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The message you got that morning was from an unknown number, probably some nobody you still payed to keep tabs on the Cody's, just because you could. Money was pretty good as of late, the jobs were easy and the pay good. Who knew stolen paintings could sell for that much?
Back on track, though, the message read:
'Andrew is out
Parole
Do whatever you want with that
Ig
Pay me'
Charming.
But it did make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a coil in your stomach tighten. Andrew was out, your Popestar was out of prison. He was out and probably back at home.
The message arrived at noon. That evening, you packed a duffel bag and got on your motorcycle, determined to make it to the Cody's by early morning. You decided to send a text to Smurf aswell, just so she wouldn't have your head for showing up unannounced. The woman never liked you much, though you thought it was less about you and more about the fact that Andrew liked you a lot. Loved you, even. And she couldn't have that. It was pretty sick, her relationship with her sons, and you often felt very bad for them when you were children, but nothing much to do about it now. They were grown and still under her thumb. Poor ol' them.
The street lights blurred into two lines beside your vision, one left and the other right. The air was cold and humid, much like every night way back when, and it made you nostalgic. It brought you back to nights hanging out by the pool, just you, Andrew, the boys, and Julia, of course. Slowly warming beers and the bitter stench of chlorine, the reflection of the water on Andrew and you as you both laughed over Craig pulling Deran under the water.
You couldn't go back now, not really. And you were partially glad. Life had been hell back then, well—life was only hell when you left the Cody's house. Your father was a bastard, he'd often put out cigarettes on your arms just because he'd forget his ashtray at his friends house. He never outright beat you though, but neglected you to make up for it and left you to do all of the housework—at least he payed for groceries and gave you extra money for whatever—usually you'd buy alcohol. God, it was hell. Your only reprieve became that home. Your only reprieve became Pope's room, sleeping side by side, barely clothed just so you'd feel eachothers warm skin as comfort.
The familiar beaches came into view, memories overlapping like a sad movie scene, but you snapped out of it and took a sharp turn, hoping the cops wouldn't see. No sirens blared, so you guessed you were in the clear.
After a good long while and too many hours on the road, you saw it. That painfully familiar gate infront of a painfully familiar (basically) mansion. You went up close to the panel and typed the code in, still the very same, and it dramatically opened up for you. The bike was practically abandoned the second you stopped the motor, your helmet landing hard on the floor as you tunnel-visioned into finding him.
Pope. Andrew. Drew. The only man you'd get on your knees for. The only man who could beat you half to death and you'd thank him for it. A man that was so painfully awkward, it hurt to even look at his face in an uncomfortable situation. The nutcase. The weird brother.
The love of your goddamned life.
Your steps were practiced, quiet and out of range. You noticed a crack in one of the stones on your way to the pool, and you think that that one happened when Andrew took a hammer and nail and tried to see if he could crack the stone plate perfectly in half. He'd failed and for his failure you'd tortured him for hours. Sexually. Mostly.
The familiar family came into view. Smurf was by the big windows, on the threshold of the inside and outside, looking displeased with her beady little eyes and short, blonde bob. It suited her, you supposed, made her look even more like a stone faced cunt.
Deran was sitting on a lawn chair, beside him was Craig, they looked sorta serious, but Craig was fighting off a douchey smirk—the one he embodied too well. Baz was a few feet from them, arms crossed and displeased as ever. The serious one, the older brother. God, he was prick.
Someone stood off to his left, you didn't recognize him, but you supposed he looked a bit like Julia, his posture and expression matched hers to a T. Soo that must be J. Of course you'd heard of him, your connection had told you that he'd moved in with Smurf just a while ago... because Julia died. Fucking drugs, man, it fucked people up and took your lovers twin sister with it.
And then you heard a hammer smashing some bricks, everyone slightly flinching. And there he was. Andrew. Like a glorious Adonis. God, he looked fucking delicious. Maybe it was the whole: 'been to prison'-thing he had going on now, but he looked tortured. The poor guy.
You'd give him the best head later. Just, not now. Not that you didn't enjoy a good audience, but Smurf was hardly ever a good audience. Nor was she ever really good to begin with.
