callmetofu (callmetofu) wrote,

Things Not Said

Title: Things Not Said
Author: callmetofu
Rating: R
Warnings: Pre-Prison, Incest Kissing, Underage
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author's Note: Thanks to halfshellvenus for her diligent beta work.

“Why did you kiss me?”
Things Michael Did Not Say
Book of Michael, 1990

Michael, to his own embarrassment, squealed like a little girl and kicked. “Stop it Linc, goddamnit!“ barely capable of speech between bursts of laughter as Lincoln half dragged, half carried him toward the lake. So many years of battling his brother and he still hadn’t gotten any better at it. With nimble fingers he clawed at Lincoln’s hair, but Lincoln just shrugged and jumped. They landed in the clear emerald water with a splash. Michael fought back, biting and scratching as Lincoln pushed him under water over and over again. He tried to scramble away, getting further away from the shore, but Lincoln, after giving him a few seconds’ head start, always caught him quickly.

“Leave it, fuck, no fair!” he finally managed to spit out, between dives.

This time Lincoln dived in first, grabbing Michael’s midriff and pulling him down. Strong arms around him, slick taut muscles and suddenly Lincoln was kissing him. Lincoln was kissing him. Underwater. Surrounded by dozens of cheerful families that filled the shores of the lake, sun bathing, chatting and laughing. It hit him like a freight train and he slung his arms around Lincoln’s neck and pulled them closer together. Now he could taste Lincoln’s lips and tongue, half in public, yet still hidden. Brackish water seemed to invade way too quickly and they both resurfaced sputtering.

Just the shortest impression of light and blue sky, Michael closed his eyes sucking in air, still feeling Lincoln’s fingertips against his back and Lincoln’s breath against his shoulder. A half-forgotten image of a stop watch danced on his mind. 85 seconds, that was what the coach had told him, together with the flippant remark that Michael wasn’t made for the anxieties of sports competitions anyway. Here he was, in the middle of a lake, blinking against the burning sun, gulping down air like his life depended on it, right here, right now.

When Lincoln tugged at his elbow he pushed himself half out of the water with a stroke of his arms and fell backward, fountains of water splashing high as his shoulder blades struck the surface. Water clashed over his head and he turned. Using sharp strokes he pushed further into the gloomier depths.

Even with his body in motion, thoughts raced through his mind, like maddened ants. They scrambled off in every direction, intent on informing him about everything except the situation at hand. He tried to push them back and sank deeper. 12 minutes. The estimated time your brain can survive without fresh oxygen. Of course you would pass out much sooner than that.

He turned around and saw Lincoln following right after him in strong, sure moves. Constant motion, constant motion to make sure they didn’t drift back up again. They faced each other underwater, perfect stillness, distance and proportions diluted by the water. Lincoln grinned at him, extended his arm and when it reached Michael’s shoulder his mind went crazy again.

24 square miles. The area of Lake Wildwood. A strong hand roughly grabbed him behind his neck and he didn’t resist when he was pulled against Lincoln’s chest. 2432. The number of inhabitants of the small Wildwood community, with its true population, the winter months, equaling only one tenth of the people there now. Two thumbs pressed under his chin and forced his face upwards as Lincoln’s lips grazed him. They drew a line from his temple downwards, nibbled the skin over the right eyebrow, and there was touch, and *heat* and loss when Lincoln pulled away only to return and kiss him for real. And then the world tilted.

33 feet, the deepest spot of the lake and the maximum amount of distance between them and the ground. 66,000,000 gallons, the rough amount of water surrounding them. 5523, the number of days they had known each other. Probingly he felt Lincoln’s lips press against his again, they teased and nibbled at his bottom lip and all he wanted was to be purged and be opened. The tip of a tongue urged against the corner of his mouth, and turning his head he welcomed it. He started shivering when it slid inside and then *stroked*, kissed and licked inside of him.. Trashing around, he tried to hold tight and to rub every part of his body against Lincoln all at once. They spun around fast as they descended deeper.

