beeharbour's journal

Ozzie and Harriet or...Linc and Alex [Prison Break]

2009-11-24T20:30:47Z

Fandom: Prison Break

Linc and Alex are living in domestic bliss. This is so preposterous that it really doesn’t even need sporking. Not one single word that is not dreadful. Oh, and Linc and Michael have a thing for Starsky and Hutch.

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This story is set two years after Prison Break ends and follows canon except for a couple of major differences. Christina was just a random Company thug and not related to Michael in any way. Michael and Lincoln are brothers in blood and their mother died when they were kids. The events in The Final Break didn't occur …

As long as it’s just those few things, canon all the way.

Boisterous laughter and a slap on his shoulder followed. "Shopping, lover, we are going shopping." Alex choked on his coffee and biscuit.

“Then we’ll go home and do each others hair and nails!” You read correctly. This is Linc talking.

Alex looked up from his [blueberry] pancake and found one fine piece of nine years younger ass staring back at him.

Creeps me out totally when asses start staring at me

Lincoln put a piece of blueberry in his mouth and chewed on it, his eyes sparkling merrily

This is like saying ”Adolph polished his gun, his cheeks blushing charmingly”. Just about as likely.

"You’re an evil man, you know that. I’m 44. Think of my heart!"

Because 44 is the new 98.

“Lincoln, I am not having a child with you!"

My hips are way too narrow for childbearing!

…Alex ground out through locked jaws.

Which would actually have sounded like “Umm not haaafig a chuld wii ooo” on account of those locked jaws. God bless Linc if he understood that.

The look of fury in his eyes was directed at Alex and Alex’s resumed a stance, challenging him to say anything.

His eyes can take a stance? I wonder what their opinion is on health care reform.

The empty beer bottle was the only thing that survived the fall to the ground. 　

The story would have had no meaning without this revelation.

When done with that he went to their little greenhouse where he had planted blueberry bushes so they could have fresh ones all year long.

Blueberries occupy an almost fetishistic role in this story.

He winked at Alex with sexual innuendo.

Umm…a t this point they are climbing the stairs, pulling each others’ clothing off, “kissing soundly” and “sucking on bottom lips.” I think the time for innuendo has passed.

Both men hung up at the same time. Alex was little bit in awe and maybe dazed for the out of world experience he’d just had.

He had talked with Michael over the phone and…well, that’s it basically. If Mahone is dazed by that we can assume he’s back on his happy pills.

They drove to the home improvement store in twenty minutes during which Bowie, Queen, the B52s and Metallica suddenly found themselves with a new pair of singers. 　

You can’t even spork this. It stands alone in its awe-inspiring awfulness.

Prison Break Smut

2009-06-09T20:03:16Z

The best way to say goodbye to Prison Break is a romp in a hotel room with the highly non-canon threesome of Kellerman/Scofield/Mahone, Michael at his most annoying holier than thou attitude and some prose that is just a tad bit overwritten.

Sporks are in italics, this is my first time so be gentle and, again I point out this is smut.

“You. Are still. Alive.” Mahone flinches. I. Will. Kill. The. Next. Person. Who. Writes. Like. This.

Michael has it now, because they all know neither of the other two would trust the other with it; there would be a round robin of double-crosses as convoluted as a Celtic knot, multi-player Russian roulette in the dark, and none of them can afford to play so fast and loose with the only evidence left. A Monopoly game of stolen little green houses as covoluted as a broken Slinky, multi-player Lite-Brite in the dark

Scofield and Mahone snap apart like repulsing magnets, the thick air of camaraderie vanishing as they remember all the reasons they resent each other. A little turpentine can dilute that thick camaraderie.

He’s so still he makes the furniture look jumpy, even though his entire frame seems restrained. Last time my furniture got jumpy I was nearly given a concussion by the ottoman.

“You know your own tactics perfectly well,” Mahone spits, each word dragged out of his throat on the end of a fish hook. You’re a smart man Mahone, for god sake speak in the conventional manner or that’s going to need medical attention.

Losing limbs to a factory machine in an industrial accident must feel something like this, Michael reflects, as the frenzy of combat rejects his interference. Whenever I see large, lethal men duking it out in a tiny hotel room, I pause and reflect upon the many dangers that face heavy machinery operators.

Mahone leaps on him so fast Michael gets whiplash trying to follow the movement, but Kellerman who gets in a good stretch every day and is thus much more limber is ready.

They strip their clothes off like they’re trying to give each other friction burns, because as an economy measure they have both taken up wearing sandpaper suits.

Mahone is coiled, tenser than Michael has ever seen him, his nails digging into the flesh of his crossed arms., just on the brink of explosive force, like the ultra compressed air in a fire extinguisher or the water pressure in a hydrant. Like similes proliferating out of control or writing that calls attention to itself with the explosive force of a poorly constructed sentence.

He’s addicted, he thinks, by way of lust-addled hyperbole, but the analogy of dependence is enough to scare him into remembering where they are and what’s at stake. Knowing every figure of speech that can possibly be imagined is no reason to ever have more than one of them in a sentence. However, since Mahone is naked at this point, lust-addled anything is understandable.

Michael hands him the lube, his body language careless and capricious as his tone of voice. Capricious? It calls up images of flirtatious milkmaids and frivolous ladies-in-waiting. Telling your mortal enemy to go get himself ready to be fucked, and he’s doing it? Not so much.

The question is a bullet, and they can’t pull it back into the chamber. Duck! There could be an answer coming!

Alex thrusts enthusiastically at Michael’s frenzied strokes and high, keening mewl. Is he a goddamn kitten? No? Then making him sound like one does not enhance the notion that he’s pounding into someone good and hard.

Alex’s cock is sliding past Paul’s lips, and the almost oceanic, bitter-salt taste of precum is dark and fresh If you have never experienced oral sex you might not want to advertise it by calling precum either “oceanic” or “fresh” as their secrets on his tongue. Dark fresh secrets. Is that anything like turkey thighs from a very good butcher, I wonder?

Alex rests his head on Paul’s thigh, panting, and lets the mess dribble over his cheek and lips onto Paul’s skin, whimpering faintly. This might be a quibble but if we were to keep these fellows strictly in character, I can’t see Mahone letting someone come on his face under any circumstance, let alone whimpering faintly about it. More like murdering quickly.

Paul gulps him down, relishing the force of the tremors against his face and jaw. Hat’s off to Mahone if he can rattle someone’s jaw with his dick.

Linc/Alex porn

2008-09-17T16:23:26Z

Title: Bargaining Chip pt. 1

Author: beeharbour

Pairing: Linc/Alex

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Spoilers for all of season 4 thus far; highly dubious consent

Everyone else was away from the warehouse. Reconnaissance or theft or stakeouts—whatever. Linc was manning the computer in case something came up with anyone that required action. Mahone was leaning against the window, staring out blankly and struggling, as he always was these days to hold it together.

With nothing else in particular to do, Linc’s eyes wandered again and again to the other man. Things had changed between the two of them since Mahone’s little boy had been killed, no doubt about that but there was too much history for them to suddenly be BFFs. Despite the knowledge that it was the same devotion to family that had driven Mahone, Linc was not ready to forgive all of the other man’s crimes. Not quite yet.

“Alex” Linc said steadily, breaking the silence that had hung in the air since the others left “Come over here for a minute.”

It took Mahone a moment to respond, lost as he was in his own thoughts but Linc was in no hurry; he gave him time to compose himself.

“Right there,” he motioned at the chair next to him. “We need to have a little chat.” Alex looked uneasy—conversations that begin that way are rarely pleasant—but he sat down and asked “What’s up?”

Linc turned his chair so he was directly facing the other man. “Look, I want you to know I meant every word I said to you yesterday. I’m going to do everything in my power to help you find those bastards who…did this. I gave you my word and whatever my many faults might be,” he continued with a wry smile, “I don’t break my word.”

“Thank you” Alex replied barely able to raise his head and look the other man in the eye. This was all new to him, being so thoroughly beaten down and forced to depend on others to help him do what he needed to do.

Linc just looked at him for a long moment, never letting his eyes stray before he reached over and pulled Mahone’s chair closer to him, as close as he could.

“But keeping my word doesn’t mean that I don’t expect something in return from you.”

“What?” Alex asked, genuinely confused because he could not imagine that he had anything left to give—not that anyone would want anyway.

“You know how it is Alex,” Linc smirked. “You’ve been in prison yourself. There are certain, oh I don’t know, frustrations involved.”

Mahone looked like he was going to be sick. All he could do was gaze at the floor and quietly ask again “What?”

Linc arose, sat back down on the edge of the table and forcefully spun the other man’s chair around until he was seated directly in front of him. He grabbed him by the chin and pulled his head up so he could look him directly in the eyes. “You need help getting those sons of bitches and I need someone to give me some release, you get my meaning Alex?”

Alex nodded weakly. Moments ago he would have said his life could not possibly get any worse. But now this?

“And” Linc continued, keeping his grip tight, “I need someone who’s going to give it to me whenever, wherever and however I want it. Now, I suppose I could make Bellick give it up if I wanted, but you, Alex”, he went on stroking Alex’s cheek with the back of his free hand, “you are so, so much prettier.”

Looking down at the floor, Alex said nothing; it was too much for him to comprehend.

Linc felt more than a twinge of guilt. There was nothing like the feeling of triumph he had expected by putting Mahone in this position. He was, in fact, beating a ghost.

Except it was a ghost with a very real body and it had been so fucking long since he had touched another person in any way. Touched, not punched or pummeled, but a real human touch.

Sliding his hand down Alex’s neck, he asked himself if he really wanted to do this. But, damn him, Mahone just sat there, didn’t flinch, didn’t move a muscle. If he’d just fought a little, told Linc to fuck off, did something, Linc might have backed off, left him alone, maybe even apologized, chalked it up to the sexual frustration no doubt everyone was feeling. Instead he just sat there, his face mask of pain but no more than it had been before. He just made himself so fucking available.

Linc grabbed him by the back of his head and pulled him to his feet and into his arms in the same swift motion. Alex tried to turn his face away but the other man’s grip was strong. He looked straight into Mahone’s pale blue eyes before pulling him into a kiss.

Alex did nothing and it pissed Linc off.

“Listen, boy” he hissed into the other man’s ear “I’m not one of those perverts who gets off by banging a corpse. When I kiss you, you kiss back, when I touch you, you touch back, do we understand each other?”

Alex nodded. “Well,” Linc thought looking into eyes that were somehow both full of desperation and devoid of life, “at least he’s an animated corpse.”

So Alex parted his lips and let the other man in and fuck, it’s been so long Linc devours him. He could never have imagined another man—let alone Mahone—could feel so good. He grabbed his ass, a fucking perfect ass, and ground his growing hard on against him. What he wanted now was no longer to get off any way he can. He wanted to take this man and he wanted to take him hard and leave his mark all over him.

And Alex was going to let him.

