Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Wille first blinks his eyes open, he grumbles quietly and squints against the bright white light. It takes a moment for him to settle in, to feel the soft flannel of the duvet, to register the comforting weight of Simon’s arm draped over his chest, the familiar scent of Simon’s shampoo.

He cranes his head up and to his right, trying to lift his gaze over the adorable mess of Simon’s curls on his chest until he is staring through the large window front. His eyes, slowly adjusting to the uncharacteristic brightness - one he is sure wasn’t quite as glaring yesterday morning - blink into a wide white scape of nothing. Only after a few more slow blinks, he can make out the movement of thick snowflakes fluttering past the window. They’re barely distinguishable against the monochrome whiteness, but Wille watches their trajectory for a moment, determined paths downward, seeming to fall both heavily and yet with a strange sort of grace that immediately calms Wille down. He practically feels his breathing slow as his eyes follow the path of a particularly thick snowflake all the way from the top of the window frame down until it disappears behind the line of the window pane.

A somewhat unexpected shiver runs down his spine and he quickly realizes that the duvet isn’t quite covering his naked shoulder, leaving parts of it, and some of his chest, right above where Simon’s warm arm is resting on top of it, exposed to the cool air of the bedroom.

Carefully, trying not to move too much, mindful of Simon’s peaceful snoring, he shifts, carefully tucks his duvet further up, seeking, chasing the cozy warmth underneath. Once he’s tucked it against himself more tightly, all the way up to his neck where possible, up to Simon’s head where not, he lets out a slow sigh.

There’s a sense of nostalgia welling up inside of him, one that he knows intimately, one that always settles over him when the first snow of the season hits him unexpectedly. Something about the sudden drop in temperature overnight, something about the almost magical stillness the snow always seems to bring - it has Wille feeling a sort of childish wonder he never feels anymore. Like there are things out there that he can and will be surprised by. Like days like this one are meant for nothing but cozying up in bed and staying frozen in time.

The first heavy snowfall of the season always feels special.

With his shoulder and upper chest slowly warming up again, he feels Simon stir next to him. His soft huffs of breath pause, turn into a long exhale, followed by a quiet yawn.

Wille stays still for a moment, makes sure that this is indeed Simon waking up, not just a little moment of unrest in his slumber. When he feels the arm lying across him move, the body lying half over him, half pressed against his side move, he lifts his head to press a kiss to the crown of Simon’s head. Immediately, he feels Simon’s face nuzzling further into his collarbone.

“Morning,” Wille says quietly, surprising himself with how breathless he sounds.

No matter how often he gets to experience this, Wille doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. Slow mornings with Simon tucked against him, now, in their first flat together, with no one expecting much of anything from them, no one outside their door able to intrude on their time spent s together, it’s a luxury he’d never thought he’d get to experience with Simon, let alone on a daily basis.

“G’ morning,” comes Simon’s mumbled reply, almost entirely muffled against Wille’s chest.

But who is Wille to do anything to stop Simon from cuddling up against him, from being just about as close as he can humanly get.

Instead, he lifts his arm to the back of Simon’s neck, threads his fingers through the fine curls there, massaging his scalp.

He knows Simon loves this, loves when Wille plays with his hair. And Wille isn’t disappointed - Simon lets out a happy little hum and sinks further against Wille, feels even heavier against his chest.

He takes another few moments to suck it all in, to rejoice in the feeling of silky smooth hair between his fingertips, before he decides to share the exciting discovery with Simon.

“It’s snowing,” Wille says quietly. 

He immediately feels Simon stir, moving to lift his head off Wille's chest. He watches, enthralled with the adorable way Simon blinks against the sudden brightness, clearly also struggling with the unfamiliar intensity of the white light. 

“Shit,” is all that Simon has to say. 

It startles Wille enough to have him let out a small laugh. “ That explains why it’s so fucking cold in here,” Simon adds, his voice a low grumble, and Wille snickers on. His hand is stroking over the back of Simon’s head while he watches him, all rumpled with sleep, but his eyes betraying him. There's a glint of wonder in them. 

He’ll never understand how Simon’s perception of temperature can differ so drastically from his own. As is on cue, a shiver runs through Simon. Wille immediately moves to wrap both of his arms around him. He starts running his palms all over Simon’s back, trying to press some more warmth into his skin, even through the thick fabric of this hoodie that Simon insisted on wearing to bed. It’s one of Wille’s, or used to be, gray and soft and a little oversized on Simon’s frame, so of course it’s perfect to have him wear it. There was almost no question about Wille letting Simon turn it into his designated sleep hoodie. 

Suddenly, Simon shifts on top of Wille. He accidentally hits him in the ribs, albeit lightly, when he tries to move his body further up. Wille winces, out of reflex more than anything else, but all is forgotten when Simon presses his face into the crook of Wille’s neck. 

