The last days of summer were upon them. Soon the oldest children would be attending private school in town. Though it was merely a short bus ride away, it might as well be lightyears. It would be a completely different world. For them. For their parents. For those left behind.

Michael and Nikita lay drowsing in the grass on the backlawn. The fading light of afternoon was slowly making a glorious sunset, seemingly just for them. His arms wrapped around Nikita, Michael lay on his back, sleepily contemplating the skies above. "It’s so quiet."

Nikita nodded, her head pressed against Michael’s chest. Sliding her hand under his T-shirt, she rubbed his stomach gently. "Too quiet, if you ask me."

He smiled briefly before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You worry when they don’t make enough noise?"

Nikita sighed happily in his embrace. "You know Faith, Michael. Always up to something."

Michael squeezed her upper arm affectionately. "But not silently."

She laughed softly. "Okay, point taken." She continued to rub absently at his stomach, and his other hand crept around to clasp hers, stilling the restless movement.

"You want to go in? It’ll be dark soon."

She lifted her head to peer closely into those changeable grey-green eyes she loved so much. "Can we stay out here a bit longer? I’m starting to enjoy the quiet."

His eyes flared bright green. "I’m enjoying you, doucette. I love being able to hold you in my arms and just lie here, doing absolutely nothing. It’s very...peaceful. For a change."

"Mommmmm!!!" Faith’s strident voice cut across the backlawn with the full intensity of a six-year old being thwarted by someone or something.

Michael released Nikita with a heavy sigh. Nikita wrinkled her nose, sending a crooked grin his way. "You were saying?"

Ever philosophical, Michael chuckled. "All good things must come to an end."

All at once Nikita straddled her husband, leaning forward to give him a heartfelt kiss on the mouth. Unable to help himself, he dove after her, his hands winding through her long pale hair. Their mouths met almost anxiously in their fervor to get closer to one another. When Nikita pulled back at last, her mouth wet and swollen, she looked triumphant.

Michael cocked his head at her, puzzled. "What?" he asked breathlessly, his own mouth much like hers.

She leaned forward again, punctuating each word with an ardent kiss. "Not...all...good...things."

Michael slowly signaled his approval of the way his wife’s ever-sharp mind worked. "Well...maybe not all."

"Mommmmm!!!" came the follow-up shriek from Faith, its renewed intensity making their ears ring.

Michael’s hands crept under the back of Nikita’s shirt, dislodging it from her jeans. When she felt his touch on her bare skin, she arched towards him with a slight gasp. "You going to get that?" he whispered huskily.

"I’d rather get this," she responded, feeling her husband’s immediate aroused reaction to her impatient movements above him.

"We can’t always get what we want," he quipped mischievously.

"Ouch," Nikita pouted prettily.

He trailed a finger across her breasts. "I’ll catch you later."

"Maybe," she said, biting her lip provocatively.

"Tease."

"We can’t always get what we want," she echoed.

Michael lay back in the grass, gnashing his teeth frustratedly, then grinned. "If you make Faith come out here, you’re in trouble."

"Trouble’s my middle name," she teased right back.

"More like your first," he replied playfully, his hands moving down to cup her backside.

She reached out to stroke his face with her fingertips. "You must be a man who likes trouble then."

"Mmm, I love trouble," he purred under her loving ministration. Suddenly he reversed their positions, Nikita landing gently on her back beneath him. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Her arms wrapped themselves around Michael’s neck as he settled comfortably between her legs.

A moment later, there was a crack like thunder as the back door slammed, followed by a sound like heavy rain approaching at hyperspeed. "Mom! Dad! You--"

Faith stood there, tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for her parents to stop hugging and kissing and acknowledge her presence. "You know I’m here, don’t you?" she asked crossly.

Nikita reluctantly pushed her husband away and sat up, picking the grass from her long hair. "Yep," Nikita said casually.

"So why didn’t you come when I called?"

"Was someone bleeding?"

"No..."

"Was someone throwing up?"

"No..."

"Any broken bones involved?"

"No...Mommmm..."

"Then it wasn’t an emergency," Nikita concluded, her conscience clear. "Faith, you need to start working on your people skills. Start working things out yourself. You’re a very capable young girl, and you need to start acting like it."

Faith blinked. "You want me to leave home and get a job? I’m only six, Mom."

