✨🪐✨

The afternoon breeze had begun to blow softly around the trees, shaking them as if to drown out the birdsong, but it only ended up accompanying the avian melodies. Spring had arrived, bringing with it tempered heat and the sounds and sights of full nature, green returning after the long winter months that left everything dead and brown. You sat beneath the cover of a willow tree, your favourite on the Ministry grounds because no one ever came there and bothered you. It was beautifully quiet thanks to its location, far enough away that the hustle and bustle of Ministry life couldn’t disturb you. Silent, save for the sounds of the natural world going about its business as you leaned against the trunk of the tree, a book in your hand and your nose buried within it.

Your other hand was gently placed on the rising and falling chest of Secondo, his head resting on your thighs and eyes closed, peacefully sleeping off the full meal of the picnic that you’d taken with you, now entirely devoured and the packages and dishes waiting inside the wicker basket ready to be cleaned, situated only a few metres away from you, and closer to the bank of the river that flowed through the grounds and ended in the sea. Your fingers lightly traced over his bare skin, his white dress shirt opened wide enough for you to have easy access to him, feeling his thick chest hair below their tips. His moustache had a singular grey hair in it that would catch the light sometimes and make his upper lip sparkle.

Though your eyes roamed over the words in your hand, occasionally they’d slip over to his Cardinal painted face, and you’d resist the urge to run those fingers over the same expanse of skin that your eyes had roamed over, fearful of waking him. Instead, you decided to let him sleep, and just bask in the glory of his company. His once thick, black hair had begun to thin, but he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to it just yet, and if you were honest, neither were you.

He was always so busy, you were barely able to see him these days. Lucifer had aligned time for you both, it would seem, along with the seasonably warm air that allowed you both to have a delightful banquet alfresco, and take some time just for yourselves even if no words were spoken. It was perfect just to see him relax and recharge in your company, and take solace in the feeling of your fingers dancing over his skin.

He groaned as he woke, asleep for only thirty minutes, and mismatched eyes staring up at you, silently admiring you as you did him just moments ago. He watched your eyes flicker over the words as you devoured them, and marvelled at the way your lashes curled upwards, and how your hair blew in the light wind as though they were branches from the very willow you sat below.

“Read to me, cuore mio,” he requested suddenly, pulling you out of the fictional world and into reality, if only for a moment.

You smiled and cleared your throat, reading as your love had asked. “‘Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were those of rage and revenge. I could with pleasure have destroyed the cottage and its inhabitants and have glutted myself with their shrieks and misery.’”

Secondo hummed, pleased with the excerpt. He sat up, crawled to you, and placed a long, tender kiss on your lips, his hand caressing your cheek as he loved on you. The kiss stole your breath away from you, as most kisses with Secondo did. Your eyes closed, allowing you to feel the thrill of his gentle touch and handling of you, losing yourself to the senses that were clouded entirely by him. How, even after all this time, your heart still beat rapidly as though it was the first time he’d ever kissed you.

He pulled away, and you found yourself chasing after him, silently begging for more of his taste. When you opened your eyes, you were met with a mischievous grin - mischievous, but reflecting your own lovesick smile that formed on your face once you’d made eye contact with him. “It is warm, sì?” he asked, though, it wasn’t a question you needed to answer. “I am going to dip my toes in the river.”

His voice was deeper than usual thanks to the hushed tone he spoke in, allowing you to hear a gravel in his voice, almost like the low rumble of a lion. His Italian accent was thick, too - because he hadn’t bothered to kick his brain into full English mode and take care with his pronunciation, but all that did was make heat pool in your core. You loved hearing him unfiltered, still lethargic from sleep and mumbling to you in a mixture of English and Italian. Even just speaking his mother tongue made your heart skip a beat and your brain turn to putty as you melted through his hands and onto the ground.

He stood from his knees, groaning slightly at the feel of his bones cracking and muscles stretching from his time sleeping in the same position. He lifted his arms above his head to stretch those out too, before turning and heading towards the river bank. You watched as he removed his dress shoes and socks, tucking the white garments neatly into the walls of his shoes to protect them from the elements. He gathered them together and neatly placed them side by side away from the edge, before he bent down to roll his trouser legs up, cuffing them to his knees.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him, his masculine hands making short work of the black fabric as it was rolled up his shins to the bottom of his thick thighs; the way that his stomach creased as he bent down, becoming a little pudgier as he aged and ate all the food he desired. You loved his softer body, how full he felt beneath your own when you cuddled up to him in bed at night, or sat on him as you rode his cock to completion. The sturdiness of him bewitched you, body and soul, and even now, as he did the most mundane activity, you couldn’t help but stare at his beauty and think he belonged in a museum.

The way the sun shone down on him now that he was beyond the protection of the willow’s shade was as if it was back-lighting him, allowing you to see the outline of his profile as he worked away at his trouser legs. The shape of his strong, Roman nose was prominent because of this, the hook ever so slightly lit and letting you see the large protrusion as it fell downwards to complete the rest of the nose structure. The way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, before he turned his back to you and sat himself down on the grass, dipping his toes into the water first, followed by the rest of his legs once he’d gotten used to the temperature change.

His back was glorious, too. You could see the light beige of his skin beneath the white, tempting you, tantalising you with each second it faced you. Your mind flashed back to all the times you’d had access to that part of his body, how it felt beneath your hands as you stroked along the skin, or scratched it accidentally in pure, unbridled lust. He was absolutely delectable.

You closed your book and stood, dropping it on the picnic blanket as you passed it to avoid it getting dirty from the grass below your feet. You made your way over to him, disrupting his peace and kneeling behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and meeting at his soft chest. Your lips moved to his ear, kissing the appendage and relishing in the little moan that escaped his lips as he felt your teeth begin to bite. He was really sensitive around his neck and ears, and loved feeling your fingers or mouth over those areas. It was a surefire way to get him going, and he always loved when you graced him with such an action.

