Pairing: Lincoln/LJ (slash)
Written For: miss_mandy
Prompt: Lincoln/LJ, hammock, panama
He'd promised himself that he wouldn't break and he hasn't. Those hours at night when nobody can see you don't count. LJ knows that he is strong. What other boy his age can say that he's been on the run from his mother's killers and lived to tell the tale? He hasn't caved. He even took the gun back to them.
It backfired, sure. But he didn't run and cave. They have taken his freedom, his family and his protectors. They stuck him in this damn cell. He knows they can't kill him. They still want to use him to get to his father. But his mind is restless picturing the endless stream of things they could do to him instead. He knows that he isn't the prettiest, he is gawky with the last bit of baby fat still on his bones, but when has prettiness ever mattered to truly evil people?
They are watching him, every second of every day, that much is he sure of. But a boy has to get off, doesn't he? With a sigh LJ slips one hand under the covers. He has gone from too little dad in his life to it being the only thing he has left. In the darkness of the night he closes his eyes and draws the memory of his father's face, their touch of hands through a meshed cage, that short moment of connection on the elevator. It's the one thing he holds on to.
“He'll come for me, he'll come for me,” he whispers as he strokes himself. His dad is strong, LJ tells himself. He's been in jail before. He will kill all of them, the stupid guards, the lawyers, the agents. He will break down the wall like The Terminator himself. He will rip the rough prison blanket away from LJ and find him naked and desperate, clutching his little dick in his hands. But his dad won't laugh or be disgusted, he'll just wipe the tears from LJ's face and carry him out like a bride, out and away, over the corpses of everyone who's ever done them harm.
They will make love on a train or in the backseat of a car and it will painful, but not too much. He and his dad, they are alike, he decides. It won't be awkward, it will be just like it should be. LJ slips two fingers into his mouth and slides them down his body, imagining that he has to keep his rosebud slick and ready for the day his daddy comes home. He moans into his pillow as he probes himself as he wonders what it will be like to be split open down there. He knows his dad. His dad is big and LJ bets that he is big all over. He rolls over on his belly and pushes down the custom prison suits. His fingers molest the abused opening as he humps his hips into empty air.
Boys like him are supposed to dream about being the one who kicks in the door and saves the princess. LJ is sick of it, sick of being strong, sick of being a brave little boy. Sometimes he just wants to be the girl who doesn't have to do anything but wait to be saved and taken to her wedding night.
This will be their fairy tale. LJ is sure of it.
They have told him that he is safe now, that it really, truly is over now. LJ isn't ready to believe that. He still jumps at every shadow and jerks up in his sleep at every sound. Warm nights and rolling waves haven't changed him. He's still angry and he's still lonely.
Before LJ goes to sleep he always sees his mother's eyes, he sees her lips move as she tells him to run. She died for him. Even his stupid no good stepdad died for him. And he knows his father would do the same. They all belong to him. Only now they are all dead except one.
It sends a shock down his arms when somebody says his father's name. Lincoln, Linc, Burrows... LJ doesn't know that man. It's always been “your father”, “that dead-beat bastard” or just dad. His father isn't a person, there's just a title and a bunch of deeds and dreams. Just a stranger who picks him up after school and takes him to his places, who tells him stories. A stranger who would do everything for him. A stranger who has to do everything for him, because he's never done anything for him before.
Burrows, that's LJ himself when the teacher jerks him out of a daydream, that's Jake and Jeff when they punch his shoulder and ask him to come along.
Lincoln is a dopey kind of guy, too small for his big frame, he means well and knows nothing. He makes bad jokes, has strange friends and he laughs at the wrong parts of a movie. LJ doesn't like him much.
His dad is hugs and comfort and tears swallowed by crude woolen fabric. It's the memory of candysticks and puking blue after too much cotton candy. It's the swipe of a hand over his head and a secret second handful of blueberries that they will never tell mom about.
His father is hard fists and a long shadow. He takes LJ's breath away. He is the one LJ still hopes will come to his room one night and take what is his. He makes LJ quiver.
