The permission broke something loose.

I thrust once more, burying myself completely, and came with a force that obliterated thought. The release tore through me in relentless pulses, each one feeling like it would never end, filling the condom past any reasonable capacity. Sloane held me through every second of it, her fingers tangled in my hair, my name falling from her lips in soft repetition, her body still trembling beneath mine from the aftershocks of her own climax.

When reality finally reassembled itself around me, I was collapsed against her, both of us gasping for air like we’d been drowning.

"That was." Sloane’s voice came out barely audible. "That was worth nine years."

"Only nine years?" I managed to lift my head enough to look at her properly, grinning despite my complete lack of remaining motor function. "I was shooting for at least a decade of pent-up satisfaction."

"Shut up." She pulled me down into a kiss that was slow and unhurried and absolutely perfect in every way that counted. "Just stay like this. Don’t move yet."

"I’m still inside you."

"I know." Her internal muscles clenched around me, a reflexive squeeze that dragged matching sounds of overstimulation from both of us. "I like it."

"I need to pull out before this turns into a logistical nightmare."

"Fine." She actually pouted. Sloane Fitzgerald, who once told a pro Hero to eat shit during a demonstration bout, was pouting because I was suggesting we separate. "But be careful."

I started to withdraw, slow and deliberate.

Then immediately encountered a problem.

"Nngh." Sloane made a small sound of discomfort, her brow furrowing. "Something’s wrong."

"What?" I looked down and the issue became instantly, spectacularly clear. The condom, stretched beyond its design specifications and filled to capacity with what felt like a genuinely unreasonable amount of cum, had remained inside her when I pulled back. Her body had clamped down so tightly during her orgasm that the latex had effectively vacuum-sealed itself in place, held by the combination of pressure and her still-contracting walls. "Oh."

"Oh? What do you mean oh?" Sloane tried to sit up and immediately fell back against the pillows, her legs still shaking too much to support her. "Lukas, what’s happening?"

"The condom’s still in you."

"WHAT?"

"It’s fine, just hold still." I reached down, fingertips brushing the edge of latex that had somehow remained lodged inside her. The extraction required a level of patience I hadn’t anticipated, made more complicated by the fact that she was still incredibly tight and the amount of cum threatening to spill out was bordering on absurd. I worked carefully, feeling her internal muscles flutter and clench around my fingers as I finally managed to retrieve the thoroughly filled latex.

"Haaahh." Sloane’s face was crimson, her breathing still unsteady as I held up the evidence of exactly how thoroughly I’d filled her. The condom was stretched taut, heavy with the sheer volume it contained. "That’s, nngh, that’s embarrassing."

"It’s hot." I examined the condom with deliberate appreciation before tying it off with a neat knot, making absolutely certain nothing escaped, then set it on her nightstand with the kind of ceremony usually reserved for trophies. "One."

Sloane blinked at me, her expression caught somewhere between exhausted satisfaction and dawning realization. "One?"

"One condom." I leaned down and kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, savoring the way her breath hitched despite her obvious exhaustion. "We’ve got a whole night ahead of us, Fitzgerald. I brought extras."

Her eyes went wide, pupils dilating as the implication registered fully. "You can’t be serious."

"Deadly serious." I settled beside her, pulling her into my arms, letting her head rest against my chest as our heart rates gradually returned to normal. "You said you wanted me to make you forget. One round isn’t going to cut it."

"I can barely feel my legs right now."

"Perfect." I traced lazy patterns along her spine, feeling the way her muscles twitched under my touch. "You’re not going to need them for the next few things I’ve got planned."

"Lukas." She was attempting stern. The breathless quality of her voice undermined the authority somewhat. "We’ve got class in the morning. Like, actual class. That we’re supposed to attend."

"We’re class representatives now," I pointed out reasonably. "If we show up looking exhausted and thoroughly debauched, it just adds to our mystique. People respect that kind of dedication."

Her laugh started as a huff of disbelief. "That’s absolutely not how being a class representative is supposed to work."

"It’s exactly how it works when I’m the one representing the class." I could feel her smile against my chest, the curve of it pressing into my skin. "I’m setting new precedent. Breaking new ground. Revolutionary leadership tactics."

The laugh that followed was genuine. Real. The kind of sound that started deep in her chest and worked its way through her whole body, vibrating against me in a way that made the bond pulse with warmth. With satisfaction. With something that felt dangerously close to actual contentment settling into the spaces between us.

The Oracle Feed remained quiet. No notifications. No gauge updates. No System commentary on the tactical implications of fucking my first girlfriend so thoroughly that she temporarily lost the ability to walk. For once, the interface seemed content to let me have this moment without editorial intervention.

Or maybe it was just giving me time to recover before the inevitable notification about Felicity’s gauge advancement or Petra’s complicated emotional state or whatever new chaos tomorrow would bring.

Either way, I’d take it.

"Lukas." Sloane’s voice was getting drowsy, her body melting against mine in that post-orgasm way that suggested she was about five minutes from passing out. "I’m still, hahh, I’m still mad about the vanilla."

"I know."

"You’re going to have to make it up to me."

"I plan to." I kissed the top of her head. "Multiple times. Starting in about twenty minutes when you’ve recovered enough for round two."

"That’s, nngh, that’s assuming I recover."

"You will." I pulled the blankets over both of us. "You’re Sloane Fitzgerald. You recover from everything."

"Except you." Her voice was barely a whisper now, sleep pulling at the edges. "I don’t think I’ll ever recover from you."

"Good." I held her tighter. "I don’t want you to."