Fic: Breathe Love (12/?)
Oct. 19th, 2006 02:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: Breathe Love (12/?)
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: 4,643
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Omg I'm so fucking sleepy. But just had... to... finish.... urgh. Anyway, the rollercoaster ride starts again, so buckle in, lol. And I know it's a smidge early for Christmas but I *love* winter scenes. Also I just wanted to take a little space to thank everybody who's been reading, commenting and/or keeping up with this story, you know who you are! I'm nearing the 100-page mark and I can now say Breathe Love is singularly the biggest writing endeavor I've ever done. Actually the first, really ^.^;; So yeah, thanks guys, I seriously wouldn't even be continuing this if it were just crickets chilling out there. Hmmm, must be the pre-fluff of this chapter making me sappy, but wtv. Love you muchly XD
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 12
1 year later (December 2001)
“How about this one?” Michael held up a red camisole by the spaghetti straps, holding it against his chest.
“Very funny,” Lincoln remarked, distracted by the large display case housing hundreds of different lotions and shower gels and other perfumed products.
“Hey, these are kinda cute,” Michael commented, dangling a black satin thong by his fingers. “I like the rhinestones on the front, they make a little heart.”
“I am not getting Veronica underwear, Mikey.” Lincoln snatched the delicate garment from his little brother’s grasp and tossed it back onto the table. “Now help me pick out a body spray or something.”
“You’re no fun,” the younger brother huffed, tearing his gaze away from all the silky ribbons and shiny things.
“Look, do you really want me to give V a matching set of lingerie for Christmas? Because I can, you know.”
“Okay okay, I was just kidding. No need to get your knickers up in a twist, big brother.”
“Judging from how preoccupied you’ve been with the lingerie, I’d say you’re the one sporting the knickers,” he said, grinning evilly.
Michael suddenly leaned in close, too close. “You want to find out?”
A pause.
“Uh… Vanilla Lace looks alright,” Lincoln quickly grabbed the first bottle within arms reach, sweeping up the accompanying perfume and soap. Goddamnit, hanging out with Michael was always such a liability.
It was Christmastime in Chicago, and the local Woodfield Mall was crammed full of shoppers, people lined out the doors or zipping this way and that, bags hitting other bags as consumers streamed past each other in the too-narrow aisles. It was the second week of December and snow had decided to come late that year, stubbornly absent despite the frigid weather. The meteorologists and news programs swore up and down that it would soon be a white Christmas but no signs of powder had deigned to arrive yet, so Michael and Lincoln had taken advantage of the safe roads and decided to do their shopping. It was earlier than usual for Lincoln; early being pre-Christmas Eve, since that was usually when Lincoln would be hitting the mall. On the other hand the errand was coming a bit late for Michael’s tastes; the 28-year old usually did his shopping online at work, e-mailing his female co-workers links to get their opinions on gifts for Lisa or Veronica.
But this year, the boys were at the mall on a Saturday afternoon, and regretting it.
There are so many fucking people here, Lincoln groaned to himself as he elbowed his way out of Victoria’s Secret.
If it wasn’t for Linc, I could be home right now. Home with a mug of coffee and presents mailed to my door. Michael narrowly avoided getting hit in the jewels by a tube of glittery wrapping paper.
“Are we done yet?” Michael whined.
“No, I still need to get LJ something,” Lincoln rummaged through his paper bags as he mentally checked people off. “Let’s hit the toy store, I think we passed it earlier.”
Michael suddenly spied the bookstore up ahead and jerked his brother’s sleeve. “Wait, I want to go there.” He bounced up and down a couple times in impatience.
“What are you, twelve?” Lincoln turned back around and grudgingly strode forward, parting the sea of shoppers with difficulty and Michael hung behind him, taking advantage of the person-sized gap that his brother left in his wake. Soon they found themselves at the shop, standing between tall shelves packed to the brim with brightly colored spines of various sizes. Michael immediately went to the back, stopping between the history and science sections. He browsed the titles as Lincoln flopped onto a nearby chair, scanning the book titles in alphabetical order until reaching the endcap.
Yes, he cheered internally, pulling a teal cover from the stack of books.
“What’s that,” his older brother called grumpily.
“Lewis Hopkin’s new book,” he savored. “I love this guy, he has the most amazing theories.”
Ten feet away Lincoln rolled his eyes but got up anyway, trudging over to Michael who was running his fingers euphorically over the smooth hardback. Lincoln tried not to imagine those hands elsewhere. Instead, he snatched the book out of his little brother’s grasp and read the title aloud.
“Urban Development: The Logic of Making Plans,” he said matter-of-factly. He slightly shook his head.
“What?”
“Huh? I didn’t say anything,” Lincoln put the book back in Michael’s hands and bent down to pick up his shopping bags.
“Yeah, but you shook your head. What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just…” Lincoln trailed off. He started walking back towards the entrance of the store.
“Just what Linc?”
“It just figures. Logic of Making Plans, it’s like the book was written for you,” he chuckled aloud. Michael shot his brother a dirty look but refrained from arguing. The title was admittedly a bit uncanny. Still.
“I hate you.”
“No, no, you love me. Everybody loves me,” Lincoln smiled cheekily. Michael pouted, then went up to the register to pay for the newest acquisition to his small library of engineering and architectural books.
The two brothers eventually left the store and were about to hit up the toy store in search of something suitable for LJ when along the way, a high voice called out.
“Michael!”
At the sound of his name, the man turned around and spotted his co-worker flagging him down with one hand.
“Hey, Liz. How are you?”
The short-haired brunette caught up to the brothers and Lincoln sighed, putting his bags down and resting against the wall. Shopping was fucking tiring, and even worse when small-talk impeded their progress.
“Oh I’m… well, busy. You know how it gets during the holidays,” she said. “You know, it’s so strange seeing out outside of work! The Michael I know is a permanent fixture behind his desk.”
“Hey, I have a life outside of Schaum’s,” Michael grinned. Lincoln made a noise somewhere between a snort and a cough. Liz turned her attention to the other man, who was attempting to be unobtrusive but failing.
“Hello, we haven’t been introduced.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. This is my brother Lincoln. Linc, Elizabeth from work. She’s my pseudo-assistant.” The older man stepped forward and shook her hand firmly.
