Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tick, tick, tick.

That clock was awfully loud.

“...excuse me, sir? Are you listening to me?”

You snapped out of your dissociation, “Sorry?”

“I said your insurance no longer covers your treatment.”

Treatment? Oh. Well, shit.

Here’s the thing: you’re broke. Dead broke. Like, living-in-your-car broke. It wasn’t your fault, it was just a series of unfortunate events. You got kicked out at 19, so already, bad start. You couldn’t find a job for about a month, and the girl you were staying with kicked you out too because you couldn’t pay your half of the rent. Extended family reached out and decided to help you out for a while, allowing you to find a job and an apartment. Well, whoop-dee-doo, you were fired after about a year for “negligence”, though you’re not really sure what that's supposed to mean. Coincidentally, that also happened to be around the time you started physically transitioning. So sure, “negligence”.

Tick, tick, tick.

“What- um, am I suppos’d to do now?”

The lady you were speaking with gave you that figureitoutyourself look but by some miracle she decided to have pity on your poor, brokie soul.

“Well, you can ask family-” Nope. “-or you can pay out of pocket.” Fuck.

Your thoughts must’ve crept their way onto your face because one of her thin eyebrows lifts apathetically. You sink slightly into your chair. You were crumbling in front of this tired, and frankly annoyed employee of where-ever-the-fuck you go to pay for your testosterone. Trembling hands release the iron-tight grip they had on the armrests and cross over your chest defensively. You sit up. And, what comes tumbling out of your stupid mouth next, is rude, and. Well. Stupid.

“Fuck you.”

Tick, tick, tick.

Now both of her thin, stupid eyebrows go flying up towards her hairline.

“It’s not even my fault! You can blame this administration.” The slight drawl she has on that second sentence just pisses you off even more. She doesn’t even give a shit. But, she’s right. It isn’t her fault, but you’re angry, so. Whatever. Whatever, whatever, whateverwhateverwhateverwhatever.

You lean over without a word, an extremely annoyed, pinched up look on your face. You grab your bag and speed-walk out the door, slamming it shut. Suddenly you’re overwhelmed with all your failures at once, and you get that burning sensation on your nose. Shit. You continue down the hallway and out towards the front office. You don’t want to embarrass yourself; this'll be the last time they see you. Maybe. Definitely. Probably. Tears bead at your waterline and threaten to fall. Thankfully, they only start to drip down your face once you’ve left the building and gotten into your car.

Now you’re really crying. Like, baby-sobbing into the wheel. Your wails fill your shitty metal box to the brim, unaware of the few bystanders. You don’t care though. You just lost the only thing keeping you alive. You feel like you’re sinking. Into the cheap cushions that make up your carseat. Face-first into the steering wheel, covered in tears and drool. You gasp empty breaths and suddenly a pit has opened in your stomach and is consuming your intestines, your kidney, your lungs, your heart, and oh, it’s reached your throat, and you gasp again, but no air can reach your lungs because they’re gone, and you start to dry heave. You can’t hear anything besides the jackhammering of your heart. You whine like a dying dog over and over again. Until finally, the pit seems to spit out all the guts it had taken from you. And then you throw up all over your car. 

Great.

You stare at the brown-yellow mess covering your wheel and dashboard and you start to cry again. Lighter tears and simple sniffles this time, thank god. With a wet sigh, you reach over the center console and open the front compartment to grab napkins you got from your last venture to Wendy’s. You clean what you can through the dizzy haze clouding your mind.

Your insurance no longer covers your treatment.

The sudden urge to vomit again rises up behind your teeth, but you swallow it back down. You should probably head to a car wash. Should. Shoulda-coulda-woulda. Another wet sigh escapes your lips, and you look up. But something captures your attention.

The Billboard.

The Billboard, with a man in a very sparkly suit-jacket and black and white face paint.

The Billboard, reading, “I’ll get you everything you want” in big, bold, enticing letters.

And, an address under it. Whatever it was advertising, it was pulling you in. Weirdly. You weren’t completely stupid, you knew not to just pull up to a place you saw on a vague billboard. But you never said you were a genius either.

The thought of going rolls around in your head. Go, and be murdered. Not bad. Or, go, and get everything you want. Could this creepo help you out with your car payments? Your testosterone? A sniffle rings out in your car and you realize you’re crying yet again. Not really because of the recent events, but because of your idiocy. The fact that you’re even considering this makes you giggle.

Oh, hell. Why not? Your 20’s are for being stupid, right?

With one last wobbly breath, you punch in the address into your GPS.

————————

It doesn’t take too long to get there, though the way to the dude's place is sketchy. Horror movie type sketchy. You were led onto a dirt path that took you deep into the woods a few miles outside of town. The woods were thick and dense, making it hard to see what was going to be around the next corner. You turn, and a building seems to rise up out of nowhere. You slam hard on the breaks. The sudden stop jerks you forward and you bang your head on the wheel.

“Goddamn!” 

A feeling of warmth bursts out on your forehead and you wince, touching it. The fingers come away red and wet and a sigh pushes its way out of you. After reaching over and taking out some more napkins from your front compartment to dab at the fresh wound, you sit for a moment. No thoughts at all really, just pure awe at the building in front of you.

It was a large church made from molding black bricks, creeping up towards the darkening sky. Instead of regular crosses, the tip off the roof adorned an upside down crucifix with an incomplete circle around the middle of it. Its windows shimmered in the sunset, purples and blues winking at you, almost mockingly. The doors were large, taking up more than half the front of the church. The small windows on either side of it showed no signs of life inside from what you could tell.

You shuffle out of your car, orange yellow and brown autumn leaves crackling under you. A slight breeze that smells of winter hits you, and suddenly you want nothing more than to go into the parish in front of you.

As you walk up the few steps leading into the house of prayer, you swear you can hear the faint sound of an organ.

Opening the door, the smell of incense hits you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly you’re a kid again, uncomfortably stepping between the aisles to where your parents are after confession. The memory makes you stop for a second that lasts forever; forever that scared child begging God for forgiveness for your wishes to be born differently or to not have been born at all.

You shiver, forcing yourself to walk into the church. The tendrils of excessive incense wind through the pews and wrap themselves around your ankles, only to be ripped away once you take another step forward. This process repeats until you’ve made your way to the front of the church. Only then do you realize that there’s nobody playing the church’s organ.

Okay. Weird.

“Hello?” Echoes through the parish. “Hellooooo?”

The church isn’t normal, you note. The candles are black instead of white, and everything seems a bit more.. gothic, then you’re used to seeing in a typical Catholic or Christian parish. The stained glass combined with the setting sun and swaying trees causes its colors to dance around you on the floor and through the incense. 

You try again, warily, “Hello?”

A nun comes up beside you, slithering out of the smoke.

“Hello. Do you need help?”

“Oh, uh, hey. I saw the billboard that you guys, I think you guys- I dunno, I just followed the address- put up. I thought it was.. interesting.” Shuffling from one foot to another, you fiddled with your necklace. The nun was wearing all black robes, and wore the same kind of crucifix you had seen on the outside of the chapel. A black silky veil falls down the back of her head and covers the top and front part, causing her to almost blend in with her surroundings. The sun had almost completely set, and the only thing keeping it from being pitch black was the light coming from the ebony candles. She was shorter than you by a few inches, with big brown eyes and freckles. She was cute.

”Oh,” she blinked, “The Billboard.”

“Yeah, The Billboard.”

“Hm. Then you’ll be wanting to see him?” She had an upward tilt to her voice, like she was excited to tell me a secret she knew she shouldn’t be spreading around.

You thought for a moment.

“..Yeah.”

“Follow me,” she beckoned gently with her hand.

She led you out of the main room and out into a wide hallway, decorated with the same raven candles you saw littered around the organ and ambo. The smell of strong incense faded, replaced by a heavier, enticing musky scent you couldn’t describe. Burnt pine mixed with oils, something like that. The windows were the same blue and purple from the chapel area but the effect was different now. The colors were more wicked in the moonlight, flickering and changing in the moonlight. Oh, it’s dark out. A small voice in your head wondered about your car, but you quickly dismissed it. You were probably about to be sacrificed anyway. 

