Title: Relative Obscenities
Characters: Michael and Lincoln (Gen, Fluff, Humor)
Summary: What was that noise?
Author's notes: A little humor piece as a belated birthday gift for chanchito_z. It's not remotely deep, but I hope you like it anyway.
Also for prisonbreak100, this is "Sound."
What was that noise?
Michael could hear it coming through the walls, a series of muffled yelps and moans that almost formed a rhythm. Like someone poking a puppy through a cage, which was a disturbing thought.
He went in search of the sound. It was coming from Lincoln's bedroom.
Michael pushed the door open carefully. Lincoln locked it sometimes, but it wasn't locked now.
What it needed instead was soundproofing.
Lincoln was lying on the bed, writhing his way through air guitar as he sang along with something playing through the headphones. Michael couldn't begin to identify the song—a cross between caterwauling and throat congestion wasn't much to go on, and he doubted the original sounded much like that anyway.
"Lincoln!" he shouted, but got no response. "Lincoln!" He whacked his brother's leg.
"Huh?" Lincoln pulled off the headphones.
"Stop," Michael said firmly.
Lincoln looked embarrassed for a moment—caught playing air guitar by his little brother, totally a first-place failure in cool. He coughed. "Stop what?" he said, with tone of careful casualness.
"My God, Lincoln, you really can't sing. Like, at all. So for Pete's sake, stop trying!"
Lincoln frowned. "It wasn't that bad…" he started.
"No," Michael commented. "It was worse. People could be calling the Humane Society right now, to rescue the animals they think you're torturing."
"Hey, now! And who made you the music expert, anyway?"
"School choir," Michael said. "And I had to audition."
"So, maybe with some practice—"
"Absolutely not. Perish the thought. Before I throw the tape deck out the window."
"Fine," Lincoln huffed, sitting up and running his hands over his hair. "I'll try to remember."
"Do that." Michael cast another threatening look at the headphones before turning to leave.
There was an aggrieved silence behind him for a second, and then Lincoln spoke up:
"By the way," he said, "your gazillion chess games and science experiments are cluttering up the apartment. So how about picking those up?"
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