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“It was very bright there,” you recalled from your travels to that foreign witch city, your head resting softly against Qifrey’s shoulder while his hand absently stroked your hair. In his warm, plush bed, you laid together, limbs tangled in a state of nearly full undress. The skin-to-skin contact was calming, the warmth a comfortable contrast to the dull sounds of the chilly rain on the window.
Qifrey’s Atelier was your second favorite place to be—second only to the solace that was his bed. Extra points if he was in there with you.
“The night life was grand. It was like a festival once the day crept into midnight.” You felt the way your soft breaths smoothed over Qifrey’s pale skin, and reveled in the comfortable silence between each sentence as he took in each delicate word from your lips.
“What about the people who want to sleep?” Qifrey asked, his tone a soft purr of amusement.
“Oh, I hardly think anyone who willingly lives there expects much sleep to occur,” you answered, nuzzling your head against him before tilting it up to look at him. “Besides, they use a spell on the doors in sleeping quarters. Keeps sounds in, and disturbances out.”
A lazy smile crept across his face. “Sounds like a useful one. Perhaps I should head there to learn it.”
“You’d put quick use to it, I’m sure,” you hummed, tracing lazy patterns on his stomach with your index finger. “If you’d let me finish without getting vulgar, I was going to mention how lovely the food was.”
“Yes. Do continue.”
“The chefs were truly masters of their craft. If I was there a little while longer, I would have brought back some for you and Olly.”
“I’m sure he would have appreciated that. Perhaps a trip is in order?”
“Yes. We may even be able to meet my friend.”
Qifrey twirled a finger around a strand of your hair.
“Which friend do you speak of?”
“One you have not met before,” you explained softly. “A kind man. He helped me navigate the city, and invited me out for a drink on my first night of arrival.”
“Is that so?”
Anybody who was not as versed with Qifrey’s body language would miss the dip in his tone—the way his lazy purr sharpened into something harsher and more demanding. His lax form stiffened, rigid beside you where it was content before. He tipped his jaw down to look at you, his gaze suddenly serious, as if intending to peel back the layers of your conscience and find out exactly what, pray tell, you might have been doing with this man.
“If I was a different woman,” you hummed, stealing the amused purr of his typical tone, “I would suggest that you are perhaps… jealous?”
His eyes flashed with something dark. A subtle twitch, because he knew you were teasing him, and you knew that he liked it.
“Quite the opposite, darling,” he murmured, quickly schooling his features back into that effortlessly composed visage of his. “Jealousy implies that I would be worried about you indulging that man’s fantasies at all.”
You love him so, but teasing Qifrey was a rare delight that you could never pass up.
“Perhaps I did indulge.”
Qifrey’s hand tightens in your hair—barely enough to pull, but enough to distinguish the intent.
“Oh.” He said, his hand releasing your hair and sliding down, resting on your shoulder. He blinked at you slowly, his hair fanned out on the pillow as he shifted to lay on his side and face you directly. “I see. Then what drink did you have?”
Your bare legs slid against his as you hum.
“I can’t recall. I may have had one too many. Maybe the night ended in a sated blur.”
“Did it, now?” Qifrey asked, his hand sliding down your arm. “Not with this man, I imagine?”
Your hand slid up his sternum, light fingers emphasizing every bit of the tease you were trying to be. When you replied, your tone dripped with the honey of someone who knew they were getting up to trouble. “Oh, what does it matter to you?”
His hand caught yours before it traveled too far, and it hardly took a heartbeat before it was pinned above your head, his lean body looming over yours.
“I doubt this story is true,” Qifrey said lowly, “but in the case that you might have entertained the thought for more than a second…”
A low growl rumbled from his chest, the sound hitting your ears and traveling in a pleasant tingle down your body until your thighs pressed together. This sound he only released when he was trying desperately to hide himself under the guise of indifference. Your sweet, dear Qifrey was so obvious with his tells, but for all your selfish desires, you would never inform him of how possessive he appeared.
Your hand slid down, nails brushing along his skin, then the fabric along his waist, before skimming over it and teasing the hardening flesh it found. Qifrey grit his teeth and smiled, letting out no more than a grunt.
“Don’t get bold, now.”
“I would never.” You were already massaging, watching the pleasure flicker in his features as he fell apart so slowly, so beautifully.
His hand eventually slid down to grab your wandering one before finding both your wrists and raising them above your head, securing them with one large hand while the other traveled back down, resting on your cheek.
“Darling,” he murmured softly, thumb brushing your lower lip, “for your sake, tell me you remember that spell for the door.”
It was very possible you did, or at least had it sketched somewhere in your bag, but it was so far across the room and your head was too fuzzy now for memories that the thought of either of you getting up was simply tragic.
