(FIC) (Burn Notice) "Perfect Union" (1/1) (NC-17) (Mike/Fi) (Alt canon)
Title: Perfect Union
Author: Missy (rise_your_dead)
Fandom: Burn Notice
Pairing/Characters: Michael/Fiona
Rating/Category: NC-17; romance, slice of life, (violence, sexual content, language)
Word Count: 1,636
Disclaimer: Doesn’t belong to me, belongs to Matt Nix/Flying Glass of Milk/USA/NBC/etc.
Spoilers: General show spoilers; this is pre-canon AU.
Summary: Michael and Fiona: two married spies on another mission, but on a very special date.
Notes/Warnings: Written for emmademaris for Yuletide ’12. Hope you enjoy it!
When you’re a spy, the rules of travel tend to change every few moments. You have to get used to the idea of being on call twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, in any weather and under any condition. Get used to sleeping standing up in crumbling airports and living off of vending machine peanut butter crackers if you need to. But never let yourself relax entirely. There’s no telling what’s around the next mildew-covered corner.
***
They had been in Pamplona for four hours when Fiona finally roused from her exhausted sleep and threw an arm across Michael’s flank, purring as she curled up against his chest. As she touched him Michael made a ghastly sound - the sort normally reserved for walruses - and Fi popped an eye open. She met with the sight of her husband lying flat on his back.
“Oh shut up.” She rolled toward him, and her next words were moaned into his shoulder. “Always have to be louder than everyone else, don’t you.” An equally loud snore was the sole response, so Fiona followed her query with a smack to his behind.
“Your aim’s gotten better,” Michael said, his belly flexing beneath her thigh. She could feel his mirth and that was enough to get her dander up.
Fiona had him sprawled with her hands around his wrists in a heartbeat. “My aim’s one thing I’ve never needed help with, Michael.” Writhing to position herself, she balanced herself on the tips of her toes, the palm of her right hand, and reached between his legs to find his morning-hard cock.
“Did you just admit you needed me?” The words lacked their typical detached amusement, increasing her confidence. Her fingers took on a stronger rhythm.
“Michael, you’re ruining the mood,” she complained. As if on cue, his cell phone began chirping incessantly.
“I have to answer that,” he said breathlessly.
Michael’s cell started beeping regularly with an ungodly loud tone. He rolled toward it, earning an impatient sigh from Fiona. She slid her palm down his belly and back up again, turning his ‘hello’ into a breathless whimper. “Yes. We’ve already scouted out the target’s location. He still has the nukes in his suit…case…” Michael ran a hand through Fiona’s copper-colored locks as she smirked against the tip of his cock. “Right…we just need a team for the consulate party. Right. Fiona’s the recon, I’m the muscle. That’s how it…works….I have to call you back. Hot shower. Right, bye.” He raised an eyebrow and pressed his palm against the mouthpiece. “Card says hello.”
Her breath hitched and she shot him an appalled, repulsed glance. Michael’s cock was left to bob free in the air. “Fi,” he blurted out, but she sashayed away from the bed.
“Card wants us,” Fiona sighed, pulling on clothing from the floor, shaking it out - putting on an overt show. She slapped his thigh, just hard enough to make him cringe. “I know you don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Michael buried a groan in his pillow as he listened to Fi walk away. Dawn broke over his shoulders, painting the room orange-red.
He had no choice but to get up, even though defending America from its enemies was the last thing on his mind.
***
“So, where did you and Evelyn meet?”
Michael turned toward Marty, a third-tier senator from Texas. He was paunchy, on his fourth heart stent, and sitting in an ill-fitting suit with his arm draped around his arm-candy second wife. “Well,” Michael drawled out, “she was my secretary. One day she came in wearing these little platform shoes and this skintight skirt, and I said, baby, there ain’t no better shake in this whole damn town!”
Fiona let out a warbling, exaggerated laugh, ‘accidentally’ dropping her napkin right at Michael’s feet. “Ooops!”she laughed, sliding to her knees and crawling under the table. “It’s gotta be some dang place! Excuse me!” Anticipation and dread grew within Michael in equal increments as he felt Fiona’s hand sneak up his thigh.
“How’s your vacation been going?” Arm Candy asked him moments after Fiona’s fingers closed around his cock.
Every nerve in Michael’s legs twitched at her touch, but with great determination he kept his features completely straight. “Oh, just fine,” he said blandly, carefully making sure his words didn’t take on the rhythm of Fiona’s rough but rhythmic stroking. “The little lady and I went spear fishing. She hooked herself a big one that night!”
Loud laughter masked Michael’s erratic breathing as Fi took hold of his cock. Teasing him by letting go, she breathed against the head of his prick.
“How long are you gonna be in town?”
