Lightz

Pope Cody was a slut for pretty much all of the love languages, but quality time was a close second for him, right behind physical touch. You and he spent the vast majority of your free time attached at the hip. You both would even maximize time spent together with Pope driving you to the vast majority of your shifts, doctors' appointments, grocery store runs, and anywhere else while you cut his hair, patched him up, and spent a surprising amount of time decorating his apartment.

It was only natural that you quickly started to engage in your hobbies around him, as there was literally no other time that you'd have to engage in them.

At first, the seeds of craft night were minuscule. You and Andrew sat on the couch side by side while a nature documentary played on the TV and a diamond painting kit stretched out on the table before you. Or you would be sitting at the kitchen table knitting and listening to music while Andrew cooked.

It would start small, Andrew changing the wax on your diamond applicator with eyes still fixed firmly on the TV screen or rattling off some random fact about the history of yarn in between song changes while he stirred the pasta sauce.

Andrew doesn't really have any hobbies of his own besides skating and surfing, so he doesn't really think he has anything to bring to the table at first. He doesn't even consider himself to be a particularly creative or smart person, really, and this negative self-perception has a lot to do with his avoidance of any kind of crafting.

But you know better. You've seen Andrew cook. Sure, sometimes he's following a recipe, but there's no denying that, recipe or not, the man has an encyclopedic catalogue of spices, ingredients, and cooking techniques in his head that influences the decisions he makes when cooking, the same way an artist is influenced when they make a painting. He has a well of creativity and intelligence hidden away under years of being groomed and diminished by his family and the people around him.

So, you start small, something closer to home for him and newer for you, to level the playing field.

"Who is the cake for, again?" Pope asks, looking vaguely unsettled, walking in distracted figure-eights near the kitchen entrance and throwing wary glances between you and the baking ingredients on the counter like they might attack at any moment, and he was looking for the precise second when he would have to throw you over his shoulder and run out of the house.

"Well, technically it's for my work potluck tomorrow, but it's really for me. I've been craving red velvet recently, and I figured we could make it together. Like a cute date night!"

This did nothing to calm Pope's nerves and, if anything, his pacing seemed to increase.

"But are you sure about this, sweetheart? I mean, I don't really bake. Like ever, actually. I've never even really seen Smurf do it unless it's box mix."

It was at this point that you began second-guessing this idea. You didn't want to force Pope to do something he genuinely didn't want to do. Sometimes with him, it was hard to decipher between something he actually didn't want to do and something he was scared of doing for fear of being embarrassed or disappointing those he cared about. Maybe you'd gotten it mixed up this time.

"Well, I don't really care about that," you said, wringing your hands together nervously. Pope noticed immediately, ceasing his pacing and staring intensely at you. He didn't like the way your eyes were jumping around the room, avoiding him like you thought you'd annoyed him. He didn't give a damn what you spent your time together doing; he just didn't want to create something that disappointed you.

"I love everything you cook. I just thought, like… thought it would be a good way to spend time together. But you don't have to-" Andrew's warm, lightly chapped lips on yours cut that sentence short.

You couldn't help whining a little, arms gripping at his biceps like you thought he would be ripped from you at any second as his mouth moved on yours in a surprisingly sloppy, weirdly chaste kiss that was 100% Andrew and made you want to swallow him down and nestle him in your lower intestines.

He didn't bother trying to suppress his grin when he pulled back, and you whimpered needily, chasing after his mouth with dazed eyes, a string of spit still connecting the two of you. He loved kissing you, and there was a smaller, more shameful part of him that also loved how visibly you clearly loved kissing him as well, no matter how much you told him there was no shame in wanting to be wanted.

"It's a great fucking idea," he murmured lowly, nipping at your neck and inhaling your scent as he stared at the ingredients taunting him on the counter, trying to already form a mental game plan for the whole event. "I just have two conditions."

Your eyebrows rose skeptically. You could count on one hand the number of times that Pope had ever denied you anything throughout the course of your entire relationship.

"Which are?"

"One, you get your food from the potluck as soon as it starts. Save the mingling for after you already have the food and before the bacteria starts to set in. Take the meat thermometer from home and make sure the meat reaches at least 165 degrees. Microwave it, if you must. Kill all the bacteria." You're grinning while he talks, undeniable fondness written all over your face that Andrew is trying to ignore to keep his thoughts on track as you stroke a gentle hand through his hair.

"Done. And number two?"

"You get the first piece of the cake. You tell me honestly whether you like it or not and just… just don't get mad at me when I mess it up."

It was amazing how unaware this man was of how much you loved him. He could probably blow the entire block up, and you'd find a way to justify it, let alone an errant cake.

At first, Andrew is incredibly nervous. He really doesn't know the first thing about baking.

But it's an incredibly precise art, and therein lies his comfort. You can immediately tell you made the right decision by having baking be the test dummy subject. Pope is loving the precise measurements, instructions, and science of the whole thing. Much as he loves cooking, it's an incredibly feelings-based art compared to the science of baking, and he loves the latter.

He's also incredibly no-nonsense. He's all for having fun with you during date night, but if you start throwing flour at him or trying to start a food fight, he's probably going to have a meltdown.

You don't mind, though. The whole point of the ordeal is letting Pope try new things, have hobbies, and learn alternate ways of expressing himself where words might fail him. Maybe one day, he'd be able to see that he didn't have to be perfect at everything, but for now, you'd just try to get through making a cake.

It's pretty good for a first attempt from scratch, though Andrew does have to deep clean most of the kitchen afterward to decompress. Still, he found it relaxing, spending time with you, learning something new, and using his hands to create something instead of destroying or maiming.

The first few prototype craft nights follow in the footsteps of the cake-baking date night, and you spend an inordinate amount of time finding some obscure crafting hobby to do with Andrew. It changes every week, though you'll repeat the same hobby a couple times if he seems to be particularly into it. He's ambivalent to most of them and ends up hating a few, but there are some that he truly loves: building Lego sets, terrarium building, bird-watching, and embroidery are his favorites.

He eventually starts a sketchbook. It's initially to keep track of and fine-tune his embroidery designs, but over time, it just becomes something that he uses all the time to keep up with his thoughts. Most of his sketches are absolutely incomprehensible, especially at the beginning. They make absolutely no sense, and they're not meant to, just something to get the feelings that he can't put into words out into the world so he can start trying to make sense of them.

After a while, like years, the sketches start looking like something. People, places, things he's stolen. They're all absolutely fucking disturbing. Perfectly symmetrical gold bars with swollen and diseased-looking sexual organs etched onto them; insanely detailed renderings of sharks zip-tied to chairs with their skin half peeled off; emaciated palm trees injecting heroin and strangling each other with maniacal, identical expressions on their leaves; haunted faces with bloodshot eyes, an absurd amount of eye bags, absurdly stretched, dripping lips and teeth clawing their way out of bleeding ear canals.

