Work Text:
Soft. Comfortable. Content.
Retirement looked good on Copia; the wrinkles around his eyes were a little more prominent, his belly was a little softer, his hair a little more salt than pepper now.
After 6 long years of performing and touring, you had never seen him so relaxed. After countless nights spent waiting for him backstage, sleeping on tour buses, or alone at the Ministry waiting for his return, he was finally home with you every night.
There was always an unspoken anxiety about him; he didn’t often admit it out loud, but he had been terrified about his time as Papa coming to an end, and understandably so, given the unfortunate state of his late brothers. The ever looming threat of an untimely end had aged him quite a bit, but he had managed it well by channeling that nervous energy into his performances, determined to give it his all in hopes it would prolong his tenure.
Now, a year into his new position as Frater Imperator, he had seemed to really find his stride with managing the Ministry and the latest installment of the Ghost project. Ironically, he faced more paperwork than before he ever was the front man, but with the role had additional assistants to ease his workload. He finally had the time to do more than just perform, although he certainly missed the limelight. His days were now mostly filled with lazy mornings in bed, afternoons in his office, and evenings spent taking you on dates or just cuddled up on the couch.
He led the Ministry with authority and grace, firm in his decisions yet remained evermore approachable than his predecessor. Back in your shared quarters, he would return to his gentle demeanor. He had grown soft in almost every sense of the word, but it was endearing and well deserved. Something you absolutely cherished about him.
You were settled in front of the fireplace when the front door opening caught your attention. Like a magnet you were drawn to the tired figure entering the room, snaking your arms around his middle from behind. “Welcome home.” your voice gently muffled by the material of his suit your cheek was pressed against.
“Grazie, amore.” He turned in your embrace to wrap his arms around you in return and press a kiss to the crown of your head. The delicate scent of your shampoo served to calm him down even more. He slowly walked you both toward the bedroom, “It has been a long day. Help a tired old man out of his suit, per favore?”
Excitement coursed through you at his request and you eagerly nodded. He looked incredibly dashing in the suit and it was always a treat for you to savor him in and out of it. Once passed the threshold of the bedroom, you guided him over to the full length mirror across the room. Reluctantly removing yourself from his arms, you took the moment to admire your lover from head to toe. His warm but tired eyes, gentle grin as he watched you look him over, the glimmering gemstones of his brooch adding to the richness of the suit that hugged his form so nicely. And his shoes, oh his beloved shoes that he had donned since before he wore the cassock. Your hands slid up the front of his jacket, tracing the lapels as your fingers gently massaged his chest over the multiple layers of fabric. “You are stunning.” The compliment falls from your lips easily, only a fraction of the admiration you wish you could convey to the man before you.
The minimal paint he wore these days did nothing to hide the blush that bloomed across his cheeks at your words, his gaze nervously shifting away from your doting eyes. It was still difficult for him to understand what you saw in him. You weren’t in it just for his position, you had been by his side since he was flipping through ancient tomes in the library late into the night preparing for lectures. Present for his first performance, his ascension, and most recent promotion, you were always supporting and celebrating him. With the mitre it was easier to believe why he captured your attention, the crowds roaring to hear more of the dark words brought forth by him. He was the image of the Ministry. Now, however, he was off stage and without skull paint. An administrator in the background. His wrinkles were deeper, his bedtime earlier, his damn rigatoni pouch softer than ever before.
His eyes were fixated on the mirror, his gaze harsh and critical as he looked over his reflection as you carefully unfastened the red gems from his lapel, admiring the way they caught the light. After returning the dazzling Grucifix to its case on the dresser, you paused to watch him for a moment. His brows unfurrowed and his pursed lips loosened into a soft smile as he caught your gaze in the mirror, though it was obvious that he was unhappy with his own reflection as he tugged at his suit jacket that was a little more snug a year later.
Quickly closing the distance between you once more, you rested your cheek against his arm as you unbuttoned his jacket.
“What's on your mind, Frater?” You slid the jacket off his arms and placed it folded on the table beside you.
“It's nothing, dolcezza.” He flashed a fake smile that you immediately saw right through.
"You've never been very good at lying, my love.” you teased playfully, arms wrapping around him again, this time to work at the buttons of his clerical shirt. Your fingers moved nimbly, a warm smile spreading across your face as you pulled the fabric away, revealing the soft hair on his belly.
Moving around to face him, you slowly pulled the sparkly black clerical collar from his neck, setting it atop his jacket before opening his shirt fully. Fingertips combed through the hair on his torso as you pushed his shirt down his arms. Your lips found the newly exposed skin of his shoulder, softly peppering kisses across his freckles while deftly pulling the sleeves over his still-gloved hands. You drop the shirt into the hamper only to return to pressing your body against his.