Michael would have told Faith that she couldn’t win an argument with her mother that way, but he was certain she already knew that. They would have their hands full when Faith became a teenager. If she lived that long.

"In the house," Michael commanded.

Faith stomped her feet and gave her father the evil eye. "Dad-dy..."

"Get in the house. Now." Michael never needed to repeat himself. That he was doing so now was more for Faith’s benefit than anything else.

She flew across the lawn like the gates of Hell had opened behind her, hitting the back door with another slam. Nikita turned to Michael and grinned. "Thanks."

"You’re welcome."

"Now, where were we?" Nikita asked kittenishly.

Michael’s green eyes burned as they lit upon his wife’s still-swollen mouth. "Refresh my memory."

"There’s nothing wrong with your memory, Michael."

"You’re right." He slanted his mouth across hers, hungry to taste the sweetness deep inside, just for him. "I could never forget how much I love you, doucette."

"Oh, Michael." A few kisses later, Nikita began to get up, starting to feel a bit guilty about not seeing what Faith wanted. But Michael pushed her back onto the grass, sealing his mouth to hers.

As if he were reading her mind, he said quietly, "You can spend the rest of the evening with Faith, doucette, but the next fifteen minutes belong to me."

Nikita giggled against Michael’s lips, and he drew back in surprise. "What?"

"Just fifteen minutes, Michael?"

He leaned his forehead on hers, their mouths separated by mere breath. "That’s just the prelude. More to follow."

"You know how I hate to follow."

"You know how I love trouble."

Together, they dissolved into helpless laughter. Life was good. Very good.

When Nikita entered the kitchen, she found Faith clutching Josephine in a stranglehold that would have frightened any other cat. Faith’s eyes were screwed shut, and she was murmuring to herself furiously, as if she were chanting an incantation of some sort. "Fee? Sweetie? What’re you doing?"

Faith’s eyes flew open, their color bright green, just as Michael’s were when she left him moments earlier. But whereas Michael’s green eyes bespoke great passion, Faith’s showed only agitation. "Mom-my?" she said, her lower lip quivering.

Nikita frowned and crouched down on Faith’s level. "What’s wrong, sweetie?"

Josephine chose that moment to leap from Faith’s arms, and Faith promptly burst into tears. "Oh, honey, no. Come here." Nikita held her arms wide open, and Faith stepped into her embrace, wearing it like a welcome coat in winter. Tears soaked Nikita’s shoulder within seconds, but she paid little attention. She simply wrapped her arms more tightly around her oldest daughter.

"Mommm...Mr. Ell-Elliott said...that I’m gonna be in...first grade."

"That’s wonderful, honey," Nikita said. She was a great admirer of James. He was very perceptive, which was undoubtedly what made him such a good teacher. He was good with all of the children, but he particularly understood Faith, who could be difficult even at the best of times.

"No, it’s not," Faith wailed.

"Sweetie, sweetie, what’s got you so upset?" Nikita asked, trying to discover the source of her pain even as she struggled to soothe her.

"They-they won’t let me and Chris be together!" Faith sobbed brokenly.

"Oh, no." Nikita didn’t mean to let that slip out, but it did. She could well understand why Faith was so beside herself now. It was bad enough that she was leaving Connor behind while she ventured out into the world for the first time. But she was going to be separated from her brother, her twin.

"Honey, I’m sure if I talk to someone at the school, we can work something out." Nikita hoped she was telling the truth. It didn’t seem like such a big thing to arrange. What harm could there possibly be in allowing twins to be in the same class at school? It wasn’t as if they were identical, where something like that could cause confusion. Their names weren’t even similar.

"Y-you wi-will?" Faith said tearfully, wiping at her face with the back of her hand.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Nikita swore, provoking a teary smile from her daughter.

Faith threw her arms around Nikita’s neck and cried out, "You’re the best, Mom-Mom!", the old endearment slipping freely from Faith’s memory to her tongue.

"I try, sweetie, I try." She ruffled Faith’s hair, admiring the glossy reddish-brown hair that had darkened slightly with age, making her look more and more like Michael everyday. She sighed to herself. Would that all your problems be this easy to solve, Faith.

***

"Sasha?" Birkoff called to his son. Sasha was huddled over a book in the sitting room. Anyone glancing casually at the boy would swear that he was preoccupied with what he was reading. But Birkoff knew better.