His art was genuinely unsettling, a reflection of the trauma he'd survived and the worldview he'd developed as a result. Eventually, he began to embroider some of these images onto cheap shirts from the Salvation Army donation bin. He would burn them almost immediately after they were finished, but he let you look at some of them, and it was by far the most vulnerable, intimate thing he'd ever done in your relationship, which was saying a lot.

He never let you look in his sketchbook, though, and he never would. It was only for him. Part of it was shame, but the majority was a genuine desire to keep that part of his psyche to himself. He was fine with working on himself and sharing himself with loved ones, but after a lifetime of having no privacy even in his own head, it seemed, he desired to just have some things for himself.

You were ecstatic. Pope was entitled to his secrets like everyone else, and you were glad that the hobbies were letting him explore himself and new corners of his mind in a judgement-free way that worked for him. That was the point of the whole thing to begin with.

Eventually, once you both have tried a myriad of hobbies and are kind of running out of options, craft night becomes its current iteration: dinner and washing up together, about four hours of parallel play with music or a documentary in the background, a shower, and then a pillow talk debrief about what you both had been working on, what you were excited about, what was giving you touble, etc.

Pope is as serious about craft night as he is about date night, which is its own separate, weekly event, thank you very much. Part of it comes from how much reverence and respect Andrew holds for you and your relationship. He would never, knowingly, do anything to jeopardize your knowledge that he places you above almost anything else that exists. (Truthfully, he does place you above Smurf and the family business, but he's still coming to terms with this, and it's a very slow process.) But part of it comes from how much reprieve and introspection Andrew gains from craft night.

Things like traditional talk therapy, somatic therapy, medication, and a lot of other mental healthcare options have little-to-no effect on Andrew or even make him worse because they have been used as tools of Smurf and do nothing but trigger him. But this is untouched by her. This is solely his own, and it is a space where he can be his true self and truly start to untangle his thoughts and himself without anything bad happening.

Since you guys started it, Andrew is calmer, his head is clearer, he sleeps better, and he's a better communicator. It's not only a better coping mechanism, but it's also the first time he gets a glimpse of what he could be as a normal person, as proof that he can be benign and exist outside of Smurf and her plans for him.

So no, Andrew does not play about craft night. He has absolutely never told anyone that it exists, because he knows if they made fun of it, he would go ballistic, and you'd be disappointed in him and maybe he'd be a little disappointed in himself, which scares him after so long not expecting anything from himself.

But it's not hard for his family to figure out that something is going on. Pope being completely unavailable every other Thursday is pretty noticeable, even though he has gone to great lengths to hide you and your relationship from his family.

His brothers, even Baz, don't particularly care.

They go out and get laid and do blow, and God knows what else every couple of hours, who honestly cares what Pope was doing in his free time?

Smurf is less convinced.

Pope is irritated, but acquiesces the first couple of times that craft night has to be rescheduled. It's only moved a day or two, usually that Friday or Saturday after the day it was supposed to happen. If he misses a single craft night, his life is going to be a lot harder. And beyond that, he doesn't want you thinking that he doesn't care about you and doesn't value the time you two spend together when it is the single most important thing he has. So he reschedules, tries to ignore the fact that he knows Smurf is doing this on purpose, and tries to keep a lid on his blooming annoyance.

However, when two jobs in a row are planned on craft night, he puts his foot down. He tells Smurf repeatedly that he will not be there at the next job, that he is busy, and there are two other windows of opportunity that work better for him that he will be available for. Smurf blows him off, doesn't believe him. Pope has never bailed on the family before, and it doesn't even seriously cross her mind that he will now.

That Thursday, his brothers get shot at, almost arrested, and have no score to show for it while Pope is home with you relaxing, glowing as you compliment the new pot roast recipe he tried while you paste magazine cutouts in a scrapbook and he pulls a needle through an embroidery hoop.

When Smurf rails into him, his brothers are astonished to watch him shrug, staring into the pool like he was only half-listening to begin with.

"I told you I wouldn't be able to make Thursday. Not my fault you didn't listen."

“friends” wasn’t the word that you and craig should use for what you are to each other. but if either of you had to describe it, both parties would concede to the term with no contest.

and it drives pope crazy.

because if pope even had half of what you had with him, if pope even had the chance to touch you the way craig did, you would be his. instantly and infinitely.

but, no, you were craig’s "friend." and he didn’t care, because you were too young for him anyway. and you were too bright. and too soft.

he decided this one night when he turned up at the house.

smurf was out, as were deran and j. but you were on the couch, watching craig play call of duty. for once there were no white lines cut on the coffee table's glass tray, no joint, half-lit, hanging haphazardly from one of smurf's decorative bowls.

no, it was just you and him.

craig, bigger than most, took up an entire cushion in the center of the sofa. he leant forward, both legs spread wide, elbows on the tops of his knees as he essentially button-mashed his way through a campaign. you were curled up next to him, taking up less than a quarter of the cushion beside his. you hugged your knees as you quietly watched him play.

pope, having let himself in through the garage door, walked over from the kitchen when he heard craig seemingly curse to himself.

“shit.” craig sank back into the couch just as captain reyes succumbed to his wounds. the screen doesn’t even have time to reset at his last checkpoint before he pauses the game and tosses his controller to the side.

the tall brunet turns to you in an instant, one of his big hands settled on your left thigh and the other toying with the strap of your bikini top.

“welp.” he says to you, popping the ‘p’. he wastes no time, closing the space between you both to press a chaste kiss to your chest and then another to your neck. when he begins to lightly suckle the skin there, you pull away. making a face, he chases after you until he’s able to lay claim to a patch of skin on your collarbone. this time, with a knowing sigh, you settle.

“i’m not having sex on your mother’s couch, craig. i told you that you need to find a new apartment.”

craig hummed, not paying you any mind. “c’mon, babe.” he sighs wistfully, smoothing his palm down your inner thigh as a means of forcing your knees apart.

“it’s gonna take me forever to find a new one. i can't wait that long.” he said.

you had no time to reply. by the time you turned your head, smart quip on your tongue, craig slipped his into your mouth.

your feigned disinterest is wicked away under his ministrations. secretly, you were waiting for him to touch you, to give you attention, and he knew it. a glutton for pleasure, you would never turn down craig - whatever he gave, you received happily.

craig’s hand crept lower and lower until his fingers hooked on a belt loop on your shorts. reaching down, your knuckles brushed his for a moment as you undid the button and zipper. you barely have time to shuck your bottoms down your thighs when you feel him force his hand past the waistband of your bikini thong.

“fuck. you’re so fucking wet.” he pants against your mouth, a thin trail of spit connecting his bottom lip to yours.

