michaelxmahone | Fic: Adrenalin, NC-17 (Reply)

Hello, I'm a long time lurker and I've been enjoying everyone's works, so I thought I'd finally contribute a fic to this community. Also, I pasted this from Word, so please let me know if anything looks wonky on your screens.

Title: Adrenalin
Author: dvoid_03
Pairing: Alex Mahone/Michael Scofield
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex and language
Spoilers: Let’s just say all of season 3 to be safe.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Prison Break or any of its characters.
Summary: Michael’s POV. Missing scenes from Sona, starting with the wall scene (AKA the scene that launched a thousand slash fics).
Author’s Note: You really need to have watched season 3 to follow the plot. Also, I did this from memory, so sorry if I get the timeline or the details a bit wrong. (Cross posted to

wallporn)

Adrenalin can be a funny thing. It floods your body in seconds, making your heart beat faster, your muscles tense, your nerves buzz in anticipation of the slightest stimuli. It’s meant to keep you alive. At least, that’s what I’ve always relied on it for: to keep me moving faster, thinking faster than everyone else. But the trouble with the human body is it doesn’t always make the distinctions the mind does.

Pinned to the wall, a shiv inches from my head, blood pounding in my ears, I really thought I might die. Alex was stoned out of his mind and on something stronger than his usual pills. I’d watched him deteriorate steadily since we got to Sona, going wild-eyed from desperation and withdrawal. It had made me complacent, made me forget that this was a man who had broken my code, guessed my plans, gotten ahead of me when everyone else was two steps behind.

I’d seen him kill a man with his bare hands just days before. I knew he’d have no qualms about killing me if he truly believed I wouldn’t take him with me. But somehow, pressed back against that rough, grimy wall, my body found time to remind me that this was the closest I’d been to another human being in God-knew-how-long.

Like I said, the body doesn’t make the sophisticated distinctions the mind does.
Alex has a way of invading your personal space: standing just a bit too close, blocking your way, forcing you to acknowledge just how formidable he is. Whatever he’d taken had put that on overdrive. He leaned in so close I couldn’t focus on his face properly, couldn’t even look in his eyes, gauge whether or not he meant to kill me. He leaned in closer still, voice low and husky, and all but whispered in my ear that he wasn’t my errand boy, that he was going with me.

Close as he was, we weren’t actually touching. His body hovered just millimeters from mine. And somehow that was worse. I could feel the heat coming from him, even hotter than the ever-present crush of the Panama air. As over-amped as my nerves were, I could almost feel his movements as a physical touch, a phantom shifting along the length of my body. For just one second, I felt the urge to lean forward, close the minuscule gap between us, and kiss him. I squeezed my eyes shut and flattened myself further back against the wall.

The urge passed around the time he was describing how he would bury his shiv between my eyes. Mostly.

He pulled his hand back, and for a second I thought he might make good on his threat. But then he stepped back, leaving me momentarily cold with the lack of his body heat.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and kept my eyes on the ground, not wanting to meet his gaze. Maybe because I was afraid it might antagonize him further, maybe because I was afraid of what he might see there.

I stayed slumped against the wall after he left, breathing raggedly and trying to get myself under control. I pointedly ignored the fact that I was hard. This is what happens, I told myself, when you run on adrenalin for too long. When you thought about it, it was normal to react that way—well, not normal, maybe, but understandable. I’d gone from prison, to running for my life, to prison again. I’d lived too much in my mind and now my body was taking revenge on me. I just had to get control again, concentrate on what was important: LJ and Sara. And making the Company pay.

There was plenty to distract me; planning a daylight escape takes a lot of work, after all. Still, I’m nothing if not a multi-tasker. Even while I was keeping one eye on the guard towers and the other on Whistler, I had time enough to flash back to the sensation of Alex’s warm breath on my neck, to picture his blue-green eyes dulled with pleasure from whatever he was shooting into his arm and think about how they’d look the same dulled with pleasure from a different source. And to marvel at how, even high as a kite, he could manage to offer up the last piece of the puzzle, to see a pattern even I hadn’t spotted in something as simple as a discarded coffee cup.

