CARING FOR YOU | ANDREW "POPE" CODY X MALE! READER
contents. smut (minors dni) male reader, sub pope, body worship, marking, oral (pope recieveing), anal fingering, ass eating, probably ooc but i'm too horny to care.
words. 1,4k
You met Andrew "Pope" Cody a few months ago in Deran's bar. You were helping him set it up and get used to all the business aspect of the place after being his friend for a couple years.
He didn't initially intend for you to get to know his brothers, just to acknowledge their existence and not much else. But when you set your eyes on Pope you just couldn't get them off him.
There wasn't a moment that didn't feel like Pope was watching you, even if you knew he wasn't in the same place as you were. It slowly progressed into a somewhat relationship, even if he's hesitant to call it that. He doesn't want to 'trap you' with him, as he says.
You are in your house cleaning the dishes after dinner when he slides inside from the sliding backdoor. You turn around, seeing how tense he looks. "Hey, Andrew... Are you okay?" you ask, your voice soft. You know that when he's not completely on his right mind he needs some gentleness.
Andrew doesn't answer. Instead, he stares at you from the backdoor. You walk up to him, a hand on his face. "Come on, baby, talk to me." His eyes watch your face but doesn't seem like he's actually processing that he's in your home.
You grab his hand and make him rest it on your waist. Every time you're alone with him and he's not completely feeling like himself he finds grounding on physical touch. For some reason, the area he seems to prefer is your waist.
Pope lets out a deep sigh, his hand shaking a little. He squeezes your waist and moves his other hand to rest on your jaw. It's like he's trying to make sure that you're real.
You wait for a bit, watching him ground himself. You finally talk. "Do you want to talk about it?" you ask, keeping your voice soft and understanding.
Andrew shakes his head. He leans to bury his face on your neck, inhaling your scent. "I don't want to think right now," he mutters against your skin.
You both have been talking about trying to distract him using the things you already know he likes. You hold his hand and guide him to the bedroom and make him lay down in the middle of it. Andrew's hands hold your face as you kiss and your own rest on his waist over his shirt.
"Do you want to try the thing we talked about, Andy?" you whisper against his lips, your eyes watching his. He tenses for a second.
A couple days ago you mentioned that you wanted to try body worship with him. He seemed reluctant, much more interested on being the one worshiping your body while you tell him what to do. You looked at him with held down eagerness and your gorgeous eyes almost glowing, he hadn't had more option but to accept.
Pope nods and lets his hands fall to the bed. "Can I take off your shirt, baby?" He nods again. His breathing is heavy as your hands slowly unbutton his shirt, revealing more and more of his toned, pale torso. You kiss each new inch of shown skin, making him shudder a little.
When the shirt is completely open you let it fall on his sides. His hands grip the sheets while your own slide up to his chest. "You're so beautiful, Andrew...," you whisper, your voice low and sweet. He lets out a shaky breath. He feels tense, like he's about to snap just from your hands and lips alone.
Andrew lets out a low groan when your lips connect with his neck. His hands tighten on the sheets as you make your way down again. You kiss down the center of his chest until you reach his lower belly, slowly making out with his happy trail and covering it with small nibbles.
You look up at him. Your eyes are slightly closed but glow in the dim light of the bedroom lamp. Your lips slide back up a little until they reach his belly button. Pope can't take his eyes off you, as if he's hypnotized. He's been the worst sinner, committed countless crimes, but you're here, knowing all of it, worshiping him, adoring him like he's worth something.
Pope holds back a moan when you lean to kiss him, your tongue slowly sliding against his. His hands cradle your face to keep you close like he's scared you're gonna leave him behind. Your wandering hands touch his strong arms, feeling the hard muscle and veins under his skin.
"I wish I could draw you like this..." You say against his lips, a slight smile on your face. His hands bury in your hair to keep you close. "I can't keep worshiping you if you don't let go, Andy." His shaky breath hits your lips before he kisses you again, letting go of your face. Your hands move to unbuckle his pants without breaking the kiss.
You move down to kiss Andrew's chest, stomach and arms all over again. His head falls back into the pillow and he stops holding back the sweet sounds coming out of him. His breath becomes louder the lower you kiss and he lets out a whimper when you suck on his happy trail.
Once you consider it's properly marked you help him lose his boxers. His cock rests heavily against his thick thigh while throbbing softly. You hold the base carefully and begin to kiss from the top to the bottom of his balls, making his hips buckle into your touch. "Shh... Relax, Andy, let me take care of you." He nods desperately and tries to breath in a more steady way, but the softness of your lips against his trembling shaft is almost too much to handle.
