Declan sat at the computer, quickly completing what he needed to do. There was little time left before everyone was due at Madeline’s for the housewarming. He heard his lover’s footsteps behind him, but before he could move to switch off the computer, Birkoff reached around him to hit the power key. At Declan’s strangled noise, Birkoff wrapped his arms around his chest, laying his head on his shoulder. "Almost time to go."

"How do you know I was finished? You just--"

Birkoff sighed. "I swear I didn’t look at whatever top-secret stuff you must be doing, Dec. You were already shutting it down. All I did was turn it off."

Declan swiveled his chair away from the computer, and Birkoff detached himself from Declan’s back, lithely hopping into his lap with a bemused grin. Clinging to Declan’s neck, Birkoff kissed him, his tongue peeking from between his teeth as he drew back.

"And to what do I owe this sudden display of affection, Sey?" Declan asked softly.

Birkoff shrugged. "You mean I need a reason?"

Declan met his gaze evenly. "We’re still going to Maddy’s, my love. Get changed."

Birkoff pouted, drawing Declan’s attention to his full lower lip which protruded sensually. "O-kay..."

When Birkoff stood up, Declan smacked him lightly on his backside. "I should spank you for what you did."

Birkoff gave him a heavy-lidded look that would have scorched a lesser man’s libido. "And bruise something you might need for that...slow dance?"

"You’re turning into quite the little tease, aren’t you?"

Birkoff leaned close to Declan, tracing a long, slender finger over his mouth. "You ain’t seen nothing yet."

***

An hour later, Madeline floated towards the front door, elegantly attired in a somewhat ethereal looking creation. Greeting her guests, she smiled in welcome. "Michael, Nikita. So good to see you."

Michael winced at Madeline’s pretentiousness. They had been sharing the same house until several hours ago. Her manner suggested they had been apart for much longer. Suddenly, Michael smiled to himself. Madeline was out of his home. How unhappy could he be?

Neil appeared at her side, always the dutiful husband. Sometimes Michael wondered what Neil saw in Madeline, but then again, she was undoubtedly different with her own family. "Michael! Can I speak to you privately for a moment?"

Michael nodded. Moments later, Neil confessed how uncomfortable he felt with accepting the house and its land as a gift. "Don’t get me wrong, Michael, I appreciate everything you’ve done. If it had been up to me, we’d still be waiting for approval to clear the land. You expedited things considerably."

Michael regarded Neil as a friend, no matter what his connection to Madeline might be. "I was glad to do it, Neil." He didn’t add that by taking over the rebuilding project, he had been able to get Madeline out of his own home that much more quickly. But then, he had never claimed to be an altruist.

Neil gave Michael a somewhat enigmatic look, and once more, Michael wondered if Neil guessed that his feelings for Madeline were sometimes less than positive. "Is there something I can do that would make you feel better about the deal, Neil?" Michael asked, more or less perfunctorily, never anticipating what Neil finally said.

"Yes, Michael. I want to take over the loans."

Michael frowned. "On the house? Or the land?"

"Both."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "That’s a pretty heavy burden, Neil. Are you sure you’re up to it?" he asked carefully.

Neil nodded. "I’ll have to mortgage the practice, but I’m good for it, Michael. I need to do this. I hope you understand."

Michael signaled his agreement. "Okay, Neil. I’ll get the paperwork to you as soon as I can."

"Thanks," Neil said, obviously relieved. He was a proud man, Madeline’s husband, and the idea of someone else assuming his financial obligations had never sit well with him.

"If I can ever help, though..." Michael trailed off, letting Neil fill in the blanks. He would never let the other family fail. He would never forgive himself if he let that happen.

"Of course."

***

Walter munched happily on potato chips and onion dip while his wife looked on. Patting his stomach, Miranda commented dryly, "With all the fancy food here, that’s what you’d rather eat."

He sighed, licking his fingers, one at a time. "Absolutely, Honey. Brain food."

