Title: Setting The Mood

Fandom: Prison Break

Pairing: Sara, Michael/Alex

Notes: Set during 4.07 'Five the Hard Way. ' Pure smut.

Summary: Sara enjoys a little downtime in the privacy of her hotel room.


The best thing about Vegas is having a room to herself. The yacht affords her some privacy, but not as much as she'd like. There's just something more... solid about four walls and a locked door. The bed in the room is huge, obscenely so, and she spends a little while just rolling around on it and laughing. She flicks on the flatscreen TV and channel surfs for a while, revelling in a sense of indolence, of laziness. She knows it's both temporary, and illusory, but that doesn't make it any less enjoyable.

She climbs into the bed, kneading the soft sheets like a cat, and stretches out. She wriggles her toes and settles herself into a comfortable position, then lets her hand play along the edge of her breast; stroking, teasing, cupping. It would be wasteful not to make the most of the privacy, after all.

She closes her eyes as she rubs a thumb over her nipple, hard and so sweetly sensitive, and thinks of Michael. Michael, back at the warehouse. Working on the plan, focused and intent. She imagines him staring at the whiteboard, his arms folded, his eyes so full of determination. He reaches out, touching one of the pictures or pieces of paper they've tacked up, and a flare of understanding lights up his face as some subtle piece of the puzzle falls into place. He turns slightly, and her camera-eye view pulls back to show Alex at his side. They nod, share a small smile and then move out in perfect unison.

Sara scoots herself down a bit further in the bed.. Her hand slides down over her stomach, to her thighs, into the curl of hair between them. She's always been able to visualise Michael so clearly, every line and curve of his face, his body. The ability is still just as available to her now, but she's found that it's... expanded. She's not sure when it started, but now, when she sees Michael, she also sees Alex.

She raises her knees, her middle finger moving in slow, lazy circles. Michael, with Alex at his side, at his back; watchful, protective. When they're working on something, bouncing ideas between them at lightning, almost telepathic speed, it's as if everything else in the room has become transparent, ghostly. Only the two of them exist, only the two of them have form, substance. Nothing else is real in those moments-- not even her. But she doesn't mind that. She likes the thought that she could be invisible, that she could be there but not there, observing but unnoticed. What would they do, she wonders, if they believed they were completely alone?

She lifts her finger to her mouth and licks it, savouring the taste of herself, creating more glide, more access. Michael is always so controlled, so aware--she finds it unbearably exciting to see him lose that self-mastery. But with her, he's gentle; still thinking, still planning, still living at least half in his head. She'd like to see him stripped of that restraint, that discipline, to watch him become consumed by desire, by need.

With Alex, there would be no gentleness, no holding back. There's a fire in Alex that burns so close to the surface of his skin that it can take her breath away, as if his physical presence uses up all the oxygen in the air around him. She can imagine that fire igniting into something white-hot, something irresistible, something that would pull them together with violent force and refuse to let them go until it was sated.

She lifts her hips a little, increasing the pace and pressure against her clit as she pictures them crashing up against a wall, maybe an argument that got out of hand, a fight that became physical and then became something else. She sees them kiss, Michael's hands tangled in Alex's hair, their tongues fighting for dominance, their bodies grinding together. She sees Alex's hands on Michael; large hands, rough hands, roaming over his body, taking in more of him than she can. Firm, experienced hands, sliding around his cock and gripping, hard, making him gasp, making him beg. Turning him, bending him, and Alex would be the one in command now, slicking himself and preparing Michael, keeping him still with his voice, a litany of instructions that are spoken softly but with absolute authority. Michael would bend his head as Alex stretched him, arching his spine and hearing his own breath come in hitching gasps. And then Alex would ease inside him, slowly at first until Michael relaxed and began to push back against him, wanting more, needing more; more friction, more pressure, more feeling. More Alex.

Her own breathing is spiking now, her hand moving faster as her head whips from side to side on the pillow. Alex would be starting to lose control himself, pushing harder, slamming into Michael like he can never get close enough. His hand would be on Michael's shoulder, holding him steady, flexing as the waves of heat rush through him. Michael's hand would be wrapped around his own cock, gripping and pumping in time with Alex's thrusts. He'd be panting, every muscle taut and slick with sweat, low, incoherent sounds being torn from his throat every time Alex's cock fills him, pleasure so sharp it's on the edge of pain. All he'd be able to hear is the sound of his own blood roaring in his ears, a thunderous surf that threatens to pull him under, drown him in the sensations coursing through his body. It sweeps him towards that sweet peak and he gasps for air, his hand jerking around his cock, fighting to maintain some kind of rhythm but he can't, it's too late, he's spiralling down over the edge, darkness blooming behind his eyes as his knees buckle and he cries out.

'Alex,' Sara says for him, and almost screams as she comes.

When she can breathe normally again, she pushes her sweat-damp hair out of her eyes and stands up on legs that don't entirely feel like they're going to support her. She rests for a minute, her hand on the bed, then straightens up. She knows there's work to be done, but still--Plan A is to play a honey trap, so she needs to be enticing, sexy: a prize for their cardholder to aspire to. And to look sexy, you need to feel sexy. You need to set the mood.

She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror--cheeks flushed, eyes bright--and smiles at herself before slipping into the shower. Mission accomplished.