His hands moved up from the edge of the ground and clasped around your wrists and arms, digging his digits into your skin as he hissed at the feeling of you on him. He hummed - a content hum, that audibly gave the signal to you that he was melting into your touch, and not too long afterwards, you felt his body do the same thing. “Cuore mio,” he gruffed, lulling his head onto your shoulder in pure bliss, “you know how to drive me mad, hm?”

You smiled and released his ear to speak, kissing your way down to his neck. “You know how I could make it so much worse?” You teased, moving your right hand down his chest and onto his belly with a medium pressure.

“How?” he asked, no hesitancy in his voice at all.

You kissed his neck one final time before coming back up to his ear. Once your mouth was level, you said, “By making you actually mad.”

Before Secondo had time to respond and ask you what you were talking about, both of your hands moved to his back and pushed hard. At first, you didn’t think it would work. At first, you thought he’d fight against you, pin you down, win, and threaten to push you into the river himself. But you’d lulled him into a false sense of security, and because his body was so lax, one moment he was there and the next?

You heard a splash, and saw the water swallow your man whole, laughing at his misfortune as he bobbed back up to the surface, his hair flat against his head and his cardinal paints running down his face like thick, black tears. His mouth hung open, and he gasped at the coldness surrounding him, his body shocked by the sudden temperature change.

He looked at you, and growled some expletives in Italian, no doubt cussing you out for your impish behaviour. “Amore,” he addressed you firmly, “you have five seconds.”

“For what?” you asked through giggles.

“To run.”

He swam to the riverbank and grasped onto the edge, lifting himself out of the water. His white dress shirt was entirely see-through now, sticking to his body and leaving nothing to the imagination. Not that you ever needed to use your imagination with Secondo, but even so. You could practically feel the drool escaping your mouth at the sight of him: torso scandalously on display, chubby arms bulging at the biceps as he lifted his arms to slick his sodden hair back with both of his hands. Maybe you didn’t want to run, maybe you wanted him to just ravish you on the bank of the river just to add more fuel to the fire should someone see you both.

The world didn’t know about you two yet, but if this was how they found out because the good Cardinal had taken you beneath you willow tree, who were you to complain?

You stood your ground, watching with a coy smile as he strode towards you in no more than four steps, and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his soaking body. He turned so your back was facing the water, and began to walk you to your doom.

“No!” you protested through laughter and screams. “No, Secondo! No! I’m sorry, please don’t-”

He, too, was cackling like a lovesick fool, a 38-year-old man behaving like a teenager because he was so desperately in love with his partner, he couldn’t stand it. You felt your heel reach the edge of the bank, and in one swoop, Secondo had maneuvered you into a dip, both of his hands supporting your weight as he forced you backward, bending at the waist as though you were in a ballroom dancing together. You had gripped onto his shoulders, nails digging into the wet fabric and plush flesh beneath trying to not fall in as you pleaded for what felt like your life.

“I could let you fall,” he taunted, “I should for that little joke.”

“Please don’t!” you screeched. “Secondo!”

Your laughter was music to his ears. He dropped you a little further down.

“Secondo!” you screamed. “I’m sorry! Please don’t!”

“Why, amore? Why would you do such a thing to the man whose heart you hold in your sweet palms?”

“I thought it would be funny - I’m sorry!”

He tutted playfully. “Sathanas, she wounds me.”

“I’ll do anything!”

His eyebrows perked up. “Anything?”

“Yes!”

He allowed his eyes to roam your body, fully taking in how you looked, flushed and begging for him to save you, a damsel in a distress of his own making, but his knees were weak for it nonetheless. Your white dress had also become translucent from where it was pressed up against his dripping body, and his eyes darkened at the realisation that you were completely bare beneath your dress. He could see the pigment of your areolas peeking through the wet, thin fabric making him damn near feral for you.

He pulled you back upright and spun you around so you were completely on dry land.

“On your back for me, per favore,” he requested, dropping his hands from your back and walking over to the picnic basket.

You obeyed, but moved inland a little more, not knowing what he had up his sleeve. The two cups you drank from earlier were now in his hands, and his eyes were watching you get comfortable on the grass. “Close your eyes,” he ordered, gently. You did as he asked and closed them, trying to heighten your other senses to compensate but failing. What you hadn’t realised was that Secondo had taken that opportunity to walk back to the river, fill up both the cups and head back to you, placing them on the ground behind him.

“Spread your legs for me.”

You heard him groan as your bare cunt was exposed to him, your dress falling up your thighs from your movement. He knelt on the ground between your thighs, you knew this because you felt his large palms on your knees as he got onto his, hands then moving up to rub at your naked thighs in a backwards and forwards motion. Then, when one of his hands disappeared, just a few seconds later you felt something cold on your torso.

A steady stream of water from the cup had begun to pour onto your stomach, soaking your dress to make the fabric just as translucent as his, revealing your belly to him. You screamed out in surprise, and your body jumped, but once you got used to the feeling, it didn’t feel too bad.

“Revenge served cold, no?” he asked. You could hear the smirk in his voice as he asked you, revelling in the way you tried to get away. He then poured the second cup over your breasts, your nipples becoming more and more prominent and driving him insane. It felt like slow torture - when you pushed him into the river, he had the shock all at once and was forced to get used to it very quickly, but he was taking his time with you, making sure you felt every drop before he ran out of water.

The way your dress stuck to your skin had the man feral. Like with you, though he’d already seen you naked before, there was something extra naughty about seeing you like this, clothed but exposed for the world to see. No, not the world. Him. His eyes only. You were his and he’d make sure everyone remembered that.

“Oh, cuore mio,” he sighed, gazing at you spread out in front of him. There was a dark longing in his eyes, like he had yearned for you for centuries. Sometimes, he still acted like he was fighting to gain your favour, not quite believing that you were his, and that, if he had his way, you always would be.

He lay on the ground, uncaring about how dirty he was going to get lying flat on his stomach like that. You could feel his hot breath over your core, the very part of you that was twitching and begging for him; that had been for some time. You were dripping for him, and it wasn’t the fault of the water down there, at least. And then, you felt him.