Miranda rolled her eyes. She wasn’t so sure about that. But she knew one thing. When Walter was happy, for whatever reason, they made love more often. A woman could get used to a few potato chip crumbs in bed.

"They’re going to start dancing soon," she said, recognizing the wheedling tone in her voice.

He winked at his wife. "And you want to dance, right?"

"I’ll make it worth your while," she promised, seduction obviously on her mind.

"Ooh, and you always keep your promises..." he said huskily.

***

On the dance floor, Walter actually cut a rather dashing figure. He and Miranda were well-matched, albeit not in height, but what Miranda lacked in stature, she more than made up for in determination. "Let’s show these younger folk how it’s done, Honey," he whispered to her.

Smiling her assent, Miranda expertly moved into position for a tango. After several well-executed passes, Walter draped Miranda back over his arm, dipping her almost to the floor. The others left the floor, watching in awe as the former Munitions expert displayed his little-known talent as a dancer. Raising her to eye level again, with a snap, Walter looked deep into his wife’s hazel eyes. Her shiny honey-blonde hair swinging forward in a sharp line along her jaw, Miranda met his twinkling blue eyes. "Looking good, sweetheart."

"You’re just saying that cause it’s true, Honey," Walter laughed, as he twirled his wife back into place.

When the number was finished, everyone applauded, including Madeline, who seemed rather impressed with Walter’s hidden assets. "I never knew Walter could dance like that, Neil."

Neil raised an eyebrow, quipping drolly, "Why, Maddy, I thought you knew everything."

When the music changed to a slower tempo, the other couples drifted back onto the dance floor. With the children safely ensconced in the upstairs bedrooms, the adults were free to play. And play they did.

Michael slid his hands down Nikita’s seemingly bare back to her hips. "You were taking so long to get dressed, what kind of lingerie do you have on underneath this dress?"

"None," she whispered pertly.

"None?" Michael shivered in anticipation. "Then what took so long?"

"Finding the courage to come out of the bedroom," she laughed.

He kissed her mouth, taking advantage of the darkened room to caress her breasts lightly. She arched gently against his hands, her senses already heightened by the languorous music. He felt her nipples harden through the silk of her dress, and he sighed with pleasure at this very visible evidence that she still wanted him.

Glancing around quickly to see if anyone was watching, Michael slipped a couple of fingers inside the bodice of her dress. Because her dress was virtually backless, this was not a difficult feat to accomplish. Pulling her tightly against his body, he lay his head on her shoulder as they swayed to the music, dancing so slowly, they were barely moving. His mouth against her neck, he closed his eyes, his fingers splayed across one breast. Just the feel of her bare skin under his fingers was arousing him. Not that it would take much. It had been so long since he could touch her so intimately.

"You’re seducing me," she whispered.

"God, I hope so," he muttered, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. "You’re making me ache, doucette."

Her lips curved upwards in a sweetly sensuous smile. "Just how long do we have to stay anyway?"

He stared at her incredulously, then turned his face away, in an effort to hide the smile that threatened to overtake his lips. "She’s *your* mother, love."

She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, feeling his arousal brush against her every time she twitched her hips in time to the slow, seductive rhythm of the music. "She wouldn’t understand, would she?" she asked regretfully.

Michael slid his cheek against hers, anchoring his lips to her ear. "She would undoubtedly blame me."

Nikita caught herself before she laughed too loudly. "She thinks you have voracious sexual appetites."

Michael drew back to give his wife a hard, considering look. "She does? I wonder where she got that impression."

Nikita shrugged, her blue eyes dancing merrily. "I haven’t the faintest."

Michael smiled crookedly. "Do the two of you talk about me, Kita?"

Nikita blushed. "Well, you know how Mom can get. Sometimes, she goes too far."

"Like?"

She sighed. "Like when she asked me what kinds of things we like to do. In bed."

Michael almost stopped dancing. "And what did you say?"

She laughed, this time loud enough to attract the attention of the very woman they were discussing. "I told her it was none of her business. There are some things a girl just doesn’t tell her mother."

