Long Ago, Yet Too Close To Forever

That won’t do. You shouldn’t be thinking clearly enough to feel concern. He kisses your clit and ah, there, that whimper, that’s what he wants. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at something deep within him.

He rolls the tip of his tongue back and forth over your clit, delighting in the sensation. Such a tiny thing, and already it has you tensing and trying not to writhe. “Copia—mmm!—not that I don’t love this, but you’ve gotta get ready—”

“I am, amore.” He winks at you. “I must have a good dinner before the ritual, no?” Before you can say a word he’s devouring you again, and your only replies are sweet little sounds. You’re trying so hard to be quiet in case anyone’s passing by in the hall, but he doesn’t care. Let them hear.

Maybe the next guy can take his place on stage, but Copia’s quite sure no one will ever take his place here. He knows every nook and cranny of you, all the precious bits of flesh that feel so divine on his tongue and all the ways to touch them that light your nerves on fire. He knows how to draw it out long and languid, and how to have you pleading through frantic gasps.

Tonight it’s the latter. If this is his last chance he’s going to leave you with something you’ll never forget, a hunger no one else will ever be able to sate. Perhaps it’s cruel of him, but he needs this. He needs to make at least one indelible mark somewhere, and the surest place is you.

He plunges his tongue as deep as it will go, using a gloved finger to rub torturous circles on your clit. “Copia!” you whine, so needy, and oh it thrills him. “Copia, please, oh god!” He growls, and you moan, and he feels your body tightening, hips twitching, ever closer to the precipice. A little more, just a little more. He hears the clock ticking, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but you.

When you come, it’s with a sharp cry and a flood on his tongue. He drinks every drop as your thighs tremble around his ears. If he’s going to die tonight, this is the flavor he wants lingering in his mouth when the lights go down.

You say his name again, that pleading tone that twists his heart, and even though he needed to finish painting his face five minutes ago he takes another minute just to hold you. He needs to engrave this in his mind, the warmth and weight of you in his arms. It’ll never be enough.

***

What a fucking night it’s been.

He asked you to watch the show from the barricade, this once. Made up a story about wanting to see your face while he sang, wanting to finally Cirice you instead of a fan. And yeah, that was true, but it wasn’t why.

If you were out among the fans then you wouldn’t be backstage when Imperator’s ghouls came for him. He’d made Phil promise that if the worst should happen he’d get you out safely, make sure you never made it backstage. No throwing yourself in harm’s way, no seeing him murdered. Your last image of him would be triumphant after a glorious ritual, not a pathetic body on the floor.

But that’s not how the night goes. It’s Imperator’s lifeless body on the floor. Imperator throwing him for a loop yet again. He grieves his mother and wants to rage at the woman who just can’t stop fucking with him, even from beyond the grave.

Somehow he thinks to text you: I’ll be here a while, don’t wait up. Ti amo tesoro xoxo

You reply: You were fantastic as always! I’ll see you at the hotel. Love you rock star 😘

You don’t know. For a little longer he’s still Papa, not Papa-with-an-asterisk.

There’s too much to be done, and too little of it that he can do. It’s been an age and no time at all when he walks into the hotel room and sees your face, and he knows you know. Someone else must have messaged you. Silly of him to think they wouldn’t.

“Copia, sweetheart…” You pull him into the tightest hug he’s ever felt. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Ti amo,” he murmurs, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You smell like a concert, sweat and smoke and makeup and the last hint of your favorite scent clinging to your skin.

“I love you, too.” You’re petting his hair again, that soft way you do when he needs comfort, and he thinks he’ll fall apart if you keep going.

He steers you back toward the bed, tugs you down to sit with him. “Amore, ti prego.”

“Anything.” You mean it, he can tell. “Anything you need, anything at all.”

With a growl, he attacks the zipper of your jeans, warmth sparking when you squeak in surprise. But even though you didn’t expect this, you don’t stop him from tugging them off. “Copia, what are you—oh!”

Your thighs are hot in his hands, your scent only stronger after dancing all night. He bows his head to breathe you in. This. This is what he lived for, this is what will sustain him through whatever comes next. You, and your love, and this reassurance that it’s real.

He keeps his mouth gentle and slow. There’s no ticking clock now. Just you and the way your body responds to him, so soft and wet and welcoming. You want him, you need him, and if he doesn’t come in his pants you’ll have him.

But first he’ll have you. The first meal of the rest of his life.

He doesn’t know how long he feasts, or how many times you come. He just knows how his name sounds when you’re utterly wrung out, and that’s how you’re saying it now. He knows the feeling of your hands as you cling to him, pulling him on top of you, fingers digging in as he finally presses into you.

Tomorrow, he’ll tell you all of it. What he’d feared, what changes might be coming. But tonight, it doesn’t matter whether he’s Papa or not. There’s a hunger only Copia can sate.

Tonight you were there when he got to his dressing room after the ritual, and now the door is locked and you’re in his lap. Your hands tangle into his hair. “Fucking amazing, C.”

“We are pretty good, huh?” he says with a grin.

“Literally, you’re a rock star.” You lean in to kiss him, and oh your kisses are unholy. He feels them in his chest, as if with every kiss you’re pulling his heart closer and closer to you.

