Scattered across the floor are photographs.

She's on her knees, labelling, sorting and, as he strokes her thigh, he teases her for being so organized.

She slaps his wandering hands; demands he behave otherwise she'll never finish so, with a faux frown, he threatens to leave her for someone less obsessed with filing.

It earns him another slap and he grins, pushing her down on top of the photographs, fingers probing between her legs. She whimpers and promptly surrenders, allowing him inside, matching his thrusts with her hips.

Ten minutes later, sweaty and sated, they sort the crumpled photographs together.