AN: This is my first fanfic. I was home sick, and got bored watching the tape delayed summer Olympics. I wrote this on my Iphone initially. As the night went on and I grew tired of the little screen it got smuttier. I love smut, I think its brain candy, hopefully you do too. I tried to wrap the smut around a theme. We need veggies for the brain too. The inspiration for this one shot was me wondering what Michael was thinking as he rolled up his sleeves after he snapped on Fiona's Kevlar. My repeated slow motion review of the scene from Thursday's season six episode Reunion didn't reveal any clues so I made up my own story. Obviously I don't own the rights to any of these characters. Those belong to Mr. Nix and company. I am just borrowing them.
Burn Notice: inner thoughts from Reunion
Michael knew there wasn't time. They had to find Rebecca. Yet as he snapped the light weight Kevlar vest on Fiona he found his hands lingering over her tiny waist. Inhaling the sweet smell of orange blossoms and jasmine in her hair. The stress from fighting for her life every day in jail was etched on her face, yet he never found her more beautiful. His life was inexplicably tied to her. He could not survive without her. She was his lifeblood.
A younger Michael believed to need someone was a weakness. A way for his enemies to exploit him. Anson had tried to destroy Michael and nearly succeeded. But there was a fatal flaw. Anson wasn't as smart as he thought he was. His big brain underestimated. Anson's cold logic had over looked the simple truth. The key to Michael Westen. Fiona was his strength. His heart. The body could live without the brain but not the heart. So the heart did what the brain could not. Fiona surrendered to the FBI. She took away the leverage. She stopped playing the game. It was a move Michael would never do, could never fully understand. There had always been a way to fix a situation. He played until the end.
Fiona's love saved Michael. She saved his soul. Anson like Larry,would never understand sacrificing yourself for another. Loving someone more than your own life. Michael now did. He was late to this discovery. He had always fought for the abstract. The greater good. For God and country. His country believed him a traitor and God took his brother. His faith was now in what he could touch, smell and see. He realized now that his life was meaningless without Fiona.
As Michael prepared them for the search for Rebecca he ached to touch Fiona. To slip inside her wetness and be enveloped by her warmth. He knew she wanted him too. She arched her back and leaned into him as he secured the Kevlar vest. Violence was always foreplay for Fi.
Michael's thoughts grew darker as he fantasized grabbing a fist full of her chocolate locks in his left hand and twisting. His tongue thrusting in her open mouth while his right hand undid the buckles on the vest he had just snapped closed. The open vest would allow him access to the hardened nipples poking thru her tank top. Michael never tired of looking at Fi's breasts. She rarely wore a bra in the hot humid summer days of Miami. Her confidence extended to her self image. Fi had small breasts but never gave the impression she felt them lacking. She was a grown woman. And Michael heartily agreed. Young girls with big fake tits still bored him. He thought confidence was sexy. Fi had that in spades.
Michael's lids closed ever so slightly as his pants became uncomfortably snug with his dark thoughts continuing. Fi had on super slim skinny jeans. She rarely wore pants. Always eager to show off her legs and her staggering collection of high heeled shoes. Fi loved shopping as much as guns. She was as tough as nails but still maintained her femininity. How he wished to explore her feminine secrets now. His hand was still near her waist. He could easily spin her so she faced the white couch in the sitting area. Bend her over as he rubbed against the denim that was tightly wrapped around her heart shaped ass. Fi liked the friction. He could make her come just by rubbing his cock against her ass. His callused hands rubbing her nipples rock hard like pieces of candy. His lips sucking on the sensitive skin of her neck. He wanted more. He needed more. And Michael's thoughts turned even darker.
