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Brother's Comfort	By : Kayerfire Category: M through R > Prison Break Views: 1865 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break or any of the characters nor do I profit in any way, shape or form. I do not condone rape, incest or any of that stuff. It's just a fanfic.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
For the next few days they kept up appearances. Michael managed to appear nonchalant despite what was happening to him. The war inside him as T-bag came to him every night. He didn’t want to enjoy it but he always did. Afterward he’d feel guilty, even disgusted with himself but snuggling up to Linc always eased his mind. It was a cycle, one he wasn’t sure he could break.
One thing was for certain though, the sexual awakening was real.
It took about a week before Sucre started acting weird. Michael would catch him staring when he thought no one was looking, concern on his face. By now it was fairly obvious that he knew. Hell, he’d probably heard them that very first night. Embarrassment bloomed within Michael at the thought but what could he do? He’d made an arrangement.
His Puerto Rican friend finally cornered him in the bathroom one afternoon—the only place where they could talk in private. Michael glanced up, his dick in his hand.
"Sucre what—?"
"What the hell are you doing, Papi?" he whispered, shutting the door behind him.
Michael gestured toward the lifted toilet seat.
"I’m trying to take a piss."
Sucre waved it off.
"Dude, we were cellmates, you think I never seen you piss?"
"Well you asked."
He continued to pee.
"You know damn well what I mean," Sucre hissed.
"I hear you. Every night like clockwork. Is T-bag making you do that?"
Michael looked down into the toilet, mask in place.
"What is it you think you hear?" he asked, deadpan.
"Don’t play me, Papi. I know what fucking sounds like. Especially when it’s right on the other side of my wall."
He came closer, looked into Michael’s face.
"Why are you doing it? What’s he got on you?"
Michael sighed. He’d drunken a lot of water earlier.
"What makes you so sure that he’s making me?" he threw out there.
Sucre didn’t see his humor. In fact his features darkened in disgust.
"Because he raped and killed kids, Michael. And would’ve done the same to you if Abruzzi hadn’t stepped in."
That cold slap in the face turned Michael’s stomach. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to retch in front of his friend. When he opened them, Sucre’s expression had softened.
"Hey, you’re going to be okay. We’ll find a way out of it."
He thought about Lincoln. About the secret.
"There is no way out of it," he resolved.
Finished, Michael gave himself two shakes before Sucre suddenly took his shoulders.
"No way out of it?" his friend repeated, incredulous.
"They said the same thing about Fox River but you managed to get 8 people out. Papi, you figure things out. It’s what you do. If anybody can find a way out of it, it’s you!"
His brown eyes were full of faith, faith in Michael. To see someone believe so much in him despite what he’d allowed to happen shook the young felon.
"That was different, I helped design the place. This is something I never—" he caught himself, not wishing to divulge too much.
Not even to Sucre. God he was slipping. He’d never been this confused before. This negligent. When he caught Sucre studying him, Michael pulled away. Sucre tightened his grip, realization flaring in his eyes
"Dios mio. He didn’t just fuck you. He mind-fucked you."
Michael shook his head in denial. No, he never got mind-fucked. He did the mind-fucking.
"You don’t know what you’re talking about."
"I know you. You would never give T-bag the upper-hand like this. What the hell did he do to you?"
His brown eyes were searching, again trying to read him. Trying to understand what would make Michael Scofield of all people reduce himself to such sick activities. That hurt, because Sucre was right. He had fallen. Deep down to the lowest muck. Hating himself, Michael looked away. Sucre didn’t speak for a moment. Then he knew.
"He’s your first, isn’t he?"
Michael didn’t respond. He didn’t trust himself not to give it away. He didn’t trust himself with anything anymore. His silence gave the answer.
"Oh no meijo."
Perhaps it was because they had been cellmates, because they’d had to trust each other with their lives on numerous occasions even before the escape but next to Linc, Sucre was the closest thing Mike had to a best friend. So when Sucre suddenly hugged him, his first instinct wasn’t to fight. He just stood there, a bit taken back.
"Pagará por lo que te hizo."
Michael was just about to ask him to clarify when the door swung open.
