This is a blog about the band Ghost; Call me Bender; Late 30's she/her
Find me at AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesiumDressing/pseuds/CaesiumDressing
Why do the cheek-lines look a bit like Papa IV makeup? Why? Why are you doing this to me, Tobias? Please don’t be one of the many guys who have messed with my head.
There was some douche on reddit who said this announcement didn't sound like one from them so LV probably wrote it. I was like "Bitch this might be the only press release I am sure TF wrote himself."
The email dropped on me at work about 2big and I just have the worst anxiety. I prefer Schrodinger's!Cardi, I don't think I can handle him being confirmed dead.
A lot of us joke that Tobias Forge could secretly be among us. You'd never know, would you? It's not like he'd go by one of his nicknames. Toblerone Fudge, Tender Father, Tortilla Flotilla--he wouldn't use any of those. He's too smart to do that. You'd have no idea if he was your mutual. You would only know him as Tumblr Friend.
Summary: Three times Copia finished faster than he wanted to, and one time it worked in his favor, while falling for you on tour.
A/N: This wasn’t even on my list of fics to finish this week, but here we are.
This thing between you has had to bloom in shadowy corners and fragmented moments. Stealing away to get takeout together in one city, making out on the bus on the way to another. It’s like being a teenager again, Copia thinks, except teenage him would never have pulled someone as gorgeous as you.
Even now, even as Cardinal Copia, leader of the Ghost project, he can’t help but feel a bit like the rug is going to get pulled out from under him. Surely he’s going to screw this up somehow.
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...
Set during Skeletour, email/text fic style: Copia is refusing to speak to his brother directly but has some 'notes' (whining and bitching) on the tour and about Perpetua in general. Psalterian is ignoring him; but lucky for Copia, Special Ghoul is out of 'retirement' (or whatever he's been doing since 2017) and is acting as V's personal assistant! And Special is quite happy to bitch about the new Papa and let Copia get all his venom out.
Of course, Special is actually Perpetua. No, he is not telling Copia that, this is the most fun he's had since the other Papa's died and Sister stopped letting him do interviews.
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