Au clair de la lune...

October 2009 Fanfics

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 21:14:02 GMT

Prison Break (English)

N.B.: Post-series fics are non-epilogue compliant.

Should They ♦ He’s merely watching because it’s happening right in front of his eyes, and somehow, it melted his steely resolve to... well, not look. (Sara/Sofia, Sara/Michael, Lincoln. Femslash, het. R)

The Borrower ♦ His boxer shorts ending up on her butt back in Chicago, when they reunited, should have been his first clue: Sara is a borrower. (Michael/Sara. Het. PG-13)

Oblivion ♦ On nights like these, he can never fall asleep right away. (Michael/Lincoln. Slash. R)

Penumbra ♦ It always happens in a half-light... (Michael/Lincoln. Slash. PG-13)

Prison Break - Penumbra

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 16:11:40 GMT

Title: Penumbra
Author: clair_de_lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 100
Warnings: Incest
Summary: Not summarizing a one hundred word drabble ;)
Author’s Note: Because of the theme, let’s say this belongs to the same universe as Twilight. Thanks to mystressxoxo for the read-through.

It always happens in a half-light – a half-light Michael may as well call a half-darkness every now and then, depending on his level of guilt. His remorse never lasts for long, though: it’s soluble in Lincoln’s pleasure. At his brother’s first grunt of satisfaction, Michael’s resolve not to let things between them go wild again melts and morphs into determination to make it as perfect as possible.

Half-light, half-darkness, penumbra, chiaroscuro... Semantics doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change what they are and what they do. But the habit itself is absurdly fitting with the grey – dark grey – waters they bathe in.

* *
Comments are always welcome.

Fic meme

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 18:01:25 GMT

Gakked from torigates

Quote a bit of my writing at me! Find that one story of mine that you really like, and pull a sentence or paragraph or section out that makes you shiver. Comment here with it, no matter how long or short it is.

Then post this yourself!

-- Master List

Prison Break - Oblivion

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 17:41:09 GMT

Title: Oblivion
Author: clair_de_lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 500
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: On nights like these, he can never fall asleep right away.
Author’s Note: This is meant to be a birthday thingie for halfshellvenus. Happy birthday, and may you have a peaceful year.
Many thanks to mystressxoxo for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

On nights like these, he can never fall asleep right away. His body, as fulfilled as it may be, is still thrumming with a residual excitement that keeps him awake. His mind, always operational, rarely at peace, keeps working, reviewing, analyzing what they just did – judging. So, as soon as Lincoln has dozed off, he gets up and snatches a drink in the fridge. When he comes back to the bedroom, he settles in an armchair a few feet away from the bed and starts some sort of watch.

There are a few upsides to his insomnia.

He can observe Lincoln sleep to his heart’s content, sprawled all over the bed in the messy sheets. Such a pleasant, appeasing sight. In his slumber, his brother’s features are softened, broad shoulders and chest rising and falling in a slow and steady rhythm, ridged stomach muscles and skin glowing under the faint light. Michael’s fingers hitch to touch him. If he yielded to the temptation, he would lay his hand on him and let it slide all the way down, retracing patterns he drew earlier with his mouth and tongue. He doesn’t move, though, barely dares to breathe. He’d rather enjoy the moment and relish the anticipation of things to come.

He likes that, eventually, Lincoln half emerges from sleep and scans the room, looking for him. When Linc spots him, he yawns and fights to pry his eyes open before grumbling, “Come the fuck back to bed.” It prickles Michael’s spine, the thrill of Lincoln asking, his tone sultry and demanding: not a lot of things can rival this. Nor can it beat Linc shifting to make room in the bed and lifting the covers up to coax Michael back in. When they’re lying flush against each other, he adds, “It’s creepy, the way you have to watch me.” Michael kisses him. He knows he doesn’t actually mean it: even though as he utters the words, he’s smiling in Michael’s neck.

He likes how the cold of the bedroom has had the time to seep in his bones while he was up, because then, he can bask in Lincoln’s body heat. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, lets the proximity warm him up and Lincoln wrap his arms around him. When he rubs down, grinding their hips together in a less that subtle overture, Lincoln smirks and calls him insatiable. Maybe he is, maybe Linc is right. It doesn’t matter; the first encounter of the night is usually too frantic and eager to appease him, and it’s not like Lincoln minds an encore anyway.

And this is what he likes the most: how, with the threat of impending release delayed, their kisses and caresses are slow and lazy and selfless. Time and pleasure seem to stretch forever as Lincoln’s relentless touch drives him mad with arousal and wears him out into oblivion. Then he can wallow in what they’re doing rather than thinking about it. Then he can fall asleep, his brother a heavy and comforting weight against him.

* *
Comments are welcome and cherished.

Prison Break - The Borrower

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 07:05:57 GMT

Title: The Borrower
Author: clair_de_lune
Characters: Michael/Sara
Category: Het
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~ 335
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Sara is a borrower. Not that he minds it. (Post-series, non-epilogue compliant.)
Author’s Note: A tiny, slighlty belated fic for msgenevieve’s birthday. I hope this new year treats you better than the previous one *hugs*
Thanks to mystressxoxo for the beta.

His boxer shorts ending up on her butt back in Chicago, when they reunited, should have been his first clue: Sara is a borrower.

Not that he minds it.

She drinks from his glass, steals from his plate, uses his razor to shave her legs, grabs the book he’s reading before he’s finished it... He could go on and on. But mostly, she scrounges off his clothes.

Not only doesn’t he mind it, but he also enjoys it. A lot. He likes the notion of her in his clothes; he loves the intimacy it implies; he basks in the feeling of closeness.

Today, it’s one of his shirts – a plain, white linen shirt – that Sara targeted and stole. He watches her move in it, swallows hard and asks with a raspy voice, “Do you have any idea what you wearing my clothes does to me?”

She smiles, but he barely notices it. He’s too focused on the way the soft material kisses her shoulders, brushes her hips and buttocks and makes you imagine the swell of her breasts. As far he’s concerned, the whole thing is a study in false decency.

She spins on her heel to face him, to plaster herself against him, stomach to stomach and her arms tight around his neck. Maybe it’s the thought of his scent all over her because she didn’t wash the shirt before shrugging it on; or it’s the thought of her scent all over him when he gets the shirt back, later; possibly it’s just because he can picture the moment he’ll remove it from her, slowly and teasingly. Whatever the reason, all he’s able to do is wrap his arms around her and hold her close. He can feel her grin when she presses their mouths together; he can taste the orange juice she sipped from his glass when she gently licks his lips.

When she finally answers, her eyes are twinkling with mischief.

“Do you have any idea what me wearing your clothes does to me?”

* *

Ernie is back

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 19:58:04 GMT

Ernie being the Spontex Hedgehog. Apparently, he's ten year-old this year. (To be honest, I didn't know he was named Ernie, and yes, I do have a thing for those commercials.)

More of (PG-13 rated) Ernie here.

Prison Break - Should They...

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 16:40:58 GMT

Title: Should They...
Author: clair_de_lune
Characters: Michael/Sara, Sara/Sofia, Lincoln
Category: Het, femslash
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 1025
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: He’s merely watching because it’s happening right in front of his eyes, and somehow, it melted his steely resolve to... well, not look.
Author’s Note: This is a short companion piece for Shall We? Michael’s POV, post-series, non-epilogue compliant. Many thanks to mystressxoxo for the beta.

They’re kissing.

