Category: Lincoln/Michael (Slash)
Summary: The aftermath of the events in “Twist,” where a game of Truth or Dare reveals a little too much.
Author’s Notes: You readers who nagged and cajoled (and you know who you are) have your sequel now! Also written for fanfic100, where I have the Slash pairing of Lincoln and Michael. This is for prompt #50, “Spade,” (where I finally get that one out of the way).
Keep going, keep going… Michael’s legs churned over the pavement, moving, moving. He’d started in the direction of home, but wasn’t sure now that he wanted to get there. That wasn’t going to make it better, wasn’t going to undo what had just happened. And Lincoln would be there, eventually.
Can’t go forward, can’t go back.
His lips still tingled from Lincoln's kisses-- from the heated sliding, stroking, plundering of his tongue. Michael's whole body felt the aftershock of being wound up in a vise of sexual awareness and sensory assault, felt the tremors of being overwhelmed by the crashing wave of his own lust.
The wind kicked up, blowing across the dampness at the front of his pants. Michael sighed in resignation. It looked like home was where he was headed, because he couldn’t show up anywhere else looking like this.
Minutes later, he had all the evidence stuffed in the hamper and was wearing a clean pair of pants. He locked the bedroom door and sat down on the bed, running his hands through his hair unevenly. He had a sneaking suspicion that no amount of thinking was going to straighten this one out. So now what?
He could hear the front door opening, and he flopped over backwards on the bed in sudden weariness. Here it comes, he thought. The lecture to end all lectures.
Lincoln knocked on the door. “Michael?” he asked.
Michael stared at the ceiling, as if he could just disappear by willing it.
“Michael, I know you’re in there.”
Well no kidding. The light’s on and the door’s locked.
“We need to talk,” Lincoln said. “Please don’t make me unlock this door. You know I have the key.”
Michael moved to a sitting position, but he didn’t get up off the bed. It wasn’t so much him being childish as that unlocking the door would probably lead to looking Lincoln in the eyes. He wasn’t ready for that just yet.
Lincoln sighed and stumped off down the hallway. He returned moments later, keying the door open and closing it behind him as he came in.
"Can't we just talk about this?" Lincoln asked.
But Michael's back was already turned. "What's there to talk about? What good will it do?"
"Michael, I'm sorry," Lincoln said. He sat down on the bed gently. "I never meant to get you all worked up like that."
Like that makes any difference. "You being sorry is not the issue," Michael said. He sounded surprisingly grown-up about it. "Because that doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Michael edged away from his brother slightly, still avoiding his eyes. “Let's call a spade a spade,” he said harshly. “The problem isn't what you did. The problem is that I liked it."
"Michael," Lincoln began, "It’s…you're fourteen. Your body is just primed to respond to all kinds of things-- no matter who's doing it."
Michael made a noise of frustration. "Well, it's not like I have any experience to compare that to. So that isn’t particularly reassuring."
Lincoln floundered for a moment. "Well we could, I don't know, find someone if you want. Let you try it out..."
Michael turned, aghast. "What, a hooker? Or one of those slutty girls who’re always calling over here? No thanks." His glare said that Lincoln was the adult here, if either of them was, and that he should have known better than to even suggest it.
“Can’t we just chalk it up as something that should never have happened?” Lincoln was grasping at straws, trying to remove his brother’s guilt over something that really wasn’t Michael’s fault.
“Maybe you can,” Michael muttered, and he knew he had a point. One of them had been running through his repertoire of skills, while the other had been responding, pulled in and overwhelmed, and … Michael followed the path of Lincoln’s eyes down to his freshly-changed clothes. “Don’t say it,” he warned.
Lincoln threw up his hands. “I would never...”
Never make me feel embarrassed and perverted and weird. But you did.
Lincoln patted Michael’s shoulder awkwardly, which did nothing to relax its stiffness.
“I really am sorry,” he said. “I wish I could fix it.”
“I know,” Michael admitted.
“I’ll just… I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight, okay?”
You’d better believe it. “Okay,” Michael said. He could see Lincoln moving out of the corner of his eyes, but he couldn’t bear to watch him go.
Half of him wanted to go back to yesterday, before any of this had happened.
The other half, the one that knew what Lincoln’s mouth felt like under his own, that knew the intense allure and sweep of his brother’s tongue, the heat and musk of his brother’s skin…
That half longed to embrace the path of destruction and follow it clear to its end. Michael could not listen to it, or its siren song, because he already knew what it would ask.
That half wanted Lincoln there with him, to come together in the darkness and pick things up where they’d left off.
---------- FIN ----------