Fic: Breathe Love (13/?)
Oct. 22nd, 2006 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: Breathe Love (13/?)
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: 5,596
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Snow!! I wish. *puts on tank top in 80 degree weather* I put a lot of heart into this chapter so I hope it translates :O This is a Christmas chapter, it needs to be fucking awesome, goddamit. It's so easy to produce a dull winter fic but I really hope I didn't fall into that trap =_=;; Please concrit/feedback on this one, I only ask when I really need it! The last scene is one of the most important ones in Breathe Love so I want it to be perfect. Lol. Anyway, enjoy >_< I had fun writing this one.
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 13
“Hahahaha, now you have to kiss him Daddy!” LJ jumped around giggling, never letting go of the pole from which the sprig of mistletoe bounced jauntily. A plant had never looked so sinister.
Lincoln looked apprehensively to his right, warily eyeing his brother who was staring back with a determined expression. He isn’t really…is he?
The younger man took a tiny step closer as his nine-year old nephew egged them on. Lincoln took one step back. Michael licked his lips, a pink tongue slipping out to slowly draw across his soft lower lip, and Lincoln seriously began to feel worried. Albeit mixed with a large side of arousal. But luckily for the stricken man, a voice broke the reverie.
“LJ, don’t be silly. Mistletoe only works if it’s a boy and a girl,” Lisa lightly chided as she deposited the last of the brothers’ gifts beneath the tree and efficiently took the pole out of her son’s grip.
“Boo, that’s boring,” he pouted. Michael looked inclined to agree.
“It’s not boring, it’s normal,” Lincoln hastily corrected as his younger brother shot him a murderous glare. Nevertheless, a potential disaster had been avoided and Lincoln let out a sigh of both relief and disappointment.
LJ lost interest in the mistletoe after he’d milked the novelty factor out of it and quickly scampered to the Christmas tree instead. The young boy sifted through the presents and picked out the ones with his name on them, eagerly prodding and shaking them in hopes of guessing the contents. His uncle and father near melted at the sight, following him over to the lit up tree and joining in the festivities.
“What is this, Mikey? Do I get one of your new business cards?” Lincoln lifted the envelope-shaped gift, his name penned on it with Michael’s neat block letters.
“A small stack of them actually, so you can pass them out to your friends,” the younger man smoothly replied. “They’re pretty neat, I got the shiny stuff on the words.”
“Great, awesome. I get you that” --he pointed to the decently sized box in Michael’s hands-- "and all I get is this?” Lincoln waved the thin paper around.
“I guess so, huh?”
The older man growled.
“C’mon Dad, maybe it’s like a million bucks in there.” Lincoln began to point out the improbability of that but Lisa’s voice drifted from the kitchen.
“Dinner’s ready!” But it was just as much the aroma of savory meat as her voice that drew the three boys out of the dining room.
“Yaaaaaay!” LJ ran in and jumped into a chair, his feet swinging madly. “Mac n’ cheese, mac n’ cheese!” he chanted. His mother laughed amusedly and set the casserole down in the middle of the small, circular table. Soon the entire surface area was covered with steaming dishes and silverware. Lincoln reached out for a bread roll when Lisa slapped his hand smartly.
“Ow, what?”
“It’s called manners, Lincoln,” she rolled her eyes good naturedly. He grumbled something along the lines of “it’s called being hungry” but nobody paid him any attention as Michael stood up to uncork the wine he’d brought.
“Nederburg Private Bin, Weisser Riesling,” Lisa read off the label as he deftly twisted the cork out with the elegant metal device. “Oh, I love this winery. South Africa, right? Their ‘99 Shiraz was absolutely delicious.”
“They make wine in Africa?” Lincoln received two disparaging looks while LJ made drooling noises in the background. “What is this, hate on Lincoln day?”
Michael snickered as he gathered three wine glasses from the cabinet, filling them each half full with the rich, burgundy liquid and setting them down in front of the adults.
By now the food was ready, the wine and eggnog (virgin for LJ) doled out, and all that was left to do was eat. At least, that was the plan until Lisa interrupted the boys who had began to reach for food.
“Actually, before we get started, I have an announcement to make.” Three pairs of curious eyes looked up.
“I… just got promoted at work,” she started, the statement lingering and the others listened patiently, waiting for the downside that was evident in her voice. “The main office is in California.”
Silence.
“We’re going to move out there,” she clarified. “Hopefully by the end of next week; I want LJ to be at his new school before second semester begins.”
More silence.
“Mommy, we’re moving to California?,” LJ meekly asked.
“Yes, baby.”
The nine-year old boy looked pensive as he continued, “Is Daddy coming?”
Lisa looked over the table at her former lover and said, “That isn’t up to me.”
Lincoln sat, shocked, until the woman’s gaze settled on him. And then her words finally sunk in.
“You’re taking LJ away from me?,” he demanded disbelievingly.
“Linc, please. Not now,” she pleaded. “Can’t you be happy for me? Let’s just eat, we’ll talk about this later.” It was implicit that they would talk later, when LJ wasn’t at the table with them.
Michael remained mute, his eyes darkened as he filtered the information and imagined how it would impact their lives, their relationships. One relationship, in particular. He glanced aside at his brother who was visibly attempting to reign in his angry disbelief at the dinner table. Instead of lashing out with words, as it was his nature to do, he’d snatched the piece of bread he’d previously been reaching for and bit off half the roll.
“Congratulations, Lisa,” Michael finally asserted. He lifted his glass and tilted it in a toast before drinking.
“Thank you, Michael,” she said sincerely, taking a sip from her own glass. Although Lincoln was still looking as livid as a yoked bull, she knew the man’s younger brother would help calm him down later.
The dinner began tensely as Lincoln consumed his food angrily and knocked back rounds of eggnog that were quickly degenerating into rounds of nutmeg-flavored brandy, but then minutes later LJ turned on his boyish charm as he regaled his family with anecdotes from the Christmas party in class. By the time half the meal was over, the adults had relaxed and soon even Lincoln was smiling at his beatific son who was describing Peter Jensen’s Christmas colored boogers with fascinated glee.
Nearly an hour later, everybody was leaning back in their chairs and struggling to fight off their food comas, except for LJ who was feeling the effects of a ripe sugar high and nearly bouncing out of his chair in enthusiasm for opening his presents later that night. The tradition in their household was to open gifts at midnight instead of Christmas morning. LJ had never been very good at waiting.
After dinner, Michael and Lincoln helped Lisa clean up the table as LJ shot into the living room, gathered up his gifts and lovingly carried them with him to the family room. He switched on the television and the sounds of Christmas specials permeated the house as the adults rinsed plates and wrapped up leftovers.
“I got it,” Lincoln waved Michael away as he finished up loading the dishwasher. The younger brother was reluctant to leave the kitchen but obliged, understanding that the two had things to discuss. When they were alone, Lincoln spoke up.
“What is this Lisa, how the fuck can you take him away from me without even consulting me first?,” he attacked heatedly.
“Lincoln, I have to take this job, I can barely make ends meet here. I know you try to help but it just isn’t enough. Do you know I didn't let LJ join the soccer team this year because I couldn’t pay dues?” Lisa sighed tiredly. “I don’t want to do that, I don’t want to deny him anything just because I can’t afford it. Linc, this promotion… they’re giving me a huge raise. I can really take care of our son in California.”
“Exactly, our son. What about me? He needs his Dad, Lisa. I can’t go out to the west coast, you know that. If you’re saying money is more important than a father figure, I think you have to get your priorities straight.”
