Burn Notice fic Michael/Jesse/Fiona: "The Other Shoe"
Fic:
Title: The Other Shoe
Fandom: Burn Notice
Pairing: Michael/Fiona/Jesse
Spoilers: No big plot points except for who Jesse is and why they're working with him; if you know who the character is, you're fine.
Warnings: extremely brief and vague references to violence/kidnapping in the past (less than in the show itself)
AN: This was written for kink_bingo for the square, "sensory deprivation." Several other kinks included: bondage, other BDSM, etc.
Michael could say a lot with a look.
That was one of the first things Jesse learned.
In their line of work, you learned not to trust a look. Looks can lie, words can lie, even actions can lie. But you also learned pretty fast that once in a while, you just have to trust. Sometimes you have no choice.
It was like that with Michael right away. Not just that Jesse believed he could trust Michael, but that Michael trusted him - Michael was willing to bet his life on the assumption that Jesse's didn't deserve to be burned.
Until it was taken away, Jesse didn't know how badly he needed that. To be trusted.
When you're working counterintelligence, you're trusted with the worst secrets and the best plans. Your country entrusts you with the things that in a better world, nobody would have to know. And you believe in what you're doing because you know that it matters; you know that you are protecting your country, that you are saving lives. And so you trust the people you work for (sort of), you trust the system (just enough), and, most importantly, you trust yourself.
You also do terrible things that you will remember for the rest of your life. But you do them because they're necessary, because you are defending the innocent from the people who put power and greed above human life.
And because you are good at your job. Very, very good.
And a big part of why you're so good is because you never really open up to the people around you. Counterintel is about sussing out motivations, usually by hiding your own -- whatever it takes to get the intel, to root out those who have betrayed the very people they claim to be helping. They're the worst kind, and there's nothing Jesse is prouder of than knocking guys like that to the curb.
Though of course, to do this job -well - you have to be all about the job. You can't have the nice little family with the nice little house and the relaxing weekends and the sun-drenched lazy mornings at the breakfast table. But you get something better than that: you get the job.
And the better you get at it, the more your world becomes one and the same with your job. It's what you believe in, it's what you bleed for, it's what you spill the blood of others for.
And then it's gone.
And then you're not the job anymore. All of sudden, you're not anything.
The people you knew get an abrupt case of never-knew-him-that-well. Everyone thinks you're either a traitor or a career landmine, and you see it: you thought you were being so good, so smart, so distant, you thought you had controlled yourself. You thought you didn't ever open up to the people you work with, the people you work for, the bureaucratic system behind those people; but it turns out you did trust them. Against your will, without your knowedge, you believed in them, and you didn't know it until you felt how much it hurt when they burned you.
And you rage and you bargain and you try to force, but there is no way back into your old life, none that you can see.
And you start to doubt. And then not only do you lose who you are, you lose what you were then, you lose the things you know to be true.
You think about the people you've discovered to be untrustworthy. About what happened to them. You start to wonder if you were wrong. You knew at the time you were right - you were sure. But now, it's too easy to wonder if you found hard evidence because someone wanted you to find hard evidence against that person.
And then you think about the worst things you've ever done. The things that were okay because you knew - you trusted - doing them would make the world a safer place for the innocent.
And then it's not just doubt. It's a rage that fills you up, and if you're not careful it'll make you crazy, or, worse yet, stupid. The only thing worse than a burned spy is a burned spy with a bad plan.
Jesse had reached the point where he could not think of anything else, any other plans, had turned over his last rocks, when he came to Michael. And he knew it was a risk, to trust someone like Michael Westen, but Westen was known for having brilliant plans that work on few resources, and about the only resources Jesse had now were stubbornness and a pissed off attitude. And Jesse was worried about it - he knew that if anyone could pull one over on him, it would be Westen. But he was out of options.
And if there was one person who might get it....
Jesse knew that underneath the calm exterior that their profession mastered, he and Michael both knew the rage of the unjustly accused, the desperation to clear your name no matter what, and the even deeper hunger to fuck over the people who fucked your life -and yes, it may be wrong for that hunger to burn stronger but it does. And everything you devoted your life to, everything you trusted enough to give your life for, you don't trust any more, and you think you'll never trust in anything again, and you go about your daily life but every time you think about what they did to you -what they are still doing to you, it's like you can barely breathe, you can barely stop yourself from punching a brick wall, and if you weren't one of the world's best at controlling your outward actions, you wouldn't have any fist left to punch by now.
He thought maybe, based on this, he could get Michael to agree to try at least an uneasy alliance. Something that could grow a little less uneasy.
Instead he found a partner and a team who brought him into their lives. And he was amazed by this, that Michael would have any trust left to give, after decades in espionage eroding your faith, and then a burn notice that should wipe out whatever's left.
But when they met, when they agreed to work together, Michael showed that he trusted Jesse.
And since he knew that Jesse would wonder why, he explained it with a look.
One look from Michael was enough to say, I know exactly what it's like. The desperate wild anger and confusion, the willingness to do anything to fight back, because what they took from us was more than just a job. And on the face of a man who had been burned for a couple of years now, there was a promise there too: You can get through this. Because they burned me too, but I'm still here. They burned me, but then it turned out there was still a me underneath.
----------=========----------
With Fi, it was different.
He knew about her on paper. But she was nothing like on paper.
She was warm and funny and whip-smart and at least as much of a badass as Michael or Sam, and Jesse loved that about her. In a lot of ways they thought more alike than they did with Michael; he and Fiona were fans of improvising. And of people who do wrong getting what's coming to them. And occasionally, of making fun of Michael.