One hand pushed Mahone’s head back so his neck was exposed for licking and biting and sucking while the other slid up underneath his shirt and fingernails were raked down his back. Alex didn’t make a sound. Which just enflamed Linc even more because was fucking his now.

“You’re going to be my own private little whore, Alex” he sneered. “Aren’t you?”

The man glanced at him in an oddly detached manner and again Linc felt a twinge of guilt. This guy was so obviously incapable of making a fully rational decision, let alone defending himself that decency demanded he let him go. But decency was very, very far from Linc’s mind just then. He pushed him further instead.

“Aren’t you Alex? I expect answers.” With that strange far away look still in his eyes, Alex nodded slightly and simply said “Yes.”

“That’s right, all mine.” He pulled him close into another kiss and it tasted so good he even allowed himself a sliver of self-justification because he was the only one who knew what Mahone was going through. He’d protect him too, not just own him and take him and use him any way he fucking wanted to.

And he wanted to use him right fucking now.

Taking Alex’s face in his hands, he kissed him again but Alex only responds by parting his lips and letting Linc in. It’s not what Linc wants. He pulled away long enough to insist he be given more.

“I told you, when I kiss you, you kiss me back.”

So Alex did but it was more like muscle memory. There’s not thought to it; certainly no desire but Linc pushed that to the back of his mind. He wanted—no needed—to believe that the other man wanted this as much as he did or at least he needed a plausible enough show on Alex’s part to convince himself that maybe some small part of him really did want it.

Because this was not Linc; it was not what he did. Never mind the fact that it was another man that had gotten him so hard it fucking hurt. He would never, ever have forced himself on anyone.

Without disconnecting from the kiss he put his hands on Mahone’s shoulders and pushed him toward the wall; slammed him against it pretty hard because he wants to get a sound out of him and pain can sound a lot like pleasure if you want it to.

But nothing. Not a gasp, not a groan; he was completely silent.

Linc was seething by then. If Mahone thought he could frustrate him, turn him off by his detachment, he was sadly mistaken. He pulled away and planted both hands on the wall on either side of Alex’s head. With a sarcastic laugh he whispered into Mahone’s ear “I guess that old joke is true: you can’t make a whore moan. And that’s what you are, isn’t it? You agreed to this pretty damn easily Alex. I think maybe you like getting shoved around and having some big strong guy make you his bitch? Is that it, Alex?”

And goddamn him, he did just what he was supposed to do. He looked Linc right in the eye and said “Yes, I do” but his fucking eyes go right through Linc to something else a million miles away. Those fucking beautiful blue eyes that have turned to ice over the last few days.

“Then act like my bitch and get on your knees right now and suck me off!”

So Alex knelt down and kept his eyes looking right up before Linc even had a chance to tell him to. He didn’t blink as he unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. And it was so fucking amazing to have Alexander Mahone like that his cock was ready to explode before the other man even touched it. But somehow, it was not really the same man that Linc would have dearly loved to humiliate like this all those months that he had chased Him and Michael and made their lives hell.

Goddamn though the man looks so fucking beautiful on his knees. The enormities of his pain. put him so far beyond what most people—including Linc—have ever felt, he looked almost angelic. It was almost more than Linc could take to look at him like that so he thrust forward poking his hard cock into Alex’s face, slapping it against his cheeks.

“Suck it, whore,” he sneered. It was better to keep that mindset and believe that was all the other man was because, misery or no, he wanted this too badly to stop now.

“Do it” he ordered and was finally rewarded with a reaction, however small, as Alex swallowed hard before he opened his mouth.

Before he could begin, Linc stopped him. “Kiss it first. A nice long kiss because now you serve my dick.” As Alex did what he was told Linc was afraid he’d just explode right then. “That’s right,” he practically moaned, stroking Alex’s hair with a gentleness that belied his words and actions. “this big fat cock is your master now.”

It was only an abstract memory in Mahone’s head, how this felt in the past. He’d never done this before but it was what was needed to be done at the moment so he took Linc into his mouth. Shallow at first, rolling his tongue around the throbbing head, tasting the bitter pre-come as it practically flowed out..

“Yes” Linc sighed almost to himself. It had been a very long time since anyone had done this to him but he was pretty sure it had never felt half this good.

Alex began to slide his mouth in and out, gradually taking more and more of the other man’s considerable length in deep. It was like exquisite torture for Linc and he could only take it for a moment or two before he grabbed Alex’s hair, held him firmly in place and simply started fucking his face. He slammed in again and again, hard and fast and the sounds of gagging and choking were like music to his ears.

“Fuck, that’s so good, Alex. You’re fucking amazing” he moaned through heavy, ragged breaths as if he had been talking to his lover, rather than violating a desperate man. He didn’t care. In fact at that moment he could not have possibly gotten his mind around the notion that this feeling that was so incredible could possibly come from an unwilling partner. The moment before he climaxed, his body almost spasming, he eased his grip

on Alex’s hair but still held him firmly in place. “Be a good boy Alex and swallow it all. Take it all for me. Please baby…”

If Alex took any note of this sudden change in tone, he revealed nothing, just tried to keep up with the massive spurts of come that Linc was practically shooting down his throat. It kept coming, again and again.

Linc’s head was thrown back just letting the waves of pleasure course through his body. It had been so fucking long. Even as he came down from that peak, he held Alex in place just reveling in sensation as the other man continued to suck his spent cock, still struggling to swallow.

As reality had slowly begun to dawn on Linc, it occurred to him that he had no possible idea of how to extricate them both from the situation. He couldn’t look Alex in the eye, that was for damn sure and he had no doubt that he felt the same.

But a moment later, the sound of tires on gravel alerted them both to the fact they would not be alone for long. Wordlessly, hurriedly Linc fastened his trousers and Alex arose and did his best to smooth down his hair.

By the time Michael and Sara opened the door, Linc was sitting placidly at the computer and Mahone was at the window, staring out, alone.

TBC

beeharbour @ 2008-07-09T09:32:00

2008-07-09T13:38:08Z

1 ½ Prison Break Nights, ½ Pretty Silly Night

(or “Help! My pr0n is made of Epic Fail!)

Characters, Pairing: Alex, Pad Man, Sullins/Mahone

Rating: NC-17, mostly for highly rude language

Disclaimer: Pretty much what you can assume.

Synopsis: Ok, so 1001 Nights of Kink starring Alexander Mahone was a bit of an ambitious project but I thought I’d make it further than halfway through the second night before it started turning into crackfic! in my hands. I’m officially the worst pornographer ever.

(Author’s note: I shall from time to time favor you with my post-mortem analysis of how and where this escaped my control in hopes that my experience might be instructive to anyone else who finds the insidious crack invading their own writings. Sadly, this is not a clever construct I came up with for humor’s sake; I was really, really trying to write hot porn. See 1001 Prison Break Nights, July 7, by the same author. The attempts were truly in earnest though a more careful review of First Night might have clued me in that this is not my oeuvre. In particular, the synopsis did not auger well for my success.)

Second Night

The room where Alex was taken was a small hospital room, although the injuries he had sustained were minor. He correctly assumed that he was in some sort of military hospital and as such these were the only accommodations available. (Author’s note: Edited here because you all can probably imagine a “small hospital room” without two adjective-overrun paragraphs of description on my part.) The door was locked behind him and a guard stationed outside. Other rooms were similarly secured but he assumed that their were few others being held for the exact purpose as he was, even if perhaps their crimes might be of a like nature. (Author’s note: See, I genuinely was trying for a note of sinister ominousness. Without success, I fear, but the effort is there.)

A tray of food was brought to him shortly and by the time he had consumed half of it, Alex was feeling quite heavy-headed. Drugs of some sort were apparently going to be part of the daily regime here but this was not particularly troubling; there wasn’t a great deal about the place that he was anxious to experience to its fullest. (Author’s note: The drugs mentioned here and in a short while are pretty gratuitous but they eventually led to an amusing line, so I kept them in.)

It was well into the next afternoon when he finally came to. (Author’s note: Edited to remove a little vignette where Alex realizes he had fallen asleep fully-clothed on top of the covers but awakes naked “between the crisp hospital linens.” Maybe not a bad concept in itself. Properly done it might have added to the feeling that our boy was in constant peril but I pretty much exploded any such notion by him quickly assuring himself that he had not been tampered with in any way. My fondness for this fictional character is such that even when I transport him to an alternate PWP universe for the specific purpose of subjecting him to all manner of sexual indignities, I can’t bring myself to have any of the hot-to-me-probably-traumatic-for-him stuff actually occur. Even if, God forbid, this had reached the length promised in the original title, he still would only have been talking about the pervy stuff not ever having to really do any of it. Sigh.)

At about 7 pm, the door again opened and another meal was brought in. This time it was accompanied by a small white pill in a plastic cup. What it was, he couldn’t but he dutifully swallowed it under the attentive gaze of the young soldier who had brought it in.

“You’re to shower and shave and be ready to go and meet the General at 9 o’clock, Mr. Mahone” he was informed. Although the young man’s tone never varied from correct military politeness, Alex found himself blushing, wondering how much anyone knew about what went on behind the General’s closed door. (Author’s note: I don’t know, maybe a middle-aged man blushing is not that hot after all. Hey, at least there were no “single tears’ shed.)

Alex was left to brood on the issue while poking at his food in a desultory manner and feeling the effects of the medication which seemed to be some sort of amphetamine, judging from the way his heart was beginning to race.

He took a long shower that was anything but relaxing for as the hour approached he had formed no concrete idea of how he was going to entertain his audience that night.

(Author’s note: The moment I wrote the following paragraph, I should have immediately deleted it, stepped away from the fic and stayed away until I had found another way to appease the Crack! Pixies.)

Score one for him that he had gone with frottage on the first night, good degree of originality there, but seriously, how many things can two guys do together? Basically, all he could come up with was blow jobs and sodomy and his experience with giving the former and receiving the latter was nothing like on the scale the General seemed to imagine.

He toweled off with a sense of dread (Author’s note: Edited because originally Alex’s clothing each night was going to have some bearing on what the General had in mind. Suffice to say, he got something to wear and what that was ended up being of no consequence.) He had just adjusted his tie (Author’s note: Ok, I guess it was a suit.) when the door opened and he was lead to his appointment.

The general glanced up from the work on his desk, seemingly pre-occupied but nonetheless motioned for Alex to turn a 360 degree circle. (Author’s note: Unlike those circles of lesser degree.)

“Good, he nodded. “See that you eat everything you’re given. Thin is good; skinny is not and you haven’t got much to spare.

Alex nodded, unsure why they were giving him speed if he was expected to eat a great deal but he kept that thought to himself. (Author’s note: that line right there seems to indicate that things are starting to go south.)

Still tending to his paperwork, he pushed his cell phone to Alex who viewed the latest pictures that had been dutifully snapped of his family, in case he was feeling uninspired. (Author’s note: It takes skill to balance borderline crack with a child’s life being in peril. I do not possess that skill.)

