Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break or any of its characters.
Author's Note: Written for motioncity44's challenge at the scofieldsucre community on livejournal. I've also discovered that I can't write slash and talk to my brother Tannim at the same time. There's just something fundamentally wrong with trying.
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Fox River is a prison, a deathtrap for his brother, but Michael finds himself reluctant to leave. The task, the art of escaping is fascinating and frightening, given that Lincoln's life hinges on what Michael does or does not do. It's a puzzle more complex than anything that can be subdivided into 500 individual pieces and packaged in a box, and that appeals to the part of Michael that is nothing but pure intellect.
By now, he figures he should have the impulse to get out hard-wired into his instincts after a childhood of wanting to flee foster families, group homes, overcrowded crackhouses that were usually the only places Lincoln could find for them to stay in the winter. Small spaces and too many strangers: prison seems designed to trip all his half-buried phobias.
Michael should be clawing the walls with the primal urge to escape, but he isn't. What's on the other side of the barbed wire is a gigantic unknown for him and the man he's twisted up with right now. Sucre's head is pressed into his shoulder as they lie on their sides on the narrow bunk, arms and legs tangled around one another, the skin between them warm and sticky with sweat and come.
When they're no longer confined to this small space, will Sucre still want the brush of Michael's lips against his own, the graze of Michael's teeth against his neck, the feel of Michael's hand around his dick? He runs a hand over his cellie's muscular back and closes his eyes as he tries not to think about that inevitable point when he and Sucre will have to say good-bye.