Sometimes it hit Michael hard. Not so much being locked up in Fox River, though that was devastating when he thought about it. Luckily, all his concentration was focused on The Plan to get Lincoln out of prison. It wasnít that. It was the unbidden memories that crept up whenever he saw his brother in the quarantine area of the yard designated for inmates on The Row.
All those years he sat on his high horse, looking down with an air of superiority on his fuck-up of an older brother. For a time, he thought he was better than his brother. He never realized how much Lincoln sacrificed to get him where he was those two months before Fox River. Before he decided to give Lincoln a chance and heard him out on what happened with the framing of Terence Steadmanís murder. Before he read about Lincolnís final appeal being denied and planned the impossible escape. That seemed a million years away when in all actuality it was two weeks ago.
Sometimes the memories hit Michael like a ton of bricks when he looked across the yard and saw his brother locked in that cage, prowling its confines. Lincoln may not have been there when Michael felt he was needed most Ė first car, first date, first job interview, college applications and acceptations. For all those times, Lincoln was absent, running with his friends and getting thrown into juvy or prison.
When Michael listened to Lincoln talk, the timbre in his voice was almost soothing. It reminded him of the time when he was thirteen and they were still living at their motherís apartment. Lincoln was seventeen Ė in between juvenile and prison stints Ė trying to make a go at honest living with a steady menial job.
Michael had discovered the wonders of girls a year before. He was too shy to approach any of them and mortified at the thought of talking to Lincoln about it. He practically worshiped the ground Lincoln walked on. His brother may have been a thug, but Lincoln looked after him Ė as much as he was able to anyway. Michael could never find the right time to approach Lincoln or the words on the subject.
So, when it was late and Lincoln had thought Michael was asleep, he would invite Veronica over. Michael could hear them through the wall that separated the bedrooms. Michael would hear her moan and his dick would appear interested. But, it was Lincolnís moan that did it. The deep, guttural sound had a barely perceptible soft growl to it. Michael would harden every time. There was another reason he could never broach the subject with his brother, knowing that it was his brotherís moans that did something to him.