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violet-lazer · 2 years

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Divine Interference

Content / Warnings : Copia/Reader, Explicit, Seriously very NSFW, Gender-Neutral Reader, Oral Sex, Handjob content, Previous Papas are alive and thriving. 3.7k words. Thanks, please enjoy! (AO3 link here)

Terzo does you a favour. Copia gets on his knees. You make extended eye contact with a rodent.

“I don’t think he’s coming,” you say idly, doing your best impression of someone successfully ignoring the atmosphere creeping up on them with the subtlety of a particularly large brick.

You can’t do another second of this. It’s twenty- ah - twenty one minutes past eight, Terzo is unspeakably late to the meeting he’d organised, and if you open your legs a little bit on this too-small couch you’ll be touching Copia’s thigh with your own.

Beside you, Copia sighs, abandoning his attempt to decipher the DVD cover of the arthouse film the three of you were supposed to be watching. He tosses it aside and fixes you with an apologetic gaze, brows knitted into the frown that reminds you it’s Copia, not Papa tonight.

“I’m sorry. I’ve tried to call him, what, five times? He isn’t picking up.” Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves his phone and presses redial.

You watch it ring out together.

This is less than ideal. Copia’s room is in definite danger of veering into the wrong side of warm, the open window doing little to alleviate the closeness of the summer air. When he adjusts himself on his seat to face you more fully you’re struck with the sudden thought that, actually, you might fit quite nicely on the couch if you were both horizontal.

And there it was, the dangerous tip of the scales that Terzo usually balanced. It’s always the same dance when the three of you meet; you show up, Copia and Terzo drench you in compliments, you flirt a little, and then you settle into whatever you have planned for the night together. And it’s fine, it’s fine, when they’re both there and there’s no chance of the night spilling over the edge of consequence. There’s nothing in it when it’s banter with men you’ve had an easy accord with for years, your friends, the first and second people at the Ministry to offer you a glass of wine upon your promotion to Sister Imperator’s personal assistant. Doesn’t mean a thing when you glance from Terzo’s casual smile to Copia’s earnest gaze and your heart does its best to rocket out of your chest.

Tonight, though, you’re in your second most fuckable outfit (you have a list, ranked), Copia is close enough that you can see each individual strand of grey at his temples and it would be oh, almost comically trivial to reach over and-

“We could…start without him?” Copia offers, gesturing towards the unopened bottle of wine on the table before you. “The wine, at least. Terzo can pay the late tax, eh? This is the good stuff and I would much rather share it with you.” He says it so directly that you suddenly find the weight of his gaze almost unbearable.

“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds nice! I’ll try to- I’ll try and get hold of him one last time.”

You stand perhaps a little too quickly and retrieve your phone from where you’d left it next to Copia’s rat enclosure - your photo gallery would be as bad as his in no time and it did not help that he kept making hats for them - and scroll through your contacts. Behind you, Copia busies himself uncorking the wine.

“I wouldn’t be offended if he doesn’t pick up,” he says, beginning to pour a glass. “I think his phone is broken, perhaps? Most of the time it just rings forever.”

You push the call button. It rings once, and-

“Yes?”

The sound of pouring wine stops immediately. You duck into Copia’s bathroom.

“Terzo? Where are you?” On the other end of the line you can hear a substantial amount of background chatter.

“Hm? I’m at a small gathering of friends drinking a tiny margarita,” Terzo says, tone infuriatingly casual. “Why?”

You take a moment to temper your voice before you respond. “Because you’re supposed to be at this small gathering of friends? The one you arranged?”

“Oh, yes,” he says languidly. “I’m not coming.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, and you must believe me, I fully intended to come. I was looking forward to putting myself down between you on that tiny couch and watching the two of you flirt awkwardly around me.”

There’s a pause, and you hear him take a sip of his drink. “But then I thought, ah, Terzo, look at the bigger picture. It has been months of all the glancing, and the touching, and the longing, and the not fucking for some reason and it is starting to wear a little thin. Obviously it is too distracting to have me there so I thought I would remove myself from the situation and let you, ah, crack on. So that is what I am doing.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and through the gap you can see that Copia has settled himself back down and is circling the contents of his glass idly, waiting for you. You pace further into the bathroom and take a seat on the edge of the bathtub.

“So,” you say, voice low and steady, “you’ve gone to all this trouble purely so I can what? Seduce Copia?”

“If you want to put it so coarsely,” he laughs. “But seriously, get a move on. You’ve become much less fun since your promotion so I must assume the delay is a professionalism thing.”