He leaned on the table next to Sasha, but Sasha still didn’t respond in any way. When a snap of his fingers did nothing to make Sasha look up, Birkoff reached out and shut the book. Sasha didn’t even blink.

"What’s up, kiddo?" Birkoff asked softly. You couldn’t push a kid like Sasha. It made him dig his heels in and back up the first possible moment. You had to play a waiting game. This required a great deal of patience. Luckily, this was something Birkoff had. In abundance.

Long moments passed before Sasha finally answered. "I’m not gonna be in the same class as the twins."

"Oh?" Birkoff was careful to keep his response non- committal. Again, he waited. He was sure there was more.

There was. "I’m gonna be in the second grade, Daddy." That was Birkoff’s first real clue of how badly Sasha was hurting. He usually called him Dad, unless he was stirred to some degree of emotion, visible or not.

"James said you would be bumped ahead a couple of grades, Sash. You seemed more okay with it than I was, if I remember right."

Sasha looked up, his dark eyes burning with unshed tears. He refused to cry. He was a big boy. He had been alone before. This wouldn’t be the first time.

"I am..." Sasha swallowed. "I am...okay with it. Really."

"Then how come I hear a big but coming up?" Birkoff asked, compassion shining in his own dark eyes.

"I just...I didn’t know th--" Sasha gave up trying to articulate his feelings. They were twisting his insides into a knot, and he didn’t know feelings nearly as well as he knew logic or computers or anything else in the more tangible universe.

"You thought you’d be with Faith and Chris?" Birkoff offered helpfully.

"Or Skye. I thought they might...you know...let her skip a few grades." Sasha looked positively tortured at the idea of being separated from everyone for whom he cared most.

"Sash," Birkoff chided, "you know that even if Skye skips two grades, that still wouldn’t put her in second grade. She’s only four. To be honest, I’m surprised they’re letting her into school at all."

"She’s damned smart, Daddy!" Sasha defended his beloved almost instinctively, tears suddenly flying from his eyes.

"Hey, kiddo! You don’t have to defend her to me! I know how smart she is!" Birkoff bit his lip, concerned that his son was reacting so emotionally to something so far beyond his power to control. It could only lead to heartache. As Birkoff himself well knew.

He sighed and made a decision. No matter how much Sasha tried to be grown-up, he was still a little boy. With all the insecurities a little boy has about his place in the world. He might hate him for it, but he was going to take a chance and go with his not-so-sterling judgment for once. "Sash," Birkoff called to his son, shortening his name affectionately.

That was Sasha’s undoing. Birkoff was there, and Sasha took full advantage. He wrapped his arms around his father’s middle and sobbed. "Do I hafta go to school, Daddy? Can’t I ju-just stay here? With you and Da?"

Birkoff bent his head and kissed Sasha’s silky hair. "I thought this was what you wanted, kiddo. You’re smart, Sash. You need to be challenged."

Sasha only sobbed harder and more brokenheartedly. "What if--"

"What if what, Sasha? What if what?"

Sasha buried his face against his father’s abdomen. "What if..." his voice trailed off to a mere whisper. "What if no one...likes me? What if no one...wants to be with me? Or they all make fun of me?"

Birkoff closed his eyes. Why did he have to be the one to field this particular problem? Declan would be so good at soothing Sasha’s hurt feelings, and somehow Sasha would come out of it feeling more confident about himself. Instead, Sasha opened up to Sey, who probably identified too strongly with Sasha’s feelings to be much good at counseling him.

He ran his hands through his son’s hair, wondering if he were really trying to make himself feel better, not Sasha. "Sasha," Sey began hesitantly. "I wish I could promise you that everyone will like you. Or that everyone will treat you with the respect you deserve. But I can’t."

Sasha hugged his father tighter in response to what he said. "But I’ll tell you one thing no one else can. I love you so much, it hurts me when you hurt. I can’t protect you from everyone who’s going to treat you badly, but I will always be here for you. Always. No matter what." Sey’s voice broke, and he sensed that he was not very far away from tears himself.

Sey wrapped his arms around his son, reluctant to let him go. If it were up to him, he would let Sasha stay home until he was emotionally able to deal with the outside world, but he knew in his heart that wouldn’t be good for either of them. He didn’t want to create an emotional cripple, like his parents had done with him. If it hadn’t been for Declan and the intervention of his love and empathy...well, he would still be wretched and unable to believe in himself.