“Tell me what troubles you, caro.” You gently coaxed, depositing kisses across his chest while your hands slowly traveled up his belly, savoring the warmth and softness of his skin. The sigh you felt him breathe out gives you hope, though you keep your gaze averted to his collarbones to avoid making him shy away from looking at you directly.
His body leaned into your touch, your soft hands already making his pulse quicken. The reflection was easier to look at with your body covering much of his, though his face grew hot with embarrassment knowing you were touching the part of him he despised the most.
“Amore, I-” He exhaled, frustrated with himself for feeling like this, for being like this. He was not the same man who strutted across stages in the tightest of tight pants anymore. Satanas, he probably couldn’t fit into those pants anymore. “I am not who I used to be, no? Not so young, not so fit..” His eyes were locked on the mirror, focusing on the reflection of you pressed against him to distract him. “I am not like I was when I was Papa.”
Your head snapped up as he spoke, your heart breaking at the dejected look on his face. Hands immediately cupping his face, your thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones as you bring his gaze to meet yours. “Copia. You are more than your time as Papa. You were before and you are after.” You pressed a kiss to his chin, “Your body has always been incredible in my eyes. I will never tire of seeing, touching, or tasting.” You croon and grinned at him.
He sighed, the conflict of your sweet words and his negative inner monologue battling within him. “You have always been too good to me, tesoro. So good at trying to keep me out of my own head.” His hands found your forearms. His gloved thumbs stroked your skin as you continued to hold his face. “I still struggle, as you can see.” He chuckled, pitying himself.
“Would you like your paints?” His eyes widened, your question catching him off guard.
“I am already wearing my paints, I-”
“Your papal paints. You want to feel like Papa again, right? Let me do your paints and let you feel how I already see you.”
He blinks a few times before his eyes have the opportunity to mist over, giving your forearms a gentle squeeze and a nod of approval.
“Papa is a state of mind.” you smile, grabbing the dusty box of makeup that sat untouched on his dresser beside his new Grucifix. “And while you should feel just as proud and loved as ever as Frater, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel like Papa now and again.”
He instinctively sat down in his chair as he had so many times before when you had done his paint for him, usually on the first night of a tour that started in the city nearby. It felt as natural as doing your own makeup, his face as familiar as your own after years of admiration and attention.
Normally you would have sat on the ottoman beside the chair, but you pushed it away to his surprise.
“May I?” you smirk, gesturing to his lap which earned you the first devious grin you had seen in a while.
“Si, amore mio.” He adjusted his posture, widening his legs slightly to make room for you to climb into his lap.
“Thank you, Papa. ” you purred, straddling him and leaning back to really take in the sight before you. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Hopefully this will do the trick.” You gently pressed your lips against his, smiling into the kiss before pulling away to press a kiss to his forehead. “Need to kiss your skin before I cover it up.” you giggled as you dipped the brush into the white paint, swirling it around before brushing it over his cheek, the cool paint sending a small shiver down his spine.
Copia's hands instinctively rested on your thighs, softly squeezing as he watched you work. Your focus on him always brought a combination of nerves and excitement within him, so grateful for your attention but still wondering what he ever did to deserve it in the first place. A comfortable silence settled between you as you went. The more his face got covered, the more relaxed he became. His hands wandered slightly, sliding up to knead at your hips a little, your proximity making his skin warm. “I've missed you doing this.”
“I've missed it, too.” Your voice was warm, nostalgia washing over you seeing his skull design come to life. “I love getting to do your original paints again, but I have a lot of good memories with this face in particular.” You winked as you put the finishing touches around his mouth.
Sitting back to observe your work, you set the paints on the vanity and returned your hands to him, resting them atop his shoulders. “There's my Papa.”
Copia hummed, pleased at hearing the title that still carried so much importance to him. The weight of it feeling so right in his bones and to hear it from your sweet voice? He was already half hard. “Say it again, per favore, amore?”
It always thrilled you when he asked for something so sweetly, and normally you would tease, but considering how he was feeling you eagerly obliged. “Of course.” You purred and slid yourself closer to him. The desire to kiss him was so strong, but you couldn't bring yourself to ruin his fresh paint so soon. Instead you carded your hands through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp as you studied his face. “My handsome Papa..”
His arm immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The gasp that pulled from you made him grin, pleased he could still move you with ease and seat you closer to the growing bulge in his pants. “Si, your Papa .” One hand slid to your low back, encouraging you to roll your hips and grind into him. He groaned, finally getting some friction and feeling you more. Just having his old title spoken aloud was bringing a former sense of confidence back.