“i’ve been waiting for you to get off of that game for hours.” craig seals his mouth over yours again and any other complaints you have are inconsequential.

you feel two of his fingers nudging against you and you’re damn near vibrating with excitement. you begin to lean away from him once you feel that stretch, finally breaking the kiss once he gives up on being gentle and pushes in to the first knuckle. you reward him with a moan, once breathy, all but punched out of you as he begins to piston his middle and ring finger in and out of you.

and you don’t last long. it’s impossible with the way craig touches you and how ridiculously easy it is for him to get you worked up in the first place. somewhere in the way that he jostled you the thin strap of your bikini, once tied at the nape of your neck, comes loose. you don’t care even when you feel the dainty cups slipping down your chest until one of your breasts is exposed to the air completely. craig, enraptured now by the way you look coming undone, doesn’t miss a beat. you whimper when you feel him latch on to your pebbled nipple.

“m'gonna come.” you ignore the feel of craig’s beard moving against your skin, no doubt in your mind that he’s smirking up at you from where his head is pressed against your chest. you feel hot all over, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. you push yourself up off of the cushion just slightly, leaning into him, opening your legs wider as he keeps his strokes at the same steady pace. and then it washes over you at once, body taut, knees wobbling, your hand wrapped around his wrist as he helps you through your high like an obedient soldier.

"fuck me."

would have been the next thing to come out of your mouth, naturally. but when you opened your eyes as best as you could past the haze threatening to put you under, you noticed something beyond craig staring at you, taking you in in your blissed-out state. standing between the couch and the far wall right at the entrance of the living room was none other than pope cody.

you've heard of him the same way you've heard of ghost stories. the boogeyman of oceanside. but to see him like this, staring at you with his brows set and his hands laying stiffly at his sides, does something to you.

because he isn't just handsome, he's cody handsome, definitely craig's brother in the sharp angle of his cheekbones and jaw. and you've never seen eyes so dark yet so clear. he's not missing anything that craig is doing to you and somewhere through the fog you wonder how long he's been standing there, anyway.

the thought excites you enough that when craig keeps going, you do little to deter him, deter either one of them in fact. grip still tight on his wrist, you hold craig there even though the stimulation is bordering on torture. his fingers keep the same pace that got you off the first time and that steadiness, mixed with the sound of your wetness as he fucks you a second time, is a feedback loop for your arousal.

pope didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. most girls would have yelled. covered themselves up, maybe thrown something at him half-heartedly in their shock or terror. but there was something so intriguing in the way you watched him watch you. how you widen your legs, as if to present yourself to him. how you reach down to keep craig where he is. your pupils are nearly blown and your eyelids half-mast from the pleasure, your hair in disarray where it falls down your sides of your neck and down your back. the part of your chest that's exposed is flushed and it heaves with every breath you take.

pope is about as aware of how close you are as craig is. he watches as you lift yourself up off the couch just slightly, how craig sits up with you. your legs are shaking now and craig has the hand that isn't toying with your pussy trained at your waist, trying in vain to keep you from squirming under his stimulation. slowly, you begin to roll your hips against his fingers.

and andrew isn't sure for a moment if you're looking at him or through him the moment you come, heavy eyelids going wide for a second before closing to slits. "craig- ah! ah~!" is the only thing you can let out as craig begins to press kisses to your slack jaw.

and if you weren't looking at pope before, you sure were now. holding his gaze, you card your hands through craig's curls then grip him by the base of his neck and pull him in. you all but shove your tongue down his throat and he moans into your mouth, still blissfully unaware of your spectator.

then you pull away, yanking craig's hands out of your pants all the while. you shove your shorts back up your thighs, paying no mind to the way the fabric of your swimsuit bottoms bunch up underneath the denim. with the fly of your zipper still down and your shorts still unbuttoned, you work on fixing your bikini top, pulling the triangle over your exposed breast and securing the spaghetti straps around your neck.

"wait! where are you going?" craig asks.

"um. i forgot i have some errands i need to run." you offer lamely. your legs are still shaking when you stand.

craig sits back, still turned toward you, and watches as you gather your bag and hoist it over your shoulder. and it is only when he watches you walk toward the shelves leading to the hallway that he notices pope there.

"dude, what the hell?" he regards his brother with his hands thrown up in the air.

pope, however, pays him no mind, watching you as you approach. he's still standing stock-still in the same position though his head turns stiffly to watch as you squeeze past him.

"nice meeting you." you offer as your shoulder brushes his bicep. other than his intense gaze he offers no form of acknowledgement. though as you make your way down the hall, you feel his eyes burning holes into your back. it adds to your humiliation in a way; you can't help but wonder as you turn the key in your ignition and drive away what kind of pervert he must think you are.

"pope."

andrew turns to his brother, who is still staring at him with that stupid look of confusion, and maybe a little fear. "dude, that is not cool."

a beat of silence and then pope says,

"she's right. you do need your own place."

and walks away.

~~

craig gets his own place, eventually, and that place is baz's place. technically.

still sore from the loss of his best friend and subsequently his niece, pope despises the way his little brother quickly turned the homey two-bedroom into a total pigsty. clothes are everywhere. there are crumbs on the counter. someone has only just begun to make a dent in the dishes and there is a pot set on the stove with soap and water to soak.

so, that's the first clue he gets that craig isn't alone, because craig doesn't cook. doesn't know how and even in his mid-thirties that fact doesn't bother him one bit.

the shower is on. it's a good place to start. the only thing that draws him out is the sound of an unfamiliar voice; he can just barely make out a hum over the falling water.

the bathroom door is ajar and pope is never one to deny himself easy access. he had half an idea of who may be in there and he prays it isn't actually his brother, because he doesn't want to see craig's nads or find out that he likes to sing the little mermaid when he's alone.

but he is pleasantly rewarded when he sees you through the crack in the shower curtain. back towards him, you had your head buried under the stream, letting the soap run down your back.

he was obsessed with the way your skin looked. soft, from the stretch marks on your round butt to the large scar on your shoulder blade. his hindbrain took over for a moment and he felt overwhelmed with the urge to touch you, to feel the way the muscles of your thigh would ripple and give if he were to grab you there, pull you close to him.

it wasn't often that pope dwelled like this, let his depravity take over him. so he has the sense to at least look a little surprised, a little embarrassed when you turned around and reared back when you noticed you were no longer alone.

again, you were one of the strangest people pope had ever met. rather than admonish him for walking in on you like this, you simply continued your motions. both hands in your hair, you worked at the tangles you got from running on the beach and playing in the waves earlier.

the only indication that you were aware of pope's presence was the way you held his gaze. you took a step back until half of your body was underneath the water, closed your eyes and tilted your head back.

it was only when you broke eye contact that pope allowed his eyes to wander. from the strawberry skin on your arms to your tits. he took his time admiring most of all, however, how your soft tummy gave way to the tuft of hair covering your pussy.

fuck you were perfect.

this continued until you turned back towards the downpour, stood under it for a moment longer before turning the dial and shutting it off.

you turned back and pope was still standing there, hands hooked in either of his pants pockets, still taking in your frame. you lingered for a moment as you wrung your hair out.

