Set sometime between seasons 1 and 2. Mikita cuteness, because I feel like I write a lot of angst.

"Need help?" Michael couldn't tell if Nikita was making fun of him or not. His green eyes connected with her brown through the bathroom mirror. Although she was smirking at him, concern flashed in her gaze. He had been injured on their latest op. Nothing too serious, but his right arm was immobilized by a sling. They had the time and security to lay low in a hotel room until their next mission. It gave him a moment to rest and heal. However, he wasn't a fan of the shaggy appearance he had acquired during that time. There was nothing he could do about his hair (besides, Nikita had made comments about how she liked it a little longer), but he could at least attempt to trim his beard- attempt being the operative word.

"You don't know how to shave," Rolling his eyes, Michael tried to refocus on his task. Shaving with his left hand wasn't impossible, but it was difficult. He could barely manage a clear and complete stroke. Nikita stifled her laughter behind him. She stepped further into the bathroom, coming up behind him and invading his space. Her chin rested on his uninjured shoulder, and her arms wrapped around his waist. He sighed. She just wasn't going to give up. He had to put down the razor and give her his attention.

"I shave my legs all the time," With a proud grin, Nikita husked into his ear. Her weight was pressed into his back as she tried to steady herself. She had to stand on the balls of her feet to manage the position. Michael was tempted to push against the sink and make her stumble back. But her arms cinched tighter around him; if she fell, so did he. He'd just have to tease her with words instead of action.

"You nick your legs all the time," It was his turn to smirk. Twisting in her arms, Michael pulled Nikita closer to him. She fell to her heels, yet that didn't wipe away her grin. She didn't mind the dig at how quickly and carelessly she shaved her legs, not as long as she was pressed up against him. They were careful of his injured arm, resting against the sink counter with their legs entwined. Since being on the run from Division, the couple had had many moments like that one- moments where they could be silly, light, and free. It was a blessing amidst all the craziness.

Shifting slightly, Nikita reached behind Michael. Just because she was in his warm hold, didn't mean her mission was complete. She grabbed for the discarded razor, and walked her boyfriend to the toilet. Although he seemed confused by her actions, he was captivated by the adoring look in her eyes. He couldn't look away, nor could he stop her. She gently nudged him to sit on the toilet seat, and straddled his thigh. Before he could finally ask what she was up to, she waved the razor in front of his face. While he scoffed in disbelief, she beamed, "So. You're a teacher. Teach me."

He begrudgingly had to as she began to shave his face. Her touch was far lighter than it needed to be, and he had to softly tell her it was okay to press harder. Nikita was completely concentrated on her task. Michael wasn't sure if it was to prove him wrong, or to ensure she didn't actually cut him. Either way, her focused expression was absolutely adorable. He couldn't help but run his good hand along her side, as he instructed her on what to do. Fortunately for the both of them, she was simply trimming his beard; any mistakes while shaving would be alright. It also didn't take her that long. She dropped the razor on the counter, triumphantly. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he excitedly pulled her in closer, "Hey! Good job. No blood. And, well, kinda perfectly trimmed. But it's great for now."

"Do I get a prize?" She wiggled in his grasp. Michael laughed, and praised her some more- even throwing in a 'gold star'. Nikita's smile was brilliant. She reached for some soap to wash his face, like she had seen him do after shaving, happily accepting every compliment. He felt his heart soar as she helped to take care of him. There was something so warm and domestic about it, that he couldn't stop gazing at her dreamily. He quickly became lost to the wonderful moment. She had to snap him out of it, leaning ever so close to his lips, "Mhmm. I was thinking something better than that."

"You deserve it. You didn't make a sarcastic comment the entire time," Michael muttered, slipping a hand under her tee-shirt. Nikita discarded the soap and washcloth, and twisted her fingers through his growing dark locks. As a recruit, she had bit back at him everytime he tried to teach her something. Things were drastically different between the couple then, though, she did still tease him. But she also started to take his advice and listen to him, just as he started to open up his heart to her.

They kissed slowly and tenderly. Michael trailed his fingers along her warm skin, trying to worship all of her with only one hand. Nikita rubbed soothing circles at the nap of his neck, and readjusted her stance between his legs. The couple should probably move out of the bathroom. Lovingly making out while he was sitting on top of the toilet seat wasn't the most romantic thing. Except, they were content with where they were. Their kisses were languid and soft, as well as their touches. Comfort and love were passed between lips and fingertips. Yet, eventually, she broke from the kiss to press her forehead against his and breathe, "Am I your number one student?"