Your eyes shot open at his tongue connecting with your clit, laving the bundle of nerves and giving it the utmost attention using the tip. His mouth closed around and sucked, exactly how you liked. He was gentle at first, but the more you got used to the feeling, the harsher he used his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and letting his spit combine with your wetness to make it sloppier, yet so much better.

Your hands immediately went to his hair, pushing him into you and holding him there. He let you - he always did. Even when your hips bucked, he’d rarely push you back down and still you. You could take whatever you wanted from him, he was yours to use as you saw fit. The moans that fell from your lips were delightful, breaking the silence against the birdsong and vocalising with them, another beautiful creature satisfied on this spring afternoon.

“S-Secondo,” you begged, fingers tightening in his hair, “please. Y-your fingers.”

He shook his head, still sucking on your clit, before he released you with a pop. “Not today, amore. They are unclean.”

You let out a frustrated whine as he licked over your clit once more.

He cackled, and with a faux tone of sympathy, said, “Aw, is my angioletta suffering? Does she want her Cardinale’s fingers in her?”

“Yes!” You cried out, tightening your grip on his hair.

“Maybe,” lick, “you should have thought about that,” lick, “before you threw me in the river.”

He continued his ministrations, his tongue expertly working over your folds as it usually would. He began to feel an ache which he’d normally alleviate with his fingers, burying them deep inside you and making you sing for him. But this was punishment for your actions, and he was always more than happy to have you squirm. More than happy to make you needy and desperate for his cock.

He knew exactly where you wanted him, and made sure to focus his attentions there; laving over your clit exactly how you needed him to. He loved the noises you made, didn’t care who could hear them or how loud you were, so long as you were making them. And, he’d do anything within his power to get those noises to tumble from you as he wished. His tongue danced over your flesh, swirling and playing with your body as he was known to do. He’d enclose his lips around your clit and suck often, causing your back to arch off the ground and hips to push against his face to chase your pleasures.

You were so close. You could feel yourself about to lose control entirely and soon enough, he brought you to your end. Your moans had turned into screams, “ah”s dropping from your open mouth as though you were in pain.

Your orgasm was nowhere near you until you looked down and saw him. He was drying out, but still so very wet. His hair slicked back with water, eyes blown out and wild, yet the rest of his face hidden behind your cunt as he ate away at your sanity. The bridge of his nose visible over your pubic mound, watching it move with the way his face was pressed into you. That was what did it.

“Oh, fuck!” you yelled, your voice scaring the birds away with your volume.

Your entire body felt numb in only the best way - in a way only Secondo could make you feel. Sensitivity washed through you as your toes curled at your orgasm, and your hole clenched around nothing, begging for Secondo to push his way inside you and take whatever he wanted from you. The way he made you feel, in your mind, allowed him to use you as he saw fit, and so you eagerly awaited him to finish working you through it, and to focus on himself instead.

He only backed off when you pushed him away, when the sensitivity had become too much for your body to bear and pain had begun to seep through the cracks. Instead of forcing him entirely off your body, you grabbed onto his drenched shirt and pulled him up so his entire body had caged you against the grass, dress hiking up a little more and revealing the bottom of your stomach. You captured him in a kiss, a kiss that tasted like your cum - a taste that shouldn’t have stoked your fire as much as it did, but you were bucking against him as much as you could.

“I need you,” you whispered when you finally broke away, when his lips trailed down to your neck and placed filthy kisses to your skin.

“You have me,” he teased you, purposefully driving you to the outcome he most wanted.

“You know what I mean.”

“Cuore mio, I need to hear those words. What do you need?”

“Your cock… I need your cock.”

He hummed. “Brava ragazza.” He reached down to his trousers and undid them, pushing them far enough down his thighs to free his cock from its confinement. “You are so wet for me, I will slide in easily, sì?”

“Secondo.” Your voice was breathy, gasping for air as you spoke because your lungs refused to fill up.

You could feel him, hot and hard against your folds, teasing your entrance and rubbing up and down your slick.

“You infuriate me!” you yelled, gently hitting his chest. This wasn’t real anger, just frustration at his stalling. “This is maddening.”

“Does it drive you mad, angioletta?” he teased.

“Yes!”

“Good,” he lowered his voice, “now you have a small idea of what madness you inflict on me every day. Usa le tue parole,” he rested his forehead onto yours, one hand resting on the ground to hold him up, the other cupping your breast, “tell me where you want me.”

“Inside! I… I want you inside me. Want to feel your cock. Secondo, please. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

His tone was soft, “Non potrei mai negarti nulla.” With that, he slid inside you, meeting no resistance at all. Your core welcomed him in, stretching around him so deliciously, it was as though you were made for him. You both gasped at the slow stretch, yours a little quieter than his, which was more of a gravelly exhale, the kind you’d release when you felt relieved. Your right leg had been hooked over his left, allowing him better access to your hole, keeping you nice and open for him to have his way with you.

He remained still, making sure you were completely okay before he slowly pulled out, then pushed back in. It didn’t matter how many times he’d bury himself inside you, you’d always need a moment or two to get used to his considerable size.

His movements remain shallow, gentle, like you’re the most fragile glass he’d ever touched that you might smash at any moment. He’s tender with his touches, but slowly his speed picks up, the crown of his head gets deeper and deeper until he cannot go any further, and eventually his thrusts have you bouncing perfectly on his cock, body jiggling with the force. There’s still love and passion in his touch, but it’s become much firmer than before.

“Sec-ondo!” you gasp out, breath short and lungs struggling to fill with air at the overwhelming pleasure he was putting you through.

“I know, amore,” he replied, burying his face in the crook of your neck and kissing you fervently. His tongue laved over the pulse point, and sent goosebumps down your spine.

Your hands were all over his body, nails digging into the skin beneath the wet shirt he was wearing wherever you could grab him. Your moans were getting louder with each buck of his hips, turning more into screams with how good he was making you feel.

