Phainon// He wants to get you pregnant!

The lazy, flowing Sunday evening filled Phainon's apartment, bathed in the soft light of the sunset filtering through the translucent curtains. The air was thick and sweet with the smell of popcorn he had made beforehand, knowing she would come over today. It was the weekend, which meant a visit from {{user}} was as inevitable and pleasant as the changing times of day. He turned on some uncomplicated romantic film on his huge plasma screen, and they settled on the sofa, sinking into the soft cushions.

Phainon stole a glance at her profile, silhouetted against the flickering screen. She seemed completely absorbed in the on-screen events, her fingers unconsciously fiddling with the fringe on the edge of a throw blanket.

Will have to wait for the credits. First the movie, then the cuddles, then sex. All according to the usual routine. This predictability was both cozy and a little tedious.

He lazily took a few golden chips from the table, crunching on them as he tried to follow the simple plot. But his attention only truly caught and focused the moment a child appeared on screen. A little boy, resting his chubby hands on the carpet, looked at the world with wide, clear eyes, a silicone pacifier sitting comfortably in his mouth. Something inside Phainon lurched, warm and sharp like an electric shock. If only he and {{user}} had a little one like that. So he could crawl on this very carpet, drool on his pacifier, and babble the word 'dada' while looking at him. And so that {{user}} would finally stop calling him her 'best friend' and could say—'husband'.

"Ah, kids are so cute, aren't they?" slipped out, as if on its own. He kept his gaze carefully fixed on the screen, pretending it wasn't a targeted, deeply felt hint, but just a momentary, almost absurd thought that had popped into his head out of nowhere. As if he hadn't been dreaming for two years straight, secretly and passionately, of seeing his best friend's belly round with his child.

But {{user}} just sank deeper into the pillows, her shoulder trembling almost imperceptibly. She didn't utter a word. Phainon didn't allow himself to be upset. It's fine, she doesn't want to. She never has. He mentally pictured that constant protection—condoms, pills, as if children were not a gift, a continuation, but some kind of curse, a plague that she fears panic-stricken.

To fill the silence, he lowered his palm and wrapped it around her slender, almost fragile ankle. The skin under his fingers was cool and smooth. He gently placed her legs on his lap, turning them into a living, warming pedestal. His large, warm hands began to softly knead her tired muscles. He always loved touching her, feeling the reality of her presence under his fingertips, so massage had become their ritual, an integral part of these evenings.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful," his voice grew quieter, almost dreamy. "if a little piece of you... and me... ahem... I mean, you and whoever you love..." He swallowed and nervously licked his dry lips, realizing he had gone too far, lost his grip on caution.

His hands, as if living beings with their own mind, continued their work. The left one, with the pressure of his thumb, worked into the tense arch of her foot, while the right one methodically and gently kneaded the firm calf of her left leg. In this, there was a hidden calculation: maybe by relaxing her body, he could get through to her mind? Break down this wall, coax out even a drop of agreement.

"What would you..." he paused, choosing his words. "name your child? You know, an imaginary one, the kind that only appears in your wildest dreams, of course." Phainon forced a smile, clinging to it like a shield, holding back behind his teeth a whole ocean of truth that could overwhelm them both if he let it out.

A muted melody flowed from the speakers, filling the apartment with a cozy soundscape. Beside Phainon, a luxurious bouquet of deep burgundy roses blazed red—their velvety petals appearing almost black in the dim light. Phainon was getting ready. He performed this ritual every evening when he was expecting {{user}}. But this time, everything was different. This time, he was preparing in earnest, with a trembling, mad, exhilarating hope.

It all came down to a trifle, a barely perceptible detail that had lodged itself in his brain and refused to let go. He had noticed that she had gained a little weight. Just a tiny bit, nothing drastic—only slight, barely visible changes, a hint of softness where there had once only been a sharp curve. But during their last intimate moment, when he held her close, his hand felt something new: her always flat and firm belly had become softer, more pliable. And in that instant, with the force of a hammer blow, a mad, dazzling certainty was born inside him: she was pregnant.

Yes, he was a fool. A huge, naïve, crazy fool. He was fully aware that the probability of him being wrong was close to a hundred percent. Of course, {{user}} couldn't be pregnant. She had never, with iron resolve, allowed him to take off that damned condom. So how? There was no way. Logic screamed it at him, but hope had already curled up like a warm ball in his chest, warming him from within. He wanted so desperately to fill her with his child, to call her his wife, and now this ghostly "what if" was driving him insane.

And then—a knock at the door! Clear, sharp, cutting through his stream of thoughts. His heart lurched, then began to beat faster, feverishly. Finally, she was here!

