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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
It was Fox River all over again. Rooming with a guy that wanted to end him. Sucre had lucked out with Michael but before him he’d seen a few sketchy cellmates. Now it was T-bag, who slept across the room in the twin bed the home’s previous occupant had gotten for their two children. Boys by the look of the room. Just his roommate’s flavor.
When Bagwell sauntered in maybe an hour or so after the kitchen incident he’d thought it would take everything not to maul the redneck. But Sucre collected himself. He had to if he expected his and Linc’s plan to work.
“Everything my brother does," Linc had told him that night, "he does out of love. Breaking me out, saving Sara, it’s his weakness and strength."
Sucre had discovered that yes Michael’s love for his brother was the key to freeing him from T-bag. If his instinct to protect Lincoln was stronger than his compulsion to be under T-bag (which Sucre was sure it was) then they could break him. Lincoln of course wasn’t aware of that particular detail. Only that Michael would be forced to choose between the two that cared for him and the snake that had latched on.
If Linc had his way they’d have just beat the crap out of Bagwell and left him in the street to be found by cops. Possibly call in the tip themselves. But Sucre had talked him out of that one on account of Michael’s emotional state. Tonight he kind of wished he hadn’t.
Bagwell said nothing to him, just glanced his way with that satisfied smirk and undressed. When he climbed in bed he chuckled lightly to himself before turning his back to Sucre to fall asleep. As if he were no longer a threat.
Puta.
He thought back to Michael in the kitchen, those penetrating gray eyes.
The curiosity when Sucre’s thumb had brushed his lips. He hoped he hadn’t opened a can of worms with that one. But he had meant what he’d said. Michael did deserve better. Better than what he’d had.
Sucre’s mind played back to his early teens, when his cousin Ernesto had stayed with the family briefly. He’d been much older, much cooler than any of his other cousins. He’d also been more hands-on. Sucre had discovered much about his own body, and the body of another those few months.
Being so young—so new to his hormones, hadn’t helped and he’d found himself completely under the spell of the older man. Even now his cock threatened to harden at the memories. He’d never been into men but that particular man had been ALL the way into him physically. And the young boy had reveled in it. Come to need it. Then when his cousin was finished, he’d simply moved on. Sucre would learn later that Ernesto had a habit of getting too close with the younger cousins. Fernando hadn’t been the first or the last.
He hadn’t touched a man ever since. Not even when the most beautiful man to grace Fox River had shown up as his cellmate.
He wasn’t into guys...
But maybe if he’d made an exception for Michael Scofield, his best friend wouldn’t be so twisted up right now.
He regretted the way he’d treated him earlier. It wasn’t really Michael’s fault. He was caught up, his body held captive by one who obviously knew what he was doing. T-bag had been fucking since childhood according to word on the cellblock. By now he must have a certain level of expertise.
What Michael needed was someone who could rock his world just as hard as his current partner. Someone to break his association between Bagwell and mind-blowing orgasms. To give him something that Bagwell would not.
He recalled the possessive way T-bag had held Michael, the dominant in their "relationship" obviously his role. Bagwell was not the submissive or even compromising type. He clearly thought he owned Michael now.
Maybe he’d go down on him maybe not but one thing Sucre could be sure of was that he’d never let Michael fuck him in his ass. T-bag bottomed for no one.
Could that be it?
Sucre furrowed his brow in thought. If sexual gratification was what his friend craved then sexual gratification was what he’d get. Ernesto had shown him a thing or two. Things with his hips that a gringo from Alabama certainly wouldn’t be able to pull off. Things in the art of giving and receiving.
Just like that, it was decided. He would go to his friend, give himself to him. Allow him to touch and fuck him any way he wanted. It had been years since anyone entered his ass but he needed to help Michael in any way he could.
He ignored the way his cock jumped at the thought, now coming to life. He glanced over at his roommate, pretty sure he was still awake.
I won’t let you hurt him, he thought determinedly.
I won’t let you have him!
Michael sat awake on the couch, his eyes missing the blank TV screen as they stared into nothing. His drunk brother was passed out, lying across the cushions, his head in Michael’s lap. Absently Michael stroked his nearly bare scalp, the movement calming, therapeutic for the both of them. Lincoln’s whole body was relaxed. In his slumber he was at peace.
