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working for the knife: chapter 15

chapter 15: if I could turn back the time (link) Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Sister of Sin OC Rating: this fic is explicit. 18+, minors do not interact Also, two of the four (!!!) illustrations for this chapter are NSFW/ sexual in nature, so they'll only be on AO3. Head over there to read the chapter if you want to see them! Chapter word count: 7.5k Tags: this is so self-indulgent lmao, tender sex, hand-wavy dreams, tender sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal sex, feelings!! Read the entire work on AO3 here! (link)

Cecilia wakes the next morning to an empty spot next to her in bed. She reaches her hand out and finds the sheets cold. Her mind immediately goes to all of the men before who had snuck away while she slept. She feels her blood turn icy and jolts up, on the verge of tears, until she hears a guitar strumming in the living room.

"I just wanna be, wanna bewitch… be with? you in the moonlight."

The little flame of panic is snuffed out just as quickly as it was ignited. Immediately, she sighs her relief and hops out of bed. When she pads to the living room, she sees Copia sitting on the floor in only his underwear, playing his vintage acoustic Stella and singing softly to himself. His face is clean, devoid of any paint, and his hair is mussed from sleep. Candles flicker and the dense smoke of incense hangs in the air. The white eye seems to glow in the hazy light. "Copia… how long have you been awake?" she asks, rubbing her eyes. The first light of dawn outside is soft and grey.

"I have it. I have the album," Copia says, setting the guitar aside. He’s practically vibrating with excitement. "Look." He hands Cecilia her black notebook, which he must have plucked from her purse, long forgotten by his front door.

She thumbs through pages of lyrics, with notes about musical arrangements scribbled off to the side. "This is incredible," she says. "When did you do all of this?"

"Early this morning. It came to me in a dream," he replies eagerly. "I’ll meet with the ghouls later and we’ll come up with the music, but I think this is it."

"I don’t understand… an entire album, something you’ve been agonizing over for months about not being able to write, just came to you in a dream!?"

"Leave yourself open and you’ll receive," Copia replies cryptically, doing a silly, spooky finger wiggle. He saddles up behind Cecilia. "But that’s not the only thing that, eh, came in my dreams last night." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Cecilia snorts. "Smooth." He presses his hips against her ass and loops his arms around her neck. She sighs when she feels how hard he is. "Is that a morning boner, or are you just that eager for round two?"

Copia hums and wiggles his hips back and forth against her, considering. "I would say, eh, 30-70." He presses a series of kisses up the side of her neck.

Cecilia hums back. "Is that so? Should we do something about that?" She arches her back a little and grinds into him.

Copia growls into her hair and nips at her neck. "Don’t make me beg."

That’s a fun thought, Cecilia considers and tucks it away for the future. Copia spins her around and crashes his mouth into hers. He gropes at her breasts through the thin borrowed t-shirt of his that she’s wearing and walks them back toward the couch. Her nipples are peaked through the well-worn fabric. Cecilia’s lower half hits the arm of the couch, and Copia has her arching backwards as he kisses her deeply.

"Turn around," he says against her mouth, and she quickly obliges. The couch is the perfect height for Cecilia to bend her body forward and arch her spine, presenting herself for Copia. Feeling cheeky, she wiggles her ass.

He places his hands on her haunches and presses his hard cock against her, grinding up a little along her rear. Cecilia moans and feels herself getting wet. "Let me show you what I dreamt about last night," he says, dropping down and nuzzling his face against the curve of her ass.

"Please," she says, getting shivery with anticipation. Copia gives each cheek a little kiss. He pulls her underwear down, leaving them bunched around her thighs, and runs a finger along her slippery cunt.

"Eager," he murmurs, drawing his finger forward and rubbing on her clit. Cecilia feels her knees buckle and moans, grabbing at the couch cushion. "So ready for me, cara mia. Do you think you could come just from this?"

"Maybe. But more would be nice," she manages as Copia continues touching her nonchalantly, knowing it’s completely at odds with how turned on he is.

Cecilia hears the wet suck of Copia licking his finger clean. Obscene. "I think more would be nice, too." She hears him shift just a bit and feels him grab at the inside of her thighs, moving her legs farther apart, and suddenly she’s moaning loud and low at Copia lapping at her cunt. Just as it was last night, he’s loud and sloppy with the noises he makes as he eats her out. She’s taken with how enthusiastically noisy he is with his mouth on her.

"Copia!" she gasps as he wiggles his tongue a little bit inside. The warm, wet heat of his mouth makes her blood hum, pooling right at the apex of her thighs. She can feel the tickle of his mustache and grips the nubby fabric of the couch, nearly white-knuckled now. If she’s being honest with herself, she’s still pretty wound up from the night before, and she can feel herself being brought off quickly. He responds with a slurping, wet suck on her cunt before pulling away.

"Can I please fuck you? Like this, from behind?" he asks, still so polite in spite of it all. It makes her ache. His hands haven’t left her hips, and now he’s running them up and down her body reverently.

"Oh - please Copia. I missed having you inside me," Cecilia says with a moan.

"Mmm, I never want to leave." He shucks his underwear down his hips and grips his cock at the base, squeezing. His dick is blood-hot and he’s so hard that he throbs in time with his heartbeat. Copia is so tightly wound that he feels out of his mind with lust. He gives himself a few quick strokes before rubbing along the length of Cecilia’s slit. She’s swollen and glistening for him, so soft and so open. She moans her pleasure and presses her hips back against him, pushing the head of his cock just in past her entrance with a little hitch of her breath, and he slides all the way in with one roll of his hips. Copia sighs as he bottoms out, plastering himself along Cecilia’s back and fucking her with quick shallow snaps of his hips.

