Author: Christie (neversince)
Word Count: 1,023
Spoilers: 1x07 'Part 2'
Summary: Sara and Michael do happy hour. And other things.
Author's Note: Major spoilers for 1x07 'Part 2'. If you haven't seen it, you might not understand the little details in this.
You can buy a lot of twenty-five cent beers for a few bucks, which, Sara realizes, is how she got here in the first place. It's how Michael's hand is working its way down the front of her pants, and how she hasn't stopped kissing him for almost a half hour.
Somewhere in the haze of her alcohol-infused mind, Sara knows she should stop. She also knows she won't, and it has as much to do with happy hour as it does with the fact that she's been thinking about doing this with Michael since the day he rescued her from sick bay.
"You needed help and, uh, I came to find you."
Michael's hand skims the underside of her breast and Sara gasps, feeling herself tremble a little. His breath is hot against her neck when he says, "If you want me to stop, tell me," but he follows that with a scrape of his teeth down her clavicle and she thinks the room starts to spin.
There is so much about Michael that Sara doesn't understand. And she wants to, sort of, but part of her doesn't and it's been so long since she's just done this. Without understanding it's almost better; and it's not that it's wrong or illicit or that he's a wanted fugitive. It's not any of that. It's more -- deeper -- and it sort of makes Sara queasy to think about it.
She almost didn't come, but when you take so few days off that vacation time becomes mandatory, you start to realize that maybe you'd better rethink your priorities. And Sara had been rethinking a lot of things since Michael broke out, so when the warden told her to make herself scarce for a couple of weeks before her father came down on him even harder than ever, Sara was booking a flight to Baja without even thinking about it.
She realized she might not find Michael in Baja. She realized he might be in Thailand, or that maybe he was truly just trying to calm her down in the air vents and his destination was somewhere completely different. But she had a feeling and she'd learned from very early on not to ignore gut instinct.
Fifty-cent beers (twenty-five at happy hour) and a couple of questions to friendly locals later, Sara was throwing a shadow into Michael's view of the sunset. It didn't surprise her that he didn't seem surprised, and it didn't offend her when he looked behind her as if she might have the Chicago PD or perhaps her father in tow.
"Just me," she said, and sat down and took a long swig of his beer.
Five bucks later and she's digging her nails into his back, trying not to contemplate the tattoo, because she's done enough contemplating to last a lifetime when it comes to Michael and didn't she just tell herself that it was better not to know?
Sara busies her mouth at the base of his throat, her fingers splay along the small of his back. She tours the wiry ropes of muscles along his arms, kneads gently until he's no longer tense. Kisses softly until bumps rise up on his skin. This is what she wants to know of him.
His mouth investigates her in return, with less urgency she thinks, if only because she's not as much a mystery to him. She is incidental, and that should hurt her but it doesn't. She is only further mystified by him; by his entrance into her life and thus the change in it forever. Michael would still be here if she didn't work at Fox River, but she would never know about twenty-five cent beers in Baja if it weren't for him.
The twenty-five cent beers are not the point, she reminds herself, and bites softly against his shoulder as if to punctuate the fact.
Michael's thumb is stroking languidly against the hollow of her hip bone, far inside the waistband of her jeans. She breaks far enough away to gaze at his face and he's blurry for a fraction of a second; she has to blink to clear her head. She sees a trace of a smile cross his lips and he asks, "You okay?" in a low, lazy, contented drawl that she always imagined hearing only in the afterglow. She realizes after a minute that maybe this is all afterglow, that maybe Michael's been wanting this for as long as she has. Maybe longer.
She straddles him, pushing against the dark ink on his chest until his back meets the bed and she falls with him, hair creating a curtain around both of their faces. It's better this way, it should be this way, she thinks as she kisses him, relishing the feel of his fingers tracing the contours of her back. Just them, hidden in a place that no one else knows. It's always been this way, really. Michael and Sara were never something for anyone else to think about.
Michael finally frees her of her jeans and Sara kicks them off, laughing a little when she kicks him in the shin and he smiles at her as if to say, thanks for that. His eyes lose their light quickly, going smoky and dark as he touches her with one hand, cradles her face with the other and looks at her like she's something rare; something he might lose at any moment.
He's right to think that. This is a secret, but it isn't long-term.
Michael hesitates once more before he pushes into her and Sara wishes he would stop doing that. If he asks her to think about this too much, she's going to start thinking about it. And anyone in their right mind, if they were thinking about it, would realize this is the Wrong Thing To Do. He opens his mouth, probably to ask, "Are you sure?" but before he can Sara thrusts herself up and pulls his neck down, snaking her tongue into his mouth. He is inside her with an awkward 'urmph' and she sighs contentedly.
It's the denouement of their little dance and Sara finally feels complete.