But it was more than that. Jesse knew that most people with Fiona's history... well, the few that are smart and tough enough to survive are usually monsters obsessed with revenge, or ruthless for-profit-only types who couldn't give a damn about anybody. But Fiona, with her C4 love and her long-range accuracy and her tendency to put her enemies' faces into the nearest wall, had a weird sense of principles, but it was clear: they may be weird, but she wouldn't go against them. It was a very different code of honor than Jesse was used to, and it wasn't clear if it extended to any population larger than Fiona herself, but she stuck to it. She defended the people she cared about, the helpless who needed her, and her own right to do as she pleased - in that order, and with marginally decreasing degrees of violence.
She also, for some reason, knew a lot of jokes about people with various companions who walked into a bar.
Of course, Fiona let him into their little team since Michael vouched for him. Jesse knew that. But once she decided that you were in that tiny circle of people about whom Fiona Glenanne cared, you were in all the way. She didn't do things by half measures.
The second day he knew her, Fiona told him about the day she decided to quit her storied career as a 'politically motivated explosives facilitator.' She stared at the guns they were checking as she talked, no eye contact, and if Jesse weren't trained as well as he was, he wouldn't have noticed the waver in her voice. It was a true story, he could tell, and it was also true when she looked at him after and said, "Less than five people in the world know that story, Jesse."
Her eyes explained it clearly enough: You're trusting us, so I'm trusting you. I'm giving you this - this story that hurts like hell to speak out loud - so you know you can feel safe with me.
Jesse knew many times what it was like to be surprised by someone's cruelty or deviousness or brilliance or depravity, or even sometimes their perseverence or their courage, but his line of work hadn't given him much opportunity to be astounded at the strength it took to open one's wounds for a near stranger to see, to risk so much for someone who hadn't earned it yet.
It took Jesse a moment to realize what he was feeling.
But then he nodded at her, a promise of his discretion and more, and said, simply: "I understand."
----------=========----------
It started with missions. Things weren't always smooth; Jesse had to get used to the fact that Michael was a control freak. To be fair, Jesse knew, there were plenty of things about himself that he knew the others had to get used to also.
It was definitely different. He'd always played it by the book when it came to secrets and clearances (until he got burned and didn't have the luxury of tight information control), so none of his friends ever knew what he did for work. And the people he worked with... well, it would have been a huge mistake to let them know anything personal. He had always guarded information about himself: memories, feelings, needs, even the way he strategizes. He always left something out, or added something false, so people who turned out to be other than what they seemed would never be able to use him, never know his psyche or his plans well enough. It was a casualty of being in counterintel, he supposed, to safeguard the honesty of spies by constantly lying himself. But these jobs with Michael and Sam and Fi, they didn't allow a lot of room for game-playing. And they were smart enough that it wouldn't pay to BS them, not in the long run. So he started opening up, little by little, worrying less and less about what they knew about him. They wouldn't hurt him or one another, and they would do their damnedest not to let their country or any innocent people get hurt, and even though that's not nearly the same as a high level clearance, in these circumstances it would have to do.
He had thought it would be harder, would hurt more, to let a lifetime of defenses crumble down off him. But the more he got to know them, the easier it was. There was still that part of him who knew it was dumb, to let himself trust this much, but right now it felt like the most solid thing he has. And any spy knows, if a man only has one thing left he cares about, neither rhyme nor reason nor anything short of an assault team will pull him away from that one thing. And right now his only shot at clearing his name, finding out what happened, stopping some dangerous pieces of shit from doing this to someone else, and feeling like he wasn't hopeless and alone, were all wrapped in this new thing. This team thing. Which he was not used to.
But it seemed to work. He seemed to fit.
It was strange.
Or maybe just new.
But soon enough, it felt ... almost right. Being in their lives, in their jobs. In their bed. Basically, everything except for the fact that the job of bringing down the guys who burned him and Michael was just beginning. All things considered, it was easier than it should have been. That counterintel part of his brain wanted all the alarms to go off - don't fall into this, don't trust things that are too good to be true, don't trust anyone or anything that makes you feel too... comfortable.
But he did. He felt comfortable on the worn couch of Michael's loft, he felt comfortable as they drank beer, as they talked about matters serious and not. As Michael and Fi gradually became comfortable too, enough to kiss each other in front of him as he smiled and politely looked in the other direction. And soon enough, comfortable to hit their flirtatious banter back at them.
When they moved from flirtation-as-bonding to flirtation-as-foreplay, he was a little anxious, just at the start. It was Fiona who started it, of course. Ballsy, beautiful Fiona. She had hinted for days that he might be invited to join them, but Jesse always smiled and gave away little, wondering if this was a game or a test, or if maybe Fi was pushing for something that Michael didn't want. And he wasn't about to try to hurt either of them, or their relationship. But one night, relaxing at Michael's place,they were laughing together as if they were old friends, as if the circumstances that brought them here were somehow, as if in a fantasy, secondary. Somewhere in the back of Jesse's mind, he wondered if it were a good idea to feel this comfortable, but the thought left him as he grinned at Fiona: she had walked back to the couch after getting herself another beer and not-so-surreptitiously flicked a little condensation into Michael's face. She smirked at Michael as she stood between his legs and leaned over for a kiss, and then sat next to him, her fist wrapped up in Michael's white tank, ready in case she wanted to yank his body closer.
Jesse had got up to leave; it was getting to the point when they would want their privacy, he thought with a little disappointment. But then, to his surprise, it was Michael who said, just a hint of smile in his voice: "You could stay."
He looked at the two of them then, their faces, gorgeous and weary but still strong. Their faces, leaned together so they touched, two pairs of eyes waiting for his answer.
He knew he should leave. He knew that it could blow up in his face to put his trust in something so complicated, so messy, as whatever this would be between them.
But he hadn't regretted his trust in them yet. And the way they looked at him, eyes darkened with anticipation. The way Fiona's hand looked on Michael's chest, the way Michael's mouth was just an inch's turn away from Fi's.
