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Wille's only been on the couch for a few minutes but he already knows this won't cut it today. He groans, tilting his head back to press into the cushions below him and smushing the heels of his palms into his eyes in frustration.
His flatmate, Simon, hums inquisitively from where he's eating yogurt at the table in the kitchen, which barely qualifies as a separate room in their tiny apartment. They've been friends for so long that they often don't need more than this shorthand to communicate.
"This weighted blanket doesn't work anymore," Wille grumbles, kicking his feet restlessly.
"Didn't know they could be defective." Wille can tell from Simon's tone that he's probably not even looking up from the comic book he's been paging through.
"It's not defective. It's, like, a bunch of beans in a blanket. I don't think it can defect."
"Beans?"
"Whatever. It's just not heavy enough."
Sometimes, when Wille feels particularly overwhelmed or agitated, when he can't focus and he feels almost itchy all over, when he's exhausting himself with trying to fix things he can't even identify, certain sensations will help ground him. Heat often helps, like a bath or a mug of fresh coffee against his hands; some days the rough edge of a certain kind of paperback novel against his fingertips or tree bark against his palm gives him a bit of a reprieve. The best is pressure, he's found. And the weighted blanket helped with that for a while. He doesn't really understand why, but he could crawl under it and wait til everything in him settled, like glitter in a shaken snow globe.
Except now it's not working.
"You could get another one? Or a heavier one," Simon suggests.
"They're expensive." Wille knows that he's being reflexively difficult; they are expensive, but not so much that he couldn't afford it, and it would be worth it. He just feels like his faith in weighted blankets has been broken, and he wants to pout about it. "We need, like, a large cat, or something. To sit on me."
Simon snorts. "Because pets aren't expensive, or additional responsibility, or anything."
"Pets are proven to be good for mental health!"
"I know," Simon concedes; they're not really arguing, and they both know it.
They're both quiet for a moment, Simon's spoon scraping at the bottom of the yogurt tub, Wille shifting in frustration. Then a chair squeaks across the plastic flooring of the kitchen area as Simon stands up.
"I could put things on you."
Wille lifts his head to try to see Simon over the end armrest of the couch beyond his own feet. "…What?"
Simon pads over, still rubbing his lips together, like he always does after eating. When he's properly in view, he's holding the massive French dictionary Wille was awarded for a departmental prize in uni; it normally lives on the shelf on the border between living room and kitchen and never gets used.
Wille watches, amused, as Simon comes to stand next to him and sets the dictionary squarely on Wille's chest. "Does that help?"
Wille's responding laughter shakes the book but doesn't dislodge it. "I mean, I guess?"
"What else, what else…" Simon murmurs, looking around the room, hands on his hips. "Maybe some of these?"
He goes to their small game collection, selecting a few board games and weighing them against each other in his hands.
"Notoriously heavy, board games," Wille deadpans.
Simon, unflapped, returns with three boxes, which he arranges along Wille's torso and legs.
"The footrest would probably be too heavy," Simon muses.
"Yeah, it might crush me."
"We only want you slightly crushed," Simon agrees. "Panini-pressed." They share a quick smile, then he's back on task. "Let me check the front closet."
Wille chuckles as his friend disappears again. "Some books?" he calls after him. It's admittedly a very funny sensation, the dictionary and boxes jostling on his body, but it's not actually unpleasant, cushioned as they are by the weighted blanket.
Simon reappears with Wille's peacoat and the chunky battery for Simon's ebike. Wille valiantly tries to limit his giggles as Simon drapes the peacoat over him and sets the battery in the empty space over his pelvis.
"The princess and the peacoat," Wille says cheekily.
"No laughing, you'll ruin my work!" Simon calls as he heads back into the kitchen, but Wille can hear the smile in his voice. Wille closes his eyes, breathing into the warmth of Simon's humor and kindness, forever grateful for his best friend's presence in the eternal chaos of life. Then he hears Simon coming back and opens his eyes to find him holding a sack of potatoes in one hand, a kitchen chair dragging in the other, and Wille laughs out loud. Sometimes Simon is the chaos, though almost always in a good way.
