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There is one bed in the cave that Qimir has made his hideout.
Osha has been there for long enough, resisted the urge to run long enough, that it seems both of them have accepted the fact of cohabitation. She does her best to avoid him, of course, even if he seems hellbent on ensuring her place by his side. Lingering glances, a ghost of a touch here and there. At first, she’d looked down, pulled away, turned her back when he moved towards her.
Now? Now, she doesn’t think she has it in her to do all that.
But that doesn’t mean she’ll share his bed. Far from it, actually.
They’re limited on resources—plant life seems relatively scarce on this island, the harsh sea winds keeping anything taller than shrubs from growing along the rocky cliffs. So there’s nothing Osha can use as a bed save for some extra blankets and clothes piled in a corner, the farthest corner possible from where Qimir’s bed is.
She’d woken up in it once, that first morning. Admittedly, it had been the most comfortable she’d been in months, soothed by the distant sound of the sea and the crashing of waves. But that’s where Qimir sleeps, and she’d rather not sleep in the same bed as him. Even if the only other alternative is a few thin layers of fabric on the hard, sandy floor.
It’s difficult to keep track of the days in the cave, and while it doesn’t seem like there’s much variation in weather on the island, it’s beginning to get colder. The walls that had once blocked out much of the wind aren’t doing so much now that all of the air has dropped in temperature. There’s a cooking fire and a small furnace that Qimir lights when it gets especially cold, but eventually, it isn’t enough.
Osha knows he can tell.
“You’re freezing over there,” he calls from his bed.
She stubbornly rolls over, holding back a wince as a pebble digs into her shoulder. “I’m fine.”
There’s a moment of silence before he drawls, “No, you’re not. You’re uncomfortable, too.”
Osha squeezes her eyes shut, willing her heart to stop beating. She feels his eyes on her, boring into the back of her head, intrigued and concerned at the same time. She’s begun to be able to read his emotions as well as he can read hers, and right now, there’s something simmering beneath his surface, waiting to boil over.
“I’m fine,” she repeats tersely, wishing he would just shut up and leave it, but this is Qimir. He cannot do either of these things.
“Osha,” he says softly, and the tenderness is a spear through her chest. “Come to bed.”
You’re an idiot, she tells herself firmly. Don’t do it. Don’t even think about it—
His hand is gentle as it lifts the blanket. He shifts over to let her in. It’s not a big bed by any means, but it’s a decent size for two people, her back pressed to his front. She tries not to think about the hard muscle at her back, and by extension, think about what it looks like underneath the thin fabric shirt he’s wearing.
She recalls the day at the lagoon, the first day they’d been there together, and the memory makes her stomach tighten.
“Better?” Qimir asks, almost smugly.
“Yes.” Her voice comes out gruff, and he laughs.
“So stubborn,” he whispers, and she can feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. He’s taller and broader than she is, so it feels as though he’s enveloping her, pulling her into him. She holds firm.
“Are you happy now?” she asks stiffly.
“Yes.” Simple, matter-of-fact. He can make jokes, and has in the past, but this doesn’t sound like one. She feels movement under the blanket, and then his fingertips brush her hip. “Can I touch you here?”
She hesitates, then: “Okay.”
It’s more comfortable, she realizes begrudgingly, when he drapes his hand over her hip, long fingers just resting there, not moving, not digging in. It’s gentle. Qimir, she notices, can be gentle sometimes—when the occasion calls for it.
The adjustment has brought her even closer to him, and now they are laying flush together, his hips pressed against hers. She tries not to think about the contact, or the hardness there, right near her ass. Instead, she focuses on the feeling of his hand on hers, and the arm that’s propped underneath the pillow they rest their heads on. It’s…
She doesn’t let herself continue that thought.
“See?” Qimir says. “Warmer.”
“Right.”
“Why are you so reluctant?” Qimir whispers.
Osha swallows the lump in her throat. “Because,” she whispers back, “I don’t know where I will go from here if I’m not.”
He shifts, and his hand slips down her front, ghosting across the narrow strip of skin that’s between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her sleep trousers. She shivers as his warm fingers brush across her stomach, the feeling of them bringing forth a heat from deep within her gut. She resists the urge to move.
“You can give in,” Qimir murmurs, his lips brushing against the back of her neck, “if you want to.”
What Osha wants—what she really wants—is to figure out how the fuck she’s going to survive to morning.
“Is this okay?” he asks, dipping his fingers below her waistband.
Perhaps, she thinks, her priorities can take a backseat for a moment.
“Yes,” she breathes, and she gives in.
The first contact sends a shock through her body. She sucks in a breath, and Qimir laughs against the back of her neck, low and rough. She must’ve dug her hips back into his, because then he’s dragging his finger across the center of her folds, right over the sensitive bundle of nerves that causes her to gasp, lip between her teeth. Qimir clearly has some level of expertise in this area, because when he goes in with a second finger, she’s already feeling the heat in her gut expand, trailing down between her legs, right where his fingers are pressed into her.
He’s being gentle, so gentle, every movement intentional and delicate. He kisses the back of her neck, his breath sending shivers down her spine, and she arches her back, desperate for more contact. Her hand reaches back and finds his thigh, and the angle is awkward but it works, giving her purchase as he continues to fuck her with his hand. Trembling gasps fall from her lips, and she feels more than hears him moan behind her, vibrations going through her back.
Osha can’t help but feel satisfied at the knowledge that she’s having this effect on him. The feeling is shoved abruptly to the side when he crooks his fingers and her body seizes.
“Qimir!” she cries out, scrambling to hold something, anything, and her fingers find his free hand from where it’s reaching out from under the pillow. Her other hand grasps the arm that’s wrapped around her. Her nails dig into the strong muscle there, and he hisses, nipping her neck.
He has her cocooned against him, helpless. She doesn't even care at this point.
“It’s all right, Osha,” he whispers, panting against her. He’s hard—she can feel it—but right now, all of his focus seems to be on his ministrations between her legs. She’s wet, wet for him, and she’s probably going to regret this in the morning when it dries, but that’s not important right now. Right now, Qimir is whispering against her skin, scraping the soft parts with his teeth, possessive and delicate at the same time.
“Give in,” he says. "I got you." And the next twist of his fingers inside of her brings a release like a tidal wave crashing against a shore, stars dancing behind her eyes, her voice high and reedy in her throat. Qimir bites her neck. The sensations are too much but they feel just right, hot and electric.
It isn’t until Osha comes down that she realizes he’s pressing light kisses to the back of her neck, murmuring reassurances to her the whole time. She feels strung out. She feels alive. She feels…
She feels too much.
“Qimir,” she pants, squeezing the hand she’d been holding. He squeezes back, a simple gesture despite everything. She squirms, turning over, and his hand slips out from between her legs. She meets his gaze just in time to see him bring his fingers to his mouth, his lips closing around the digits. His eyes are dark, skin shining with sweat in the dim lighting from the fire, but even so, from such a short distance, she can see how blown his pupils are, his eyes scanning her face. She, no doubt, must look a wreck.
“What…” Her voice trails off. Qimir lowers his hand.
“Are you all right?” he asks in a small voice.
She is. More than that, actually.
Taken by sudden boldness, Osha lifts her hand and drags it down his side until her fingers rest on the front of his trousers. They’re wet, though she can still feel how hard he is inside them. She doesn’t have much left in her tonight, but…
Qimir comes to the same conclusion that she does. He nods.
Her grin is just as vicious as his when she slips her hand inside.