“Slave, more like,” she laughed easily. “Do you know how picky your brother is about his coffee in the mornings?” Michael smiled indulgingly at her as Lincoln stole a glance between the two of them, grunting “Yeah, I do”.
“So how’s the shopping coming along?” Michael gestured at the bunched paper bags in her left hand. “Something for Daniel?”
At this, Elizabeth lowered her eyes painfully.
“Did I just stick my foot in my mouth?”
“No, it’s okay Michael. It’s just that… I’ve been so busy lately with work and the kids, Danny got kind of upset and… well anyway, I wasn’t very happy with him anyway,” she explained disjointedly, lifting her eyes at the end and meeting Michael’s unwavering gaze with a forced smile.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“How could you?”
An awkward silence passed between the three of them before Lincoln finally piped up, “I’m sorry Elizabeth, but we’re trying to make it out of here by six.”
“Oh of course, I’m on a tight schedule as well,” she said, hoisting the strap of her large purse in preparation to leave.
“Wait, Liz--" Michael suddenly interjected. She looked at him questioningly. “You know… go ahead and take a long weekend. I can handle the inbox on my own for one day. Contrary to belief, I’m not completely incapacitated without you,” he said as he placed his hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
Lincoln stared at the long fingers of his Michael’s hand as it pressed into the knit of her sky blue sweater. What was it about those fucking hands?
“Michael, I wasn’t trying to fish for sympathy,” she started.
“I know that, I’m just saying. Take it easy for a day, spend some time with your kids,” he urged. “You’re not going to be any help to me if you’re burnt out anyway. See? My real motivation.”
She automatically lit up with a wide smile. Michael never made jokes.
“Yeah, alright. That would be really nice. But I’ll be sure to think of you doing a weekend’s worth of paperwork while I’m watching soaps on my couch.”
“Deal,” he laughed genially. Elizabeth waved goodbye to Michael and Lincoln, leaving and quickly melding with the downstream current of shoppers. Lincoln stepped in front of his little brother, sandwiching him against the cool tile of the wall.
“So, ‘Liz’ huh?”
“Yeah, what about her?,” Michael asked nervously. His brother didn’t normally like to stand so close to him in public but at this moment, the older man was most definitely within his personal bubble. “She’s a sweet girl.”
“So I’ve noticed. The married ones are your type?”
Michael blinked confusedly. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind,” Lincoln seemed to snap out of his mood, bending down to pick up the bags he had set down earlier and then strode off in the direction of the toy store.
“Wait, wait Linc,” Michael scrambled after the broad, retreating back, dodging people who shot him unsavory looks as he swooped around them. He frowned as he wondered why his brother was acting so brusquely all of a sudden.
As he caught up to the older man, the light bulb flickered on. Ohhh.
“Hey, Linc,” Michael started, intent on clearing up whatever inane conclusions his brother had come to about him and Liz. But then unexpectedly, he had a better idea. In fact, this was probably the best idea he’d had in a really, really long time. After all, his brother owed him for being such stubborn, suppressed jerk all the time.
“So… what did you think of Liz?,” he asked. Michael injected a modicum of apprehension into his voice but really, all he was feeling was gleeful anticipation. It was like college again. Add a cup here, a pinch there, and presto. It’d been too long since the brothers had interacted like this, too long since his older brother had been subject to Michael’s expert manipulations. Linc didn’t have a prayer.
“What about Liz,” the 31-year old gritted out.
“You know… did you like her?”
“Why, do you?” Linc had never been much for subtlety.
“Oh, well sure. She’s very nice,” he vaguely responded, casting a faraway look into his eyes.
“Okay, okay,” Lincoln grumbled queasily as if Michael had begun describing his sexual fantasies about his secretary.
“Does that bother you?,” Michael went in for the kill. It was no use weaving intricate plans around his brother; complex, roundabout schemes had no effect on the straightforward man.
“No,” Lincoln quickly snapped. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I mean… I don’t know about college, but I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend. A woman in your life would be good. Even is she is married.”
“Separated.” Michael allowed himself a small smile as he prodded the green haze around his brother.
“Whatever. Anyway, go for it. I guess she’s good for you,” Lincoln said, slowly enunciating as if he was attempting to persuade himself.
“Lincoln,” Michael smiled happily. Oh, it always felt wonderful to be reminded that his brother could still get jealous over him so easily. “I’m just kidding, okay? Me and Liz are just friends.”
Lincoln looked unconvinced as he slowed down, entering the toy store. Michael’s cell phone suddenly chirped, indicating a message. He dug around the pocket of his herringbone slacks and fished the clamshell out, flipping it open and reading the message.
”Thanks again Michael! I’ll bake you something good for Christmas, promise.”
The younger brother jumped when he felt Lincoln’s breath against his ear.
“Just friends,” the older brother growled cynically before shouldering his way into the store, nearly knocking aside a kid who had been eyeing a display for the new Nintendo Gamecube.
Michael nearly laughed aloud as he followed the chagrined man down the aisle of plastic action figures. God, his big brother was so spine-tingling hot when he was angry.
-----
“Linc!! I told you, we’re just friends. She’s married for god’s sake!”
“Mikey, just drop it,” Lincoln barks. “You don’t need to lie to me, that look you gave her was worth a thousand words.”
Alright, so Michael revises his previous statement. Angry Lincoln, all coiled tension and deep growling baritone, hot. But pigheaded, green-eyed, inducer-of-blue-balls Lincoln is just. Plain. Infuriating.
The two brothers arrive at Lisa’s house (out of which Lincoln had moved the previous year) and open the doors of the black vintage car. Michael quickly stalks around the hood to driver side and before Lincoln can gather the bags to get out, Michael stops his brother short with two defiant arms effectively caging him in.
“Move, Michael.”
“No.”
“What do you want me to say? Okay, so there’s nothing between you guys. Got it.”
“You could at least try to sound sincere.”
“Yeah, well. We don’t always get what we want.”
“Do I ever get what I want when it comes to you, Linc?” Michael has succeeded in keeping this topic under wraps for the past year or five, not wanting to press the subject until Lincoln brought it up himself. He’d let the intense desire for his brother simmer beneath a veneer of gratuitous flirtation until everybody had long assumed it was just brotherly humor. Eccentric, sure, but still playful and non-threatening. Lincoln knew otherwise, of course. To the brothers, Michael’s attitude, the sexual overtones of his words, it was like their little secret. Their little can of worms that was currently about to be opened.
