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----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------You'd noticed something was amiss fairly quickly. Secondo led mass as usual - you were on the rota to assist with candles and anointing oils for the black sacrament, as you'd done many times. But he seemed to be almost actively trying to avoid you, which was quite an amusing feat given the small space around the alter. When it was your turn to take communion he'd somehow made that short and awkward, too. Finally at the end of proceedings, where he would normally hang back to help you tidy and share clergy gossip he'd simply brushed you off and left. Fascination however quickly turned to outright concern as the day went on.
Secondo didn't exactly feel proud of his behaviour, trying to push things out of his mind as he went about his duties - still very much feeling the after-effects of your midnight adventures every time his weight shifted and his backside made contact with the unforgiving bench of the confession booth or twinged when he walked.
He'd then all but refused to engage with you at the clergy dinner later than night, so much so that even the other Imperatrix's at the table had noticed. In a gruff mood, he'd intended to slink back to his rooms for a drink, try and shake it off over an old vinyl and a cigarette or three. He certainly wouldn't have plucked up the courage to return to your apartments so soon if you hadn't left behind your very-official-very-important pocketbook on Copia's sideboard. Shit. He knew you'd be panicking yourself ragged over it otherwise, and he was only making it worse the longer he left things hanging in the air. So hours later he found himself outside your door, bare-faced and shuffling in his dress shoes uncomfortably unsure of what the Hell he was even going to say. Surely you'd had enough fun, messy, meaningless sex together that this shouldn't be a problem, so why did things feel so...off?
Things had started simple enough, it was gone 9pm and you'd called to see if he was busy. The strictly-sapphic Sister you were supposed to be entertaining that night had called-in sick last minute and you had broken out your good lingerie as well as a decent bottle of red already breathing in the decanter that you didn't fancy wasting, so if he wanted to come over he'd be doing you a favour. It was after cracking open the second bottle things had gone a little experimental.
He'd left you asleep early that morning and slipped off without a word. This in of itself should have told you something was up, Secondo not being one to ever skip out on your customary little 'morning after' ritual of coffee and playful debrief - whether it be praising the virtues of the Sister you'd taken to bed together (sometimes while they were still sleeping sandwiched between you) or a light-hearted assessment of a position or move either of you had found particularly enjoyable worth banking for another encounter. You had your well-established comfortable erotic interactions and that was that.
Knocking sheepishly, part of him hoped you wouldn't answer and he could at least say he'd tried. But the hardwood door to your apartment creaked open for him like it had a thousand times before, and he looked down to meet your expectant and bemused face with a growing lump in his throat.
" You forgot this," he exhaled awkwardly brandishing your pocketbook like a nervous schoolboy, weight shifting on the balls of his feet "can I come in?"
You nodded, cocked a well-shaped eyebrow behind your reading glasses and gestured a welcome into your living space, adjusting your black co-ords that hung around your shoulders unconsciously. Secondo set down the notebook as the door closed on his heels, disregarding it like a passkey back into your existence now that it had served its purpose.
"About what happened last night..." he sighed, the discomfort plain on his face.
"It got weird didn't it" you jumped in instantly.
"I never said-"
"-and now you regret it." you underscored, a statement more than a question.
The older man exhaled from the tight knot in his diaphragm and said nothing, letting the silence hang.
You continued.
"I shouldn't have suggested it. Shit, I know we'd been drinking but I didn't think...crap. I pressured you, didn't I? Lucifer's balls I'm sorry, I'm a terrible person I took advantage-"
Secondo snorted, a half amused-scoff part-huff at your apparent guilt.
"Sorella please, you're not. You didn't. I wouldn't have agreed to that with anyone but you and -"
"Are you embarrassed because you cried afterwards?"
Fuck.
"I did not-" he stopped himself in his tracks at the instinctive denial, heart dropping straight from his chest into his still-tender asshole. It was pointless lying. He'd sobbed like a fucking baby and you'd been the damned angel of aftercare having cleaned him up, got him a glass of water and just held him until he'd stopped.
It wasn't often Papa Emeritus II found himself lost for words, you thought. You relaxed somewhat realising you'd clearly hit a nerve somewhere rather than being solely to blame for the sudden disconnection between you. You'd known Secondo for years, been good friends and fuck buddies for a lot of it and you'd never seen him so unsure of himself all of a sudden.
The older man made low considering sounds that trailed off as he failed to form a coherent response. Why was this so difficult? He groaned to himself. I mean, you're close. There's not much you wouldn't tell her - that you haven't told her already. Oh, fuck it all.
You sat back into the well-worn leather seat of your couch, giving him the floor. Your voice was a soft consideration now, kind.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Sec. It can be an intense thing. Everyone has a first time for something, even you"
Satanas, he thought. It had felt so good and so degrading at the same time. The way you'd coaxed him through it gently and taken charge. Was it his pride driving a wedge between you now, struggling to reconcile itself with his enjoyment in stepping beyond those all-powerful walls he lived within, or something else entirely? He was loathed to admit it, but the fact that he'd been faced away from you the entire time had created a cold vulnerability he simply hadn't been ready for and was struggling to process, even now.
"I'm sorry if that crossed a line. Nothing leaves this room." you assured, smiling softly up at him. Of course he trusted you.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and let our a breathy string of muttered curses in his mother tongue, eyes cast to the ceiling before settling back to you.
"Come on, Secondo...please, talk to me. Whatever happened last night, I'd hope you and I were solid enough to get through it" you shrugged, folding your arms in a quiet sadness "you know you can always tell me anything, right?"
Shit, he grumbled quietly. No running from this now. He fidgeted with the carton of cigarettes in his trouser pocket, thumbed the cool metal of the lighter nestling against it anxiously.
"Fine" he swallowed labouredly, gesturing at the bottle of scotch on your sideboard pleadingly "for you, I'll try"
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Things had started innocently enough. As much as he teased, historically Secondo didn't mind being your backup booty call much at all. He'd resigned himself to paperwork when you'd called around 9pm with promises of orgasms and a decent bottle of Malbec, both of which were a much more appealing use of a Wednesday night. Hell, if it wasn't for the fact Sister Margo (your fiery redhead date for the evening) was exclusively into women he probably would have been invited anyway. Such as it was he'd showered, slipped on something comfortable and headed over to your apartment in the Abbey's east wing.
He'd arrived promptly bearing the last cigarillo from his trip back to the old country tucked in his breast pocket and waved it under your nose as part of the 'consolation prize' for the evening. You'd demolish the decanted wine fairly quickly through jokes and playful fucking, enjoying each other's bodies and company in equal parts. He particularly liked the lingerie, a set he'd not seen on you yet trimmed in his colours, praising the craftmanship of the stitching earnestly between mouthfuls of eating you out.
