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Brother's Comfort	By : Kayerfire Category: M through R > Prison Break Views: 1867 -:- 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
- 8
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Michael was looking weird. No high or something. His pupils dilated, his eyes fading to lost right before him. Lincoln seized his shoulders and shook him.
"Michael?!"
But the grays went blank. He grabbed his brother’s face, inspected him. Drugs, had to be. Since when did Michael do drugs?! Especially something of this effect.
He didn’t. Never would. His mind was too precious. Which meant someone had drugged him. A newfound rage filled Lincoln at the thought of someone drugging his baby brother. Especially since there were only 2 suspects.
He scooped his brother up over his shoulder and barged back into the apartment.
"SUCRE!! BAGWELL!!!"
He carried Mike to the living area and lied him on the couch. That blank stare never left his eyes.
"GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!!!"
He wasn’t waiting for them to obey. He found Sucre stumbling out of the kitchen, a weird look in his eyes. Confused, lost. Similar to Michael’s but he was at least semi-aware.
Linc snatched him by the front of his shirt.
"What’s wrong with Michael? What did you fucking do?!"
Sucre blinked.
"I...I don’t..."
He was under the same influence. Had he and Mike taken whatever together? No, despite his erratic behavior the past week, Lincoln was sure that Mike would never diminish his faculties in such a way. Which left the obvious suspect.
He nearly tore the door off the hinges, kicking it open with such force and found a bruised up Bagwell asleep in bed. Lincoln yanked him up and began shaking him with accusation.
"What the fuck did you do to my brother you pervert son of a bitch?!"
Bagwell woke with a start, his brown eyes snapping to attention and immediately went into fight mode. Prison and nightly visits from his daddy at as a kid had conditioned him to survive. He swung on Linc, connected with his face. That just pissed Linc off. He tossed the man into the hall, T-bag landing ungraciously at the floor and stormed toward him.
"Whoa, whoa Sink!"
Bagwell held his hands up, "What’s your problem?"
He waited until Linc got closer to shoot an elbow to his ribcage. Ignoring the shock of pain, Lincoln worked in two shots to the face before pinning him with his forearm to his throat against the wall. His full body weight crushed against T-bag as he leaned a breath from his face.
"What did you do to my brother?"
Bagwell stared, feigning confusion he could tell.
"Do? To Pretty? Why whatever do you—"
Impatient, Linc gave him a shot to the gut. Bagwell retched but couldn’t double over on account of Linc’s body.
"What the fuck did you give him?"
T-bag tried to collect himself.
"I’ve been sleeping all morning, when could I give him anything?"
He had a point there. Still, he and Bagwell were the only two not affected by whatever had Michael and Sucre. And he knew he hadn’t done anything.
"Come here."
He half dragged T-bag to the living area where Michael sat slumped on the couch, staring at nothing.
Sucre sat beside him, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. Linc gestured toward them.
"I know you’re behind this. What the fuck did you do?"
Bagwell took a look at Michael and smirked. That earned him another hit to the gut. This time he did double over.
"You planning on raping him?" Linc accused.
"Thought you could drug him and have your way with him? That what you’re up to?"
T-bag glanced up at him then, a full on smile in his eyes. An arrogant, secretive smile that for some reason disturbed Lincoln to his core. It was aimed directly at him. A deliberate taunt screaming that he knew something Linc didn’t.
Unnerved, he shoved T-bag to the floor.
"I’m going to give you three seconds to tell me what you gave them or I’m going to fucking stomp your face into the ground."
Bagwell spat blood from his mouth, his eyes still taunting.
"Well since you asked so nicely," he began.
"I have been giving your brother a little something for the past week. Family recipe, passed down from Bagwell generations. Very high in protein. He takes it like a champion, all the way down that pretty throat of his. Just gobbles it up."
Linc moved toward him.
"Don’t believe me, ask your Mexican friend over there. He’s heard us every night since we...connected."
"Bullshit!"
Linc glanced at Sucre for consensus. Michael would never stoop so low. But when Sucre didn’t object a painful knot twisted into the pit of his stomach.
"Tell him that’s bullshit, Sucre."
