Barry switches off the bedside lamp and crawls under the covers to join Iris in bed, the sheets crisp and cool beneath his skin, soon to be warmed by the two of them joining. Even in the darkness, he can make out his wife's naked collar, as well as the features of her exquisite face, the only parts of her exposed. The rest of her bareness is carefully tucked away beneath the blanket.
He inhales sharply, the weight of the situation suddenly overwhelming.
"You ready?" Barry asks Iris softly, though his pulse sounds in his ears. A brief memory of the first time he and Iris slept together flashes in his mind, how eerily reminiscent it was of the present moment.
While she does smile affirmatively, Barry notices she clutches the covers closer to her chest. It hits him then that she's likely just as nervous as he is, contemplating the same things he is-wondering if this will work on the first try, if it will work after many tries-concerned that she may be the problem if it doesn't.
He hates when she's even the slightest bit troubled, so he does what he does best: put himself aside for her.
He bends to press his lips to one shoulder, reaching over to gently caress the other.
"It's going to be okay, Iris," he coaxes, massaging her back with tender palms. "This is what we want, right?"
Iris edges closer to him, loosening in between his hands, and Barry himself eases in return.
"It's all I want," Iris whispers. "A family with you."
She shimmies lightly out of the blanket until it slips further down her chest, revealing her breasts. Barry thinks of their children finding nurture and haven in her body, and before he knows it, he's throbbing.
He twists himself so that he tops her, leaning down to touch his mouth to hers. This was it-their attempt to create life.
"You think it'll be a boy or a girl?" he murmurs, stroking her face while she opens to him.
"Hmmm," Iris ponders, eyes closing as he relaxes into her. He pauses briefly to let her bask in their contact.
"A son with your eyes," she finally breathes, her own pupils shining at the extent of her grin.
Certainly, a boy would be a delight, Barry considers, but not the only delight.
"A little girl," he adds, interlacing his fingers with Iris's, his face stretching into a smile of his own at the image: "A little girl just like you."