"Hey Mike, how long you gonna be—" Lincoln froze mid-sentence at the two men standing. No, hugging.
They quickly jumped apart, though Michael was sure his reason was different from Sucre’s. He didn’t want his brother to know anything was wrong. Sucre just wanted to protect his rep.
"What the hell is going on in here?" Linc had that protective tone.
Sucre opened his mouth.
"We were just talking about—"
"The plan," Michael lied.
Sucre shot him a look.
Linc’s eyes landed on Michael.
"Yea? With your dick hanging out?"
Michael quickly tucked himself in.
"I can pee and talk at the same time," he remarked.
Lincoln was unconvinced.
"Unless you were peeing on Sucre—"
"Whoa, hold on," Sucre protested.
"It’s not even like that."
"Yea? So I walk in on you hugging my brother with his dick out and you say it’s not even like that. A guy that’s been in prison for how long, Fernando?"
"Pendeijo, I was just trying to—"
"I know what you were trying to do."
"Michael tell him why I’m really here or I will," Sucre insisted.
All eyes went to Michael but it wasn’t him that spoke.
"Yes, Scofield , do explain why you and the Mexican are alone together with—how did your brother put it—your dick hanging out?"
T-bag appeared behind Linc in the doorway, his eyes focused on one man.
"Puerto Rican," Sucre corrected.
Michael flushed the toilet, went on to wash his hands.
"I guess a man can’t pee without an audience around here," he remarked.
"Not when that man is as pretty as you," T-bag retorted.
Lincoln turned around and nearly decked him. Michael caught his arm just in time.
"Linc don’t!"
He snatched away but didn’t swing again.
"We should’ve fucking left you in that shed, Bagwell. Why are you even still here?" Lincoln snapped.
T-bag looked him over, not the least bit rattled.
"Because your brother wouldn’t let you, Sink."
He stole a glance at Michael.
"He thinks all human life matters. And contrary to what you feel I am a human life so I matter. I matter to your brother."
He spoke that last line with extra syrup, just pouring it on for those who knew about their nights together. Sucre cringed. Michael swallowed. Lincoln was oblivious.
"Hey, don’t look at him. I’m talking to you."
T-bag transferred his gaze to Linc.
"Keep making eyes at my brother and you’re liable to lose them. Got it?"
The creepiest, most knowing smile crossed Bagwell’s lips as he answered Lincoln.
"Got it, Boss."
He sauntered away then without another word.
"He gives you any problems, Michael, just let me know," Lincoln told his baby brother.
"I don’t like the way he was leering at you."
Sucre looked at Michael, waiting for him to say something.
"I’m a big boy, Linc. I can handle myself," was all he would say.
Sucre frowned his disapproval but thankfully took the cue not to spill what he knew. Again proving to be trustworthy.
"I know but you’re still my brother. I gotta look out for you."
He glanced at Sucre.
"Which means if you try anything—"
"He didn’t," Michael shushed his brother with a hand on the back of his neck.
"But if he had, what makes you think I wouldn’t have wanted him to?"
That earned a puzzled look from both his brother and his friend. When Michael smirked Linc laughed out loud. Sucre shifted uncomfortably.
"Damn Mike, prison really has changed you," Linc chuckled.
"So are you going to tell me what was so important that you had to barge in on me the bathroom?" Michael wanted to know.
Lincoln shrugged.
"I have to take a shit and you were holding me up."
That was their cue to leave.
"Okay just don’t forget to light a match," his brother laughed as the door shut in his face.
Sucre only shook his head and they went their separate ways.
T-bag was livid. After the warning he’d given him. After he’d specifically told him that no other man was to get near that perfect ass, his Pretty had to go and have a liaison with the fucking beaner? There was no telling what they’d done, what they’d been about to do. He pictured Michael’s cock, standing hard and tall just hanging out for that wetback to see. To touch. To...
Dead. The Mexican was dead. And Michael? Well it was time he learned his lesson. Perhaps Uncle Teddy had been too good with the loving, getting him too turned out. Now his Pretty had become a real slut, wanting it from everywhere.