“Richard Sullins” the General stated curtly.

“Yes?”

“Man’s a royal pain in the ass, Alex and he’s causing us trouble.”

Alex wasn’t sure if this was a request for information or if his mission had already changed. “He’s a pretty straight arrow” he said noncommittally.

“I don’t care about that” the General said, looking up at last and tossing his glasses down on his desk. “Tell me how he fucked you and Alex, let’s have it understood, I liked you where you were last night, on the bottom and taking it from anyone who fancies giving it to you. Got that?” (Author’s note: I told you, I was really, really trying to write hot porn, not crack. I actually find that line pretty hot, so yay for me on that one.)

“Why doesn’t he just write his own porn” Alex thought but did not say for obvious reasons. (Author’s note: Back down the slippery slope we go.)

“That’s how it was,” he began slowly. (Author’s note: Edited because I can’t possibly add tender thoughts of Pam and Cam at this point. I know what’s ahead.) “I met him first a few years ago. Sometimes I was given “unorthodox” assignments and Internal Affairs were not always in the loop. There was a suspected terrorist cell that I had taken care of. The information was good but the way it played out in the papers was that innocent tradesmen had been targeted for pretty spurious reasons.”

The General had picked up a pencil and was beginning to tap it impatiently which Alex correctly interpreted to mean he needed to keep the exposition to a minimum. Orifices were going to have to come into play real soon, or punishing kisses at the very least. (Author’s note: Another warning sign, perhaps?)

“Sullins came to my office in Chicago and I remember he was pretty angry. As soon as he got there, he shut the door and closed the blinds. ‘Privacy, Agent Mahone’ he said ‘I took the liberty of requesting all your calls be held until we sort a few things out. Now I know you’ve got powerful people behind you who are going to make all this mess go away once again but don’t be fooled into thinking I can’t touch you.’ I laughed at that because I knew that I really was untouchable in the sense I thought he meant; my record would be calmly purged as soon as the noise died down. It had happened before. He meant it much more literally, as it turned out.” (Author’s note: See, I’m really gamefully trying to get this thing back on track. I truly thought I was going to pull off some hot Sullins/Mahone porn here.)

Here the general snickered a bit and leaned back in his chair. At least Alex knew he was on the right track.

(Author’s note: Edited to exclude some truly dreadful exposition that leads up to the following gem of an exchange. Yes, I meant this in all seriousness.)

“ ‘That’s why we have courts and a legal system, Alex. Who appointed you Avenging Angel?’ Then he paused and leaned in even closer and whispered ‘Even though you do make an awfully pretty one.’ I had tried not to notice the fact that Richard was an awfully handsome man but having him so close, I don’t know, I must have given something away because his tone suddenly changed and he stroked the side of my face and repeated ‘A very pretty one.’ I heard myself let out a little moan at his touch and I halfway cursed myself for it but at the same time, I wanted another caress. He leaned back against the wall and slowly spun my chair around to face him. ‘This changes everything’ he smiled. ‘Maybe it explains why you have so many friends up top, too, eh Alex?’ I looked away as he said that, not wanting him to know how close he was to the truth,”

(Author’s note: And here follows the exact moment where things went irretrievably over the abyss and into the Valley of Crackdom.) Alex glanced at the General to gauge whether that last bit might have been laying things on a bit thick but, no; the other man was smiling vaguely and nodding his head. Apparently Alex couldn’t possibly be fucking too many people in the General’s world. If he could find a way to work a couple of horses into the scheme it would probably be all to the good. That particular option he decided to hold in reserve, forever, hopefully.

(Author’s note: In a last, doomed-to-failure struggle, I try to right the PWP course.)

“Then I remember him saying ‘Alex, I don’t care what you do with anyone else. I only care what you are going to do with me, right here, right now. And what’s that going to be?’ (Author’s note: A final bit of dreadful prose edited out as we now careen out of all control. Fasten your seat belts, the crack-fic, she’s here.) ‘Anything you want, I answered him. He smiled down at me and said ‘Why you little whore!’ before pulling me to my feet and into an embrace.”

No question, Alex was really getting the hang of this smut thing, judging from the General’s pleased reaction to the appearance of the W-word. He mentally cursed the gender-specific nature of the English language as far as so many synonyms for the word were concerned. Besides “slut” and “whore”, what other options were there to describe a man of the proclivities Alex was now claiming to be his own? One could always be a “wanton slut/whore” or a “common slut/whore” or even a “two-bit slut/whore” but anyway you looked at it, those two nouns were going to get old real fast if not used judiciously. Although given what Alex was about to put forth as routine behavior on his part, the use of either of those terms was probably pretty redundant.

“He plunged his tongue into my mouth”–and here Alex could not bring himself to describe Richard’s tongue as “invading” although no doubt the old coot would have thought that just dandy—“and I opened the hot wetness of my perfect lips and allowed him to become the master.”

Sure enough, even this was going down a treat, so Alex pulled a nail file from his pocket and seeing as he was coasting comfortably along now on auto pilot, began working on a hangnail that had been bugging him all day.

“With the authority of a Chief Petty Officer Richard guided my hand to where his man-wood quickened or pulsated or strained against the confining fabric of his not-as-nice-as-mine suit or bounded to life or filled with the creamy essence of all that is masculine or all of the above. I coyly looked him in the eye and whispered ‘I’m a musician, did you know that? A virtuoso on the skin flute!’ Quickly unbuttoning himself in anticipation of the upcoming recital he gruffly whispered ‘Alex you nasty man of pretty indiscriminate selectivity in your sexual partners! Do me!’ I commenced a Rachmaninoff variation. ‘Take the full length of my tumescence!’ he cried rather inelegantly. I paused long enough to point out that this was going to affect my ability to fully realize the minor tones of the piece but he seemed unconcerned. He apparently was driven to distraction by my ministrations, which, if I do say so myself, exceeded anything that had been recorded up to that point in history as far as fellatio and the skill of its performance was considered.

Soon I was rewarded with more life-giving man ambrosia than I could comfortably or efficiently deal with. Being a man who probably doesn’t give sufficient thought to the nature and frequency of my carnal adventures and who has occasionally embarked on such adventures strictly for material gain, needless to say, I came over all tingly and hot as a result.”

Alex paused and given that the old man was happily muttering to himself “Life-giving man ambrosia…mmmm! Lack of prudence in matters of physical relationships…mmm!, he figured his work was done for the night.

“So I guess I’ll be skedaddling” he said, interrupting the General’s reverie on all matters related to Alex’s questionable judgment in affairs d’amour. The older man waved him away, happily contemplating potential poor choices the hot agent might make en route.

*******

Literary Critic! Alex: You can’t say I didn’t let you have a fair go at it on your own. Not a word out of me for the two whole days.

Author: No, your restraint was commendable.

Literary Critic! Alex: Happy with how things panned out, are you?

Author: No! *hangs head in shame* I’ll never attempt this sort of thing without you ever again!

Literary Critic! Alex: And the world will be a better place for it!

1001 PB Nights: First Night

2008-07-07T20:27:12Z

1001 Prison Break Nights: First Night

Author: beeharbour

Characters, pairing: Alex, Pad Man, Alex/conceivably any and every character who ever appeared on PB.

Rating: NC-17 (some dubious consent, coercion)

Disclaimer: Is it likely these characters belong to me?

Synopsis: Probably a good sign that some pretty overwrought prose is coming your way when the synopsis alone is long enough to have to go below a cut.

Alex has been captured by TC; Pad Man threatens Pam and Cam’s lives if Alex cannot tell him a satisfactorily kinky story each night, a la Scheherazade and the Arabian nights. Like someone else many of us know here, *cough* me *cough* Pad Man has a great fondness for Mahone PWP. There is not going to be sex between Pad Man and Alex because, no, even I don’t want to get that kinky with our boy. Probably Alex is making most of this stuff up since 1001 kinky experiences would be difficult for anyone with a full-time job to be able to squeeze in. ( Personally, I can only think of 600, 650 tops, that I’ve had time for myself.) In any case, God bless his slutty little heart for being able to come up with such a roster of unspeakable acts on demand.

Anyone who has the notion to is more than welcome to add nights of their own to the mix and these do not have to follow my particular preoccupation of Alex/the entire male population of planet Earth. Just set up a narration where Alex reveals some salacious details from the files of the Fox River 8 or perhaps some noteworthy interactions he observed in Sona, for example, stuff of that nature. Alex has to be the narrator but only in a very general third person way and he does not have to be the star or even a participant in the kink. Pad Man loves him some Alex-porn but for all I know he may enjoy brothercest or other such things; I haven’t asked.

1001 Prison Break Nights

Things were very unclear as Alex awoken but he recognized immediately that he was not in a good place. For one thing, the right side of his head was pounding and he could feel blood trickling from the spot. For another, he realized his hands were cuffed behind his back.

Then, a shiny pair of military boots appeared in front of his face—he was lying on the floor, he noted, very rarely a good thing either. The high gloss of those shoes just added to his anxiety because he did his time in the Army and knew precisely the distinction between those who had been out there fighting with him and those who sat back on their asses in DC and decided whether he and his comrades lived or died. After having been recruited for Specials Ops he had gotten to know the immaculate attire of TPTB well enough to understand that seeing what he was seeing from his current particular vantage point could only be bad news. He’d been caught in his attempted double-cross and his immediate future was not bright.

It was nothing more than he expected when those shiny boots kicked him in his gut but what was surprising was that the man attached to them reached down and touched his cheek, almost with concern and asked “Ok? It’s Alex isn’t it, Agent Mahone?”

Alex could only nod in the affirmative. He looked up into the face of a bald man of indeterminate age; older than himself but by how much he could not tell. That preliminary glance revealed a face which had not reflected a genuine emotion, perhaps ever. It was the kind of face Alex had seen many times before in his line of work and the smile that crossed its lips as Alex was pulled up by his shoulders to his feet was not of a type to impart any comfort.

He was pretty wobbly on his feet still and the other man had to steady him, choosing, for reasons unclear to Alex, to maintain the charade of sociability and concern by adding “Let’s get you out of these cuffs and have that cut looked at.” Towards this end he crossed over to a desk, picked up a phone and issued a few curt instructions. “Please, have a seat Agent Mahone” he said indicating a chair opposite the desk. He waited until Alex was seated before taking his chair himself, the bland smile still frozen to his face, almost menacing in its vacuity, vacuity not echoed in the man’s other features in any way.

Alex took a quick look around and found himself to be in a pretty standard military office. A portrait of the bald man was on the wall and his uniform—covered in person at the moment by a white lab coat—revealed that he was a General but Alex observed that there was no name plate on the General’s desk as was customary.

The General leaned back in his chair for a moment, eyeing Alex but saying nothing. At length he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a cell phone and, after pressing a few buttons held it across the desk so Alex could see. There were pictures of Pam and Cam, taken that morning: Pam dropping Cam off at school; Cam playing in the schoolyard at recess; Pam arriving at work. Without a word, he pulled the phone back and snapped it shut.