He feels them further down, too. Or maybe that’s just your thigh, pressed against his aching cock. He’s been hard since halfway through the show, ever since he looked over at the wings and saw you dancing in the shadows. He’s sure you could see it. He has nowhere to hide in these pants, after all.

But you don’t seem to notice, or if you do you’re ignoring it. You’re not wiggling in his lap to tease, just to settle yourself more securely so you can focus all your attention on kissing him. He tries to focus all his attention on kissing you. He really tries.

It’s the little things that do him in. Your fingernails on the back of his neck, tracing up and down. Your lips and tongue, drinking him in. Your voice, in the softest, smallest moan. And your perfect thigh, pressed just so against his cock.

Copia groans into the kiss as he comes, the after-show adrenaline only heightening the rush. He tries to kiss you through it, tries not to give himself away, but he has to break away to breathe and you look down and he looks down and fuck, these pants really don’t hide anything.

“Oh!” You shift back in his lap, but press little kisses to his forehead. “Poor thing, too worked up huh?”

“I can—ngh.” He shudders. “I’ll rally, fuck, I can—”

“You don’t have to, it’s been a long night—”

There’s a knock at the door, and you both flinch. “Boss?” It’s Cumulus. “Change of plans, venue needs us out in twenty. You good?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you.”

You give him another kiss, but not one of the unholy ones, just a peck on the cheek. “Rain check?”

***

A few days later, the opportunity to cash that check arrives. There’s severe weather farther on down the route, so the caravan has pulled off the road for a couple of hours to wait out the storms and reroute if necessary. The ghouls are delightedly exploring a Buc-ee’s, and you and Copia have the tour bus completely to yourselves.

After making out for a while (in his bed! horizontally!), he’d gotten your pants off, and now he’s exactly where he wants to be, with his head between your legs. It’s the best sensory overload ever—the texture of skin and the taste of your arousal and the scent and the sounds and and and—

Focus. There are so many little places that need to be licked and sucked and stroked, and he intends to find them all. You’re trying to be quiet—the bus isn’t that soundproof—but you keep making sweet little sounds, whimpers and gasps that are like lightning bolts to his cock. Only the painful press of his zipper has saved him so far.

Something changes, your whole body pulls just a little tighter, and he knows. He pulls away just enough to growl, “Gonna come for me, baby?” You can only whimper in response, hands tugging at his hair. He redoubles his efforts, and in a moment you’re arching against him, your pleasure flooding over his tongue. You cry out, unable to hold back, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. His own pleasure flares within, but he keeps going, letting you coast to a gentle finish.

“Copia!” you whine. Scratch that, that’s the best sound he’s ever heard. He props himself up over you, and you pull him to your mouth. It’s barely even a kiss, just sloppy open mouths pressed together, your tastes above and below blended into a bewitching cocktail. Oh, he’s in danger.

You’re gazing up at him, your beautiful eyes sparkling, and he knows he’s never going to be able to say no to you when you look at him like this. “Fucking hell, Copia. Can I return the favor? Please?”

“If you want,” he says. “But… don’t feel like you have to.”

You nudge him to lay where you’ve been, the mattress warm from your body. “I want to,” you say. You kiss him again, and whisper “I want to taste you everywhere.” He shivers, and feels your smile against his lips.

He curls his fingers into the bedspread, clenching hard enough to hurt. If he lets himself touch you, he’s going to fall apart, he’s sure. You kiss down his neck, fingers trailing down his chest, and every single heartbeat throbs. It aches. It’s so good. He might die here.

You settle yourself between his legs, gently pressing your hand to the bulge in his jeans. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” you say, before you unzip and pull the fabric aside. “Oh!”

Copia chokes off a sound, the release of pressure making him arch his back and shift his hips. He needs, he needs you so badly, and now those sparkling eyes are roaming up and down his cock and he’ll do anything you ask, anything at all.

You lick your lips. “Look at you. Fuck…” You wrap your hand around him, your fingers not quite able to touch. “Oh Copia, when we get a night off…”

He squeezes his eyes shut. It’s too much, the warmth of your hand and the thought of the rest of you—the pressure is building, he can’t hold it back. Taxes. Venue contracts. Papa Nihil.

It’s no use. You slowly stroke your hand down to the base, and press the flat of your tongue to his head. He breaks, pleasure coursing through him like electricity, his own heartbeat drowning out everything else.

But then he realizes you’re coughing and spluttering, and his heart sinks. “What…?”

“Sorry!” You lean over to get a tissue, and blow your nose. “I got the angle just wrong, you shot straight up my nose there.”

“Fuck.” Copia would curl up and die if he could move. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“No worries.” You gently clean him up and snuggle into his side. “I shouldn’t have let you spoil me so long. Next time, I’m taking care of you first.”

Next time. Oh thank Lucifer, there’ll be a next time.

***

You’re both riding the high of a ritual that went off without a hitch, and call time for the bus isn’t until noon tomorrow. When you arrive at his door Copia wants to say things that he shouldn’t, starting with “how about you room with me from now on?” But he just pulls you in for a kiss. “Well, the night is ours tesoro, what do you want to do?”

