spn_hols, prompt # 8
forgive me father, for i have sinned
Prompt: #8 candles (spn_hols
Fandom: Supernatural (Dean/OMC; implied Sam/Dean)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: approx. 2280
Warnings: slash (male/male), implied incest, sexually explicit things
Author’s Notes: so, this was supposed to a study of character and faith for dean, but i had the urge for him to fuck the priest (because in my head, he is incredibly gorgeous) and i think it just works. (i actually named the priest after a guy in my class). also, because mel told me too.
-
He tells Sam he’s going out to get some food and Sam blinked, a little stupefied; he nodded like its normal, even though it wass Christmas Eve and that’s what was bothering him, Dean could tell. He could’ve said anything, like he was going for a walk or heading to the bar, and Sam wouldn’t have thought any different.
Maybe Sam got a little nervous when Dean didn’t grab the keys, but it wasn’t too far to walk to the church anyway and he needed the fresh air.
He had seen it on the way to town and sure, he had seen plenty of church’s in towns. He had pillaged a few in his teenage years for holy water and had snuck into even more to track down some books or even to take down a possessed priest and there was that one time in Utah where he screwed the Sunday School teacher in the back room, but he never really liked to think of that too much. But it was the first time he actually thought about walking in and just staring at the cross. Even though he didn’t believe, sometimes just the idea of God held reassurance for Dean.
It let him now that someone else was holding secrets, too.
The church loomed on the corner of the street, shadowed dark and foreboding as the sun set pink and gold in the sky behind it. Dean faltered for a moment, his feet stopping abruptly as he started at the church, eyeing it up and down like it was a rather nasty piece and the thought not going near that with a ten foot pole briefly crossed his mind. Dean’s head was tilted to the side, considering his situation. He shook his head clear and focused on the crunch of gavel underneath his boots.
As soon as Dean pushed the doors to the church open, he instantly felt like he didn’t belong. Well, fuck, he knew he didn’t belong. It was a given fact, but just the atmosphere. It didn’t feel right, like walking into a house with a poltergeist without rock salt or a gun. It felt like Dean should’ve been prepared for something, he just didn’t know what.
There were candles lined at the front, all different sizes but flickering and dying at the same rate; Dean could faintly make out a picture of a Renaissance-looking baby Jesus and resisted the natural urge to snort. He found a seat in the back and watched with interest as a woman a couple pews in front of him prayed silently, threading a rosary through her fingers.
A young man in elaborate robes walked down the aisle, holding a basket of cloths and fabrics in his hands. He looked mildly surprised to see Dean sitting the in the pew - they started blankly at each other before the man smiled, warm and welcoming like Dean was an old friend.
Dean had to admit, it unnerved him a little.
“Well, you’re one face I’ve never seen,” the man commented. His teeth flashed brightly against the dull lighting and his dark eyes danced happily.
Dean shrugged. “New in town.” He already felt like he was committing a horrible sin, sitting in that pew and thinking why the hell am I here? He shifted uncomfortably under the man’s stare.
“I always like to see young people in the church.” The man - obviously the priest or father or whatever he was - readjusted his load so it rested evenly on his outstretched arms.
There was an awkward pause in which Dean stared at his feet and the priest stared at Dean and the only sound was the subtle noise of shallow whispers and shuffling feet. The incense was strong and overwhelming, so Dean tried hard not to breathe in through his nose.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your sitting.”
Instinctively, Dean’s hand shot out and grasped loosely onto the priest’s elbow. It wasn’t demanding or rough but it was enough to make the muscles tighten under Dean’s fingers and for the priest to stop. He looked over his shoulder, trying to hide the surprise on his face.
“Actually,” Dean whispered. “Can we talk?”
“Sure,” the priest said, turning back around. “What’s your name?”
Dean stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Dean.”
The priest smiled. “I’m Jordan. Come on.”