“Just day or two. Business can’t take care of itself!” Michael piped out. Fi took that as her cue to take him back into her mouth.
“Speaking of business,” said Marty, “how about you and the little lady come upstairs for some brandy after we wrap things up down here?”
“I…” he felt the glossy softness of her lips as they parted to engulf him. Michael’s toe curled as her wet little tongue squirmed its way down his cock. “…Think we can arrange that later. Right now, all I want is a cup of coffee and a piece of cake.”
“EUNICE! Get the man his cake!”
Michael grinned broadly. “I just looooove cake.” Fiona couldn’t muffle her laughter, the vibration causing his hips to twitch against the seat. “Yeep. Just have a craving for something sweet and creamy…”
Fi’s amusement vibrated its way up his dick and Michael’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. Her mouth moved as if in response, teeth nipped his glans as she started the fast, rhythmic lunges that would give him his climax.
Michael’s orgasm was a totally silent affair, expressing itself with a twitched eyebrow and a hand sneaking under the lip of the table to give a hard tug to Fiona’s hair. Her wicked laughter was choked away by his come, the kittenish lick of her tongue as she took away all of that lovely wetness and sat back to admire her handiwork.
A moment later Fi rose from the floor with her typical elegant grace, patting her hair back into her bun and laughing as she held up her fork.
“It was under Bobby’s chair the whole time!” she giggled, then seated herself and continued eating her wildberry tart.
Michael didn’t get the chance to question his wife until they stepped out onto the dance floor and into a waltz. A close hold was the best option for passing secret information along, of course, and his close lean and deep whisper passed for a lover’s endearment to the observer. “I don’t know if I should thank you or start planning out our funeral.”
“Michael,” she sighed, “even though I adore you your ego is beyond the pale.”
He must have worn his incredulity too clearly, for she threw back her head and laughed. “You crawled under the table to…”
“Bug their shoes?” she whirled about, a cloud of red and cream, her smile airhead-appropriate but carrying all of the vicious joy of her real self. “Aye,” she whispered, her Irish lilt emerging for just a moment.
“…You bugged him?”
Fiona bobbed her head, her smile feline and so utterly superior that Michael had to bite back a laugh.
“I love you,” he muttered, kissing her lips.
“You’d better, Michael,” she clacked her tongue and held up a remote detonator that was tinier. “I know where all the C4 is hidden.”
***
Things went sideways, of course - something Michael will disdainfully blame on one of Card’s lackeys when they’re being debriefed at the consulate in Argentina a week later - and the two of them find themselves shooting down a group of smugglers en route to the drop-off. Fiona is in her element, hanging out the open passenger side door, head jammed through the broken window, finger pressed firm to the trigger of her Walther.
Michael’s mind is totally focused on keeping his eye on the rear view mirror and the car on his road when his phone - his personal phone, which he’d just received two weeks ago from Fiona - rang.
Fiona grabbed it from the dashboard. “Hello? Maaadeline!” she purred, the blood spray from her latest kill washing over the back window. “What? Oh no, we’re at a movie. One of those ludicrous action pieces that Michael loves. You know the type? Oh precisely! Christmas?” BLAM! “Oh, honey, we can’t for Christmas, but I’m SO excited to meet you as soon as possible!” The next blast nicked the driver of the opposing car in the neck, causing him to careen over the median, tires squealing. Michael accelerated as Fi’s unlucky victim shot off the overpass and crashed in a fiery thud below. He skidded to a halt several miles down the road, hearing Fiona coo, “The Fourth of July? Oh, that would be lovely! We’ll see what we can do. Mmm. Yes, I’ll keep in touch. Goodnight, Madeline!”
Michael panted in his seat, staring at Fiona in absolute confusion. “You told my mother we’re going to see her. My mother, whom I haven’t seen in ten years?”
Fiona shrugged. “Well, she is your mother and she’s not going to be around forever. AND she seemed lovely enough on the phone.” He stared at her unblinkingly. “It would only be a week. I’m sure we can manage.”
“Fi, my mother is…you’ve spoken more than once?”
She kissed his cheek. “I gave her your number. Which I got for information - she really ought not be so obvious, but like mother like son.”
Michael planted his face firmly against the steering wheel in response, his nose pressing hard against the horn.
***
They left Pamplona on a seven-forty-seven just as the sun pierced the sky that morning. Fiona memorized the shades of purple staining the stratosphere and calculated the amount of sleep they could accumulate between takeoff and their touchdown in DC.
Michael slipped his fingers into her grip, sliding his sunglasses up his nose. “I was right about the air pressure,” he reminded her boredly.
“Sod off. I ruined my favorite snow globe for you,” she said, resting her head upon his shoulder. “Happy anniversary, Michael.”
He smirked confidently. “Happy anniversary.”