He’d make sure he knew not to give his ass away. Even if he made it hurt to do so. Uncle Teddy had no problem with hurting. It made the sex more gratifying. Images of Michael writhing under him, blood on his thighs, whimpers from his kissable mouth. God he was going to fuck him up good. Make him cry and cum at the same time. That would teach him to give his piece away. His property. Just wait til tonight...
"Sucre."
It wasn’t often that Lincoln Burrows called upon him, but when he did Sucre answered. Linc the Sink was what they’d called him in Fox River. Because when he fought you got everything but the kitchen sink. Hell you got the kitchen sink too! Linc wasn’t one to be messed with. He was every bit as tough as Michael was smart.
The big man was on the back landing, just in the backyard but hidden by foliage. He didn’t have to motion for Sucre to sit. The request was in the calling of his name.
"Yea?"
Lincoln stared out into the waning sunlight. It was late evening, probably after eight.
"What’s going on with my brother?"
Sucre scratched his head, trying to figure out a way to answer without betraying Michael.
"Wouldn’t it be better to ask him? I’m sure he’d know better than I would."
"I’m asking you."
Fernando sighed. He’d do just about anything for Michael but taking a beat down from the Sink wasn’t on that list.
"I don’t know the details but I just know he’s not in a good place right now. He’d kill me for telling you that much."
Lincoln looked at him.
"That’s why I was in the bathroom with him. So we could talk in private. I swear I never...all that time as cellmates it never even crossed my mind."
"Yea, I never pegged you for the fruity type."
That brought him more relief than it was politically correct to feel.
"I know my brother. Literally all his life. He can be hard to read but I know him. Today in that bathroom, that shit about a plan? I knew he was hiding something and whatever it is it’s bad enough that he doesn’t want me to know. Bad enough that he couldn’t come up with a better lie than that. Now me being who I am, that’s just not acceptable. So again I’ll ask: what’s going on with Michael?"
Sucre swallowed.
"I told you, he’s in a bad spot. His head’s all whacked from certain components of our situation."
Linc was a straight forward kind of guy.
"What the hell does that mean?" he griped.
Sucre tried to word it as specific yet vaguely as possible.
"Our living arrangements have him under duress. You know, four guys to a small place like this. Like maybe there should be a change in our situation."
"What, you saying he’s got cabin fever?"
Okay this was getting them nowhere.
"It’s T-bag, Linc. Sheesh!"
He’d barely finished his sentence when Lincoln was on his feet.
"I’ll fucking kill him."
Sucre had to jump in front of him to keep him outside.
"Whoa, wait, wait! You didn’t let me finish."
Linc pushed forward, causing him to slide back.
"Don’t have to. He messes with my brother he’s dead."
"I never said he was messing with him," Sucre pointed out.
"Just that his being here is what troubles him."
Technically the truth. If T-bag weren’t there then he wouldn’t be bothering Michael. And as for the messing with him line: he hadn’t said T-bag wasn’t messing with him either. Somehow he thought Mike might get a kick out of that little technicality.
Lincoln stopped.
"So it’s his presence?"
Sucre didn’t answer directly.
"You know how moral Michael is. Imagine what he must feel like with a guy like T-bag around."
That gave the protective brother pause.
"He hates himself for getting T-bag out," he agreed.
"But why wouldn’t he want to tell me that? I already know."
Sucre had to shrug.
"Like I said, I don’t know all the details. Just that we have to find a way to get T-bag out of here. Without Michael’s help."
Lincoln’s eyes narrowed.
"Without Michael? Why?"
"You saw how he stopped you from clocking him earlier."
Linc appeared to recall it. He cursed under his breath.
"Shit. He really is fucked up. Okay, we’ll do this your way but I’m telling you right now, if I find out that son of a bitch put his hands on my brother, he’ll wish that FBI guy had killed him."
Sucre nodded his understanding. He wished he could do harm to the bastard himself but Mike would never allow it. So there had to be another way.
"Word of warning, I was never the one for the planning," Linc admitted.
"Those genes all went to Mike."
"Hey, you’re talking to the guy who got busted for robbing the same liquor store twice."