"A chair?"
"Let's just try it," Simon says; he's clearly still trying to pretend he's taking this seriously, but when he sets the potatoes atop the dictionary and the whole pile starts jiggling with Wille's silent laughter, Simon lets out a snort of mirth and has to catch himself on the back of the couch so as to not fall right into Wille and his accessories.
Simon barely gets the chair to balance on Wille's legs, they're both shaking so much with laughter.
"How's that?" Simon asks, somewhat breathless, when he manages it.
"Getting there, for sure," Wille grins.
"I could bring my whole bike over?"
"Maybe a flowerpot from the balcony—"
"I'll fill a bucket with water!"
"The guy down the hall definitely owns some dumbbells—"
Simon pivots on the balls of his socked feet, looking down at Wille contemplatively, squishing his lower lip between two fingers as he thinks. "I may have a more efficient idea. Do you trust me?"
Despite the hilarity - or maybe because of it - Wille's feeling a lot better actually, but the question, and Simon's attention on him, tingles pleasantly on Wille's skin.
"Of course."
He watches silently as Simon takes off the chair, potatoes, bike battery, peacoat, games, and dictionary and sets them all on or around the coffee table. When it's just the original weighted blanket remaining, Simon hesitates a moment, fingers twitching against the fabric of the sports shorts he wears on lazy days around the apartment. Then, moving quickly like he's worried he'll chicken out, he sits on the edge of the couch by Wille's hip, and, using a hand on the back of the couch to lift himself, he shifts to lay on top of Wille.
As soon as he realizes what's happening, Wille goes rigid, holding himself entirely still until he has to start breathing again, Simon's whole body rising and falling with the movement of Wille's chest. It's not that Simon's idea, or his physical presence, is unwelcome - on the contrary, he's warm and solid, pleasantly heavy, like a weighted blanket but a million times better. And it's not that Wille hasn't imagined something like this before, more than he'd prefer to admit, though he'd … maybe pictured it differently.
Simon, who also seems to be holding himself tensed, asks, voice a little strained, "Is this… alright?"
"It's actually … kind of perfect," Wille admits. He hesitates; maybe he shouldn't say anything about the part of this that feels a bit off, in case it makes Simon retract his offer, and his body, entirely. Then again— "Except," he says, "you chose the weirdest fucking possible way to lay on me."
Simon immediately bursts out laughing, the momentary uncertainty between them vanishing. Wille has to grab Simon's hips to keep him from falling off of Wille and the couch. Because Simon has chosen to lay on Wille back to front, like a couple of biscuits stacked in a tin, or two corpses sharing a casket, his hair in Wille's face.
"Not that I'm not appreciative!" Wille insists, laughing as well, so he can't really tell where the rumble in his chest ends and the vibration in Simon, palpable through his back, begins.
"I could have put my feet in your face!" Simon points out. "Wouldn't that be worse?!"
"Maybe worse, but almost less weird, somehow!"
"I thought this would be less awkward than face to face!" Simon groans.
"No, no, I think this is definitely more awkward."
"Okay, well—"
And then he's shifting under Wille's hands, rolling against Wille everywhere they're touching; Wille nearly takes a knee to the groin and an elbow to the ribs as Simon repositions himself. But then Simon lets himself flop back down, mostly on top of Wille and just off to the side, chest to chest, Simon's cheek against Wille's pec, his hand snugging between Wille's side and his arm, their legs slotting together as best they can with the weighted blanket in the way.
And - okay, yeah. Even before Simon noticeably relaxes, melting into him, Wille can feel himself settle, like everything moves aside and he can step forward into himself again. Though he's slight by human standards, Simon is probably a dozen times heavier than the weighted blanket, and he compresses Wille so pleasantly. It's like their bodies were made to fit together in all these places. Simon's hair still tickles Wille's chin, but he doesn't mind - kind of likes it, actually.