It was after you'd both been bent over the ottoman like pretzels for an extended period that you both decided to take a break, opening another bottle of slightly shittier wine to go with the shared smoke. You were both in that sleepy, laughter-rich warm stage of buzzed not quite given over fully to drunkenness. Leaning against the headboard with your back resting against his chest, he'd riffled through your bedside table to pack away the matches he'd used to light up. It was then his groping fingers came into contact with something cold, smooth and suggestively thick.
"Mio Dio, almost medieval" he snorted fishing it out, held aloft by the buckles and eyeing it up as it rotated dangling from his fist.
He took in the sight of it, making no mistake. At a modest five and a half inches sporting substantial girth and a flared base tucked into the brass O-ring of the harness, he held your weapon of choice when it came to dalliances with the fairer sex. In eerily smooth silicone, the light caught on its shiny surface, revealing the black sheen to actually be the darkest petrol-tinted green. He held it out at arms length in front of you both and smirked into your throat.
"Mm, such a shame - I got her all polished and sterilised for nothing" you sighed playfully, rolling your eyes and taking a drag on the end of the cigarillo "that's a flavour of fun-and-games shelved for another night"
Secondo cocked an eyebrow as he pressed his mouth into the pulse point below your ear and huffed, dropping the bundle into your lap over the bedsheets.
"You sound disappointed, Sorella. Is that what I am to you tonight, your sloppy seconds?" he teased. You laughed softly and turned to nip at his lower lip.
"Don't be a fool, Sec. We always have fun...it's just...different" you rolled the syllables of the last word thoughtfully, before catching his mouth in a deepening kiss. You let your tongue find his for a moment, before pulling away enough to add "besides, mister power-top, you don't have it in you to submit like that"
Was that a challenge?
"I might have it in me" he pouted, returning his mouth to yours in what was fast becoming a make out session.
"you'll have it in you, will you?" you joked saucily, smirking back into the taste of his breath.
His hands wandered to your breasts as your contact deepened, cupping and tweaking playfully as he eyed up the equipment resting against his thigh through the sheets. He felt himself twitch involuntarily against your backside when you scooped up the bundle and positioned it in your lap suggestively. He wasn't sure if it was the bottle of wine to himself on an unwisely light stomach or the scent of possible provocation in your tone, but he was starting to feel intrigued. Curious, even.
"Show me how you'd do it" he swallowed between kisses "with her, I mean. Let me see it on"
You felt your cheeks flush with slight embarrassment and perhaps more than a little of the crappy Shiraz. Not quite self-conscious but just slightly taken aback at his request. That's Secondo alright, you supposed, ever the old pervert you knew well.
"Fine," you sighed, shuffling out from between his legs and scooting off the mattress "but no peeking, there's no sexy way to put this on"
He made a quiet amused sound and mimed covering his eyes, taking the moment to stretch out turned away from where you were jangling all manner of buckles through leather strapping.
"Now do as your told, come sit on the ottoman and be a good girl for me" you said off-handed, voice low like he'd never heard you before.
Secondo was surprised his neck didn't snap with the force of the double take he gave you as he whipped round to see you standing at the end of the bed in your full glory. The way the volume of your thighs and backside spilled over the ties was one thing, but he hadn't quite imagined this. Proudly standing at permanent attention the toy itself wasn't exactly huge, but at your height and build he assumed it was realistic and that you'd had enough practice to know best. Your stance was wider than normal now, and when you shifted your weight you led with your new endowments like it was second nature. You smiled, made a lazy jerking motion over the head and he'd suddenly gone from half-mast to full-veiny rager in a split second.
"I, ugh-" He let out a sound that was somewhere between aroused and baffled. You snorted.
"That's how I normally start," you smirked, a sultry edge to your soft laugh "you did ask. That's what Margo likes, anyway. C'mon scoot on over. I'll give you the tour"
Something in his stomach jumped and he nodded, following instruction almost on autopilot. The presence of his sudden throbbing hard on was not lost on you.
Swaggering over to the edge of the bed you sauntered up closer to the seated older man so the strap on bobbed just shy of his eyeline. You were very aware eye contact was fast going out the window. You took his hands and put them at the buckles resting just below your kidneys.
"This helps tighten and loosen the harness for leverage-" you began softly, tracing his fingers to the front, letting thumbs rest on the top of the brass O-ring "..and you can swap out your toy of choice using this bit here. I let my guest choose for herself, usually"
Secondo's heartrate beat in triple-time, his mind suddenly blanking like a horny teenage boy. He managed an acknowledging nod. Fuck, he shuddered feeling his stomach tighten. Am I into this?
"..and then?" he coughed, trying to disguise his voice faltering.
"At this stage, if it were Sister Mina, Natalia or Lucia I'd usually get the lube ready" you continued, stroking up the length of the dark silicone thoughtfully and deliberate " but you know what they're into. Margo however is particular and prefers a bit more foreplay..."
You took one of his hands from the O-ring to palm over your eager length playfully, rolling his knuckles over the the shape of it in the way you knew he liked being touched. He swallowed back hard and exhaled audibly, suddenly aware his mouth had started to water at your little show.
"This is where I'd ask her to suck me" you purred.
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"This is where I'd ask her to suck me"
Fuck.
The old man was sure this was it - he was going to have a heart attack right then and there - you'd have to explain to the entire Abbey that the second Emeritus had been brought down suddenly by the blood vacating his vital organs all at once and they'd find him stone dead at full woody-mast over barely six inches of medical-grade rubber.
"Enjoying the view, Sec?" you asked, pulling him back into the room abruptly. He'd gone somewhere there for a moment and was now very aware of the syrupy mess coating his stomach and the flashing ache along his inner thighs. A warmth spread over his chest he couldn't place. Secondo didn't answer but that didn't matter as you stepped a little closer and rolled your hips suggestively in his line of sight adding;
"up for a taste?"
Fucking Hell woman.
That was it. Any attempt at rationalising the situation was over in a split second. What the Hell, he thought, you've never backed down from a challenge and if all the Sisters he'd spoken to were anything to go by you knew what you were doing.
The older man fell on the organ with all the enthusiasm his twisted libido felt it deserved. Reality however was quick to kick back in when his substantial profile hit leather and Secondo realised, being unpractised, deep throating wasn't something that came naturally for the uninitiated. Fuck. He backed up, not quite retching but surprised, not daring to look into your face. The scent of warm skin and leather filled his senses and where he'd expected a laugh or a titter in response to his newly discovered gag reflex, there came only soft encouragement.
"Careful,now. Slowly-"
Meanwhile on the other end, it was safe to say your stomach had dropped somewhere deep into your pelvis and had joined whatever was pulsing pressed up against the harness now inches away from your friend's stretched eager mouth. The horny old dog actually did it, you blushed to yourself, well shit. You watched as he'd backed up having practically smacked the bridge of his nose into your leather-clad mons enthusiastically, having taken far too much for a first try and was now putting on a show sucking the end seemingly flushed rosy with embarrassment.