Both men laughed.
"The two of us against the genius and the snake," Sucre joked.
"Sure, we got this."
Michael was standing in the kitchen, nursing a glass of iced tea. He could barely drink. His mind was troubled, his head was torn. He took a small sip but didn’t taste it. There was too much to figure out.
He felt the familiar arms creep around his waist. His body reacted instantly. That warm hand slid down the front of his pants, inside to cup his waking groin. Michael groaned.
"Your brother needs to sleep tonight," that Southern drawl blew against his ear.
He set the glass down, braced both hands on the counter before him.
"He will," he moaned, "he always does."
"No. I mean—" he squeezed him, earning a gasp—"he needs to really be sleep. Like those times with you."
Michael straightened.
"I can’t just do it whenever. There has to be a certain amount of time between—aaah!"
He began to grind into the hand that stroked him. Heat filled him.
"He needs to be asleep, Scofield. Him and Sucre."
Michael was so excited, he was close to cumming already.
"S-Sucre? Why—uuh!"
"Do that for me, Pretty and I’ll make tonight worth your while."
He took Michael just to that point where his balls tensed up...then he left him. Pulling his hand from his pants, his arms from his waist, his heat from his body. Michael actually whimpered.
"Wait!"
He grabbed T-bag’s arm, desperately in need. The older man turned to him, knowing what he would ask.
"Just—just finish."
He pulled that rough Southern hand back into his pants. T-bag glanced down, then back up at him amusedly before pulling out once more.
"I’ll finish when you finish what I told you. Understand?"
He started to turn again but Michael wouldn’t release him. In urgent need he forced the hand back down, rubbing it against his throbbing erection.
"Please," he couldn’t believe he was begging but God he needed it.
"Please just..."
Pre-cum already stained the front of his pants. He didn’t care. All he needed was to be held, to be stroked, to cum against Theodore Bagwell.
"My, are you begging for it, Pretty?"
Mike ignored the smug smile, this was humiliating enough but if he didn’t cum right at that moment he was going to combust. Desperate, Michael pressed his body into T-bag’s and began grinding like crazy.
"Scofield—" Bagwell warned but it was too late. Michael came within seconds, squeezing himself against him as he did.
When his orgasm subsided, he backed away as if the contact scorched him. The humiliation did. T-bag met his gaze, not quite taunting but it stung him just the same. Feeling his face burn, Michael left without a word. God help him, he was an addict. He just couldn’t stop.
Lincoln and Sucre stayed out back for a long time. Had Scofield been in his right mind he’d have noticed. Been concerned. But the poor kid was half crazy. All for him. T-bag couldn’t help but to congratulate himself at his work. Within seven nights he’d taken the great Michael Scofield and reduced him to his simpering sex fiend. He was jonesing for him. Like crack.
Despite all of his book smarts and college learning the Boy Wonder had never quite experienced the truest, deepest joys of sex. It had left him open, susceptible to the sexually gifted. T-bag hated to toot his own horn but he’d been with A LOT of people, male and female. And though quantity by no means made up for quality, there was no way one could have that many sexual partners and not perfect his technique. Not unless he was just plain lazy.
He’d learned a long time ago that sex was power. Once being on the wrong end of that equation, Theodore Bagwell had eventually grown up and taken his rightful place at the top of the sexual food chain. He took what he wanted when he wanted from who he wanted however he wanted it. Sometimes he liked it rough, savage and brutal. Sometimes he liked it the way he was with Pretty. Passionate, possessive. He owned that college boy now. Being his first, he always would.
After their little kitchen meet Michael had retreated to his room. T-bag allowed it because he knew he’d be back. Sure enough, Michael emerged later in pajama pants and a t-shirt. He went straight to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water before heading into the backyard with Linc and Sucre. Good boy.
The drugs shouldn’t take that long. Once the oafs were down, he would address that Sucre bathroom incident. Pretty would learn not to give away what was his. And Sucre? He’d kill him slow. Maybe cut off his dick first. No. That would unnerve, Pretty. Sucre would just have to disappear another way.
