honey, there is no right way

Isla

With both of their evenings free and both of them, to some extent, having had a stressful afternoon, spending this time together sounds like the sort of peace Isla had once only dreamed about. And though she knows exactly what she's done by tossing her clothes haphazardly out into the hallway, she's still got her back to the door as she concentrates on heating the water in the bathtub to her preferred temperature (i.e. near scalding).

The first simmering bubbles have just started to rise to the surface of the water when she feels Everest glide against her, all warm hands and gentle lips, and she's smiling even before he speaks, guiding her hair over the opposite shoulder so he might be able to kiss as he pleases. "I did notice a few creative roadblocks," she murmurs, glancing at the obstacles along the tiles towards the water. "I like to think that, even then, you were only thinking about my safety."

Speaking of which, when it comes to getting into the bath safely, she turns ever so slightly in his grip, the movement surreptitiously aiding the fall of the zipper down her skirt. "I feel like the bath can wait a few more minutes, actually," she says softly. "I've a different type of stress relief on my mind right now."

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

my b I thought we were in the bedroom lol
Ever hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating warmly against the slope of her shoulder as his gaze flicks toward the little barricades she’d noticed. "Creative roadblocks," he echoes, lips quirking faintly. In truth they aren’t random detritus but interlocking bits of wood Isla herself had commissioned for him, shaped from the marketplace sample they’d chosen together. They slot like miniature logs into tidy dams, built to soothe the part of him that couldn’t quite stop itself from interfering with the natural flow of water. A coping mechanism dressed up like craftsmanship, tucked into the corners of their routines.

His palm flattens against her stomach, the heat of it spreading in slow arcs as she shifts beneath his touch. Fingers curve instinctively around her waist, the other hand helping the zipper’s descent until fabric sighs away from her hips. He leans closer, his breath grazing the shell of her ear. "Have I ever told you how much I love your proportions?" It’s the most Everest way of confessing desire—half clinical, half reverent, utterly sincere. His hand slides higher, mapping her side in a slow, methodical sweep. Over ribs, brushing briefly across the swell of her breast, before finding its way to the delicate line of her throat.

Arms twined around her, he turns her neatly to face him, holding her steady with the quiet certainty of someone who plans each movement but feels it as much as he thinks it. One brow arches, eyes intent and searching. "Oh? And what kind of stress relief would that be?" His voice carries the faintest curve of humour, though he’s careful not to assume. The question lingers like a thread between them, pulled taut and waiting, before he bends lower to claim her lips in a kiss that starts careful but simmers with heat all the same.

I will not be brave
but i'm grateful to get through

Isla

Isla comes alive under Ever's touch in a way rarely, if ever, shown to other people; with a soft smile tugging at her lips, she turns and moves beneath his hands as if to fit her curves against him in all the places he likes best, her skirt pooling at her bare feet and leaving her in little more than a pair of lace underwear. "I don't think you've told me today, no," she murmurs, her lips brushing against his cheek as she leaves a kiss there.

As she's turned to face him, her own hands are greedy to map the broad span of his chest, smoothing down his shirt until she can tease open the buttons, though her eyes never leave his face. "If you lay down on the bed I'll be happy to show you--" Cut off by a kiss she feels like she's been waiting all afternoon for - one surging with warmth and need that tiptoes along the edge of politeness, as her lips part, Isla has no intention of anything they do next remaining chaste.

Walking Ever backwards into the bedroom, she parts from his mouth with a soft gasp for breath framed in a grin, having opened his shirt to let her hands slip inside it and against the heat of his body.

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

Ever exhales a laugh against Isla's cheek, lips curved into a crooked smile. "Then what a fool I am," he murmurs, the warmth of his breath brushing her skin just before he’s kissed again. Isla’s deft fingers slip one button, then another, until the line of his shirt is nothing but invitation, and though some part of his mind ticks faintly at the thought of creases, the larger part is already consumed by the urgency of her touch and the pull of her mouth.