"knock much?" is all you said to him once you were done.

he blinked at that.

funny. craig didn't mention that you were funny.

there was no reply, and you honestly weren't expecting one. craig told you that pope doesn't talk much to people he doesn't know. and it's a funny thought - he saw you cum, twice, but, no, he didn't know you. not one bit.

but if you didn't know it before, you definitely knew now that he wanted to know you.

reaching up, you pulled your towel down from where it hung haphazardly over the shower rod. pulling it over your body, you stepped out of the shower and down onto the bath mat you purchased for craig not too long ago.

"if you're looking for craig, he's at deran's bar. he said he'd be back soon, so. i'm sure he wouldn't mind if you waited."

wordlessly, he turned away from you and went to lena's old room.

~

pope hated it. hated the way he could see craig's shit strewn about what was once lena's room. he hated that baz was gone, hated that nobody else showed interest in lena but him and smurf. between the both of them, the kid was a lost cause.

he wondered absently if you liked kids.

speak of the devil, you walked past the open bedroom door in pursuit of the kitchen. when he heard you approach, he turned to watch you pass by and ambled after you.

you moved quickly, flitting about the main space in little other than one of craig's t-shirts and a pair of boyshorts. if the curve of your ass wasn't enough of a sight, he could make out the outline of your pussy lips through the thin material.

he felt like a teenage boy again, praying that you couldn't see that he was half-hard in his own pants.

you turned around and it was like god had no mercy on him, the way your nipples were hard through the loose-fitting shirt.

"i made pasta if you're hungry." you said.

though he didn't verbalize his assent, you took pope taking up one of the barstools by the counter as acceptance enough. with one of the clean plates you loaded into the dishwasher last night, you got him a healthy serving, heated it up, and then served it to him. you then turned to finish the dishes you began washing before your trip to the beach.

"thanks." says pope, almost as an afterthought, as he begins to eat. it was delicious. he was in distress.

"he does talk!" you say aloud in feigned awe, though your back remained turn to him. a single corner of his lips curled upward for a moment as he scowled at your back.

smart-ass.

silence lulled between you both; you cleaned, he ate. but soon enough the front door unlocked and in came the bumbling oaf he came to see.

neither of you noticed but he quickly deflated at the thought of no longer being alone with you.

"hey, man." though he's talking to pope craig is shameless in the way he checks you out on his approach. you're oblivious to both men, drying each dish one by one and reaching up on your tippy toes to put them in the cabinet.

"you looking for me?"

craig knows that his question is a dud, because who else would he be looking for?

though seeing how easily you and pope exist around each other, he sure has his suspicions. pope doesn't take easily to being around strangers, and, to pope, you were a stranger. or at the very least, in craig's mind, you'd better be.

jealousy is a new emotion for craig and he hates it. not even renn has had such an effect on him but fuck if you weren't like his own personal form of catnip.

"we need to talk." is all pope says once craig closes in on the space between them. as both men wander out to the patio, pope turns around long enough to see you lean over the counter, grab his empty plate, and wash it at the sink.

~~

he has to stop seeing you like this.

no, seriously, for his own health, he has to stop.

the next time pope saw you was at a party thrown at smurf's house in her absence. every other cody attended but the matriarch was nowhere to be found, not that pope could find it in him to mind.

there were people everywhere. j sat poolside with his feet in the water, watching deran and adrian play chicken with some of their other surf buddies in the deep end of the water.

the only one missing from their brood was craig. and it was important that the party ended relatively soon and the four found a way to meet; after casing the joint all afternoon their newest prospective job may not be as easy as they once thought.

pope made his way inside, pushing past drunk partygoers as he did so.

aside from alcohol, the kitchen and living room looked surprisingly kosher. no white powder, no glass pipes. no rolled up dollar-bills or straws, which was great, because craig turned into a whiney bitch when he got high.

between deran and craig's old rooms was a jack-and-jill bathroom. entering from deran's side was easy enough after he kicked out two drunk losers petting each other down on the bed.

he locked the bathroom door from deran's side and made his way over to the toilet bowl to relieve himself. but before he could so much as let down the fly to his zipper, he heard it. he heard you.

slowly, he made his way across the narrow path, past the double-sink embedded in the counter, and to the door on the other side of the room.

same as last time, the door is ajar. slowly, he steps up and peers into the crack. sees you sitting on the edge of the bed with your legs open, wide, and a brown head of hair occupying the space between your thighs.

craig is virtually always in some stage of undress so pope pays no mind to his butt cheeks but the sight you is enough to almost make him pop off in his pants. you're naked, your face flushed. your nipples are hard. craig slaps your bare clit once, twice, and you flinch at the sensation both times, breasts bouncing as you jerk your hips.

then his mouth is over the tender flesh, as if to soothe the sting of his harsh actions, and you throw your head back at the contact. as quickly as he's over you, he's inside of you, two fingers deep down to the knuckle.

"fuck, baby." your voice is husky and pope isn't sure if it's from the liquor that’s undoubtedly in your system or your arousal. he can see how wet you are even from where he's standing; you're glistening from your inner thighs, to your lips, and all the way around craig's fingers.

squelching and the occasional whimper is the only noise that fills the room. craig is precise as always, already nudging against that spot inside of you that makes your jaw go slack. he notices immediately and keeps the same pace, watching through his long eyelashes as he plucks you apart.

simultaneously, his mouth can't stop moving against you, devouring you much like a man starved. you taste so fucking good, you remember him moaning against your pussy one night, all but rubbing his erection against the bed as he licked you from your hole to your clit.

"i'm so close." you whine. and he believed it, because not long after craig set his steady, bruising pace, you were there. legs shaking from where they sought purchase on craig's shoulders, you let out a cry that sounded almost pained. pope watched as your spend trickled out of you and down craig’s beard in short, quick spurts. your hips shook with the effort it took to grind down on craig’s fingers, one of your hands coming down on his wrist to hold him in place as you work yourself through your orgasm.

“you’re so fucking pretty.” craig all but coos up at you when you finally stop. he kisses your clit once and you jump away before settling down on the mattress again.

chest heaving, you card your hand through his hair, stopping when you reach the base of his neck and grab at the tendrils caught between your fingers. when you tug at them he rises to his feet, licks into your open mouth so that you can taste your arousal on him.