But Michael was not.
His feelings for T-bag, his bodily cravings, his growing desire for Lincoln, and even that loaded stare Sucre had given him in the kitchen earlier weighed on him. His heart was heavy, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. Sucre was right. He was no better than T-bag. He was an animal, a slave to his carnal urges.
"I can fix this," he said aloud to himself.
"I just have to come up with a plan."
But no plan could take away the feelings, the emotions, the desires, the pain that plagued him inside. Sucre might never speak to him again. Michael didn’t notice the loan tear that escaped one gray eye.
"I can fix this," he repeated to himself.
"I can fix this."
By the time morning arrived, he knew what he had to do.
Sucre woke early, the sun barely up and immediately checked his roommate. He found T-bag sleeping (the lecherous bastard actually seemed half decent when asleep) and quickly took measures to keep him that way. A couple of fists to the head should do the trick. After brushing his teeth and other matters he found his way into the living area. Linc’s shirt hung over the couch but he was nowhere to be seen. Michael must’ve taken him to their room to sleep it off. Good.
He knew where he would find his best friend. As usual, Mike was the first person up. He was in the kitchen making coffee and likely thinking. He was always thinking. Sucre watched his back, considered waiting to be acknowledged but then thought better of it.
"Hey."
Michael turned around, slightly startled by his presence. Immediately Sucre could tell that he hadn’t gotten any sleep. Or if he had it wasn’t much. His eyes bore a hint of pink, not quite red but the stress was evident.
"Hey," Michael responded.
He seemed unsure, watching Sucre with a question.
"Listen Papi, about what I said last night, I was out of line. I should never have come at you that way especially with all that must be going through your mind. Just know I’d never wash my hands of you. I’d never give up on you."
He saw a slight sag of relief in Mike’s shoulders.
"I appreciate that."
Sucre let their eyes connect.
"The other stuff I said, though? About you deserving better, I did mean that. But I know it’s not my call to make. You’re a grown man. It’s your decision."
He began to move closer as he spoke.
"So I’m done trying to tell you what you should do. That’s clearly not what you need. But what I can do is encourage you to explore all other options."
Michael raised his brows inquiringly.
"And offer any type of assistance you need," Sucre added once he’d closed the distance.
Their eyes never disconnected. He saw understanding within Michael’s. And hesitancy.
"Sucre I—"
"No strings, no expectations on my part," he added.
"Just a friend doing a friend a favor. You don’t have to do anything but sit back and enjoy."
He let a hand rest on Michael’s very warm, very bare, very inked chest. He saw his friend’s breath catch at the contact.
"I can’t," Michael tried to explain.
Sucre slid his thumb over to graze a rosy nipple. Michael breathed a light moan. He didn’t stop, circling the pad of his thumb over the hardening nub. Michael licked his lips.
"He’ll kill you if he ever..."
Ignoring the warning, Sucre lowered his mouth over Mike’s free nipple and began circling it with his wet tongue. That got a hard shudder out of his friend. Gone was his hesitation as he arched into the Latino for closer contact. With that contact came the knowledge of another hardening part of his anatomy. Sucre reached down to give it a firm squeeze and Michael groaned.
His nipples were pebbles now, sensitive and solid under Sucre’s ministrations. His body was hot as he pulled him closer and began grinding against him.
"Mmm."
Sucre had heard Michael moan through a wall for a week now but hearing him up close sent a wave of heat through him. There was something about that voice, the usually calm and collected monotone losing control that gave him shivers. No wonder T-bag refused to share.
After toying Michael into a frenzy, Sucre let his tongue glide down his ribcage, to his abdomen, kissing and licking all along the way. When he reached his belly he dipped his tongue into the small button in the center, twirling in circles with the tip. Michael was breathing shakily. The lower he dropped the closer he came to the rock hardness protruding through Michael’s sweatpants. Sucre spotted a large wet spot where precum had soaked through. Using both hands he tugged the sweats down to his ankles where Mike instinctively stepped out. He then reached around back to lift Michael by the ass onto the kitchen counter.
Time for a taste.
Sucre made a show of eyeing his prick, driving anticipation home. Michael was biting his lower lip, trembling in need. His cock, standing at full attention, twitched before Sucre’s eyes. Begging to be taken. He took it in his hand and licked around the head. Michael nearly came off the counter, groaning out.
