Fic: Holier Than That
Title: Holier Than That
Rating: NC-17.
Genre: Dub con.
Fandoms: Supernatural, My Bloody Valentine.
Pairing(s): Tom Hanniger/Castiel (Dean/Castiel).
Word Count: 2066.
Warnings: Sex, dub con, priest kink, bloodplay, barebacking, minor violence, facial, mention of murders.
Summary: Castiel always waits to hear Tom's confession. He would save him.
Note: I wrote this in a forest and it is filthy. I apologize. Oh, and I subscribe to the theory of Tom being what Dean becomes.
~
His voice was still the same. But Castiel had already known who it was, he always knew it was him, could tell it was him from only the sound of his breathing through the grating that separated them in the confessional.
“I killed her. The pretty girl who came into town a week ago.” Tom was not repentant. “They’ll find her guts in the woods tomorrow morning when someone takes their dog for a walk.”
“You must stop this, my son. You must find your way back to the Lord.” Castiel had heard it before, but each week he tried again to save him, his faith never wavering in what Tom could be again.
Tom was leaning in close to the grate. “You know, I can smell you, Father. Do you really think you can hide from me?” Castiel could hear him inhaling, see the silhouette of his face shifting and changing.
“Seek salvation. Seek forgiveness.” Castiel’s voice didn’t quiver anymore. It was his responsibility to do this, to save him. He’d done it once all those years ago, he could do it again. He would never give up, not when he should’ve prevented this from happening I’m the first place. He was the only one left who could still try to save him.
Tom Hanniger didn’t know who he was. He only knew him as the priest that waited for his confession when no one else was around. He had no desire to be absolved of his sins, but he enjoyed the rush of telling the priest. This priest, he noticed, would never tell him to leave, if fact, he’d beg him to stay. He hadn’t seen the holy man’s face, but he was going to something about that. “Why’s it always you, Father? Got a little crush on the sinner?”
“Everyone deserves God’s love, my son.” Castiel had been caught off guard this time. Tom had probably come to him over a hundred times, and never once had he questioned Castiel, too absorbed by the gruesome need to explain details of his slaughter-which he had been less expressive of this time. Especially you, he had to refrain from adding.
Tom laughed-it was a cruel, hollow sound, so unlike his Dean it pained him to hear it. “So, Father, how am I worthy of God’s love?” He moved forward, lips against the grating. “It seems like you have a vested interest in saving me,” he chuckled and Castiel could feel the heat of his breath come through.
The angel-which he still was, despite everything-stayed quiet. Tom grinned, he could almost see it now. His eyes fluttered closed and he tried to remember Dean.
When he opened them again, Tom was gone. His sigh seemed to him much louder in the silence of the confessional. This change…maybe it was a good thing.
The door flung open and Tom stared down at his priest. The look was almost that of familiarity, but Castiel was unsure if he recognized him-or if that would be for the better or worse.
What Tom saw was a disheveled priest, something to corrupt. There was some distant memory of having seen him before, but he chose to ignore the feelings that accompanied it as he climbed into the booth, his back brushing against the grating as he straddled the man. The door closed behind him and he pulled the lighter from his pocket. It ignited and he held it close to the priest’s face, glinting off dark blue eyes. “You’re awfully pretty for a holy man, aren’t you, Father?” He ground himself into the priest’s lap, thighs holding his legs still.
Castiel tried to look away, but Tom’s hand came up to grip his face roughly, so much more than human strength behind it. The lighter was close, hot next to his face. He didn’t struggle, but he kept his eyes fixed on the darkness in the corner of the booth. Tom’s cheek pressed against his as he hissed in his ear, “What’s wrong, Father?” He rubbed himself against him harder, feeling an unconscious response from the holy man’s body, which made him all too happy.
Hesitating, Castiel responded, “Let me save you. Please.”
“I’ve always wanted one of you religious folks to beg for me.” Castiel caught his sinister smile before the lighter flicked shut. He couldn’t see him now, but his breath was so impossibly warm against his neck, over the priest collar he wore as if he had earned it. Tom cupped the priest’s-he should know better-face, held it close to his. He breathed in, “You smell different, Father. You smell sweet and-” As Castiel’s human eyes adjusted, he could make out Tom shaking his head, could feel him moving, Tom exhaled, “Unearthly.”
He gasped as one Tom’s hands slid down his chest, the other gripped his chin so they were eye to eye. Castiel hadn’t wanted to show any reaction, to act so goddamn human when he wasn’t. He wouldn’t fight though. He couldn’t, not this time. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t want to. If this is how his end would come, he deserved it. “Why?” he managed, as Tom’s fingers found their way up his shirt, cold against his stomach.
“Because, Father,” his fingers walked up Castiel’s ribcage, “taking away your fucking faith makes me want it so much more.” He crushed his mouth to Castiel’s forcefully, his hand pressing the other man’s jaw open, allowing his tongue to plunge into his mouth, to taste the unnaturally foreign flavor of sky and clouds and something so heavenly. His hand retracted from the priest’s abdomen, ripping open his belt and fly. He bit Castiel’s lower lip, then his chin and jaw, as he pulled one of the hands that lay limp on either side of him and shoved it down his jeans. “Feel it?” he growled into Castiel’s jaw. “I can feel you.” His teeth scraped down to the collar and dug into it, biting down hard.
