"Declan, we’re running out of icing!"

"Well, you were the one who wanted the bloody cake to be so freaking huge, love," Declan reminded Birkoff without a hint of criticism in his voice.

"But it’s Emmy’s first birthday, Dec. I want it to be special."

Declan sighed heavily, raking a hand through his long red hair. "Y’know, she is only a baby, and chances are, she won’t remember any of this by the time she turns 5."

"But I will. You will. We both will." Birkoff pouted, an effective technique to use in manipulating Declan, for Declan could refuse him virtually nothing.

"All right, all right, I’ll get more whipped cream. But don’t you touch that cake. Understand?" warned Declan.

Birkoff nodded. He was so happy. He and Declan made love during the afternoon, sharing confidences and strengthening their commitment to one another. Even Nikita’s bizarre outburst at dinner and the ensuing near-battle between Section’s finest couldn’t mar an almost-perfect day.

Birkoff hoisted himself up on the counter and waited impatiently for Declan’s return. It was almost 2 am. ‘Twas the night before Christmas. Well, not quite. It was already Christmas Day. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Well, that part was undeniably true. Everyone in their right mind was asleep at this hour.

He didn’t realize that he’d dozed off until he felt a hand on his thigh. He woke up with a start. It was Declan, of course. Declan’s hand felt warm on the inside of his leg. Declan himself had a curiously warm look in his eye. He was staring at Birkoff. No, not quite staring, more like gazing intently, as if the sight of Birkoff riveted him to the spot. "What? Do I have a smudge on my lip or something?"

"Or something," Declan whispered, swooping down on Birkoff’s mouth. He parted his lover’s lips with his tongue, his mouth massaging Birkoff’s lower lip. Declan loved his partner’s mouth. He was convinced that if he were not allowed to touch any part of Birkoff but his mouth, he would still be content. But thank God, there were so many other parts of him to touch.

When Declan drew back, that hot look in his pale grey eyes mesmerized Birkoff. "What? They were out of whipped cream? So you decided to take a bite out of me?" Birkoff grinned mischievously, the tiny creases at the corners of his mouth crinkling.

"Am I sweet enough for you, Declan? Or do you want to taste something else?"

Declan chuckled, his eyes lighting up at Birkoff’s playful mood. "Christ, I dunno how I ever managed to keep my hands off you when we first started sleeping together. God knows, I’m not an altruist at heart."

Birkoff smiled shyly. "But you promised that we wouldn’t make love until I was ready. Whenever that was."

Declan’s face softened in remembrance. "I know. How I honored that promise is beyond me."

"Oh, like I’m so hot, you couldn’t stand not being able to make love to me," Birkoff joked.

"Something like that," Declan replied, and Birkoff was stunned to realize that Declan meant it. He really found Birkoff so desirable, it was sheer torture having to sleep next to him, without being able to touch him intimately.

"You wanted me that much?" Birkoff asked, his heart in his dark eyes.

"Yep," Declan said tersely. "Just like I do now," he revealed.

Birkoff’s eyes unconsciously searched the kitchen for hidden children, boisterous pets, or eavesdropping grandparents. Finding nothing and no one, Birkoff flung his arms around Declan’s neck, kissing him. Declan slid the palms of his hands up and down the inside of Birkoff’s legs. "Um..." he broke away from Birkoff, "you’re wearing entirely too much clothing."

Pulling off his partner’s jeans, Declan smiled happily as he applied himself to the task of disrobing the two of them. When Birkoff saw how aroused Declan was, he smiled mischievously, quipping, "And just how did you manage to keep that hidden all the months we were just sleeping together?"

Declan nipped at Birkoff’s neck, laughing softly. "I have no bloody idea."

Moments later, Declan sighed as he sank his teeth into the soft flesh at the top of Birkoff’s shoulder. "Probably the same way you managed to hide the fact that I aroused you."

Birkoff blushed prettily. "You never said anything."

"How could I? I gave you my word not to leap on your tender young bones."

"And you didn’t. Leap, I mean."

"No, love, I didn’t. I’m glad, too. You were worth waiting for," Declan said, something like awe in his voice.

Birkoff lay back against the kitchen cabinet, his legs dangling over the edge of the counter. "So are we going to finish icing the cake now?"

Declan smiled mysteriously. "What do you think?"

"I think if you’re planning to use that whipped cream on me, you’d better give me a can, too. Fair’s fair," he chided his lover.

Declan shook the can of whipped cream and handed it to Birkoff. "All full and ready to go, love. Oh, and...it’ll feel cool, cause it just came from the refrigerator."

Birkoff cast his smoldering dark eyes upon Declan before he readied the can of whipped cream. "Come closer, Dec."

As Declan approached Birkoff, Birkoff commanded him, "Open your mouth, Dec." When Declan complied, Birkoff filled his mouth with whipped cream, then kissed him, plunging his tongue through all that soft, cool sweetness to get at the real treasure, Declan’s tongue.