"This is pretty nice, actually," Simon mumbles against Wille's chest. It's not quite a cat's purr, but the gentle vibration against Wille as Simon speaks is pleasurable in a different way he can't even begin to quantify.
Wille hums and wrangles one arm out from under the blanket so he can rub relaxing, grateful patterns over Simon's back. "I'm glad it's good for you."
Simon feigns bringing his knee to Wille's groin again. Wille lets out a playful oof, his fingers flexing against Simon's waist. And when Simon settles down again, he leaves his knee high, his leg hitched across both of Wille's, one hand resting on the outside curve of Wille's chest. It's relaxing, and it's also really fucking not. It feels way too amazing — Simon in his arms, Simon all along him, Simon curled into him like this is something intimate - for him to relax right now.
Case in point: there is no way, now that Simon's leg is slung across him, that he doesn't feel Wille's growing erection.
Simon's thumb rubs along a divot of muscle in Wille's chest, slow but with intention, catching on the fabric of his shirt. Wille feels his blood rise to the surface everywhere Simon is touching: his heart throbbing underneath Simon's cheek, his pulse quickening across his chest and stomach and legs; his cock aching, seeming determined to lift itself towards Simon's leg no matter how much Wille wills it down. Wille contracts his abs, trying to press his hips backwards, down into the couch.
There's a little sound in Simon's throat, and then he's, jesus fuck his thigh is pressing down, his knee hard on Wille's hip as his inner thigh presses against Wille's erection.
"Are those the beans?" Simon murmurs. "The weighted blanket beans?"
Wille is so entirely not operating at full brain capacity that it takes him several blank seconds before he splutters, "Fuck you! My dick doesn't feel like beans!"
"Marbles?" Simon says, but he's started laughing, shaking against Wille, not even able to fend off Wille's fingers making a tickling attack on his sides.
Wille groans and wraps both arms around Simon's head, rocking them both side to side, laughing and incredulous.
When their chuckles even out again, Simon rubs the side of his face against Wille's chest, his cheek first, then his nose, which dips into Wille's clavicle. Then his lips are on Wille's skin, sending a fully-body shiver rippling through Wille despite the warmth of blanket and body, as Simon murmurs against his neck, "What about mine? Does it feel like beans?"
Wille chokes on a laugh; it's funny and entirely, absolutely serious, the way Simon has lowered one hip so Wille can feel the full length of him, hard and thick, even through the blanket. "No," he whispers. "It absolutely fucking does not."
Simon's breath is moist and uneven against his skin. "I'm supposed to be calming you down. I really wasn't— I didn't mean to—"
"You did calm me down," Wille assures him, tipping his head down as best he can, chin scrunched up as he tries to see Simon's face. "You did, properly. And then you've undone all that, but, I like this better anyway—"
Simon surges up, his mouth catching Wille's chin first before finding his lips. The angle doesn't allow Wille to do much more than respond, and he immediately, instinctively tries to roll them over, but it just ends up getting them both caught in the blanket, which he'd almost forgotten was even there.
"This damn thing," he growls, trying to tug it out from between them.
"It would be so much easier to move it out of the way if it weren't so heavy," Simon teases, though he helps regardless, tugging it down Wille's body as Wille pushes. When it's more or less out of the way, they give it up as a job well enough done for now, so it ends up halfway on the couch, halfway on the floor as Simon scrambles back into Wille's embrace.
Wille rolls them over, pressing Simon down - or, more precisely, pressing him into the back of the couch, not having space to roll them all the way over. He kisses him, kisses him like he's imagined and dreamt of doing but never thought - never could've even hoped - didn't dare to believe could be. Simon's tongue is firm and strong and soft against his, each stroke feeling like a direct zing to his groin. Simon's hand on the back of Wille's neck is pressing into the taut tendons there, kneading a little, simultaneously hungry and soothing, and pulses of warmth spread across Wille's back and stomach, like he's relaxed and aroused all at once.
