Characters: Michael/Lincoln (Slash, AU)
Summary: There are no fairytales that unfold toward this ending...
Author's Notes: Set in my "Paradise" universe, which involves an alternate post-escape life for Michael and Lincoln (as a couple) and in which the brothers headed for South America right after the Fox River Escape (no money-chase, no SONA). This is my fourth story for pbficsurvivor. Also written for fanfic100, where I have the Slash pairing of Michael/Lincoln-- this is prompt #52, "Fire."
Lincoln never thought they'd actually need the fireplace in this rental house. They came in Spring when the warm weather had already started, and even through early Fall the South American coast was a blast-furnace broken by the occasional seaside breeze.
Tonight the air is cool, a hint of the rainy season to come. He and Michael have pushed the sofa back to the edge of the rug, and spread out a blanket in front of the flames—a picnic, where they will feast only on each other.
Lincoln remembers the last time he did something like this. It was with Veronica, back before that final downward spiral that led him to that parking garage and his back-room engineered fate.
He'd thought for awhile that she would be his Ever after, but it turned out that he really couldn't be hers. She'd known that finally, even if he hadn't.
Her skin had gleamed in the firelight then, alabaster tinted with gold beneath that sweep of long black hair. Now it's Michael's skin glowing before him, all complicated artistry up above followed by ivory-satin smoothness and the silk-brushed muscle of Michael's legs down below.
Lincoln never thought he'd be here, with Michael, like this. There are no fairytales that unfold toward this ending, this relationship where wrong turns right and the beginning becomes the end and marked men survive their fate.
And yet he's here.
Michael turns his face toward Lincoln, choosing him with every part of his being in spite of all that Lincoln is and all he's done. "Something on your mind?"
"Maybe," Lincoln recovers quickly, remembering that Michael's not the one who ever had doubts about the two of them. "I don't suppose we have any whipped cream…" Lincoln stalls.
"Like in a can? Not so easy to come by here. Besides, that's the last thing I need—something right out of the fridge on my bare skin. The fire's not that hot."
Now that the idea has presented itself Lincoln finds it hard to give it up so easily, those trails of silky white waiting to be followed with his tongue. "Where's your sense of adventure?" he pouts.
Michael puts his hand over Lincoln's, his gaze lingering on Lincoln's face before taking in the room around them, this home they've made in self-imposed exile. "I'm already living it," he says.
Lincoln's chest goes tight, because in so many ways this actually is a Happily ever after for Michael, who only ever wanted him. A house on the beach surrounded by beauty and each other… this is home for Lincoln now too, this haven from the consequences of the real world. He honestly hasn't been this happy in a very long time.
He reaches out and brushes his thumb over Michael's mouth, over those wonderfully soft lips as Michael's smile lifts at the corners in response. "I like the way you think," Lincoln murmurs.
Michael's looks at him more intently then, his eyes filling with heat and desire as he rises up onto an elbow and just waits, a study in temptation. "Come here," he says, low and deep and all for Lincoln in a way that's still a wonderful surprise.
The sound of Michael's voice is like a secret that shivers down inside of Lincoln, rippling all the way along the length of his very soul.
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