"Mmmph..." He moaned around the cool silicone, mismatched eyes watering slightly as they struggled to make contact with yours. You realised fairly quickly he was doing his best to re-enact the familiar motions of what you knew he liked - tracing his tongue clumsily along the underside and letting saliva pool in hollowed cheeks. His own dick throbbed shamefully, the weight of this extension of you in his mouth turning him on way more than he'd anticipated. He wanted to reach down and palm himself but knew by instinct somehow he wouldn't have been allowed - Satanas, since when did he need permission? You pressed your hips forward slowly, more rocking than thrusting, and watched in surprise as he took at least half the length with relative ease, stopping as you sensed him on the verge of gagging again.
"Here's where I'd ask if she's okay.." you cooed down gently, cupping his cheek almost sympathetically.
Admit it, you're really getting off on this, Secondo shuddered as he flashed his gaze upwards in affirmation, letting out a muffled moan around the substantial girth and felt himself pulse involuntarily. Spittle escaped the corners of his stretched lips and some suppressed part of himself imagined gulping down a hot load. You've done it now, old man. She's turning you into her slut and you like it. Pre-cum continued steadily from his aching cock, dripping onto the bedspread beneath him. Something in his conscious mind seemed to let go "Mmmph..."
"Very nice" you said above a whisper, stroking over the back of his skull before bringing his hands to your hips, wanting him to feel a little more in control from his compromised position - the way you would have for any inexperienced Sister you'd taken to bed. As you stroked his knuckles he sucked you eagerly, taking more of the strap-on into his mouth with each gentle rocking thrust. His sudden pitiful whine shot unexpectedly straight to your clit, lips glistening with his own saliva and for a second you could almost swear you could really feel this inexperienced but erotically-charged blowjob.
He looked up at you with what seemed a puppy-eyed desperation you'd not seen on him in all the years you'd spent together, chest expanding with heavier breath as he panted around your shaft "Please...what else.."
"I-lay on your stomach." you blurted out quietly, suddenly very aware of what was actually happening.
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"I-lay on your stomach." you blurted out quietly. It was automatic and almost faintly shocking, adding "pillows - both of them. Under your hips"
He obeyed eyes down without question, pulling off of you with a filthy wet pop and crawling in retreat to the mattress with only a shaky sigh in response. Secondo felt his chest flood with tight heat as he bunched up your expensive pillows below, fighting the urge to frot his weeping cock between the expensive fabric for a moment of relief. There was something vaguely terrifying about presenting himself like this, thighs spread just so and backside tilted just enough that everything was now on display. As you reached a hand down to stroke his lower back, Secondo broke out in gooseflesh and pressed back cat-like into the comforting warmth of your palm. Satanas, he groaned to himself, you want this...she wants this...
Watching his skin prickle under your touch it hit you all at once - the situation having crossed the chasm of mildly tipsy playfulness into an atmosphere as much thick with fragile trust as with desire. Laid out now before you face-down ass-up the Secondo had actually surrendered his control and it was now abundantly clear to you that he'd really, truly never done this before. A morbid thrill blossomed in your belly, its tendrils working down into your core at the deliciousness of it. The notion of unadulterated unexplored territory suddenly sprawled out before you both, sensual and unknown. You felt quite honoured, in a way.
After all, how many Siblings get to deflower a Papa? You were probably the only woman to be presented a 'first' with this Emeritus brother since his coming of age ritual (not that you expected Secondo to have waited that long, even as an adolescent). Instinctively you wanted this to be as dirty and pleasurable a first time as you could, exactly the way he deserved.
Better get the lube.
"Face down, relax for me" you instructed sweetly enough, keen not to break the mood by rifling through a drawer in his eyeline "stay where you are." Thankfully you found what you were looking for on the side behind you - an untidied remnant of another conquest.
Secondo almost winced when you took your hand off him and stepped away but kept his head bowed. Fuck, he felt so exposed...were his thighs shaking? Lord Below, reduced to this so easily. She knows your buttons, old man. Better than you do, maybe you spend too much time together. You had felt good in his mouth, better than he'd imagined, and he'd suddenly wanted to do his best to impress you, gag reflex be damned. Surely that was just his natural competitiveness though, even with you - if he was going to rise the challenge he was going to do it properly. But there was something else in it, too, it dawned on him. He wanted your praise. He wanted you to be pleased with him.
Secondo pulled himself out of his thoughts when he heard you padding back over, wishing you'd just touch him, do something to keep him from feeling so much like a prized fucking ham on a deli counter. He shifted his weight on his elbows and blanched at the rapidly cooling mess he was making of your high thread-count pillow cases.
"This is going to feel a little different.." you purred, letting the mattress dip slightly with your weight as you crawled up behind to plant yourself between his thighs. You ran your hands up over the inner muscle cupping his backside, which was surprisingly smooth considering the rest of him - unmistakably Italian in its hair coverage. Your touch withdrew a moment as you slicked up your member, feeling the heat of it activate between your slippery fingers and making sure he heard your exaggerated almost masturbatory wet strokes. When he shivered you pressed your lips to that hollow in the small of his back again, breathing soft into the skin "we'll go slow, mm? 'Usual safe word applies"
The first thing Secondo noted when you made contact was the surprising warmth of it, the cool silicone now slaked in something thick and gently heating gliding up the full length of his ass crack - not seeking penetration but gently acclimatising him to the sensation of having you pressed up close to that most sensitive network of nerves. He groaned involuntarily when you rocked your hips softly back and forth, thumbing over the backs of his thighs soothingly as you teased his entrance for the mere minutes that felt like an age. He swallowed hard as he felt the bulbous head part his cheeks and nestle closer into the virginal ring of muscle, his nipples becoming bullets at the sensation.
"Relax.." you whispered, velvety and low as your hands drifted to hold his hips, pressure just enough for a little leverage. Secondo obliged and seemed to spread just a little wider.
Instinctively you rolled your hips and found your angle, and with a slow exhale eased in the very tip of your shaft to breach the tight resilience of his hole. The older man gasped an inhale and shuddered a sigh, gripping the bedsheets now in balled fists as his back curved towards you at penetration. Despite the modest length, the girth itself was not to be underestimated, especially for a first-timer. You remained completely still for a moment, not daring to move but whispering honeyed praise in his mother tongue not far from his ear.
Oh my dear sweet Satan it's happening, he moaned inwardly. She's inside you. You're actually fucking doing this. He breathed low and did his best to collect himself, feeling you barely a thumb-pad deep but stretching him out in a way he'd honestly never considered. Breathe, he told himself. You're in good hands.