"You feel so good," she gasps. "Can’t wait to have you every way."

"We have nothing but - oh - time," he replies, losing his words when he feels her clench. For the first time in their lives, he knows that it’s true.

The room is quiet except for the slippery sounds of skin-on-skin and their quiet little pants. They lose themselves to the feeling; the candles flicker like fireflies as the light of the morning spreads across Copia’s apartment. Half-delirious, Cecilia thinks that the Ministry may have been onto something when they talk about how sacred sex is. She’s never felt closer to the unholy and divine than when Copia’s moving inside her. Copia reaches underneath Cecilia’s t-shirt - thin and soft with wear, borrowed from the back of his dresser - and grabs at her breasts, pulls at her nipples until they’re achingly hard. She feels electric with his hands on her; she never wants to be without him again.

They’re unhurried with it this morning, content to savor the slow, wet drag of their bodies against each other. Cecilia’s orgasm comes softly, in a way that feels like a leaf unfurling or waves lapping the shore. Gentle, rolling, but no less dilute in its pleasure.

Copia’s not long behind, murmuring Cecilia’s name with a sweet little whine. He reaches around her torso and snuggles her close, pressing his face into her back. "Amoré mio," he says softly, kissing the knobs of her spine through her shirt.

Copia snuffs the candles after they pull apart. They find their way back into bed after a shower. Copia towel dries his hair and pads to the kitchen, puts a kettle of water on to boil. Cecilia is still naked, snuggled up under the duvet, feeling very dreamy but too electrified to sleep. Copia comes back with two cups of tea in matching yellow mugs with little painted blue birds on them. He nestles Cecilia’s mug into her palms, then slinks back in bed, being careful to not spill his tea. They sit against the headboard and sip, and Cecilia is stricken with how this feels as easy as breathing, like they were always meant to be here together.

"So," she says, "when are you going to tell Sister the good news?"

Copia balks. "I don’t think Sister Imperator needs to know that we slept together."

Cecilia laughs. "You wrote an entire album this morning after it came to you in a dream, and us having sex is still the first thing that comes to mind?"

Copia sets his mug on his nightstand and curls up against Cecilia. "But you can’t blame me for having it on my mind, can you?" He presses a kiss to her damp hair and she preens. "Besides, I don’t want to talk to her today. It’s Saturday, and the most beautiful woman in the world is in my bed. I don’t want to do anything besides sleep and have sex."

Cecilia drains the honeyed dregs of her tea and sets the mug aside. "Mmm, I could be amicable to that," she replies, cuddling up to Copia and kissing his cheek.

"Ehhh… I do have something to tell you though, amore." He pauses. Cecilia looks up at him expectantly. "I think all the songs finally came to me because we had sex. Please pardon the pun, hehe."

Incredulous, she barks a little laugh. "Are you kidding?"

Copia shakes his head, nosing against her neck. "With these things, meaning, eh, when you’re waiting for a message to move through you, sometimes one has to give to ah. Receive. You know when people say they put their blood, sweat, and tears into their work?"

"Yes, go on," Cecilia says.

"Sometimes, it’s quite literal. Like an offering."

"And in this case, you think that the offering was…"

Copia makes a little jerk-off motion and splays his fingers. "My, eh, ejaculate."

"The sex magic stuff isn’t as sexy when you put it like that," Cecilia laughs.

"But please don’t think that I’m using you to do my work!" Copia quickly adds. "I didn’t even, eh, connect the dots until I woke up this morning."

"I know you’re not using me," Cecilia says, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles one at a time. "Besides, I’m happy to provide divine inspiration whenever you need it." She gives him a cheeky little wink.

"My muse," Copia replies, giving Cecilia a quick kiss.

"Yours," Cecilia replies. Copia covers his mouth and yawns. "Maybe you should get some sleep," she says, pushing a fluff of hair back from his forehead.

"Not a half-bad idea," Copia says, yawning again. He readjusts so he’s fully lying down, pawing at Cecilia to do the same. She pulls the duvet up to their chins and closes her eyes, feeling Copia curl up against her. He starts to snore, and she’s not far behind.

Cecilia wakes up again to the light of the afternoon. Copia is still curled up against her, nuzzling into her hair with one hand resting on a breast.

"Cara mia. It’s it true what you said?" Copia murmurs against her sleepily. "About the letters?"

Cecilia turns her head to kiss his nose. "Every last one. All the photos and pressed flowers, too."

"Mmm. I have all of yours saved, too. Maybe we can go through them together sometime?"

Cecilia kisses him again. "I would love that."

Wordlessly, Copia snuggles closer to her. He presses his face into her shoulder, and she can feel that he’s been crying. Cecilia strokes his hair and cradles him. Guilt pulls at her heart, and she knows she needs to do better, to be better. She has nowhere to hide anymore, and for the first time in a long time, she wants to be seen. She wants to be known.

A man of his word, Cecilia and Copia spend the rest of Saturday drifting in and out of sleep and sex. Copia makes the executive decision early Sunday morning that they can afford to indulge their burgeoning relationship a little more.

Copia’s head is nestled between Cecilia’s soft, pale legs. His hands are wrapped around her upper thighs, gripping gently like she’s something sacred, like she’s something he can’t bear to let go of. He’s taking her apart with slow, lazy kitten licks on her clit, and her hands are threaded through his hair, pulling just hard enough to make his scalp sting. She’s moaning breathlessly, lost to the feeling. Over the past day and a half, Cecilia doesn’t think she’s been anything less than semi-aroused once, and her and Copia have been more than happy to indulge each other in a litany of ways. For the first time in a long time, maybe the first time ever, she feels open and fulfilled in every way a person can be. She hopes the feeling never leaves her; that they can enter this new frontier committed to staying open to each other.