Michael doesn’t have a thing for lesbianism, whether faked or real. No more and no less than the next guy, anyway. He’s merely watching because it’s happening right in front of his eyes, and somehow, it melted his steely resolve to... well, not look. He’ll probably find a way to blame it on Lincoln later. It is Lincoln’s fault, after all; it is Lincoln who dared Sara – even though Sara took the bait, and Sofia played along, and he didn’t protest loud enough.

Hence, Michael watches the two women kiss. Sitting on the couch of his and Sara’s living room after a nice, cozy dinner: his wife, Lincoln’s girlfriend. Kissing. There are so many twisted things about this that he doesn’t even know where to start. That is, of course, the reason why he doesn’t start at all and just stares. It’s not a bad view, to be honest. Their lips brush each other’s before Sara mashes her mouth with Sofia’s; pink tongues dart out and delicately lick; pearly white teeth graze silky skin.

He listens to them, too. Moist little noises and sighs are escaping them, almost sounding like music. He knows those little noises because Sara makes similar ones when she’s kissing him, but never before had he realized that the wet sliding of lips and tongue against lips and tongue could be that... effective.

Sofia’s black hair and Lincoln’s raged breathing steal part of the image and part of the melody from him, and Michael feels like grabbing the young woman’s hair to push them out of the way. Same for Lincoln’s whole being, actually, although in his defense, none of this would have happened without his brother’s initiative. His brother who’s sporting a ludicrously obvious and probably quite uncomfortable erection right now, by the way. It serves him right, being played up and caught at his own game. Michael averts his eyes and avoids Lincoln’s. There really are things he doesn’t need to know about Linc – from the look of it, he already knows way too much – and reciprocally. The fact that their respective girlfriends smooching each other makes the two of them hot and bothered pertains to this category and is definitely TMI. Sara is displaying a more appealing view, anyway, and he drinks in the sight of her kissing, tasting and enjoying Sofia’s lips.

He finds the scene arousing, he’ll freely admit it, but not for the obvious reason – okay, not only for the obvious reason. Girl on girl action is nice, but Sara experiencing pleasure in any form is better; so a mixture of both is...

“So fucking hot,” Lincoln rasps, eyes trained on the two women.

Yeah. That. Although maybe Michael wouldn’t have worded it that way.

Sara is beautiful. She always is. She’s beautiful when she’s smiling, talking, crying, scoffing, lecturing, lying near-under-above him in bed... And she is as well when she’s kissing Sofia, using almost all the range of her skills – and he ought to know it’s a wide range. He should be jealous of Sofia, of the blessed-out expression she’s eliciting on Sara’s face, in her eyes, of the care and attention Sara is directing at her. He probably would be jealous if he wasn’t fascinated by the picture Sara is offering and the tiny sounds she’s uttering. Michael barely suppresses a whimper, and mocks himself for this, when Sofia’s fingers slide up his wife’s arm. He watches the thin, golden hand stroke the flesh he’s touched and kissed dozens of times; he can make out the goose bumps that suddenly prickle the smooth skin and wants nothing more than soothe them with a caress of his own. He pushes his fist into the cushions of the sofa. He can’t move now, can’t touch her now; he’s not sure how he could stop if he started anything. Slippery, slippery slope, going there now.

They slowly, lazily part because Lincoln has broken the spell with a crude imprecation – Michael will decide later if he needs to thank or blame his brother for this – and they smile. They grin at each other, at Lincoln’s foolishness, at Michael’s meltdown, who thought it was a stupid idea and can’t think straight anymore at all. Surely Sara wants to kill him dead right here, right now because she suggests with a devilish expression, “Let’s finish this later, shall we?” and seductively pats Sofia’s bare knee.

He swallows hard. Should they ‘finish this later’, he would take a seat and watch. No doubt about that. In his current state, it’s all too easy to picture the two of them together, fondling and rubbing against each other. In his mind’s eye, it is happening right now. Whereas Sofia is straightening her clothes and laughing off what just happened, he can imagine her letting Sara straddle her shoulders and grind down; she strokes and laps at her until Sara is coming with a sharp moan, her spine arched, her head thrown back, her red hair spread all over her shoulders. While Sara is mocking Linc and asking if he thinks she properly took up the challenge, he can envision her, sweaty and breathy, blanketing Sofia’s body; she earnestly mouths and sucks on the young woman’s breasts, dips a hand in the dark patch of hair between her legs and makes her writhe and beg for release.

He would watch them. Her. Hopefully, he would avoid making a fool of himself and manage not to jump in. Or maybe just afterwards, to kiss Sara’s musky taste off Sofia’s lips, settle behind Sara and hold her while she would be gathering her mind.

He doesn’t even understand Lincoln’s appreciative retort, but at least, it snaps him back to here and now. A little out of breath, he leans in and whispers into Sara’s ear, “Sign me in for the show.” She throws him an affectionate glance over her shoulder and reaches behind her to slide her fingers up his thigh. Naughtily, she curls them when his breath hitches in his throat.

Later, maybe, he will convince himself it was an in-the-heat-of-the-moment suggestion. But at this exact second? He most definitely means it.

-End-
Comments are always welcome.

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 21:06:37 GMT

11 PM is not a normal hour to drive in nails, MORONS.

Meme x 2

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 20:27:08 GMT

Star Trek Bloopers have been posted here. I don't think I'll ever get used to Leonard Nimoy laughing out loud when dressed as Mr. Spock. Always a bit odd *g*

-----

Meme #1, snagged from anna_tarawiel

List the first ten shows that come to mind. Your friends will comment with the character from each show that they think you are most like.

01. Boston Legal
02. Bones
03. Prison Break
04. The West Wing
05. Friends
06. Criminal Minds
07. ER
08. Six Feet Under
09. Ally McBeal
10. Spin City

-----

Meme #2, snagged from pamalax

Fill in the blanks any old way you like.
Serious, silly or full on crazy!

♦ I am the __________ of livejournal.

♦ You imagine me having sparkly babies with __________

♦ My greatest enemy would be __________

♦ I would most likely have __________ as my pet.

♦ With __________ by my side, there's nothing that could stop me.

♦ There's __________ (song) playing in your head when you see my name.

♦ __________ (quality) would make me queen of the world.

♦ __________ (bad habit) would get me booed by Simon Cowell.

♦ You think __________ is my best friend.

Then post this to your own journal so you can get your blanks filled too.

August 2009 Fanfics

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 20:15:54 GMT

Prison Break (English)

N.B.: All post-series fics are non-epilogue-compliant.

Give and Take ♦ Michael meant this with a hint of sarcasm, and in a figurative way as much as in a literal one: his brother had always fed him. (Michael/Lincoln. Slash. NC-17)

Looking for Sappho ♦ Ensemble of femslash drabbles. (Veronica/Lisa Rix, Gretchen/Jane, Sara/Katie, Caroline Reynolds/Samantha Brinker, Sara/Nika, Sara/Veronica, Sara/Gretchen, Gretchen/Lisa Tabak, Sara/Sofia, Sara/Jane. Mentions of Lincoln and Michael. Femslash. R)

Doctor Who (English)

Fantastic! ♦ Drabble. (Nine, Rose. G. Translation)

Prison Break - Looking for Sappho

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 17:14:01 GMT

Title: Looking for Sappho
Author: clair_de_lune
Characters: Sara, Veronica, Gretchen, Jane, Sofia, Caroline Reynolds, Samantha Brinker, Katie, Lisa Rix, Lisa Tabak. Misc. F/F pairings. Mentions of Michael and Lincoln.
Category: Slash
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 2140 (total)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Ensemble of femslash drabbles.
Author’s Note: Post-series drabbles are non-epilogue-compliant. Thanks to torigates for the beta.