-
The room was small, walls lined with books and pictures and Bibles and Latin inscribed into the spines of books in gold that Dean could translate in a heartbeat. The room was made considerably smaller by the boxes and papers and filing cabinets that had been shoved in. Dean tip-toed lightly around the things scattered on the floor and Jordan grinned impishly.
“Sorry about the mess,” Jordan said apologetically, offering Dean a seat. “Christmas is a hectic time at the church.”
Dean sat down, nodding as though he really cared. “So, are you the junior priest here or something?”
Jordan laughed, folding his hands across the desk. “No, I’m the full time priest.”
Dean was about to say how much that would suck, but thought better of it.
“What did you want to talk about, Dean?” Jordan asked, bringing his hands to rest under his chin. His eyes glinted in the faint glow of the candles hanging off the walls and sitting on the desk; Dean wondered if the church had ever heard of electricity.
Dean shrugged. “Just needed someone to listen to me.”
Jordan leaned back in his chair, arms falling open on the chair and his chest spreading out, tight against his pristine white robes. “You can say anything. God isn’t one to judge.”
Dean looked through his eyelashes, up at the roof, and thought otherwise. “I don’t really believe in God.”
Jordan’s head tilted to the side; he studied Dean for a moment. “Even if you don’t believe in him, he’ll still listen.”
“I think God’s given up on me,” Dean said with a dry laugh. “I’ve lied about who I am, telling people that I’m -“ Dean paused, looking at Jordan wearily. “If I tell you these things, you can’t go to the police, can you?” Dean thought about the warrant for his capture all over the FBI database and suddenly felt the excitement of being a fugitive turn into something that started to slowly eat away at his stomach.
Jordan smiled kindly. “No. I’ll pretend as if this never happened.”
Dean sighed. “I’ve told people I’m a cop, or a doctor, of even an agent with the FBI and they all believe me. I’ve used God’s name in vain probably more times than Satan himself, you should see my gun collection and my brother -” Dean laughed dryly: it wasn’t even funny. “God, my brother. The things I’ve done to him. Want to do to him. But it hasn’t happened in a long time.”
“What brought this all on?” Jordan asked slowly. “An act of rebellion?”
Dean looked at Jordan, his eyes misted over and stare blank. “I’ve lived like this for my whole life. My mom died when I was four - I’ve known nothing else but this.”
“I’m sorry,” Jordan murmured, looking away. “It must be hard, losing a parent at such a young age.”
“My dad died a few months ago.” Dean didn’t want to say it, but it just kind of came out before he could stop to think. He didn’t want to talk about it but it seemed like he had waited long enough. Jordan’s head snapped up. “He was the only thing I had left, really. I hadn’t seen him in a year and then we got into an accident…” Dean trailed off, blocking the images of that night out his mind. “He gave up his life for mine.”
“Oh.” Jordan’s hand reached out, resting on top of Dean’s - Dean jumped at the touch, feeling something like a shock of electricity run through his entire body. “Dean, I -”
Dean leaned forward, pushing away books and pencils and papers, crawling up onto the desk to press his lips against Jordan’s. It was messy and rough, tongues sliding over lips in a hot frenzy, but it was enough to keep from Dean breaking completely.
“God, I miss him,” Dean muttered against Jordan’s lips as he pulled away. “And I hate him for leaving me here with this secret, this burden. Some days, I can’t handle it.”
Jordan doesn’t miss a beat and he crushes their lips together, pushing his tongue against Dean’s lips. Dean finds his way over the desk and into Jordan’s lap, his hands running through his short hair, down his back, under his shirt. Jordan was working his way at undoing Dean’s belt.
“And sometimes,” Dean said breathlessly as he watched Jordan unbutton his jeans, pulling the zipper down slowly, “sometimes, I think he’s still here. And sometimes, I get so mad that Sam gets the brunt end of the deal and has to see me snap.”
Jordan looked up at Dean, lips shining slick and wet with spit.
“It scares the shit out of him,” Dean said in small voice, like he almost too afraid of it. “And it scares me too.”
