callmetofu (callmetofu) wrote,

Fic: Things Not Said - Lincoln's Notes

Title: Things Not Said – Lincoln's Notes
Author: callmetofu
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln, non explicit Lincoln/other
Warnings: Incestslash, Michael around 16, some het content
Notes: Betaed by the wonderful and patient deadbeat_nymph who held my hand through this. Without her this fic wouldn't be possible.
Summary: This is a companion piece and sequel to Things Not Said. In TNS some playful experimentation almost went out of hand until Michael pulled the stops on it. But Lincoln isn't ready for it to end just yet.


What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

Cars. Fast cars. Red or black or midnight blue, with eight cylinders and glittering chrome. Michael’s body was writhing under his hands and against the tree. His brother didn’t even seem to be aware of the tiny, half-desperate sounds he was making. Lincoln sighed inwardly. He’d given up on trying to understand Michael a long time ago. Michael did things his own way and the rest of the mere mortals could just sit back and wait for him to come around.

Food. Scrambled eggs. Mashed potatoes. Raspberry pancakes. He’d never realized that a boy’s lips could be this soft. He still didn’t know why he had kissed Michael earlier that day, except that it had seemed like a hilarious joke at the time. Now in retrospect he wanted to kick himself for it because it had got him here, standing out in the fucking woods in the middle of the night kissing a boy – his own brother – against a tree while his mind imagined desperately that he was somewhere else. Then again, not thinking about what the hell he was doing had always been one of his strengths, so he leaned in and deepened the kiss.

The experience of kissing Michael was almost surreal. His lips and skin were soft, softer than they had any right or reason to be. And yet it was still Michael, all lean and gangly and very much still a boy, slowly building on muscle since Lincoln had kicked him into joining the track team. Lincoln had kissed enough people in his life that it wasn’t something he had to actually think about any more. His hands roamed on their own, emphasizing each turn of the kiss with little strokes and touches, tensing and releasing in a slow rhythm.

He licked his way inside Michael’s mouth, nipping gently, tipping Michael’s tongue with his own. He swirled and sucked and stroked, trying to ignore the surprised little noises Michael was making. He’d never seen Michael so undone. Michael had always been a strange one, his little freak. He seemed to be lost in his own little world. It was something Lincoln had always suspected, but normally the bridge between that world and the world outside had been upheld firmly by Michael’s intelligence and iron self control. Right now Michael seemed to be floating, bending and for a moment Lincoln felt the irrational fear that his baby brother would turn to water and seep right through his fingers.

Then Michael’s fingers were clawing at his back, drawing him in like Michael was trying to devour him, obeying a ritual that Lincoln neither knew nor understood. He felt almost relieved when Michael started bucking against him frantically. At least this was something he could identify with, the maddening need to just get off even if it was uncontrolled and almost spastic. He grabbed Michael harder and planted another deep kiss on his lips to steady his brother as he helped him ride out every wave of his orgasm.

Well, that went well, he thought wryly as Michael lay against his chest, shivering from the aftermath. Still, he was trying to be a nice brother - after all, more often than not he wasn’t - so he wouldn’t mock his brother’s obvious lack of experience.

At least not a lot.

“You liked that, didn’t you,” he chuckled, but placed a light kiss on Michael’s cheek to soften the effect of the words. Michael opened his mouth, but instead just shot him a look and snuggled close again.

He couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“You weird me out sometimes.”

“You mean more so than usual?” Michael joked, and Lincoln grinned in response. “Yeah, more so than usual.” He pulled Michael closer, relishing the feel of Michael’s heart beating so close. “Sometimes...” he said, “sometimes it’s like there’s something foreign about you.”

Lincoln closed his eyes and tried to fight down hazy memories rising from deep below his consciousness. He remembered lying in his bed, angry about being beaten at a board game by a fucking three year old, and convinced that aliens had to be responsible for bringing Michael into their lives and could they come and take him back because he was growing up to be a real nuisance and a source of embarrassment to Lincoln. He brushed the thought away, but the air around them seemed colder now and the trees darker. He felt Michael pulling away, apologizing.

He wanted to kick himself. This was Michael, right in front of him, and all human, thank you very much. He grabbed Michael’s shoulders and said, “Look, you’re just a horny teenager. Nobody is blaming you. It’s just…”

Michael looked up to him hopefully and all Lincoln could see were Michael’s glistering lips, right underneath. His hands slipped down. “You like it too much.”

“What are we doing?”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

Things had gotten kind of downhill from then. Michael had shirked away and, brushing off the moment between them, Lincoln had trotted after him back to their camp. Once they arrived Michael had quickly changed into a pair of new underpants and started cleaning the clothes he’d been wearing obsessively.

Lincoln felt for the kid, he really did. He’d even done his best to talk him down and tell him that it wasn’t a big deal. But with Michael it was usually hard to tell how much was sinking in. Oh well, he went back to the tent and threw himself on their sleeping pad. He squeezed his eyes shut, ready to forget this day and its weirdness and return to normal.

He was about to doze off when Michael snuck in. The boy nudged him over and stretched out next to him, resting his head on Lincoln’s arm. Lincoln smiled. It was such a sweet and warm gesture. They weren’t always this close and now that they were Lincoln realized how much he’d missed it. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on it. It’s just going to get numb,” he teased and Michael just grumbled and snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm.