He kissed her, his lips trailing across her face affectionately. "Mmm, you smell good."

She smiled against his mouth. "Michael? There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you."

Uh-oh, Michael thought, here it comes. One way or another, he was going to make love to his wife tonight, no matter what odd request she came up with.

"Yes?"

"Did you--have you and Madeline ever been together? That way?"

What a loaded question. Michael shook his head. "No. Why do you ask?"

What was he saying? He knew why she asked. Nikita was strangely forgiving, almost unfailingly understanding, but she had a jealous streak that went deep. It was one of the things he had learned early on to use to control her and manipulate her. He wasn’t necessarily proud of that. It was just the way things were. Though they never belonged to one another before Lyons, Nikita was often possessive, sometimes alarmingly so. It could have gotten her canceled. Hell, it could have gotten both of them canceled.

Nikita studied her husband. His green eyes were bright and sharply observant, not hesitant or shy to meet her gaze. He wasn’t lying about this. Good. As much as she loved her ‘new’ mother, she couldn’t bear the thought of Madeline sleeping with Michael. Even if it had happened many, many years ago.

"We don’t have that kind of history, love. That’s one thing I would have told you."

He wasn’t lying. He just wasn’t telling her the whole truth. It would only hurt her. At one time, Madeline would have dearly loved to have slept with Michael, but he consistently resisted her attempts to arrange this. Luckily for him, her interest waned about the time he came into his own as an operative.

He couldn’t even explain to himself why he never slept with Madeline as she desired. She was an undeniably beautiful woman. She was his superior. She often ordered him to sleep with women he would have preferred not to become involved with. But even before Nikita entered the picture, he could never have forced himself to perform under those conditions. To his mind, back then, she *was* Section. To sleep with her would have been like sleeping with Section. Cold. Manipulative. Ultimately unsatisfying. Not to mention dangerous.

Now she had evolved into a warmer, more homespun version of herself. Getting out of Section had re-awakened the humanity in her. Getting married and becoming a mother had completed the cycle. She was, quite literally, a different person. Thank God. He still preferred her living next door to being in the same house with him, but as long as she respected the boundaries between them, they would continue to get along.

He brushed Nikita’s cheek with his lips. "Do you want to go home, doucette?" he asked, willing her to say yes. Home. To our house. To our bedroom. He could not stop the progression of that sequence of thoughts if he tried.

"Oh, yes," she sighed blissfully. She wanted to touch him so badly, her hands were trembling. Just the idea of him making love to her made her insides quiver.

"What about the kids?" she asked, realizing that blinding desire had almost made her forget them.

"We can bring them back with us now...or they can sleep here tonight. Whatever you think is best, love," he said in a deceptively soft tone. He stared at her mouth, thinking that if he had to wait much longer, he was going to take her right there on the dance floor.

"I think..." She looked deep into her husband’s eyes. "We’d better go now."

Declan barely registered the hurried way that Nikita and Michael left the housewarming party. He was in Heaven. His arms were wrapped around Birkoff’s waist, his head on his lover’s shoulder, his eyes closed, not unlike the way Michael had been dancing with Nikita. The only difference, perhaps, was the amount of clothing that Birkoff was wearing.

Birkoff had to admit, when Declan first suggested that he wanted to slow dance with him, he thought the idea sounded, well, dumb. But now, with their bodies erratically brushing against each other, their hips rocking gently back and forth, in time to the still-languorous rhythm of the music, Birkoff saw the idea for what it was: a highly erotic experience, couched in the legitimate art of dance.

"Declan?" he said almost sleepily.

"Yeah?" his lover answered, his own voice heavy with arousal.

"Is this putting you to sleep?" Birkoff asked, a lilt of amusement coloring his voice.

"I don’t think so," came the unhesitant reply. As if to demonstrate, Declan took his hands from around Birkoff’s waist and slid them inside the waistband of Birkoff’s jeans, his fingers clenching on the bare skin just above his lover’s buttocks.