“a-ah!”

your voice rises another octave when craig’s hand is replaced by his dick, the swap so quick you barely have time to register what’s happening until his hips press against yours.

“so. fucking. tight.” he accentuates every word with a thrust, relishing in the way your head falls back. when you’re upright again, head midline, he presses a hot kiss to your mouth.

somewhere in between you squirting and craig breaching you, pope found himself undoing his belt buckle, shoving his hand down the waistband of his boxers.

and, no, pope can’t find it in him to be ashamed, to read into the deeper meaning of him only coveting things that belong to his brothers. craig is the last thing on his mind, far from it, when he grabs his dick and smears the pre-cum pebbling from the head all over his tip. it’s easy to forget that craig is there when he’s so busy imagining himself between your legs, imagining himself tasting you, imagining himself fucking you until you soak his boxers.

no, craig is inconsequential.

dry masturbation is always shitty but it isn’t about that. it’s about thinking about how you’d feel squeezing him like that, how you’d open your legs wider to accommodate him when he’s moving inside of you.

his hand passes over his dick in time with the way your body jumps with every thrust, his chest heaving to the same tempo as your shallow breaths. and when your moans morph into short gasps, he’s there with you too.

pope has to reach out and grip the edge of the counter next to him, knuckles white, when he finally cums. breathing heavy through his nose, he’s thankful that you aren’t shy about using your voice, your cries easily drowning out the sound of his pants.

“f-u-uck.” craig pulls out of you as he cums, watching as your orgasm leaks out of you and dribbles to the floor in a weak spurt. you’re too busy sitting there, hands gripping the sheets, mouth agape and eyes clouded with the haze of your afterglow.

pope is zipping his pants now, watching in disgust as he notices craig’s spend painting the patch of hair dusted over your pussy lips. his button is done, belt nearly secured around his hips when he catches sight of your face and does a double-take.

somehow, through the fog, you managed to catch his eye in the crack of the doorway.

and like the little minx you were, you waited a beat so that he knew that you knew that he was there.

then your tongue darted out to lave over your swollen bottom lip.

and you smiled at him, a full-on, shit-eating grin.

you recover by the time craig finishes admiring his work (he once told you that you looked hottest with his cum on you), drawing him closer to you by hooking one leg around his hip. he closes the space between you both, pressing his forehead to yours. your noses rub against each other for a moment as he brings you in for a kiss; short, sweet. it’s almost too intimate for a delicate situation such as this but then again you’re also washing his dishes and buying bath mats for his place, so. maybe that boundary has long been diminished.

craig opens his eyes to look at you mid-way into the kiss and notices that your eyes have wandered towards the door. pulling back, he turns to follow your gaze. he notices a gap in the doorway and immediately pulls away from your grabbing hands, more than a little pissed.

“yo, who’s there?” he asks. the usual neutrality in his tone is long gone now, replaced by something sharper. something aggressive.

“did you see someone there?” he asks when he turns back to you. the remaining post-coital bliss is washed away as if someone snatched a wool blanket from over your head.

you blink owlishly at him once, twice. shake your head hesitantly at first and then firmly after. but craig won’t be deterred. he feels the heat on his neck now.

his mind immediately goes to pope; how you told him that night that pope came visiting you both that the older man had caught you in the shower. how his confusion and then annoyance had been kissed away when you straddled him, assuring him that it was only for a moment before pope went to the living room to wait for him to arrive.

“who the fuck,” craig backs away from you and turns. his fist comes down on the dresser pushed up against the wall in the room, hard. you jump, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. “is in here, huh?”

craig is in front of the door in two long, quick strides, grabbing it by the edge of the wood and yanking it open. “pope, i swear to god—”

but he opens the door to find the bathroom empty despite the light being on.

he is thorough when he checks the room; even opens the shower door and peers into it twice. he takes a spare rag from the linen closet, runs it under the faucet, and returns to you. you’re still at the end of the bed, stock-still after watching his little rampage.

yeah, somewhere along the way the carefully-laid bricks of your “friendship” began to crumble. this is a simple fix, you thought to yourself half-heartedly, jumping as he runs the cool cloth over your sore clit.

~

pope made it all the way back to his car without stopping that night. then he proceeded to drive himself home in funeral silence, gripping the steering wheel like a vice the entire way home.

when he got to his house, he immediately locked the door, walked to the bed.

shoved his pants halfway down his thigh and let the image of you play behind his closed eyelids again and again. came twice, one after the other, at the thought of you beneath him, on top of him, on your knees in front of him.

he slept four hours that night.

he had dropped your son off to his parents early in the night, heading straight to your house. he sat a few houses down in his car, fingers picking at the skin of his hands as he stared at your house. he could see the light in your bedroom still on, the silhouette of you outlined behind the curtain. anger was still running through his blood as he replayed the argument from days earlier. he did care about you, he wasn't a manwhore, hell he hadn't slept with anyone since your divorce, and he was going to make sure you realized you were not happy you left. he sat for hours, chewing nervously at his finger nails as he stared at your house. it wasn't until the light in your bedroom finally shut off that he was climbing out of the car.

it was like he was spiraling more and more everyday leading up to this, the thought that he had to have you again was the only thing he thought about. he was silent as he pulled the key that he still had your house from his pocket, slowly turning the lock till it had clicked. stupid girl. still haven't changed your locks. it was like you were inviting him in. he was silent as he crept up the stairs to the bedroom the both of you once shared, slowly peeking his head into the room. there you laid, like a perfect angel. the blood rushed straight to his cock at the outfit you had on. one of his old shirts from the police academy covered your body, a small black pair of underwear peeking out slightly underneath. his hand slowly moved to the back of his pants, the gun tucked tightly into his waistband. his feet quietly shuffled across the room, moving so he was now stood right in front of your sleeping face.

he couldn't stop himself from reaching forward to brush a strand of hair from your sleeping face, freezing as you began to stir from your sleep. your eyes slowly fluttered open, squinting at the frame in front of you. were you dreaming? most nights were spent dreaming of sammy and the time you spent together, so it didn't shock you too much. that was until his hand was reaching to touch your face gently again, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. "what the fuck!" you immediately screeched out as you jumped, his large hand coming to clap over your mouth immediately. "don't fucking scream. it's just me," he mumbled, his voice low and raspy as he stared down at you. he couldn't help but groan softly at the look in your wide eyes. straight fear. your hands were quick to start clawing at his wrists, nails digging in to his skin deeply. he hissed and pulled his hand back from your face, rubbing at his skin. "what the fuck are you doing here?" you hissed at him as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, trying to find your phone to find the time. but the sound of a click from a gun safety had you freezing.