Dean’s jacket slid off as Jordan worked his way out of his robes, leaving him with nothing but a cotton t-shirt that was already sticking to his skin. Dean slowly ran his fingers under the hem and tugged the shirt off; he leaned down to kiss the exposed skin, relishing in the moans that Jordan emitted.
Jordan pushed Dean back, shimmied him out of his pants so they were around his ankles; Dean watched as Jordan took his heavy cock into his hands and started out on a rough jerk.
“Slower,” Dean breathed. His hands fell on Jordan’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. “Like you do at home.”
Jordan nodded, biting his bottom lip obscenely. His thumb flicked across Dean’s head and he added a mean little twist with every jerk which left Dean arching and keening, his hips bucking up with each moan, each breath. Dean thrust down as Jordan pulled up, synchronizing their movements.
“Faster.” Dean changed his mind and Jordan sped up, squeezing tighter and pulling rougher. “God, yes.”
Jordan chuckled, whispering something about you’re not kidding, but Dean doesn’t pay attention. Pushing Dean’s shirt up as far as he could, Jordan kissed and sucked at Dean’s chest, licking at his perked nipples and biting down on the sensitive skin. Dean writhed, moaning deep in the back of his throat.
His thighs clench and he’s coming onto Jordan, hot and messy, just like it started. He chokes down his moan by sucking on Jordan’s lip, rubbing his hips slowly against Jordan’s.
“What do you want?” Dean whispered, holding Jordan’s face between his hands.
Jordan closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “I think you should go.”
Dean blinked, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Right.” He pushed himself off of Jordan’s lap and pulled on his jeans, silently trying not to scream.
“Dean,” Jordan began, reaching out; the perfect image of what he had been before.
Dean moved away from Jordan’s outstretched hand, like he would get burned if he got too close. “No, I understand. People tend to use me anyway.”
“Dean, it wasn’t like that!” Jordan protested, standing.
Dean’s hand was on the doorknob, shrugging his jacket on, when he turned to look at Jordan. His eyes were dull in the moonlight. “You’d better change your pants before God sees,” Dean spat, slamming the door behind him as he left.
Dean walked back down the aisle and the woman with the rosary was still sitting in her pew. Now, she was sitting back, staring lovingly at the cross. “Merry Christmas,” he said in small, sweet voice that caught Dean off guard.
“Yeah, you too,” Dean mumbled. He sprinted out of the church and all the way back to the hotel. He had forgotten it was Christmas Eve.
-
“Dean,” Sam groaned from the bed.
Dean jumped slightly, surprised by the sound of Sam’s voice. “Yeah, Sammy?”
“C’mere,” Sam murmured. Dean heard him shift in the bed, the springs creaking as he moved across the bed. “Sleep with me.”
Unsteadily, Dean got up from his bed and wanders over to Sam’s. He slid in, pulling the covers over himself, resting comfortably into the warmness that Sam’s body had left. Sam instantly snuggled up to him, resting his head beneath Dean’s chin and wrapping his arms lazily around Dean’s waist.
“Haven’t done this in a long time,” Sam muttered sleepily.
Dean watched Sam look up at him through fluttering eyes; Sam smiled warmly before closing his eyes, exhaling across Dean’s chest, hot breath curling across his shirt and seeping into his skin, leaving the rest of him shaking cold.
“Yeah,” Dean said. Sam was already snoring softly, fingers curling into Dean’s shirt, latching on like Dean was going to leave if he didn’t hold on. Dean could never leave. He wouldn’t be able to ever run fast enough or far enough to forget it all.
The clock on the wall ticked, signaling slow and inevitable time for Dean; lights flashed into the window once and awhile as the highway outside their room became busy once again. He watched the shadows dance across the walls, bright boxes of luminous light and he ended up looking away.