“Have you hurt...?” Alex asked desperately but the General stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“Your family is fine, Agent Mahone. They are of no real interest to me to tell you the truth but since they seem to be such a concern of yours, we keep them monitored.”

Now he arose and crossed over to stand directly in front of Alex and his face dropped all pretence, his lips curling in malevolence as he grabbed his prisoner by the chin and leaned in close.

“But I’m interested in you, Alex. So interested in fact, that I have no intention of killing you. Despite your—how shall I put it—mixed loyalties? I still find that you can perform a useful function. Now, whether I find it expedient to kill your family will depend entirely upon how well you perform that function.”

“What do you want from me now?” Alex sighed, his eyes starting to water, finding himself caught in the same deadly web.

“Oh don’t look so glum, Alex” the General said with mock cheerfulness, lightly slapping him on the shoulder. “No killing, no chasing, all you have to do is talk to me!”

“Inform, you mean” Alex was about to say when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. An MP and a Medic entered. The General sat on the edge of his desk, impassively watching as Alex’s cuffs were removed and the cuts on his heads and wrists were cleaned and bandaged.

As soon as they were alone, the General’s mask was dropped again and he leered into Alex’s face. “I want to hear all about the men you’ve fucked, Alex.”

To say that Alex was not expecting anything of that nature would be an understatement; he was dumbfounded.

“Look, I never…” he stammered but the General’s response was swift and painful; he struck him hard across one cheek, then the other.

“I think you have, Alex. In fact, I think you’ve fucked a lot of men. I think you’re a nasty little whore who puts out for anyone who asks and I want to hear all about it. Here’s the way it’s going to work: every day your family’s survival is going to depend on your storytelling ability the night before. If I’m not hard by the time you finish your nightly slut-story, they die the next day. Pretty simple to understand, right Alex?”

Alex swallowed hard and nodded his head.

“Good, we start tonight. Right now.”

Night 1

“Tell me about your first time with Scofield.”

“I was never with…” Alex started but caught himself. “Ok” he said simply.

“Good boy” the General smiled and settled back in his chair. Mahone couldn’t tell from where he sat but his job was already basically accomplished: the other man was sporting a raging erection just from watching the handsome ex-Agent’s discomfiture and anticipating seeing and hearing filthy words coming from that pretty mouth.

“It was the first time I ever saw him” Alex began, unsure where that notion came from or where he was going to go with it. “It was in the cemetery …I crouched down to look at the gravestone and just felt someone watching me. When I looked up, I saw someone dart off into the woods and I knew, I just knew somehow that it was him, Scofield. I chased him for no more than a minute when he just stopped and turned around. My gun was drawn but I didn’t raise it, I didn’t even try to take him into custody, I just looked back at him and it was as if he could see right through me, like I was naked in front of him…”

“While I’m thrilled you had a little meeting of souls there, Alex, your figurative nakedness is not what I want to hear about,” the General interrupted. “I don’t want a romance novel; I want to know what you did with that pretty con you had orders to kill.”

Alex inhaled sharply and continued. “We just looked at each other for a minute. It was crazy because Agent Ives was right behind me…should have been there already, in fact, but I couldn’t make myself do my job, I couldn’t, the same as he seemed unable to turn and run. All of a sudden he rushed at me, pushed me against a tree and started to kiss me. I don’t know how to explain it, it was like a dream, a nightmare, and I don’t know which. But his kiss was soft and gentle, like we were already lovers and all I could do was lean back and let him kiss me, deeper and more passionately every second. After a moment I became aware that he was starting to rock up against me, to grind his hips into me. I could feel him get hard, myself get hard and I knew it was wrong but I didn’t stop…couldn’t stop.”

Pausing to quickly gauge the effect of his words on his audience, Alex could see that the General’s breathing had increased, just barely enough to be noticeable and he figured he was on the right track. “God help me that I’m trying so hard to get this son of a bitch turned on” he thought but pushed it aside and resumed his narrative.

“I reached around and grabbed Michael by his ass and just pulled him to me. I remember the way he groaned and his body shuddered and we just stood there completely dressed and just rubbed our hard cocks together again and again. We were both so close and he put his face next to mine and whispered in my ear “Come for me” and I did. I came so hard and he did too. I could feel the hot wetness soaking through both our clothing…” Alex paused, not sure if that was enough. Apparently it wasn’t as the General plainly looked like he expected more.

“Then, I started to feel very strange, lightheaded. It was pretty hot and I’d been up all night. I’d been feeling pretty shaky and I’d taken something…” Alex gulped and glanced at the floor, not sure why he should feel embarrassed by a little drug use, given the nature of what he was recounting just then. “I started to fall and I remember feeling Michael take me by the shoulders and ease me down to the ground. Just before I lost consciousness, he leaned over me, kissed my cheek and said ‘I wish I could take you with me.’ I don’t know how long I was out, just a minute or two I think. When I came to, I thought Scofield had stayed; someone was lying on top of me, grinding into me just the way he had. I didn’t want to open my eyes, didn’t want to know if it was a dream, I just went along with the feeling until I heard whoever it was start to laugh. ‘You like getting it like this, Alex?’ It was Agent Ives. ‘I guess you must like it a lot to let an escaped con take you up against a tree. Personally, I’d rather have you bent over the hood of the car, plowing that fine ass of yours but, hey, all in good time right Alex? After all, with the eyeful I just got, I have a feeling that all my needs are going to be well taken care of from now on.’”

Alex paused, having run out of ideas.

“Did he ever take you over the hood of the car, Alex?” the General asked and by now he was pretty plainly stroking himself behind his desk.

“No, I had him transferred from the case the next day.”

“He never told anyone about your escapades?”

“Well, you know how that goes” Alex said pointedly. “Everyone has skeletons in their closets and you people are the ones for finding them. Ives had more than one.”

“Touché,” the General flashed his pseudo-smile again. “You did well for your first time, Alex, good boy. Your family lives another day.”

Alex was uncomfortably anticipating what precisely the General intended to do with arousal his words had produced but apparently, at least tonight; it did not appear to be his responsibility. In fact as the General buzzed in a subordinate to escort Alex to his quarters he seemed to becoming ensconced with a pile of paper work on his desk and forget entirely about Alex’s presence as well as the after-effects of the successfully completed first assignment.

Alex was not about to make inquiries. He followed the Private down a brightly lit corridor, lined with regularly stationed armed guards without the remotest idea of how he was going to extricate himself from this mess.

Lips of No return!

2008-05-23T16:12:21Z

Title: Teh Lips of No Return!!!

Author: beeharbour

Pairing: Alex/Michael/Linc

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: We all know that if these boys were mine, I’d be locked in a hotel room with Mahone as we speak and nowhere near my computer. This very silly little piece is written for pamalaxwho was dismayed at the current, er… lack of variety in PB fandom. You asked for anything that wasn’t MiSa. Be careful what you wish for dear lady!

Setting: Burrows, Scofield and Mahone have teamed up to bring down the Company. Can they learn to trust each other? Will the brothers stay firm against Mahone’s evil plots to gain the upper hand? Or will they fall prey to his preternatural hotness? Why do authors ask questions like this of their readers when only they know the answers? Does chewing gum lose its flavor on the bedpost overnight? Could 50,000 Elvis fans be wrong?

Teh Lips of No Return!!!

Alex: Michael we need to talk…privately.

Michael: I will talk to you on the condition that it is understood that our present collaboration is based entirely on expediency and that I remain pure and unsullied while you have sullied yourself considerably.

Alex: Yeah, yeah, whatever. Follow me into my bedroom in this vaguely defined large structure where we are all implausibly co-habitating and allow me to throw myself seductively on top of the covers in such a manner that the only way you will be able to have a proper conversation with me will be by sitting on the edge of the bed. Which is right where I want you.

Michael: Yeah, yeah, whatever. What’s so important that it can’t be discussed in front of Linc?

Alex: Oh, you mean the guy who keeps waving the loaded gun around and going all Inigo Montoya on me? That guy? Frankly, I wouldn’t want to discuss the price of eggs in front of him. But, I digress.

Michael: So….

Alex: It’s about….Sara. She’s alive.

Cue pounding Prison-Break-scene-ending music and zoom to Michael’s squinting-in-a-manner-that-could-indicate-his-heart-is-overflowing-with-pent-up-passion-relief-and-a-dozen-conflicting-emotions-or-could-just-as-easily-indicate-he-didn’t-actually-hear- what-Mahone -said-or-could-even-just-mean-he’s-constipated-it’s-impossible-to-tell-really eyes.

Michael: But how…when…whither?

Alex: Yon.

Michael: Be more specific, please.

Alex: All in good time, my pretty.

Michael: You don’t understand! I must immediately begin concocting an incredibly brilliant and complicated scheme for her rescue each part of which will be contingent on the most unlikely convergence of coincidences, and which depends entirely on my being able to unerringly predict the behavior of individuals as yet unknown to me, and that will be threatened every step of the way but will unfold successfully until the penultimate moment when somehow I will be interrupted and Sara and I will find ourselves looking at the business end of some powerful weapons. Then there will be a fade out and when we return, one of the bad guy will do something incredibly careless and stupid which I will take advantage of to improvise an escape, thus demonstrating my twin abilities to both carefully plan as well as think on my feet, proving how big my brain is.

Alex: Or we could get some guns and shoot our way in.

Michael: Excuse me, who’s the one who…

Alex: I know, I know, two prison breaks, and all that but here’s the thing: we don’t have a whole season to break her out, we’ve got one episode. True it’s “a special two hour Prison Break event!” but still after you take out all the commercials, we’re looking at less than ninety minutes. We’re going to do things my way this time.

Michael: You’re not the boss of me.

Alex: I thought you might react that way. I happen to have a cunning plan to make you see things my way….Kiss me!

Michael: Excuse me?

Alex: I mean it Michael, kiss me now or I swear I’ll start singing!

Michael: I seethat the years of drug abuse have finally taken their toll…you’re nuts!

Alex: Not really. If I start singing, Linc will come in here and tell me to shut up and he’ll wonder why you’re sitting on my bed half undressed.

Michael: I’m not half-undressed…

Alex: (rip, rip, shred, shred) Now you are. You’re going to have some ‘splainin’ to do in a minute if you don’t start puckering up!

Michael: This is absurd. I am not going to kiss you!

Alex: Feelings, nothing more than feelings, trying to for get those…

Michael: Stop! No! Anything but that!!

Alex: feelings of love. FEELINGS…whoa whoa whoa FEELINGS…

Michael: I give up!

Michael, Alex: (kiss, kiss, make out, make out)

In Love! Michael: My God! Your lips! They’re like wine!

Alex: What kind?

Michael: Burgundy, I think. Give me another taste and I can tell you the vintage!

