"Sugar, you really know how to throw a party!" Walter praised his adoptive daughter, ignoring the persistent glare he was getting from Michael.

"Thanks, Dad," she replied sleepily, leaning back against Michael.

"You look like you're out on your feet, Sugar. Why don't you go on up to bed and let us clean up for you?"

Before Nikita could utter a word, Michael nodded. "That's a great idea. Thanks!" Moments later, he was pulling his drowsy wife behind him, as she feebly protested. When they reached the hallway outside the ballroom, Nikita stopped him.

"What's your hurry, Michael? We have all night."

"Kita, you are out on your feet. We've been up all night. Dawn will be here in about…ten minutes!"

"You're kidding! Did I doze off or something?"

"Or something." She looked so lovely. He would always remember the way she looked at this party. The radiant smile when they announced her pregnancy. The insouciant giggles when Madeline did the tango with Neil. The wistful glances at Declan and Birkoff, when they stepped out of the concealing shadows, unable to hide the palpable throb of emotion between them. The shy gasp of pleasure when she came apart in his arms. And finally, the outright shock at Walter's entrance.

"Are we going to bed?"

He kissed her, his fingers tenderly seeking her face. "Yes, doucette."

"To sleep?"

"Perchance to dream, doucette?" Michael continued to caress her face, his fingers agilely sweeping towards her hairline.

"Now don't go all poetic on me, Michael. I want to know if you're going to make love to me," she stated firmly, a trace of a sensual smile on her lips.

Again, his mouth found hers, but the barest touch of his lips left her wanting more. "I already did."

She grabbed his hand as it moved towards her face. Pressing a kiss to his palm, she looked intently into his eyes. Sighing when she felt his skin warm and soft beneath her mouth, she longed for union. Turning his hand in hers, she lightly licked the back of his hand. "I want you…inside me…" she whispered fervently.

His green eyes glowed vibrantly, their color visible even in the dim light of the hallway. Tugging at the hat he wore, he swept it to his side in a grand romantic gesture. His cloak fluttered at the movement of his arm, then was still.

"As you wish." That was what he said.

"I love you." That was what he meant.

Michael honestly thought he would have taken her right there in the hallway if Walter had not come through the door at that exact moment. "Hey, you two kids still here? Man, you're worse than me and my Honey."

Unsure of his meaning, Michael narrowed his eyes.

Picking up on the change in Michael's demeanor, Walter immediately explained. "I mean, staying up all night. What did you think I meant?"

Nikita giggled playfully. "Say good night, Dad." She waved her fingers at Walter.

"Good night, Sugar. And don't worry about the kids. We'll watch ‘em."

Michael leaned on his wife. Possessively. He wrapped his arms around her neck, nearly crushing the neckline of her gown in the process, but he didn't care. She belonged to him. He had never felt it as strongly as he did at that moment. "Doucette…" he whispered in her ear, indicating they should go.

One arm hooked around her neck, Michael walked her outside. "Ooh, Michael, I'm cold." As if to demonstrate, she shivered, tiny goosebumps arising all over her body.

After removing his cloak, he placed it around Nikita's shoulders. He fastened it around her neck, then kissed her. "Is that any better?"

"Yes." She brought the silk to her nose and sniffed, a tranquil smile crossing her face. "It smells like you, Michael."

She didn't know why she found that reassuring, but she did. She liked the idea of wearing something of his. Wearing his scent on her body. As if he claimed her in the most literal sense.

"Can we go to our mountain, Michael?"

"You'll be too cold, doucette."

"I want to watch the sunrise from there, Michael. In your arms. Please…"

He hesitated. He could deny her nothing, if she really wanted it. But he was convinced it would be too cold.

As if she read his mind, she said, "You can keep me warm, Michael."

He kissed her, his mouth nudging hers open. Two or three breathless kisses later, he said, "I can make you hot, Kita. I doubt if even I can keep you warm in this weather."

"Then where? I want to be with you."

"I have an idea. Stay here." He disappeared into the chateau for several minutes, but when he returned, he was holding a set of silver keys in his hand.

She glanced at him inquiringly. He smiled. "The keys to Walter's Harley."

A short while later, Walter's Harley was parked in one of the empty stalls in the stables. Knowing how importantly the stables figured in Declan and Birkoff's history together, Michael had heat installed throughout the building. Ostensibly for the horses. But now clearly an advantage for the two-legged animals who lived in the chateau.

Michael removed the cloak from around Nikita's shoulders. Unfastening her dress, he ran his hands up and down the sides of her upper body. When her breasts were freed from the confines of the gown, he feasted first on one, then the other before relinquishing them for the moment. Carefully folding her gown, he placed it on the tack rack to keep it from becoming soiled.