It wasn't enough to just look.
Jesse stayed. That night, and then, soon, most nights.
It was easier than it should have been. That rational part of his mind knew that. But somehow, he had reached a point where it was harder to NOT trust them.
----------=========----------
The first time Jesse let them tie him up, it was Fi's idea.
The woman had a lot of good ideas.
She came home to them and plopped down on the couch between them, downing a big gulp of beer and grinning that cat-like grin at Jesse. She had a predator's smile.
Jesse smiled at her, and he was surprised to find that it was sincere. He guessed that's what trust was -- when you know someone wants something from you, when you know they have plans for you, but you're not worried anyway.
Wordlessly, they all headed toward the bed, shedding a few articles of clothing along the way. Just the excess.
Fi kissed Michael then, pulling off his shirt. His arms had a light sheen of sweat, and as he reached up to touch Fi's face to kiss her again, Jesse could see Fiona's body shift in reaction to his movement. She parted, then looked over at Jesse.
"Michael never lets me tie him up," she said to him, and it was clear: it was either a challenge or a request.
Jesse raised an eyebrow. Definitely didn't see that one coming. Though he should have. It was Fi, after all.
Michael noticed his surprise and said, "I think maybe it's a little early on for that."
Fi casually hooked a finger into Michael's belt, and turned back to Jesse and smirked. "Jesse's a big boy. I don't think he's scared that easily."
Turned on, not scared, Jesse wanted to say. But truthfully, getting tied up by two trained killers is never a smart idea. No matter how nice the trained killers are. Or how good they looked, sinewy bodies pressed against each other, two sets of eyelashes, thick above their desiring gazes.
He must have been gaping because Fi said, "Told you so. He looks like he might like it."
Jesse wasn't sure what part of him needed to deny it, but Michael's gaze stripped him bare; another bad thing about spies -- they know when you're trying to hide the fact that you just got half-hard at the mere suggestion of bondage. But then he figured he might as well go for it. He never had anyone he trusted with his life as much as he trusted them. And it was something he always wanted to do but was always scared to try, both because of the danger, and because he didn't want to say out loud that he wanted it. Not in front of someone he would have to live with. But maybe he had gone too long without asking for what he wanted.
Fiona looked victorious as he admitted that he wouldn't mind.
Then she looked bored as Michael said that they would need to talk about limits.
Jesse thought the idea of a long talk sounded pretty boring too. Yes, Michael was cautious and methodical and always prepared, etc., etc. But he didn't think that a discussion of feelings would be all that necessary.
"Lie on the bed," Michael said.
"See, I knew it wouldn't take you long to get toppy," Jesse joked as he lay down on his back.
Michael moved over and straddled him, sitting so that he hovered right above Jesse's dick, then looked down and said, "Like I said, we're going to talk about limits, and there's nothing you can do about it."
Leave it to Michael Westen to use blackmail in bed. "Is he always so controlling?" Jesse asked Fi.
"You have no idea," she said rolling her eyes. But she just plopped on her side, head resting propped on one hand, watching as if this would be highly informative.
"What's your safeword?" Michael asked him.
"How about 'burned'," Fi suggested, eyes narrowed with something more than dark humor.
"How about not," Michael said, shooting her a dirty look. He turned back to Jesse and said, "What about standard red, yellow, green? Red for stop, yellow for slow down-"
"Got it. That's fine."
"How often have you done this?" Fi asked him. She asked too many good questions, Jesse noticed.
"Not... a lot." Jesse answered after a moment.
Michael just nodded. "So as soon you want it to stop, you say red. Don't try and tough it out. And if you don't know yet if you like something, say yellow. If something's a little too much, say yellow."
Jesse grimaced, tried to move Michael's hips off his body so his dick could relax while he tried to argue, but Michael knocked aside his hands and ground down on him just enough to make sure Jesse knew that Michael was in control. Annoyed, he said, "Mike, I'm not going to get all upset about a little pain. I mean compared to what we go through for the job - "
"Everyone has limits," Michael said, slow and measured, and left unspoken the part about how people who get bound and tortured for the job have more, not less, limits than most.
Jesse swallowed and nodded.
Michael pressed, "If I think for one second - if I even SUSPECT -that you're pretending to be okay when you're not, we're done. Not just for the night. If you can't safeword when you need to, then we can't play this way. Not ever."
Jesse smirked up at him. The arrogance of this guy, he thought.
"I mean it, Jesse," he said.
"So your judgment of whether I'm 'okay' matters more than what I say."
Michael exhaled, frustrated. "No, Jesse. And don't get me wrong, I love the friendly-competition thing you and I have going, I really do."
"I enjoy it too," Fi interjected.
"But there is a time and a place, and this isn't it. If you lie about what you want or need, if you're more worried about looking tough than communicating to us, then I can't do this," Michael continued, his tone as hard and demanding as if he were leaning on an asset, "I have to trust your honesty for this to work."
Jesse sighed. He hesitated, looked over at Fi, then back to Michael. He nodded. "Okay. I'll tell you whatever you want."
"Good," Michael said, and then raised an eyebrow. "Because that's the only way this works. And I'm not about to trash our relationship because you didn't want to talk about all the amazingly hot things we're about to do to you."
Jesse grinned and Fiona laughed and then leaned over to kiss them both, Jesse first this time.
And then they talked.
Jesse wanted his hands tied to the headboard. He had wanted it long and badly. Michael suggested he might want a loose knot the first time, one he could get out of on his own, but Fi and Jesse agreed that would be considerably less fun.
So they agreed that if the loft came under attack, Fi would grab the gun under the bed to provide cover while Michael untied him.
Michael asked what he wanted to be tied with, if he wanted to avoid ropeburn.