They were talking about something, but the sound of footsteps made Baz falter long enough for you to talk. "Oh, Drew." You dragged your words out, singing them, and it had an effect—like the piper who lured out the kids. Andrew stopped and his head almost flew off his shoulders with how fast he turned. The big hammer got thrown aside and his protective glasses came off as he strode towards you. And once he was infront of you he—
Hugged you.
This was way more domestic than usual, especially since Pope never was great at showing off his affection for you in public. It was a bit worrisome, but you hugged him back as if this was completely normal.
"Oh, baby. How is my Andrew? Hm? Having a good time in the fresh air? Did you already get some good food in you, or do you still have the shit taste of prison food on your tongue?" You smiled at him, but he didn't see, his head still on your shoulder and hug not breaking.
"I made him food." Smurf spoke up, ever the attention seeker.
"Well then, nothing to fuss over, hm? Got some of your mothers food in you, so you must be pretty full." You kissed the side of his head, his curls smelling like they always did, a bit citrusy and smokey, so him.
"Why are you here?" Smurf asked, her head nodding to you, as your hand found Andrew's nape, toying with his curls and not letting him go for a second.
"Smurf—" Baz began, already exhausted by her. A whole day with Smurf was a day too long with Smurf.
"It's cool, Baz. I messaged you." She raised an eyebrow. "A text. That I would be coming."
"Didn't get it." She shrugged, acting nonchalant when you knew she was anything but. The hamster wheels were probably already spinning in that terrifying brain of hers, and her creepy, little eyes settled back on you. Once upon a time, you had liked Smurf. She was like the cool mom you never had—your mother leaving the picture when you had been just four, only blurry memories left of her. But you had Smurf. Until you got older and started to realize how wrong everything was—how she treated her sons, how she used them—how she used everyone she knew, for that matter.
In some level of your subconscious mind, you understood her. Knew that, a long time ago, she figured out that the only way to control a man was through sex. And that was... really believable. Men thought with their dicks, and it wasn't a complete bogus theory either, it was a bit of a biological fact. It was the testosterone in them, made them egotistical and horny as all hell. And she used that thinking pattern throughout her whole life and then she had children and she loved them a lot, but then she saw them grow up and she realized—
Her boys were going to be men eventually. And how was she supposed to control these men?
The obvious answer to anyone not fucked up is... well, being a mother gives you authority and you should use that authority wisely. Act like a mother, basically. Not that hard, right? But no, she was fucked up. And so she used that controlling style—the one she had used all of her life on other men—men she wasnt related with—onto her own children. Her own sons. And how fucked up was that? The only one it didn't work on? Julia, she also saw through it after a while and she agreed with you, and Smurf had pushed her away for it.
And after that, you started hanging out at their place less, or you'd ask if Smurf was there or not. The boys didn't understand why you started disliking Smurf all of a sudden, but you'd just tell them that it didn't matter. And at the end of the day, it didn't. They were still your friends, the only ones you could hold on to when things got tough. But they were stuck in an unfortunate situation, one they couldn't really get out of. Smurf had made them be reliant on her, they probably didn't even know how to go to bank and ask for money proper, they just robbed the place if they wanted some bucks.
"Right. Well that's not my fault, is it?" Your words were mean but your face was that of an angels. Deran shifted, nervous. He was always like that, but you liked it. Back when the two of you were younger, he had been the closest thing to a younger brother you had ever had.
"Right." Smurf huffed out. "Are you staying?' She asked, trying to seem polite, but you knew that it ran deeper. On some level in your heart or brain, you felt bad for thinking this badly of her. It was like some minor case of stockhome syndrome, her claws already in your skin and her poison in your veins, leaving you paralyzed and there.
"I have a place. Nearby." Your head then moved closer to Andrew's ear. The man hadn't moved once he was in your grasp, like an obedient puppy. "You hear that. I have a place. You can crash there. I'll give you a spare key to have."
His head lifted and with a nervous expression, he nodded. It was odd and endearing, he acted like he was a stranger with memories of a relationship. But maybe that was telling too, of what he had gone through in prison—in life.