He threaded a hand through her upswept hair, dislodging the pearls, one by one, into his other hand. Her hair fell to her shoulders, then spilled down her back like molten white gold. He left the pearl in place at her neck, kissing his way around it.

Now she stood before him, clad only in the extravagant piece of lingerie. So sheer, her nipples showed through, especially where Michael's mouth had been moments before. So sheer, the dark blonde curls that protected the very heart of her showed through. Michael's hand cupped her there, and the gauzy material clung wetly to her body.

He took off his hat and threw it in a corner of the stall. Pulling his silk shirt loose from his pants, he felt her hands helping to tug it over his head. When he stood there, barechested, his skin tanned from the hours spent toiling in the service of the chateau, Nikita's mouth went dry. He was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Just as he would have removed the mask, Nikita smiled mysteriously and said, "No, leave it on. I like it."

She slid her hands down the sides of his leather pants, unzipping him cautiously. Giggling, she pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. "I don't want to hurt any moving parts."

He laughed at that, unconsciously trying to hold onto her when she moved away again. He kicked off his boots, to better aid in removing his pants. Once he was completely disrobed, except for the mask, he slipped his feet back into the leather boots. There was something vaguely decadent about leaving his boots on, but it aroused both of them.

He jumped onto the Harley's seat and re-started the engine. The engine purred except for an occasional pulsating throb that echoed through them whenever the throttle was pushed forward. Turning around, he lay back on the expansive cushioned seat, his booted feet resting on the metal exhaust. He held his arms out to Nikita, and she carefully climbed on top of him.

He laughed at the expression on her face. "I know it's not a horse, Kita, but it's the best I could do on short notice."

She brightened, and Michael felt it again, that unshakable feeling that only her light could pierce the darkness in him. "Come here."

His roughened fingertips abraded the tips of her breasts through the material. His lips ached to replace his fingers, but he struggled to maintain control. He could feel the vibration of the engine beneath his back, its staccato purr somehow vaguely arousing as well.

She settled comfortably astride his hips, her feet resting on the toes of his boots. He smoothed a palm down her barely rounded abdomen, plucking impatiently at the sheer material covering her core. "This is beautiful, Kita, but…"

She dipped her head to kiss him, her lips lingering wetly on his. "Take it off."

"How? With my teeth?" He smiled crookedly at her, even as he longed to plunge himself within the depths of her wet heat.

"Mmm…" she purred in his ear, undulating her lower body against his.

"Umm…" he responded.

He ran his fingers lightly under the material, seeking her center, but he could not reach. With a ferocious flash of his bright green eyes, he stared at the offending material as if he could somehow burn a hole through it. There was a brief pause. Then an intense crackling noise as Michael literally ripped the material that anchored itself to her body. "I couldn't help it, Kita," he said contritely.

She smiled knowingly. "It's not important." She adjusted the fit between their two bodies, sighing as she sank down on his burgeoning arousal. "This," she rocked back and forth gently, "is important."

"I like the way you keep your priorities straight."

She stared deeply into his eyes as she began the timeless rhythm that bonded their hearts and souls to one another. She was in control. Michael was not. He panted and struggled to hold onto her, his hands clenching around her hips. But she was relentless.

Her hair traced an errant pattern across his chest, her nipples sharpened as they brushed against him. Lunging at her body, he successfully claimed a breast, his mouth sucking at her hard enough to produce an ache in her groin. She knew he was losing the battle to hang onto control, but her hips began to move faster, drawing him deeper inside. She groaned loudly as he pushed back at her. Hard.

That was when it happened. The sharpness of his movement threw her off-balance, and she faltered for a grip, hitting the throttle by mistake. The engine revved ferociously, the motorcycle slid forward an inch or two before stalling out. And the two of them were dumped unceremoniously onto the floor of the stall.

Surrounded by straw, Nikita burst out laughing. Michael stared at her in disbelief, then joined her. "Well, this is one story we can never repeat to anyone."

"Except maybe Declan. Declan would understand," Nikita said, an avid gleam in her eye.

"Forget Declan. Where were we?" Michael growled low in his throat.

He pushed Nikita gently onto her back, pulling her legs around him as he rejoined their bodies. She giggled even as she sighed. "Are you taking over now?"

"Mmmhmm…"

A few minutes later, Nikita's cries of completion rang out in the early dawn. Her fingers raked down Michael's back as she felt him climax within her. He buried his face against her neck with a groan and a kiss. Possession worked both ways. He was undeniably hers.

Declan tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Birkoff. It was very nearly dawn. He was exhausted. But it was a pleasant state of exhaustion. One that stemmed from a good case of "I Could Have Danced All Night." Not overwork. Not stress. Not emotional hangover.

