I think I can manage being collateral damage
The curtain sways shut behind him, muffling the marketplace into a distant hum, and for a split second Everest just stands there, the fabric still rustling at his back, his eyes fixed on Isla's silhouette in the dimmed light
Then his hand reaches for Isla’s waist as if drawn by some unspoken equation, and he pulls her to him with a breathless precision that’s all need and no polish. Their bodies meet in a rush of heat and tension, and he exhales against her skin like he’s been holding that breath for hours. His fingers find the small of her back and grip there, not rough but deliberate, anchoring himself to her. "You—" he starts, then falters. His voice comes low and rough. "I don’t want to rush, but," he says quietly, each word measured like it’s part of an experiment he’s still calibrating. "But we’re in a market stall. With a curtain." His voice hitches faintly on the last word, a kind of horrified wonder laced through the syllables.
The contradiction of it all—the way his body is thrumming with need while his mind runs a dozen environmental variables—is almost dizzying. But it’s Isla. Isla. And somehow that makes it easier to find centre. "I know this isn't the first time," he murmurs. "But it almost feels like it for me." He tilts his head, brushing his mouth against her jaw—not a kiss, not yet, just a point of contact. A confirmation.
"But I want you," he adds, voice catching slightly as he pulls her against him. "Even if it’s just...five minutes. Behind a curtain. It’s not the test I would’ve designed, but I’m willing to proceed under non-standard conditions." His lips raise, ghosting above hers. "If you are."
Then his hand reaches for Isla’s waist as if drawn by some unspoken equation, and he pulls her to him with a breathless precision that’s all need and no polish. Their bodies meet in a rush of heat and tension, and he exhales against her skin like he’s been holding that breath for hours. His fingers find the small of her back and grip there, not rough but deliberate, anchoring himself to her. "You—" he starts, then falters. His voice comes low and rough. "I don’t want to rush, but," he says quietly, each word measured like it’s part of an experiment he’s still calibrating. "But we’re in a market stall. With a curtain." His voice hitches faintly on the last word, a kind of horrified wonder laced through the syllables.
The contradiction of it all—the way his body is thrumming with need while his mind runs a dozen environmental variables—is almost dizzying. But it’s Isla. Isla. And somehow that makes it easier to find centre. "I know this isn't the first time," he murmurs. "But it almost feels like it for me." He tilts his head, brushing his mouth against her jaw—not a kiss, not yet, just a point of contact. A confirmation.
"But I want you," he adds, voice catching slightly as he pulls her against him. "Even if it’s just...five minutes. Behind a curtain. It’s not the test I would’ve designed, but I’m willing to proceed under non-standard conditions." His lips raise, ghosting above hers. "If you are."
.