"Great. I'll bring him back by... afternoon. Tomorrow." You looked at Smurf, she just had a sour expression on her face. But she always looked like that. Your eyes swept on over to Baz, who nodded in sympathy at you, knowing that this was for the best, Pope going with you. But before you left, you took a look J, his eyes already on yours and surprise overtaking his features as he noticed your look. "J, we haven't met. I'd give you a hand but..." Your voice trailed off. "Welcome to the family. I hope to meet again, sometime."
And you left, one hand intertwined with Andrew's and the other flexing with nervousness. Pope noticed, because he always did, and held your hand tighter.
"Baby, you weren't lying right?" He asked.
"About bringing you back by afternoon? I think we'll have had enough orgasms to last us a lifetime by then, Drew. Afternoon's a safe bet." You chuckled, pressing back on his hand.
"No, that's not what I mean. I meant a place. You have a place... right?"
"Of course, I have a place, Drew. Jesus. It's not like I'd take you to go and sleep under a bridge." He gave you a look as you laughed, the one that told you that he'd go with you even with the expectation of sleeping under a bridge. "I rent an apartment not far from here. It was gifted to me by an uncle."
"I thought you didn't have any other family aside from you father."
"I thought that too, but I did. He was decently rich and when he passed, he put me in his will. Probably met me when I was a child or something, thought about me, and he made me the new owner. It's furnished, though most definitely dusty. But, it'll do." You got to your bike and pulled out a second helmet from your bag, handing it to Pope, who took it without a beat. Drew also retrieved the falled helmet, and it made you a bit embarrassed. He definitely knew why it was lying on the ground, and that was a bit too much after too long apart.
You got on, turning on the motor and feeling the vehicle under you vibrate to life. Andrew got settled behind you, hands settling on your waist before they wrapped around slowly. It made you bite back a groan.
"Don't do that. I don't want any distractions while I'm driving." You turned the bike around and started speeding up slowly.
"I promise nothing." He answered back, and you were sure he had a small smile on his face, the one he always had when he successfully got under you skin. Charming fucker. People always thought that he was too awkward and unstable to flirt around, some had even felt bad for you in the relationship—thinking it was just one sided affection. But that was because Drew was awkward around others—not you. Never you. He shared everything with you, his past, his present, and his potention future wishes. It honestly made you laugh when people asked if Pope was any good in bed, as if the man didn't worship your body with such passion, it made you heat up at the mere thought.
During the drive, there wasn't much talking. The wind too loud and the scenery too calming. It really did look like a movie—but if it was, were you the hero? Yeah, you were, it was obvious. Wait, was Andrew the princess and Smurf the dragon then? Hah! Now that was a thought.
Before you even knew it, the two of you are toeing off your shoes and making out in a dark hallway, the scent of the house was the smell any house would have after months of little air coming through some cracked windows and drawn blinds. His hands found the back of your thighs and then your ass, lifting you up on the wall and holding you there with his pelvis. Never did it cross your mind that you might fall, because Pope would rather kill himself before he'd ever accidentally hurt you.
You broke it off, the making out—no matter how worth it it was after so long apart. "You need sleep. And rest."
"I can sleep and rest inside of you." That pulled a groan out of you. "Let me make it up. To you." He breathed heavily between sentences. "Smurf keeping me from you, for not being stronger. Faster." You knew that that last word was referencing the heist they had pulled, that last one with Pope, sixteen seconds—Baz had told you.
"Did you get my letters? All of them? Or did Smurf burn them?" One hand was placed around the whole side of his head, cupping his warm skin while the other rested on his shoulder. It surprised you that he could still keep you lifted up in the air with his arms, had he trained in prison?
"I did. Smurf let me have them. I loved them. They kept me going, baby, the only thing that kept me going. Were you words." He started kissing you again, and you damn near let tears fall from you eyes. Shit, how had they snuck up on you? "Especially the dirty ones. The ones that went on and on about your fantasies."
You groaned and turned your face to the ceiling. "They were so dumb. I don't know why I wrote them. I just got... horny for some damn reason and had to write you. Post-orgasm rationality didn't kick in when I sent them to you."