I intended to write this for Femslash Day 2009 but obviously... I didn’t. Instead, I just came up with the Reynolds/Brinker drabble (that I already posted independently) and a Sara/Sofia ficlet (Shall We?) that expanded too much to be a ‘drabble’.

Veronica/Lisa Rix

This isn’t how Lincoln had planned things, and he feels a bit neglected; left out of the fun. He had imagined that Vee and Lisa would play with each other for his appreciation and then they would play with him.

Instead, they play with each other for their appreciation and then... they kind of forget him. For a few minutes, he thinks it’s retaliation – and he’s honest enough to admit that maybe, he would deserve such a thing. But the minutes last and expand, and the two women are still engrossed with one another and not paying attention to him. Not that it’s not fucking hot, watching them sixty-nine-ing with a sensuality that goes straight to his groin. Their equally lithe figures writhe and rub together as they pant and moan louder and louder. So loud, in the end, that he has to acknowledge that they won’t... need his help, so to speak.

When they’re finished, Veronica shifts on the bed. Lisa takes her in her arms and they snuggle, Veronica’s head resting on Lisa’s breasts – right where Linc’s head should be resting, for God’s sake. They offer him a “Sorry, babe,” that couldn’t sound less sorry even if they tried hard. Frustrated, he wraps his hand around his erection, only to be stopped in his tracks by Vee pouting so prettily.

“Could you please... not do that here?”

Gretchen/Jane

It’s like boot camp all over again, except that in comparison with the Company’s training, boot camp almost looked like a walk in the park. Neither Jane nor Gretchen allows anything to show up as long as they are under scrutiny, as long as the exercises and drills are going on. It’s only when they are alone in the relative intimacy of their quarters that they slightly lower their defenses; even then, they remain cautious and on their guard. They lie together, tend to each other, hold on to each other, but they don’t actually indulge into feeling anything.

This is not affection, anyway. This merely is the last manifestation of needing human contact. Soon, it will be gone, Gretchen knows it for sure. It’s part of their training, and the training is efficient. It doesn’t prevent her from taking and enjoying whatever Jane has to offer – always use all the available resources to the best of your abilities. A warm body is a warm body, and Jane, as tough as nails as she is, still can melt just enough to please Gretchen – and Gretchen is pretty sure it’s reciprocal.

Sara/Katie

“You need to practice, girl, or you’re going to forget how it’s done.”

Sara knows that Katie is teasing – gently teasing because this is Katie: she doesn’t have a hint of meanness in her bones. Yet, she takes the bait, partially to play along and partially because she can’t help it.

“You don’t just forget how it’s done,” she replies in a slightly offended tone. “It’s like... riding a bicycle. And for your information, I’m a great kisser.”

“Well, I’ll have to ask Scofield about that.”

Sara gasps. “Now, are you accusing me of lacking practice or of practicing on an inmate?”

“It’s just that you assert things and I don’t have the beginning of a proof.”

Sara’s a nice girl. She is. Despite what she can pretend in front of certain persons. But sometimes... sometimes the not-so-nice girl shows up, and...

She leans in and cups Katie’s face in her hands, holding her when the other woman tries to back off. For a couple of seconds, she lets her think she’ll get away with a brush of mouth against mouth. Then she’s nipping at the lips beneath hers, sweeping her tongue delicately and flicking it in a way that has Katie whimper faintly. Sara feels the tingle of a sharp and delighted in-take of breath against her cheek, and she smiles with satisfaction.

When they part, Katie is puzzled and flustered, but quick as ever to fall back on her feet.

“OK, then”, she concedes. “I’ll let Scofield know about that.”

Caroline Reynolds/Samantha Brinker

It’s not like it’s a huge sacrifice. Samantha already had to put up with worse stuff, more unpleasant stuff.

It’s not like she actually needs this kind of compromising intel to hold Reynolds in the palm of her hand. She already has shit-load of compromising intel. Furthermore, she can make up more if she ever really needs it.

It’s not like they actually screw. It never goes very far, actually. They never fully undress, they never kiss, they never even mention it once it’s over. Just hands discreetly slipping under clothes and into damp warmth, stroking expertly, getting off the other one with a minimal amount of effort. They pant and gasp and shudder; worst case scenario, they utter a strangled moan and writhe in the backseat of Reynolds’ black limo or up against a wall.

It’s not like it’s going to last. But so far? Samantha kind of likes it.

Sara/Nika

She knows it’s a nightmare. She’s in this intermediary, weird state where she knows she’s dreaming but is unable to wake up. So, behind her close eyes, she has to watch Nika Volek – Nika Scofield – move and writhe right in front of her, right against her, her hips grinding into Sara’s. Slowly, the girl unbuttons the lab coat she’s wearing – perfectly similar to the one Sara wears every day – lets it slide down her arms and throws it in Sara’s hands. She only has red panties and a bra underneath it, but all Sara’s attention focuses on her fingernails, long and manicured. They gently trail down Sara’s neck, brush over the flimsy material of her camisole and aim for her lower stomach. Sara automatically parts her legs.

She wakes up when the tip of Nika’s imaginary fingers brushes her cotton underwear. She’s drenched in sweat, her breath caught in the throat, and her hand pressed between her thighs – and damn too aroused to feel any shame.

Sara/Veronica

It’s a series of minute and casual contacts that kindle odd warmth in Veronica’s lower stomach. Their fingers touch when she hands Sara Tancredi a cup of coffee; their hair brush each other’s when the two of them bend over the files; their knees bump when they slide closer on the couch of the hotel bedroom. Doctor Tancredi turns her head and her breath mingles with Vee’s, who flinches with pleasure.

She should be surprised to feel that way towards a complete stranger, a woman moreover; she should be ashamed to feel that way now, as they’re poring over Linc’s file and trying to find something, anything, to save him. Maybe she would be both, surprised and ashamed, if she still had the strength to. Or maybe not. Maybe she’s just too far gone to care anymore. As it is, she lets the warmth turns into heat and spread as she thinks that possibly, this is merely gratitude for someone who – no matter the outcome – cares.

Sara/Gretchen

She fights back. Gretchen positively loves it when they fight back. Sometimes, they just freeze when she lays her hands on them, even the men. Sure, it’s flattering, it’s a nod to the power she holds over them, but they do not make valuable opponents. Where’s the thrill if they’ve already surrendered?

Sara Tancredi doesn’t surrender. She doesn’t scream or threaten uselessly like the little girl Gretchen had imagined she was. She sets her jaw and struggles with all the strength left in her. When her nails rake Gretchen’s cheek, they break the skin and dig deep into the flesh. Gretchen wipes off the blood surging from the wound with the back of her hand and takes a step back, smirking. She’s cautious; she waits that one her goons has handcuffed Tancredi and, before leaning in again, she secures the pretty chin of her captive in the palm of her hand.

“Now, now, Kitten,” she croons, “We’re going to have so much fun.”

She crushes their mouths together and moves her lips, prying Sara’s open; it’s a parody of a kiss, and a delicious one. She is not the least surprised that the other woman bites hard at her lips and tongue. She expected it and she returns the favor, retaliating and watching with satisfaction dark red blood slide down Tancredi’s chin.

She loves it when they fight back.

