Characters: Michael/Lincoln (Slash)
Summary: Sometimes Lincoln and Michael would meet up at a bar across town. Sometimes, Lincoln pretended to be late…
Author's Notes: For fanfic100, this is "Strangers."
Lincoln knew what Michael looked like, with those x-rated lips and those eyes that could bore right through you—or utterly dismiss you—in just a few breathless seconds. Add that lanky physique and that tight, fuckable ass, and Michael looked like a walking wet dream.
He looked like bait.
Sometimes he and Michael would agree to meet up in a gay bar across town, walking in separately and working their way around to each other like they were strangers meeting for the first time.
Sometimes, when Lincoln was in the mood to make things interesting, he would also pretend to be late…
He never actually was—probably more to do with jealousy than over-protectiveness—but he still liked to let Michael think so. Lincoln would sneak in when Michael was looking the other way and then hang back in the crowd, hiding beneath an unlikely hat and watching men circle around Michael like wolves stalking a sheep.
Eventually he'd stuff the hat in his pocket and shoulder his way in to the rescue. It was more fun when Michael couldn't see him coming, and Lincoln revealed himself only with the sound of his voice.
"Is this guy bothering you?" he'd said one time, and it was cheesy as hell but Michael had practically creamed his jeans over it.
The expression on Michael's face when Lincoln's words rolled through the crowd and curled around him was why Lincoln sometimes slipped in unseen and just waited. Times like that, Michael looked totally, fucking hot. Lincoln would feel his skin sizzle under Michael's gaze, and with the added thrill of flirting in public (God, if people only knew they were brothers), they didn't always make it back to the car. Sometimes they were all over each other right there on the floor, lucky to get as far as the bathroom or the alley before things got frantic and dirty enough to get the two of them arrested.
Meeting up like strangers added a certain shivery thrill to the experience, as if sneaking around behind Veronica's back to fuck his own brother wasn't enough. Lincoln could never stop chasing it—the next thrill, the next dangerous possibility, whatever it took to make him feel like he was actually alive.
If that took going to the other side of Chicago and imagining Michael with other men, so be it.
When Lincoln got him back again, he'd ride him rough and leave enough marks that both of them would know Michael had always belonged to him.
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