After a warm night in, talking and laughing over drinks, Qifrey finds himself a little too worked up over sharing a bed with an old friend.
oc x canon - somnophilia
My first Willo/Qifrey fic :) sorry if tense changes I haven't written in a while.
Ao3
This was a bad idea. Qifrey should have known, he was full of them, and sometimes they lead nowhere. Tonight they led here, to his bed, but he wasn’t alone. Beside him, curled into an extra pillow, breathing easy, was Willo.
They had shared beds before. When they were young, before Willo was taken away, Qifrey, Willo and Olruggio would sneak into each other's rooms some nights and would eventually pass out together.
So why was this so hard? Maybe because he's a little tipsy from the wine, and maybe because they smell like jasmine and woodsmoke, and are just in their small clothes because they complained of the hearth burning too hot.
Their bare skin glows orange in the firelight, and Qifrey swears his palms itch to touch.
He could, if he wanted to.
Things between him, Olly and Willo were… complicated, or at least, to Qifrey they were.
To Olly and Willo it was casual. People have needs, even witches, and instead of trusting a stranger with your body, it was easier just to seek relief in each other. And that's just what that was, relief. That was all.
Qifrey though, had a thick shell, built by years of pain and confusion and self preservation. He tried to tell himself he could do it too, he was invited to anyways. But every time the subject or opportunity came up, he would shrink away, chicken out.
But maybe tonight–
“I can hear you thinking,” Willo's voice cut through the air, making him jump as they turned to look at him over their shoulder.
“A practitioner of forbidden telepathy magic?” He says with an earnest try at being nonchalant, but it comes out as a nervous laugh instead.
“No, just noticing you haven't moved an inch from the edge of the bed since I laid down,” they say with a smile in their voice, rolling away from him again.
“I'm simply comfortable here,” he says as if it were so simple.
“Is that why you're hard right now?” they coo.
For a second Qifrey swears his brain misfires, sure he heard them wrong, but then a bell-like giggle escapes them.
“You know you can take care of that with me,” they say with a soft sigh, as if they were settling in to sleep. What were they offering?
“Y-You are drunk,” he stammers, even though he knows they drank less than he had.
“No, just tired, you can do what you need to,” they say, shifting to reach back towards him, offering a hand.
Qifrey blinks, his glasses steaming up before the magic can wick it away. He should take them off but he doesn't want to miss anything. His head hurts, but that is for later worries.
Did he dare take that hand? This could escalate, and the last time he had allowed himself to be touched was well before Coco had come to the Atelier.
It's only when he sees Willo retract their hand that he acts, grasping on quickly as if they might disappear.
They bring his hand to rest on their bare hip, just above the waistband of their underwear before brushing their fingertips over the back of his hand.
Okay, this was okay.
With that, they pat his hand, before curling up on their side.
Wait, that was it? They weren't going to guide him? Just leave him there, with his calloused, ink stained hand on their perfect, soft round hip?
He feels his face heat beyond what it had before, his heartbeat in his ears as his head fills with fog.
“Willo?” he whispers, not moving from where he is, his hand frozen against their skin.
They don't reply, just push their hips back as they cradle a pillow in their arms. Were they already asleep? What was he supposed to do now? His heart hammers wildly in his chest.
Maybe he could just ignore this, just fall asleep, pretend this didn't happen, that they hadn't noticed his predicament, that they hadn't offered and he hadn't refused.
But then their skin is so warm. His fingers splay across the swell of flesh, pressing into the plush softness of their hip. It yields so easily to his fingers.
Qifrey had thought about it before. Of course he had. About how soft Willo was. How their body squished and bent and stretched. The fullness of their breasts, the jiggle of their thighs, the gentle hang of their belly.
They were divine.
The memories mixed with the feeling of their skin against his palm sends a familiar twitch between his legs, a muscle in his pelvis jumping.
If he retreated now, he would have to take care of this somehow. And if he had to take care of it there was no way his hand and his own perverted thoughts would be good enough.
Sweat beads on his brow.
Willo's shoulders rise and fall rhythmically, clearly already asleep. But they had given him permission, had placed his hands on their body.
Very little truly scared Qifrey, but hurting his friends was one of the largest fears he had.
He shakes his head, this was ridiculous, he was overthinking it.
Qifrey shifts closer.
He can feel their body heat radiating off of them, and it doesn't help the ache. Clumsily he shuffles into the dip in the mattress behind them, his body slotting in easily.
They move, pressing back into him with a sigh, settling against him in a way that has his body curling around them. This was bad, surely they can feel how hard he was through his underwear, but still they don't seem to mind.
Then, there was the round, yielding muscle of their ass. It's slotted snugly against his groin, the tent of where his cock strained against his briefs fitting against the curve.