He pushed his friend back, still holding his pulsing cock in his hands. With full Latin lips he kissed around the desperately hard flesh, caressing his tongue over it, licking away the clear substance oozing from the tip. Again he had to shove wanton hips back as his friend arched into him. Just when Mike began to plead, he took his meat all the way into his throat.
"Oh GOD!"
Michael slammed his head back, overwrought with pleasure. He felt Sucre’s tonsils smooth and hot on his hardness and couldn’t help the volume of his moans. He just couldn’t control himself. It wasn’t like he’d never been sucked before. He’d experienced blow jobs, all by women of course. Teddy hadn’t blown him yet but he’d done other things that drove him just as crazy. But what Sucre was doing...for a guy who wasn’t into guys he certainly knew how to please a guy. Not just please him but drive him insane with ecstasy.
Michael dropped a hand to his brown head, massaging his shaven scalp.
In the back of his mind he knew this was dangerous. If T-bag were to hear, were to approach, Sucre was a dead man. He probably was as well. But he just couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but give in to Sucre’s luscious mouth.
He shut his eyes, lost himself completely. Then Sucre hummed against his cock and Michael had the burning urge to see him work on him. He opened his eyes, intending to look down at his new lover but was cut off at the sight in the kitchen doorway. A visibly shocked, wide-eyed and open mouthed Lincoln.
Their eyes met.
And in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t look away. Every desire, every urge he’d ever had for his big brother flooded to the forefront. He didn’t just want to fuck him. He needed to fuck him, to ravage him. To be ravaged by him.
Michael licked his lips as he visualized Lincoln spread out before him—dick purple-red and slick, lying underneath him, Hell on top of him. The shaved head under his fingers was now Lincoln’s and he could barely gasp as his brother sucked the life, the soul and the very being out of his cock. Linc’s green eyes were jewels, shining in a glazed ecstasy as Mike recalled the noises, the grunts, the groans he’d elicited from his semi-conscious brother over the years.
He stared into Lincoln, literally eye-fucking the shit out of him with no remorse.
Just the sight of him threatened to take Michael over the edge. As he neared his completion, something clicked in Lincoln’s face and he abruptly fled. Michael stared after him, the image stuck in his brain. He shut his eyes again and groaned the name on his mind.
"Linc..."
He bit his lip, pressed Lincoln’s head down further to guide his pace. Faster.
"Fuck yes."
He thrust his hips forward, driving his dick deeper into his brother’s throat. Hurriedly, frantically, faster and faster. Strong hands grasped his hips to hold him down but Michael had completely lost it. He bit down harder, ignoring a coppery taste as he whipped himself forward into that glorious hot pocket. His mind became a haze. His body at Linc’s mercy. And he screamed out helplessly as he came deep within his brother’s throat shot after shot weakening him.
The sucking didn’t stop until he literally had to beg for his oversensitive prick couldn’t take it anymore. Once he was finished, Michael collapsed into a quick moving Sucre’s arms, panting loudly.
"You alright, Papi?"
He couldn’t speak for a moment, only burying his face in the crook of his best friend’s neck. His heart thundered in his ears in aftershock. He’d never been blown like this. Ever. Sucre didn’t rush him, just held him close as Michael reigned himself in, back down to Earth. When he could finally sit up on his own, he looked Sucre in the face.
"I don’t know what to say," he admitted.
His friend offered a slight smile.
"You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I’m here for you. Whenever you need."
He brushed Michael’s lip with his thumb.
"However you need. You don’t have to go to T-bag."
God he’d forgotten him.
"Shit, Sucre if he finds us—"
"He won’t. Not for a while."
The certainty in his voice gave Michael pause.
"What did you do?" he asked suspiciously.
Sucre just smiled.
"Something I’ve wanted to for a long time. Let’s just say he’ll wake up with a bad headache."
Michael wasn’t sure how to feel about that so he didn’t think on it. Instead he glanced down at his own naked body. Sucre followed his gaze.
"I’d better get dressed."
But he didn’t move just yet.
"Where are my pants?"
Sucre found them on the floor but instead of handing them to him, he slipped them over Michael’s ankles. Mike watched him pull the sweats up his legs, aware of the slow, deliberate manner in which he moved.