As she urges him back step by step, he bends into her without breaking the kiss, his hands gliding over the elegant sweep of her hips, down the length of her thighs. Strong fingers find their way beneath her, palms bracketing the soft curve of her ass, and with a low murmur—"More efficient this way," though they both know better—he lifts her effortlessly, the fabric of his trousers tenting hard and unhidden against her.

The bedroom greets them in stuttered backward steps until the backs of his legs meet the mattress. He lowers with care but not hesitation, Isla still in his arms, until he’s seated with her flush against him. His shirt slips down his shoulders in a slow shrug, forgotten in the spill of heat between them, his broad chest finally bared to her roaming hands. Whatever habits might have otherwise inclined him to fold his shirt as he shrugged it off, are smothered beneath the weight of Isla’s body and the kind of contact that leaves no space for second thoughts.

I will not be brave
but i'm grateful to get through

Isla

"You are never a fool," Isla objects, the words whispered against the scruff of his jaw, before her tongue is busy doing something much more exciting, and she skips in a surprised and delighted breath to find Ever suddenly lifting her effortlessly into his arms. Her legs hook easily around his hips, her exhale almost a moan to feel the tight, hard press of him against her with only a few layers of fabric to separate them.

Endlessly careful with her in a way Isla adores if only because she knows he'd be rough with only a few words of encouragement, as Ever sinks down onto the bed and leaves her astride him with the grind of his body in all the right places, it's a wonder she hasn't lost her senses entirely. Her fingers sweep his shirt down and away from his shoulders, her mouth finding his again in a kiss that's slow and soft despite the heat kindling between them. 

"I love you," she whispers as they part, hands smoothing down his chest. "Tell me how you want me." Her hips rock forward against him as if to tempt him to choose quickly, lest she decide for the both of them.

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

Ever’s soft groan breaks unbidden as Isla's hands sweep down his chest, and the words I love you sink straight into his bones like a weight and a balm at once. For a moment he can only breathe her in, forehead leaning against hers, chest hitching while his fingers find the delicate line of her cheek. The gesture is instinct, tender and grounding, even with his body straining hard against hers.

Her rocking hips steal his focus back to the present, to the pressure that makes his pulse thrum in places far beyond his heart. He remembers what she’s told him before—how his voice, the way he gave shape to desire, was something she enjoyed, and though heat colours his cheeks, there’s no falter in the words he gives her now. "I want to see you," he whispers, the softness of tone a strange contrast to the meaning. His hand slips from her cheek to her hip, guiding the line of her body over his in a way that makes the request tangible. His eyes flick deliberately to the tall mirror leaning against the wall; one they’d purchased from the House of Midnight specifically for this reason.

"Over there," he adds, voice low but steady, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. "I want to watch you while I fuck you."

I will not be brave
but i'm grateful to get through

Isla

Leaning into the softness of Ever's fingers against her cheek, Isla does her best to carve this moment into memory; the way they're both restrained and coming undone with it at the same time, the heat of his body beneath her, the way his every touch seems to fit her like she was made for his hands alone. When he speaks, her lips curve into a smile unbidden, the Remedy closing the distance between them for another kiss, this one laced with passion and urgency and sending a hot thrill crackling through her bones.

"That's a relief," she whispers against his lips as they part, only barely, "because I really want you to fuck me."

Peeling herself out of his lap with clear reluctance, Isla takes herself around the bed to where the mirror has been set against the wall, taking a moment to glance at her reflection, the blush of her cheeks, the redness of her lips, her peaked breasts and messy curls. Then, glancing into the reflection and at Ever, she deliberately lets her hands ghost across her curves, catching on her underwear which she bends to take off, never breaking eye contact with him.

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

Isla's words coil through him like fire under the skin, and though his cheeks flush hotly, Ever drinks them in with something close to reverence. He pulls in a breath sharply through his nose, controlled but unmistakably aroused, and the absence of her weight in his lap leaves him momentarily aching, his fingers flexing against the sheets before he forces himself to let go.

