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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
- 5
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- 7
It was after 3am. Lincoln had gone to sleep after their talk, reassured that Michael didn’t regret saving him from frying in that chair. He’d watched his big brother sleeping for an hour before the urges kicked in. He glanced at the door, wondering where T-bag was. He’d usually be in a couple of hours ago. Never later than 1:00.
His body was stirring, expecting his nightly serving of hot passionate fucking. Michael licked his lips in anticipation. T-bag was the last man to pass up anything sexual.
But it was getting later, closer to sunrise and if the sun rose without his visitor then he’d get nothing but a set of blue balls. He groaned in frustration. God he needed it. For a moment he considered going to him, offering himself. T-bag wouldn’t turn him down. But the arrangement specifically stated that they would engage when he, T-bag, said so.
This was probably some sort of mind game. Or worse, a punishment. Michael remembered the way T-bag had looked at him when Linc had found him and Sucre in the bathroom earlier. There was murder in his eyes.
Scofield. That ass us mind now. Don't you go giving it to nobody elsd, ya hear?
Linc’s misconception of things had gotten to him.
Nobody. Else.
But he’d spoken to him in the kitchen just fine. He’d even touched him. Michael shifted on the bed, fully erect inside his pants. He needed release. Flesh on his flesh, skin on his skin, lips on his lips. If T-bag didn’t come soon he’d have to resort to other methods.
Just to take the edge off, Mike touched himself through his pajama pants. The groan left his lips before he could close them.
Startled, he glanced over at Linc to be sure he hadn’t disturbed him. His brother lie on his back, sound asleep. His bare chest rose and fell at a steady rhythm. He was out. Michael was suddenly hit with a sense of deja vu. So many years ago in Lincoln’s bedroom it had been his older brother’s moan to startle him.
That first night.
Memories of the way Linc had tasted, his moans, the pulse of his cock when he’d cum in his mouth danced across his mind and again Michael began touching himself. He stared at his brother, at his exposed skin and felt the urge to lick it. His lips moved, his tongue slid out and he was heading for a very tempting nipple when Linc shifted to his side.
Again startled back to reality, Michael assessed the gravity of the mess he’d almost made. Linc wasn’t under any influence tonight. He could easily wake up, and God only knew how he would react. The consequences could destroy their relationship forever. Then there was T-bag. What if he did come to the room and find Michael buried in his brother’s chest? Based off his reaction to Sucre earlier in the bathroom, it wouldn’t be pretty.
Fighting the temptation, he threw himself from the bed, away from Lincoln. He didn’t sit until his back was against the wall at the farthest end of the room. God, what was happening to him?
His hard-on ached inside his pants, begging for attention. Begging for the tight grip T-bag had dealt it, jerking it as he’d fucked him hard against the sink the night before. Even his ass muscles clenched in wantonness. He swallowed hard at Lincoln’s turned back, wondering how he would feel inside his ass. Different for sure. His cock was thicker around, more girth. He imagined it stretching him, slamming into him rough and tender at the same time. Linc holding him against him in those strong arms of his. Grunting. Groaning. Panting down the back of his neck.
Something in him broke. The next thing Michael knew he’d seized the hamper in the corner, snatched out his brother’s discarded t-shirt from the day and buried his face in it. Lincoln’s scent filled him. Desperate, he yanked his pants and boxers down, grabbed his cock and began jerking himself. He moaned into his brother’s garment, muffling his excitement and surrounding him at the same time. His eyes closed and all he saw was Lincoln.
He pulled his face away only long enough to spit into his hand for moisture then he was back to his actions. His moans deepened, his body tensed and not too long after he was cumming so hard his voice strangled in his throat. His hips bucked into his fist and his jizz shot out into the darkness. Hot tears fled his eyes as he climaxed, jerking with each thrilling pulse. He felt like he’d emptied his entire sack.
Afterward he didn’t have the strength to get up so he sat there, absently inhaling Linc’s shirt. This wasn’t supposed to happen. His role was to comfort him, ease Linc’s stress so that he could continue on. But this had nothing to do with Lincoln’s stress. It hadn’t been selfless. On the contrary, it had been all about Michael and his dirty desires. Since when had he fantasized about being fucked by his own brother?
He was too tired to feel shame so he settled for exhaustion. He knew he should turn on the light and find where his cum had landed but his entire body was a bag of mush. He’d have to do it later. Before Linc woke.
Lincoln.
He stared at his big brother’s sleeping back. Broad and masculine, completely unaware of his sick desires. Desires that, until recently he’d never dreamed he’d had. Even sucking his unconscious brother off hadn’t...
