Lincoln knows these aren’t his to take but he locks the bathroom door anyway and takes Michael’s stubbled face into his hands. His brother says nothing, does nothing but open his mouth, and that’s consent enough.
Soft, soft lips, the same as they always were but new as they press against Lincoln, pliant and relaxed. So good in their single point of connection that Lincoln lets himself hope in a way he never does that it might last longer than a second.
Michael breathes softly into the open space between them, a gossamer kiss before the real one, deeper this time. Lincoln wets his brother’s upper lip with his tongue, drifts inside to skim over the hard texture of Michael’s teeth and the smooth muscle of Michael’s.
A groan echoes around them and its pitch leaves Lincoln wondering if it’s even his own. He doesn’t make sounds like that, not usually, but he does with Michael. He does so many things that he would never do with anyone but Michael.
He doesn’t realize that he’s backed his brother into a stall until the younger man tilts back, his knees straddling a toilet. Michael’s head naturally falls back and Lincoln hones in on the long expanse of throat revealed searing hot under his lips.
Michael’s hands glide up his shoulders, fingers itching his neck, and flickering over his scalp. For one second, Michael holds his head still and dips to kiss him all on his own.
Lincoln’s chest feels like its expanding. He knows this is all wrong, that they should be focusing on taking down The Company but he’s going to take these few secret moments and carry them deep into the dreams he has when he’s all alone at night and Michael’s with the good doctor on their love boat.
He can’t be angry about this when it feels like sometimes he’s furious at everything else in his life. This is one of the few good things he has left, twisted and painful as it can be, as it is when Michael moans once more and pushes Lincoln away.
“We shouldn’t-,” Michael takes a breath and licks his lips. Lincoln can’t even register his words at first. “Linc, we can’t get distracted. I can’t do this to Sara.”
Lincoln bites back his first retort that Michael wasn’t screaming for him to stop, that Michael is still hard against his hip and says instead, “Right. Okay.”
He steps aside to let Michael pass and watches over his shoulder as his brother walks away stiffly, pulling at the door until he unlocks it. Michael’s face is pink with arousal, his mouth wet from their kissing, and Lincoln almost calls out for him to wait, to calm down before he goes back out there to the team and Sara and their fucked up reality. But the angry, obstinate part of him is already rising to the surface and keeps him silent.
He secretly wants his brother to go back looking flustered and obvious. He wants Sara to wonder who’d made him that way or if her eyes are just deceiving her. It’s mean and undeserving but Lincoln turns away as the bathroom door swings shut and presses his burning forehead against the cool metal of the stall.
It’s Michael’s fault that he can’t make a choice. Just as it's Lincoln's fault for always wanting more.