Secondo loved how you sounded when he was balls deep in you, how overwhelmed you got being worshipped in the way you deserved. He always got so smug when he made you cum, grinning ear-to-ear with how proud he was of himself for making you feel so good. He loved the marks you left, the scratches, the nail imprints, any bruises that were left over from your hands wandering over his body from where you were so focussed on your pleasure, you couldn’t think of anything else. He wore those injuries with pride, doing nothing to hide them. Whenever you gave him a hickey, he’d make sure to fold his collar down so everyone could see.

And so, when he felt your nails on his back, he groaned and pushed into you a little harder than he wanted to, but revelled in the noise you made afterward. The most perfect reward.

You felt divine; you always did. Velvety soft walls that enveloped his length so well, a body that felt like home whether it was below him or above it didn’t matter. With your body against his, he was the closest to Heaven he’d ever get. He’d go to war for you, die for you with no hesitation - just as long as his final night alive was spent in your arms, and enveloping him with your body and soul.

He lifted his hips, changing his position slightly so that he was on all fours, just enough to fit a hand between the two of you. “Touch y-yourself for me,” he asked you, voice deeper than usual. He groaned when you tightened around him, his voice doing wonders to your arousal.

You moved your hand to your clit and rubbed at it quickly, clenching around Secondo again at another moan he let out. This time, he’d watched your hand move from his arm, across your wet stomach, and down to your clit, the movement of your knuckles as your fingers worked circles into your flesh making his stomach drop with arousal and more blood rush to his cock. You were so effortlessly sexy, drove him mad so easily. Even the most mundane tasks would have him pulling you off to the nearest private room so he could work out his issue. He adored you.

“You are close, sì?” he asked, breaths getting heavier and thrusts becoming more erratic.

You bit your bottom lip and whimpered.

“I want to feel it, amore,” he told you. He lowered himself back onto you, trapping your hand in between you both, though you could still move it and work yourself to completion. He moved his lips to your ear, panting and puffing on top of you. He dropped his voice to a whisper when he spoke. “Cum for me. Voglio sentirlo così tanto.”

It only took two more swipes of your finger to come undone, cunt clenching around his cock so deliciously, it made him stutter and find difficulty in moving. Your lungs stopped working for a time, a silent scream falling from your mouth as your whole body became electrified with pleasure. Your toes curled into the grass, and your finger continued to work at you until the sensitivity became too much and you had to stop.

You pulled your hand out from between you two and brought it up to your mouth, you were about to suck off the remnants of your orgasm when Secondo gripped onto your wrist and pulled your fingers into his mouth, licking the taste of you off. He groaned like you were the most delicious meal he’d ever tasted, eyes rolling back and hips snapping into you.

“So delicious, amore mio,” he commented.

You pulled your fingers away and held his head in between your hands. “Are you close, my love?”

“Sì. So close.”

“I want you to cum inside me, Secondo,” you told him, looking into his eyes. “I want it so bad.”

“Merda! You are n-naughty, amore. Wa-ah! Want my cum ins-side you that bad, hm? Want me to fuck you full, sì? Put a baby in you?”

“Yes! Give it to me, please!”

He buried his head in your neck one final time and bit down on the flesh, shooting his cum into your waiting cunt, every rope of it spilling inside you where it belonged. His hips spasmed, proof that he was also feeling his own powerful orgasm because of you. One of his hands sat on your waist, and held on tightly, grounding himself to keep himself present with you. Your orgasm passed much quicker than his, his movements only coming to a halt when it had completely subsided, leaving him a pliant, mush of a man lying completely on your body, spent from all his exertions.

You stroked your hand through his hair, despite it being still very damp with water and now sweat, anything to provide him comfort.

He looked up at you once he gained his strength back, and sighed. “I am sorry, amore,” he apologised. “I marked you.”

“I’ll wear it with pride.” You sat up a little to press a kiss to his lips.

You both were perfectly content lying there for a moment, just letting your bodies recover from the exercise you’d both had, until the wetness became too much. “We should get back and shower, cuore mio,” Secondo suggested.

“You just want me naked, don’t you?”

He grinned. “I’d never say no.”

He pulled out of you and you both hissed at the sensation. He tucked himself away once he’d stood up, then held out his hand to you to help you up as well. You both got some stares on the way back to the Ministry, of course, but neither of you cared - you were both too tired to. Too tired, and too wrapped up in one another.

Of course, this would happen again…

Translations.

Cuore mio - my heart.

Sì - yes.

Amore - love.

Per favore - please.

Brava ragazza - good girl.

Usa le tue parole - use your words.

Non potrei mai negarti nulla. - I could never deny you.

You try not to chuckle, despite feeling flushed already. “I should hope so.”

Adam smiles—yes, the both of you settled on the name Adam as it carried a certain appeal to him. It was his very own name, something of his own, distinguishable from his dreadful past.

Oh, how you adored his smile.

“No,” he clarifies, still smiling. “Something… more.”

The way he struggles to say the word ‘more’, as if it is something shameful, it pains me in a certain way. Although the more you look at him, the more you come to realize that it most likely comes from a place of curiosity instead of shame.

And then you start to realize what he means.

“Oh,” is all you can get out, feeling more flushed this time around. Truth is, that more has been something heavy on your mind as well—for quite some time. You didn’t want to broach the subject with Adam, fully aware that it is a foreign concept to him and that it is, perhaps, something out of his comfort zone and out of his line of interest.

It seems as if you were wrong.

“What did you feel?” you ask, taking his hands into yours.

“I felt… a twitch. Down—down here. When you kissed me, something ached. A need... of some kind.”

You don’t know how to react more than a playful chuckle, suppressed—you wouldn’t want Adam to feel ashamed in any way or to have him believe you would mock him in any way. But you also cannot help the flood of heat and desire that races through you, coursing shamelessly through your bloodstream. Adam is unlike any other man you’ve ever met; granted, the may not be quite human, not quite man, but everything about him is so curious and kind and untainted.