There's something about recieving the worship instead of giving it that messes with Pope's head. He doesn't feel like he deserves it, like he hasn't done anything good enough to deserve your lips, your softness, your touch. But he is a selfish, bad man, he knows that (or at least that's what he thinks), so he can't help but buck into your face. You look up at him with a look on your face that makes him whimper pathetically. Your lips are covered in spit and his salty precome.
"Please... Baby, please, I need you," Andrew begs, his voice so desperate and small it squeezes your heart. You suck his balls for one more second before helping him spread his legs all the way, his body feeling too weak to do it himself. His cheeks are now in front of you and his little hole winks at you.
"You want my mouth on you, love?" Your thumb rubs the rim and he chokes out a 'yeah' between heavy breaths. Still holding the base of his cock, you connect your mouth to Pope's ass and you begin to suck slowly. You give it kitten licks and begin to introduce the tip of your tongue as he eases up.
It's surprising how a man that's usually so serious and silent can be so vocal when you got your mouth on him. Every lick makes a shaky breath come out of him; every tease of your fingers, a whimper escapes his mouth. You keep the pace slow, not letting him forget that this is about worship and not getting off. His cock throbs anyways, his precum leaking into your hand.
"Baby, please, I'm so close..." Pope begs, his eyes filling with tears.
"Come for me, Andrew. Let go." You whisper against his rim. His hips jump up as he comes, his cock throbbing and his cum coming out profusely. Your soft hands stroke his thighs as he paints his stomach white. "Good boy."
His legs shake like crazy and you get off his ass. Pope whimpers at the loss of contact but gets quiet when you press your lips on his happy trail, slowly going up until you kiss his lips.
"How do you feel, baby?" you ask as soon as you break the kiss, holding his face with your hands. He doesn't answer verbally, just nods and wraps his strong arms around your body to pull you close. You don't wince at the sticky liquid on his stomach and surprisingly neither does he.
It's already late at night and you can already feel Andrew slipping off to sleep under you. He keeps you on top of him as if he's scared that you're gonna let go of him at any moment. You indulge him, petting his hair while he falls asleep, much more relaxed than when he got home.
cw age gap (unspecified age but 18+, much younger than price)
John grunted softly as he slid inside you. Mind going blissfully blank as the tight heat of your cunt surrounded him. He only had a moment of peace before your whiny little gasps brought the guilt clawing back into his gut. Looking down at your face twisted in pleasure. Your perfect, soft face. So young. So sweet. Far too young and sweet for a man like him.
He shook his head to dispel the thoughts. It was stupid. You were an adult. Fully grown and more than capable of your own decisions. You just happened to be half his age. And who was going to blame him really. It was you who came up to him in the shitty bar. Practically begging for the man old enough to be your father to take you home and ravage you.
Then you whined again. Face pinched in slight pain as he built up a steady pace. Jesus chris you were tight. Were you a virgin perhaps? John's cock throbbed at the thought.
"John..." His name fell from your lips. Sickly sweet. Not innocent exactly, not with how you curled the word on your tongue like you would his cock. But naive. Pleading for this stranger to blow your mind like no boy your age could.
John leaned over you. Covering your mouth with his hand. Your breath hot against his palm.
"Shut up..."
He didn't need you reminding him what you were. Practically a kid. John had been the target of plenty of 'cradle snatcher' jokes in his time. But they were jokes. This was different. God he had tattoos older than you.
synopsis: Five times you and Pope were kind of stupid and the one time you figured out. Or Craig Cody goes slowly insane watching two idiots in love.
warnings/notes: Pretty fluffy. @in-ky requested Pope with Secret Admirer for the One Big Bash. I threw in a hefty dose of idiots in love for the hell of it. POV shifts frequently between the Reader and Pope. Story takes place before canon. Pope is about 29. Reader is 3-4 years younger. Hope you like it!
wc: 4.9k
You grew up on the periphery of the Cody family. Your father was an accountant with only a handful of clients. He didn’t need more than that when they paid so handsomely for his services. And he earned every penny shuffling money around, hiding ill-gotten gains without leaving a trace for law enforcement to follow. Whenever he had to meet with Smurf, he took you with him. You fell almost in the middle of Pope and Craig age wise so you didn’t really fit with either of them. Julia though was thrilled to have another girl around and pulled you into her orbit. Then you all got older and the age difference didn’t matter much anymore.
Your father sent you to college for your accounting degree while he taught you every dirty trick he knew. He even footed the bill for you to head to grad school as well. You’d been living in Berkeley for years, only coming home on the rare occasion. You’d been back less than a week when you ran into Craig at the beach.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, running over and picking you up in a bear hug to spin you around. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“Just barely,” you said as you pushed at his shoulders. “Let me go, you oaf.”