Hours ago, Copia woke her up in the dark blue of the early morning by nosing against her neck and pushing his hips into her thigh. They were sleeping naked - something uncommon for either one of them under normal circumstances, but clothes seemed like an afterthought not even worth considering in their cozy cocoon. Cecilia stirred slightly and half-opened her eyes. "Hmm?" She felt where he was pressed against her, hot and hard and leaking, and sighed a little.

"I woke up and I want you so badly. Cara mia, can I, please?" Copia was whispering, which felt appropriate for the unholy hour they woke up to. His voice was rough with sleep. He pressed his lips to her neck and nibbled a little bite before rutting his hips into the softness of her leg, almost on instinct. A shiver of pleasure rippled through Cecilia with the feeling of the slow, wet drag of his dick against her skin. Never in her life had a lover roused her in the middle of the night so desperately, so sweetly because they wanted her so badly. The notion is tender and erotic all at once.

"Yes, yes," she replied, turning her head and taking his mouth in a kiss that was all tongue. He moaned against her lips and slithered his hand up to pinch a nipple. The feeling went straight to Cecilia’s cunt, like a pleasurable electric shock, lighting her insides up. Incandescent. Her inner thighs were getting sticky where they met.

Copia swung a leg over Cecilia’s body and settled on top of her. He grabbed the base of his cock, dragging it up and down Cecilia’s slit. He chuckled quietly. "So wet already?"

She exhaled shakily. "I don’t think I’ve stopped being wet since Friday night," she replied with a small laugh.

Copia pushed all the way in with one roll of his hips and punched out a breathy groan. Enveloped in the dark around them, they rutted against each other, chasing their pleasure quickly, quietly. Cecilia thought it’s such a beautiful thing for pleasure and permission to be given and accepted so freely. Copia came with a sweet little whine, then pulled out and let his talented fingers bring Cecilia over the edge.

In the present, Copia pulls his mouth away from Cecilia’s cunt and nuzzles against her inner thigh. "I never want to leave, dolcezza. Wanna live with my face in your pussy for the rest of my life. Forget Ghost, forget the Ministry," he sighs reverently, peppering her skin with kisses. Cecilia giggles at the tickle of his mustache. "I’m giving Sister Imperator my resignation letter early Monday morning."

"You never have to leave," she says, running her fingers through his mousy brown hair. He looks up at her so contentedly that she thinks he might start purring like a cat, and Cecilia’s heart skips a beat at the sight. "Let me get my mouth on your dick. I still haven’t had the chance to suck you off properly."

"Oh? Is that a complaint about how things have been going so far?" Copia asks teasingly, eyebrows shooting up. He wiggles a hand around from the top of her thigh and slides a finger into Cecilia, eliciting a gasp. She cants her hips up as Copia pets just past her entrance, gentle and teasing.

"Wanna use my mouth to - oh, Copia! Oh - make you feel good," she replies, words escaping her when he slides a second finger inside her. She thought that at some point in the last thirty-six or so hours, the thrill of his touch would lose its edge, its newness. She’s now convinced that they’ll spend the rest of their days helping each other chase their pleasure. She never wants to leave Copia’s apartment or his bed. Build a cozy little world together where they can make up for the two decades they spent apart and get to know the other wholly in every way.

"Mmm, you’ve convinced me," he replies, sliding his fingers, wet with Cecilia’s slick, over his tongue. The lewd sight of Copia sucking her arousal off his skin is enough to make her moan. Cecilia sits up and pulls Copia with her. Now that he’s not lying prone and is sitting with his knees under him, she can see that he’s very hard. His cock is jutting up toward his stomach, flushed dark red and leaking precum. His foreskin has slid down, exposing the pink of his head. He looks tantalizing, and Cecilia is shivering with the anticipation of getting him in her mouth.

"Stand up," she says, getting off the bed and rising to stand herself. Copia does as he’s told, rolling off the bed, cock bouncing with his steps as he moves a few paces away from the mattress. Cecilia steps over to him, placing her hands on his pale, freckled shoulders and squeezing. To feel him under her hands, blood and bone and flesh, so soft and hot and human, is still surreal. He dips down and kisses her, sweet and gentle, cupping her face. She can taste herself on his lips. Cecilia’s hands roam down as their mouths move against each other, and she cards her fingers through his chest hair and tweaks his nipples, eliciting a gasp from Copia. She smirks, and her hands continue downward. Once she reaches the soft swell of his hips, she breaks their kiss and begins kneeling down before him. The syrupy slowness of her descent is making her quads burn, but the way Copia’s breath catches with anticipation is worth the ache. Her nails scratch down the meat of his thighs, and she leans in toward the gutter of his hip. She sighs and kisses along the hollow valley at the top of his right leg. Copia shudders; he can feel her warm exhale fan across his erection, which gives a twitch of interest at the sensation. A fresh dribble of pre slides down the head of him.

"Give me Unholy Communion?" Cecilia asks sweetly, blinking up at him. Her hands are now resting on the tops of her thighs, patient and expectant.

Copia moans bodily, the sound coming from deep within the core of him. "Oh, Sathanas. Oh, Cecilia," he says. He touches the top of her head and slides his hand down to the base of her neck.

"Well, Cardinal?" she asks from the floor. "Feed me His Unholy Body. Tend to your flock. Don’t deny me what is mine to take."

