The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphors (halfshellvenus) wrote,
The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphors

Always, Chapter 1: The Next Phase

Author: HalfshellVenus
Category: Lincoln/Michael Incest/slash.
Rating: R (for subject matter)
Spoilers: Episodes 7-9
Warnings: Incest and slash. DO NOT READ IF THIS OFFENDS YOU.
Disclaimers: I don’t own “Prison Break” or any of its characters. However, I do know a good thing when I see it. Mmmm…

Summary: This series continues on after the events in “The Arrangement” series. It deals with the brothers and their attempts to survive Fox River and reach freedom. This chapter covers the aftermath of the first series, conquering “St. Louis,” and dealing with the B-plot.

x-x-x-x-x Chapter 1: The Next Phase x-x-x-x-x

In his bunk, in the dark, Michael could smell the acrid tinge to the air from tear gas and fire. A-Wing was quiet now, as quiet as it ever got, but his ears roared in the stillness with the memory of the riot, the chaos, the destruction it had brought.

It was late, but his heart was still racing from the aftereffects of his most shocking day since the bank robbery.

The riot had escaped their wing of the prison, endangering civilian personnel. Lincoln had been half-throttled, for reasons they still didn’t quite understand. Michael had crossed the prison to rescue the doctor, and returned to find his cell full of people who had either discovered what he was up to or exactly what form of detail it was taking. Abruzzi knew too much now, more than Michael was comfortable with, and T-Bag was a bigger threat than ever. They couldn’t let him spill the plan to the guards, but Michael would be damned if he wanted to be responsible for letting someone like T-Bag out of jail.

There had been the C.O., who had died despite Michael’s best efforts. How could that have happened? Michael hadn’t felt so powerless since the moment when Lincoln had been sentenced to death and removed from the courtroom. What combination of bad luck had led the C.O. to be captured by T-Bag, forced into Michael’s cell, and then ultimately killed for knowing too much by someone who wasn’t supposed to be part of the escape anyway? Of all the unforeseeable outcomes, this was more remote than most.

There had been a few good moments to the day, and Michael clung to them like beacons in a storm. Sucre and Abruzzi had breached the wall, and it had come down just as Michael planned. Clear access. No gas leak. That could have gone much worse.

And then there was Lincoln. Michael had finally had the chance to make love to him, slowly, fully, with every touch and caress conveying all of his feelings and desires. He had been able to hold Lincoln, melt against him, gaze at him—into him—without constantly listening and watching for background threats and interruptions. That opportunity to just focus on Lincoln, and on what they meant to each other… it had been bliss. The lay together for awhile afterward, languidly stroking each others’ arms, chests and shoulders, enjoying just the act of being. Michael could not remember having felt like that in so long. It seemed that before this, he never had.

His skin still vibrated with the feel of Lincoln’s touch, his sheets still held the scent of the two of them. He would change them, eventually, but for now he burrowed into the cocoon of contentment brought on by inhaling, reliving, and remembering. He drew the pillow around toward his chest, leaning into it and imagining that he still held Lincoln against him.


Getting the guard’s break shed under the control of Abruzzi’s P.I. team had been tough, but they were finally here. This would be a challenge—opening the floor down to the sewer pipe, in between random interruptions from the guards, and then covering up their progress and disposing of the evidence each day. There were too many people, too many variables and hot tempers, and someone always had to be on lookout while not drawing attention to the fact that he wasn’t hard at work. It made Michael edgy. This part of his scheme just couldn’t be finished soon enough.

He leaned against the wall, taking a break while others rotated in. He watched the play of muscles tumbling in rhythm as Lincoln took his turn pounding into the floor. He knew that admiration was playing out on his face a little, but then again, it was expected. He was Lincoln’s, as far as the other prisoners were concerned, and this was part of the dance. Lincoln wielding the sledgehammer was a study in ferocity, the metal striking the concrete with impressive force. This had to be a welcome release for him, channeling all his frustrations and fears into something that was actually permitted, and that would also help his own chances at escape. Michael smiled to himself. Lincoln versus the floor. That floor didn’t have a prayer.


Another day, another P.I. project, and L.J.’s troubling disappearance had Lincoln charging around the grass like a pinball in an arcade. He was preoccupied, moody, and— goddamnit! Lincoln was sneaking around the side of the delivery truck trying to work out some harebrained escape to save L.J.! Michael rushed around and wrestled Lincoln to the ground, struggling to keep him down as long as he could. He brought his mouth down over Lincoln’s, tonguing him and nipping those delicious lips, feeling the distraction take hold the way he needed it to. He was caught between the unexpected sexual rush of straddling Lincoln, and trying to make sure he wouldn’t get rolled off before the truck left. He loved Lincoln, he did, but this dumb-ass impetuousness drove him crazy. This was why Lincoln had gotten into trouble when he was younger, and kept on getting into trouble for so many years before he finally got railroaded into Fox River. He just had to leap on the most disastrous course of action before realizing where it would lead. If he could give Lincoln anything, other than what he was already trying to do for him, it would be a healthy dose of some sense. Some foresight.

God. Some damn things never changed.

Michael let Lincoln up, now that it was too late for him to make a move on the truck. Or the driver—whatever Lincoln had been thinking. He let out a deeply held breath. Safe for now. He couldn’t do anything about L.J., and neither could Lincoln. But he for damned sure wasn’t going to lose Lincoln over this when they were so close to finally getting out of here.

(next chapter)


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Tags: always, ml_slash, my_fic, pb_slash
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