“You know damn well what I want to do.” Your hands are already creeping down his sides, hooking into the elastic of his post-show sweats to pull him against your body. “I want to ride your beautiful cock until neither of us can move.”

Every time you’ve tried you’ve been thwarted—a change of schedule, a bus breakdown, someone needing something from one of you. And while hands and mouths are wonderful (especially your hands and mouth) the anticipation of this thing not done has been gnawing at you both.

But he can’t let you get your hopes up. “Baby, I…I might not last that long.”

“I don’t care.” You nuzzle his neck, kissing just under his ear and something lurches in his belly. It’s like you’re trying to set him off. “I have wanted you inside me for fucking weeks, caro.”

“Oh.” He shouldn’t have taught you that word, it does something to him when you say it. He feels your grin against his neck. “We have to—to go slow, I don’t want to hurt you—”

“You won’t.” Your hand is suddenly right there, wrapping around his cock and his knees very nearly give out. “I want this, Copia.” You squeeze, and he’s already out of breath. “I want you, all of you.”

But he’s not about to let you dive straight in. He gets you undressed, licks and sucks and fingers you until you’re writhing beneath him on the bed. He has to try so hard not to listen to you, because every sound you make is a stab of pleasure that brings him dangerously closer.

“Copia please!” Your hands are tight on his wrists, trying to drag him up the bed. “Please, I’m so close, come on!”

Lucifer give me stamina. He relents, moves to kiss your forehead. “However fair and pure, you crave the wand, eh?” He rubs against you for a moment, but it feels too good, he has to move back.

You glare. “Don’t tease me right now, I crave you.”

“You’ve got me.” He barely touches you, lets your heat envelop the tip of him, and already he can feel himself about to boil over. “Tesoro…”

You take his face in both hands. “Copia. Please.”

Deep breaths. He can do this. He rocks his hips slowly, your perfect heat consuming more and more of him, and then his hips are flush with your body and everything just feels so much and he’s going to die here, his heart can’t take this. “Tesor—oh fuck!”

“Yes!” You wrap your arms around him, squeezing him so tight he thinks he might black out. “Yes, caro, just like that...”

Copia should try to distract himself, hold himself back, but he can’t think of anything but you. The way you feel inside and out, every heartbeat, every breath, the way your body clenches onto him like you never want him to leave, you are a gateway to the blessed Inferno and he is this close to falling in—

You cry his name.

He’s gone.

When he can think again, he’s face-down on your chest, moving up and down with your breath. It’s almost like being rocked to sleep, he thinks. Maybe he’s dreaming. Your hand is in his hair, petting him, and everything feels tingly. “You with me, caro?” you say, sounding a bit dreamy yourself.

“Si, amore.” Wait. Did I just say—

It’s like fast-forwarding through a tape, the last few minutes all catching up to him at once. Did I just—and you— He bolts upright, the pleasant tingles turning to cold shards of anxiety. He finds you gazing up at him all starry-eyed, and that calms the heart rate, a little. “Tesoro, I— Did I really finish that fast?”

“Yeah, you did.” You’re still gazing fondly. He’s not sure how. “That was so hot, caro.”

“Was it?”

“Are you kidding?” You arch and stretch before sitting up, and he still feels a twinge in his belly even if his cock is out of order for now. “The Cardinal Copia, who just had thousands of people screaming for him, who could have had any one of them he wanted, is so enamored with me that he comes just from being inside me for a minute?”

“I—was it only a minute?”

“Maybe less. I didn’t count.” He could die, but you just wrap yourself around him, nuzzling that damn spot under his ear. You know too much. “Do you know what a rush that is?”

“Amore, I can—” Too late to stop himself again, and this time he feels the burn of your gaze. You know. He’s too fast in every way, it seems.

“Amore,” you repeat, matching his intonation. “Do you mean it?”

“I…”

“Cause you’ve said it before, in the heat of the moment. I just wondered…”

You’re looking at him that particular way again. He could never deny you anything you want, and now you want an answer. “I do mean it.”

Before he can assure you that he understands if you don’t feel the same, you smile. “Oh, good. I was going to feel really awkward if it was just me.”

“Really?”

“Really, amore.”

***

Amore. You’ve learned to wield that word like a dagger, striking him in the heart and leaving him breathless.

It’s five minutes to show time, and you’re racing the clock trying to suck him off in the dressing room. It’s not professional, but it’s been days since you’ve had quality alone time and you’re both running low on professionalism right now.

You pull off of him, working him with your hands while you catch your breath. “Come on, babe.” Copia bites his lips together to keep from whining. “I know you’re close, I can feel it.”

And he can too, a wave rising in his body that he can’t quite give himself over to. The instinct to fight, to keep going, is too strong.

But you know him so well. You tease his most sensitive spot with just the tip of your tongue, staring up at him with those eyes that bewitched him. “Give it all to me, amore,” you say, and you only have seconds to swallow him down before he spills everything he has down your throat.

He makes it out the door with a minute to spare, knowing he’s going to spend the whole first half of the show plotting what to do to you at intermission...