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24 April 2009 @ 04:20 pm
Prison Break - Seeking Chaos  
Title: Seeking Chaos
Author: clair_de_lune
Characters: Lincoln/Sara
Category: Het
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 470
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Prompt by badboy_fangirl: Lincoln/Sara, devastated
Author’s Note: Posted in response to this fic meme. This is fic #2 since the first one hardly focuses on the pairing itself. No beta so please feel free to point out any horrendous mistake.
Let's say this is set early in Season 4.

She knows it’s a terrible idea the second she trips back and her shoulders hit the wall of the warehouse. She doesn’t do anything to stop what’s about to happen, though. Quite the contrary, she rushes it. She grabs a handful of Lincoln’s shirt and pulls him into her, searching for his lips and biting them. It’s not a kiss, it’s actually the opposite of a kiss, and she tries to find comfort in the idea that no matter what comes next, she’s not kissing him.

It’s a terrible idea because of who he is and because of her motivations. She needs to shake off the feeling that she’s the good girl, the nice girl doing whatever has to be done and putting up with all that crap, and he’s definitely the right person for the job. It doesn’t change the fact that she knows even before anything starts that it will leave both of them, and Michael too if he ever finds out, totally devastated.

Lincoln grouses, “Sara, don’t...,” but hoists her up and steps between her legs. He asks her, almost begs her, to stop but he pushes her panties out of the way. His hands scratch up her thighs and buttocks, his touch weirdly rough and thoughtful at the same time, and he slides into her in a swift, sure thrust. She ends up pinned to the wall, her legs wrapped around his hips and her back arched. Exactly what she aimed for. She had forgotten how exhilarating it is to seek chaos and failure rather than waiting for them, to choose the way life crumbles apart – because eventually, life will crumble apart, it always does. Who needs to shoot up when you can get literally and metaphorically screwed?

She feels her release building in her belly, fast and hard, and almost laughs when Lincoln asks her if she’s close. As if it was the moment for this kind of niceties. She does appreciate the attention, though, and she nods frantically, urging him on and clenching around him.

She’s pretty sure she blacks out for a few seconds because when she opens her eyes again, he’s easing her to her feet, holding her when she stumbles, and clumsily straightening her clothes – including her frigging underwear, for God’s sake. He grumbles something against her temple, mumbles that next time she needs to cope with something, anything, she please, please, goes to his brother.

She looks up at him and wonders what’s the more distressing, the fact she had him nail her the way she did, or the lingering thought that Michael couldn’t have given her what she wanted-needed-expected.

She nods and smiles shakily at him, but she doesn’t apologize; he deserves way more than contrived, polite regrets. And she’s not so sure she does regret anything.

* *
Current Mood: tiredtired
Clair de Lune: s.w.calliesclair_de_lune on April 28th, 2009 05:26 pm (UTC)
This is pretty much the kind of answer I'd imagined ;-)

Yep, I tend to whine that I can't write PB anymore, but apparently, even though it's harder now to finish a fic... still writing *shrugs*