Tight Spot

TITLE: Tight Spot

AUTHOR: Midknight

CHAPTER: 1 of 1

FANDOM: Burn Notice

SHIP: Michael / Fiona

RATING: NC-17

CATEGORY: Romance and Erotica

SPOILERS: None that I know of

DISCLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me. They belong to whoever else does. I pay homage to them and I make no profit from this story in any fashion, way or means.

AUTHORS NOTE: I apologize before hand and hope you will forgive any errors or blatant discrepancies.

FEEDBACK: Yes Please. It helps. It really, really helps. - Deton8@mweb.co.za

CHAPTER ONE

If it's one thing that is guaranteed in the field of covert operations is that no matter how well you plan or how many contingencies you have in place, sooner or later you will find yourself in a tight spot. How you deal with it is what matters.

It was supposed to be a simple job, but wasn't it always. Fee shifted against him. Damn, she smelled good. There wasn't much room in the broom closet they were currently forced to hide in and they pressed together pretty tightly.

The client was a recently divorced mother of two, whose rich, cheating ex had screwed her out of everything. The job was to get a file from his the bastard's safe that would make a very interesting read to the IRS, A little intimidation, a little blackmail and hey presto the lady gets a more than fair settlement. The money wasn't great, but then again, when was it of late. Some is better than none, which led them to the little wrinkle in their plan and their present predicament.

Sam was supposed to have disabled the alarm laser net that covered this part of the house and he had because they had made it all the way to the study where the safe was and then... If it hadn't been for Fiona's alertness and reflexes they would never had made it into the closet before the system fully reactivated.

She shifted again, rubbing against him. "Fiona!" he hissed her name and she chuckled softly. "Can you reach my cell phone? I can't manage it. It's in my pants pocket." He asked. "I can try." She replied playfully. She deliberately ran her hand up his thigh and pressed herself unnecessarily close to him flattening her breasts against his chest. His dick lurched in his pants.

He could feel her nipples press against him through the skintight crop top she was wearing. She wasn't wearing a bra and the zipper at the front of the top made a hard, rough line where the valley of her cleavage would have been. She hadn't worn one since she'd moved here to Miami. It irked him that he knew that and that he still checked every time he saw her.

She fished around in his pocket, brushing her fingers against the length of his expanding cock. "Fee?!?!" he hissed in exasperation. "What?" she answered in a voice that conveyed pout. "I thought you said we weren't bringing guns." She continued. "That isn't a gun, Fiona." He answered tightly and he would have bet large that if he had been able to see anything other than the top of her head he would have found a mischievous smile.

She finally got hold of his cell phone. "Got it." She said triumphantly. "Great, now hit three to speed dial Sam." He heard the button beep and the phone dial and then felt the phone pressed to his ear. "Hey there, Mikey. Everything go okay?" Sam's Texan twang greeted him a few moments later. "No, Sam. I wouldn't say that. By the way... How did you disable the alarm laser net?" he asked. Well... I had to jury rig a little something. It wasn't the model I was expecting. Why?" he asked suspiciously. "Sam, don't you think you might have mentioned that?" he asked his friend. "I... I guess so." Sam replied. "Well... It un-jury rigged itself so..." and Michael explained their predicament. "So, now I need you come and disable it again or this is going to turn ugly." He finished. "I'll be there right away. Give me an hour or there-abouts." Sam acknowledged. "An hour?" Michael hissed into his phone. "Sorry, Buddy. I'm out with my lady friend and we're all the way out in Long Beach." Sam apologized. Michael closed his eyes with a frustrated growl. "Fine. Just get here as soon as you can." He told the retired spy and heard him hang up.

Mike let out a slow breath as Fiona replaced his phone in his pocket. "What did he have to say?" she asked. "He'll only be able to get here in about an hour" He answered her succinctly. "Well now. I guess that gives us some time to kill, now doesn't it." She told him, her Irish brogue coloring her voice flirtatious as he felt her fingers walk their way up the front of his t-shirt and the slow deliberate opening of a zipper. "Fee??" he queried her with a warning lilt to his voice, but could go no further as a slender finger positioned itself over his lips.

"We're both adults, Michael. A girl has needs and it's not like we haven't done this before. We're in a tight spot, why not make the best of it?" She countered his unspoken objections. "He was going to hell. No first he would pay for this and then he would go to hell." He thought. For, all her bravado and cavalier attitude, she wanted more than just a sweaty tumble in a closet. He had forgotten how good it felt to have her around even when she exasperated him, maybe even because she did and sometimes he thought of their being more between them. But, with the burn notice hanging over his head and his own commitment issues he just couldn't be sure he could give her what she deserved.