Copia moans, whiny, hips jutting forward of their own accord. His cock twitches again, and Cecilia opens her mouth, sticking her tongue out. Copia grips his dick hard at the base, feeding the tip into Cecilia’s waiting mouth. She wraps her lips around him, pink as a flower, and swallows him down. One hand comes up to grip his remaining length that she can’t quite fit into her mouth, and her other hand slides up to grip under the curve of his ass. She gives him a squeeze, eliciting a ticklish laugh from Copia, as she sucks him into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks. He tastes like salt and pussy and musky sweat; objectively, she knows it’s a little gross, but she takes a strange pride in knowing it came from where their bodies met as one. She bobs her head back, feeling the weight of him on her tongue, the heavy slide of it, and swallows him down again, setting an unhurried pace.

Copia’s making little mewling noises above her, and Cecilia clenches her thighs, trying to find a little pressure, a little friction. Her cunt throbs, swollen. She’s never been so turned on when giving head, but knowing that she’s undoing him like this with her mouth alone is making her pussy clench. His hand is still gently cupping the back of her head, petting her hair and letting her take the lead.

Slowly, she jacks him with her left hand while suckling the tip. Copia gasps and moans, mutters something in Italian she doesn’t quite catch. She swirls her tongue around the underside, giving the frenulum a wiggle with the pointed tip, and brings the hand on his ass to his balls, giving them an experimental fondle. Copia bucks his hips forward and nearly buckles at the knees. Cecilia feels a spurt of pre, warm and salty, splash her tongue.

"Brava ragazza, my Cecilia. You feel so fucking good." He’s stroking the back of her head, carding his fingers through her blonde locks. She’s drooling now, getting him wet and messy, and she looks absolutely divine in the act. "Your mouth is so pretty on me." She hums in response, looking up at him through her blonde eyelashes, and the sight of her naked on her knees for him nearly makes Copia come. Cecilia feels his cock throb in her mouth and makes a pleased chuckling noise. The vibration elicits another moan from Copia. "Cecilia, my honey, is it okay if I fuck your mouth?" Cecilia slides his cock out of her mouth and massages her jaw. She nuzzles her cheek against the blonde baby hairs on the pale part of his thigh where the sun never touches. Soft. She likes that she gets to see this secret part of him. "Can you, um - can you tell me that you’re going to do it?" she asks, looking up at him.

"Oh, Lord Below. You’re going to kill me, Cecilia. You -" He groans, sounding beside himself, then swallows dryly. "I’m going to fuck you mouth, Cecilia. Your Cardinal is going to fuck your mouth - oh, fuck - and you’re going to take it all." He’s blushing crimson from his forehead to his sternum, shiny with a film of sweat. His cock throbs up toward his belly, and he moans. "Open your mouth, please, and take it."

Cecilia obliges eagerly, feeling warm about how unflinchingly polite he still is, like he can’t help but be sweet even when he’s telling her to suck his dick.

Cecilia opens her mouth. With one hand on the back of her head and one hand on his cock, he thrusts shallowly forward. She rolls her lips over her teeth as she takes him in, and his other hand finds its place on the back of her neck. His cock is heavy and warm on her tongue, all velvety soft over the length of him. His thrusts are shallow, almost shy, at first, and his hands are cupping her skull gently, like she’s made of glass. Her mouth is so hot around him, and she’s making these breathy little noises in the back of her throat, breathing in and out through her nose. The lizard-brained animal instinct kicks in, and Copia starts rocking his hips into her mouth with more vigor. Cecilia widens her jaw to accommodate the stretch and feels her eyes start to water. She’s thankful in the moment that she’s not wearing mascara, no black rivulets to drip down her cheeks. She rocks forward on her knees, spreading her legs to try and find some relief by rolling her hips in time with Copia’s thrusts. She’s soaking, she knows it, and she can feel the damp coolness of arousal in the curls of hair between her legs. His fingers grip a little harder onto her head, nails barely scratching into her scalp, as he holds her steady.

"Look at you - you’re more faithful than you thought, Cecilia, aren’t you? Taking me so well. Taking communion so well. Do you want to - ah - do this during mass? Get on your knees for me? Show the congregation how you worship? Show your devotion to your Cardinal? Oh, oh."

Cecilia nods as best she can and moans around Copia’s cock, pressing the flat of her tongue right under his head. He feels the vibration of it travel all the way up his spine, electricity tingling the base of his skull. He tosses his head back and moans. His hips buck forward, but he stops himself short from hitting the back of Cecilia’s throat. She’s making these little half-gulping sounds and getting his dick so wet. The slide of it between her lips is so slippery it’s almost frictionless. With each thrust, he trembles. He pets one of his hands down her silky blonde hair, and she looks up with him with her big, brown doe eyes, all watery with the effort of it, and oh-

"Oh - fuck - fuck, and if this is the only way you want to worship Satan? All the better for me, diavolleta. Our own secret ritual, just for you and me."

Cecilia moans loudly at that, at the way Copia so effortlessly tapped into something she’s felt for a long, long time. It’s always been him. Copia is making these high-pitched little grunts, and his hips are starting to stutter. His fingers clench in her hair, scratching along her scalp. The dull sting of it feels divine. Cecilia swipes her fingers along her pussy, keening at how slippery she finds herself.

"His Unholy - ohh - Body." Copia punches out the words with a whine. He comes with a shiver, the warm salt of his release filling Cecilia’s mouth. Cecilia brings her palms up to his thighs, worshipful, and slides them up to his torso, feeling his muscles jump under his skin. She swallows dutifully, suckling him through it. His hands drop from her head and she pulls away, kissing the shiny tip of him.

