Work Text:
it had been one of those shifts where the exhaustion settled deep in your bones the moment the machine stamped your timesheet. nothing seemed to go right, everybody had someone to complain about, and your manager was riding your ass all day for some fucking reason. so, when pope sent you a message near the end of your shift saying that he was at deran’s bar for an emergency family meeting, you jumped at the opportunity to decompress. while you made the walk from your job to the bar a few blocks away, you found yourself hoping to score a free drink or two.
you were surprised to see the drop so quiet when you arrived close to seven in the evening. a few patrons lingered around the venue while deran and kai, the other bartender, wandered behind the bar with nothing to do. craig was following his younger brother around while he did mundane tasks, on some soapbox about god knows what while deran tried and failed to ignore him. you didn’t see pope, but after a quick sweep, you found a sign of life at a seat at the bar facing the door: a forgotten, sweating beer bottle centered atop a square napkin next to a familiar pair of black ray-bans.
you plopped down onto the barstool that still carried his warmth and took a swig of pope’s full beer, likely bestowed upon him by craig as if he owned the place. you’d prefer something stronger after the day you had, but you saw no need in a free beer going to waste.
“look at what the cat dragged in!”
craig saw you first, smiling wide and practically tripping over his feet as he made his way over. “been good?” he asked and sat down beside you.
“been better,” you sighed and took another swig of your drink. he threw an arm around you, giving you a few grounding pats on the shoulder—firm, unfamiliar touches, even though you grew up with him. you thought you had pulled yourself together on the way over, but you still looked drained, defeated even. certainly drinking the first beer you saw didn’t help your case. “how about you? behaving yourself?”
craig snorted, “trick question right? you’ve known me my whole life, when have i ever behaved myself?”
deran made his way over to the both of you with a few fresh bottles of beer in hand. craig took one the moment he set them on the counter. “so,” deran tossed the towel he’d been using to wipe down over his shoulder and leaned on the bar, “to what do i owe this pleasure?”
“oh, just another shitty day in customer service!” your tight-lipped smile was laced with sarcasm. “pope said he was here for a family meeting and i thought, ‘hey, the booze is cheap’.”
“for you, the booze is free,” craig corrected, nudging his bottle into yours with a clink!, to which you rolled your eyes. same thing, you thought.
“looks like you might have to start giving freebies to everyone, d. is it always this dead in here on tuesdays, or did they hear about the health department rating?” you teased. craig barked a laugh.
pope emerged from the back of the bar then, refreshed after some air post-family meeting, needed so that he didn’t choke his nephew out…again. he hadn’t bothered to check his phone for the time or any update on whether or not you’d be meeting him, so the sight of you at the bar with his brothers caught him completely off-guard; he stopped in his tracks. as he backed against the wall and observed the way you gave deran and craig your full attention whenever they spoke, how your lips pursed against the mouth of the bottle every time you took a long drink, how plump and wet they were after, and the way those fucking jeans tauted against your ass each time you shifted on the uncomfortable barstool—the latter sent blood rushing to his cock and left him with some adjusting to do of his own.
an older gentleman walked through the door and immediately signaled for deran. “hold that thought,” he put his finger up to stop craig mid-sentence, then turned on his heel to help the patron. craig quickly preoccupied himself with some girl giving him eyes from across the bar, so you used the moment to scan the bar for pope. the old stool shrieked beneath as you turned to check behind you, and you saw him, staring right at you, stiff as a board, nervously ticking by clenching and unclenching his fist—the way he did when he was deep in thought.
there was something combined with his ordinary intensity in his glare, of what you were too far to really tell, but it threatened to spill to the surface through the crease in his eyebrow. as he examined you, you peered at him over your beer as you poured its remaining contents down your throat. jealousy, maybe. or desire, as if he wanted to devour you in front of everyone. and when you rubbed your wet hands from the condensing beer bottle across the fabric covering your thighs, it clicked as to why.
you didn’t know why pope had taken such a liking to this specific pair of your jeans. you could hardly tell the difference between them and the two other pairs you owned in a similar color; you didn’t exactly seek them out. in fact, they just so happened to be on top of the worn-but-not-dirty pile of clothes by your closet that morning and you were already running dangerously behind. your phone showed that the uber you ordered to take you to work was rapidly approaching your house, so you wriggled into them without a second thought and bolted into the living room to grab your shoes.
the last time pope had gone feral and ripped them off before fucking you into your mattress, you woke up early the next morning to evaluate yourself in the your bedroom’s full-length mirror. other than accentuating the darkening bruises his hands and mouth left the night before—ones that sat right above the waistband of your jeans—they didn’t really do anything for you. you got them at the thrift with your friend a few years ago because they had your favorite motif embroidered at the ankle (small and subtle, your friend said they were made for you and wouldn’t let you leave without them). other than that, they were faded and slightly baggy and your ass looked just fine.
