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Your fingertip traced along the edge of wood well-worn, a soft sigh passing your lips as you paused on your walk to look out the window. Snow fell from the dark sky like powdered sugar, collecting on the glass panes and dusting everything below.
It was quiet in the abbey, peaceful. Most of the siblings had gone home for Yule, including the Emeritus family themselves who had gone back to Italy for the holiday. Your evening walk around the desolate grounds had led you right back to the library, where you spent most of your time.
You stepped away from the window, ghosting your hand along the spines of ancient books as you walked the aisles, a hand-stitched binding catching your eye and drawing you in.
‘Il grimorio di un cardinale,’ it read, written by Copia .
Your breath hitched as you pulled the book from the shelf, the weight of it comfortable in your hands. Everything about it was made by hand, down to the immaculate ink script that danced across the parchment.
Something between intrigue and longing punched through your chest, the absence of the former Cardinal at the abbey hitting you hard. He was likely in Italy by now, strolling along the cobbled stone streets and basking in the attention given by the siblings there. In his element, while you remained here, feeling sorry for yourself.
Add shame to your mixing pot of emotions.
You weren’t committed to each other, your relationship never pushing past awkward flirting and heated stares across a crowded room, and sometimes extending into deep-rooted talks after a sermon. He was Papa, and you weren’t sure that anything more was even allowed in the church. For all you knew, the flirting could be an act of normalcy for him in his new role, not something directed only at you.
But when his eyes met yours it felt like he knew you, like he could hear your every thought, feel every tug at your heart. You knew somehow that he could see right through you, could reach your soul from just a glance and hold it in his hand. The way he looked at you didn’t feel like you were just another Sister of Sin.
You looked down at the book, loosening your grip as you realized you’d been practically strangling the thing in your grasp.
Perhaps that was just the gift of a Papa , you mused, the ability to truly see people.
You did your best to shrug off your melancholy and self loathing on your way to your favorite reading spot, a secluded nook in the far corner of the room. Your favorite armchair sat in front of a big window overlooking Primo’s garden and the field beyond it. You’d spent many nights up past curfew curled up in the chair, a lantern by your side providing light as you read anything and everything you could get your hands on.
You realized with a start that a soft glow was radiating from that very corner, flickering as a candle does. You were certain you hadn’t left anything on during your last visit, though perhaps another sibling had taken a liking to your nook and had seated themselves there for the evening.
You approached quietly, clutching the book to your chest as you leaned forward to peer into the space. Your heart jumped to your throat when you saw a flash of white face paint and black boots.
“Papa?” You asked before you could stop yourself, a hand flying up to cover your mouth as you pulled his attention from whatever he was reading.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, ignore me, I’ll leave you to it!” You offered a quick bow of your head and backed away, but he raised his hands and shook them a bit in panic.
“Sorella, please, come in, come in.”
“I didn’t realize anyone else was here,” you explained, stepping awkwardly into the space. You took a tentative seat on the edge of the chair opposite him.
He was dressed in a version of his everyday uniform, keeping the rat-bitten skin-tight jeans but having discarded the vest. He looked like he had been there for a while, the balloon sleeves of his shirt wrinkled and his hair mussed.
“Sorella, I thought you were going home for the holiday. What are you still doing here in this old place?”
You shrugged, not quite meeting Copia’s eyes. “I have a lot of work to do here. Plus, it’s kind of nice being here without everyone rushing around all of the time.”
“Ah, sì. Your corner of the world here is good, peaceful. Like a little paradiso .” He gestured to the space around you. “I hope you don’t mind me taking up some space in it.
“Never, Papa.”
He blinked up at you, something meaningful flashing in his eyes. “You know you can talk to me, sì? Not just as Papa, but as a… friend. A confidente. If something is on your mind, cara, I am always available.”
You chewed on your bottom lip, tugging your gaze down to your hands in your lap. “It’s just…” You sighed, frustrated by your own inability to get your words out.