I know a thing or two about sucking cock and it ain't never been selfless. You enjoy it, Scofield. Last night you got ofg just as much as he did. Even more I bet.
That had never been his intention. But even still, he’d never imagined Lincoln’s hard shaft ramming up his ass to get off. Not until tonight. Not until his sexual awakening. Not until T-bag. The Alabamian had stirred something in him he feared he couldn’t tame.
Fighting his body’s protests to just stay down, Michael climbed to his feet and adjusted his clothes. Then he turned on the light.
Allowing his logic to take over, he measured the trajectory of his seated position and angle of his cock during climax to determine the most probable location where his semen could’ve landed. He solved the puzzle easily and wiped it all up with a towel from the hamper, including the stray shots that hadn’t made it as far. The lights went back out.
Sated, he tossed off his pj bottoms and climbed in bed. From this angle it wasn’t his back but Linc’s face in his view. He stared at his brother once more, admiring every angle, every line, everything that made him Lincoln. He must take after their absent father’s side, square jaw, rugged features, because Michael was the spitting image of their mother. Hence the prison moniker Pretty.
He brushed his finger tips against Linc’s lips, traced them affectionately. They’d kissed his forehead as a child when he’d needed comfort. But they’d never kissed his lips. His fingers trailed up his jawline, feeling the stubble as Linc had started to grow a beard since they’d been on the run. It made his face less recognizable to the public. Mike liked it either way.
Suddenly Lincoln twitched and Michael had barely a second to move his hand before Linc’s came smacking the spot he’d touched. The impact caused a loud slap and his brother grunted.
"Fucking flies."
He turned on his back and was right back asleep. Michael had to stifle a laugh. He waited a little while, until he was sure his brother was deep in his sleep before he scooted closer to snuggle against him. The warmth of his body radiated into Mike’s.
He could lay like this forever.
He nestled his nose into the crook of Linc’s neck and closed his eyes. It was the most peaceful sleep he’d had since before Fox River.
As usual, Lincoln was the last to wake in the morning. Michael was already out of bed as was every other felon in the apartment. After a quick trip to drain the lizard he went out to the dining area where he smelled breakfast. That was when everything got weird.
Sucre and T-bag were having a stare-down over uneaten plates of bacon and eggs. Both men looked haggard like they hadn’t slept a wink. They also looked lethal as if at any second either party would jump across the table and rip the other’s face off.
Michael sat between them, his palms pressed against his temples. The tension was damn near suffocating.
"The fuck is wrong with everybody?" he demanded to know.
Only Michael looked up.
"Hi Linc."
He didn’t want to show that he was stressed. But Lincoln knew his baby brother. And in the second before he’d seen him standing there Mike’s posture had given it away. Now that he was aware of Linc’s presence he’d shifted.
Still watching the room, Lincoln made his way over to the table, grabbed a strip of bacon from Michael’s plate and began eating it.
"I repeat: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH EVERYBODY?"
He didn’t expect a straight answer out of Michael so he held up a hand when he opened his mouth.
"Sucre?"
"Nerves," the Puerto Rican replied.
"He’s getting on mine."
Linc looked to T-bag.
"Your problem?"
"Property dispute. Once again the hombre proves that his people can’t keep their hands off what doesn’t belong to them."
Sucre leaned in.
"Once again the gringo proves that he can’t tell the difference between what’s his and what isn’t."
T-bag sneered and Sucre returned the favor.
"I take it this isn’t about another t-shirt turned cum towel," Linc couldn’t help but to joke.
He saw T-bag’s lip curve upward.
"Well now that you mention it—"
"All right everybody back to their corners!" Michael went off surprising all parties present.
He was the last person to lose his cool. Linc was the hothead in the family.
"Sucre, you take a walk to Linc and my room. T-bag, you have your room. Linc, I need you in the kitchen for a minute."
Nobody moved, stunned. Michael looked around at the three of them, his gray eyes past their limit.
"Let’s go, let’s go!"
Sucre was the first to move, followed by Bagwell. Both seemed too surprised to argue. On his way, Bagwell turned back to smirk at Michael. Linc didn’t like the look so he blocked his line of vision as a warning.
He waited for both doors to slam down the hall before he turned to Michael.
"I feel like I’m totally missing something here."
Michael headed to the kitchen without a word. Lincoln followed him, the suspicion growing.
"You want to clue me in?"
His brother leaned against the sink, and exhaled loudly.
"They’ve been at it all morning. Roommate drama. You really don’t want to know."
But it wasn’t the roommates that he was concerned about.
"No, Mike, I mean with you."
"Me?"