You held yourself in position, watching the muscle of his shoulders slowly unknit themselves and drop, cooing down reassurance as before. A minute must have gone by before you moved, only to withdraw and dip back inside again no further than previous. He moaned. This continued for a while, a slow acclimatisation intermingled with soft hands at his hips like before.
Lord Below, this feels good, he thought. There was a tightness now somewhere inside him he'd not been aware of until now, a hot pulsing core that throbbed in time with his poor ignored cock that wanted more whether the rest of him felt ready or not. As you all but pulled out for the umpteenth time he let himself give over to impatience and cried out in frustration, his hole clenched and unclenched around the thick shallow intrusion. His hands gripped the sheets below tighter, knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to push back and impale himself on you "Ugh..."
That answers that one at least, you smiled from behind. He's ready.
"That's it, we can have a little more..." you breathed, anchoring yourself at his hips and easing in just another half inch to get him used to the sensation.
"..good girl" you added in a cheeky silky tone, playing the part.
FUCK.
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"..good girl" you added in a cheeky silky tone.
FUCK.
Secondo's toes curled and his forehead met the mattress as soon as the words fell from your lips. If sensation hadn't completely migrated from his junk to his backside he could have sworn that alone would have made him cum. You're a nasty little mess for her, just look at the state of you.
Meanwhile something clenched inside you without warning. You'd never spoken to him like that before - this side of you normally reserved for the Sisters you'd played with and the occasional skittish male novice. It wasn't part of what you and Secondo were. Well, at least it hadn't been. The older man let out a shaky breath as you slowly fed him more of the toy. You were inside him now just over a third of the way and he was quickly becoming putty in your hands. Secondo hissed, his body feeling the stretch and burn soothed by the warmth of the lube - the sensation of being filled even at this depth deliciously intense.
Slut, his inner voice came again with a hint of intrusive venom. His mind conjured deliberately cruel images of your self-satisfied grin behind him, colder than he knew you capable of and deliberately mocking him in a way he'd never accuse you of otherwise.
You continued your measured thrusts as before, more a gentle rocking as you judged his comfort with an expert eye, drinking in the way he squirmed and shuddered and swore quietly as if you wouldn't hear. It was a torturously slow process for Secondo, his nerve endings lighting up with every push wanting to progress deeper and faster than you'd wisely allow. Your hands were somehow just so soft at his love handles, thumbs stroking affectionately and anchoring him in the moment as his mind wanted to slink off into the gutter and let you have your way with him. Soon enough he was trembling with pleasurable desperation, a little drool finding its way from his slackening jaw as you pushed deeper inside to his groaning relief. The older man felt his eyes beginning to sting and water.
Whore, the voice continued nastily, the sound of your bodies rhythmic contact complimenting his increasingly ragged breath. You're gagging for it, you're pathetic. Look at you. Again came the fabricated images of your indifference and judgement, a scrutiny he wasn't sure he could bear.
"You're doing so good.." you cooed, praise cutting through his self-admonishments like a knife.
He let out a deep, animalistic moan when you finally seated yourself completely inside him, entire body trembling with a terrible novel pleasure. The sensation of being so perfectly stretched was fast turning him into a braying mess. It was quickly becoming too much, too good, too intimate and he felt his resolve begin to faulter. She's made you her bitch. You can't even use the safe word, it's too late. It hurts and you love it and she'll never look at you the same way again. Deaf to Secondo's inner conflict, you adjusted your stance for better control and immediately brush up against something that made him start.
No, please, no. With an electric surge Secondo felt his protective psychological dam burst all at once. His eyes rolled back as you finally made contact with his prostate, a low, gagging moan escaping as his knees dug into the bed and pushed back abruptly, bouncing off your base desperate for more friction.
"There nghh..r-right there..." He keened, his cock jolting against the pillow, wetness spreading across his thighs and belly "fuck fuck- Ah-hh"
Instinctively you increased your pace, his low grunts of pleasure morphing into breathy pants as you fucked into his sensitive core. You felt a heat deep in your own belly building as he pushed back into you, the leather biting into your flesh and the soft muscular thumping at your clit threatening to push you over the edge at any moment. Overwhelmed with sensation his mismatched eyes streamed and he choked back nonsense as you hit his sweet spot over and over.
You told him you were cumming and you didn't stop. He nodded frantically, his mouth hanging open in a silent wail as you continued to fuck him into the pillows. His hole clenching and unclenching around the thick strap-on, milking it desperately as if trying to coax an imaginary load. Spiralling out, he wanted desperately to twist back and meet your gaze for reassurance or connection but didn't dare, the shame and vulnerable thrill of it keeping his weeping eyes down.
For a moment there was only the silence of breath and flesh slapping wetly against each other as your orgasm ripped through you.
"Fuck fuck fuck -"
When your palm unexpectedly came down on his buttock in a rough spank Secondo crumbled completely. Seizing up with a whimper he came, cock violently spurting rope after rope of thick, pearly mess into the ruined balled up pillows and his stomach as his asshole clamped and spasmed around your unyielding girth.
Moments seemed to pass marked by only panting quiet, the aftershocks of your mutual intense orgasm rippled through his quivering body and overstimulated hole. Unbeknownst to you tears continued to roll uncontrollably down the older man's face as you slowly, teasingly stirred inside him, pressing lazy kisses down his clammy spine.
"I'm going to pull out now, okay?" you whisper softly in his ear, lacing your hands with his against the bedsheets "can you breathe for me? I'm right here.."
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"I'm going to pull out now, okay?" you whisper softly in his ear, reaching around and lacing your hands together "can you breathe for me? I'm right here.."
Secondo let out a slow, laboured exhale he wasn't aware he'd been holding and gratefully accepted your fingertips entwining with his. When you shifted you weight slightly he gasped, pleasant sparks of sensation shooting through his oversensitive nerves. You smiled to yourself and rolled your hips ever so gently again, earning you a rosary of sighs in time with the squeeze of your hand. You longed to kiss over his neck and shoulders tenderly, but you told yourself that would come later. You allowed one hand to slip from his, fingertips reaching below and roaming over his sticky belly and thighs. He almost flinches when you ghost over his spent cock, but you press your mouth to the base of his skull in response. He's grateful for the moment you linger, so deliciously and shamefully full.
For Secondo the world might as well be spinning. His tears flowed free and silent and when you heard a quiet sniffle you affirmed his post-coital needs that night were likely more intricate than any evening you'd played together previous. You were careful to go slow, of course - easing back gradually as you'd entered in constant physical contact. Secondo whimpered softly as you gently withdrew sucking air through gritted teeth, his body aware of a new emptiness but comforted by your presence and the warmth of your body pressed against his back. He clung to your hand even as you uncoupled, nails digging lightly into your palm as he adjusted to the sudden absence.
