Control The Uncontrollable // The Acolyte

88. Tidal dreams

You looked so soft in his arms, your body loose and pliant against him. Vulnerable, even. It was a rare thing, to see you like this—to hold you like this. Qimir had seen you fight, watched you stand your ground against impossible odds. But now? Now, you were just warmth against his chest, steady breaths, quiet surrender.

He had carried you from the shower when your legs nearly gave out, placing you onto the bed with surprising care. The music had long since stopped, but he didn't need it. It had simply been a cover up. Now the rhythm of your heartbeat, the way your breath whispered against his skin—entertained him enough.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.
You both wore little more than thin briefs, and yet, his body responded naturally, his length pressing insistently against the curve of your backside. Qimir wasn't ashamed of it—how could he be? Being this close to you, feeling you like this, it was inevitable.

He rested his head against your shoulder, studying the faint movements of your expression. Your eyes were closed, but he could sense you were still awake. He tilted his head slightly, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your shoulder.
A smile curled at your lips, followed by a soft laugh.

"Hey," you whispered.

Qimir smirked, pressing his body just a little closer to yours. "Hey."

You shifted slightly in his arms. "Sorry. I drifted off for a second."

"Don't be sorry." He kissed your shoulder again, lips warm against your skin.

"You've been working really hard," he murmured, his fingers tracing idle circles along your hip. He meant it. He knew he wasn't an easy man to satisfy.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Good," you whispered, your voice still heavy with exhaustion. A smile flickered across your lips, like a memory surfacing in your mind.

Qimir arched a brow. "What?"

You bit your lip before chuckling. "Apparently I did not work hard enough," you teased, your gaze flickering downward—where his arousal pressed against you.

Qimir's smirk deepened. He let his chin rest on your shoulder, glancing down at you with that familiar, self-satisfied glint in his eye. He was never shy about how his body reacted to you, nor did he see the need to be. Physicality was just another language between you, another form of communication that neither of you needed to translate.

"I think you did just fine," he murmured. "It's just a natural—"

"Condition for a man to be in," you finished for him with a smirk. You never forgot the first time he said this under the moonlight.

Qimir exhaled a quiet laugh. "You forgot the important part."

You tilted your head, amused. "Oh?"

He brushed his lips over your ear, voice dropping to a lazy murmur. "When a beautiful woman touches him."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You're so cheesy."

"Only with you."

Which you both knew to be true. Only with you did he allow himself to let go—to smile, to tease, to simply be. It wasn't about the island, not really. It was about you. It had always been about you.
Qimir was silent for a moment, fingers brushing lazily along your spine. Then, he spoke.

"Tell me something."

You hummed, glancing up at him. "What?"

He smirked. "We've been intimate quite a few times now..."