And You Know That It Takes Two // Luckily He Wants To Do You Too

and you know that it takes two // luckily he wants to do you too

working for the knife: chapter 11

chapter 11: pal-entine's day (link) Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Sister of Sin OC Rating: this fic is explicit. 18+ only, minors do not interact. this chapter also has a nsfw-ish drawing that I won't be including on Tumblr, so head to AO3 and read the chapter there if you want to see it 👀 Chapter word count: 4.8k Tags: Valentine's Day, Pal-entine's Day, completely platonic dinner, sex dreams, coming in pants (hehe) Read the entire work on AO3 here! (link)

Copia lays on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s paralyzed with indecision, and he keeps stealing glances at his phone next to him, willing Cecilia to text him first. He’d squandered every chance he had today to ask his question in person, wracked with a buzzy nervousness from the moment he woke up, and now, texting is his last chance.

He rolls over and grabs his phone from the pillow it rests on, holding it over his face. Opening up the messaging app and tapping Cecilia’s name feels like swimming against the current. He shouldn’t be this nervous, because he’s just asking her to come over to his apartment tomorrow for dinner. As a friend. A work friend. A work friend he definitely has feelings for, whose tongue he sucked into his mouth very recently. On Valentine’s Day. Fuck.

[7:52pm:] hi :-) do u have plans tomorrow tonight?

He presses send and fights the urge to throw his phone across the room. Before he has a chance to do so, his screen lights up with three little dots, and then a response from Cecilia.

[7:52pm:] No, I don’t think so! Just dinner with you. What’s up?

[7:53pm:] do u want to come over after work? at like 7? I’d like to make u dinner. As a friend.

[7:53pm:] A work friend.

[7:53pm:] but a real friend too :-)

Send. Copia groans and squeezes his eyes shut. What an absolute, unmitigated disaster this is turning out to be. She’s going to say no, he just knows it, and he feels incredibly stupid for even asking. His phone chimes, and he dreads picking it up, dreads reading Cecilia’s response, because he knows she’s going to say no, and -

[7:54pm:] yes sure! Sounds fun! Any occasion? Can I bring anything?

Oh. She must not realize that tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Thank you, Unholy Father. It’s not even on her radar. He heaves a sigh of relief.

[7:54pm:] it’s valentines day! but we can make it… pal-entines day :-) hehe

[7:55pm:] oh! The days are blending together for me. That sounds so nice. I’ll see you tomorrow for Pal-entine’s Day.

[7:55pm:] I’ll see u tomorrow night. and also during the day for work. and also for breakfast? buona notte sleep tight!!

[7:55pm:] breakfast as usual sounds great. Good night Copia 😌

Copia is absolutely giddy. He’s been trying so hard to chip away at Cecilia, and this feels like a lowering of her walls or a lifting of the curtain, no matter how slight. He’s willing to forgo the promise of any kind of romantic involvement as long as it means getting to know her. Even when their conversations veer toward a vulnerable place, Cecilia feels remote. Deep down, he knows it’s not about him, but he still so desperately wants her to let him into her heart.

He hops off his bed to wander into the kitchen. It’s small but it gets the job done, and as lovely as eating with Cecilia has been this past month, he likes having the option to cook, too. Without looking in his pantry, he knows he has the ingredients for penne alla vodka, which is easy enough to make between the end of the workday and the start of their plans. He also knows that Cecilia is a vegetarian; it’s an old college habit that she kept up with because the food at her university’s dining hall made her so violently ill that she swore she would never eat meat again. Is it too romantic, though? He waves the thought away; it’s pasta, he’s Italian, it just makes sense.

Would dessert be overkill? He doesn’t think so. He’s simply being a kind host and cooking a nice dinner for a dear old friend. Nothing more. He cracks open the fridge and finds a few bottles of wine already chilling, which is one less thing to worry about tomorrow. With what he has on hand, he knows he can make chocolate mousse now and let it set in the fridge overnight. Pleased with his plan, he claps his hands together and gets to work. 