you beckoned pope over with a nod of your head and turned yourself back toward the bar just as deran returned. deran didn’t miss a beat and hopped into craig’s conversation about surfing that you were half-listening to, adding something about his buddy adrian’s escapades in japan while offering you another drink.
you listened to their conversation for a while with nothing to contribute, trying to catch pope in your peripheral even though he stood square behind you and hadn’t moved a muscle. you could feel the heat of his gaze on your ass, which you knowingly shimmied a few times to ‘get comfortable’. it felt like forever had passed before you felt his warm hand on your hip. though gentle, his touch zapped through you like a current and sparked a familiar heat in your belly, one that left you dreaming of all the ways he’d make you feel better when you got back home.
“you’re in my spot.” his gravelly voice cut through craig and deran’s. his eyes darted from his brothers to the beer bottles on the counter: the one in your hands you were softly tapping your nails against, the two closer to craig, and the now empty one off to the side, sitting back on its napkin, but offset from the wet circular indent from its earlier condensation.
you turned to smile at him, planting a quick peck to his cheek as a greeting, complying to every urge that told you to embarrass him in front of his brothers just to watch how red his face got. you found it adorable. “hey stranger,” you hummed. “deran and craig were keeping me company while you were away. join us for a drink? or are you ready to go?”
“another time.” and you would hold him to it. he reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet.
“it’s on me,” craig blurted, his eyes bouncing back and forth between you, pope, and deran, whose eyes were glued to the empty glass bottles he grabbed from the bartop. “don’t worry about it, man.”
but he instantly worried about it, pope let things bother him too much. he instantly tensed as the jealousy panged inside of him, tightening his grip on your hip and pulling you slightly closer to him—away from craig—whilst staring piercing daggers through his younger brother. he hadn’t said a word, but each of his calculated actions spoke louder than he ever could.
“thanks, craig.” you broke the silence, but not the tension. it only left when craig did, when he walked over to the girl who he’d definitely take home with him. despite it all, pope loosened his clutch on your hip and still pulled about seven dollars from his wallet to place next to your half-finished beer. you’d declared yourself done and hoped that the amount of alcohol would leave you relaxed. (if it didn’t, you knew pope would love nothing more than to take care of you and get you the rest of the way there.)
“did you drive here?” he asked, grabbing his glasses and hooking them on the front pocket of his button-down shirt.
“no, walked. needed to clear my head.” you expected a lecture on the drive over—pope saw no point in you walking when he was fully capable of picking you up. “take me home?”
as you turned fully towards pope to slide off the stool, he could finally see all of you up close for the first time that night; how your eyes weren’t as bright as they usually were and how your shoulders slumped from the exhausting weight of your day. he admired how you continued to smile, push through, put up with his younger brothers (while he watched you like a pervert)…how you walked from work on your sore feet just to see him.
as much as he despised deran’s bar and its sticky floors, or fighting with his family over risky jobs for shitty pay (jobs he didn’t even want to do anymore now that he had you in his life, but his loyalty was constantly taken advantage of by his family), it was all worth it as long as he could take a little bit of your time. he’d risk it all for you—and he found himself beginning to enjoy the unfamiliar swell that came with feeling wanted.
after you’d said your goodbyes and left the bar, after pope had helped you into his truck and turned over the engine, he leaned over to kiss you. you instantly melted against his mouth, your hand found the back of his head and your fingers ran through his auburn curls while his hand rested against your thigh. he rubbed small circles and you parted your mouth to let him in deeper. you tasted like cheap beer with a hint of the mint gum you chewed on your walk over, and pope hated chewing gum, but he loved tasting that familiar sharp flavor on you.
when you pulled away from each other, he gazed into your eyes—all soft, not an ounce of severity or jealousy. you exhaled through your nose, something like a laugh at the whole thing; you were still parked on the street outside the drop and he just kissed you like it was the first time. “you’re staring,” you almost whispered, still audible over the low whir of the engine.
pope hummed, “you’re too good for me.” he pressed another quick kiss to your lips before shifting the truck into gear and pulling off. “and i like looking at you.”
“yeah, i’ve noticed.” you looked out the passenger window at the low sun casting an orange hue over the entirety of oceanside when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. “i don’t know how you do it after a day like today, i look horrible.”