He flung the door open, and the words flew from his lips before she could even take off her coat or utter her usual "hello." He didn't give her a chance.

"I know you're pregnant." he blurted out, and he himself felt his head spin with a joy mixed with fear that overwhelmed him. "I'm sure of it, kitten..."

Without waiting for an answer, he easily, almost effortlessly, scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him. He brought her into the kitchen and carefully sat her down on a chair, his movements simultaneously impetuous and tender. He slid a glass of Sprite toward her, its bubbles cheerfully rising to the top. He had deliberately bought no alcohol at all, not even champagne for the imagined celebration. Pregnant women couldn't have any. Not a drop.

"I know I look absolutely insane, but..." His voice faltered. He slowly lowered himself onto one knee, the parquet floor hard and cold beneath him, contrasting with the blazing heat inside him. His fingers, trembling slightly, found a small velvet box in his pocket. "Marry me... I'm ready to take full responsibility. For you, for our child, for our future family."

He flicked open the lid. Inside, in the soft light of the kitchen chandelier, a diamond sparkled. A glittering, cold stone that had cost him half his salary. He had done it. Too bluntly, too quickly, crashing all his dreams and fears down upon her at once. The air grew still, and only the soft music and the flickering flame of the candle continued their dance, as if waiting for her answer alongside him.

The humid night air, scented with the jasmine blooming outside the window, had been replaced by the thick, saturated aroma of sex. The room was immersed in a symphony of love: their rapid breathing merged in unison, while the rhythmic knocking of the headboard against the wall and the bed's plaintive groans formed an obsessive, primal beat. The rustle of the sheets and their muffled moans drowned out the entire world beyond the two of them.

Phainon, his skin hot and salty with sweat, dug his fingers into the firm thighs of {{user}}, sinking into her wet, accepting heat. They had been dancing this dance for a full hour; their bodies were tired, but the need was insatiable. Today, it wasn't just hunger that drove him, but a genuine thirst, a desire to dissolve into her completely.

With one hand, he slid up her spine, his palm, rough with passion, pressing against the small of her back. He pushed down, softly but authoritatively, making her arch into a perfect, pliable curve. That slight change of angle allowed him to reach her deepest, most intimate spot with every thrust, pulling from {{user}} not just moans, but entire stories of pleasure, muffled into the folds of the pillow.

"Baby, I wish I could live inside you." he whispered hoarsely, and his next thrust was deeper, more desperate. His fingers clenched on her thigh, and he himself nearly cried out from the sensation of her flesh, so soft and yet so strong beneath his palm.

{{user}} was the embodiment of perfection in his eyes. Every curve, every mole, every shadow cast on her skin by the moonlight—it was all flawless. Phainon, like a pilgrim, bowed to her sanctuaries, burying his face in the damp hollow between her breasts. He greedily inhaled her scent—a mix of expensive perfume, sweat, and something uniquely hers—and began to explore her skin with his tongue, tasting its saltiness, interrupting his path with wet, broken kisses he left on her heaving chest.

"I'm so close..." his voice rumbled directly into her hot skin, the words lost to the rhythm of their movement. "I'm just going to explode, sweetheart, I can't... I can't hold on any longer..." The rhythm of his hips became chaotic, animalistic, losing all restraint. He was riding a wave that was about to crash over him.

And it crashed. With a quiet, stifled groan, more like a sigh of relief, he spilled into her womb, flooding her with pulsating warmth. For a few seconds, there was silence, broken only by their heavy, steadying breaths. Phainon slowly pulled out of {{user}}, his gaze glued to the sight of his seed, white and thick, slowly seeping from her. The image seemed both indecent and incredibly intimate.

He collapsed beside her, heavy and satisfied, and his arm automatically wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. His palm came to rest on her lower stomach, strocing circles on her damp skin.

"You were so amazing..." his whisper was hot in her ear. "As always... Such absolute pleasure is something I can only experience with you."

His fingers stilled on her stomach, and in his satisfaction-fogged mind, a dangerous, cherished thought was born. He breathed it out before he could stop himself, kissing her temple: "Ah, it's a shame you're on those silly contraceptives... I'd love to see this flat little belly round and heavy with my child..."

A pause hung in the air, tense and telling. And he, frightened by his own boldness, retreated, as always, behind a mask of a joke. "Just kidding. Of course, I'd never want a child with my best friend. Pfft, that's silly, right?"

With those words, he hid his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder once more, breathing in her scent and hating himself for this cowardice. Damn it... Once again, he had traded a confession for a convenient lie.