An Intoxicating Man
Written for comment_fic with the prompt: Burn Notice, Sam/Michael, Everything Michael knows about hard liquor he learned from Sam Axe. I may have strayed a tiny bit.
Rating: Pg-13
Word count: 488
Michael was a highly trained spy. He’d worked a long time to get to where he was and for the first few years he didn’t find himself in any situation he wasn’t confident he could handle. He’d had some run-ins, of course, with people who wanted to kill him but he could work through pain and had as much of a tolerance for drugs, alcohol, and poisons as a person possibly could.
The first time he doubted his abilities he woke up in bed, naked, in a small hut in a country he wasn’t sure had a name yet, next to man whose name he didn’t remember with the first hangover he’d had since high school. Instincts had taken over then and he’d had the man in a head lock, windpipe cut off and incapacitated, within seconds.
When the man turned just the right shade of red Michael let up on his trachea just a bit.
“Jesus, Mikey, I was kinda hoping for a nicer wake up call,” the man had wined, charming despite the slightly watery eyes and sleep tousled hair.
“Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing here,” He asked as seriously as he could considering he was naked and trying to keep the room from spinning.
The man just smiled, executed a neat little move that caught Michael off guard in his less-than-optimum state, and swiftly had him pinned to the bed.
He clucked his tongue gently, “aww, Mikey, is that any way to end this?”
He leaned in then, dropping a quick kiss to Michael’s forehead, not getting near the barred teeth.
“I had a good time, pity the local Vodka doesn’t seem to have agreed with you, I’d have welcomed another round.”
When he pulled away Michael made another move to stop him but found, to his horror and eternal embarrassment, that the man had handcuffed him to the bed without his noticing.
“You bastard!”
He smiled, “hey, if you’re ever in town again, drop me a line. We’ll do lunch,” then he set the key to the cuffs on the table across the room, grabbed his clothes, and sauntered out.
Michael’s second meeting with Sam hadn’t gone much better. By the third, however, Michael had upped his tolerance to the point where he at least remembered what had happened the night before. It became a thing, like Sam was challenging him. Michael worked very hard to learn all the tricks, he found himself with something to prove to that man and to himself. Each meeting met with the kind of nervous excitement that came with testing your limits. He became stronger, smarter, and better not just to stay alive but to be able to get something over on Sam. Sam’s the reason Michael’s still breathing and over time this thing between them became less about survival and the thrill of a challenge and more about the man.
Rating: Pg-13
Word count: 488
Michael was a highly trained spy. He’d worked a long time to get to where he was and for the first few years he didn’t find himself in any situation he wasn’t confident he could handle. He’d had some run-ins, of course, with people who wanted to kill him but he could work through pain and had as much of a tolerance for drugs, alcohol, and poisons as a person possibly could.
The first time he doubted his abilities he woke up in bed, naked, in a small hut in a country he wasn’t sure had a name yet, next to man whose name he didn’t remember with the first hangover he’d had since high school. Instincts had taken over then and he’d had the man in a head lock, windpipe cut off and incapacitated, within seconds.
When the man turned just the right shade of red Michael let up on his trachea just a bit.
“Jesus, Mikey, I was kinda hoping for a nicer wake up call,” the man had wined, charming despite the slightly watery eyes and sleep tousled hair.
“Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing here,” He asked as seriously as he could considering he was naked and trying to keep the room from spinning.
The man just smiled, executed a neat little move that caught Michael off guard in his less-than-optimum state, and swiftly had him pinned to the bed.
He clucked his tongue gently, “aww, Mikey, is that any way to end this?”
He leaned in then, dropping a quick kiss to Michael’s forehead, not getting near the barred teeth.
“I had a good time, pity the local Vodka doesn’t seem to have agreed with you, I’d have welcomed another round.”
When he pulled away Michael made another move to stop him but found, to his horror and eternal embarrassment, that the man had handcuffed him to the bed without his noticing.
“You bastard!”
He smiled, “hey, if you’re ever in town again, drop me a line. We’ll do lunch,” then he set the key to the cuffs on the table across the room, grabbed his clothes, and sauntered out.
Michael’s second meeting with Sam hadn’t gone much better. By the third, however, Michael had upped his tolerance to the point where he at least remembered what had happened the night before. It became a thing, like Sam was challenging him. Michael worked very hard to learn all the tricks, he found himself with something to prove to that man and to himself. Each meeting met with the kind of nervous excitement that came with testing your limits. He became stronger, smarter, and better not just to stay alive but to be able to get something over on Sam. Sam’s the reason Michael’s still breathing and over time this thing between them became less about survival and the thrill of a challenge and more about the man.