Castiel stayed silent until Tom became more insistent, pulling at the hem of his pants. “Yes,” he whispered, hating himself. “You remind me of someone I knew a very long time ago. Someone I-” He stopped because suddenly Tom had stilled on top of him.
“What, Father?” he prompted, lips brushing against Castiel’s cheek as he spoke. “Someone you…? Loved?” He chuckled, “I’m not him.”
“Someone I lost,” Castiel finished, attempting to deny the truth in a killer’s words. “Someone I’m trying to find.” He gritted it out through his teeth as Tom’s hips moved, causing friction against the erection he wished he didn’t have-that he wished Tom hadn’t caused. Instinctively, his own attempted to respond. Tom had, in that sense, the same effect on him that Dean did, but his righteous man had been gone a very long time, had broken and rebuilt and now was nothing like he used to be. He’d left himself a blank slate to be twisted and changed, corrupt and hungry for something to fill the void.
Castiel’s hand still rested against his cock, unmoving. “What’s the matter, Father, don’t know what to do with it?” He pulled his dick free and Castiel tried to bring his hand back to his side. Tom stopped him, taking Castiel’s hand in his own and stroking himself with it. His ass rubbed down against the priest’s erection. “Like it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Castiel said again, his voice even and unfeeling. Tom kissed him-if it could be called that-and Castiel swallowed down his laughter. He used the borrowed hand to work himself faster, groaning into the priest’s mouth and Castiel eagerly took it from him.
“Wanna fuck you,” Tom growled, ripping both hands from his dick as he stood up in the small booth. He pushed Castiel’s cheek and chest against the wall.
“I want you to,” he whispered angrily. “And I will still be here, to be the one that saves you.” The man yanked down his pants, tearing them as he leaned digests to push them down his thighs and calves with so little room to spare.
Tom pushed his knee into the back of Castiel’s forcing him to half-kneel on the wooden bench, exposing and angling him to Tom’s advantage. He spat into his hand and rubbed it onto his cock, “Don’t delude yourself, Cas.” His breath hitched at the sound of that voice saying his name-his all-too-familiar nickname that the same voice had given him so many years ago-after so long, then fingers dug into his hips and Tom rammed himself into his warm body. “You’re even holier than I first thought,” he murmured, hips moving fast and hard.
The painful burning and the overwhelming fullness meant nothing when hope was swelling so large in his chest. “Dean,” he gasped, only to have his face shoved further into the wall, on the verge of cracking and breaking the wood.
“Like I told you before, angel, I’m not him,” he shoved himself in deeper than either of them had thought possible, even Tom’s breath halted at the sensation of being so fucking far inside the faux priest. Castiel nearly choked.
“Dean,” Castiel said again, more certain than before, pressing back against Tom’s continued thrusts.
Tom covered Castiel’s mouth with his hand, “No.” He pulled his dick almost all the way out and slammed back into him again, hitting that special place that made Castiel’s teeth sink into his hand hard enough to draw blood and the thick, copper flavor seeped into his mouth, tainting his lips and teeth and tongue. “Jesus, Cas, I’ll never understand why he never fucked the shit out of you.” He felt for Cas’s dick and gave it a quick stroke, “You could’ve fucked him, you know.” He paused, fingertips teasing the sensitive head of Cas’s cock. “When I saw you, I wondered if I knew you,” he chuckled and thrust his hips back up into his ass, Castiel’s noises muffled by his stinging fingers. “And I don’t.” He undulated his hips, angling his dick to hit Castiel’s prostate. “He did.”
The angel in a priest’s disguise bit down harder, blood flooding his senses. This only caused Tom to fuck him faster, heat coiling in his belly, growing in him. He will have ruined one of the few remnants of Dean’s life. “Fuck,” he exhaled, hands shooting to Castiel’s sides, holding him down on his dick as he got closer and closer.
Castiel whimpered, spitting out the blood, “Dean.”
“Never fucking give up, do you?” He groaned, eyes closing as he reached the brink of orgasm. “Castiel,” he gritted out, hips pivoting, coming in Cas, filling him up.
He pulled out, smearing the hot, sticky mess down Castiel’s thigh. Grabbing his shoulder, he forced him to turn around. Tom dropped down to his knees, spreading his thighs to fit in the cramped space of the confessional. He engulfed Castiel’s cock with his mouth, tongue flicking the tip before he began bobbing his head back and forth.
Against his will, Castiel’s hips rocked forward towards the warm wetness surrounding his dick, rutting quickly against Tom’s mouth as one of the man’s hands cupped his balls, rolling them, his other working the shaft with along with his mouth.
Castiel was close, fingers curling into fists at his sides, back resting against the wood. His muscles tensed and Tom took his mouth off, fist continuing to jerk Castiel’s cock towards him as fast as he could. The angel was silent as he came, his head bashing against the wall behind him, cracking it, as he shot on Tom’s face, covering it with white across lips and chin and cheeks.
Tom let go and stood up, licking his lips and around his mouth. He wiped his hand over his face and proceeded to lick it clean. He tucked himself in, redoing his jeans and belt.
Castiel stood there, still, watching Tom’s every movement, his body a mess and his face slick with blood. His eyes followed Tom as he opened the door. “He’s gone. You gotta learn to love me, Padre,” he winked and clicked his tongue, turning away to leave.
“After everything I’ve done, I’ll never give up on him,” he inhaled sharply, “on you.” He looked like a wreck.
Tom smirked, “See you later, Cas.”