Yet you long to for a stain in his purity, something akin to pure hunger that you can call your own. To claim him as your own.

“That is normal,” you breathe towards him, your pulse an erratic beat behind your ribcage.

“It is?”

“Yes. When you care for someone, and when you… develop feelings for them… it manifests physically.”

“Physically?”

You subdue a chuckle yet again; everything about him is new and enticing and enthralling, and you want to savor this moment, cherish it, preserve it and freeze it in time.

A moment where there is only you and him, together, and not a single threat posed to either one of you.

You nod. “Yes, physically. The body sometimes responds before the mind—at least, in men’s cases.”

“But I am not truly a man.”

“You are more man than anyone I’ve ever encountered.”

You cup his cheeks, Adam exhaling restlessly inside your palm. You’re not quite  sure when it all escalates or how; all you know is that Adam radiates enough warmth for you to tiptoe and press a sincere kiss on his lips, pulling him closer. He’s shockingly vocal, but you suppose it makes sense given how everything is anew to him. That’s how he treats you as well: a blank canvas waiting to be explored, filled with colors you wouldn’t have even dreamt of.

The more you kiss Adam and hold him against your body, the more you feel what he told you about; he’s rock hard at this point, and while you’re quite surprised that all of his bodily functions are intact and normal, you still moan in his mouth.

Which acts as a catalyst for him to evoke the same sounds, more guttural by nature, and end up atop of you. He’s eager, yet restrained; the same restrained curiosity you’ve grown accustomed to. He’s not wearing many clothes, which works in your favor as you work to undress him hastily, all the while with Adam huffing next to your ear, his shock at the sight of you never wavering.

“You are breathtaking,” he tells you, and you shudder at the sound of his voice, the thought of him admiring you so thusly.

You believe him; there is nothing in this world that would make you not believe Adam. You kiss him everywhere, not just his lips, hoping to get a rise out of him as soon as possible: his neck, his collarbones, his arms, all of which are, admittedly, uncharted territory to him, but upon hearing his groans, increasingly more desperate, you figure you’re doing something right. You take it upon yourself to remove your own clothes, albeit your dress proving to be a challenge in and of itself. But haste has its perks, for you move faster than you ever have with the fabric, including undergarments, and soon you’re left bare before Adam, aching and pleading silently with a single lustful glare at him. Your eyes drop fleetingly to his manhood and you gulp, utterly flattered to notice that he is hard and surely aching by this point.

“How are you feeling?” you ask him.

“It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“All of this… desire.”

You fleetingly smile, your legs spreading open further for him. His gaze drops, swallowing harshly.

“How do you know it is desire?”  you ask, half curious, half flirting.

“What else can it be when it comes to you?”

You pull him in again and again, kissing him till your lips feel raw and as needy as you feel. Your movements feel rushed as your hands roam freely around his body—surprisingly, he’s never been one to shy away from your touch, regardless of how you proclaim it—and each tug, each caress earns you a moan or a gasp from his side.

“If it is too much, you should tell me,” you tell him, catching his eyes staring in wonder between your legs.

“I’m not sure… what to do. What do I do?”

With a smile, you reach and undo his breeches, keeping your surprise to yourself—you figured Victor would’ve made everything proportional and as beautiful-looking as possible but fucking hell, this was a pleasant surprise.

“Do you trust me?” you ask him.

Adam nods incessantly. “Always.”

“Okay. Touch me.”

You don’t want to overwhelm him, so you take his hand and guide it to your pussy, smiling when you earn a gasp and a surprised face from his side. He caresses you, dragging his fingers through your soaked folds, earning soft gasps from you.

“It’s wet,” Adam remarks.

You chuckle, the sound earnest and pleased. “Yes. That happens to women when they desire someone.”

“You… want me?”

He sounds more than shocked; quite trifled and astounded. You nod frantically, by this point dripping with need.

“Yes, Adam. Always.”

He takes a while to process your words, but he does so nonetheless. It’s almost as if your words become law to him, something to tether himself to. 

“What do I do now?” he asks, his voice betraying both curiosity and fear.

“Here.”

You guide your hand to his cock, now fully erect, and he groans as you give it a few strokes and guide it to your entrance. His eyes are fully blown, as if he cannot believe what is happening and what is in front of him as of now.

Adam watches enthralled as you guide him further inside you, a pleasurable moan escaping your mouth as he thrusts inside you. Inch by inch, you swallow him whole it seems.

Fully sheathed inside of you, your mouth remains ajar as you stare longingly at him, unable to suppress the moans escaping past your vocal chords. Your whole body is afire, your face a canvass of your love and appreciation for your beloved Creature, and his face a combination of shock and lust.

“How does that feel?” you manage to ask him.

It feels like you’re going insane, utterly maddened by his curiosity, his sensitivity and love for you, all of which are undoubtable.

“Ethereal,” Adam murmurs, and leans over to press a kiss on your lips and forehead.

His movements remain mechanical. It is clear he’s unsure as to how to proceed, but his eyes, oh his big, wonderful and pure eyes, they remain locked on the movement of his cock between your legs. They seem to be fascinated by the way he fits inside you, and you are no exception to said marvel.

You try to move so that you meet with more of his hips, and you catch Adam by surprise with those motions; he stares in awe, almost aghast, at the sight of his cock thrusting in and out of you, and you moan as he does so. He doesn’t pose any questions anymore, he simply watches and follows your sounds, your scent and your movements. Soon he catches the drift, especially after one of your hands sinks its nails deep into his back and pulls him forward.

Thank goodness he feels little to no pain from this.

You mean to inflict no pain, you simply wish to sink into him, to have him and own him in primal ways, in caring and loving ways, those of which have not been taught to him by his creator. You both move together in a set rhythm, albeit stunted by it being a first time, with Adam’s eyes alternating between your face and your glistening pussy.

“Is this—good?” he asks, his face dangerously close to yours.