In Love! Michael, Alex: (kiss, kiss, make out, make out some more)

Alex: (sotto voce) Teh Lips of No Return have worked exactly as I planned. Excellent, Excellent! One down, one to go! Soon I will be the Lord of the Rescue Plan ‘o’ Implausibility thus assuring myself and my fangurls of more quality screen time. Bwwwwaahahaha!

In Love! Michael: Chateau de Target, 1986 I think but it could actually be a 1972 merlot. I better double check.

In Love! Michael, Alex: (kiss, kiss, make out, make out still more)

Smash! Linc: I am Inigo Montoya…I mean I am Lincoln Burrows, you killed my father, prepare to ….WTF!!!!!

Michael: Linc! It’s not what it looks like! Unless it looks like I’m making out with our father’s killer and having the time of my life, in which case, yes it’s exactly what it looks like!

Alex: Am I going to have to spend another day listening to you two pissing and moaning about how “You killed our father, you killed our father”? It’s getting really old.

Smash!Linc: Well, you’re never going to get old Mahone! I’m taking you down!!

In Love! Michael: Wait Linc! I’m still trying to figure out…cabernet sauvignon, perhaps? 1990?

In Love! Michael, Alex: (kiss, kiss, make out, make out yet again)

Alex: We shouldn’t leave your brother out of the fun, Michael…

Smash! Linc: If you think for one minute…

Smash! Linc, Alex: (kiss, kiss, make out, make out)

In Love! Michael: Gewürztraminer, perchance?

In Love! Linc: Feelings! Whoawhoawhao feelings!!!

Alex: Bwwwwaahahaha!

THE END

A bit of Sullins/Mahone smut

2007-12-12T03:39:57Z

Title: Uncuffed

Author:  beeharbour

Pairing: Sullins/Mahone

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: None for this snippet, could get way kinky if I pursue it.

Disclaimer: Don't own these hot guys; wish I did.

Very Important Further Disclaimer: This is totally a rip-off sequel to the fic of the wonderfully talented gingermaya's wonderfully hot Cuff Him, which any and all Mahone lovers should read, entirely and foremostly for its own awesomeness but also because this humble homage will make no sense otherwise. I actually wrote this some months ago --and it's quite unfinished--but I went back and found that I still enjoyed the concept of what might have gone on between these two after the events of Cuff Him. Presumably, if I actually do finish this, Alex will get out of those cuffs at some point, thus justifying the title.

Uncuffed

Pulling up his now-wrinkled trousers, Sullins is overwhelmed by emotion and struggling to control himself from trembling near as hard as Alex has been all night. It was all he had thought it would be and so much more. Alex 's body was a sensual delight beyond what he had ever even dared fantasize about but even more than that, the rush of controlling Mahone, of forcing him to reveal his most private needs has left him simply staggering with an almost mind-bending combination of guilt and total, utter satisfaction.

He throws his suit jacket over his arm and heads slowly towards the hotel room door. Although he feels a strong need to shower--who was the "dirty cop" tonight?--he's subconsciously reluctant to walk away from the most intense and pleasurable experience of his life. Still, his hand only pauses briefly on the door handle, thinking he has done enough damage.

"Richard," Alex whispers, almost inaudibly, but Sullins is keenly attuned to any sound or movement from the other man and he stops in his tracks.

"Would you stay with me?" he asks, his voice breaking softly.

"Seriously?"  Richard replies and he immediately regrets that his surprise might have sounded like scorn to the other man. It's not what he meant and he wonders to himself how much it must have cost Mahone to speak those words.

"I'm sorry." Alex answers, his voice once again flat and struggling to be emotionless. "That was stupid," he adds but Richard can see him pull his still-cuffed hands to his face and curl more deeply into himself.

"No, no, not stupid at all," he hastens to reassure and looking at Mahone now so very vulnerable and needy a wave of totally indecipherable emotion sweeps over him. Oh, he recognizes that lust is a big component of what he's feeling but beyond that, his head is practically spinning.

He approaches the bed and sits down at the edge, tentatively reaching his hand out to stroke the hair at the back of Alex's neck. The other man's reaction is electric. Mahone inhales sharply two or three times, obviously trying to keep himself from sobbing for as Richard glances down at his face, there are tears streaming down now.

"It's not going to work tommorrow, the hearing, I mean," Alex says, his words slow and controlled. "I know that already."

Richard moves his hand down and firmly rubs Alex's bare shoulder. "Look, I made a promise. Agent Lang will get you what you need."

Mahone seems to almost involuntarily quiver at the touch but he turns his face into the pillow. "Those pills won't be enough. I'm too far gone." Then he laughs ruefully, "Trust me, junkies know these things."

Sullins flinches at hearing his own accusation of earlier that night thrown back at him. He's at a loss as to what to do or say when Alex suddenly flips himself over on the bed to face him. His cuffed hands cover his mouth and his eyelids hang heavily over his startilingly blue eyes. He seems to be struggling to say something but as he does Richard uses the opportunity to take in every detail of the man's quirky, beautiful face. Despite all the years they have known each other, Richard has never noticed the soft freckles that dot Mahone's face, mostly faded but still visible enough to evoke thoughts of how strong they must have been when Alex was a child. Richard's stomach turns a little bit as he recalls the things his intensive research into Alex's past revealed during the course of the IA investigation: the way that little freckled-faced boy had been beaten to the point of hopitalization on many occasons.

Richard tries to bring himslef back to the reality of the situation, to the reasons he has made it his most compelling mission in life to bring this man down. Lingering freckles, however charming they might be, do not in any way excuse what this man has done. Whatever wrong he might have done himself tonight, he needs to refocus on the fact that his prisoner is a killer who cannot be allowed to get away with his misdeeds.

But then, to avoid those freckled cheeks, he focuses on Alex's eyelashes, still half closed. Only a short time ago, those quivering lashes as Alex was forced to suck his cock had been too overwhelming for him to control; but it had been the whole entirety of the other man's face that had driven him crazy; the entire scenario of having Alex like that. Now, in this strange state of feeling both guilt for what he has done and desire to do even more, while Mahone remains so silent and still, he observes for the first time how very long those lashes are, and how they fade from their black roots into blond tips.

For inexplicable reasons, this fact makes his his spent cock begin to twitch again.

It makes no sense that this should matter:; the man is just as guilty despite his disarmingly odd but beautiful features.

Forcing himself to once again become the veteran FBI agent that he is, he can't help  wondering how it was that Mahone managed to pass all the requisite psychological tests the bureau requires. Sure, agents go bad upon occasion but how was it that no one ever caught the inevitabilty of this particular agent going bad?

This is what Richard is trying to consider in a detatched, professional manner but he's already halfway gone when Alex at last lunges forward and buries his head against Sullins' chest.

"You can't imagine what it's like in there" he says throatily, his entire body heaving..

He pulls Alex close slowly and firmly rubs his hands up and down Mahone's smooth, supple spine wanting in his heart to comfort him but that other, less honorable, part of him wants to know if Mahone was being truthful when he promised that he had not whored himself for drugs. The idea of having been the first man to experience Alex's body was such a heady, sensual, intoxicating feeling, Richard has no desire to abandon it.

He pauses, almost hating himself for baiting the other man, officially his prisoner, and for only halfway meaning the concern in his voice. "You've been able to protect yourself, though, haven't you?" he asks. It's obvious that Alex has passed the point where he would bother lying anymore and Sullins needs the answer. "You can fight, Alex, I know you can" he adds.

Mahone inhales deeply. "I'm ok, so far."

Alex is too shaky and sweaty and struggling to control himself to tell Richard how quickly things have been degenerating for him in Sona. Oh, he'd certainly made a strong impression as a badass those first few days: breaking World's neck, hauling Whistler up from the sewers. No one was going to touch him.

Until it became obvious to everyone that he was a junkie needing a fix who had no resoures to pay for one. T-bag had supplied him, for reasons that were assuredly not altruistic, and that had kept him--so far--sharp enough to fight off any advances. Frequently, his lean, beautiful form had attracted unwanted attention and he'd been offered money, priveleges, drugs, protection; but he had refused. More than once, he'd had to forcibly repel an attack in the dank hallways of the prison, the lust for his body coupled with the hatred for his role as a lawman making him a highly sought after prize.

"I have been ok...." Alex repeats with his lips pressed into the other man's neck.

After a moment, Mahone raises his head and looks Sullins firmly and unexpectedly in the eye.

"Richard, I'm going to die in there, and die soon and horribly." He doesn't flinch as he adds, "That's a guarantee."

"Look, there still may be a way" the agent starts, but Mahone silences him with a firm, deciscive "No."

Nights Without Sleep

2007-09-21T18:58:29Z

Title: Nights Without Sleep

Pairing: Alex/Michael

Rating: NC-17 for pointless smut.

Warnings/Discalimers: Not my hot men. PWP and, what's more, overwrought and overwritten PWP. Curse you William Fichtner that your hotness compells me to such inapproprite outpourings!

The heat was oppressive. So much so that no one unaccustomed to it had a chance. Sleep was impossible.

It was impossible for Michael for other reasons though. He'd been within seconds of death. A brutal, dehumanizing death with swarms of strangers applauding the blood as it drained from his body. Yet this was the thought he tried to focus upon because otherwise unbidden, unwelcome thoughts poured into his mind; thoughts he could not control and could not understand.

Alex.

Once, he'd used that name as a weapon, a way to make the agent understand that he neither respected nor feared the other man's position. An equalizer.

But the events of the past day--even more the images of the past day--filled his head. Every motion Alex had made, every syllable he had uttered was a video loop that he could not find a way to stop. His mind overflowed with wild, brutal, intoxicating thoughts, and, being so unacustommed to it, he felt like he would explode. What he had willingly abandoned long ago--sex, intimacy--flooded through him as if he was an adolescent unable to control the bizarre but wildly alluring, fleeting thoughts that flashed through him:

     Alex, alone in some secluded corner, as Michael was, touching himself, as Michael was too , remembering lost caresses and past passions with his wife.

     A flash.

     Then it was Alex, releasing his anguish and despair in some hurried, wordless coupling against the dirty prison walls with some faceless inmate who was only too willing to take it.

    Another flash.

      Alex, his punishment already being inflicted, held down by strong hands while Lechero vented his rage and lust on Alex's perfect body.

Michael's mind was awash with a thick, primal eroticism that he had never allowed himself to experience and he fought with all his might to banish it.

Tossing and turning on the hard floor he desperately tried to force himself to think of other things, Sarah. Linc. But again and again his mind went to forbidden, insane thoughts of taking and being taken by this man. The animalistic fury and perverse grace with which Alex had taken a human life aroused every part of Michael's being in ways he had not thought himself capable of and which shamed him to his core.

At last he simply abandoned himself. Alex's eyes, his lips, his taught, firm body, his smooth pale skin consumed him. He needed to touch, to taste, to dominate, to submit to. He needed Alex like he had never needed anything in his life.

Michael arose, took a moment to adjust his eyes, then began to find his way . Somewhere, Alex awaited him and he left with no other thought than to give or take all he could.