Suddenly, Lincoln giggled and the world around them exploded into tiny white bubbles. Stunned, Michael felt the loss of contact as an almost physical pain when Lincoln disentangled himself and pushed toward the surface. He bit the insides of his cheeks to counter the sting of his tingling limbs that burnt wherever Lincoln was no longer touching him. With his heart thumping wildly he too pushed his way upwards towards the light.

He resurfaced next and there was Lincoln, laughing, shaking the water out of his ears and waving, like nothing had happened at all. On the shore, Rebecca, Lincoln’s current summer flame, returned the greeting, a blur of red and pink. She formed a hollow with her hands and hollered: ”What’s up with you? Don’t you be killing each other out there!” – “Maybe I should be killing you instead!” And off he dove toward her as she squealed and ran through the water at knee depth, raising fountains with each plunge.

Seeing Lincoln part the water in fast, perfect butterfly strokes just made Michael’s forbidden erection strain harder against his swimming trunks. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly as he fought to suppress his warring emotions. Lincoln was Lincoln, and he was never going to change. Giving in to that thought, Michael made his way back towards the beach.

It didn’t occur to him till later that he had had his first real kiss and he didn’t even get to enjoy it.

“Help Me.”
Things Michael Did Not Say
Book of Michael, 1990

Swimming, he reached the shore, but instead of making his way out, he remained kneeling, half immersed in the water. He couldn’t let anybody see him like this, couldn’t let them notice his current condition. Lincoln had arrived first and was laughing as he wrestled Rebecca to the ground, holding her wrists with one hand and tracing the side of her breast with the other. Michael could see her mouth move under smiles, probably reminding Lincoln that they were still surrounded by dozens of other guests. He had to look away.

Yet he could still hear them, giggling and necking. Closing his eyes he tried to will away the ache between his legs. Shouldn’t it be some sort of medical impossibility to have a hard-on and blush at the same time? Yet here he was trying to get rid of what Lincoln’s idiotic practical joke had caused.

The noises quieted down and Michael dared to look up again. Standing on the beach Lincoln extended his hands towards him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you.”

Anger flared up inside of him and he stared right past Lincoln. Well, no use staying in the water any longer, he thought, and stomped out.

”Come on, just talk to me, Michael.”

“You don’t get it, you just don’t get it,” he spit out.

Lincoln’s hand on his arm stopped him. “How am I supposed to know what’s wrong if you won’t talk to me?” One hand rested on his shoulder now, while the other caressed Michael’s neck. Was Lincoln really that dense? They were standing so close together he was staring right down on Lincoln’s toes in the sand. He collected himself and looked up to meet Lincoln’s gaze. “You really don’t have a fucking clue.” He pushed Lincoln’s hands away and walked away. “Michael, Mike, just talk to me, “ Lincoln pleaded.

Michael quickly walked towards a small patch of firs and stepped inside. It was darker between the trees and it gave them a minimum of privacy. Michael sat down and leaned against the tree trunk. He pretended not to look when Lincoln knelt down in front of him. His hands restlessly attacked the small turf of grass next to him and he hoped the tree’s shade would hide the rosiness of his cheeks at least partially.

“It was my first, “ he finally blurted out.


“You can’t be serious. Michael, you’re…”

“I *know* how old I am. It just never came up before and besides, it’s none of your business.” He could already feel his blush deepen. “And not everybody starts trolling for teachers at age twelve, like you.” It was a low blow, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction it gave him to finally have said that. Still, insults weren’t going to help them. He sighed and drooped over until he was lying down. Face on the warm, dry earth, he racked his fingers through the remaining, much-abused patch of grass in front of him. “But that isn’t the problem here.”

His thoughts jumped up and down, as he tried to form them into words. It was hard to talk about it, even to Lincoln. In the end, no-one would truly understand. Even aside from his ill-fated childish hero worship of his older brother, there was more to the situation. Something that irked him on a most fundamental level.