A few sharp turns down wide and narrow hallways later, passing by rooms you could only catch glimpses of, the both of you ended up in front of a door. The name plate next to it read, Papa Emeritus IV. It was a regular wooden door, nothing special to it. Nothing out of the ordinary in usual circumstances. But considering your surroundings, this was weird. Just.. some door? And the guy behind it, you’re guessing, is the dude from The Billboard? That freaky sparkly shimmery guy? Right. Okay.

The nun knocked thrice, lighting tapping on the wood as if trying to not damage it. You doubted whoever was in there even heard it.

To your surprise, after a moment a voice from inside called, “Come in!”

Definitely not the kind of voice you were expecting. It was masculine, slightly raspy, but cheerful. Almost cute. It had an accent too. Italian, maybe?

The nun twisted the knob and pushed the door open, revealing an office. Dimly lit by a warm yellow lamp and shadows cast by more flickering dark candles. It was honestly overkill at this point. Cry wolf by a-ha! was playing quietly from a CD player sat neatly on the edge of a dark wooden desk, contrasted by the mess of papers and folders and letters surrounding it. And, sitting behind the desk, was Frater Imperator. He wasn’t nearly as intimidating as his name made him sound. The man was wearing a red jacket, covering a black crewneck t-shirt. You couldn’t see below his waist from here, but you bet he was wearing a pair of pants that matched his jacket. Then, his face. Mismatched eyes, one white, the other a nice shade of green. Black face paint surrounded those eyes, making them more prominent. His hair was slicked back, grey hairs sneaking up from his hairline. 

He seemed slightly surprised at your appearance, and you realized you were still in the doorway, staring. Stupid.

“Sorry,” you stepped into the room and shut the door behind you.

“This one saw your Billboard, Papa,” The nun spoke up. Papa?

“Oh, wonderful!” He clapped his hands together, smiling, “what did you think?”

And suddenly everyone (count: two people) in the room was staring at you.

“Uh, I.. thought it was interesting?” You tried to smile back, but it faltered.  You were just.. lost. Who was this guy, what was this church?

“‘Interesting?’ You wouldn’t be here if it was just ‘interesting’,” He chuckled. His eyebrows tilted upwards and his smile was warm. You thought you could get lost in his cute little crows feet.

The nun spoke up, “I’ll leave you two be,”

“Thank you, Sister,” Frater Imperator replied politely. He folded his gloved hands upon the table, crinkling the mess of papers on top of it. The nun bowed and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Silence.

“You can, eh, sit down, if you like,” He gestured lightly to the comfortable looking velvet seat in front of him, looking up at you. Cute.

Yeah this dude was definitely Italian. Sitting down with a slight creak, your eyes wandered about the room.

“So, um. I guess the reason as to why I’m here is.. honestly pretty pathetic,” you laughed, “I’m living in my car and, like, today I got told that my insurance won’t pay for my testosterone anymore which, totally fucking sucked. I’m at the bottom right now. Then, y’know, I saw your ad and I was like ‘yeah might as well give it a shot’ because what else have I got to lose, right?”

You got lost in your rambling and were unaware of the eyes boring into you.

“I just don’t really have much and hearing that today made me crack and.. I dunno I just- don’t.. have. Much,” you nervously giggled again. The creak of leather gloves and the whine of a chair leaning back snapped you out of your self deprecation.

“..I’m sorry to hear that. Truly.”

Not what you were expecting, but the surprise of it made you tear up anyway. God, today was rough. Your eyes dragged themselves up from where they were staring into the carpet on the floor and up towards the man in front of you. Papa.

“Mister, uh, Emeritus.. sir,”

“Please, just Copia.”

“Right, Copia. Your ad said you’d give me anything, right? Everything I want? Literally just help me out with car payments. Maybe help me find an apartment.”

“That’s.. that’s it?” His eyes were wide, blinking rapidly.

“Or, I mean, I dunno, just find me a place to stay that isn’t a homeless shelter or my car,” you mumbled, gesturing your hands downwards stiffly.

“We can certainly arrange that. We have rooms here! Well, most of them are being occupied by brothers and sisters of sin, but I’m sure we have at least one available.”

“Okay I’m sorry, are you guys satanists or something?”

“Does that bother you?”

You sputter, “No! Not at all, really, I was just wondering. I come from a Catholic family so I’m just not really used to a church like this, ha.”

“Oh, dolce ragazzo,” whatever that meant, but it sounded nice rolling off his tongue, “no need to worry. Though, eh, if you stay here.. you might want to consider switching over. The ghouls might smell it on you,” he said cheekily.

“The what?”

He smiled. “Ah, nevermind. Let us see if we can find you a room, yes?”

Okay now you were really curious as to what went on here. You’d have to do some investigating once you’ve gotten settled in. (Note: you only have a shoulder bag that contains your wallet, your phone, and your keys.)

“Okay.”

He stood up, the chair rocking behind him from the action, and extended his arm. He was wearing patching pants! Your hand found his, and he helped you up. He led you out of the room and back out into the small, cramped hallway. Twists and turns make up this parish, and you can’t help but wonder if this place was a maze.

The both of you walked by close off rooms and smaller chapels until you reached a large hallway with doors mirroring each other going down the seemingly endless corridor. He brought you to the end of it and knocked on one of the doors. He twisted the knob and peaked inside.

“Ah, empty. This one is for you. I’ll fetch you some bedding and clothes. Is this okay?”

“Go ahead, man.” You decided to go into your new room. After he waltzed back down the hallway.

It wasn’t anything too special, a small room with a bed up against the wall, next to a tall blurry window. A wardrobe sat by the wall opposite to the bed. A few  unlit (though it didn’t matter much because the room was illuminated by the moonlight flooding in from the glass) candles lay on top of a night stand adjacent to the bunk.

You sat down on the bed, finding it stiff and lumpy. Better than the backseat of your car. You take the private moment to think about how your day has been so far. An emotional rollercoaster, that’s for sure. You silently wonder about the man that’s been rather kind to you. Did he own this church? Was he the priest? He didn’t look like one. He was too.. silly, the only way to describe him. The way he rambled about the sisters and brothers that lived here on the way to the room charmed you, and you could only find yourself wanting to know more. What did he do here? How did he come to be here? Was he raised a satanist?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

“Come in.”

“I could only find a few cassocks, I hope they fit..” He opened the door with his back, hands full.

“Is that usually what you guys wear around here? You seem to be dressed pretty casually.”

He looked down at himself and laughed, “Oh, well, yes. You’ve, eh, caught me at a bad time. We don’t normally get people this late.” Leather covered hands found yours as he handed over your new clothes and bedsheets.

“I hope I’m not a bother,” you politely said. In all honesty, you didn’t care too much. You were just happy to have a roof over your head and an actual bed to sleep on.

“Nonsense! We’re always happy to gain a new member,” his gaze pierced through you, and you were unable to look away. The tension in the room was so thick it was hard to breathe. Copia smiled down at you and you swore you saw his eyes flicker down your body. “I’ll leave you to sleep and have somebody wake you for the morning mass, yes? Unless you don’t want to attend.”

“No! No, I’m honestly curious as to what you guys do around here.”

He smiled at you again, this time with a more cynical and knowing glint to it.

“Hm, yes. Okie dokie, goodnight, brother.”

“Goodnight,” you called as he shut the door. It was only until he left that you realized he had called you a ‘new member’. Your stomach flips. Did you just join some sort of satanic (again, you aren’t judging) cult? On accident? Of course this is the sort of thing that would happen to you. Sweat beads on your forehead as your imagination runs wild. Would they do something to you? What would they do? The guy had mentioned ghouls for fucks sake! Your body scrunched into a ball on your sad little mattress and a soft cry punched its way out of your body for the third time that day. All you wanted was some sanctuary. Well, you guess you got it.. technically.

————————

Eventually, sleep has you in its grasp. You try to fight it off, attempting to be as alert as you can through the night, but you fail. You startle awake, unaware that you had even fallen asleep, to rapid knocking at your door.

“Mass starts in 10,” a masculine voice called from the other side. 

“Yeah, c-coming!” Looking around your room, you deem it less intimidating than it had been during the night. The moonlight, although illuminating, had cast its dark shadow upon the parish. A bad first impression.

You scrabble out of your sweaty clothes and into the raven cassock Copia had graciously supplied for you the night prior. You noted that your chest tape was starting to peel off. The clothes were slightly tight on you, but it wasn’t suffocating. 

