You help satiate a touch-starved Pope.
One-shot; not related to the longer fic “Broken Mirrors”
Pope sits by the Cody House pool, his posture perfect as always, watching the water ripple. He can feel the sun on his back and neck. It makes his dark curls light up in various shades of red.
He’s rubbing his hands slowly up and down his thighs. Pope doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first. It’s just some type of self-soothing.
When he does become aware of it, he doesn’t stop. He imagines his hands are someone else’s. No one specific, just a woman. Anyone other than him.
He thinks about soft hands and pretty nails. Even if they aren’t professionally done or painted, he’s always thought women have pretty hands.
The feel of them moving from his chest to his neck and then his face. The feel of a woman’s hands running through his hair.
Suddenly, his chest feels heavy with longing. A need that he can’t satisfy.
A leaf blows into the pool and creates a few more gentle ripples. It reminds him of the way soft flesh gives as he runs his fingertips over it.
The sun shifts slightly, now hitting the side of his face, and it makes him think of warm skin pressed against his own.
The breeze stirs, and he imagines a sweet voice from tender lips saying kind words. Warm breaths brushing past his ear.
He moves his hands to the tops of his thighs and leaves them there for a moment.
He snaps his head around, a look of anger on his face. Then he sees it’s you, and his expression softens, but only a little. He’s not mad that you’re there. He’s embarrassed that you’ve caught him in a daydream.
“What?” he asks, his response probably sounding meaner than he intends it to.
You’ve been coming to the Cody house for years. Smurf lets you do small chores around the house for money and swim in the pool.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. Smurf said she had some dresses she’s getting rid of that I might want,” you say warily.
“Smurf’s not here,” Pope says, turning his attention back to the pool.
You take it as your cue to leave, but Pope surprises you.
“Wait! I can take you to her room. She left the clothes out on her bed. Come on.”
Pope leads you into the house and down the hall to Smurf’s bedroom.
Once inside, he awkwardly waves a hand toward the bed.
Pope knows he’s standing too close as you peruse the clothes, but he can’t help it.
He craves more of the warmth he feels from your body.
“Hey,” he says, his voice tinged with desperation.
You look up from the dresses and ask, “What’s up?”
Pope rubs the back of his neck and replies, “Nothing. Never mind.”
You go back to looking at the clothes.
He’s immediately hit with a wave of disappointment. He watches your hands as you lift up a white bodycon dress.
You turn around and ask, “Oh, is this dress not supposed to be here or something?”
“No. I don’t know. It’s not about the dress.”
You set down the dress and tilt your head.
“Can you…can you touch me?”
As soon as he lets the words out he wished he could put them back in his mouth. He was too forward. His brothers were always telling him so, but he just couldn’t take it.
Your scent, your voice, the heat coming off of your body. The need for your touch was making him shake.
He expected you to storm out. To push him away. Maybe even slap him, and if Pope was being honest, even those would’ve been something.
But to his surprise, you smile warmly and reply slowly in your sweet voice,
“No, not really,” he says, his voice needy and desperate. “Please. I just need to feel you.”
You hesitate for a second before smiling at him again and taking one step closer.
“Has it been a while? Since anyone’s touched you?”
“Yes,” he replies, embarrassed, but too hungry for your touch to stop.
The touch-starved look in his eyes makes your chest ache. You take one more step towards him, your bodies just inches apart now.
“Okay, Pope. Is this alright?”
You start by slowly rubbing your hands from his stomach up to his chest. You leave them there for a moment, feeling the rise and fall as he breathes and the pounding of his heartbeat through his soft cotton t-shirt.
Pope’s breath shudders and you see goosebumps break out on his thick forearms.
You run your hands up and down again. This time you rub them over his big shoulders and biceps.
Pope watches your hands, and when they touch the bare skin of his forearms, you could swear you see tears forming in his eyes.
“Pope, you sure you’re okay? I can stop-“
Pope grabs your wrists, not hard enough to hurt you, but tight enough to know he was serious.
“Don’t. Fucking. Stop,” he commands. That feral look in his eyes makes you feel something you’ve never felt before.
You nod and he releases your wrists.
You move your hands to his waist and he flinches a little, like you’ve found an extra sensitive spot.
You slide your hands around to his lower back and spread your fingers wide. You move them up, feeling the hills and valleys of his upper back muscles.
You hear Pope moan as you feel an ache in your stomach, having a longing of your own you didn’t realize was there.
You’re standing so close to him now, the position of your arms almost putting the two of you into a hug.
You turn your head towards him, your face close to his neck, and you can smell his scent. You’re not sure if it’s soap or cologne, but it’s a clean scent, mixed with a little bit of sweat from sitting in the sun.
