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Stand My Ground

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Michael was scared.

He was damn scared.

When he was in Fox River, he had never felt much different than this, but he had managed to mask it better.

He had his plans, he knew the prison, he knew what to do in every circumstance, in any eventuality, for any inconvenient.

Having his brother’s life in his hands had scared him, but he had gone over that and had managed to succeed.

He was tired, nevertheless, to have the lives of those he loved weighing on his shoulders.

Running from Sona had risked not to be as easy, he knew that the chances to actually make it were scarce, and he also knew how much depended on his success.

Everything on him, always on him.

Now he would’ve liked to step aside from this task, paying his debt to society and spending his days in peace, without always having to be afraid of taking the wrong turn, because then his hands would’ve been even bloodier that they already were, because he wouldn’t have been able to do anything against those people who had taken so much from him.

He raised his eyes to the small window facing the yard in front of the warehouse, realizing just then that it was already dark outside; another day was gone, and he still had no idea how to name the men in that video, he had no idea how to retrieve all the cards. He had no idea about anything.

He had to have faith, once again, hoping that things would’ve gone smoothly in that plan based more on fortuitousness than facts.

He was about to lay down on his bed, determined to finally get a couple hours of sleep and so resting his mind, when he saw the door to his room opening.

He sat back on the thin mattress and saw Alex waiting on the doorframe to be invited in.

“Come.” Michael murmured, passing his hands on his face while the other one closed the door behind him, waiting before looking at him again, his expression troubled.

“Any problem downstairs?” Michael asked, always fearing the worst.

“No.” Mahone reassured him, shaking his head. “No, everything’s fine. Roland is still doing his research and Lincoln is studying the video. I... I took a break.” he explained, sitting on the bed, hesitating.

They kept quiet for a few minutes, which Michael employed to study the former agent, his expression, his movements.

When Alex had come back from Panama City, defeated in his hope to come back to the U.S. through official channels, he couldn’t deny he hadn’t felt a certain satisfaction.

Then he had seen the slow strain of his mental state, he had seen him go into withdrawal, he had seen him waver.

He couldn’t hate him anymore, and that’s what had lead him to more than one mistake.

Breaking him out of Sona had made him feel good, just as it made him feel good naming him to Self for that mission.

He wanted Alex beside him, following an instinct that he couldn’t explain.

Yet when he had seen him, three weeks after fleeing Panama, there had been something in him that had triggered an alarm.

It didn’t seem to be his usual anxiety, not the fear of getting back to prison.

Alex was off, and until Lincoln had asked Michael couldn’t even understand why.

He was about to tell him something, but Alex spoke first.

“Michael...” he said, without looking him in the eyes. “What’s happened in Sona...” he paused, and Scofield wished he could never start talking again.

Why was he bringing that up, now?

Why couldn’t he forget and go on, more in that circumstance than ever, when he should have had more pressing issues in mind?

He sighed, trying to keep out of his head images that didn’t have any intention to stop torturing him.

Images of himself. And Alex, together.

In his cell, on that worn mattress, among those dirty blankets.

Mahone’s hands on him, his breath in his ears, and his body on his own and...

Michael had sworn not to think about it again, because he was sure he wasn’t going to see Alex again, but destiny had decided otherwise.

“Why do you want to talk about it, Alex?” he asked, cautious, forgetting for a moment the reason behind the emptiness in the former agent’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t. I truly wouldn’t. It’s just that during these weeks...” he sighed, shaking his head. “I found myself thinking about it, whether I wanted it or not. That’s it.”

“We were on the verge of desperation, that’s all Alex. That’s what happened, there’s nothing more to say.” Michael tried, lying to himself, his voice cold, as to highlight how little he wanted to think about what had happened between the prison’s walls.

Mahone finally looked at him, and with a quick move he put his hands on his shoulders, sending him with his back on the mattress; he then moved on top of him, leaning him until his face was just a few inches from the younger one’s.

“We were desperate, Michael, that’s why?” he hissed. “Well, I’m desperate now. I am more than I was in that prison, more than when I started hallucinating, more than I’ve ever been in my whole life. How about that?” he let him go, slowly, and sat back while the other man did the same. “You’ve got to stop believing that it’s all black or white, Michael. You’ve got to stop analysing everything in a rational way and accept that there are things escaping your control.” he said, staring into space.

Scofield risked it and got closer, resting delicate a hand on his shoulder, almost tenderly, in stark contrast with how he actually felt.

“I see everything in black or white, Alex?” he asked, sarcastic. “Yet I think I’ve compromised a lot. With you, most of all.” he added, biting his lower lip. Then he sighed, trying to move his hand, before Mahone moved his to keep it in its place.

“It’s true, you did. You’ve helped me escape, you’ve let me come with you when your brother didn’t wanna hear it. You’ve saved me, Michael, when all you should’ve wanted was to kill me.” he got closer. “Why did you do that?” he asked, in a whisper.

Scofield wished he didn’t have to answer that question, and it seemed like he wouldn’t have needed to.