Wille hears him suck in a deep breath. His heart grow a little bigger inside his chest when he realizes that Simon is taking in his scent. He moves his hands more slowly now, up and down the line of Simon's spine, over his shoulder blades. With a soft sigh, Simon relaxes his back, grows infinitely more pliant under Wille's palms. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles into the side of Wille’s neck, follows it up with a featherlight trail of kisses leading from the base of Wille’s neck to the sensitive spot right behind his ear. 

His lips are soft, always so so soft , and Wille closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.

The warmth starting out inside of Wille’s chest and travelling down and to his core can’t be blamed on Simon’s body heat pressing into his alone.

Wille clears his throat.

“No problem,” he says, proud of getting the words out without a waver in his voice, even while Simon is still nipping at the skin behind his ear in the way he knows drives Wille insane.

Trying to clutch onto some last remaining shreds of composure, Wille wraps his arms around Simon’s middle tightly.

“Breakfast?” he asks. Even to his own ears he sounds croaky and clearly unconvinced of his own suggestion. He’s more than glad when Simon only gives an unreadable sound and doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop pressing sloppy wet kisses into Wille’s skin.

Eventually, Simon pushes out a noncommittal “Later,” and oh. Oh.

It’s only now that Wille feels him, feels Simon’s hard cock pressing against his hip, the thin cotton of their boxers the only barrier between them. An involuntary moan leaves his mouth.

He loves waking up to Simon being hard, loves when he gets to stroke him for a little, even if they don’t do much more about it most mornings. He loves getting to have this, starting into the day like this. Simon shifts a little, moves his thigh across Wille so he’s fully straddling him.

If Wille wasn’t half hard already, he’d be getting there now, with Simon aligning their crotches so perfectly.

Simon gives one thrust, as if he’s testing the waters ( as if he ever has to! ) and when Wille moans, much less guarded, much less holding back, at the delicious friction of having him rub up against him, Simon lets out a breathless little laugh, right below Wille’s ear.

The corners of Wille’s mouth tug upwards at the soft sound and he huffs a laugh himself.

It's like a switch being flipped in Wille's mind, the urgency he's so well acquainted with suddenly washing over him, the one he feels come over himself whenever he knows Simon wants him.

Simon moves, ruts his cock against Wille’s again, once, twice, three deliberately slow thrusts. It's all it takes for Wille to twist his head to the side, for Wille to search Simon's mouth, his lips, his tongue.

They quickly settle into a familiar rhythm, both groaning breathily when their tongues rub up against each other for the first time today. Wille smiles into the kiss, fucking smiles when Simon pushes his hips against his again, and Simon smiles back, making the kiss a little awkward, a little different, but none the less perfect.

Perfect, that’s what this is, Wille thinks, even when their teeth clash and Simon mumbles a barely coherent apology. It’s perfect, the way their bodies fit together, even with the sheet draped over them getting in the way, even with Simon leaning onto Wille’s chest a little heavily while he tries to prop his arms up beside him to properly hover over Wille.

Once he pulls back, he is leaning over Wille, holding himself up and looking down at him in a way that makes it a little difficult to breathe. Wille shifts his hips a little, grinds up against Simon slowly. He revels in the way Simon’s eyelids drop, the way his brow furrows lightly when Wille uses his hands on Simon’s hips to pull their bodies even closer.

Wille finds himself momentarily taken aback by Simon’s beauty, by the way he looks so perfectly disheveled with his curls flattened against one side of his head and standing up on the other, with the neckline of his hoodie a little crumpled. His eyes are still small with sleep, but dark and deep when he finds Wille’s.

His lips are parted slightly, audible breaths passing over them. It’s the sight of Simon rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, of him biting back a wide grin as he’s hovering over Wille, of an almost imperceptible, but perfectly clear to Wille nod, that finally kicks Wille into gear.

He needs to feel more of him, needs them closer.

Seizing all the power of his core muscles, he rolls them to the side and, not without immediately missing the contact, he pulls his hands back from Simon to fumble with the waistband of his own boxers instead.

Before Simon even has time to react or even attempt to help him, Wille is already shoving his boxer down and kicking furiously to get them off his legs. And as soon as Simon shoves his boxers down mid-thigh, Wille moves to help push them further down, uses his foot to kick the fabric off of Simon.

He’s laughing heartily now, and Wille revels in the sound, doesn’t hesitate for a single second before he’s grabbing at Simon’s body again, pulling him closer, diminishing the space between them.

Simon is quick to follow, his hands finding their way to Wille’s shoulders, to the back of his neck, into his hair. He grunts when Simon tugs, just this side of too hard, and quickly reconnects their mouths.

Finally. Finally, he can feel Simon closer, the heat of his cock against Wille’s as they yet again grind against each other. He’s almost a little overwhelmed with the new skin to roam, chooses to grab onto Simon’s ass to pull him snugly against himself.

Simon’s quiet moan proves the decision right.

He’ll never get used to this, either. To the feeling of Simon’s skin on his, to them pushing their cocks together, sweet pressure, just careful enough not to cause too much friction, not enough at all to soothe the burning ache behind his navel.