The door opens just as you finish doing your bed and-

Oh.

What you assume is one of the ghouls Copia had mentioned before is standing in your doorway. Of course, being you, you stare.

After a moment, you say, “Um.. hello!” It comes out awkward and pathetic.

“You’re the new brother, yeah?” its black mouth opened and showed you the white fangs hiding inside. Sick.

“Yeah I am. I think. Honestly I came here last night just looking for a place to stay, I didn’t intend on joining.. this.”

The ghoul gave you a look that told you you were definitely the new brother. His scrawny arms beckon to you, and having no choice, you approach. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and brought you out of your room.

“We have mass every morning at 8, okay? So be up by then. There should be an alarm clock inside your nightstand. Wow these clothes are tight on you. You’ve got nice hips.” His tail swished from side to side as he rambled on, detailing what a regular day in the church looks like while leading you down the corridor. You were stiff and unsure by his side.

The two of you arrived at a door that you recognized as the main area you had entered through. An organ was being played loudly, penetrating the walls and your body.

“Go find a seat, yeah?” He leaned in close to your face, analyzing you. He took a whiff and cringed backwards hissing, “Catholic.” 

..Right. You weren’t offended, if anything, you agreed.

The ghoul scampered back down the hallway and took a turn, leaving you all alone. You snuck into the room as quietly and quickly as you could. Thankfully, your presence went unnoticed. The pew you sat on towards the very back of the room creaked ever so slightly under your weight, making you wince. Red curtains had been flung over the windows to protect the unholy chapel from the rising sun. Mass hadn’t started yet, so you sat and enjoyed the music and the murmuring while you waited. People were mingling about, and it seemed like this place had a genuine community. The two sisters in front of you were leaning against each other. Cute. Then, everybody twisted around to the sound of a bell.

You turned too, and what you saw made you freeze.

It was Copia again, but this time, he wasn’t wearing those comfortable sweatpants. Oh, no. He adorned a silky black robe that brushed against the floor and his leather platform loafers. His sleeves had pretty raven ruffles peaking out from the cassock followed by those same leather gloves from the night before. You still remember how they felt against your fingers. His stole was laced with gold and embroidered copper skulls trailed along the middle. On his chest, his vestment read ‘IV’ surrounded by golden rays. Copia’s face paint had also changed, his skin no longer showing. White paint replaced his peachy tone, with black lips and cheeks. The way it was painted on reminded you of a skull, almost. God, you were practically salivating.

Every eye in the room was boring into him, including (if not especially) yours. He crept along the red carpet running between the pews. Every head in the room seemed to trail after him, all the way up towards the ambo. Once he got up to the ambo, the organ player stopped, and there was silence.

“Goodmorning, my brothers and sisters of sin!”

“Goodmorning, Papa,” the congregation replied.

“Let me speak from the heart for a moment. To work together, and to, eh… to grow together, we must be tolerant,” somebody in the crowd coughs, “Satan’s gift to the church is its variety. It is this variety, this diversity of people and views which gives our beautiful congregation its strength. And over the course of many years, let me tell you, there is one sin, which I have come to fear.”

There’s an uncertain pause after he says this, and it’s because he said he fears a sin. The priest(?) of this satanic parish, fearing a sin?

“Certainty,” He shifts his weight to his other leg. “Certainty is the great enemy of unity. Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance. Our faith is a living thing, precisely because it walks hand-in-hand with doubt. I myself have had struggles in the past, as I’m sure some of you have also had. If there was only certainty, and no doubt, there would be no mystery.. and therefore no need for our faith.”

Muttering arises from the crowd as they take in the information given to them. 

Copia smacks his lips, “Anyway. We’ve got a new brother who arrived just last night! I don’t.. see him.. Ah! There he is, all the way in the back!”

Suddenly all eyes and heads were twisting and turning towards you, and your face burned with embarrassment. You shyly waved at the sisters and brothers staring at you, and a few of them smiled and waved back.

“Okie dokie, mass is over. May the unholy father be with you all!”

Everybody arose and filed out of the room, going to do.. sinful.. things? Maybe have, like, an orgy or something. You didn’t know. You were the stupid new guy. Fresh meat. You didn’t go out with everyone else. You chose to stay behind, hoping to catch up with Copia. Papa. Whatever.

The man in question noticed you hanging around afterwards and came up to you.

“How did you like it? Eh? Pretty cool, right?” He was so giddy.

“Yeah,” a soft laugh, “it was. One of the.. ghouls, I think, woke me up. They’re very forward. And he smelled ‘catholic’ on me.”

“Then you have some sinning to do, hm?”

Chapter Text

You found yourself sitting in front of him again. It had been a few days since you’d last seen him, and you’ve gotten yourself familiar with the layout and schedule of the parish. You made some friends, and caught glimpses of Copia and more ghouls roaming the hallways at night. Though when you saw Copia in the ministry, every time he caught your eye he’d immediately look away.

Like last night, you saw him hunched over a book in the library.

“Copia! Hey, I’ve been trying to-”

“Ah,” he said hastily, “I’ve got no time. You understand, brother. Duty calls!”

He scurried off into the night, leaving you alone and confused.

His words rang out in your mind.

Then you have some sinning to do, hm?

Sultry. That’s the only word for it. Smooth and slow, beckoning you in. Was he just toying with you? Why would he say something like that in that tone? And then ignore you! You tried multiple times to get his attention after that, but he just.. Didn’t want to deal with you? Was that it?

He’d shown you that he did though, multiple times. He was always trying to help you with things, albeit awkwardly. He had told you to meet you in his office in the afternoon, to discuss a private matter.

His office had a different mood to it at this time of day. Sunlight filtered in through the stained glass window, shades of oranges and yellows laying on the both of you. No music was playing this time, either. Complete silence engulfed the dainty office.

Copia had changed out of his priestly-clothing and into something a little more casual. Just a little.

Black cassock, the collar black as well. A little cape draped on his shoulders, held onto by two red rubies that were conjoined by a silver chain. That mock crucifix again hung in the middle of the chain. His makeup had been wiped off too, now only the black around his eyes and upper lip remained.

He tapped on his desk before opening his mouth.

He closed it again and awkwardly smiled. The confidence he had in the church had vanished.

“I brought you here to talk about why you’re here. You need testosterone, yes? We can give that to you. A place to stay, we have already provided. Unless you don’t want to join the clergy. Then, we will do the best we can to find you a different residence.”

The thought of staying was.. honestly, enticing. Free meals, free housing, free hormones, all you had to do were the daily tasks the head sister (who was incredibly stern) gave you and your fellow brothers and sisters. Most of them were chores like cleaning, which you were perfectly content doing. It was the least you could do, and it's not like you had anything else going for you. Being here kind of reminded you of those gay communes you’d heard about. 

“I do want to join the clergy, Papa.” He absolutely beamed at your words.

“Wonderful!” He suddenly stood up and walked around his desk and holyshitthosethighs. Your eyes trailed after him as he sauntered over to the other side of the room only to bend down in front of the filing cabinet tucked into the corner. Holyshitholyshitholyshit! Sweat started to bead at your forehead and you squeezed your own thighs together.

“All you have to do is fill out this paperwork.. if, eh, I can find it..”

He kept digging around, until he shouted Aha! and shuffled back towards his desk. You feel his natural warmth as he stands beside you, dropping the papers he’d retrieved on the dark wooden surface in front of you.

You look up at him and find his eyes already on you. You aren’t the one to look away first. His mismatched eyes flicker away and you see pink flood his cheeks. A thought flashes through your mind. Fuck with him. Ooh, that’ll be good.

Your gaze is unwavering. He’s explaining what the paperwork is for and where you’re supposed to sign, but you’re not paying attention. All you do is watch. Your pupils are large as you really take in the man before you. You can tell his body would be soft and pliant under your touch; you think about dragging your nails down his stomach and across his thighs, his forearms and his back. Then you think about how he would taste. Your tongue in the crook of his neck, the dip of his collarbone; your mind was racing with possibilities. How would he sound? High pitched and whiny? Or would he groan and cry loudly? Every single fantasy you’ve ever had late at night had suddenly been applied to him. He was now the faceless person in your dreams. Every inch of your body was swollen with lust. You needed to get your hands on him as soon as possible.

