Fic: Breathe Love (16/18)
Nov. 21st, 2006 01:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: Breathe Love (16/18)
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeroport_art
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 4,974
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Home stretch, girls! Thanks for being so patient with this chapter. I had to break the boys one last time, canon dictates it (not that BL is particularly true to the series >.>) but don't worry, I'll put them back together. Feedback = love!
Summary: Michael has always wanted his brother, and Lincoln has to wrestle with the responsibility of a reciprocated love that can never be... or can it? Spanning two decades, this story attempts to explain Michael/Lincoln within the confines of canon.
For previous chapters, ( Click here )
Chapter 16
4 months later (October 2002)
At 8 AM on a Sunday morning, Michael was gently prodded awake by the feeling of something warm and moist poking against his asshole. His head started to clear a little bit when that warm something trailed up, pressing against the triangle of his perineum and slid north, wrinkling the loose skin between his balls in its path. Michael ground the crust out of his eyes with the heel of a palm as the warm wetness traveled towards the crown of his dick, languidly and purposefully. When Michael was able to see clearly, he looked down and groggily noted that his older brother was between his legs, mischievously mouthing the shaft of his morning wood.
“Morning, sunshine,” Lincoln hummed contentedly against hard flesh.
“Oh god,” Michael sleepily moaned. “Please tell me you’re waking me up this way from now on.”
Lincoln only smiled against the velvet-hot skin, taking his time to nuzzle it before moving up to take the head of Michael’s penis in his mouth. Spurred by the thick groan above him, Lincoln teasingly played with the soft flesh, tracing circles around the slit, dipping in to tongue the shallow hole.
“Fuck, Linc,” the younger man said, his voice raspy with the thick of sleep still on it. Lincoln torturously swallowed down, taking his time and delighting in the groggy, sexy noises coming from his little brother.
Now sucking in earnest, Lincoln had just begun to massage his finger against the pretty swirl of Michael’s entrance when his cell phone suddenly rang, the harsh vibrations exploding in the morning serenity. He swore internally, continuing his distracted ministrations through the clamor in hopes that whoever was calling would just give up. Unfortunately the phone continued blaring its tone and jumping around the table in a desperate appeal to get noticed, and despite Michael’s insistent urges Lincoln finally pulled his mouth off his brother’s cock and snatched the meddling phone up. He didn’t recognize the number but angrily flipped it open anyway.
“What,” he barked, irritated at being interrupted just when he was getting to the good part. Michael blearily sat up and wove his arms around Lincoln’s stomach, rubbing his cheek against his brother’s gloriously naked, muscled back, peeking down and juvenilely delighted at seeing the beginnings of Lincoln’s ass cleft disappearing into the mattress and bed covers.
“Hello? Who is this,” Lincoln demanded against the silence over the phone. Eventually, a vaguely familiar voice filtered through the earpiece.
“Linc the Sink, how are you man?”
Lincoln sat up straighter, switching the phone to his right ear and giving it his full attention. There was something about that disembodied voice that niggled at the back of his brain, something in that slip-sliding drawl that warranted caution.
Annoyed at the loss of wet suction around his dick, and then further annoyed at the probability that a leisurely blowjob would no longer take place, Michael retaliated by nibbling at Lincoln’s hard, broad shoulders. Lincoln only tensed, hunching forward and clutching the silver clamshell against his ear.
“Who is it, Linc?” Michael whispered loudly, curious at who would be calling this early on a Sunday morning. His older brother only waved him off, standing up off the bed and cinching the thin bed sheet around his waist with a balled fist, other hand still glued to the phone. Michael watched the sun-dappled shadows play against his brother’s body and flopped back down into his large bed in defeat.
He tried to eavesdrop but couldn’t even hear Lincoln’s side of the conversation; the sheet-clad man had trailed off and was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, body language taut and wary. Only a few noises of discontent could be heard and Michael felt his brain slowly waking up, sharpening in acute curiosity and worry.
Finally Lincoln shut his phone with an audible snap and stalked back to the bed.
“Sorry Michael, I gotta go.”
“What?” The younger man sat up in defiance, pulling the comforter off and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. “What are you talking about, it’s Sunday!”
Lincoln avoided his eyes as he briskly swept the room, picking up stray clothing and dressing efficiently.
“Linc, who was that? Where are you going?” Michael felt his frustration rise as he watched his brother prepare to leave, apparently content in not offering an explanation. Eventually Lincoln strode over to the bed and pressed a chaste kiss against Michael’s cheek. Michael could practically feel the anxiety pour off his brother’s body but before he could say otherwise, the man had left the room. A loud thud of wood against wood indicated his leaving the apartment as well.
Well, fuck.
-----
“Linc the Sink, how are you man?”
It took a second. It took a second for Lincoln to search his memory banks, pairing faces with names with who, what, when, where, why is he calling me before it hit him.
Jean-Paul Dernier, Dallas ’97. That hit, the dirty one that’d landed his D&G suit in the garbage instead of the dry cleaners, his first honest-to-God, good hard look at a kill. Distant associate of Julio, Dernier had collaborated with the man to deal with a pusher rumored to have loose lips. Lincoln had been sent to see to it that the kid was good and roughed up, but he hadn’t expected Dernier. Hadn’t expected the desperate pleas that mottled with blood when the Texan had shot the kid, picking off the fingers and limbs first before the merciful head shot, hadn’t expected to see a man relish the curdling screams like a foreign delicacy on the tip of his tongue. Lincoln had struggled to prevent it, but succeeded only in eventually wrestling the gun out of the man’s hands, slamming the butt of the gun against his cranium and ditching him in the abandoned field with the dead body. That was the last he’d heard of Dernier.
Until now.
“What do you want?,” Lincoln growled.
“Oh, not a whole lot, Sink. But hey, I got a job for you. How’s that sound? Glad to be working together again aren’t you?”
“What the fuck are you on about? I don’t answer to you. Take it to Julio.”
“Well you see, the thing is. I’ve already… discussed it with Julio. And the thing is, you answer to me now.”
Lincoln gripped the phone hard. Didn’t (couldn’t) believe this resurrected Texan was suddenly on the phone with him on an unusually sunny October morning, teasing him with hints of malice darkening his tone, toying with him like a man who had the upper hand.
Lincoln suddenly felt Michael drape his long body over his back, felt the cool tip of his little brother’s nose bumping against his shoulder before replacing the spot with soft laps and gentle kisses.
“Hey Sink, you with me?”
“What do you want?”
“You know, I never took you for a flamer,” Dernier says, displeasure coloring his words. “But hey, we’ve all got our guilty pleasures. I like spilling blood, you like fucking blood.”