Lisa blanched in anger at these words. “A father figure?? Linc, you’re no more of a father figure than Michael is, if not less! You’re never around, you constantly let him down because of work. Lincoln, you make him cry because he thinks you leave when you’re mad at him,” she bit out, before realizing the harshness of her words. She slowed, took a deep breath. “Lincoln… maybe it isn’t just the money, maybe I think you’re… not good for him. LJ loves you so much but you just…,” she falters. “You break his heart, and that breaks mine because I have to pick up the pieces.”
Lincoln simply stood by the dishwasher, shell-shocked. The things she said were crazy, unbelievable; he felt as if his world had just flipped over and he was stuck inside the wreck. Never in his life had he imagined he were a bad father… he loved his son so much, he treated him so well when he did see him, but painfully, Lisa’s words slowly wormed their way into his skull.
Maybe he really was a bad father, bad for LJ. That hurt.
“I…” Lincoln tried to mutter something, anything in his defense. God, he didn’t want his only son to be thousands of miles away from him, only available a couple times a year. He couldn’t let him go, he needed his small, affectionate boy.
But it wasn’t about him anymore. He needed to do what was best for his son.
“Let me think about it,” he finally amended.
Lisa nodded in relief. She’d half expected the man to throw a chair out the window but instead he’d reacted with a maturity that she didn’t realize he was capable of. She left the kitchen to join Michael and LJ on the couch, and Lincoln poured himself some brandy, sans eggnog. It’d been a transparent excuse during dinner, anyway.
-----
When the Simpsons’ Christmas special ended at nine, Michael excused himself and went searching for his brother. Lincoln hadn’t come back with Lisa after the two had spoken, and Michael had tortured himself wondering exactly what had transpired. However, manners and a fear of seeming too obsessed prevented him from leaving right in the middle of the TV episode.
But now it was polite to leave and so he did, wandering his way into the kitchen.
At least there’s no blood or anything broken, Michael wryly thought. However, his propensity for noticing minutia pointed out that the brandy bottle was much, much emptier than it’d been at the end of dinner. The engineer left the room, heading towards the guest bedroom where he would be staying that night.
When he got to it, the door was slightly ajar but entirely dark inside. Michael tentatively pushed it open, entering and immediately noticing his brother’s presence in the room. He switched the light on.
“What are you doing in here?” Michael asked. Lincoln was sprawled out on his back, taking up the majority of the double bed so he simply stepped closer and seated himself on the edge.
“What happened in there?,” he pressed. Lincoln closed his eyes wearily.
“I guess LJ’s moving to California.”
“What?” Michael hadn’t anticipated his brother giving in so easily. “Why?”
Lincoln’s eyes remained shut, as if thinking. “Because it’s what’s best for my son.”
“But what about you, Linc?” I know how much you need him.
“What about me? Lisa’s right, I’m too busy with my own shit to even begin taking care of somebody else’s,” he said bitterly. “The least I can do is let him go.”
The words suddenly struck a chord with Michael and he felt resentful.
“Always the martyr,” he smiled sarcastically. “Can’t ever do anything that’ll make you happy, can you?”
“Make me happy, or make you happy?” Lincoln finally opened his eyes and glanced up at his little brother, the alcohol swimming in his vision as it broke down any tact he might’ve had. Michael felt cold at the sight.
“Fuck you,” he muttered. Michael really, really wasn’t in the mood for this tonight. He stood up to leave, the bedsprings rising up beneath him, but before he could step towards the door a firm grip held his wrist back.
“Wait, Mikey,” Lincoln held tight. “Sorry. Come back.”
Apparently the alcohol worked to break down the older brother’s stubborn pride as well. Michael grudgingly stilled.
“I… you understand, right? Why I have to let Lisa take him.”
Michael thought for a minute. “Of course. It’s just… I think that sometimes you fight for the wrong things, let go of the important ones. I don’t know what you’re thinking most of the time, and it drives me insane.”
Lincoln’s expression shuttered for a moment as he tried to explain himself. “There’s some things I need to keep to myself, Mikey. You know that. And these things, they… get in the way of me and LJ. Me and you.”
Drugs and alcohol and dealing and sex, is that what you mean? Michael nearly said these things aloud, the vehemence with which he felt about them. He didn’t understand his brother, he didn’t know why these “activities” were so fucking important, more important than family. More important than lovers.
But he didn’t need to say it aloud because it was written all over his face; the resentment of being second place. Maybe even third place, after LJ.
It hurt Lincoln to see that pained expression on his brother’s face but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t tell him the truth. It had been a secret for years, it would make everything so senseless if he told Michael about the debt. It was a matter of pride, of wanting to give his baby brother something better in life without being painted a martyr; a role for Lincoln that his baby brother loathed.
Besides, Lincoln really couldn’t tell Michael because in one year, it would all be moot point anyway. He was getting out, he was going to be free. No more calls in the middle of the night, no more blood, no more piranhas on his back and best of all, nothing in his priorities other than what he wanted there to be. It would never be Julio or the Cubans or the pushers again. Just Michael, LJ, Michael, Michael, Michael…
“Linc. Hey, Linc.” Michael tried his best to stay angry his brother but, as always, he didn’t have it in him. The older man had started to drop off to sleep but the grip encircling his wrist stayed tight. Michael sighed and settled onto the bed, sinking down and facing his older brother who had finally let go of the wrist in favor of flopping his arm over the soft area of Michael’s side.
Sure, Lincoln smelled like sickly sweet brandy and had passed out at 9:30 like an old man, but Michael found him sexy nonetheless. The way his brother’s eyes fluttered beneath his eyelids, the strong stubbled jaw, his pouty lips. And the Italian suit and sleek silver shirt didn’t hurt, either. Michael smiled, content in this small moment, and watched his older brother sleep.
-----
The sound of thunderous footsteps jolted Lincoln from slumber and he shot up, instantly regretting it as the room drunkenly tilted around his vision. However he had gotten up just in time; Michael was still blinking blearily and patting the empty space beside him in confusion when LJ threw the door open to the guest room and jumped on the bed.
“Daddy Daddy Daddy Uncle Mikeeeeey wake UP!” The nine year old bounced up and down on the mattress and jumped back onto the floor and then back onto the bed again like a rabbit on drugs. “It’s Christmas it’s Christmas PRESENTS!!!”
The blonde shot back out of the room, singing “Jingle Bells” on the top of his lungs and the sound faded like an ambulance that had driven past.
Lincoln took a few seconds to recover as he quickly glanced down at his baby brother, who was still looking stunned at the ball of energy that had exploded in the room and left. The older brother chuckled at Michael’s shaken expression and he quelled the urge to gather him up and kiss the trauma away. Instead he opted for nudging the other man and pulling back blankets that had somehow appeared over them.
“C’mon Mikey, let’s go make the kid happy.”
“Once upon a time, I was the kid you had to make happy,” Michael grumbled. “I want to lie down some more.”
“Sorry, you’re not the kid anymore,” Lincoln laughed.
“Hate you.” Nonetheless, the lanky man got out of the bed, shivering at the cold that hit him.
“Don’t be such a baby,” his older brother jeered, but he was undoing his own blazer and throwing it over Michael’s shoulder, who hurriedly wrapped the sleep-warm jacket over his own body.
The two men walked out of the bedroom and braced themselves, and rightfully so because LJ had leapt onto his father the moment he stepped out and thrust a shiny package into his arms.
“Dad Dad open it already!”
“Hey, c’mon. Let me get in the room, at least,” Lincoln grinned at his son who had miraculously refrained from ripping open his own presents at midnight sharp. The boys made their way to the Christmas tree, where Lisa was observing the scene with an amused smile.