Well, it was rude, but he was right. Truthfully, you’d pulled back from the pair once you were Officially Sister Imperator’s Personal Assistant in what some could name a too-late attempt to quell your own paranoia- the last thing you wanted as you settled into your role were whispers of nepotism, questions about your merit. So you threw yourself into your work, flirted less at parties. And they’d noticed, of course. Copia didn’t stand as close as he used to. You missed the casual brush of his arm.

“I didn’t want people thinking I wasn’t capable-”

Terzo scoffs. “You must be very into self-flagellation as I do not think anyone could care less. And what, what if someone thought you got the job because you were fucking a Papa, eh? Then you should fuck a Papa! Or two, for good measure,” he adds.

You file that one away for later.

“I mean,” he continues, “don’t do anything you don’t want to. But if you want to….ah…I’m just saying it would be a good opportunity.”

You have another little peek through the gap in the door. Copia is fiddling with the TV remote and oh, he’s rolled up his sleeves. Fuck. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Hypothetically,” you begin quietly, “if I was interested…”

“Yeeees?” Terzo says, with a smugness that makes your fingers twitch.

“Then what am I supposed to do? How do I…open?”

“What, you need me to tell you how to screw someone?” He barks out a laugh. “Come on now. Just give him a hint, eh? Better- be honest. Tell him what you want. He responds well to direction. I have- yes I’m coming Omega give me a second- I have faith in you! Okay. Have fun! Okay. Bye!”

The line goes dead, and as you pull the phone away from your ear you realise you’ve been gone for longer than you intended. Shit. Without thinking, you stride back into the bedroom. Copia tears his gaze away from the television and shifts as if you’ve caught him off-guard.

“Ah, you’re back!” he says, fixing you with a bright smile. “That was Terzo?”

You nod. Immediately afterwards, you become excruciatingly aware that you now don’t quite know what to do with yourself. You’re hovering next to Copia’s lava lamp and you’re not sure what to do with your hands. Do people stand like this?

“Right,” he frowns. “So he can answer when it suits him. Understood. What did he have to say for himself?”

“He’s not coming,” you relay. “He’s at a… gathering.”

“I see," says Copia. “That’s very rude of him. Well. Do you still want to, er, watch the movie? It might be good. I think it’s French. But Terzo did pick it so,” he shrugs, “who knows.”

“We can find out,” you say, and he smiles.

Copia pats the seat next to him in invitation. You settle down, quietly mirroring his position- you’re turned slightly towards each other- and he passes you a glass of wine. Thank Lucifer, something to do with your hands. He’s halfway to the remote when you begin:

“He said-”

And then you stop. Copia pauses, looks at you questioningly, waits for you to continue. Which you don’t, because if you do, you’re setting a conversation into motion that could go either very well or extremely poorly. A conversation that relies on the oft-shaky communication between your brain and your mouth with a man, a Papa at that, who you really fancy. Maybe you should just go home. Copia raises an eyebrow.

“Hmmm? He said..?”

You realise you’ve already done it. “He said,” you venture, “that he thought it would be nice for us to spend some time together. Er, alone.”

“Oh.” Copia responds.

You should elaborate. Instead, you glance over to your left, over the back of the couch and to the room beyond, and promptly make eye contact with one of the rats. It’s staggeringly hard to look away when you know the alternative is looking back at Copia, and also neither you nor the rat has blinked for what feels like an eternity. You fold first.

“I didn’t plan this.” Copia’s voice drags you back to him. “I mean- I didn’t ask him to do this, just so you know. No subterfuge.”

“I know! It didn’t even cross my mind, you wouldn’t-”

“I wouldn’t-” He shakes his head. “Ah, am I protesting too much? I’m incriminating myself here.”

You laugh. “I’ve rumbled you.”

“But,” he says, “I am certainly not complaining. I feel as though I have not seen you in an age.”

It’s been five weeks since your promotion. Five weeks since you began spending less time reading in Copia’s office and more time poring over Sister Imperator’s schedule, taking breaks at odd hours, eating at your desk instead of in the dining hall where, inevitably, Terzo would’ve joined you. You’re good at this. You interviewed well. This is all you.

You take a sip of wine. “Well, you know. Sister Imperator keeps me busy. Lots of er, ghoul admin. I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit…distant.”

“There is no need to apologise. I understand. From what I hear, you’re doing an exceptional job. She’s lucky to have you.” His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass. “As anyone would be.”

Now, what you want to say is something like you can have me if you want but that feels absolutely unhinged. “Thank you,” is what you manage. And then you surprise yourself:

“I’ve missed you.”

