He sits up with a start, drenched in sweat, breathing so rapidly that the woman draped over him - exactly as naked as he is - wakes and senses it immediately.

She whispers that it's okay; he's not on that island anymore, they're safe, don't worry, but nothing soothes him until his hand goes to the back of her neck and he kisses her hungrily. Then and only then does his racing heart slow, beneath her warm palm, fingers tapping lightly against his bare chest.

They're at her place; of course they are, it's not like they could ever defile the home he's made with his wife and son. Still, he's here. They're here. Together. And she is the only thing - has been the only thing, for months - keeping him in one piece.

She says as much, says he never stays the night, asks what's changed. He doesn't answer - not with words, anyway. He keeps kissing her, and she kisses him back, seeming to understand he doesn't want to talk about it. He hardly ever does.

But then, once she's breathing just as hard as him, he pulls away, resting his forehead on hers, while his hand trails below her navel and touches her where she's hot and slick and ready. She groans softly, musically, beautiful golden hair framing her beautiful face and making her look ethereal.

"I've never felt like this before."

"Not even with -"

"Don't say her name," he interrupts, and it comes out as a plea. He's begging her, because if she mentions her then he knows the spell will be broken and he wants this to last forever - this temporary reprieve from the hell that has gone on in his head every day since that explosion.

She reaches down, wraps her hand around him, and it's his turn to groan, her name sweet on his lips. "You can't pretend this is healthy. Or right."

"I don't want to do this to her either," he says softly.

"There's that. But that's not what I meant. Morality aside - fucking away your problems isn't helping us."

The curse runs easily off her tongue, but it still stings him to hear it, even as she pulls him closer to her, so he's positioned right against her opening.

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Hey, I never said I wanted to stop." She looks into his eyes, waiting expectantly, stripped bare and completely trusting of him, and his eyes bleed into hers as he slides into her and she lets out a sigh of satisfaction.

And then, suddenly, with much more strength than he anticipates, she puts her hand on his chest and pushes and maneouvres herself on top of him. She rides out her release slowly, slamming her hips against his, and she pushes her hair out of the way as she leans down to kiss him, slowly, her hand blindly finding his so she can put it on her breast and he can run his thumb gently over her pebbled nipple.

She comes first, and he lets her - as he's always done, and she's always said that he's forever the gentleman for it and he's always laughed at that. She's never been that loud, something he teases her about, but he's quiet too, so it works out.

When he comes he buries his face in her neck and mouths forbidden words into her forbidden skin that he would never dare say out loud and he wonders, not for the first time, how long they can keep this up.