He felt her shrug and she moved her finger from his lips. This time when she pressed against him there was no harsh line of a zipper and her breasts flattened further against his chest. Heat radiated off her, seeping into him. Her nipples were hot little points burning into his skin through his t-shirt surrounded by the more comfortable warm of her breasts.

His pants and shorts were suddenly two sizes to small. "I am going to hell." he admonished himself one last time, before bending his knees, and letting his hands, which had been lightly resting on her hips, slide around to cup her shapely behind. She shifted, allowing him to gather her towards him, her body sliding up his. Her nipples dragged a fiery trail up his chest. His lips found, first her forehead, then the bridge of her nose and then with a shared groan, the cupid bow of her lips.

She ground against him as they kissed hungrily. She tasted like strawberries. She tasted like heaven. He sucked on her full lower lip before letting his tongue slip into her mouth to tango with hers. He loved the way she always kept her big, bright eyes open when they started to kiss and then let her eyelids flutter closed. She also made this noise. It was part purr and part sigh and spoke of pure pleasure.

He caressed the smooth curve of her ass before squeezing the firm globes. He worked his way from her lips to her jaw-line, her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat and lower. Her skin was soft and smooth. He tasted salt and vanilla. Her hands scrabbled at his belt and dragged his t-shirt out of his pants. He had to take his lips off the smooth slope at the top of her breasts so that she could pull his t-shirt off over his head. He heard fabric tear in their haste and struggle, but didn't care as they finally got his t-shirt off and her warm hands and hot, wet lips explored the skin of his chest.

He let his own hands explore her firm, smooth skin. He found the raised tracks of scars he remembered from before and one or two more. He fleetingly wondered if she remembered his scars, but only fleetingly as she sealed her lips around his nipple and sucked before nipping lightly at it. He dragged her lips off him and up to his own and plundered them hungrily. She gave as good as she got and they were soon writhing together in the small space of the broom closet. They slammed each other's backs against the walls as they sort or relinquished dominance.

When their lips weren't locked he could hear her throaty laughter of enjoyment fill the small enclosure. He was glad there was no one in the house to hear him or her, but by that time his dick was so hard he wouldn't have cared if the whole Marine Corp had landed outside the door.

They were both breathing heavily when they called a truce to their tongue wrestling and decided to get on to more serious business. Getting their pants off turned out to be harder than they thought and eventually they settled for getting them off enough. Fiona managed to kick one of her shoes off and get her pants down around her ankles. He got his pants down to the bottom of his thighs. Her panties paid for their cramped location, but by her own hand as she simply tore the thin waistband at her hip to get them off. She brushed the scrap of lace across his lips, under his nose. They were damp against his lips and he could taste and smell the sweet, spicy tang of her arousal before she tossed the ruined undergarment to their feet.

She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock after she fished it out of the fly of his boxers while she was still trying to kick her pants off the leg she'd managed to get the shoe off of. He helped by trapping the middle of her pants allowing her to extricate her foot. She massaged his length, milking and spreading the lubricant of his pre-cum all along it.

He caressed the side of her breasts and then let his fingers trace the narrow ridges and valleys of her ribs and then the broader ones of her firm toned stomach. He liked the way the muscles shuddered under his touch before he let his hands wonder lower. His fingers found her wet, swollen and open after they scraped through the soft triangle of her pubes. He slid one finger into her and then a second, exploring and massaging her most intimate flesh as he diddled her clit with his thumb.

She leaned forward, kissing his shoulder and then his neck and then whispered in his ear: "Damn, I've missed you." and ran her tongue lightly over the shell of his ear before nipping his earlobe lightly. "And, me... you too." He replied softly over her head. "Yip. He was going to hell, and he deserved it." He thought and then thought became obsolete as he gave over to physical sensation. He removed his fingers from her when she maneuvered to straddle him and gently rubbed the head of his cock back and forth between the full, moist lips of her sex.

She positioned him at her entrance where her flesh wrapped around his tip and her heat radiated onto him as he took hold of her hips and helped her lower herself onto him. He realized how much he really had missed her as she made that sound, a sharp, gasped intake of breath, followed by a slow steady exhale, she always made when he had entered he in the past and he realized how distinctive it was of her and how much he had longed to hear it.