“You, you wouldn’t understand,” he finally said.

“Try me,” Lincoln replied softly, the guilt over what had happened etched clearly in his face.

“You…” the remaining blades of grass were no match for Michael’s restless fingers. “You didn’t finish it. I didn’t even get to…” his voice trailed off again. Lincoln was closer to him than any other person in the world. But in the end everybody who didn’t live in his head was a stranger. And how to explain to a stranger that his mind rattled like an old steam factory, crowned by a huge blinking sign insisting that something had been forgotten. “I need it all. I need to know all of it. I didn’t get the time to truly experience it. You left it unfinished in there and now I don’t know what to do.” He hated how crazy he sounded, even to his own ears.

Lincoln looked down on the dry forest floor. “Maybe I could find you somebody. Somebody to give you a real first kiss. There’s lots of girls around here at the lake. I don’t want to mess this up for you.”

Michael scoffed. “No, you’re the one who started it. If somebody else did it, wouldn’t be the same.”

“I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Yes, “ Michael replied unsympathetically.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

He stared at Lincoln, seriously contemplating the offer for a split second. No, it wouldn’t be the same. “Screw it. There’s nothing you can do,” he hissed through clenched teeth and brushed past Lincoln, walking back to the camping area. Lincoln sighed, and followed soon after.

“I’m not sorry.”
Things Michael Did Not Say
Book of Michael, 1990

The diner was a fifteen minute walk if you cut directly through the woods, and Rebecca had led the way. The curtains were stained and the tables dirty, but the food was cheap. A group of Rebecca’s friends had joined them, shamelessly cheerful and owning the space around them. They chatted away amiably as they tried to decide on plans for the evening. A movie was brought up, a booze and bonfire party two hours down south (the mention of that made Lincoln’s eyes sparkle a bit), and even a horse show.

Michael refused to join the conversation and played listlessly with his food. He hadn’t talked to Lincoln since storming out on him earlier and he felt even less inclined to get into a conversation with people he neither knew nor cared about. Elbows drawn in close, he tried to edge away as far as possible. Every once in a while he would glance over, watching how Rebecca’s hand rested on his brother’s knee. From time to time Lincoln would put his hand on hers, their fingers tangling and untangling in a secret dance.

“What do you think, Michael? Up for a little trip?” Lincoln asked sweetly. Michael winced, having been caught staring. Pointedly he cleared his throat. “Do whatever you like. I’m not going.”

He expected Lincoln to put up a fight over this. Usually Michael’s unwillingness to spend time with Lincoln’s friends would inspire endless lectures, but this time Lincoln just gave him a long look before turning his attention back to his newfound acquaintances.

So Michael went back to drawing confused shapes in his scrambled eggs. His whole body was still ringing with confusion, not having accepted that their little encounter was really, truly over. He tried his best to will his body back into calmness while at the same time screening out the lively discussion next to him.

He wasn’t prepared when Lincoln reached over, grabbed his leg with one hand and pulled him over, forcing him to sit closer and closing the gap between them. Lincoln didn’t even turn around when he did it. And he did not take his hand away.

Michael stared down at the hand on his leg as if it were an obscure creature. But when Lincoln did not remove it, he reached and tentatively touched it with his own. Michael blushed furiously when Lincoln’s hand whipped around and caught his fingers, keeping them in place. He could feel Lincoln’s rough thumb softly stroking against his palm, trying to soothe and when he looked up Lincoln just grinned and winked at him.

A prickling sensation started to spread out somewhere between his shoulder blades, and he felt so foolish to be sitting here, waiting and secretly holding hands with his brother with a girl right on the other side. Lincoln didn’t seem to be bothered at the least. He followed the discussion and occasionally pulled his hand from the girl’s grasp to gesticulate broadly, before dropping it back into his lap, recapturing her hand in his.

Finally the conversation was trickling to an end and the group was readying to leave. Rebecca got up to join them and turned around when Lincoln stayed put in his seat. “Aren’t you coming?”