While he was waiting, he slipped off his leather boots. His feet felt hot and cramped. He padded around the room in his sock feet, suddenly aware of the incongruous picture he must make. Floor-length black silk cloak. Fangs. Leather pants. And sock feet. He laughed at himself. So much for the Irish version of Dracula.

He felt too good to be that dark tonight. Maybe he would never feel that dark ever again.

Carefully removing and folding his leather pants, he left them on top of the clothes hamper in the bathroom. Detaching the fangs, he studied his reflection in the mirror there. Not bad for 27, he thought, making a wry face at himself. He never saw the beauty there. Only the absence of stress. His eyes were clear and translucent grey, almost true silver right now. His hair was a mess. All curls spilling every which way. Dark red stubble covered his entire lower face. He thought about shaving, but the effort seemed pointless. It would be dawn soon. By the time he awakened, it would be early afternoon.

His black silk shirt long enough to cover part of his buttocks, it wasn't immediately obvious that Declan wasn't wearing any underwear. But of course, with a costume such as he wore, it would have been noticeable and it would have ruined the effect.

He popped open the shirt and placed that neatly on top of the pants. He wasn't sure where Birkoff had run off to, but he couldn't wait much longer. If Birkoff was late for Declan's private party, he wasn't going to receive everything he was entitled to. More's the pity.

Unfastening the cloak, he held it up to admire it. The red lining really made the outfit. He spread the cloak out on the bed and lay back, yawning expansively. He wouldn't sleep deeply. He would hear Birkoff when he came in, and then, by God, he was going to give him Hell for making him wait.

That was the plan. Declan had visions of commanding Birkoff to do his bidding all night long, while Birkoff nodded politely and chanted "Yes, Master" like a good little Section drone.

But that was before Declan fell asleep. In truth, nothing could have kept Birkoff away from Declan's side except this. Walter. Walter asked Birkoff to help him clean up the ballroom, and soon they were chatting, just like old times. About Faith, mostly. Birkoff loved to talk about his goddaughter, and he was full of funny stories about the challenging little girl she was destined to become.

"God, Faith is just like Nikita, isn't she?" Birkoff said, not a single smirk in sight.

Walter nodded. "It's the damnedest thing. She looks just like Michael, but she's Sugar all over again. Bet she's gonna be a handful when she hits 13."

Birkoff chuckled. "If she lives that long. She does like to live dangerously, y'know."

The former munitions expert looked wistful. "Makes me wish I had kids of my own. But then again, I had no life back then to give ‘em anyway."

A plaintive note entered Birkoff's voice. "I know," he said. "Declan and me were…"

"What?" Walter's expression was more than kind. His time-ravaged face was filled with compassion. He would love to share Birkoff's thoughts and feelings again, the way they did when they shared something else. A life that was virtually a prison.

Birkoff looked away. That was something so intensely personal, he didn't know how he could ever have thought about revealing it to anyone but Declan.

So it was that when Birkoff finally managed to trudge wearily upstairs to the suite, it was already dawn. In fact, dawn had come and gone. He let himself into the room, certain that Declan was by now both hurt and angry. Birkoff wouldn't blame him one bit if he was. He chastised himself. "Seymour," he addressed himself, "sometimes I think your head is just a place for your hair. Where's your common sense?"

"Are you talking to yourself again, Sey?" Birkoff actually brightened when he heard Declan's sleepy voice. He was awake. He waited for him.

Then he clapped a hand to his forehead. The only reason Declan could be awake was undoubtedly to tell him off.

Declan raised himself up on one elbow. He was naked except for his socks. Not too many men could carry off a look like that without provoking laughter from some quarter. But Declan looked as if he'd just completed a photo shoot for GQ.

"I was going to show off that keen piece of leather that Faith tried to acquire. You know the one…the one that almost brought us to blows?"

"To tears, more like." Birkoff sighed. He pulled open his black robe, revealing that underneath he wore a plain white T-shirt and plain white boxer shorts.

"Now isn't that a charming outfit?" Declan said sarcastically. "I thought you were supposed to be up here, warming up our bed for us, and instead, you were what? I'm all ears."

Birkoff gave Declan a melancholy look. His dark eyes flickered for a second, but the light within was too weak to be sustained. "I'm sorry. I— I screwed up."

Declan leaped from the bed, springing to his feet like a graceful young lion. His long red hair bounced back and forth wildly as he zeroed in on Birkoff. "Sey! Where's your spirit? You're supposed to argue with me, not give in so bloody easily."

"I guess I don't feel much like arguing, Dec."

"Sey! Here I was, contemplating just how much fun playing master and slave could really be…and you give up?"

Birkoff closed his eyes. Wave upon wave of sadness hit him all at once. He barely managed to pull his T-shirt over his head before Declan descended upon him.