"Let me get rid of this and get us both cleaned up, mm?" you spoke softly into the skin of his shoulder, tasting the humid salt of him. You made a note to set a glass of water down on the bedside.
You're partly thankful he didn't move so he couldn't see your awkward shimmy to the en-suite. Gingerly you peeled off of your companion and dumped the harness at the edge of the sink, stripping off your sweaty lingerie before running a pair of washcloths under steaming water. Speed was of the essence here. You attended to yourself first, suddenly aware of your own fluids staining your thighs from the exertion, grimacing just a little at the hot cloth against your still-sensitive, swollen parts. You returned to find Secondo still propped up on his knees and elbows as before, face unmoving inches from the bedspread.
His body aches. He doesn't know whether the ache of your absence is worse than the ache of taking you to the hilt, but it aches. There's a new vulnerability now in the afterglow and he's laying in his own wet, cold mess and can't bring himself to move or to look at you. You tell him you'll be right back and when he feels your weight leave the mattress it's like he's cast out to sea with no lifeline and everything is suddenly loud and terrible and overpowering - and he's not sure he can breathe. The blood pounds in his ears as he slowly comes down from the intense hormonal high, burnt out and tingling all over. He shivers and barely registers when you returned to sidle up behind him.
You found him surprisingly pliant when you reached around to casually bat away the mutilated pillows onto the floor. They'll have to be thrown away of course, but you were actually quite proud of that. He tenses up when you drag the warm cloth over his stomach and you answered by guiding him back up off all fours, letting the heat of your breast press into the expanse of his back in comforting warm connection.
Though you didn't see it, for Secondo it felt like the walls were closing in. Your hands were too familiar on his flesh, too careful and soft. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his thoughts he waited for the inevitable shoe to drop. How can she look at you after any of this, how can you respect yourself? His blood ran cold, almost fizzy as he began to spiral into his own deprecating thoughts.
You sensed the shift in him before you heard or saw it, feeling his body lurch forward, chest pulsing in a silent juddering sob. The tremors dissipated across your chest and you continued that slow movement across his flesh, the lingering heat of the washcloth as soothing as the measured caress of the hand guiding it. Once clean of his spend you cast it aside and let your palms splay over his chest and belly, pausing a moment and keeping contact before you shifted around to kneel eye to eye.
Poor Papa, you sighed inwardly.
He couldn't look at you, the poor wretch. Mismatched eyes bloodshot and puffy, he cast his gaze down and seem to vibrate with an exquisite sensual thrum. Your chest tightened in sympathy, reaching out to cup his cheeks and thumb away the tears that continued to roll unabated between short sharp gasps for air. When Secondo's face finally crumpled and gave way to shuddering open weeping the shock of your lips pressed to his jaw almost burned. Inside he felt broken and owned and conquered and it didn't feel bad but it was so much. Too much. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You were there witness to this terrible vulnerable mess - even if he wanted to say something his throat seemed to have closed up and it was all he could do to just keep breathing.
You'd seen the face of sensory overwhelm before of course, so it didn't cross your mind this was anything more than an unfamiliar crash into subspace - especially on someone as tightly wound as Secondo. He would need time to come down, maybe even to process, but for now there was only time for tenderness and the trusting hand of a close friend. You knew better than to try and claw out speech or sense at a time like this - there was only the afterglow of sensation, an honest and unadulterated anchoring to the present moment. Let him feel it, let him sit with it, you thought. It was barely midnight after all and anything that need's be spoken could wait until the morning.
He lets you guide him into bed, crawling under the covers with your hand ghosting over his skin in constant reassurance. You pile up the remaining un-desecrated pillows and pull him down to your chest before he has a chance to turn away out of embarrassment or prideful instinct. You let him bury his face in your collar and slowly trace the muscle groups of his back and shoulders, featherlight and thoughtful. It's less the breaking of a wild horse in that moment than it is forcing a scarred old street cat to finally accept an act of gentleness.
"You did so well," you purr softly into his ear, feeling his jaw clench in a whimpered response.
The older man nods unsteadily against your shoulder, feeling utterly spent and full of a shameful neediness but frankly too lost and exhausted to care. You lose track of the time you lay together wrapped up in each other after that, your fingertips finding the pressure points of his hands and working them over softly, mouth peppering deliberate kisses over dewy exposed flesh until he stops shaking. Head at your breast, you dry his eyes with the expensive Egyptian cotton sheet and let him curl around you, gathering him up close as you turn out the light. This perhaps, you suppose, is the earthly communion souls are sold for.
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Morning crept in like a bad taste. Secondo found himself exactly where he lost consciousness the night before, buried in your arms with limbs tangled up in you as familiar as any other night spent in your bed. This time however, something sits in his chest like a stone as he blinks back into reality and tightens around his heart as events flood back to the surface. He's not sure when it exactly started to feel wrong - when he started to feel wrong. It's got nothing to do with the literal pain in his ass, and maybe not even the physical act that caused it. He's not quite a stranger to himself the morning after but something far more honest...and somehow that feels worse. It’s all so backwards. You used to think you were stronger than that, he thought, why then does this feel so much like...fear? You had the answers before, you made decisions. You led. But last night, when she spoke, when she gave you that little smile like she was in on a secret, why did it feel like your foundations wanted to crack?
He glanced up to see your face asleep still, undisturbed by the sunlight threatening to spill out from under the curtains and hair fanned out over the remaining unsoiled pillows. The old man grimaced remembering the others - biohazards cast off on the carpet, feeling the kind of shame he imagines puppies feel when they ruin a perfectly good rug. His cock twitches at the memory and he swallows that down, too.
It’s not like you didn't want this, he chides. Or maybe you don’t know what you want. You enjoyed it, though - the surrender. The way she took over, the way she seemed to know what you needed or wanted before you even admitted or understood yourself. How gentle she was, that side of her you don't see that often. But it's that part of you - the part that’s ashamed that tells you you're weak. It's like you've lost something you'll never get back and you're not sure if that's okay.
For a moment he just lies there, watching you, trying to remember what it felt like before. But all there is now is a strange kind of emptiness mixed with longing, like he's eaten the apple and his body knows a hunger now he simply cannot touch - an ache he can’t quite lay a finger on. He glanced up at you and felt a tug in his clammy chest. She looks so… effortless, he mused. So unbothered. You can hear it in her soft sighs and heartbeat as she shifts in her sleep, the way she tucks herself deeper into the blankets, completely unaware of the chaos in your head.
He couldn't describe it, the way his nerve endings had caught alight and you'd guided him through each step with a gentle hand and soft reassuring words. It was a terrible, almost alien pleasure, not just the novelty of the physical act itself but for the shift in power. And Lucifer's Balls - he'd cried. He'd wept. And you'd seen all of it and didn't seem to care.