“Yes—oh gods, yes… so… so good…”

Words fail you in this moment of need, but you do not need them it seems. Your hands roam aimlessly on his back, the staccato rhythm of his hips more than a distraction or a want—a necessity; an insatiable craving, a hunger to be held, one you are more than certain Adam shares it as well.

You are very much aware of how touch-starved he is, and in so many ways, you reciprocate the sentiment. But Adam’s curiosity and lack of experience make him the perfect lover. It causes a stir inside of you, a storm brewing all too dangerously to the surface and an ache you found only he can soothe.

You feel him tense above you, a clumsiness about him that is more than endearing. He watches your every move, listens to every sound you make, in awe of how tender and warm you are, how malleable and willing in his presence.

A fact which will never not surprise him.

“Adam, wait,” you breathe, cupping his cheek.

On command, Adam halts all movements, blinking inquisitively at you.

“Have I hurt you?” he asks.

You feel a tug in your chest, eyes a little bit teary. By gods, you couldn’t stand the thought of someone so utterly soft and attentive by nature.

“No,” you smile. “You are wonderful. Do you trust me?”

“With my life. Endless as it may be. But it only means I get endless lifetimes to learn you.”

Breathless, you rise a little and shift so that now you are the one atop of him. Adam is evidently taken aback—one of the many endearing things about him is how he cannot hide a single emotion he feels for the life of him, endless as it may be, as he put it earlier—and you smile widely at him.

The stretch is glorious; Adam’s giant hands reach to your hips, resting there tentatively. He gazes upon your body as if he were charting a map, studious and careful, his eyes never absent of intensity and admiration.

“More,” he groans, mouth agape. “Please.”

And more you give: you start to move up and down slowly, taking every inch of him in a stretch that heats your entire body and causes your head to spin; Adam groans, the sound low and nearly pained from deep within, yet you know by watching him it cannot be that of pain. Adam tries his darnest to remain still on the bed simply because watching you take pleasure from him this way is maddening, but he finds that he cannot do so. He reaches up to meet you halfway, his fingers grazing your cheek. You cling to him, anchoring yourself to his broad shoulders as you keep riding him, and pull him closer. You find his lips in a rushed take, the kiss careless and despairing.

There’s a rush throughout your extremities, a wave of heat impossible to contain in your chest. You have never felt a fire like this one, an affection quite as strong as the one you carry for Adam. It stretches beyond the physical—although gods beware, simply feeling his cock buried inside of you so intimately and sweetly is reason enough.

He feels you tense, your movements more rapid and messy. He tries to hold you steadily, but he fails. Just as he had previously failed. And yet he realizes he does not care. He wants to see you break, he wants to see you come undone before him, with him inside of you. Something tells him you can take it—just as you can take him—and that you want to take it.

“Oh fuck—I am so close—“

He wishes to ask you what you mean, but words fail him. He feels, simultaneously, whole and fractured. He watches your face contort in what he presumes is pleasure, untethered, unashamed and whole, and he feels you quiver around him. You seize, the warmth of your walls clenched all around him, squeezing his cock in a tighter confinement.

And then he breaks.

In this moment, gravity is not what holds him, but rather you. You are all that he sees, all that he smells, craves and wants—and all that he feels. You are all that he feels as he spills himself inside of you with a roar that shakes the room to its foundation. You are all that he feels when his head drops in the crook of your neck, kissing every inch of skin his lips can trail. You are all that he feels as your hands cradle his head, tender and poisoned with raw need.

When your eyes find his again, they are as soft and as kind as you know them, yet they seem to contain something else as well. Something which you can also identify as of now.

Pleasure.

You barely move now, having felt him twitch and convulse inside you mere moments ago. Neither of you seems eager to break the touch, but you suspect Adam is much less inclined to do so than you.

“Can I stay?” he asks.

“What do you mean? Of course you can.”

“I wish to stay like this. For a while longer, inside you. You are warm and welcoming and…”

You cup his cheeks in your hands, your palms feeling the small ridges and indentations of him.

“And what?” you ask, kissing his nose.

“Mine.”

Dinner passes quietly. He barely speaks, although he tries to carry a conversation for your sake. He asks about your day but his mind is elsewhere. He thanks you for the home-cooked meal but he's too tired to really taste it. Sometimes he seems surprised by his fork lifting to his mouth, grateful at least that on auto-pilot he can feed himself.

You squeeze his hand, and he offers an apologetic grimace; he wants to be present but he feels like he's moving through water. He's drowning.

He drifts away as you clear the table, staring into space. He blinks and it is done, plates and cutlery gone. You slip your arms over his shoulders from behind his chair and he tries to focus on you. Stroking over your wrists, he sighs at the feeling of your head leaning into his neck. He politely declines your offer to help him into the shower or to run him a bath, too exhausted for either and worried about falling asleep in the tub again. But he doesn't protest as you lead him to the bathroom anyway, comforted by your guiding hands.

You pull the chair that Frater likes to pretend he doesn't use in the shower sometimes (except when you use it together) towards the sink and gesture for him to sit with a little pat. His eyebrows raise but he follows your instruction regardless. You carefully remove his jacket and shirt, only impeded by him taking your hand in his as it brushes over his heart in order to press a kiss to your knuckles.

He hears running water behind him. You place a warm towel around his neck as the sink fills. In his barely conscious state, he still doesn't quite put together what's happening until you grab shampoo and conditioner from the shelf. It's the first time all evening that his smile reaches his eyes.

You lean him back over the basin. You expect him to close his eyes as you pour hot water over his scalp, but he barely blinks. He stares up at you with a look that threatens to break you. His eyes shine, full of love and gratitude and amazement that he somehow has you. You watch the water spread through his hair instead, grey getting closer to black as it flattens, to avoid crumbling under his intense gaze.

