Chapter Text
It wasn't like he wasn't welcome. It wasn't like he was breaking in. He had a key. Just because he'd never used it, doesn't mean he shouldn't use it. He wasn't really stopping by, though, he reminded himself. He paced the rich, eggshell tinted carpet that lined the lavish hallway of penthouses before his brother's door for what seemed like hours as he reasoned it out in his mind. It wasn't about whether or not he would be well-received, it was about his pride. Could he tell Michael, again, that he needed his help cleaning up another stupid mistake, again? This had been the longest streak he'd had keeping his problems far from home.
Lincoln had long ago admitted to himself that he wasn't as clever or strategic as Michael, even being the eldest sibling who was supposed to be in control. He was forced to face that he couldn't take care of things as he was being shuttled off to juvie every six to eight months, and poor Michael was being shuffled through foster families when he was still just a child. Lincoln was only thankful that he wasn't around to be a bad influence when he'd received a picture of Michael with his Master's degree through a trusted friend's PO Box. The letter that came with it contained only an address, and a key with the note: In case you ever need it.
Typical Michael to be the shelter to Lincoln's storms. Typical Lincoln to slosh up the waves for Michael to try and outrun for them both.
In case I need it, Lincoln repeated the words to his inner reluctance, remembering his brother's handwriting. Calm and structured, strong and confident. Lincoln needed it. He always needed Michael. He put the key to the door, and turned the knob.
The apartment was imposing, and for a second, Lincoln felt a sharp pang of jealousy mingle with the awe. An old, thin mat directly on the floor of a walk-in closet had been Lincoln's home for the past three months, and now that he couldn't go back there... Well, he just hoped that Michael would let him stay for a couple of days without too many questions until he figured out what to do. Everything was in its place, just as it would be in Michael's home, but he didn't appear to be there. The house was lonely, only the lights glittering off the city past the parted vertical blinds coming through floor-to-ceiling windows lit the way.
And then Lincoln heard it. A faint sigh, and then a sharp gasp. Then a moan. Lincoln felt absurd. He hadn't ever considered that his brother could be entertaining a guest. Or, the way it sounded, a guest would be entertaining him. Lincoln tried to stop himself, but his legs carried him closer to the back of the house, closer to the sound. Unmistakeable slurping and sipping, Lincoln kind of felt his heart swell with pride at the notion of his little bro getting some head. Reflecting on things, he realized he'd never gotten the opportunity to talk to Michael about girls, or sex, when they were younger, and he hadn't ever heard him talk about a potential girlfriend. It felt kind of like learning the long overdue secret of a teenaged first kiss.
"Oh my god," a low voice howled before another hiss of approval. "God-fucking-dammit."
Lincoln knitted his brows closer together and leant toward the door. The voice was overly-masculine, powerful, and deep; it didn't have the soothing, easy velour of Michael's. He plucked courage from deep beneath his nerves and forced a look inside. A thick, burly man was laid out across the top of the bed, and between his legs, Lincoln's little brother was on all fours facing the doorway. His mouth completely full, he had to be choking out but he made little noise. His eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut, gathering tears of composure under pressure so that they never fell. His head bobbing fiercely, the other man's large hands clasped completely around the back of Michael's skull to ensure that he properly gobbled every inch. Lincoln's eyes widened as he froze for a moment. He swallowed harshly, a thick, dry, lump obstructing his breath, and backed away before being caught lurking.
Lincoln released captive air, but sex sounds now deafened him. Every smack of lips against flesh was an assault on Lincoln's senses and he wanted to get out. If it were Michael being sucked on by a woman that way, he'd have to spy on a voyeur's goldmine principle alone. When he thought that was the case, he had been proud. But seeing Michael like that- so giving, so utterly pornographic... it had completely caught Lincoln off guard. Mostly because that was his baby brother. But, then, there was the part where Lincoln hadn't seen skills like that in a long while, and he'd be lying to his hips if he couldn't admit that it gruesomely turned him on. He'd only gotten so lucky to find a woman who could handle an esophogeal beating so rough when he was hanging out with practiced hookers on the streets. It was arresting to catch Michael that way.
A steady crescendo of gutteral groans snapped Lincoln from his contemplative stupor.
“Jesus Christ.” A pleased, and sated breath escaped shortly after the words.
Lincoln steeled himself and braced his weight against the wall, just far enough away that he couldn't see anything inside the room but the edge of the bed, and the man's hand, clenching Michael's charcoal sheets.
“Gimme a few then I'm gonna go again. I wanna use that ass,” he growled between oxygen starved heaves. “She never lets me come inside her but you let me spill every drop, don't you? You ride it out til you're so sloppy I can't even look at you but you're still begging me for more... fucking slut.”
His voice was muffled, probably against Michael's skin, but he sounded so eager and hungry. Lincoln fumed at how this bastard was speaking, so vigorously demeaning to his little brother, but Michael only responded favorably from the sound of it. Hot, hurried breath cut through the quiet, he could tell they were kissing, and panic seared Lincoln's lungs as he feared they would go further.
Should he leave? Should he interrupt? Should he keep perfectly still until he melted into the decor from the heat of disgrace on his face that rose when he wanted to stay, and see where it went? A cellular ring made the choice for him. He pressed himself into the plaster, but didn't move.