Dean pushed himself deeper into the mattress and closer to Sam; wrapping his arms his brother and holding on like he was going to fall if he didn’t. As Sam drifted off into sleep again, Dean pressed his lips to the underside of his chin and whispered, “Forgive me father, for I have sinned…”
-
Prompt: #8 candles (spn_hols
Fandom: Supernatural (Dean/OMC; implied Sam/Dean)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: approx. 2280
Warnings: slash (male/male), implied incest, sexually explicit things
Author’s Notes: so, this was supposed to a study of character and faith for dean, but i had the urge for him to fuck the priest (because in my head, he is incredibly gorgeous) and i think it just works. (i actually named the priest after a guy in my class). also, because mel told me too.
-
He tells Sam he’s going out to get some food and Sam blinked, a little stupefied; he nodded like its normal, even though it wass Christmas Eve and that’s what was bothering him, Dean could tell. He could’ve said anything, like he was going for a walk or heading to the bar, and Sam wouldn’t have thought any different.
Maybe Sam got a little nervous when Dean didn’t grab the keys, but it wasn’t too far to walk to the church anyway and he needed the fresh air.
He had seen it on the way to town and sure, he had seen plenty of church’s in towns. He had pillaged a few in his teenage years for holy water and had snuck into even more to track down some books or even to take down a possessed priest and there was that one time in Utah where he screwed the Sunday School teacher in the back room, but he never really liked to think of that too much. But it was the first time he actually thought about walking in and just staring at the cross. Even though he didn’t believe, sometimes just the idea of God held reassurance for Dean.
It let him now that someone else was holding secrets, too.
The church loomed on the corner of the street, shadowed dark and foreboding as the sun set pink and gold in the sky behind it. Dean faltered for a moment, his feet stopping abruptly as he started at the church, eyeing it up and down like it was a rather nasty piece and the thought not going near that with a ten foot pole briefly crossed his mind. Dean’s head was tilted to the side, considering his situation. He shook his head clear and focused on the crunch of gavel underneath his boots.
As soon as Dean pushed the doors to the church open, he instantly felt like he didn’t belong. Well, fuck, he knew he didn’t belong. It was a given fact, but just the atmosphere. It didn’t feel right, like walking into a house with a poltergeist without rock salt or a gun. It felt like Dean should’ve been prepared for something, he just didn’t know what.
There were candles lined at the front, all different sizes but flickering and dying at the same rate; Dean could faintly make out a picture of a Renaissance-looking baby Jesus and resisted the natural urge to snort. He found a seat in the back and watched with interest as a woman a couple pews in front of him prayed silently, threading a rosary through her fingers.
A young man in elaborate robes walked down the aisle, holding a basket of cloths and fabrics in his hands. He looked mildly surprised to see Dean sitting the in the pew - they started blankly at each other before the man smiled, warm and welcoming like Dean was an old friend.
Dean had to admit, it unnerved him a little.
“Well, you’re one face I’ve never seen,” the man commented. His teeth flashed brightly against the dull lighting and his dark eyes danced happily.
Dean shrugged. “New in town.” He already felt like he was committing a horrible sin, sitting in that pew and thinking why the hell am I here? He shifted uncomfortably under the man’s stare.
“I always like to see young people in the church.” The man - obviously the priest or father or whatever he was - readjusted his load so it rested evenly on his outstretched arms.
There was an awkward pause in which Dean stared at his feet and the priest stared at Dean and the only sound was the subtle noise of shallow whispers and shuffling feet. The incense was strong and overwhelming, so Dean tried hard not to breathe in through his nose.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your sitting.”
Instinctively, Dean’s hand shot out and grasped loosely onto the priest’s elbow. It wasn’t demanding or rough but it was enough to make the muscles tighten under Dean’s fingers and for the priest to stop. He looked over his shoulder, trying to hide the surprise on his face.
“Actually,” Dean whispered. “Can we talk?”
“Sure,” the priest said, turning back around. “What’s your name?”
Dean stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Dean.”
The priest smiled. “I’m Jordan. Come on.”