“you’re beautiful,” he clarified, gently squeezing your thigh he hadn’t let go of. you look back at him, your cheeks hot, and before he could say anything about that, you rolled your eyes and turned on the radio.
the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while. pope’s hand rubbed up and down with the grain of your jeans, thick fingers coming close, but not quite where you wanted them to be. he was distracting himself, you knew it, an endless number of thoughts swimming around in that pretty little head of his. when the truck slowed to a stop at a red light, you grabbed the back of his head and turned it towards you, then raised a knowing, inquisitive brow—your way of gently prying him to open up.
“you could’ve called me, you know,” he spoke carefully, and you twirled a stray curl around your finger. “i would’ve picked you up if i knew you had a bad day…could’ve made you feel a lot better.”
if pope had known when—well, he knew. he knew everything about you and your schedule. so if he’d been there to pick you up from work, the two of you would’ve been back at your place by then, bar skipped, naked in your bed with his head between your legs. you would’ve been a crying, writhing mess, trying your best to buck your hips or move away but he’d just keep you there, strong hands planting your hips to the bed as he licked and sucked and slurped at your leaking cunt. you would’ve been at orgasm number four or five at that point, all sensitive and sweaty, but he wouldn’t stop until he got his fill. and you both knew that could be hours because nose deep in your pussy, breathing in the scent of your arousal was his favorite place to be.
thinking about it had him all worked up, and squeezing your thigh wasn’t enough to kick that craving.
the light turned green and you pulled your hand from his hair. “yeah?” your voice was weak and whiny, not how you wanted it to be, and if you were anywhere else that would’ve tipped pope over the edge. you watched his adam’s apple bob when he swallowed hard.
“you have no idea.”
another red light. your head fell back against the headrest when his fingers finally brushed over your clothed core. his behavior was no longer automatic, but intentional, and there was no possible way you could survive the ten minute drive with pope’s incessant teasing, something stop-and-go with the traffic lights that were not on your side. not with the day you had. “don’t start something you can’t finish,” you warned through gritted teeth, “because i swear to god-”
the sudden swerve of the truck cut you off before you could finish your threat. his foot slammed the accelerator the second the light turned green, and he veered over two lanes in order to make it into the entrance of an old shopping center—cutting off a very angry old man in the process. he swung the two of you behind a dilapidated retail store and parked by the abandoned loading dock.
next thing you knew, he was clicking the button on your seatbelt and pulling you into his lap. his lips were on yours before you could say anything, any concern or complaint dissolving while he kissed you with a longing urgency. it was as if he would die without inhaling all of the air from your lungs. your arms wrapped around his neck while his hands charged to your ass, kneading the flesh as best as he could through your strained jeans. you returned the gesture by rolling your hips down onto his neglected cock bulging through his pants.
“fuck,” was moaned pretty and drawn out, pope reveled in every inch of pleasure you gave him as you soothed his ache with every bump against his cock. he craved more, selfishly so, and before you had time to register, he bucked up to meet you halfway. the unexpected force from the jerk of his hips combined with your pleasure sent you crashing against the steering wheel. pope had to act fast and pull you against his chest before your back slammed into the truck’s horn.
you threw your head back when he jerked into you a second time, pope instantly dropped his head into the assailable crook of your neck and breathed you in deep. “i need you so bad,” his hot breath sent a shiver down your spine and the desperation in his voice went straight to your cunt. “needed you ever since you got to the bar, sat your pretty little ass in my seat, drank my beer, looking so good for me…won’t be able to wait until i get you home, let me fuck you in here.”
and when he started kissing and sucking and biting around your thumping carotid, you were putty in his hands. you couldn’t even respond, you just whimpered and pathetically humped his crotch. your underwear had to have been soaked by then, and you knew that if he kept it up, the jeans he loved would be ruined…that was if he didn’t rip a hole from how hard he was gripping your ass first.
he seemed to get the memo though—you swore he could read minds—and once your breath was catching into whimpers steadily, he nipped at your ear and muttered, “backseat.”
you hopped off his lap and almost tripped on the center console with how clumsily you made your way into the back of his ram. you laid on the back seat comfortably with more than enough room for pope by your feet. once he joined you, you kicked your shoes off and peeled your shirt from your sweaty back while he took care of your jeans.
in his haste, he grabbed your pants by your belt loops and yanked them without noticing that your ass was still on the seat. what he meant to be one swift motion ended in a blunder and a soft rrrip!, and when he went to try again, your belt loop fell from his fingers and into the floor.
you were so dizzy from your arousal and buzzy from the beer that you didn’t notice, you were just happy when his lips were on yours again. “sorry,” he muttered between kisses, “i’ll fix it tomorrow, or tonight if you need me to.”