your head slowly turned to look over at him, face to face with the gun he now had pointed at you. "you know what im doing here," he mumbled, his tongue licking over his lips as he stared down at you, eyes dark and full of lust. you and sammy had quite the kinky relationship when you were married, sex being one of the things you two could truly agree and get along with. it felt like your body was betraying you as the heat began to pool in your stomach, eyes still big and staring straight at the gun. he knew your boundaries. he knew you knew he would stop if you wanted. but you didn't want that. it was like anger boiled in you, maybe from the fact he interrupted your sleep or the fact you were still pissed at him from days earlier. "you can't just show up and ask to fuck me," you hissed, immediately laying back down to pull the covers back over your head. not even a second passed before he was yanking the blanket completely off of you, his hand grabbing your jaw roughly to force you to look at him. "im not asking. take your clothes off," he hissed, shoving your head back back into the pillow as he released you.

your body was covered in chills, eyes slightly watery as you stared up at him. you couldn't help but look down at the gun he held at his side before slowly back up at him. the frustration was only growing as he stared down at you before he slammed the gun down on the nightstand, both hands gripping at the collar of the shirt you wore. it was like paper, his hands quick to rip it right down the middle. a loud gasp left your lips, his large hands immediately moving to grope your tits. "you're such a pig," you hissed, trying to shove his hands away. his hand was quick to reach up, a quick slap across your cheek causing your head to spin. "shut the fuck up. i'm tired of hearing you nagging all the time," he mumbled, moving quick to pull his shirt off before he was climbing over the bed on top of you. your hand had moved up to your cheek to cradle the sting that now radiated on your cheek, a smirk settled on his lips. you didn't even realize you had tears streaming down your cheeks until you felt them touch your fingertips, sammy moving to grab both of your hands, pinning them tightly above your head with his hand.

your legs immediately began to kick as he moved to unbuckle and push his pants down to the middle of his thighs, another slap coming across your cheek. "stop fucking fighting. i can smell how fucking wet you are," he hissed at you, his free hand that wasn't holding your wrist moving down to your underwear. he was quick to rip those too, shoving them into the back pocket of his jeans. "just think. i could be doing this every fucking day if you didn't give up on our family," he mumbled, a finger moving down to run through your slit. your jaw clenched tightly to try to trap any sounds that threatened to escape, your eyes screwing shut tightly. his finger immediately moved to his mouth, sucking the wetness off of it as he stared down at your continuously squirming body.

a small sob left your lips as he moved to rub the tip of himself through your slit. "stop crying. your pussy is fucking weeping for me," he mumbled, slowly beginning to push himself in. you couldn't help the scream that left your lips, his hand immediately coming to slam over your mouth again before his hips were slamming in. you hadn't slept with anyone since the last time you were with him, so a tight fit was an understatement. the size of his dick didn't help either. a string of curses left his mouth as he remained still inside you, hand still held tightly over your mouth. "you know what to do if you want me to stop," he mumbled, a hint of sincerity in your eyes that had you almost melting. he moved slow at first, hips moving at a gentle pace as he stared down at you. it wasn't even a minute before his hips were pounding into you, removing his hand from your mouth just to hear your moans. he couldn't stop himself as he leaned down to press his mouth to yours, hips only moving harder as you didn't kiss him back. one hand moved to wrap tightly around your throat as he pulled back, jaw clenched tightly. "fucking kiss me," he muttered, hand giving your throat a warning squeeze before his lips were pressed back to yours.

you hesitated for a moment, your lips unmoving before your body betrayed you once again. you slowly kissed back, a hungry moan leaving his lips as his hips continued to rut against you like he was a pathetic virgin. "i fucking own you," he mumbled against your mouth, a loud moan coming from you only causing him to smirk. he pulled back slowly, hand remaining on your throat. "say it. say that i own you or im going to fill you up," he growled, his hips stuttering a little to hint that he was close. the tears continued to fall from your eyes, small gasps of hair leaving your mouth as you began to claw at his wrists to let go. he only held tighter the longer you stayed silent, his expression more pissed than before. "you..own me," you finally gasped out, his hand immediately letting go before he was pulling you back up to kiss you again. a loud moan came from the back of his throat, the feeling of his hot cum filling you up causing you to moan out. "you lied!" you whined out, hand slapping his back hard as he stilled his hips inside of you. he didn't say anything, just slowly pulled out with a wide smirk on his lips.

your whole body was shaking from pure adrenaline and a denied orgasm. "fucking pathetic. still can't make me cum. nothing has changed," you stuttered out as your legs twitched, sammy standing to pull his pants back up. he simply ignored you, grabbing his gun to tuck it back into his waistband before he finally looked back at you. "maybe at the next exchange if you're nice enough, i'll come back and think about letting you cum," he mumbled, reaching forward to pat your cheek gently before he was making his way towards the bedroom.

they were all stunned as the bouncer at the door pulled the velvet rope back, giving pope one of those bro handshakes before stepping to the side to let them in. "this is where you do security?" deran snickered, eyebrows raised as they made their way into the club. all he could do was shrug, making his way to one of the booths that was empty. he constantly found himself checking his watch, making sure that he wasn't too late to see you on stage. he had never done this before. never showed up on one of your nights off just to watch you dance. the fear that you would be freaked out by it was swirling in his mind, all thoughts telling him to leave but he was glued to his seat. one of the girls was quick to make their way around with a tray of shots, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of pope tucked into the back of the booth. "hi pope," she spoke, a knowing smirk on her face. all of them knew why he was here. for you. he simply nodded at her, eyes looking right past her at the stage. he didn't care for the other girls. sure, he liked to look at tits but not ones that didn't belong to you. "you fucking her?" craig laughed with his eyebrows raised, his laugh immediately dying from the scowl pope threw his way. "no, idiot," he spat, quickly downing the shot.

as if on cue, the lights dimmed and your song began to play. pope was quick to sit up in the booth, elbow resting on the table as he stared at the stage. the hot pink set with matching heels almost had him drooling, your hair all curled and done up. it looked lighter, like you had gotten highlights. "jesus christ," j mumbled beside him, all of the cody's eyes locked on you as you worked the pole. jealousy immediately began to boil inside of him, taking notice as to how all his brothers were now glued to you. his eyes were immediately focused back on you, bills being thrown at your feet. he was quick to notice how you didn't look throughout the crowd, you didn't hold eye contact with anyone, you looked like you just wanted it to be over with. he couldn't help but smirk a little, the thought of you not being into it because he wasn't there only made his ego grow. they all sat in silence as they watched the rest of your routine, pope's eyes never leaving the stage. "yeah, i want a room with her," craig laughed, downing another shot. he nearly choked as pope's arm shot forward to grab at his collar, pulling him to face him. "you aren't getting shit from her," he snarled, shoving craig right back into his seat. they all looked around at each other, almost a silent agreement that yeah he was fucking you.

