melworks

Fandom: Fringe
Rating: Adult Slash
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Fringe characters and aren't making any cash off 'em.
Notes: Plot? We don't need no plot!
THE RUBICEK INCIDENT
Once, after a spectacularly bad breakup in college, one of Lincoln Lee’s exes had told him to go fuck himself. He wonders, at this precise moment, if somewhere out in the world, Barbara Gallo somehow knows, on some unconscious level, that that’s happening.
The thought is detached, remarked upon by the part of Lincoln’s brain that isn’t busy with other distractions. Most of his brain is too distracted by his other self, his hands and mouth and . . . .
For a moment, every part of Lincoln’s consciousness blurs as the world softens and melts. Then it comes slamming back into him, reenforced by the hot, slow friction of a cock pushing into him.
Lincoln’s alternate is above him, pushing Lincoln’s legs up and apart and the stretch isn’t unpleasant. He’s done worse at the gym. And, honestly, the dick up his ass isn’t that unpleasant either, now that he thinks about it. It’s an odd sensation, being penetrated, but even in the red-lust haze caused by the suspect, Lincoln’s alternate took his time.
So does this count as masturbation? The detached, snarky part of Lincoln’s consciousness wonders. Also, does he get that same stupid look on his face when he’s humping somebody else?
Lincoln grunts and grabs the back of his knees, pulling his legs higher. His alternate grins down at him, sweat beading his face. The captain’s wearing a shit-eating grin and he’s fucking Lincoln in short, sharp stabs that make Lincoln’s toes curl.
As weird as getting fucked by his alternate self probably should be, Lincoln is more freaked out when he hears a door open.
“Guys?” Peter sounds breathless, like he’s been running. “Guys, where are. . . .”
Lincoln doesn’t have to guess why Peter’s gone silent. He’s probably too damned shocked for words. Who wouldn’t be? Coming back from pursuit of a suspect to find your colleagues fucking on a hardwood floor.
Footsteps on the floor and a shadow on his face. Lincoln stares up, sees Peter standing over him. Over them. He’s staring down at them with the strangest look on his face. Lincoln realizes that Peter is still gasping for breath. Only it’s not from exhaustion.
Oh hell.
Peter’s hands are moving, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his fly. For a moment, the captain halts his thrusts, obviously distracted by Peter’s actions. Then he laughs and Lincoln can feel it, in his guts, through the connection of flesh.
With a little sigh, Peter fishes his cock out of his jeans. It’s a pretty average cock, Lincoln decides, and the dispassionate part of his mind is grateful for that. The captain leans forward, and Lincoln watches from below as the head of Peter’s dick vanishes between pink lips.
Peter’s hips hunch forward, driving his cock deep into the captain’s mouth. The captain makes a sound, appreciative and hungry, and Lincoln clenches his ass around his alternate’s cock.
Things get a bit hazy after that. All three of them lose themselves in frenzied sex. Afterwards, Lincoln remembers how he spent a considerable amount of the next two hours spitted between Peter and the captain. He wonders a little about what that says about him, but doesn’t obsess over it.
When the affect finally wears off, Lincoln is sprawled on top of Peter. The captain is behind him. Both men’s cocks are stuffed up Lincoln’s hole and he knows he’s going to be sore as hell tomorrow.
Getting untangled is awkward. Mainly because the three of them keep getting random hardons, and they can’t look each other in the eye.
“How do we write this one up?” asked the captain. He’s pulled on a shirt and pants. Lincoln notes that his alternate’s hands are trembling a little. For some reason that makes him feel better, knowing that the captain isn’t as unflappable as he appears.
“Carefully,” said Peter. He looks at Lincoln. “You all right?”
Lincoln has most of his clothes on, although his underwear is a loss. The captain literally tore it off his ass and, Lincoln recalls, he liked it. He wipes his glasses and the ridiculousness of the situation, of Peter’s question, hits him like a lead pipe. Lincoln laughs. It's just a little hysterical. Peter and the captain look at him, unsure what to do.
“Lincoln?” And, tentatively, Peter touches his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” said Lincoln. “I’m fine. I just . . . I never expected anything like this when I joined.”
“Who would?” says the captain.
“Thank God Olivia wasn’t with us,” says Peter.
And from the look on the captain’s face, Lincoln knows he’s had the same thought. If Olivia had been here, would it have been better or worse?
He swallows and gives up on cleaning the glasses. “We should get after Rubicek, before he does this to anyone else.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” asks the captain.
Lincoln looks at his alternate. “I’m sure.” He tugs on his jacket and glares at the other two. “Besides, I’ll be damned if the two of you are going to stick me with writing this up.”
The End