You clung to his shoulders, thrilled he was already feeling better as he dragged you over his erection. Pleased with your work and eager to see his reaction to his appearance, you slowly climbed out of his lap and sank down to your knees between his legs. You watched him closely as your new position revealed his reflection in the vanity mirror.
His face lit up.
Sliding your hands up the inside of his thighs, you noticed as he shifted in the chair, sitting up straighter, rolling his shoulders back, finally taking command of the room the way he used to. His new suit pants were much easier to unzip than the tedious laces of his old pants so you eagerly made quick work of freeing his cock. He was so fixated on himself in the mirror that his reaction was almost delayed; he finally looked down to see your hand struggling to wrap around his shaft, nuzzled against your lips, eyes peering up through your lashes.
His breath caught in his throat as you slowly ran your tongue from the base all the way to the tip, making a show of holding his gaze the entire time before flicking your tongue into the slit. Sucking the head between your lips earned you another small gasp followed by cursing under his breath as you swirled your tongue in slow, tantalizing circles. You hummed as a hand found its way to the back of your head, not pushing, but firmly keeping your mouth against him. “Ah, your mouth. Already working me so well.”
“Mmmm” you hummed, pulling his cock out of your mouth with an audible pop . “Anything to please my Papa. I told you I will never tire of tasting.”
“Si, brava ragazza. Stick out your tongue.”
Your mouth fell open obediently, tongue eagerly on display for his viewing pleasure. Heat pooled between your thighs as you watched him move forward, enraptured with the blissed out look on his face as he smacked his heavy cock against your tongue and traced your upper lip with the leaking head. A whine sounded from the back of your throat, the need to please him more building within you. Your tongue flicked against the underside of his head, pulling a hiss from him that excited you even more as you lavished that sensitive spot. Before he could give you another direction, you swallowed as much of him as you could, your watery eyes locking with his as he hit the back of your throat.
“Cazzo.” he hissed. “So pretty when you choke on my cock.” The smooth leather of his glove slid through your hair before he gently grabbed a fistful, the sudden change in his demeanor making your stomach flutter. Gently pushing and pulling, you let him lead the rhythm as you bobbed your head up and down, taking him as far into your throat as you could as your lipstick and spit smeared across the soft skin. You knew how much it turned him on to make a mess of your makeup and you couldn’t wait to do the same to his paint.
His fist tightened as he pulled your head back, smirking as he watched his cock pop out of your mouth again.
“Stand up.” His voice was stern but even. “I need to taste you, bella.”
“Yes, Papa.” You obediently stood to your feet for only a second before his hands wrapped around your thighs and he lifted you up, setting you on the vanity. A delighted giggle escaped you at his swiftness.
“Not bad for an old man, eh, cara?” he chuckled, spreading your knees apart before sliding the hem of your skirt up to your hips. He leaned forward, his breath hot against your damp panties before he kissed them.
“Mmm already so wet for me.” he praised, relishing in the way you squirmed against his mouth. You instinctively lifted your legs as he hooked his gloved hands under the band of your panties, pulling them down over your thighs, tossing them to the floor as his eyes fixated on the sight before him.
Your hands tangled in his hair as he flicked his tongue over your clit, deliberately teasing you, getting you even more worked up than you already were. He resisted your hands trying to push his face into your pussy already, always insistent on savoring the moment and taking his time with you. “So eager to ruin the paints that you so carefully did for me.” He playfully chided, hands spreading your legs further apart. He kneaded the flesh on your inner thighs and licked his lips, hungry to give you pleasure in return.
“Please..” You whined, wiggling your hips impatiently.
“Patience, sorella." He teased just before pressing his mouth to your pussy, immediately moaning into your soft skin.
“Y-yes, Papa." Your words were shaky, your breath quivering in your chest as his tongue lapped lazily. A hand quickly buried into his hair, holding him in place now he was exactly where you needed him. His skilled mouth and smudging paint made you feel on fire.
He knew how much you loved the sight of him looking up at you from in between your thighs, his tongue buried in your cunt as his white eye glowed in the dim light. You couldn't see his lips but you knew he was smirking, relishing in the way you bucked your hips against his mouth every time he rolled his tongue around your clit.
"You taste as sweet as ever, sorella.” He sighed with content.
"I'll taste even better once you've cum inside me a few times.”