“..Brother? ..Is there something on my face?” His hands mindlessly reached up towards his cheeks, patting around.

Fantasy over.

“Uh- No, ha, just got lost in thought is all,” you sat up quickly, “wh-where do I sign?”

“Here,” he points, “and here. Try not to prick yourself too hard, it takes too long to stop it. Only Satan knows how much blood has had to be cleaned out of this carpet,” he’s laughing at something you’re too horny to understand.

“Prick myself? What?”

“Oh, tesoro, you weren’t listening, were you?” He leaned into your space, driving you against the backrest. He takes the fountain pen out of your hands gently, turning it towards you. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” you replied softly.

He took your finger and quickly dug the tip of the pen into your skin, taking a moment to gather the blood pooling there. He was so concentrated on the act that he didn’t notice you tracing the wrinkles in his face with your eyes. 

“Now, sign.” You drag the pen across the paper, writing your name right where he pointed to earlier.

“Why blood?” you asked out of pure curiosity. Stupid. It’s a satanic church, of course you were going to have to sign documents with blood.

“Satan doesn’t care about ink,” he grins.

He returns to the safety of his dramatic velvet chair that sits behind his desk.

“That’s all, brother. You’ll get your testosterone by the end of tomorrow, yes?” He was randomly scooping up papers and tucking them together to seem busy. This guy, you internally giggled.

“Yes, Papa. Thank you,” nodding, you stood up to leave. The way his eyes lingered on your waist didn’t go unnoticed. The ghouls had been making comments about how tight-fitting your cassocks were, leaving nothing except for your legs up to imagination. His gaze finds its way back to yours for a second, then he goes back to making himself look busy.

————————

You sprinted to your room so fast you could feel sweat starting to pool in the small of your back. You run in and slam the door, fumbling over yourself. You ripped your clothes off with unreplicable fury, leaving just your socks on because the garters would be too difficult to take off at a time like this.

Scrambling onto your bed, you flipped onto your back and palmed your crotch. Ffffuuucckkk- you haven’t had time to yourself in so long. All you could think of was Copia.

Copia, on his knees, looking up at you. Copia staring down at you, leash in hand, pulling you towards him. Copia in between your legs, puffing hot breath in the crease where your thighs and hips meet. Those gloved hands, fucking into you and crooking ever so slightly, hitting that spot just right. His thick cock pushing into you from behind, arms wrapped around your chest holding you in place. Your dick throbbed with need, and your eyebrows ticked upwards as you hastily rubbed circles around the base. Would he know how to touch you? Has he ever been with men like you? From the whispering you’d heard in the hallways, he definitely got around. You wanted him all to yourself. You wanted to rub your dick against his, you wanted to tease him until he cried. You wanted to make him crawl on all fours. 

Your thoughts morphed into something sweeter, slowing down your actions. You wanted to hold him afterwards. You wanted to know how he kissed, if it was slow and sensual or soft and chaste. You wanted to see what he looks like in the morning, you wanted to watch him get ready for mass.

You groaned as your imagination flowed freely, providing images of only Copia in every situation you could imagine. Hair messy, makeup smudged, lips puffy. Wrapped up in a soft, warm blanket trying to keep away from the bite of cold. 

“Copia,” you whine softly. You’re trembling now, blood rushing in your ears. Your fingers tease your entrance before quickly shoving two in. It’s not enough. You wanted to be filled by him completely. And then you remember the hairbrush in your nightstand. It’s not nearly as big as you want it to be, but it’ll have to do. 

You turn onto your stomach, arching your back, and slap your hand around against the wooden table before finding the knob to the drawer. After reaching inside and pulling out the tool in question, you reach behind you and run the tip up and down your cunt. You’re absolutely dripping with want, and it doesn’t take long for the handle of the brush to be properly lubed up. 

You grind it against your slit, teasing it in and out before finally pushing in. 

“Ohhh, shit-” You’re so sensitive you can’t even get it all the way in before you’re cumming around it, crying out.

————————

The scene unfolding in front of him is.. A lot to take in. Frankly, it’s wrong of him to even be watching. But, y’know, counting other people’s sins doesn’t make you a saint.

He didn’t even mean to see it, you just didn’t answer the door, and he heard some.. Concerning sounds, and he got worried! That was all.

After you had left, he sighed to himself. You really were such a tease. Did you think he hadn’t noticed the way you stared at him unabashedly? The want in your eyes was so obvious. The way you had ogled him the first time you attended mass hadn’t gone unseen either. Truth be told, it made him nervous. Of course, he’d had brothers and sisters come in and make a move on him, but he usually declined. They always ended up being flings, never anything serious. However, the yearning in your eyes was so raw, he couldn’t help but find himself drawn in.

He’d been watching you go about your daily tasks for the past week. He’d taken an interest in you. Sweeping the chapel, distributing meals, doing the dishes, reading in the library, normal things. He couldn’t help but find you charming. The way you made friends easily, the way you interacted with the ghouls, the way you did everything in your power not to step on other people's toes. You were kind yet strong and passionate. And.. incredibly attractive. He prayed to Lucifer that you’d never ask for a cassock that was even a size larger than the one you wore. Your body was tea or whatever kids say these days. Your eyes, too, captivated him so much; he did everything he could to not get lost in them. 

He mourned the loss of your presence when you exited the room. He put down the pile of papers he was pretending to organize and leaned back in his chair. He was beyond fucked. He’d only known you for a few days and he was already gaining some sort of childish crush (not very out of character for him, seeing as he rides a tricycle around the chapel). 

He was going to go take a bath to relax, before he noticed you’d left the paperwork you’d signed off on. He got excited; this gave him an excuse to see you again.

He practically skipped down the corridor to your room, and was about to knock before he heard a cry. Oh no, are you upset? Perhaps now was a bad time to give you these papers.. But then he heard an even louder groan. You must be hurt! 

He opened the door quickly to something so obvious in hindsight he almost punched himself. Those noises weren’t of pain and sadness, he should’ve recognized that! 

A yelp tore him out of his thoughts and right back to the person in a vulgar position in front of him. Your back was arched, and you had an arm thrown behind you to thrust what looked like a hairbrush in and out of your cunt. He didn’t get to admire the view as he would’ve liked; you quickly turned over and threw your blanket over your naked body, face sweaty and hair messy. 

There was a silence, a long one.

“I, eh.. came to give you- you forgot the papers you signed.” His eyes darted around the room, looking at everything but you. Except there wasn’t much to look at, as your room was uncomfortably bare.

“Thanks,” you say, tightly.

Copia shuffles from one foot to another, contemplating whether to give you the papers or leave them on the floor. He went with the latter.

He dropped the papers where he stood and waltzed right out, leaving you alone to panic.

————————

Your mind just kind of.. Blanked, after that whole situation. Mechanically, you slipped the brush out of you and swept it to the floor and under your bed. You shuffle over to the packet left on the floor and shove it into your nightstand, slamming it shut. Your cheeks burned with shame.

You spend the rest of the week avoiding Copia as much as you can, but this leads to multiple awkward situations, such as dinner time.

It’s your turn to be serving again and you panic as you see him get closer and closer to you.

He’s next in line, shit! What are you supposed to do? Not hand him his food?

Once he gets up to you, he avoids eye contact completely and says Thank you quietly, making you cringe.

Another example is during mass.

His eyes keep darting to yours and looking away quickly. He stutters through his homily for the entirety of the week, making everybody wonder if Papa is sick or stressed.

There were many other examples, but you didn’t want to have to suffer reliving them again.

When it’s late enough on a Friday, past midnight, you sneak out to the bathroom to wash up, hoping to not bump into anybody. Everybody knew you were on edge, but not the reason. You go to wash up and relieve yourself. As you get closer and closer to the bathroom, you realize it’s being used. Damn it. You’d have to wait. 

Not long after, you hear the hiss of the shower shutting off. Thank God, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep picking at your fingernails. One of them was bloody. The person who steps out though, makes you silently curse to yourself repeatedly.

The both of you freeze when you lay eyes on each other.

Copia makes the first move to talk, but you interrupt him and blurt out,

“Fuck me.”

The worst he can say is no, right?

