Characters: Lincoln/Michael (Slash)
Summary: Post-Escape (“The Shape of Freedom” Universe). A sudden downpour brings the trip to a halt, and Lincoln and Michael find a way to pass the time.
Author’s Notes: This was written for estrella30’s carPorn challenge, and also for the fanfic100 challenge (where I have the slash pairing of Lincoln and Michael. This is for prompt 66, “Rain.”) It follows directly after Far From The Journey's End.
Everything is packed back up into the car by 9 o’clock, and then they are on the back highway again, heading farther south. There are miles of dust and chaparral, the occasional farm and village marking time. A brief pause for goats being herded across the road makes them wait in the ever-hotter sun, windows down for any hint of a breeze. They swig water impatiently until they can move again, leaving a trail of hostile dust behind.
Lunch is in the car, a couple of apples and some random snacks.
“I can’t believe you remembered Fritos,” Lincoln says.
“Of course,” Michael answers. “You have an unbelievable weakness for Fritos. How could I forget?”
Lincoln sees that smile at the corner of Michael’s mouth, and thinks that not all of his weaknesses involve food. After this morning’s free-for-all in the tent, where they crossed a line that brothers aren’t supposed to touch, he wonders if Michael knew that already.
The sky is getting darker and darker ahead of them, as they drive out of blue and into gray. Streaks drift in sheets down from the clouds ahead, and then before they know it they are in the middle of it, rain pounding down on the car in a thick, blinding cascade.
“Whoa!” Michael grips the wheel fiercely and slows down as it gets harder to see.
“You’d better pull off,” Lincoln says. “You can’t drive in this, and it’s not like we’ll be late for anything. How about right here?” Lincoln’s pointing to the ditch, but Michael has heard about flash-flooding in dry areas.
“No, let me find a side road.” They creep a little farther on, and Michael takes the first turn he sees, easing off onto the raised gravel bed. He stops the car and they wait.
The rain is pelting down on the roof, bouncing and pinging on the metal. It pours in torrents down the windshield as the storm increases overhead.
“Can we roll down the windows a little?” Lincoln asks. “I want to feel the air and just smell everything for awhile.”
Michael looks over sharply. He was only in prison for a few months while trying to get Lincoln out, but he knows. You get to go out in the sun, sometimes even the snow, but in heavy rain they keep you inside. No-one wants to clean up the mess, and what do inmates need to go out into the rain for anyway? As a result, it makes the men edgy, and creates a perverse need to go out just because they can’t. And where water is life, rain is living. It’s a primitive reminder of the cycle that continues beyond the cell-block walls.
Michael cracks open the windows slightly, reaching across the car to squeeze Lincoln’s hand. His brother is leaning back, eyes closed and smiling. He looks like he’s feeling and being the rain all at once.
Lincoln glances over, and pulls Michael close and under his arm. They sit there, leaning together, and Michael puts his feet up on the dashboard and settles in. It is wonderfully relaxing there with his head on Lincoln’s shoulder, and as the drops splatter down on the car it’s like watching Rain TV.
Lincoln’s head nestles cozily into his brother’s, and Michael feels warm and a little sleepy all of a sudden. Minutes pass and he grows drowsy, until Lincoln turns slightly and nuzzles into Michael’s too-short hair.
“I missed this,” Lincoln says, and he could mean anything with those words.
“I know,” Michael answers softly.
“I missed a lot of things,” Lincoln says then, his lips brushing the tip of Michael’s ear.
Michael’s skin is tingling where Lincoln touches him, and he turns toward his brother with the tiniest bit of quiet hope.
“Anything in particular?” he breathes, and then Lincoln is kissing him with the kind of passion Michael had glimpsed so many times in the past. It’s that same raw sexual energy that brought girls and women to throw themselves at Lincoln. It made Michael jealous—always of them, never of Lincoln—and it has haunted him for years with what he needed but never hoped to have. That desperate longing forced him on this path through insanity, and when planning trumped destiny they made it out to the freedom crowding this moment.
Michael is moving, moaning into the kiss and climbing astride his brother. He is rocking across Lincoln’s hard lap in time with the stroking of his tongue, and his brother’s enthusiastic response is a turn-on and a power-trip all in one.
“Is this what you want?” Michael murmurs against Lincoln’s lips, and an incoherent groan is his answer.
“This?” he asks, his hand running down Lincoln’s chest and stomach, and then tugging at his zipper as he eases his way into his brother’s pants. He caresses and strokes, though the reach is awkward, and Lincoln’s hand on his ass is tight enough to leave a mark. Michael moves off to the side, licking and nibbling his way down Lincoln’s neck, then pushing up the t-shirt for better access. He teases a nipple into his mouth, pulling lightly on its twin with gentle fingers, and Lincoln bucks up under him at those sharp sensations.
“Is this all?” Michael kisses lower and lower, and has his victory as soon as Lincoln speaks.
“God, suck me, Michael. Please—I want you to suck me.”
Michael has the seat pushed back and Lincoln’s pants halfway off in one fluid movement, and then he has claimed him with lips and teeth and tongue.
‘Oh, god!” Lincoln gasps out, and then he is drowning under arousal so intense it should have a name. Michael owns him completely, his technique intense despite lack of skill, and those hands running over his belly and hips are amplifying the overall experience until he can hardly stand it. Lincoln’s head rolls back swiftly and the world shifts and rolls as he comes with a long ululating shout. The roaring in his ears could be the rush of blood or from the storm, but either way he is deliciously overwhelmed.
“Oh,” he groans softly, eyes opening to see Michael smiling up at him. “I think you killed me.” His brother’s smile widens, and it kicks off a new spark of energy.
“Switch,” Lincoln commands.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”
“But I’m going to. C’mon, move.”
They bump awkwardly past each other, Michael crawling into the driver’s seat and then back over before they can get into position.
“Perfect,” Lincoln says, and then the sound of his own pants unzipping becomes the focus of Michael’s world. When Lincoln bites him gently through the cotton of his underwear, Michael’s head slams back against the seat and his thoughts float and swim through the arc of the storm. There is light chewing, the rapid rush of air on skin, kissing, and licking. Surrounded by wet heat, he is lost and groundless in pleasure, building harder and harder until a sudden vibration catches him off guard and he explodes. Rocked by vertigo and lust, he roils under the burning beauty of it all until softly, slowly he drifts back down.
His hand is stroking the back of Lincoln’s head, and he can barely form a single sentence. “I… oh. Good. So good. What was—?”
“Humming,” Lincoln says, and Michael catches a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
“A really talented girlfriend, before my last lockup.” Lincoln’s hands sweep lazily up Michael’s sides to rub and soothe and calm.
“I want to learn that,” Michael manages.
“Well, lucky me,” Lincoln smiles, and he moves higher and closer until he’s sitting across Michael, leaning softly and kissing his neck. Michael’s arms come up around him, cradling Lincoln’s head down on his shoulder and rocking him softly, softly, sweetly.
The rain is beating down, no signs of stopping, and the air blows through the car with wet promise. Lincoln is dozing, and Michael’s getting there.
The day just keeps on getting better.
----- fin -------
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