was thinking about the Papas and their need for eye contact when they’re deep inside you.
one of Primo’s big hands cradling your face, surprisingly strong, but it’s not his touch that keeps you from looking away—it’s the intensity in his eyes. uncanny and ageless, unblinking as he looks down at you. you’re pinned to the spot, even as he moves, hips rocking with shallow thrusts as he works himself deeper and deeper into you. you’re writhing beneath him, panting like an animal, clenching around him as you adjust to his size—and he just gazes at you like you’re all that exists. “let me in,” he says on an undertone, voice thick and husky, “and let go.” and when he finally bottoms out, you arch, throwing your head back and squeezing your eyes shut. with the hand he’s been holding your face with, he taps your cheek—three quick taps—and you quickly look back at him. he sighs and says, “just like that, anima mia. keep your eyes on me.” and you do.
a calm, “look at me,” from Secondo, spoken low and controlled and hot. and it’s hard—it’s so hard—when he hasn’t stopped moving, when his fingers are biting into the meat of your thighs as he pins you open for him. he always looks at you like you’re a puzzle he needs to figure out, like he’s trying to develop the ability to read your mind, and it paralyzes you. it’s like everything disappears—the walls around you, the floor beneath you. you’re just floating in an abyss and all you know is how full you are. but you force yourself to keep your eyes on his, even as you feel your climax building in you, hotter and tighter. he watches. and his mouth quirks up at the corners, pleased. “bene.” a single word. you might have imagined it, but it’s enough to push you over the edge. and a rough hand finds your chin so he can keep you from hiding as you come.
Terzo has his fingers twisted into your hair, but not harshly—merely deliberate. he combs his fingers through your hair, tilting your head back up so you can blink up at him. “there you are,” he says with a smirk, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I want you to watch while I take you apart.” his other hand splays flat against your abdomen, pressing down like he wants to feel how deep he is. the pressure makes you whimper, but his grasp tightens in your hair just slightly—so you catch yourself before your eyes try to squeeze shut. his lips curl up into a satisfied grin. “tell me what you’re feeling, amore. let me hear it.” but as you open your mouth, he angles his next thrust and brushes the spot inside of you that makes your veins flood with electricity. all you can do is cry out his name—which he answers with a rasped out laugh, though the way his breath hitches tells you he’s not unaffected.
holding your hands in his, fingers laced with yours, Copia leans in to nuzzle you, bumping your nose with his, uttering a rasped little plea of, “'look at me… please.” and when you do, dragging your eyes open so you can meet his gaze, you see it. like a switch flipping. and his hips start snapping against yours faster, a vein in his neck popping, his face and chest flushed a delicious shade of red. he’s thanking you, telling you how perfect you are, how good you feel around him. your eyes flutter closed at the next ripple of pleasure, and he says your name like it hurts. your eyes pop open again. focus on him again. and he says, “sì, sì—you’re mine. All mine. my perfect—” his words cut off, turning into a deep groan as his rhythm falters and he comes unexpectedly, with no warning. but the night is young….
he’s not squeezing, but Perpetua’s hands rest against either side of your neck, thumbs pressed up under your jaw to keep your face tilted toward his. he’s in no hurry—his hips rolling slow and deep, his eyes locked on your face. the noises you make are very undignified, and it’s too much. he’s too much. but every time your eyes close to escape the hunger in his gaze that makes you feel raw and exposed, his thumbs press harder under your jawbone. “now, now…. stay with me, cuore mio.” and then he pushes in and holds himself there, watching your face as you struggle to maintain eye contact. a soft plea leaves you—not that you know what you’re begging for—and he sighs and says, “oh, i know, i know. just a little more.” it’s a lie. it’s a lot more. but at least he relents and lets you look away after your second orgasm.
copia. Soft penis in my brain don’t mind me (copia/alena)
E / No explicit sexual acts but nudity descriptions and touching / 18+
“..you see something you like?”
