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It took a few moments of rest (if Jack’s lazy, breathless kisses, slow across her throat, could ever be called that) for Samira to pull her sated limbs from his and rise to go to the toilet.
She had experienced and treated more than enough UTIs for one lifetime, and wasn't keen on contracting another, even if it meant letting that freckled mountain of a man out of her sight for a few minutes.
Samira was thinking about his forearms, the way they looked when he lifted her, when the toilet paper came away red.
“Shit,” she swore, glancing around desperately as if a free product dispenser would appear in Dr. Jack Abbot’s en-suite. Stranger things have happened, after all: namely the fact that she was even in the Night Shift Attending’s home, let alone the fact that they were sleeping together.
Her period had been due, but she thought she would be home alone by now, or at least before it started. She hadn’t expected him to find her alone in the break room, whisper those words to her.
Okay, this was fine. She could go grab her bag, which she had haphazardly discarded as soon as the front door had shut behind them in favor of being pressed up against said door.
Shit. She had given her last one to Javadi towards the end of the shift.
Okay, new plan: grab bike shorts (hers) and big tee (one of Jack’s), put those on, and just tell him she has to run out for tampons really quickly.
Samira is not, and never has been, ashamed of her period, though having her mother try to explain the whole concept came pretty close. No, she wasn’t embarrassed, but this inconvenience was pissing her off. In her experience, period sex usually equaled no sex, and considering this was only her second time with Jack, they hadn’t really discussed if he was alright with -
SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.
Samira practically leapt off the toilet in a strangely athletic lunge, slammed open the door, but it was too late, the lamp was on and Jack was there, sitting on the edge of his mattress, literally caught red-handed.
Luckily (could any of this truly be lucky?), her blood seemed to be contained to only two regions: hands and nether.
“Ohmygod,” was all she could say, stunned, like a turtle stuck on its shell, like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Samira-” he started, softly, but she didn’t allow him to continue, couldn’t restrain her urge to start the damage control.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out, wanting desperately to explain this away, rushing forward before jumping back, not sure what approach was best. “So sorry-”
“What for?”
“Jack, my blood is all over you! It looks like a horror movie in here!”
He actually has the audacity to roll his eyes during what would certainly become a recurring stress dream for her. “It’s not toxic.”
“No, but-”
“You’re not secretly squeamish about blood, are you?” There is a mischievous tilt to his gaze, lips, brows. “How have you made it through residency?”
It was her turn to roll her eyes, and roll them she did.
“Obviously not,” she protested, finally moving closer to the bed, her hackles finally lowering. “But we haven’t talked about our boundaries yet, and I don’t know what you might not be okay with.”
And then he actually laughed, and she wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t kill him right here, right now with a scalpel from his go-bag until he breathed, “I am very okay with it.”
His words were sincere, heated, filled with wanting.
Samira’s knees were suddenly very weak.
“Sorry-”
“Stop apologizing, Mohan,” came his low, throaty grumble. He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her sternum, and Samira felt butterflies emerge from their chrysalises and take flight there, felt lightning strike and electrify her ribs, felt a key turn in the ignition and set her heart roaring.
“After all,” he whispered, lips moving against her skin, sending goosebumps up her arms, “it’s the perfect excuse to shower together.”
Something stirred in her; a bit of the fight left her. “But your bedding-”
“I don’t give a fuck about the bedding, or the blood, or - how can I make this clear?” Jack leaned back, stared up at her like he was staring up at the heavens. “Samira, the only reason I think I’d ever not want to have sex with you is if you don’t want to have sex with me.”
She could only blink, once, twice, three times, trying to manually reset her brainwaves following that statement.
Jack stood up, just that frustrating bit taller than her that made her have to angle her gaze upwards, leaving just enough distance between their bodies to provoke her.
“Well, I’m going to shower.” His voice was annoyingly steady, a bit cocky. “I’d love it if you joined me.”
He disappeared into the en-suite.
Of course she followed.
Under the bathroom’s lighting, Samira became very aware of her nakedness. He’d already started the hot water, but when she paced in he moved to the vanity, pulled open a drawer to reveal a small assortment of period products tucked away.
Samira didn’t expect this. Though she isn’t suspicious by nature, she is incredibly perceptive, and instantly wonders if these are leftovers from his wife. The thought isn’t one of jealousy, but of reverence.
Jack shrugged in her peripherals. “Habit. I served with a lot of people with periods, always kept something in my pack just in case. Plus, I get nosebleeds.”
Maybe she had a kink for acts of service, or maybe just for him.
“It should be bare minimum,” she told him, lacing her arms around his neck, “but it’s also kind of hot that you think of that.”
“So,” he rasped, nose pressing into Samira’s, “the bar is in hell?”
She laughed into his mouth and let him kiss her, long and deep, before she pulled away, sank into a squat. She had to steady herself by placing both hands on his bare thighs, just above the knees, over his quads. While she couldn’t see his hands from this position, she sensed them move back, likely to grip the edge of the sink.
“Mira,” Jack groaned above her, the sound ripping from his throat.
Samira couldn’t help her grin. “Not what I’m down here for.”
There hadn’t been any time to remove the prosthetic earlier, both of them far too desperate to rip the clothes off of each other.
But there was time now.
She was familiar with BKAs and various models of prosthetics from her time at the VA, so it took her no time to release the pin mechanism, gently remove the socket from his residual limb, and slide the silicone liner off.
“Are you in any pain?” she had to ask, Dr. Mohan wresting control from trying-to-remain-sexually-desirable Samira.
He immediately picks up on it. “No pain -- thankfully, orgasms release endorphins.”
Samira tries to stand, to get out of the way, but Jack doesn’t let her, pulling her after him into the shower, wrapping his fingers into the curls at her nape as he sits on the built-in bench, holding her dripping body to his own.
And who is she to argue?
They did need to clean up.