Tongues intertwining, they kissed as if they were fated to be together. Which was undoubtedly true. Each held a vital component the other craved. Each complemented the other. Birkoff’s softness, Declan’s hardened exterior.

Birkoff found the silver chain with his eyes closed and traced his fingers down it to the locket at the end. "Declan?"

Declan kissed his forehead, his temple, his cheek, and finally, his chin, before answering. "Yes, my Kieran?"

Birkoff smiled, feeling giddy and unbalanced. It was the first time he had been called by that name. That name that would never pass anyone’s lips but Declan’s. "God, I love you."

Declan licked his mouth, a trace of whipped cream clinging to his tongue. "I love you, too, my Kieran."

Birkoff giggled. "You’re going to get us both sticky doing that."

Declan laughed and winked at his lover. "Nope, that won’t get us sticky, but.....this will." With that, Declan pulled out his own can of whipped cream and sprayed a stream of the sweet confection from Birkoff’s sternum to his groin. Licking his way from top to bottom, Declan swirled his tongue around Birkoff’s skin. Birkoff groaned. "This must be Heaven."

"Or something," Declan chuckled.

After coating his lover’s body with whipped cream, Declan dropped the can, ready to dig for buried treasure. Burying his face in the cream, Declan looked like he was ready to expire from desire. "The cream is sweet, Kieran, but not as sweet as you."

He stared at Birkoff for long moments before he kissed him, his cream-coated mouth slippery and wet on his lover’s arousal. When Declan came up for air, Birkoff exhaled, shuddering as he began to climax. His legs tightening around Declan’s head, Birkoff groaned as his hips brought him into closer contact with Declan’s mouth.

"I love you, Declan."

Declan slid his lower body into union with his partner. Rocking gently against the kitchen counter, Declan buried his face against his lover’s chest, licking daintily at his whipped-cream covered nipple. Declan’s tongue flicked over the tender nub in rhythm with his lower body, seeking more and more sweetness until he sighed his completion.

Pulling on Birkoff’s hair, Declan brought his mouth to a level where he could comfortably kiss him. Several kisses later, Declan declared his satisfaction total. "Ta gra agam duit, Kieran."

Reluctantly separating himself from his wife, Michael gently lay Nikita on the bed that dominated the room. He knelt by her side and kissed her with as much tenderness as she would allow. She smiled, gratefully accepting his kisses in the spirit in which they were intended. "I know you wanted me to take you that way, and God knows it was intense...."

"But?" she asked softly, encouraging him to continue.

He rubbed his cheek against her hand. After a moment, he interlaced their fingers, finally bringing them to his mouth. "I want to make love to you my way...the way I wanted to...the way I need to."

She nodded slowly, a loving smile curving her lips. "Michael, what you just did for me was wonderful. I know you love me, but I needed to know you still wanted me that way. As if you couldn’t bear to be apart from me one moment longer."

He hastened to reassure her, but Nikita merely placed a finger to his lips, stilling the words in his throat. "Now we can be together your way...."

Michael kissed her, trying to tell her without words that his love and his desire for her were intertwined in his mind and in his heart. They were two halves of the same whole. He never took her without love, just as he never loved her without wanting her. Brushing her hair back from her forehead one last time, he reluctantly left her side. "I’m going to run a bath for you. While you’re in the tub, I’m going to get the wood for the fire. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, realizing suddenly that the room was pleasantly warm even without the fireplace lit. More of Michael’s magic. Always working behind the scenes to make their lives run more smoothly. Always hiding his own generosity of spirit. Always loving her.

Sometimes she truly believed she was the princess he made her out to be. Sometimes she wondered if he had conjured her up out of his imagination, making her real through some divine tool only he could wield.

It could not be luck that they had found each other. It could not be luck that they had saved each other. It could not be luck that they had loved each other...and brought that love to life in the form of their children.

***

Michael put the wood down on the hearth, taking a moment to make sure that the flue was open. Striking a match, he carefully lit the kindling, which caught fire within seconds. Gradually, he added wood until the fire was burning brightly. Closing the screen in front of the hearth, he brushed the errant scraps of lumber into a small pile for disposal later.

When he was satisfied with the fire, he sat back on his haunches, staring into the flickering flames, lost in thought. They had so much to be thankful for, he and Nikita. There had been times, long ago, when they were still in Section, that he had despaired of them ever finding their way back to one another. Section was a cruel place, a hard place for love to survive.

Yet the more obstacles thrown in their way, the more desperately they had struggled to be together. Sometimes he felt as though he had always known what she was. Innocent. The only one who still had a soul. The only one who still had any humanity. That was when he realized that he had always loved her. He had said once that Nikita was the only part of him that wasn’t dead. Now he knew that wasn’t quite accurate. If they shared one entity, and Michael was convinced they did, then Nikita was simply the best part of him.

He stood up and stretched. It was nearly 2 am. It had been a long day and an even more trying evening. Until now.