--

What felt like the world’s longest workday has finally come to a merciful end, and Cecilia is back in her room, scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror. Is this a date? she wonders, leaning in and reapplying her eyeliner. She hasn’t been on any kind of proper date in years, and the notion feels a little foreign to her now. Thinking about what to wear tonight has been stressing her out all day. Her wardrobe has felt extremely stale lately, consisting mostly of habits in a variety of cuts and lengths, neutral-colored oversized sweaters, and a smattering of business-casual slacks. She also has a dresser full of lazy clothes, but this is not a lazy clothes occasion. She’s thumbing through her hangers, feeling exceptionally boring, when she spots it - a flash of color peaking out through the tans and blacks.

Cecilia grins and pulls the hanger from the rack. She’d almost forgotten she’d brought it with her - one of her prized possessions. A few years back, she splurged and treated herself to a Marimekko linen dress, light pink and splotched with big, blobby crimson flowers. It was professional enough that she could wear it to work, but it felt like such a treat to own something bright and loud and not from H&M. It’s been gathering dust in her closet since her return. Neutrals became her go-to in her teen years, after her mom made an idle comment about color washing her out. You’re pale and blonde, Cecilia, it just doesn’t suit you. Her mother’s words still needle at her, but she tucks them away. The dress is perfect for tonight.

Cecilia puts the dress on and likes what she sees when looks in the mirror; she looks like a field of poppies in bloom, soft and bright. Inspired, she rummages in her small box of cosmetics and pulls out her singular tube of red lipstick. It’s a little cooler, a little pinker; a stunningly beautiful woman at a Sephora told her once that she was a bright winter (whatever that meant) and she should try this shade out. Mesmerized and wholly convinced, she paid more than anyone ever should on a tube of lipstick and never wore it again after she left the store. She smudges the color over her mouth, pressing a tissue to her lips to dab off the excess, and blinks at her reflection in the mirror. Maybe the beautiful Sephora employee was onto something; Cecilia feels like she’s glowing.

In a moment of confidence, she dabs a little lipstick onto her cheeks and blends it out with her fingers. Much to her surprise, she doesn’t look like a clown; she looks pleasantly flushed and rosy and… actually really good. She can’t remember the last time she felt this pretty. Her hands reach behind her neck to unclasp her grucifix necklace, but she decides to leave it on after a second thought. Instead, she finger-combs her hair and picks up her phone to check the time. 6:50pm beams back at her. Cecilia exhales, shivery, and feels butterflies flutter in her stomach. It’s not a date, she tells herself. She can’t bring herself to ask, then why does it feel like one?

Cecilia makes the quick walk from the dormitories to Copia’s apartment in record time. She convinces herself she’s trying to get out of the cold quicker, that’s all. The curtains covering the living room windows are drawn, and a warm glow beams out into the dark night. She knocks on his door, and a muffled "come in, it’s open!" is shouted in reply. She lets herself in and is greeted with the lingering smell of garlic and onions frying in oil. She steps out of her shoes and hangs her purse on the coatrack by the door. He’s tidied up the living room since she was last here; his various piles of paper and collections of trinkets are stowed away out of sight. She pads into Copia’s small kitchen and sees him puttering around, a nonna-looking apron tied around his waist.

"Copia, it smells so good in here!" she says. "What’s on the menu?"

Copia turns to face her and her heart skips. He looks achingly handsome; he’s wearing a black button-down shirt, unbuttoned low enough that curls of his chest hair are peeking through. The freckles that speckle his face drift down over his throat. His gold grucifix necklace, the same one he’s had for ages, catches the light, glinting. His sleeves are rolled up, offering her a glimpse of his firm, hairy forearms. He may as well be poured into his black pants for how tight they hug his thighs. He’s not wearing shoes, walking around the kitchen in black socks patterned with orange jack-o-lanterns.

"Cosí bella, Cecilia," he exclaims, sweeping her into a hug. The uncertainty that seems to plague Copia elsewhere is absent; she can tell that this is somewhere he’s comfortable. "You look so lovely. Have I ever seen you not in black?"