“Nope. I’m taking you back to ours. We’re having a party tonight and you’re coming.”
Before you could respond another voice interrupted.
“Put her down.”
Craig immediately complied and stepped back putting his hands up. He gave a crooked grin that said he knew something everyone else didn’t. “No problem. Make sure she comes to the party though.”
You watched him run off then turned to greet your favorite Cody. You used a hand to shelter your eyes from the sun. “Hello, Andrew.”
He nodded once in response. “You’re back.” His fingers twitched at his sides.
“Yeah. A few days ago.” You bit the inside of your lip to keep from saying something stupid. You’d had a crush on Andrew Cody since you were sixteen years old. And, while he tolerated you better than most, you were under no delusions that he felt the same.
“How long?”
“I’m back for good. School’s done.”
The corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “Good. See you later.”
Your gaze trailed him as he passed you to rejoin his brothers and sighed. You’d hoped that distance would have tamped your attraction for the man.
It had not.
The Cody house was loud and messy and exactly what you’d been expecting. Bottles and empty cups littered every surface. Music flooded the air from the speakers causing all the conversation around you to be louder to compensate. You wrinkled your nose as a tendril of smoke from a joint drifted your direction.
You leaned against the house, beer sweating in your hand as you watched Pope. He wasn’t talking to anyone. He never did at these things. He stood with his back to the fence at the far side of the yard, beer hanging from two fingers as his eyes took in everything around him in slow methodical sweeps. You’d seen him do this a hundred times. Always the still point in the Cody chaos.
You didn’t realize you’d been staring until Craig materialized at your side. “What are you doing?”
You didn’t bother glancing at him. “People watching.”
“Uh huh.” Craig leaned in, shoulder bumping yours. “You’re Pope watching. There’s a difference.”
“Fuck off.”
“He likes you.” He said it like he was handing you a winning lottery ticket and you should be eternally grateful. It was how he said most things to be honest. Always thinking he knew something the rest of the world was too stupid to see. He didn’t.
“Don’t be stupid, Craig. He does not. Why would he?”
“Just trust me.”
You turned then to blink at him in disbelief. “Why would I do that? You told Deran I had a dolphin tattoo on my ass and he spent a week trying to get a glimpse of it.”
He snorted. “That was funny.”
“Not for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have people to watch. Not Pope. People.”
Craig threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. Don’t listen to me. See if I care.” He hooked his arm around the shoulders of a passing brunette and led her into the crowd.
You made an effort to look anywhere but Pope after that.
Pope hated parties. Hated that Smurf let his brothers do whatever they wanted. He should have moved out when Baz did. A least then he’d have somewhere to escape to when they were doing this shit. He kept his eyes moving over the crowd, making sure no one fucked up his shit or overdosed in the pool. Fucking hell.
His eyes snagged on you every time they passed over you. You were wearing a tank top and shorts and looked like you belonged here. And you did, more that most of these people anyway. He should talk to you. He wanted to but you didn’t need him bugging you. You’d just gotten home, back in Oceanside where he could keep tabs on you. He didn’t want to scare you off.
Craig sidled up to him and nudged him with his elbow.
“Don’t,” Pope said, not looking at him.
“She likes you, too, you know.”
Pope’s gaze shot over to his brother before finding you in the crowd again. For a brief moment, hope swelled, then he remembered who he was talking to. “Leave it.”
Craig huffed out a breath. “Look, I’m not giving you shit. I’m being serious right now. You should ask her out. Right now. Get the both of you out of here.”
The image of the two of you sitting side by side at the beach flashed through his mind. He blinked it away. “She doesn’t like me, okay. Not like that. She couldn’t.”
Craig tilted his head back with a groan. “Can you just trust me for once? Please?”
Pope stared at him for a beat. “Why would I do that?”
His brother stared back then looked to you and back to Pope. “I hate you both.” Then he was gone, moving toward the cooler to get another beer.
The party kept moving. Music thumping, people shouting. Pope shifted his weight as his eyes drifted across the patio and found you already looking at him. He went utterly still as you held his gaze. Then, you looked away and it was as if it had never happened at all.
Pope drove past your apartment building twice before he pulled over. His hands gripped the wheel as he watched your door on the second floor. Your curtains were closed but that didn’t mean anything. Sometimes you did that to keep the heat out. He glanced at the flowers on the floorboard beside him. They were nothing fancy, but they were your favorite colors.