Scratching at his scalp as you begin to massage through suds breaks his focus. He finally allows his eyes to fall shut, eyelashes fluttering as his tension is soothed and his body caves to your touch, as it always does. Between the warm water and your gentle fingertips, he finds something close to calm. As close to peaceful as he is capable of being. The only thing that tells you he is still awake are the soft purrs of contentment as you rake back his hair and begin to rinse.

With a resigned sigh, he tries to sit forward and towel off but stops as you softly press your hand to his chest. He knows better than to argue and he doesn't know why he would want to rush this to a close. He only lets you condition his hair anyway, too impatient to do it himself, regardless of how many expensive products you buy in an effort to persuade him.

You comb it through with your fingers, slicking any stray locks back out of his face. As he slouches back, you do your best to take advantage of the quiet moment. Even though his hair is completely covered, you continue to rub and massage in an effort to keep him in this state. You take in every freckle and frown line as you work, resisting the urge to kiss every feature of his face. However, as your hands creep forward past his hairline to circle his temples, he awakes from his trance.

"How long?" He reaches out to you, and you bring your cheek to rest in his hand.

"Couple of minutes?"

His other hand grabs yours and guides you to sit on his lap. As soon as you are settled in place, his lips grace yours. A silent thanks he does not need to give but one you will always readily accept. You let him show his appreciation for a lot longer than necessary, until the drips from his hair grow cold and make him shiver as they fall between you onto his chest. You pry yourself from him eventually, happy that you've taken away as much stress as you are able, as the reality of perhaps having to carry him to bed sets in.

Taglist: @copiasslut @cenotaphghuleh @burichu @unholyguleh @kosem-sultan167 @zealoushound @anomalousghost @thegholdenghoulz @gh0ul-dinner <3

It was short, sweet, and simple. Just a brush of your lips against his. It was feather-light and, yet, it sent shivers down his spine. Copia gasped when you ran your fingers through his hair after. It was almost imperceptible. For you, it was just a kiss; It was special and meaningful because it was him, the man you’d been thinking about endlessly for the last several months. But, it wasn’t heated or accompanied by the passionate touches and sweet nothings that would warrant the way Copia flushed red and parted his lips in a silent plea for more.

“Can I kiss you again?” You whispered. His warm breath fanned against you. The intense color of his eyes was swallowed by his pupils. Your proximity on the sofa was intoxicating.

Copia whimpered and nodded. With shaking hands, he dragged his fingers up your arms and rested them at your shoulders. He squeezed his legs together, whining as you kissed him again and cupped his cheeks.

“You okay, baby?” You pulled back to search for distress in his eyes.

“Mm, mhm.” Copia kept his hands resting on your body. They still quivered at the contact. “Please don’t stop.” He squeezed his thighs together again.

You flicked your eyes down to the problem between his restless legs. “Oh, someone’s excited, huh?”

He choked on a moan and bucked his hips upward. “Pl-please.”

“Please, what?” You asked with a knowing smirk.

“Kiss. Please kiss-”

You leaned back in before he continued struggling to form a sentence. The warmth of your tongues melded as they slid against each other. Copia groaned into your mouth while shock waves spread through his body. His hips chased nonexistent friction with each kick of his cock in his skin-tight pants. The growing wet patch on his crotch intensified the already-dark shade of his clothes. Copia’s gloved hands gripped your shoulders with each thrust and whimper milked from his orgasm.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he panted. “It’s been a, uh, a long time.”

“No apologies needed, baby.” You press a reassuring kiss to his temple. Copia shuddered. You wondered, for a brief moment, just how long it had been. You pulled him closer, encouraging him to rest his head on your shoulder. You reached down and squeezed one of his thighs. Copia’s breath hitched. “Sensitive boy,” you whispered.

He hid his blushing face in the crook of your neck. The well-groomed hair of his mustache tickled the sensitive skin there. Neither of you moved to clean up. Copia pressed slow kisses against your pulse point. There was an unexpected delicateness to each press of his lips against your neck. You ran your fingertips up and down his back, eliciting a soft sigh with each top-to-bottom cycle. Copia shifted on the sofa. The heady tension was borderline suffocating. You felt something pressing against your thigh. Shifting closer to him, you caressed his body while you moved your hands down to the small space between you two. He whined under his breath, shivering with each brush of your fingers against his clothes. Copia’s pulse raced at the mere thought of skin-to-skin contact with you. It was almost too much to bear.

Your eyes found each other. His pupils were blown. You ran a finger on his inner thigh, not breaking eye contact. Copia bit his lip and nodded. Creeping closer to his half-hard cock, his thighs tensed. You teased his head through the pants with your fingertip. A sharp hiss slipped down into a groan. You cupped his erection with a light squeeze. Images of what he looked like stripped of his clothes swarmed in your mind. You could almost feel the saliva pooling in your mouth. Why keep it to my imagination? you thought. Copia writhed underneath you with each brush of your fingers against his waistband, the slip of his pants button out of its snug hole, and the slow scratch of the zipper being pulled down. He groaned with the release of his cock from its confines. The ruddy head was sticky with pre-cum; The longer you looked at his thick shaft, the more it pulsated and twitched. Sweat began to form at his hairline and his pulse quickened. He dug his fingers into the couch cushions. Copia wanted to touch you more than anything in the world and for you to never stop touching him.

“More,” he mewled.

You obliged his needy demand. Wrapping your hand around him, you smeared the pre-cum up and down his dick. Copia shuddered under your touch. Each stroke shot pure adrenaline into his bloodstream. He let out a loud moan each time you thumbed his tip and graced the veins of his cock with your hand. Restraint was weaning away by the second. He needed to have you. In this moment, you were his lifeline. You squeezed the base of his cock with one hand and rolled his balls with the other. “Shit!” Copia grunted and fucked your hand. A second orgasm washed over him; His cum spilled all over the hand gripping his shaft. Thick bursts of the warm, sticky liquid reached parts of your forearm and even a small smattering on your face and shirt. Copia bucked his hips into your tight fist. His eyelids fluttered and his jaw dropped into a wide O-shape as deep moans echoed from his throat. He mumbled your name with each thrust.