Maybe it was the drugs that held his tongue. He meant to agree with Linc but couldn’t? But he wasn’t completely gone like Michael was. There was still some awareness in his eyes. They were glaring at T-bag.
"Should have been me...not you..."
Lincoln wasn’t liking what he was hearing.
"Sucre!"
"...first time...should be special..."
First what? Never a patient man, Lincoln grabbed Sucre’s shoulders.
"What are you talking about?"
Bagwell answered, coming to his feet from behind him.
"He’s talking about how I popped your brother’s cherry, Sink. First and only man to run up in that pretty ass. Now he belongs to me."
He felt his jaw twitch angrily as he spun around. He was just in time for Bagwell’s blade to stab into his abdomen. Pain ripped through him as he scowled at the enemy who’d pierced him.
"You son of a bitch!"
T-bag shoved the weapon in deeper.
"Don’t fret, Sink. I’ll take good care of your brother while you’re gone."
He tried to charge him, to grab his neck and squeeze but the blood gushing from his belly brought agony with it. Beyond furious, Lincoln fell to his knees, collapsing on the floor. The only thought in his head to protect Michael. This wasn’t over!
He’d been sure to spike all of the bottles in the front row. After Pretty had left him to deal with his drunken brother last night, T-bag had taken the opportunity to search the room for "treats." Whatever Pretty was giving Sink those nights he sucked him off, T-bag wanted a piece. He knew it would come in handy and today his instinct had paid off.
Though it wasn’t as he’d planned (Sink was the main one he needed to put down, and Sucre should be just as blank as Michael) things were still going in his favor. He’d successfully fucked with Sink’s head opening up the chance for a swift strike. And Sucre could barely make a sentence. Best of all, Michael was so out of it that he couldn’t interfere with his dastardly plans. By the time he recovered both Sink and the beaner would be painful memories: their lives cut short at the hands of FBI agent Mahone. That’s what the press had called him on tv Agent Alexander Mahone.
Michael would mourn, he would weep and of course his Teddy would be there to comfort him. With kisses, caresses, hardcore fucking. Yes, there would always be fucking. He had his Pretty well trained.
But before he could get to that he had a spic to split open.
"Hola," he taunted, stalking Sucre with that predator’s pace.
The Latino glared, tried to stand but lost his balance and fell back on the couch.
"You been trying to dip your hands in my cookie jar, hombre. I thought I made it clear that I don’t like my things to be touched."
He debated whether to just gut him or make him suffer first. He had a little time. Standing over the Latino now he decided, yes he should suffer first. Be humiliated.
"You know," T-bag chuckled.
"It just occurred to me you’re the only one in this room who ain’t never had his dick sucked by Pretty. A shame really because he’s damn good at it."
It didn’t matter that he’d let Michael’s secret slip. Sink was down and Sucre was high. Plus they were both going to die anyway.
"...fuck...you..." was the response.
Oh feisty was he? Well T-bag knew how to deal with feisty.
"Is that what you want? To fuck me?" he laughed.
What a perfect humiliation. He began undoing his own pants.
"Why didn’t you just say so?"
It was easy to overpower him, on account of the drugs. Sucre fought but his moves were clumsy, uncoordinated. Even against a one-handed man. Bagwell was able to wrestle him to the floor, flipping him to his stomach in the process. He tugged Sucre’s pants and undies down and spit in his hands.
"You shouldn’t have messed with what’s mine," he remarked as he rubbed it onto his cock.
"Enjoy my dick in your ass. It’ll be the closest you’ll ever get to fucking Scofield."
He placed himself, smacked his hardening wood against brown cheeks and plunged forward. Sucre jumped, cursing like a madman in his native tongue. Bagwell barely got one stroke off when suddenly a big arm was around his throat, yanking him backward.
The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, a bloody Lincoln Burrows on top of him. Fists collided with his face, dazing him and he knew that his nose was broken. He reached for the screwdriver, the same weapon he’d just set down to deal with Sucre—FUCK! Sink kept coming, that face of his reflecting all of the hatred and rage he felt for him. T-bag swung, even tried to get a good jab to the belly wound in but his vision began to darken and he could hardly catch his breath. The last thing he saw was a large bloody fist coming down straight for his face.
- 8
- 9
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Brother's Comfort