“Are you kidding me?” Michael spat. Lincoln jolted at the fire on Michael's tongue. “Do not answer it.” Each syllable was defined with a sharp staccato.
“Look, I can't just-” the man tried to calm things down a little, but Michael didn't seem to bite, judging on the swiftness he shut up. “Come on, I know this seems to happen every time, but she's my wife. I have to answer it.” He'd dialed back to a slow, even drone, like when you're patronizing a little kid, and the ringing stopped.
“Yes, my love,” he cooed, the gentleness juxtaposing his built-up bulk. Lincoln leaned forward in time to see Michael wince, now sat slumped over himself off the side of the mattress, staring at the floor. Lincoln couldn't help but notice how informally this man had addressed his brother in comparison and he raged. The anger clashed with an ache in Lincoln's heart. The only person he truly, unconditionally cared for didn't seem to believe he deserved being cared for. Lincoln realized that was probably his fault for leaving him on his own so many times in the past.
Lincoln closed his eyes as he heard the motion of rearrangement. “She, uh, we have dinner plans with the kids. Julianne's back from Brown, so... I was looking so forward to this- I forgot and, I have to, ah- I should get going.” Lincoln recognized the shimmy of trouser pants being pulled up and then the zipper, finalizing the arguement. “But, you know I'm grateful. For everything.” A pause dragged agonizingly through the tension in the room. He huffed. “Come on, Scofield. You know I love this, our time together. Your fucking mouth. But you knew what this was gonna be. I have a family. I can't just drop everything for you.”
Michael remained speechless, but Lincoln didn't dare peel his lids back to see him sulking. He hated seeing his brother in pain. He did need to move from that spot though, before Michael's jackass company decided to stroll out of the room, blowing Lincoln's cover and effectively ending his own life. He ducked into what he learned to be a bathroom before he heard the man walk down the hallway, and out of the apartment. Not sure how to continue, Lincoln stood in the void blackness, searching for an answer to his own question: What should I do about this?
On one hand, Lincoln had walked into something he wasn't meant to see, but more importantly, a huge part of Michael's life that he had never shared. On the other, Lincoln knew only that his brother had just been burned. It took everything he had to restrain himself when the snake passed his hiding spot to slither out. But once he was gone, Lincoln just wanted to go to Michael. When he gathered the courage to knock on the bedroom door, he heard the sickeningly familiar sound of Michael's sobs and sniffles fading into his pillow. The same kind he used to catch on occasion in the middle of the night as he'd go in to leave little paper cranes beside Michael's bed to let him know that he'd been there checking on him.
Throwing caution to the wind, and only knowing that he wanted to console the younger, Lincoln spoke. “Michael,” he whispered, just loud enough to be heard.
Michael didn't move though the sound should've been a complete surprise. His shoulders tightened as he hugged the pillow closer to his face and he took a deep breath in, but he didn't turn to look. He was laying with his chest to the mattress, his lower body curled up beside him, and the sheet very barely draped over his still unclothed form. In the darkness Lincoln could only see a silhouette, shaking lightly.
“Michael, why didn't you tell me?” Lincoln asked softly as he sat down, wondering if he should make any attempt to reach out or stay put. Michael still hadn't acknowledged him and he hoped that he hadn't caused anything by showing up unannounced to such a delicate situation.
“That I sleep with married men who work in my office because it's discreet and convenient for both of us? That I'm not ok with being the side-piece but I can't find the courage to be the partner? That I can't love myself because I'm ashamed? That I'm terrified I won't ever be loved because I'm so ashamed? What should I have said?” He tilted his head a bit as he spoke so that Lincoln could hear him, but he wouldn't turn.
Lincoln knew that though he played it collected and controlled, Michael's statement was uncharacteristically bitter and laced with an humiliation that almost scared him. If he had known that his only family was struggling this badly he would've come back before, and for the right reasons.
“I love you,” Lincoln countered quietly, edging a little closer. “I always have, I always will. I'm sorry-” Lincoln hushed himself because he didn't know what to apologize for. There were so, so many things. “I'm just sorry, Mike. I should've been there for you. I should've been here.”
Michael eventually rolled himself over, his watery eyes averting Lincoln's gaze. “You didn't know.”
Embarrassed that Lincoln hadn't known his brother well enough to work it out for himself, and feeling remorse that he was never around enough to have been talked to about it, he broke the silence and reached for Michael's arm, giving it a languid, apologetic stroke. “I should have known.”
A somber break began to grow uneasy as Lincoln could sense Michael rehashing everything to himself.
“So, you work with that asshole?” Lincoln sneered at the thought as he laid himself out a couple feet beside Michael, taking in the balance of soft and firm in the mattress, the plushness of the bedding, the musky smell still thick in the threads...
“He's my boss,” Michael answered numbly. “I've been thinking of a new job.”
“Seriously, the way he talked to you- I wanted to kill that guy. I swear, I could've strangled him.” Lincoln expected classic, contrary Michael; but Michael stayed quiet, letting himself stew in contrition. Lincoln wasn't sure what to do. By this point, Michael was supposed to be dampening the fire with his logic and calling Lincoln off.
“Hey, Michael,” Lincoln stopped cold, wondering if he should really continue with his brotherly jested, but still truly interested, attempt at brightening the mood. “How did you possibly learn to take that without throwing up?”
Lincoln could feel Michael blushing through the dark.