Characters: Michael/Lincoln (one-sided Slash)
Summary: There are no limits to what Michael would do for Lincoln. There never were.
Author's Notes: For my fanfic100 table ("Independence"), 5_prompts table ("Locked away where it can't hurt anyone") and writerverse (“I am told that I talk in shorthand and then smudge it.”)
The first time Michael realized he'd do anything for Lincoln, he was eight. The world seemed smaller then, and a child's idea of "anything" was simpler and unbounded by the limits of reality or human strength.
When Michael was thirteen, he realized just how terrifying an idea "anything" might be. His safety? His sanity? His future? Or even just the sanctity of those innermost feelings he kept hidden from everyone else?
Michael imagined wild scenarios, in which he somehow saved Lincoln by sacrificing his virginity to the rough hands of angry men. Lincoln would watch in anguish, only able to comfort Michael in the end.
Sometimes, Michael imagined those hands were Lincoln's, whether because Lincoln wanted or needed that or because the faceless, dangerous men demanded it. He didn't understand where those ideas came from, or why his mind kept running back to them when they were so sick and so wrong.
But they were exciting, in ways that sexual thoughts about your brother or other men weren't supposed to be.
By the time Michael was fourteen, he knew exactly why he couldn't stop thinking about those things and exactly what levels of "anything" he would do for Lincoln (If he had to, his mind said. If Lincoln wanted him to, his subconsciousness whispered).
Michael never breathed a word about it to anyone, least of all Lincoln. Too often, he wished he could still hide it from himself.
Whenever Lincoln asked Michael for something, Michael was determined to remain casual. All he ever said was, "Sure," or "Yeah, okay, I guess."
But inside, his soul was straining with the inability to think of a situation that would ever result in an answer that sounded like "No."
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