It was still early, but Pete and Claudia would probably be up soon. Rushing to open the pile of presents underneath the tree at the B&B like a pair of kids on, well… Christmas morning. Myka, however, was perfectly content to stay in bed a while longer – what with the warm, soft, Victorian inventor currently curled up against her, using Myka's chest as a pillow.

"We should make this a tradition," Myka mused, running a hand through H.G.'s hair. A few pieces of tinsel from the night before were still stuck in it.

"That would imply we only get to do this once a year," Helena toyed, peering up at her.

"An every day tradition," Myka corrected, rolling over so that she was on top, now – straddling H.G. and kissing a slow line down her neck, then up and over the rise of her breasts. Teasing her nipples into perk peaks. "A multiple-times-a-day tradition," she added. She'd never get tired of the way H.G. arched into her with a quiet, begging moan, whenever she ran her tongue right there. Or the louder, more urgent sounds that escaped her when Myka's fingers sought out a lower, wetter territory and began to draw out every little shudder and gasp she could.

Elsewhere in the B&B, there were doors opening, and footsteps padding down the stairs to the living room. Myka would join them in a moment. She just had something of her own to unravel again, first.