Jesse didn't mind ropeburn. After a heavy minute, he admitted that there were some things he didn't want. Like being tied up with electrical tape. They both had the courtesy of not asking what job had ended up with someone binding him with electrical tape, or how it turned out. Fiona brought silk scarves out of her purse then, and suddenly the question of bindings was much easier.
Michael pressed again, and Jesse slowly listed some things he didn't want. He admired the way Fi could kick someone in the face as foreplay, but he wasn't sure he could handle that when tied up. Pain was fine, feeling defenseless, feeling easily killable, wasn't fun no matter how much you believe in the person doing the kicking.
Fi had assured him that kicking someone in the face who couldn't fight back took all the fun out of it for her.
He had some other wants, some other ... concerns. They went through them.
When they finally used Fi's scarves to tie him to Michael's headboard, he was more excited than scared. The gorgeous woman tying his right hand down, the beautiful man securing his left.
And then the other scarf. Used as a blindfold.
Jesse had asked for this. He had dreamed about it before he even knew it was a kink. But not being able to see or move his arms, he suddenly felt more vulnerable, more open to harm than he had since he was young, too young to protect himself.
At his tensing muscles, a warm hand stroked his chest and stomach, soothing him. "Michael," he said, as much to reassure himself as to thank him.
"How'd you know it wasn't me?" Fi asked, and he could hear the smile in her voice.
"I can tell," Jesse bragged, and soon it was a game, guess who's touching Jesse.
Jesse guesses correctly every time.
And they're laughing, mixing a pinch or a tickle with the caresses, and it's not terrifying, it's a game, it's for fun, and Jesse relaxes into his role, his bound blindfolded state, enough that when two pairs of lips start kissing his neck, he moans in pleasure, not surprise.
And then, without warning, cold. COLD. Fiona running an ice cube down his chest, and he can tell it's her by the motion. It's always harder and faster with Fiona.
But then it's Fiona's lips, soft and slow, kissing his lips with an ice cube in her mouth, and the cold is sweet now, cool and musky from her mouth to his, until suddenly there's heat. It's a burning stripe across his thighs, the smell of candles burning (and if it weren't for Fi, he would have noticed, because he can really smell it now), and Jesse realizes it's not that hot, but in his surprise it felt like flame, even though it was just Michael pouring candle wax onto his skin.
Another splash of wax, this one on his stomach, and he writhes, and he isn't afraid to moan, isn't afraid to show pain. And he can't see how they react, but somehow he knows that they aren't thinking of ways to use his pain against him, they're not thinking of ways his moan has showed he's weak.
He wants them to keep going, to keep pushing him, but then he hears something, condoms opened, and he wonders how this will work. But soon he feels the heat and frantic motion of Fiona straddling him and Michael too, right behind her. She leans over and kisses Jesse, and he can smell so much of her, her sweat and perfume and shampoo, and her long hair is sweeping across his face as she is bent over in front Michael, both of them kneeling on the bed with Jesse's body between their legs. Jesse arches up to see if he can get closer, to rut against Michael's ass, but Michael's hand grips his hip and pushes down hard, enough to bruise, and Jesse gets the message. He stays put, stays where Michael has put him, as he feels and hears and smells Michael and Fiona as they begin fucking right on top of him.
He can't see but he feels the movement, and feels her moan into his mouth as Michael pushes into her from behind. He feels surrounded, underneath this heat and motion and sweat, and he's getting more and more aroused, and soon Michael's hand is on his dick, and how Michael is coordinated enough to give the best hand job ever while doing everything else is pretty fucking amazing, but Jesse only feels the hand on him, firm and controlled, and he realizes he didn't even have to think twice to know it's his hand and not Fi's because it just feels like Michael's hand. Fiona moans into Jesse's neck as Michael picks up the pace, and her hair whips around, hitting Jesse's face, and as she comes, she bites down on Jesse's shoulder hard enough that he screams, and the pain shoots through him, sharper from not being able to see her, to see either of them.
She moves away then, and he feels the coolness and air where there was her, and more than anything he wants to rip off the blindfold, see her spent and satisfied. But he feels the bounce as she shifts to the other side of the bed. The way she always does when she feels like watching.
Soon it's Michael's hands all over him, slower than usual, but that's a good thing we Jesse can't see and can barely move around. He feels Michael's thumb on his erect dick, then pressing down, and he cries out, and then he knows just from Michael's voice exactly which smirk he's wearing as he says, "If you want to cum, too, you'll have to beg."
Jesse arches into Michael's hand, but Michael moves away quickly, then moves up to whisper in his ear, "I want this from you, Jesse. I want to know that you aren't afraid of showing me this." The words are sweet, but from Michael they sound dangerous. Gorgeously, silkenly dangerous.
He manages to whisper, "Please."
Michael runs a light touch along the underside of his dick. His voice, not nearly as gentle as his touch, tells him, "Beg harder."
He does. He pleads. He begs until he sobs. He does everything that he trained to never have to do, and he loves it.
When Michael's lips finally come down on his dick, he thinks he would do anything Michael asked. He pulls against the headboard and feels the strength of their knots binding him, and he is imagining what Michael's lips look like, and what Fiona looks like as she watches them, as she watches Jesse fall apart under the force of Michael's hands and Michael's tongue.
When he is done, he barely notices as the scarves are untied, as warm arms surround him in a strong perimeter. He shouldn't be this comfortable between them, he knew. He always got a bit attached in the post-orgasmic haze, as he got more and more sleepy. But somehow this didn't seem like sentimentalism. It felt like he had found something, and it was painful and difficult but it was true. And though the counterintel agent in him wanted to warn himself, guard himself, the bliss and the care and the peace made Jesse wonder, in the moment as he feel asleep, if this might be a taste of what it's like to live a life without secrets.