“Don’t do this, Mikey.” Quiet, controlled. Always so fucking controlled, and it pisses Michael off so badly that he sees stars.
The younger man quickly bends down and ducks his head inside the low car until he’s facing his older brother, feeling the warm breath against his face as Lincoln’s inhalations quicken. His brother’s eyes are wide, inscrutable, and his pupils dilate in a lake of grey. Grey like overcast Chicago winters, like the lumbering fog that rolls over the tops of skyscrapers when Michael gets into his car for work. His brother’s eyes are smooth, deep wells that flicker with what, anger? Nervousness? Lust?
In one moment of unthinking, Michael leans in and seizes the other man’s lips with his own, kissing him deeply. And for a split second nothing happens; or rather, Lincoln doesn’t push him away, and that’s something. But when Michael groans, tentatively allowing the arresting fear to pass over into the beginnings of pleasure, the vibrations and intensity seem to jolt Lincoln into reflex.
He shoves his little brother out of the car.
“What the fuck, Mikey, we’re in front Lisa’s fucking house,” he seethes, trying not to lament the end of that mind-numbing kiss. His little brother backs up, his expression wounded and he quickly turns around. Michael closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and goes around to get his purchases out of the trunk.
“Michael…”
But the man says nothing, acknowledges nothing, and walks over to his blue Taurus which is parked sedately across the street. He doesn’t trust himself to look back, doesn’t trust his voice not to waver. Even now he feels his tear ducts swelling and frantically wills the liquid to stay in. He isn’t a fucking girl, he isn’t going to go home and sob into a pillow (maybe just a couple stoic drops into his cereal). He isn’t some woman Lincoln used and dumped; he knows his brother still loves him and that he means well.
Still, it doesn’t make rejection hurt any less.
-----
“Daddy, what were you doing outside with Uncle Mikey?”
Lincoln freezes. Lisa looks over inquiringly.
“We went Christmas shopping, you know that.”
“No, I mean when Uncle Mikey was leaning over,” the 9-year old happily burbles. He likes his uncle a lot and always asks about him, much to his father’s chagrin.
“He… was just telling me what he got you for Christmas,” he quickly lies. Lisa pauses before pulling the scalloped potatoes out of the oven.
“Really?? What is it what is it??” Little LJ bounces in his chair.
“Like I’m going to tell you,” Lincoln teases. He then roughly pats his son on the head, disbelieving at how soft the hair is under his fingers, how little the ears are that stick out beneath the golden mop. God, his son is so perfect.
“Mommy, can Dad stay over for dinner?”
“It’s alright Lisa, I just came to drop this off. Is store-brand okay?” Lincoln hands over a package of eggnog mix. The blonde woman looks at her ex-lover/partner/roommate and then at her exuberant son.
“It’s fine Linc. And stay for dinner, I made too much anyway.” The couple had had their share of arguments over the past years, disagreements over how to raise LJ and how to handle their strange relationship, but they’re still okay. Lisa will still crumble every time her son pleads to let his father stay for meals.
And so, they eat. Potatoes and ham and corn, and Lisa has to refrain from asking Lincoln what it is that has him so visibly ruffled. She’s not worried, just curious. But not curious enough to broach a potentially destructive conversation, especially not while LJ is beaming at his father like he’s Santa Clause in the flesh. So she stays quiet and keeps her thoughts to herself.
-----
Ten days later, Christmas Eve
If the weathermen and weatherwomen had been apologetic for the lack of snowfall a week ago, they were now apologizing for the massive bout that had blanketed the city in two feet of blinding, white powder. It was all everybody would talk about these days. “How’s the snow treating you?” “You got your walkway cleared?” “The school’s not shutting down because of the snow, is it?” Snow, snow, snow, and Lincoln was sick of it.
Well, sick of it when he was outside, shivering in his thin sweater and leather jacket (how did he not own any coats? How?). But from indoors, from the safe third-story window of his crappy-ass but heated apartment, the fluttery white stuff wasn’t so bad. Kind of pretty, even, if you were into that romantic kind of wintery schmoop.
Unfortunately for him, it was Christmas Eve and he had another job to run. Honestly, who runs jobs on fucking Christmas Eve? Nevertheless, he couldn’t let Julio down. Because if he did, the guy’s dogs would be on him before he could bat an eyelash. Still, if Lincoln did his job, which he always did, Julio didn’t have any complaints. As far as drug dealing/loan shark/pimps/thugs went, the Tijuana-born guy wasn’t so bad. Fair, at the very least.
In fact at the beginning of the month, Julio had given Lincoln a proposal. If he were to carry out his “responsibilities” without fail, then by the end of the next year he could go free. Eleven years of unabated servitude was apparently enough to appease the tough Mexican, and Lincoln had gotten on the guy’s good side by reeling in more dough than any other lackey of his. Michael’s free ride to university and a higher education in exchange for a little bit (okay, a lot) of shady business sounded like a fair trade to Lincoln. Still, it would be wonderful to get out under that oppressive thumb. He almost didn’t remember what it felt like to be free, to think about anything without the shadow of his “night job” looming behind him.
Well, I guess I’ll find out in a year, Lincoln thought to himself as he started the shower, deliberately placing it on the hottest setting in hopes of urging the water to heat faster.
He had gotten the holidays off from his day job, and just in time too because he had a noon appointment to make that day. Lincoln stepped out of the shower, steam billowing off his flushed skin, and quickly toweled himself dry. He stood in front of his closet and grabbed randomly at one of two clean suits, still in their bags from the dry cleaner’s.
While Lincoln would usually forgo an inner shirt, enjoying the breeze to lighten up a stuffy outfit, it was fucking four degrees Fahrenheit outside and the man didn’t have a death wish. So, a white t-shirt it was. He layered a grey button-up with a slight sheen to it (V had gotten it for him a couple years back, saying it brought out the highlights in his eyes. Whatever that meant.) underneath an Italian blazer and finished it with matching slacks.
Lincoln hastily adjusted the outfit with a quick shrug and smoothed out any bunched fabric before rushing out of his small apartment. This was another important deal and he simply could not keep the other party waiting too long; debilitating snow was only an excuse for amateurs.