“Do I have to open it for you?” LJ whined.
“No, no, I got it,” his father replied as he worked the layered mass of Scotch tape off the wrapping paper and pulled a small box out. He flipped the lid off and took out the objects inside.
It was a set of three pictures; one wallet-sized photo of LJ, painstakingly decorated on the edges with glitter dots and careful paint swirls. The second, a drawn picture of two men and a boy (Michael, LJ, and himself, he assumed), and the third was another drawing of a Christmas tree with Lisa, LJ, and Lincoln standing next to it in red and green crayon.
“We made these in class,” the small boy explained, suddenly shy as he searched his father’s face for approval. “They go in your wallet. That’s why they’re so small.”
Lincoln couldn’t speak, he was so moved by the stick figures and lovingly recreated Christmas tree that his baby boy had drawn himself. He simply pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and slipped the pictures inside.
“Never gonna take ‘em out, kiddo,” he managed to say without breaking down and smothering his kid with hugs and kisses. Oh god, he was going to miss his son.
LJ looked satisfied and smiled toothily before going back to his own small pile of gifts. Now that the important one was out of the way, he had better things to tend to, such as finding out what his uncle had spoiled him with this year.
It was a modest affair, but warm and appreciative all the same. Lisa gushed over the vintage George Nelson curtains while Michael broke his usually cool front in favor of ruffling LJ’s hair when he received his own meticulous drawing, which would surely clash with the décor of his kitchen when he tacked it onto his brushed steel fridge. He’d have to remember to get some magnets later.
When Lincoln got to Michael’s gift, the younger man stopped what he was doing and watched.
“You better not have been serious about the business cards,” Lincoln smiled as he messily slit the package open with a finger. He pulled out a thin, almost pamphlet-like book. “I don’t know if this is worse. Mikey, I don’t read, remember?”
“Don’t be stupid, of course you can read.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t, I just choose not to.”
“Well maybe you should open it first.”
Lincoln grinned as he realized his present wasn’t really just the book. Whatever “Waiting for Godot” was, it was probably stuffy and dry like his brother’s other tastes in literature. He flipped the cover open and inside lay two tickets.
“What’s this?”
“My company’s designing the terminals for this new airline, jetBlue, so we got a really good deal on tickets. These are kind of like vouchers… they work for any destination.”
“They go to California?”
Michael paused to think before responding, “Yeah, actually. LA or San Francisco.”
LJ had stopped to listen in on his dad and uncle’s conversation and caught the latter part.
“Dad, you’ll come visit me right???”
“Yup,” Lincoln succinctly replied.
“Awesome!!” LJ jumped up and hugged his uncle tightly as if the plane tickets were for him instead. “You are so smart Uncle Mikey, like you can see the future or something!!”
“Of course I can, don’t be an idiot,” the man replied as he tried to pry the suction-like nephew off his chest. He gave up after LJ dug his small fingers into his back; that hurt and he didn’t want to exacerbate it. Michael turned back to his brother who was carefully sliding the tickets into his wallet. “Be sure to read the play too, it’s great. If you disrespect Beckett I will do nasty, unspeakable things to you.”
Lincoln felt his face warm a little. It was the residual alcohol though, really. Michael snickered.
“Shove it, baby brother,” the older man grunted as he tossed his neatly-wrapped package (courtesy of Nordstrom) at the smug face. Michael caught it easily with those long, agile fingers-- fuck, it only took three words-- and started to carefully open it.
“You planning on keeping the gift wrap, Michael?,” Lisa teased as he peeled the tape off and stuck it onto some ripped paper on the floor.
“No,” the younger brother replied, sounding the tiniest bit embarrassed. Lincoln wanted to lord his brother’s neuroticism over him but felt he had to set a good example for his son, so he settled for returning a snicker of his own. Michael glared up at him as he continued his task.
Despite the meticulous job of unwrapping, Michael was soon opening the cardboard top. Beneath a few layers of brand-printed tissue paper, a cashmere scarf lay folded inside. Always responsive to the sense of touch, Michael admiringly ran his fingertips over the addictively fine texture before gathering it in a loose fist and draping it around his neck. The scent of his older brother wafted up and he nearly groaned aloud.
Cashmere and the smell of Lincoln, the best present ever, he hazily thought, rubbing the end of the downy fabric against his cheek.
“So soft,” the younger man finally said. Lincoln understood his brother’s love of agreeable textures (Michael at age 9, furtively rolling in chenille rugs. Michael at age 16, rubbing Lincoln’s silk tie over his own nipples--Fuck!) and understood the comment to be a heartfelt “thanks”.
“You're welcome.”
All too soon, the gifts were all opened, transformed from merry packages of mystery into solid, tangible things. LJ had finally crashed from his sugar and holiday high, and was lolling in Lisa’s lap while clutching a DVD set of his favorite cartoon.
“Sorry boys, let me just put him to bed first,” she said as she stood, heaving the boy up as well. “The guest room’s all made up, and there’s extra blankets if somebody wants to sleep on the ground.”
The brothers nodded as she left the room, then turned around to begin cleaning up the remnants of gift packaging.
“So, did you use this scarf before giving it to me?,” Michael asked, surreptitiously sniffing the cashmere as they crushed paper into a garbage bag. “Secondhand presents. Classy, Linc.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Lincoln swiped at his brother with some golden mesh ribbon. “I got that when you lost your first one, which was what, two months ago? It’s been sitting in my closet.”
“Oh,” the younger brother lamely replied, burrowing his face into the mass of downy fabric that was bunched high around his shoulders while needlessly folding the paper before tossing it. He mumbled into the scarf, “I really like it.”
Lincoln paused what he was doing and watched his self-conscious brother flatten gift boxes. He’d been watching him all evening, in fact; there was something about waking up next to his baby brother, intrusive son or not, that had felt so comforting, so right, that he hadn’t been able to get those piercing blue eyes out of his mind since. Usually Lincoln would squash down one of these moods (as he called it) and go back to being normal; affectionate with Michael but from a safe distance. But maybe it was the dim lighting and the Christmas lights that glowed against Michael’s face as he dug around the trunk for a stray piece of cardstock… maybe it was the way he looked so small in Lincoln’s blazer or the way he kept snuggling the grey scarf when he thought no one was looking, but Lincoln just. Couldn’t take his eyes off his brother.
“What?,” Michael asked irritably. “You’re not doing anything, give me that.” The younger man leaned forward to grab the ribbon from Lincoln’s hand but the older brother snatched his arm back, watching in slow motion as Michael lost his balance and fell into Lincoln’s broad chest. Without thinking Lincoln dropped the mesh ribbon from his hand and gently caught Michael’s face instead, pulling up to align that red mouth just right against his lips.
He kissed him deeply, feeling his little brother stiffen in surprise before melting back and rearranging himself in Lincoln’s arms.
“Mmm…Linc…,” Michael’s eyes fluttered shut and he eagerly ran hands up his brother’s shoulder blades, tracing back down as he pulled the larger body closer, warmer, more. Oh god.
Down the hallway a door shut and in the relative silence of the brothers’ languid, tongue-hinted kisses, the thudding noise resounded like a gunshot. They sprang apart and grabbed whatever gift wrap they could find.
Lisa walked in and found them hurriedly cleaning up the rest of the holiday mess and wondered at their guilty expressions. She shrugged.
“Hey boys, you didn’t have to clean this up.”
“It’s no problem Lisa, it’s basically finished,” Michael replied, holding the plastic bag wide open for Lincoln to put in the last of the trash. Pleased, the blonde woman then turned around and made for her bedroom. It’d been an exhausting day.