"Nema," she says, placing another kiss to the head of his cock. Copia shivers. He reaches down to grasp her hands, pulling her up from her knees. Without a word, he pulls her into his arms and kisses her full on the mouth, sighing contentedly when he tastes the salt of his release. He squeezes her, delighted, and she nuzzles her head against his shoulder, peppering kisses along the junction of his neck. He walks them back to the mattress and flops down, boneless, before pulling Cecilia down on top of him.

"Am I squishing you?" she asks, kissing along his jawline. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and she feels the catch of stubble under her lips.

"Not at all," Copia replies. "But I’d let you smother me, if it made you happy."

Cecilia laughs. "You make me happy," she replies, so caught up in the rosy glow of the moment that she doesn’t even care how cheesy it sounds. She rolls off Copia, laying on her side and looking at him lovingly. He gazes at her out of the corner of his eye. There’s an ease and a softness to him, sprawled out on the mattress like this. His hair falls in gentle waves, and without any makeup, she can make out all of the freckles that dot his face. It feels precious and private to see him in this way; it’s a gift she hopes she can keep receiving.

Absently, she shifts her thighs, pressing them together, and gasps. She was so caught up in the warm glow of Copia’s orgasm that the lingering throbbing between her legs became an afterthought.

"Oh - oh no," Copia says, shifting onto his side. He gets close, touching their noses together. "Cecilia, did you come?" He sounds genuinely concerned, which touches her.

She shrugs. "I didn’t, but, you know. It’s okay." Her long-practiced denial comes bubbling up again.

"I can, if you want. Make you come, I mean," Copia replies. His sudden shyness is at odds with the fervor he was fucking into her mouth moments ago. He kisses the tip of her nose and brushes his fingertips along her ribs. She shivers, ticklish, and smirks.

"Since you offered so nicely," Cecilia says. Copia walks his fingers around the side of her body, over the softness of her belly and down between her thighs. He smirks when he feels how wet she is.

"Don’t deny yourself, dolcezza," he says. Slips a finger between her lips, hot snd swollen. Her mouth falls open and her eyes flutter shut. She parts her legs, and Copia crooks his finger up, just past the entrance to her cunt, and holds it there. "Especially after you worshipped your Cardinal so well."

Cecilia punches out a breathy moan, and Copia pushes two fingers fully into Cecilia, massaging upwards. Cecilia can feel electricity pooling at the base of her spine, ready to unfurl through her body. "Oh - Copia," she chokes out. Copia rubs the pad of his thumb over her clit, and she arches her hips into his touch. "Is smothering you still on the table?"

He’s sultry with the way he’s fingering her, all slow, lazy swipes of his fingers. In and out. In and out. His white eye is hot, voracious, and Cecilia’s certain that if he hasn’t just spilled into her mouth, he would be hard and aching where he’s pressed against her. "Do you want to -?" he asks. He swallows, trying to downplay the eager tremor in his voice. Sathanas, Lord Almighty down below, he truly thinks Cecilia might be the death of him.

"Can I?" she asks. "Maybe my Cardinal should take Unholy Communion, too."

Copia moans brokenly. "Unholy fucking Father, Cecilia," he says, sliding his fingers out of her pussy and licking them clean. "Please get up here, right now." In a gesture that’s equally lewd and silly, he makes a vee with his fingers and wiggles his tongue through the gap.

Cecilia swings one leg over Copia’s torso, settling down over his belly button. She grinds down onto the soft, hairy warmth of his belly, and he groans when he feels how wet she is. "I’m going to eat you until you see stars. Come here." He loops his arms around the tops of her thighs and pulls her up toward his face. She hovers above his mouth, and he whines, pulling her down. Eager, hungry. She swivels her hips and settles her cunt down over his mouth. Her stomach crunches in like she’s been punched when she feels the first swipe of his tongue between her lips. She grips the headboard hard and moans.

He laps at her like a parched man, broad strokes of his tongue. His nose is nestled up against her clit, and whether it’s intentional or not, the tip keeps bumping up against her, making her toes curl. Copia’s making these sweet mewling noises, like he’s the one getting head, and she can feel the warmth of his exhale as he moves her mouth against her.

Cecilia has quickly discovered that Copia goes down on her like he kisses; sensuous and wet and full of tongue. He mouth maps her, and his eyes are screwed shut in focused pleasure. His fingers are pressing into the meat of her thighs, hard enough to dimple and with enough pressure that a dull, pleasant ache radiates outward.

The only sounds in the room are her punched-out breaths and Copia’s little mews and the wet, smooth slide of flesh-on-flesh. His hot tongue, that clever muscle, wiggles up inside her, and she grinds forward against Copia’s face. To her surprise, he moans with it. She rocks forward again, little twitches of her hips, and feels her orgasm start to build between her legs.

"Maybe we should get you on the altar," she pants, picking up the pace. "Show the congregation how you worship."

He moans again, muffled, and sucks on her clit. True to his promise, stars blink in the corners of Cecilia’s vision, and she crumples forward as her climax crests and breaks. A noise like a sob falls from her, and she grinds her hips as she rides it out. She looks down between her legs and sees Copia’s face, resplendent with ecstasy. He taps her thigh and she clambers off him. He gasps like he’s coming up for air, then curls against Cecilia, kissing her with soft presses of his lips. She can’t help but smile wryly at tasting herself on his mouth as she kisses him back. He pulls away, face shiny with her slick, and she laughs brightly.

"That was so good, Copia," she praises, running her fingers through his hair. He leans into the touch.

"I’ll let you smother me any day, any time" he replies. He pauses, biting his lower lip and considering what he says next. "Was that okay?" he asks. "With the eh… religion stuff?"