"Jesus, Declan," hissed Birkoff, thinking that someone might see them.

"Ssh, baby, just let me hold you a bit longer," Declan whispered.

"I don’t know if I can, Dec," Birkoff said, sounding vaguely panic-stricken.

Hearing the note of anxiety in his voice, Declan questioned him. "What’s the matter?"

"I mean, I don’t know if I can dance anymore," Birkoff said sadly.

Declan looked inquiringly at his lover. "Why?"

"Cause I can barely walk at this point."

Declan blinked. Birkoff sighed, glancing around surreptitiously before taking Declan’s hand and placing it firmly on his arousal. "Now do you see what I mean?" he asked pointedly.

Declan laughed softly, cuddling Birkoff close again. His teeth nipped gently at Birkoff’s ear, his tongue swirling inside the pearlescent structure. Whispering hot love words into his ear, Declan continued to massage his lover’s ear and cheek with his mouth.

Clinging to Declan’s long red hair, Birkoff inhaled the smell of it, loving the silky feel of it against his skin, even tasting a strand of it on his tongue. Sometimes he loved Declan’s hair so much, he thought he could explode from the sensual feelings it provoked. Oh, God, that was a delicious but decidedly dangerous thought to have out here in the middle of Madeline’s dance floor.

He prayed that the music would go on forever. He prayed it would stop. "Declan?" Birkoff’s voice wobbled precariously. "You’re making me way too hot. I don’t have your control, y’know."

Declan smiled against the side of Birkoff’s face. He was in a limbo state, halfway between arousal and climax, and he felt as though he could just stay there, neither coming nor going, for a very long time. But Birkoff was right. He didn’t have Declan’s iron will or his well- documented control.

"Okay, sweetie," Declan whispered to him. He moved his hands back to Birkoff’s waist, albeit under his shirt now, but Birkoff didn’t mind. He was just relieved that Declan was no longer teasing him beyond reason. It would be excruciatingly embarrassing to have to walk out of here in disgrace. He would never be able to look Madeline in the eye again. Not that he cared overmuch for the idea anyway, he told himself, chuckling inwardly.

Swaying to the music, lost in thought, Birkoff no longer knew what the actual time was. But one thing was clear to him. It was time to go home. Even though Declan was no longer tormenting him, he felt an urgent need to make love with him. "Dec? Can we go now?" he whispered.

"Are you bored?"

"Hardly," Birkoff quipped.

"You’re having trouble staying awake?"

"No..." Birkoff drawled. "I want to make love."

"Do you?" Declan smiled knowingly, pressing an ardent kiss to his lover’s mouth. Sweet, honey mouth.

"I’d tell you everything I want to do to you, but I’d only end up all hot and bothered again, and I don’t know if I could hold back a second time..." Birkoff more or less threatened.

"Mmm..." Declan could feel his own control starting to slip. It was not at all an unpleasant feeling.

Declan licked Birkoff’s mouth, causing his lover to gasp in surprise at Declan’s apparent audacity. Moments later, Declan showered him with kisses just this side of control. His tongue repeatedly nudging his lover’s lips apart, Declan claimed his partner’s mouth in a series of open-mouthed kisses calculated to escalate things further.

"Dec-lan..." Birkoff shuddered, his breath coming hard and fast.

"I know, baby, I know," he whispered urgently. Still, he could not resist backing Birkoff up against the wall, raking his hands down the front of his body, finally plunging both hands deep within his lover’s jeans pockets. Declan’s fingers sought his partner’s arousal, through the thin cloth of his jeans, gently massaging until Birkoff whimpered low in his throat. "Declan, stop...."

Declan pulled his hands away from Birkoff’s pockets, claiming his mouth fiercely, until they were both breathless. Birkoff stared at his lover, his lips swollen, his eyes black as night. "I’ve never seen you this out of control," he said hoarsely.