"pope's here," one of the girls giggled to you once you had made it back stage, stuffing all the cash you received into a bag. you were quick to spin around to face her, eyebrows furrowed together. "no, he's off today," you spoke confused, shaking your head as you moved to put your lip gloss on, popping your lips in the mirror. "he's with some guys," she snickered, your posture immediately straightening. did he come just to see you? you were quick to wave her off, doing another once over at yourself in the mirror before you were rushing to grab a tray of drinks and begin your rounds around. your eyes were quick to scan the room, trying to spot him out of the crowd. it didn't take long either, it was like your body was trained to find him. he was looking right at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when your eyes locked. you couldn't help but smile back, slowly making your way over to the table. "hi, andy," you cooed a little as you stood in front of the table, all of their eyes now locked on you. "andy?" baz mumbled with a raised eyebrow, pope quick to elbow his side. "you guys want a bottle?" you spoke with a raised eyebrow, manicured hand wrapped tightly around the one you held.

pope was quick to nod, pulling out his wallet immediately. "fuck yeah, drinks on pope," deran laughed, grabbing the bottle once you had set it down. pope only shot him a glare, reaching forward to place a couple hundred dollar bills in your hand. you knew he knew how much bottles were. why so much? "i'll be back with your change and glasses. gimme a minute, yeah?" you spoke, that sweet smile on your face only causing pope's jaw to clench tightly. he watched as you walked away, eyes never leaving your ass or legs. "jesus christ dude, you look like you're about to explode," craig mumbled to pope, the other man immediately standing to push his way out of the booth and follow after you. you had already made it up to the bar, your back to the crowd as you asked for some glasses. "don't want the change. keep it," pope's voice spoke next to you, making you jump a little as you turned to face him. "that's so much extra," you giggled, arms crossing over your chest tightly. he shrugged, grabbing some of the glasses for you so you didn't have to carry so many. "thank you, andy," you spoke softly, smiling at him. he didn't hide the fact that he was looking you up and down, his foot reaching forward to gently nudge to heel of your stiletto. "these are pretty. they new?" he mumbled, eyes finally making it back up to your face.

you could feel the blush burning your skin, the glasses clinking together quietly as you held them. "do you want a dance?" you blurted out, wanting to bite your tongue off at your eagerness. he just looked so good. you couldn't resist. he stared deadpanned at you, chewing at the inside of his cheek. you could never read him, never tell how he was going to react to things or what he was feeling. he glanced back at the table where his brothers sat, before he slowly turned back to you. "sure," he nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. you were quick to go back to their table to set the glasses down, pope next to you the whole time. "make sure you guys tip the girls good," you winked at the men, turning to grab pope's hand gently before leading him back. they all stared dumbfounded, pope turning back to look at them as he followed you with a shit eating smirk on his face. he felt like he was melting just from your hand holding his as you dragged him down the hallway. he could feel your heartbeat racing through your fingertips as you slowly pushed open the door to the room, leading him inside. he hesitated to let go of your hand, moving to sit on the large couch that was pushed against the wall. the hum of the music was completely drowned out from the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

you were never nervous when you danced, the flow of it just coming naturally to you. but now you felt like you were dancing for the first time, pope's hands resting on his thighs as he stared up at you. "why'd you come in today?" you asked as you slowly moved to straddle his waist, his hands immediately moving to the side. he would hate to make you uncomfortable with any unwanted touch. the last thing he wanted you to be was scared of him. "you can touch me, andrew," you spoke softly, your hands moving to wrap around the backside of your neck as your hips slowly began to move to the music. it was like he was stuck, his hands raising slightly before they went right back down against the couch. "no touching. that's the rules," he spoke, his voice low and raspy as he stared up at your face. you couldn't help but giggle, your hips only grinding down harder onto him. "can break the rules for you," you spoke softly in his ear, the feeling of your lips brushing his ear causing him to swallow hard. it was like the world was moving in slow motion as his large hands came to grip tightly onto your hips, the feeling of your soft skin against his rough hands having him growing hard immediately.

it was like all his shame went out the door when you turned around, nearly bent in half as your ass moved back against him. the small groan that left his lips only egged you on more, looking back over your shoulder at him. you reaching to grab one of his hands, placing it on your ass, a small moan leaving your lips that you prayed to god he didn't hear. you were quick to sit up, your back pressed to his chest, head thrown back against his shoulder. "you didn't answer my question, why did you come in today?" you spoke again, his hands moving slowly up your stomach till his fingertips were brushing the undersides of your tits. he swallowed hard again, his hips involuntarily bucking up against you as you pressed rather hard down against him. it was like he forgot how to speak, his eyes shutting for a moment before his hands were moving to grab at your boobs. "i wanted to see you," he finally spoke, eyes opening back up to study the side of your face. you couldn't help but smile, hands resting on top of his that were on your chest. the pride that was exploding in your chest almost matched the ache that was exploding in your cunt as his hands groped at you, small groans leaving his lips. you had completely lost track of time as his hands roamed you, a quick couple knocks from the door making pope's head drop against your shoulder.

"you guys okay?" one of the bouncers called from the other side, a small chuckle leaving your lips. "i'll be out in a minute," you called back, slowly standing up between his legs to turn and face him. his fingertips slowly brushed your thighs as his stared up at you, both his and your cheeks a light shade of pink. "how much do i owe you?" he finally spoke, clearing his throat a little as he began to pull out his wallet. it made your heart hurt a little, the reminder that you were just putting on a show for him clear in your mind. your hand was quick to reach and stop on his arm, shaking your head. "it's okay. you tipped me good for the bottle. on the house," you spoke quietly, your voice cracking a little, your eyes burning with the threat of tears. he only furrowed his eyebrows a little bit, slowly raising so he was now stood in front of you. "you can't do that. you'll get in trouble for doing it for free," he mumbled, fishing in his wallet, but again, you pushed it away. "please don't pay me. i enjoyed it," you spoke quietly, your head shaking a little bit. a small sigh left his lips, finally shoving his wallet back into his pocket. "let me take you out. my treat for your treat to me," he almost whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. you couldn't help but smile, a small breathy laugh leaving your mouth. "fine. if you insist," you teased, the smile finally stretching across his lips. you both stood just staring for a moment, the loud knock repeating at the door. "bye andrew. i'll see you soon," you spoke, pressing a quick peck to his cheek before you were rushing out of the room.

you couldn't erase the large smile you had on your lips the rest of the night as you served drinks to the other patrons. you didn't even do any other private dances, too worried about losing the feeling of his hands on your body that remained. he simply nodded at you as he left with his brothers, all of them poking fun at him as they made their way out the door but again, you didn't care. as the night slowly finished you were giddy as you made your way back to the shared dressing room, the smile never falling off your face. "someone left you a present," one of the girls teased to you, pointing at your vanity. there was a large white envelope peeking out of the top of your book bag. you opened it slowly, your jaw almost dropping at the sight. stuffed inside was at least a thousand dollars, a small note left in the front with some straggly handwriting.