As if his heart heard words his ears could not, Sasha clung to his father. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too, kiddo." I refuse to give up on you, and I won’t let you do it either. You’re too important to me.

When Declan came into the room, he noticed Sey’s somber demeanor as well as Sasha’s carefully hidden face. "Trouble?" he mouthed silently.

Giving Declan an imperceptible shake of his head, Sey said aloud, "Sasha and I were just--" Sey felt rather than saw Sasha react to the beginning of that sentence, and suddenly he realized just how important it might be to keep a secret right now.

His hand absently stroking Sasha’s cheek, Birkoff lied through his teeth to the man he loved to protect his son’s feelings. He hoped Declan would understand. If it were the other way around, he would. Or he liked to think so, anyway.

"Sasha and I," Sey glanced down at his son and smiled, "were just discussing the school uniforms. He’s kinda upset that he has to wear one, but I was explaining to him that, as these things go, it’s actually pretty attractive. In its own way, of course."

Declan raised an eyebrow at that. "Spoken like someone who never had to suffer through endless years in Catholic school."

Sey smiled. "Did they make you cut your hair, Dec?"

"Cut it? They whacked it off, huge bloody great gobs of it at a time! It was horrible!" Catching sight of Sasha’s wide eyes and spooked expression, Declan quickly recovered. "I mean, that was over twenty years ago. They don’t do that kind of thing anymore." Declan crossed his fingers behind his back, certain he was going to go to Hell for sure, telling all these lies.

"Besides, this isn’t a Catholic school," Birkoff added, reassuring Sasha.

Uncomfortable even telling such a white lie, Declan left hurriedly, leaving Sasha alone with his father again. Sasha lost no time in telling his father what he thought. "Boy, Dad, you lied to Da. For me."

The emphasis Sasha put on the word ‘me’ said it all, as far as Sey was concerned. No one had ever cared that much for the boy he claimed as son. Ever. Until Sey.

"I told you I’d take care of you, Sash," Sey said quietly. "I meant that." He kissed Sasha’s cheek. "But it would be better all around if we had these kinds of moments privately. So I wouldn’t have to lie to your Da."

"I know. I’m sorry ‘bout that, Dad." Still, his heart filled to overflowing with love and affection for the man who was instrumental in arranging his escape from Section. Sasha, looking worlds older than he really was, patted Birkoff’s arm, awash in consolation for his father.

"I don’t want you to be unhappy just so I can feel better, Dad. I know how much you love Da, and I don’t ever want to come between you like that."

"Sasha, you have absolutely no sense of how special you are yet, but maybe that’s a good thing. It’ll come with time. And enough love."

Sey surprised Sasha into a slight smile. "Thanks, Dad." Chuckling for no apparent reason, Sasha abruptly hugged his father fiercely. "I love you, Daddy."

Sey held those words close to his heart, hoping they would make him feel better about lying to Declan. When he left the room, he turned right in the hallway and ran smack into Declan’s chest. "Dec!" he exclaimed.

Declan braced a hand on each shoulder. For long moments, Declan just stared intently into Sey’s dark eyes, and Sey had to wonder just how much he’d overheard of his conversation with Sasha.

But like the caring father Sey knew Declan to be, he protected both his son’s and his partner’s feelings by referring to what he’d heard in the most oblique manner possible. "I do understand, acushla."

A moment later, he leaned forward to kiss Sey, his finger restlessly stroking the mouth he’d just caressed. "And I love you, too."

The night before the oldest children went off to school for the first time, no one slept much. Nikita belatedly realized that three of her four children were going to school at the same time, leaving only the baby, Luc, at home. That thought alone was enough to keep her up and pacing.

"This isn’t the way this is supposed to happen, Michael. Is it? I’m sure it isn’t." Nikita moved restlessly back and forth until Michael was certain she would wear a path in the carpet before morning came.

"Kita..." Michael reached out to grab Nikita’s shoulder, but she brushed right by him, barely noticing his outstretched hand. When he saw how preoccupied she was, he determined that he was going to have to resort to less subtle measures to attract her attention.

Standing directly in front of her, he forced his wife to come to a complete stop. For about five seconds. Before she changed course and began pacing in a totally different direction.

"Kita!" he said, a bit more forcefully. She continued to ask and answer her own questions until it threatened to drive Michael crazy.

"Nikita!" he shouted, using his best ‘Section’ voice. She blinked and stopped in her tracks. "What?"