Title: The Other Shoe
Fandom: Burn Notice
Pairing: Michael/Fiona/Jesse
Spoilers: No big plot points except for who Jesse is and why they're working with him; if you know who the character is, you're fine.
Warnings: extremely brief and vague references to violence/kidnapping in the past (less than in the show itself)
AN: This was written for kink_bingo for the square, "sensory deprivation." Several other kinks included: bondage, other BDSM, etc.
Michael could say a lot with a look.
That was one of the first things Jesse learned.
In their line of work, you learned not to trust a look. Looks can lie, words can lie, even actions can lie. But you also learned pretty fast that once in a while, you just have to trust. Sometimes you have no choice.
It was like that with Michael right away. Not just that Jesse believed he could trust Michael, but that Michael trusted him - Michael was willing to bet his life on the assumption that Jesse's didn't deserve to be burned.
Until it was taken away, Jesse didn't know how badly he needed that. To be trusted.
When you're working counterintelligence, you're trusted with the worst secrets and the best plans. Your country entrusts you with the things that in a better world, nobody would have to know. And you believe in what you're doing because you know that it matters; you know that you are protecting your country, that you are saving lives. And so you trust the people you work for (sort of), you trust the system (just enough), and, most importantly, you trust yourself.
You also do terrible things that you will remember for the rest of your life. But you do them because they're necessary, because you are defending the innocent from the people who put power and greed above human life.
And because you are good at your job. Very, very good.
And a big part of why you're so good is because you never really open up to the people around you. Counterintel is about sussing out motivations, usually by hiding your own -- whatever it takes to get the intel, to root out those who have betrayed the very people they claim to be helping. They're the worst kind, and there's nothing Jesse is prouder of than knocking guys like that to the curb.
Though of course, to do this job -well - you have to be all about the job. You can't have the nice little family with the nice little house and the relaxing weekends and the sun-drenched lazy mornings at the breakfast table. But you get something better than that: you get the job.
And the better you get at it, the more your world becomes one and the same with your job. It's what you believe in, it's what you bleed for, it's what you spill the blood of others for.
And then it's gone.
And then you're not the job anymore. All of sudden, you're not anything.
The people you knew get an abrupt case of never-knew-him-that-well. Everyone thinks you're either a traitor or a career landmine, and you see it: you thought you were being so good, so smart, so distant, you thought you had controlled yourself. You thought you didn't ever open up to the people you work with, the people you work for, the bureaucratic system behind those people; but it turns out you did trust them. Against your will, without your knowedge, you believed in them, and you didn't know it until you felt how much it hurt when they burned you.
And you rage and you bargain and you try to force, but there is no way back into your old life, none that you can see.
And you start to doubt. And then not only do you lose who you are, you lose what you were then, you lose the things you know to be true.
You think about the people you've discovered to be untrustworthy. About what happened to them. You start to wonder if you were wrong. You knew at the time you were right - you were sure. But now, it's too easy to wonder if you found hard evidence because someone wanted you to find hard evidence against that person.
And then you think about the worst things you've ever done. The things that were okay because you knew - you trusted - doing them would make the world a safer place for the innocent.
And then it's not just doubt. It's a rage that fills you up, and if you're not careful it'll make you crazy, or, worse yet, stupid. The only thing worse than a burned spy is a burned spy with a bad plan.
Jesse had reached the point where he could not think of anything else, any other plans, had turned over his last rocks, when he came to Michael. And he knew it was a risk, to trust someone like Michael Westen, but Westen was known for having brilliant plans that work on few resources, and about the only resources Jesse had now were stubbornness and a pissed off attitude. And Jesse was worried about it - he knew that if anyone could pull one over on him, it would be Westen. But he was out of options.
And if there was one person who might get it....
Jesse knew that underneath the calm exterior that their profession mastered, he and Michael both knew the rage of the unjustly accused, the desperation to clear your name no matter what, and the even deeper hunger to fuck over the people who fucked your life -and yes, it may be wrong for that hunger to burn stronger but it does. And everything you devoted your life to, everything you trusted enough to give your life for, you don't trust any more, and you think you'll never trust in anything again, and you go about your daily life but every time you think about what they did to you -what they are still doing to you, it's like you can barely breathe, you can barely stop yourself from punching a brick wall, and if you weren't one of the world's best at controlling your outward actions, you wouldn't have any fist left to punch by now.
He thought maybe, based on this, he could get Michael to agree to try at least an uneasy alliance. Something that could grow a little less uneasy.
Instead he found a partner and a team who brought him into their lives. And he was amazed by this, that Michael would have any trust left to give, after decades in espionage eroding your faith, and then a burn notice that should wipe out whatever's left.
But when they met, when they agreed to work together, Michael showed that he trusted Jesse.
And since he knew that Jesse would wonder why, he explained it with a look.
One look from Michael was enough to say, I know exactly what it's like. The desperate wild anger and confusion, the willingness to do anything to fight back, because what they took from us was more than just a job. And on the face of a man who had been burned for a couple of years now, there was a promise there too: You can get through this. Because they burned me too, but I'm still here. They burned me, but then it turned out there was still a me underneath.
----------=========----------
With Fi, it was different.
He knew about her on paper. But she was nothing like on paper.
She was warm and funny and whip-smart and at least as much of a badass as Michael or Sam, and Jesse loved that about her. In a lot of ways they thought more alike than they did with Michael; he and Fiona were fans of improvising. And of people who do wrong getting what's coming to them. And occasionally, of making fun of Michael.