“Diavoletta.” He sneered, his voice vibrating through your core. A hand slid from your inner thigh as two leather clad fingers teased your entrance, dipping in just enough to make you squirm the moment he withdrew them. He hungrily lavished your clit with attention as his fingers sunk deeper. A pleased moan rolled from his chest at how ready you were, fingers curling to stroke the spot that made you cry out.
He was relentless, a man possessed, watching the combination of his paints and your arousal tint your skin darker. He devoured you so eagerly as his fingers continue to thrust and curl inside you, determined to bring to your first peak of the night. “Come on, cara. Give into your Papa.” He growled, eyes locked on your face as it contorted in pleasure.
You roughly fisted his hair, desperately grinding against this fingers and mouth, giving into the overwhelming way he played your body so well. “Papa!” You cried as your orgasm crashed over you, your legs shaking atop the vanity as he held you in place with his free hand, delightedly prolonging your release.
“Brava ragazza. You sing for me so nicely.” He slowly slipped his fingers from you and brought them to his mouth, groaning at your whimper from the loss and the sweet taste of your essence on his leather.
Once you caught your breath and your legs trembled less, you smiled up at your disheveled man. His hair was wild from your grasp and his paints blended to gray from the nose down. “Mm, one of my favorite ways you wear your paints.” You giggled.
“Si, you love to get me messy.” He winked and gently took your hands to pull you to your feet. He covered your neck in wet kisses, prideful in marking you with his ruined paint as he pulled you closer. “But now I think it's my turn to make you messy.” He purred against your skin before slowly turning you around, guiding you to rest your hands on the vanity.
His hands found the plushness of your hips from that position and kneaded them, admiring the curve of your back and seeing your body on display for him. His gaze moved to the mirror, his breath catching for a minute at the view. Your flushed face, lips parting as your eyes met, and the way your arms barely held you up made his cock twitch.
He pressed his weight against you, the warmth of his chest on your back, his soft chest hair tickling your skin. His hand snaked around to gently grip your throat as he slid his cock back forth between your folds, slicking himself in your arousal. He knew how much you loved the anticipation, pulling a surprised gasp from your lips as he sunk his teeth into your neck just as he finally pressed the head of his cock inside you, unannounced.
Your mouth fell open as he sunk into you slowly, savoring the way you clenched around him inch by inch, the stretch burning deliciously.
“Papa, please." you panted, knees weak as he bottomed out. His hands moved back to grab your hips, pulling you back even harder onto his cock, pressing into that sweet spot that made you squirm.
One hand left your hip to tangle into your hair, firmly tugging your head back.
"Look at me when I'm fucking you, mia amata.”
His gaze bore into you as he slowly moved his hips, dragging his cock through you as it throbbed. Your eyes rolled back just before he grabbed your chin, demanding your attention.
“I said, look at me when I'm fucking you. " His voice was low, gravelly in his throat.
“Yes, Papa!" You squealed as he slammed back into you, his hips meeting your ass with a smack.
"Brava ragazza.” he praised, picking up the pace of the rhythm he set.
The vanity dug into your thighs with each rough thrust, enough to surely bruise, but you didn't care. You stared at him in the mirror, slawjacked in pleasure as he pounded you relentlessly, your fingers clawing at the smooth surface in an attempt to grasp any sanity you had left. It has been so long since he has taken you like this, wild and without abandon.
You nearly fall apart watching him smooth his hair back from falling in his eyes as he leaned over you again, his breath hot on your neck as a hand slid down your belly.
“I need you to cum again, amore. Need to feel you milk me before I stuff you full.” He purred, nipping at your earlobe. His fingers quickly found your clit and circled it just the way you liked, driving you close to your next orgasm.
“P-please! I need it!” You whined, your wobbly arms finally giving as your drop to your elbows. Desperate to keep a similar angle you push yourself up on your tippy toes, driving your hips back to meet his thrusts. Another sharp snap of his hips has you crying out, vision briefly going white as your release hits you with force.
“Si, amore. Cum for your Papa and take his seed.” He grunted, your pussy clenching around him and watching you writhe atop the vanity driving him over the edge. He wrapped both arms around your middle, pulling you close as he spilled deep inside you with a growl. Lost in the sensation, his hips continued to roll, fucking his spend back into you.
He lazily covered your neck and shoulders with kisses as you both came down from your highs. You both moaned at the loss of him pulling out of you, boneless from pleasure and wanting to stay connected. He gently lifted you to standing and turned you in his embrace.
“Thank you, amore.” He tenderly kissed your lips and held you close.
You nuzzled into his chest, sleepily covering what parts of his chest and neck you could with kisses of your own. You drew your head back, just far enough to look at his face.
“Now, let's get you cleaned up. I want to see your handsome face under our mess.”