Wille drags his lips wetly to the corner of Simon's mouth, along his cheek and jawline, nuzzling, breathing him in. For once, it's the good kind of vibrating out of his skin: he feels centered, all of his frenetic energy channeled into one, intoxicating focus. Everything is heightened, but all the noise in between the sensations, all the loudness that usually interferes with Wille's thoughts, that's all smoothed out, everything buttery and rich and dark and oriented towards moving from wanting to having.
"Can I put my mouth on you?" he asks against Simon's ear, before returning quickly to kiss him before Simon can give the inevitable answer he knows his friend would give. "And don't say I already have my mouth on you."
"You do, though," Simon protests.
"I'd like to go down on you," Wille breathes, no space in him for anything but honesty — honesty and all of this desire and affection.
"Oh, okay," Simon grins, and he stretches up to hold Wille in another, longer kiss before wriggling to properly lay with his back on the seat cushions.
Wille just looks at him for a moment, the way he seems to be glowing with contentment, the way he looks more beautiful than ever, even with a double chin like this. He's held a lot of love for his friend over the years, so he just wants to appreciate that this is happening.
And then he remembers that they haven't yet actually taken any clothes off.
He sits back, resting on Simon's calves, and plucks first at Simon's shirt hem, then his own. "Should we—"
"Oh! Shit. Yeah." Simon blushes, and grins, and if either of them were going to back out, surely it would be now, stepping into nudity that's markedly different from running into each other coming out of the shower or lounging in the sun on a lakeshore or sweating in a sauna. This nudity is so intentional, so proximate; they won't only be looking, they'll be encouraging each other to look.
Wille braces himself for Simon to hesitate. But he just grabs his shirt hem with both hands and pulls it over his head, tossing it somewhere on the living room floor. When Simon reaches for the waistband of his shorts, Wille hurries to keep up, nearly ripping his shirt as he tugs it off. Simon's got his shorts down to his knees, and he's - fuck jesus, he's not wearing anything under them; Wille freezes, honestly a bit mesmerized, before Simon's hands nudge Wille's knees, trying to get the shorts the rest of the way down. Wille mumbles an apology and lifts himself, taking over shorts-removal duty, getting them over Simon's ankles and around his feet and exiling them to somewhere beyond the end of the couch.
He feels a twinge of nerves as he reaches for his sweatpants, but then he looks up at Simon, at his best friend in the world, stretched naked along their couch, his legs and groin darkened with hair, his cock hard and impatient, his gaze equal parts thirsty and vulnerable. And Wille knows that even if he didn't want Simon as much as he does - and he does - he would get naked just to make Simon feel like they were on an even playing field.
He shoves his sweatpants and boxers down as far as he can, then tips backwards on his bare ass - where he'd certainly never expected to feel the smooth exterior and bumpy contents of the weighted blanket - so he can wrangle them the rest of the way off. Simon is watching him with significantly less nervousness and significantly more humor when he rights himself, clothes gone off the side of the couch.
"Right," Wille huffs, cheeks burning.
Simon reaches for his hip; he's slightly too far away, so Wille shuffles forward on his knees until Simon can slide a hand over his waist and encourage him closer for a kiss. Their breath catches as their bodies connect in all sorts of places they haven't known each other before, even after seven years of friendship.
"I'll be back," Wille murmurs, pecking Simon's nose with a kiss before sliding down his body.
"You're ridiculous," Simon says, though it sounds a lot like you're cute.
Wille has seen Simon's cock before. It was hard not to, when you played sports together and went out to bars together and shared a small apartment. But he's never seen it hard. He knows Simon has been hard in their apartment before, in his room or in the shower, but he's tried not to let himself think too much about that. Now he wonders - as he spreads a bead of precum over the head of Simon's cock with his thumb and drags his fingers along his length, more getting acquainted than anything - how many times Simon has been hard because of him.