Beneath the stream of warm water, they stood together, Alena’s hands tangled up in her hair as she rinsed it of shampoo. She was , in fact, gawking at him, as she did almost every time they showered together. She just couldn’t help it— what a beautiful man Copia was, every part of him. How fun he was to admire.
“Perhaps.” Her pupils didn’t even budge. To be discreet was unnecessary, neither of them ever were. So there she stared, between his legs.
“Honestly, amore..” he exhaled the type of breath that let her know he was growing flustered, “..you have seen this a thousand times.”
“And?” She laughed, “that hasn’t stopped you.”
“Ha-ha. There is a difference, you know. You are a beautiful woman, not an old man.”
“What a preposterous thing to say.” Alena’s offense was genuine. What was that supposed to mean? He was just as attractive as she was. “Darling, you know I think you’re terribly hot.”
“Ah, well…”
“-and you know how I adore your penis.”
“Alena!” You’d have thought he was a religious woman clutching her pearls. Copia scoffed, turning his body slightly to somewhat conceal her view, causing a disappointed whine to leave his wife.
“Hey…!”
“You can’t just say that,”
“But I do,” she smiled, “..aww, is someone feeling shy?”
“Stop it.”
Alena giggled. Her hair fell down the back of her shoulders when she let go, gently splattering water against the shower wall. Finished with rinsing, she approached Copia from the side, sliding her fingers along his hip.
“..I think it’s cute when it’s flaccid,”
“For Satan’s sake,” the man huffed. He was red as a beet, cocking an eyebrow and pouting his bottom lip. “What has gotten into you tonight?”
One hand traveled tenderly along his stomach, “I just wish you’d see yourself the way I do.”
“I doubt I’ll ever find my dick, ehm… ‘cute’.”
“Your loss,” Alena pressed two kisses to his shoulder. And then she asked, “..May I touch? Please?” And watched him swallow. Ears burning,
“..we’re wasting water in here,”
“Please?”
How could he possibly say no to such a tone? Copia sighed, amused, only on the inside, and gave her a nod of confirmation.
He was warm in her hand. Every bit of him was always warm. To Alena, Frater’s size was perfection: short, with decent thickness , so comfortable to get her hand around, so nice. That was the way she liked it. Light foreskin concealed the entirety of his tip, and the base of him was decorated by grey and brown hairs, also a favorite, which glided now and again across her fingers when she moved.
She did not begin to stroke, as he predicted. Copia should’ve known, no— she held him still, and then began to flop, gently, side to side. To her , this was extremely entertaining. Alena began to laugh.
“I just love you.”
This was not the first time. And yet, he was embarrassed as ever, “..you are just going to keep that up?”
“I am.” And for a few minutes , it held true. But when Alena stopped, she had a curious look on her face. A thoughtful look, and dread grew in Frater’s throat as he suspected why.
“..strange,” she murmured, “you didn’t get hard.”
One hand crept down to conceal himself. “..is it strange?”
“It is just… you usually do. Very easily.”
It was lighthearted teasing . Was it true? Yes, very much. But there was no real concern within Alena, not when she said it, not until her eyes finally found his face again.
“..sweetheart?”
Copia looked genuinely unhappy. Embarrassed, but in a bad way. He stared at the wet shower floor , like he were tracing the patterns of the droplets. Alena tried again,
“Darling, are you okay?”
And his lip wobbled, “..I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I didn’t want to tell you.”
Her stomach dropped a bit. Something was actually wrong? She’d only meant to tease. She took her husband in a gentle embrace, resting one hand on his back. “Tell me what? Copia,”
“I’ve been…” he sighed, chest falling when the defeat was accepted. “..taking something. In secret. Because I’ve been having… trouble, and I didn’t want to tell you.”
This man. Alena was speechless for a few seconds, caught off guard by the revelation, and the fact that he would keep something like this from her. What did he think would happen if she knew?
Pity filled her, “Sweetheart,” and she let her chin come to rest against his shoulder, “why didn’t you say something..?”
“I-It’s terribly embarrassing, alright..”