And then for the second time that week he caught me completely off guard, striding out of Sona just when I needed him most. Granted, I was trying to throw suspicion onto him for Tyge’s murder—which I wasn’t altogether sure he didn’t commit. Nonetheless, I hadn’t intended to let Lechero kill him, not if I could help it. I just needed to buy time to think of something else. Time to keep Whistler from dying, and with him any hopes of saving LJ or Sara.

The next time I saw Mahone, I was fairly sure he was a hallucination. I was in a man-sized solar oven, sweating out every last drop of moisture in my body, trying desperately not to vomit and hasten the dehydration process. And Alex walked by, dressed in a suit, like he’d stepped right out of my memories. At that point, I was just glad I was still lucid enough to realize that he had to be a hallucination.

Still, when they finally threw me back into Sona, I had to pass by his cell, just to be sure. And there he was, huddled in the fetal position on the floor, still dressed in slacks and a dress shirt. He was shaking so violently that I thought he’d overdosed and given himself a seizure.

“Alex!” I was on my knees next to him before I stopped to think. And that was a mistake. As I grabbed his arm to roll him over, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me forward and clamping the other around my throat. I can only imagine what would have happened if he’d had a weapon.

Even as his hand tightened around my windpipe I could feel the tremors running through his body. Not a seizure. Withdrawal. Wherever he’d been apparently hadn’t had the ready supply of drugs Sona does.

I wasn’t sure if withdrawal was any better than stoned. He seemed equally unpredictable in either state. Still, his eyes focused on my face and his hands fell away. “Sorry,” he said, voice hitching with discomfort. Then he rolled over, folding his arms across his chest and curling back into a ball.

I sat back and massaged my neck, watching him in silence. Finally, I sighed and said, “Do you want me to go find T-Bag for you?” though it made me queasy just to utter those words.

“No!” He shook his head for emphasis. “I’m fine. Just go.”

Finally, I understood. He was trying to detox, miserable and alone on a grimy floor in Sona. I sighed again. I couldn’t leave him like this. No one deserved this—well, there were one or two people I wouldn’t mind seeing writhing in agony on the floor. But, oddly enough, Alex—my father’s killer—wasn’t one of them.

I put a hand on his shoulder, tensing in case he turned on me again. He didn’t. He didn’t move at all. I shook him a bit, wondering if he’d passed out. “Alex, come on, roll over.”

He pushed himself onto his back, striking pale eyes finding mine. He looked exhausted. And defeated. I noticed that he was still wearing his tie. It was undone and hung loose around his neck. He’d unbuttoned his shirt, too, revealing the lack of undershirt, as if to show that any resemblance to the old Alex was just a flimsy illusion.

Moving slowly, not wanting to startle him, I crouched over him and hitched my hands under his arms. “Put your arms around me.”

He ignored my request, instead studying me with that probing gaze of his. “What are you doing, Michael?”

“Just trying to help.”

“Thought I was on my own.”

“Things change.” My legs were starting to get sore from holding the position. I tried again to get my arms under him. This time he put his arms around my neck and between the two of us we got his legs under him. I helped him into the bed, then rested on the floor with my back against the bed frame, still weak from my brush with heat stroke.

Alex gave a dry, pained laugh. “So, what, I’m finally pathetic enough to warrant your concern?”

I kept my gaze on the far wall. “That’s not it.” I could feel his eyes on me, and I didn’t dare look back at him. He was too good at reading me, and the truth is he was half right. At that moment, I was acting half out of pity, half out of some other, unnamed emotion that I didn’t dare examine too closely.

I stood and got his cup off the window sill. “I’m going to get you some water.”

By the time I got back, he’d gotten his blanket over him, clutching it to himself as if it weren’t 90 degrees in the shade. All the way back, I’d been trying to dredge up what I knew about withdrawal. It wasn’t much, basically that it looked a lot like a bad flu: vomiting, muscle pain, chills. I was reasonably sure it wouldn’t kill him, but I couldn’t actually remember for certain. There was something nagging at the back of my mind about stroke or heart attack, but I couldn’t pin it down. I’d sent McGrady on a mission to find me some aspirin, just in case. It’d help with the other symptoms, anyway, even if he didn’t need it as a blood thinner.

