Spoilers: General S2, mentions of Chicago.
Warning : Beware of the big bad crackfic.
A/N: Thanks to becoolbec for beta-reading.
This is really, really silly... I was going for angsty and look where it got me. The thing's just got a mind of its own.
Kicking off his shoes, he thought, not for the first time, he might finally have hit rock bottom. Few things in life can get worse when you are an escaped convict, sentenced to death, no less, sharing twin beds with a former secret service agent who once tried to kill you. And would undoubtedly try again in the near future, whenever there would be enough in it for him. He never stopped shooting daggers at the other man while they wordlessly undressed and laid down for an overdue night of sleep, not before warning each other that any snoring might be punished by a bullet to the head.
The next morning, Lincoln had to reassess. There were definitely far worse things in life than just being stuck here. Namely: being an escaped death row inmate sharing a cheap motel room in the middle of nowhere with a trigger-happy former agent, while your brother's having the time of his life with his new girlfriend in the next room. All. Fucking. Night. Long.
Not that he was opposed to the idea of Michael getting some. God knew he needed it, badly. But the walls were thin and the two of them were making all sorts of noises and telling each other any number of things Lincoln wished he'd never, ever heard. From anyone, let alone his little brother. There are some things you shouldn't know about your siblings. And he was probably never gonna be able to look at the Doc again without thinking... things. Sex things.
Not that it would be the first time. For months, she was virtually the only hot woman to get close to him. To touch him occasionally, however innocently. But she was Michael's girl now and having these thoughts and fantasies about the Doc suddenly felt wrong. Guilt-inducing wrong. These past few days, he'd been catching himself having those wrong thoughts many, many times and it was starting to get to his nerves.
He heard Kellerman stretch and shuddered at the thought that the untrustworthy bastard had probably eavesdropped on the same intimate sounds he had. They wouldn't mention it of course, they barely said a word to each other or even acknowledged the other's presence. But when the agent got up and retired to the bathroom, Linc noticed his cocky grin and got the feeling the situation entertained him thoroughly.
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They joined the couple for a quick breakfast in the awfully-lit diner next to the motel. When they entered, Sara whispered something in Michael's ear and the two started giggling, looking so happy it was positively sickening. Lincoln thought it was only a matter of time before they started tickling each other in the middle of the diner. And though it was nice to finally see his younger brother happy and carefree, if only for a moment, he was getting ready to scold him with the full force of his sleep-deprivation induced wrath. He didn't need to, in the end, because the second Kellerman sat opposite to Sara, she straightened herself and her face grew slightly serious and guarded.
Lincoln was idly chewing on his muffin when he realised his eyes were glued to Sara's low V-neck and he'd just been mentally tracing the curves of her breasts for several minutes. Thank God the girl seemed oblivious to everything but Michael in her maddening post-coital trance. He lowered his head and shook it slightly to get rid of the offensive thought. The worse thing was that, when he looked up, Kellerman turned to smirk at him knowingly.
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Lincoln was bored and aggravated. They had been driving for a couple of hours in complete silence except for the monotone voices on the radio and the occasional love sound coming from the two poor-mannered, horny teenagers sprawled across the backseats. Just bored would be alright, but he had to make do with the offensive show that kept catching his eyes in the rear-view mirror.
They had been so close to the proof they were after in Chicago he could still taste it. Now, they were back to square one. Kellerman had arranged for a new safe house for the four of them to stay until they found a new lead. He wasn't really fond of the idea of Paul, as he insisted on being called, arranging everything.
He caught a flash of a pale and freckled shoulder when Sara's sleeve slipped slightly to the side, as she angled herself to let Michael devour her throat unabashedly. Great. Nothing like being on the run with a raging hard-on. Lincoln rearranged is casual posture, his foot carelessly thrown on the dashboard allowing him to conceal the way the throaty murmurs emerging from the backseats were affecting him.
A whisper, a muffled moan.
"Okay, that's it, children. Michael, you drive. Now. Pull over," he barked to the positively jolly man sitting in the driver's seat.
"But after Kellerman, it should be your turn!"
"Not anymore, it's not," he replied, turning to shoot his most effective death glare to the grinning idiot behind him.
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"What do you think I am, a girlfriend-sitter?"
"Look, someone's got to go with him to figure this shit out," Michael replied, gesturing to a very self-satisfied looking Kellerman, "and somehow I don't think raw force is what we need here."
"That's how it's gonna be now? You get me out of jail and suddenly, you get all the action while I stay home to do the dishes? You've got to be fucking kidding me."
"You think you're gonna manage?" Kellerman asked, his most sarcastic smile firmly in place.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, I think you know."
Michael raised an eyebrow questionningly, but the look his brother shot him in response told him to drop it.
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He couldn't remember a more awkward evening in his life. Ever. He was sitting on the couch, pretending to watch TV, while Sara was comfortably sprawled in a nearby armchair, skimming through a magazine. He was trying unsuccessfully to focus on the inept movie, but his eyes kept shooting back to the delicate ankles and generous cleavage her casual clothes insisted on displaying. Somehow, knowing exactly how the woman sounded when she reached orgasm didn't help him to settle down.
Everytime she lifted her eyes, his head snapped back to face the TV. He wasn't sure she had noticed his constant gawking and hoped to God he would manage to keep his hormones in check before she did. Just then, she moved her arm and his mouth fell open. He was transfixed by the sight of a lacy white bra stap staring back at him defiantly.
This time, she noticed. He knew, because her face instantly turned the brightest shade of red he'd ever witnessed on a human face as she self-consciously readjusted her clothes in a panicked rush.
Great. Lincoln Burrows, escaped convict, certified thug and ladies man, had just been caught ogling his brother's girlfriend like he had never seen a woman before in his life. And at the moment, he certainly couldn't get up to retreat to the relative safety of his room.
"I, err..."
"You know what? I think I'm going to go to bed. Goodnight, Lincoln" she squeaked before running to her room like she had an army blood-thirsty feds coming after her.
"Yep, I can manage alright," he mumbled. He only wished, for his own sake, that the perceptive bastard who had arranged for this little humiliation to take place wouldn't magically guess he had fucked up the second he stepped back in.
All the while knowing he absolutely would.