A/N: So this fic came to mind after I was watching Definitely, Maybe. The dialogue is taken pretty much directly from the scene where Ryan Reynolds and Rachel Weisz are working on the couch. It's a cute movie and I just so easily imagined Michael and Fiona in the same situation.
It was late evening and Michael and Fiona were sitting on the bed in the middle of the loft, both seemingly engrossed in their separate tasks. They had a job the next morning at ten and they were just preparing. Michael was going over the mapped out plan and forging the documents he needed to sell his cover to the head honcho of the drug ring they were getting rid of. Fiona was attaching a detonator to half a block of C4 and loading breaching rounds and bean bag rounds into the shotshell holder on her favorite shotgun. Even though they were making progress, a lot still needed to be done before the next morning.
She sat near the head of the bed with the small of her back resting ever so lightly against 'her' pillow with one foot curled up under her other leg which was stretched across the bed. Somewhere in the middle, her left and Michael's right feet were playfully battling for dominance. His posture at the foot of the bed mirrored hers as he tried to concentrate on his work as Fi's bare toes curled into the sole of his bare foot, tickling him. He gave her a playful glare, which was probably a mistake. Since the measly cooling system in the loft was on the fritz, as usual, she was wearing only a thin tank top and a pair of his boxers because she had come over in a pretty sundress that was not cutting it in the hot, humid, stuffy loft air. He loved the way she looked in his clothes, but he needed to concentrate, too. As it were, he was only wearing an old worn out pair of jeans and she was having just as hard a time concentrating. Maybe it was the heat.
"How's it going?" she asked casually, breaking the stillness as she played footsie with him.
"Still got a lot to do, Fi," he replied distractedly, flipping through a few more papers.
"Yeah, me too," she said, opening a box of shotgun shells. Their feet continued to dance back and forth on top of the sheets as Fi glanced up at Michael's bare chest, glistening with a slight sheen of sweat. A moment after she looked back down at her box of bean bag rounds, Michael glanced up at Fiona. His eyes followed as a single droplet of sweat beaded on her clavicle and slid slowly from her collar bone, down her chest and eventually slid out of view between the tanned skin of her breasts where he was sure it traveled down to soak into the cotton of her shirt. It was the heat. Definitely. Maybe.
"Yeah, I'm about done," Michael said seconds later, closing the folder quickly and tossing it and the rest of his work to the floor beside the bed.
"Yeah, me too," Fiona replied, quickly setting her own work on the floor as Michael leaned forward to capture her lips in his own. They both fell back on the bed as she wound her arms around his neck and he snaked his hands beneath her tank top, the relative coolness of his palms against her overheated skin felt wonderful and the feeling deep down of them being together again, if only for a moment, even more so.
Michael could feel their subtle, and sometimes decidedly not so, battle for control ebb a little in the heat and he could hear the delightful sound of Fiona moan his name ever so softly into his ear. It was her tone that told him she still felt the same way he did. Later that night, the air was very slowly and slightly cooling. They were both still sweaty, but not only from the heat. Lying on top of the sheets, staring into each other's eyes with unveiled intensity, Michael smiled and pressed a kiss to Fiona's forehead, then her cheek, then her lips.
"As much as I'd love to lay here with you, we still have lots of work to do, Fi," he said apologetically. "Morning comes early."
Fiona sighed. "Can't we leave work until later? We don't have enough of these moments."
"I promise we can have more of these moments later, but we really do need to work," he replied regretfully.
With an annoyed huff, she flopped onto her back. "That is your biggest problem, Michael. You always assume there will be another day to have these moments. What if there isn't? You're a spy; you're supposed to know that things don't always go as planned. Even easy jobs can go bad."
"I do know that, Fi," Michael began. "But I promise you that I will come back. Not only is this an easy job, but even if it wasn't, it wouldn't be the first time I've cheated death for you." More softly than most people would expect from a jaded, burned spy, Michael cupped Fiona's face in his hands and laid the softest of kisses on her lips before sitting up to get back to work and decidedly ignoring her happy little smile. Things would get done much more quickly that way.
So there it is. Please leave a review if you feel so inclined. =]