Copia stood from his chair, brows stitched together in concern as he lowered himself to kneel in front of you. “It is hard, no? The pain in your chest, Sorella, the anger burning behind.”
Your gaze snapped up to meet his as his fingers curled around your hands, squeezing reassuringly. “It’s my family.”
“A troublesome thing indeed,” he murmured.
You huffed out a short laugh, and a hint of a smile curled the corners of his lips.
“We used to be close.”
“Used to be?”
“They’re Catholic.”
“Ah.”
He was idly playing with your hands, dragging his gloved thumbs over your knuckles in feather-light touches that almost made your skin burn.
“When they found out that I was… switching churches , they practically disowned me. So, I don’t know. I was doing fine with it but I guess it’s harder this time of year. Christmas was our favorite holiday; we had so many traditions and all I can think of is them doing things without me.” You sighed. “I think I’m just stuck in my own head.”
He lifted a hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your palm. “Things like these,” he said lowly, “they tend to get easier, I find. And then harder, and then easier again, hm? There is no right or wrong way to feel, cara. As long as you are happy here?”
You nodded immediately. “I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere more than I do here in the church. It’s almost surreal to me, even still, to be celebrated just for being who you are. No strings attached, no conditions…” You smiled softly up at Copia, who was watching you intently.
“Plus, it certainly doesn’t hurt having you as Papa.”
You watched a faint blush rise to his ears as he cleared his throat, suddenly unable to hold eye contact.
“You have a family here, too, you know this? The siblings, the ghouls, and me. We are your family.”
It was your turn to flush red. “Speaking as Papa Copia, or friend Copia?”
He grinned. “I think you’ll find with me, most of the time it is both, no? I can be best of both worlds.”
You laughed, and Copia patted your knee before slowly clambering to his feet with a soft groan. “ C'è la sorella che adoro .”
You reached out to help him up, but in your haste the book from earlier fell out of your seat and tumbled onto the floor.
Copia stared at it in distaste. “Where did you find that?”
“I found it on the shelf, actually, and I admit I couldn’t help myself. You made this?”
“Sì,” he nodded, still glaring at the thing. “Many years ago. It was an assignment I had to do around the time I became Cardinal—I noticed it had disappeared from my study some weeks ago. It is rather an eyesore, no?”
You picked the book up, fingers brushing the worn cover fondly. “I don’t think so, no.”
“You are biased, I think.” He sat himself back down in his own chair, patting the small space beside him. “Come, let’s take a look at the horrors inside. At least I will be here to defend myself.”
You sat to his left, smiling at his dramatics. “You make it seem like we’re about to read your teenage diary.”
“We may as well be, Sorella.”
It wasn’t that bad truly, most of the pages were filled with various chants and sermon teachings that went along with them. There were some bits on demonology, and some on runes and summoning circles. It was like a treasure trove of younger Copia’s passion subjects.
At some point you found yourself leaning into him, clinging onto his shoulder with your palms while you both skimmed the pages and touched a bit on what each page held.
“What’s this one?” You murmured into his shoulder, pointing at an untitled poem of sorts. This one was in full Italian.
“Eh,” Copia hummed, “To be honest… it was my attempt at some kind of lust spell of sorts.” He forced an awkward laugh. “The mind of a young Cardinale, no? Needless to say, it did not work.”
You chuckled. “You say it didn’t work, I think it did.”
“How do you know?”
“You’re telling me that you don’t notice everyone chasing after you constantly, hoping to get even a look?”
He waved a hand dismissively with a roll of his eyes. “Meh. They don’t want me, they want the power.”
You sighed. “Okay, sure. You take one look at the things you do to a microphone and try to tell me you’re not foaming at the mouth. Until then, you don’t get an opinion.”
His eyes widened slightly at your boldness, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Remember, cara mia. You are biased .”
“How am I more biased than any of them?” You asked, raising your voice indignantly before noticing just how close the two of you had gotten.