He takes as much of Simon in one go as he can, not attempting to contain his spit, letting it drip down Simon's cock and into the thatch of pubic hair.
"You're ridiculous," Simon repeats, a different tone of frustration, halfway to a moan. He's got his bottom lip between his teeth, and his torso rises a little, lower back coming off the couch, as Wille bobs his head, focusing on the top few inches before he attempts more.
Wille wants to know what his bellybutton tastes like. He wants to suck on the skin over his ribs and whisper devotions to his inner thighs and bite at his anklebones. He wants the hot throb of Simon's cock all over his own body, imagines it inside him, feels his own ass lift incrementally just at the notion, his cock dragging against the couch.
He fondles Simon's balls as he sucks him, rolling them almost lazily between the fingers that aren't steadying Simon at his hip. Simon's fingers clench at his own chest, his own hips, the fabric of the couch cushions, like he wants to take himself in hand and hurry it along but is holding himself back. He takes Simon to the edge once, pulling off completely with a satisfyingly wet sound, before he doubles down, tongue working the vein on the underside of Simon's cock, both hands involved now, one pulsating over Simon's sack and the other working the base of his cock, whatever Wille's mouth can't reach. Wille could lose himself in this; it's a meditation of sorts, he thinks, sex-drunk. When Simon gasps and comes, down Wille's throat and over his tongue, Wille closes his eyes in secondhand rapture.
Simon is still breathing hard, his chest dappled with a faint sheen of sweat, when he looks down at Wille with a slow, coy smile, biting his bottom lip. "Do you still trust me? Can we try something?" he asks, smoothing a hand up and down Wille's shoulder and as much of his bicep as he can reach.
"If it's half as good as your last idea—"
Simon gently nudges Wille to roll towards the back of the couch so that he's no longer laying on Simon's legs. When Simon clambers off the couch, he doesn't even give Wille time to mourn the loss of proximity before he's guiding Wille back up to where he'd started, stretched out on the couch on his back. Nude, no blanket, he shifts under Simion's gaze, a different kind of restless now than he'd been when this started; his entire body feels attuned to the slightest changes in temperature or shifts in the air or the texture of the fabric beneath him. Most of all, it feels attuned to everything Simon.
And then, just like before, Simon lowers himself to lay on top of Wille - back to front, stacked-corpse style.
"Simon," Wille laughs, incredulous, not immune to the way his cock is wedged between his own stomach and the swell of Simon's ass, but still not finding this an optimal position. "You're such a little shit—"
He grabs for Simon's waist, ready to wrestle him into a more amenable setup — until Simon lifts his left foot and sets it on the back of the couch. His ass shifts against Wille's cock as he moves, and when he takes his right foot to the outside of Wille's right ankle and tucks it under, legs wide so Wille can see both of his own legs between Simon's, Wille groans.
"Fuck, I take it back, your ideas are the best."
Simon laughs, tilting his head back against Wille's chest, straining for a kiss despite the awkward angle. "Would you touch me like this?" he whispers, his hips tilting up in the tiniest rocking motion, rolling his ass against Wille.
"Yeah… I mean of course - are you ready to go again?"
"Sorry, I meant…" Simon wraps his hand around Wille's wrist and guides him over Simon's outstretched right thigh, between his legs, down past his balls where they've not quite pulled up again yet. He lets Wille's fingertips brush against one cheek, bubbled deliciously out by their position. "Here. If you want."
Wille's breathing way too hard for someone who's spent the last hour on a couch. "Please," he gasps, turning his hand in Simon's hold to squeeze Simon's fingers, once, before Simon's hand retreats, tenderly gliding up Wille's forearm before Simon raises his arm behind him, cupping a hand over the back of Wille's head, making them feel even further interwoven.