When she disappeared from view, Michael whirled around to face his brother.
“Linc--,” he started. He had to pin his brother down or the man was going to worm away like a slippery eel. Unfortunately, it was already too late. Michael watched his brother’s retreating figure as he descended into the hall, heading into the guest room.
He can’t get away with that, he can’t just instigate a kiss with me and pretend like it didn’t happen, he thought angrily. No matter, there was only one guest bedroom and that meant one room all to themselves. Michael pulled the drawstring of the garbage bag tight and quickly ducked outside and around the fence, braving the frigid blast of air as he tossed the bag into the trash bin. When he went back inside, he had every intention of cornering his conflicted older brother and convincing him to kiss him again, one way or the other.
He strode into their room and flicked the switch on, a vague sense of déjà vu creeping up as he expected to find his brother lying on the bed again. The feeling ended when the light flooded the room, proving that Lincoln was actually nowhere to be found.
What the hell? Michael gave the small room a cursory search before noticing that one of the thick thermal blankets was missing. Which meant the man was probably outside in the twelve degree atmosphere, probably freezing his ass off as he wallowed in angst, the idiot. He stormed back outside.
Lincoln was easy enough to find, despite the strange location. Michael simply followed the deep tracks in the snow and found that they led to a wooden ladder, propped up against the slightly sloping roof.
He’s on the fucking roof, is he trying to kill himself?? Michael pulled his numb hands out of the pockets of the blazer and ignored the sting of ice against bare skin as he steadfastly scaled the ladder.
“Linc, you fucking bastard,” Michael greeted. His brother was sitting on a level structure that stuck out from the angled roof, shrouded in Lisa’s warmest blanket.
“Mikey, what the hell are you doing here?”
Lincoln was trying to smoke a cigarette but every time he brought his hands out for a drag, the frigid air would seep into the body-warmed hollow. So eventually he stubbed it out into the snow beside him. Then he lifted an arm and beckoned his little brother under the blanket.
“It’s fucking freezing, get in here.”
“Really, it’s cold? I h-hadn’t noticed. You know, because you must be so warm without a hat, gloves, or even a f-fucking jacket on,” Michael chattered as he precariously trudged up the roof and sat himself down next to his brother. “Linc, honestly. What are you doing up here?”
“I always come up here to think,” the older man answered. “Although it’s usually in the summer or something. But it’s not too bad with the blanket.”
As Michael warmed himself up beneath the trapped heat, he reluctantly agreed. The cover was doing a decent job of keeping them warm enough to function, and he ducked further beneath it.
“Is this about the kiss?,” Michael asked, point-blank.
“Of course,” his brother grunted. Huh, a straight answer. That wasn’t something that happened every day.
“What is there to freak out about now?”
Lincoln was slow to respond, mulling over the same question he’d been considering for the past few minutes. “I… don’t know.”
Surprised, Michael glanced aside at his older brother, the one who had always had some excuse, however irrelevant or stupid, at why the brothers couldn’t be together. It’s sick, it’s wrong. People will find out, we’ll get in trouble, I just want what’s best for you, for LJ and it had been about LJ ever since.
But now.
“I found it,” Lincoln suddenly said. “The play, on the last page, what you wrote.”
Michael was taken aback at the abrupt comment. “How did you… I thought maybe you’d never see it. It was on the last page, after all.”
“When I flipped through it, I saw your handwriting. So I just went back and read it.”
I’ll be there too, waiting. It isn’t a matter of choice for them, nor me. Even if you never come, I’ll always be waiting for you.
“He isn’t going to be around anymore,” Michael stated, changing the subject. He didn’t want to bring up what he’d written. It felt like a secret somebody had gossiped to his brother; a secret that was meant to be found, later. But Lincoln had never followed his plans, did he?
“You won’t see him much anymore,” Michael repeated. Lincoln knew exactly who he was talking about.
“Does that make you happy?” Slightly bitter, but Michael could handle that.
“Don’t be an asshole, you know I love LJ too.”
The brothers huddled under the blanket, searching for the warmth that exuded between them like a heavy veil. Lincoln slowly rubbed his cold face with his hands in contemplation. The brothers looked out, gazing at the mesmerizing points of light from homes or street lamps. Little flakes of snow fell in view, leisurely floating down and shining like pricks of golden hues as they reflected illuminations.
“I can’t think of anything wrong anymore, Michael. I just… can’t. Not you, not work, not my son.”
“And?,” Michael prompted, hushed. His voice was quickly swallowed up into the night, the snow absorbing all sound and allowing only their warm breaths to vibrate against the air. When Lincoln didn’t respond, Michael wondered if he had just imagined saying something.
“And,” the older man stated, as if that one word somehow meant everything.
Michael turned to look at his brother’s profile; while Lincoln’s silhouette usually looked strong with a stubborn set of his jaw, in this ethereal light he looked softer somehow, the edges blurred from the dark sky to the shadows of Lincoln’s face, the drifting snow gathering on his eyelashes and melting against his lips.
Michael waited, trying not to get his hopes up but failing miserably. The relaxed give of Lincoln’s body, the slow rhythm at which he blinked as if at peace with a decision; either Michael was about to receive the only thing he had ever wanted, or Lincoln was about to pierce his heart with an icicle. He fervently hoped for the former.
The blanket rustled as Lincoln reached for his younger brother. Michael’s scarf was pushed down at the neck and the older man leaned in, catching the trembling lips with sure ones. Bits of snow were kicked aside as Michael shifted his body forwards, sighing into Lincoln’s embrace and the two boys kissed, then kissed again, and again beneath the canopy of velvet night and swirling, dreaming snowflakes.
Nothing moved but for twining limbs and aching hearts as two brothers found their souls in each other. Under the cover of gentle drizzling snow, all was still.
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Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:
aeroport_artRating: PG-13 (up to NC-17)
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 5,596
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Snow!! I wish. *puts on tank top in 80 degree weather* I put a lot of heart into this chapter so I hope it translates :O This is a Christmas chapter, it needs to be fucking awesome, goddamit. It's so easy to produce a dull winter fic but I really hope I didn't fall into that trap =_=;; Please concrit/feedback on this one, I only ask when I really need it! The last scene is one of the most important ones in Breathe Love so I want it to be perfect. Lol. Anyway, enjoy >_< I had fun writing this one.
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.
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Chapter 13
“Hahahaha, now you have to kiss him Daddy!” LJ jumped around giggling, never letting go of the pole from which the sprig of mistletoe bounced jauntily. A plant had never looked so sinister.
Lincoln looked apprehensively to his right, warily eyeing his brother who was staring back with a determined expression. He isn’t really…is he?
The younger man took a tiny step closer as his nine-year old nephew egged them on. Lincoln took one step back. Michael licked his lips, a pink tongue slipping out to slowly draw across his soft lower lip, and Lincoln seriously began to feel worried. Albeit mixed with a large side of arousal. But luckily for the stricken man, a voice broke the reverie.
“LJ, don’t be silly. Mistletoe only works if it’s a boy and a girl,” Lisa lightly chided as she deposited the last of the brothers’ gifts beneath the tree and efficiently took the pole out of her son’s grip.
“Boo, that’s boring,” he pouted. Michael looked inclined to agree.
“It’s not boring, it’s normal,” Lincoln hastily corrected as his younger brother shot him a murderous glare. Nevertheless, a potential disaster had been avoided and Lincoln let out a sigh of both relief and disappointment.