Lincoln froze. Felt his throat freeze, felt his body freeze, felt sick to his stomach. How did he—? Needed to locate the invisible eyes, needed to put some fucking clothes on, needed to keep danger away from Michael.
“Don’t worry about it, I ain’t gonna hurt your pretty little brother.” Lincoln could hear the implicit threat in that ostensibly friendly voice.
“I swear,” he snarled. Didn’t need to finish his words because Dernier knew what he was getting at, even if they were just empty promises because Dernier had him in the palm of his hand, and they both knew it. He meagerly covered himself with a bed sheet and stood up from the bed.
“Aww Sink, you big jerk. Don’t leave him all alone in that king-sized bed of his, just look at him. His big blue eyes are begging you to stay.”
“The job.”
A low whistle. “So unfriendly, Sink.”
“The job,” he repeated, walking over and stopping in the doorway, leaned against it and cast his eyes around for signs of one of Dernier’s men.
“This afternoon, one o’ clock,” the Texan responded, suddenly business-like. Teasing was only fun so long as there was the promise of blood in the air. “By the pier. You get to say hello to your friend Julio. And then you get to say goodbye.”
A shocked pause.
“Oh no, don’t worry, we did the bad part for you. No red-printed hands for Mr. Clean. I just want the evidence gone.”
Lincoln tried with difficulty to let the words sink in. The intimation that his boss was dead, the natural assumption that their deal of last year was (nono, oh fuck no) equally dissolved. But the information slowly, slowly permeated his consciousness. He would sort out the details (what about Michael, what about Them) later. After the immediate problem was taken care of.
“You won’t touch him,” Lincoln warns, desperation clouding his voice.
“Of course not, Sink. We only have eyes for you.”
Lincoln hung up. Had to get out of here, now. Everything else could come later.
-----
5 hours later
It wasn’t that this was unusual. No, actually, this was one of Lincoln’s party tricks. The brothers would be normal one moment (well, as normal as holding/kissing/fucking your brother could get), and in the next Lincoln would clam up, distance himself like a switch turned off. Bathed in his toe-curling smile in one moment, then staring at his stubborn back the next.
It didn’t make sense. But Michael hadn’t bothered too much about it; as of a year ago, he wasn’t even allowed to touch his brother the way he wanted to, so this was surely a hell of an improvement. But still. It was easy to get greedy, and god damn it Michael was sick of his brother being attached to that cell phone like a fucking short leash. He was owed an explanation for the disappearing acts at least, right?
But every time he’d asked or brought it up, the subject had been avoided or outright denied. One word, or even just one look, and Michael would feel ashamed like he’d done something very wrong. He hated having Lincoln irritated at him; it made him nervous. He didn’t want Lincoln suddenly deciding that perhaps his neurotic little brother wasn’t worth the effort anymore.
And so, Michael had never pressed very hard. But this was getting ridiculous.
He’d left Lincoln four messages since the man had left that morning, and on the fifth call he was met with the automated operator telling him that the phone had been turned off.
Michael knew he deserved more than this. Mentally ticking off all the times Lincoln had ditched him the past couple months, the younger man felt his resentment boil hotter and hotter until he finally, grudgingly decided.
Enough is enough.
-----
It stank of decay, like rotten meat left in the sun for too long. Lincoln tried to pretend it was something else, but it didn’t keep the nausea from bubbling up his gut, didn’t keep the blood from soaking through the black canvas bag and dripping onto his pant leg.
“How much fucking further?” Lincoln bit out, trying not to let the rocking of the small boat affect his already precarious stomach.
“Patience, Sink.” Dernier lifted his cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply, then let go with a quiet pah. “Don’t want anybody to find your friend now, do we?”
After a few more minutes they were twenty-five miles out into the deepest part of Lake Michigan. Dernier finally gave Lincoln the go-ahead and so he heaved the body bag up to the boat railing, smearing the chipped white paint with dark crimson, and tipped it over with a loud splash.
Goodbye, Julio. Lincoln set his mouth in a grim line.
Within the hour they were back on shore. Another job completed.
“Dernier,” Lincoln turned to his new keeper.
“What is it?”
“Me ‘n Julio…,” he started. Worth a shot, at least. “We had a deal going. I was supposed to be done by January. No more jobs. Ever.”
The Texan only tipped his head back and gave a hearty laugh. Lincoln turned back around and rinsed his red-flaked hands under the outdoor hose.
He spent the next few hours running a couple more of Dernier’s “errands”, getting used to the feel of working under a different man, though he doubted he would ever get used to the sickening ruthlessness surrounding his new boss. Still, Lincoln had no choice. He’d never had a choice when it came to his debt, and that certainly wasn’t about to change now.
By mid-evening they were done, Dernier patting him on the back and promising to call back soon. Lincoln only bit his tongue and kept his hands to himself, despite how desperately he wanted to squeeze his palms against the other man’s pale throat, squeeze and squeeze until the bastard couldn’t utter one more drawn-out vowel, one more lilted word. Unfortunately, Lincoln knew how easily it would be for Dernier to pay him back; the man had demonstrated his clout easily enough that morning, what with his men watching Michael’s apartment.
Lincoln didn’t want anybody watching Michael, the very thought of it making his skin crawl. He had to find a way to leave his brother out of this.
And after Lincoln pondered that thought a little longer, he realized with a gut-dropping pang… if he was going to keep Michael safe, if he was going to keep his baby brother out of the shadows of his fucked up backdrop of a life, he really had to leave him out of this. Julio had been bad enough, fond of beating up straying clients and flashing his armed manpower around, but Dernier. Oh, Dernier was a different story altogether. Lincoln was not going to fuck around with Dernier.
But in order to keep Michael safe… Lincoln didn’t even want to think about what he’d have to do. Fuck, he really, really didn’t want to think about that.
However, a little voice in the back of his head told him that being with Michael had been too good to be true. Told him that you simply could not fuck your hero-worshiping little brother and get away with it scot-free. Maybe this was just God’s way of slapping him in the face with reality; a mess of a dead body at the bottom of Lake Michigan and a collar around his neck etched with Dernier’s name in silver lettering.
He sat behind the wheel of his car, brooding for a long time about Michael while his mind spun in tight little circles, bouncing between keep him safe and but want him need him and back again.
Fuck, I need V for this, Lincoln eventually decided, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand as his head tilted out of control with worry and guilt. His longtime friend could help him get a little insight; at least she knew about his financial situation, could maybe pull some magic lawyer voodoo and find him a loophole out of this whole affair, unlikely as that was.
Lincoln turned his cell phone back on. The four messages he’d previously ignored blinked at him on the screen. Lincoln checked them, resolutely ignoring Michael’s increasingly upset voice as he listened through them one at a time. Felt the voice mails burn a hole in his hand and quickly deleted them. By the time he’d finished and had dialed Veronica’s number, his hand was shaking.