Another day, another job. Lincoln was good at his work, but not so good that he wouldn’t be relieved to leave it a hundred miles behind him, come next New Year’s.
-----
Michael morosely stirred his mocha, willing the cinnamon he put in to dissolve but grumbling as it refused, instead opting to form a thin layer of reddish skin at the surface.
Figures. Nothing had been going well for him that week.
Lincoln was ignoring him. Well, not even that, he was indifferent to him. Which was about a thousand times worse. Michael had tried to call his brother the day after the kiss to first yell at him, but all he’d gotten was an answering machine.
“Lincoln Burrows, I’m not here. Leave a message,” and his older brother’s husky recorded voice had given him a hard-on, and then he just felt stupid.
He reluctantly called a few days later to apologize, but then his brother was “busy”, saying had some business to take care of or something. As if his job required him to work at fucking 1 AM in the morning. And now today, Michael had called one last time, desperate just to get any sort of fucking reaction and all Lincoln had to say to him was a hissed “Not right now, Mikey, I’m busy,” in a tone that could’ve been used if he were a dog that had just peed on the carpet.
Hence, the new $899.99 espresso machine he’d bought himself in consolation, and the experimental mocha with the congealed cinnamon. Apparently, money really didn’t buy happiness.
Michael loafed aimlessly around for the rest of the day. Unfortunately he’d spent the last week working nonstop and now he had nothing, nothing to tide him over until Thursday, the day after Christmas.
He’d slowly and carefully packaged his presents (satin blouse for Veronica, video game system for LJ, designer curtains for Lisa) but that had only taken him all of one hour. Including the trip to the store for ribbon.
So Michael perused his bookshelf, pulling out the large hardcover art books that always managed to at least occupy a decent portion of his attention.
Mies van der Rohe? No, too sterile for today. Frank Lloyd Wright… as if I haven’t already seen his things a million times. Michael skimmed his beloved collection, waiting for something to strike his fancy. Finally, he progressed chronologically from the Bauhaus movement up until one of his most recent books, pulling out a collection of Santiago Calatrava’s works, all the way up to that year.
He flipped the large book open, quickly losing himself in the spatial, soaring monuments that the ingenious man had designed. Enjoying the fresh minimalism and soothing structure of clean yet powerful lines, he felt a little peace.
Michael managed to putter his time away until 5 o’ clock. He was meeting with his brother’s family at six for dinner and gift exchanging, so he decided to get ready a little early and took a shower for the second time that day. Somehow he was feeling a little bit nervous about seeing the older man again so he used the warm water to pound his anxiety into a manageable hum, picturing Calatrava’s clean, soothing wings atop the Milwaukee museum instead of the way Lincoln made his blood pound.
5:15 PM, Michael flopped onto his large bed in a steam-dizzy haze. A few minutes later he got up from the chill that had begun to set in and picked out a pressed, white collared long-sleeve, buttoned it up and then pulled a dark green and maroon argyle vest over it (it wouldn’t kill him to be accidentally festive, he thought). As he continued dressing he tried not to think too hard about his choice of underwear (because it wouldn’t matter anyway, it wouldn’t) and finally threw on black boxer-briefs with clean, black pants lined with tiny, widely-spaced pinstripes.
Michael looked in his mirror and tried to will the bags away from under his eyes. Nothing happened. He opened the medicine cabinet up and quickly dabbed a little cologne onto his neck. 5:32 PM, good. It was about time to leave for Lisa’s.
The 28-year old gathered up the gifts, leaving Veronica’s behind since he wouldn’t see her until later. He grabbed his staple winter coat, threw a black mohair scarf around his neck and chin and left downstairs for the garage.
He had arrived by six o’ clock and was both pleased and apprehensive to see his brother’s car rolling in simultaneously. He gave a cursory glance at himself in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car.
“Linc,” he called out in greeting.
“Mikey.”
The two brothers settled into an uncomfortable silence, the both of them self-conscious and struggling to maintain their cool while juggling multiple objects that crinkled loudly with every movement.
Shit shit shit, Michael’s mind raced ahead without him, ditching Calatrava in the icy snow.
“You never called me back,” the younger brother blurted aloud. After that painfully adolescent statement, Michael goggled at the power of his own idiocy. Fuck, only his brother had the ability to turn him into a retard.
“Yeah… I uh, I’ve been busy,” Lincoln replied, desperately trying to think of what to say. If I’m too apologetic I’ll be leading him on… but goddamnit he’s giving me the hurt puppy eyes. Damnit, that’s just cheap. Eventually he just left the comment open to interpretation as the man surreptitiously snuck glances at his baby brother. Fuck, only his brother could look that erection-inducingly hot in just a woolen coat and scarf. And fuck if that wine bottle wasn’t the most phallic thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Double fuck if his brother wasn’t purposely fingering the elongated neck of the bottle with full intent to turn Lincoln on.
Thank god the freezing weather kept his dick in check.
The boys finally got to the lit porch of the one-story house after what seemed like an eternity. Since neither of them had hands free Michael nudged the doorbell with the end of the long wine bottle, his hand firmly wrapped around the neck, and Lincoln swore under his breath.
LJ threw the door open with a beaming smile as he backed up, bouncing in impatience for his two favorite father figures to come inside the warmed house.
“Hey kiddo, what’s that stick you’re holding?,” Lincon asked, taking note of a long fishing-pole-like dowel that reached high above his head.
“Why don’t you look,” he chortled as Lisa shook her head.
“Sorry guys, he’s been obsessing over this thing since they handed them out at school on Friday." She strode forward and started taking packages out of their arms, setting them on the floor next to a small, tastefully lit Christmas tree.
Michael and Lincoln looked up simultaneously and were greeted by a cheery, green sprig of mistletoe.
Fucking mistletoe. Somewhere up there, somebody was laughing really, really hard.