Simon hooks a leg over Wille’s hip and groans when Wille’s fingers slide closer to where he’s still a little slick from last night.

The shiver that runs through Wille’s body at the discovery is entirely unrelated to the temperature, has nothing to do with the cold they’re successfully hiding from under their duvet.

Carefully, gently, waiting for Simon’s reaction, Wille inches closer. He tentatively runs the pad of his thumb over Simon’s hole and feels Simon shudder.

When Simon pulls away, resting his forehead against Wille’s, nose rubbing against his, he lets out a shuddering breath that tickles Wille’s wet lips.

Wille tries it again, rubbing over sticky, puckered skin, carefully watching Simon’s features as well as he can.

Simon’s moan is fucking music to Wille’s ears, his closed eyes and furrowed brows the most beautiful sight to see.

“Yeah?” he asks, just above a whisper, only loud enough for the two of them in their little cocoon of heat to hear it. “Continue?”

Simon moves his head down again, buries his face in Wille’s collarbone before pressing out his “yes, please ”.

Emboldened, Wille uses one hand to spread his cheeks, to hold him open, then runs three of his fingers down Simon’s ass crack. His own cock twitches against Simon’s when he finally feels just how relaxed Simon is, how easily he can push against the muscle with the tip of his index finger and slip inside ever so slightly.

Simon digs his teeth into Wille’s collarbone, stifles a small whine. A sound Wille is so beautifully familiar with, one that he knows is a good sign.

The sound only spurs Wille on further. He lets go of Simon, grabs his knee and gently pushes Simon’s leg off him. Wille has to ignore the adorable sound of protest that comes out of Simon’s when Wille rolls over and reaches for his bedside table.

The sheets on that side of the bed are cold against his overheated skin, make goosebumps pebble over his back and he rushes to grab the plastic bottle before huddling back towards Simon, back into their little cave underneath the sheets.

Simon’s small pout - god, Wille wants to spend all day kissing him back to a smile - softens when his eyes drop to the lube in Wille’s hand.

Wille’s chest feels warm when snuggles up to him again. He can’t quite bite back his grin. Simon’s eyes meet his again.

“Did you think I was leaving you like this?” Wille teases, and Simon grumbles exaggeratedly.

He quickly looks away from Wille’s face and towards the bottle, snatching it from Wille’s grasp.

“None of your business,” Simon mumbles and Wille lets out an amused huff.

He wouldn’t tell him, because he knows for a fact that Simon would make a show out of denying the allegations, but Wille loves when Simon gets like this, a little clingy. When it seems like every fraction of a second spent without their bodies aligned is too much, like all he wants is to keep Wille close and never let him go again.

“Why would I- oh fuck , that’s cold!” Wille shudders suddenly when Simon wraps his lubed up hand around his cock. All sense of fighting back for Simon’s sneaky attack immediately melts away when Simon gives a couple slow jerks, pulling his foreskin back and teasing the tip with his finger every time his hand moves down.

“Sorry,” Simon says, not a trace of remorse in his voice nor on his face. Just a smug little smile on his lips and mirth shining in his eyes. All of his focus is back on Wille now, watching every twitch of his features, taking in every detail.

Wille groans, but happily bucks his hips to fuck into Simon’s fist. He’s already warm again, knows that he might work up a sweat if Simon keeps this up and lets him do the work.

It’s only when Simon lets go of him and instead moves to spread lube over his own cock that Wille remembers his original plan.

He scoots closer, feels the knuckles of Simon’s fingers brushing against the underside of his cock as he’s finally slotting his body against Simon’s again. The soft touch alone is enough to send a small jolt through him. He briefly wonders if, under the right circumstances, maybe while hearing Simon moan beside him, he could come like this, just barely getting his dick stroked.

Wille moves forward to press a quick peck to Simon’s smiling mouth, one that has Simon melting against Wille again, shifting so they’re almost chest to chest, with just enough space between them for Simon’s hand.

And, without Wille needing to ask him to, Simon lifts his leg up onto the side of his thigh again, lets Wille slide his arm under and around him, allowing Wille to grab hold of his ass again.

Wille pauses for another moment, searching for Simon’s eyes. Simon, however, seizes the opportunity to reposition his own hand.

Wille winces when Simon wraps his long fingers around the both of them. Their cocks slide against each other perfectly like this, Simon feels hot and slick and hard against him and it takes all of Wille’s willpower not to pull Simon closer, to make the space between their bodies tighter.

It’s like Simon is hearing Wille’s thoughts.

“You feel so good,” Simon tells him quietly, like it isn’t him who’s stroking them, him who’s making the two of them feel good. Wille’s cheeks are burning from hearing the praise. He lets out a small moan. It’s ridiculous how little it takes for Simon to get to him.

“You too,” he retorts, entirely uneloquently. But Simon hums happily.