His baby brother was good at hiding things. Lincoln had to admit even he’d been fooled many a time. But ultimately he knew him. He’d always find out. Michael was wearing a feigned look of surprise, as if he’d been accused of smoking dope or something totally out of his character.
"Don’t bullshit me, I’m your brother. Something’s up with you."
Michael tried to dismiss his question.
"Well, you know I’m a little preoccupied with trying to break my nephew out of jail while keeping us from going back in. Maybe that’s what you’re sensing."
That sure of himself tone, on anyone else it might be condescending but with Michael he knew better. It was a defense mechanism, to shut down a conversation that he wasn’t interested in having. Often the other party would take his word, feeling outsmarted. Michael’s intellect could be pretty intimidating. Or they’d get pissed and start a fight, forgetting the conversation altogether. It had irritated the shit out of Lincoln growing up. Kind of still did.
Using that, he stalked up to his brother, earning a curious expression as he cornered him against the sink. He set his arms on either side, locking him in. Michael blinked for a second, and he could see him assessing the situation. Both knew he wouldn’t be able to just knock Lincoln away. Mike was no punk when it came to a fight, Linc had been sure to teach him that much, but he could never overpower his big brother. Few people could.
"You’re going to tell me what’s really going on with you," he demanded.
"No more lies, no more half-truths. No more Sucre as the middle man. Now what the fuck is going on Michael?"
Mike looked down at Linc’s arms blocking his way and sighed.
"Like I told you, I’m just—."
Linc lost his patience. There were many things, that pissed him off, one of which was being lied to. Especially when that lie hindered his ability to protect the ones he loved. He loved his brother more than his own life and if something was ailing him, Linc wanted to know so that he could kick that something’s ass. Why couldn’t Mike understand that?
He snatched him by his shirt, drawing their faces barely an inch apart.
"What are you hiding Michael?"
He searched his brother’s eyes for an answer. He’d employed this method when Mike was a kid and needed straightening out. It had always worked then. Nervous gray eyes stared back at him.
Since when did he make his brother nervous?
Michael seemed to read Linc reading him and the nerves intensified. Abruptly he tried to push him away.
"Get off me, Linc."
"Not til you tell me what’s wrong."
Michael gave a hard shove.
"I mean it, back off!"
He was much stronger than he used to be, as a full grown man now. They struggled back and forth until Lincoln swung his brother over to the wall and pinned him.
"Talk to me, Michael!"
His baby brother’s eyes went wild, and he began to fight harder.
"Let me go!"
It wasn’t the first time they’d fought, being brothers, but it had been a long time. Linc focused on subduing him, all he wanted was the truth. Michael on the other hand was going crazy. Pushing, shoving frantically. Lincoln was just about to shake the living shit out of him when his baby brother cold cocked him clean in the jaw.
Linc stumbled back, stunned. Had his brother really just hit him?
Mike seized the opportunity to flee the scene, disappearing down the hall to the one vacant room left in the apartment. He heard the door slam and turned in that direction.
Now he knew something strange was going on. Spitting blood on the floor he stormed after his brother, determined to get to the bottom of all of the weird shit of the day.
"Michael!"
Sucre and T-bag were already in the hall, with inquisitive expressions. Lincoln had no time for their shit.
"Mind you’re fucking business!" he threatened and even T-bag knew not to try him.
Lincoln stood outside the bathroom door and began to pound.
"Michael!"
No answer.
"Goddammit Michael if you don’t open this door!"
He would kick it the fuck in.
"MICHAEL!!!"
What had him so worked up that he’d hit him like that? None of this made any sense. Frustration compiled with confusion. He’d never been a fan of either emotion. Lincoln stepped back and prepared to ram his foot into the door so help him when his brother finally spoke.
"Just leave me alone. Please."
He wasn’t yelling, not like he had in the kitchen but there was something to his voice that stopped Lincoln in his tracks. Maybe it was the "please."
He stared at the door for a good minute, unsure of what to do. He wanted to know Michael’s problem, get to the bottom of it and fix it. That was what big brothers did. What they were supposed to do anyway. He used to be so good at it.
Then somewhere along the line it seemed Michael was the one fixing his screw-ups. Bailing him out of jail, driving across town to let him in his own apartment because he was too plastered to find his house keys. Breaking him out of prison because he’d been dumb enough to walk into the Company’s set-up. Even now, who was coming up with the plan to rescue LJ—his son?
"Fuck!"
He punched the wall, ignoring the pain in his fist, the white dust as he broke into the plaster. He needed an outlet. A fucking drink or something. To take the edge off. Without an explanation he stormed off, out the back door toward wherever the liquor was.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Brother's Comfort