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: 4,643
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Omg I'm so fucking sleepy. But just had... to... finish.... urgh. Anyway, the rollercoaster ride starts again, so buckle in, lol. And I know it's a smidge early for Christmas but I *love* winter scenes. Also I just wanted to take a little space to thank everybody who's been reading, commenting and/or keeping up with this story, you know who you are! I'm nearing the 100-page mark and I can now say Breathe Love is singularly the biggest writing endeavor I've ever done. Actually the first, really ^.^;; So yeah, thanks guys, I seriously wouldn't even be continuing this if it were just crickets chilling out there. Hmmm, must be the pre-fluff of this chapter making me sappy, but wtv. Love you muchly XD
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 12
1 year later (December 2001)
“How about this one?” Michael held up a red camisole by the spaghetti straps, holding it against his chest.
“Very funny,” Lincoln remarked, distracted by the large display case housing hundreds of different lotions and shower gels and other perfumed products.
“Hey, these are kinda cute,” Michael commented, dangling a black satin thong by his fingers. “I like the rhinestones on the front, they make a little heart.”
“I am not getting Veronica underwear, Mikey.” Lincoln snatched the delicate garment from his little brother’s grasp and tossed it back onto the table. “Now help me pick out a body spray or something.”
“You’re no fun,” the younger brother huffed, tearing his gaze away from all the silky ribbons and shiny things.
“Look, do you really want me to give V a matching set of lingerie for Christmas? Because I can, you know.”
“Okay okay, I was just kidding. No need to get your knickers up in a twist, big brother.”
“Judging from how preoccupied you’ve been with the lingerie, I’d say you’re the one sporting the knickers,” he said, grinning evilly.
Michael suddenly leaned in close, too close. “You want to find out?”
A pause.
“Uh… Vanilla Lace looks alright,” Lincoln quickly grabbed the first bottle within arms reach, sweeping up the accompanying perfume and soap. Goddamnit, hanging out with Michael was always such a liability.
It was Christmastime in Chicago, and the local Woodfield Mall was crammed full of shoppers, people lined out the doors or zipping this way and that, bags hitting other bags as consumers streamed past each other in the too-narrow aisles. It was the second week of December and snow had decided to come late that year, stubbornly absent despite the frigid weather. The meteorologists and news programs swore up and down that it would soon be a white Christmas but no signs of powder had deigned to arrive yet, so Michael and Lincoln had taken advantage of the safe roads and decided to do their shopping. It was earlier than usual for Lincoln; early being pre-Christmas Eve, since that was usually when Lincoln would be hitting the mall. On the other hand the errand was coming a bit late for Michael’s tastes; the 28-year old usually did his shopping online at work, e-mailing his female co-workers links to get their opinions on gifts for Lisa or Veronica.
But this year, the boys were at the mall on a Saturday afternoon, and regretting it.
There are so many fucking people here, Lincoln groaned to himself as he elbowed his way out of Victoria’s Secret.
If it wasn’t for Linc, I could be home right now. Home with a mug of coffee and presents mailed to my door. Michael narrowly avoided getting hit in the jewels by a tube of glittery wrapping paper.
“Are we done yet?” Michael whined.
“No, I still need to get LJ something,” Lincoln rummaged through his paper bags as he mentally checked people off. “Let’s hit the toy store, I think we passed it earlier.”
Michael suddenly spied the bookstore up ahead and jerked his brother’s sleeve. “Wait, I want to go there.” He bounced up and down a couple times in impatience.
“What are you, twelve?” Lincoln turned back around and grudgingly strode forward, parting the sea of shoppers with difficulty and Michael hung behind him, taking advantage of the person-sized gap that his brother left in his wake. Soon they found themselves at the shop, standing between tall shelves packed to the brim with brightly colored spines of various sizes. Michael immediately went to the back, stopping between the history and science sections. He browsed the titles as Lincoln flopped onto a nearby chair, scanning the book titles in alphabetical order until reaching the endcap.
Yes, he cheered internally, pulling a teal cover from the stack of books.
“What’s that,” his older brother called grumpily.
“Lewis Hopkin’s new book,” he savored. “I love this guy, he has the most amazing theories.”
Ten feet away Lincoln rolled his eyes but got up anyway, trudging over to Michael who was running his fingers euphorically over the smooth hardback. Lincoln tried not to imagine those hands elsewhere. Instead, he snatched the book out of his little brother’s grasp and read the title aloud.
“Urban Development: The Logic of Making Plans,” he said matter-of-factly. He slightly shook his head.
“What?”
“Huh? I didn’t say anything,” Lincoln put the book back in Michael’s hands and bent down to pick up his shopping bags.
“Yeah, but you shook your head. What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just…” Lincoln trailed off. He started walking back towards the entrance of the store.
“Just what Linc?”
“It just figures. Logic of Making Plans, it’s like the book was written for you,” he chuckled aloud. Michael shot his brother a dirty look but refrained from arguing. The title was admittedly a bit uncanny. Still.
“I hate you.”
“No, no, you love me. Everybody loves me,” Lincoln smiled cheekily. Michael pouted, then went up to the register to pay for the newest acquisition to his small library of engineering and architectural books.
The two brothers eventually left the store and were about to hit up the toy store in search of something suitable for LJ when along the way, a high voice called out.
“Michael!”
At the sound of his name, the man turned around and spotted his co-worker flagging him down with one hand.
“Hey, Liz. How are you?”
The short-haired brunette caught up to the brothers and Lincoln sighed, putting his bags down and resting against the wall. Shopping was fucking tiring, and even worse when small-talk impeded their progress.
“Oh I’m… well, busy. You know how it gets during the holidays,” she said. “You know, it’s so strange seeing out outside of work! The Michael I know is a permanent fixture behind his desk.”
“Hey, I have a life outside of Schaum’s,” Michael grinned. Lincoln made a noise somewhere between a snort and a cough. Liz turned her attention to the other man, who was attempting to be unobtrusive but failing.
“Hello, we haven’t been introduced.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. This is my brother Lincoln. Linc, Elizabeth from work. She’s my pseudo-assistant.” The older man stepped forward and shook her hand firmly.
“Slave, more like,” she laughed easily. “Do you know how picky your brother is about his coffee in the mornings?” Michael smiled indulgingly at her as Lincoln stole a glance between the two of them, grunting “Yeah, I do”.
“So how’s the shopping coming along?” Michael gestured at the bunched paper bags in her left hand. “Something for Daniel?”
At this, Elizabeth lowered her eyes painfully.
“Did I just stick my foot in my mouth?”