Gretchen/Lisa Tabak

Ms. Tabak despises her for a dozen different reasons, and hates for a single one: to put it bluntly, every now and then, they fuck and Lisa likes it. From where Gretchen stands, it only makes their random encounters, like today’s, hotter and more pleasant.

With a stone face, Gretchen weights the dildo she’s retrieved from Lisa’s bag and secures her hold on it. In a same smooth motion, she pushes the toy into Lisa and pulls it out almost entirely. She does this several times, without letting the other woman the time to adjust to its width and ridged structure. In and out with a clock-like regularity, until sweat breaks on Lisa’s brow and she starts thrashing on the bed. This is when things start getting fun, this is when the general’s daughter loses it, slowly but surely. At this point, the push-in pull-out motions become wilder, irregular and whimsical. Gretchen gradually sets the vibrations to the highest level and watches Lisa’s lean body arch up and her stomach clench uncontrollably. Lisa doesn’t moan; she never does. She comes with her eyes squeezed shut, her nails digging in the palm of her hands and her teeth gritted. Gretchen finds it funny, that she won’t let out any sound. As if it changed anything.

Sometimes, Gretchen wonders if she’s going to have to bang the whole fucking family. Then, she sees the bright side of things: at least, Lisa doesn’t need to make her dress up like a schoolgirl to have an orgasm.

Sara/Sofia

They don’t do anything wrong, really. Sara just likes Sofia’s touch. At least, contrary to LJ, Lincoln or Michael, the young woman can apply sunscreen on Sara’s legs and back without blushing the second her hands brush her skin, letting sand find its way into the lotion or being so riled up by the mere contact that the next step is definitely not sunbathing but finding a secluded place. The reactions of the Burrows-Scofield boys are endearing – Sara won’t pretend they’re not – but sometimes, easy, buddy-like closeness is nice too.

There is nothing shady in the way Sofia’s delicate warm hands slip under the hook of Sara’s bikini top; there is no innuendo when they lightly dip under the elastic band of its bottom to make sure the sunblock has been properly spread everywhere. This is care and friendship. So is the fact that once an hour, she casts a concerned glance at Sara and grabs the lotion bottle – “Your skin is so pale, you’ve got to be careful.”

This is why Sara feels slightly naughty when she melts under the friendly rubbing, stretches and swallows back a groan. This is why she really, really prefers that nobody notice that every now and then, Sofia’s fingers glide just a tad lower and skim over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

Sara/Jane

Last night, an arm affectionately wrapped around Sofia’s slender waist, Lincoln watched Sara and Jane kid around, chuckle and exchange in-jokes. With a bemused smile, he told them they were misfits. Naughty girls. Partners in crime.

Linc has no idea.
----------------

Jane’s hand is on the inside of Sara’s knee and quickly – but not quickly enough if Sara’s squirms are any indication – sliding up; her mouth is in Sara’s neck and gliding, kissing, licking its way down. When the mouth reaches the delicate hollow of Sara’s cleavage, the hand curls between her thighs, and Sara arches up with a gasp.

“I love Michael.”

“Of course you do. Who wouldn’t?” Jane answers.

“This is not cheating.”

“Nope. Just a helping hand. Just looking for Sappho,” Jane agrees, rubbing Sara just the right way through her panties, wary not to slip her fingers under the damp fabric. Her lips too work Sara through her clothes, licking and sucking on a taut nipple until the thin cotton of her dress is wet with saliva and clings to the skin.

“You think this is cheating?” Sara asks in a breathless voice.

Jane grins and presses her thumb a tiny bit harder. Sara scrambles to try and catch her wrist but Jane eludes her grip – no way this happens.

“I think everyone is entitled to their fantasies. I think...” She throws a glance up, in the general direction of the chair at the other end of the living room, and says, “... I think that Michael likes watching.”

Sara comes with a wild roll of hips and a high-pitched whine.
----------------

Lincoln really has no idea.

-End-
Comments are always welcome.

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 19:59:09 GMT

Today is my LJ-versary: it (she? he? is a LJ supposed to have a gender?) has exactly three years.

---

Your Soul Is Connected to the Winter

You approach life with a zen-like calm that other people envy. Nothing rattles you.
You are smart, thoughtful, and very serious. You don't stress out, but you don't take much lightly.

You like to keep to yourself, and you've been called shy - even if you don't consider yourself that way.
You prefer a cozy, quiet life filled with ideas, books, and maybe a few friends.

What Season is Your Soul Connected To?

I'm laughing so hard at the first sentence...

OMG!

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 22:43:18 GMT

There's the last episode of Prison Break's third season on TV: they beat up Sucre. You don't beat up Sucre! Michael, Lincoln, Sara, Gretchen, Mahone, whatever, but not Sucre. What's next? Killing kittens* and puppies?

ETA: I think I read a while ago that initially, Sara was supposed to die mid-season 3. Is it me or Sofia being shot would have been Sara being shot?

*RIP, Marilyn...

My LiveJournal Friends

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 16:38:11 GMT

Gakked from torigates

I've probably posted this "meme" about three times already but it's pretty...

My LiveJournal Friends

pim_

Try out this Meme

Brought to you by NardVille

The Fic WIP Meme

Tue, 18 Aug 2009 14:36:11 GMT

The WIP meme: post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations.
Yes: I'm not so good at the 'no explanations' part.

English

Untitled but with something 'ajar' in the title (Prison Break)
He won’t rule out the possibility that Michael is just testing boundaries either – his own, Linc’s, Sara’s.

Looking fo Sappho (Prison Break)
“You need to practice, girl, or you’re going to forget how it’s done.”

Untitled - companion piece for Letting Go (Prison Break)
Lincoln knows they don’t have that kind of time, but they can use a break and since he’s the one holding the car keys, it's pretty much the end of the discussion.

Something about Jane, Lincoln version (Prison Break)
Or it’s the way she graciously accepts his short and silent apologies an hour later. No muss, no fuss, no hard feelings – well, he can’t actually be sure about the hard feelings.

The Tux / Masquerade (Prison Break)
She won’t give the brothers a free tour of basic psychology about how hiding behind masks will allow you to show your actual moi.

Français

Les probabilités que je termine un de ceux-là sont quasi-inexistantes.

Evidemment (Prison Break x The Pretender)
"Assistants" est le terme politiquement correct pour désigner leurs gorilles respectifs : le mot est différent, hommes de main pour lui, balayeurs pour elle, mais vraiment, leur fonction est tout à fait la même.

Intégrité structurelle (Prison Break)
Ironique que quelqu’un d’aussi instable soit un pilier, n’est-ce pas ? Mais il s’est construit grâce, pour, autour, malgré, en opposition à Lincoln. Lincoln est son pilier, son pivot, sa pierre de touche et son (anti) référence.

Trois situations ambiguës (Prison Break)
« Il est jaloux, » relève Lincoln, vaguement sarcastique, tout en essuyant ses mains ensablées et poisseuses de crème sur sa serviette à elle.

Une phrase - thème religieux (Prison Break)
# 50 - Lincoln lui ayant toujours dit et répété d’avoir la foi sans jamais estimer nécessaire de lui préciser en quoi ou en qui, Michael a simplement décidé d’avoir foi en son frère.

Une phrase - thème festif (Prison Break)
#13 - Nouvel An : Chaque année, Lincoln prend la même décision, sage, raisonnable et sensée ; chaque année, il la tient le temps que Michael se plante devant lui et brandisse, avec un demi-sourire entendu, une petite branche de gui.