He didn’t even know what to call it, really - whatever happened between you. It’s like he'd stepped into a world where none of the rules he'd given himself applied anymore.She… she was in control, and you just followed, he thought. He supposed it was a game at first, another challenge - and that's where his stubborn ass got him into this mess. You shouldn’t have let it happen, he scolded. You should have stopped yourself, Hell - you should have used your safe word, but you didn’t. And now you're lying here, trapped by the weight of what you let her see.
Good grief, though. You'd never touched him like that before. The way you'd cleaned him up, ran your hands over him while he shook like you were holding him together. He'd kissed you through tears and you'd only smiled and held him close, skin against skin until his tremors died away in your embrace. He'd fallen asleep at your breast to the gentle kneading of your thumbs along his palms and wrists, his fingertips and knuckles brushing your lips as you'd whispered nothing in particular. It had felt different, intimate.
Fuck.
Part of him wanted to sack off the entire day if you woke up and decided you wanted to have him like that again and stay in bed for as long as you commanded. All he needed was to hear you say it again.
"Good girl"
Lord Below. He was making himself hard again just thinking about it. He knew he'd give in to you gladly, and that was frightening. There was that hollow empty feeling in his gut however, like something about it hadn't been right. Was he really that proud? he wondered. No - it was deeper than that, more uncomfortable to face. It had felt good to be close to you in a way that was more than just out and out fucking, and when you were inside him what he'd really needed was to see you. To know you were there and to banish the poisonous thoughts that made him think he was being used or mocked.
Secondo hated to admit it, but he'd needed to feel connection in that moment and the impersonal-ness of being bent over and fucked on all fours hadn't been the introduction to vulnerability his mess of a psyche needed. He could feel his throat beginning to close again as the realisation of introspection crashed over him.
A cold bolt pulsed through the second Emeritus. He needed to leave.
Not because he didn't want you - because that hadn't changed - but because he couldn’t stay. Not like this. Not with you holding all the pieces and him just laying here pathetically, hoping you won’t see how broken he is more than you already have.
Slowly Secondo shifted, careful not to make a sound. His body ached, a strange kind of exhaustion settling in from the night before edged with the twinge in his backside. He gently withdrew his arm from under you, unlacing the bond that kept him anchored just hours before. He pauses when your stir, only to slip back into rest and roll way as he inched away from you in movements slow and deliberate.
In those seconds Secondo feels like he's walking a tightrope, each motion careful and calculated. You can’t wake her, he panics inwardly. If you wake her, if she sees you...you won’t know what to do, what you’ll say. Satanus, you don’t know how to face her, not when you're feeling so..uncertain. His feet slide off the side of the bed, the cool floor biting against his bare soles and he stands trying to keep his weight balanced and not make the bed creak. The room is still dim, still heavy with the aftermath of what happened last night. Secondo can almost feel your presence behind him, still wrapped up in blankets like glowing coal nestled in a fire grate. Your influence is still there, hanging over him like a fog.
The older man grabbed his clothes from where they'd scattered and hurriedly pulled them on, the fabric rustling too loudly in the silence for comfort. He froze for a moment, holding his breath, just listening and praying to infernal powers you wouldn't move. Praise the Old One, he thought when you remained still. He looks down back at you as you slumber, oblivious - and for some reason that makes him feel even worse. He take one last look at you, at the peacefulness of your expression - the way you always drool just a bit from the left corner of your mouth and exhale like you need the last word. It’s a strange comfort knowing that you're content, but it only deepens the knot in his chest. He understands he's running from something, but even he's not sure what.
The satanic figurehead steps toward the door, hand almost trembling as he reaches for the handle. Pressing down slowly his heart pounds in his ears and the door creaks just enough to make him wince. Secondo held his breath waiting for something, for you to call out suddenly, but there’s nothing. As he slipped through the door closing it gently behind him, the cool morning air of the hallway felt different somehow. As if he was closing off that part of his life for a moment and burying it deep, clarity rushing over him like a wave.
It was 6am on a Thursday morning, the Abbey halls were empty save for a few ghouls and Papa Emeritus II had a day full of duties ahead of him. Whatever was trying to break through the surface, it was going to have to wait.
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He'd gone straight back to his quarters to shower and shave, anything to transition back into some kind of normalcy of a working day and shut his internal monologue up for a few minutes. The water had been scalding and good, working out the tension in his muscle he was pretty sure was entirely stress-induced. What he hadn't been prepared for was the dull pain that was a new constant presence where you'd had your way with him. It felt uncomfortable to admit that he enjoyed that, too, like a souvenir of your night together. This is madness, he thought, you feel all these things and still you couldn't bring yourself to stay?
It was easy enough to bury himself in paperwork until noon and avoid thinking about things too much, at least, and he'd managed to slink into his office early enough not to risk running into you.
Secondo wasn't usually one for breakfast, so forcing down a coffee at his desk didn't mean much of a change. It wasn't what he was used to however, not after a night with you. He enjoyed the banter, in-jokes and sharing those obscure-branded little biscotti you always broke out over your second round of espresso. He'd found them visiting the old country helping Terzo one summer away and waxed lyrical about how authentic they were and that they'd made mornings with his fratellino just about bearable. You'd managed to find a deli in town that imported them and kept a stash just for the two of you. You were thoughtful like that - it was the little things.
Mass that afternoon had been a whole different story. You were down to assist him giving the sacrament, and briefly he panicked enough to consider faking illness and making Primo or Copia do it. They'd see right through him of course, and that would open up questions he wasn't prepared to answer. He was going to have to share space with you eventually, you were a ranking Imperatrix after all and there was only so much space in the Abbey to hide. You're being ridiculous, he decided. Keep things professional and get out there and do your duty.
Hours ticked along at his desk ahead of his appointment at the chapel and he found it surprisingly easy to keep busy. Shit, the situation had even forced him into doing his long-avoided accounting. By the time the bell called the hour, he was already half way through another hot shower and talking himself into going out there and putting on the best damn Mass of his life out of spite. He made a point not to hurry, telling himself he was on time - which of course he was, instead of arriving customarily early to help you set up conveniently minimising you'd be left alone together.
What he hadn't been prepared for was for you to be so fucking normal about it. You'd greeted him with the same warmth as before, passing comment about the service for the day and what gossip was fresh off the Sibling grapevine. Not a single word about the night before, or his hasty exit that morning. He didn't know what to say, so kept it short - indeed, perhaps even a little too abrasive. That didn't stop you however, and you continued your duties at his side as usual despite his violently obvious lack of eye contact and general air of discomfort. Maybe she'll never mention it and you can just forget it ever happened, he wondered. There was only so much room on the alter space to work with, and it proved more than a little awkward - Secondo only hoped the rest of the congregation wouldn't notice.