Almost apologetically it seemed Michael then kissed the inside of his elbow. Lost, Lincoln stared at his brother’s back as he felt Michael switch from lips to teeth to tongue lapping down his arm. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

“It’s a brain thing,” Michael replied, never once breaking contact. Lincoln contemplated the answer. Could this be more of whatever it was Michael that had been doing before? Normally he was used to Michael’s moods and occasional tantrums, but this was fairly strange even for Michael’s standards. And his arm was getting numb, even as Michael was creating these sensations, from ants marching up and down his skin to the butterfly wings of Michael’s kisses.

The temperature around them seemed to rise and a particular strand of heat was traveling right toward his groin as Michael grabbed his hand and started sucking on his fingers. Then Michael whipped his hand around and bit him. Before he could jerk his hand away Michael had hopped on his chest and was kissing him. Really kissing him.

Michael’s mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue pushing greedily into Lincoln’s mouth as his hands roamed Lincoln’s chest. Michael seemed fevered, attacking Lincoln’s body almost angrily with his tongue, nails and teeth, meeting each action with a counter-reaction and rubbing himself over Lincoln’s belly. Lincoln’s hips arched off the floor when Michael bit his nipple and shivers ran down his spine when Michael dragged his tongue along Lincoln’s throat. His lips still burned from Michael’s kiss and his dick throbbed as his brain was still trying to understand where on earth Michael had gotten this from. He reached for Michael and had his hand slapped away.

When Lincoln fell in love it was usually hard and fast, the initial excitement hardly ever lasting more than two weeks. He knew what it felt like – the spontaneous, blinding, mind swiping lust that sometimes turned into short-lived obsession and yearning. So familiar he would know it anywhere… he’d just never expected to feel it here. Yet here it was – unmistakable and undeniable.

Maybe it was time. Time to stop acting like he wasn’t involved, like Michael rocking ecstatically above him was just some understandable accident. Maybe it was time to face the facts and asks the questions at hand.

Notably, did his brother want his cock?

He grabbed Michael and rolled them both over till Michael was underneath. Michael’s eyes were dilated and almost black with desire, his mouth hung open, panting, and he just wouldn’t stop struggling as Lincoln held him down. Adrenaline surged through his system and he smacked Michael down on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing,” he ground out between clenched teeth. Michael’s eyes were unfocused and lifeless and something about it pissed Lincoln off deeply. “Who do you think I am? Your private little guinea pig? Talk to me, dammit!” But Michael had already drifted off into his own little world again.

Lincoln’s anger ebbed away. Michael looked so helpless and lost, Lincoln wanted to reach into him and take the hurt away.

“You got grounded for 4 months,” Michael mumbled and looked at him through glazed, light eyes.

The slap came as an instinct, the sound of flesh impacting flesh and then Michael’s head rolled to the side.

Fuck Michael. Fuck Michael’s brain. As he got up and started down at Michael, he really wanted to kick him for good measure and he had to get out of there before he did.

“Nobody gets to tell me No.”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990


Lincoln stared at his brother in disbelief. How could Michael possibly say No? Lincoln wanted to grab his brother’s scrawny shoulders and shake him. Wanted to slide his hands over Michael’s crotch and grab hard the proof that this wasn’t just some innocent little experiment that could be aborted at any second.

“No, I don’t think so.” Michael looked up at him and held his gaze, his eyes strangely clear again in the soft light of the moon. Lincoln felt his anger ebbing away and the helplessness flooded right back in.

“We…we are okay, right?” The way Michael’s voice seemed to break at those words sobered Lincoln immediately, and quickly he wrapped his arms around his brother. He was his brother’s keeper. Whatever Michael wanted, he would try to give it to him, no matter what the eventual cost might be.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

He sat down on the edge of the lake, feeling the fine sand under his feet and hearing small waves lap at the shore. The wind came from lakewards and he hugged himself quickly as he realized that his shirt was still in the tent. It felt lonely out here, even though there must have been dozens of families sleeping barely forty feet away.

“I brought you a sweater.”

The moon’s reflection glistered on the water’s dark surface and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. Without turning around he reached and grabbed the shirt from Michael’s hands.

“Are you mad at me?”

Tiredly Lincoln rested his head on his arms.

“No, I’m not mad at you.”

Next to him, Michael worked the ground restlessly with his toes. “I’m sorry that I’m such a freak. I didn’t mean to.”

“Michael, you are not a freak,” he winced. He reached over and reluctantly Michael allowed him to place one arm around his shoulders and pull him close. It felt right to have him there. He closed his eyes, enjoying Michael’s body heat next to him and Michael’s nose pressing into his shirt.

Michael had always been there, with him, shy, diligent and invisible. And suddenly it felt like he couldn’t live without touching him every waking moment of his life. He let himself fall backward and pulled Michael on top of him.

He was the older brother, he wasn’t supposed to be the one pining away. Tenderly he kissed Michael’s forehead, a strand of hair getting caught between his lips. This wasn’t fair to Michael. Michael didn’t want it. And he was right not to want it. It was messy and something that couldn’t end well, a temporary insanity, a hiccup of hormones.


At least that was something tangible, something real. That’s what he’d promised Michael and in this moment he thought that maybe, just maybe, it might actually work out that way.