Her heat and moisture engulfed him, inch by slow inch with deliciously pleasurable friction as her body resisted and encouraged his invasion at the same time. Once, he'd hilted himself inside her it took them a moment to find a comfortable position in their cramped quarters, but they did. Once she was settled with him buried completely inside her, he let his hands drift back up her body, gently fondled her breasts and then cupping her face in his hands. He drew her forward and kissed her, softly, gently and for what felt like forever. He could feel her breasts pressing into his chest with the rise and fall of her breathing. The same breathing that caused her sex to shift slightly around him in shifting waves of pleasure making his desire for her flare. Just as he broke the kiss, he felt her lips bow upwards in a smile.

He wanted to say something, to explain, to stop this now even though it had already gone too far. This would complicate their already complex relationship and he didn't know if they would survive it and with Fiona's volatile nature that might not only be metaphorically speaking. "Fee..." he started, but she silenced him for a second time with a finger pressed over his lips. "Michael, I know, I do. Just let it be what it is for right now." She said in a voice husky with desire and pleading with need, her Irish accent returning completely with the earnesty of her request.

He had no answer, so he replied with his body. He braced himself against the walls giving her the necessary leverage to slowly raise herself up along his length, and thus began their sinuous, rolling, writhing, rocking, grinding, thrusting, pounding ride in search of climax. If there had been anyone in the house they would have thought blue bloody murder was being committed with the cries, grunts and groans as well as the clattering crash of cleaning equipment and products as one of then knocked a shelf they hadn't even realized was there that issued from the broom closet. The small space was heady with the miasma of sex and reeked of their arousal.

He captured her lips when they came in reach, tongues fencing fiercely, but did not hold them for long with the need to use his mouth to suck in air to fuel his body's need of her. Her breathing matched his in volume and labour. Energy, like electricity arched through his body in waves of white-hot pleasure as if their connected bodies created some giant dynamo. Their bodies slapped together wetly, her cunt a hot, vice-like furnace that his thrusting member stoked to ever-rising temperatures. He could feel sweat trickle down his back and tasted it when he ran his tongue down the bobbing valley of her cleavage.

Their hands traced random patterns on each other's skins. Her nails left fiery tracks down his chest, which she laved away with a wet and swirling tongue. Her movements became smaller, but faster, harder and more intense as she panted. He could feel his own balls boiling, quickly reaching that near-painful point of bliss where holding on and letting go warred equally in the stakes of finding satisfaction. She started repeating his name on her panted breathes, taking them shallower and faster.

She lowered herself one last time and he instinctively grabbed her hips, thrusting up hard at the time as her sex clenched tight and ripple around him and she gasped loudly. He felt heat and moisture flood around him and the sharp clench and massaging ripple of her sex all around him drove him over the edge into the brilliant-white, sensory overload of orgasm as h emptied himself into her in spurt after spurt. His back bowed and his muscles misfired in erratic tensing and relaxing waves. He thought he might have called out her name, but he was never sure.

Fiona's head collapsed heavily onto his shoulder, her hair tickling him, her breathing was hot puffs of air against his chest as she tried to catch her breath and her body relaxed against his. They stayed like that until their breathing eased and their heart rates returned to normal and would have stayed that way even longer if his legs hadn't started to cramp. They finally untangled themselves and set about redressing themselves without saying a word. There'd be time for words later, lots of them.

HE had just buckled his pants when his mobile vibrated in his pocket. This time he was able reach it him self. It was Sam. He apologized. Apparently one of the clips he'd used to by pass the system had come free, but he'd fixed it. Michael told him it could have happened to anyone and said they'd meet him at the bar after they were done and that he would be buying to make up for the mishap and hang up.

He waited a few moments and then asked Fiona if she was dressed. She was, so they exited the broom closet. In the light they looked as if they'd both been mugged and they both had to straighten up considerably. "Fiona was a beautiful women, but she never looked better that when she was sex-tussled." He thought watching her make order out of the chaos that was her sex-swept hair. "Was there such a word as sex-tussled?" he asked himself and gave a mental shrug.

They did what they had to do with their usual banter as if nothing had happened. They hooked up at the bar with Sam about an hour later and had a few drinks and generally had a relaxing evening before going their separate ways. Michael threw his keys down on the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the loft and took a yogurt out of the refrigerator.

He emptied his pockets and to his surprise found a balled-up scrap of lace he didn't recognize, but one little whiff and he knew what and whose they were. They were Fiona's ruined panties. He closed his eyes and held them to his nose, inhaled deeply and random images of their tryst flooded his memory. He opened his eyes and frowned. He could see blue splotches on the white lace, so he un-balled them and shook his head with a wry smile and a sigh. On the little triangle that had been the front of her panties was written: "We'll talk about this, eventually. Fiona XXX"

THE END