Ever doesn’t move at first, just watches; watches the blush on her skin bloom under the lanternlight, the practiced, deliberate way her hands skim down her body in the mirror, the lace slipping away with fluid inevitability. Though his mind craves patterns and clarity, there’s nothing he wants more in the moment than this: her curves, her eyes in the reflection, the absolute intent behind every movement.

When he does stand, it’s with precise control, his frame unfolding easily as he steps to join her. Fingertips brush along the outside of her thighs, featherlight and almost clinical in their delicacy, cataloguing warmth, texture, shape. They trail higher until they rest at her waist, just enough pressure to anchor her without disrupting the scene unfolding in the mirror. His gaze doesn’t waver from hers in the reflection, drinking her in completely while he stays tethered by the steadiness of her presence.

Then his hands withdraw, dropping to his belt with mechanical precision, sliding it free and unfastening his pants. He peels them down and, without breaking eye contact, folds them neatly, corners aligned in a gesture so utterly Everest that it contrasts brutally with the hard and greedy length of his cock. The garment is set aside, placed carefully on the bed, before he straightens again. His erection fills the small gap between them, measured and insistent, his chest rising a little faster now, though his expression remains fixed on her in the mirror—hungry, reverent, utterly undone and yet contained all at once. "Gods you're stunning."

I will not be brave
but i'm grateful to get through

Isla

Shifting against his every touch, however reverent and featherlight it might be, Isla's lips part as if to say something before giving up entirely, leaving her gazing at Ever in the reflection of the mirror with eyes made molten by desire. She doesn't turn as he slips out of his clothes, her mouth kicking up in amusement to see him fold his pants; it's so Everest that it doesn't break the moment in the slightest, though the Remedy does lift her chin as if to get a better look at his uncovered body as he moves. 

"If I'm stunning it's only because you make me feel that way," she says softly as he returns to her, Isla's breath hitching at the hard, insistent nudge of his cock against her. One hand remains teasing against her curves, cupping her breast, playing across her nipple, while her other drops to reach back and grasp Ever's wrist, as if to tug him flush against her. "Have me," she whispers to his reflection, ass grinding back against him, her head turning ever so slightly now so she might glance at him properly over his shoulder.

"Please."

I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard

He doesn’t speak at first. The soft strain of her voice, the pressure of her body grinding back against his, the sheer vulnerability in her whispered please; every bit of it hums like a tuning fork in his chest. Ever’s hand, the one she’s pulled to her, slides across the curve of her hip before settling with aching reverence, spreading his fingers wide across her belly. She’s flushed and golden in the mirror,  curves lit by lamplight, hair loose and wild, her eyes locked on his with a kind of sweetness that unravels him completely.

His other hand comes to rest just beneath hers, cupping her breast briefly before sweeping away so he can guide himself into her, the thick press of him slow at first, adoring. Isla feels impossibly warm around him, and he exhales like it knocks the breath from his lungs entirely. The initial thrust is tender, his hips rolling forward with studied control, but that slips fast, tangled somewhere between her soft gasp and the way she braces against him in the mirror.

She’s too much and just enough, her back arching perfectly into him, the mirror reflecting the ripple of motion and sweat, the way her body yields and responds to each careful drive of his hips. Ever stays focused, eyes locked on hers even as his forehead drops toward the back of her shoulder, murmured I love yous punctuating the rhythm, almost involuntarily. He holds her close when she starts to come undone, one hand splaying across her chest to anchor her, the other gripping her hip to steady the rhythm until he feels her shake and tighten around him, and only then does he let go.

Even in the afterglow, Ever moves with care, catching Isla around the waist and guiding them both gently toward the bed. He lays her down like something sacred, something irreplaceable, and then folds himself around her like he belongs there. Their limbs tangle naturally; his broad chest against her spine, one arm pillowed beneath her head, the other wrapped snug around her waist, their breath slowly syncing as the quiet rushes in to cradle them.

~FIN

I will not be brave
but i'm grateful to get through