His face softened as he took in her disheveled hair, her slapdash attempt at dressing, and her obvious angst. "Come here," he said, more gently, holding out his arms for her.

She didn’t need to be asked twice. She immediately found her favorite spot against his chest and lay her head on his shoulder. Her fingers touched each other as she clasped her hands around his neck. Moments later, Michael could feel her fingers threading their way through the long hair at the back of his neck. "They’re just babies, Michael," she whispered, clearly fighting tears.

"They’re growing up, Kita."

"Maybe we should keep Skye home another year," she pleaded.

Michael kissed her forehead, her temple and her cheek before sliding his face against hers. "There’s never going to be a good time to let them go, doucette."

"I know," she said hoarsely.

Michael sighed as he burrowed closer to her neck. "They’ll only be gone a few hours."

"It’ll seem like forever," she barely managed to choke out.

"I know."

She sniffled anxiously against his shoulder. "They won’t need me as much."

Michael wrapped his arms more tightly around her. "That’s part of growing up."

"It stinks," she replied bitterly.

She felt his head nod against her neck. "If it makes you feel any better, I’m going to miss them, too."

"Oh, Michael."

His breath rasped against her neck, and suddenly she realized that Michael was indeed having his own problems dealing with his children going off to school. "I didn’t know it would feel like this, Kita. I was excited for them, at first. They’re all so smart, so wide open to new things. I was even a little envious. But now..."

"It hurts," Nikita said with utter certainty.

"It hurts," Michael echoed.

Nikita wiped at her eyes and pulled back to look at Michael’s own distraught face. Caressing the side of his face with her fingertips, she said, "We can’t let them see how upset we are, Michael."

Michael agreed. "You’re right. We can’t expect them to be brave if we’re falling apart."

She smiled faintly. "At least we have each other."

Michael looked deeply into her eyes, knowing the love he saw there was reflected in his own eyes. "We’ll always have each other."

They kissed once, twice, a third time, their kisses bittersweet, tinged with a sadness they couldn’t quite shake. Michael tried valiantly to smile afterwards, but the effect fell far short of the desired result.

Nikita drew a shuddery breath and said, "Look at how spoiled little Luc is going to be, Michael."

As if to underline that very point, Luc began crying in the next room, undoubtedly hungry for his bottle. Michael looked at the half-open door and then back at Nikita. "Are you sorry you decided not to breast-feed this time, Kita?"

Amazingly enough, that produced a hearty blush. Nikita shook her head gingerly, refusing to look at Michael. "No..."

He laughed and kissed her ear, his lips lingering long enough to tug on her earlobe. "You think it’s a secret, doucette? You think I don’t know why you didn’t breast-feed?"

"I can’t breast-feed if I’m on the pi--" Nikita all but blurted out, coloring even more deeply once she realized what she said.

"You wanted to be able to make love with me as soon as possible," he whispered in her ear, chuckling at the hot color in her face.

"I’m not..." she sighed heavily, more with passion than with despair. "I’m not denying that, Michael."

"Let me take your mind off tomorrow, doucette," he entreated huskily, his teeth nipping gently at her earlobe.

"Umm...."

His hands slid inside her shirt, warming themselves on her breasts. He bent his head and licked the sharp points that peaked through the thin material, making twin wet spots on her shirt. For some reason, that aroused Nikita unbearably, and in turn, her gasp of surprised pleasure sent a heated arrow of sensation directly to Michael’s groin.

Her mouth flung wide open, she sagged backwards, but Michael caught her in his arms, his mouth taking full advantage of the access she granted. He tugged on her lower lip until he succeeded in bringing it inside his mouth to suckle. First gently, then more urgently.

When the baby cried again, Nikita pushed at Michael, breaking away with a soft exclamation. "I have...to...feed Luc..."

Michael’s eyes glowed a deep, almost iridescent green. "Don’t be gone...too long," he whispered.

She knew she was allowing herself to be seduced, but who better than her husband?

She heard the shower running when she padded softly back into the master bedroom. Clad only in an oversized white T- shirt and a pair of lacy pink panties, she crept slowly into the bathroom. Steam from the shower coated all of the mirrored surfaces in the room. Her presence went unnoticed by the occupant of the shower.