He finds his father in the kitchen, a place of almost obscene American normalcy in a feral place far, far away. His dad stands frozen, his gaze fixed on a plate of pancakes. He looks like he's about to puke. LJ slides behind him and runs his hand over his father's back.
It's okay, he says and his father throws him a look of pure gratitude. There's something almost shy and awkward about this enormous man as they empty the plate into the trash and LJ lets their hands join together. He leads his dad back to the table, makes him sit down. The warrior has returned from battle and now it's up to him to help heal the invisible scars left behind.
It's just the two of them now. No Uncle Mike, no grandpa, no Veronica. Deftly he massages his father's neck and kneads strained muscles with his palm. He is a good kid, for now. He hasn't yelled or sulked. Yet. After all, he is grateful for his rescue. But it doesn't mean that he won't.
I hate you, you abandoned me, it's your fault we are here, how could you do this, you are bad.
He runs his thumb over the spot behind his dad's ear and smiles between gritted teeth when his father pulls away without a word.
There's a memory in his mind, watching stolen porn with Brad and Jeremy. A pig-tailed redhead in a school uniform going down on an elderly pot-bellied man. Do it, you just love to suck your dad's cock, spread it all wide for daddy.
Back then it didn't mean anything. It was just porn. There was no dad in his life, no feeling to connect these words to. Now it's something his mind clings to as he gets himself off in the dark. His hands clutch a plastic clothes brush that he's taken from the bathroom. The cream he's coated it with burns a little, but LJ doesn't care. He embraces it and moans into his pillow.
He doesn't try to keep the noises down. His dad is the only one around and LJ will make him listen. He rotates the handle and drives it deeper. His thrusts send the bed shaking. It's not as easy as he thought, holding the brush and stroking himself with the other hand. LJ buries his nose in to the mattress and wheezes. Nothing too romantic about getting featherdust stuck on your tongue.
A sheen of sweat covers his back as he works himself with his makeshift dildo. Cupping his balls and squeezing his dick, he works himself into a frenzy, He stabs himself more angrily as he decides how he'll get back at Lincoln. He'll make him beg for a while. There'll be presents and car rides and going around town. They'll be equals in the house. With that thought, fuck yeah, LJ crashes over the peak. A sigh of accomplishment escapes his lips.
LJ's spunk is sticky against his stomach and with a snort of disgust he rolls on his side. Cooling down, he watches the testament of his lust as it congeals on the sheets. Tears well up in his eyes. They will be happy. He knows they will be. He swings his legs over the rim. He doesn't bother with shoes, but slips into his jeans. LJ sniffles lightly and brushes his hair out of his eyes.
He almost falters on the second step. The carpet under his feet is warm. It doesn't feel like pavement. No gravel or glass shards cut into his feet. It's still almost enough to make him turn around. Silence has become a second nature to him. He slides over the cabin's floor without a sound.
His father's bed is untouched. No light in the kitchen, but two empty bottles of beer. LJ steps out on the patio and holds his breath. It's not rare for his father to sleep out here and the hammock's weighed down shape leaves no doubt that this is the case. His father is out like a light, snoring slightly, three more bottles on the floor. For a few minutes LJ watches him from the shadows, before he approaches.
His father's limbs hang out freely and his face is relaxed from sleep. LJ runs his hand over the strong jaw, letting the stubble rasp across his knuckles, the noble forehead, over the tip of the nose, down to the saltwater parched lips. LJ could shake him and rip him out of his slumber. Instead he climbs in, holding the hammock open. His father doesn't stir, not even when LJ's knee almost digs into his stomach and he is nudged over. LJ settles on his chest. They sway over the floor and LJ almost panics because they have taken the ground away. It's almost like flying and LJ was never fond of that.
He crushes his nose against his father's shoulder and it smells like home. Tomorrow his dad will wake up with a boy on his chest and a teenaged morning hard on pressing against his leg. Maybe then they will have to talk about this and then who knows what will happen.
This will be their fairy tale. LJ is sure of it.
Thank you for participating!