When it came time for you to receive communion there was really no hiding things from anyone.
Secondo's hands shook as he clumsily held out the communion wafer, his gut a tangled mess of butterflies and mild social panic. He could barely remember the words, his tongue nearly stumbling over the sacred phrases like he was trying to read them for the first time. As he extended the host towards you as you knelt, your eyes met for a split second and he just about managed not to drop it in front of everyone . Satanas, that would have been just the cherry on top of this disaster. You however, bless your heart, took the wafer from his hand with the kind of clinical precision and unreadable expression one might expect from someone receiving a business card, not the body of the Antichrist.
“Corpus Satani” the old man muttered piously averting your gaze.
As you delicately received the offering and drank the accompanying wine he hurriedly retreated back behind the alter, heart pounding in his chest and for a brief, horrifying moment realized that the awkwardness of the situation might just be more uncomfortable than the actual carnal act itself. The entire congregation seemed to be holding their breath, as if waiting for him to accidentally confess out loud, “So about last night…” but of course, nothing came of it, hymns were sang and within the hour he'd managed to excuse himself while most of the clergy were still filing out the east door.
Back in his room, Secondo sank into his favourite armchair with a heavy, defeated sigh. The weight of the day's events washed over him all at once, his shoulders slumped, his head almost too tired to hold itself up properly, and his hands felt like they’d been dipped in lead. He stared blankly at the wall for a long moment, feeling the sudden onset of exhaustion crawl beneath his skin, not just physical but mental - like he hadn’t slept in days. His thoughts were a fog, a jumbled mess of guilt, embarrassment, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Everything felt too loud, too bright, too… normal. He couldn't grasp why it all still felt so raw - why he hadn’t been able to just move on from it. Your calmness, your lack of reaction had somehow made everything worse. It ate at him, twisted his insides into tight knots that wouldn’t loosen. How could you be so fine with it? He felt like he’d been torn apart and put back together wrong, as if he was still stuck somewhere between what he had done and what he should have done. His head pounded, and his body dragging him down into a tired stupor he couldn’t escape. He wanted to sleep, wanted to forget, but he couldn’t. Not with that moment playing on a constant loop in his mind. And sweet fuck besides, tonight was another one of Copia's mandatory clergy dinners where you'd definitely be in attendance. He rubbed his face, barely able to summon the strength to get up and lock the door. The thought of facing anyone again - especially you - wasn't worth entertaining.
Like the Mass, this too was unavoidable. For Satan's sake man, he chided, you're blowing this way out of proportion. He convinced himself just needed a minute, a quiet second to let it all drift away and the tension to dissipate. But even as he closed his eyes he knew that was far easier said than done. He let his clenched fist unfurl on his thigh - he needed to work out some of the stress if he was going to do this all again, all be it in a much more casual setting. Another shower? No, at this rate he was going to get dry skin and have Imperator bitching about the water bill.
It was about five minutes before he relented and went searching for lube in his desk drawer. Rocking back in the worn armchair, he palmed his unenthusiastic member out of his slacks and winced as his backside stung against the firm leather. The sudden image of being bent over and mounted brought him to full thickness almost instantaneously, and he sighed to himself in utilitarian defeat - so this is what it comes to, mm?
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"You're being such a good little slut for me.."
His cock twitched urgently at the degradation, loving every moment of being so utterly overcome by you. He craned his neck to face you, speaking with a strained voice, desperate for more. You teased him slowly at first before snapping your hips forward to hit his g-spot cruelly and without warning. Your brought your hand down again against the meat of his backside, hard enough to leave a mark and laughed when he choked out a whine.
Of course, none of that had actually happened, but that's where Secondo's mind had gone in that moment as he stroked himself to distraction.
"Look how pathetic you are. Tell me how much you love it-"
"Nhghh. Y-yes...I-I'm...your little anal whore..."
He came into his waiting fist with an unexpected grunt, the rush of orgasm fading into a foggy kind of shame. The second shower of the day happened anyway, Imperator and the water bill be damned.
The evening's obligations arrived too quickly for comfort. Secondo sat at the long, crowded table in Copia's dining room trying to pay attention the conversation around him, but his eyes kept drifting toward you, seated across to the far left amongst the other Imperatrixes and a handful of other senior clergy. You were laughing a little too easily, your eyes bright as you leaned in close to the guest of honour, Sister Lourdes, the new novice exchange from one of the French Chapterhouses that Copia insisted on showing hospitality. The way you smiled at her with that soft warmth and crooned into her ear made his chest tighten with unease. He watched all the hallmarks of your flirtation knowing them well, from the way you brushed her hair from her face to letting your hand linger on hers as you refilled her glass. For all his talents, the older man didn't speak her language - but you appeared to be managing just fine, fluently purring Satan knows what filth in her ear. If he hadn't been so Hell-bent on being subtle he could have sworn you'd even cast him a smirk.
She's doing this on purpose, parading this new girl in front of you. Playing mind games to let you know she's in charge and what she thinks of you, came that harsh inner voice again. He picked at his food unenthusiastically and took another deep drink from the table red. A darker thought crept into his mind, too - from his fleeting interactions it was clear Lourdes was young and full of a willing corruptible innocence but also something...more. Something that made her seem more eager. The way she hung on every word you said, the way she seemed to know how to entice you, how to make herself blushingly, deliciously attentive in just the right way - it was almost as if she were a seasoned submissive. Just the dark-eyed, beautiful kind he knew you liked.
The realization hit him like a cold wave. Was that what you really wanted? Someone who was moldable, who could give herself to you so freely and without hesitation without all this internal conflict? Secondo couldn’t help but feel the weight of his own years - the aches in his body, the weariness of time. Suddenly, he wondered if he really was too old to be going on with you like this, too damaged. Was the connection you shared with Sister Lourdes, that quiet attention, born of something more than just youth? Had he become both less of a man in your eyes and yet replaced by someone more willing to submit, to give herself completely in ways his pride wouldn't allow? The thought gnawed at him, his stomach twisting as he tried to push away the uncomfortable feeling, but it remained, the growing certainty that maybe this was the kind of bond and dynamic you were better suited for.
What's wrong with you? He scolded himself, clenching his fist under the table. This is absurd. You’ve spent years in her company, sharing honest conversations - you have an understanding. Why does this matter now? He shook his head internally. You’re an Emeritus. You’re supposed to be above this pettiness. This stupidity - it’s beneath you. But the doubt had burrowed under his skin. This whole thing has just thrown you off, that’s all. You're afraid she's lost respect for you, this isn't about being replaced, is it? You’re being foolish. The voice in his mind softened, more bitter now as his other hand tapped the stem of his wine glass anxiously. You should have known this would happen. Youth, beauty, energy - how could you compete with that? He exhaled sharply. Stop it. Stop thinking like this. It’s all in your head. You’re a man of faith, not... whatever this is. You’re better than this.