He chuckled, a low and rough sound, and you damn near saw the spiderwebs in the part of his brain that still remembered how to laugh. "I loved them. Always thought about you pleasing yourself, in a bed, lights out. It drove me insane."
"Well, I'm sorry I gave you blueballs. Unless you..."
"No. You're the only one. Ever."
You smiled at his words and reached for the ground, letting his muscles relax. "C'mon. You're my pillow prince for tonight. I'm going to do every little thing." You grabbed the abandoned duffel bag from the ground and led him to the bedroom. It was quite nice, a wall of glass overlooking the beach and orange lights. Pope stopped for a moment to admire the view, while you packed opened up a window to let some air in, fuck if thr neighbors heard you. And then you sneakily got some lube from the bag.
"Yeah? You sure?" He wasn't looking at you, just staring outside, as if the question was too much. It was—especially because this was just sex. Or maybe it wasn't, not anymore. Maybe now it was 'making love to eachother', and it was kind of an embarrassing thought that also made your heart flutter.
"Yeah. I want to worship you for a change. Jesus, Pope, we haven't been intimate in what... four whole years? Yeah, it's no wonder I want to make a mess out of you." You smile at his turned back, no response but in a way still a response, and you turned on a small lamp on the nightstand.
"You think you can make a mess out of me?" It was challenging and the type of attitude you had missed, coming from Andrew.
"Ohoho, big words, Popestar. Come on," You got settled on your back on the bed, one hand clutching the lube and the other making a motion for him to come over, just with your fingers. He turned to you, the soft lighting making him look a bit terrifying. Oh, tomorrow, you'd mess him up for good. Blood would be involved, his mostly, maybe yours too if he felt up for it.
"I'm going to make you cry."
"Yeah?" He walked up to your side of the bed and took his shirt off, and yeah, he was a bit more toned than last time. And his arms looked good enough to bite, but his arms always did. "Let me not keep you waiting then, lover."
Andrew climbed on you, leaving enough space for you to breathe, and then he lowered himself down to your face and kissed you and kissed you and kissed you. It was soft and sweet, it made you think of soft planes of grass and fields of daisies.
"Alright, come on." You broke it off again and turned him over, so you were on top. "You'd like me to enter you or for you to enter me?" You gave a wicked smile, one that stole his breath away.
"Both? I don't know..." A small giggle left your mouth at his response. "Just, get on with it."
"Well, I did say, you weren't doing anything tonight." You bracketed his narrow hips with your legs, your pelvis dropping down to his stomach. "Might aswell do every position under the moon, right?" He looked up at you as if he'd seen heaven for the first time, a reprieve from the usual shit of his world.
"Thank you..." he breathed out, just as you were pulling your pants towards your knees. You quickly stopped and looked at him, as if frozen in time, and gave him a questioning expression. "You... you came and got me. Like you said you would."
"I never break my promises, Drew. You're my only love, my Pope." You leaned down to him, one hand cupping his jaw and nipping at it sweetly. "Never again think that I will not love you or will not come for you. I'll always do. Just as you do for me."
"Prison... prison was bad, baby." He breathed out, expression confused and pained. You cupped his cheek and made him look at you. "I don't want to tell you about it, that's how bad it was."
The hand still in possession of the lube sqeezes hard because—who the fuck dared to hurt him? He was Andrew 'Pope' fucking Cody. You would have their head. Would cut out their tongue and stuff the fucker down their throats as they chocked on their own blood.
Or maybe that was too cruel? You weren't a killer, but you definitely could turn to one.
You'd see. It depended on how bad it was, because he was definitely telling you all about it in the morning.
"You'll tell me, you'll tell me." Andrew shook his head slowly, trying to push you off, but you stayed firmly on top of him, knees squeezing into his soft sides. "No, no. Pope, tomorrow. Not tonight. Tonight, I'll distract you so good, you'll forget your damn name. But tomorrow, when I make some breakfast and wash you and make you feel whole again, you'll tell me. Alright? I want to know every single detail of your life in there. Because those parts of your life are still you. And I want to know you."
He looked uncomfortable, but decided to pull you down into a kiss and savor it for the moment, as if he had the death penalty swinging over his head and you were his last meal. God, he was so tragically dramatic. It's what you loved about him.
