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Most of his friends had stories about making love with only the Christmas tree lights on, about how it made things magic. Finn had done the Christmas light thing, it was nothing compared to what he had now. Making love with John in the light of just a few small candles was where the real magic was. It was the third night of Hanukkah, the second night of Kwanzaa, and the only light in the apartment came from the menorah and and the kinara on the window sills. And it was a sin what those holy lights did to John. Turned a scrawny, old, white cop into an otherworldly temptation Finn made no effort to resist. The golden glow caressed John's pale skin, softening the harshness of age without removing it. Every year when John was saying the traditional words over his candles, Finn was making a prayer of his own. Every year he asked for a miracle to match the one John was celebrating: he wanted the last year of love and life with John to last for eight.