With your chin resting on his shoulder and your hands clinging onto him, you were practically sitting in his lap. He turned his head just slightly to look at you from the corner of his eye, only to find you already staring. He moved to face you, and your arms readjusted themselves to loop loosely around his neck.
You’d never been so close to something you wanted so badly.
“You are biased , amore, because I don’t want any of them. Not like I want you.”
You watched his tongue peek out to wet his lips, his gaze gliding from your eyes to your mouth.
“Copia…” You hummed as his lips met yours, your fingertips finding the tips of the hair at his neck.
He was soft , from his hair to his supple lips to the sigh that escaped them, and the taste of incense on his tongue made your head swim. All too soon he pulled away, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.
“I don’t see them in my dreams, cara mia, like visions from Lucifer himself pulling me into deep waters to drown. I wouldn’t fall to my knees in worship for them, e rischiare di non tornare mai più .” He ran a hand through his hair.
“You see how you have the upper hand here, sì? Or must I continue?”
You were frozen, the breath stolen from your lungs. “You…”
“I cannot explain it, Sorella, this… pull between us.” His hands went to rest on your waist, and without warning you were pulled to straddle his lap.
“All I know is there is something here, sì? A temptation well worth giving into?” His hands remained settled on your hips, waiting for your response, for your permission .
You dragged your hips down over his own, drawing a soft moan from his lips. “I would answer, Papa, but it’s been brought to my attention that I’m biased and not to be trusted on my opinion of you.”
Copia groaned. “Not fair.”
Your lips found his again with a smirk, a gasp punching out of you when his teeth sunk into your bottom lip. He used the reaction as an open door, coaxing your tongue out with his own. Your hands slid to cup his face, pulling him as close to you as you could manage while rolling your hips down against his.
Your head fell back as his lips moved to your jaw, kissing and nipping along it until he found a spot that made you shudder.
“There’s one,” he murmured, flexing his hips to meet yours and continuing on to the expanse of your throat.
You whimpered, fingers curling into his hair as he explored every inch of skin he could reach.
“Two,” he growled, fixating for a moment on a spot above your collarbone.
“What are you doing?” You panted, circling your hips and keening when you found just the right angle for the button of his pants to catch against your clit.
He reached up to your headdress, pulling it down and releasing your hair. He groaned, immediately tangling his hand in it.
“I’m exploring , cara mia,” his voice strained as his hips stuttered against yours. “Searching for the spots that draw such music from your lips.”
It didn’t take long for him to catch on as to what you were doing, his hand on your waist pulling you up to drag against the button of his pants on every roll of your hips.
“Does that feel good, Sorella? Rutting against your Papa, inseguendo il tuo desiderio?”
You cried out as he guided your pace, your head rolling forward to lean on his shoulder as the hand in his hair tugged . He growled from somewhere deep in his chest, turning his face to nip at your ear and run his tongue along the shell of it.
“Have you forgotten my question so easily, amore?” He sunk his teeth into your earlobe, and you panted against his neck.
“Copia,” you whimpered, “Feels good. Please don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
His pace never faltered, sending sparks of pleasure to pool in your stomach with every roll of your hips. His hand untangled from your hair to drop to your ass, kneading it in the palm of his hand. He used it as extra leverage, finessing you to a slightly different angle to build pressure.
“Copia, I’m—“
“Are you gonna come like this?” He growled into your ear, “all over my lap, ruin my pants?”
“Fuck,” you cried, throwing your head back as the rubber band inside you snapped.
You felt Copia’s lips and tongue on your throat, murmuring chains of praises against you as you shook in his arms. He held you tightly, the feeling of his palm flat on your back grounding you.
You squirmed as you caught your breath, and Copia muttered a soft curse under his breath. He was painfully hard.
“Are we doing this?” You asked, “Pursuing this?” You already knew your answer, but you needed to hear it from him.
“Amore mio, I’ve been ready for this since before Lucifer put you in my dreams. Are you?” One hand remained on your back, the other was brushing your hair from your face.
You grinned, reaching down to cup him through his pants.
“Time to make some new traditions?”