Prison Break - Give and Take

Sat, 15 Aug 2009 10:43:28 GMT

Title: Give and Take
Author: clair_de_lune
Characters: Michael/Lincoln
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 4590
Warning: Incest
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: They argued a lot, but fights per se weren’t that frequent. Sometimes, just sometimes, Michael wished they happened a tad more often.
Author’s Note: Written for rounds_of_kink, based on a prompt by foophile. Many thanks to mystressxoxo for the beta. Lingering mistakes are all mine.

Prompt by foophile: Spanking, swallowing and the sentence The only thing worse than fighting with Lincoln was....

“Jackass.”

It was the second insult, delivered in a cold and flat out tone, Michael had shot at Lincoln tonight. It elicited as much response as the first one, which was almost none at all.

Michael would admit that he was aiming for a fight, a real, actual, messy fight. Lincoln deserved to be grilled, and he deserved retribution. He wouldn’t bet his right hand on a success here, though. They argued a lot, but fights per se weren’t that frequent. Sometimes, just sometimes, Michael wished they happened a tad more often because the only thing worse than fighting with Lincoln was to not be able to fight with him when they – when Michael, at any rate – had a valid reason to. God knows they had a lot of valid reasons, yet the fights to reasons ratio remained incredibly low. Between the times where Lincoln was too moody to even talk, too high to realize there was a problem or care about it, too deep into troubles to make a good and healthy clash possible, and between the fact that Linc was the master of evasive maneuvers and he had an incredible high tolerance to Michael’s jabs and sarcasms... they didn’t fight as much as anyone would have imagined. It frustrated Michael to no end, not being able to confront him about whatever the issue of the moment was. He felt like it was Lincoln’s ultimate way to shut him out, and this always left him restless and inwardly boiling; powerless and unable to reach Lincoln. He suspected that Linc was perfectly aware of how much it aggravated him and carried on on purpose; he doubted his brother realized how painful it was, though.

The outcomes were nothing very original. One out of two times, they ended up having sex anyway because it was both a way to try to have the upper hand and to apologize. The only real differences were the volume and fierceness of the shouting and whether blows and knocks had been exchanged before. Actual fights led to yelling and occasional punching and ended with slammed doors or rough sex. Aborted fights resulted in snarky comments from Michael, eluded responses from Lincoln and, depending on how much Michael was pissed off, make-up sex or displays of the cold shoulder. Tonight, he was definitely going for the ‘cold shoulder’ resolution, and Lincoln wasn’t making a secret of his dismay; it brought a gloomy satisfaction to Michael.

Admittedly in peculiar ways, they’d always had a give and take relationship. Lincoln provided, Michael swallowed. Michael meant this with a hint of sarcasm, and in a figurative way as much as in a literal one: his brother had always fed him.

When he was younger, he ate the food Lincoln had supplied and put on the table of their dingy apartment. It didn’t matter that it was a dingy apartment because the operative word here was ‘their’. He chewed, chomped away and licked his lips for his own benefit as much as for Linc’s appreciation.

Later, he had gorged on the lies and promises Lincoln fed and lavished on him. He still did, to be honest. Linc looked him in the eye when he was lying to him and trying to convey some fake sincerity, but not when he was making promises he believed in. He didn’t need eye contact when he could kiss and stroke vows and pledges directly into Michael mouth and skin.

And then, on a regular basis, he gulped down the sticky and salty result of a blow job he had just performed on Lincoln, whether on his knees in a small back alley, lying on the bed at Linc’s delighted mercy, or sucking, licking and controlling the whole game. Eagerly or teasingly obedient, he pumped Lincoln until he gave up every last drop; he reveled in his feel and groans, feasted on his flavor and texture, and felt his own blood flow faster when the bitter substance hit his tongue and slid down his throat.

There would be no such things tonight. He was not in the mood for obedience and swallowing any of the bullshit Lincoln was dropping on him. He was fed up with the lies and ‘the devil may care’ attitude; because of this – and even more so because Lincoln had dodged any attempt to discuss the subject and let the discussion escalate – he gave his brother the worst case of cold shoulder he'd given him in months. He didn’t yield when Lincoln fondled him through his pants and shirt, didn’t capitulate when he shed his own clothes, didn’t surrender when, showing off impishly, Lincoln wrapped his hand around his erection and started to stroke himself.

He didn’t cave in, but he averted his eyes and focused on not paying attention to Lincoln’s clean, musky scent and bulk frame crowding him. He did his best to avoid indulging in the mouth-watering indecency of Lincoln flaunting himself in the middle of the tasteful luxury of the living room. Even when Lincoln’s hand slipped under Michael’s tee shirt and teased the skin of his stomach, he ignored the prickling sensation that commanded him to return the touch. He just shrugged his shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to push Linc away.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Lincoln grumbled. Impatience was creeping in his voice now, and he rutted against Michael to rub his bare cock on the soft material of the pants. “It’s been a while.”

He bit the skin of Michael’s neck and immediately swept his tongue to soothe the tingle of the biting; the combination of the caress and the remark riled Michael up.

“It’s been a while because I took engagements on your behalf and you broke them,” he spat. “It’s been a while because you screwed up the job I’d found you and disappeared again. It’s been a while because...”

He was interrupted by a sloppy kiss, Lincoln messily licking and worrying his lips to make him pay the fact that he wouldn’t unclench his teeth and grant him full access to his mouth. He backed off with an exasperated mutter and glared at him. He hated this, hated that Lincoln thought he just had to show him how much he wanted him and everything would be forgotten. Even more, he hated that Lincoln was probably right to think so.

“I got the general idea. You should know better than taking engagements for me by now, huh?” Linc replied unapologetically. “Come on, Mike, I know you want it. I bet your dick is as stiff as your attitude.”

He didn’t even try to feel him up to prove his point. Just one last provocative squeeze of Michael’s clad bottom and Lincoln was turning his back on him and heading for the couch. He was so sure he would get what he demanded; Michael felt his blood pressure darken his vision and make his ears buzz. His exasperation, nourished by his helplessness, turned into anger, and in two long strides, he had caught up with Lincoln. Gripping his shoulders, he gave him a rough push and bent him over the couch arm, face down and pressed into the leather. It was so fast and smooth; Lincoln didn’t even protest or ask what was in the well was going on. Michael himself barely had the time to realize that he was lifting his hand and letting it fall hard on his brother’s bare backside. Truth be told, acting so instinctively, so forcefully felt exhilarating.

The smack resonated loudly in the quiet apartment. It was followed with a few seconds of total stillness and ragged breathing. The gesture itself took them aback; so did how easily Lincoln had been wrestled down; the fact that he wasn’t already turning around to punch Michael in retaliation was quite a surprise too. Above all, the realization that they found the exquisite mixture of burning pain and stinging pleasure enjoyable slowly dawned on them. When Michael eventually looked down and saw the very neat and very pink imprint of his hand on Lincoln’s pale skin, he dug his teeth in his bottom lip to bite back a murmur of appreciation. His fingers glided on the mistreated muscle, the touch tentative and almost questioning.

They never toughened up things unilaterally; the escalation was always mutual, some sort of ultimate agreement on disagreeing. This... this was a hitch in their usual pattern, and they were stunned into silence as they tried to figure out how to handle the situation.

“Tell me...” Michael’s throat was too dry and tight; he faltered, swallowed hard and tried again. “Tell me to stop.”