“Get your hands off him.”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

Rebecca arrived the next, in all her bouncy youthful glory. She had brought her cousin Celia with her, unsubtly shoving her in Michael’s direction so they could have some time alone. And there they were, sitting facing each other, their knees nearly touching. Lincoln found himself oddly annoyed. What had she told Michael? The old, there is something in your eye, let me blow it away, tale? Some corny yoga excuse? The promise of a special secret? His stomach summersaulted unpleasantly when he saw Michael’s finger brush shyly against her knee to create a bridge between their two bodies. And then Michael was leaning forward, closer and closer…

Quickly Lincoln shoved his own companion’s hand away - Rebecca had been stroking his arm playfully - and jumped up. “Who wants to go for ice cream?” The two youngsters stared at him, aghast, but he clasped the girl’s shoulder energetically and pulled her to her feet. “Where’s the best place to get some anyway? You come here every summer, don’t you?” He leaned in conspiratively. “Bet you know where all the cool parties are? What's the deal with those idiots from the other bank? Seems like they never go to sleep.” He knew he was babbling and still he couldn’t stop himself.

She stared at him with big gray eyes as he kept tugging on her arm. “The Shephards? They own a paper factory or something... They come here to party,” she mumbled.

Ignoring Michael, who was slowly getting on his feet right behind them, he beamed at her. For the tiniest moment he wondered whether he should get her for himself. She was too young for his taste, though she was undoubtedly pretty. Slim, beautiful gray eyes and long brown hair, with an awkwardness in her body stance that was often so typical of kids with high intelligence. No question about it, she was just the right thing for Michael.

He could feel Rebecca’s eyes boring in his back and kicked himself for even thinking about her like that. He let go of Celia’s arm and managed an innocent smile. “So, ice cream, you guys want to go?” He stretched emphatically. “I’m just really hungry, starving alright!”

Celia and Rebecca exchanged one of those looks and then the younger girl shrugged. “I guess so.” She pointed east. “It’s that way.”

Behind him, Rebecca got up and shook pebbles out of her sandals. She leaned on his shoulder as she slipped them back on and grabbed her cousin’s hand to lead the way.

He was about to start after them when Michael grabbed his arm and forced him to stay behind. “What are you doing?” hissed Michael, his face flushed with anger. “We were having a moment, in case you didn’t notice.”

Lincoln turned his gaze away from the girls as they walked ahead slowly and faced Michael. For a moment he contemplated feigning ignorance, but what was the point, really? “So that’s your big great plan for the summer? Suck face with every person you come across?”

Michael’s head grew red like a tomato and he ripped his hand away angrily. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business and if I’m not mistaken that used to be exactly your strategy a few years back; if it ever changed in the first place.”

Lincoln shrugged. “Look, it’s not a big deal. She seems like a nice girl. If she likes you, I’m sure you’ll get another chance to test drive her.” Michael stared at him agape and for a moment Lincoln expected the younger boy to hit him. Instead Michael thrust his fists into his pockets and stomped off after the girls.

“Don't fucking tease me.”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

They ended up at Joe’s Diner again, Rebecca by his side, her head on his shoulder and Michael and Celia on the opposite side. He still felt bad for what had happened earlier and so he let his fingers slip gently into Rebecca’s curls. She was soft, so soft and her hair still carried the lightest tinge of apricot. Softly he gnawed on her earlobe, then down her throat.

He could hear Michael skid around his chair uneasily and smiled against the nape of Rebecca's neck. Pulling back he looked at the two teens again, both obviously uncomfortable with this display of affection as they were trying hard to look in the opposite direction. Somehow that made it even better, made her smell even sweeter. Suddenly he had the urge to kiss her, touch her, right here and to hell with whoever was watching and getting embarrassed. And why not? She was friendly, good looking and good natured. He didn’t need Michael and so he drew the girl closer, finding her mouth and letting himself fall into a series of languid noisy kisses. His hand dropped down from her shoulder and he stroked the side of her breast, feeling the strings of her bikini top underneath her shirt, just out of reach. Dipping even lower he let his hand fall on her thigh, swallowing any attempt at protest in yet another kiss as his fingers tried to worm their way up.

“Maybe we should go outside,” she whispered breathlessly, a blush blooming on her cheek, and right there the offer sounded very appealing.

And then Michael kicked him under the table.

“Food’s coming,” he hissed.

Lincoln pulled away in the time for the waiter to drop the tablets on their table. The guy shot him an odd look before walking away. He grinned back and shrugged, before digging for a fork in the breadbasket full of silverware.

“I apologize for acting like an asshole,” he said to no one in particular, figuring that everyone on their table could just take from it whatever they wanted.

His hand played absentmindedly with Rebecca’s hair as he grew more and more tired of the aimless chatter around him. Michael had edged closer to Celia again and had deliberately laid his hand on top of hers and Lincoln couldn’t help but notice...

His gaze wandered off again, out of the window where the owner was just emptying out the trash.

“Did you know, Celia wants to go to Julliard;” Michael rose him from his thoughts and looked at him like he expected some sort of reaction.

Lincoln shrugged; “Sounds good I guess.”

Michael liked her, he realized. Michael really liked her. She had come out of nowhere and yet they just seemed to click. Their joined hands had slid off the table, now dangling back and forth between their chairs, a sight that made his skin crawl.

Michael must have felt him staring, because he turned around and their eyes met. They would sleep together, one of these days this little girl would be with Michael. Maybe today, maybe not till tomorrow, but at the same time he just knew. It was all over Michael, in the way he looked at her, in the confidence in his eyes. It wasn’t the same kind of urgent horniness he remembered from himself, but it was clear nonetheless.

Lincoln stared at Michael and tried to remind himself that that was a good thing. He wanted Michael to have this, wanted him to be happy. It was stupid to feel possessive of his own brother. He had had one night stands before and he knew the blaze of excitement that could come with it and that sometimes stayed like an afterglow. It would go away, it always did. Michael was a good person, that’s all he could think of when he looked at him, incredibly bright and open and passionate about those he cared for.