"Let me ride you, then I'll make you my bitch, alright? I'll make you my good little Popestar again. You want that?" He nodded, an unsure expression on his face. It wasn't because he didn't want—oh, he wanted it alright, you could tell by the blush on his cheekbones—but because it had been too long. It was always like that, but he would be slowly warming up to it again, just like he always did.
You got yourself undressed, decided to make a show out of it. Pope savored every second as you stood on the end of the bed and slowly took of your clothes piece by piece, his eyes traveling over your spine tattoo like they always did. One time, he had told you he envied it—not because he wanted one, but because it stayed attached to your back night and day. You had given him scratches on his back that night that only started to fade after three weeks.
Once you were naked, you got ontop of him again, looked down at him and peppered soft kisses all over his jaw and neck. Then you traveled up his face and saw his dark circles. They had always been there, as long as you'd known him, but once he started hanging out with you, they faded slightly over time.
"Not sleeping, baby? You look terrible." He made a face. "Terribly hot?" You raised an eyebrow and made him huff out a laugh.
"Yeah, sleep is... hard. As of late."
"As of late? You've always had trouble sleeping. But don't worry, I'll work you so well, you'll sleep the full nine hours your body needs." You whispered into his ear and felt him shiver under you, and you smirked at his cuteness. Like this, under you, he was like a baby deer, all wobbly and new to life—with those big and dark eyes of his and nervous expression. God, you wanted to ride his face and mess him up. Maybe tomorrow, once he's slept a full night.
Sitting up straight and spine at full attention, his eyes tracking each twitch and movement you were making over him, you scooped up some lube and started loosening yourself up, making sure to be extra noisy. Usually you weren't, you'd learned to keep quiet while letting out sexual frustration, but Pope liked to hear you lose yourself in pleasure. Especially when he was working you, so he knew he was doing a good job.
"You're an angel." His voice was rough and low, one hand coming up from your thigh and traveling up to your waist and settling on your chest. You smiled down at him, already three fingers in.
"Yeah? I don't know, angels don't really steal things to make money. Also, I hear angels are actually pretty boring in the Bible. Doing what God says and all that." You thought about it, him toying with your nipple while his other hand was stroking your thigh still. "Huh, I guess you're the angel."
"What? And Smurf is God—is that what you're saying?" He raised an eyebrow and gave you a humorous expression.
"She might be your God. Not mine. But then again, you've always been a bit rebellious. Are you my little Lucifer, baby?" You leaned down and kissed him, one hand in you and the other supporting your weight on his shoulder.
"So now I'm the devil?" He sounded offended as a joke, which came off even less with that smile on his face.
"A fallen angel, hun. Lucifer was a fallen angel. You're as pretty as an angel. Beautiful and troubled." You complimented him as your kisses traveled downwards, to his chin and neck. "With a strong shell... but weak heart." You tilted your head and bit into his neck, and he made a low wounded sound, like an animal caught in a trap.
"Ugh... weak heart?"
"You're soft, Pope. It's why you're not well right now. But I'll get you well." That's when you took your fingers out and got more lube in your hand, wetting his dick and slowly bring it to your entrance. "I'll get you your medication, I'll fuck you every day, make you warm meals and we can have a movie night every Friday." You sank down and groaned up at the ceiling, finally feeling that familiar fullness. Andrew was even worse for wear, his hands were gripping your pelvis, quite literally the bone of it. He always liked you wearing his bruises.
"We can live here? Forever?" He whined, voice high and needy. You tutted and leaned down to him, kissing his cheeks and the soft tears now falling. Hadn't he just said he wouldn't cry? Oh well, not like you had believed him anyway.
"Of course. As long as you want. I'll stay. I'll get someone to bring all of my things over—all of my furniture and clothes. We can go out in a few days, buy some clothes and things we need like shampoo and groceries. Just have a fucking field day. And we can end the night cuddling up on the couch while watching some old romcom."
He thrusted up in you as you finished that fantasy about to be real. You moaned into his neck, mouth open and almost drooling, throat dry from forgetting to swallow.