When Michael returned inside he did come to him. But the news wasn’t what Bagwell wanted to hear.
"I couldn’t do it."
He fought the urge to take him by the throat. That was twice he’d disobeyed him now. He’d have to get tougher.
"Michael," a low warning, "I specifically told you that they needed to sleep tonight."
"And they will, just not by those means. I can’t just go dosing people whenever I want to get—" he seemed to catch himself, visibly embarrassed by his admission. He wanted.
T-bag rolled his tongue over his lips.
"That never seemed to stop you before now did it?"
The remark did as he intended. Michael’s wince was visible.
"That’s not what it was about. Linc needed me. I was helping—"
"Keep telling yourself that."
His gray eyes stormed over, confusion, denial, multiple emotions battling. It was so rewarding to see Scofield this way, unhinged by his own doing. T-bag leaned closer to him, his voice barely a whisper.
"I won’t ask again."
He didn’t have to. Whatever they were doing out there must’ve taken some energy because both the Sink and Sucre went straight to their rooms. Suspiciously, Burrows pulled Michael along with him. For the briefest of moments T-bag felt his body flame in jealousy. Had those drugged up moments of incestuous bliss been two-sided after all? The brothers did share a bed.
But that thought was quickly squashed when he remembered who he was dealing with. T-bag prided himself on reading people and he read nothing of the sort from Burrows. That made it all the more humorous what his baby brother had been doing to him. Clueless bastard.
The clock read a little after 11pm. Everyone should be sleep by 12:30am. That was when he’d fetch his beautiful but disobedient little pet. And teach him to behave.
Michael didn’t object when his brother came behind him and guided him by the back of his neck to their bedroom. Memories of childhood hit him, how sometimes Linc wouldn’t tell him where to go but just moved him there himself. Because he was much bigger than Mike at the time there’d been no choice but to be prodded forward. It had been super annoying. Now it was comforting.
Lincoln didn’t break contact until roughly shoving him to the bed. Michael watched him close the door and turn to him.
"You need to stop blaming yourself," his brother instructed.
Mike raised his eyebrows.
"Blaming myself?"
There was a lot he was to blame for these days but he wondered which transgression Linc spoke of.
"For Fox River. For Sara, for T-bag getting out."
Among other things.
"You forgot Maytag, and the CO—"
"Michael stop!"
Linc came to him, took both his cheeks in his hands as he stared him intently in the eye.
"You listen to me. None of this is your fault! The company set me up. The company killed those people. The company put me on death row. If anybody is to blame it’s them, not you."
Michael was speechless. What had brought this on?
"I need you to know that I don’t blame you for LJ either. The company set that up too. And I know we’ll get him out."
Lincoln’s gaze never wavered. Its intensity bore into his brother. Another man would’ve been intimidated but Michael knew that it reflected his love for him.
"What exactly did you and Sucre talk about out there?" he asked quietly.
Clearly something said had gotten Lincoln worked up. His big brother released him and stood to his full height.
"You. How we know you blame yourself for everything."
Oh. Then Sucre hadn’t sold him out. Which he’d already known because Linc was with him instead of pummeling T-bag.
"I’m fine. Really."
Lincoln folded his arms under his broad chest.
"You forget the other day when I walked in on you in tears? I’m your brother, Damnit. You can’t lie to me."
Couldn’t he? After all, weren’t secrets just lies of omission?
"But you can talk to me," Lincoln added losing the edge in his tone.
"You know that, right?"
It was like he was twelve all over again. Except now Linc was a better communicator, thank God.
"Yea, I know."
"Then why didn’t you?"
Because I’m being blackmailed for drugging and doing blasphemous things to you on the same bed we sleep on every night. And though I hate the man behind the coercion I love what he does to my body and I just can’t stop.
"What’s there to talk about?" he let go, "We’ve both done things we’re not proud of that brought us here now. No matter how good the intentions."
Lincoln was quiet. His green eyed stare moved from his brother to something on the floor.
"Do you regret it?"
Only one who knew him as well as Michael could catch the tinge of hurt in his voice. Lincoln was not one to make his emotions readily available.