Simon's lifted leg makes for easier access. Unable to see what he's doing, going entirely by feel, Wille uses his thumb to push one of Simon's ass cheeks aside far enough to get two fingers to his hole. It's not entirely dry, but Wille retracts his hand long enough to wet a few fingers in his own mouth - Simon's breath stutters, his hand clenching in Wille's hair - before returning.
He doesn't try to penetrate, focuses instead on steady, tender ministrations over the outside of his hole, applying more and more pressure as he feels Simon relax into the sensation. Simon's thighs keep tensing, flexing, his back arcing the tiniest bit off Wille's chest. When his fingers start slipping past Simon's rim without even trying, and Simon is hard again, and Wille's own cock, tortured by each of Simon's gentle rocks backward, feels like it's throbbing with nightclub bass, and he reaches under Simon to tug his own cock out so that it nestles up along the groove of Simon's groin, Simon says, voice thick, "I wish you could fuck me like this."
"I can," Wille says, desperately.
Simon twists for another kiss, which Wille barely feels able to return; he's not sure he has control over his lips anymore. "I didn't prep," Simon murmurs regretfully, his brow pinched. "I could ride you, kind of?"
He brings his foot down and his thighs strain as he sits up. It's an intoxicating visual, the sinuous golden slope of Simon's back, the swell of his ass against Wille's lower abdomen - Wille wants to lick him, as much as he wants to lay back and let Simon pretend to ride him like this, as much as he wants to press him into the couch immediately.
"Want to see you," Wille groans, feeling exquisite agony over having to choose between competing desires. "Want to see…what we do."
He struggles his own way to a seated position, Simon still on him, so that he's now curled around Simon's back, almost cradling him between his chest and his legs, wedged into the V Wille's body now makes. Simon presses back immediately, rubbing his back against Wille's chest, his hands over Wille's forearms, tilting his head back to rub his cheek against Wille's jaw. His stomach is slick with sweat as Wille smooths his hands over it, and his muscles tremble as Wille tickles down through the soft trail of hair below his belly button.
He wraps his right hand around Simon's cock. With his left hand, he reaches further down and fists himself.
"Fuck," Simon gasps, looking down at them both, at Wille's hands on them both.
Wille can feel Simon's balls against his left thumb as he starts to jerk them both off. It's insane, impossible, the sensory inputs right now, everything he wants to appreciate, to feel and watch and - and taste, he thinks, as he mouths greedily at Simon's shoulder, there in front of him, soft and hard at once, the skin and muscles shifting as Simon writhes under Wille's touch. He can't take it all in, but he doesn't let himself mourn that, is maybe too far gone to regret that. Instead, he closes his eyes and focuses on the tiny, desperate, frustrated noises Simon is making and the surging, insistent pressure between his own legs.
"Can I—" Simon pants, rubbing his head back against Wille, hands tensing on Wille's knees. "Want to—"
"Yeah?" Wille urges, not letting up on either of their cocks.
"Want to see you, want to kiss you," Simon grumbles impatiently, sounding just like Wille had felt a moment ago, torn by all that he wants, frustrated that he can't have it all now.
"Yeah," Wille agrees, doing nothing to help as Simon starts to turn in his arms, slipping out of Wille's pumping hand.
Simon's knees are close to Wille's crotch, and he shifts as carefully as he can.
"This might've been easier in a bed," Wille chuckles as Simon pushes him onto his back with a hand in the middle of his chest.
Simon's knees slip either side of Wille's hips, squeezing in, their cocks brushing as he positions himself. He takes advantage of the way Wille's head tips back at the sensation to kiss under his jaw. "We can still relocate, if this isn't working for you."
Wille gives him a look. "What part of this do you think isn't working for me?" The fortunate ratio of his long arms to Simon's general shorter person lets him smooth his hands down Simon's back and over his ass, fingers into the crease where cheek meets thigh, tugging him gently towards Wille's searching lips. "No complaints."