LJ lost interest in the mistletoe after he’d milked the novelty factor out of it and quickly scampered to the Christmas tree instead. The young boy sifted through the presents and picked out the ones with his name on them, eagerly prodding and shaking them in hopes of guessing the contents. His uncle and father near melted at the sight, following him over to the lit up tree and joining in the festivities.
“What is this, Mikey? Do I get one of your new business cards?” Lincoln lifted the envelope-shaped gift, his name penned on it with Michael’s neat block letters.
“A small stack of them actually, so you can pass them out to your friends,” the younger man smoothly replied. “They’re pretty neat, I got the shiny stuff on the words.”
“Great, awesome. I get you that” --he pointed to the decently sized box in Michael’s hands-- "and all I get is this?” Lincoln waved the thin paper around.
“I guess so, huh?”
The older man growled.
“C’mon Dad, maybe it’s like a million bucks in there.” Lincoln began to point out the improbability of that but Lisa’s voice drifted from the kitchen.
“Dinner’s ready!” But it was just as much the aroma of savory meat as her voice that drew the three boys out of the dining room.
“Yaaaaaay!” LJ ran in and jumped into a chair, his feet swinging madly. “Mac n’ cheese, mac n’ cheese!” he chanted. His mother laughed amusedly and set the casserole down in the middle of the small, circular table. Soon the entire surface area was covered with steaming dishes and silverware. Lincoln reached out for a bread roll when Lisa slapped his hand smartly.
“Ow, what?”
“It’s called manners, Lincoln,” she rolled her eyes good naturedly. He grumbled something along the lines of “it’s called being hungry” but nobody paid him any attention as Michael stood up to uncork the wine he’d brought.
“Nederburg Private Bin, Weisser Riesling,” Lisa read off the label as he deftly twisted the cork out with the elegant metal device. “Oh, I love this winery. South Africa, right? Their ‘99 Shiraz was absolutely delicious.”
“They make wine in Africa?” Lincoln received two disparaging looks while LJ made drooling noises in the background. “What is this, hate on Lincoln day?”
Michael snickered as he gathered three wine glasses from the cabinet, filling them each half full with the rich, burgundy liquid and setting them down in front of the adults.
By now the food was ready, the wine and eggnog (virgin for LJ) doled out, and all that was left to do was eat. At least, that was the plan until Lisa interrupted the boys who had began to reach for food.
“Actually, before we get started, I have an announcement to make.” Three pairs of curious eyes looked up.
“I… just got promoted at work,” she started, the statement lingering and the others listened patiently, waiting for the downside that was evident in her voice. “The main office is in California.”
Silence.
“We’re going to move out there,” she clarified. “Hopefully by the end of next week; I want LJ to be at his new school before second semester begins.”
More silence.
“Mommy, we’re moving to California?,” LJ meekly asked.
“Yes, baby.”
The nine-year old boy looked pensive as he continued, “Is Daddy coming?”
Lisa looked over the table at her former lover and said, “That isn’t up to me.”
Lincoln sat, shocked, until the woman’s gaze settled on him. And then her words finally sunk in.
“You’re taking LJ away from me?,” he demanded disbelievingly.
“Linc, please. Not now,” she pleaded. “Can’t you be happy for me? Let’s just eat, we’ll talk about this later.” It was implicit that they would talk later, when LJ wasn’t at the table with them.
Michael remained mute, his eyes darkened as he filtered the information and imagined how it would impact their lives, their relationships. One relationship, in particular. He glanced aside at his brother who was visibly attempting to reign in his angry disbelief at the dinner table. Instead of lashing out with words, as it was his nature to do, he’d snatched the piece of bread he’d previously been reaching for and bit off half the roll.
“Congratulations, Lisa,” Michael finally asserted. He lifted his glass and tilted it in a toast before drinking.
“Thank you, Michael,” she said sincerely, taking a sip from her own glass. Although Lincoln was still looking as livid as a yoked bull, she knew the man’s younger brother would help calm him down later.
The dinner began tensely as Lincoln consumed his food angrily and knocked back rounds of eggnog that were quickly degenerating into rounds of nutmeg-flavored brandy, but then minutes later LJ turned on his boyish charm as he regaled his family with anecdotes from the Christmas party in class. By the time half the meal was over, the adults had relaxed and soon even Lincoln was smiling at his beatific son who was describing Peter Jensen’s Christmas colored boogers with fascinated glee.
Nearly an hour later, everybody was leaning back in their chairs and struggling to fight off their food comas, except for LJ who was feeling the effects of a ripe sugar high and nearly bouncing out of his chair in enthusiasm for opening his presents later that night. The tradition in their household was to open gifts at midnight instead of Christmas morning. LJ had never been very good at waiting.
After dinner, Michael and Lincoln helped Lisa clean up the table as LJ shot into the living room, gathered up his gifts and lovingly carried them with him to the family room. He switched on the television and the sounds of Christmas specials permeated the house as the adults rinsed plates and wrapped up leftovers.
“I got it,” Lincoln waved Michael away as he finished up loading the dishwasher. The younger brother was reluctant to leave the kitchen but obliged, understanding that the two had things to discuss. When they were alone, Lincoln spoke up.
“What is this Lisa, how the fuck can you take him away from me without even consulting me first?,” he attacked heatedly.
“Lincoln, I have to take this job, I can barely make ends meet here. I know you try to help but it just isn’t enough. Do you know I didn't let LJ join the soccer team this year because I couldn’t pay dues?” Lisa sighed tiredly. “I don’t want to do that, I don’t want to deny him anything just because I can’t afford it. Linc, this promotion… they’re giving me a huge raise. I can really take care of our son in California.”
“Exactly, our son. What about me? He needs his Dad, Lisa. I can’t go out to the west coast, you know that. If you’re saying money is more important than a father figure, I think you have to get your priorities straight.”
Lisa blanched in anger at these words. “A father figure?? Linc, you’re no more of a father figure than Michael is, if not less! You’re never around, you constantly let him down because of work. Lincoln, you make him cry because he thinks you leave when you’re mad at him,” she bit out, before realizing the harshness of her words. She slowed, took a deep breath. “Lincoln… maybe it isn’t just the money, maybe I think you’re… not good for him. LJ loves you so much but you just…,” she falters. “You break his heart, and that breaks mine because I have to pick up the pieces.”
Lincoln simply stood by the dishwasher, shell-shocked. The things she said were crazy, unbelievable; he felt as if his world had just flipped over and he was stuck inside the wreck. Never in his life had he imagined he were a bad father… he loved his son so much, he treated him so well when he did see him, but painfully, Lisa’s words slowly wormed their way into his skull.
Maybe he really was a bad father, bad for LJ. That hurt.
“I…” Lincoln tried to mutter something, anything in his defense. God, he didn’t want his only son to be thousands of miles away from him, only available a couple times a year. He couldn’t let him go, he needed his small, affectionate boy.
But it wasn’t about him anymore. He needed to do what was best for his son.
“Let me think about it,” he finally amended.
Lisa nodded in relief. She’d half expected the man to throw a chair out the window but instead he’d reacted with a maturity that she didn’t realize he was capable of. She left the kitchen to join Michael and LJ on the couch, and Lincoln poured himself some brandy, sans eggnog. It’d been a transparent excuse during dinner, anyway.
-----
When the Simpsons’ Christmas special ended at nine, Michael excused himself and went searching for his brother. Lincoln hadn’t come back with Lisa after the two had spoken, and Michael had tortured himself wondering exactly what had transpired. However, manners and a fear of seeming too obsessed prevented him from leaving right in the middle of the TV episode.
But now it was polite to leave and so he did, wandering his way into the kitchen.