For answer, Declan wrapped his arms around Birkoff, as tightly as he could, whispering, "Just hold onto me, please." It was as much entreaty as desire. When Birkoff touched Declan, he felt him tremble. An inner tremor betraying his extreme state of excitement.

"Dec, let’s go home now."

"Oh, God, yes."

Michael virtually pushed Nikita through the front door of their house. Locking the door behind him, he said, "I just realized something, Kita."

At her perplexed look, he added, "There’s no one home but us."

He took her into his arms, his green eyes vivid with unspent passion. "No one but us..." he whispered. He didn’t think he had ever been able to say that before. Ever.

Kissing her, he slid his hands down the length of her body, the feel of the silk smooth against his work-roughened hands. Gripping her bottom with both hands, he nudged her lips apart, even as he cautiously slipped a knee between her legs. "Mi-chael...you’re going so fast," she barely managed to breathe.

He took a hesitant step back, glancing at her apologetically, but she pulled him back against her body, feeling the arousal he couldn’t hide. "I didn’t say you should stop...just slow down...."

He loosened his tie, and Nikita bent forward to pull it off his neck with her teeth. He blinked curiously at her, a tiny smile quirking at his lips. She blushed. "Just a little trick they taught us in Valentine Op school."

Michael shook his head in amazement. "They never taught me that one."

"Well, you were trained so long ago, it’s prolly a new thing."

"Try again, Kita."

"Okay, I made it up. But you’ve got to admit, it’s not a bad little--"

He laughed, pulling her off her feet and into his arms again. Breathing a tremendous sigh of relief, he said, "Please...take something else off."

She giggled, biting her lip as she gazed into his eyes. "I love you, Michael."

"And I love you, Kita Samuelle," he said, watching her cornflower blue eyes light up at the sound of her name on his lips.

"Are you going to ravish me here in the entryway, Michael? Or were you planning something with a little more finesse?"

When he didn’t answer immediately, she poked him with her elbow. "I’m thinking, I’m thinking," he chuckled.

He put a palm in the flat of her back and nudged her gently into the living room. Picking up the remote, he clicked on the stereo, selecting a station playing light jazz. Throwing the remote onto the couch, he started to remove his jacket. Nikita stood there, her knees beginning to feel wobbly from desire, watching her husband undress. Slowly.

Lately, she had been entirely too self-absorbed. She had taken Michael for granted. But thank God, he knew better than she how to remedy the situation. In fact, thank God that he cared enough to try to break through her self-erected firewalls.

He was naked.

She was staring.

He might be four years older than when they first left Section, but he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen. A hint of gray at his temples, perhaps. It would have made him look vaguely distinguished, if it had been remotely noticeable. But it wasn’t. It looked like highlights the sun put there.

He held out his arms, and she walked, willingly, into his embrace. His hands clasped around her neck, he untied the collar of her dress, the bodice abruptly falling to her middle. A silken puddle. Not unlike the texture of her skin. He cupped her breasts in his hands, lowering his head to lave first one nipple, then the other. "Such pretty breasts..."

She smiled, her hands tangling restlessly in his hair. There was something almost erotic about him being naked while she was still half-clothed. "You always say that, Michael."

He smiled back at her. "It’s still true."

A silken tie held her dress in place around her waist. She waited breathlessly, anticipating when Michael would unfasten the tie, revealing the rest of her body to his increasingly hot gaze. Moving to her navel, he swirled his tongue inside the circular crevice, making her tremble on unsteady feet.

His hands crept under the curtain that veiled her femininity, finding the true heart of her, and she gasped. She threw her head back with abandon. She’d known it would feel good, of course, she did, but this...this was so much better than good.

It was incredible.

"Ohh..." she moaned, feeling his hands touching her intimately. Unconsciously spreading her legs a bit wider, she invited him to take what he would from her.

Grinding his palm against the warm, wet thatch that guarded the entrance to her hidden depths, he felt her begin to shiver. "It’s okay, doucette, let go."

"But I don’t want to go without you."