Tags: alex/michael. sona, prison break

Fugitives in Love: An Erotic Masterpiece

2007-05-28T15:24:38Z

Agent Mahone blinked his ~~blue~~ dreamy turquoise eyes as he ~~awoke~~ languidly bestirred himself on his first morning inside the ~~dirty~~ dank, foetid, probably-cholera-infested ~~air~~ atmosphere of the ~~hell~~ Dantesque hellhole that was Sona prison.

     "Hello, sailor" came a deep husky voice from an alarmingly large fellow stretched out next to him, sounding surprisingly chipper given the surroundings.

     Machinelike, Alex clocked the big lug a good one and continued acclimatizing himself, stretching his ~~firm~~ ~~taut~~ lithe luscious muscles like a really big, really hairless cat and drawing to himself the lustful gazes of the assorted riffraff around him. On those grounds it probably wasn't the smartest thing he could have done but the angelic, albeit homicidal, agent was a firm believer in the importance of a good stretch.

                                                                               *****

Fugitive! Alex: I know I promised not to inerrupt but I think for the sake of clarity you should define "erotic" right here at the outset. Cause I gotta tell you, being ogled by the worst criminals in the world holds zero erotic value for me.

Author: You assured me that Kellerman was the one who kept sending my other stories all pear shaped.

Fugitive! Alex: And it was, I swear. It's just that if I'm going to spend this story being everybody in Sona's favorite "fun date", I think I deserve a little warning.

Author: Relax, already. My golden rule is "no bad things to pretty people". I'm saving you for another "pretty" person. wink, wink, nudge, nudge

Fugitive! Alex: Well, that's a relief.

Author: So are we good to go?

Fugitive! Alex: Umm...yeah, sure...

Author: What is it?

Fugitive! Alex: Nothing, nothing...you go ahead..

Author: Come on, spit it out!

Fugitive! Alex: Ok, since you insist. Shouldn't this really be called "Prisoners in Love: An erotic Masterpiece"? I mean, technically speaking, we're not fugitives any more.

Author: It's called artistic license. The whole "prisoners of love" line has been done to death by every hack fanfic writer out there.

Fugitive! Alex: And God knows we can't have anyone confuse you with being a hack writer.

Author: What was it you just said about being ogled by the worst criminals in the world? Keep it coming?

Fugitive! Alex: "Fugitives in Love" it is then.

                                                                                *****

     One glance of his ~~intense~~ ~~searingly intense~~ intensely maniaical microsoft-default blue eyes and...

                                                                              *****

Fugitive! Alex: Excuse me...intensely maniaical? You don't think that's overstating things just a little?

Author: You didn't see yourself when you were down in your basement obsessing over Michael's picture. How about we go with "maniacally intense" instead?

Fugitive! Alex: Gee, you're too kind.

Author: Shut up.

                                                                                *****

     One glance of his maniacally intense Williamsburg Blue eyes was enough to diffuse the situation as hushed murmers of "This guy's nuts", in several languages made their way through the prison population.   "Nuts" was pretty much the best reputation one could have in the mordantly depressing pit that was Sona prison. For all Alex looked like he'd be a spectacular lay, hardly anyone was willing to get an ear chewed off for the privilege.

     Alex continued with his morning routine, being careful to turn his back to the wall when he bent over and grabbed his ankles for an exhilerating stretch of his spine, his hot, sinewy muscles...

                                                                              *****

Fugitive! Alex: Isn't it redundant to say "sinewy muscles"? I mean muscle=sinew.

Author: On you maybe it does. I've had my share of Match.com dates and its not the norm, trust me on this.

                                                                            *****

     ...his hot, muscular sinews straining against the fetching black T-shirt for all to ~~see~~ ~~admire~~ discreetly drool over but his pert little ass was sadly concealed by its proximity to the wall.

     Satisfied at last with his warm-up, Alex ~~started~~ ~~embarked~~ turned heel to begin his investigation of the awful-on-a-biblical-scale nightmare that was Sona prison. He'd not taken twenty steps when he nearly tripped over the prostrate form of Captain Bellick looking ~~worse for the wear like a beaten-up chihuahua~~ like one of those goat-eating-cryptozoological creatures from Mexico who had had a wicked bad day.

                                                                                *****

Fugitive!Alex: Chupacabra

Author: Bless you.

Fugitive! Alex: No, the goat-eating , cryptozoological animal is a Chupacabra. What's up with all the Mexican references anyway? We're in Panama.

Author: Well, I figure some of those bad boys have been seen in Texas so why can't they travel south too?

Fugitive! Alex: I just think its odd you should set a story in Panama when you haven't troubled yourself to learn anything about Panamanian culture. There might be an indigenous goat-eating cryptozoological creature that you could refer to there. It just seems a bit condescending on your part.

Author: Would you care to hear which particular individual is not in line for much more of my condescension?

                                                                         *****

     "Mahone, you bastard" Bellick gasped. "where's my money?!"

     "Gee, Brad, I'm away from my desk at the moment" Alex replied with maddening calmness "but you know what? Filling out that paperwork for you is right at the top of my to-do list, just after 'escape from the craptacular crapiness that is Sona prison.'"

     With a spritely look of utter contempt in his Wedgewood blue eyes, Alex stepped over Bellick and continued his exploration of the not-inviting-at-all accomodations that were Sona prison.

     From the ~~shadows blackness~~ dispiritingly dark depths came a silky voice which sounded like "hahow aheck" but was in fact "Hello, Alex"

     "What?"

     "Hahow Aheck."

     "Sorry, I'm still not getting it. Would you mind speaking up a little."

     Michael Scofield stepped from the ~~oppressive blackness that was Sona prison~~ shadows, perhaps dazzled by the splendiforuousness of Mahone in a T-shirt because otherwise there was no explanation for why he was squinting in the very poorly lit joint that was Sona Prison. He may have meant to look inscrutable, which he did to a certain degree, but as a defense mechanism, inscrutable really sucked in comparison to crazy cheifly because most of the inmates didn't know what it meant. Crazy, everyone understood.

     With one hot gringo out of the "fast times at Sona Prison" equation (Fugitive! Alex: Again with Mexico!) Michael had all the more admirers. The two ~~hotties~~ sworn-enemies-yet-somehow soulmates found themselves surrounded by the worst rapists, murderers, foul-deed doers that the scandalously unhygeinic nightmare that was Sona Prison had to ~~offer~~ cough up from its wretched bowels.

     "Stand back" Alex bellowed as he pushed the cowering, whimpering engineer to safety against the wall behind him.

                                                                             *****

Fugitive! Michael: Heckoo meh

Author, Fugitive! Alex: What?

Fugitive! Michael: EXCUSE ME!!!!

Author, Fugitive! Alex: Oh.

Fugitive! Michael: Excuse me but I'm not a helpless babe here.

Author: Oh, you're a babe alright. Hubba, hubba.

Fugitive! Michael: You miss my point. Am I not the one who has already engineered a cunning escape from a federal penitentiary, endured the chopping off of toes fearlessly and manfully, escaped the wicked clutches of those who would threaten my virtue, T-Bag to be specific, time and time again?

Author: Yeah, sure, and you have a lot to be proud of there, son.

Fugitive! Michael: Then why have you turned me into a "cowering, whimpering engineer"?

Author: Did you think you were going to be the top? Seriously, tell me you didn't think that.

Fugitive! Alex: Duuhhh!

Fugitive! Michael: I envisioned a mutual support system where we gradually learned to drop the seeemingly insurmountable barriers between us and develop a grudging respect which simmered and burned into an uncontrollable passion.

Author: Have you read any of my work before?

Fugitive! Alex: No, no hear him out! He might be on to something.

Author, Fugitive! Alex: Bwwwaaaahhaahhhaaaa!!!!!!

                                                                        ******

   Alex's blue steel eyes (Fugitive! Michael: Come on! Blue steel is practically my trademark! Author: Yeah, and I'm practically a virgin. Practically don't cut it my friend.) never blinked as with swift, punishing blows he sent torpedoing each and every one of the vilest scumbags that the really just awful place that was Sona Prison had to regurgitate from its unsettled digestive system. Michael could only clutch his heaving breast in terror as the bleeding lowlifes were systematically stacked in heaps like so much cord wood by the ~~smoking macho~~ inordinately virile agent who vented his fury against ~~the seediest assortment of misanthropes that the highly untherapuetic environment that was Sona Prison could manage to micturate through its dysfunctional urinary tract~~ the bad guys.

     "My hero!!" Michael squealed with delight.

                                                            *****

Fugitive! Michael: Enough is enough! I'm taking my sweet ass and getting the hell out of here!

Author: Hey, see if I care.

Fugitive! Alex: Ummm, where exactly does that leave our "erotic masterpiece" then.

Author: I've just had a new inspiration. See... there's this lone female prisoner, Maria Susana, and Alex...

Fugitive! Alex: Holy shit!   I'm coming with you, Scofield....

Author: Bbwwaaahhaaahhaaa!!!!!!

THE END

Rogue Agents in Love! Part 2

2007-02-27T02:56:57Z

Title: Rogue Agents in Love! Part 2

Pairing: Mahone/Kellerman/Kim

Warnings: Silliness only

The squeak of rubber soles on linoleum aroused the dewy-eyed agents from their reverie. Quickly pulling on the top of his scrubs, Paul poked his head out from under the covers and tried to nonchalantly, but at the same time with crisp professionalism, inform the nurse who had just entered the room that "I was just getting Mr. Mahone’s pulse..." when his ~~jaw fell open~~ when he was ~~stopped mid-sentence~~ when his vision was arrested by the pert but strangely familiar form before him. Something about the shapely legs encased in white stockings and the vivacious toss of long black hair as the nurse turned around was ~~evocative~~--~~surprisingly evocative– alarmingly evocative–~~terrifyingly evocative of...

"Mr. Kim!" the two now-yanked-pretty-irrevocably-from-their-love-hangover-agents cried in unison.
Squish.
Squish.
Squish.

The deliberate approach of his Nursemate shoes hung suspended in the rich, rubbing alcohol scented air. The guilty lovers gripped each other breathlessly, wondering if the bulge in front of their boss’s crisp linen uniform dress meant he was packing heat or just really glad to see them.

"So this is how you repay me!" Kim sighed, using the dreaded, I’m not angry, I’m disappointed tone of voice. "I give and I give and I give and this is how you repay me? Here...like this...with him?"

Paul struggled to cover himself, mentally cursing the deftness with which he had disrobed earlier. "Look, I can explain..."

"I was talking to Alex" Bill ~~cooly, icily, frostily~~ replied with glacial frostiness in his icy voice, while at the same time straining his neck to see if he could glimpse a little skin from the magnificent Mahone, who was looking pretty startled through his peacock blue eyes, but just as foxy as ever.

****

Author: No, you were actually talking to Paul.

Rogue! Bill: WTF? I want the pretty one!