For almost a full minute, she stood there, transfixed, tracing the outline of her husband’s wet body with an outstretched hand. Without disrobing, she entered the shower, coming to a stop directly behind him. The noise of the shower made it all but impossible for Michael to hear her approach, but he had a sixth sense about Nikita.

His head whipped around, taking in the sight she made. Soaking wet cotton clinging to her curves, the material almost translucent over her breasts. Her long legs disappearing into the sodden pink lace that barely covered the dark blonde thatch. Droplets of water hung enticingly off the peaks of her erect nipples. She pulled her long pale hair back with her hands, thrusting her breasts into even greater relief, and Michael’s mouth went dry.

"So beautiful..."

Nikita smiled at the rapt expression her husband wore. She reached for the bottom of her T-shirt and tugged. The wet material was reluctant to leave Nikita’s body, but eventually, her breasts were exposed to Michael’s rapacious gaze. With a sigh, he nudged her legs apart with his knee, unconsciously rubbing that knee against the pink triangle covering the vee of her legs. Pressing her against the tiled wall of the shower, the forceful spray of the water beat down upon both of them, making their bodies slick and slippery.

When Michael leaned against her, Nikita could feel his arousal teasing her through the lace. Sliding his hand inside her barely-there panties, he cupped her femininity, making her arch wildly against his hand. Without even thinking about it, he snapped the thin material, discarding it with a careless wave. It fell to her feet in a soggy wad, which she kicked away delicately.

His mouth found hers, and their tongues mated seconds later. Eager to be inside her, Michael pulled her leg up, hooking it around his hip. He entered her almost roughly, but she was way ahead of him. She didn’t feel like being romanced gently, and she let him know it, meeting his thrusts enthusiastically.

Pushing into her repeatedly, he growled his pleasure against her ear, even as his chest abraded her nipples. She tried to stave off the wave of ecstasy that threatened to engulf her, but she was like tinder to Michael’s flame. A hiccup of sharp yet sensual noise escaped her throat, and Michael pushed himself harder. Into her waiting body.

She groaned loudly, foretelling her climax to come, and he latched onto her mouth, swallowing her groan as if it were something tangible. He tensed, feeling wave after wave of gentle throbbing surround his arousal, and with one long, deep exhalation, he came inside her. "Ohh..." he panted.

Holding onto his still-firm arousal, Nikita eyed her husband, whispering flirtatiously, "Are we done?"

Michael laughed, but his arousal protested leaving its warm, wet haven. "Maybe not..." He kissed her swollen mouth, running his tongue lightly over her upper lip.

"Mmm..." she moaned, licking the tip of his tongue before it left her lip. "We might run out of hot water before we’re really done."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Michael asked, rubbing his palms across her breasts until her nipples grew hard again.

"Umm...give me a moment, I seem to be...distracted," she said coyly.

Michael slid his hand between her legs, where they were still joined, and his arousal pulsed into life. He could feel the combination of the water and his own seed slickly coating both of them. Withdrawing from her, Michael turned Nikita away from him, pressing her against the ceramic tiled wall.

"Mmm...what are you doing?"

"Claiming all of you." His knee nudged her legs further apart, and he gently rubbed his arousal in the cleft between her buttocks. As Nikita gasped at the sensation, Michael dipped his fingers inside her, lubricating them with his spent seed. Gently prodding at her opening, he slid one finger inside. After a moment or two, he was able to slip another finger, then still another finger, into her narrow channel. When he felt that she was ready, he poised his arousal at the entrance to her track, wrapping his arms around her to hold her fast.

"Are you okay with this?" he whispered into her ear.

"Have I stopped you yet?" she replied pertly, leaning back over her shoulder to kiss him. Hard. Hungrily.

He slid his well-lubricated fingers over his length several times in preparation. At the same moment that he slid into her, slowly stretching the narrow channel, he bit her shoulder, knowing the momentary twinge would distract her from the initial pain of making love this way. By the time she recovered, he was well inside her, unmoving, waiting patiently for her body to adjust to him.

"Tell me if you want me to stop..." he whispered. His lips caressed the top of her shoulders as his hands slid down to the dark blond hair covering her femininity. Finding the tiny nub hidden within, he began to stroke her. Slowly. Teasingly. Making her ache. Making her move. All on her own.