“V, it’s me.”
“Lincoln, what’s up?,” she asked, voice tinted with concern. Lincoln felt his shoulders slightly relax at her soothing tone, realizing how much he had missed her.
“I… I’m sort of in some trouble. Nothing immediate, just… you think we could talk tonight?”
“Yeah,” she replied. Lincoln then heard some rustling as if checking a planner or calendar. “Yeah, let me just cancel this dinner thing with my coworkers. Are you going to be at home?”
“Wait, you don’t need to cancel anything for me.”
Veronica laughed lightly. “Trust me, I’ve been waiting for an excuse all week not to go. I should be thanking you.”
“Well when you put it that way. So when do I get the pleasure of?”
“I can be there in thirty.”
“I’ll be here. And V,” Lincoln stopped her.
“Yeah?”
“I…,” Thanks. “I get lunch next time we’re out, k?”
“Okay, Lincoln,” she smiled audibly. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
-----
True to her word, Lincoln barely had time to make it home and take a quick shower before the speakerphone was buzzing and he was unlocking the front gate of the apartment building with the press of a button. Within a minute or two came the expected sharp raps against his door.
Lincoln opened it and the two embraced in greeting. Veronica whisked herself in, trail of clean, sweet vanila drifting in her wake as she deposited herself on Lincoln’s squishy couch.
“Do tell,” she succinctly stated, folding her hands over crossed knees. Lincoln sat down, took a deep breath and spent then next ten minutes eking out the day’s events in between flashbacks of freshwater and decay.
“And you’re saying these guys were there this morning, watching you and Michael?”
“Yeah,” he sighs gruffly, double and triple-checking in his mind that his fabricated alibi was solid. It was never a good idea to make sloppy lies in front of an attorney. “I could see Michael through the door when I was making breakfast, when Dernier called me. I could see that he wasn’t bluffing, that he really was keeping tabs on Michael.”
Veronica leaned back against the cushioned seat and worried the ends of her long hair between two fingers in thought. “This isn’t good news Linc.”
“You’re telling me?”
“I guess you’re right,” she said, mouth twisted sardonically. “Nothing by the books is going to help you at this point and you know I’m not exactly cut out for backup, so what is it exactly that you need from me?” Veronica turned her body towards the anxious man next to her.
“Just… some advice, V. I’m worried about Michael. I—“ he faltered. “He’s important to me.” Understatement. “What am I supposed to do to keep him safe?” Somewhere in Lincoln’s murmuring thoughts he prayed for Veronica to tell him simple things, easy things he was capable of like “protect him” and “stay with him always”. Unfortunately, things rarely worked out how Lincoln wanted them to, especially when it came to the one man his problematic heart chose to cling to.
“I know it’s tough Linc, but I think in this case it’s best if you don’t see him for awhile.” She watched Lincoln’s face fall. “At least for now, until things die down, you know?”
Lincoln resignedly rubbed his palms over his face, attempting to ease the pressure that had built up behind his eyes.
“Yeah, V. I get what you’re saying.” Felt something hard and sharp lodge itself between his ribs where his heart should’ve been. Felt it thrum in familiarity, reacquainting itself with old aches and hurts.
The two chatted for a bit longer, lightening the conversation with everything that “catching up” entailed but Lincoln’s underlying misery was thickly present so they ended the evening at a manageable hour.
“I’m sorry, Linc,” Veronica said as he hugged the older man tightly. She closed her eyes and tried not to let her stomach flip as she inhaled the familiar scent of soap and musk. “You’ll be alright, you always are.”
“Thanks, V.”
Lincoln shut the door with a firm thud, turned around and leaned against it.
God, he needed a drink.
-----
It took twenty-two minutes to get shit-faced, an hour to sober up enough to drive back home, not including the unforeseen, additional thirty-six minutes it took to pry his new “friends” off of him and out of his lap. By the time he was rolling into the garage it was nearly 1 AM. Lincoln locked the car and made his way towards the stairwell, clambered up to the fourth floor and had taken his keys out of his pocket when he nearly tripped over a hunched form, somebody with his back against the wall and sitting with his knees tucked in.
“Michael?” Lincoln said with difficulty. Just because he had enough mobility to get himself home and up the stairs didn’t mean the alcohol had completely left his system. “What are you doing here?”
Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized there was irony in getting trashed in order to escape thoughts of his little brother, only to have the man waiting for him by his front door when he got back. But that irony was lost on him as he struggled to wrap his mind around the fact that Michael was even there at all.
“Well you weren’t picking up your cell phone. That’s a first, although I guess you only “forget” to do so when it’s got my caller ID on it,” Michael bitterly replied, tilting his head up and shooting accusing looks at his older brother. A full day’s worth of getting shunned hadn’t done anything to help his disposition, which had been shot from the moment Lincoln had left his apartment that morning. And then there was the scent of cheap perfume that hung all over the older man like a sticky cloud, and that wasn’t making matters any better.
“Yeah, I uh…,” Lincoln tried to swim through the sinkhole of excuses he normally had ready, but nothing was forthcoming under the unnerving stare of his little brother. “I turned my phone off.”
Michael finally stood up from the concrete floor and dusted himself off, brimming with closely-reined frustration and jealousy as he waited for Lincoln to unlock the door and let them both in. After he’d finally jiggled the key enough to turn, Lincoln swung the door open and Michael stepped inside, letting the threadbare walls and soft, broken-in futon wash over him through soft memories. He certainly knew that bed well enough; during the month that Michael was in between apartment leases, he’d spent more than his share of time underneath those blue-striped covers. Or writhing on top of them.
Shit, now is not the time to be getting nostalgic. I’m here to talk to him, not beg him to take me bed. Michael tried not to stare at the tan stripe of Lincoln’s skin where the shirt was riding up, pushed aside as the older man absentmindedly scratched his belly.
“You were drinking.” And cheating on me, you fucking asshole. But as much as the latter grated on him, Michael decided to focus on the issue at hand; that of understanding what the hell it was that his brother was keeping from him, had been keeping from him for years.
“No shit.” Lincoln emptied his pockets and tossed the various items on the small kitchen counter with a clatter, then removed his jacket as he trundled over to the futon.
“Linc, talk to me.” As much as Michael hated it when his brother drank himself under the table, it was useful in the fact that Lincoln was much more honest when inebriated. Made it easier to get straight answers from him instead of his usual method of avoiding the subject. Maybe it’ll be my lucky day and he’ll just tell me who the fuck it is he’s always answering to. “What was that about this morning?”
“What is this, an interrogation?” Lincoln heedlessly pulled his white shirt over his head and toed off his shoes.
