Disclaimer:     I don't own characters. I don't own Witchblade. I do own plot. Really. Summary:     Just a cute little scene between two people . . . two very familiar people . . . Author's Note:     This is my first solo story. Please let me know what you think, what you liked, and tell me if there's anything you think I should improve! Thanks! LOVE'S INTERLUDE

Sara turned over sleepily, waking fully when she realized that the other side of the bed was empty and cold. She slid out from under the sheets, slipping on the silk shirt that was draped across the back of the chair beside the bed. Relishing the feel of the silk against her bare skin, she moved into the kitchen, fastening the first few buttons. Ian stood at the stove, managing several pans of delicious-looking food. Sara slid her arms around his waist, and he turned to embrace her, not once looking behind him at the stove as he reached for a spatula and flipped the pancake that occupied one pan. Sara pulled away from him a little.

"How do you do that?" she asked.

"Practice," came his enigmatic reply. She rolled her eyes, and her arms went around his neck as their lips touched, softly at first, then more passionately. As the fiery exchange came to an end, she backed away, out of his reach. Grinning slyly, she unbuttoned the shirt and let it fall to the floor as she turned and walked, hips swaying seductively from side to side, into the bedroom, leaving Ian standing alone by the stove, mesmerized.

"I guess that means breakfast in bed, then," he said. He received no reply. He quickly piled the pancakes, hash browns, and scrambled eggs onto a single plate, grabbing the toast that popped up in the toaster as he passed. Upon entering the bedroom, his gaze was immediately drawn to the bed, where Sara lay, clad only in a black silk negligee. He one-handedly pulled off the boxers and tank top he'd thrown on earlier and slid beneath the sheets, balancing the plate of food. Eyes dancing, Sara moved so that she straddled him, lowering herself so that her torso lay comfortably atop his. She rested her chin on her arms as she crossed them over his chest.

Glancing over at the plate of mouth-watering food, she said, "You forgot something."

He followed her gaze. "As I recall, you didn't need a fork yesterday."

Her eyebrow rose. "Mmm, that's right," she mused. "I didn't, did I?"

"So why would you need one today?"

"You're right. Again. To hell with the fork."


Three hours later, they'd finished feeding each other--sans fork--and were fast asleep, satiated from their "activities". Sara lay with her head on Ian's chest, her right hand curled beside her face, over his heart. Out of reflex, Ian's hand moved to stroke Sara's hair gently, his fingers twining in her silky chestnut locks.

And the two lovers slept on peacefully, their two hearts beating as one.

On Sara's right wrist, the Witchblade glowed softly, casting pale red light over the Wielder and her Protector.

The Witchblade hummed happily as she searched her Wielder's still form, finding the tiny, new third life, as yet still undiscovered by her parents.

The next Wielder.

--The End--