He’d noticed when you were at the house the day before that you were more quiet than usual. Contemplative. He missed your smile and wanted to bring it back. So flowers. You loved flowers. But would you want them from him?He swallowed, gaze moving back to your door. He’d just leave them on your doorstep. The whole point was to not make a thing of it.
Back in the truck, he drove the ten minutes to the Cody house, his brain stuck on you. Maybe he should have knocked, handed them to you directly. As he walked past the living room, he stopped cold.
You were on the couch.
Not in his head, but actually there, legs tucked under you with a glass of what looked like lemonade in your hand. You glanced up and your eyes widened a fraction when you spotted him.
He crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside you. He sat close enough to smell the clean scent that clung to your skin. You never doused yourself in perfumes or heavily scented lotions. It was another thing he loved about you.
“What are you doing here?” he said, voice rough as always.
Your fingers tapped against the side of the glass. “Smurf wanted me to come for dinner. Is that okay?”
He studied you. Your face was doing that thing it did when you were trying to read him, the furrow between your brows, mouth turned down slightly at the corners. He’d forgotten that about you. How you watched.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” he finally said. “You can be here whenever you want.”
You gave him a small smile and a nod and something in him loosened, just a little.
At dinner, you sat across from Pope and watched the chaos around you.
Craig was talking about a wave he’d caught that morning, hands moving through the air. His voice buried Pope’s attempt to say something and the latter’s mouth snapped shut. He cut into his steak and said nothing.
Deran cut in to say something about a fight at the pier and a kid who had gotten his board stolen. “He just fucking took off like—”
Smurf turned to Craig. “Did you get the papers I asked you to pick up?”
Craig frowned. “Yeah, they’re in the other room. I told you that al—”
“Good. Deran, eat your vegetables before they get cold.”
The conversation moved around Pope, never including him. He ate methodically. Every few bites he’d look up, eyes scanning the table, taking inventory. Once, his gaze landed on you and held for a beat too long before dropping back to his plate.
You kept your face still even as you cataloged every slight.
You saw the way his jaw tightened when Craig talked over him. The way his fingers gripped the fork a little too hard when Smurf redirected the conversation for the third time. The way he chewed each bite thoroughly before swallowing. As if he was counting seconds in his head.
You saw all of it and said nothing. Because saying something would mean admitting you were paying attention and paying attention to Andrew Cody was a habit you’d promised yourself you’d break.
But you couldn’t just leave it. Couldn’t let him believe he was the least important person in the room.
The next day, you left an envelope on the windshield of Pope’s truck where it sat in the Cody driveway. Inside was a DVD of a National Geographic special about deep-sea predators and a note.
I see you. I always see you.
Deran found the envelope, bringing it in the house with him and tossing it at Pope where he sat on the couch. “Someone left that on your truck.” Just as quick as he’d appeared the boy was gone.
Pope’s brow furrowed as he opened the envelope and dumped the contents into his lap. The DVD case was warm in his hands as he turned it over to read the back. Then he saw the note.
His thumb traced the edge of the paper. He read it once. Then again. The corner of his mouth pulled up. Just barely. He folded the note and slipped it into his wallet.
Pope hadn’t seen you in three days, which was more than a little unusual. Since you’d returned to Oceanside, you’d been spending a lot of time with the Codys.
He found Craig in the kitchen, shirtless, eating cereal straight from the box, chasing it with a drink of the milk sitting on the counter beside him.
Pope’s lip curled. His brothers were disgusting. “Where is she?” he asked.
Craig looked up. “Who?”
Pope stared at him.
“Oh. Car trouble. Took it to that place on Brighton with the sign that looks like it’s falling over.”
Pope braced his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “And?”
Craig shrugged. “And they quoted her some bullshit number. Like, way high. She thinks they’re trying to scam her because she’s a girl and doesn’t know cars. So, she’s going to have it towed to get a second opinion. She’s waiting for her dad to pay her. Stingy bastard.”
“Which shop on Brighton?”
“You know, uh, Vic’s? Vinnies? Something with a V.”
Pope nodded once and poured himself a cup of coffee. He had a job for Smurf he needed to take care of. Some asshole that owed her money and took off to Ventura. The kind of thing that would take a couple of days if everything went right, longer if it didn’t. Regardless, he’d be taking a vehicle that couldn’t be traced to him.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said. “My truck will be here if you want to use it.”
Craig’s brows went up. “For real?” Craig had been driving an old beater for the last couple of months after he dumped his bike drinking and driving.