"I would have said something if it wasn’t," she says, scratching against his scalp. "I brought it up first. The long and short of it is that it’s complicated for me. But how I feel about you isn’t. Besides, if something does bother me, I’m going to be better about talking about it. Promise. Uh - I’m not very practiced at this sort of thing. But I want to get better at it with you." The words feel clumsy coming out. The prickly urge to run creeps up, but she breathes through it. She’s safe, and she’s safe with Copia.

Copia laughs, breaking the tension. "We can be inexperienced together. I hope it’s not eh, in bad taste to say, but I haven’t dated anyone in… ten years? Maybe a little more? I am very out of practice, cara mia." He leans in and kisses her forehead. She nuzzles closer to him.

"Is that what we’re doing?" she asks, mirth crinkling the corners of her eyes.

Copia blinks back at her. "Of course that’s what we’re doing. Dating. If you, ah, if you’re okay with that."

"More than okay with it," Cecilia replies. "You’ve done a very good job of wooing me." She pauses and huffs a little laugh. "Sorry it took me so long to meet you where you were at. Thanks for sticking with me."

"Cecilia. It’s okay. I know - I know it was hard to talk about. And we’ll never get back the time we lost, but I am going to hold your story so gently. Keep it close to my heart. Keep it safe with me. Besides." Copia laughs softly. "It took us how long? Twenty-two years to get here. I think we can do away with the pretense, my baby." He punctuates the sentence with a kiss to Cecilia’s nose, and she feels like she’s glowing. "I know a lot is about to change, but I want to change ah, with you. Together."

"Together," Cecilia says, grasping for his hand. She leans forward and kisses him softly, then wrinkles her nose. "Shower?" she asks. "We’re both a little nasty."

"Mmm, but spent and sticky is a good look on you," he replies.

"We can do it all again later, but I need a shower now. C’mon." Copia sighs and rolls his eyes, faux-beleaguered, and lets Cecilia pull him out of bed. The thrill of finally being here with each other makes them clumsy, nearly tripping over the piles of sheets and blankets on the floor.

Cecilia turns the shower on all the way, as hot as it can go, and the pipes in the walls rumble to life. She steps into the shower, and Copia crowds into the small space with her. He gasps when the streams of hot water hit him.

"You like this?" he asks, shrinking out of the path of the shower head. "It’s burning hot."

"I love it," she replies. Her pale skin is starting to turn pink, and steam swirls around them. "I want to look like a boiled lobster when I leave the shower."

"You’re insane," Copia laughs.

They suds up washcloths and wash themselves soft and clean. Copia uses peppermint Castile soap, and the chill of it is a pleasant contrast to the heat of the water. Copia washes Cecilia’s back, moving her long blonde hair out of the way and kissing down her spine as he goes.

"You’re so sweet," she sighs.

The tender newness of it all is so exciting; every new detail that emerges is like seeing Copia with brand-new eyes. How he blinks water droplets from his eyelashes, the way rivulets of water catch in the hair on his chest and belly, the freckles on his shoulders extending down over his triceps. The faint raised lines of the tattoo on his right pectoral, the interlocking sixes etched onto his skin. She brushes it with her fingers, captivated.

"I got it when I became a Cardinal," he says. "Like a rite of passage."

"Did it hurt?" she asks.

"Hmm. Maybe like a bee sting, or a cat scratch. It was over so quickly though. Took no time at all."

Cecilia leans forward and kisses it. His pulse thrums beneath her lips.

They stand in the shower for so long, touching and talking and exploring, that the water starts to run cold. Copia’s towels have the same bleached scratchiness as hotel towels, and Cecilia makes a mental note to introduce him to fabric softener and woolen dryer balls someday. The domesticity of it makes her heart flutter.

Still naked, they crawl back into bed. No other place is as appealing or appropriate. They tangle into each other once again, like vines growing toward the same light. "What does Monday look like?" Cecilia asks.

"What do you mean?" Copia asks in reply.

"You know… are we still getting breakfast? Do you feel comfortable kissing me in public? Oh, no, what are we going to tell Sister? Is she gonna freak out?" The words leave her in a frantic rush, one thought after another.

Copia kisses her hair. "Of course we’re getting breakfast, silly little goose. I’ll kiss you anywhere you want me to." He punctuates the sentence by kissing her mouth, then trailing down her neck and along her collarbone. They’re both cool and soft from the shower. "I can tell Sister, if you want me to. When you want me to. Or we can tell her together. Whatever you’re comfortable with. She, ah - I don’t know how she’ll react, truthfully. But what you and I do is not any of her business."

Anxiety clenches in Cecilia’s stomach. "Do you think we’ll… get in trouble?" It’s a childish impulse, she knows, but she feels compelled to ask regardless.

"Why do you think that? Are we doing anything wrong? You have to remember - it’s not as uptight about these things as it is out there. I’ve walked past Sister and Nihil moaning and groaning in her office more times than I care to count."

Cecilia grimaces. "Don’t they… hate each other, or something? She acts like she can’t stand him."

Copia laughs. "Their relationship is beyond me. She keeps him on a tight leash but you know what? I think he likes it." He pauses to take in Cecilia’s exaggerated disgusted face. "So at the very least, we are not the only workplace romance."

"I can’t believe you just compared us to them," she says.

"We could never be that dysfunctional, even if we tried," replies Copia.

"And what a relief that is. We even got our first fight out of the way, right off the bat."

Copia hesitates. "And everything is eh, everything is okay on that front?"

"I think it needed to happen," says Cecilia. "I’m glad that it did. I’m very good at the whole repression thing, so it might take time, but I want to work through all that. No more hiding."