She’s blushing, matching the color of her dress. "Probably not since I’ve been back, no. Or maybe ever? I guess I do wear a lot of black. The whole Sister of Sin thing doesn’t help in that department."

"But you look beautiful no matter what," he replies, only slightly bashful.

"I could say the same for you," she says. She wishes they had the kind of relationship where she could pinch his cute little butt in those deliciously tight pants, but she decides to keep her hands to herself.

Copia kisses her cheek, all sweetness and no heat, and it makes Cecilia blush. How desperately she wants to bridge that gap between friendship and romance; how badly she wants to have it all. The strength of her desire makes her head spin.

"Would you like a glass of wine, topolina?" Copia asks. "Dinner is almost ready. I just need to ah, sauce the pasta."

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Copia. For all of this. I haven’t celebrated Valentine’s Day in probably a decade," Cecilia replies.

"Pal-entine’s Day," responds Copia with a wink. He peels himself away from Cecilia and takes a twirling step over to the fridge. She smiles; she doesn’t think he realizes how endearingly cute he is. He pulls out two glasses and a chilled bottle of red and pours Cecilia a glass. "Please, make yourself at home," he says, handing her the glass.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks, sitting at his little wooden bistro table in the corner of the kitchen. Her heart catches when she thinks of Copia eating here alone.

Copia hums, considering. "If you wanted to set the table, that would be very helpful," he replies. "Dishes are in that cabinet and utensils are in the drawer below." He gestures over his shoulder behind him as he pours penne into a saucepan simmering on the range.

Cecilia grabs plates and knives and forks and sets them down on the table. There’s a small basket of folded cloth napkins already pushed against the far edge of the table. She feels a bit out of her league; her meals were takeout for years, and with the swift transition into dining hall food, she hasn’t set a table in years. She doesn’t think Copia is the kind to care about proper table setting but feels self-conscious regardless.

Copia steps over to the fridge and takes out a large wooden bowl of salad, setting it in the middle of the table. "Mangia, mangia," he says, smiling. "I made penne alla vodka. I remember that you don’t eat meat. I hope you like it."

Cecilia brings her hand to her heart. "That’s so sweet of you to remember - and to do all of this. I’m so touched, Copia. Truly."

His smile deepens. "Mountain Ghoul has occupied himself in the greenhouse, so the salad is all vegetables he grew. It’s just a green salad - lettuce and herbs and such - but he assured me that it will be delicious. And I made chocolate mousse last night for dessert. Please - get some food."

It’s more than Cecilia could have asked for, and she thinks she might cry. She’s tickled by the thought of Copia melting chocolate over a double-boiler last night and roping Mountain into his sweet scheme sometime today. She piles a small plate high with salad, which is dressed in a simple citronette, and portions saucy red-orange noodles onto the larger plate. Copia pours himself a glass of red, swirling it, and waits for Cecilia to finish serving herself before he does the same.

Cecilia reaches across the table and grasps Copia’s hand - ungloved, she notes. She catches his gaze and while his green eye seems shy, like he wants to look away, the white eye blazes hot. It sends a shiver down her spine, and she crosses her ankles under the table. "Thank you again," she says. "This is so lovely."

She’s looking at him so fondly, and Copia feels his breath catch. "The pleasure is all mine," he replies.

They sit there like that for a moment, hand-in-hand, before the food calls their attention and they begin to eat.

"How was the rest of your day?" Cecilia asks. She toys with the hem of his pants with her foot and doesn’t miss the way Copia blushes.

Copia finishes his bite and sips his wine. "It was okay. Like any other Wednesday, I suppose. This is the highlight of my day, by a long shot." It’s Cecilia’s turn to blush, now. "Do you know what I found out, though?"

"Hmm?" Cecilia hums with interest.

"And I know we do not really care for the the saints, but Saint Cecilia is the patron saint of music. Did you know that?"

"I did, actually," Cecilia replies. "I asked my parents about that one time. I thought it was weird. They said they just liked the name." She shrugs. "I think they were really into Simon and Garfunkel at some point."