“Linc, I’m your—“ what, boyfriend? That sounded stupid even to Michael. “It’s me. I think I deserve an explanation at least.”
“I swear Michael, how many times do I have to tell you? It has nothing to do with you. It’s just. Better. If you don’t know,” Lincoln grumbled, shucking his jeans off and heading into the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.”
Lincoln had his back turned to his little brother, clad in only a pair of charcoal boxers as he leaned into the shower to turn the tap on. He tiredly tested the water before suddenly his brother had sneaked up on him and slammed his fist into the pebbled glass of the shower.
“Don’t turn your back on me,” Michael said darkly, voice thinned to a tremor. “I find myself staring at your fucking back more than I get to see your face sometimes.”
Lincoln shut his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose and breathed it out in a loud rush.
“You know what? I’m not an idiot. You’re not going to tell me because it’s something you think I won’t understand, something that’s too shady for me and my corporate job, my Master’s degree. But I’ll tell you something Lincoln, I can handle anything you throw at me, anything but you ignoring me, like I’m some pest that’s just in your way!!”
Lincoln slowly turned around as Michael spoke in a steady stream, words tumbling out like they’d been waiting all day to come forth (which, knowing his little brother, was exactly the case). Watched Michael’s mouth as it formed shapes and sounds, hating the way the supple lips shook and turned down at certain words.
“—it anymore, Linc, I just can’t.”
A dense pause, with only the echoes of running water and billowing steam filling the space between them.
“If you’re going to pull away from me every couple months like this, for the rest of our fucking lives, I just… I thought this would be enough, Linc. But it isn’t.”
Lincoln focused his attention back on his brother’s words, letting them sink into his weary mind. The job or me. That’s what he’s saying. Michael searched his brother’s face, his intense blue gaze betraying a battle between hope and despair.
“Why does it always have to be so hard for us?,” Lincoln said, not realizing the words had come out of his mouth until it was too late. Shit, that didn’t come out right.
Michael swallowed audibly. “What do you mean?”
Hell, it was too late to take it back. And besides, this was what had to be done. It didn’t matter how much it hurt. “I mean… it’s never been easy between us, Michael.” God, Lincoln hated the way Michael crumpled at the words, hated the hesitant step backwards. “Michael…”
“No, stop. I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden to you.”
“Michael,” Lincoln stepped forward, trying to think of some way, any way to heal the fragmenting he saw in his little brother’s too-bright eyes. “Please.”
“Please what, Linc? Please what?”
“I—“
“Make up your goddamned mind already! You can’t expect me to just sit in the sidelines and let you treat me like shit whenever you feel like it, just so you can attend to some business that you won’t even give me a hint about. How can you even ask that of me?”
“Michael,” Lincoln stepped closer. God, his baby brother was shaking so hard, he needed to stop it, just needed to smooth those quivering shoulders down, smooth everything out. He placed his hands on Michael’s biceps, curled his fingers into the muscle that lay tense beneath thin fabric.
“Linc,” Michael’s voice broke at the contact, his older brother’s large hands suffusing him with searing warmth that burned him to the core. The younger man stepped into the arms that half-encircled him and pulled Lincoln’s face down, pushing their mouths together.
“Linc,” he mumbled between kisses. “Just tell me—tell me this is what you want—” Moan. “Tell me you want me.”
“I, god, Michael—“ The alcohol smoldered out of his system, suddenly evaporating and leaving Lincoln with senses so acute that Michael’s dilated blue eyes, Michael’s moist and searching kisses, Michael’s low-throaty moans stung him with electric pulses as the loud rushing shower filled his ears to a crescendo. He had never been so sober as this, had never been so real as this.
Suddenly the pipes shifted overhead, the loud clank of plumbing slammed into Lincoln’s gut and in an instant he was so alert, so positive that somebody was watching him bleed his soul out into a puddle on the floor. So terrified that Dernier himself was standing behind Michael with a gun to his little brother’s head, a canine smile plastered on his giddy, bloodthirsty face. Lincoln shoved Michael back.
Michael stumbled on the bath mat, catching himself on the metal towel rack protruding from the wall. He stood still, watching his older brother as harsh breaths wracked his body.
An eternity stretched between them, a pantomime of just a couple minutes ago. Only this time Lincoln didn’t break.
“I’m sorry, Michael.”
Maybe Lincoln didn’t break, having steeled himself for hours (years?) for this moment, but devastation was quickly coloring Michael’s posture, his expression. The younger brother tightened his lips, crinkled his dampening eyes, ducked his head. Looked back up one more time, waiting for Lincoln to laugh heartily and crow “I got you!”
Lincoln only studied the wall behind Michael’s head.
Michael turned around and left the bathroom and Lincoln let out a ragged breath.
Michael slammed the front door shut and Lincoln strode over to his window and waited to make sure his little brother met no trouble. Watched the lanky figure leave the building, get into the Ford Taurus and pull out with the blur of red tail lights smudging into darkness.
Lincoln returned to the bathroom, undressed and stepped into the shower. The water was cold and he let it course over his face, neck, shoulders, willing his body into numbness.
Back | Next
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:
aeroport_artRating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 4,974
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: Home stretch, girls! Thanks for being so patient with this chapter. I had to break the boys one last time, canon dictates it (not that BL is particularly true to the series >.>) but don't worry, I'll put them back together. Feedback = love!
Summary: Michael has always wanted his brother, and Lincoln has to wrestle with the responsibility of a reciprocated love that can never be... or can it? Spanning two decades, this story attempts to explain Michael/Lincoln within the confines of canon.
For previous chapters, ( Click here )
Chapter 16
4 months later (October 2002)
At 8 AM on a Sunday morning, Michael was gently prodded awake by the feeling of something warm and moist poking against his asshole. His head started to clear a little bit when that warm something trailed up, pressing against the triangle of his perineum and slid north, wrinkling the loose skin between his balls in its path. Michael ground the crust out of his eyes with the heel of a palm as the warm wetness traveled towards the crown of his dick, languidly and purposefully. When Michael was able to see clearly, he looked down and groggily noted that his older brother was between his legs, mischievously mouthing the shaft of his morning wood.
“Morning, sunshine,” Lincoln hummed contentedly against hard flesh.
“Oh god,” Michael sleepily moaned. “Please tell me you’re waking me up this way from now on.”
Lincoln only smiled against the velvet-hot skin, taking his time to nuzzle it before moving up to take the head of Michael’s penis in his mouth. Spurred by the thick groan above him, Lincoln teasingly played with the soft flesh, tracing circles around the slit, dipping in to tongue the shallow hole.