"You have an amazing body, Papi. You know that?"
When he reached Michael’s seated thighs they shared a glance. There was appreciation in both sets of eyes.
"I...thanks."
They lifted up and he saw Sucre give one last gaze at his softening prick before his sweats covered him. Michael sighed, content.
"You need some water?" ever attentive his friend was.
He nodded and Sucre found two bottles in the fridge. As Mike downed half the bottle in one gulp, Sucre took two mouthfuls and watched him uncertainly.
"Um, Michael, can I ask you something?"
He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.
"Sure," Michael answered.
Sucre fumbled with the cap on his bottle.
"Earlier, when I was...did I hear you call me Linc?"
Michael’s heart jumped at the question. He couldn’t let another person know. He was getting too fucking careless! But he kept his face calm, refusing to show his inner panic.
"Linc? Yeah he walked in on us. I was trying to tell you but I was, well I wasn’t in the most functional state of mind."
He could see his answer working as Sucre’s face shifted to alarm.
"Lincoln saw me doing...shit!"
He set his bottle down, ran a hand down his face.
"He knows I’m into girls right? I don’t do that with any guy. Like me and you are something different. You’re special—"
Michael took his shoulders, steadying him.
"Hey, your rep is safe. Lincoln knows how to keep a secret. Maricruz will never know."
Sucre inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly.
"Yea, yea, you’re right. He’s not exactly the gossiping type. More like the clobbering type. You think he’ll want to beat my ass for spoiling his baby brother?"
Michael ignored the apprehension building in him at the memory of what Linc had seen and put on a smirk for Sucre’s sake.
"Lincoln knows I was spoiled a looong time ago."
Sucre looked at him.
"Not by a man though."
Seeing his point, Michael finished his water.
"I’m sure he’s weirded out but, he didn’t attack you so that’s a good sign. I mean if you had been T-bag you wouldn’t be standing here."
That reassured his friend.
"Linc trusts you. He knows you mean me no harm. You’re good."
But as he spoke, he remembered that moment of eye contact. How he had lost himself gazing at Linc. What had his brother seen in his eyes? What did he now know?
"Hey, I think I’ll go talk to him though," Michael hopped off the counter.
"See how he’s processing. Before T-bag wakes up."
No conversation was safe once T-bag was awake. Sucre didn’t object.
"You just keep him off me, Papi. I like your brother and I’d rather not have him try to kill me, you know what I’m saying?"
Lincoln woke with only a minor hangover. On a scale of 1 to 10 it was more like a five but it had been a while since he’d gotten decently drunk so he was still cranky. The first thing he did was find the bathroom. After relieving himself he brushed the taste of the night from his mouth and splashed water on his face. The beard was growing in nicely, not a bushel yet but dark enough to hide his face. He’d trim it soon. Keep it neat.
Michael hadn’t been in bed when he woke but that was no surprise; his brother always woke first. He was probably making breakfast or coffee at the least.
Needing a cup, Linc left the bathroom for the kitchen. He wasn’t even halfway there when he heard the moans.
What was that?
Scratching his head he ventured closer, headache and wonder sharing his brain. He was just past his and Mike’s room when he heard his brother gasp, "Oh GOD!"
A loud crack followed and Lincoln took off to find him. He reached the doorway, ready to bring Hell down on whoever hurt Michael when he was stopped cold in his tracks.
There was his brother, bare-ass naked on the kitchen counter, and between his legs was Fernando Sucre, enthusiastically sucking his dick.
What. The. Fuck.
Lincoln stared, disbelieving what his eyes swore he was seeing. Michael wasn’t in distress, on the contrary he was very much enjoying himself.
His eyes were shut in ecstasy, his head back against the cabinet. He was sucking on his bottom lip. Lincoln couldn’t move, couldn’t process what was happening. It just didn’t make sense. Then Michael opened his eyes and met his. That was when things got even weirder.
He tried to turn away, to avoid the expected embarrassed gaze he’d receive but instead Michael stared right back heatedly. His gray eyes bore through Lincoln and Linc felt his own face flush uncomfortably.