All that had happened was that he’d screwed up. Michael had asked him for a favor and he’d complied and then Michael had asked him for another favor and he’d do his best to comply with this one as well. Michael deserved to have good things happen to him.

Michael leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Lincoln felt nauseous. He excused himself, intent on splashing some water on his face. Behind him, he could hear Michael getting up to follow him. Their bodies bumped into each other, lightly, in the short hallway leading to the bathroom. Almost by its own accord his hand twisted in Michael’s shirt and he backed his brother into the wall. He slid his hand up Michael’s chest and cupped the back of his head. Don’t fucking tease me, he thought and felt guilty for it immediately afterwards.

This was Michael. Michael didn’t fuck around with people’s minds. He felt the energy draining out of him. His hand slipped down to Michael’s shoulder. “Just… be safe,” he said and left Michael standing.


What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

He told them some lie about a guy he was supposed to be meeting here later and ushered them to go ahead. Michael shot him a strange look before sauntering off with the girls and Lincoln had a sneaking suspicion that that was pretty much it for him and Rebecca. He nursed one bourbon after another till his senses were comfortably lulled.

About halfway in his pyramid of shots he remembered that he didn’t have nearly enough money to pay for all of them. As usually Michael was carrying the bulk of it with him. Bleary-eyed, he ordered another.

Lincoln was good at holding his liquor and so he stumbled only slightly when he got up three glasses later. The waiter approached him quickly and Lincoln raised himself to his full height.

“I don’t have any money,” he said and met the man’s gaze straight on. He could see him twitch uncomfortably.

”Why don’t we … take this outside,” the man said slowly.

Lincoln nodded and staggered out of the diner. The night air hit him, sharpening his senses at least a little bit. He turned around.

The waiter had followed him, still somewhat nervous. Lincoln saw that he had had made sure to grab a baseball bat on the way out, which he was holding half-concealed behind his back.

Taking one deep gulp of air Lincoln took two steps forward. “I don’t have any money,” he repeated, just a breath away from the other man’s lips. He was in his thirties maybe, dark blond hair, medium build. “Help me out?” Lincoln slid one hand around the guy’s neck and crushed their lips together. Before the guy could react, he took two steps back again.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Nothing about the guy had given him any indication that this was what he was looking for. Numbly he wondered whether he should make a run for it, but his alcohol drenched brain was having trouble sending orders to his feet, let alone pick a direction. Instead he looked up again.

The guy in front of him was still staring, but at least he was also slowly lowering the bat. Dumbly Lincoln tried to read the man’s body language, but for the most part he just seemed to be frozen. And there it was, a quick set of the jaw, follow by a slow jerking nod to the right. It might have been his first time trying to pick up a guy, but this sign was pretty much universal, Lincoln concluded.

He allowed himself be led around the back toward an adjacent cabin. Lincoln entered first, stepping into a small one room apartment with a narrow, unmade bed in the right corner, some shelves, a table, a few chairs. He winced when he heard his companion pull the door shut behind them.

“So, you live here long?” he mumbled, trying to make conversation.

“A couple of years, every summer. What’s your name?”

“Jack,” Lincoln lied.

His companion's lips curled upward in a smile and Lincoln figured he’d probably heard the others call him Lincoln at the table.

“The name is Iain.”

”Nice to meet you.” It came to Lincoln just how hopelessly out of his depths he was. He had done this dance with girls a million times before, but he had no idea about the rules of this particular game. How was he supposed to react? After so many years being the hunter, he felt like he’d suddenly become prey. Chances were that the guy probably only wanted a blowjob and that was something he certainly couldn’t deliver.

He stepped up to Iain, grabbing his shoulder, nudging him and then again, trying to assess their boundaries. Then he ran his hands into the other guy’s hair, tightly gripping the short curls, pulling them and releasing just as his mouth hovered just a breath away from the man’s face. He almost laughed at the irony, that what they were about to do now was more legal than what they had been doing all evening. Old enough to get fucked by a stranger, but not old enough to get smashed enough to do it. Still, he'd rather die than admit weakness.

“You got protection, Iain?” he rasped.

The waiter’s brows drew together. “Of course.”

“Good,” Lincoln said and closed his eyes, visions of Michael dancing behind his eyelids, “’coz I want you to do me.”

“I'm in love with my brother.”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

He stumbled through the woods, branches hitting his face, his heart racing. He ran without thinking, like some unknown dark dread that he could not define, not for the sake of his sanity, was chasing after him. Trees in front of him, trees in the back, surrounded by the noise of his body breaking through the growth and the pounding of his heart in his ears. And no clue where he was or where he was going. Lincoln stared up into the night sky, hoping dimly for a clue.

He laughed dryly in the dark at the thought that now this was a situation where Michael, the eternal boyscout, would have come in more than handy. Geography had never been Lincoln’s strongest suit, but he usually had a way of finding things even when he had no idea where he was going.

Fucking Michael.

He fell back into a steady trot, intensely aware of each breath, of the way his sweat quickly drenched his shirt, running on instinct.

Soon enough he broke out of the woods. As though led by a compass needle he was drawn straight to the house. Wheezing he climbed over the fence. Only one window was lit up. Lincoln grabbed a handful of pebbles and threw them. Just one quick look at the shadow approaching the window told him that he’d aimed for the wrong room. He slid behind a tree as Rebecca’s mother leaned out to investigate.