Copia laughs. "Breaking my heart, shaking my confidence daily. If she is up there in the great beyond and cares at all about the task at hand for this Satanist, Saint Cecilia a fickle muse."

Cecilia laughs in response. "Songwriting isn’t going well, I take it?"

He frowns slightly. "Not well at all. It feels like there is a big void where inspiration should be, you know? I wish I had someone to ask about this but -" He takes a sip, shakes his head. "But they are not here anymore. I feel sometimes that Sister Imperator set me up to fail." It’s no secret what fate befell the previous three Papas, and it’s clear to Cecilia that Copia is uncomfortable with being the successor to the role after his predecessors met such a gruesome end. "But, eh, let’s not talk about work anymore tonight, okay? This is a night for pals."

"I’ll drink to that. To pals." She offers her glass out to Copia as a toast.

"To pals," he replies. They clink their glasses and continue on with their meal.

They talk and eat and drink. Copia gets on the topic of movies, and he rattles off a list of his favorites, most of which Cecilia has never seen. 

Have you no culture, dolcezza? 

All I did was work for a straight decade. Cut a girl some slack!

More time to spend with you, then. Getting you cultured.

Copia rinses their dinner plates and stacks them in the sink for a proper washing later while Cecilia puts away leftovers and tucks the container away in the fridge. She’s taken by how simply domestic and cozy this is, and her gut twists when she realizes that she could have been missing out on years of this, had things been different. They kill the bottle of wine after they finish dessert, and Copia uncorks a second.

They make their way to the living room. Copia sits on the couch, balancing his wine glass on his knee, and pats the space next to him. Cecilia saunters over and sits next to him, tucking her legs underneath her and curling up against Copia. She feels him go stiff, as if he can’t quite believe what’s happening, before relaxing into the touch. She’s feeling warm and pliant from the wine.

"Copia, I -" she starts. He looks down at her, and she freezes. The words feel heavy in her mouth; it’s been a while since she’s drank, and she’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or her own nerves that are giving her pause. "I know that I’ve been, um, remote. Emotionally remote. Closed off? I’m sorry." It comes out in a rush of words.

"Don’t be sorry," he says, reaching forward and setting his glass on the coffee table.

"I’m bad at this," she admits. "I don’t have much practice."

"We can practice together," Copia replies. "This is a new thing. For you and me."

Cecilia feels like she’s going to cry. She’s not even drunk; she’s just an emotional drinker, which is why she doesn’t do it often. She feels emotional enough already without the warm, uninhibited lull of alcohol in her veins. "It’s just - I feel like you’re going to judge me. If I tell you."

Copia doesn’t need to ask what Cecilia is talking about; the unspoken ending to the sentence is what happened the night I left. "Why would I be judging you?" he asks instead.

Cecilia sighs. "It’s dumb. I feel like you’re going to judge me for what happened, or judge me for not telling you sooner. But it’s hard to talk about."

"I can promise you Cecilia, I won’t judge you." He holds out his pinky, and she hooks hers around it. "It is sealed. The pinky promise is the most sacred ritual of them all."

She giggles. "Thank you," she says simply.

"I’m here when you’re ready," Copia replies.

Cecilia exhales in a warm rush and curls in closer to Copia, resting her head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of her head, soft and sweet. Physically, she feels so safe and so cared for. She wants to beat herself up about that emotional boundary being so hard to cross. "Do you want to watch some trash?" she asks, looking up at Copia through her lashes.

"For you, I will watch trash," he replies with a laugh. Leaning forward carefully, trying not to jostle Cecilia from where she rests against him, he grabs the remote and turns his television on.

Over the sound of housewives fighting with each other, he can hear the gentle rasp of Cecilia snoring. He looks down, feeling his eyes get heavy too, and sees that she’s asleep. He’s not far behind her.

Copia knows he’s dreaming, but the hazy in-between of what’s real and what’s not is hard to discern. Cecilia has roused and has padded from the couch to the kitchen and back again, sipping a glass of room-temperature tap water. She’s wearing that beautiful dress, but it blurs and shifts into a cascade of poppies dripping from her naked body.