There’s a clock, somewhere, punctuating the silence that now hangs between you. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place, and you’re sure you’re looking back at him with all the elegance of a deer in headlights. Copia glances briefly down at the wine in his hand, before gently placing it on the floor. He clicks the TV off and sets the remote next to his glass. And then he looks up at you, gaze direct and firm, and you want him to split you in half.

“May I ask you something?” Copia says.

“Yes.”

“Alrighty.” When he speaks again it’s a low, measured rumble. “Do you want to be alone like this? You and I?”

Here he is. It’s always a spectacle when Copia turns it on, no matter how many times you witness it; at Mass, in meetings, in the presence of distinguished visitors to the Ministry. You’ve observed him enough during your years in the clergy to become innately familiar with the change in register, the tilt of the chin, the fire in the eyes that accompanies Papa Emeritus IV when he desires something. And he’s looking at you.

“Yeah,” you say, heart hammering in your throat. “I do.”

Copia nods slowly. He’s leaning towards you, tentative hand outstretched to ghost your fingertips with his own. The absence of his touch is excruciating.

“Is there…anything else you want?”

Fucking hell, this is it. He’s handed you the tinder and you’re fumbling to light it.

At your hesitation, Copia pauses. “Please tell me if I’m overstepping.”

Overstepping. As if you haven’t spent a disgraceful amount of time imagining the way his hands would feel on you; didn’t have a mental list of surfaces in the Ministry he could bend you over. As if you haven’t imagined him underneath you, needy, begging you to let him finish. But here, now, he’s waiting for permission and you can feel that clock ticking away your chances of getting fucked with each passing second of silence.

“You’re not overstepping. I want this. You. It’s- it’s obvious. But-” you say, because you might as well- “I’m not very good at this part.”

He chuckles lightly, reaching out to take your glass and set it beside his. Finally, finally, he covers your hand with his own, tracing a lazy circle on your skin with his thumb. “I am trying very hard not to fuck this up also. Then, can I tell you what I want?”

“Tell me.”

“Are you sure? It is quite graphic.” He raises an eyebrow teasingly.

You permit yourself that which you’d decreed a final, fated action, shuffling closer and allowing your thigh to touch Copia’s. "Tell me.”

“I want,” he says, “to touch you. I want to show you how I desire you. How I ache for you. I want to make you come, with my tongue, and my hands, and my cock, until you are sated, and then many more times after. I want to kiss you-” He pauses. “Actually, I think I should have started with that one. I want to kiss you until I am full of the taste of you. Does that sound… agreeable to you?”

“Fuck.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It's a yes. Please.”

“Good.”

You don’t know who leans in first but that’s alright because he’s kissing you, an initial tenderness giving way to fervent lust when he pushes his tongue into your mouth. He tastes of the wine you’ve abandoned, and his hand is warm on your cheek. You kiss eagerly, ardently, and there are months of desire condensed into the sigh he breathes into your mouth. You want him on top of you. Chasing the pressure of his weight to hold you in place, your hands are in his hair, luring him forwards. He gets the hint, shifting backwards- you protest as he pulls away- and his hands drop to your hips, tugging you lower on the couch. And then he’s on you, pressing your back into the seat cushions - look, you do fit - teeth grazing your lips before his tongue is in your mouth again.

Aching for some friction, you shimmy to free your legs and wrap them tightly around his hips. In response, he grinds down onto you, and at the junction of your bodies you can feel it; he’s incredibly, incredibly hard. The ache in the pit of your stomach is nigh-unbearable and you push upwards but it’s not enough, not while there’s fabric between you and his cock and you need to touch him and you need him to touch you-

“Fuck,” he breathes into your ear. “You are perfect. I need to-” he presses kisses to your neck, working his way down to your collarbone- “ please let me go down on you.”

“Yes. Absolutely yes.”

He draws back, regards you firmly with a hunter’s glint in his eye. “Let me get on my knees.”

Gladly. You release your legs and he clambers off you, pulling you into a seated position. You busy yourself with your fastenings as he settles in front of you, knees to the hardwood floor, eyeing you as you discard your layers until just the thin barrier of your underwear remains. Gently, reverentially, he slides his hands up your thighs and hooks his fingers underneath your waistband, tugging downwards, laying you bare before him.