At least the ruckus had woken Rebecca as well, because the room above lit up and Lincoln spotted her silhouette behind the curtains. He waited patiently till he was sure the parents had gone back to bed and stepped out of the shadow. Their eyes met and he guessed she was furious from the way she stood, arms crossed across her chest.

No, don’t come here, she seemed to mouth as he started to climb the tree he’d been hiding under.

He fell more than climbed into her window and took her down with him. His hands lost themselves quickly in her warm body and for a moment he felt like he had missed her. She was soft and girly and familiar, just like any girl he’d slept with or would sleep with in the future. Effortlessly, his hands tangled in her hair and he kissed her, tasted her. She struggled under him briefly and shot him angry glares when he let her go.

She hissed at him, but he was already lost in her warm scent. He cupped her cheek and stared into her eyes as her lips moved but no sound came through the ringing in his ears. He wondered whether this was the point where he should offer her a lie. I’m sorry I stood you up, or I only hurt you because I was afraid of the strength of my feelings for you, or All I think about is you.

Instead he wrapped his arms around her like a man drowning and pulled her close. He placed his forehead against hers and offered soft kisses to her cheek instead of words. Then he found her mouth and kissed her for real, slowly raising the intensity, showing her his desperation. Sometimes the best strategy was to keep on going for what you want and just fake the confidence. Pretend that this was what was supposed to happen and just wait for everything to fall into place.

She relented, like expected.

He had to wait for her. It wasn’t more than two minutes as she snuck out, down the hallway to swipe the hall closet for her parents' condoms. Kicking off shoes and socks, Lincoln spread out on the bed. He could hear her just outside the room. He knew she would be back any moment and still a wave of panic hit his chest. The walls seemed to be closing in and Lincoln had the sudden urge to get up and keep on running. What if she could tell what he’d been up to, just where exactly he'd come from? The ghost of Michael's lips seemed to brush against his cheek.

But she came back, carrying the condoms like a grand prize to be had. She pounced down on him and they fell back into kissing, his hands sweeping her body carelessly. Deftly, he pulled her on his lap and slid into her without much pretext, quietly promising himself that he would find a way to be nice and make it up to her later.

Afterwards the room shifted into focus for the first time; the Janet Jackson poster on the wall, the clothes strewn around the floor, an arrangement of stuffed animals on a shelf over the bed, a dog-shaped piggy bank on the nightstand and a smiling, cheerful graduation picture on the wall.

“I’m glad you came by,” she whispered.

“Me, too,” he said and drew her close.

“The way you acted this afternoon… I didn’t know what to think. I might have…” He interrupted her and pulled her in for a kiss, tasting her, distracting her. With a smile she settled back on his chest, drawing circles across his skin with one finger.

“I can’t believe I did this with my parents in the house,” she giggled.

He just grinned in response. That was one of his oldest and most favorite skills.

She lowered her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, playing with her curls.

“Look, it’s started to rain.”

His eyes followed the line of her outstretched arm. Raindrops drummed against the window and the curtains rippled in the wind.

“I have to go,” he said and sat up, looking for his boots. “I have to find Michael.”

“You are in my blood.”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

Lincoln barely noticed the rain beating against his chest as he jogged back to their campsite. His sides ached for the unsteady drumming of his heart kept him from establishing a good rhythm. He was running farther and farther into darkness.

Invisible strings were pulling him back towards Michael, no matter how far he tried to run. His head was pounding with too many feelings and too many thoughts. He just gave up and let his body run on automatic. The bushes around started to look more familiar and the camp site came into place. His body throbbed with just one thought.

His brother didn’t want him.

And he didn’t care.

He pushed his way into the tent finding Michael curled up under three blankets, just one naked calf peeking out underneath. A wave of relief washed over him seeing that Michael was alone. He stared down at his brother, desperate to remember Michael’s “No”. It didn’t help much. He sunk down, wondering whether Michael could smell the girl, the man and the booze underneath his rain soaked clothes. Automatically, his hands went for Michael’s face, almost recoiling when he realized that he was bringing cold and rain to Michael’s warm skin.

His brother jerked up, looking at him with sleep disturbed eyes. It drove a shiver down Lincoln’s bones.

“The rain,” he stammered. And then, with more urgency, the story shaping itself as it came out, he added, “There’s a fucking storm out there and the tent, it’s not all that waterproof. We should leave.”

“Too much.”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

They left all their stuff behind. Lincoln picked the first summer house, barely fifty feet away and it was still enough to drench them both completely. He grabbed Michael’s hand and held him back when Michael made way to start towards the door. Instead he led them around the back where the owner’s 1998 Volvo was parked. It was the middle of the night and the middle of a storm, Lincoln was sure nobody would bother checking their driveway in these conditions.

He made Michael turn his back as he broke into the car.

“Hop in, Mikey.”

With a quick look ahead Michael crawled in, on his hands and knees, over the leather seats till his fingers bumped against the opposing door. He turned on his back and whispered, “You coming?” And then Lincoln was over him, kissing him in the darkness. He pulled Michael’s shirt off and his hands and lips made their way down his brother’s torso.

“Take it off,” Lincoln said, his voice rasping in the dark. Blushing, Michael kicked off his shoes and tried to shimmy out of his jeans. They were soaked through and through and clammily they stuck to his skin. Little droplets glistened on it and Lincoln leaned down to kiss the rain slicked stretch of belly right over Michael’s belt. His heart beat faster at Michael’s sharp intake of breath and he stared in amazement at the way Michael’s muscles jumped under the ministrations of his lips.