“Yeah?” he asks and, oh, he pushes back against Wille’s hands. Wille can’t tell if it’s intentional or involuntary, but he doesn’t waste another moment, moves his slicked up fingers closer to Simon’s rim.

Simon’s eyes are open and glued to him, watching closely. Wille bites his lip to keep his own eyes open, even when Simon moves his hand up, squeezes gently to push the heads of their cocks together.

It’s difficult, fucking difficult, but entirely worth it once he gets to watch Simon’s eyelids flutter when he rubs the pad of his thumb over his hole.

Simon’s mouth drops open ever so slightly, and it’s with a heavily beating heart that Wille presses against him again, finally pushing inside.

He will never get used to this feeling. Simon is warm and soft, is moving his body beautifully, letting Wille’s finger slide further in.

He’s ignoring the strain of his wrist, trying to concentrate through the warm cloud of pleasure taking over him from the way Simon is continuing to work their cocks together. The high-pitched little noise that Simon lets out once Wille’s thumb sinks in as far as he can go is worth bearing the awkward angle.

And now, eyes closed mouth gaping, hand stuttering the movement on their cocks, this is how Wille wants him, this is how Wille loves having Simon, and he needs him to know.

“Love the way you feel,” he says, not caring about being repetitive.

He loves this, he fucking loves this, slowly thrusting in and out of Simon, careful not to hurt him, slow enough to feel every twitch in his body. Moments like this, slow, sweet, the two of them as close as they can possibly get, always feel special.

Simon seems to slowly stir out of his initial trance. He tightens his grip around their cocks, thumbs over the head of Wille’s cock when he moves upwards.

Simon touching him like this always reduces Wille to a babbling mess.

“You feel so good inside,” he blurts out without thinking about it further, his vision glossing over from the sensation of Simon pulling his foreskin back further.

Simon moans in reply and clenches around Wille’s finger.

It’s a dangerous game they’re playing, Wille realizes. He bites down on his lip, hard, to stave off his impending orgasm.

The strain in his wrist is too much, is threatening to have him cramp up and he can’t have that, not when Simon is in his arms, not when he’s trying to finger Simon, to make it good for him. He carefully pulls out, rushes forward to kiss Simon’s hiss right off his mouth.

“Sorry,” Wille mumbles, still resting with his nose slotted next to Simon’s. “Wrist,” he adds and hears Simon let out a small snort before he feels him give a nod.

“‘S all good,” Simon says. He captures Wille’s lips in another kiss, almost too sweet, too chaste for the utterly filthy way he’s squeezing and slowly jerking both of their cocks at the same time.

Wille rolls his wrist once, twice, then angles his hand so he can rub over the puckering ring of muscle with his index finger instead.

He groans, a little surprised by the twin sensation of Simon’s fingers around his cock and his slowly pulsing asshole underneath his fingertip.

What he doesn’t expect is for Simon to clear his throat.

“Keep talking?” he asks, demands, almost a little too quietly for Wille to make out, then clears his throat again.

But the way he quickly licks his lip, almost nervously, and locks eyes with Wille is confirmation enough for him to know what he wants.

Wille mirrors Simon’s gesture, licks his own lips, and watches closely how Simon’s eyelids flutter as he increases the pressure of his index finger, gently eases it into Simon.

He’s opened him up more now, slides in more easily.

They both moan in unison as he starts to slowly thrust in and out.

Wille swallows hard, feels the last of his reservations melt away with every time he feels Simon clench around him.

“I love when you do that,” he confesses.

Simon, with his eyelids closed, moans.

“And I love your sounds,” Wille adds, moving back a little, then thrusting to fuck into Simon’s grip.

They both groan again, Wille almost tempted to bite down on his lip, to make sure it’s Simon’s beautiful voice, strained and whiny and gutpunchingly beautiful, that he can hear.

Simon’s eyes are permanently shut now, his cheek softly resting on the pillow next to Wille, mouth hanging open with a slew of breathy noises escaping him. Wille knows it’s just the arousal speaking, but he swears Simon has never looked more beautiful, more breathtaking. His cheeks are glowing with exertion, his hair still strewn every which way, the neckline of his hoodie tangled.

Wille can’t believe he gets to have this, can’t believe he gets to make Simon look like this, make him feel like this. He slows the movement of his finger, makes sure to give a slow, a purposeful thrust. Simon whines, can’t keep his hips from stuttering towards Wille’s hand, then back forward, pushing against Wille’s cock.

Wille can’t help it, can’t hold back any longer. He maneuvers his other hand around Simon’s hips, tugs him even closer.

Their bodies nearly flush, he pulls out of Simon once, slowly, carefully, only to let Simon’s gasp sound out between them. He immediately misses the gorgeous warmth of Simon’s body, can tell by Simon’s broken noises that Simon misses him inside, is feeling empty.

He moans long and low when Wille pushes back inside. Wille moves slowly, testingly, knowing where he needs to go to make it even better for Simon, to make the sounds coming out of his mouth even more magical.