“I was- actually, just thinking the same thing-”

His shoulders jerk as you smash your face into his, kissing him roughly. You run your hands along his chest and realize he’s wearing that cute red jacket with patching pants again. You pull away and he lets out a small gasp, eyes locked onto your lips. You shove him backwards into the bathroom, still steamy from Copia’s shower. He stumbles into the white tile wall, chest rising and falling wildly. He stares at you, dazed.

“Going stupid on me? Huh?” You step closer to him, standing in between his legs. “After ignoring me for so long? That hurt me, Papa.” You didn’t raise your voice, you didn’t need to. He was already so far gone. 

“I- I’m sorry, brother-“

His breath hitches when you shove your thigh against his rapidly hardening crotch. His brows creased and his eyelashes fluttered. His hips jerked forward and he keened needily, making you smile.

“You like that, hm?” You grind your leg upwards, “Answer me.”

“Yes- ha, yes,” his head rolled into the crook of your neck and he clawed at your shoulders, riding your thigh.

“I want you to cum just like this. Think you can do that for me?”

He nods with a whimper. It doesn’t take long; his moans rising in pitch with cute little “ah, ah, ah”’s. He was easy.

You slip your hand down below his stretchy waistband as you lick the side of his face. It was salty and damp, with a hint of whatever soap he had just used. You press your fingers against the length of his cock, the slick mess in his now soiled boxers coating your hand.

“You’re so wet. Fuck, Copia-”

The way you spoke to him was driving him up a wall. He wasn’t used to being talked down to in this way, so sensual and maddening. He flips your positions and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer; chest to chest, breaths mingling. His green and white eyes met yours, and he leaned in to kiss you. His lips were soft and pliant as you lick along the seam of them, tongue trailing along his teeth. His mouth was slick and hot and your belly blooms with heat when you realize his hand is slowly making its way down your body. You kiss him harder, shoving your tongue in more aggressively, holding his face in place.

You gasp so hard it turns into a choke when he finally gets his fingers on your bottom growth, pressing you in all the right places.

“You’re so wet,” he mocks, copying what you said to him earlier. His tongue glides down your neck gathering the sweat collecting there. Without warning, he presses his entire palm against your dick, making you cry out. 

You whine, legs threatening to give out. His other arm is still supporting you while clutching onto you like a lifeline. He seemed to be getting off on this just as much as you were. And then you feel it, that tightness coiling rapidly through you. It crests beautifully, Copia thinks, reveling in the face you make when it gets to be too much.

You let out a desperate moan as he keeps going.

“I- I already-”

“Shh, dolce ragazzo, per favore, let me do this for you. You’ve been driving me insane since you got here,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, dragging two fingers down and into your cunt. Sparks of pleasure shine in your mind like fireworks at the foreign feeling, “I want to make you mine.” This is so different from your own fingers.

“Hhnnn- shit, ‘m yours,,” You feel as if you’re in a constant loop of being on the edge of an impending orgasm, but never quite reaching the end. His fingers fuck into you roughly, his palm slapping your clit. You clench hard and something in your lower body snaps as you let go.

The leg you had lifted around his hips fell when you slumped against him, all the energy sucked out of you.

He pulls away and lifts your chin up with two slick fingers. Gross.

“You should be my secretary.”

“What?” Your brows pinch together.

“I’ve been looking for one, you see, but nobody’s been able to quite get up to my standards.”

“What makes you think I could do it?”

“If you don’t want to do it, just say so,”

“God, you’re difficult.” Rolling your eyes, you peel him off of you. “I’ll do it,” you sigh out. The underwear you’re wearing clings to you uncomfortably. You were actually excited for the job; half the time you’re just trying to keep yourself busy around here. The tasks the head sister gives out aren’t enough to fill up an entire day.

“ Yes! ” He raises his fists and shakes them in victory. It makes your heart clench. What a dork.

“Well, eh, I suppose.. I will see you tomorrow? Go straight to my office after mass. We will get you situated.”

“Yes, Papa.”

He takes you in for a moment, the way you’re leaning against the wall, face relaxed. The air is heavy and hot with steam unable to escape since the door had been shut.

“I’m gonna shower now, okay?”

“Yes, yes. Uh, goodnight.” He nodded and left the bathroom almost slipping on his way out. He tried to brush it off, making you giggle.

You strip yourself bare once he’s closed the door, folding the now sweaty clothes into a pile in the corner in the room so as to not get them wet. 

The shower head spurts out cold water with a strong hiss, making you wince. Fucker used up all the hot water. 

Once you finish you grab the soft fluffy towel you brought with you and dab yourself dry. Your plain pajamas that you’d found in your wardrobe clung to your still-damp body.

You absentmindedly rubbed the back of your neck, standing in the still foggy bathroom.

You feel alone. Lonely. The feeling overwhelms you. You’d been alone for so long. So long. You’d never been on a date before. You never experienced any high school love; nobody was ever interested in you, being the weird queer kid. And now that you finally got the attention your body craved for what seemed like forever, it slipped from your grasp after only one long minute.

Tears well up in your waterline, threatening to spill over. You both wanted each other, yes, but you didn’t want this relationship to be built from lust. If there even was any relationship at all between the two of you. Did he just want sex? You wanted so much more, your heart and soul ached to see what somebody else looked like in their sleep.

Your head tips back and you breathe in deeply. The smell of salt and soap fills your lungs, as well as the aftermath of sex. You breathe out through your mouth and gather the pile of clothes in the corner.

You’ve struggled with mental health issues all your life, and now that you’ve finally found a place for yourself, you weren’t going to let it fuck you over.

————————

The quiet of the morning was accompanied by the coo of the morning doves. Condensation slipped down your window, its shadows enlarged along the bed and the floor. The sunlight was gentle on your face, eyelashes catching on its rays. Your body was lax and warm wrapped in soft cotton sheets. 

After your rendezvous with Copia in the fog of the showers, you went back to your room to take your T-shot. The head sister had delivered it along with a few other vials and needles to your room, wrapped in a cute little black bow. It made you smile.

You’d never struggled with this part, pushing the needle into your scarred thighs. 

A remainder of the emptiness that consumed you last night had followed you into the morning. 

Enough wallowing, you decided. You went through your newly found morning routine; getting dressed, attending mass, eating breakfast with your brothers and sisters. 

Then, you walked down the maze-like hallways to Copia’s office.

The door of impending doom.

Your knuckles knocked on the wood thrice. “Papa?”

He opened the door swiftly, as if waiting for you to arrive.

“Ah, my new secretary. I’ve already put in your desk!”

“That quickly?” Your eyes widened.

He curtly waved his hands. “I told you, I’ve been trying to find one for a while.”

You slip inside the office. Everything was the same except for the slightly smaller desk accompanying the large, dark one in the middle of the room. Yours was off towards the corner next to the filing cabinet. The only thing on it was a sizable type writer, along with what looked like a welcome-basket. A song by London After Midnight was playing from Copia’s CD player.

“Do you like it? I know it’s not much, and you’ll have to learn how to use the typewriter, but.. it’s something, right, fratello?”

“Dude, it’s great.” You walk around it to sit in your very comfortable looking chair. You beam up at him, “All this for little old me?”

“Si! You are the pope’s secretary! Only the best for the best. Now, we’re going to start off simple today; I’m going to have you file some of these statements from our last ritual.”

He shows you how and where to file things in the cabinet, each one containing a few letters from the alphabet and different labels.

“If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask me.”

The rest of the day is quiet, Copia getting up to hand you papers or to change the CD, muttering dannazione, odio questa canzone! He never really starts up a conversation, so focused on signing off on papers the head sister dropped off or whatever else she gave him. You’re also incredibly focused, following a tutorial you found on Youtube for using a typewriter. You weren’t entirely sure why you couldn’t just use a computer.

You started to collect a little assortment of Copia’s habits. It hadn’t been intentional, you just needed to rest your eyes after staring at a screen for so long. Your eyes had seemed to track Copia out of their own free will as he puttered around the office, and you soon amassed a catalogue of ‘Copia-quirks’. 

You noticed that he always looked out the windows whenever he found himself with nothing to do. Running his hand through his hair was a big one, too. He’d also twist each hand to readjust his cuffs before settling his arms back down on his desk.

“Ah,” he suddenly said, breaking the silence, “Devo dare da mangiare ai topi.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s time to feed my rats. I’ll be back,” he rounded his desk and dashed out of the office, leaving you alone to wonder. Did he mean like.. actual rats? The image of him bending down to coo at little rodents made you stifle a laugh.