Suddenly Declan saw something in Birkoff's face. Something that told him this was serious. He touched Birkoff's arm, and Birkoff opened his eyes. His beautiful dark eyes were black with pain. A shiver ran through Declan. He grasped Birkoff by the wrist and pulled him into his arms. Birkoff didn't even protest, it was clearly what he needed.

"Talk to me, Sey," Declan said softly but firmly.

"I stayed to help Walter clean up after the party…and we had a great time talking…mostly about the kids…mostly about Faith. Y'know?"

Abruptly Birkoff lay his head on Declan's shoulder, his arms reaching behind him to cling to his lover's neck. "And then he said…it was too bad he never had kids of his own…and I just…I just…I don't know…"

Birkoff wasn't crying. He was almost beyond tears. It was as if Walter's words had somehow unleashed a hidden longing that he was unable to express.

"You were thinking about what we were talking about earlier," Declan stated flatly, without emotion.

Birkoff's fingers clenched and unclenched in response, but he never let go of Declan's neck. His lips trembled against Declan's shoulder. Declan sighed heavily. "Oh, God, love…"

Declan stroked his lover's back, almost absently. His breath ruffled Birkoff's soft, thick hair. "Sey…you didn't tell Walter what was bothering you, did you?"

Birkoff pulled back then, looking hurt. "I wouldn't…I didn't, Dec. I swear."

Declan's silvery eyes darkened to a shade somewhere near dull pewter. "This is…one dream…that has to stay between us, Sey…only us. D'you understand, acushla?"

Birkoff nodded slowly.

Declan pushed his hands through Birkoff's hair over and over, staring at him as if he were searching for something in his face. "No one but us…would understand."

Birkoff dropped his gaze. "I'm not sure that's true, Dec."

Declan pressed the gentlest of kisses to Birkoff's face, his hands still working their way through his hair. "Maybe…but if you love me…you'll do as I ask, Sey."

"I do love you, Dec. All you ever have to do is ask. I would do absolutely anything for you." Birkoff's voice went from an emotional whisper to a fierce declaration.

Declan swallowed. "Anything?"

"Anything. Just ask."

Declan hugged him tightly. "Take the rest of your clothes off and come to bed, acushla."

They broke apart finally, going their separate ways for the moment. Birkoff moved like a sleepwalker into the bathroom, and Declan lay down on the bed, pulling his cloak around his body, almost as if its silken feel comforted something inside him.

He rested his head on the pillow, feeling his eyes tearing. Blinking rapidly in an effort to prevent himself from actually crying, Declan rubbed the silk against his face, but it caught on his unshaven jawline. That did bring tears to his eyes, and he pulled the silk over his face, hiding from Birkoff's usually observant gaze. Hiding from himself.

Yes, he wanted a child. Desperately, sometimes. He found it ironic that despite his warnings to Birkoff about wanting things he could never have, he was guilty of that very thing. Yes, they could dream. Silently. He was convinced that if they told anyone about this…urge, they would either laugh…or they would stare at them in that hateful way that people had whenever they encountered something…aberrant.

Birkoff stood naked in the doorway, and despite his own preoccupation, he noticed Declan's emotional upheaval at once. "Declan!" he called, almost frightened. He needed Declan to be in control now. It was the only way he would feel safe.

But sometimes, in that curious way that life has of taking people by surprise…roles get reversed. Strength and weakness are only in the eye of the beholder, after all. Sometimes people live up to what would otherwise be unrealistic expectations, just because the people they love dare to dream for them.

"Declan?" Birkoff said tentatively. He placed a knee on the bed and leaned over Declan. Taking a deep breath, Birkoff pulled on the cloak, knowing what it would reveal might be disturbing. Declan lay there, powerless to regain control, his grey eyes swimming in tears. "Sey! I never want you to see me like this!"

"Why? I love all of you, Declan, not just the parts you allow me to see."

"Brave words, boyo. But you don't mean that."

"I do mean it, Declan. You're so strong, I've gotten used to leaning on you, but that's not healthy for either one of us."

"We fit together just fine, Sey. There's nothing wrong with how we love each other."

"Spoken like someone who doesn't like giving up control, Declan." Birkoff slid into bed, beside Declan.

Declan stared at him, tears welling up in his eyes. "What's so bloody great about being in control, anyway?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

Declan continued to stare silently at his lover, an imperceptible shake of his head evident only to him. Suddenly, as if it were beyond his ability to withstand, Declan grabbed hold of Birkoff and held onto him. Fiercely. But not protectively. Now Birkoff was protecting him.

"I need you, Sey."

"Say it, Declan. Say all of it," Birkoff countered.