I knelt by the bed and helped Alex sit up enough to drink. I’d managed to find some bread and cheese as well—both more or less free of mold. He rolled away with a groan when I offered the food. I set it aside for the moment.

He was watching me again. I found other things in the room to focus on: the clutter of junk on the window sill, the shafts of light coming through the window, my own hands.

To my immense surprise, McGrady appeared at the door a few moments later, holding a faded bottle. I popped the top off and examined the pills. There were maybe ten left, but they looked authentic. And the bottle seemed to have said aspirin at one time. I wasn’t surprised to learn that there was no change from the money I’d given him. The last of my funds: twenty bucks. McGrady shot a dubious look past me at Alex, shuddering under his thin blanket, then shrugged and hurried off.

“Here.” I shook three pills into my hand and retrieved the cup of water.

Alex swallowed and gave a dry, rasping laugh. “Sara would be proud.”

I jerked back as if he’d slapped me. That’s what it felt like—no, more like someone had grabbed my heart and wrenched it around in my chest. I got up and went to the window, willing the bright sun to bake my eyes dry again.

For the first time, I was thankful that Alex could read me so well. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him roll onto his side. “My God, I’m sorry. When? How?”

I shook my head. I still hadn’t gotten the whole story out of Linc. I told him what I did know: “She managed to get some clues to us about where she and LJ were. Linc tried to get to them.” I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat and gripped the bars. “He was just a few seconds too slow. They killed her for it.”

“Michael, I’m sorry. She seemed like—I’m sorry.”

I nodded, thankful for the lack of platitudes. It had been bad enough listening to Bellick telling me what a great woman she was. As if I didn’t know. The last picture I have of her, she’s exhausted and terrified and still brave enough to try and get a message to me. I couldn’t even look at it, not without breaking down. But I kept it in my pocket, and once in a while I could slide my hand in and touch it, feel close to her without feeling the rest of it.

I was brought back to reality by Alex retching over the side of his bed. It was mostly dry heaving. Apparently, he hadn’t had much in his stomach except for the water and the aspirin. I helped him drink the last of the water, then went to refill it and find a bucket.

T-Bag was loitering in the hall outside Alex’s cell when I got back.

“Now don’t that just warm my heart,” he sneered as I approached. “Prisoners taking care of each other in their time of need.”

Every time I see him I have to remind myself that it would cause problems with Lechero if I killed him. Or beat him unconscious with the bucket I’d found. He must have seen it in my eyes, because he ducked around me. It didn’t stop him from clucking his tongue as he backed down the hall and saying, “I just wonder exactly what plan ol’ Alex in there figures into.” The knowing look in his eye said differently, and I clenched my jaw and willed myself not to charge after him as he disappeared around the corner with a wink and a, “See ya ‘round, Pretty.”

Alex was up on his elbows as I entered. I glanced behind me and realized that he had probably seen or heard most of the exchange. He settled back and didn’t comment on it. I set the bucket down next to the bed and studied his face, trying to figure out if T-Bag had given him anything.

He quirked a tired smile. “I’ve got more willpower than that. For now.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“He saw the aspirin,” Alex told me.

It took me a moment to figure out that he was trying to tell me that he hadn’t said anything to T-Bag about me. That the bastard had put it together on his own, realized that Alex had neither the strength nor the funds to get a hold of aspirin.

I nodded again and grabbed the bottle. I surveyed its contents as if somehow more might have magically appeared since the last time. I shook two out and got Alex to take them since he’d vomited up the other ones.

“How many of those do we have left?” he asked, settling back.

I screwed the cap back on. “Not many.”

He was staring at something in his palm. He caught me looking and opened his hand to reveal a coin. “A few hours ago, I begged the one person in this world who had any faith left in me for drugs, just so I could function.” He squeezed his fist tight. “This is my reminder to never be that weak again.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I clapped him on the shoulder. “Try to rest.”

“I didn’t kill the Frenchman, you know. I’m not saying I’m not capable of it, but I’d at least try to make it look like an accident—or just chickenfoot him. And I wouldn’t keep the murder weapon in my cell.”