Simon meets him for a kiss, hard and deep and breathless, and they barely separate when Simon lowers himself so their cocks are flush together against Wille's stomach, or when he starts to thrust, driving the head of his own cock across Wille's skin. It doesn't feed the hunger that's been building, doesn't offer the right pressure to get Wille any closer to getting off, but the sensations, the glide and stutter and the way Simon is rutting against him like he would if he were fucking Wille, it still makes Wille's skin ripple with pleasant chills, makes him shudder and press upwards with his hips and down with the pads of his fingers. And through it, Simon kisses him, like an anchor point, like the other dozen places they're touching aren't enough.
"Need—" Wille mumbles against Simon's lips, when the ache is too intense, when the arousal is so heightened but he can tell he won't resolve it this way. "Can I—"
Simon nods around a series of smaller kisses, and Wille uses his grip - still on Simon's ass, which is still clenching and releasing with each thrust - to roll them sideways, Simon's back to the back of the couch, Wille's to the room, Wille's leg wedged between both of Simon's so that his upper thigh rubs all along the underside of his sack and his perineum and the cleft of his ass. Now that he doesn't have to hold himself up anymore, Simon surges to kiss Wille with both hands on Wille's jaw, but only for a moment, because Wille reaches between them to start jerking Simon off in earnest, and Simon groans and mirrors him, taking hold of Wille's cock like he's been dying to do so. It's not a great angle for either of them, but they thrust into each other's fists, helping as best they can.
The moment before he comes, Wille pulls back ever so slightly from their kisses so that he can properly look at Simon's face, so close to his on the couch cushion, his eyelashes trembling against his cheeks as he chases his pleasure, his hairline matted with sweat. And then Simon's eyes open, meeting Wille's, and the full reality of what is happening washes over him in treacly, awestruck, delighted clarity.
He makes it halfway through a disbelieving laugh before a final twist of Simon's hand takes him over. He gasps as his orgasm courses through him, feels his cum against his stomach and also on his hand, still on Simon's cock, so that he's smearing it on Simon now, feels Simon working himself through Wille's fingers, uses the last bit of energy he has left to tighten his grip and to swipe his thumb over the head, just so. Simon whimpers and twitches and Wille seeks his mouth again, wanting to drink in Simon's climax and share his own.
They lay panting, eyes closed, foreheads pressed together, for several long, silent moments, hands still on each other, grips relaxed. An aftershock of pleasure surprises Wille and he chuckles.
Simon hums. "Why did you laugh? Before."
Wille has already forgotten that; the last few minutes are irrevocably etched in his brain and also seem to have happened a lifetime ago. He thinks about the feeling and smiles, tilting his head so he can rub his nose along Simon's. "Because I was happy."
He feels one of Simon's hands, slick and sticky, press over his heart, and his lips soft against Wille's cheek.
When they blink their eyes back open, they finally look down at the mess they'd made, their spend all over their hands and bodies… and the fabric beneath them. "At least we didn't get it on the couch?" Simon says, biting the corner of his lip, looking only half-heartedly contrite.
Wille tugs the weighted blanket up from between them as best he can. In their rush to have each other, they'd only gotten it halfway off the couch, and some of it had been under their lower bodies - and now bears unmistakable spatters of cum. "I have no idea how to wash this," he sighs.
"It's defective anyway, isn't it? Throw it on the most vigorous setting and if it doesn't come out, no loss," Simon shrugs, rolling slightly to the side.
Wille narrows his eyes at his… maybe-more-than-friend-and-flatmate, who's usually the one arguing for using something until it's literally falling apart, who recycles and upcycles and thrifts and patches. "You just want me to get rid of this so you can 'help' me instead, don't you? Lay on me and… have your way with me, anytime I need some… help."
"I don't think either of us has the stamina to do it that often," Simon says sweetly, giggling when Wille pinches his side. They are quiet for a moment, Simon staring at the ceiling, Wille staring at Simon. Then Simon grins, "But we can certainly try!" and launches himself at Wille, rolling them both off the side of the couch.