Lincoln shook his head. “No,” he lightly squeezed Michael’s hand under the table. “I’m staying with Michael.”

“I thought you wanted to come, “ She said, her voice one trace too shrill for comfort, but her friends whisked her away before she could utter a serious protest. “See you tomorrow?” Lincoln called after her, but she was gone too quickly for him to get a reply.

“Well, I know where she lives. I’ll catch up with her eventually,” Lincoln murmured, half to himself. He smoothly withdrew his hand from Michael’s and switched seats so they were now facing each other, table between them. Absent mindedly Lincoln started playing with the beer in his hand. “You don’t like her.” It was more a statement than a question.

Michael couldn’t hide his smile, so he didn’t even bother trying and instead beamed directly at Lincoln.

“No, I don’t.”

“She’s just a summer girl.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so light-hearted over this, when he’d been so determined to stay angry at his often slightly self-absorbed, aggravating brother. After all, it was entirely Lincoln’s fault. And yet… Michael was no longer mad.

“That thing we did,“ Lincoln started again.

“You mean the thing you did,” Michael shot back pleasantly and grinned when Lincoln rolled his eyes.

Lincoln leaned on the table and massaged the back of his neck disjointedly. “Yes, the thing I did … what I’m trying to say is that this is like when Captain America ran into Silver Fire in Avengers 231 and….” Michael sat in mounting horror as his brother launched into a long-winded metaphor about time travel, superheroes and personal responsibility.

“Lincoln, it’s okay. I don’t care.”

“But I care, “ Lincoln insisted. They fell back into silence.

Michael wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. It was obvious that Lincoln was very troubled and he wished he could do something to alleviate his brother’s guilt. Slowly he extended his hand and tipped one finger against Lincoln’s hand. Lincoln drew it back like he’d been burned. He stared at Michael for a moment and then looked for the waitress and, after a quick inventory of the money they had left, asked for three shots. Michael automatically wanted to chide Lincoln for wasting their already paltry funds, but the strange look of determination in Lincoln’s eyes as he lined up the snifters stopped him. Lincoln looked at him with serious eyes.

“You’ll find the way, for both of us, right?”

Something inside his belly curled in anticipation and Michael nodded. Patiently he watched as Lincoln knocked back the shots and then grabbed his arm for support.

“Let’s go, baby boy.”

“You are the only one I trust.”
Things Michael Did Not Say
Book of Michael, 1990

He sighed and melted against Lincoln. His arms were up against a broad, ancient willow tree, reaching for support and Lincoln trailed the inside of his biceps with his fingers. It was like being caught in a dream. He was being kissed. Kissed the way Lincoln normally kissed girls, all lazy and dominant and so damn beautiful.

The stars were bright above them, so much clearer and brighter than anything you could ever see in the city. He tried to stop his brain from dissecting the moment, from breaking it down into millions of fractured details. Relaxing his jaw, Michael willed himself to give in, trying to live it with his whole body and soul. He wanted to commemorate the emotion in its purest form. The searing feeling of the kiss poured into him, moving through him from everywhere, reaching and filling every part of him. His brain fought to describe and supplied planes of moving color. The kiss was a sea of floating red behind Michael’s eyes. Splotches of dark green exploded inside it, every time Lincoln’s tongue stroked his. Golden stripes cut through it as Lincoln’s nails dragged up his back. Everything about Lincoln, his scent, the feeling of his bulky frame against Michael’s body, it all bled into the already existing mixture, creating new combinations and being lost again in a swirling vortex.