“Fuck, Linc,” the younger man said, his voice raspy with the thick of sleep still on it. Lincoln torturously swallowed down, taking his time and delighting in the groggy, sexy noises coming from his little brother.
Now sucking in earnest, Lincoln had just begun to massage his finger against the pretty swirl of Michael’s entrance when his cell phone suddenly rang, the harsh vibrations exploding in the morning serenity. He swore internally, continuing his distracted ministrations through the clamor in hopes that whoever was calling would just give up. Unfortunately the phone continued blaring its tone and jumping around the table in a desperate appeal to get noticed, and despite Michael’s insistent urges Lincoln finally pulled his mouth off his brother’s cock and snatched the meddling phone up. He didn’t recognize the number but angrily flipped it open anyway.
“What,” he barked, irritated at being interrupted just when he was getting to the good part. Michael blearily sat up and wove his arms around Lincoln’s stomach, rubbing his cheek against his brother’s gloriously naked, muscled back, peeking down and juvenilely delighted at seeing the beginnings of Lincoln’s ass cleft disappearing into the mattress and bed covers.
“Hello? Who is this,” Lincoln demanded against the silence over the phone. Eventually, a vaguely familiar voice filtered through the earpiece.
“Linc the Sink, how are you man?”
Lincoln sat up straighter, switching the phone to his right ear and giving it his full attention. There was something about that disembodied voice that niggled at the back of his brain, something in that slip-sliding drawl that warranted caution.
Annoyed at the loss of wet suction around his dick, and then further annoyed at the probability that a leisurely blowjob would no longer take place, Michael retaliated by nibbling at Lincoln’s hard, broad shoulders. Lincoln only tensed, hunching forward and clutching the silver clamshell against his ear.
“Who is it, Linc?” Michael whispered loudly, curious at who would be calling this early on a Sunday morning. His older brother only waved him off, standing up off the bed and cinching the thin bed sheet around his waist with a balled fist, other hand still glued to the phone. Michael watched the sun-dappled shadows play against his brother’s body and flopped back down into his large bed in defeat.
He tried to eavesdrop but couldn’t even hear Lincoln’s side of the conversation; the sheet-clad man had trailed off and was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, body language taut and wary. Only a few noises of discontent could be heard and Michael felt his brain slowly waking up, sharpening in acute curiosity and worry.
Finally Lincoln shut his phone with an audible snap and stalked back to the bed.
“Sorry Michael, I gotta go.”
“What?” The younger man sat up in defiance, pulling the comforter off and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. “What are you talking about, it’s Sunday!”
Lincoln avoided his eyes as he briskly swept the room, picking up stray clothing and dressing efficiently.
“Linc, who was that? Where are you going?” Michael felt his frustration rise as he watched his brother prepare to leave, apparently content in not offering an explanation. Eventually Lincoln strode over to the bed and pressed a chaste kiss against Michael’s cheek. Michael could practically feel the anxiety pour off his brother’s body but before he could say otherwise, the man had left the room. A loud thud of wood against wood indicated his leaving the apartment as well.
Well, fuck.
-----
“Linc the Sink, how are you man?”
It took a second. It took a second for Lincoln to search his memory banks, pairing faces with names with who, what, when, where, why is he calling me before it hit him.
Jean-Paul Dernier, Dallas ’97. That hit, the dirty one that’d landed his D&G suit in the garbage instead of the dry cleaners, his first honest-to-God, good hard look at a kill. Distant associate of Julio, Dernier had collaborated with the man to deal with a pusher rumored to have loose lips. Lincoln had been sent to see to it that the kid was good and roughed up, but he hadn’t expected Dernier. Hadn’t expected the desperate pleas that mottled with blood when the Texan had shot the kid, picking off the fingers and limbs first before the merciful head shot, hadn’t expected to see a man relish the curdling screams like a foreign delicacy on the tip of his tongue. Lincoln had struggled to prevent it, but succeeded only in eventually wrestling the gun out of the man’s hands, slamming the butt of the gun against his cranium and ditching him in the abandoned field with the dead body. That was the last he’d heard of Dernier.
Until now.
“What do you want?,” Lincoln growled.
“Oh, not a whole lot, Sink. But hey, I got a job for you. How’s that sound? Glad to be working together again aren’t you?”
“What the fuck are you on about? I don’t answer to you. Take it to Julio.”
“Well you see, the thing is. I’ve already… discussed it with Julio. And the thing is, you answer to me now.”
Lincoln gripped the phone hard. Didn’t (couldn’t) believe this resurrected Texan was suddenly on the phone with him on an unusually sunny October morning, teasing him with hints of malice darkening his tone, toying with him like a man who had the upper hand.
Lincoln suddenly felt Michael drape his long body over his back, felt the cool tip of his little brother’s nose bumping against his shoulder before replacing the spot with soft laps and gentle kisses.
“Hey Sink, you with me?”
“What do you want?”
“You know, I never took you for a flamer,” Dernier says, displeasure coloring his words. “But hey, we’ve all got our guilty pleasures. I like spilling blood, you like fucking blood.”
Lincoln froze. Felt his throat freeze, felt his body freeze, felt sick to his stomach. How did he—? Needed to locate the invisible eyes, needed to put some fucking clothes on, needed to keep danger away from Michael.
“Don’t worry about it, I ain’t gonna hurt your pretty little brother.” Lincoln could hear the implicit threat in that ostensibly friendly voice.
“I swear,” he snarled. Didn’t need to finish his words because Dernier knew what he was getting at, even if they were just empty promises because Dernier had him in the palm of his hand, and they both knew it. He meagerly covered himself with a bed sheet and stood up from the bed.
“Aww Sink, you big jerk. Don’t leave him all alone in that king-sized bed of his, just look at him. His big blue eyes are begging you to stay.”
“The job.”
A low whistle. “So unfriendly, Sink.”
“The job,” he repeated, walking over and stopping in the doorway, leaned against it and cast his eyes around for signs of one of Dernier’s men.
“This afternoon, one o’ clock,” the Texan responded, suddenly business-like. Teasing was only fun so long as there was the promise of blood in the air. “By the pier. You get to say hello to your friend Julio. And then you get to say goodbye.”
A shocked pause.
“Oh no, don’t worry, we did the bad part for you. No red-printed hands for Mr. Clean. I just want the evidence gone.”
Lincoln tried with difficulty to let the words sink in. The intimation that his boss was dead, the natural assumption that their deal of last year was (nono, oh fuck no) equally dissolved. But the information slowly, slowly permeated his consciousness. He would sort out the details (what about Michael, what about Them) later. After the immediate problem was taken care of.
“You won’t touch him,” Lincoln warns, desperation clouding his voice.
“Of course not, Sink. We only have eyes for you.”