When he comes back, he has something enclosed in his fist. “Do you want to see?”

“Is that what I think it is?” you ask excitedly.

When he nears your desk, he opens his fingers, and in his palm is the cutest little rat you’ve ever seen. It’s black with white spots, like a tuxedo; its tail a light rose color.

“This is only one of them, the rest are back in my room. Usually I let them roam, but I was feeling a little.. lonely, last night..” He’s lost in thought, eyes glazing over as he remembers the events of the previous night. His eyes snap to yours.

“Do you regret it?” It comes out soft and nervous.

“No,” you answer honestly. “I just don’t want that to be all this is. I want to talk about things first.”

“Of course. Would you like to talk about it right now?” He leans down and sets the rat on the floor, watching it scurry away. When he stands back up, you hear his knees pop and it takes every fiber of your being not to make fun of him.

“Yeah, actually, if you aren’t busy.”

Copia nods and pulls out the chair in front of his desk with a small ‘sit’. He rounds the desk, sitting in his own chair. You neatly tuck your cassock beneath your thighs before taking a seat.

“So,” you started, fiddling with a thread sticking out of the chair, “I’ve never.. been in a relationship before. This is all kind of new to me. In fact last night was my first time being with anybody,” His eyes widened; something in his posture shifted. “but I know what I want.”

“And what do you want, brother?” He asks low and predatory, making you sweat.

“I just want stability. I want.. somebody to fuck, somebody to hold, somebody to share early mornings and late nights with. I want to feel safe.”

“I can give you all these things, ragazzo dolce.”

Your thighs clench at the promise, and something in you breaks. “I want you, Papa.”

“I can give you this as well,” he rises from his seat, slow and deliberate. He steps towards you like he’s stalking prey, and it sends electricity up your spine. He kneels before you, his eyes meeting yours from between your thighs. His leather gloves wrap around your ankles, caressing the skin underneath the fabric of your sock. The touch was feather-light, but it still sends your mind reeling. The fingers drag upwards, over your garters and towards your inner thighs, lifting your cassock on the way there.

You’re soaking by the time he finally takes your boxers off. Copia leant forward, his warm breath tickling your folds. He slid his fingers through them, feeling the wetness that had gathered there, proof of your excitement. You knew by now that your eagerness was incredibly obvious to him, but it still embarrassed you. Thankfully, you didn’t have to linger on that thought for long.

He flattens out his tongue and licks you from entrance to dick, making you shudder. It was so much better than you could’ve imagined. You sigh in relief, letting him grip your thighs and maneuver them so that they’re draped over the arm rest. You feel so exposed, dripping with so much want that your pubic hair has formed little ringlets.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, before engulfing your dick with his wet mouth. He bobs his head with a consistent rhythm, making you throw back your head with a tight gasp. Copia takes his time. It’s quite difficult to hold himself back, but the gleam of satisfaction in your eyes keeps him tethered. He wants nothing more than to bury himself in your slit, get drunk off your wetness like wine. Communion, he thinks, which only turns him on more.

“C’mon,” you whine, bucking your hips up closer to his face. Hesitation leaving his veins, he leans forward and devours you. You grind your dick against his nose, rolling your hips into each lick. He goes lower, fucking his tongue deep into your cunt, your breath getting rougher as the coil in your stomach threatens to snap.

“Right there-” you gasp, thighs trembling as you’re hurtled closer and closer to climax. “Fff-fuck-’mgonnacum-” He curls his tongue up, slipping out of your hole and towards the underside of your cock and he moans, throwing you over the edge. You shake as you ride the waves of ecstasy, arching your back. You stare at the ceiling for a moment before dragging your droopy eyes to the man on his knees in front of you.

“Your turn,” you rumble, teasing the tips of your shoe against his spread legs. You inch closer and closer to where he wants it the most, and press down hard. He thrusts his hips up with a husky groan, low and incredibly attractive.

He doesn’t take long to cum, like last time, hunching over your leg, whimpering and holding onto it for dear life as he makes a mess in his pants. You tell yourself that next time you’d drag it out in order to truly savor his pleasure.

The both of you sit in silence, interrupted only by heavy breaths and sighs. He leans up and gives you a chaste kiss before reaching over to grab your boxers that he had discarded. The exchange is silent; mostly because you’re still boneless. You admire his admiration from above, watching as he slips your underwear back on, one leg at a time. He stands, knees cracking and legs trembling ever so slightly.

“Old man,” you tease.

“I am not old,” he replies defensively. “Let’s go to bed, yes?”

Chapter Text

Copia had always felt estranged. Strange. Like he was always out of place, always the one to interrupt a flowing conversation.

Raised in the ministry by his aunt Marika, he had a fairly normal childhood. As normal as one could be, having grown up in a satanic church. Video games, cartoons, toys, and family all filled his early memories. Terzo was the most active member in his life aside from Marika. Terzo was one of the only people he never felt strange with. They played pranks on Sister Imperator and Nihil, covering for one another if one of the adults got particularly angry at them.

Once Copia joined the clergy, he was able to tour with Terzo. They always had so much fun together, staying out late after a ritual on a midnight walk, simply talking. They talked about new video games, the culture of whatever country they were in, movies, anything that came to mind. They often talked like this. Most of the time it was Copia rambling on about a topic that had interested him, with Terzo calmly listening and adding comments whenever it was appropriate. Terzo had been his support when he joined the clergy, wide eyed and nervous, showing him the ropes of becoming a leader.

The only other people that he enjoyed being with were the ghouls. The ghouls reminded him of the stage, of the rituals, of Terzo. His death was a sore spot; a bruise that would never fully go away. He thought of him often, the way he captivated an audience, the way he would cook for him and Omega late at night, bumbling about the kitchen making Pastina or some other comfort dish they’d had in their childhood. The way he looked off-stage, makeup removed, casual clothing, lounging on a couch lazily looking over paperwork he despised doing. Whenever Copia passed that particular couch, he fought off the ache of nostalgia.

Omega had gone, too, disappeared like he hadn’t even existed. His relationship with Terzo had been like nothing Copia had ever seen. Their relationship was a force to be reckoned with. Omega was incredibly protective of his Papa; always an arm draped over his shoulder or a hand against the small of his back. When Terzo wasn’t with Copia, he could be spotted walking around the parish garden with Omega.

Copia had a rough start with his own ghouls, but quickly overcame it. They were a playful bunch, always messing around on stage and playing pranks on their Papa. Being on a tour bus with them had been nerve wracking at first, but that flame was put out quickly.

That first night stuck with him particularly, when he pulled the curtain to their bunks and saw them piled onto each other, sleeping soundly. One of the ghouls- Aurora, he recalls- reached an arm out and pulled him in. He’d never slept so well before, surrounded by inhuman warmth and flicking tails. This became a new ritual on their tours. 

Now he slept with you. This was tricky for him seeing as how his past relationships had been rocky, to say the least. They always ended with one less member of the clergy.

Dawn’s first whispers of orange rays seeped through honeycomb windows, falling across two sleeping forms of a bed that was way too big to be owned by a singular man. His first thought was: it’s too early. His second thought: he was not alone. An unfamiliar warmth was draped across his back, holding him close. Light puffs of hot breath hit the crook of his neck, tickling him. As he opened his eyes, his bedroom came into view. It was all the way in the back of the ministry, taking the two of you a ridiculous amount of time to get there from his office. His large, plush bed was up against the wall, taking up more than half of the room. He had a TV mounted on the wall, with a stand below it holding his consoles and video games. Next to it stood a CD and DVD rack, filled with all of his favorite albums and movies. There was a walk-in closet to the left of the bed, holding all his lavish outfits.

He lay there for a moment, listening to the squeaking of his rats from their cage nestled in the corner. With a sigh, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his silk sheets slipping off of his chest. He slid his feet into his fluffy goat slippers and reached for the robe he had discarded on the floor at some point. He really needed to tidy up his room. He stood up and took one last glimpse of your gentle, sleeping body before exiting his bedroom to make breakfast. A nice surprise, breakfast in bed. He hoped you’d like it.