Leaning on one another, they winged their way to the next city, the next adventure.
THE END
Author: Missy (rise_your_dead)
Fandom: Burn Notice
Pairing/Characters: Michael/Fiona
Rating/Category: NC-17; romance, slice of life, (violence, sexual content, language)
Word Count: 1,636
Disclaimer: Doesn’t belong to me, belongs to Matt Nix/Flying Glass of Milk/USA/NBC/etc.
Spoilers: General show spoilers; this is pre-canon AU.
Summary: Michael and Fiona: two married spies on another mission, but on a very special date.
Notes/Warnings: Written for emmademaris for Yuletide ’12. Hope you enjoy it!
When you’re a spy, the rules of travel tend to change every few moments. You have to get used to the idea of being on call twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, in any weather and under any condition. Get used to sleeping standing up in crumbling airports and living off of vending machine peanut butter crackers if you need to. But never let yourself relax entirely. There’s no telling what’s around the next mildew-covered corner.
***
They had been in Pamplona for four hours when Fiona finally roused from her exhausted sleep and threw an arm across Michael’s flank, purring as she curled up against his chest. As she touched him Michael made a ghastly sound - the sort normally reserved for walruses - and Fi popped an eye open. She met with the sight of her husband lying flat on his back.
“Oh shut up.” She rolled toward him, and her next words were moaned into his shoulder. “Always have to be louder than everyone else, don’t you.” An equally loud snore was the sole response, so Fiona followed her query with a smack to his behind.
“Your aim’s gotten better,” Michael said, his belly flexing beneath her thigh. She could feel his mirth and that was enough to get her dander up.
Fiona had him sprawled with her hands around his wrists in a heartbeat. “My aim’s one thing I’ve never needed help with, Michael.” Writhing to position herself, she balanced herself on the tips of her toes, the palm of her right hand, and reached between his legs to find his morning-hard cock.
“Did you just admit you needed me?” The words lacked their typical detached amusement, increasing her confidence. Her fingers took on a stronger rhythm.
“Michael, you’re ruining the mood,” she complained. As if on cue, his cell phone began chirping incessantly.
“I have to answer that,” he said breathlessly.
Michael’s cell started beeping regularly with an ungodly loud tone. He rolled toward it, earning an impatient sigh from Fiona. She slid her palm down his belly and back up again, turning his ‘hello’ into a breathless whimper. “Yes. We’ve already scouted out the target’s location. He still has the nukes in his suit…case…” Michael ran a hand through Fiona’s copper-colored locks as she smirked against the tip of his cock. “Right…we just need a team for the consulate party. Right. Fiona’s the recon, I’m the muscle. That’s how it…works….I have to call you back. Hot shower. Right, bye.” He raised an eyebrow and pressed his palm against the mouthpiece. “Card says hello.”
Her breath hitched and she shot him an appalled, repulsed glance. Michael’s cock was left to bob free in the air. “Fi,” he blurted out, but she sashayed away from the bed.
“Card wants us,” Fiona sighed, pulling on clothing from the floor, shaking it out - putting on an overt show. She slapped his thigh, just hard enough to make him cringe. “I know you don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Michael buried a groan in his pillow as he listened to Fi walk away. Dawn broke over his shoulders, painting the room orange-red.
He had no choice but to get up, even though defending America from its enemies was the last thing on his mind.
***
“So, where did you and Evelyn meet?”
Michael turned toward Marty, a third-tier senator from Texas. He was paunchy, on his fourth heart stent, and sitting in an ill-fitting suit with his arm draped around his arm-candy second wife. “Well,” Michael drawled out, “she was my secretary. One day she came in wearing these little platform shoes and this skintight skirt, and I said, baby, there ain’t no better shake in this whole damn town!”
Fiona let out a warbling, exaggerated laugh, ‘accidentally’ dropping her napkin right at Michael’s feet. “Ooops!”she laughed, sliding to her knees and crawling under the table. “It’s gotta be some dang place! Excuse me!” Anticipation and dread grew within Michael in equal increments as he felt Fiona’s hand sneak up his thigh.
“How’s your vacation been going?” Arm Candy asked him moments after Fiona’s fingers closed around his cock.
Every nerve in Michael’s legs twitched at her touch, but with great determination he kept his features completely straight. “Oh, just fine,” he said blandly, carefully making sure his words didn’t take on the rhythm of Fiona’s rough but rhythmic stroking. “The little lady and I went spear fishing. She hooked herself a big one that night!”
Loud laughter masked Michael’s erratic breathing as Fi took hold of his cock. Teasing him by letting go, she breathed against the head of his prick.
“How long are you gonna be in town?”
“Just day or two. Business can’t take care of itself!” Michael piped out. Fi took that as her cue to take him back into her mouth.
