Set anytime Michael and Nikita are a couple. They survive a terrible mission together.
Battered, broken, bloody, and bruised, they were barely breathing and barely alive. It was a disaster of a mission with blood, bullets, and dead bodies littering the floor. Miraculously, they were successful and had made it out alive. Though, they were horrifically scathed. There was no doubt that they had lost a part of themselves on that mission. There was no going back to the way things used to be. At least they had one another to move into their new futures with.
That was an undeniable fact that Michael and Nikita lived by. They always had one another, especially on tough days. And, God, was that a tough day. They had almost lost each other. Their Kevlars caught far too many bullets; their skin held far too many deep cuts and dark bruises; and their muscles and bones were weak, strained, and shattered. Adrenaline had carried them far on that mission. Their need to survive had pushed them to their limit. Sprinting away from the field was essentially the last of their energies. The two were going to collapse. Their bodies were going to give up on them and desperately attempt to recover from near death.
Considering the hell and back the two had gone through, Michael and Nikita should've let their bodies give out on them, and they should've only focused on their recovery. However, when they arrived at the safehouse they were crashing in that night until it was safe enough to travel back home, they did not just collapse in bed and let their exhaustion knock them unconscious. Instead, they dropped their bags in the entryway and pulled each other by their Kevlar lined jackets into their desperate arms.
Adrenaline didn't give way to exhaustion or shaky, barely held together bodies. Nikita and Michael were left facing their own mortality and becoming absolutely terrified. Twisted, bent, broken fingers clung to blood stained, torn, holy, leather. Bloody, cracked, swollen lips bruised against each other in what was supposed to be a kiss. Crooked, busted noses stung as they brushed, yet the couple managed to ignore the pain. The only burning they wanted to feel was deep in their abdomens.
With their injuries and blood soaked everything, that definitely wasn't a smart idea. But how could they care. At any given moment on that op, they had been two seconds away from losing each other. They couldn't let each other go. They needed one another immediately.
Luckily, the safehouse Nikita and Michael were staying in for the night was a one room cabin. They didn't have to go far to stumble onto the bed. He collapsed on the mattress first, and she instantly climbed into his lap. Cracked ribs and torn muscles didn't matter. The couple had to grind their hips together as they continued to grasp one another with all the strength they could muster. Winces mixed with moans, yet both were drowned out by desperate, fevered kisses. Everything was ignored just so they could feel each other. They were alive; they were breathing. That fact had to be known without a shadow of a doubt.
Grinding wildly against Michael, Nikita began to rip at his fly. She couldn't care less that their jackets were still on. She simply yanked off her stiff gloves so she could touch him better and so she could undo his pants easier. Michael removed his gloves as well, yet he didn't reach for Nikita's pants. His hands landed on her hips instead, helping her grind furiously against him.
One would've thought their minds and bodies would've been too exhausted and strained for that kind of desperate activity. But all their blood (what was left inside their bodies, anyway) had rushed out of their heads and dropped to their lower abdomens. There was no stopping them. Michael and Nikita needed to know they were alive and in each other's arms right that second.
Nikita could feel him hard and straining against his pants with each movement of her hips. She needed Michael's pants off immediately. But jammed, swollen, blood caked fingers made it difficult. She needed his help to get him undressed. And to get his help, she needed to break from their frantic kiss. Although that was one of the last things Nikita wanted to do, she wanted Michael more. Rolling her hips furiously against his, she broke their bruising kiss to husk in a scratchy, hoarse voice, "Now. I need you now, Michael."
"Nikita…" Michael's smoky voice came out broken, stuttered, and hardly above a whisper. He had to communicate more with actions than words. He lifted Nikita's hips and awkwardly shifted busted fingers to the button of her pants. Unfortunately, he was too slow for both her patience and her understanding. She slammed her hips back down on his and resumed her tantalizing movements.
"No," Nikita cursed. She didn't want to be rational then. She didn't want to take their injuries or bloody, battered appearance into consideration. She just wanted to fuck Michael. She wanted to breathe the same air as him and feel his rapid heartbeat under her fingertips. They could deal with their wounds later. Knowing they were alive was more important.
"Move," Urgently, Michael was able to command. He wanted everything Nikita did. He wanted to feel her warm and wild beneath his fingertips and around his cock. But neither of them could get what they wanted most while their pants were still on. They unfortunately had to move and stop humping each other to make that happen. Once pants were off, though, they could start fucking each other. The rest of the clothes could be torn off later. They'd just have to come to grips with the fact that it'd interrupt their kisses.