Michael wanted to slide inside Fi like a bullet moving thru the chamber of his Sig Sauer P228 9mm. He imagined himself slipping within her slick folds. He only needed one hand to unzip her jeans. That same hand could journey inside and open her folds with his deft fingers. The trigger and ring finger of his right hand gliding to her clit. He would tickle the nub as it sensitized. Each caress causing another moan to escape her lips as she quivered with pleasure. As he captured her tongue in a long wet kiss, he could free himself from his pants. Fi was always the eager helper. She would reach around for his cock as soon as she heard the click of his zipper. She had strong hands and would capture her prize with a fierce grip. As he continue to kiss her neck and pinch her nipples she would stroke him. When he bit down on her neck, she would let go to grab the couch, moaning in ecstasy. His free hands now grabbing her waist after shoving the jeans to her ankles. Underwear was always optional for Fi so Michael would likely have no other barrier to remove as he thrust inside her from the back. Her ass pushing against him. They never needed words. Just the sounds of their love making. Sweat would bead off his forehead and run past the scar she loved to pepper with light kisses in her playful moods. Her essence running down his thigh, scenting the room, easing each stroke. He would feel her tighten against him and he know that she was close.
He would slipped his arms under her shoulders and lay his head on her back. Never breaking the rhythm. Sliding out half way, she'd moaned for him to come back. She always wanted all of him inside her. He'd obliged with a powerful push and his full length enveloped in her warmth. Waves of pleasure rolling thru them both as his seed spilled inside her.
Anson was right about one thing. Michael always wanted to feel safe. Its why he left Florida at 17 to join the Army. Being with Fi gave him safety. She was his home now.
Fiona sighed as she noticed Michael's momentary pause from hooking her vest and his far away stare. She worried he was thinking of his brother and sinking into despair. He needed a distraction. Fiona's sounds were distracting to Michael and she knew it. She could pitch her sigh so he recalled her moans when she pressed back against him and found their rhythm in their lovemaking. Fiona always liked to tease. She would accidentally rub against Michael at the most inappropriate times. It didn't matter if he was making a bug or a bomb. She never failed to distract him with her touch.
As Michael continued to fasten her vest she arched her back and leaned into him. She had washed her hair with his favorite shampoo. Another strategic move showing off her tactical brilliance. As she lifted her hair the scent would gently waft in the air. Her scent would complete the trifecta of distractions. Michael rolled the sleeves of his shirt and gazed at Fiona. She didn't have to wonder what he was thinking. Her little performance had done the trick. She smiled satisfactory and looked away from her hearts desire.
Their love was born in blood. She met Michael in the midst of her country's war for freedom. She was part of the Irish Republican Army. He was an American spy using the cover id Michael McBride. Still, Fiona always felt she knew the real Michael Westen. Violence was a part of him. He once told her people with happy childhoods didn't become spies. Fiona found that to love a spy you had to accept the things that came with violence. Instability. Cold logic. Death. She may never marry, or have the cottage in the hills of Ireland with a gaggle of kids. That wasn't important to her now. Those were fantasies of her youth. The hopes of a girl. Fiona, the woman, was with the man she loved. For better or worse she was not leaving his side again.
Life lessons came the hard way. Fiona knew she could live her life without Michael. History showed her this truth when he left in the middle of the night sans note. She wasn't given a choice and always resented him for stealing that right. She didn't care about trade craft. Fiona was a proud women. Now she got to decide. Her choice was to live with Michael. And all she ever wanted was a choice.
Fiona finished packing the arsenal of weapons in the black duffle bag. She thought most women were living regular lives packing diaper bags or brown bag lunches. Regular was boring, abnormal to her. Guns, bullets and C4. This was Fiona's normal.
She rooted around in the duffle for the bean bag rounds. Michael stopped her. This was a shoot to kill mission. Music to Fiona's ears. Fiona was a believer in Old Testament justice. If Rebecca killed Nate with a bullet then a bullet to the heart was on the menu for Rebecca.
Fiona zipped up the duffle and walked out to an uncertain fate with a smile on her face. She may die today. Actions have consequences. Nate's death and her incarceration were harsh reminders. This was the life she and Michael lived.
Michael had risked his life so often he may have started to feel invincible. He hadn't experienced soul killing pain before now. The loss of a sibling. Fiona had lost Claire. The loss of country. Fiona could never return to Ireland. Now Michael feared for her safety and worried Fiona would leave him for a better life. She had never seen him wring his hands as he had as they watched the sunrise on South Beach. He thought she deserved a better life. Fiona knew differently. She was safer now than she had ever been and had the life she wanted. A life that she chose. Michael appreciated her now. He acknowledged his need for her in his life. He was more than his job. He wasn't just a super spy. He was a man. Fiona was safe. Michael was her home now.