“If she needs a ride anywhere, to get groceries, to go to work, fucking anywhere, you take her. That’s the deal. Promise me or I keep the keys.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Promise me, Craig.”
“I promise, Jesus, I’ll drive her wherever she needs.”
Pope placed the keys in his hand but held onto them. “Do not wreck my truck.”
After another round of assurances from Craig, Pope finally relinquished the keys. He only hoped his brother didn’t give him a reason to regret it.
Two days later, you got a call.
“Ma’am, this is Vic’s Auto Repair. Your vehicle is ready for pickup.”
You frowned. “I didn’t authorize any work.”
“We understand that, but the repairs have been completed and the bill has been taken care of. If you could pick it up as soon as possible, we’d appreciate it.”
“Who paid for it?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have that information. Vic did request you take your vehicle elsewhere from now on. Sorry.”
You hung up and stared at the wall for a full minute, running through the short list of people in your life who both knew about the car and had the money to spare. You sent off a message.
Twenty minutes later, Craig pulled up in Pope’s truck.
You opened the door and took in the sight before you. The floor mats were covered in fast food wrappers. There was mud smeared across the dashboard. The cab smelled like cheap perfume and cheaper weed.
“What did you do, Craig?”
He leaned across the passenger seat, one arm draped over the wheel. “What? Pope said I could use it while he’s out of town.”
“You know how he is about his stuff. This is disgusting.”
He shrugged. “It’s a truck. It’s meant to get dirty.”
“This isn’t dirt. This is you being a slob. Bring it back to my apartment after we get the car. I’ll clean it.” You shook your head as you used the hand hold to haul yourself into the passenger seat, curling your lip at the filth.
“What am I supposed to drive then?”
“Oh, you’re helping. This is a two person job and you’re person number two.”
He groaned but didn’t argue, which told you he felt at least a little guilty.
“So, what happened with the second opinion? I thought you were holding off,” he asked as he drove to the shop.
“I got a call this morning that the car was fixed and the bill had been paid.”
The silence stretched. Then Craig said, “Gee. I wonder who that could have possibly taken care of that for you.”
You huffed in annoyance. “Shut up.”
“I told Pope about your car. And then he left town and gave me his truck with the specific instruction that I drive you anywhere you need.” He glanced at you. The corner of his mouth doing that thing it did when he felt particularly proud of himself. “I told you he likes you.”
“Stop. It was probably my dad or something.”
“So ask him.”
“What?” you asked.
“Ask your dad if he fixed your car,” Craig prompted.
You shook your head but didn’t say anything else. The truth was, a very large part of you wanted it to be Pope that took car of your car. A part that held out hope that one day he’d see you the way you saw him. If it wasn’t him, you really didn’t want to know. Not yet anyway. Let you enjoy your delusions for a while.
After you picked up your car, Craig followed you to your apartment. You spent two hours cleaning Pope’s truck, taking care of what you could at your place before driving to a nearby carwash. Craig complained the entire time, but did the work. By the time you were done, the truck looked better than it had before Pope left it.
“Don’t tell him we cleaned it,” Craig said as he dropped you back at your apartment.
“Why not?”
“Because then he’ll know I trashed it and I’ll have to listen to him be weird about it for a week.”
You rolled your eyes but agreed before climbing out of the truck.
Pope got back the next afternoon. The guy had paid after Pope thoroughly explained the situation by sharing his knowledge of just how many bones were in the human hand. He took the car to the junkyard and got a ride back to the house. His truck was in almost the same spot he’d left it. When he got closer and saw it was clean.
Not just clean. Spotless. The windows gleamed. The tires had been scrubbed. There wasn’t a single wrapper or smudge in sight. He walked around it once, eyes narrowed then opened the door. The inside smelt like lemon. He stood there for a minute then shrugged. Craig must have finally grown a brain. Or felt guilty. Either way, it was a miracle Pope wasn’t going to question.
Inside, he showered and changed before checking his phone. There was a text from Craig about a bonfire at the beach that night. He had no interest in going unless you were going to be there. He started to text Craig to ask about you before deleting and switching to your contact instead.
You coming to the bonfire?
You responded almost immediately. No. Sick.
He stared at the screen, a million worst case scenarios running through his head. What’s wrong?
Just a cold. Stuffy. Miserable.
He exhaled in relief, thumb hesitating for a beat before he put his phone away.
Thirty minutes later he pulled up to your apartment with two bags. One held hot chicken soup. The other held orange juice, Kleenex and cold medicine. He climbed the stairs to your apartment and prepared to knock on the door when a yell from the apartment next door caught his attention.