Nikita had left a trail of clothing that ran from the bed to the bathroom. Following the trail, feeling very much like Hansel and Gretel in the old fairy tale, Michael stopped in the doorway, struck breathless again by the sight of Nikita. She was clearly in the process of washing her hair when she’d fallen asleep. He crept into the room so as not to startle her, pausing only to scoop up some of the bath water with his hands. Letting the warm water trickle between his fingers, he watched it slide lovingly over her body, gently waking her.

Her eyes came open slowly, a warm glint very much evident when she saw Michael. "Michael."

He smiled almost shyly, his hand playing in the bath water. "You always say my name as though you’re saying ‘I love you’, doucette."

She grasped his wet hand and pressed it to her cheek. "I am," she whispered.

He reached for her, and within moments, they were in each other’s arms. Michael laughed at the wetness of her hands on his neck as he claimed her mouth possessively. "Looks like I’m getting a bath whether I’m in the tub or not."

She rubbed his ear with her wet fingertips. "Rinse my hair for me, Michael?"

He nodded. Grabbing a pitcher of water from the other room, he poured the water over Nikita’s long, pale blonde hair until it rinsed clean. She closed her eyes, smoothing the excess water from her cheeks, and Michael was struck once again by her beauty. Even without make-up, she was exquisite, his bright angel.

"My bright angel." Michael didn’t even realize that he’d spoken the words aloud until he heard Nikita respond.

"My dark knight," she said, equally moved by the sight of him. There was such a look of tenderness in his green eyes, it transformed his entire face. Softened it. Made him look unguarded. Vulnerable.

All at once he lifted her into his arms, pulling her into a standing position against his body, uncaring how wet he was getting. He murmured to her in French, but he spoke too quickly and too low for her to distinguish anything more than "Je t’aime". She framed his face with her wet hands, the droplets clinging to his skin intimately. "I love you, my Michael."

He kissed her, his lips parted, his breath fanning sweetly across her face. "Come, Kita. The fire is waiting."

***

Wrapping her in a huge bath towel, Michael turned Nikita to face the fire burning brightly in the fireplace. On the hearth were two large quilted comforters, waiting expectantly to receive the two lovers. He would have disrobed himself, but Nikita’s hands stayed him. "Let me. Please."

She disrobed him in much the same manner as she would unwrap an eagerly anticipated Christmas present. Her hands pulled excitedly at his outer wrappings, like his shirt and pants, but lingered affectionately over his inner wrappings, like his undershirt and shorts. When he was completely undressed, she gazed at him raptly, rejoicing that he was hers. He was so beautiful, her Michael, inside and out, though he rarely acknowledged it.

Michael slid the towel from her body, letting it fall unnoticed to the floor. Guiding her towards the hearth, he spread his hands under her hair, to aid in drying it. "I should cut it, it’s too long--"

He frowned. "No, Kita, I like it just the way it is."

"But it’s so hard to keep up..."

"Then let me help you," he said tenderly, knowing he would gladly give up an hour of his day to perform that task.

"You love it," she said, somewhat awestruck by the love in his eyes.

"I love you," he corrected, "and any part of you is my pleasure to touch...caress..." He kissed her, his mouth warm and soft upon hers, a welcome visitor, never an intruder.

"Oh, Michael."

They moved as one to the comforters on the hearth, the glow of the firelight bathing their bodies in delicate color. Her hair fanned out above her head as Michael covered her body with his. She arched her back as he sought her breast, his mouth tugging at her nipple. A tiny stream of milk escaped her breast, and Michael suckled avidly, the taste of her sweet on his lips.

He buried his face in her navel, his tongue swirling around the area. Nikita groaned, her hands tangling restlessly in Michael’s hair, as he moved lower. Parting her legs, he kissed the very heart of her, feeling in a very real sense that he was possessing her. His tongue penetrated the satiny folds that hid her femininity, and Nikita’s hips rose up off the comforter. "Please," she cried, "I want you inside me."

"Soon, love." Again and again, he approached the tender nub, but his tongue merely flicked enticingly near it, driving Nikita into a fever pitch. She whipped her head back and forth, throwing her near-dry hair into careless disarray across her face.

When he knew she could take no more, he slid his arousal against those silken folds, feeling her begin to shudder. In seconds, he entered her, just in time to feel her muscles clench tightly around him. It was all he needed to send him over the edge with her. Her breath sobbed in his ear as she climaxed, and he clung to her as she came apart in his arms.

"I love you," she sighed, a tear wending its way down her cheek.

He wanted to cry, too. The feelings they aroused in each other were always more complex than could be accounted for by mere sexual chemistry. When they made love, she literally became part of him, and it was always with the greatest reluctance that he parted from her. At the moment of climax, sometimes he felt as though their souls touched. When he claimed her mouth or her body so possessively, he did not feel that he was taking anything away from her. On the contrary, they belonged to each other. Heart and soul.