But it was more than that. Jesse knew that most people with Fiona's history... well, the few that are smart and tough enough to survive are usually monsters obsessed with revenge, or ruthless for-profit-only types who couldn't give a damn about anybody. But Fiona, with her C4 love and her long-range accuracy and her tendency to put her enemies' faces into the nearest wall, had a weird sense of principles, but it was clear: they may be weird, but she wouldn't go against them. It was a very different code of honor than Jesse was used to, and it wasn't clear if it extended to any population larger than Fiona herself, but she stuck to it. She defended the people she cared about, the helpless who needed her, and her own right to do as she pleased - in that order, and with marginally decreasing degrees of violence.
She also, for some reason, knew a lot of jokes about people with various companions who walked into a bar.
Of course, Fiona let him into their little team since Michael vouched for him. Jesse knew that. But once she decided that you were in that tiny circle of people about whom Fiona Glenanne cared, you were in all the way. She didn't do things by half measures.
The second day he knew her, Fiona told him about the day she decided to quit her storied career as a 'politically motivated explosives facilitator.' She stared at the guns they were checking as she talked, no eye contact, and if Jesse weren't trained as well as he was, he wouldn't have noticed the waver in her voice. It was a true story, he could tell, and it was also true when she looked at him after and said, "Less than five people in the world know that story, Jesse."
Her eyes explained it clearly enough: You're trusting us, so I'm trusting you. I'm giving you this - this story that hurts like hell to speak out loud - so you know you can feel safe with me.
Jesse knew many times what it was like to be surprised by someone's cruelty or deviousness or brilliance or depravity, or even sometimes their perseverence or their courage, but his line of work hadn't given him much opportunity to be astounded at the strength it took to open one's wounds for a near stranger to see, to risk so much for someone who hadn't earned it yet.
It took Jesse a moment to realize what he was feeling.
But then he nodded at her, a promise of his discretion and more, and said, simply: "I understand."
----------=========----------
It started with missions. Things weren't always smooth; Jesse had to get used to the fact that Michael was a control freak. To be fair, Jesse knew, there were plenty of things about himself that he knew the others had to get used to also.
It was definitely different. He'd always played it by the book when it came to secrets and clearances (until he got burned and didn't have the luxury of tight information control), so none of his friends ever knew what he did for work. And the people he worked with... well, it would have been a huge mistake to let them know anything personal. He had always guarded information about himself: memories, feelings, needs, even the way he strategizes. He always left something out, or added something false, so people who turned out to be other than what they seemed would never be able to use him, never know his psyche or his plans well enough. It was a casualty of being in counterintel, he supposed, to safeguard the honesty of spies by constantly lying himself. But these jobs with Michael and Sam and Fi, they didn't allow a lot of room for game-playing. And they were smart enough that it wouldn't pay to BS them, not in the long run. So he started opening up, little by little, worrying less and less about what they knew about him. They wouldn't hurt him or one another, and they would do their damnedest not to let their country or any innocent people get hurt, and even though that's not nearly the same as a high level clearance, in these circumstances it would have to do.
He had thought it would be harder, would hurt more, to let a lifetime of defenses crumble down off him. But the more he got to know them, the easier it was. There was still that part of him who knew it was dumb, to let himself trust this much, but right now it felt like the most solid thing he has. And any spy knows, if a man only has one thing left he cares about, neither rhyme nor reason nor anything short of an assault team will pull him away from that one thing. And right now his only shot at clearing his name, finding out what happened, stopping some dangerous pieces of shit from doing this to someone else, and feeling like he wasn't hopeless and alone, were all wrapped in this new thing. This team thing. Which he was not used to.
But it seemed to work. He seemed to fit.
It was strange.
Or maybe just new.
But soon enough, it felt ... almost right. Being in their lives, in their jobs. In their bed. Basically, everything except for the fact that the job of bringing down the guys who burned him and Michael was just beginning. All things considered, it was easier than it should have been. That counterintel part of his brain wanted all the alarms to go off - don't fall into this, don't trust things that are too good to be true, don't trust anyone or anything that makes you feel too... comfortable.
But he did. He felt comfortable on the worn couch of Michael's loft, he felt comfortable as they drank beer, as they talked about matters serious and not. As Michael and Fi gradually became comfortable too, enough to kiss each other in front of him as he smiled and politely looked in the other direction. And soon enough, comfortable to hit their flirtatious banter back at them.
When they moved from flirtation-as-bonding to flirtation-as-foreplay, he was a little anxious, just at the start. It was Fiona who started it, of course. Ballsy, beautiful Fiona. She had hinted for days that he might be invited to join them, but Jesse always smiled and gave away little, wondering if this was a game or a test, or if maybe Fi was pushing for something that Michael didn't want. And he wasn't about to try to hurt either of them, or their relationship. But one night, relaxing at Michael's place,they were laughing together as if they were old friends, as if the circumstances that brought them here were somehow, as if in a fantasy, secondary. Somewhere in the back of Jesse's mind, he wondered if it were a good idea to feel this comfortable, but the thought left him as he grinned at Fiona: she had walked back to the couch after getting herself another beer and not-so-surreptitiously flicked a little condensation into Michael's face. She smirked at Michael as she stood between his legs and leaned over for a kiss, and then sat next to him, her fist wrapped up in Michael's white tank, ready in case she wanted to yank his body closer.
Jesse had got up to leave; it was getting to the point when they would want their privacy, he thought with a little disappointment. But then, to his surprise, it was Michael who said, just a hint of smile in his voice: "You could stay."
He looked at the two of them then, their faces, gorgeous and weary but still strong. Their faces, leaned together so they touched, two pairs of eyes waiting for his answer.
He knew he should leave. He knew that it could blow up in his face to put his trust in something so complicated, so messy, as whatever this would be between them.
But he hadn't regretted his trust in them yet. And the way they looked at him, eyes darkened with anticipation. The way Fiona's hand looked on Michael's chest, the way Michael's mouth was just an inch's turn away from Fi's.