Declan closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Birkoff's throat. "I need you as much as you need me."

"And?" Birkoff coaxed, sounding more like Declan than Declan.

"Sometimes more."

Declan shuddered, rubbing his cheek against Birkoff's chest. "Please…"

"Please what, Dec?"

"Please…make love to me, Sey. I need to know you love me…the way I love you."

"I will, Declan. Cause I do."

Birkoff's first move was to rake both hands through his thick, dark hair. He knew how much Declan loved the silky feel of it in his hands, and he vaguely wondered just who he was reminding of how good it felt.

He looked so deadly serious, Declan wanted to kiss him. Bless his heart, he was the sweetest boy that ever lived. Oh, he was a man, all right, but still and all, he was a boy, too. There was something in Birkoff that would always remain curiously untouched by the real world. Whatever it was, it belonged to Declan. And he prayed that it never changed.

Birkoff bit his lip, fidgeting a bit. "I'm a little nervous," he said to Declan.

Declan did kiss him, then. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Sey."

"I know," Birkoff hurriedly replied. "But I want to. I want this." He laughed fitfully. "I'm just not sure if I'm going to be any good at it."

That single artless confession made Declan's heart ache. "You can pleasure me any way you want, love, and it'll be wonderful." He reached for Birkoff's cheek and stroked it with the back of his hand. Birkoff closed his eyes and leaned on Declan's hand. "Thanks."

Birkoff opened his eyes, and Declan caught his breath at the love he saw there. Those dark eyes acting like kindling to the fire in his heart. "You just tell me what you want me to do, Sey," he whispered.

Birkoff's mouth curved into the most intriguing smile Declan had ever seen. "I want you to go crazy in my arms, Dec," he whispered fervently. Declan blinked. He might have created a monster.

"I'm sure that can be arranged, myrneen." Declan felt the strangest urge to couple every Gaelic love word he knew with his lover's name. Some of them were not even in current usage anymore, but Declan knew them all. He had waited for this day all his life. To be loved by someone like his Sey.

"What does that mean, Declan?" His breath caressed Declan's cheek, and Declan thought he would go mad by the time Birkoff figured out what he was doing. But he was loving every moment of it. He would cherish this memory forever.

"Beloved. Or just honey," Declan explained, watching helplessly as Birkoff approached his mouth, ever so slowly.

"Am I your honey, Dec?" Birkoff said in a seductive tone that Declan coveted.

"God, yes. And more."

"Tell me more. I want to hear all the words," Birkoff commanded.

"Kiss me first." Birkoff cocked his head at Declan, uncertain if Declan was trying to reassert control or just in urgent need of a kiss.

"Please?" There was a long pause while they stared at one another in tense silence. "Leannan?" Declan finally added.

Birkoff's face broke into a wide smile. "Okay." He nuzzled Declan's lips with his, and Declan nipped at him, in an effort to capture his mouth for a deeper kiss.

Frustrated, Declan said, "Oh, come on, Sey, give us a proper kiss then." Birkoff kissed Declan lightly, feeling Declan's hands threading through his hair in an effort to pull him closer. When Birkoff pulled away, Declan sighed disappointedly. "Leannan is sweetheart," he whispered.

Birkoff grinned and reapplied himself to the task of kissing Declan. His mouth was soft and warm and, after licking his lips, wet. "How would I say I love you?"

"I have no idea," replied Declan.

Birkoff burst out laughing. "Some Irishman you are."

"I can't think straight when you kiss me, Sey. I swear." Declan plucked at Birkoff's porcelain-like skin with his teeth.

"What are you doing, Declan?" Birkoff giggled at the feel of such tiny yet impolite assaults on his skin.

"I'm marking you. You're mine, y chree." There were love marks blossoming even now on Birkoff's fair skin. His neck. His chin. His cheek.

Birkoff's mouth found Declan's, claiming him just as possessively as Declan's love bites. When Declan's mouth opened under his, Birkoff laved his mouth with his tongue. "You can kiss me back, Dec."

Declan wound his arms around Birkoff's neck and exhaled contentedly. If he died right now, with one of Sey's kisses on his lips, he would consider his life well spent. There was such unalloyed sweetness in him. In anyone else, it might not be credible. But it was such a part of Birkoff, there could be no separating out that element from the rest of the man.

"Aw, Sey, I've marked your pretty face up," Declan uttered regretfully.

Birkoff laughed heartily. "Me, pretty? That's pretty funny, Dec."

Declan gazed at him in wild wonder. "You still don't know how beautiful you are, Sey."

