You are NOT going back ... or having kids. Which is a problem.

The two of you pant for breath as you both lay face-up on the floor next to each other, hands tangled to keep touching even as you both recover.

“That,” you pant out steadily, “was so fucking good.”

“Best!” he answers, also exhausted. You look at him to find him grinning broadly and you return it, squeezing his hand.

“We have to find out how to keep me like this,” you tell him, still grinning stupidly. “It feels so RIGHT, and I NEVER came like that before! I mean, biology, but I also mean letting loose like that. This is so … comfy.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. Of course not,” you admit more seriously. “But … I am. Like, I need to think this over. But the window is so small to lock this down. If I need to chase this afterwards, it’s so much money and paperwork. I can’t fucking afford that, I barely even have a job! I … I want to do it now. While the iron’s hot.”

“Whatever, I’m with it,” he answers after a few seconds, nodding. “Do you want to start on that, or …” You bite your lip. You ARE frankly ready to go again already, as you can see he’s already recovering, too. But solving the problem is so pressing, two days isn’t a lot of time.