He turned his head listening to the man shout, mean and ugly followed by a loud thud like something hitting a hard surface. Craig had mentioned that your neighbor was an asshole but Pope hadn’t imagined anything like this. Did you have to listen to this shit all the time? You were sick. You needed your rest.
Pope set the bags on your doormat and knocked quickly on the door before walking next door. The yelling got louder. He knocked hard, three times.
The door opened a crack. A man’s face appeared, eyes red and narrowed. “Who the fuck are—”
Pope put one hand on the man’s chest and walked him backward into the apartment. The door swung shut behind them.
You answered your door a couple of minutes later, wrapped in a blanket, nose red. You found two bags on your mat and looked both directions, finding no one. You bent down and picked them up, taking them into the kitchen and placing them on the counter.
You unloaded the bags and stared at everything for a moment, debating the safety of eating soup someone left on your doorstep. But it looked good and it was hot. And there were easier ways to kill you if someone wished, rather than death by cold remedy.
You could also count on one hand the number of people who knew you were sick and you trusted all of them. You tore open the cold medicine and swallowed two capsules with a glass of water. You refilled the glass with some of the juice and took it and the soup over to the table.
Three days later, your sinuses had cleared and your energy returned. You were itching to get out of the house and headed to a small bookstore you frequented. The place smelled the way all good bookstores do, fresh paper mixed with the slight must of old books. Sunlight poured through the windows and angled across the floor.
You roamed the shelves for awhile before finding yourself in the nature section. A dark blue book with gold lettering caught your eye and you pulled it from the shelf. A hardcover book on aquatic animals, filled with vivid photographs. The text was full of facts and anecdotes from the photographers. The kind of thing that would keep someone’s attention for hours.
You bought it without hesitating.
Pope walked out of his house that afternoon, keys in hand and stopped when he saw a book sitting on the hood of his truck. The embossed title shone gold in the sunlight.
He picked up the book and flipped through the pages. It was full of sharks, jellyfish and things that lived so deep they made their own light. And then he found the note.
On the front page in the same handwriting as the first note that came with the DVD.
For Andrew followed by a heart.
He closed the book and ran his hand over the cover before climbing in the truck and setting the book on the passenger seat. He drove to an isolated section of the beach and backed into a space. He sat on the tailgate of his truck with the book open in his lap and read until the sun went down and the words faded into the dark.
Another Saturday, another Cody party. You were graced with Baz’s presence this time but your favorite Cody was nowhere to be seen. Baz’s lips twitched as you looked around the party for the third time since he’d started talking to you. “He’s not here,” he said, leaning closer so you could hear him.
Your eyes widened in surprise. “Who?”
He laughed outright at that. “Pope. He’s doing a job for Smurf. Won’t be back until tomorrow.”
You didn’t say anything for a moment. “Am I that obvious?”
Baz’s hand found your shoulder. “You never had eyes for anyone else when he was around. Been that way since we were kids.” With that, he walked off leaving you to wallow in your embarrassment.
Eventually, Craig found you. “You good?”
You nodded and sipped at your beer. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. The asshole next door broke his lease and moved out in the middle of the night.”
He smiled slow and wide. “I wonder why. Who could have possibly scared him off?”
You sighed. “Stop. How would your brother even know that guy existed?”
He held up his hands. “I’m just saying. It’s a mystery. A real whodunit. Maybe the guy won the lottery. Maybe—”
“I said stop.”
He stopped but the smile stayed. Asshole.
You started cleaning as the party wound down. No one helped but you didn’t expect them too. You didn’t want Pope coming home to this mess. Baz had left hours ago. Craig had crashed on the couch, Deran laying nearby. You shook your head as you moved around them, Deran gave you a sleepy smile and then he was out as well.
You collected every bottle, every empty cup. You wiped down every surface with cleaner and a rag and swept the floors. Then you loaded the dishwasher and started it. Trash was tied up and sat beside the can in the garage. By the time you finished, the house looked like no one had ever been there at all.
Pope drove home early the following morning. The job had been simple. Pick up a package, deliver it, come home. He spent the last hour of the drive running through the cleanup in his head. The party would have been a disaster without him there to temper it. Trash would be everywhere. Filth tracked through the house. He’d clean up the trash first, then surfaces, then floors.
He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The house was dark and quiet when he let himself in. He braced himself for the worst and stopped.
The house was clean.
Not tidy. Clean. He walked through the rooms trying to make sense of it. He found his brothers on the couch sound asleep. Pope smacked Craig’s shoe to wake him up.
He grunted in surprise, eyes flying open, groaning when he found Pope standing above him. “What the fuck?”
“Did you clean up?”