When he gently rubs over Simon’s prostate he watches, enthralled, how Simon seemingly has his breath knocked out of him. The first sound out of his mouth is a long keen, simon’s voice is beautifully high, and it’s not the first time Wille is reminded of his singing voice, not the first time he feels a nearly overwhelming pang of possessiveness and pride at the knowledge that this is one of the sounds meant for him, for the two of them, together. If Wille wasn’t so preoccupied with watching every twitch in his brow, every movement of his mouth, he would lean forward to taste the gorgeous sound on his tongue.

Simon’s arm is now trapped between them, unable to move comfortably, and Wille knows Simon is about to complain. There’s a noise of dissent bubbling out of him as he tries to continue stroking their cocks, but struggles with the lack of space.

“Can’t-,” he starts, but Wille cuts him off.

“Hold still,” he says, sounding a little wild, entirely breathless. And Simon complies, stays where he is, fingers still wrapped around both of their shafts.

“Let me-,” Wille is quick to try again to move his hips, breathes out heavily when he pulls back far enough to almost slip out of Simon’s fist, then moans out loud as he ruts forward again, against Simon.

Simon lets out a guttural groan and Wille feels him clenching again, right as he thrusts against him. The slick slide of them rubbing together, the tight heat of Simon’s body, the softness of his insides, the way he can reduce Simon to a whimpering mess with a few taps of his finger, the scent of sex and sweat, the scent of Simon prominent in his nose, it’s all too much.

The heat simmering away in the pit of his stomach threatens to spill over when Simon suddenly digs the fingers of his other hand into Wille’s side. He’s keeping him close, willing him closer still. Lost in the pleasure, in having Wille wrapped around him, in feeling him all over, he’s letting out beautiful little gasps and keens.

Fuck.

Simon’s body heat is radiant, comforting, absolutely overwhelming. Wille can sense it, feel it hitting his skin even through the thick layer of fabric covering Simon’s chest. All cold around them long forgotten, this is what he needed, this is what he never wants to end, the feeling of closeness, incredible, overwhelming closeness. Simon’s grip is tight, is perfect, is letting Wille feel every twitch of Simon’s cock against his. He groans at the thought of them finishing together, of Simon rubbing their come all over their skin.

Before he even says it, Wille knows Simon is close. It’s written all over his face, it’s evident in the speed of the breaths he’s fanning across Wille’s lips, in the uncoordinated movements of his body, trapped between Wille’s chest and his arms.

“Wille,” he gasps out, blunt nails scrambling for purchase on the side of Wille’s body. “W-” Another moans ripples through Simon, seemingly taking him by surprise.

But Wille knows how to read the signs, he’s ready. He stops the movement of his hips as he feels Simon’s cock throb against his, as he feels Simon spill into his own hand and onto Wille.

His sounds, the crescendo of his moans, a symphony of his prettiest notes are reverberating around their bedroom.

Wille is done for, he’s so fucking close, and he fucks Simon through it, slower now, paying attention to the little nub inside of him until Simon whimpers from overstimulation.

And Wille is ready to wrap his arms around Simon when he carefully pulls out. He’s ready to pull him close and let him snuggle into his arms, let him catch his breath and come back to himself, the way Wille knows Simon likes it after coming, but Simon doesn’t let himself be cradled against Wille’s chest. Instead, he wraps his hand around Wille’s cock, urging a wavering moan of surprise out of him.

Wille is toeing the line, barely possesses the brain power to do anything but grab onto fistfuls of Simon’s hoodie.

Simon’s lips are on the side of his neck suddenly, hot and wet and making him shiver into their embrace, making him urge closer and closer until he’s fully pressing his cheek against Simon’s curls, legs moving to tangle with Simon’s.

Even with his body still heaving with deep breaths, his skin still alight with the orgasm the just had, Simon isn’t slow or uncoordinated, seems suddenly laser-focused on getting Wille where he wants him. His palm is sticky, stickier than before, the slide now easier and Wille shudders at the realization, feels weak in his chest, weak in the rest of his body.

The loud, pathetic sounds tumbling from his mouth are only barely registering in his mind as he feels the warm feeling inside of him rise higher and higher with every twist of Simon’s wrist and every squeeze of his fist.

It’s with the scrape of Simon’s teeth at his collarbone, with Simon tightening his fist as he moves it over the head of Wille’s cock just so , that the tight knot of arousal straining in the pit of his stomach unravels.

A wrecked sound, not unlike a sob, reaches Wille’s ringing ears, as he spills into Simon’s hand.

Simon continues to jerk him through it, babbling things into the skin of Wille’s neck that Wille doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to discern, let alone understand, and with one last squeeze to Wille’s tip Simon slumps against his body, pushing him onto his back and landing half on top of him again.

God.

Wille is exhausted, feels heavy, feels hot now. Hot enough to brave the temperature of the room with his bare upper chest.

And so, through his own ragged breathing, he lets out an incredulous bout of laughter.