It wasn't enough to just look.
Jesse stayed. That night, and then, soon, most nights.
It was easier than it should have been. That rational part of his mind knew that. But somehow, he had reached a point where it was harder to NOT trust them.
----------=========----------
The first time Jesse let them tie him up, it was Fi's idea.
The woman had a lot of good ideas.
She came home to them and plopped down on the couch between them, downing a big gulp of beer and grinning that cat-like grin at Jesse. She had a predator's smile.
Jesse smiled at her, and he was surprised to find that it was sincere. He guessed that's what trust was -- when you know someone wants something from you, when you know they have plans for you, but you're not worried anyway.
Wordlessly, they all headed toward the bed, shedding a few articles of clothing along the way. Just the excess.
Fi kissed Michael then, pulling off his shirt. His arms had a light sheen of sweat, and as he reached up to touch Fi's face to kiss her again, Jesse could see Fiona's body shift in reaction to his movement. She parted, then looked over at Jesse.
"Michael never lets me tie him up," she said to him, and it was clear: it was either a challenge or a request.
Jesse raised an eyebrow. Definitely didn't see that one coming. Though he should have. It was Fi, after all.
Michael noticed his surprise and said, "I think maybe it's a little early on for that."
Fi casually hooked a finger into Michael's belt, and turned back to Jesse and smirked. "Jesse's a big boy. I don't think he's scared that easily."
Turned on, not scared, Jesse wanted to say. But truthfully, getting tied up by two trained killers is never a smart idea. No matter how nice the trained killers are. Or how good they looked, sinewy bodies pressed against each other, two sets of eyelashes, thick above their desiring gazes.
He must have been gaping because Fi said, "Told you so. He looks like he might like it."
Jesse wasn't sure what part of him needed to deny it, but Michael's gaze stripped him bare; another bad thing about spies -- they know when you're trying to hide the fact that you just got half-hard at the mere suggestion of bondage. But then he figured he might as well go for it. He never had anyone he trusted with his life as much as he trusted them. And it was something he always wanted to do but was always scared to try, both because of the danger, and because he didn't want to say out loud that he wanted it. Not in front of someone he would have to live with. But maybe he had gone too long without asking for what he wanted.
Fiona looked victorious as he admitted that he wouldn't mind.
Then she looked bored as Michael said that they would need to talk about limits.
Jesse thought the idea of a long talk sounded pretty boring too. Yes, Michael was cautious and methodical and always prepared, etc., etc. But he didn't think that a discussion of feelings would be all that necessary.
"Lie on the bed," Michael said.
"See, I knew it wouldn't take you long to get toppy," Jesse joked as he lay down on his back.
Michael moved over and straddled him, sitting so that he hovered right above Jesse's dick, then looked down and said, "Like I said, we're going to talk about limits, and there's nothing you can do about it."
Leave it to Michael Westen to use blackmail in bed. "Is he always so controlling?" Jesse asked Fi.
"You have no idea," she said rolling her eyes. But she just plopped on her side, head resting propped on one hand, watching as if this would be highly informative.
"What's your safeword?" Michael asked him.
"How about 'burned'," Fi suggested, eyes narrowed with something more than dark humor.
"How about not," Michael said, shooting her a dirty look. He turned back to Jesse and said, "What about standard red, yellow, green? Red for stop, yellow for slow down-"
"Got it. That's fine."
"How often have you done this?" Fi asked him. She asked too many good questions, Jesse noticed.
"Not... a lot." Jesse answered after a moment.
Michael just nodded. "So as soon you want it to stop, you say red. Don't try and tough it out. And if you don't know yet if you like something, say yellow. If something's a little too much, say yellow."
Jesse grimaced, tried to move Michael's hips off his body so his dick could relax while he tried to argue, but Michael knocked aside his hands and ground down on him just enough to make sure Jesse knew that Michael was in control. Annoyed, he said, "Mike, I'm not going to get all upset about a little pain. I mean compared to what we go through for the job - "
"Everyone has limits," Michael said, slow and measured, and left unspoken the part about how people who get bound and tortured for the job have more, not less, limits than most.
Jesse swallowed and nodded.
Michael pressed, "If I think for one second - if I even SUSPECT -that you're pretending to be okay when you're not, we're done. Not just for the night. If you can't safeword when you need to, then we can't play this way. Not ever."
Jesse smirked up at him. The arrogance of this guy, he thought.
"I mean it, Jesse," he said.
"So your judgment of whether I'm 'okay' matters more than what I say."
Michael exhaled, frustrated. "No, Jesse. And don't get me wrong, I love the friendly-competition thing you and I have going, I really do."
"I enjoy it too," Fi interjected.
"But there is a time and a place, and this isn't it. If you lie about what you want or need, if you're more worried about looking tough than communicating to us, then I can't do this," Michael continued, his tone as hard and demanding as if he were leaning on an asset, "I have to trust your honesty for this to work."
Jesse sighed. He hesitated, looked over at Fi, then back to Michael. He nodded. "Okay. I'll tell you whatever you want."
"Good," Michael said, and then raised an eyebrow. "Because that's the only way this works. And I'm not about to trash our relationship because you didn't want to talk about all the amazingly hot things we're about to do to you."
Jesse grinned and Fiona laughed and then leaned over to kiss them both, Jesse first this time.
And then they talked.
Jesse wanted his hands tied to the headboard. He had wanted it long and badly. Michael suggested he might want a loose knot the first time, one he could get out of on his own, but Fi and Jesse agreed that would be considerably less fun.
So they agreed that if the loft came under attack, Fi would grab the gun under the bed to provide cover while Michael untied him.
Michael asked what he wanted to be tied with, if he wanted to avoid ropeburn.