“I know,” I said, because I did more or less believe him.

“What bothers me is that you were right: it looked like a professional hit. And very few people have the motive and the skill to pull it off.”

I nodded. I had been thinking the same thing. The only explanation that made any sense was that Whistler was in much deeper with the Company than he let on, maybe was a Company agent. And he’d killed Tyge to keep him from giving something away to us.

“Watch your back around him, Michael.”

I gave him a sardonic smile. “I watch my back around everyone, Alex. It’s pretty much all I do.”

I stayed a while longer, helping him throw the blanket off when he suddenly got too hot, then pull it back up when the chills returned. I got him to eat a bit of the bread, and he managed to keep it down. Finally, he dozed off, the fist with the coin pressed to his chest.

I watched his face for a while, marveling at how my body could still dredge up what I’d felt that day with his face shoved close to mine. Sara was dead. All I should be able to feel was crushed, mangled beyond recognition. And I did feel that, but somehow there was room for lust, as well. I began to think that maybe I felt lust because of the other emotions. Maybe Alex was what my body was craving just to make it through that terrible place.

That wasn’t exactly a comforting thought. Especially because I fully expected him to bash my face in if I ever acted on the urges I was having. McGrady had told me about the day that T-Bag’s predecessor had suggested an alternate payment plan for Mahone’s drug habit.

Sara had accused me once of getting off on danger, of chasing it like a high. Had I moved beyond even that? Was I self-destructive now? Is that what I wanted deep down inside: just to have someone end it all for me? I put the thought out of my head, afraid that if I looked too closely I just might get an answer.

I went back to my room for the night, but didn’t sleep that much. I kept going outside for water. And somehow the route always took me past Alex’s cell. I didn’t go in, didn’t even slow down most of the time, just scanned his room as I passed to make sure he wasn’t on the floor again, hadn’t choked or stopped breathing.

He was awake and sitting up when I passed by just before dawn. The grey light cast harsh shadows on his drawn face, aging him. But he had stopped shaking. He was staring at the coin, but he looked up in surprise as I approached. His eyes were as alive and striking as ever. I stopped walking without meaning to.

“Morning,” he said. His voice sounded stronger, too.

Out of sheer force of will, I kept my voice calm and even. “Good morning, Alex.”

I strode off. Whistler caught up with me in the courtyard, wanting to know the latest, as always.

I didn’t quite manage to mask my surprise when Alex strode up a few hours later, looking a damn sight better than he had that morning. He nodded at me and asked about “the new plan.”

As it turned out, the new plan involved a lot of working closely with both Alex and Whistler. Alex and I worked well together. He’s always been able to grasp my line of thinking better than most. For once, that was a good thing. We worked fluidly, except for Whistler’s interruptions. He was desperately trying to convince us that he was really an innocent victim in all of this. At that point, it was just insulting. Alex shut him down before I actually took a swing at him.

Of course, without Whistler’s constant chatter, I was left without much to distract me from the fact that bracing boards into the narrow opening of our tunnel put me disconcertingly close to Alex. More than once we were stuck face to face, nearly as close as the day he reminded me that he wasn’t one to be underestimated. I tried desperately to keep my eyes anywhere but on his face, worried he’d read something in my eyes. Luckily, he seemed more intent on the work, and then where Lechero had gotten to.

Then we were all distracted, dealing with Sammy’s coup. Again, I marveled at how Alex was right there at my side, backing me up in a fight, forcing me to think things through before charging out to rescue Whistler. And of course there was the adrenalin again, ramping up my heart rate.

But what finally broke my resolve was what came after. When I was staring at the linchpin I’d pulled from the support brace. I’d done it while Alex had his back turned, not because I thought he’d disapprove, but because I didn’t approve. It was a line I never wanted to cross. I tried to tell myself that Sammy had forced my hand, that he wouldn’t have died if he’d taken my deal. It was his own greed that killed him. It didn’t make me feel any better.

To his credit, Alex didn’t say anything when Whistler accused me of making such a careless mistake, even though I knew Alex knew me better than that. I don’t know when he figured it out. Maybe he knew from the start. And he knew me well enough to know how it would make me feel. I was expecting some snide remark when he reappeared in the doorway of my cell. “Welcome to my world.” “Now you understand what it’s like to kill for survival.”