Birkoff chuckled, uncomfortable with that kind of praise. He shrugged his shoulders. "If you're trying to tell me I look like a girl…"

Declan's eyes darkened to pitch within moments. "Did I bloody say that? If I wanted a girl, I'd get one." Declan's eyes softened again. "I didn't mean to snap, Sey, it's just that…you are beautiful. To me. But I want you to know it, too."

"Well, you always make me feel that way, Declan. Even if it isn't true."

"That's your past talking, Sey. I'll keep telling you how bloody remarkable you are, and maybe, one day, you'll believe me."

Birkoff glanced at Declan shyly, his dark eyes aglow. "Part of me believes you now, Declan."

Declan kissed him tenderly, his fingers playing with the silken strands that fell into Birkoff's face. "You didn't ask me what y chree means, Sey."

Birkoff lay his head on Declan's chest, right over his heart. Declan's hand moved restlessly through his lover's hair as Birkoff rubbed his cheek against Declan's skin. "What's it mean?"

"My heart."

"Are you planning to torture me to death then?" Declan would have thought it was funny if he hadn't been up all night, emotionally overwrought, and then frustrated within an inch of his sexuality.

"Maybe…maybe not."

"Sey, for God's sake, take pity on me, I'm only a poor Irishman who's got absolutely no common sense! Or I never would have begged you to drive me crazy like this!"

Birkoff smiled, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips before he began kissing Declan again. "You can't drive someone crazy with nothing but kisses, Dec," he snickered.

"That's what you think! You don't know how good you are…or how much I want you…" Declan fell back on the bed, his hair fanning out behind him like a bright red halo. He ran his hand lightly up and down Birkoff's arm.

"You've passed kissing! I approve! Move on to the next level or I swear, I won't be held responsible!" Declan wailed in mock agitation.

Birkoff grinned avidly. "Nooo, Declan, you said I could do anything I wanted to you…you said I could go as slow as I liked…you said…"

"Sweet Jesus! I know what I said! You could try the patience of a saint!"

Birkoff shrugged and sank back onto the bed, as if he planned to ignore Declan. "And we all know you're no saint," Birkoff muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Declan to hear.

Birkoff slowly slid his foot down Declan's leg, feeling a tremor run through Declan's body. Declan closed his eyes. He didn't want to take away Birkoff's newfound confidence in his ability to seduce Declan, but he didn't know how much more he could take. This slow, intermittent come-on was taking its toll on his senses. About all he could hope for was that Birkoff would fall into his own trap and eventually seek satisfaction of his own.

Declan sighed as Birkoff's sweet breath drifted past his nose again. "Declan…" came the siren call.

"What, Sey?" Declan kept his eyes closed and prayed for forgiveness if at any given moment, he sounded exasperated.

"Am I getting to you yet?" said the bane of his existence.

"Yet? Is that what you actually said, Sey? Yet?" Declan rolled over onto his side, feeling very petulant, but surprisingly justified.

Birkoff slid his body next to Declan's, spoon-fashion. Encircling his chest with both arms, Birkoff pushed Declan's heavy curls out of the way and pressed a kiss to his neck. Goosebumps arose where Birkoff kissed him. Declan batted at his neck with one hand, as if trying to negate the tingly sensation.

"Do you want me to stop, Declan?" Birkoff asked in a small, disappointed voice.

Sensing his hurt, Declan turned over to face Birkoff. "No, acushla." He kissed Birkoff softly, partly to reassure him, partly to reassure himself.

"Was I doing something wrong?" Always, but always, there was that thought in the back of Birkoff's mind that somehow he was at fault, he was to blame, whenever things went even mildly off-track.

"No, ailleagan," Declan replied. "I love you. How could you possibly do anything wrong?"

"You want me to be more aggressive?" Only it wasn't exactly a question, more like a statement Birkoff needed confirmed by Declan.

"I want you to be exactly who you are, Sey." He smiled patiently and trailed the tip of his finger down Birkoff's nose.

Birkoff's dark eyes lit up. A glimmer of something fever-bright deep within them caught at Declan's senses. "I want to be you," Birkoff said with considerable intensity. "Just this once."

Declan's mouth went dry. "What exactly is it you wanted to do? Besides nibble me to death?"

Birkoff eyed Declan's growing arousal and rubbed his hand against it. "How can you be so soft…and so hard…at the same time, Dec?"

Declan shut his eyes tightly and prayed that Birkoff was kidding. "Stop that, Sey. I mean it."

"Stop what?" Birkoff sounded innocent. But Declan knew exactly how much Birkoff knew about lovemaking in general, and lovemaking with Declan, specifically.

Declan pushed Birkoff onto his back and claimed his mouth with fervor. Their breath mingled until Declan abruptly broke away, panting. "Do whatever you want, Sey, but for Christ's sake, do it now!"