Michael laughed brightly. He kissed her more passionately that time, getting to his feet. Once again, Nikita was walking her boyfriend somewhere. He knew where they were going, and helped her stumble back into the hotel room. They weren't as quick as they usually were when they had the same thought of going to bed together. But concerning his injury, they had to be careful. He sat on the edge of the mattress, and she sat in his lap. Her hips were tortuously slow as they began to roll. He held securely to her waist with his uninjured arm, ensuring they both stayed steady. She trailed kisses along the jaw she had just shaved, and he whispered hotly against her neck, "You're my number one everything."

Nikita paused. She pulled away from Michael to stare at him in awe. He simply beamed at her, tracing his fingers along her spine. She had to have known that. His feelings for her were practically on his sleeve since they had first solidified their relationship. He loved her and cared for her more than he had ever thought possible. Whereas she was aware of that fact, being reminded of it simply made her heart stop. It was overwhelming, the love that was shared between them. She could barely respond, "How do you always know what to say?"

"Because it's you," Sincerity filled Michael's green eyes. He was almost always serious. In the world of conspiracies and espionage they lived in, taking things seriously kept him alive. But expressing his emotions was different. That kind of seriousness came from his heart. He wanted his meaning to be absolutely clear and precise. There was no room for misunderstanding; she had to know how he felt. Judging by the bright gleam in her golden-brown eyes, she understood him completely.

"Fucking asshole," But instead of responding in kind, Nikita cursed at him. Of course she felt the same; her words just never came out right. The phrases either got stuck in her throat, or it spilled out in a quip. So, she decided that action was best to express what was in her heart. She surged forward, kissing him fiercely. Michael chuckled into the affection, and gently pulled her with him as he laid back. His arm in the sling made settling on the bed difficult. Both wanted to be flush against one another, feel every single inch of their heated bodies. They could work with what they had, though. The two always managed to.

Their hips moved against each other, stirring hot friction between their jeans. Her hands were able to touch and caress more than his, but she wasn't as frustrated by it as he was. Trying to take off her shirt by himself was impossible. He gathered the fabric in his good hand, and attempted to pull it over her head. Nikita helped him, ripping off her bra as well. Michael's frustrations melted, and he excitedly explored her exposed bronze skin. She moaned and gasped into their kisses, hips snapping more feverishly as he massaged her breasts.

The damn sling became a problem again when she wanted to remove his shirt. In order to heal, his arm had to stay as stable as possible- especially while they were being so active. So it had to stay on, along with his tee. Nikita compromised by pulling the fabric up as much as she could, before working on the fly of his pants. Her kisses slipped past his lips to his cheek, jaw, and neck. Michael's hips thrusted upwards, needing more friction. She actually gave in to his silent demand, sliding her hand through his open fly. She grabbed him, and he moaned.

Her smirk told him everything he needed to know: she was going to work him up until he was a moaning mess. As enjoyable as that would be, he didn't want to take all the pleasure for himself. Michael began to kiss and nip along her collarbone and chest, trailing down towards her breasts. Nikita moaned, and tightened her grip. He knew it would be useless to try to take off her jeans with one hand, but he could at least tug at the waistband. She caught the hint, yet she wanted to continue what they were doing for a little while longer. Until it was too much- until the movements of their hips had her dying to feel more.

She yanked off her pants and underwear, and helped him with his. Sitting up on the bed, Michael moved to pull his girlfriend back to him. However, Nikita was leaving his side with a wink. She was only retrieving a condom, but he stared after her with complete adoration in his gaze. She caught the look, and blushed. He didn't mean to laugh at her. It wasn't ridiculous or hysterical. She was just adorable. Despite all of her confidence and self-assurity, his devotion for her really affected her. He smiled at her. She rolled her eyes. As she settled down in his lap again, he kissed her tenderly and thoroughly. The world melted away to the kiss. Soon, she helped him roll the protection in place.

Months together hadn't diminished the spark the couple felt when they came together. He slid inside her, and both had to take a moment to breathe and moan. Once their hips began to thrust, they moved as one. Michael and Nikita had always been excellent at reading each other's minds and actions out in the field. Yet in the bedroom, it was unparalleled. Maybe because they let their hearts and bodies guide them. They listened for pleasured gasps and moans, and felt for quick heartbeats and feverish kisses. The couple was thrusting fast and hard, but their touches remained soft and tender. They combined love and compassion into their tantalizing movements. It didn't take long for it to consume them.

A mess of jumbled curses, moans, thrusts, and kisses, had Nikita and Michael nearing their peak. Their minds and bodies were numb to anything other than the pleasure they were experiencing. All that mattered was the snapping hips, affectionate lips, and wandering hands. Excited caresses eventually sent them over the edge, soaring through their high. The couple gasped into a kiss, holding tightly to one another. They caught each other as they fell, and helped to soothe and settle racing hearts and panted breath. Their kisses and touches slowed in fever, but they didn't stop. Michael and Nikita didn't think they could ever stop loving each other. It was as natural as breathing.