Alex took his face in his hands, leaning in toward him and resting his lips on Michael’s.

The latter recognized the warmth of those hands on his skin, the taste of Alex’s mouth blending with his own, and felt almost disgusted with himself.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, it wasn’t...

He didn’t feel anything for Alex, he couldn’t.

He laid again on the mattress, letting the man follow him, getting on top of him, starting to feel every inch of his body with his hands, freeing him from the shirt quickly and letting him do the same.

They looked like two animals, and Michael knew that, and he knew that once again desperation was leading them to a mistake.

But things between them had never been just black or white, and Alex was wrong saying that it was like that for Michael.

He had never explained the feelings that the older man was able to give him, he hadn’t been able to distinguish hate from pity, and from how awfully good he felt being so close to him.

His body was reacting already to the attentions and he could do nothing to avoid it, and Alex seemed to have noticed.

Had the situation been different, Michael was sure that Alex would’ve smiled.

He felt him letting a hand slip over the band of his sweatsuit and beneath the pants, wrapping his hand around his cock, starting to caress it with a tenderness that Scofield had never seen in him before.

He met his touch, forcing himself not to moan out loud while Alex’s hand tightened on him, while he freed him of all his clothes, making room between his legs, attacking with his mouth on Michael’s neck, chest, stomach, hungry, restless.

Michael didn’t want to give him the satisfaction to know how much he was enjoying it, and at the same time he didn’t want for the others to hear.

No one was going to understand, just like he didn’t.

They couldn’t understand how two men that had hurt each other so bad could now be in the same bed, under the same blankets, both slaves of a pleasure that seemed to come only from the other’s body.

Alex went back on him, kissing him almost violently, searching his tongue and biting his lips, as if he wanted it to hurt; and Michael let him, prey of his touch becoming more confident, while his fingers left his erection and started preparing him with the same cure and attention that Michael had already experimented in Sona, for which he had sold himself to Alex’s touch, for which he had kept thinking about him since the moment they had split, in Panama.

He tightened his eyes, trying to repress the instinct to cry out of frustration.

He bit his lip until he tasted his own blood in his mouth while Alex thrusted inside him, clawing his hips, scratching him, trying to keep as quiet as possible when, Michael saw it, all he wanted to do was scream.

He started already on a hard pace, on the verge of brutality, and neither of them minded.

It was desperation, just desperation.

The desperation with which Alex thrusted inside his body, the desperation with which Michel let himself being taken, because he loved feeling him inside, because he had loved any stolen moment in Sona and he was loving it now that he was allowed to have him again.

Things weren’t just black or white, they had never been, and now he could see clearly all the mistakes he had made with Alex, and finally he didn’t give a damn, because for once he wasn’t going to confuse what he was feeling with doing the right thing.

He felt the other man’s hand once again around his erection, moving it quickly, as anxious to make him come.

Michael called his name, again and again, whispering it in his hear, calling it louder when Alex thrusted harder inside him, until he granted his wish and came between their bodies and on his hand, rolling his head back and appealing all his willpower so not to scream the pleasure he was feeling.

Alex slowed down the rhythm for a few seconds, caressing his face, smiling sadly before moving fast once again, coming himself inside his unbelievably hot body.

He collapsed against Michael, without worrying to weigh on him, closing his eyes and trying to get his breath back to normal.

Scofield surrounded him with his arms, after a small hesitation, and flinched when Alex slipped out of him, and then laid by his side.

Alex rolled on his hip, turning his back to him, and even though Michael couldn’t see it he was sure the older man’s eyes were watery.

That’s how it was, after all.

They lashed out on each other’s body, searching for that single moment in which their minds got rid of all they had to bear, and when all was over they were left with nothing.

He got closer, his chest against his back, and took an arm around his hip, caressing his chest with his fingertips.

“I know, Alex.” he whispered, almost afraid to talk. “I know how you’ve suffered for your sanity, I know how much Sona as brought you on the verge of the abyss, and I know how much you want to end this, have your revenge and get rid of your demons. And I want it too. I want to stop thinking continuously to those that have been taken away from me.” he went on, sighing. “I’m sorry about your son, Alexander.”

Mahone froze at his last words, but he didn’t pull back from his touch.

Instead, he moved back to be closer, as if looking for that affection that neither of them was capable of giving to the other, as if Michael could shield him from all the horror he had seen until now.

“They took him away, Michael.” he said, hoarse. “They took my kid away and... and...” he paused, sighing. “Can I stay?” he asked then, forcing himself to keep his voice as calm as possible.

Scofield nodded slowly, hugging him and kissing his shoulder tenderly.

“You can stay as long as you want.” he murmured. “We’re getting out of this. I promise.”

All they had endured should’ve taught him not to make promises if he wasn’t sure he could keep them, but he felt he owed Alex at least that.

They were together in that battle, even though he was sure that Alex, as well as him, felt completely alone.

They would’ve had their revenge, or they would’ve died for it.

Michael wondered if for Alex the second option actually seemed so impossible to face.