"Not even a little," Mike answered, aware that they were talking about different things yet again.
He wanted to stand, wrap his arms around his brother but Lincoln would probably shake off the display at the moment.
"I’d do anything for you, Linc. No regrets."
The second he entered the room, T-bag knew something was up. Sucre wasn’t dressed for bed for starters. Usually he stripped to jogging pants and clung to his side of the room in contempt of his roommate. As if he’d catch the black death by being near him. Tonight he was sitting awake on his own bed, waiting for him.
"Well, this is going to be an interesting night, isn’t it?" Bagwell asked the brown man glaring his way.
He was ready, thoughts of disemboweling the chico for the audacity of touching his Pretty. No one touched his Pretty.
Sucre stood, no humor in his features.
"You’re going to leave Michael alone. For good."
A mixture of amusement and downright rage at this spic telling him what he could do with his own property. T-bag felt that familiar twinge of adrenaline just before all of his kills. He was going to enjoy this one.
"Oh yea, hombre? Who’s going to stop me? You?"
His lips curved into a smile. God it had been too long since he’d felt a life slip away by his hand. Blood running down his fingers. He wanted it, the rush, the control. The only thing remotely comparable was taking Michael Scofield. Oh he’d fuck him good tonight. Maybe make him bleed a little too for his role in this. But not too much. Didn’t want to damage that perfect package.
"I won’t let you hurt him."
"Hurt him? You can hear us through that wall can’t you? If any hurtin’s going on he’s begging for it," T-bag taunted.
Sucre scrunched his face at that remark. Oh, was that a sore spot?
"What’s wrong, Felipe? Don’t like to hear how I fill his tight hole? How he begs me to—"
"You touch him again and you’ll have me and Lincoln to deal with!"
The Sink? Hmm. Nothing a little pharmaceuticals couldn’t handle if he got in the way.
"And what are you going to tell him, exactly?" he asked.
"You ever hear me forcing him? Hear any complaints? Scofield wants it. He needs it. He begs for it."
Images of Michael earlier in the kitchen snatching his hand and forcing it down his pants, ‘Please just...’
"From me," T-bag added, driving his point home.
Between the thrill of a kill and the memory of Michael, his cock was getting hard. Maybe after he killed Sucre he’d fuck him too.
"You knew he was a virgin. You took advantage of that."
"Is that regret I’m sensing in your tone? You thinking back to those long nights at Fox River, alone with your cellie? Wishing you’d popped that delicious cherry so he could look at you the way he looks at me?"
Sucre nearly came at him. But seemed to think better of it. T-bag read him and chuckled with delight.
"Pretty may have been a virgin to men but you ain’t, are you? That’s what got you so worked up? I remind you of somebody from your past? Maybe somebody that deflowered a certain hermano?"
He knew he’d hit something when Sucre’s lip curled into a snarl.
"There’s that fiery Latin temper! Bet he loved that."
This time Sucre took a step closer, his eyes blaring with contempt. He spoke low through clenched teeth.
"You think this hits home? Well yeah it does. Whenever I see someone I care about being mind-fucked I have a problem. Of course you would reduce it to sex. That’s all a rodent like you would know. But Michael isn’t just something to have sex with. Some of us actually care about him as a person and not a piece of ass."
How noble.
"Oh, is this how you’re going to win him over?" T-bag mirrored his step.
"By coming to his aid? Rescuing him from the big bad wolf? You gon’ slay this dragon?"
He could taste the blood. This kill would be delectable. The two men looked each other over, both ready to tear the other apart. The only thing keeping that from happening were the brothers down the hall. Should there be an altercation, both Burrows and Scofield would come running and then nobody would get to kill anybody.
He would just have to wait to take out the Mexican like he’d originally figured.
Silence. Glaring. Non-verbal threats.
The stand-off lasted long enough that Bagwell started to grow bored. What was the point of foreplay without the actual fuck? Still eying his roommate, T-bag sauntered over to his own bed and sat. Sucre did the same.
"You planning on watching me all night, homes?"
"As long as it takes, gringo."
He’d been right in his assessment. It was definitely going to be a long night.
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