Rogue! Paul: For future reference, could we please confine the use of the term "magnificent" to me? I now offer a full line of licensed "Magnificent Bastard" products and I think any other use of the word in this context would just tend to confuse things. Believe me, the last thing I want is to have to get the lawyers involved.

Rogue! Michael: I'd be careful of "the pretty one" too.

Author, Rogue!Paul, Rogue! Bill: What are you doing here?

Rogue! Alex: Pssst! Call me!

Rogue!Paul: What's that supposed to mean anyway? The pretty one? What am I, chopped liver?

Rogue! Bill: Relatively speaking, yes.

Rogue! Alex: Nobody finds you more attractive than I do Paul and I believe I just demonstrated that but you know, a situp or three hundred wouldn't kill you..

Rogue! Paul: Oh, you too? I suppose you're some kind of fitness guru.

Rogue!Bill: He may not be a "guru" but did you ever punch his stomach? Hard as a a rock!

Rogue!Alex: Oh, stop.

Rogue!Bill: Listen, as your supervisor I feel its very important to give my employees positive feedback when it has been earned.

Rogue!Alex: Please Bill, you're embarassing me!

Rogue!Bill: Seriously Paul. Punch his stomach!

Rogue! Paul: Oh I'm ready to punch something!

Author: I suppose I deserve this for thinking I could deal with you lot again! May we return to the scene of betrayal and mortal jealousy that I have just masterfully laid out for you all?

Rogue! Paul: Mortal jealousy?

Rogue!Alex: Masterfully?

****

~~The air in the~~ ~~small, no tiny, no cramped~~ The dense air in the claustrophobically cramped hospital room was charged with ~~electricity~~ palpable electrons...

                                                                                     ****

Rogue! Paul: You don't mean to imply, I hope that electrons are some special part of electricity? Because they are present in atoms of any kind.

Rogue! Alex: I hope you are not implying that electrons are any component of electricity whatsover, special or otherwise. Electricity exists in waves, not particles.

Rogue! Paul: And I hope YOU will open up your Physics 101 textbook and see that you are confusing electricity with light.

Author: I never took physics so I don't care. Now may I please return to what I do know, namely how to set a mood of unbearable tension.

Rogue! Bill: Well she's right about the unbearable part.

                                                                                 ****
The pea-soup dense air in the claustrophobically cramped hospital room was charged with merrily colliding protons, electrons, the odd neutron and waves of what might have been electricity but could just as well have been light.

Paul cleared his parched throat and glanced anxiuosly back and forth between the two men, his head pivoting like a spectator at ~~Wimbledon~~ at the French Open where they have those really long rallies. One stood there, his sloe black eyes glowering at Paul malevolently, representing his past--a sordid, squalid, degrading, dehumanising, bad past.

The other, lay like an ~~angel, no, better than just an angel, an archangel, no even better,~~ like a principality...

****

Rogue! Paul: Principalities are higher than archangels?

Rogue! Alex: Yeah, she's got the order right as far as those three go but what few people realise is that the Seraphim are the highest order of all.

Rogue! Paul: Is that so? When you hear about "ye winged seraphs", it always seems like there are a lot of them but there are only, what, six or seven archangels? It makes them seem more important.

Rogue! Alex: Actually, the number and exact nature of the archangels is anything but a settled matter among theologians. In fact...

Author: At the risk of writing something you lofty thinkers might view as "high concept", may we return to the actual plot, which is about to take a stunning twist.

****

The other, with whom he had conspired to kill far fewer people, lay like ~~a member of a very high heirarchy of angels but not a seraphim because that six-wing stuff is a bit creepy or a cherubim because the four-faced thing is even creepier~~ a dominion on his bed, his Miller Lite beer can blue eyes emanating forgiveness , representing the future--a bright, wholesome, sunshiney future where weapons would be tossed aside once all of the Fox River 8 had been eliminated.

Paul swallowed hard, dreading the choice he was forced to make, the tender heart he was forced to break. At last he whispered "Alex, I'm sorry."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Alex screamed, his shock and dismay only worsened by the smarmy little victory dance the faux nurse Bill was now indulging in.

****

Rogue! Alex: Now don’t get all touchy, oh great exalted narrator, but you were all "It’s called ‘Rogue Agents in Love’, It’s called ‘Rogue Agents in Love’" the last time. Where does this new arrangement leave me?

Author: Don't worry, I have plans for you sweetie...

Rogue! Bill: Wait...she couldn't. I mean she wouldn't!

Rogue! Paul: She's been ruthless before but dear God, not that ruthless! Have mercy!

Author: This is my fic, I know what's best for us all.

Rogue! Agents: NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

****

Nurse Mary Sue, a shapely 23-year old with flaming auburn waves cascading past her slender shoulders...

****
Rogue! Agents: 23!! HAHAHAHA

Rogue! Bill: Yeah, cubed maybe!

Rogue! Paul: High five! hehehe!

Author/Nurse Mary-Sue: May I remind you all that you are currently in a well-equipped modern hospital. I have at my disposal numerous invasive and painful, not to mention highly undignified medical procedures. A momentary side trip across the keyboard and the three of you are in line for barium enemas.

Rogue! Alex: Gee, you look great. I mean she looks great...I mean this nurse Mary-Sue looks like a fascinating character!

Rogue! Paul: Kiss ass!

Rogue! Alex: Absolutely.

****

Nurse Mary Sue’s emerald green eyes were pulled, almost against her will to the aquamarine blue one’s of the ~~magnificent~~ (Rogue! Paul: ahem!) hunky FBI agent, who, according to the charts, had suffered a ~~gun shot wound~~.(Author: Not one word out of either of you.) a shoulder injury.

****

Rogue! Paul: I think its pretty funny she made her own eyes emerald and yours just crappy aquamarine.

Rogue! Alex: What do you mean crappy? They’re comparable stones.

Rogue! Paul: Well I’m exaggerating calling aquamarine crappy but it is only a semi-precious stone where emerald is precious.

Rogue! Alex: Are you sure? What’s the precious blue stone then?

Rogue! Paul: You're thinking of sapphire; its really a much richer color.

Rogue! Alex: That's it. I think she might have already used that though in part 1.

Rogue! Paul: You may be right. What's that pale green stone--is it a citrine? That would have been a comparable stone.

Author: That barium enema can be preceded by the barium shake. Yummy!

****

Nurse Mary Sue and Nurse Bill were left in awkward silence as the two agents ~~mindlessly bickered~~ passionately argued. At last Mary Sue, her ivory bosom heaving asked "So, is this your regular shift? I usually do days."

Bill was momentarily taken aback, not having a lie handy. "Well, you got me dead to right" he laughed at last. "I have no business trying to palm myself off as a trained medical professional! I’m really only the tool of an international conspiracy, just like my friends here!" He gestured broadly at the other two who had finally agreed that what Paul had been thinking of was a peridot.

"No way!" chortled Mary-Sue. "I have no idea what I'm doing myself! This is just a cover for this private dick out of Durango, CO that I work for. Seems like the ex still carries a torch for Romeo over there. Wanted me to find out who this Kim broad is who keeps trying to call."

Taking advantage of this momentary diversion, Paul climbed out of bed and slipped on the bottom of his purloined scrubs. Suddenly feeling all eyes on him, he threw up his hands in mock surrender. "It goes without saying that I’m no registered nurse! I can barely keep the clothes on!"

They all had a hearty guffaw at the preposterousness of the situation until finally Alex, with the laughter draining just a little from his rasberry Italian Ice blue eyes, observed "So I haven’t actually had any competent medical attention since I’ve been here?"

There was a brief moment of uneasy silence as the others tried to restrain themselves and come up with something comforting for their fallen comrade.

"The surgeon" Paul announced hopefully. "He was definitely a legit hospital physician."

They all murmured in agreement until Bill was unable to contain his snickering. "Course, define competent!" he burst out at last to Mary Sue who was nodding vigorously and raising an imaginary glass to her lips in the universal sign of illicit drinking.

"Too funny" Paul added, wiping a tear from his kind of shmeh! colored eye. "You can't catch a break today, Alex!"

****

Rogue! Alex: Excuse me, all-powerful and omnipotent goddess-slash-author. Things are a little out of control here. Would you care to step in perhaps and give me a little attention?

****

Nurse Mary-Sue, with a toss of her raven tresses, purred "Perhaps we should get a real nurse in here" throwing her words at the ersatz RNs as if a challenge. She sidled up to Bill, pressing her smoking hot size four body in closely. "Just one thing before I go" she whispered breathlessly into his ear with its conventionally detached earlobe. " How do you like those Nursemates? I do a lot of gigs as a nurse and its murder on the feet!"

"The shoes are great, but do you know what the real key is?" Bill answered, not blinking or giving the slightest ground to the temptress before him.

"What's that?"

"Support hose! There's no substitute." For emphasis he lifted the hem of his dress and gave them all a look at his fabulous gams, which did indeed look quite perky. "Its like a massage all day long. Even after a double-shift, I'm ready to hit the dance floor! If, that is" he added flirtatiously, "I get a good enough offer."

****

Rogue! Alex: Anyone remember my "shoulder injury?"

Rogue! Paul: "Raven tressses"? I thought you had "auburn waves".

Author/Nurse Mary-Sue: I changed my mind. Do those support hose come in nude too?

Rogue! Bill: Nude, suntan, off-black...pretty much all the shades a girls could need.

****

The door swung open and no-nonsense totally legitimate and very qualified nurse Edna White strode in.

"Out!" she ordered with a sweep of her arm that encompassed all three of the phoney Florence Nightingales. "There's no slash fiction gonna happen on my shift, especially not crack slash fiction. Out!"

Bill, Paul and Mary-Sue shuffled shame-facedly out the door leaving Agent Mahone in good hands at last.

"Thank God!" he gasped. "I'm out of that nightmare. It was like being trapped in a Kafka novel!"

"Kafka, really?" Edna remarked. "It struck me as more Orwellian actually."

Paul peeked his head around the door.

"It was nothing like Orwell. Have you actually read Orwell?" he asked dismissively.

Terror filled Alex's Tydebol blue eyes as a silent scream rose in his throat...there was no escape!

****

Author: There, now you know how I feel.

THE END

beeharbour @ 2007-02-07T11:41:00

2007-02-07T16:43:41Z

Rogue Agents in Love!

Pairing: Kellerman/Mahone

Warnings: Only for extreme silliness

Disclaimers: Alas, neither Mahone nor Kellerman belong to me. This is a very fluffy absurdity and I hope no one takes offense at my having a bit of fun.

Alex stirred in his hospital bed, sensing through his keenly developed...well, senses, that he was being watched. The room was ~~cloaked veiled~~ mantled—the room was mantled in darkness but through his long, sensuous eyelashes his ~~pale~~- ~~icy~~- adamantine–his adamantine blue eyes could make out the shadowy form of Secret Service Agent Paul Kellerman, looking oddly fetching in the scrubs he had “borrowed” from the nurse on duty.