You lift your head a little so your lips are closer to his ear and you ask very softly,
“Does this feel good, Pope? Am I doing alright?” even though the way he’s now obviously straining against his jeans may have already answered that question for you.
Pope turns his head, just a little so your faces are almost touching.
He just nods slightly, not sure of what he might say if he speaks.
You move back enough just to slide your hands back to his chest and then up, hold either side of his neck.
Pope has his eyes closed, he feels your fingers find his pulse. He’s scared to open his eyes and find out he’s just lost in a dream, alone again.
But he opens his eyes and you’re there. He stares into your eyes, so beautiful to him. He looks down to your soft, parted lips.
You move your hands up and cradle his face.
Pope whimpers and a single tear rolls down his left cheek.
His eyes get wide, ashamed that you’re seeing him cry.
“No, it’s okay. It’s okay, Pope,” you say with a warm smile and you kiss his cheek, catching his tear on your lips.
You pull back and Pope has closed his eyes again. He lowers his head a little and you kiss his forehead.
Pope breathes heavily and stands back up. You move your hands to the back of his neck, playing with the smaller curls there.
“I’ve always loved your hair,” you say.
You move your hands up and Pope tilts his head back. You bend your fingers and gently run your nails against his scalp.
Pope groans and you continue, pressing just a little harder, he turns his head back and forth to press his head into your fingers like a cat wanting affection.
“Oh, fuck,” Pope whispers and the sound of his raspy voice, the sound of him enjoying your touch, makes you break out in goosebumps.
You take the opportunity to press your lips to his stretched neck while still massaging his scalp.
Pope’s breaths get even deeper and faster, he lets out shaky whimpers with each exhale.
He feels you put your lips directly to his ear. He hears your voice, now full of lust and he thinks his heart might explode.
“Pope? Can you please touch me?”
Something inside him unlocks and his eyes open. Pope doesn’t need to be asked twice. His fingers anticipating your softness, your warmth.
He grabs your hips first and squeezes the flesh there, making you gasp, letting you know how bad he wants and needs you.
Pope squeezes even harder before becoming aware he might be hurting you so he lets your hips go.
He reaches around and he grips your ass cheeks and pulls you against him.
Pope savors your feel, your scent, your heat against him.
He slides his hands up and touches your hair. He pulls you closer and smells it.
You both moan as he gropes your breasts, the feel of you beneath fingertips driving him wild, making him grind against you.
He loves the sound you make as he moves his hands to your throat and lets them linger there, not choking, just noting the way it feels when you swallow. The way he can feel your heart race. The way he feels the vibration on his thumbs when you moan his name.
He grinds against you harder, wraps his arms around your body, and walks you backwards until your legs hit the edge of Smurf’s bed.
Pope gets on top of you, between your legs, and he moves his hips up and down against yours.
Your whole body tingles and you reach your hands under his shirt, feeling his firm torso.
You feel powerful, having such a strong man shudder and whimper at your touch. You lift your hips up and grind yourself against him harder.
“Fuck, baby,” Pope says. “Use your nails.”
You move your hands, still under Pope’s shirt, around to his back and slide them up to his shoulder blades.
“Like this?” you whisper lustfully into his ear before dragging your nails down his back.
Pope grunts and pushes against you.
He buries his face in your neck. He’s lost in every sensation. The hot, humid feel on his face as he breathes against your skin. The way your soft breasts press against his solid chest through your clothes. Your nails leaving stinging little marks down his back. The way he’s throbbing against your heat as he rolls his hips.
He feels a familiar tensing near his stomach and soon he’s lost in pleasure. The whole world disappears and all he can hear is your breaths and moans. All he can feel is your hands on his back, your legs wrapped around him.
He kisses your cheek as he rides out his orgasm against you.
Soon his breathing slows and his body relaxes a little. You take your hand out from under his shirt and rub his back over the fabric.
You rub your fingers through his hair again, making him shudder, and you plant one, long kiss on his cheek.
After a few moments, Pope rolls off of you.
“I need to shower and change my clothes.”
He sits up and gets off of the bed. He looks down at you.
“I should probably fix Smurf’s bed too before she loses her shit.”
“Oh, okay,” you say. A little embarrassed and little hurt at the lack of affection after sharing what you thought was a very intimate experience.
You stand up and straighten yourself out.
Pope looks at you and asks, “Would you want to shower with me? Maybe you could stay for dinner after?”
“Yeah, I’d really like that.”
Pope walks out the door and returns a second later with some towels and a glass of water for you.
“Thought you might be thirsty. It’s hot out today.”
You thank him and take a sip.
After you’re done drinking, Pope escorts you to the bathroom. He realizes he’s no longer starving, but craving more nonetheless.
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