Lincoln hung up. Had to get out of here, now. Everything else could come later.
-----
5 hours later
It wasn’t that this was unusual. No, actually, this was one of Lincoln’s party tricks. The brothers would be normal one moment (well, as normal as holding/kissing/fucking your brother could get), and in the next Lincoln would clam up, distance himself like a switch turned off. Bathed in his toe-curling smile in one moment, then staring at his stubborn back the next.
It didn’t make sense. But Michael hadn’t bothered too much about it; as of a year ago, he wasn’t even allowed to touch his brother the way he wanted to, so this was surely a hell of an improvement. But still. It was easy to get greedy, and god damn it Michael was sick of his brother being attached to that cell phone like a fucking short leash. He was owed an explanation for the disappearing acts at least, right?
But every time he’d asked or brought it up, the subject had been avoided or outright denied. One word, or even just one look, and Michael would feel ashamed like he’d done something very wrong. He hated having Lincoln irritated at him; it made him nervous. He didn’t want Lincoln suddenly deciding that perhaps his neurotic little brother wasn’t worth the effort anymore.
And so, Michael had never pressed very hard. But this was getting ridiculous.
He’d left Lincoln four messages since the man had left that morning, and on the fifth call he was met with the automated operator telling him that the phone had been turned off.
Michael knew he deserved more than this. Mentally ticking off all the times Lincoln had ditched him the past couple months, the younger man felt his resentment boil hotter and hotter until he finally, grudgingly decided.
Enough is enough.
-----
It stank of decay, like rotten meat left in the sun for too long. Lincoln tried to pretend it was something else, but it didn’t keep the nausea from bubbling up his gut, didn’t keep the blood from soaking through the black canvas bag and dripping onto his pant leg.
“How much fucking further?” Lincoln bit out, trying not to let the rocking of the small boat affect his already precarious stomach.
“Patience, Sink.” Dernier lifted his cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply, then let go with a quiet pah. “Don’t want anybody to find your friend now, do we?”
After a few more minutes they were twenty-five miles out into the deepest part of Lake Michigan. Dernier finally gave Lincoln the go-ahead and so he heaved the body bag up to the boat railing, smearing the chipped white paint with dark crimson, and tipped it over with a loud splash.
Goodbye, Julio. Lincoln set his mouth in a grim line.
Within the hour they were back on shore. Another job completed.
“Dernier,” Lincoln turned to his new keeper.
“What is it?”
“Me ‘n Julio…,” he started. Worth a shot, at least. “We had a deal going. I was supposed to be done by January. No more jobs. Ever.”
The Texan only tipped his head back and gave a hearty laugh. Lincoln turned back around and rinsed his red-flaked hands under the outdoor hose.
He spent the next few hours running a couple more of Dernier’s “errands”, getting used to the feel of working under a different man, though he doubted he would ever get used to the sickening ruthlessness surrounding his new boss. Still, Lincoln had no choice. He’d never had a choice when it came to his debt, and that certainly wasn’t about to change now.
By mid-evening they were done, Dernier patting him on the back and promising to call back soon. Lincoln only bit his tongue and kept his hands to himself, despite how desperately he wanted to squeeze his palms against the other man’s pale throat, squeeze and squeeze until the bastard couldn’t utter one more drawn-out vowel, one more lilted word. Unfortunately, Lincoln knew how easily it would be for Dernier to pay him back; the man had demonstrated his clout easily enough that morning, what with his men watching Michael’s apartment.
Lincoln didn’t want anybody watching Michael, the very thought of it making his skin crawl. He had to find a way to leave his brother out of this.
And after Lincoln pondered that thought a little longer, he realized with a gut-dropping pang… if he was going to keep Michael safe, if he was going to keep his baby brother out of the shadows of his fucked up backdrop of a life, he really had to leave him out of this. Julio had been bad enough, fond of beating up straying clients and flashing his armed manpower around, but Dernier. Oh, Dernier was a different story altogether. Lincoln was not going to fuck around with Dernier.
But in order to keep Michael safe… Lincoln didn’t even want to think about what he’d have to do. Fuck, he really, really didn’t want to think about that.
However, a little voice in the back of his head told him that being with Michael had been too good to be true. Told him that you simply could not fuck your hero-worshiping little brother and get away with it scot-free. Maybe this was just God’s way of slapping him in the face with reality; a mess of a dead body at the bottom of Lake Michigan and a collar around his neck etched with Dernier’s name in silver lettering.
He sat behind the wheel of his car, brooding for a long time about Michael while his mind spun in tight little circles, bouncing between keep him safe and but want him need him and back again.
Fuck, I need V for this, Lincoln eventually decided, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand as his head tilted out of control with worry and guilt. His longtime friend could help him get a little insight; at least she knew about his financial situation, could maybe pull some magic lawyer voodoo and find him a loophole out of this whole affair, unlikely as that was.
Lincoln turned his cell phone back on. The four messages he’d previously ignored blinked at him on the screen. Lincoln checked them, resolutely ignoring Michael’s increasingly upset voice as he listened through them one at a time. Felt the voice mails burn a hole in his hand and quickly deleted them. By the time he’d finished and had dialed Veronica’s number, his hand was shaking.
“V, it’s me.”
“Lincoln, what’s up?,” she asked, voice tinted with concern. Lincoln felt his shoulders slightly relax at her soothing tone, realizing how much he had missed her.
“I… I’m sort of in some trouble. Nothing immediate, just… you think we could talk tonight?”
“Yeah,” she replied. Lincoln then heard some rustling as if checking a planner or calendar. “Yeah, let me just cancel this dinner thing with my coworkers. Are you going to be at home?”
“Wait, you don’t need to cancel anything for me.”
Veronica laughed lightly. “Trust me, I’ve been waiting for an excuse all week not to go. I should be thanking you.”
“Well when you put it that way. So when do I get the pleasure of?”
“I can be there in thirty.”
“I’ll be here. And V,” Lincoln stopped her.
“Yeah?”
“I…,” Thanks. “I get lunch next time we’re out, k?”
“Okay, Lincoln,” she smiled audibly. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
-----
True to her word, Lincoln barely had time to make it home and take a quick shower before the speakerphone was buzzing and he was unlocking the front gate of the apartment building with the press of a button. Within a minute or two came the expected sharp raps against his door.
Lincoln opened it and the two embraced in greeting. Veronica whisked herself in, trail of clean, sweet vanila drifting in her wake as she deposited herself on Lincoln’s squishy couch.
“Do tell,” she succinctly stated, folding her hands over crossed knees. Lincoln sat down, took a deep breath and spent then next ten minutes eking out the day’s events in between flashbacks of freshwater and decay.
“And you’re saying these guys were there this morning, watching you and Michael?”