Lincoln didn’t reply. Moving with caution and not looking at Michael, he merely shifted on the sofa. He adjusted his position to brace himself, his torso resting on the seat, his legs stretched behind him, his butt pushed in the air and offered. Michael watched him with rapture as he extended his arms above his head and held onto the cushions. He was on display right before him, a perfectly defined figure prone and standing out against the black leather of the couch. Michael reached out for the muscles rolling and coiling under the strain, under the unusual position. So hot and smooth and strong beneath his hand. He let his fingers slide down with reverence and spread them on the dip of Lincoln’s back.

“You’re beautiful.”

The words spilled out of his mouth, low and breathy, before he could get a grip on himself, and of course, they were answered with a snide retort. Lincoln could take the compliment – no problem, thank you very much – but he wouldn’t pass over its sappiness, or what he considered to be sappiness.

“Cut the mushy crap, Romeo, and get on with the program already.”

Asshole. Michael thought it, yet didn’t say it. He let his hand communicate the message and swatted Linc’s left buttock, the one untouched by the first smack. The slapping noise was nice, Lincoln’s reflexive jerk even nicer, and the warm sensation on the palm of Michael’s hand was so good that he had no other choice than hitting again. So, he did it again, and again, alternating between soft small taps that felt more like a caress than like a blow, forceful whacks that made Lincoln pant and jolt, and every variation in-between. He gripped Lincoln’s hip in part to prevent him from writhing, but mainly because he needed something to grab on to and steady himself. Lincoln didn’t thrash and try to escape as much as Michael had thought he would, anyway; Michael had to give him credit for that. He was taking his ordeal with good grace. He gasped every now and then and clutched at the cushions, making small indents into the smooth leather, but he wasn’t fighting back. Of course he wasn’t fighting back. Obviously, he had decided that he wouldn’t give Michael this satisfaction. The forged passivity fired Michael’s exasperation, pushed him to deliver smarter slap, heightened his fervor as Lincoln’s buttocks took on much darker shades of red. More. He wanted more and wondered if he would ever get it, if it would ever be enough as long as Lincoln would duck and elude him.

By the time Michael paused, the warmth born in his palm had spread to his whole body, and he was sweating in his clothes, feverish and almost shaking. This was definitely not only anger anymore, not with the way his gut had tightened and the heat had pooled in his belly. His hand and arm hurt, and Lincoln’s ass sported two bright scarlet spots. Scratch that: Lincoln’s ass was two bright scarlet spots, all throbbing and blotchy. Michael groaned at the sight and leaned in to press his crotch on the inflamed flesh. The contact wasn’t nearly enough to appease him, even momentarily, and he rubbed harder, sighing when he experienced a pressure more substantial than the meager one provided by his clothes.

For the first time tonight, Lincoln protested faintly, maybe because the touch was too heavy or maybe the contrary because it was too light. Sweaty and mouth wide open, he was panting and drooling, reflexive tears prickling the corner of his eyes and rolling down, the head of his dick leaking as he worked his hips to get a bit of friction against the seat of the sofa. Too bad for the overpriced furniture, but if having Lincoln undone in such way was the result, ruining it was worth it a hundred times.

Michael’s lower belly clenched in arousal. The relative distance he’d been able to maintain so far because he was in charge started to slip away, and he dropped on his knees. He relished Lincoln’s obvious anticipation as he kissed him from waist to thighs to soothe the flame of the spanking. Eventually, finally, when he’d decided that Lincoln had been waiting long enough, he snaked his tongue between the abused buttocks. Just one time, just one long luscious lick before he rested his cheek against the back of Lincoln’s thigh. Eyes close and a hand clasped on his groin, he breathed deeply in the combination of perspiration, pre-come, musk and remaining fragrances of soap, and extended his tongue to taste it, amazed as ever that the raw flavors of Lincoln’s body could turn him on that much. He licked again, following a curve on the underside of Lincoln’s buttock, and smacked his lips together.

“Turn around,” he asked softly.

He got on to his feet and watched with fascination as Lincoln rolled over docilely, limbs following in a lazy way. The sofa creaked under his weight. Lincoln winced and cursed sotto voce when his over-sensitive ass connected with the leather and stuck to it. The ache lasted, or at least mattered, barely a second. The next moment, he was wiping on his forearm any traces of dampness from his face and settling comfortably, thighs open and the hollow of his knees resting on the couch arm. He laid a hand low on his stomach, right near his erection but not quite touching it, as if waiting for a permission he knew he wouldn’t get. Enthralled by the image and by the notion, Michael pulled his tee shirt over his head somewhat hastily, slowing down only when he noticed how much Lincoln seemed to enjoy the show.

“You are beautiful,” Linc told him with a smirk, a teasing echo of the reversed statement. Affection and unabashed lust had seeped into the mockery, though, and a light blush flushed Michael’s cheeks. He worked a bit more frantically on his belt, tugging down his pants and boxers and kicking them away. Lincoln grinned at that keenness and shoved a hand behind his head. Eerily, Michael thought he should be furious, at Lincoln or maybe at himself, because his brother knew all too well how to push his buttons. He discarded the thought for now. He would consider it later, when he didn’t have anything better to do, when he didn’t have Lincoln sprawling just for him, offering in a sultry voice, “You want to fuck me, Mikey?”

To his consternation, Michael whimpered; he whimpered, and to add insult to injury, his cock twitched. Lincoln really had a knack at making him feel like a needy kid rather than the smooth and sophisticated grown-up he was. He squeezed his hard-on and tried to contain himself. He wanted to say yes. Or better, he wanted to say nothing at all, push Linc’s knees up against his chest and take him slow and hard until that damn smirk subsided. They did it so rarely this way, even more rarely at Lincoln’s initiative. The times Lincoln let Michael have him like that, negotiations and conditions were involved. So, he had to hold on to the couch and fight hard to shake his head, refusing with a soft, “Later maybe.” As appealing as the offer sounded, he had his mind set on something else and didn’t feel like relinquishing now.

“You sure?” Lincoln asked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It may be a one-time offer.”

Michael bent down and wormed a hand between the couch and Lincoln’s ass. The skin was still excessively hot; it boosted his confidence.

“It may be a themed night, and I may have a small whip somewhere,” he retorted.

Lincoln chuckled and welcomed him, wiggling a bit to accommodate the length of his body when he climbed and nestled on top of him. They let out a synchronized groan of pleasure, almost of relief, to finally be lying together, pressed flush against each other. Michael bore down and writhed like a gigantic cat, clingy and flexible, hissing included when Lincoln grabbed his ass and tried to pull him up.

“I want you to...”

“I know what you want,” Lincoln cut him off.

Of course he knew; he always knew. He knew what Michael wanted and didn’t want; he also knew what Michael wanted even though he shouldn’t want it. It didn’t mean he was willing to give him everything every time, just that he had the ammo to make him crazy – depending on the day, it could be the good or the bad kind of crazy.

“C’here. I’m not going down, you’re coming up.” He snatched a small cushion and stuffed it under his head. “If it’s okay with you?” he added smugly.

Michael kissed him. Since the way Lincoln coated his mouth with saliva earlier could hardly be considered like a kiss, it occurred to him that it was the first time tonight they’d actually kissed. He indulged a few seconds before gnawing at the lips beneath his because he was losing the upper hand – an upper hand Lincoln had granted him – and he started to crawl up awkwardly until he could straddle Linc’s shoulders.