At least there’s no blood or anything broken, Michael wryly thought. However, his propensity for noticing minutia pointed out that the brandy bottle was much, much emptier than it’d been at the end of dinner. The engineer left the room, heading towards the guest bedroom where he would be staying that night.
When he got to it, the door was slightly ajar but entirely dark inside. Michael tentatively pushed it open, entering and immediately noticing his brother’s presence in the room. He switched the light on.
“What are you doing in here?” Michael asked. Lincoln was sprawled out on his back, taking up the majority of the double bed so he simply stepped closer and seated himself on the edge.
“What happened in there?,” he pressed. Lincoln closed his eyes wearily.
“I guess LJ’s moving to California.”
“What?” Michael hadn’t anticipated his brother giving in so easily. “Why?”
Lincoln’s eyes remained shut, as if thinking. “Because it’s what’s best for my son.”
“But what about you, Linc?” I know how much you need him.
“What about me? Lisa’s right, I’m too busy with my own shit to even begin taking care of somebody else’s,” he said bitterly. “The least I can do is let him go.”
The words suddenly struck a chord with Michael and he felt resentful.
“Always the martyr,” he smiled sarcastically. “Can’t ever do anything that’ll make you happy, can you?”
“Make me happy, or make you happy?” Lincoln finally opened his eyes and glanced up at his little brother, the alcohol swimming in his vision as it broke down any tact he might’ve had. Michael felt cold at the sight.
“Fuck you,” he muttered. Michael really, really wasn’t in the mood for this tonight. He stood up to leave, the bedsprings rising up beneath him, but before he could step towards the door a firm grip held his wrist back.
“Wait, Mikey,” Lincoln held tight. “Sorry. Come back.”
Apparently the alcohol worked to break down the older brother’s stubborn pride as well. Michael grudgingly stilled.
“I… you understand, right? Why I have to let Lisa take him.”
Michael thought for a minute. “Of course. It’s just… I think that sometimes you fight for the wrong things, let go of the important ones. I don’t know what you’re thinking most of the time, and it drives me insane.”
Lincoln’s expression shuttered for a moment as he tried to explain himself. “There’s some things I need to keep to myself, Mikey. You know that. And these things, they… get in the way of me and LJ. Me and you.”
Drugs and alcohol and dealing and sex, is that what you mean? Michael nearly said these things aloud, the vehemence with which he felt about them. He didn’t understand his brother, he didn’t know why these “activities” were so fucking important, more important than family. More important than lovers.
But he didn’t need to say it aloud because it was written all over his face; the resentment of being second place. Maybe even third place, after LJ.
It hurt Lincoln to see that pained expression on his brother’s face but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t tell him the truth. It had been a secret for years, it would make everything so senseless if he told Michael about the debt. It was a matter of pride, of wanting to give his baby brother something better in life without being painted a martyr; a role for Lincoln that his baby brother loathed.
Besides, Lincoln really couldn’t tell Michael because in one year, it would all be moot point anyway. He was getting out, he was going to be free. No more calls in the middle of the night, no more blood, no more piranhas on his back and best of all, nothing in his priorities other than what he wanted there to be. It would never be Julio or the Cubans or the pushers again. Just Michael, LJ, Michael, Michael, Michael…
“Linc. Hey, Linc.” Michael tried his best to stay angry his brother but, as always, he didn’t have it in him. The older man had started to drop off to sleep but the grip encircling his wrist stayed tight. Michael sighed and settled onto the bed, sinking down and facing his older brother who had finally let go of the wrist in favor of flopping his arm over the soft area of Michael’s side.
Sure, Lincoln smelled like sickly sweet brandy and had passed out at 9:30 like an old man, but Michael found him sexy nonetheless. The way his brother’s eyes fluttered beneath his eyelids, the strong stubbled jaw, his pouty lips. And the Italian suit and sleek silver shirt didn’t hurt, either. Michael smiled, content in this small moment, and watched his older brother sleep.
-----
The sound of thunderous footsteps jolted Lincoln from slumber and he shot up, instantly regretting it as the room drunkenly tilted around his vision. However he had gotten up just in time; Michael was still blinking blearily and patting the empty space beside him in confusion when LJ threw the door open to the guest room and jumped on the bed.
“Daddy Daddy Daddy Uncle Mikeeeeey wake UP!” The nine year old bounced up and down on the mattress and jumped back onto the floor and then back onto the bed again like a rabbit on drugs. “It’s Christmas it’s Christmas PRESENTS!!!”
The blonde shot back out of the room, singing “Jingle Bells” on the top of his lungs and the sound faded like an ambulance that had driven past.
Lincoln took a few seconds to recover as he quickly glanced down at his baby brother, who was still looking stunned at the ball of energy that had exploded in the room and left. The older brother chuckled at Michael’s shaken expression and he quelled the urge to gather him up and kiss the trauma away. Instead he opted for nudging the other man and pulling back blankets that had somehow appeared over them.
“C’mon Mikey, let’s go make the kid happy.”
“Once upon a time, I was the kid you had to make happy,” Michael grumbled. “I want to lie down some more.”
“Sorry, you’re not the kid anymore,” Lincoln laughed.
“Hate you.” Nonetheless, the lanky man got out of the bed, shivering at the cold that hit him.
“Don’t be such a baby,” his older brother jeered, but he was undoing his own blazer and throwing it over Michael’s shoulder, who hurriedly wrapped the sleep-warm jacket over his own body.
The two men walked out of the bedroom and braced themselves, and rightfully so because LJ had leapt onto his father the moment he stepped out and thrust a shiny package into his arms.
“Dad Dad open it already!”
“Hey, c’mon. Let me get in the room, at least,” Lincoln grinned at his son who had miraculously refrained from ripping open his own presents at midnight sharp. The boys made their way to the Christmas tree, where Lisa was observing the scene with an amused smile.
“Do I have to open it for you?” LJ whined.
“No, no, I got it,” his father replied as he worked the layered mass of Scotch tape off the wrapping paper and pulled a small box out. He flipped the lid off and took out the objects inside.
It was a set of three pictures; one wallet-sized photo of LJ, painstakingly decorated on the edges with glitter dots and careful paint swirls. The second, a drawn picture of two men and a boy (Michael, LJ, and himself, he assumed), and the third was another drawing of a Christmas tree with Lisa, LJ, and Lincoln standing next to it in red and green crayon.
“We made these in class,” the small boy explained, suddenly shy as he searched his father’s face for approval. “They go in your wallet. That’s why they’re so small.”
Lincoln couldn’t speak, he was so moved by the stick figures and lovingly recreated Christmas tree that his baby boy had drawn himself. He simply pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and slipped the pictures inside.
“Never gonna take ‘em out, kiddo,” he managed to say without breaking down and smothering his kid with hugs and kisses. Oh god, he was going to miss his son.
LJ looked satisfied and smiled toothily before going back to his own small pile of gifts. Now that the important one was out of the way, he had better things to tend to, such as finding out what his uncle had spoiled him with this year.
It was a modest affair, but warm and appreciative all the same. Lisa gushed over the vintage George Nelson curtains while Michael broke his usually cool front in favor of ruffling LJ’s hair when he received his own meticulous drawing, which would surely clash with the décor of his kitchen when he tacked it onto his brushed steel fridge. He’d have to remember to get some magnets later.
When Lincoln got to Michael’s gift, the younger man stopped what he was doing and watched.
“You better not have been serious about the business cards,” Lincoln smiled as he messily slit the package open with a finger. He pulled out a thin, almost pamphlet-like book. “I don’t know if this is worse. Mikey, I don’t read, remember?”
“Don’t be stupid, of course you can read.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t, I just choose not to.”
