"I don't recall you saying this was part of the plan," Iris huffs, palming the cool tile of the bathroom wall and spreading her knees apart.

Behind her, Barry works to lift the skirts of her dress.

"Yeah, well, my plan wasn't just about finding this Rag Doll guy," Barry manages through his concentrated efforts. "It was also about making you feel better. Your investigative skills haven't deduced that yet?"

Iris shudders as the air strikes the skin of her exposed legs.

"I think this is about making you feel better," she expels heartily.

"Help me out here," Barry chuckles. She relieves him of fistfuls of red silk, gathering the entirety of her gown's train into a single bunch and pulling it toward her front so as not to sweep the floor.

With his belt finally loosened, Barry's trousers slip down his thighs. He frees his cock with one hand and tugs her thong aside with the other, enjoying the motions of her bare ass as she steps out of her heels and kicks them aside for comfort.

"Alright, let's see if you can make me feel better," Iris murmurs, closing her eyes as he inches into her, aware despite her sass that only his touch could be desperate relief from Nora, from the future, from everything in a way that no intriguing case or fancy gala could ever be.

"I just couldn't help myself, Iris," Barry breathes against her back, burying his face in her hair as his thrusts rock her, and Iris figures there's more to this than a wild urge, knows he's also struggling with their daughter and his impending disappearance down the line.

"I'm glad you couldn't," she whispers in earnest, meaning it, and she pushes back into him, reciprocating whatever he offers, even reaching behind her to take his hands and dip them into the neckline of her dress, the repose with which he squeezes each breast contrasting his frantic plunges into her.

The bliss that eventually stuns her is so great that she lets her dress drop, dust on the floor be damned. Her skirt pools outward, concealing them as Barry continues his quest for his own release beneath it, his jerks more and more agitated until she herself also senses his spasms and spurts within her.

Several minutes of heavy gasps pass before their panting tames enough for the buzz of the gala attendees outside to be audible again, like an abrupt fall from their high to face reality again.

"I don't wanna ruin your dress," Barry remarks in a voice too soft for what just ensued, sweeping her frizzed locks aside to press a tender kiss to her nape of her neck, his way of easing her back to earth, as though he can discern she isn't ready to return.

Nonetheless, Iris sighs, hiking her dress up once more for Barry to detach himself from her, taking care not to drip onto the red cloth. They reach for the paper towel dispenser and clean themselves off as best as they can, each of them straightening up the other, Iris adjusting Barry's bowtie and Barry combing gentle fingers through her hair.

Barry takes her hand in his just before unlocking the bathroom door to step outside, his resolve seemingly renewed after their sex, gazing down at her to gauge her disposition. She hopes to convey that she appreciates what he's done for her and how he's stood by her despite the turbulence it introduced into his relationship with Nora, who he may never have the chance to bond with again. Iris nearly tears up again at the thought of her daughter-how much she already loved her after a few weeks, how that love was rejected as of now, how it could be accepted and matched if it could.

Barry's tight grip on her palm is the prompt she needs however, a reminder of the numerous times he came back to her despite the looming odds he would never. It's the symbol of hope she needs looking forward, a promise that what's broken can be mended, what's lost can be found, and she squeezes him back with greater vigor, letting optimism take over for the first time since the night Nora left.