For a moment Michael steeled himself against the onslaught of sensation, only to remind himself that it was what he wanted. Never breaking their kiss, he wrapped his legs around Lincoln’s waist, ignoring the tree’s bumpy bark biting into his back as he was sandwiched between it and his brother as Lincoln stepped close to keep him from falling. Clawing at Lincoln’s shirt, he fought to regain his concentration and he submerged himself back into the dripping, pulsating waves of color. Like a reluctant, deadly poison seeping into his blood, Lincoln’s fingers drew maddeningly slow circles against his shoulder, over and over again until they left and stroked down his side. Suddenly they seemed to be everywhere at once and he bucked frantically against Lincoln. There wasn’t supposed to be this much feeling. Nothing so simple should ever feel like this. Every part of his body that Lincoln’s fingertips brushed over seemed to come alive and strain towards that ache, that touch. He was being broken down, losing control over his limbs bit by bit. And then the blood red haze was replaced by pulsating white heat. Michael was sucked into it and when he came—suddenly, unexpectedly-- it felt like he was drowning in the colors. His world tumbled and then he lay bonelessly against Lincoln’s chest, his body shivering from the aftermath.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Lincoln chuckled, placing a soft, wet kiss against Michael’s cheek.

Michael opened his mouth, whether to utter agreement or protest, he wasn’t sure. Instead he closed his eyes and slumped into Lincoln’s shoulder. Lincoln chuckled again and soothingly stroked the back of Michael’s neck. “You weird me out sometimes,” he said finally.

“More so than usual?” Michael murmured against Lincoln’s shirt, not wanting to give up the drowsiness that filled his body.

“Yeah, more so than usual,” Lincoln chuckled, but then he got serious again and drew Michael into a closer embrace. “There is something…foreign about you.” He paused. “It scares me.”

Michael stiffened and slowly pushed himself away from Lincoln. Fiddling with the pockets of his jeans he leaned back against the tree. He bit the insides of his cheeks again before replying “Well, I just brought myself off against your hip. I guess that gives you the right to be weirded out.”

Lincoln blushed. “I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t freaked out a little, but …. it’s not that,” he said, almost as if he was defending what they had just done. “You’re a horny teenager. Nobody is blaming you. It’s just…,” he looked away. “You like it too much.”

Michael froze. He wasn’t sure how it had felt. It had been good, but it still wasn’t enough. It still wasn’t normal. “Let’s just get back to the tent,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Don’t end this.”
Things Michael Did Not Say
Book of Michael, 1990

His back ached in protest as he knelt down in the sand. Carefully he dipped his jeans and boxers in the water, washing out their reminders of what had just happened in the woods. He would hang them out to dry overnight, and tomorrow no visible proof of his insanity would be left.

He pretended not to notice when Lincoln came and got down beside him.

“Uhm, you alright?”

“Yeah, just let me get this cleaned up.” His fingers traced the inside of the zipper, again checking for any traces he might have missed. He knew it was irrational. His boxers had caught the worst of it, and he had scrubbed them twice already, but he couldn’t stop himself from checking.

“I just want to feel like normal person,” he whispered to no one in particular.

“Maybe some people aren’t meant to be normal.” Lincoln offered. Hesitating for the shortest moment, he put one hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Maybe you’re better than normal.”

Michael frowned and kept tracing the seams, cleaning them for the sixth time in row now. “You go ahead. I’ll be inside in a minute,” he murmured, his focus elsewhere. He listened to the creaking of Lincoln’s bones as he got up and the rustling of nylon as the flap of their tent was opened.

Sighing he collected his clothes and traded them for a pair of sweatpants they had hung on the branches of the nearest tree early this morning. This morning, when things had still been normal. At least comparatively normal-- as normal as life could ever be for him. He made his way back into the tent, and his entrance sent the flashlight hanging from the ceiling spinning. Lincoln was all spread out, taking up all the space and Michael nudged him over before getting down beside him. Possessively, he grabbed Lincoln’s arm and rested his head on it.

“I’m not gonna let you sleep on it. It’s just going to get numb,” Lincoln said, his voice rich with amusement. How could Lincoln be so at ease with this, when the events of the last few hours had so thoroughly rocked Michael’s world? Maybe that’s how normal people worked and it was just Michael’s brain again, picking and picking and obsessing till nothing was left.

