Michael brought the ink pen to his lips and glared at the busted typewriter on his desk. From there his eyes traveled to his ink stained fingers. After messing with the ribbon of the primitive old machine for over forty-five minutes; the brunt of the daggers from his pissed off eyes, he had given up and grabbed a pen and note pad.
He sighed now and tossed them down in front of him. It was hopeless today and he knew it. He glanced down at his leather pants and white t-shirt worn inside out because that was how he had found it in his drawer. Gone were the days when he actually cared about such things. These days he was too busy trying to stay alive to care much about vanity. Beside it went well with his guise; young struggling writer.
Struggling was right. He eyed the pen and paper and sighed. He was a freelance writer for a local newspaper meaning if he didn't finish the article he didn't get paid this week. Anyone who had known him prior to the escape from Fox River wouldn't have thought him the type to write about the local club scene, but then that's why it was perfect.
He glanced anxiously at the clock, and took a deep breath. She wasn't late…yet. He would only worry if she was late…Right. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from the table and shook one out. He had taken up smoking out of nervousness. He lit one up and took a deep pull soothing his nerves.
His eyes moved to the sunglasses he had tossed haphazardly onto the table earlier. He scooped them up and put them on.
"Real cool, Scofield, you rock." He said sarcastically as he stood and made his way to the bed.
He plopped down and slid up on the bed until his head was resting on the one pillow they owned. He reached and pulled the sweaty t-shirt away from his skin. The apartment they called home, while cheap had none of the comforts of a real home, no A/C, no cross breeze, and then there were the rats that kept showing up every now and then.
Sara hated the rats.
Sara...
He took a pull on the cigarette and let his head fall sideways to the door. She still wasn't late, but he was worried anyways. It was at this time every evening he started to worry. She would be leaving the diner soon. He wanted to hop up and go meet her, but she would be pissed if he did show up to walk her the single block from the diner to their apartment.
She would insist that he was the one who was most wanted, not her. She was just a woman working tables. And he had to admit she looked different now. Sara's hair had been darker and shorter when they found each other again, but now her hair was cropped even shorter and dyed an even darker shade of ebony.
He took another pull on the cigarette and closed his eyes under the dark shades. He felt sweat begin to run down his temple. He reached to brush it away, the ink on his fingers leaving just the kiss of a streak on his tanned skin. His shirt was riding up and the small fan that pushed the stale weight of air through the room hit his skin, cooling him slightly.
He pulled the t-shirt up and over his head, letting the fan's waves wash deliciously over his overheated skin. His eyes were getting heavy, his cigarette getting small, the ash grown long about to tip and fall to the floor. He was about to stub it out when Sara pushed the door open.
"Sorry I forgot the secret knock," she said tiredly and shut the door behind her.
He took off the glasses and letting them dangle from his stained fingertips, he watched her as she turned around. She was so beautiful even in her waitress uniform.
"Come 'ere a minute."
Her head jerked towards the bed. A smile lit her eyes as she took in the state of his undress. The leather pants were cut low on his hips and he knew what they did to her. She moved towards him, her purse landing in the one chair they owned besides the one next to the small desk. She ran a hand through her short hair and started unbuttoning her shirt as she advanced. "It's so hot in here."
He leaned and stubbed out the cigarette, and then sat back on his elbows watching her. "It is hot. You should probably take all of those clothes off, Sara."
The grin on his face matched the arousal in his dark eyes, his pupils dilating further as each button popped open with little resistance. Sara licked her lips and he imagined the taste of them on his tongue. He watched as her shirt hit the floor and then she was easing out of the skirt. It hit the floor around her ankles and she stepped out of it leaving her fatigue in the heap of tan material, each step awakening him as well.
She stopped next to him and he stared up at her desire darkened eyes. And then he was reaching for her, pulling her to him. He felt the heaviness of her breasts against him encased in the lacy bra he had insisted she buy despite their lack of funds.
And then he was slipping it from her shoulders, his mouth too eager to refuse.
He liked her straddling him this way, and when she gripped his hands and held them over his head to delve her hot tongue into his mouth he pressed himself hard against her damp panties leaving her gasping into his mouth.
She ran her fingers down the insides of his arms eliciting a shiver through his entire being. And then she was reaching for the button on his pants her able fingers quick with easing down the zipper. He was in her hands before he knew it. She stroked him gently at first, but as he moaned she tightened her grip. He loved the feel of her fingers, tight around him but he ached for more.
"Put me inside of you, Sara."
She smiled and eased up at his demand and then he was encased in her, her tight hotness surrounding him completely, wiping out all thought, all worry, everything but this, everything but her.
She began to move, her thighs damp against his. He watched her as she rose up on him only to thrust back down, sending the wet sensations through him. God she felt so good!
His arms were still above his head but as the need to touch her grew he moved them down. He watched as the sweat rolled lazily down her breasts and then his fingers were trailing them; leaving streaks of ink in their wake.
He grinned and let his dirty fingers move over her abdomen, to her hips, where he gripped her. He would let her move up only to thrust her back down onto him, each thrust harder and more urgent.
He felt her thighs quiver as she moved, the sensations washing over him, pulling him closer to the edge where he knew she was waiting. All he had to do was...
Her moans filled the air and she tightened around him, her muscles contracting until he was gasping and pulling her close.
He held her against him as the waves washed through them, and then they lay still in each others arms, heedless of the heat, the sweat that mingled between them.
The fan was the only sound to their ears and then, "I couldn't write today."
Sara kissed him softly and raised her head. "It's okay; I made quite a bit in tips tonight."
He grinned as she rose up off of him, his eyes moving over the black streaks on her fair skin. She noticed him staring and looked down at her chest and then at his tattoos.
"Don't tell me those things are fading now?" She said around a grin.
He just laughed and showed her his hands.