It was an interesting position, to say the least, one that Lincoln usually enjoyed assuming. Michael totally got why. Not that he didn’t take pleasure in it the other way around, but different strokes and perspectives were a nice thing. Lincoln had to be thinking the same way because he craned his neck to press his face into Michael’s groin, making him moan in a really embarrassing way. Lincoln kept nuzzling, his stubble deliciously chaffing Michael; apparently he did not care – or maybe he liked it – that faint traces of gluey fluid dribbled from the erection offered to him and smeared his chin and cheeks.

A shiver ran down Michael’s spine. The idea of Lincoln lying beneath him and getting marked this way, the hands stroking up and down his thighs, the hot mouth skimming and teasing but not quite kissing yet was... Bracing against the couch with one hand, he wrapped the other one around himself and forced Lincoln’s mouth. He would acknowledge that he didn’t need to try very hard: Lincoln opened up and sluggishly trailed a wet tongue from the root to the tip of his dick – Michael didn’t have anything against excessive salivation anymore at this point – before fastening his lips over the heated flesh and starting to suck. He might have burbled something that sounded like an appreciative “Fuck... yeah...” but knowing him, Michael could already assert that he would deny it later.

It didn’t matter what Lincoln would or would not admit. It was perfection. Perfect heat encasing him, perfect pressure, perfect suction. To add to the thrill, Lincoln’s hands glided up the back of his thighs and palmed his ass. They kneaded his buttocks, alternatively prying them apart and pressing them together, and urged a back and forth movement to his hips. This move stole Michael the feeling that he was in control of the fellatio, but it was not like he couldn’t actually thrust in at any moment he wanted to – and just to be sure, just make a point, he shoved a bit harder.

There was a choking-gurgling sound deep in Lincoln’s throat that went straight to Michael’s groin. The gurgling was one thing; the fact that Lincoln didn’t protest or even try to move away but, quite the opposite, sucked more eagerly sent his mind reeling. With stammered and somewhat phony apologies, he retreated enough so that just the head of his cock remained in Lincoln’s mouth. Linc breathed in and got to work with a laudable zeal, thick lips and swirls of tongue and so delicate grazing of teeth having Michael wonder how long he would be able to hold off, shaking with desire and need as he was.

With a wicked smile, Lincoln turned his head to the side and let him slip out of his mouth just long enough to advise, “Don’t go that deep again. I want to taste you when you blow your load.”

Fuck. Michael was almost sure he said this aloud. Almost. With a forefinger suddenly venturing between his buttocks and teasing to breach him, the lewd declaration hanging heavy in the air and Lincoln taking him back in his mouth and sucking so hard that his cheeks hollowed, surely, he could be forgiven if he was not one hundred percent sure. A couple of seconds later, it didn’t matter anymore, anyway, because pleasure was catching up with him. There was a deathlike grip on his hip, preventing him from thrusting too hard if he couldn’t follow the recommendations on his own, the whole time he spilled into Lincoln’s mouth. He had barely enough presence of mind to pull away a bit and look down. Fascinated, dizzy with fulfillment, he stared at Lincoln, whose swollen lips and pink tongue were marred with translucent white fluid.

Lincoln locked eyes with him and made a show of swallowing the semen, rolling it on his tongue and gulping it down slowly, deliberately. The deglutition sound wrenched a last burst from Michael, a vagrant spurt that landed on Lincoln’s cheekbone. He collected it on his fingers and dipped those past Linc’s lips. There was a groan and greedy suction and a dirty wink when Michael rubbed his fingers against the tongue that was lapping at them.

He collapsed, drenched in sweat and exhausted, just alert enough to feel the hot throb of a still erect cock against his abdomen. Small effort, nice reward: it only took a few pulls and tugs before Lincoln came on him, coating his fingers and softening penis. Michael brought his hand up, observed it, and held it out for Lincoln to lick it clean. Linc complied, gliding a plump and sticky tongue all over his palm and digits. When he swallowed, Michael sighed happily and snuggled under his chin to nuzzle at his bobbing Adam’s apple.

“You good?” Lincoln asked lazily.

He nodded. He was totally good. That being said... “I’m still fucking you later,” he croaked in a hoarse voice.

He did: in the spotless bedroom, on the fresh sheets of his huge and neat bed, and with the small whip – since he had a small whip – lying just out of Lincoln’s reach. Harsh, slow and long, just as he had planned it. He rocked into Lincoln and rocked Lincoln into the mattress, listening to the hitches and glitches in his breathing, attentive to make it pleasurable for him but without letting him get off on it. It earned him a few “Bastard” and “Little shit” in the process. He ignored the mishmash of threats and pleads, just came hard for the second time of the night, pulled off with a wet noise and plopped down on his stomach near Lincoln, trying to catch his breath.

The light stinging of leather lashes on his ass called him back to the moment as he was about to doze off. He turned his head to Lincoln brandishing the whip with a not too benevolent look on his face.

“I think you’re forgetting something,” Lincoln pointed out and nodded down at his hard-on. It was red and engorged, leaking pre-come and imploring to be properly sucked. Roused from the slumber he’d started to fall in, Michael slipped his hands under the pillow and fisted the sheets underneath to refrain from moving and diving between Linc’s legs.

“I hate it when you don’t fight back. When we have an argument.”

It makes me feel irrelevant. He didn’t say it because it would have been too much of a weakness and neediness admission.

“You didn’t seem to complain tonight.”

“Yeah. I still don’t like it.” He rolled on his side and inched towards Lincoln. “Does it hurt?” he asked, petting the side of a bloated buttock.

“You mean outside or inside?”

Lincoln crooked an eyebrow; Michael blushed at the implication and blushed a little harder when he thought that maybe, next time, Linc would fight back. Then, a hand was wrapping around the back of his skull and Lincoln was pulling him close and kissing him. Languid and thoughtful, with just the right amount of saliva, teeth and tongue, like a belated apology for the sloppy excuse of a kiss he’d given him before.

“It hurts good,” Lincoln admitted. He looked him in the eye and added, “I’m sorry for the job.”

Michael nodded. It didn’t matter whether Lincoln meant it or not; it wouldn’t make any difference anyway because Michael wanted to believe him. He took the whip from Lincoln’s hands and trailed the straps on his chest and stomach, all the way down to his crotch. There, he flicked his wrist the slightest bit, just hard enough for the lashes to tickle Lincoln’s member, not hard enough to risk hurting him.

“I’m not that much into this shit,” Lincoln said hesitantly.

Michael handed him the whip back. He kissed his jaw... “Neither am I.” ... lingered under his chin... “Just bought it on a whim.” ... licked the hollow at the base of his throat and smiled when he felt it work under his mouth.

“Kinky bastard.” His head was tilted up, a warm and moist tongue dipping into his ear as Lincoln drawled in a sultry tone, “I like your hands better. You’ll like my hands better when I’m spanking you,” he added, the menace threaded with a delicious promise.

The whip handle was pressed into his shoulder, and taking the hint, Michael slowly started to kiss his way down Linc’s body. He didn’t loiter or linger, but he took his time and was thorough in his ministrations. By the time he reached Lincoln’s cock, his brother was breathing hard and on the verge of begging. Michael was tempted to delay the moment he would take him in his mouth. Just because Lincoln deserved it, just because it was a damn turn_on seeing him like this, just because. He certainly would have delayed it if he hadn’t longed for it as much as Linc.

The thin lashes swept over the expanse of his back and he halted his descent. Purely accidental, just Lincoln shifting and moving his hands helplessly, having forgotten that he was still holding the thing. One of said hands reached down for purchase on the nape of Michael’s neck in a soft yet authoritarian way.

