Lucifer
Title: Lucifer
Author: earth_heart
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, mentions of Dean/Lisa
Warning: AU, priest!Castiel, dark!Dean, toys, orgasm denial, blasphemy, dub-con, dirty talk, adultery
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
AN: Do not be fooled by the title. I have spent the past week listening to nothing but Korean pop music, and the song “Lucifer” by SHINEE is now stuck on repeat in my head. If you get the chance, you should really go and listen to it. It’s fucking glorious. Oh, and look up Big Bang too. *flails*
Summary: It’s hard to remember when this turned from something he never wanted to something he craved every waking moment, his skin prickling and crawling with a dark need he didn’t even begin to know how to face.
------
The church is cold, cooled by the slowly-rotating fans overhead and the general size of the room itself, designed specifically to have heat dissipate towards the ceiling while leaving the occupants undisturbed by the stifling summer heat outside. Castiel himself is too hot in his thick robes, his hands shaky as he turns the pages of the large bible until it is open to the section for next week’s service.
A man is sitting in the front right pew, watching him work silently. His green eyes are dark and intense, following every one of the priest’s movements with an undisguised hunger that makes Castiel’s hands shake harder while heat coils, throbbing and unpleasant, through his abdomen; pulsing in his groin.
There is movement and he watches as the man rests his arms on the back of the pew, his lips curling up into a knowing smirk. The priest is quick to look away, turning and moving towards the other side of the pulpit so that he can set that bible to its correct pages as well.
“Forgive me, Father,” Dean says, and there is no shame or repentance in his tone, which curls dark and smoky around Castiel, stroking across his skin and making him shiver harder. The man’s tone is mocking and dark, greedy and demanding as one of his hands slips down. Castiel tenses even before a shudder wracks through him, making him stumble as the toy pressed deep inside of his body clicks on and begins to vibrate.
Castiel falls to his knees, curling his fingers into the dark red carpet. He is kneeling in front of the large cross affixed to the wall before him, his head bowed as though in servitude while his teeth worry at his lower lip, making it swell from abuse until it is soft and puffy.
“Why do you do this?” he whispers even as he grinds down against his own thighs, desperate for some kind of release, for a more intense feeling. It has been only two days since they have done this, and already Castiel feels the need to spread himself before Dean, parting his legs so that he rests between them, his back arching and his head tipped back as he tries not to let any sound escape him. It is when he makes noise that he feels the most shamed. Dean loves his desperate cries and moans; calls him a dirty whore and bends him over the pews, defiles him in the house of the Lord while Castiel tries to pull away, to push closer, to fight what he knows is wrong even as his body craves it.
It’s hard to remember when this turned from something he never wanted to something he craved every waking moment, his skin prickling and crawling with a dark need he didn’t even begin to know how to face. Castiel’s robes feel too heavy against his skin, too thick and oppressive, but he does not move.
He hears when Dean stands, follows the sound of his approaching footsteps without looking up. Hands touch his hair and he moves without being told, settling back further and tilting his head to the side for Dean. Warm, rough fingers brush over his throat, squeezing briefly and making his breath stutter.
“Strip,” Dean commands him, and Castiel cannot deny him. He rises to his feet on legs that are far too shaky; has to hold onto the altar with one hand as he unties his robes and lets them fall around him. The next thing to go is his regular clothing. Castiel removes them without being told to, and when he is naked he turns to face Dean.
“You’re wasted as a priest,” the man chuckles, his eyes dark and kindly cruel as he touches Castiel’s chest; thumbs a nipple and makes the priest shiver. He sees how much Dean enjoys it, watching him squirm and shake apart as his faith and his bodily needs fight one another.
“Why do you do this?” Castiel repeats, his voice quaking and his resolve cracking. It always cracks, because he cannot deny Dean. He can never deny Dean. The anal plug inside of him, as well as the cock ring slowly driving him to agony, is proof of that.
“Because you let me.” Dean’s hands are hard on his flesh, gripping his hips and spinning him around. Castiel has no choice but to lay over the altar, feeling the soft cloth against his skin and wincing as the head of his cock bumps against the edge, smearing a streak of pre-ejaculate across the unsullied purple fabric.
“You defile my church,” he whispers, but he does not stop Dean. He fists his hands in to ceremonial cloth, his left hand nudging up against the polished silver cup they use to carry the wine, and he closes his eyes.
“You defile it too, padre,” the man retorts, and then his fingers are on Castiel’s ass, opening him to rub against the plug inside of the priest, pushing it deeper and turning it this way and that. Castiel chokes on his moans, shoving his face into the altar and closing his eyes tightly. He used to fight this, pushing at Dean and fighting him, but now he lays there and lets it happen.
“Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me.” Hot breath brushes across his ear and he shivers. “C’mon, padre, I know how much you love it. You moan like a slut after cock for it. You love feeling me inside you, fucking you. Look at you, already spreading your legs like a whore.”
Dean slaps him, and the sudden sting sends a jolt of pleasure through Castiel that makes him cry out, his voice echoing through the empty church. He shoves back against Dean, desperate and wanton and hating himself for it. The priest bites his lip when Dean pulls the plug out; whines high in his throat as it is shoved back inside of him, still vibrating and sending pleasure sparking along his sensitive nerves.