-
The room was small, walls lined with books and pictures and Bibles and Latin inscribed into the spines of books in gold that Dean could translate in a heartbeat. The room was made considerably smaller by the boxes and papers and filing cabinets that had been shoved in. Dean tip-toed lightly around the things scattered on the floor and Jordan grinned impishly.
“Sorry about the mess,” Jordan said apologetically, offering Dean a seat. “Christmas is a hectic time at the church.”
Dean sat down, nodding as though he really cared. “So, are you the junior priest here or something?”
Jordan laughed, folding his hands across the desk. “No, I’m the full time priest.”
Dean was about to say how much that would suck, but thought better of it.
“What did you want to talk about, Dean?” Jordan asked, bringing his hands to rest under his chin. His eyes glinted in the faint glow of the candles hanging off the walls and sitting on the desk; Dean wondered if the church had ever heard of electricity.
Dean shrugged. “Just needed someone to listen to me.”
Jordan leaned back in his chair, arms falling open on the chair and his chest spreading out, tight against his pristine white robes. “You can say anything. God isn’t one to judge.”
Dean looked through his eyelashes, up at the roof, and thought otherwise. “I don’t really believe in God.”
Jordan’s head tilted to the side; he studied Dean for a moment. “Even if you don’t believe in him, he’ll still listen.”
“I think God’s given up on me,” Dean said with a dry laugh. “I’ve lied about who I am, telling people that I’m -“ Dean paused, looking at Jordan wearily. “If I tell you these things, you can’t go to the police, can you?” Dean thought about the warrant for his capture all over the FBI database and suddenly felt the excitement of being a fugitive turn into something that started to slowly eat away at his stomach.
Jordan smiled kindly. “No. I’ll pretend as if this never happened.”
Dean sighed. “I’ve told people I’m a cop, or a doctor, of even an agent with the FBI and they all believe me. I’ve used God’s name in vain probably more times than Satan himself, you should see my gun collection and my brother -” Dean laughed dryly: it wasn’t even funny. “God, my brother. The things I’ve done to him. Want to do to him. But it hasn’t happened in a long time.”
“What brought this all on?” Jordan asked slowly. “An act of rebellion?”
Dean looked at Jordan, his eyes misted over and stare blank. “I’ve lived like this for my whole life. My mom died when I was four - I’ve known nothing else but this.”
“I’m sorry,” Jordan murmured, looking away. “It must be hard, losing a parent at such a young age.”
“My dad died a few months ago.” Dean didn’t want to say it, but it just kind of came out before he could stop to think. He didn’t want to talk about it but it seemed like he had waited long enough. Jordan’s head snapped up. “He was the only thing I had left, really. I hadn’t seen him in a year and then we got into an accident…” Dean trailed off, blocking the images of that night out his mind. “He gave up his life for mine.”
“Oh.” Jordan’s hand reached out, resting on top of Dean’s - Dean jumped at the touch, feeling something like a shock of electricity run through his entire body. “Dean, I -”
Dean leaned forward, pushing away books and pencils and papers, crawling up onto the desk to press his lips against Jordan’s. It was messy and rough, tongues sliding over lips in a hot frenzy, but it was enough to keep from Dean breaking completely.
“God, I miss him,” Dean muttered against Jordan’s lips as he pulled away. “And I hate him for leaving me here with this secret, this burden. Some days, I can’t handle it.”
Jordan doesn’t miss a beat and he crushes their lips together, pushing his tongue against Dean’s lips. Dean finds his way over the desk and into Jordan’s lap, his hands running through his short hair, down his back, under his shirt. Jordan was working his way at undoing Dean’s belt.
“And sometimes,” Dean said breathlessly as he watched Jordan unbutton his jeans, pulling the zipper down slowly, “sometimes, I think he’s still here. And sometimes, I get so mad that Sam gets the brunt end of the deal and has to see me snap.”
Jordan looked up at Dean, lips shining slick and wet with spit.
“It scares the shit out of him,” Dean said in small voice, like he almost too afraid of it. “And it scares me too.”