Wordlessly, she sets the glass down on his coffee table and drapes herself over Copia. He puts his hand on her hips, and her body feels sun-warmed, soft. A deep sense of contentment washes over him. His mouth goes dry and he swallows, nervous. Cecilia settles her hips down firmly on Copia’s, then rolls herself forward. The action reverberates around them, wavy and resonant like ripples on the surface of a lake. He can feel the press of her heat on his cock, which is quickly getting fat against the seam of his pants, and whines.

"Do you know how long I’ve waited to do this?" she asks in a dreamy, ringing voice that’s not quite her own. She leans in toward Copia’s face, achingly slow, and he shudders bodily when he feels her breath ghost over his mouth. His fingers dig into the meat of her hips, feeling her flesh give pliantly beneath his press. A stuttering exhale leaves his body.

Finally, mercifully, she brings her lips fully to his, and Copia feels like his heart is going to burst through his chest. His tongue darts out and brushes her lips, a request, and she opens her mouth fully against his. He licks against her tongue, her teeth, and the sweetest moan leaves her mouth and vibrates against him. The buzz of it settles into the marrow of his bones. He groans and snakes one hand up to the nape of her neck, grabbing a handful of hair and tugging, exposing the pale column of her throat to him. He moves his mouth down down down, biting, sucking, marking. Blood-red flowers bloom under her skin in his wake. "Mine," he growls.

"Yours," she whimpers, rocking her hips against his, searching for a little relief. Even though his clothes, he can feel that she’s dripping, darkening the crotch of his trousers where her cunt rests. Copia throbs beneath her, achingly hard, but he’s so desperate to take his time with her, touch everything she’s offering him. Maybe, his dream-self thinks, if I tear her open, she’ll let me inside. He longs to lick at the meat of her heart, into the vulnerable, trembling part of her she lets no one see. Merely at the thought of it, he moans.

Through a slow-motion blur of hands, Copia toys with one of her nipples, rolling it under his thumb and teasing it to hardness, while he grasps and suckles at her other small tit, laving, lavish. He switches sides, takes her other nipple between her teeth and bites gently. She makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and her hips jerk forward. He can feel her heart fluttering like a small bird in her chest. Her hands are in his hair, tugging enough to sting and mussing it out of its neat, slicked-back style. He knows it’s a dream, but it feels so real. Cecilia is drenched, slick soaking through his pants, and he feels like his dick is fucking up into her, rhythmic and rolling, while she humps him. He can feel her everywhere in him, everywhere around him. It’s dizzying and all-consuming.

As if reading his mind, dream Cecilia whispers, "please fuck me" and stands up, throwing off her cape of flowers and standing fully naked before him. She strips Copia with care, touching every inch of his exposed skin reverently as she removes his clothes. Her fingers caress the slope of his shoulders, the softness of his chest, and the slight curve of his belly as they work their way down. Copia can’t help but pant under her touch. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of his underwear and he shivers. She smiles knowingly before pulling them down and off. His cock stands achingly hard and flushed dark between his legs. "Your freckles are like stars. A constellation," she says, laying herself down face-up on the couch. Her hair is splayed out beneath her like a halo.

"My flower. Cara mia. You’re blooming," Copia says, slotting himself between her legs. She’s so, so wet, drenched down to her inner thighs, and Copia can’t wait to get inside her. He spreads her lips open with the vee of his fingers, and he can see her hard, pretty clit throb in time with her heartbeat. A pearl inside a shell. He dips down and licks her. Her clit twitches under his tongue. She’s swollen and glistening, unfurled for him like the petals of a flower. Copia pulls his face away from the apex of Cecilia’s soft, pale legs. He lines up the head of his cock with her pussy and fucks himself inside. She’s so soft, so hot around him, and he wants to lose himself to her completely. They moan in unison, a harmonic convergence, and Copia lets himself surrender to the billowing feeling of the dream. It’s slow and unhurried, time stretching out before them in a shimmery mirage. Nothing is real except the two of them and where they meet as one. Nothing has ever felt as right as being inside Cecilia.