When she arched into his palm, he pulled her back, very gently, forcing his arousal deeper inside her other opening. After several moments of tantalizing contact like this, he started to thrust a bit harder, but his hands never left their satisfying task of pleasuring her. When he sensed that he was about to come, he abruptly plunged a couple of wet fingers inside her core. Gasping at the sensation this produced, Nikita moved herself back and forth on his fingers, seeking release.

"Ohhh...Mi-chael...don’t you...dare st-stop..."

His fingers worked furiously to bring her closer to completion. He could feel the first tremors building inside her, and he struggled to hold himself back. The moment her climax burst upon her, he couldn’t keep from coming. Surging into her one last time, his hot, wet essence poured inside that narrow channel, filling it to overflowing. She twitched delicately against his fingers, and he kissed the nape of her neck. Gently removing himself from her body, he washed both of them quickly, hoping they had not seen the last of the hot water.

She turned around to face him, her face still flushed from their exertions, and leaned on him, quite bonelessly. "I don’t think I can stay on my feet for very much longer, Michael."

He kissed her gently, then nudged her mouth open with his tongue. She couldn’t help but respond. She loved to be kissed this way, and he knew it. But she was right about one thing. She wouldn’t be able to stand up beyond the next moment or two.

He caught her as she all but collapsed in his arms. "Mmm..." she sighed contentedly, "whatever did you do to me? I may not get out of bed for a week."

He slid his face against her hot cheek, pressing a kiss there. "If you don’t get out of bed for a week, you may never be able to walk again, love."

"Hmm...is that a promise or a threat?" she asked sleepily.

Michael picked her up and cradled her in his arms, her weight as nothing to him. "That’s definitely a promise, doucette."

She grinned, looking like the well-sated feline she so often resembled. "I’m going to hold you to it, Michael."

"Oh, I wish you would," he replied, running his hand down the length of her leg.

"I wish you would."

"It was a dark and stormy..."

"What is that supposed to be? The Great American Novel?" Declan snorted.

Birkoff gave him a look that could penetrate steel. "Excuse me? I am not American."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, I meant Canadian," Declan said silkily. Birkoff continued to glower. "Not that we’ve ever discussed my ethnic background before...yours is so much more...entertaining," Birkoff snapped back.

"Well, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning..." Declan insinuated, "...and it wasn’t me."

When Birkoff ignored him, Declan sipped cautiously at his coffee, suddenly uncertain if it was because it was too hot or because he suspected Sey of poisoning it.

"So what’s with the sudden interest in writing?" Declan inquired.

Birkoff sighed heavily and stopping attempting to type. The words were floating fuzzily before his eyes anyway. He had a bad case of eyestrain, no doubt from staring at the computer monitor all night long. He couldn’t sleep a wink last night, what with worrying about Sasha’s first day at school, though he wouldn’t tell Declan that. Hence, the pretense of trying to recreate what seemed to be a very bad novel.

"Do you have any idea how many of Michael’s books I’ve sold?"

Declan shrugged. "I dunno. A hundred?"

"Try 15,000."

Declan whistled. "You’re bloody kidding."

"It came out at Christmastime, which is a very big deal in the publishing trade, and it’s got legs. You know what that means, don’t you?"

Declan scrunched his face into an expression that was more comical than puzzled. "Sounds creepy," he said hesitantly.

"It means," Birkoff continued with a longsuffering look, "that it’s still selling well. Months after it came out. Just by word of mouth. I haven’t even tried to advertise the damn thing. It sells out every time I get a fresh shipment."

"Is there a point in all this, Sey?"

"Just that Michael could retire off the royalties, that’s all," Birkoff announced blithely.

Now Declan really was lost. "But Michael doesn’t work anyway. What would he retire from?"

"Jesus, Declan, can’t you hold a single train of thought long enough to come to a conclusion? Obviously, Michael’s writing career is going to rake in big bucks."

Declan narrowed his eyes. "So you thought you’d cash in by writing one of your own? That’s brilliant. Now why didn’t I think of that?"

"Probably cause you haven’t got any imagination," Birkoff sneered.

"Oh, right, us artistic types are well-known for being shit out of luck in that department," Declan quipped sarcastically.

Declan put his coffee down with a precision that was almost frightening. A moment later, he looked deep into Sey’s dark chocolate eyes and asked, "Why are you picking a fight with me? You’re trying to throw me off the scent of something else. Something important. It’s no bloody use, Sey. You might as well cut to the chase and be done with it."