“Yeah,” he sighs gruffly, double and triple-checking in his mind that his fabricated alibi was solid. It was never a good idea to make sloppy lies in front of an attorney. “I could see Michael through the door when I was making breakfast, when Dernier called me. I could see that he wasn’t bluffing, that he really was keeping tabs on Michael.”
Veronica leaned back against the cushioned seat and worried the ends of her long hair between two fingers in thought. “This isn’t good news Linc.”
“You’re telling me?”
“I guess you’re right,” she said, mouth twisted sardonically. “Nothing by the books is going to help you at this point and you know I’m not exactly cut out for backup, so what is it exactly that you need from me?” Veronica turned her body towards the anxious man next to her.
“Just… some advice, V. I’m worried about Michael. I—“ he faltered. “He’s important to me.” Understatement. “What am I supposed to do to keep him safe?” Somewhere in Lincoln’s murmuring thoughts he prayed for Veronica to tell him simple things, easy things he was capable of like “protect him” and “stay with him always”. Unfortunately, things rarely worked out how Lincoln wanted them to, especially when it came to the one man his problematic heart chose to cling to.
“I know it’s tough Linc, but I think in this case it’s best if you don’t see him for awhile.” She watched Lincoln’s face fall. “At least for now, until things die down, you know?”
Lincoln resignedly rubbed his palms over his face, attempting to ease the pressure that had built up behind his eyes.
“Yeah, V. I get what you’re saying.” Felt something hard and sharp lodge itself between his ribs where his heart should’ve been. Felt it thrum in familiarity, reacquainting itself with old aches and hurts.
The two chatted for a bit longer, lightening the conversation with everything that “catching up” entailed but Lincoln’s underlying misery was thickly present so they ended the evening at a manageable hour.
“I’m sorry, Linc,” Veronica said as he hugged the older man tightly. She closed her eyes and tried not to let her stomach flip as she inhaled the familiar scent of soap and musk. “You’ll be alright, you always are.”
“Thanks, V.”
Lincoln shut the door with a firm thud, turned around and leaned against it.
God, he needed a drink.
-----
It took twenty-two minutes to get shit-faced, an hour to sober up enough to drive back home, not including the unforeseen, additional thirty-six minutes it took to pry his new “friends” off of him and out of his lap. By the time he was rolling into the garage it was nearly 1 AM. Lincoln locked the car and made his way towards the stairwell, clambered up to the fourth floor and had taken his keys out of his pocket when he nearly tripped over a hunched form, somebody with his back against the wall and sitting with his knees tucked in.
“Michael?” Lincoln said with difficulty. Just because he had enough mobility to get himself home and up the stairs didn’t mean the alcohol had completely left his system. “What are you doing here?”
Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized there was irony in getting trashed in order to escape thoughts of his little brother, only to have the man waiting for him by his front door when he got back. But that irony was lost on him as he struggled to wrap his mind around the fact that Michael was even there at all.
“Well you weren’t picking up your cell phone. That’s a first, although I guess you only “forget” to do so when it’s got my caller ID on it,” Michael bitterly replied, tilting his head up and shooting accusing looks at his older brother. A full day’s worth of getting shunned hadn’t done anything to help his disposition, which had been shot from the moment Lincoln had left his apartment that morning. And then there was the scent of cheap perfume that hung all over the older man like a sticky cloud, and that wasn’t making matters any better.
“Yeah, I uh…,” Lincoln tried to swim through the sinkhole of excuses he normally had ready, but nothing was forthcoming under the unnerving stare of his little brother. “I turned my phone off.”
Michael finally stood up from the concrete floor and dusted himself off, brimming with closely-reined frustration and jealousy as he waited for Lincoln to unlock the door and let them both in. After he’d finally jiggled the key enough to turn, Lincoln swung the door open and Michael stepped inside, letting the threadbare walls and soft, broken-in futon wash over him through soft memories. He certainly knew that bed well enough; during the month that Michael was in between apartment leases, he’d spent more than his share of time underneath those blue-striped covers. Or writhing on top of them.
Shit, now is not the time to be getting nostalgic. I’m here to talk to him, not beg him to take me bed. Michael tried not to stare at the tan stripe of Lincoln’s skin where the shirt was riding up, pushed aside as the older man absentmindedly scratched his belly.
“You were drinking.” And cheating on me, you fucking asshole. But as much as the latter grated on him, Michael decided to focus on the issue at hand; that of understanding what the hell it was that his brother was keeping from him, had been keeping from him for years.
“No shit.” Lincoln emptied his pockets and tossed the various items on the small kitchen counter with a clatter, then removed his jacket as he trundled over to the futon.
“Linc, talk to me.” As much as Michael hated it when his brother drank himself under the table, it was useful in the fact that Lincoln was much more honest when inebriated. Made it easier to get straight answers from him instead of his usual method of avoiding the subject. Maybe it’ll be my lucky day and he’ll just tell me who the fuck it is he’s always answering to. “What was that about this morning?”
“What is this, an interrogation?” Lincoln heedlessly pulled his white shirt over his head and toed off his shoes.
“Linc, I’m your—“ what, boyfriend? That sounded stupid even to Michael. “It’s me. I think I deserve an explanation at least.”
“I swear Michael, how many times do I have to tell you? It has nothing to do with you. It’s just. Better. If you don’t know,” Lincoln grumbled, shucking his jeans off and heading into the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.”
Lincoln had his back turned to his little brother, clad in only a pair of charcoal boxers as he leaned into the shower to turn the tap on. He tiredly tested the water before suddenly his brother had sneaked up on him and slammed his fist into the pebbled glass of the shower.
“Don’t turn your back on me,” Michael said darkly, voice thinned to a tremor. “I find myself staring at your fucking back more than I get to see your face sometimes.”
Lincoln shut his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose and breathed it out in a loud rush.
“You know what? I’m not an idiot. You’re not going to tell me because it’s something you think I won’t understand, something that’s too shady for me and my corporate job, my Master’s degree. But I’ll tell you something Lincoln, I can handle anything you throw at me, anything but you ignoring me, like I’m some pest that’s just in your way!!”
Lincoln slowly turned around as Michael spoke in a steady stream, words tumbling out like they’d been waiting all day to come forth (which, knowing his little brother, was exactly the case). Watched Michael’s mouth as it formed shapes and sounds, hating the way the supple lips shook and turned down at certain words.
“—it anymore, Linc, I just can’t.”
A dense pause, with only the echoes of running water and billowing steam filling the space between them.
“If you’re going to pull away from me every couple months like this, for the rest of our fucking lives, I just… I thought this would be enough, Linc. But it isn’t.”