He looked up to meet Michael’s eyes. The younger brother lay on his back, cramped in the small space, but a playful smile danced across his lips. A shiver ran down Lincoln’s spine. How had he never noticed how beautiful Michael was? And yet, Michael was different. His gaze was playful and inquisitive, almost mischievous, not lost in abandon like it had been earlier in the woods and later back in their tent. He was consenting happily and at the same time he was not letting his guard down.

Lincoln’s resolve wavered. Michael had been open to him, had trusted him and he, in his endless stupidity, had fucked it up and pushed Michael away. He wanted it back, that trust and that closeness. Bracing himself against the car window he pulled Michael in for another kiss. Their lips met and he ran his tongue across the roof of Michael’s mouth, tasting rain, softness and the remainders of toothpaste. It felt so fucking good to hold Michael there, to tilt his head just the right angle and kiss down hard till Michael was panting, his lashes precious dark against his pale cheeks. In this moment he was sure the sight would be burnt into the back of his eyelids forever.

As he slid one palm over Michael's chest, Lincoln remembered wanting girls before so much it hurt, waiting anxiously for them to let him catch a glimpse of a breast or a thigh. But looking down at Michael he could no longer think of a single one of them. It’s always the one you’re with, a tiny voice inside of him whispered and he couldn’t decide what scared him more, that these feelings would disappear like they always had before or that they might never. This was Michael, his, brother, the one person in his life he would be tied to forever. In his whole life, no other person had ever made him so afraid.

Michael caught his neck and guided him as he kissed his way down Michael’s body. It was like the world around them had grown darker in the last twenty-four hours and in this moment it had shrunk down to nothing but the interior of this car and the sound of their breathing, with Michael's lips, Michael's skin, glittering silverly in the dark, the only source of potential happiness.

Lincoln sat back on his haunches, fishing in his back pocket. Looking down, he pulled out the condom and slipped it on quickly. Then he waited, half expecting, half dreading a reaction. He wanted, no, he needed Michael to know where this was headed. He looked up and caught Michael's eye. He wasn't sure what he saw ...surprise? Shock? Lincoln didn't have a fucking clue. He wanted so badly to ask Michael if this what he wanted, but he couldn't bring himself to it, because he didn't know what he would do if Michael told him no again. The enormity of the situation threatened to sink in again and he knew that it was now or never. There was something epic about this night, teetering on the edge of insanity. If he didn't go through with this now, he never would and this moment would be lost in time forever.

Michael was just too beautiful for that.

Underneath him Michael started to twist around, trying to find a comfortable position on the smooth leather seats. Lincoln leaned in and kissed across Michael's abdomen, licking swirls around the belly button, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. He felt guilty that he didn't have anything to make this easier for Michael, no lubrication, no booze. He figured he had to go about this practically. Holding Michael's eyes, he grabbed one of Michael's legs and turned him on his side. Relief washed over him as he kissed his way down his baby brother's lower back. At least that was something familiar, something he'd done before, he thought, as he gently parted Michael's lower cheeks. Tentatively he ran one finger down the cleft and was rewarded with a tremble. He leaned down and let his tongue follow the trail of his hands, probing deeper.

He'd spent a lot of time like this, on his knees, using every trick in the book to persuade a certain redhead to give up access to down there. This, if you thought about it, wasn't all that different as he licked and lapped, feeling like a trespasser, too rough against Michael's flawless skin. He'd keep doing this forever if it was necessary, courting, searching for Michael's heat, using lips and tongue and hands, making him ready. Judging by the whimpering sounds from the front, Michael had trouble breathing and Lincoln took that as a sign that he was on the right path. He drew light circles with his finger, softly pushing past the resistance, taking in Michael's surprised gasps. His tongue still licked against the opening, swirling around his finger, hopefully making it better for Michael. Just like a girl, Lincoln told himself, just like a girl. He drew his finger into his mouth, sucking it audibly, making it slick before pushing it home again.

From the muffled moans he could tell that Michael was biting his own arm to keep the sounds of sex from spilling over and alerting whoever might be around. Somehow that knowledge made Lincoln's insides boil even hotter. “Beautiful, so fucking beautiful,” he whispered against Michael's cheek. “I'll make it good for you,” he quietly promised to Michael's quivering flesh, “so fucking good.”. Reluctantly the ring of muscles began to relax, allowing him to enter a second finger, stretching and opening against the body's natural resistance. Michael's moans became more desperate.

Holding Michael down with one arm, he lost himself in his task, patiently stroking and teasing the puckered opening, making it give in. The key was to worship, to act like you were lapping up high prized honey and let them feel it. His dick was hard and aching between his legs, but his focus had to be only here, with Michael. Everything else was just an afterthought and so it came as a surprise when Michael's body started to tense around him. Lincoln watched in amazement how the muscles contracted, how Michael's hips jerked back and forth, the realization of what was happening slowly sinking in.

At last, the tremors stopped and the muscles around his fingers relaxed as Michael slumped back, his body slack from the aftermath. Awareness began to sink in. This might be the best moment to go through with this. Lincoln reached out and rolled Michael on his back. His brother's limbs spilled open without resistance as Lincoln spread them apart. He let his hand smooth over Michael's chest, before steadying himself against the car door. His mind was running amok, desperately trying to connect what was happening to anything he had seen or experienced before. Michael's eyes were squeezed shut, his lips swollen from too many kisses, his chest rising with ragged breaths. Lincoln forced himself to stop looking and banned all additional thought from his mind. It was far too late to back off.