Craig frowned and ran a hand down his face. “What?”
“The house. Did you clean it?”
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
Deran’s eyes were still closed when he said your name.
“What?” Pope asked.
“She cleaned all of it,” Deran added.
Pope focused on Craig again. “Why would she do that?”
Craig groaned again. “I don’t fucking know, Pope. Maybe she hates you and wanted to deny you the pleasure.” He paused then added, “It certainly wouldn’t be because she likes you because what the fuck do I know?”
Pope drove to your apartment without calling first. He didn’t text. Didn’t take the time to weigh the pros and cons. He’d spent too much time hesitating, second guessing.
He knocked on your door, shifting his weight as he waited for you to answer.
When you opened the door, his gaze raked over you, taking in the shorts and t-shirt you had on. He stepped forward, crossing the threshold before you could invite him in.
Your lips quirked. “Sure. Come on in.”
He stood in the middle of your living room, watching as you closed the door and turned to face him. His fingers twitched as his sides. “You cleaned up the party.”
“Yes,” you said with a tilt of your head.
“Why?”
“So you wouldn’t have to.” You crossed your arms over your chest and looked down as you shuffled your feet.
He went quiet, eyes moving around the room. Searching for something, anything to tell him what to say next. He wanted to ask you why you cared so much, why you bothered, but he was afraid you’d take it wrong. That he’d say the wrong thing and push you away. His gaze snagged on the TV. The sound was low, but the images were unmistakable. Dark water. The slow, ghostly movement of something with too many teeth.
The National Geographic special. The one from the DVD.
“I know this,” he said, before he could think about it.
You smiled, your face lighting with the action. “You watched it? I knew you’d like it.”
He looked at you then, really looked, the way he’d been avoiding for weeks. “That was you?”
You looked surprised as if you hadn’t realized what you’d said. What you’d admitted to. “Yeah.”
“But that means this is from you, too.” He pulled out his wallet and removed the note, unfolding it to show you the words within.
“You kept that?” Your voice was quiet.
He swallowed hard and nodded in answer. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Come on, Andy. I’ve been gone for years. You probably have a bunch of girls that want you. What do you need me for?”
His answer was immediate, tone firm and certain. “I don’t want them. I want you. Why else would I do all that stuff for you?”
Your brow furrowed. “What stuff?”
“The flowers. The car. The soup…the neighbor.” He hesitated before admitting to the last.
Your eyes widened and your mouth gaped just a little. “That was you? Why didn’t you say anything?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I thought it was obvious.”
You stepped forward. One step, then another, closing the distance between you until you were close enough for him to smell the faint trace of your detergent. You laid your hand against his face, palm cradling his cheek. Your thumb traced across his skin.
He went very still, afraid if he moved the wrong way he’d chase you off. His breathing was shallow and his eyes didn’t leave you.
You leaned in, forehead almost touching his and asked, “Is this okay?”
It was everything.
He answered by kissing you. Your mouth was warm and careful, his hand came up to curl around the back of your neck. You kissed him back and tension flowed from him as he sunk into you. For a long moment there was nothing but the two of you and the anglerfish glowing on the screen behind you.
You pulled back with a groan and Pope’s gaze flicked over your face. His hand was still on your neck. “What? What’s wrong?”
“This means I’m going to have to admit Craig was right. He’s going to be insufferable.”
Pope smiled. A rare, unguarded full smile that showed a hint of the man he might have been if the world had been gentler. And then he kissed you again.
jack abbot the type to constantly refer to his wife as “my super hot wife” even in most casual conversations. “i was busy with my super hot wife” “my super hot wife told me to”
Here’s Ghost calling Gaz mama because it’s hawt and I’m obsessed with them
Gaz on his back on the couch, lazily watching the movie they picked out for their calm night in. He’s got pillows propped behind his back and neck, so he doesn’t even have to keep his head lifted up to see the tv.
He’s as relaxed as could be, so he sighs when he hears the whimper from the crook of his shoulder. Simon’s got his face pressed there, hiding away as the rest of his naked body practically vibrates over Kyle. His heavy cock twitches where it’s buried inside of him, followed by an involuntary jerk of his hips, giving away his eagerness. Gaz pinches his side in correction, “what did I tell you, pup? Be good and let me watch the movie.”
Simon whines again, and tries his best to control his twitching hips, thighs tensing in effort not to move. Gaz can feel the big mutt’s shaky breaths against his chest, proud of how long he’s lasted, the movie’s been on for a whole thirty minutes, and just now is he getting antsy. And if he’s been clenching his hole on purpose in the past few minutes, just to see how Simon would react, well, his mutt certainly doesn’t need to know that.