Birkoff set his mouth mutinously, almost consciously clenching his teeth together in an effort to keep them from chattering. "I’m not keeping anything from you, Dec. I’m just tired. That’s all."

Declan nodded absently, but he didn’t believe a word of it. "Aye, you stayed up all night long."

Birkoff’s eyes widened. Declan laughed softly. "Did you think I didn’t know, Sey? I can’t freaking sleep when you’re not in bed. Unless I know where you are."

Birkoff stood up unsteadily, closing his eyes briefly. "I don’t want to fight with you, Declan. I don’t have the energy. Or the time. I have to get Sasha ready for school," Birkoff said dispiritedly.

Declan bit his lip anxiously. Sey looked terrible. "He’s been ready for hours, Sey. He couldn’t sleep either."

Birkoff tried to avoid making eye contact with his partner. It wasn’t fair. It just plain wasn’t fair. He always got caught in the emotional crossfire of things, while Declan got to be sane and rational. Just once, just once, he wanted to be the cool, calm, levelheaded one, and watch Declan fall apart at the emotional seams.

"Sey?"

Birkoff was holding on by a thread. If Declan so much as said a kind word to him, he was going to burst into tears. His nostrils flared. He was struggling...and he was bound to go under, sooner or later.

Declan put his hand on Birkoff’s shoulder, and Sey shuddered. "Is he dressed?"

"In his uniform? Aye, I showed him how to tie his tie, Sey. He looks so...grown-up," Declan said proudly.

"I wanted to do that," Birkoff shouted. "Why did you have to, Dec?"

Declan visibly reacted to Birkoff’s implied criticism. "I’m sorry, baby," he said apologetically. "I--"

Birkoff looked aghast. Turning pale, he ran for the bathroom and slammed the door. Declan heard the lock click and winced. He knew he could easily pick the lock or even break the door down if he needed to, but he wouldn’t do either of those things.

Sey was running on pure adrenaline now, and his stomach must have roiled at the thought of Sasha getting ready for his first day of school. Without him. How could he be so stupid? Declan cursed himself for almost rubbing Sey’s face in it.

On the other side of the door, Birkoff slid down to the floor, his back against the door, his legs stretched out in front of him. He buried his face in his hands, but he continued to fight for control. He couldn’t let Sasha leave without saying goodbye, and he didn’t want him to see him break down.

After a few moments, he took a deep breath and unlocked the door. He knew Declan would be on the other side, waiting patiently. He was. His pale grey eyes had darkened to dull pewter from sharing Sey’s pain. He didn’t say a word, he just held out his arms, and Sey walked into them, welcoming his support.

"I’m sorry--" they both chorused.

Declan shook his head. "I didn’t mean to take anything away from you, Sey. I swear it. I just saw how tired you were, and I thought it would be one less thing for you to have to face."

Sey buried his face against Declan’s neck with a sigh. "I wanted to face those things, Dec."

Sey reluctantly pushed himself away from Declan, and he made tearful but direct eye contact with his lover. "Please don’t take this wrong, Dec. I love how you want to protect me..."

"But?"

"But...do you know what it feels like to have everyone thinking you’re the helpless one?"

Declan looked like he’d been poleaxed. "I never saw it that way," he whispered.

Birkoff suddenly looked conflicted, as if he were afraid that Declan would doubt his love. "I love you, Dec, and I know you love me, too. It’s just--you don’t always let me stand on my own two feet."

He placed a trembling finger to Declan’s lips and caressed them softly. "I need you to be there, Dec. But not to fight my battles for me. For after...when I need help licking my wounds." He smiled faintly, abruptly thinking that his ‘war’ analogy was not too far afield at all.

Declan kissed Sey’s fingertip, reaching for the rest of his hand. When he grasped Sey’s hand, he brought the palm to his mouth and kissed that, too. "Do you know how brave you are, acushla? You told me, me of all people, to back off. I think you’re stronger than you bloody well think."

"Maybe I just like to live dangerously," Sey quipped with a crooked little smile.

"Would it offend your sense of valor if I kissed you?"

Sey’s smile lit up his entire face. "Declan, I live for your kisses."

"Good," he said softly, "cause we’ve got a kid who’s entirely too grown-up for his own good going off to school in a few minutes, and...well, let’s just say, he could use both his fathers."

"He’s got us."

"Lucky kid," added Declan, giving Sey a fervent kiss.

"Lucky us," added Sey with a knowing smile.