His balls were aching with neglect and his head throbbed as he positioned himself and eased himself inside Michael's body. It felt agonizingly slow, as he slid in deeper and deeper. Maybe he had expected trumpets, or lighting striking him down once he was buried to the hilt, but there was only tightness and heat sucking away any oxygen out of his brain till his head felt like it might explode. He didn't last long, a handful of thrusts at the most accompanied by Michael's deep and tortured growls, till stars went off behind his eyes and he collapsed on top of Michael. Instinctively Lincoln's arms wrapped around Michael while words like “cock”, “fuck” and “brother” swirled around his mind, trying to fight the sex induced calm clouding his brain.

He fell asleep immediately.

“Perfect Fit.”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

He kicked open the door and stepped out into the rain. His feet squished in the mud and he fought down the desire to run out, back into the woods. Lincoln's gaze locked itself on the horizon. Still dark. He looked on numbly as he tried to calm the panic in his chest. He had done it. He had crossed the line, done the deed and forever imprinted himself on Michael's life. Worse, he'd wanted it like that. He'd gone and dirtied something he wasn't supposed to touch.

Absentmindedly he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The sound of Michael struggling to squeeze into his wet jeans, yanking the garment over his hips, followed by the door opening and bare feet stepping into mud announced that Michael had decided to follow his lead. Lincoln was standing at least six feet away from the car and still he thought he could feel Michael's presence, his eyes and the heat of his body right behind him.

“Do you love me?” he said roughly.


“You heard me, do you love me?”

He whirled around and backed Michael against the car. Michael's eyes were wide and incredulous, like it was a question that had never even occurred to him. Before Michael could reply Lincoln slung his arm around him. It was supposed to be a harsh kiss, but the intention lost itself quickly. His hands stroked Michael's chin, only to travel down, grazing Michael's throat and settling on his shoulders. Michael's hand came down around his waist, pulling them against each other.

Without breaking their kiss, Lincoln walked them two steps back and heaved Michael up, placing him on the top of the car. He felt Michael's smile against his lips, apparently liking the feeling of being the taller one for once. Lincoln shivered as Michael's long elegant fingers brushed against the back of his neck. There they stayed, holding him in place, without the slightest pressure.

Michael smiled into their kiss and their lips teased each other. They were connected in so many ways, a flicker of tongue against his lips, delicate fingertips against his neck and then Michael's ankles crossed around him; one hand trapped under Michael's thigh, gradually warming up in Michael's heat and one up Michael's back, scratching some invisible spot below the shoulder blades. For this moment Lincoln admitted to himself that he wanted Michael; Michael's body, Michael's lips, Michael's arms around him. Abruptly he took hold of Michael's hips and twisted him around. He walked around the car and pulled Michael with him, spreading him out on the Volvo's blue hood.

Helplessly, Lincoln stared down at his brother. Despite every touch and every response, looking at Michael, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that maybe be was just here because something in Michael's mind had deemed him a marginally more interesting specimen than that girl. And that was the only reason we was here rather than her.

How do I know what you are thinking? he thought. Then it came to him.


Of course.

Holding Michael's gaze he steadied himself against Michael's shoulder. His hand sought the buttons of Michael's jeans. They came open quickly. Lincoln slid his hands inside, over the soft curls, past Michael's hardened dick and cupped Michael's balls. He squeezed. Michael's hips leaped off the hood. It was fast and real, a body's honest reaction, no thought, just instinct. Whatever Michael was planning inside, he had the proof right in his hand that there was something of Michael's he could touch.

He stroked higher, curling his hand tight around Michael, flicking his wrist. Continuing, he alternated soft and hard strokes, watching intently as Michael writhed on the cool blue metal, lost in his own ecstasy. He would bring Michael to the brink and then pull him back with a hard squeeze. Michael's eyes popped open and his hands helplessly scratched the car's cool surface. His face was twisted, almost like he was in pain and his breath came in erratic puffs as he rolled his hips, begging for more contact.

Michael lost his footing on the slick metal, his ass sliding downward till both of them were kneeling in the mud, Lincoln's hand still roughly kneading Michael's swollen dick. A high whine stole into Michael's voice, signaling that he was close. He slumped forward, hanging on Lincoln's lips, kissing him like he was trying to suck out his very lifeforce, his arms around Lincoln's neck while his hips thrust shamelessly into Lincoln's hand. Lincoln caught him and pulled him up against his shoulder, Michael's breath moist against his skin. He sped up his strokes as they moved together in unison. When Michael came, it caught him by surprise all the same, Michael's seed spilling into his hand, warm and slippery, much more up close and personal than it had been in the car.

Lincoln felt the curl of Michael's smile against his shoulder and suddenly he didn't want the night to end. He wanted to whisk Michael away to a place where the sun would never catch them, just the two of them, forever running from the next day's dawn.

He pulled Michael on his feet, his brother still grinning broadly in sexual contentment. Catching Michael's chin, he drew him in for another kiss, brazenly running his tongue over Michael's teeth.

“You coming with me?” he whispered roughly, but when he met Michael's gaze he only found starry eyed bliss. He ran his thumb over Michael's cheekbones, drowning in Michael's eyes. “Get your stuff from the car. We are leaving,” he said slowly. Michael nodded and readjusted his jeans.

Quickly they collected their stuff from the backseat, unintentionally strewing brown mud along the way, slipping back into damp clothing. They walked off and Lincoln held Michael back when he wanted to go ahead.

“Aren't we going back to the campsite?”

Lincoln shook his head.

“No, we aren't.”