Lincoln focused his attention back on his brother’s words, letting them sink into his weary mind. The job or me. That’s what he’s saying. Michael searched his brother’s face, his intense blue gaze betraying a battle between hope and despair.
“Why does it always have to be so hard for us?,” Lincoln said, not realizing the words had come out of his mouth until it was too late. Shit, that didn’t come out right.
Michael swallowed audibly. “What do you mean?”
Hell, it was too late to take it back. And besides, this was what had to be done. It didn’t matter how much it hurt. “I mean… it’s never been easy between us, Michael.” God, Lincoln hated the way Michael crumpled at the words, hated the hesitant step backwards. “Michael…”
“No, stop. I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden to you.”
“Michael,” Lincoln stepped forward, trying to think of some way, any way to heal the fragmenting he saw in his little brother’s too-bright eyes. “Please.”
“Please what, Linc? Please what?”
“I—“
“Make up your goddamned mind already! You can’t expect me to just sit in the sidelines and let you treat me like shit whenever you feel like it, just so you can attend to some business that you won’t even give me a hint about. How can you even ask that of me?”
“Michael,” Lincoln stepped closer. God, his baby brother was shaking so hard, he needed to stop it, just needed to smooth those quivering shoulders down, smooth everything out. He placed his hands on Michael’s biceps, curled his fingers into the muscle that lay tense beneath thin fabric.
“Linc,” Michael’s voice broke at the contact, his older brother’s large hands suffusing him with searing warmth that burned him to the core. The younger man stepped into the arms that half-encircled him and pulled Lincoln’s face down, pushing their mouths together.
“Linc,” he mumbled between kisses. “Just tell me—tell me this is what you want—” Moan. “Tell me you want me.”
“I, god, Michael—“ The alcohol smoldered out of his system, suddenly evaporating and leaving Lincoln with senses so acute that Michael’s dilated blue eyes, Michael’s moist and searching kisses, Michael’s low-throaty moans stung him with electric pulses as the loud rushing shower filled his ears to a crescendo. He had never been so sober as this, had never been so real as this.
Suddenly the pipes shifted overhead, the loud clank of plumbing slammed into Lincoln’s gut and in an instant he was so alert, so positive that somebody was watching him bleed his soul out into a puddle on the floor. So terrified that Dernier himself was standing behind Michael with a gun to his little brother’s head, a canine smile plastered on his giddy, bloodthirsty face. Lincoln shoved Michael back.
Michael stumbled on the bath mat, catching himself on the metal towel rack protruding from the wall. He stood still, watching his older brother as harsh breaths wracked his body.
An eternity stretched between them, a pantomime of just a couple minutes ago. Only this time Lincoln didn’t break.
“I’m sorry, Michael.”
Maybe Lincoln didn’t break, having steeled himself for hours (years?) for this moment, but devastation was quickly coloring Michael’s posture, his expression. The younger brother tightened his lips, crinkled his dampening eyes, ducked his head. Looked back up one more time, waiting for Lincoln to laugh heartily and crow “I got you!”
Lincoln only studied the wall behind Michael’s head.
Michael turned around and left the bathroom and Lincoln let out a ragged breath.
Michael slammed the front door shut and Lincoln strode over to his window and waited to make sure his little brother met no trouble. Watched the lanky figure leave the building, get into the Ford Taurus and pull out with the blur of red tail lights smudging into darkness.
Lincoln returned to the bathroom, undressed and stepped into the shower. The water was cold and he let it course over his face, neck, shoulders, willing his body into numbness.
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 11:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 12:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 05:56 pm (UTC)So as I found out it was stolen from you, I wanted to read the original story, although I still don't know who these people are you're writing of. But to me it was always more like an original story straight from the beginning. And I thought I owe you a comment and an explanation here too :)
I love the way you write, how you use the language and make it flow somehow. Like, it's not too quick but you take your time, yet you don't take it too slowly so it doesn't feel like it's just not going anywhere. It's a talent, you know, since many people [including me] write a bit too rushed, or then make it too long and boring.
Although I've read the plotline before as I said, I read it again now, just to get the original story as a whole and to see if I missed something. I can honestly say that I really really loved so many scenes you had there, and felt with the guys throughout it^^ So I want to thank you for writing, and I will definitely try to catch the later chapters too!
Aw, and I hope things turn out better for them eventually. They've been forced through so much suffering this far... Although I guess the happy moments somewhat make it worth it.
heh, and so sorry for the long and incoherent comment!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 06:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 06:50 pm (UTC)Would you mind telling me who plagiarised my story so I can go kick some virtual ass?
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 07:06 pm (UTC)Here (http://community.livejournal.com/stop_plagiarism/21152.html) they've talked about it, and here's also where I found out it was your fic originally. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 07:40 pm (UTC)Your story is amazing! I have no clue, who Lincoln and Micheal are, but I love you skills! I love the way the story developed and I love the surprising turns it takes every time^^
I really hope they somehow can find her, so that you can kick her damn ass ._. It's a crime, what she'd done! I hate people, who steal others' work -_-"
So please don't be mad at the JRock comms, since we aren't all as her...
But... yeah... you do just well^^ And although I have no clue, who those 2 guys are, I'll definitly read it till the end^^
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 07:55 pm (UTC)Here are some visuals at least, at Prison Break Online (http://prisonbreak.fan-sites.org/) or if you just google "Prison Break" you can easily get the main website. It's a TV show that's still airing btw, if you've really never heard of it o_o. Anyway take a look, it's easy on the eyes XD
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 07:59 pm (UTC)Thank you xD~ But I don't think I'll be able to watch it, although it's atill airing xD~ I'm from Germany and we don't have FOX *laughs*
...well maybe on my Digital TV, but I never really searched for it Oo"...
Argh... whatever. I'll take a look :D
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:03 pm (UTC)Germany huh? Your English sure is awesome for a foreign country :O
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:06 pm (UTC)And I will definitely follow the story till the end^^ I like the storyline so friggin' much.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:18 pm (UTC)I've read the things from the link you gave me and it really sounds interesting Oo" Maybe my bro can download some stuff for me xD~ *loves him*
*blushs* Well thankys :D Altough I personally think my English sucks xD~ *need to get much better* oò
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:20 pm (UTC)Link for the theif's stolen fic........
Date: 2006-11-21 08:21 pm (UTC)Now,
It really is disgusting how
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bluesemicolon no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:25 pm (UTC)http://clex-monkie89.livejournal.com/336170.html?thread=3061290#t3061290
no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:25 pm (UTC)Re: Link for the theif's stolen fic........
Date: 2006-11-21 08:26 pm (UTC)*hugs tight* It was a huge shock for me to find out! I felt so cheated, and I'm only a reader so the writers must feel a lot worse even.