Jesse didn't mind ropeburn. After a heavy minute, he admitted that there were some things he didn't want. Like being tied up with electrical tape. They both had the courtesy of not asking what job had ended up with someone binding him with electrical tape, or how it turned out. Fiona brought silk scarves out of her purse then, and suddenly the question of bindings was much easier.
Michael pressed again, and Jesse slowly listed some things he didn't want. He admired the way Fi could kick someone in the face as foreplay, but he wasn't sure he could handle that when tied up. Pain was fine, feeling defenseless, feeling easily killable, wasn't fun no matter how much you believe in the person doing the kicking.
Fi had assured him that kicking someone in the face who couldn't fight back took all the fun out of it for her.
He had some other wants, some other ... concerns. They went through them.
When they finally used Fi's scarves to tie him to Michael's headboard, he was more excited than scared. The gorgeous woman tying his right hand down, the beautiful man securing his left.
And then the other scarf. Used as a blindfold.
Jesse had asked for this. He had dreamed about it before he even knew it was a kink. But not being able to see or move his arms, he suddenly felt more vulnerable, more open to harm than he had since he was young, too young to protect himself.
At his tensing muscles, a warm hand stroked his chest and stomach, soothing him. "Michael," he said, as much to reassure himself as to thank him.
"How'd you know it wasn't me?" Fi asked, and he could hear the smile in her voice.
"I can tell," Jesse bragged, and soon it was a game, guess who's touching Jesse.
Jesse guesses correctly every time.
And they're laughing, mixing a pinch or a tickle with the caresses, and it's not terrifying, it's a game, it's for fun, and Jesse relaxes into his role, his bound blindfolded state, enough that when two pairs of lips start kissing his neck, he moans in pleasure, not surprise.
And then, without warning, cold. COLD. Fiona running an ice cube down his chest, and he can tell it's her by the motion. It's always harder and faster with Fiona.
But then it's Fiona's lips, soft and slow, kissing his lips with an ice cube in her mouth, and the cold is sweet now, cool and musky from her mouth to his, until suddenly there's heat. It's a burning stripe across his thighs, the smell of candles burning (and if it weren't for Fi, he would have noticed, because he can really smell it now), and Jesse realizes it's not that hot, but in his surprise it felt like flame, even though it was just Michael pouring candle wax onto his skin.
Another splash of wax, this one on his stomach, and he writhes, and he isn't afraid to moan, isn't afraid to show pain. And he can't see how they react, but somehow he knows that they aren't thinking of ways to use his pain against him, they're not thinking of ways his moan has showed he's weak.
He wants them to keep going, to keep pushing him, but then he hears something, condoms opened, and he wonders how this will work. But soon he feels the heat and frantic motion of Fiona straddling him and Michael too, right behind her. She leans over and kisses Jesse, and he can smell so much of her, her sweat and perfume and shampoo, and her long hair is sweeping across his face as she is bent over in front Michael, both of them kneeling on the bed with Jesse's body between their legs. Jesse arches up to see if he can get closer, to rut against Michael's ass, but Michael's hand grips his hip and pushes down hard, enough to bruise, and Jesse gets the message. He stays put, stays where Michael has put him, as he feels and hears and smells Michael and Fiona as they begin fucking right on top of him.
He can't see but he feels the movement, and feels her moan into his mouth as Michael pushes into her from behind. He feels surrounded, underneath this heat and motion and sweat, and he's getting more and more aroused, and soon Michael's hand is on his dick, and how Michael is coordinated enough to give the best hand job ever while doing everything else is pretty fucking amazing, but Jesse only feels the hand on him, firm and controlled, and he realizes he didn't even have to think twice to know it's his hand and not Fi's because it just feels like Michael's hand. Fiona moans into Jesse's neck as Michael picks up the pace, and her hair whips around, hitting Jesse's face, and as she comes, she bites down on Jesse's shoulder hard enough that he screams, and the pain shoots through him, sharper from not being able to see her, to see either of them.
She moves away then, and he feels the coolness and air where there was her, and more than anything he wants to rip off the blindfold, see her spent and satisfied. But he feels the bounce as she shifts to the other side of the bed. The way she always does when she feels like watching.
Soon it's Michael's hands all over him, slower than usual, but that's a good thing we Jesse can't see and can barely move around. He feels Michael's thumb on his erect dick, then pressing down, and he cries out, and then he knows just from Michael's voice exactly which smirk he's wearing as he says, "If you want to cum, too, you'll have to beg."
Jesse arches into Michael's hand, but Michael moves away quickly, then moves up to whisper in his ear, "I want this from you, Jesse. I want to know that you aren't afraid of showing me this." The words are sweet, but from Michael they sound dangerous. Gorgeously, silkenly dangerous.
He manages to whisper, "Please."
Michael runs a light touch along the underside of his dick. His voice, not nearly as gentle as his touch, tells him, "Beg harder."
He does. He pleads. He begs until he sobs. He does everything that he trained to never have to do, and he loves it.
When Michael's lips finally come down on his dick, he thinks he would do anything Michael asked. He pulls against the headboard and feels the strength of their knots binding him, and he is imagining what Michael's lips look like, and what Fiona looks like as she watches them, as she watches Jesse fall apart under the force of Michael's hands and Michael's tongue.
When he is done, he barely notices as the scarves are untied, as warm arms surround him in a strong perimeter. He shouldn't be this comfortable between them, he knew. He always got a bit attached in the post-orgasmic haze, as he got more and more sleepy. But somehow this didn't seem like sentimentalism. It felt like he had found something, and it was painful and difficult but it was true. And though the counterintel agent in him wanted to warn himself, guard himself, the bliss and the care and the peace made Jesse wonder, in the moment as he feel asleep, if this might be a taste of what it's like to live a life without secrets.