“Isn’t it much more fun with a little danger?” Your knee slid up now, gently massaging where he moved your hand away from.
“I like to hear you,” Qifrey purred, “and I intend to do so in your full glory. But don’t tell me, then. You won’t like it.”
He almost shifts off you when you whine, immediately snapping his attention back to you like an interested dog.
“Yes?” He cooed, smoothing a lock of hair out of your eyes. “Will you draw the spell?”
“You are a wretched, evil, sinister…” curses tumbled out of your lips as Qifrey let you go and you sat up, unwillingly exiting the bed and fumbling in your bag until you pulled a small journal of spells. You mimicked the drawing in your palm quire with as much skill as your impatience allowed before slapping the paper onto the door. Immediately, the sounds in the room became much clearer and more amplified as if you, Qifrey, and this room were all that existed in the world.
Just as soon, heavy arms wrapped around your torso and you let out a surprised squeak before you were lifted into the air, back pressed against the door while Qifrey’s hands grip under your thighs.
“Finally,” he panted against your lips and captured them without finishing his thought. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft tufts on the back of his head while your mouth worked in tandem with his, kissing hotter and deeper with every passing second.
His tongue slipped against your lips once, then twice, gently testing your eagerness.
As if he even needed to ask.
With a soft moan, your lips part and Qifrey’s tongue was sliding against yours, hungry for your taste. He groaned against your lips, his eyes slowly fluttering open when he pulled back to reveal how dilated his gaze was.
“Need you,” he murmured against your cheek, pressing kisses there and lower, lower—along your throat, down your collarbone, over the swell of your breast and kissing, worshiping, “darling.”
Then you were moving, sure-footed steps bringing you right above the bed and dropping you unceremoniously onto it while Qifrey crawled atop you. Your already barren fabrics were pulled from your body as Qifrey exposed you. The air was cool, and your body was hot—goosebumps prickled your limbs while your nipples perked up from the chill. Instinctively, not quite shyly, your legs clamped together. Qifrey’s gaze darkened as he sat up, head bowed above you like you were an altar, before gripping your knees and prying you apart.
“Don’t hide from me,” he said softly, his voice that feral warning that urged you to submit. “You are so pretty when you listen.”
“You haven’t given me an order,” you countered feebly.
Qifrey smiled then. Just a quick uptick of his lips that told you there would be no weasling your way out of this one if you even wanted to.
“Spread your legs, darling.”
They parted on his command, exposing the damp flesh and the hot scent of your arousal to Qifrey. He leaned in, kissing down your stomach.
“So beautiful.” His nose trailed down your skin, inhaling at your hip. “You smell so sweet. Taste even more so.”
“Qifrey,” you breathed, head already tipped back against his pillows.
“If I recall, you called me impatient.” His lips ignored your sex, instead continuing their teasing journey along your inner thighs while he situated his body comfortably below you.
“You are the worst,” you groaned feebly.
“Ask me nicely.”
“You’re hardly nice.”
Qifrey licked a slow stripe through your folds—enough to have your thighs already clamping around his head. He always had you so sensitive without doing much at all.
“Fuck,” you panted, your leg twitching as you spread again.
“Ask nicely,” he coaxed again in that stupid, melodic tone that made you want to grab his hair and force him to devour you. The cocky asshole would enjoy it, too. But this was his game, and you were just so tired after long weeks of travels… maybe playing his game wasn’t so horrible.
“Please,” you relent, letting the plea slide past your lips, settling over Qifrey’s already needy body and making his cock twitch. “Please, Qifrey. Lick me. Touch me. Fuck me. I want you to do anything you want. Just please, please make me come.”
With a groan, Qifrey dove right in. His tongue lavished at your folds, cleaning up all your desperate slick before he moved up, flicking your clit with expert precision. You trembled around him but his grip remained strong on your thighs, holding you apart while his tongue worked a more potent magic than an inkwell and pen could ever produce.
The feeling built and built, but Qifrey was never satisfied so soon. As his tongue slowed, and the sensation died, a pitiful wail slipped past your lips because you knew Qifrey wouldn’t reward you so quickly.
“Always so sweet,” he rumbled against you, gentle despite your hands harshly gripping his hair. You hadn’t even realized you did that, and was quick to smooth it out and delicately stroke the white strands in apology.
“Qifrey,” you breathed, “I said please.”
“I know,” he hummed, kissing up your belly again. He leaned up to your lips, tangling your tongues so you could taste yourself briefly, before brushing his lips gently against your forehead.
You laid back, but barely had time to relax before Qifrey hoisted you on top of him. Your hands planted on his chest as he settled beneath you, stroking your thighs with his fingertips as his cock twitched between you.