“Well maybe you should open it first.”
Lincoln grinned as he realized his present wasn’t really just the book. Whatever “Waiting for Godot” was, it was probably stuffy and dry like his brother’s other tastes in literature. He flipped the cover open and inside lay two tickets.
“What’s this?”
“My company’s designing the terminals for this new airline, jetBlue, so we got a really good deal on tickets. These are kind of like vouchers… they work for any destination.”
“They go to California?”
Michael paused to think before responding, “Yeah, actually. LA or San Francisco.”
LJ had stopped to listen in on his dad and uncle’s conversation and caught the latter part.
“Dad, you’ll come visit me right???”
“Yup,” Lincoln succinctly replied.
“Awesome!!” LJ jumped up and hugged his uncle tightly as if the plane tickets were for him instead. “You are so smart Uncle Mikey, like you can see the future or something!!”
“Of course I can, don’t be an idiot,” the man replied as he tried to pry the suction-like nephew off his chest. He gave up after LJ dug his small fingers into his back; that hurt and he didn’t want to exacerbate it. Michael turned back to his brother who was carefully sliding the tickets into his wallet. “Be sure to read the play too, it’s great. If you disrespect Beckett I will do nasty, unspeakable things to you.”
Lincoln felt his face warm a little. It was the residual alcohol though, really. Michael snickered.
“Shove it, baby brother,” the older man grunted as he tossed his neatly-wrapped package (courtesy of Nordstrom) at the smug face. Michael caught it easily with those long, agile fingers-- fuck, it only took three words-- and started to carefully open it.
“You planning on keeping the gift wrap, Michael?,” Lisa teased as he peeled the tape off and stuck it onto some ripped paper on the floor.
“No,” the younger brother replied, sounding the tiniest bit embarrassed. Lincoln wanted to lord his brother’s neuroticism over him but felt he had to set a good example for his son, so he settled for returning a snicker of his own. Michael glared up at him as he continued his task.
Despite the meticulous job of unwrapping, Michael was soon opening the cardboard top. Beneath a few layers of brand-printed tissue paper, a cashmere scarf lay folded inside. Always responsive to the sense of touch, Michael admiringly ran his fingertips over the addictively fine texture before gathering it in a loose fist and draping it around his neck. The scent of his older brother wafted up and he nearly groaned aloud.
Cashmere and the smell of Lincoln, the best present ever, he hazily thought, rubbing the end of the downy fabric against his cheek.
“So soft,” the younger man finally said. Lincoln understood his brother’s love of agreeable textures (Michael at age 9, furtively rolling in chenille rugs. Michael at age 16, rubbing Lincoln’s silk tie over his own nipples--Fuck!) and understood the comment to be a heartfelt “thanks”.
“You're welcome.”
All too soon, the gifts were all opened, transformed from merry packages of mystery into solid, tangible things. LJ had finally crashed from his sugar and holiday high, and was lolling in Lisa’s lap while clutching a DVD set of his favorite cartoon.
“Sorry boys, let me just put him to bed first,” she said as she stood, heaving the boy up as well. “The guest room’s all made up, and there’s extra blankets if somebody wants to sleep on the ground.”
The brothers nodded as she left the room, then turned around to begin cleaning up the remnants of gift packaging.
“So, did you use this scarf before giving it to me?,” Michael asked, surreptitiously sniffing the cashmere as they crushed paper into a garbage bag. “Secondhand presents. Classy, Linc.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Lincoln swiped at his brother with some golden mesh ribbon. “I got that when you lost your first one, which was what, two months ago? It’s been sitting in my closet.”
“Oh,” the younger brother lamely replied, burrowing his face into the mass of downy fabric that was bunched high around his shoulders while needlessly folding the paper before tossing it. He mumbled into the scarf, “I really like it.”
Lincoln paused what he was doing and watched his self-conscious brother flatten gift boxes. He’d been watching him all evening, in fact; there was something about waking up next to his baby brother, intrusive son or not, that had felt so comforting, so right, that he hadn’t been able to get those piercing blue eyes out of his mind since. Usually Lincoln would squash down one of these moods (as he called it) and go back to being normal; affectionate with Michael but from a safe distance. But maybe it was the dim lighting and the Christmas lights that glowed against Michael’s face as he dug around the trunk for a stray piece of cardstock… maybe it was the way he looked so small in Lincoln’s blazer or the way he kept snuggling the grey scarf when he thought no one was looking, but Lincoln just. Couldn’t take his eyes off his brother.
“What?,” Michael asked irritably. “You’re not doing anything, give me that.” The younger man leaned forward to grab the ribbon from Lincoln’s hand but the older brother snatched his arm back, watching in slow motion as Michael lost his balance and fell into Lincoln’s broad chest. Without thinking Lincoln dropped the mesh ribbon from his hand and gently caught Michael’s face instead, pulling up to align that red mouth just right against his lips.
He kissed him deeply, feeling his little brother stiffen in surprise before melting back and rearranging himself in Lincoln’s arms.
“Mmm…Linc…,” Michael’s eyes fluttered shut and he eagerly ran hands up his brother’s shoulder blades, tracing back down as he pulled the larger body closer, warmer, more. Oh god.
Down the hallway a door shut and in the relative silence of the brothers’ languid, tongue-hinted kisses, the thudding noise resounded like a gunshot. They sprang apart and grabbed whatever gift wrap they could find.
Lisa walked in and found them hurriedly cleaning up the rest of the holiday mess and wondered at their guilty expressions. She shrugged.
“Hey boys, you didn’t have to clean this up.”
“It’s no problem Lisa, it’s basically finished,” Michael replied, holding the plastic bag wide open for Lincoln to put in the last of the trash. Pleased, the blonde woman then turned around and made for her bedroom. It’d been an exhausting day.
When she disappeared from view, Michael whirled around to face his brother.
“Linc--,” he started. He had to pin his brother down or the man was going to worm away like a slippery eel. Unfortunately, it was already too late. Michael watched his brother’s retreating figure as he descended into the hall, heading into the guest room.
He can’t get away with that, he can’t just instigate a kiss with me and pretend like it didn’t happen, he thought angrily. No matter, there was only one guest bedroom and that meant one room all to themselves. Michael pulled the drawstring of the garbage bag tight and quickly ducked outside and around the fence, braving the frigid blast of air as he tossed the bag into the trash bin. When he went back inside, he had every intention of cornering his conflicted older brother and convincing him to kiss him again, one way or the other.
He strode into their room and flicked the switch on, a vague sense of déjà vu creeping up as he expected to find his brother lying on the bed again. The feeling ended when the light flooded the room, proving that Lincoln was actually nowhere to be found.
What the hell? Michael gave the small room a cursory search before noticing that one of the thick thermal blankets was missing. Which meant the man was probably outside in the twelve degree atmosphere, probably freezing his ass off as he wallowed in angst, the idiot. He stormed back outside.
Lincoln was easy enough to find, despite the strange location. Michael simply followed the deep tracks in the snow and found that they led to a wooden ladder, propped up against the slightly sloping roof.
He’s on the fucking roof, is he trying to kill himself?? Michael pulled his numb hands out of the pockets of the blazer and ignored the sting of ice against bare skin as he steadfastly scaled the ladder.
“Linc, you fucking bastard,” Michael greeted. His brother was sitting on a level structure that stuck out from the angled roof, shrouded in Lisa’s warmest blanket.
“Mikey, what the hell are you doing here?”
Lincoln was trying to smoke a cigarette but every time he brought his hands out for a drag, the frigid air would seep into the body-warmed hollow. So eventually he stubbed it out into the snow beside him. Then he lifted an arm and beckoned his little brother under the blanket.