“Fuck,” he says, drawing out the vowel while his chest shakes with the hiccup-y breaths he’s taking. And Simon shakes with it, face pressed into Wille’s heated skin, hands at Wille’s sides.

He’s laughing, too, his cute little snort muffled by Wille’s chest.

“Oh fuck,” Wille repeats, trailing off. He lifts one hand to his face, rubs over it as he lets out another giggle.

Simon lifts his head and when Wille does the same, meeting his eyes, he’s met with a grin so wide it threatens to split his face in two. There’s some smugness in there, Wille can tell, and, god, does he love him for it.

Simon is allowed to know how good he is. In fact, Wille would voluntarily spell it out for him every day if he had to.

But the doesn’t, not this time. Their looks are enough.

Instead, he moves his hand into Simon’s hair, trying to somewhat flatten an especially unruly curl.

“You okay?” Wille asks, when Simon says nothing.

Simon only lets his eyes fall closed and hums quietly, lips still stretched into a smile.

“Yeah,” he says, then lets out a quiet yawn.

The exertion is slowly catching up to him, leaving him to sway his head from side to side adorably.

Wille doesn’t think he’s ever felt so deeply in love with him.

He twists the untamable curl around his finger once, then moves to brush his fingers down across Simon’s cheek instead. He passes the scar next to his mouth and carefully traces it. Simon huffs a smile, then lays his cheek into Wille’s palm, eyes still closed.

“My hoodie is all nasty now,” he mumbles and Wille lets out another laugh.

“Sorry,” he says, feeling more than a little sheepish now. Simon only shakes his head though.

“It was me, too, don’t worry.” He nudges Wille’s palm with his nose before pushing himself up and tugging the fabric up and over his head, only to drop it onto the bed next to them.

Wille’s eyes rake over the golden skin, beautiful and radiant, even when everything else around the room has a certain dullness to it in the cold morning light.

Before Wille has any more chance to marvel at the lithe lines of his chest, Simon is huddling back underneath the blanket, pulling it up to his shoulders once more.

It’s so endearing that Wille feels the urge to jump up and go grab a bunch more blankets from their sofa, anything to keep his sleepy Simon from freezing.

Simon’s got a different idea though.

“Cuddle?” he asks and moves to turn his back towards Wille, before Wille even has a chance to agree.

But of course he wouldn’t say no, could never pass up an opportunity to pull Simon close against his chest and hug him close. And with Simon’s body so soft from relaxation, his skin warm and smooth against Wille’s chest, such a contrast to everything around them, Wille himself is appreciating their snuggling even more.

He nuzzles he back of Simon’s neck, presses a soft kiss onto the mole right below his hairline and lets out a happy sigh when Simon squirms in his arms to get even closer.

This must be the definition of feeling sated, Simon snugly pressing against him, wiggling closer still, hugging Wille’s arms to his chest - as if Wille would ever let go - and Wille’s face in Simon’s neck. It’s heaven. It’s heaven, it’s warmth, it’s pure relaxation. It’s-

Wille is startled out of the beginnings of his descend into slumber by Simon clearing his throat.

“Wille?” he croaks. Wille lifts his head a little, alert.

“Everything okay?” he asks, palms on Simon’s chest roaming a little aimlessly, trying to soothe whatever it is that’s keeping him from cuddling back in for a few more minutes, maybe even an hour, of dozing.

Wille sees and feels Simon nod, his curls brushing up against Wille’s face when he moves his head back.

“Yeah, I was just thinking…,” he stops, trails off, gets a little too quiet for Wille to hear. “I mean…” He stops and clears his throat again. Wille tightens his embrace around Simon, hoping to encourage him.

“Do you think you can get hard again? Now, I mean?”

Wille nearly sputters, suddenly awake again. The blaze of heat rushing down through Wille’s body is a good indicator that, yeah, he might. So is the fact that Simon’s words seemingly went straight to his cock.

“I-,” and now Wille is the one at a loss for words. “I think so?”

An understatement. The idea of a second round, of Simon asking for a second round, is sitting heavily in his mind, is making his blood run hot, is making him feel a lot less powered out than he was just a minute ago.

“Why?” Wille asks, partially to make sure, partially because he wants to hear Simon say it.

Simon opts for silence, though, only presses closer, and, oh god . There’s the rustling of fabric as Simon moves his arms, and then parts his cheeks for Wille to slide right between them. He’s grinding his hips back against Wille’s cock in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

Yeah, some more of that and Wille is going to be right where Simon wants him to be in no time. Easy. Ridiculously easy.

Wille's cheeks are still burning, arousal mixing with just the trace of embarrassment at how quickly his body is reacting to Simon. But Wille pushes through it, tries to focus on Simon instead. On Simon’s pleased hum as he presses back against Wille, at the soft trail of hair on Simon’s tummy, the one Wille just needs to follow to get to-

Simon gently takes a hold of Wille’s wrist before he can go any lower. And if Wille wasn’t confused already, he would be completely lost by now.

