Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: Adult. Oh, so very very adult.
Warnings: Porn. Violence.
A/N: Written for Porn Battle Five: The Fifth Dimension, therefore short by necessity. Unbetad.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Michael hissed as Fiona's hands pressed the bruises lining his ribs. He groaned as her nails scratched the welts that crisscrossed his chest and arms. "Fi…" He was panting and she straddled him where he lay on the bed of the sordid apartment.
"Michael," she whispered, leaning down so that her long hair draped over them both, isolating them until all he could see was her face - her eyes bright and her mouth parted as she breathed him in. "Shut up."
He groaned again, but nodded. His entire body ached and the wound on his head still pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He had told her they wouldn't be far enough away from the blast, but she had laughed and set the timer. When the explosion came, it's heat slamming into them and tossing them through the air - and in Michael's case, through a plate glass window - he could have sworn he'd heard her laughter just before he was deafened.
She'd woken him with a none too gentle slap and bullied him to his feet. They'd made it back to their safe house and then to her apartment before she'd ripped his shirt from his body. Tracing the cuts, bruises and lacerations with urgent fingers, her eyes had danced with an almost unholy light as she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him hungrily, their tongues dancing against each other.
Michael struggled with his trousers - at least one finger was broken - and Fiona slapped his hand away and unfastened them without breaking their kiss. Then she stood back, laughing, and stripped her dress off in one fluid motion. She was naked underneath and Michael barely had a moment to appreciate her beauty before she shoved him - hard - backwards onto the bed.
Gritting his teeth as his ribs and back protested her rough treatment, he gasped as she jerked his pants completely off, leaving him as naked as she was. She came to him then, moving over him - grace and fluidity and violence pent up into human flesh. Michael threw his head back as the sensation of her touch assaulted him. Her mouth and hands were everywhere, soothing his aches in one place even as they irritated the pains in another.
He almost protested when she guided him inside her, his hand going to rest on her hip, but he couldn't speak around the gasps that escaped from his mouth. Groaning, he thrust up to meet her downward push and she threw her head back, her hair trailing down her back. She rode him ever faster, high on adrenaline and danger and cheated death, until Michael grabbed her waist with both of his hands - ignoring the pain that shot from his broken finger - and slammed her down against him hard, once, twice, thrice. The second explosion of the night roared over both of them, as fierce as the first, catching them into the air one more time and Michael could almost smell ash and charring sheetrock as bright lights danced in his eyes and his blood roared through his ears.
Slowly, he fell - not through a window this time, but back into himself. Fi collapsed against him, her breathing shallow and Michael took a shaky breath. Gently now, a sharp contrast to the violence of the rest of the night, Michael drew a hand up the curve of her back, tracing his fingers over the sweaty skin, until he could feel the pounding of her heart beat. They stayed silent, listening to the sounds of sirens and screams that echoed in through the window, bathed in the light of flames that burned almost as fiercely as they did.