“mmm?”
he broke away, “your belt loop.”
huh, you thought, that must be my pants aren’t off yet. you tried to chase his mouth, clingy and oh-so desperate, and he continued to retreat.
“i can sew it back on.”
“uh-huh…” your fingers struggled with the buttons on his shirt while pope continued to talk about a piece of fabric you could care less about.
“needle and thread, can’t trust those damn machines…”
blah, blah, blah, pope wasn’t touching you enough. “andrew,” you whined, “i’m sure you’ll do all of that, but if you don’t fuck me into this seat i’m going to explode.”
he quickly scanned your face, scared he’d struck a nerve and ruined the mood, but when you looked up with yearning, all he found was that desperate look in your eyes—and the combination of spit and sweat on your upper lip, god he wanted to lick it off so bad—he went ahead and tugged your jeans the rest of the way down.
pope never did frantic, but he was so needy it made him lightheaded and he forgot that you didn’t need frantic either, you just needed him. three years of prison with just him and his thoughts and time and he was still adjusting to taking it slow. but you made it easy. he loved taking his time with you, kissing and licking you for hours, fucking you slow and hard; there was nothing he loved more than watching you unwind in his hands like his perfect little toy.
so yeah, maybe he could take it slow, work you up a little bit so you’d be dripping and ready for his cock. you were wound so tight. his hands ran down your body and stopped at your heat, using two fingers to rub your folds through your soaked underwear. “gon’na finger one out of you first, okay?”
you nodded eagerly, panting and gasping and whimpering in anticipation. “please,” you whispered.
you finally completed the frustrating task that was unbuttoning his shirt while horny as hell, running your fingers over his warm freckled skin the moment he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. pope pulled off your underwear and tossed them to the floor with the rest of your clothes, then pulled down his pants just enough to give his throbbing cock some relief. you couldn’t tell how hard he’d been until he pressed up against your bare leg, nor did you know how much he needed the relief until he hissed at the contact. he collected your wetness with his callused fingers and pushed a digit in with ease, muttering something like ‘so tight with just one’ when your sopping wet pussy swallowed it all the way to the back of his knuckle.
you could feel the damp spot on his boxers as he began to rut against your thigh, each pathetic thrust in time with his finger inside of you. his head dropped beside yours as he focused on working you open for another finger. his quiet grunts of pleasure right in your ear were beautiful. the little gasps and ‘oh-oh-oh’s whenever the cotton fabric pulled against the leaking tip of his cock—the thought of watching him come apart just like that made you flutter around his finger. you bit your lip hard and grasped onto his hair.
the sound of pope’s groans and his finger fucking your sodden pussy bounced off the interior walls of the truck in erotic harmony. you felt delirious. he pushed in a second finger and stretched you out, fingers scissoring and curling against your spongy walls, thumb working circles over your clit, wetness pooling at the base of his fingers and dripping down the palm of his hand. just as fast as your hips shot up the first time he nudged against your g-spot, he had pushed you back against the seat with a force strong enough to keep you there. he picked up his head and kissed you greedily, swallowing each of your moans while working his tongue into your parted mouth.
that’s what did you in; his thick fingers fucking your sloppy cunt just right, hitting your g-spot every time his hard cock thumped against your thigh, rough thumb rubbing your clit, strong hand keeping you down pressed hard against your bladder…even if you could form words they wouldn’t have warned him in time. your head fell back as your orgasm wrecked through you.
pope continued to finger-fuck you as you came, even though you clamped and pulsed around his digits tight as a vise. he sucked under your collarbone until he felt you come down from your high, fingers slowing down with your deep breaths. he only stopped when you began to pull away from the overstimulation. in the low light, he could see he had left a gnarly bruise. he cupped your face and pulled you in for a quick kiss.
you honestly hadn’t felt as relaxed as you did then since you woke up in pope’s arms the morning before. your day off, your day of rest…before the bullshit.
that look in his eyes, sheer admiration with a touch of lust—if his statement didn’t say it all, then those eyes sure did. you were the only one he wanted, and he made sure he was the one who could have you. he was the reason you looked so spent and sexy in the back of his truck, why you haven’t thought about work or his brothers or anything other than him for the past ten minutes. it was a total obsession.
pope kissed you again, longer and slower this time, nudging your legs together with his knee. you’d calmed down enough from your orgasm that you found the pressure on your still-pulsing clit from your pressed thighs pleasurable, and you let out a quiet hum into pope’s mouth. your arms fell around his neck while his hands slithered down to your hips, squeezing with the left while his right hand went to finally free himself from his boxers.
when he began to spread your legs back open, you pulled your mouth from his, “can i ride you?”