“Too sensitive,” he hears Simon murmur.

Right. 

“Oh,” Wille is quick to move his hand up again, letting it rest over Simon’s ribs instead. “Sorry,” he says, then leans forward to press a gentle kiss to the side of Simon’s neck. When he pulls back, he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, to try to focus on figuring out what Simon wants him to do, instead of on the heady sensation of Simon’s ass cheeks around him.

“Just… this? Just grinding then?” he tries, biting his lip to keep his thoughts from drifting downwards. Immediately he curses himself for the ‘just’, but has no time to correct course.

When he sees Simon shake his head, Wille frowns. He’s not following in the slightest.

But Simon sucks in a breath and stills the small movements of his hips. Wille wishes he was better at showing Simon that whatever he wants to say can’t be so bad that Wille doesn’t want to hear it. But he’s never been particularly good at saying these kinds of things.

“Can you, can you just sort of…,” Another loud inhale. “Can you put it inside of me?”

Wille nearly blacks out at the sound of that. He’s entirely too slow to sort through his thoughts, not quick enough with voicing his resounding agreement.

“You don’t have to,” Simon is quick to assure. And Wille can’t have him getting the wrong idea.

“Please,” is the first word that makes it out of Wille’s mouth, every other, more eloquent, thought lost.

“So you want me to…” And Wille trails off again.

With a groan, Simon twists his head to the side and successfully buries his face in the pillow beneath him. Whatever it is he’s saying, Wille can’t make it out like this.

Sneaking one hand further up, Wille reaches for Simon’s cheek, gently urges him to turn his body a bit, to move his head to the other side again and meet Wille in a sweet kiss.

When Wille pulls back, he makes sure to nudge the tip of his nose against Simon’s.

That seems to do the trick. With his eyes still closed, his forehead pressed against Wille’s, Simon speaks again.

“I want to have you in me while you hold me.”

Wille’s heart is beating rapidly inside his chest, his mind racing, his cheeks burning. He smooths his hand over Simon’s sternum. Simon’s voice still gets quieter when he confesses: “I miss the feeling.”

All Wille is able to do is nod, nod enthusiastically and happily, and turned on out of his mind.

“Of course,” he says, then adds: “Fuck.” Because he can’t help himself. Not when Simon is saying things like that.

But it gets a giggle out of Simon, so it’s worth it. And, a little incredulous still, Wille joins in.

He immediately goes to feel around the mattress for their lube, reaching behind him, then across Simon’s body, only for Simon to reach under his pillow and retrieve it at once.

He gleams up at Wille when he hands him the bottle, failing to keep an amused expression off his face. And Wille simply has to lean in and kiss him again, this beautiful man that makes Wille’s heart ache in all sorts of ways.

As Simon lies back down, his back facing Wille again, Wille spreads some more lube onto his hand. When he first wraps is fingers around himself again he lets out a groan, relieved at the pressure. He’s half-hard, from Simon’s words and their proximity alone. He leans forward, presses a kiss to the top of Simon’s shoulder while jerking himself slowly and deliberately, pumping his cock a few times, getting himself the last bit of the way there.

He’s building up a bit of a sweat, his body temperature definitely still up, but it doesn’t matter. Not when Simon is cold, when Simon is insistent on keeping the blanket raised up to his shoulders.

Simon gives a hum when Wille kisses his shoulder, then scoots back a little, getting closer.

And, because he can, Wille carefully grabs onto him, carefully slides his slicked up cock back between his cheeks.

The groan that comes out of Simon’s mouth is music to his ears. He takes it all in while he grinds his hips forward, simply testing the slick slide of skin against skin.

He pulls back a little, just enough to move his lube-covered hand lower.

When he spreads the remainder of the lube onto Simon’s hole he feels his own cock twitch. This is hot, ridiculously hot. Even if it’s only for them to feel closer than usual while snuggling, the thought of being inside Simon again is already making Wille’s mind spin. He’s ready.

Simon exhales noisily, curving his back, just a little, to give Wille easier access.

“Do it slowly,” he says, voice shaky with what Wille hopes is arousal, rather than anything else.

Wille feels concern bubble up inside of him. “Are you sure it’s okay?” His finger is still carefully rubbing over Simon’s rim. “You’re not too sore?”

Simon shakes his head again.  “Just sensitive. But I’m fine, I promise,” he says, but the phrase hangs in the air, like he forgot the last part. And maybe he did.

“I like the way it feels, when it’s like this,” he says. The light rasp in his voice punches the air right out of Wille’s lungs. He swallows thickly.

“When I do it slowly?” Wille knows that, of course. He'd never rush and hurt Simon, ever.

Simon hums in agreement.

“And when I’m a little sensitive.”

Wille feels dizzy on Simon .

“Yeah?” He can hear his own voice waver.

Simon’s head bobs as he nods.

He opens his mouth to say something, Wille notices that much, but then he stops, letting out a long breath.