Finally understanding what Michael wanted, Nikita slipped off his lap. It was easier for them to simply remove their own pants and underwear and share quick kisses when they could. Despite being sticky and stiff with blood, Michael managed to tear away his boots and pants quickly- and his boxer briefs and socks slid right off afterwards. Nikita, on the other hand, was having trouble. She forgot she had worn her knee-high boots. She had to rip them off of her before she could even imagine taking off the rest of her clothes.
However, with everything so swollen and bloody, she just grunted in frustration. Michael helped her stay steady while she violently and urgently ripped off her boots (as fashionable as they were, they were such a pain to deal with). Finally, Nikita was free of the damn things, and her pants, socks, and underwear quickly followed suit. She was immediately back in Michal's arms and kissing him soundly. He pulled her with him back to bed.
There was no more time to waste. She was wet and pulsing, he was stiff and throbbing, and they were both burning. As soon as Michael returned to the mattress, Nikita returned to his lap. He instantly thrusted inside her, and she instantly began moving. Moans were muted by their heated kiss. She clutched his bruised head in her damaged hands, holding his bloody lips against hers, while he clutched her hips, moving their battered bodies to the same tortuous rhythm. They didn't separate from each other with each thrust. Neither could stay away; they had to be as close as possible. He buried himself deep inside her over and over again, and she gyrated around him.
Soon frustrated with the remaining barrier between them, the couple finally yanked at leather jackets, t-shirts, and her sports bra. Blooms of pain followed the jerked and frantic movements; winces drowned out moans in hurried moments. But never once did Michael and Nikita stop moving their hips. They kept thrusting and gyrating through all the aches and agony. Eventually, their pleasure overpowered their discomfort. The two only felt his cock inside her pussy. And it was bliss.
Calloused fingers and cracked lips explored the couple's newly exposed skin, swollen bruises, and bloody gashes. Love and reverence flowed through the tender touches. Their gentle caresses thanked God- or whoever was in charge of their twisted fate- that they were still with one another, that none of their wounds took them from their arms. Nikita and Michael would heal, and they would live happily ever after. Nothing could stop that. A hellish mission and a few demented villains could try. Yet the two would always find a way back to each other. They were going to spend forever together- broken, beaten bodies and all.
Slipping broken fingers through her dark, wild, barely-held-by-a-ponytail-holder hair, Michael pressed his forehead against Nikita's. They had similar gashes on their foreheads that'd more than likely turn into matching scars. However, neither needed anything else to remind them that they were battle worn. All their other faded, permanent, thin, gnarly, pink, gray, puckered, etched scars were enough. They simply needed moments of calm together. Luckily, despite their constant war and battles, Nikita and Michael could carve out moments like that. They could even take a desperate need to fuck and turn it into peace and love.
Michael tenderly brushed smeared blood away from Nikita's cheek and increased the impassioned rhythm of his hips. Her broken nails bit into his scratched back, and her tired eyes slipped closed as she rode through the new waves of pleasure. His hoarse moans mingled with hers, breath mixing on each pant. It was too much for them to continue kissing. But that wasn't the only way they could stay intimate. His deep, dark green eyes were alight as he adoringly stared at her. And, quietly, he urged her to stare at him as well, "Look at me, Nik. Look at me."
Once her golden brown eyes snapped open and returned his intense, loving gaze, Michael and Nikita found their ultimate pleasure and bliss. Their hips snapped and stuttered as they shattered apart. Throats were too sore and tight for them to moan as loudly as they normally would've. Yet it was still clear how affected by their orgasms they were. They came wildly, the rest of their waning strength in their tattered muscles spent clinging to one another and gyrating their hips together. Green and brown eyes remained locked, lust and love mixed in one intense gaze. There was no separating from each other. There was no letting go.
After their orgasms came to a steady end, Nikita and Michael collapsed in laxed muscles and sated bodies. They laid together on the mattress, using the rise and fall of each other's chest to catch their breath. The ache in their joints, the pain in their bones, and the agony in their injuries were going to catch up to them as soon as their hearts eased. And their exhaustion was going to crush them as soon as their minds settled.
But until then, he could stay inside her, and they could keep their arms around each other. Their eyes could remain locked, and easy smiles could grow on split lips. Michael and Nikita had survived hell once more. They had clawed their way back to heaven, and had found bliss with one another. The reality of Earth would come calling soon enough. Then it'd be back to the real world and the pains that followed. With each other, though, the couple should be alright. They could find bliss again. They were alive and together, after all. They could keep breathing the same air and breathing the same way.