“Son of a bitch...” Alex exclaimed, off-pissedly, reaching for his weapon which was conveniently sitting in the top drawer of his bedside table.

                                                                                                                 ****
Author: Put down the gun, Alex. This is a romance.

Rogue! Alex: I don’t care if this is Harry Fucking Potter and Proctologist of Albuquerque, the bastard shot me!

Author: Believe me; he’s very sorry about that. And there’s going to be smut to prove it.

Rogue! Alex: Smut? With him?

Author: You’ve had a better offer today?

Rogue! Alex: You girls over at the fichtnerfirstand group have made me three or four better offers yourselves in the last 15 minutes.

Author: True but this is supposed to be a challenge.

                                                                                                        ****

Paul stepped out of the shadows, ~~his heart overflowing with all he had longed~~–~~no ached~~–~~so desperately tried to deny...~~Paul tentatively stepped from the murky depths of the shadowy corner, his heart upchucking with all he had so desperately tried to deny, even to himself–all he felt for the stricken man who lay on the bed before him wearing a pretty blue jonnie that really suited his coloring much better than one of those awful white ones with the random patterns on them. Who designs those fabrics, anyway? Words stuck in Paul’s throat like a wad of Big League Chew as he silently, wordlessly, really quietly held out his peace offering.

Alex gazed at him steadily, trying desperately to maintain his composure. But it took more control than he could muster as his cobalt blue eyes wantonly caressed the tell-tale shape in Paul’s extended hands–a Whitman’s Sampler!

                                                                                                              ****

Rogue! Paul: Whitman’s Sampler? Hello I’ve been around long enough to know that only Godiva will do when you’ve just shot the object of your illicit passion.

Author: Are you sure? 'Cause the Whitman’s Sampler has that handy chart on the box so you never get a chocolate you don't like.

Rogue! Paul: Trust me on this.

                                                                                                        ****

Never before had the decadently sinful foil Godiva packaging appeared so sinfully decadent. Paul's hands ~~paused,~~ ~~shaking~~–~~no trembling~~–~~no palsied~~–Paul’s hands paused, palsied with trepidation as he passed the box to Alex’s long, graceful-as-a Greek-marble fingers. Their eyes transfixed upon each other’s, drinking in the heat and lust and longing and crazed carnal desire, pushing aside their various attempts upon each other’s lives, not to mention some tattling to Mr. Kim they had both indulged in.

At last, Alex broke the silence.

“A lousy quarter pound box?” he asked incredulously. “I have one word for you: GSW!”

“I think that’s three words.”

                                                                                                       ****
Author: Gentlemen, we digress.

Rogue! Alex: Seriously GSW counts as only one word like FBI or CIA.

Rogue! Paul: No way. 3 letters =3 words.

Rogue! Alex: If it were 3 words there’d be spaces between the letters. Do you see spaces?

Author: Excuse me. Check out the title. It's Rogue Agents in Love, not Rogue Agents in Grammar Debate.

Rogue! Paul: Wouldn’t that be Rogue Agents in Grammatical Debate?

Rogue! Alex: No, it wouldn't. That would mean that the debate itself was being conducted in a grammatical fashion, not that the subject of the debate was grammar. I’d say it’s more a spelling debate anyway.

Author: Enough!

                                                                                                             ****

~~Emboldened–no brazenly emboldened~~ ~~now by the wanton–no already used wanton~~–Brazenly emboldened by the sluttish look in his beloved’s azure eyes, Paul tossed aside the coveted candy. Nuzzling close to Alex’s ear he whispered: “At your age, you should probably be watching the sugar intake.”

“My age?!”

                                                                                                                       ****

Author: Stop that right now. Start over.
                                                                                                                       ****

Emboldened by the licentiously slatternly look in his beloved's stormy, sea blue eyes, Paul lowered himself to the edge of the hospital bed. Alex gasped at the sudden closeness of the man who had ~~run~~ ~~romped~~ cavorted so often through his dreams. Or it may have just been that the other agent was sitting on his oxygen tubing. Leaning in close, inhaling at last the same air molecules Paul nuzzled against Alex's face with the innocence of a really big eyed puppy and whispered into his ear:

"Wow, attached earlobes! You hardly ever see those."

"No, it's a recessive gene," Alex replied, his husky voice breaking as at last he could speak the words he'd ~~longed~~ breathlessly awaited ~~speaking~~ ~~uttering~~ giving passionate voice to for so long. On the theme of breathlessness he added "Can you scoot over just a tad" and gave the tubing a yank. "Careful for the IV too."

Turning his attention back to the box of chocolates, Paul silently wondered if he ought to have sprung for a bigger box. How much action can a guy get for a quarter pound? He noted the tiny, stuffed bear sitting precariously in the folds of the red ribbon that wrapped around the box and hoped that counted for something with the angel of an agent who was now eying the box again himself with his cerulean blue eyes, and not looking too impressed. "Jeez," Paul thought. "What does he want from me? Collarbone and rotator cuff...it's not like I shot him in the head."

                                                                                                                 ****
Author: A little more remorse might be in order here.

Rogue! Paul: Look, I’m sorry already but you know I don't have as much seniority as he does and I don't make the same kind of cash. Godivas aren't cheap.

Author: Don't cry to me about that. I sent you in there with a Whitman's Sampler. Plenty of chocolates in one of those and for a very reasonable price. Now let me spell it out for you: no remorse, no smut.

                                                                                                            ****

Slowly, languidly, lethargically, torpidly he removed the cover from the box and tossed it aside, never allowing his gaze to stray from the really wicked blue eyes of his fab fibbie. Taking out a chocolate, with only a nanosecond's downward glance to make sure it was milk chocolate because, sorry, dark chocolate does not cut it, he bit into it and sensually slurped out the creamy filling without letting a drop escape his lips.

"Now we're getting somewhere" Alex thought and he reached for one himself. His robin's egg blue eyes never blinked as he felt around for the chocolate with the lion on it, the one with the really gooey caramel inside and just as eagerly gulped it down thus establishing to their mutual satisfaction that they both knew their way around things that could be slurped.. "Let's get these out of the way" he murmured, deftly moving the chocolates to the bedside table. You only get 8 pieces in a quarter pound of Godivas and he was buggered if he was giving up another. Course, he might be buggered anyhow, but that was a whole other issue.

With fathomless depths of shame in his whatever-the-hell-color-they-are eyes, Paul...

****
Rogue! Paul: Fathomless depths of shame?

Author: Fathomless depths of shame.

Rogue! Paul: It's a flesh wound, for chrissake! You don't think he'd have done the same to me?

Author: Fathomless. Depths. Of. Shame. Don't mess with Mahone! Not on my watch.

                                                                                                        ****

With fathomless depths of shame in his fairly non-descript. eyes, Paul leaned forward and gingerly, almost reverently reached for Alex's cruelly abused shoulder. The musical popping of hospital jonnie snaps had never sounded so ~~beautiful enticing~~ alluringly enticing. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he viewed the wreckage he had caused. He longed to press his fevered lips to Alex's flesh, to beg for forgiveness, but he pulled away.

"So what kind of medical coverage do you get at the Bureau? Cause I have to say, its very generous for us at the Secret Service."

"No complaints there. The dental is awesome, too" Alex whispered in return, pulling Paul closer with the sonorously tempting cadence of his huskily seductive voice. “I bet you couldn't tell I've been wearing braces for the last six months."

"Really? Those invisible ones?"

Alex could only nod, unable to convey the words that could properly express how satisfied he was with his orthodontist, especially since the co-pays were so affordable.

"Wow!" Paul exclaimed, awestruck. "Well, your teeth look great!"

                                                                                                        ****
Author: Can we please stay on topic here!

Rogue! Alex: Well, excuse me for living. I just thought perhaps some of your readers might care to know there's more to a career in the FBI than getting shot at and blackmailed by international conspiracies.

Rogue! Paul: You're so right, Alex. A job with the Federal government is not just a way to serve the people of this great land of ours; it can be a challenging and fulfilling career. Check out www.usajobs.gov for exciting information about positions in your area!

Author: If you two don't start cooperating real soon, I'm going to change the name of this fic to Avocado’s Love Slaves.

Rogue! Paul: She can't do that, can she?

Rogue! Alex: She's the third person omniscient narrator! She can do anything she wants!

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~~There was an awkward moment of silence--~~ A moment pregnant with awkwardness passed as they both realized the line they were about to cross: one meeting of their moist eager lips and first, they'd soon end up with kiss-swollen lips and second, they'd be melting into one another and there was no telling how that would effect their respective retirement benefits. One person? Two pensions?

                                                                                                   ****

Author: Ok, I think you both know what I'm going to say about whether or not an aside about pensions is appropriate in this story.
                                                                                                    ****

From beneath the feathery fringe of his millipede-like lashes, Alex's Windex blue eyes told Paul all he needed to know about what this god of a G-man wanted. And Paul meant to give it to him. He pounced into the other man's awaiting mouth and soon their tongues were sliding, twining, tickling, performing the tree pose, and running half-marathons with each other. When at last they separated, it was only long enough for them to assemble teams so their tongues could play a pick-up football game.

                                                                                                    ****
Rogue! Alex: Speaking of football, how ‘bout those Colts.

Rogue! Paul: Screw ‘em. I had the Bears with the points.

Rogue! Alex: Ha! They were lucky not to lose by 50.

Rogue! Paul: Well if those refs weren’t blind…

Author: Am I going to have to make this Love Slaves of Cell Blocks 32 to 68?

Rogue! Agents: We hear and we obey!

Throwing all caution to the wind and ~~giving in~~ recklessly surrendering themselves to the scorching flames of their raging carnal desire, jonnies and scrubs were deftly tossed to the floor leaving only ~~bare skin~~ quarter-acres of alabaster flesh to be voraciously devoured.

From beneath the sheets passionate, ecstatic, occasionally downright puzzling noises emerged. Certain things were discovered to be harder than either of them had ever experienced while certain other things proved to be tighter. Tumescent manhoods pulsed on both.Abandonment to the sheer power of their lust was likewise a mutual thing. Paul's eager lips landed in some surprising places; Alex was found to have pretty amazing flexibility for a middle-aged man recovering from a gun shot wound. The sheets were moistened in direct proportion to particular body parts being drained dry and, all in all, a good, fun, messy time was had by all.

Sated at last, they lay basked in the afterglow, ~~entwined in each others arms~~, entwined like a spool of twine in each others arms. Paul gazed into Alex’s blueberry pie blue eyes and lovingly caressed his lover’s elegantly exquisite face.

“That’s a good, close shave you have. What kind of razor do you use?” he purred.

“You won’t believe it. All they have here are those cheap disposable "Good News "razors but damned if they don’t work as well as the “Gillette 17 Blades o’ Comfort” I use at home.”

                                                                                           ****

Author: You two are hopeless. I officially give up. Apparently there actually are ways to slash Mahone that I won’t go all fan girl over.