With shaky hands, Copia pushed your own off his softening dick. His nerves burned with the sweet pain of an orgasm, a touch, that was just slightly too much. His belly rose and fell in shallow breaths. You rubbed soft circles into his thighs accompanied by whispered praises. As the seconds passed, each breath grew deeper and so did his desire for you. Copia was in no state to get another erection. It was far too soon. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t fulfill his need for you. He began to sweat again and his heartbeat picked up once more. He yearned to touch you, to taste you, to hear your wanton moans.

Copia sat up and cupped your face. You leaned in to each other’s space, mixing your breaths, your very life forces, together. There was no knowing who closed the distance first as you smashed your lips together. Copia slipped his tongue past your lips. He filled the space of your mouth with his desperate whines. You pushed your tongue past his plump lips and tangled your fingers in his chestnut hair, stimulating his scalp with light scratches. Each movement of your hands against his heated skin made him tremble. It was too much and, somehow, not enough. He needed his cup to be overflowing with you.

He broke away to kiss and tongue the drying cum off your cheek and chin. Copia tucked himself back into his pants with a sheepish smile after. You chuckled at his sudden coyness. “Lie down for me,” he murmured.

Leaning back on your elbows, you scooted backward on the couch and swung your legs onto either side of Copia. He crawled over you and balanced on his palms. His eyes met yours with another shy smile.

“Hm?”

One of his hands caressed your cheek and traced a line down to your collarbone. Something about you kept drawing in his touch. It was then that Copia realized just how much he yearned to touch and be touched. He didn’t realize how much he was missing this in his life. But it was more than just being touched. It occurred to him that the touch of another would never have sufficed. It had to be you and only you. Before the tears could fall, he dove down and dragged his lips against your neck. He mouthed at you like he wanted to open you up and bury himself inside for the rest of time. He left a trail of black paint and goosebumps along your skin. Your pulse pounded against his kiss-swollen lips. Copia poked his tongue out against your jugular and moaned when the musky taste of your flesh glided over his taste buds. You responded with a needy moan of your own.

Copia took the chance to nip at your tender skin. When you thrust your hips up toward him in response, he bit harder into your neck. You yelped and pulled him closer to you. Your hips were flush against each other. His flaccid sex rubbed against yours with unspoken desperation. Copia continued to cover your skin in black marks mixed with the signature red brand of love bites. He tugged his gloves off with his teeth, tossed them aside without care, and slipped his hands underneath your top. He ran them along every inch of skin, squeezing the parts of you that were thicker than others with reverence. Copia’s heated breath swept over your abdomen. He was a wild animal, muttering and grunting and whimpering with each grind of your hips against each other and each brush of his lips and hands on your body.

“Copia,” you whined. No coherent thoughts were coming to you. It was just him.

He took his time kissing down your body, undoing your pants, and shimmying them down your legs. The lust in his eyes would make Satan Himself blush. Copia was practically drooling over your exposed sex and tummy. Fuck, he wanted to leave that covered in bruises, too. He gripped your hips and pressed his lips between your legs. You gasped and sought friction from his mouth. Copia let out a husky groan seeing the mirror image of his desire. He dove into your sex, digging his fingers into your thighs. Self-consciousness was an idea he didn’t know anymore. He could not focus on anything but you. For the first time in a long time, anxiety did not plague him. He was present with you. His mouth was full of your arousal. His mismatched eyes had glazed over and his pupils grew to an incomprehensible size as he lapped, kissed, and sucked on your most sensitive places. Your thighs began to match your neck with the littering of black and red marks.

You tugged his hair and thrust into his mouth. Your sex was dripping with the concoction of your arousal and his spit. He pleasured you like he had never pleasured anyone before. It was primal and that pushed you closer to your peak. Copia’s whimpers combined with yours for anyone passing by his quarters to hear. The couch rocked with the force of him grinding against it. He continued to claw at you, to try and pull you deeper into his mouth, as if he wanted to swallow you whole. You looked into his glassy eyes and flushed face. The sight and feeling of him drinking you down overwhelmed you to the point of screaming out in climax. Your orgasm made a mess of his tongue and lips. Copia’s eyes rolled as he screwed them shut and his own orgasm surged through his body. He’d managed to eke one more from himself. His spent cock dribbled a small amount of cum into his pants, where evidence of his previous orgasms had dried. The sheer pleasure in his body overpowered and extinguished the shame of his sticky pants.

Panting, Copia crawled back up your body and rested his weight on top of you with a slight “oof”. He left lazy kisses against your shoulder and neck. Between kisses, he whispered, “So good. You felt so good. Tasted so good, baby.” He continued showering you in sickly saccharine words. Copia melted into your arms when you wrapped them around his pliant body. He looked at you like you’d put the stars in the sky just for him. You both continued to roam each other’s bodies with chaste touches. “Did that feel nice, handsome?”

“Mhm,” Copia hummed with a little nod. His eyes had slipped closed and he nuzzled impossibly closer to you. You didn’t let yourself worry about what this meant for you and Copia. You didn’t worry about the next day or even the next minute. It was just you and him. And that was all either of you needed.

- - - - - - -

“Good evening, Cardinal,” you stopped upon seeing him in the hallway and gave him a bow.

“Good evening,” Copia smiled at you.

Your face warmed. “I was wondering if you were free tonight.”

“Did you have something in mind, tesoro?”

You chuckled and pressed a hand against his chest, smirking at him. “Yes, actually. I wanna see how quick you can make a mess in your pants for me again.” You stepped up to him, your bodies touching, and pressed a slow kiss to his cheek. When you broke the kiss, you felt a small poke against your thigh and saw that Copia had turned beet red up to the tips of his ears.

He cleared his throat and huffed a cough. “Um, yes. Yes. It’s a date then.”

“It’s a date.” You looked him up and down with lidded eyes. With a salacious wink and a wave, you turned away from him with excitement for the evening, and the cardinal, to come.