“You make me feel like a monster.”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

“You never asked me.”

Lincoln, eyes still trained on the bus driver, fumbled for the money in his backpocket.


“Whether I slept with her. It's what you would've done.”

He turned around slowly. Michael still stood at the bottom of the stairs, his hand on the door handle.

“I don’t care – no, wait – I don’t want to know.” Thrusting his hands into his pocket, he stared deeply into Michael’s eyes, suddenly aware the he would leave, either with Michael or without him.

“Are you coming?” he murmured roughly.

Michael tilted his head and a impish smile curled around his lips.

They squeezed into the corner seats on the far end of the nearly empty bus, Michael in the window seat. Lincoln leaned over him, so close he could see the freckles in Michael’s eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” Michael whispered, his eyes glittering adventurously. Lincoln leaned in and nuzzled his cheek.

“Just for somebody to tap my shoulder and ask me what I’m doing with your jailbait ass.”

Michael frowned. “You think so?”

Lincoln looked around and smiled. “No.” He buried his nose in Michael’s throat. “You are tall, you could easily pass for twenty,” he murmured into Michael’s ear and ran his thumb over Michael’s lips. “Maybe they’ll just settle for kicking out faggot asses off the bus.”

Underneath him Michael winced and Lincoln decided that he liked that he could still spook Michael with a quick choice of crass words, before he caught a wriggling Michael in another kiss. His hand sunk under Michael’s shirt, into his body heat and he twisted the two of them around till Michael was reclining half on his lap, his head resting on Lincoln’s shoulder, his breath grazing Lincoln’s throat.

“Tell me ten things about you I don’t know and I’ll do the same,” Michael murmured and laced their hands together. “Back in the car…,” he interrupted his speech for a secret smile and then leaned in for a husky whisper, “I was disappointed you didn’t come inside of me. I really wanted to know what it was like. Can we do it without next...”

“I slept with another guy,” Lincoln said, not taking his eyes away from the window. “And I stole money from Rebecca.” Michael tensed and slipped his hand from Lincoln’s grasp.

“Why is it that you can never talk straight with me?”

“I love you,“ Lincoln said. Outside little red houses were flying by and a milkman made his round just as the clouds opened to reveal the first signs of daybreak. Only a few second till the next stop. There it was, the feeling he had wanted to avoid, the splitting pain in his head and the deep desire to shoot a bullet through is brain. “It is wrong. It has to stop.”

“Why?” Michael pulled away,” Why now?”

“Because you are Michael. Because I’ll end up hurting you or you’ll end up hurting me. And I don’t care which one.” He closed his eyes and tried to make his voice as dispassionate as possible before meeting Michael’s gaze. “Just tell me one thing, Michael, why me?”

Michael looked down on his toes, but when he spoke it sounded calm and completely rational. “I guess because you are my brother. Because I thought I was safe with you.”

Lincoln thought the feeling oddly resembled having iron stakes driven through your chest. Brushing dirt off his pants, he squeezed past Michael and stepped off the bus.

Sunlight swept over the houses and the sky was alight with dawn.

“I can live without you.”

What Lincoln Didn’t Say
Lincoln’s Notes, 1990

The amber liquid swirled back and forth so prettily and yet the bottom of his glass looked even more attractive. He took another gulp, the liquor burning like acid in this throat.

He’d slept with his brother. And he’d fallen in love with somebody who didn’t love him back. He couldn’t decide which was worse.

He had to keep moving.


“Screw you, asshole.”

Things Michael Did Not Say
Book of Michael, 1990

He called Celia from the next phone booth only to find out that Rebecca had sold the rest of their stuff in a fit of rage. He used the rest of their money to buy a bus ticket back to Chicago. There he sold Lincoln’s stereo and sent the money to Rebecca with a letter of apology.

Then he called every bar in the greater Wildwood area. He quickly figured out that apparently Lincoln had hit a couple of them, but moved on. Repeating the song and dance he had seen with Veronica many times before he placed calls with every major transit company. Two days of anxious waiting and he got a callback from a trucker, telling him that Lincoln had hitched a ride to St. Louis and from there to Springfield and then Rockford, seemingly intent on heading further north. A few choice calls and he had the right address. Michael couldn’t help but fume a bit; Lincoln was less than 100 miles away and he hadn’t bothered to call.

He talked one of Lincoln’s friends into playing taxi. It wasn’t one of Lincoln’s longer binges and by now they were used to it. A few hours later they extracted Lincoln out of a bar together. Michael held Lincoln’s head on his lap, arms around him, all the way home. Lincoln held strong during the whole drive, just groaning occasionally and rolling his eyes at his friends’ mocking, but the minute they walked into their small apartment he almost doubled over.

Michael sat with him, holding his shoulders and rubbing his back as Lincoln hung over the toilet heaving again and again till his whole body trembled. “I’m sorry”, he said, “I’m sorry.” Over and over again. Michael slipped him a pill against the headache, sitting with him till he fell asleep, the room quiet except for Lincoln’s breathing and the ticking of their grandmother’s clock.

Only then did Michael allow himself to shudder and sink down into the pillows. He dragged himself up again and toward the bathroom. Splashing water on his face he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Dark rings adorned his eyes and his cheeks looked hollow and pale.

Silently, he slipped back into the bedroom and sank down next to Lincoln.

“In a year, or two, maybe we can try again,” he said mostly to himself.

Special Thanks go out to halfshellvenus who betaed an early draft of this story many months ago. If you find a line you particularly love, it probably is one of hers.
Tags: fic, m/l
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