But he didn’t. He just let me know that he knew how I felt.

It was too much. I paced till dark. Whistler assumed it was worry over the plan. He even tried to make some half-sincere apology about what he’d said earlier. I stalked off, spouting something about needing to think. And I did, just not about what he assumed.

I paced the courtyard, listening to the sounds of the television drift down from Lechero’s room and, in the distance, the guards chatting as they patrolled No Man’s Land. It was late by the time I worked up the courage to go back in.

Alex was still awake, his lean figure slouched against the windowsill, staring at a small rectangle of paper in the moonlight. He turned as I hesitantly entered the cell. His face softened as he saw it was me.

He held up the square of paper. “My son. Someone sent it to me.”

I touched the picture in my pocket and almost turned around and left again.

Then Alex stepped closer, searching my face in concern. “Something wrong, Michael?”

He meant with the plan, so I shook my head. I debated making up some story, getting him somewhere that offered more privacy. But somehow I’d lost the ability to talk when I passed the threshold of the cell.

Alex tucked the picture of his son into his pocket and stepped a bit closer. “What is it?”

I looked down, thankful for the darkness. For once, he couldn’t read my face so easily. There was the adrenalin again, making my heart pound and my thoughts race. This was it. I stepped forward.

Alex leaned back a bit as I tried to close the distance, and I lost my nerve, stepping past him, as if I’d meant to go to the window all along. I slumped against the windowsill where Alex had been a few moments before and rested my forehead against my hands. I heard him step in close behind me.

I jumped a bit as a hand settled between my shoulders. “You know, you can talk to me, Michael.”

I pushed away from the window. “This was a mistake.”

He caught my arm before I could retreat back into the hall. “Is it Sammy? You did what you had to do.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then, what?” He ducked his head, trying to get a look at my face in the moonlight.

I knew this was my last chance. If I left, I’d never work up the nerve again. Maybe that was a good thing, but it didn’t feel like it, not at that moment. It felt like the fist around my heart again, another missed chance that I’d never get back.

I took a breath and turned, grabbing his neck and pulling our faces together before either of us had a chance to think.

It was different than kissing a woman. His lips were chapped and tasted like salt, and his stubble chafed against mine. And the women I kissed usually kissed me back.

Alex grasped my arms and moved me back a step. “Michael,” he panted. “What—” He shook his head. Apparently I’d caught him off-guard for once.

“Sorry,” I said, backing away. “I’m sorry. I—This was a mistake.”

He sidestepped into my path and beat me to the cell door, putting an arm up to stop me from getting out. “No. No, Michael. You tell me what that was.”

I shook my head. Usually I was so good at thinking on my feet, coming up with lies to cover the truth. But I knew that even if I could come up with a plausible reason for showing up in his cell and kissing him, he’d spot the lie.

He ducked his head, trying to capture my gaze again. “Look at me, Michael. Is this some game, some angle?”

I looked up, despite myself, cocking an eyebrow. “What angle exactly would I be working?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. Our eyes had locked and now I couldn’t look away. “Why don’t you tell me, Michael?”

There was an edge in his voice that I hadn’t heard since he’d detoxed. I backed up as he moved forward. Soon my back was against the rough, cool stone of the wall. He put his hands on either side of my head and suddenly I was in a very familiar position. My breath caught as he leaned in, voice husky and low. “You expect me to believe that you’re just suddenly attracted to me?”

I met his gaze defiantly, trusting that he’d see the truth even if I couldn’t put it into words. He pulled back a bit in surprise. I expected him to jump back, whirl in disgust, maybe even take a swing at me.

Instead, he stepped back in, pale eyes locked into mine, questioning. He dropped a hand to my hip. I sighed, relishing the heat as it radiated across my stomach. He settled against me, thigh between my legs. If he had any doubt left after that, he must have thought I had superhuman control over my body.

“Michael.” That was a tone of voice I’d never heard from him, raw yet somehow tender. His breath was warm against my neck. I closed my eyes as the flood of sensations overwhelmed me.