Qifrey's breath is coming a little more ragged, he can see it ruffle the hair on the back of Willo's head. He drops his forehead against the soft curls, and a plume of soft jasmine fills his senses.
“Willo,” he breathes, more of a whine than anything as he cants his hips forward.
The drag is divine, the feeling of their skin through the fabric of his drawers is enough to make him shiver.
He was panting now, actively getting light headed from the sensation of their warmth against him. He was falling into that hazy feeling when he gets too worked up, unable to focus on anything but the feeling between his legs.
“I'm sorry,” he whispers, in case he wakes them, removing the hand that was grasping their hip in order to reach for the waistband of his underwear. He pushes it down just enough to free himself.
He gasps as the air hits his sensitive skin, peeking an eye open to look down at himself. His cockhead is flushed pink, the slender length twitching against his lower stomach which heaves with each breath. Dammit. He just wants their warmth wrapped around him.
His gaze travels to where their underwear disappears between their thighs and swallows dryly. He hesitates, before timidly reaching forward, two fingers hooking around the strip of fabric, feeling a warmth greet him, and pulling it aside slowly.
They barely stir, sighing and pushing back onto him, like they were seeking contact.
He can't see from the angle he's at, but he can feel that they at least enjoyed the thought of all this before they fell asleep, a syrupy wetness greeting him.
Or maybe they were dreaming of him.
A stuttering sigh leaves his lungs at the thought of their body yearning for his.
He had to be careful, slow, he didn't know their body as much as he would like to. Oh he would love to. But he couldn't. So he would settle with taking this slow so he could remember every moment.
With shaking fingers, he wraps his hand around his cock, rocking his hips back and forth shallowly.
He was surrounded by Willo.
Their scent, their soft hair against his face, their warmth soaking into his body, it is all dizzying.
Carefully, he presses himself forward, wrapping his body around their own, and nudging his cock between their thighs. His arm slides over their side, up over their soft belly, the tips of his fingers lingering against the underside of their breasts. He expects them to wake, to bat him off and take back what they had said. But they just sigh sleepily, a soft, pleased hum escaping them.
He swallows again, one eye hazy and half lidded as he traces his gaze along the length of their throat and the curve of their jaw. With another shift, he is pressing himself forward again and this time sliding his cock between thigh and their wet folds.
Heavens, they were so warm and tight, so much better than his fist, so much better than trying to resist. Their body responds so beautifully to his.
He starts with small, testing thrusts, rolling his hips a little at a time before he feels confident that Willo won't wake. Then he starts to draw his hips back more before sinking in again.
Gradually his arms lock gently around Willo's body, his face burying against their shoulder as he restlessly fucked their thighs. He had to be quiet, he couldn't afford to wake Willo much less the others in the Atelier. He kept his face down, pink cheeks burning against the back of Willo's shoulder as small whines escaped his throat.
With each thrust came a spike of heat down Qifrey's spine, followed by a wave of shame, which only seems to spur him on further. He's lost in the throes of it all now, already off the path of what is right and onto what feels good.
Within just a few minutes he is panting against Willo's throat, his thrusts having become shallow and shakey, until he feels like he is burning up, until he feels like the whole world has fallen away and it's just Willo and their warmth and their sweet scent in his nose.
He cums with a warbling moan that he isn't able to keep in, his mouth open as he gasps in the cool air of his bedroom. His head swims, his ears ring, and he feels completely surrounded by Willo's softness. Nothing else matters.
He feels dizzy, his head heavy against the pillows as he keeps his face buried in their hair, breathing them in.
“Perfect,” he pants, still in that haze of the afterglow.
i do think the negative interpretations of "im probably nonbinary but i have a job right now" are kind of reaching. it's obviously a waste of time to theorize the op's intended meaning, so instead i think it's better to recognize how the phrase can be a useful framing device to criticize how much of a fucking hassle it is to get gendered correctly. "but i have a job" e.g. will face discrimination that could threaten livelihood; e.g. don't have the mental bandwidth to explain gender to others; e.g. don't have the time and energy for the soul-searching necessary to confirm. all three of these are labor issues. yes you could interpret it as "but being nonbinary isn't important enough to worry about", despite that being a blatantly bad-faith read. it's more useful to interpret it as "but being publicly nonbinary requires a lot of social effort that, in many cultural contexts, will create more problems that you can't afford to deal with". like cmon it's a really good jumping off point for productive conversations about queer labor rights
There was an actual bracket, but reylo got obliterated in round one, and after the poll was done, someone suggested it would be funny to do a "bonus round" where every tournament contestant is pitted against reylo to see how many ships, if any, reylo can beat
I'm going to be streaming today at 2pm EST! I plan to stream a little longer today, and I promise it won't be awkward silence cause I found music I can play yay!