Secondo forced down another forkful of Copia's rigatoni and became aware his mood hadn't gone unnoticed by a few of his fellow diners. He did his best to force a neutral expression as he avoided looking over to your corner of the table, taking another deep swig from his glass when he heard Sister Lourdes sultry little giggle. He could practically feel the vein forming on his flushed bald forehead as dessert was coming out to the table.
Admit it, he taunted himself inwardly: you're jealous of her. Why? You’ve never been exclusive. You’ve never had the right or even the desire to expect that from her nor she of you. You’ve both shared your lives, your beds with others - fuck, you'd even shared the bodies of others together. You're just friends. Good friends. So why does this feel so different? He mentally shook himself. You’ve always said you were fine with it, fine with the way things were. No commitments, just companionship when it suits you both. The voice inside him twisted. But now, watching her with someone else, it’s like a slap to the face. Why? You’ve enjoyed the same. Why does it sting now? He exhaled, frustrated with his own weakness. This was never about ownership, never about control. You’ve never been tied to her, and she’s never been tied to you. So why are you acting like you’ve lost something, do you just want her all of her attention for yourself? The thought should have made him feel better, but instead, it only deepened the chewing sensation of inadequacy in his chest.
He excused himself from his seat abruptly, much to many raised eyebrows and a knowing scowl from Primo.
Behind the locked bathroom door he let out a low quiet grumble and tried to take some cleansing breaths. At least he wasn't wearing his paints that night and could splash some cold water on his face. He needed to get his shit together fast before his reputation took a nosedive. After several minutes of steady breathing and psyching himself out, the older man emerged from his hiding place ready to feign the mother of all stomach upsets if anyone got nosey - whatever it took to avoid the truth. By that time however much of the guests had already departed for the evening - including you and Sister Lourdes.
Copia and a few ghouls remained clearing up, none of them looking particularly impressed. The older Emeritus felt the weight of his brother's questioning gaze, glancing over to the decanter on the sideboard for liquid backup if the rat boy was as keen to pry as he looked.
Shit. Your pocketbook - you'd left it behind, he realised. Probably too busy with your new little friend.
"You want to tell me what the fuck that was about, fratello?" Copia sighed.
Dammit.
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Copia had introduced you to the exchange Sister in passing after mass - of course you'd hit it off right away, managing to be a shameless flirt while giving directions to the west wing library in her mother tongue and then making your move shortly before the senior clergy dinner. After dessert, a few chaste kisses along the corridor and promises to give her a tour of the gardens had proven enough for the night. Sister Lourdes was a typical old world, classic beauty and would need to be wooed accordingly. Perhaps you'd arrange for one of Primo's ghouls to bring flowers to her quarters with your regards - the carnations were good this time of year.
Secondo however was another matter. Something hasn't been right with him long before Copia's place and it was clear he was definitely avoiding you. A selfish part of you hoped he'd get over whatever it was quickly so you could introduce your pretty French girl to one of your night's in together, should she be agreeable. You'd even tried to shoot him an all-knowing look at the table but he'd not been in the mood. Something was wrong. Was it possible you'd somehow offended him during your mid-week experimental tryst? He was a prideful man, and perhaps you'd finally been too brazen with your games. Surely not, you thought - he would have told you plainly in the moment if you'd crossed a line. He'd never been one to keep quiet if something wasn't working for either of you between the sheets. Hmm.
As you slipped out of your habit into your baggy loungewear for the evening and tidied up your sideboard, a cold shudder of realisation abruptly came over you - you'd both gone through those bottles of wine far quicker than usual, and you'd not seen him at lunch so who knows if he'd actually eaten - he'd not been that drunk, surely? Something anxious wrapped around your heart and plucked its strings at your doubts. He hadn't been humouring you with that whole strap business, had he? If he'd been a bit too far gone or just too embarrassed by the awkwardness of saying no, then maybe he was upset with you. Satan's taint, what if he hadn't really been up for any of it and you'd coerced him because he really had been too intoxicated? Oh Lord. No wonder he wasn't talking to you - that's basically assault.
That would mean a whole friendship completely ruined, nevermind the sex part or rest of the wider implications. Years, snuffed out just like that. You'd really gotten to know Secondo after your rise to Imperatrix - which felt like an age ago now. You'd helped him with getting his admin shit together, being efficient with yours to a fault, meeting minutes and notes almost never leaving your person. You'd bonded over similar taste in the arts, culture and most obviously women, so it simply felt like a natural evolution when things turned sexual between you. It hadn't changed anything at all about your dynamic, and you were both very clear where you stood with each other from the start. Everyone in the Abbey knew the deal, too, it wasn't exactly an unusual arrangement amongst followers of canonised carnal sin.
You felt a bit sick, trying not to let yourself catastrophise before you had all the information. Your blood started to feel a little fizzy, and you had to sit down. You recalled what Copia had said an hour earlier before you'd left his dining room.
The youngest Emeritus has spent the majority of the evening as usual coordinating the ghouls and ensuring the courses came out on time - he'd always been proud of his hosting skills and tonight had been no different. In fact, having guest to show off his hospitality to that month had been quite refreshing and he was pleased everything had gone well. Even Terzo was on his best behaviour and made less innuendos about the whipped cream on dessert than normal.
However, even with his attention split across dietary requirements. background music and keeping the drinks flowing he'd clocked his brother's unusually sour and jittery demeanour. Trust Secondo to bring the tone down, he'd thought. Initially he'd pinned it on Nihil or Imperator busting his balls about his famously lazy bookkeeping, but after his weird performance at mass he wasn't sure. It didn't take a genius however, coupled with his odd performance at mass that it somehow had something to do with you.
The greying acting Papa gave you a withering look when Secondo had seen himself off to the bathroom in a huff. Some time later, with the older Emeritus still MIA and everyone making their goodbyes he'd taken you to the side privately to spell out his irritation and action plan.
"Look, whatever's going on with him or between you two? None of my business. The shits I give? They are limited" he sighed "b ut he's already a dickhead when he's in a good mood and frankly, I don't need this so close to a tour. I have a Ministry to run. Mio fratello is a stubborn asshole but I know he don't let his pride get in the way if it's actually important. Leave your little book with me and we hurry this shit up, si?"
You sat mulling the whole past 24 hours in your mind slowly, wondering what the plan was and how the Hell you were going to face Secondo if your fears were true. That's if he ever spoke to you again. You had hoped you were exploring something new and exciting together, but now you weren't so sure. You weren't sure how long you'd been disassociating when a hollow sound pulled you from your thoughts.
Someone was at the door.