“y-yeah,” he licked his lips, nodding his head so hard he could’ve scrambled his brain. who would be so stupid and say no to that? especially when you asked so nicely, with big sweet eyes and voice rasped from all of your moaning.
he got off of you then, pushing his pants and boxers down to his ankles before sitting on the leather. you watched as he awkwardly clasped his idle hands as he waited for you—a practice you found cute among his other pope-isms. you didn’t let him wait for long, you straddled his lap and grabbed his flushed, leaking cock by the base. his hands found their rightful place wringing the flesh of your hips.
you gave him one quick stroke, but before you could give him another, he grabbed your wrist. “‘m not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he strained, “and…i wan’na cum inside you.”
say fucking less.
you sank onto pope slowly, bracing yourself on the back of the seat. he used his handle on you to control the pace. as much as you wanted to kiss him, swallow up those sweet noises he was making, you let them resonate through the truck and brought your bottom lip between your teeth instead. his head fell back when he bottomed out, dark eyes fluttering closed as he let himself embrace the tight heat that engulfed his thick dick without a problem. the two of you sat like that for a while, breathing deeply and occasionally moaning whenever his dick twitched deep inside of you or your walls involuntarily squeezed around him. you eased more noises out of him with hot, wet kisses across his jaw.
you knew he was ready when he loosened his grip on your hips and slid those big hands down to cup your ass. that’s when you took charge—every thrust, how hard, how fast, and how much you gave to him was all under your guidance. “y’fill me so good,” you praised the whimpering man beneath you. he swiftly pulled your hands from the leather behind him to the warm skin of his shoulders. you tightened your hold, he moaned. “so good to me, andy.”
pope was in heaven. your dripping pussy squeezed around him just right, the flesh of your ass felt perfect in his hands, and he couldn’t rip his heavy lidded eyes from the way your chest bounced up-down-up-down every time you slammed against him. no way he was lasting long, he had a feeling from the start but he only grew more certain as the time went on, and it was clear your second orgasm was imminent by the noises you tried and failed to suppress. it was hard to keep quiet when the angle was just right and you swore the fat head of his cock slammed against your cervix with every thrust.
“i want you to cum again.” pope struggled to find the words, and jesus christ it was the hottest thing. “i want…want you to squeeze me while i cum in you.”
you had never rubbed your clit so hard in your life.
“please,” pope whined. “need you so bad.”
your earlier orgasm and whatever pooled at the base of pope’s dick only made things wetter, stickier, brought you there closer and thank god because you swore either one of you would spontaneously combust at any moment. the squelching from your sopping cunt, the sound of skin slapping skin, and pope’s heavenly whimpers and pleads for your orgasm through choked sobs…you were drunk on it.
“fuck, andrew, fuck!” and you came for a second time, harder than the first, continuing to bounce on pope’s cock as your orgasm wrecked you. you brought your wet fingers to his mouth, which he promptly opened, sucking down your sweet juices like he’d gone without water for days. you locked eyes with his, glossy and reddened—he’d been crying, still was. “c’mon, andy,” you pressed your forehead to his just as your thighs began to give out, “fill me up so good. make me yours.”
“oh…oh oh oh oh-”
pope held you down as he spilled inside of you, thick ropes of his spend coating your insides as he cried through it. your fingers fell out of his mouth and ran through his hair as the two of you came down from your highs, head on his shoulder, whispering ‘good boy’s and ‘so perfect for me’s against his neck while his sobs slowed
after his breathing regulated, his heart slowed, and the tears stopped falling, you grabbed his face and pulled him in for a long kiss. your lips moved in sync, a rhythm so perfect it could’ve been choreographed. you let him take the reigns but he didn’t rush you, just sucked on your sweet lips for comfort. it grounded him—you grounded him. you always remained so stable in his turbulent life, like an anchor; you kept him tethered whenever he felt like he’d lose himself.
you separated your lips but continued to hold him close. “you okay?”
he nodded, taking your hand and interlacing your fingers, holding between your warm chests. you planted a small peck on his shoulder, then, his neck.
a while passed without talking, just gentle breaths and the occasional quick kiss to a body part when either one of you wanted to feel closer. the windows had long fogged due to the muggy air, thick with the scent of sex and sweat. you could do without it, preferring to crack a window and let the crisp ocean air dry your sticky skin. (pope would never let that happen. he wanted his truck—the one he took great pride in maintaining its dealership condition—to smell like you for as long as possible.)
the two of you stayed put until the dim streetlights trickled on, the sun long since set. pope drove you back to your place after you dressed, just for your clothes to immediately come off again when he laid you down in bed and ate his cum out of your cunt.
while you slept like a rock that night, he stayed true to his word, and sewed your belt loop back onto your jeans.