“It’ll be okay,” she soothed. “This baby is gonna be just fine.”
Bjorn nodded tightly as Dr. Lee stepped in the room with a smile.
“Okay people, I think we’re ready to get this show on the road. Let’s get little Thomas out into the world where he belongs.” He said.
“Amen to that,” Samara said and went to put her feet in the stirrups.
Bjorn fainted.
Bjorn and Samara spent their first night in their new home on the floor, Jan's crib tucked into the corner of the living room with the fire at their head, crickle crackling and snapping.
"Awfully romantic," Samara commented, clinking her first glass of wine in months with Bjorn's, then taking a long sip. They were sitting on a square of three blankets in front of the fireplace, pillows scattered around the edges of their "bed", bare, cold hardwood flooring around them. "In a Benjamin Button kinda way, when they had no furniture."
"We'll get some. The Joneses LA is delivering everything tomorrow and I got you a magnificent California king. You still have to pick and choose the rest of the stuff that suits your taste."
"Don't remind me. I still have baby brain; I don’t think I can think."
"We’ll have Inga do it then," Bjorn said sensibly, grinning at the incredulous look Samara sent him. "Or Alison."
Samara rolled her eyes. "You know, it's your house too; you could do it." She drank some more before she set her glass down and smirked at Bjorn, inching her legs out wider and settling back on the flats of her palms. "You ever heard the superstitions about christening a new place?"
Bjorn regarded her, took another sip of beer. "All the doors are locked, nothing and nobody is getting in here."
Samara shifted forward, walking on her knees until she was up in Bjorn's face. "Wouldn't be so sure, Bjorn." Samara kissed him, hardest kiss in weeks. Bjorn set his glass behind him and cradled Samara's face in his hands, pushing into the kiss with a hungry sound. When Samara moved closer, Bjorn rubbed his palms down her sides, her hips, then brought Samara into his lap. Warm, solid weight settled against him, the smell of sweet arousal in the air. Samara broke the kiss to look over at the crib, but Bjorn brought her face back.
"It is okay. He's okay, Samara. He's perfect. Let me, God, please let me," Bjorn buried his face in Samara's neck, hands mapping her back, the curve of her ass. "Need you. Need to show you."
Samara knocked her cheek into Bjorn's hair and sighed. "I’m not... haven't been taking the pill."
Bjorn looked at her, and though it burned his lips, Bjorn said, "I can pull out. Or, or, probably a condom in my wallet, I can go get one."
Samara looked back at him, expression tilting between even and... sad? Bjorn swallowed and frowned. "What's wrong?"
Samara kept the eye contact a bit longer, then sighed and looked away, teeth catching her lip.
"What?" Bjorn asked again, soft as the fire's glow over their skin. "Samara?"
Samara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I was hopin' that... maybe you'd want to uh, maybe you'd want." Samara stopped and shook her head with a frustrated sound. "I don't know why, but since Jan I've been feeling kinda like, I'm empty? Maybe it's 'cause of postpartum or something but I've been thinking that, you said that you wanted more kids, so—goddamit, Bjorn, I can't do this."
Samara moved to extract herself from Bjorn's lap but Bjorn banded his arms around her and kept her right there. "Don't you dare," he whispered harshly. "Don't you dare fuckin' move."
"I—"
"Jesus—Christ—" Bjorn leaned them down, put Samara on the blankets and covered her hot, consuming hunger need blooming with sharp petals. Bjorn's frantic hands snap Samara's shirt buttons and they pinged around them. Samara groaned and bent her legs, thighs drawing in around Bjorn's body. "Bjorn, I want another baby," she whispered.
“Okay, but first you have to marry me.” He replied.
The end.