Okay, so my primary motivation for writing steamy BN fiction is to make my friends happy on their birthdays. So be it.

Disclaimer: As usual, these aren't my characters, but I love to bring them inside to play. In the bedroom.

EYES SHUT

"Open your eyes to the dawn, my love".

She heard him whisper it, and dared not try. She knew it couldn't happen, knew that she had seen too much darkness. It couldn't be true, he couldn't be here, and the sun could not rise on them together again.

But he wouldn't leave her alone in the darkness behind her eyes. He stroked her face, murmuring against her hair. "Open them, Fiona".

The sounds of seagulls and crashing waves mingled with his voice.

She dimly remembered where they were, and blocked the memory of what it had cost them to get there. She refused all thought of dark prisons and lies and truth. The truth and the lies had torn them apart, but that was all over now.

It only mattered that they were together in the cabana on the sand.

"Michael", she sighed, and smiled, turning her head to him. "No. Let me keep them closed. Let me just feel you, Michael."

"As you wish."

Lips skimmed hers. His stubbled chin brushed hers as he moved his head from side to side. Loving lips gave way to his tongue which tickled her mouth, pressed her lips apart and danced lightly against hers. She relaxed into his arms, and gave her mouth to him, smiling against him. The kiss was deep and warm and wet and delicious. Fiona's head fell back as he wrapped an arm under her and lifted her off the soft sheets, crushing her to his chest.

"Mmmm, you taste good, Michael," she whispered, as he kissed her again. A chuckle rumbled from his belly, and he moved on to kiss her chin, neck, collarbone, and down toward her taut tummy. His free hand stroked her side from her breast to her hip, fingers skittering down and up and down again. She felt his tongue trace a wet line across her skin, and her nipples tightened as if to say, "Taste me! Taste me!" He must have heard, because he stopped and reversed direction to kiss the nipple of the breast his hand caressed. He pressed the tight pink button between his lips, then sucked rhythmically, flicking it with his tongue. Fire erupted in a downward trail, igniting an inferno between her legs.

Suddenly, Michael pulled his mouth away from her body, and set her back down on the bed. For a moment, it was as if he had vanished. She could not feel him or hear him. The air was still around her, and Fiona nearly opened her eyes in a panic to search for him. But no, this was too good. He was here. He would always be here. And she wouldn't ruin this game.

"No, Fi, you're the one who tastes good," he finally murmured, as he placed his hands on the mattress on both sides of her. He pressed her legs apart with his knees, and lowered himself onto her. He resumed licking and kissing his way down her body, until his shoulders and arms urged her legs open more and he held them wide. "You're salty," as he kissed her thighs. "… and warm," as he licked a path inward to her hot center. An Irish brogue worked its way into his voice which became husky as he said, "and here, my love, here is the sweetest taste a man could desire."

"Michael McBride, I knew you were here." Fiona whispered. Arching her back, she reached down, opening herself to him. "Your Irish lass has waited a long time for this, and you'd better deliver."

The Irish lass was at the mercy of her invisible lover. He nuzzled and toyed with her. He took care to touch her in favorite and unexpected places. She lay still, unable to anticipate which part of her body would experience the next nibble or kiss or flick of the tongue. Butterfly kisses along her neck, fingers sliding into her, his tongue tracing her jaw with exquisite care. A sudden pinch of her nipple came from nowhere, followed by the silky stroke of fingers on the inner side of her thigh. She shuddered and moaned as goosebumps rose at the same time as his tongue thrust deep into her. He licked her most delicate folds, and blew softly, cooling the hot skin. He was everywhere above and around her, unseen, felt only when he wished to drive her closer to the edge of delight. The climax he gave her was a gift of love that brought the brightness of the morning directly into her brain.

Fiona brought his mouth up to hers again, hungrily tasting him, licking him, grabbing his hair to hold him there, blocking the light from her face. "Oh, Michael," she whispered, "I do. I love you forever. I'll live in your shadow, if I must, rather than ever be apart from you again." She bit his lower lip, and held him to her. His satisfied smile tightened his lip, and he withdrew it from her teeth. He rested his cheek against hers for a moment, sweat holding them together.

Michael moved, and buried his face in her shoulder, a fierce tension in his body and voice. "Oh, God, I love you, Fiona. Never again. I'll never let it happen again."

"Really, Michael? What can you do against a world that wants nothing more than to tear us apart? How can you ever stop it?" She pulled away from him, throwing her forearm over her eyes, not wanting him to see the tears that rose so quickly.

"Trust me, Fiona. It IS a new day. It's ours."

She moved her arm down, and reached for him beside her. The rising sun glowed a warm red behind her eyelids.

The edge of the bed was suddenly too near, and her hand fell over the side. Fingers closed on cold metal. On rough sheets over a hard mattress. She knew that scant sunlight reached the tiny window high up on the cold wall, taunting her with the promise of another day without him.

Fiona sighed, and with a resigned shrug she sat up on the narrow prison bed. Yes, another day in this place. She could handle the days. After all, she had chosen to be here. And with Michael in her mind and her dreams, she could handle the nights. She was never without him.

She stood and stretched, and defied the walls by opening her eyes wide and smiling at the sun.