Title: Nightly Admissions
Author: J Rease
Author's Note:
Sexsomnia:
What is Sexsomnia (Sleep Sex)?
Sexsomnia, also known as sleep sex, is a parasomnia that causes a person to engage in sexual behavior while sleeping. Characteristics of sexsomnia include performing the following during a non-REM sleep stage:
Masturbation
Intercourse
Fondling
Sexual vocalizations
Sexual assault
People who engage in sleep sex most often do not remember the event upon awakening. Sometimes they may wake up in the middle of an act confused about what is actually happening.
This fic deals heavily with Sexsomnia and non-consensual sex. Thank you to Lauren for being a wonderful soundboard and beta. I'd never get through these without her.
Prologue
Something jars you from your sleep. It's dark and your eyes take too long to adjust when you blink them open, so you can only feel the weight of something slung casually over your abdomen, fingertips daintily gripping at your side. It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Quinn's deep, even breathing reminds you quickly of your surroundings, and you realize that she is moving unknowingly in her sleep. She tugs you closer, and your body can only comply as silky strands of hair tickle at your neck, and Quinn's defined jaw presses slightly against your collar bone. You could easily fall back to sleep, and disregard the girl cuddling you absentmindedly. You sigh, too tired to correct her affection and comfortable enough to doze back off, when the hand at your side drags languidly underneath your tank top.
Your flesh prickles at the contact, goose bumps form in the wake of Quinn's moving fingers, and you bite the corner of your mouth to stop the surprised noise from slipping out. You are suddenly aware, the sleep fogging your sight instantly gone. You can only assume that she is still sleeping, her breathing unchanging as her hand settles on the space just above the waistband of your shorts before stilling. You let out a breath and close your eyes, hoping sleep doesn't evade you now that you've been woken.
You feel yourself drifting, your body at ease and light; on the precipice of sleep. Quinn moves again, nuzzling her nose into the crook of your neck before heavily inhaling; the exhale tickles erotically against the skin over your pulse point. Quinn nuzzles into you again before the full weight of her body settles over yours, a lithe leg situates over your hip and Quinn resumes whatever dream she's having while you lay there, wide awake. You don't know proper protocol. You and Quinn are friends now, and this is the first time you've slept over at her house. You surmise that the blonde doesn't know that she sleep cuddles, and you think that it will be a funny story over breakfast in the morning. You let your body relax, and you try your best to coax yourself back to bed.
Time passes that you can't account for, and you find yourself waking up again. The moon is shining through Quinn's bedroom window, and you can make out her porcelain skin in the night light. The leg thrown over your hip has pulled back, but Quinn's grip on your side has tightened. Something woke you again. You let your eyes trace around the room, trying to gather what it could have been this time. You yawn, and the tip of your chin grazes the crown of Quinn's skull. Her cheek is pressed against your chest, her hair a shroud over her serene face. She's drooling slightly, the damp space on your shirt evidence of how long she'd been sleeping there.
There is a clock on the bedside table. When your eyes focus, you scoff at the ghastly hour and try to will yourself to sleep through Quinn's movements. You don't want to wake her. You think to yourself that nothing could wake the blonde, who was dead to the world around her. The old Quinn would wake up mad; upset at the audacity of your position. But the Quinn you've come to know these last few months would wake differently. She would wake bashfully, rose tinted cheeks the hue of embarrassment with apologies on the tip of her tongue. There would be no insults or accusations, only the detangling of your limbs and the acknowledgment of her semi-odd sleeping habits. For that reason, you let your hand push her hair from her face, and you once again get comfortable, hoping this time to stay asleep.
Sleep comes quickly, and somewhere in your dreams you hear Quinn's voice. It's distant- a mere whisper against the noise of your subconscious. You hear your name, and something else, and you realize before you can stop it that you are waking up again. You're tired, but Quinn must be awake and maybe it's day time by now. Your eyes blink again into moonlight, and Quinn's head is resting against your stomach, her arms gripping both of your hips as her feet dangle dangerously near the bottom edge of the bed. It's hot. The skin of Quinn's cheek is moist against your sweating abdomen. She says your name again. "Rachel...", it rolls off her tongue like a practiced hymn, sing song and automatic. Her eyes are still closed. She is talking in her sleep, and you aren't sure if you should answer her quiet calling.
You let your eyes close again and you try to block out the sultry sounds of Quinn's voice. Her voice is deeper; rich and thick with scratchiness from sleep. Each time she calls your name, some part of her mouth grazes your stomach, and you have to stop the flutters from overcrowding your gut. You want to wake her, but the curiosity of what she is dreaming about you stops your hand from shaking her awake.
"MMmmhmm, Rachel, don't stop. That feels... mmmhmm, so good."
Something inside of you clenches. You suddenly feel like you are spying, the moment obviously a private one. You shake once at Quinn's shoulder, and again when she only turns her head and continues sleeping— her murmurs lost as her voice carries in the opposite direction. You sigh heavily, and abandon hope of sleep as Quinn's voice grows louder. You call her name and her head rises, jutting quickly from where it lay near your hip. When she turns to look at you, her eyebrows soar over closed lids, and she smiles lopsidedly before her head drops back down to your stomach. Quinn sleeps like the dead.
You vaguely warn yourself of waking sleep walkers, or rather, cuddlers... and you stay still as her breathing evens out once again. It's the most you can ask for, so you try to ignore the feeling of her lips pressing against the space below your navel, and you hope it's the last the blonde will stir in the night. You let out a shaky breath, and you wonder why you are more disappointed than relieved. Your eyes droop closed from exhaustion, and moments later your body calms enough to sleep.
End of Prologue.
To read the ORIGINAL PROMPT, proceed to chapter two.
To read the ALTERNATE PROMPT, proceed to chapter three.