As if that were the declaration he'd been waiting for, Birkoff's mouth curved into a loving smile. "Back home where I come from, we have a holiday called Thanksgiving, Dec. It's a time when we give thanks for the blessings we've received throughout the year, that kind of thing. I know what I'm thankful for. You."

"Thanks for being so patient with me, Dec. No one else would be, I know."

"Christ, no one else better ever touch you like this, Sey! I don't want to have to kill someone!" Declan tried to reach for Birkoff's groin, but he evaded his grip.

Declan panted again, breathless from the effort of trying to make actual physical contact with his lover. Birkoff rose above him, like some young dark prince, all quiet intensity, but powerful just the same.

He stared at Birkoff. There was something in his eyes now. Something that he hoped meant that salvation was at hand.

Birkoff's hands grasped Declan's shoulders. His grip felt unbreakable. To Declan, that actually meant something. "You're mine, Declan. No one and nothing is ever going to take you from me. Nothing, do you hear?" His words echoed softly in the serenity of their bedroom. There was an undeniable power within Birkoff, and it seemed as though he had finally managed to tap into it, without letting it overtake his better judgment.

"I will make love to you the way you make love to me. And neither one of us is ever going to be the same," he uttered in an uncompromising whisper.

Birkoff eased himself astride Declan's soft but firm flesh, making no effort to join their bodies. He wasn't sure if he was ready for something like that. But Declan was not unreasonable. He wouldn't expect the impossible.

But right now, the impossible didn't seem quite as impossible as it did when he began. Perhaps because his own arousal was taking charge of him. He wanted Declan in a way that was new. He always respected the boundaries they set with each other's bodies, but this time, while Declan's intrusion into his more private recesses would have been welcome, or even desired, Birkoff sought to challenge himself.

The richness of the silk cloak under them caught Birkoff's eye just before he began his sensual assault on Declan. So vibrant. Like Declan's body beneath his. Now there was no leather between their bodies. There was only skin to skin contact. Birkoff lowered his mouth to Declan's chest, laving each nipple until it crested in a sharp peak. He nipped gently at them with his teeth, then suckled until Declan groaned.

Just as Declan would have moved, Birkoff pushed him back with one hand. An unnecessary distraction. Declan wanted to take over. Declan didn't think he could follow it all the way to the end. Well, he didn't know how much Birkoff wanted this.

He wanted it more than he feared it. That was his point of no return. He bent his head to Declan's mouth and kissed him. Softly, tenderly. His lips didn't want to leave Declan's. He felt like he wanted to absorb him through his skin and become him. "Oh, Dec," he gasped.

Declan touched him. There. He thought he was going to lose control, but he managed to hang on. "Dec, please…"

"What is it, Sey?"

"Help me. I want to…you know what I want to do. Please help me." Birkoff's plaintive tone reached inside Declan's soul and turned him inside out.

Declan ran his hands expertly down Birkoff's satiny-smooth back to his hips. He could join their bodies so easily, but should he? As if reading his mind, Birkoff leaned over Declan, his hair falling into his eyes, obscuring those beautiful dark eyes for one moment. "I need…" he panted in a hoarse whisper. "I need to be inside you."

Declan gazed at him intently, his attention riveted on Birkoff's reaction to doing this for the first time. His chest rose and fell with great heaves, waiting. Birkoff kissed Declan one more time. "I need to know what it feels like, Declan."

"What does it feel like when you're inside me?" he asked. Declan closed his eyes, feeling an amazing heat coming off his lover's body. Still, he waited.

He felt him closing in. His hands on his skin. His mouth on his. Suddenly, Declan's eyes flew open. "Sey!" When it finally happened, that was all he could say. His name. Over and over again.

Face to face. Heart to heart. They rocked together, looking straight into each other's eyes at the moment of completion. And when it seized them both at the same time, neither of them wanted to take their eyes off the other. Grabbing at each other's hands, they clung to one another, their fingers interlaced.

Declan cried when it was over. To fly so high, only to come down to earth again was a jolt. Birkoff, too, had tears in his eyes, but they were tears of joy. "I did it, Declan. I loved you the way you were meant to be loved. That's all I really wanted," he whispered.

He sprawled across Declan's body, as if he were claiming him. Declan kissed him before relinquishing his hold on Birkoff. Birkoff's eyes twinkled like a midnight sky filled with countless stars. He kissed Declan back, his fingers tracing where his lips had been. "I love you, Declan. Come and share my forever with me."

"Just try and stop me, love."

Now that Nikita was five months pregnant, she was, as the saying went, big with child. Thanksgiving was not a European holiday, so it passed relatively uneventfully, and Christmas was exciting for the little ones, with perhaps one notable exception. Faith.

Faith had noticed her mother's abdomen growing larger and questioned it. After Nikita's explanation, Faith exclaimed happily, "We have baby? Like Connor?"