“It’s fucking freezing, get in here.”
“Really, it’s cold? I h-hadn’t noticed. You know, because you must be so warm without a hat, gloves, or even a f-fucking jacket on,” Michael chattered as he precariously trudged up the roof and sat himself down next to his brother. “Linc, honestly. What are you doing up here?”
“I always come up here to think,” the older man answered. “Although it’s usually in the summer or something. But it’s not too bad with the blanket.”
As Michael warmed himself up beneath the trapped heat, he reluctantly agreed. The cover was doing a decent job of keeping them warm enough to function, and he ducked further beneath it.
“Is this about the kiss?,” Michael asked, point-blank.
“Of course,” his brother grunted. Huh, a straight answer. That wasn’t something that happened every day.
“What is there to freak out about now?”
Lincoln was slow to respond, mulling over the same question he’d been considering for the past few minutes. “I… don’t know.”
Surprised, Michael glanced aside at his older brother, the one who had always had some excuse, however irrelevant or stupid, at why the brothers couldn’t be together. It’s sick, it’s wrong. People will find out, we’ll get in trouble, I just want what’s best for you, for LJ and it had been about LJ ever since.
But now.
“I found it,” Lincoln suddenly said. “The play, on the last page, what you wrote.”
Michael was taken aback at the abrupt comment. “How did you… I thought maybe you’d never see it. It was on the last page, after all.”
“When I flipped through it, I saw your handwriting. So I just went back and read it.”
I’ll be there too, waiting. It isn’t a matter of choice for them, nor me. Even if you never come, I’ll always be waiting for you.
“He isn’t going to be around anymore,” Michael stated, changing the subject. He didn’t want to bring up what he’d written. It felt like a secret somebody had gossiped to his brother; a secret that was meant to be found, later. But Lincoln had never followed his plans, did he?
“You won’t see him much anymore,” Michael repeated. Lincoln knew exactly who he was talking about.
“Does that make you happy?” Slightly bitter, but Michael could handle that.
“Don’t be an asshole, you know I love LJ too.”
The brothers huddled under the blanket, searching for the warmth that exuded between them like a heavy veil. Lincoln slowly rubbed his cold face with his hands in contemplation. The brothers looked out, gazing at the mesmerizing points of light from homes or street lamps. Little flakes of snow fell in view, leisurely floating down and shining like pricks of golden hues as they reflected illuminations.
“I can’t think of anything wrong anymore, Michael. I just… can’t. Not you, not work, not my son.”
“And?,” Michael prompted, hushed. His voice was quickly swallowed up into the night, the snow absorbing all sound and allowing only their warm breaths to vibrate against the air. When Lincoln didn’t respond, Michael wondered if he had just imagined saying something.
“And,” the older man stated, as if that one word somehow meant everything.
Michael turned to look at his brother’s profile; while Lincoln’s silhouette usually looked strong with a stubborn set of his jaw, in this ethereal light he looked softer somehow, the edges blurred from the dark sky to the shadows of Lincoln’s face, the drifting snow gathering on his eyelashes and melting against his lips.
Michael waited, trying not to get his hopes up but failing miserably. The relaxed give of Lincoln’s body, the slow rhythm at which he blinked as if at peace with a decision; either Michael was about to receive the only thing he had ever wanted, or Lincoln was about to pierce his heart with an icicle. He fervently hoped for the former.
The blanket rustled as Lincoln reached for his younger brother. Michael’s scarf was pushed down at the neck and the older man leaned in, catching the trembling lips with sure ones. Bits of snow were kicked aside as Michael shifted his body forwards, sighing into Lincoln’s embrace and the two boys kissed, then kissed again, and again beneath the canopy of velvet night and swirling, dreaming snowflakes.
Nothing moved but for twining limbs and aching hearts as two brothers found their souls in each other. Under the cover of gentle drizzling snow, all was still.
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Date: 2006-10-22 06:16 pm (UTC)This chapter was especially good, although I can't say why... It's not just the kissy bits, either. There's something more...
But the kissy bits were, indeed, tremendous. :D :D :D
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Date: 2006-10-22 07:25 pm (UTC)I'm really glad there's something more! There's supposed to be something more in this chapter! *rolls around in glee*
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Date: 2006-10-22 11:00 pm (UTC)You're welcome and thank you. ;)
I can just imagine you clicking refresh in your internet browser and that warms my heart ;_; *friends you like whoa*
My heart, too. *friends you back*
I'm really glad there's something more! There's supposed to be something more in this chapter! *rolls around in glee*
Yeah, it was very warm and tender, but not fluffy - maybe slightly flangsty, in a good way. I could read thirteen point somethings forever... (And, hey, if you're ever up for it, we'd all love some more four point somethings ;D .) I'd really like to read about Christmas morning, and, hell, straight through to New Year's. ;) Just thought I'd put the idea out there, just in case you were looking for something extra-curricular.
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Date: 2006-10-23 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 06:33 pm (UTC)And the two brothers...just perfect. This is going to be one of the best and longest fic in PB fandom and I enjoy every bit of it.
Thanx for writing.
Hermyone
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Date: 2006-10-22 07:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 08:51 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!!
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Date: 2006-10-22 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 09:34 pm (UTC)Gorgeous
Date: 2006-10-22 11:36 pm (UTC)Re: Gorgeous
Date: 2006-10-22 11:49 pm (UTC)I felt so *close* to this chapter, there and experiencing right along with the characters.
Yes, it was particularly intimate... I think that's what I meant above, but I just couldn't articulate it. (Brain is on holiday today.)
Yay for Stage Master's masterful analysis!
Re: Gorgeous
Date: 2006-10-23 12:08 am (UTC)Lol, it's still Sunday, your brain's allowed to be on holiday.
Re: Gorgeous
Date: 2006-10-23 12:07 am (UTC)Luff! *throws cookies at you*
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Date: 2006-10-23 03:36 am (UTC)Absolutely the best thing I've read in a LONG, long time!
You're wonderful! x
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Date: 2006-10-24 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 07:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-24 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-24 05:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 09:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-24 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-25 08:51 am (UTC)Last chapter (12) was great as well, just didn't have time to read it until now. Loved the setting of the mall - hilarious. I can just see it, Lincoln forcibly making his way through the Christmas crowds and Michael having no trouble at all tagging along behind the zambonie. The mistletoe - priceless.
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Date: 2006-10-25 10:49 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!!! *huggy*
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Date: 2006-10-26 03:36 am (UTC)you're going to anyway. why use Beckett as an excuse!?!
and i want MORE!
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Date: 2006-10-26 05:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 05:25 am (UTC)and i'm still thinking about whether to be offended or flattered y that statement.
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Date: 2006-12-02 09:51 am (UTC)And just to add a little kinky hotness...Michael at age 16, rubbing Lincoln’s silk tie over his own nipples
Killer image!!
So I reckon I've got another 5 chapters to read! Which is good in one way but once they're read it'll be over and that will be kind of sad!
Fabulous tale!!! Thank you!
*hugs*
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Date: 2006-12-02 10:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-02 05:46 pm (UTC)And so you should be! It's a wonderful fic especially since writing within the confines of canon is always difficult and then to put your own spin on canon events...awesome!
I noticed today that there is an epilogue *revises estimate of remaining chapters* so that means I have six more to go!! Yay!!
More fic over winter break?!! That's the best news I've heard all day! Good luck with it all and I shall look forward to reading some more lovely stories from your
pencomputer!*hugs*
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Date: 2006-12-02 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-03 10:57 am (UTC)