Control The Uncontrollable // The Acolyte

89. Deals made in the dark

The heat of his kiss lingered as he pulled away, his breath ghosting over your skin. The night was falling upon you, as the water from his hair dripped onto your bare skin, but the warmth between you burned hotter. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, a slow, lazy path as if memorizing the shape of you, committing it to something deeper than memory. The distant rumble of future thunder scared Qimir, but seeing you, beneath him, the world felt small— simple even. You were the only thing that mattered to him.

His eyes, half-lidded and knowing, flickered over you as if searching for something—an answer, a challenge, permission. And then, with a slow exhale, he leaned in again, this time not to steal another kiss, but to rest his forehead against yours, his fingers tightening around your wrist as though anchoring himself to you. Letting you know that once again, he was willing to give all of himself to you, just like he had done when he gave you that ring, you now wore on a golden chain around your neck.

Your fingers brushed down his spine, tracing the scars of his back. You knew that, in a Qimir's own messed up way, he enjoyed your touch over them. It didn't feel right to you, why would a man enjoy so much pain? Why did he like it? Was it a common trait for the sith? Or was it just Qimir? Then you had to ask yourself, was it really fair of you to judge him? It was in the moments when you felt Qimir's strong hands wrapped around your neck you felt most alive. It was in the dark, you were able to create lights. An urge of thought consumed your mind, and you knew Qimir was going to hate the next words you spoke.

"You need to face Vernestra," You said, your voice light, masking the weight of the burden you just pushed onto Qimir.

A strike of fear ran through Qimir's body. A shudder ran through Qimir's body, sharp and visceral. He lifted his head from your chest, true like a Sith, not hiding his emotions. His eyes burned with something raw, something you had never seen this upclose on Qimir's face before. Though you doubted he would ever admit he shared such emotions. He could not believe the words you said, the name you dared to speak in his presence. A simple name so powerful, that turned Qimir into a little child. Vernestra Rwoh, his first Master was still someone he didn't dare to speak of. Not even with you. His hands tensed, fingers pressing into your skin, his jaw tightening as if bracing for a fight. But before he could speak, before he could lash out in protest, you cut him off.

"She's imprisoned. Alone. Cuffed," you pressed, your voice firmer now. "She can't hurt you."

But the way Qimir looked at you, as if you had just put a blaster to his head—you knew it wasn't about what Vernestra could do. It was about what she had already done.

It felt like you held a Blaster to Qimir's head. Qimir's breath came unsteady, his chest rising and falling against yours in a way that betrayed the storm raging beneath his skin. His hands, once steady and sure, hesitated now, as if unsure whether to hold you closer or push you away. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch beneath his skin.

His gaze flickered over your face, searching for some cruel trick, some reason why you would say this. But he knew you meant it.

"You don't understand," he said finally, voice barely above a whisper, but edged with something sharp. His grip on your wrist tightened for just a moment before he forced himself to let go, rolling onto his back beside you. His eyes traced the ceiling, as if looking anywhere but at you would make this easier. "I can't."

The words came hollow, but you heard the truth beneath them. Not I can't. I won't.

You turned on your side, propping yourself up on your elbow as you studied him. It was never a challenge to find out Qimir's true emotions, he had long lost the ability of the Jedi to shield them from those around him. Neither did you need to be a Jedi to understand what was going on here. The tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled against the sheets as if bracing for something unseen.

"You fear her," you said, watching as his throat worked around the confession he wouldn't allow himself to say. "Even now, even with everything you've become."

Qimir looked down at your angelic presence beneath the sheets, you were still capable of looking like the purest being he had ever witnessed. Qimir had a harder time believing your words. Everything he had become? He knew the truth, he knew how you worried for him, how he barely had made any progress since coming here. Qimir weren't blind. He might feel like he had a chance around you to become something better, but he was well aware that it had not happen for him yet. Qimir scoffed, though the sound lacked its usual arrogance. "Fear?" He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his damp hair before turning his head to face you.

"You think I fear her? No." His voice dipped lower, quieter. "I hate her."

The admission was raw, and something dark flickered behind his eyes. Not the kind of hatred born from anger or bitterness. No, this was deeper. The kind that festered. The kind that never really let go. The one you knew could turn any man to the dark side.

You reached for his hand, fingers brushing against his knuckles before curling around them. "Then face her."

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. Instead, he let his fingers slip between yours, a tension running through him like a string pulled too tight. He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, staring up at the ceiling as if seeing something far beyond the room you shared. Was he really considering this? Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The air smelled of damp skin and the lingering warmth of shared heat, but now, it felt colder.

Finally, Qimir exhaled slowly, tilting his head toward you, his lips curving just slightly—not quite a smirk, but something close.

"You really know how to ruin a moment, don't you?"

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his knuckles, but didn't say anything. Qimir could already tell that you were enjoying it, just as much as you were plotting it. For once he was grateful that you weren't giving him your classic Jedi speeches about the force. The silence told him enough. Qimir hummed, the ghost of amusement in his throat, before his expression grew serious once more. His eyes, still laced with hesitation, searched yours.

"If I do this," he said, voice quiet, "I do it my way."

You nodded, the weight of the promise settling between you. Qimir wanted you to understand the risk, and you did.

And for the first time, Qimir didn't look away.