The problem was, while Faith loved Connor and often sought out opportunities to take care of him, the reason she was able to tolerate sharing attention with the younger child was because Connor went ‘home' at the end of the day to be with Madeline and Neil. In other words, he had different parents. So, initially, Faith was delighted to hear that another baby was coming. But when Nikita explained that the baby was going to live with them forever, Faith had sprung to her feet, tears flying from her expressive eyes. "NO! No, no, no, you MY Mom!"

That was when Faith pushed at Nikita, probably more out of frustration than anything else. But it earned her her very first spanking. Something she never forgot. She sobbed desperately, like her heart was breaking, something Nikita was barely able to handle. "Oh, Fee…"

Nikita turned around to face Michael, tears streaming down her cheeks. He kissed her forehead and held her. "What have I done, Michael?"

"You did what you had to do, Kita. You couldn't let Faith push you. That's a very dangerous behavior to allow. She could have hurt you or the baby."

"But it was an accident, Michael. She's only a baby herself. She doesn't understand these things." He wrapped his arms around his wife, her burgeoning middle making it more difficult than it used to be.

"Ssh, Kita…don't cry. She'll get over it."

She swiped carelessly at her eyes. "Yeah, but will I?"

"It won't be the first time you have to spank her, Kita."

"Maybe I'll let you be in charge of spanking the kids, Michael. It doesn't seem to bother you at all." Nikita bit at the offending words as if they stung her lips.

With a strangely fluid movement for one so ungainly, Nikita managed to exit the room without another word. Michael stared after her, murmuring to himself. "It's not easy for me at all, Kita."

He thought of other days, past days, during the deep cover mission with Elena and Adam. He couldn't miss those days, not in a real sense, because the life he shared with them was not real. But his affection for Elena was. His love for his son, Adam, certainly was.

As always, whenever he thought of Adam, a choking sensation seized his throat. Sometimes he thought it was God's way of rendering him speechless so he could not deny his feelings for Elena and Adam. It was His way of making sure he could not utter one more lie about them.

He felt guilty for wanting more. As much as he had already, he wanted more. He wished Elena well, and he hoped she met someone who deserved her kindness and compassion. He had found her surprisingly easy to control, despite her innate intelligence, perhaps because she was conditioned to accept his authority, male authority, over her own. And as much as it hurt for him to acknowledge, he knew what Section did to her wasn't right. Sometimes he hated himself for the small part he played in her ultimate nightmare, the day her life came apart.

But Adam…. There was another story. He thought he resolved his desire to see Adam, through extensive therapy with Madeline, but it was a chronic pain that rarely let up. As happy as he was, as much as he treasured the lives of Faith and Chris, as much as he welcomed the birth of their new baby…. Still, he wanted Adam back. Son of his flesh. Son of his heart. The first child he ever fathered. It didn't matter for what reason. He couldn't corrupt Adam's memory by calling him a mission baby. No one could ever replace Adam in his heart. Not Faith. Not Chris. Not the baby to come. It broke his heart. But it was the truest thing he'd ever admitted to himself.

And he would never speak of it again. To anyone. Not even Nikita, whom he loved more than life itself.

Madeline was on the phone when Neil entered their bedroom. He only heard the tail end of the conversation, but it did not bode well. "This is not a secure line. I can't answer that question. Fine." When she hung up, the lines of tension that etched her beautiful face were evident to the naked eye.

"What's wrong?" Neil asked.

"You know how I've been keeping track of what's going on in certain parts of the world…since the attempt on Declan's life?"

Neil nodded, his face grim. He hated being reminded of that night. It nearly brought down the entire family. They were just now beginning to put it behind them. For good. Christmas at the chateau was as beautiful as it was extravagant. Now it was January. The twins' second birthday loomed large on the horizon. Connor was nearly nine months old. Nikita's new baby was due towards the end of May. Life was good.

Now this. "Some Section business, no doubt? Neil commented dryly, his body language indicating just what he thought of that.

"Not exactly. But you're close." A frown worked its way between her two finely drawn eyebrows.

Neil looked vaguely anxious. "Are you okay, Maddy? I don't want you getting any more embroiled in this than you have to. You know that."

"I don't plan to be. That's where you come in."

"Me?" He blinked in surprise.

"Yes. I need you to run down some intel for me. As soon as possible. It's very important. It can't wait." She steepled her fingers, the gesture seeming to soothe her on some level. As if she could control events as easily as she controlled her fingers.

"You can't go?"

"No, I need to keep a low profile, just as much as the others, Neil. Maybe more so. Though my face would hardly be recognized outside Section."

"Okay…where am I headed then?"

"Ireland."