Dean’s jacket slid off as Jordan worked his way out of his robes, leaving him with nothing but a cotton t-shirt that was already sticking to his skin. Dean slowly ran his fingers under the hem and tugged the shirt off; he leaned down to kiss the exposed skin, relishing in the moans that Jordan emitted.
Jordan pushed Dean back, shimmied him out of his pants so they were around his ankles; Dean watched as Jordan took his heavy cock into his hands and started out on a rough jerk.
“Slower,” Dean breathed. His hands fell on Jordan’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. “Like you do at home.”
Jordan nodded, biting his bottom lip obscenely. His thumb flicked across Dean’s head and he added a mean little twist with every jerk which left Dean arching and keening, his hips bucking up with each moan, each breath. Dean thrust down as Jordan pulled up, synchronizing their movements.
“Faster.” Dean changed his mind and Jordan sped up, squeezing tighter and pulling rougher. “God, yes.”
Jordan chuckled, whispering something about you’re not kidding, but Dean doesn’t pay attention. Pushing Dean’s shirt up as far as he could, Jordan kissed and sucked at Dean’s chest, licking at his perked nipples and biting down on the sensitive skin. Dean writhed, moaning deep in the back of his throat.
His thighs clench and he’s coming onto Jordan, hot and messy, just like it started. He chokes down his moan by sucking on Jordan’s lip, rubbing his hips slowly against Jordan’s.
“What do you want?” Dean whispered, holding Jordan’s face between his hands.
Jordan closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “I think you should go.”
Dean blinked, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Right.” He pushed himself off of Jordan’s lap and pulled on his jeans, silently trying not to scream.
“Dean,” Jordan began, reaching out; the perfect image of what he had been before.
Dean moved away from Jordan’s outstretched hand, like he would get burned if he got too close. “No, I understand. People tend to use me anyway.”
“Dean, it wasn’t like that!” Jordan protested, standing.
Dean’s hand was on the doorknob, shrugging his jacket on, when he turned to look at Jordan. His eyes were dull in the moonlight. “You’d better change your pants before God sees,” Dean spat, slamming the door behind him as he left.
Dean walked back down the aisle and the woman with the rosary was still sitting in her pew. Now, she was sitting back, staring lovingly at the cross. “Merry Christmas,” he said in small, sweet voice that caught Dean off guard.
“Yeah, you too,” Dean mumbled. He sprinted out of the church and all the way back to the hotel. He had forgotten it was Christmas Eve.
-
“Dean,” Sam groaned from the bed.
Dean jumped slightly, surprised by the sound of Sam’s voice. “Yeah, Sammy?”
“C’mere,” Sam murmured. Dean heard him shift in the bed, the springs creaking as he moved across the bed. “Sleep with me.”
Unsteadily, Dean got up from his bed and wanders over to Sam’s. He slid in, pulling the covers over himself, resting comfortably into the warmness that Sam’s body had left. Sam instantly snuggled up to him, resting his head beneath Dean’s chin and wrapping his arms lazily around Dean’s waist.
“Haven’t done this in a long time,” Sam muttered sleepily.
Dean watched Sam look up at him through fluttering eyes; Sam smiled warmly before closing his eyes, exhaling across Dean’s chest, hot breath curling across his shirt and seeping into his skin, leaving the rest of him shaking cold.
“Yeah,” Dean said. Sam was already snoring softly, fingers curling into Dean’s shirt, latching on like Dean was going to leave if he didn’t hold on. Dean could never leave. He wouldn’t be able to ever run fast enough or far enough to forget it all.
The clock on the wall ticked, signaling slow and inevitable time for Dean; lights flashed into the window once and awhile as the highway outside their room became busy once again. He watched the shadows dance across the walls, bright boxes of luminous light and he ended up looking away.
Dean pushed himself deeper into the mattress and closer to Sam; wrapping his arms his brother and holding on like he was going to fall if he didn’t. As Sam drifted off into sleep again, Dean pressed his lips to the underside of his chin and whispered, “Forgive me father, for I have sinned…”
-