“No, it’s okay Michael. It’s just that… I’ve been so busy lately with work and the kids, Danny got kind of upset and… well anyway, I wasn’t very happy with him anyway,” she explained disjointedly, lifting her eyes at the end and meeting Michael’s unwavering gaze with a forced smile.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“How could you?”
An awkward silence passed between the three of them before Lincoln finally piped up, “I’m sorry Elizabeth, but we’re trying to make it out of here by six.”
“Oh of course, I’m on a tight schedule as well,” she said, hoisting the strap of her large purse in preparation to leave.
“Wait, Liz--" Michael suddenly interjected. She looked at him questioningly. “You know… go ahead and take a long weekend. I can handle the inbox on my own for one day. Contrary to belief, I’m not completely incapacitated without you,” he said as he placed his hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
Lincoln stared at the long fingers of his Michael’s hand as it pressed into the knit of her sky blue sweater. What was it about those fucking hands?
“Michael, I wasn’t trying to fish for sympathy,” she started.
“I know that, I’m just saying. Take it easy for a day, spend some time with your kids,” he urged. “You’re not going to be any help to me if you’re burnt out anyway. See? My real motivation.”
She automatically lit up with a wide smile. Michael never made jokes.
“Yeah, alright. That would be really nice. But I’ll be sure to think of you doing a weekend’s worth of paperwork while I’m watching soaps on my couch.”
“Deal,” he laughed genially. Elizabeth waved goodbye to Michael and Lincoln, leaving and quickly melding with the downstream current of shoppers. Lincoln stepped in front of his little brother, sandwiching him against the cool tile of the wall.
“So, ‘Liz’ huh?”
“Yeah, what about her?,” Michael asked nervously. His brother didn’t normally like to stand so close to him in public but at this moment, the older man was most definitely within his personal bubble. “She’s a sweet girl.”
“So I’ve noticed. The married ones are your type?”
Michael blinked confusedly. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind,” Lincoln seemed to snap out of his mood, bending down to pick up the bags he had set down earlier and then strode off in the direction of the toy store.
“Wait, wait Linc,” Michael scrambled after the broad, retreating back, dodging people who shot him unsavory looks as he swooped around them. He frowned as he wondered why his brother was acting so brusquely all of a sudden.
As he caught up to the older man, the light bulb flickered on. Ohhh.
“Hey, Linc,” Michael started, intent on clearing up whatever inane conclusions his brother had come to about him and Liz. But then unexpectedly, he had a better idea. In fact, this was probably the best idea he’d had in a really, really long time. After all, his brother owed him for being such stubborn, suppressed jerk all the time.
“So… what did you think of Liz?,” he asked. Michael injected a modicum of apprehension into his voice but really, all he was feeling was gleeful anticipation. It was like college again. Add a cup here, a pinch there, and presto. It’d been too long since the brothers had interacted like this, too long since his older brother had been subject to Michael’s expert manipulations. Linc didn’t have a prayer.
“What about Liz,” the 31-year old gritted out.
“You know… did you like her?”
“Why, do you?” Linc had never been much for subtlety.
“Oh, well sure. She’s very nice,” he vaguely responded, casting a faraway look into his eyes.
“Okay, okay,” Lincoln grumbled queasily as if Michael had begun describing his sexual fantasies about his secretary.
“Does that bother you?,” Michael went in for the kill. It was no use weaving intricate plans around his brother; complex, roundabout schemes had no effect on the straightforward man.
“No,” Lincoln quickly snapped. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I mean… I don’t know about college, but I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend. A woman in your life would be good. Even is she is married.”
“Separated.” Michael allowed himself a small smile as he prodded the green haze around his brother.
“Whatever. Anyway, go for it. I guess she’s good for you,” Lincoln said, slowly enunciating as if he was attempting to persuade himself.
“Lincoln,” Michael smiled happily. Oh, it always felt wonderful to be reminded that his brother could still get jealous over him so easily. “I’m just kidding, okay? Me and Liz are just friends.”
Lincoln looked unconvinced as he slowed down, entering the toy store. Michael’s cell phone suddenly chirped, indicating a message. He dug around the pocket of his herringbone slacks and fished the clamshell out, flipping it open and reading the message.
”Thanks again Michael! I’ll bake you something good for Christmas, promise.”
The younger brother jumped when he felt Lincoln’s breath against his ear.
“Just friends,” the older brother growled cynically before shouldering his way into the store, nearly knocking aside a kid who had been eyeing a display for the new Nintendo Gamecube.
Michael nearly laughed aloud as he followed the chagrined man down the aisle of plastic action figures. God, his big brother was so spine-tingling hot when he was angry.
-----
“Linc!! I told you, we’re just friends. She’s married for god’s sake!”
“Mikey, just drop it,” Lincoln barks. “You don’t need to lie to me, that look you gave her was worth a thousand words.”
Alright, so Michael revises his previous statement. Angry Lincoln, all coiled tension and deep growling baritone, hot. But pigheaded, green-eyed, inducer-of-blue-balls Lincoln is just. Plain. Infuriating.
The two brothers arrive at Lisa’s house (out of which Lincoln had moved the previous year) and open the doors of the black vintage car. Michael quickly stalks around the hood to driver side and before Lincoln can gather the bags to get out, Michael stops his brother short with two defiant arms effectively caging him in.
“Move, Michael.”
“No.”
“What do you want me to say? Okay, so there’s nothing between you guys. Got it.”
“You could at least try to sound sincere.”
“Yeah, well. We don’t always get what we want.”
“Do I ever get what I want when it comes to you, Linc?” Michael has succeeded in keeping this topic under wraps for the past year or five, not wanting to press the subject until Lincoln brought it up himself. He’d let the intense desire for his brother simmer beneath a veneer of gratuitous flirtation until everybody had long assumed it was just brotherly humor. Eccentric, sure, but still playful and non-threatening. Lincoln knew otherwise, of course. To the brothers, Michael’s attitude, the sexual overtones of his words, it was like their little secret. Their little can of worms that was currently about to be opened.
“Don’t do this, Mikey.” Quiet, controlled. Always so fucking controlled, and it pisses Michael off so badly that he sees stars.