“It’s not your fault, silly thing.. there’s nothing to be embarrassed by,”
“Perhaps I’m in denial,” he let out an airy laugh, “..I don’t want to be old enough to need Viagra yet.” And Alena chuckled.
“I understand. But you know you don’t need to keep secrets,”
“I just.. did not want to disappoint you.”
How absurd. “Never, my love. There is nothing shameful in this at all.”
At last, he appeared relieved. She felt his body relax and gently lean into her, like the acceptance of it all was finally weighing.
“You know I appreciate you a lot, Alena.”
Her heart fluttered, “I appreciate you too. And appreciate what you do for me… to me,” grin tugging at her lips, “..what your hips do to me,”
“Are you sure you haven’t taken anything, amore?”
Their laughter echoed within the shower walls. Alena placed a light smack to his backside, allowing her hand to remain there and give his plump flesh a squeeze. He squeaked.
“Is it such a crime to want my husband?”
“Ah.. heh… want is a light word. Isn’t it?”
Lips found his soft, red cheek. A loving peck. “..that it is.”
anyone mind if I oc x canon real quick…? No… okay… okay (very suggestive)
Thinking about Copia having a really, really needy night. He can’t keep his hands to himself from the moment he comes in the door. It doesn’t happen too often, to this extreme anyway, but Alena loves to make a game of it. How long can she pretend to be oblivious, pretend to not realize exactly what he wants? How long can she tease him, before she gives in , or before he starts to beg? And it thrills her.
He is grunting , and whining. In bed, he snuggles as close as he can possibly get to her , the touching, god, he can never get enough. He is terribly handsy but Alena pretends not to notice, “focusing” instead on a book for instance and maybe occasionally brushing through his hair. It drives him crazy.
It’s hands, at first, and then its lips. Finding their way along every inch of her that he can reach, her cheeks , her neck, her chest. On nights when he’s feeling more sturdy he might guide the book away and take charge, not even giving Alena the chance to “play dumb” because the moment he’s on top of her, she folds.
But a lot of the time, this neediness makes him fragile, submissive, craving to take instead of give, to tell her what he wants with his body so he may lay back and let Alena do the work. Whether she teases him first or not, she will always give it to him eventually, exactly what he wants, however he wants it.
Does he know what she’s doing when she stalls? Well, yes. Of course . He’d never complain, not for real— the anticipation is half the fun, after all.
Short little rambling about Copia and Alena having sex because I am. In my feels about themb . Don’t mind me
♡
It’s a calm night. A still night. The kind that’s lit by candlelight , and filled with the soft hum of a record player . As they lie beneath the blankets, it’s like nothing else in the world exists. No worries, no responsibilities, the day's problems have been washed away and the stress and tension have been released from their bodies entirely.
Here, as one, they are whole. On nights like this, Copia is a gentle lover. His movements are slow and steady, practiced , there is passion in every stroke of his hips. His head falls naturally into his favorite spot, the comforting crook between Alena’s neck and shoulder, where he’s free to bite and kiss to his heart’s desire. Strong hands press hers into the bed, thumb occasionally stroking her palm between tight grips, and every single twitch and groan says “I love you.”
Beneath him, his lady is well satisfied. When a hand is freed she may find it running through his hair, or gripping the skin of his back. Warm, freckled, beautiful skin, her favorite thing to decorate. Between sounds of pleasure Alena speaks to him, murmuring how good he is, how good she feels, how she loves him. They are a bond of sweat and lust, wrapped and bound by a bow of affection and care. And in this moment, the only thing that matters to them are the noises their partner is making.
When they come, it’s not quite together, but that is okay. The very visual of it all— the tensing of Copia’s body, the gape of his mouth, how he trembles— it is often enough in itself to bring Alena up with him. He will collapse atop her and quickly roll over, holding her side to bring her with him. The panting continues for many moments and that’s when they kiss, limbs entangling and damp skin against damp skin.
When they pull away, Copia will ask how she feels. They may lay for a while, or they may clean up. But if he’s lucky,
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