Another clench from Kyle, played off as just adjusting, earns a gasping whine from deep in Simon’s throat, and another desperate twitch of his hips. Kyle pinches his asscheek this time, “still, pup.”
Simon mumbles something incomprehensible into his shoulder, and Kyle pulls his head up with a firm grip on his hair, “speak, mutt. What is it?”
Wet, shiny cow eyes meet Kyle’s gaze, “ple- please, Ky. I need- I need to move, please, ma, please,” his hips are really shaking now, Kyle can feel how tense Simon is, putting so much effort into obeying, sweet thing. Kyle stopped paying attention to the movie a while ago, much more interested in the little noises his boy was making, but he pretends to consider for a moment, before huffing and pushing Simon’s head back into his neck, “release.”
The sound that leaves Simon is one of pure relief, a gasp and a sob and a whimper all in one. His hips grind deeper, and in an instant he’s pumping them without rhythm, all grasping hands and mindless babbles, “th’nk you- thank you, ma- ngh, mama, thank you, oh yes, yes, oh m’ comi’n ma, ah!”
Simon’s moans rise in pitch as he comes, breaths coming in quick little pants against Kyle’s neck. He soothes the big man, petting his sweaty hair and murmuring encouragement as Simon keeps thrusting into overstimulation, “don’t stop, pup, that’s it. Keep moving those pretty hips.”
Simon shakes his head, whining in protest, “please, mama. I c’nt, please ‘s too much.”
Kyle’s lips press gently to the side of his head, shushing him, “shhh… you can. Don’t want me to have to take over, do you?” More vehement head shaking, and Simon’s hips pick up again, trying his best to keep some rhythm through quiet, hiccuping sobs.
Kyle can feel his own cock starting to harden in interest, firming up further than the half-chub he’s had since he slipped Simon into him at the start of the movie. He rolls his head to the side to whisper against his ear, “wanna make me cum, sweet boy?” He’s nodding before he even really comprehends the question, so eager to do anything for his love, his mama. Kyle laughs fondly, moves Simon’s hand from its bruising grip on his thigh to his cock pressed between them. Kyle sucks in a breath when a thumb strokes over his leaking tip, tipping his head back and just letting his pup please him.
The combination of a big, calloused hand on his cock, Simon rubbing against his prostate with every shaky thrust, and the delightful noises drawn from the mutt with each movement, Kyle reaches his peak in almost no time at all. His mouth falls open and his tummy tenses along with his hole, eliciting a cry from Simon as his sensitive cock is squeezed mercilessly, pushing him into another sobbing orgasm.
Once both their highs have faded, Kyle gives the command to “still,” again, and Simon all but collapses on top of him, muscles giving out as he hiccups and whimpers into Kyle’s skin. His softening cock stays in Kyle, not having the will to force his oversensitive prick through more friction just to separate. Kyle is more than happy to lay in the afterglow, appreciating the soft, pliant thing in his lap after their fun has been had. He strokes his fingers through Simon’s sweaty curls, brushing them away from where they stick to his forehead, and murmuring praise as his pup drifts off to sleep.
He’ll have to wake him in a little while to get them both off the couch and showered before bed, but for now Kyle can let him float under his attentive hands. The rest is well deserved, after all.
he knows how to read. he’s had to prove that more than once inside an interrogation room, demonstrating that yes, he does understand his miranda rights.
but he doesn’t read. not the way you do. while you’re sitting in bed, paperback in hand, he’s usually just watching you. if he’s building something, he doesn’t even bother with the instructions, opting to use the pictures or find some video online. even when babysitting your niece, pope finds a way to avoid the bedtime story, usually by washing the dishes or reorganizing the pantry.
his number is called the next time the two of you are watching your niece. she’s recently started reading short chapter books, and holds out a tattered copy of some iteration of junie b jones.
“pope! will you read to me?”
and how the fuck does he say no to that?
pope finds himself sitting ramrod straight on your niece’s bed, hands quivering ever so slightly as he starts to read from the beginning of chapter 4. you’re next to him, leg touching his in a silent show of solidarity, gaze gentle as he slowly reads.
your niece is enamored - because of course she is. pope may not read fast or do fun voices, but he takes the job seriously. he stumbles only once, pronouncing chaos phonetically, before realizing that didn’t sound right. without missing a beat, you chime in - “kay-oss. makes no sense why it’s spelled like that.”
your niece demands pope show her the word, and agrees that it’s “spelled stupid.”
the pink flush and slight smile on pope’s face lasts the remainder of the evening.