The younger man quickly bends down and ducks his head inside the low car until he’s facing his older brother, feeling the warm breath against his face as Lincoln’s inhalations quicken. His brother’s eyes are wide, inscrutable, and his pupils dilate in a lake of grey. Grey like overcast Chicago winters, like the lumbering fog that rolls over the tops of skyscrapers when Michael gets into his car for work. His brother’s eyes are smooth, deep wells that flicker with what, anger? Nervousness? Lust?
In one moment of unthinking, Michael leans in and seizes the other man’s lips with his own, kissing him deeply. And for a split second nothing happens; or rather, Lincoln doesn’t push him away, and that’s something. But when Michael groans, tentatively allowing the arresting fear to pass over into the beginnings of pleasure, the vibrations and intensity seem to jolt Lincoln into reflex.
He shoves his little brother out of the car.
“What the fuck, Mikey, we’re in front Lisa’s fucking house,” he seethes, trying not to lament the end of that mind-numbing kiss. His little brother backs up, his expression wounded and he quickly turns around. Michael closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and goes around to get his purchases out of the trunk.
“Michael…”
But the man says nothing, acknowledges nothing, and walks over to his blue Taurus which is parked sedately across the street. He doesn’t trust himself to look back, doesn’t trust his voice not to waver. Even now he feels his tear ducts swelling and frantically wills the liquid to stay in. He isn’t a fucking girl, he isn’t going to go home and sob into a pillow (maybe just a couple stoic drops into his cereal). He isn’t some woman Lincoln used and dumped; he knows his brother still loves him and that he means well.
Still, it doesn’t make rejection hurt any less.
-----
“Daddy, what were you doing outside with Uncle Mikey?”
Lincoln freezes. Lisa looks over inquiringly.
“We went Christmas shopping, you know that.”
“No, I mean when Uncle Mikey was leaning over,” the 9-year old happily burbles. He likes his uncle a lot and always asks about him, much to his father’s chagrin.
“He… was just telling me what he got you for Christmas,” he quickly lies. Lisa pauses before pulling the scalloped potatoes out of the oven.
“Really?? What is it what is it??” Little LJ bounces in his chair.
“Like I’m going to tell you,” Lincoln teases. He then roughly pats his son on the head, disbelieving at how soft the hair is under his fingers, how little the ears are that stick out beneath the golden mop. God, his son is so perfect.
“Mommy, can Dad stay over for dinner?”
“It’s alright Lisa, I just came to drop this off. Is store-brand okay?” Lincoln hands over a package of eggnog mix. The blonde woman looks at her ex-lover/partner/roommate and then at her exuberant son.
“It’s fine Linc. And stay for dinner, I made too much anyway.” The couple had had their share of arguments over the past years, disagreements over how to raise LJ and how to handle their strange relationship, but they’re still okay. Lisa will still crumble every time her son pleads to let his father stay for meals.
And so, they eat. Potatoes and ham and corn, and Lisa has to refrain from asking Lincoln what it is that has him so visibly ruffled. She’s not worried, just curious. But not curious enough to broach a potentially destructive conversation, especially not while LJ is beaming at his father like he’s Santa Clause in the flesh. So she stays quiet and keeps her thoughts to herself.
-----
Ten days later, Christmas Eve
If the weathermen and weatherwomen had been apologetic for the lack of snowfall a week ago, they were now apologizing for the massive bout that had blanketed the city in two feet of blinding, white powder. It was all everybody would talk about these days. “How’s the snow treating you?” “You got your walkway cleared?” “The school’s not shutting down because of the snow, is it?” Snow, snow, snow, and Lincoln was sick of it.
Well, sick of it when he was outside, shivering in his thin sweater and leather jacket (how did he not own any coats? How?). But from indoors, from the safe third-story window of his crappy-ass but heated apartment, the fluttery white stuff wasn’t so bad. Kind of pretty, even, if you were into that romantic kind of wintery schmoop.
Unfortunately for him, it was Christmas Eve and he had another job to run. Honestly, who runs jobs on fucking Christmas Eve? Nevertheless, he couldn’t let Julio down. Because if he did, the guy’s dogs would be on him before he could bat an eyelash. Still, if Lincoln did his job, which he always did, Julio didn’t have any complaints. As far as drug dealing/loan shark/pimps/thugs went, the Tijuana-born guy wasn’t so bad. Fair, at the very least.
In fact at the beginning of the month, Julio had given Lincoln a proposal. If he were to carry out his “responsibilities” without fail, then by the end of the next year he could go free. Eleven years of unabated servitude was apparently enough to appease the tough Mexican, and Lincoln had gotten on the guy’s good side by reeling in more dough than any other lackey of his. Michael’s free ride to university and a higher education in exchange for a little bit (okay, a lot) of shady business sounded like a fair trade to Lincoln. Still, it would be wonderful to get out under that oppressive thumb. He almost didn’t remember what it felt like to be free, to think about anything without the shadow of his “night job” looming behind him.
Well, I guess I’ll find out in a year, Lincoln thought to himself as he started the shower, deliberately placing it on the hottest setting in hopes of urging the water to heat faster.
He had gotten the holidays off from his day job, and just in time too because he had a noon appointment to make that day. Lincoln stepped out of the shower, steam billowing off his flushed skin, and quickly toweled himself dry. He stood in front of his closet and grabbed randomly at one of two clean suits, still in their bags from the dry cleaner’s.
While Lincoln would usually forgo an inner shirt, enjoying the breeze to lighten up a stuffy outfit, it was fucking four degrees Fahrenheit outside and the man didn’t have a death wish. So, a white t-shirt it was. He layered a grey button-up with a slight sheen to it (V had gotten it for him a couple years back, saying it brought out the highlights in his eyes. Whatever that meant.) underneath an Italian blazer and finished it with matching slacks.
Lincoln hastily adjusted the outfit with a quick shrug and smoothed out any bunched fabric before rushing out of his small apartment. This was another important deal and he simply could not keep the other party waiting too long; debilitating snow was only an excuse for amateurs.
Another day, another job. Lincoln was good at his work, but not so good that he wouldn’t be relieved to leave it a hundred miles behind him, come next New Year’s.
-----
Michael morosely stirred his mocha, willing the cinnamon he put in to dissolve but grumbling as it refused, instead opting to form a thin layer of reddish skin at the surface.
Figures. Nothing had been going well for him that week.