"But are you okay?" Copia asks.

"I’m okay," Cecilia says, and as she says the words, a huge weight feels lifted off her chest. "Are you?"

"I’m okay," says Copia in turn. "More than okay, in fact."

How this sweet, sincere man has always managed to cut right to the core of her, she’ll never fully understand.

They spend the rest of the day sweet and sleepy and curious, curled up in bed together. When the golden light of dusk fades away to the blue of twilight, Cecilia begrudgingly decides she should go back to her room and prepare for the week ahead. Copia insists on feeding them before she departs (some sort of delicious bulgur wheat salad), and he insists on walking her back to her room.

She picks her habit up from the place on the living room floor it’s occupied since Friday night. Her underwear are lost to who-knows-where, and she decides to forego them entirely for their brief walk.

"You can keep them, as a reminder of our first time," she tells Copia with a wink. Her cheeky teasing, coupled with the knowledge that she’s bare under her clothes, makes it hard for him to not pull her back to bed for one more round.

She insists on keeping the shirt she slept in that first night ("I’m gifting you my favorite pair of underwear. It’s only fair," she says, folding it up and tucking it in her purse.) She steps into her magenta running shoes while Copia combs back his hair in the bathroom mirror. He settles on wearing his red sweats; no need to get fully dressed when he’s coming right back and slipping into bed again. He also forgoes his paints and tries to ignore how he feels naked in public without them.

Feeling bold, he reaches for her hand, and she laces their fingers together, keeping them that way for the entirety of their walk to the dormitories.

"Well," Cecilia starts when they reach her room. "I’ll see you tomorrow morning?"

"Same time," says Copia. "I’ll meet you here?"

"As always," replies Cecilia.

"I’ll ah - I’ll miss you between now and then."

"And I’ll miss you." Cecilia rolls up on her toes and kisses Copia, not caring about who sees. Copia kisses back tenderly at first, then something shifts. He’s like a man starved, slipping his tongue into her mouth and gripping hard on her hip. Cecilia suppresses the urge to moan. Wordlessly, Copia pulls away, kissing her forehead softly, as quickly as he started. He can’t find the words within him to convey everything he’s feeling; he loves her, he wants her to stay forever, he never wants to let her go.

"You should bring some things over," is what he settles on. "If you ever want to stay the night."

"Moving me in so soon?" Cecilia asks, breathless from their kiss. She’s going to play that one over in her head; Copia’s hungry desperation and the plainness of his desire is making her blood hum.

"I don’t want to waste anymore time," Copia says, low and ragged. "No pretense, my honey."

"I like how you think," Cecilia replies. She swallows dryly. "We should say goodnight, because I think we’re on the verge of staying up all night if we keep going on like this." She steps closer to whisper, "and making all my neighbors hate me, too."

Copia sighs, heavy, and runs a hand through his hair. His face is red. He’s trying to play it cool, but she has him flustered. "Damn responsibilities," he mutters. "Buona notte, amore mio. I’ll see you tomorrow."

"Can’t wait," Cecilia replies. She kisses him and nips at his lip.

"Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish." He gives her ass a playful smack as she turns to unlock her door.

"Goodnight, Copia," she says, stepping inside. They kiss once more, and out of the corner of her eye, Cecilia sees her next-door neighbor shyly give her a double thumbs-up. No more hiding. They couldn’t if they tried.

Tag list: @sakuraspoke @circle--of--confusion

End notes: I've reached the point where I've posted nearly everything I've written so far, so updates might be a little slower going forward. Thanks for all the support!!

#reblogging because I got caught up last night and holy hell #loved it so much #fic rec

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library-ghoulette · 1 day

Text

My Path Serpentine (Ministry librarian series) - Chapter 3/?

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Pairing: Copia (Papa Emeritus IV) x Original Female Character

Rating: This chapter is gen, later chapters will be mature to explicit

Tags: Third person POV, original female character, slowburn, workplace romance, professional frustrations, angst, Copia being grouchy

Words: 1494

Summary: Copia returns home from a long, exhausting trip, and learns of new developments at the Ministry.

A/N: Mostly a little character study to establish Copia's POV and give us an idea of the hangups and motivations he's bringing into the story and into his eventual relationship with Beatrice. Lots of updates this week because I've had far more time to write than usual. :)

Copia leans his head gingerly against the passenger side window, peering past his weary reflection in the glass. The rain-streaked neon of the city fades as the car heads toward the Ministry headquarters, cutting through the thickening darkness, and with every mile covered he feels more relieved that this long trip is finally over.

No matter how much traveling Copia does, he has always been a nervous flier, and he supposes that he always will be. On that last interminable flight, he had popped a sleeping pill and washed it down with a glass of red wine, and so had slept most of the way back. A deep, velvety abyss of slumber, black and utterly dreamless, that should have been healing. Unfortunately, when he woke up just before landing, he discovered that apparently he had been holding his neck at a new and downright inventive angle the entire time. Now it hurts to hold his head up too high or to look to his left too quickly.

He thinks longingly of the pleasures of home: Arnica gel. A hot shower. Ibuprofen. Cozy pajamas and clean bedsheets. And he thinks, not for the first time, that he's getting old.

He would love to let himself drift off again now, but Sister Imperator is making that impossible. It was kind of her to pick him up—waiting at arrivals in her signature staid gray suit, holding a thoroughly unnecessary posterboard sign with "Cardi" written in block letters—but he wishes that she had spent some of the Ghost Project travel budget on an Uber, instead.