He stepped into the kitchen, illuminated by dawn’s faint glow, rubbing sleep away from his face. At this hour there was nobody bustling around, no clang of pots and pans, just stillness and the quiet hum of their oversized fridge. He shuffled over to the cabinets where he knew the sisters kept all the cookware and grabbed an old frying pan, setting it down on the stovetop. While that was heating up, he opened the fridge, searching for eggs. It took a moment for his still-groggy eyes to finally land on them. He slipped the egg carton out just enough for him to grab a few eggs, then pushed it back into place. He also grabbed butter and cheese. He shut the fridge with a nudge of his hip, hands full.

The sizzle of butter melting in a blackened pan filled the otherwise empty room. He cracked one, two, then three brown eggs into the frying pan, mixing them together quickly with a fork. He cracked black pepper and sea salt over the eggs before flipping it, the other side a pale yellow. He let that sit for about 2 minutes before flipping it again, sprinkling cheese down the middle and folding the egg in half. He quickly grabbed a plate from one of the upper cabinets and slid the egg onto it.

When he returned to his room, he was greeted with a very comfortable looking you, sitting up in his bed propped up against two fluffy pillows. You were distracted by something on your phone, so you hadn’t noticed he’d come in until he was placing the plate on his bedside table.

“Hi there,” Copia murmured, voice deep with sleep.

You turned your head, “Goodmorning,” the promising smell of breakfast made you straighten up a bit, “what’s that?”

“I- eh, well, I thought you’d like breakfast in bed. I hope it’s.. up to your standards,” he handed you the plate, smiling nervously, and settled on the edge of the bed with one leg folded under him.

“Oh, shit! An omelet? Dude, I haven’t had one of these in forever!” You shot off into a story while you ate, about how when you were younger, you took a trip into the city with your best friend to go to an oddities market and spend the night at a hotel that allowed you to customize your omelets. “This is really good. Thank you, genuinely.”

“You’re welcome,” Copia beamed, thankful you enjoyed it.

An awkward silence stole the moment away, the both of you unsure of how to progress from here.

“So.. eh.. no mass today, I have decided. I called it off. Feeling lazy today, you know? I thought we could just- play Marios Bros or something.”

“Are you sure..? I don’t wanna, like, get in the way of anything important.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I take days off all the time.”

Copia gets up off the bed to turn on his console and TV, bringing the controllers over to the bed. The rest of the day is spent participating in sin; otherwise known as Sloth.

——————————

Tick, tick, tick.

The clock in the corner is awfully loud. It’s one of those old, creepy tuxedo cat clocks that you’d see in a cartoon.

It’s a slow day in the office. Nothing unusual, the only time it’s ever really busy is if Copia’s just come back from a tour.

What’s unusual is the way the air conditioning has been acting. It’s been making this odd sputtering noise all day, distracting him from the game on his switch.

What’s also unusual is the way you’ve been acting. It had been a couple months since the two of you had admitted your fascination with one another, and everything seemed to be going well. The two of you were often seen together, leading to murmurs and rumors of the two of you drifting through the halls. Sister Imperator didn’t like it much, calling you a distraction. Not like there was much to do, anyways, Mom. But she let the two of you be, seeing how happy you made him. Nihil, on the other hand, always had something to say. This won’t last long, he’d say. This is just a fling, you’ll get over it. In those moments, he wanted to bitterly remind his father of his fuck up with Mom.

His thoughts drifted back to recent events, like last night. He’d just finished showering and brushing his teeth, and had gone back to his room. He found you scrolling on your phone, as per usual. But you didn’t put it down like you normally did when he entered.

“Dolce ragazzo,” he called.

You yelped and threw the phone towards the end of the bed, like it had personally offended you.

“H-Hey! Copia, hi. How’s it, uh- how- ..Yeah.”

“Ehm. Right. What, uh, were you doing?” he asked, gently, as if trying not to spook a cat.

You took a moment before you answered. “..Shopping.”

“Shopping?” 

“Shopping. Yes,” you confirmed, nodding firmly.

“Right. Okay. I’m just- I am going to ignore that. What just happened. Okay? Okay.”

He’d settled into bed and the both of you said your goodnights, albeit awkwardly, and he leaned over and flicked off the lamp.

Another sputter of the air conditioner snapped him out of his thoughts, this one a tad too loud for his liking, before it stopped making noise all together. The both of you looked up at each other, eyebrows raised.

“I think the AC just turned off,” Copia stated.

“No shit Sherlock,” you said with a snort. 

“No need to be an ass.” You ignored him and kept clacking away on your clunky typewriter, sliding the paper table over every once in a while with a ching!

A few minutes passed before you got a notification on your phone; Copia pretended to be focused on his game, but he was watching you out of the corner of his eye. You stood up abruptly, muttering a quick I’ll be right back. 

He stared at the shut door, wondering why you had gone. Perhaps you ordered doordash. He was quite famished. 

You returned with a box in your hand. Nothing too large, just big enough to have to carry with two hands.

“What, eh- is that?”

“A surprise,” you replied, nonchalantly.

“For- for what? For me?” His eyes went back to his Nintendo switch, but his mind was on that box. He was trying his best to act like he didn’t care, like oh a box? Pft. Just a box. But in reality, his mind was racing. It was a surprise. Maybe a toy for his rats? Something for his birthday? Though his birthday was still a few months out, it never hurt to plan ahead.

“Yes, it's for you. Once you’re done fucking around on your switch, go wash up. And I mean really wash up. Then go to your room.” You’d never used that tone of voice before. Like really. It kinda scared the shit out of him. But also turned him on.

He immediately closed Breath of the Wild and stood up.

“Sì, yes- I will get right on that,” He said breathlessly, putting his switch in one of the drawers of his desk. Satana, aiutami stasera. He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot.

He’d done this kind of thing before, once, with a sister. He was in his early twenties, new to the clergy. Eager to please. She’d had a preference for being on top, and he’d always wanted to try it, so. He clumsily looked up a tutorial on how to.. wash, properly, and it was odd. But the results were mindblowing. He’d never felt anything like that before; hot tongue and fingers exploring him, dildo filling him to the brim. It was probably the best sex he’d ever had. He was ecstatic to try it again; most of the people he’d slept with always wanted him on top. He didn’t mind, he just wanted to be able to lie back every once in a while, you know?

After a long, steamy shower, Copia walked (not sprinted, if anybody said otherwise he’d sacrifice them) to his bedroom. He looked a mess when he swung the door open: slippers practically falling off, shirt rumpled and slightly damp, ducky pajama bottoms untied and hanging low on his hips. His hair was mostly swept back into its normal form, but a few strands had managed to escape and fell into his face. His makeup was a little smudgy around the edges, too.

Your back was turned away from the door, and you were fussing with something he couldn’t quite see.

He cleared his throat loudly to get your attention.

You tipped your head towards him, giggling, and still messing with.. something. “Almost done, go sit on the bed, yeah? This fuckin’ harness man..”

He sat on the edge of the bed facing away from you, with his feet flat on the floor. He shimmied his slippers off and kicked them off to the side. He suddenly felt.. very nervous. His hands were tacky with sweat, mouth dry like sandpaper. It had been easy with the nun- late night seducing, quiet flirtation, mingling in the library- but this was.. different. Intimate. Not a one night stand, not a fling, as Nihil said. This was also something, he understood, that was kind of important to you. You had admitted one night, in the soft glow of moonlight, that you liked your bits. Yeah. It would just be nice to see what it could be like.

Everything he was thinking was flung out the window when he felt the dip in the bed as you climbed into it, and twisted around.

Now that was simply unnecessary.

The harness was black and stupidly tight, no wonder you were having such trouble with it. It clung to your thighs like it needed saving. The only one who needed saving was Copia at the moment. The dildo was big. It was green, an odd choice he thought, and had little ribs on the top and underside of it. The worst part was that it was flared towards the base, round, like somebody had managed to shove a ball inside. A nice thing to picture if you wanted your dick to go soft and a pit to form in your belly. 

“You- you want that? To go- in me?” he stammered, eyes wide. That’s gonna freaking! Split me in half!

“That’s the idea, yeah,” you shrugged, “only if you want it to.”

“No! No- I mean, yes, ah, I do. Scusa.” Copia’s hand nervously flailed vaguely toward the prick hanging between your thighs, “I’ve just.. never had eh- something that large. Inside me, you know?” he wheezed out a weak laugh. The dildo the sister had used was no more than 4 or 5 inches. This one easily exceeded seven.