“Hmm?” Wille gently nudges Simon with one hand on the small of his back.

There’s a quiet, breathy laugh.

“It’s weird,” Simon starts, and Wille continues rubbing his back.

“Most likely isn’t,” he retorts and buries his nose in the curls on the back of his head.

A frustrated noise sounds off into the space in front of Simon. Wille smiles.

“You can talk to me,” Wille promises with a kiss to Simon’s hair.

Before he tries again, Simon slides one of his hands behind him and pulls Wille’s arm around him. For comfort , Wille realizes, and presses closer.

“It’s like- It’s like I can feel you more like this, sometimes.”

Wille hums. He doesn’t need clarification this time.

Simon goes on.

“It’s so… intense like this…,” he says, squeezing Wille’s fingers between his own. And that makes sense, absolutely. Wille himself gets overstimulated easily when Simon fucks him. Of course it would feel more intense afterwards.

“Now don’t laugh!” Simon implores and Wille squeezes his fingers back. He would never, least of all when Simon is being vulnerable like this, letting Wille know something he’s never articulated so clearly before.

He pushes his nose into Simon’s hair and nods.

“It’s like I feel you in my entire body this way,” Simon says, then lets out a little giggle. “This is so fucking corny, I’m sorry… but it’s like…” Wille holds his breath while Simon struggles for words. “When you push into me like this, slowly, when it hasn’t been long… it’s a lot . In the best way!” Simon rushes over the last few words. Wille feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He shifts, moves closer, hooks his chin over Simon’s shoulder.

“That sounds really nice,” he says, quietly, a little afraid that he could ruin the moment. But Simon rubs his cheek against Wille’s.

Then, he slowly lifts their tangled hands, only to brush over Wille’s fingertips with his other hand, almost like he’s testing the sensation.

He huffs another giggle.

“It’s like this really nice warm feeling,” Simon mumbles. “All the way down to my toes and fingertips, sometimes.”

Wille closes his eyes, breathing in slowly. This he knows. He feels like this sometimes when Simon is fucking him, like every part of his body is tingling. He’s more than eager to make Simon feel like it, good and warm.

After pressing another soft kiss to Simon’s cheek, he pulls back a little again.

“More fingers first?” He asks as he untangles his fingers from Simon’s grip, trailing them over the side of Simon’s body.

Simon shakes his head and Wille watches how the duvet bulges as he moves his hands down.

Warm fingers rub over Wille’s thigh, just barely within reach without Simon having to change positions. Then he pulls them away again, instead moving to his own ass, to hold himself open for Wille.

“Just like this,” Simon says. “I’ll stop you if it’s too much.”

Wille smiles as he scoots forward, feels his smile waver as he lines himself up. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so nervous about it. He simply wants to get it right. To make Simon feel the way he wants it to feel.

Any and all doubt leaves his mind as soon as he starts sliding into Simon.

He’s still relaxed, and so warm and soft that Wille sharply sucks in a breath. He knows this sensation, he loves this sensation, but Simon is right, fuck. It’s different like this, different when Wille inches forward as slowly as his body allows him to. It’s different now that the edge has been taken off, with Wille’s bones still heavy from his orgasm.

“Fuck,” he groans out quietly.

Simon hums in response, long, drawn-out, clearly enjoying this as much as Wille. And, god, Wille never ever fucking wants to do anything else again, he wants them to have this, always, wants them to he close like this forever, just holding each other and being held.

All sense of time is lost when Wille slides deeper, always mindful of moving extra slowly.

He’s lost in the sensation, in the warmth of their bodies pressed together, of being inside of Simon. He’s missed it, too, he realizes, even though it hasn’t been long.

He’s missed this level of closeness, of connection.

Once he bottoms out, he lets out a long breath.

Simon’s chest is rising more quickly now than before, Wille can just barely see, so he reaches out his hand to lay it flat over Simon’s sternum. Simon immediately leans into the touch, immediately sinks further against Wille.

“Okay?” Wille asks breathlessly, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against Simon’s ear.

He tightens his arms around Simon, closing every last centimeter of space between them.

“Yeah,” Simon says quietly, punctuating it with a curt nod.

He feels so, so warm, pressed against Wille. Chest to back, legs tangling, Simon’s hands laid over top of Wille’s, hugging him back as well as he can.

They stay like this, their palms the only parts of their bodies that move, for moments, minutes maybe, slowly settling into the feeling, slowly regaining their steady breathing. It’s never been like this, never so… relaxed, so slow, just Wille inside of Simon and it being enough. But, god, Wille understands now why Simon asked for it.

For the first time in a while, Wille lifts his eyes towards the window again. The snowflakes are still falling, steadily, slowly, no rush at all. Unchanged, cold, unsteady in the gusts of wind that throw them against the glass. Entirely unlike the feelings inside of Wille’s chest.

“Are you warm enough?” he thinks to ask Simon.

He gets a hum in return.

“Just keep holding me.”