs me it feels like that too.”
Michael looked down at the downy blonde head for the first time since beginning his story and focused on the boy that was in his arms. He didn’t know how to feel…skeptical, amused? But he felt his heart tug a little and Michael was suddenly flooded with a sense of kinship and understanding. He tenderly pet the messy hair, gathering it off his chest and smoothing it down the back of the boy’s small neck. LJ made a content noise and his uncle continued, scratching the boy behind the ears and stroking his hair until only the sound of the boy’s even breathing could be heard.
Michael closed his eyes.
‘I love you, Mikey’ he’d said breathlessly, cupping his little brother’s face as Michael dipped back down to taste his addiction. They’d made love that night, pitching and twining together to the tempo of the lapping waves, drinking each other in like water. Afterwards they’d lain together, rocking side-to-side and cradled together beneath the endlessly dark sky.
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Date: 2006-10-12 04:17 pm (UTC)He winces as Phil Collins croons yet another melody; if he’d known the singer dominated the entire soundtrack all by his lonesome, Michael wouldn’t have gotten this particular film.
that's exactly what *I* thought when I saw Tarzan. I was having highlander flashbacks through the whole thing
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Date: 2006-10-12 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 06:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 05:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-13 05:16 am (UTC)I could easily imagine all of that, and what a beautiful scene it was. I just love this story. It makes me so emotional (but in a good way!) when I read it. I can't wait for the next chapter.
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Date: 2006-10-13 05:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-13 05:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-13 09:14 pm (UTC)One thing, and I only say this because you've mentioned that this is the only feedback you get, but there are some tense switches that I find jarring. I think that you were trying to use the present tense in the M/LJ scene to distinguish it from the M/L scene, but it's not entirely consistent, and in any case, your use of italics removes the need to distinguish these scenes via tense. Just a thought for you.
Also, I think there were a few punctuation thingies, for example "...in high school.” he began haltingly...".
I'm just trying to be helpful, not critical, because I did love this installment, as I do the rest. :)
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Date: 2006-10-15 04:06 am (UTC)Did I say I love you yet? I do *___*
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Date: 2006-10-14 04:49 am (UTC)I can't wait for more =)
You really are an amazing writer =)
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Date: 2006-10-15 05:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-14 03:03 pm (UTC)I liked Tarzan when it got out, lol, but the comment made me laugh.
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Date: 2006-10-15 05:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-15 01:15 am (UTC)I wonder what Lincoln's feeling at this time of his life - for Michael and for LJ. If it hurts to stay away from Michael, why he's seemingly trying to distance himself from LJ as well.
If Lincoln and Michael aren't gonna get much screentime together until Fox River, then i can't wait for Linc to land his ass in jail. ;)
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Date: 2006-10-15 05:57 am (UTC)Lol nooo poor Linc, they'll get tons of screen time together next chapter! I think... anyway we'll see >.> Haha. Thanks for reading!!
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Date: 2006-10-16 08:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-17 05:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-17 10:44 am (UTC)I hope you update soon!
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Date: 2006-10-22 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 07:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 09:39 pm (UTC)Hey, I just noticed in ur user profile that your bday's in two days :O How old are you turning anyway?
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Date: 2006-10-22 09:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 10:02 pm (UTC)Btw if you're bored (noting by how quickly you reply, heehee), my personal LJ's
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Date: 2006-10-22 10:14 pm (UTC)i was waiting until i got to the end for this...
Date: 2006-11-01 07:24 am (UTC)my best friend in the world is a fanfic junkie. we're talking, like, a 6-hour-a-day habit. and that's on top of a normal 40-hour work week. some might call her obsessive; i prefer the term connoisseur.
anyway, all she's been prattling on about, for what seems like years, is this story. how amazing it is, how hot... and so i came to it with some trepidation, some fear. i wanted it to be good but i know she is a pb freak and she's recently dipped her toe into the lake that is incest slash and, well... i was worried it would, nor could, live up to her rave reviews.
and well... my god. thank god. i was wrong. this is brilliant. beyond brilliant. so meticulously crafted, fitting seamlessly into canon without betraying any of the plot. it's heartfelt and sincere and real and, well, insanely hot. like, ranking amongst the best gay porn i've ever read HOT.
i could gush on forever but... i need to keep reading. i just thought that i hadn't read any real bona fide unadulterated adulation on any of the comments thus far and i thought that you needed to hear some.
because you are a genius. a genius and an artist and one of the best writers i have read in a while. to take something that could (and I'm sure has) been turned into a miserable botched mess and make art out of it... well. wow.
Re: i was waiting until i got to the end for this...
Date: 2006-11-01 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 06:39 pm (UTC)OMG!! That is such a hot image!!! *falls over*
The first part was kinda rough but Michael bonding with his nephew, even though he couldn't tell him the real story of that night, was lovely!
He’d never quite learned how to breathe on his own since then.
This is the line that so beautifully sums up Michael's addiction to his brother! Awesome!!
Still loving it!!
*hugs*
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Date: 2006-12-01 03:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-01 03:18 pm (UTC)*hugs*