Dream-Cecilia is moaning his name, cupping her breasts and squeezing around Copia’s cock as he pushes into her. The loveliest wet noises are coming from between her thighs as Copia thrusts, lazy and deep. He licks a stripe across her chest and tastes the hot copper of blood, the salty tang of sweat. "Is this what you wanted?" he asks, panting against her skin.

"Open me up, let yourself in," she sighs, pushing her hips up to meet his pelvis and rocking against him. "You’re inside - so deep inside me -" Her back arches as she moans, Copia knows that his cock must be pressing against that sweet spot inside of her with every thrust of his hips.

"Is that it? Is that the place?" Copia coos, licking into her mouth. "Does that make you feel good?"

"Yes, Copia, please, please, please-" With a gasp, Cecilia’s pussy starts fluttering; the sensation makes his blood hum. She’s so close, and he wants nothing more than to tip her over that sweet edge. She gasps again, and Copia can see tears like dew in the corners of her eyes. 

"Just like that? Are you going to come for me?" he asks, breathless. Cecilia whimpers and nods, arching her back even further off the couch and rolling her hips against Copia. The wave inside her crests and breaks, and she chants Copia’s name like a prayer as she comes. He feels himself becoming undone, the tightly wound thread of his arousal close to snapping. He’s fucking into Cecilia with short shallow snaps of his hips through the rhythmic contractions of her orgasm, gasping and grabbing and panting and possessing and -

"Sathanas!" Copia gasps and feels himself jerk back into his body, snapping his head forward.

Cecilia wakes with a start. Her limps shoot out and her head drops from Copia’s shoulder. "What was that?" she wheezes, heart racing. "Are you okay?"

Copia feels hot and woozy, and he’s suddenly hit with the slimy sensation of cum cooling inside his boxers. Shit. Shit. Did he really just come in his pants like a horny teenager? Mercifully, the living room is dark except for the blue glow of the television and his pants are black, sparing him the shame of being seen like this. Embarrassing.

"Ah - yes. Yes. I am fine," he says, trying to be as natural as possible, scrambling to grab a decorative pillow from the floor and discretely place it over his crotch. "You know - the wine - sometimes it gives me the strangest dreams."

Cecilia huffs a laugh of agreement. "Don’t I know it. It’s been a minute since I’ve drank. I was out cold. Dunno if I dreamt, though." From the television, the low din of a salesman’s enthusiastic voice is advertising a bizarre kitchen appliance on an infomercial. It must be at least midnight. A bitter tannic film sits heavy on her tongue. "Um… I guess I should be going. We do have a normal day ahead of us tomorrow, unfortunately. This was really lovely, Copia. Thank you. I’d… uh… like to come over again for dinner sometime. If you’ll have me." She smiles shyly, stomach twisting with a ruminating anxiety.

"I’ll - eh - I’ll always have you," he replies, not bothering to over-explain what he means. She can decide for herself, and almost any interpretation would be correct.

Cecilia rises to stand, stepping into her shoes. Copia, still feeling the need to not make things awkward, stands up, dropping the pillow back onto the couch as inconspicuously as he can. Again, he says a silent prayer to the Unholy Father, thanking Him for black pants.

He unlocks the door and opens it for Cecilia. She leans in to give him a hug, and he tilts his damp pelvis back and away from her as best he can. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. He thinks about kissing her full on the mouth but doesn’t act on the desire.

"Thank you," she says again, breaking their embrace and giving him a little wave. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

"Buona notte, Cecilia," Copia replies. He reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He’s looking at her with his mismatched eyes, and the heat of arousal pools in her belly. She brings the same hand up to his face, tenderly sweeping her thumb across his cheekbone, before stepping outside and closing the door behind her. 

The Vampire Lovers (1970)

The Carroll Herald (August 24, 1897)

Marriage is about having good sex and committing unspeakable acts of violence for one another

29/∞ ghovie gifs