'buy something pretty for our date'

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kay's note: i love this man so bad. if you want tagged let me know

There were only two things he wanted in life: you and a baby. 

Maybe multiple babies, but everyone had to start somewhere. And Pope wanted to get started now. But you kept waffling, saying “I don’t know” and “maybe next year.” You’d told him next year about three years ago, and he was done waiting.

Lucky for him, you weren’t on any birth control. That had partially been his doing. You’d complained about side effects from your IUD, so Pope had suggested that you get rid of it, that he didn’t mind wearing condoms if it meant you were more comfortable. And you trusted him wholeheartedly. You’d never have guessed he had ulterior motives.

So here he was now, taking a thumb tack to every single condom you kept in your night stand drawer. He was methodical, poking five holes in each. Pope didn’t want them to break, though, that would alarm you and then he’d have to get Plan B. He wanted them to stay intact, but give just enough room for some of his little swimmers to leak out into you.

By the time he had finished, he only had a few minutes before you were due to arrive home from work, so he settled back on the bed to wait.

That was how you found him, sitting with his back against the headboard, hands folded in his lap and eyes locked on the door.

“Andy,” you set your purse on the dresser, smiling at him as you walked over to give him a kiss. “How was your day?”

Before you could peck him and move on, Pope was grabbing you by the hips and dragging you into his lap. You squeaked against his lips in surprise, laughing as you relaxed in his hold. His hands roamed over you, moving from your tits to your hips to your ass, like he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to grope.

“Miss me?” You were grinning ear to ear as you finally freed your mouth from his, but Pope didn’t stop, dropping his head to kiss and suck at your neck and using his hold on you to rock your core over his. You could feel how hard he was growing already.

Pope had been half hard since he began sabotaging your contraceptives, but seeing you waltz in none the wiser had all of his blood rushing south.

“Need you,” he grunted. Momentarily, he stopped painting your neck in bruises and bites to pull your shirt up and over your head. He quickly popped your bra clasp open after, dragging it down your arms and throwing it across the room.

“You can have me,” your hands dropped down between your bodies, yanking and unbuckling his belt to get his jeans open as fast as possible. “Been thinking about you all day.”

“Yeah?” Pope looked up at you with wide eyes as he guided you up onto your knees to remove your shorts and underwear. Once he had them gone, it struck you that he was still nearly fully clothed, his pants pulled just far down enough to free his length while you were naked. A shiver ran up your spine. Something about your states of undress were much more attractive than it should be.

“Yeah, Andy,” your fingers came to wrap around his cock, stroking over him slowly. Your fingers swiped through the precum leaking from his head. Holding eye contact with him, you brought those fingers to your lips, licking the salty fluid off of them.

Pope groaned before he was frantically yanking your nightstand drawer open and grabbing a condom. You’d seen him put on a condom a million times before, so while he went through the motions, you took your turn to leave your mark on his neck. Working the skin between your teeth, you drunk in every little groan and gasp that came from him as he working the latex down over his length.

You’d been planning on riding him, but before you could pull back and sink down, Pope was lifting you up and off of him, manipulating your body to land face down on the bed.

“Andrew-”

“Want you like this,” his body laid over yours, pressing you down into the mattress before you could push up or protest. His cockhead was running through your folds, trying to catch and push into your hole, but he kept missing. Pope grumbled in frustration, and then his weight shifted off your back.

You looked over your shoulder to find out exactly what he was doing, but you quickly found out when he was jerking your hips up, folding a pilow and propping your hips up on it. His body was back over you once he had you exactly how he wanted.

“Oh fuck-” his head dropped to your shoulder as he finally sank into you. He swore he could feel your wetness on the little bits of skin exposed by the microscopic holes. It was incredible. He’d truly mourned not being able to fuck raw after you’d had your IUD removed, but he knew he’d be able to again once he finally got you pregnant. “Feels good.”

Pope couldn’t help himself. His hips jerked and ground into you, chasing his own pleasure. He needed to cum in you now. He’d give you as many orgasms as you wanted once he was done, but right now his sole focus was finishing as deep inside you as he could. 

“Fuck, Andy,” you were whining and pushing back against each movement he made. He felt so good deep inside you.

Pope’s thrusting picked up in pace. He was already embarrassingly close. You were so warm and tight and perfect around him. He just couldn’t help himself. His pace stuttered, hips slamming into your ass as he pressed as deep inside you as he could get. 

Pope was used to the sensation of his cum filling up a condom, how the warm heat would spread down his shaft as emptied himself into it. This was different. He could still feel some of that wet heat trapped in the latex, but it was not nearly as much as before. As far as he could tell, his plan had worked perfectly.

He waited until the aftershocks were done and every drop had been wrung out of him by your walls before he pulled out. You hadn’t finished, and he felt guilty, but he also needed to cover his tracks, at least until those two pink lines showed up.

Thankfully, when his cock emerged from your cunt, the holes he’d pricked in it were more visible, but he was pleasantly surprised to see that it had overall held its shape without tearing but had let almost all of his release flood your depth.

He quickly stripped the condom off and threw it in the trashcan beside the bed before he was yanking your hips up.

You squeaked in shock as Pope pulled you up onto your knees. He could see some of his milky white release starting to drip from you. He couldn’t let you see that.

So he buried his face in your cunt. His tongue licked from your clit to your ass, cleaning up any trace of his cum that leaked out of you. It hurt his soul to not push that precious fluid deep inside you, but he had no choice for now.

He focused his efforts on your clit, trying to work you up to an orgasm as fast as possible. The foggier your senses were, the more likely he’d be able to get away with filling you once again, and his already hardening cock was aching for it again.

“Andrew! Fuck!” You were rocking back against his face, panting and moaning. 

Two of his fingers pushed into you, curling down to press into your g-spot as his lips circled your clit. He sucked the little bud into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. Your thighs were shaking and you buried your face into the mattress as you cried out.

“Cum,” Pope growled, doubling his efforts and intensity. 

You came, fluid squirting out around his fingers as your walls spasmed and clenched around his fingers. He didn’t stop, fighting through your tightening insides and the tremors that wracked your body. You were whimpering, moaning his name, and reaching behind you to try and push him away when you started to come down.

“Oh my god,” he finally backed off, looking down at your slumped form as you tried to catch your breath. “Jesus Christ, Andrew.”

Pope leaned back to open the drawer again. You looked over your shoulder, expression incredulous as you watched him fish out a brand new condom. 

“Again!?” 

“Again.”

Pope was not going to stop until he got what he wanted.

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