His baby brother stared on and suddenly he felt vulnerable under his scrutiny. Like he was naked too. Lincoln tried to shake off the thought but Michael’s eyes were blazing, boldly raking him with an unapologetic, carnal hunger that made him want to flee. It was like he was fucking him. Literally eye-fucking him. And not too tenderly either.
Disturbed, panicked, and just straight up baffled, Lincoln did the only thing he could. He retreated. Not to the bedroom, there he could still hear his brother’s groans, but outside to the backyard. There he shut the door, threw his back against it and took in heavy breaths. He hadn’t seen what he’d seen. Not in the kitchen, not in Michael’s eyes. Just no.
There was no way this was happening. He must have misread. He closed his eyes, massaged his temples. Okay so his brother was fucking Sucre. They’d been cellmates back in Fox River so maybe that wasn’t such a surprise? No, it still didn’t make sense. He’d known Michael all his life, pretty much raised him. He’d have known if his brother was into guys. Then again prison did change you. He couldn’t deny that Michael had undergone some changes since incarceration.
And Sucre? Well he’d had him fooled. What was that Michael used to say about protesting too much? Okay, but aside from that there was something else that bothered him more than anything. The way Michael had looked at him. That scorching gaze...
This is insane. My baby brother doesn’t want to fuck me. He was caught up in the moment, wasn’t really seeing me.
Lincoln shook it out of his head. He never wanted to see anything like that again. If he could just bleach it out of his mind that would be nice. Tired, he found the lawn chair from the other night and sat down. He’d just wait outside until everything was over. Then, when Michael wanted to talk, he’d know where to find him. Until then he’d concentrate on convincing himself that he’d never seen his brother look at him like he wanted to fuck him into oblivion.
On his way to Linc, Michael peeked in on T-bag. He was still fast asleep, a knot formed on his forehead. Teddy was so going to seek retribution for that...
He shook his head and move on. Mike found Lincoln sitting in the backyard, staring into the trees that hid them. He could see the tension in his brother’s back and was tempted to relieve him with a massage but after earlier he refrained. This would be awkward enough.
"You and Sucre, huh?"
No need to turn around, Linc had heard him come through the door.
"It’s complicated," Michael answered honestly.
Lincoln didn’t comment. He was struggling with this, Mike already knew. He knew his brother.
"So how long has this been going on? You and him? You into...guys?"
Michael took his time taking a seat beside Linc’s chair on the grass. His brother didn’t look at him.
"I don’t know. I guess I’m still sorting that out."
"It’s complicated, right?"
Michael swallowed.
"Linc, I’m sorry about what you saw. I swear if I’d known you were awake it never would’ve happened. I never wanted you to see me like that."
Which was true.
"Is this what’s been wrong with everybody?" Linc asked.
"Why Sucre and T-bag were at each other’s throats yesterday? They fighting over you?"
Perceptive.
"Something like that."
Lincoln sighed his disapproval.
"That’s really fucked up Michael. We don’t need that kind of drama."
He couldn’t agree more. It was hard enough being the object of it. Let alone what he was feeling on the inside.
"I know."
"T-bag touches you and I’ll kill him."
"I know."
Now was not the time to confess that T-bag already had touched him quite a bit. Or that he liked it.
In fact, he was sure he’d never confess that truth to Lincoln.
He’d take it to his grave.
"So what is it Michael? What the hell is going on with you?" his big brother suddenly blurted.
He looked up from his seat in the grass to find that Linc had finally faced him.
"You’re doing guys, you’re defending T-bag, you still haven’t come up with a plan to save LJ and I walk in on you in the kitchen where we fucking eat? And don’t think I forgot about you attacking me yesterday? What the fuck Mike?"
How could he explain himself without losing Linc? That it all came down to his love for him. That one selfless act seventeen years ago had led up to a series of events including sexual blackmail, a newfound awakening and the most muddled his mind had ever been since puberty. Michael shook his head hard, feeling quite muddled now.
"I..."
Lincoln’s face began to blur.
"I love...you...Linc..."
Or was he swirling? Michael blinked, suddenly very confused. What was happening? Where was happening? Who?
"Michael?" Hands grabbed his shoulders and shook.
"Michael?!"
Lincoln. He was the only thing that made sense. He smiled, seeing his brother. Then he was floating, floating and…
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Brother's Comfort