It was late, as Nikita walked through the darkness, slipping past the tombstones, gliding over the shadows that they cast. She silently approached the stone mausoleum, it's marble columns standing as guardians of the night. The door was slightly ajar, and Nikita entered, and lit a thick white candle that lay on the floor, just inside the entrance. As the flame cast it's glow on the walls of this house of the dead, Nikita noticed the stairs, and she strode down the steps into the underground chamber.

Darkness greeted her, and bathed her form in it's shadows. She heard the strike of a match, and she turned, the light from her candle commingling with the light of another. Michael emerged from behind the crypts and beckoned to her to approach. Nikita advanced slowly. She noticed that one of the crypts was open and she turned to stare at it in amazement. The crypt had been filled with water, and the faint smell of citrus wafted from the water filled chamber.

Michael silently positioned himself behind Nikita and placed his hands upon her weary shoulders, massaging them ever so gently. Nikita sighed, and allowed herself to relax as Michael kneaded the tension of the day away. As she leaned her body towards Michael he pulled her close, resting his chin on her shoulder and playfully nipping her ear. He raised Nikita's arms and slipped off her tank top. She turned to face Michael, and traced the muscles in his chest with her fingertips as she pulled his T-shirt from his pants and tugged it over his head.

The lovers reveled in each other's gaze as they stood toe to toe, each admiring how the sweat glistened on the other's skin in the candle light. Nikita unbuttoned Michael's pants, giving his growing manhood a playful tug. Michael laughed, as he stepped out of his pants. An impish grin on his face, he slipped his hands into Nikita's pants. Gripping the waistband, he slowly pulled them to the ground, following their descent with his body, his lips gently caressing the exposed skin on her legs.

Michael lifted Nikita onto the edge of the crypt, and quickly removed her pants and sandals. He massaged her feet and then placed his body between her long and shapely legs. Nikita smiled, she loved wrapping her legs around Michael, feeling his muscles flex, feeling his skin against her skin, his heat against her heat, his strength flowing into her as if they were one being.

Michael ran his fingers through Nikita's hair. He could think only about the warmth of her breath on his neck, of her tenderness as she kissed his shoulders, of the warmth of her legs wrapped around his torso, of her strength of character, that warmed his soul and set fire to his heart.

They stood there, enjoying each other, loving the way it felt, savoring the taste of each sweet kiss and caress, as it it were their last. Trying not to allow the reality of their existence to interfere with their intimacy.

Michael, finally broke their embrace, and lifted himself over the side of the crypt and into the water. He shivered, but enjoyed the coolness of the water as it lapped around him. He offered his hand to Nikita, as she slid off the side of the crypt and into his waiting arms. She knew the water was ice cold, but she did not care. For now, the crypt was the only bathtub that was available, and if the water wasn't tepid or full of bubbles, she did not mind. The only thing that was truly important, was that the crypt held her lover, he who made her heart race, he who knew the depth of her soul.

The cold water would not chill them, would not freeze them, and would not hamper their feelings for one another. Instead, the water surrounded them, caressed their bodies, and brought them closer, each needing the warmth of the other, each needing to feel the heat that radiated from the flesh, each needing to feel their desire for each other.

It was a moment in time when their hearts beat together, when their hearts beat the cold away, when their hearts drove away the harshness of the world. As they sank into the depths of the water, they washed away the death that clung to them, they washed away the deceptions, and they washed away the manipulations. As the layers of the Section peeled from their bodies and their souls, all that remained was the smell of renewal, the smell of arousal, and the smell of passion. In that moment in the den of death, the crypt offered life. And Michael and Nikita grasped this offer, each seeking fulfillment, each seeking redemption, as they embraced the dance of life.

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