“Thank you, ” he says, and then his mouth is on you. Within moments it’s almost too much; hot, wet, eager strokes of his tongue, the sort that mean you can’t help but roll your hips forwards, the grip of his hands on your thighs, the sight of him between your legs, ah shit, you might -

And then he stops abruptly, lips moving to your inner thighs, grazing kisses along your skin. The tension in your legs dissipates. You look at him, aghast.

“Copia, please, ” you whine, and he has the audacity to laugh.

“Now, now. You’re making this too easy for me.”

That shouldn’t get you going, but it does. When he puts his mouth on you again it’s slower, languid, teasing. He brings up one hand to work you with confident, practised ease, tearing breathy swears out of you; you knot your fingers in his hair and try not to buck upwards. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he discovers what makes you squirm, how to touch you, the ministrations that make his name spill from your lips. With his free hand, he reaches out and laces your fingers together. Fuck. Your heart is hammering and you’re not going to last and he can feel it, of course he can, with the way your legs are tensing and you’re rutting against him in rhythm and you’re going to come. His eyes are fixed on yours as you tip over the edge, his mouth full of you as you ride out the waves of your orgasm together.

Spent, you tip your head back to catch your breath for a moment, before pulling him upwards by your still-joined hands. He lowers himself over you, straddling your hips, and presses his forehead to yours.

“Well. You seemed to enjoy that, yes?” There’s a faint smile on his face, a quirk of the lips that suggests he’s feeling relentlessly proud of himself. You’re almost tempted to tell him you’ve had better, but considering you were both present when he made you fold in about a minute and a half it might be a bit of a hard sell. Honesty, then.

“That was, yeah. Perfect.”

It would be ignorant of you, in this position, not to be acutely aware of the fact that his cock was still straining against his trousers. Frankly, it was hard to miss.

“I want to make you come,” you say, fingers reaching up to his belt buckle. “It’s only fair. And you might take my eye out with that if I don’t.”

Copia laughs. “Well. In the interest of safety…” Deftly, he helps you unbuckle his belt and shift his trousers down to free his cock. Your fingers tighten around him and his breath catches in a way that threatens to awaken some sort of god complex in you. “How do you like it?” you say breathlessly. He closes his fingers over yours, securing your grip on his cock.

“You can be a little rough with me.”

Anything. Anything he wants. Palming the head of his dick, you note he’s already slick with precum. You take your time working it down his length, and he’s watching your every move with palpable anticipation. When you begin pumping his cock, the sound that escapes him is more than worth the months you’ve been waiting for this. Oh, he’s vocal. Your range of movement isn’t the best- still constrained by the trousers around his thighs, but it’s enough. Adjusting your grip, your free hand settles on the back of his neck and he pushes forward into a desperate kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and the air is thick with the wet, lascivious sound of you working his cock interspersed with his loud, needy moans.

“Faster,” he grunts, and you comply. There’s a twinge of cramp in your wrist that’s attempting to become a problem but it doesn’t matter, fuck, it doesn’t matter because Copia’s saying your name and you want to make him come so hard he forgets his own. His kisses are messier, now, he’s gasping into your mouth and rocking his hips into you and oh, here it comes. His breath hitches and he spills into your hand, cock twitching as you stroke him through his release.

Copia pulls back and examines the mess he’s made of you. To your credit, you caught most of it, but seeing as one’s hand is an imperfect cum receptacle a good amount is seeping through your fingers and onto your stomach.

“Oop,” he says.

You swipe a little bit onto his cheek and he has the decency not to look affronted.

“Was that alright?” you venture.

Copia takes your face in his hands. “You are a dream. I could die a happy man tonight. Though I hope I don’t, as I fear you may become suspect number one if there is any…DNA tracing.” He laughs and presses a kiss to your nose.

“I’d better get rid of the evidence then,” you say. “Help me up.”

“Of course.”

Copia climbs off you, helps you gather your clothes, and gives you an encouraging pat on the arse as you head off to the bathroom to clean yourself up. When you return, he’s on the far side of the room, straightening his bedsheets somewhat frantically.

“So I was thinking, eh, it would be nice if you stayed the night? If you want to.”

He’s flushed, projecting an energy more nervous than when he was gearing up to kiss you, fidgeting slightly. You smile and extend your hand; he pulls you towards the bed and before you know it you’re underneath him once again and his breath is hot in your ear.

“It occurs to me,” he says between kisses, “that we have not watched the movie.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’ll be honest, it looked shit.”

He laughs. “Maybe next time, ah?” he murmurs, and he’s slipping his fingers under your waistband. “We are busy tonight.”

#the band ghost #ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iii #copia x reader #terzo #ghost bc #copia #sorry for all the tags i'm just proud of this one

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