"I'd love that. I want you here. With me. Don't ever leave me again. I don't want more letters, I want your words." He gave two more punishing thrusts in you, making his point stand. You quickly gulped down air and swallowed too, pulling your hair back and out of your face a little, looking into his eyes.
"Never. No letters. You'll wake up every damn day to my snoring, alright baby? For years to come. I promise." He gave a low chuckle as you mentioned the snoring and started setting a good pace, not even giving you the chance to take much control—even if you had promised it. But it seemed like he needed this right now, so you'd let him calm down a bit and then take over the reins again.
"Baby—love, look at me." You looked up at his words, locking eyes and that somehow made you even wetter and sloppier. "Right like this. I want you to come looking at my face, so I can see you, baby. I want to watch you come on me, alright? Keep your eyes one me."
His words were your cuffs at this point, you'd do anything for him. Andrew got his feet on the bed, grounding him further, lifting you up a bit and making you scared to fall on his face. But his grip was damn strong, and he started pounding you so good, you forgot all about the fear of falling face first.
"There we are. C'mon, how long has it been since you came around a cock, baby? Hm? You haven't been staying celibate all this time, have you?"
That's when your head perked up, and you looked at him with wide eyes as your words came out rattled due to his pace. "I did! Don't you... don't you dare think otherwise—you dick! As if I'd cheat!" You pouted. "A vibrator was my best bud for years, dipshit."
Andrew actually slowed down and made a surprised and shocked face. "Really? You didn't fuck anyone?"
"No. Why? Did you?" You were this close to hitting him, already clenching your fist—because, you hadn't stayed celibate for four fucking years just for him to cheat on you and go to some skank and fuck her!
"No. I didn't. Baby, why would I?" His hand found your cheek and your hand relaxed. Andrew wouldn't lie about this. "Admittedly, I did go to a strip club." Your fist clenched again. "—Once! But I couldn't get it up. Embarrassing, honestly."
You sighed. "You sure?"
"Yes. Nobody but yours gets me riled up, hun, you know that." You kissed his mouth once, a forgiveness without words. It was so sweet, you almost forgot you were close. Until he started thrusting upwards again, and you lifted your head upwards, giving Andrew the perfect opportunity for him to attack your neck. You'd have to put on a turtleneck in spring, Jesus. Then again, it's not like you cared if anyone saw the hickeys he gave you. It just meant that someone loved you enough to mark you.
"I'm—I'm close." Andrew huffed out, mouth slightly open and a frown on his face, a frown in concentration. You wondered how much he had to concentrate to thrust his hips, because at this point, wasn't it just pure instinct driving him into you?
"Yeah—yeah, me too..." Your nails dug into his shoulders, creating small marks that would definitely not leave until morning.
And with a small groan at the back of Andrew's throat, mouth closed, he came. He buried his head into the crook of your neck as the warmth filled you—lord, he really had stayed celibate aswell. It was a lot. And it immediately pushed you into your own climax aswell, your nose getting tickled by his hair as you buried your head into his head. You wanted to stay like this forever, sweaty—on top of him, him inside of you. Like this, he was safe from Smurf and Baz and any other dipshit who wanted to use him. He was safe from jobs with way too many risks and from prison.
But the moment broke when Andrew grew too soft to stay inside of you and he slipped out, making you wince and feeling something leaking out of you, like a broken faucet.
"Could've warned me." You sighed, nestling up beside him, kissing his shoulder and bicep. He was so warm, so soft. Like your personal teddy bear.
"About coming inside of you? You love that shit." He chuckled as you hit him on his stomach, a light slap really.
"No, about slipping out. Now half of it is on the bed." You mumbled.
"Don't worry. I'll change the sheets before we go to sleep."
"I'm supposed to be taking care of you."
"Well, you're the one getting fucked." He kissed the top of your head. Andrew always got sappy after sex, getting soft and big eyed, like a puppy too tired too move. You loved it, since you usually were irritated about clean up and getting to sleep as fast as possible—he calmed you down, slowed you down. He was your breaks while you were the gas. And anyone who looked at you from the outside would think otherwise.
"Not for long." You mumbled out and lifted yourself off him, a mischievous expression looking down at him. "Round two is coming for your ass. Literally."
[THE END]