The hand on my hip found the edge of my shirt and snaked underneath. I gasped as calloused fingers slid up my side then over my chest. His other hand left the wall and then he was pulling my shirt up. I pushed off the wall and lifted my arms, letting him pull it over my head. I tracked where he threw it, knowing I’d probably need to find it again in the dark. He stepped back and pulled his own shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons.

I thought maybe he’d retreat to the bed, but instead he stepped forward again. And then we were skin to skin. Cool stone against my bare back a sharp contrast to the heat coming off of Alex. I wondered vaguely if he was still running a fever from the withdrawal—God, why couldn’t I ever shut off my higher brain functions, just for a little while?

I’d never figured out how, but Alex did. He put his hands on my hips, pulling us closer together. Then he kissed me. Stubble again, sandpaper against sandpaper, not bad particularly, just different. Then his tongue, first against my chapped lips, then inside to tangle with mine. And then the world melted away and for a few minutes there were only lips and tongues and hands everywhere and nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed, not any other sense than touch or any other sensation than pleasure.

Alex’s hand at my fly brought me back to reality. I colored as I realized I was rutting vaguely against his leg. He was hard against my thigh, as well, and that was comforting.

I’d never been with a man. I knew I wanted something, but I wasn’t entirely clear on what that might be. Alex seemed to have some idea, so I let him take the lead. I leaned against the wall, letting him undo my jeans, push them down, along with my boxers. They pooled around my ankles and I gasped softly as the newly revealed skin came into contact with the cool stone.

Then Alex was undoing his own belt, unbuttoning his pants, pushing everything off his narrow hips, stepping out of the pool of clothing. The light from the window just reached him, casting his body in high contrast. He was thinner than I’d imagined, almost fragile looking, despite the obvious muscle tone.

He kept his distance, letting me look him over as he did the same. I wondered what he saw there. It was too dark for my tattoos to be much more than a dark shroud over my upper body. I was glad. I wasn’t ashamed of them, but I wasn’t proud either. They were just a means to an end. All they really stood for now was how far I had been willing to go to save Linc.

Alex stepped forward and settled against me again. The sensation of bare skin pressed against mine, his thigh against my erection, mine against his, was almost too much to bear. I kissed him again, hungry and probing and drunk on lust like I was a teenager again.

He stilled me with a stroke down the chest that ended just above my hip and kept his hand there, holding me against the wall. Then he dropped his head to kiss my neck, my collar bone, my chest. My breath hitched as he continued lower. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t Alex Mahone on his knees, sucking me into his mouth.

I groaned through my teeth, suddenly drowning in the sensations of hot and wet and too good. It was too good, too perfect, and it had been far too long. I was going to come, hard and fast, like some hormone-soaked kid.

But I didn’t. Alex was moving too slowly, barely moving at all. I was panting by that time, fingers digging painfully into the rough stone behind me. And Alex continued his pace, torturous and slow.

I stared down at him, realizing that he must’ve known what he was doing to me. The look in his eye confirmed it, smug in the same way I was when I’d just outsmarted someone. He flicked his tongue across my head and I hissed, nearly cracking the back of my head against the wall. It took every ounce of self control not to buck wildly into him. But I stayed still, eyes clenched shut as he teased me, balanced me just on the verge of orgasm, inching me closer every so often with a skillful application of suction or tongue.
I expected him to relent on his own, send me over when he finally tired of his game. I was more than happy to let him have control until then. But after what seemed like an eternity of achingly perfect torture, I began to worry. I was moving past the point of self control. If he kept on much longer, the whole of Sona was going to know it when I finally came.

I tried to communicate this with a whimpered, “Alex, please.”

He relented, replacing his mouth with his hand, and standing. He stroked quickly, twisting deftly every time he reached my head.

It was too late, too much. I grabbed hold of his shoulders, bucking wildly into his hand. I didn’t care about self control or dignity or who might hear me.

In the end, I didn’t yell, I groaned in relief. It still would’ve been enough to startle our immediate neighbors if Alex hadn’t pulled me to him, smothering my face against his shoulder. I dug my fingers into his back as he continued to pump and I continued to spurt.