"I’ll be with you soon," he reassured her.

She couldn’t help herself. He was too expert, and she was too in need. Her climax nearly shook her apart as his fingers rubbed insistently at her most tender places. She could only hang on the brink of paradise for so long, finally beginning the long journey back.

He helped her get down onto the carpeted floor. When she was lying on her back, staring up at him quite helplessly, Michael gazed back at her, his love for her more and more evident. He closed his eyes a second, thanking God for sending her to him. When he opened them again, they were clear and unfettered.

Instead of shying away from her, he checked to see how ready she was for him. Inserting a finger slowly into her deeper recesses, he felt her clench and tighten around him. "Soon, sweetheart."

Parting her legs wider, he tormented her for a moment more, rubbing his arousal against the center of her. Slowly, but surely, he sank into her, sheathing himself within her narrow spaces. She exhaled, an incredibly long breath she had been holding, floating out into the atmosphere.

Pressing her knees against his shoulders, she opened for him, taking him even more deeply inside. "Come to me, Michael," she urged, her breath catching for a moment.

Inexorably, he began to move, afraid his control would give out before his body quit. The acute wave of pleasure he felt at entering her gradually faded to a more manageable level. She held out her arms, and he came to her, his fingers intertwining with hers as he pushed against her. He knew he would not last, it had been too long, and even his control had its limits.

But while it lasted, it was very, very good indeed. He rocked against her, his arousal almost painful now. "I can’t...wait...anymore," he said, releasing the last threads of his frayed control.

"Then come," she barely had time to say, her own climax fast on the heels of his. He surged into her, spilling himself within her, his control gone with the shudders that shook him. He buried his face against her neck, breathless, and she groaned her completion moments later.

His chest abrading her now-sensitive nipples, he raised himself up on one elbow to look at her. "Was it as good as you remember?"

She smiled like a satisfied cat, purring her contentment against her master. "Mmm, no. Better."

Nudging him gently, feeling him still inside her, she kissed him softly. "I never rely on my memory when the real thing is at hand."

Their limbs disarrayed in a boneless sprawl, they fell asleep.

***

When Declan and Birkoff let themselves into the house, they noticed how quiet it was. Assuming that Michael and Nikita were upstairs in their bedroom, Declan didn’t pay attention to the warning signs. The subtle signs of clutter here and there. Mostly pieces of clothing. The amorous couple had to walk through the living room en route to their rooms at the back of the house. That was when they saw Michael and Nikita.

Stepping carefully over their naked bodies, Declan offered thanks to God that they were asleep. Guiding his lover over the tightly united couple, Declan continued on to their rooms. Once inside their own rooms, the two of them giggled like a couple of schoolchildren.

Without speaking, they giggled for several seconds, their laughter eventually dying a natural death as the sexual tension between them ebbed. Declan grabbed his lover by the hair and backed him against the wall of their sitting room, kissing him senseless.

"Declan...enough foreplay."

Sinking to his knees in front of his lover, Declan looked up at him, a crooked smile on his lips. "Sey...you can never have enough foreplay."

Declan crouched on the floor between Birkoff’s legs, reaching up only to unsnap his jeans. Birkoff leaned against the wall of their sitting room, seemingly indolently, but Declan could feel the tension thrumming through his lover. Almost panting, he looked up at Birkoff, his eyes hot and needy. "Do you want me to touch you?"

Birkoff exhaled, a long, deep breath that seemed to go from his head to his groin. "If you don’t...I might have to hurt you," he tried to joke weakly.

Declan hid a smile, cupping his lover’s arousal in his warm hands. Birkoff gulped, nearly standing on tiptoe from the acute sensory overload that hit him all at once. "Maybe we should wait till later..." he uttered breathily.

Declan blinked. He stood up, bracing himself on the wall behind Birkoff, his arms almost touching his lover’s shoulders. Immediately grasping the conflict that warred within his partner, Declan lowered his mouth to a spot just above Birkoff’s upper lip. Birkoff could feel Declan’s heated breath on his mouth. He closed his eyes. That wasn’t helping the situation.