Sighing, he leaned in and pressed his thumb into the hollow of Lincoln’s elbow, feeling the pulse surge underneath. Then he moved his head to place a kiss further underneath. You are not supposed to do this with your brother, a tiny voice inside his head insisted. And though he had nothing to offer in return he just opened his mouth to explore the flesh underneath with his lips and tongue. He tried to memorize Lincoln’s taste and the feel of tiny hairs rasping against his tongue. His teeth nipping at the soft skin opening a floodgate for information on texture and consistency. Body. A living, breathing, human body, just for him.

He felt Lincoln’s hand pressing against his shoulder inquiringly. “What are you doing, Mikey?”

“It’s a brain thing,” he murmured and for the most part it wasn’t even a lie. He pulled Lincoln’s hand towards himself and started kissing the knuckles. Eyes closed, he could concentrate fully on the task, stroking them wetly with his tongue and sometimes scraping them with his teeth. He flipped the hand around and licked his way down the palm before attaching his mouth to the inside of the wrist and sucking fiercely.

He heard Lincoln’s shocked gasp and felt his own body responding in kind. Before either of them could analyze the situation enough he quickly spun around and straddled Lincoln’s midriff. His hand found Lincoln’s neck and he leaned forward to stifle any attempt of protest in a kiss. Interesting, his mind remarked, finding pleasure not through personal gratification, but through studying and reveling in the enjoyment of others. This was a different kind of satisfaction—having it be about the other person.

His hands roamed up and down Lincoln’s chest and his brother’s body moved under his hands like a well-oiled machine. Every stroke, every touch evoked a response. Michael wanted them, wanted all of them. He wanted to sink his fingers into every crease, explore every rise and indentation. He was getting giddy with the power of it. The body below him trembled and twitched and he just closed his eyes and rode with it. Like sailing a stormy sea. No-- like taming a wild animal, he thought as he licked his way up to the hollow under Lincoln’s collarbone. Every moan, every tensing of muscle, every ripple of Lincoln’s abdomen, every stream of surprised obscenities was being caused by him. He was figuring out all the weak spots, studying the object at hand. “Mine, “ he whispered against a spot right over Lincoln’s heart, “All mine”.

Lincoln’s strangled response was a primeval singsong in his ears and he dared to look up from his work and sneak a peak at Lincoln’s face. His heart skipped a beat. Seeing the result of his actions-- Lincoln’s face flushed and his eyes clouded by desire mixed with confusion-- sucked the air right out of his lungs and sent a shock through his body. All his. Never had he imagined that one day Lincoln, or anybody, would be looking at him like that. He was so hungry for this new experience. Placing his palms flat on Lincoln’s chest he experimentally rocked his hips back and forth, taking just a little bit of pleasure for himself.

Shyly he looked up again and his eyes were drawn to Lincoln’s appealingly slightly parted lips. The air around them seemed to be bristling with energy and he was filled the sudden need to touch, to seize. But when he reached for Lincoln’s face, Lincoln’s hands shot up and caught Michael’s hands before they could reach their intended goal. They struggled quietly, only their labored breathing filling the space between them. Michael was not yet ready to relinquish his control.

He fought to keep his position and tried to force Lincoln’s hands back on the sleeping pad below, futilely. Lincoln was stronger and more experienced than him and quickly grabbed his arms. Expertly he twisted them behind Michael’s back and rolled the two of them over. Michael bucked wildly against him and struggled against Lincoln’s grasp, still intent on keeping as much contact with Lincoln as possible.

He was rudely ripped out of his concentration when Lincoln grabbed his shoulders and slammed him back onto the mattress in a way that sent his ears ringing. Wide-eyed, he stared up at Lincoln, confused about what he’d done wrong.

The light above them was still spinning wildly and he could see that Lincoln was working hard to calm himself down. When he opened his eyes again they were still heavy with unbridled lust, but when he started to speak Michael could hear the anger lurking underneath as he battled to slowly spit out the words one by one.