“Speaking of business,” said Marty, “how about you and the little lady come upstairs for some brandy after we wrap things up down here?”
“I…” he felt the glossy softness of her lips as they parted to engulf him. Michael’s toe curled as her wet little tongue squirmed its way down his cock. “…Think we can arrange that later. Right now, all I want is a cup of coffee and a piece of cake.”
“EUNICE! Get the man his cake!”
Michael grinned broadly. “I just looooove cake.” Fiona couldn’t muffle her laughter, the vibration causing his hips to twitch against the seat. “Yeep. Just have a craving for something sweet and creamy…”
Fi’s amusement vibrated its way up his dick and Michael’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. Her mouth moved as if in response, teeth nipped his glans as she started the fast, rhythmic lunges that would give him his climax.
Michael’s orgasm was a totally silent affair, expressing itself with a twitched eyebrow and a hand sneaking under the lip of the table to give a hard tug to Fiona’s hair. Her wicked laughter was choked away by his come, the kittenish lick of her tongue as she took away all of that lovely wetness and sat back to admire her handiwork.
A moment later Fi rose from the floor with her typical elegant grace, patting her hair back into her bun and laughing as she held up her fork.
“It was under Bobby’s chair the whole time!” she giggled, then seated herself and continued eating her wildberry tart.
Michael didn’t get the chance to question his wife until they stepped out onto the dance floor and into a waltz. A close hold was the best option for passing secret information along, of course, and his close lean and deep whisper passed for a lover’s endearment to the observer. “I don’t know if I should thank you or start planning out our funeral.”
“Michael,” she sighed, “even though I adore you your ego is beyond the pale.”
He must have worn his incredulity too clearly, for she threw back her head and laughed. “You crawled under the table to…”
“Bug their shoes?” she whirled about, a cloud of red and cream, her smile airhead-appropriate but carrying all of the vicious joy of her real self. “Aye,” she whispered, her Irish lilt emerging for just a moment.
“…You bugged him?”
Fiona bobbed her head, her smile feline and so utterly superior that Michael had to bite back a laugh.
“I love you,” he muttered, kissing her lips.
“You’d better, Michael,” she clacked her tongue and held up a remote detonator that was tinier. “I know where all the C4 is hidden.”
***
Things went sideways, of course - something Michael will disdainfully blame on one of Card’s lackeys when they’re being debriefed at the consulate in Argentina a week later - and the two of them find themselves shooting down a group of smugglers en route to the drop-off. Fiona is in her element, hanging out the open passenger side door, head jammed through the broken window, finger pressed firm to the trigger of her Walther.
Michael’s mind is totally focused on keeping his eye on the rear view mirror and the car on his road when his phone - his personal phone, which he’d just received two weeks ago from Fiona - rang.
Fiona grabbed it from the dashboard. “Hello? Maaadeline!” she purred, the blood spray from her latest kill washing over the back window. “What? Oh no, we’re at a movie. One of those ludicrous action pieces that Michael loves. You know the type? Oh precisely! Christmas?” BLAM! “Oh, honey, we can’t for Christmas, but I’m SO excited to meet you as soon as possible!” The next blast nicked the driver of the opposing car in the neck, causing him to careen over the median, tires squealing. Michael accelerated as Fi’s unlucky victim shot off the overpass and crashed in a fiery thud below. He skidded to a halt several miles down the road, hearing Fiona coo, “The Fourth of July? Oh, that would be lovely! We’ll see what we can do. Mmm. Yes, I’ll keep in touch. Goodnight, Madeline!”
Michael panted in his seat, staring at Fiona in absolute confusion. “You told my mother we’re going to see her. My mother, whom I haven’t seen in ten years?”
Fiona shrugged. “Well, she is your mother and she’s not going to be around forever. AND she seemed lovely enough on the phone.” He stared at her unblinkingly. “It would only be a week. I’m sure we can manage.”
“Fi, my mother is…you’ve spoken more than once?”
She kissed his cheek. “I gave her your number. Which I got for information - she really ought not be so obvious, but like mother like son.”
Michael planted his face firmly against the steering wheel in response, his nose pressing hard against the horn.
***
They left Pamplona on a seven-forty-seven just as the sun pierced the sky that morning. Fiona memorized the shades of purple staining the stratosphere and calculated the amount of sleep they could accumulate between takeoff and their touchdown in DC.
Michael slipped his fingers into her grip, sliding his sunglasses up his nose. “I was right about the air pressure,” he reminded her boredly.
“Sod off. I ruined my favorite snow globe for you,” she said, resting her head upon his shoulder. “Happy anniversary, Michael.”
He smirked confidently. “Happy anniversary.”
Leaning on one another, they winged their way to the next city, the next adventure.
THE END