our little secret.

pro re nata: literally, "as the circumstance arises"; in medical terminology, it refers to the administration of prescribed medication as the situation calls for it

“Do you want to put something on?” Samira asks. She cants her head in the direction of the TV, exposing the long line of her neck. His mouth falls there on instinct, some base level functionality intact even as the rest of his cognition is molded by alarm.

In answer, he makes a noise of protest against her skin. He doesn’t want to escape to another universe; he wants to be present in this one, just without the pyrotechnics, and his arms unconsciously coil tighter around her waist. 

“Or,” she adds, wising up quickly, “do you want a distraction?”

Jack swallows. “Yeah.”

If he must hear, let him at least hear something good. 

“Yeah? How do you want it?”

Surrounded by her. Immersed in her. Subsumed, dampened in every meaning of the word.

“Want you to sit on my face,” he says gruffly.

—

"Wellsy... Thank you." "It's just a sandwich." "Still. Thank you."

The wildness of that howling wind called to her, seemed to whisper in her ear, "No more! No more! You are a woman of desire." She listened to the voice and knew what she had to do, even if it meant risking everything. From now on, she would live like blazes.