“What… what *the fuck* are you doing? Who do you think I am? Your private little guinea pig?” He started shaking Michael’s shoulders. “Talk to me, dammit.” Michael blinked against the dancing light above them, but before he could open his mouth to respond, not that he really had a good answer anyway, the anger dissipated from Lincoln’s face. Why do people change their moods so suddenly? Michael wondered, when Lincoln leaned down and started to tenderly stroke Michael’s cheek. “What on earth are we going to do, Mikey?” Lincoln whispered.

Michael could feel the pain and fury radiating off his brother’s body. He’d never seen Lincoln’s face so open, so helpless; No, that wasn’t true, there had been this one time he’d fallen off the rock wall at the playground. He’d been out of it for a second and when he’d opened his eyes again Lincoln had been right over him, screaming for somebody to help them. “You got grounded for 4 months.” The words slipped out unbidden.

Lincoln’s mouth hung open for a second and then the expression of shock was replaced by anger. A quick sting across his face and Lincoln’s slap had Michael’s head ringing again. Before he could place a calming hand on Lincoln’s shoulder, Lincoln pushed him away and got up. He stared down at Michael, his expression switching back and forth between helplessness and anger before settling on a determined scowl. Shoving Michael way, Lincoln almost ripped his way out of the tent and stepped out into the night.

Things Michael Did Not Say
Book of Michael, 1990

For a while Michael didn’t even dare to move. But he realized that he couldn’t stay inside forever. He had to talk to Lincoln. After collecting himself for a minute, Michael breathed in deeply and followed Lincoln outside.

His brother hadn’t made it far. He was standing outside in the dark, barely five steps away from the tent. His hands were on his hips and his head was thrown back, his gaze caught somewhere between the stars. Michael approached quietly and paused. He had no idea what Lincoln was going to do. Tentatively he put one hand against Lincoln’s broad back.

He almost jumped when Lincoln whirled around abruptly in response, but Lincoln caught him and gripped his shoulders before he could shrink away. Michael tensed.

“What you do want, Michael? What do you want?” Lincoln asked hoarsely. He cupped Michael’s face with both hands and tilted it upwards, forcing Michael to face him. “Are you fucking nuts? Do you want us to have sex?” Lincoln’s voice cracked and it took him a moment to collect himself. “Are you saying that… Do you want this to…do you want me to be your first?”

Michael’s eyes widened in shock. He had never even thought that far ahead. As he looked up into his brother’s worried face the events of the last few days flickered through his mind. His thoughts spilled farther beyond that into the last few years-- across his whole life for that matter — and he asked wondered, did he really want this? Was he really ready to be gay? Ready to forever carry the blemish around with him that his first time had been with his brother? Was he even ready to have sex?

For as long as he could remember, his mind had equated Lincoln with sex, experience, virility. He had never felt like he was suffering from a lack of social life, because he had been there through it all. He had sat with Lincoln through every girl, every heartache, every break up. Maybe this was the message of everything that had happened. He had to stop living through his older brother. He was finally at that age where he needed to go out and make his own experiences.

He looked up into Lincoln’s eyes and saw his own insecurity mirrored there. “No, “ he finally whispered. He cleared his throat and repeated more firmly. “No. I don’t think so.”

Michael thought he saw a glimpse of disappointment flash across Lincoln’s face, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure. He felt Lincoln’s hands slide off his face and down to his shoulders and neither of them said anything for a while.

“We…we are okay, right?” he managed to squeezed out.

Lincoln’s looked at him, flabbergasted, “Of couse, Mikey, “ he said, absentmindedly stroking up and down Michael’s arms, “Of course we’re okay.” He drew Michael into a tight hug, the strength of it voicing its own apology. His kiss got lost somewhere in Michael’s hair, just right above his ear as he pressed Michael close to his chest. “No matter what happens, we’ll always be brothers.”

Michael smiled weakly and that was that.
Tags: fic, m/l
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