He looked up. Lincoln was slowly but surely losing it, head lolling back in abandon, eyes unfocused and glassy with pleasure. Watching him between his eyelashes, Michael flicked his tongue against Lincoln’s cock, lapping and savoring the pearly liquid that oozed from the slit. Lincoln bucked under him to urge him on. Non-fights and faked pleas and broken promises forgotten, Michael complied and took whatever Lincoln was willing to provide, give or offer.

When Lincoln climaxed, Michael swallowed everything.

-End-
Comments are almost as good as chocolate.

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 08:37:02 GMT

Dear Criminal Minds,
I do not need a cannibalistic serial killer with my breakfast, especially one who feeds one of his victims to the people searching for her.

Dear Self,
Next time, don't forget to check the summary before playing the DVD. Eww.

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 12:00:01 GMT

Because Word spell checker will never replace a real Human being...

Michael pulled his tee shit over his head.

... I can't even begin to tell how much I love my beta for having noticed the typo ^___^

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 22:33:51 GMT

I couldn't access LJ since at least 8 PM *grumbles* Except via anonymouse.org but it didn't help anyway since I can't log on and read locked entries when using a proxy.

I set up a Twitter account (eclair-de-lune). I don't have the slighest idea of what I'll do with it since I mainly use LJ for fics and fics whining and really don't need... anything else.

I knew it!!

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 15:38:55 GMT

When I bought my laptop a few months ago, I noticed that Word 2007 displayed a 'balloon' with the translation for the word the mouse was hovering over. Which was convenient since I liked it for geeky reasons and because I sometimes worry about cases of 'this word doesn't mean what I think it means'. Then, just like that, the feature went MIA. I wondered if I had ~~smoked~~ imagined it and forgot about it.

And today, I found how to get it baaaack. Double satisfaction: it is back and I hadn't seen things that weren't here.

The screencaps were really, really not necessary. I'm just pleased with myself :-p

July 2009 Fanfics

Wed, 05 Aug 2009 19:42:11 GMT

Prison Break (English)

N.B.: All post-series fics are non-epilogue-compliant.

Best Remained Unsaid ♦ It would be wiser if some things remained unsaid. Obviously, they don’t do ‘wise’ a lot, so stuff is spoken about. (Michael/Lincoln. Slash. NC-17)

Shall We? ♦ Somehow, the excessively animated conversation has lead to Lincoln throwing down the gauntlet at her, half challenging, half joking. (Sara/Sofia, Lincoln, Michael. Femslash. PG-13)

This is Gretchen ♦ Once, sometimes twice a week she leaves her boys – husband and kid – at home to come here and have sex with Gretchen. She cheats on a sweet and thoughtful, although occasionally maddening, husband with a woman who tried to kill her a couple of times and could very well try again someday. (Sara/Gretchen, implied Michael/Sara. Femslash. NC-17)

Once in a Blue Moon ♦ You do weird, crazy things on blue moon nights. You talk your wife into experimenting, become caught at your own game and end up enjoying this thoroughly. (Michael/Sara/Lincoln. Het, mild slash. R)

It's not like... ♦ It’s not like she actually needs this kind of compromising intel to hold Reynolds in the palm of her hand. (Reynolds/Brinker. Femslash. PG-13)

Prison Break (Français)

Pas comme si... ♦ C’est pas comme si c’était un gros sacrifice. (Reynolds/Brinker. Femslash. PG-13)

Doctor Who - Fantastic!

Mon, 03 Aug 2009 15:01:47 GMT

Title: Fantastic! (Original version)
Author: clair_de_lune
Characters: Nine, Rose
Rating: G
Word Count: ~ 95
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Initial prompt by alohomoraa: Nine, Rose, the TARDIS
Author’s Note: My old, unique and poor attempt at Doctor Who Fic ;-) No beta.

The first time she’d walked in the TARDIS, she felt as if she had just stumbled. In a way, this was exactly what had happened.

“It’s bigger on the inside,” the Doctor had told her.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. She dove headfirst in the heart of the TARDIS, in its golden light and atmosphere, and found herself in the middle of times and universes. At the junction of times and universes. She was on the edge of the chasm, yet all she needed to avoid falling was taking a step back and walking inside.

“Fantastic, isn’t it?”

* *

The Really QUICK Reassuringly EASY Test

Sun, 02 Aug 2009 12:23:14 GMT

The Really QUICK Reassuringly EASY Test - which is exactly what I needed ^__^

Your result for The Really QUICK Reassuringly EASY Test...

Freakin' Genius!

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TV Meme

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 20:35:01 GMT

Snagged from tokenblkgirl

Pick your five favorite TV shows (in no particular order) and answer the following questions.
Don't cheat!

1. Quantum Leap
2. Prison Break
3. The West Wing
4. The Pretender
5. Boston Legal

01. Who's your favorite character in 2? (Prison Break)
Michael and Lincoln.

02. Who's your least favorite character in 1? (Quantum Leap)
Let's say Sam's brother.

03. What's your favourite episode of 4? (The Pretender)
The Key (1.19)

04. What's your favorite season of 5? (Boston Legal)
I don't have the slighest idea.

05. Who are your favorite ship in 3? (The West Wing)
Josh/Donna. But I also have a soft spot for Josh/Joey Lucas.

06. Who are your anti-ship in 2? (Prison Break)
Canon: ~~none, I think.~~ Not very happy with Lincoln/Sofia. Fanon: not a fan of Michael/Mahone.

07. How long have you watched 1? (Quantum Leap)
Considering that the show ended like fifteen years ago...

08. How did you become interested in 3? (The West Wing)
Awesome characters, awesome dialogues.
Stupid French TV waited at least a couple of years between What Kind Of Day Has It Been? and In The Shadow of Two Gunmen, making me quite desperate for the resolution of 1.22.

09. Who's your favorite actor/actress in 4? (The Pretender)
Andrea Parker.

10. Which do you prefer: Season 1 of 2 or 5? ( Prison Break, Boston Legal)
I'm going to say Prison Break since I really loved the first season and still have a hard time distinguishing between Boston Legal's seasons.

11. Which show have you seen more episodes of, 1 or 3? (Quantum Leap, The West Wing)
Quantum Leap: five seasons, including a short one. The West Wing: seven seasons of at least twenty-two episodes. So, The West Wing.

12. If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be? (The Pretender)
No one. Everybody is kinda of creepy.

13. How would you kill off your favorite character in 1?
Away from home, during a leap, at peace. Possibly trying to save Al.

14. Give a random quote from 1? (Quantum Leap)
"Oh boy!"

... Where is #15?

16. Would a 3/4 crossover work? (The West Wing, The Pretender)
Um... no!

17. Pair 2 characters in 1 that would make an unlikely but strangely okay couple. (Quantum Leap)
Not enough characters to give an actual answer. Let's say Gushie and Donna Elissi. (I didn't like Donna. At least, that way, she would be out of Sam's hair *iz ashamed, but barely*)

18. Has 5 inspired you in any way? (Boston Legal)
When I'm a grown-up, I want to be Shirley Schmidt. Does this count?
Otherwise, a crackastic crossover fic with Prison Break, written in French.

19. Overall, which show has a better cast, 2 or 4? (Prison Break, The Pretender)
Let's say 2 (Prison Break).

20. Which has better theme music, 3 or 5? (Boston Legal, The West Wing)
5 (Boston Legal)

Mememememe

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 08:24:23 GMT

Gakked from camille_miko

The "You Should Write..." Meme!