"Sey..." Declan whispered, "are you afraid you’ll come, the minute I touch you?"

Birkoff’s dark eyes opened in something akin to genuine alarm. "Don’t even say that word," he hissed.

Declan nuzzled the hollow at the base of Birkoff’s throat. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to tell Birkoff that the thought of being able to make him hot enough to climax without laying a hand on him again was extremely erotic. Birkoff’s hands clutched roughly at Declan’s long red hair. "Don’t...do that...please."

Sensing an opportunity to seduce his paramour into accepting the inevitable, Declan blithely disregarded his whispered exhortation. Kissing his neck, he felt Birkoff tremble. "It’s okay, baby."

Birkoff looked almost scared. He was holding onto Declan with the tips of his fingers, as if even the feel of Declan’s silken hair slipping through his hands might push him over the edge. "It’s not okay, I don’t want it to be over before it even gets started."

Declan pressed a kiss to Birkoff’s navel, wrapping his arms around his waist. Birkoff’s abdomen quivered in response. "Sey...let me take care of this for you."

Thrashing his head back, he inadvertently hit the wall, grimacing when his head came into sharp contact with the immovable object behind him. "Damn," he cursed.

Declan regarded his lover with concern. "Sey, we’re both right on the verge. Let’s just do it...we can always go slow later..."

"There’s going to be a later?" Birkoff said almost wistfully.

"You think you’re only entitled to come once a day?" Declan laughed.

"Well, when you put it that way...it does sound a bit silly." Birkoff colored becomingly, and Declan raked the side of his face with the back of his hand.

"This has nothing to do with premature you-know-what, Sey. You know that, right, baby?" Declan caressed the other side of Birkoff’s face with his lips.

The shiver that ran through Birkoff at the mention of ejaculating prematurely reminded Declan of just how close to climax they both were. He held onto his lover fiercely, feeling the strongest compulsion to strip both of them naked and bury himself deep within his partner’s body. Unconsciously rubbing himself against Birkoff’s already swollen arousal, he knew he was playing with fire. Not to put too fine a point on it, but...he didn’t care.

"I don’t want to disappoint you, Declan, by not being there when you need me to be..." Birkoff said in a low voice, hungering for the touch of his mouth on him.

"Aw, screw it, y chree, I love you. It’s all the same to me. Every freaking part of you is delicious," Declan declared hotly.

Birkoff looked torn between laughing and crying. "Would you believe that’s the most goddamned romantic thing you’ve said to me lately?"

Declan laughed. "If it is...I need lots more practice. C’mere, acushla."

***

It wasn’t the only time they made love. They made love twice more during the night, finally collapsing into an exhausted sleep near dawn. Eventually Birkoff reluctantly made his way into the bathroom, padding into the other room in his bare feet, his naked body still glistening with the sweat of his fevered exertions with Declan.

Turning off the bathroom light, he would have gone back to bed, but Declan’s sleepy voice called to him. "Mmm...don’t go to work today, Sey...come back to bed."

Birkoff knelt on the edge of the bed, next to Declan, who still had his eyes closed. That was probably fortunate. He missed the powerful glare that Birkoff gave him. "I don’t have a job anymore, remember?"

Declan opened one eye cautiously, sensing that he might have to retreat quickly. "Umm...oh, yeah..."

"You’re going to make it up to me, aren’t you, Dec?" Birkoff nudged Declan with one slender but surprisingly muscular thigh. Declan opened the other eye. The sight of Birkoff’s thigh, and everything else that was attached to it, so close to him, made his mouth water. As sated as they both were, and they were undeniably well-satisfied at this point, he still wanted his lover, almost as fiercely as when they first went to bed.

"If I make love to you one more time, it might kill me...but it would be worth it, love," Declan said hoarsely.

Birkoff smiled wickedly. "Got any last requests, Dec?"