“I’ll take care of you,” your excited expression softened into something sweet. “If at any point you wanna stop, just tell me.”

“Right,” he huffed out a breath through his nose. “Of course.”

You ushered him up against the headboard, multiple stacked pillows softening his landing- though he still smacked his head against the wood, making you both laugh. You nudged his thighs upwards, bent at the knee for better access. Featherlight touches made Copia’s stomach twitch with delight, dick filling out embarrassingly fast. You loved teasing him, touching him in all the places you knew he loved, but not where he needed it the most.

He avoided looking between the two of you. That dick was much bigger than his, it was very intimidating. It rested against his inner thigh with all its veiny glory, rubbing up against his bulge every once in a while. The friction was driving him crazy. So was the heat, damn it, why hadn’t it been fixed?

“Mio tesoro, per favore, please- Just get on with it, yeah? Don’t make me wait any longer,” he nodded along with his words, as if it would convince you to finally fuck him. 

It did.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” your voice dripped like honey, snuffing out his worries. He was already slipping.

You shuffled backwards on the bed so that you could take off his ridiculous pajama pants, throwing them off the side of the bed. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. His cock was thick, but no longer than about 5 or 6 inches. It curved slightly to the left, the leaking tip peaking out of the foreskin a nice peachy color. 

You cooed at him like he was one of the rats, “My Papa’s so wet for me, how sweet.” His thighs were soft and pliant as you kneaded them. 

“Yes- ah- don’t want to, ehm, disappoint-“

“Copia. Relax. You won’t disappoint me.”

His shoulders dropped visibly upon hearing those words. And then they shot up again once you finally got your hands on his dick. You gave him no chance to ease into the feeling, jerking him with quick flicks of your wrist. He threw his head back and shuttered out a loud groan, hips thrusting into your fist.

The heat was really getting to the both of you now, making every touch and breath overwhelming.

The gentle kisses you were placing on his now exposed chest- shirt rucked up his collarbone, thanks to yours truly- contrasted wildly with the way you were getting him off. He reveled in the feeling of the flat of your palm rolling against his tip.

He felt the beginning of an orgasm and tried to choke out a warning, “Buon dio, I-I’m already close-“ but you simply ignored him and kept going.

His hands scrambled to find purchase on the bedsheets before squirting all over your fist with a shout, thighs trembling and threatening to close. He’d never finished that quickly before. 

“Hold your thighs open,” you commanded, and he obeyed with a shaky nod. You were giving him no time to process, no time to think. Which is exactly what you wanted. To have him fucking himself stupid on your silicone cock, with no thoughts other than you, you, you.

You reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the lube from the bottom drawer, “I did that so that you can really relax,” you explained, “You wouldn’t have otherwise. Just let me do what I gotta do, m’kay?”

“Okie dokie,” he mumbled. After warming the lube up in between your fingers, you teased his rim with your middle. “Ready?”

“Y- hah-“ You really could be an ass when you wanted to. You nudged your finger in before he could even respond. You fucked into him gently, slowly, like he was glass. Soon it became two, then three, making his eyes flutter shut. His painted fingertips were digging welts into the fat of his thighs when you went up to four. 

This was affecting you just as badly; you sympathized with every whimper that came out of him. You were soaked, but tonight wasn’t about you. Not really. Kind of, yeah. Thankfully, the strap you chose had a little ridge that would grind into your dick with every thrust. You were excited to see how it would feel in action.

Pulling your fingers out was easy; you’d used an excessive amount of lube. You liked how sticky and smooth it felt, you mentioned once.

Sweat was starting to pool in the small of Copia’s back and in his inner thighs, the crook of his neck.

“Gonna make you feel good,” you muttered under your breath, just light enough for him to not quite catch it. The two of you had your eyes locked into the shrinking space between the strap and Copia’s ass; though yours would flicker back up to his face to make sure he was okay. His expression was priceless. Eyebrows ticked upward, mouth open and panting, frowning ever so slightly. Like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted the dildo closer or farther from him. It was adorable.

You shuffled a little closer and grabbed his thighs to push them closer to his shoulders. His thighs strain against your hold the moment you start to push in. Little choked up gasps fill the room as you push in further and further, his eyes still trained on where the dildo was disappearing into him. You stop just before it begins to flare out. 

“You feelin’ okay?” you ask, hushed, afraid to break the moment. 

“Yes,” comes his strained, quiet reply.

His nostrils flare as you being to fuck in and out of him gently, just to get him used to the feeling. Without warning, you pull out fast, the ribbing on the dildo dragging against his insides, and then rammed back in.

He gasped, loudly, squirming against your hold. You’d managed to angle yourself just so, the mock dick hitting his prostate. Copia whimpered, unable to help himself. The sound was high, almost needy in pitch.

The way the harness grinded into you felt amazing. You were probably going to finish before he did.

The next few thrusts were awkward as you tried to find a good rhythm. Eventually you set a punishing pace, rubbing his prostate with every push inside.

Your hand finds Copia’s cock, and you start playing with it, thumbing at the head. He jumps like you’ve just shot him, pulling himself clear off your strap in the process, but you just tug him back on.

“Please- please, please-“ he rasps out, “sensitive-“

“Shh, love, I know,” you reply, taking up the brutal pace you’d set before. And then you do what he’d least expected, you pull him fully onto the dildo, bulge and all. He yelps, hands flying from his thighs and onto your shoulders roughly.

Your hips against his make wet plap noises that echo in the room, due to the amount of lubricant you’d used. The sight turns you on even more; every time you pull out there are sticky strings of slick connecting his ass to your harness.

He likes seeing you above him, really, whether that be on his face or in his lap, but this was a lot to process. He was so cock-drunk at this point- he could only think about what it would feel like to be full of your cum, for you to pump load after load into him like a toy. He was delirious. Must’ve been the heat, he excused.

“The Devil’s Chosen,” you pant, “reduced to a whimpering, stupid mess by a brother of sin. What would Satan think of you, hm?” And those words were so cruel, so disrespectful, he should’ve thrown you out of his bed screaming and swearing, but his dick twitched. He was ashamed and aroused all at once. He mewls pitifully under you, and you can’t help but reach forward to lace your fingers through soft brown curls of hair and pull. Copia gasps like he’s struggling for air and you pull his head back as far as you can get it. He’s getting close, you can tell.

“You’re gonna be a good boy and you’re not gonna cum on my cock,” you rasped into the shell of his ear.

Copia clenched down, legs trembling harder, back bowing off the headboard, teetering on the cusp when you coaxed him oh so sweetly towards the edge, “Be a good boy and hold it in for me, I know you wanna be good, I know you can do it-“

He tried to sob out that he couldn’t, that he was already there-

“You’re gonna be a good boy and you’re not gonna cum.”

The wave of pleasure loomed over Copia, the slap of your hips against his making his toes curl-

“You’re gonna be a good boy and you’re not gonna cum-“

His muscles clamped down on the strap, tears falling heavily, messing up his makeup, his dick throbbing and throbbing as electricity shot up his spine-

“You’re gonna be a good boy and you’re not gonna-“

He cried out as he came, thick ropes shooting from his cock as his entire body shuttered and twitched.

But you didn’t stop there.

You kept thrusting into him, chasing your own pleasure. Your pants and groans sounded like music to his ears. You fucked deeper into him, grinding against the harness, filling him up to the brim. His body thrashed against the overstimulation, but you let go of his hair and shoved his hips into the bed. 

“Oh, fuck-“ you sobbed, hips losing pace as you desperately jackhammered, grunting as the tight knot in your belly broke, painting the sheets below with your squirt.

Panting heavily, you pulled out, thick strings of lube and cum from the both of you spilling on the bedsheets. Copia’s body shuddered and gasped for air.

“You with me?” you asked breathlessly.

He nodded shakily.

“Good. Phew,” Taking the harness off with shaking hands was a struggle, but you managed to get it off. You left the room for a second to dampen a washcloth, then returned to a still-passed-out Copia. You giggled as you wiped him down and he whined at the touch.

You mumbled, “we’ll change the sheets later,” when you climbed into the bed next to him, pulled the blankets up to your chin, and knocked out.

The air conditioning sputtered back on, cooling down the room while the two of you slept soundlessly.