I slumped against him as the waves of pleasure finally began to dissipate. I honestly don’t think my knees would have held if he hadn’t been there to support me. When my strength returned enough, I collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath and trying to regain my ability to form coherent speech.

I watched as Alex grabbed a towel—or something that served as one—and wiped himself off, then me. By that time, I had nearly recovered. “Alex, that was—that was amazing.”

He smiled faintly and tossed the towel into the corner. “Glad you liked it.”

He leaned back against the bunk beds, running his eyes over me, and grasped his own erection, pumping much as he had on mine a few moments ago. I stumbled forward on legs that weren’t quite ready to function and fell to my knees in front of him.

He rested his free hand on my head. “No, Michael, it’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“I do,” I said. “I want to.” And I did. I wanted to see that glazed, satisfied look, even if I wasn’t going to be able to manage what he’d done to me.

He shook free as I tried to move his hand. “It’s okay.”

I looked up at him in annoyance. “Alex.”

He relented, raising his hands to grip the metal bar of the bunk that ran behind him. I took a moment to enjoy that vaguely religious view of Alex naked and draped against the side of the bunk, arms spread wide. Alex looked down at me, quirking an eyebrow, wondering if I’d lost my nerve. I smiled at him and settled my hands on his narrow hips. I was nervous, but I still had plenty of nerve.

Alex let out a long breath as I took him into my mouth. I started slow, suction and moving back and forth, careful of my teeth. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been on the receiving end of a few blowjobs. I tried the tongue maneuver that Alex had used on me and felt the muscles in his abdomen jump under my thumbs. I looked up to see him tighten his grip on the metal bar.

There was no way I was going to manage the torture that he had. I got the feeling neither of us would be able to stand that anyway. I tightened my grip on his hips and quickened my pace. Alex’s breathing quickened to match. A bit more suction and his breath started to come out in soft huffs.

“Michael,” he breathed, dropping a hand onto my shoulder.

I got the message and stilled, flicking my tongue across his head before standing. I gripped him and pumped with one hand, using the other to return his hand to the metal bar. He looked amused, intrigued, at that turn of events and obediently kept his hands around the metal.

His head fell back as I used my tongue to trace the line of his collar bone, then down his sternum, all the while keeping up my ministrations. I moved over to his nipple and flicked my tongue across it. I felt more than heard the low groan that built in his throat. I closed my mouth over it, nipping lightly and felt a hot spurt of liquid on my fist. Alex let out a huff, as if in surprise, but managed to do a better job at staying quiet than I had.

I slowed my pace but didn’t stop as he continued to twitch in my hand. I kept my mouth over his nipple as well, nipping and teasing with my tongue, until he was soft again.

He pulled me up to kiss him, less passionate, more of a thank you. No, more of a goodbye. Depending on how things went, we’d either be out of Sona or dead. Even if everything went according to plan, he had a family to get back to and I had someone to kill. Besides, Linc would still want payback for Dad’s murder, even if I didn’t. We’d have to part ways after the escape. I knew Alex knew it, too.

“I could stay for a while,” I said into the darkness over his shoulder.

“Better not. Whistler might get suspicious.”

I grinned into the darkness. “If he suspects this, we’re really not giving him enough credit.”

“I meant he might come looking for you.”

We dressed together silently. I wanted to say more, knowing that once I crossed back out into the hallway I wouldn’t have another chance, not with Whistler and Lechero and Bellick around. And T-Bag. I wanted to explain why I’d come, that in a way he’d kept me going in this place, but I couldn’t quite put it into words.

Instead, I said, “Stay close to me tomorrow, Alex.”

He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded. He understood that, like always, I had something extra planned.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my chest, holding me tightly and whispering in my ear, “In case I don’t get a chance to say it tomorrow, goodbye. And good luck.”

He returned to the window as I left, pulling the picture of his son back out of his pocket. I reached into my own pocket and fingered the picture of Sara. I watched him for a moment, realizing that it hadn’t been the adrenalin or masochism that had finally brought me to his cell. It had been the need to feel understood, close to someone in a way that I hadn’t dared allow in a long time. The heart can be a funny thing, too.

End