What a gorgeous sight.
Pale skin illuminated by soft lamplight. Muscles on display beneath you. His cock, as graceful as the rest of him, with a lovely pink tip already dripping with his needy arousal. It twitched while you sat there and took in the sight, exposing his anticipation.
You reached down to grip him, wrapping your hand comfortably around him before stroking it gently. His moan reverberated, low and needy, eyes fluttering as the sensation overtook him.
Your thumb swiped through the precum at the tip and rubbed it down his length, wanting to see him shudder. This was your payback for his cruel edging.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” you murmured softly. “You truly have no reason to be jealous. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
“Sweet words,” he purred, his mouth tipped up in a stupid smile.
“They are the truth.” You sat up on your knees, guiding his cock to your wet entrance. He cracked his eyes open slightly to moan and help guide you, one hand on your hip and the other on your thigh as you aligned your bodies.
Sinking down was heavenly. He stretched you perfectly—so much time away from him meant your cunt was soaked, absolutely eager to get him inside of it. His tip slid in with a slight delicious resistance, and beyond it, each inch got you a little closer to ecstasy. You could feel every thick inch slide deeper and deeper, pulling out more sounds from both of your lips before he finally bottomed out, his tip flush with your cervix.
A perfect fit.
You sat there for just a moment, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you while simultaneously enjoying the way he got increasingly more desperate to have you move.
“I love you,” he mumbled, his other hand sliding from your thigh to your hip. “Please, ride me. I can’t stand you just sitting there much longer.”
His desperation was hot. With your hands braced on his chest, you rocked your hips, finding your rhythm slowly but surely. Each steady movement of your body had him arching, his hips canting into you despite his best efforts to stay still and let you control the pace.
“You’re so good,” he panted, “so fucking perfect for me.”
“You’re so big,” you breathed back, “feels so good.”
Your praise had him seeing stars, and he started to move you, using his grip on your hips as leverage to bounce you up and down. “Just like that,” he whined. “Oh, use me.”
His whiny tone filled you with a newfound vigor, and you bounced for him, finding that angle that pulled the loudest noises from his throat.
“You’re so pretty when you come,” you breathed, lips hovering by his. “Give it to me. Please?”
“Yes,” he nodded desperately. “Fuck, yes. Anything.”
He sat up, hand sliding around your back before he flipped you without breaking the position. With your back on the sheets and his hand sliding to yours, he thrust his hips into you at a pace that made every nerve in your body sing.
“Qifrey!” You warned, even as his fingers intertwined with yours and he held it above your head. His hips didn’t slow.
He muffled another moan with a kiss, ensuring you felt every bit of devotion he was trying to pour into this love-making.
“Come for me,” he whispered on your lips, his voice rough from exertion. “I want to feel you come around me.”
Breathless gasps left your lips and you arched, your skin coming in contact with his as you squeezed his hand. Your orgasm tore through you but Qifrey was there, holding your hand and breathing gentle praises into your neck, his hips never slowing as he fucked you through it to ensure you felt every bit of the pleasure you deserved.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. “Oh, fuck, darling. Fuck…” and then he fell right off the edge as well.
He was whiny when he came, whimpering softly into your neck while your free hand rubbed along his back. You felt him fill you deeply, your walls still fluttering around him and milking every drop of his release.
Exhausted, Qifrey fell to his forearms, still holding himself enough to not crush you. He peppered kisses along your face, saying nothing while the coolness of the room caressed both of your overheated flesh.
Eventually, he rolled off you, pulling out with a vulgar pop. You squeaked and lifted your hips so as to not make a mess, and Qifrey was quickly there with a damp cloth to protect the sheets. He cleaned you up without complaint, smoothing back your sweaty hair.
“I love you so much,” he praised gently. “You are always so perfect for me.”
“You’re perfect, too,” you purred, sated and happy under his tender ministrations.
Once you were adequately cleaned, Qifrey pulled you against his chest, pressing his face to your hair and inhaling deeply. His hand rubbed up and down your bare back, easing out the shakiness in your sore limbs.
“I’m going to cook a lovely breakfast for you in the morning,” he announced quietly.
“I love you.” You snuggle against him, breathing slowly on the verge of sleep.
“Mm. I’m much better than a stranger’s invitation for a lousy drink, I hope?”
“Are you still on that?” You grumble, pressing your face closer. “You know the answer.”
“I like to make sure.” He chuckled, his finger finding your forehead to smooth out the grumpiness between your brows. “You know how thorough I am.”
Entertaining him with a reply would only make him keep going, so you grunted and closed your eyes. Sleeping in his arms to the sound of rain always put you out quicker than a spell ever could.