Lincoln was ignoring him. Well, not even that, he was indifferent to him. Which was about a thousand times worse. Michael had tried to call his brother the day after the kiss to first yell at him, but all he’d gotten was an answering machine.
“Lincoln Burrows, I’m not here. Leave a message,” and his older brother’s husky recorded voice had given him a hard-on, and then he just felt stupid.
He reluctantly called a few days later to apologize, but then his brother was “busy”, saying had some business to take care of or something. As if his job required him to work at fucking 1 AM in the morning. And now today, Michael had called one last time, desperate just to get any sort of fucking reaction and all Lincoln had to say to him was a hissed “Not right now, Mikey, I’m busy,” in a tone that could’ve been used if he were a dog that had just peed on the carpet.
Hence, the new $899.99 espresso machine he’d bought himself in consolation, and the experimental mocha with the congealed cinnamon. Apparently, money really didn’t buy happiness.
Michael loafed aimlessly around for the rest of the day. Unfortunately he’d spent the last week working nonstop and now he had nothing, nothing to tide him over until Thursday, the day after Christmas.
He’d slowly and carefully packaged his presents (satin blouse for Veronica, video game system for LJ, designer curtains for Lisa) but that had only taken him all of one hour. Including the trip to the store for ribbon.
So Michael perused his bookshelf, pulling out the large hardcover art books that always managed to at least occupy a decent portion of his attention.
Mies van der Rohe? No, too sterile for today. Frank Lloyd Wright… as if I haven’t already seen his things a million times. Michael skimmed his beloved collection, waiting for something to strike his fancy. Finally, he progressed chronologically from the Bauhaus movement up until one of his most recent books, pulling out a collection of Santiago Calatrava’s works, all the way up to that year.
He flipped the large book open, quickly losing himself in the spatial, soaring monuments that the ingenious man had designed. Enjoying the fresh minimalism and soothing structure of clean yet powerful lines, he felt a little peace.
Michael managed to putter his time away until 5 o’ clock. He was meeting with his brother’s family at six for dinner and gift exchanging, so he decided to get ready a little early and took a shower for the second time that day. Somehow he was feeling a little bit nervous about seeing the older man again so he used the warm water to pound his anxiety into a manageable hum, picturing Calatrava’s clean, soothing wings atop the Milwaukee museum instead of the way Lincoln made his blood pound.
5:15 PM, Michael flopped onto his large bed in a steam-dizzy haze. A few minutes later he got up from the chill that had begun to set in and picked out a pressed, white collared long-sleeve, buttoned it up and then pulled a dark green and maroon argyle vest over it (it wouldn’t kill him to be accidentally festive, he thought). As he continued dressing he tried not to think too hard about his choice of underwear (because it wouldn’t matter anyway, it wouldn’t) and finally threw on black boxer-briefs with clean, black pants lined with tiny, widely-spaced pinstripes.
Michael looked in his mirror and tried to will the bags away from under his eyes. Nothing happened. He opened the medicine cabinet up and quickly dabbed a little cologne onto his neck. 5:32 PM, good. It was about time to leave for Lisa’s.
The 28-year old gathered up the gifts, leaving Veronica’s behind since he wouldn’t see her until later. He grabbed his staple winter coat, threw a black mohair scarf around his neck and chin and left downstairs for the garage.
He had arrived by six o’ clock and was both pleased and apprehensive to see his brother’s car rolling in simultaneously. He gave a cursory glance at himself in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car.
“Linc,” he called out in greeting.
“Mikey.”
The two brothers settled into an uncomfortable silence, the both of them self-conscious and struggling to maintain their cool while juggling multiple objects that crinkled loudly with every movement.
Shit shit shit, Michael’s mind raced ahead without him, ditching Calatrava in the icy snow.
“You never called me back,” the younger brother blurted aloud. After that painfully adolescent statement, Michael goggled at the power of his own idiocy. Fuck, only his brother had the ability to turn him into a retard.
“Yeah… I uh, I’ve been busy,” Lincoln replied, desperately trying to think of what to say. If I’m too apologetic I’ll be leading him on… but goddamnit he’s giving me the hurt puppy eyes. Damnit, that’s just cheap. Eventually he just left the comment open to interpretation as the man surreptitiously snuck glances at his baby brother. Fuck, only his brother could look that erection-inducingly hot in just a woolen coat and scarf. And fuck if that wine bottle wasn’t the most phallic thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Double fuck if his brother wasn’t purposely fingering the elongated neck of the bottle with full intent to turn Lincoln on.
Thank god the freezing weather kept his dick in check.
The boys finally got to the lit porch of the one-story house after what seemed like an eternity. Since neither of them had hands free Michael nudged the doorbell with the end of the long wine bottle, his hand firmly wrapped around the neck, and Lincoln swore under his breath.
LJ threw the door open with a beaming smile as he backed up, bouncing in impatience for his two favorite father figures to come inside the warmed house.
“Hey kiddo, what’s that stick you’re holding?,” Lincon asked, taking note of a long fishing-pole-like dowel that reached high above his head.
“Why don’t you look,” he chortled as Lisa shook her head.
“Sorry guys, he’s been obsessing over this thing since they handed them out at school on Friday." She strode forward and started taking packages out of their arms, setting them on the floor next to a small, tastefully lit Christmas tree.
Michael and Lincoln looked up simultaneously and were greeted by a cheery, green sprig of mistletoe.
Fucking mistletoe. Somewhere up there, somebody was laughing really, really hard.
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no subject
Date: 2006-10-19 10:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-19 12:25 pm (UTC)Genius lol.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-20 12:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-20 12:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-20 01:44 am (UTC)Shit shit shit, Michael’s mind raced ahead without him, ditching Calatrava in the icy snow.
+
Thank god the freezing weather kept his dick in check.
Especially awesome.
Overall, it had good characterisation and language to match, which is typical of this whole series. Yay you!
no subject
Date: 2006-10-20 07:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-20 03:56 pm (UTC)I think this line from Chap. 5 sums it up quite well:
He hated Lincoln’s selfishness, he hated that breaking them up would somehow heal a little bit of his brother whereas it would only leave Michael feeling incomplete.
I do like, however, that we still see how badly Linc still wants Michael, how madly in love he still is after all this time and torment.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-20 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 07:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 09:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 03:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 05:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 05:22 am (UTC)