Her driving has always made him anxious, even during the day, even when it's not raining, and if he weren't so exhausted, he would have insisted that he drive them back. And the longer they're in the car, the more it seems that her real motivation was not kindness, at all, but to have ample time to pepper him with work-related questions that could wait until the morning.

Or afternoon, he thinks. He likes afternoon a whole lot better.

Luckily, Sister Imperator seems to have exhausted her list of questions and is now settling into a more or less constant stream-of-consciousness list of updates for him about what he has missed while away. He's skilled at tuning her out when she gets like this, letting his mind wander while staying engaged only enough to provide an "uh-huh" or "ah" or "oh?" at more or less the correct moments.

He's floating along pretty comfortably when the car lurches to a sudden halt and Sister Imperator honks her horn at the driver she nearly rear-ended, coming up behind him too fast and not paying attention.

"Idiot! Can you believe this guy?" She glances over at Copia, who is now clutching the door handle, eyes wide. "What's wrong with you? You're so jumpy tonight. Anyway…"

And then she's off again. Copia tries to relax, settling back against the window and willing his racing heart to slow down. But before long, something she says snags his atttention.

"What—" He looks over at her sharply, and hisses at the painful twinge in his neck that immediately punishes his incautious movement. Massaging the back of his neck, he tries again: "What did you say?"

"I said that we're putting in new rosebushes next week. The old ones came down with that blight, and they're such an eyesore, it's horrible—"

"No, no, before that."

Sister Imperator purses her lips, thinking for a moment, trying to find the previous thread in her voluminous tapestry of words. "The new librarian started this week?"

Copia feels an angry flush spreading across his face. "What do you mean, the new librarian started this week?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? Her first day was Monday." She shoots him a steely look that perfectly suits her name, and swerves slightly out of and then back into the lane in a way that has Copia clutching his door handle again. "And don't you dare raise your voice to me."

Copia takes a deep, centering breath and tries to master himself, to get his annoyance under control before he speaks again. It doesn't do to fly off the handle, not with Sister Imperator, anyway. Other people might be intimidated by his title, might scurry to appease him when he slips into that deep, angry register. But not her.

Here's the way these conversations go: she says or does something that seems expertly engineered to piss him off, and then he mouths off to her, and maybe he even gets a few scant seconds of satisfaction… right before she puts him back in his place. Every time, he's left feeling like a scolded child, and he swears to himself that the next time will be different. Next time, he won't take the bait. And every time is exactly the fucking same.

"What happened to me being on the, ah, the hiring committee?" he asks.

"Oh C, you've been so busy with the Ghost Project, and I didn't want to distract you from that, from what's really important! Besides, you were out of the country when we were doing the interviews, and we simply couldn't postpone them any longer."

Her tone is the calculatedly casual, overly sweet one that she uses when she's making an excuse for why something just never could have happened, no matter how obviously possible, even easy, it would have been to see to. Because she didn't want it to happen. Because it wasn't part of her plan.

"Could they only be in-person, these interviews?" he asks.

"Why does that matter?"

"Because I could have called in, on Doom," he points out, referring to the Ministry's preferred video calling platform. "I could still have helped out."

She doesn't bother countering this, which is evidence enough that it was a valid point. Instead, she scoffs, "Why is this so important to you, anyway? We had to get a warm body into that position, and we did!" Then, more softly, "It's just the library. You know how Brother Reginald ran the place."

Brother Reginald is one of those people who seem perennially old regardless of their actual age, and had seemed ancient even when Copia was a kid. Brother Reggie gave perfunctory reports during staff meetings, never asked for anything more than level funding for the library, and was a staunch proponent of doing things the same way as they had always been done, forever. He made no waves, ate the same thing for lunch every day for decades, and made it clear that he didn't really need the Head Librarian job at all. If anything, it was more like a paid hobby that he toyed with until his stunningly late retirement.

Copia says none of this. Instead, he mutters, "I should have a say in things."

"Well, of course you have a say in things!"

But Copia wonders about that. Sometimes he feels like he had more power back before Sister Imperator unceremoniously plucked him out of his day-to-day work and set him at the helm of the Ghost Project. But even those early days had felt different, somehow. Before he was promoted to the venerated position of Papa Emeritus IV.

There are benefits to being Papa; of course there are. But there are times when he misses his old life and smaller role, the one he was sure he fit into. He misses when his life was little more than a comforting cycle of clerical work, study, leading mass, hearing confession. When his duties were less flashy, to be sure, but somehow felt more significant. Like they'd had a greater impact on the only place he has ever known as home.

And no one had balked at calling him Cardinal. That's not the case with Papa.

Sister Imperator seems wholly oblivious to these concerns, has breezily moved on to telling him about the new librarian, whom she had seen no reason to consult him about before. "Her name is Sister Beatrice. Very qualified, seems very ambitious, which… well, we'll see. You'll get to meet her soon enough, at mass tomorrow, I'm sure."

But already the thought of meeting this Sister Beatrice makes his skin crawl. He imagines a female version of old Brother Reginald, wearing the same hideous green cardigan with its worn elbow patches, and eating from the same old lunchbox full of hardboiled eggs and saltine crackers.

By the time Copia lugs his suitcase up the stairs to his apartment, his relief at being home is gone, and his straightforward tiredness has metastasized into something uglier and more complex, a tangle of soul-deep exhaustion and anger and sadness that he has no idea what to do with.

Eventually he drops into a fitful sleep that is nothing at all like that lovely void that swallowed him on the plane.

The next day, he wakes, sweat-drenched and pulse racing, from disquieting dreams that he can't remember clearly.

He skips mass.

#ghost band fanfic #ghost band fanfiction #papa emeritus iv fanfic #my writing #lib ghoulette writes

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