Night Thoughts
These thoughts, these night thoughts – they were just a habit, just an addiction. Like the morphine. But hadn't she kicked that? Hadn't she won?
It was just a way to hide the pain.
This time, however, it was different. This time the temptation couldn't be locked away out of sight. This time the temptation was there every day, in her office, and when he wasn't there physically she was looking for him. When she walked the corridors, or passed through the yard, she was seeking him out without realising it. Every single one of those men in their blue prison issue shirts could make her breath catch in her chest if she caught sight of them out of the corner of her eye, because for a moment, just a tiny split second, there was the chance they could be him.
They could be...
Michael.
She whispered his name on an exhale and closed her eyes so tightly that she began to see the bright white flare of lights that weren't there.
She opened them again and stared up into the darkness of her room. She could see the red lights of the clock radio in her peripheral vision – 3:47AM.
What would he be doing now? Was he asleep? Was he lying in bed thinking of her? Was he...
She felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought. She imagined those long fingers of his, graceful and tentative. She imagined how they might look running down his body beneath the covers as hers did now.
She imagined how he would taste, if only she could kiss him. She had imagined the feel of his lips so many times that more often than not she had to remind herself that what had happened in her imagination was nothing more than a fantasy. It wasn't real.
But it felt real at 3AM with the heavy heat of the city pushing down upon her, smothering her. Every night she would kick off the sheets, she would toss and turn, listening to the hum and blare of the city beyond the single pane of glass.
In the beginning she would pretend to be asleep. She would try deep breathing, imagining every inch of herself relaxing, falling, falling... but now she didn't deny herself the pleasure of her thoughts. Now, as every other night, she allowed herself to be taken by him. She would close her eyes and roll her head back against the pillow, and she would imagine...
Michael.
He was there, on the chair by her desk, waiting whilst she prepared the needle as she did every day. She had chastised him for something; a look, a comment...
He smiled that smile at her and she swallowed. Hard.
Sometimes they would talk, sometimes he would win her over with his words, but sometimes, like tonight, all it took was that look in his eyes when she stood up to take his blood.
He looked up at her, and she paused. She couldn't bring herself to touch him.
You alright?
She nodded, dumb.
Then he stood, slowly, took the needle from her hand and placed it back in the grey cardboard tray.
He rolled up his sleeves to reveal those beautiful tattooed forearms, and then without barely moving his lips he would tell her what she wanted to hear...that she was beautiful, that he needed her...that he wanted her.
Then he would kiss her, tentatively at first, afraid she might pull away. But she never did.
He kissed her again, over and over. In her mind he tasted like black coffee laced with mint. She wrapped her arms about his shoulders, trembling, fingers digging into the skin at the back of his neck, holding onto him as though at any moment he might disappear.
He whispered her name against her mouth in between kisses, blurring them along her jaw to just behind her ear, murmuring against the flush of her skin, holding her closer, making it difficult to breathe.
I want you
His hands were between them, his words just brushing her lips, his eyes upon hers, heavy and hooded, watching her as he worked her buttons, pushing them free one by one, allowing the very tips of his fingers to trace the line of her white coat down, down...
I love you
She couldn't help but whisper it. He paused, looked up at her with those eyes -the colour of the sky before a storm.
I love you, too.
There was always a moment right after he said it that she forget everything. The world, herself, everything except those words that hung between them, strung in the air, joining them together at last.
Then she was undressing him without a care as to who might walk in on them. She tugged the blue shirt from over his head, then the white long sleeved one. She ran the palms of her hands over his stomach, his chest, and up to cup his face. How long she had wished to do that, to feel how hot and unmoving he was beneath her touch, to feel the stubble at his jaw, and the full softness of his lips with her fingertips.
She pulled him closer, shrugging her white coat from her shoulders and allowing him to undress her whilst she fumbled with the fastening to his trousers. She was greedy now, blinded by want, and every little movement he made, and every little murmur or breath that passed from his lips to whisper against her throat made her shudder.
He pushed against her as the waistband of his trousers fell slack against his hips. He kissed her harder then and guided her backwards until she felt the bump of her desk against the back of her thighs.
My paperwork...
Screw the paperwork.
A smirk of irony twitched at the corner of his mouth.
He ran his hands across her arms, glancing down between them, his hands moving lower until they came to rest upon her hips, a touch so intimate that for a moment she could barely breathe.
He eased her back so that she rested against the desk, and cautiously he eased himself in between her legs, visibly shuddering as she curled herself around him, arms about his shoulders, thighs against him, wrapped about his waist.
She noticed how stark a contrast there was between the black tattooed flesh of his torso against the porcelain white of her own skin, and how the muscles flexed and pulled taught in his arm as he reached down between them, touching her where she ached for him the most.
She shuddered against him. His forehead rested against her own, his eyes upon hers, narrowed and intense, his lips parted, his skin damp with sweat from the heat of the day, this room, this moment...her...
He was hard against her thigh, his hips rocking back and forth subconsciously in time with the rhythm of his fingers until he couldn't bare to be apart from her any longer, and he was pushing against her, over and over, gently at first, gentle and uncertain, and then gradually harder, more sure when she didn't pull away, until she felt herself give and suddenly she was full of him, and she was writhing against him, holding tight to the back of his neck, holding him close.
Sara...
He breathed her name against her neck, in between kisses that burned deep into her skin.
Look at me.
She hadn't realised she had closed her eyes. She opened them slowly, struggling to catch her breath as with every thrust of his body against hers she was left breathless, chest heaving against his.
I want you to look at me.
She barely registered his lips forming the words, they were just there, echoing in her head, filling her mind as she looked back at him, feeling everything all at once until it was too much, too much...the gentle stroke of his fingertips, the pulsing heat of him inside her, the smell of him, sweaty and hot, his lips moments from hers crushing her and lifting her up all at once, filling her with such intense pleasure that she couldn't see, couldn't hear, could only feel and writhe with each and every wave that rippled through her.
And then, with his arms wrapped about her, he would kiss her gently on the mouth and whisper to her. He would whisper things she'd never dreamt he'd say out loud, things that made her feel as though she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world.
Things that made her realise that she was what he wanted. And only then, with the heady feel of his body against hers,could she fall asleep.
-.-
This is my first attempt at a Prison Break fanfiction. Reviews very welcome :) xxx