“Please,” he whimpers, bowing his head and arching his hips back. “Please stop, Dean. This isn’t you, I know it isn’t.” He doesn’t know why he says it anymore. Dean never stops, and Castiel never wants him to stop. It is pleasure of the worst kind, a sin that Castiel knows he must not indulge, and yet when Dean is around he cannot help himself. His weakness leads him to whimpering when Dean removes the anal plug, his legs spreading when he feels rough denim against the backs of his thighs.
“You know it is, padre,” Dean growls into his ear, the tip of his cock smearing pre-cum across Castiel’s skin before it bumps against his trembling, clenching hole. Castiel has been wearing the plug for almost eight hours, and now he feels empty. He needs to be filled again, and he knows that’s why Dean does it to him. The cock ring has been on for nearly as long, and Castiel is amazed that he has not burst apart from the restrained, burning need that has been pumping through his veins ever since the door opened and Dean walked in.
“No, it isn’t. You are a good man, Dean. You are good and pure. Why do you do this to me, to yourself, to your wife?”
That’s the worst thing of all. Dean is married, has a son, and yet he comes to Castiel instead of going to Lisa. Castiel hates himself for that most of all, that he is the reason a family is being torn apart, even if they don’t realize it.
“That proves that you’re wrong.”
Dean sounds so sure, but beneath his bravado Castiel can hear his bitterness. In the end they aren’t so different, but Castiel, God help him, still cannot find the strength in himself to turn Dean away. He lets the man enter his church every other day and pin him to the altar; obeys his orders to wear whatever it is Dean demands of him without a single protest until the man is standing in front of him.
Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but his words are forced out of his throat in a sharp moan when Dean thrusts into him, stretching his entrance wider than the plug had until he is buried inside of the priest, his hands on either side of Castiel’s shaking body as he pins him with only his hips and his burning eyes.
“Such a cumslut,” Dean snarls against his throat, and Castiel whines; bares his throat to Dean and feels the rough scrape of stubble against his tender, soft flesh. Dean is not wrong, Castiel feels just like a slut right now, unpaid but spreading himself open for Dean and moaning with every rocking thrust. He throws his head back against Dean’s shoulder, his body arching to try and force the man deeper even as his soul shrivels and roils, trying to pull away from their frantic, wild coupling so that he can distance himself. With Dean, though, it is impossible.
“You always fucking take it, Cas. You’ll always take it for me, won’t you?”
“No,” Castiel whines in protest, even as his body lies and he grabs onto the edge of the altar with one hand, dragging the other one down his body to fist his painful erection.
“Liar,” the man chuckles against his throat, his teeth sharp and painful as he bites the priest in punishment. “I feel how tightly your body is gripping me, how you move with me when I pull back. You want me deep inside of you, never leaving. You want me to fuck you like the whore you are, only me. Don’t you?”
He thrusts in, his cock dragging over Castiel’s prostate, and the dark-haired man cries out loudly, unrestrained, his blue eyes glazed over and his mouth wide and wet. He starts to fall apart beneath the stronger man, submitting as he always does, his toes scrabbling across the carpet as he tries to gain leverage to shove himself back.
“Yes, Dean,” the priest moans, his resolve crumbling with his pride as he bucks and arches, whines when he can’t move the right way because of how Dean pins him. “Yes, I want you so badly. I need you to fuck me, please; harder, need it harder.”
Dean pulls out and Castiel doesn’t protest, knowing what is coming next. He turns when Dean rolls him over and wraps his legs around the man’s waist, dragging him back inside of his body and arching his hips so that Dean’s cock will sink deeper, rubbing against where Castiel craves it the most. He moans shamelessly and tilts his head back, hearing a clatter as he knocks the bread plate down.
“Look at you,” he hears, Dean’s voice dark and wrecked. “You don’t even care anymore, you filthy slut. All you care about is your pleasure, isn’t it. Tell me how much you want it, Cas. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” Castiel keens. “I want you, Dean. I need you so much. Please, let me have more.”
No matter how much he fights it, no matter how much he prays for forgiveness and to be absolved of his sins, Castiel always wants it. He will always want Dean, and he will always take everything the man gives him and more. They damn themselves by doing this, defiling Castiel’s church and committing adultery, but Dean still comes back to him. Castiel doesn’t know what he tells Lisa, perhaps she thinks her husband is just working late. Still, every time his name falls from the man’s lips, every time Dean’s dick slips back inside of him to fill him and complete him, Castiel feels a bitter, hated sense of satisfaction that it is him Dean calls for when they are like this.
“Such a good slut,” Dean’s voice purrs in his ear and Castiel nods. He bites his tongue and moans in agreement, his hips bucking frantically when Dean undoes the cock ring and tosses it away. The punch of relief is so great that Castiel babbles nonsensically against Dean’s throat, clinging to him and hiding his shame in the sweaty line of the other man’s jaw.
Something nudges up against his entrance, rubbing over the stretched muscles and vibrating slightly. The priest chokes when he realizes what it is, and doesn’t have time to prepare himself before Dean is nudging the anal plug inside of Castiel along with his dick, stretching him more than he’s ever been stretched before.
“Look at you, Cas. So fucking wanton and needy. You’re sucking it in and me as well. So greedy. Gluttony is a sin, you know.”
Castiel’s entire body goes stiff, arching up, and he howls through his orgasm, feeling it rip out of him from what feels like his very atoms. Dean continues to fuck him through it, his thrusts smooth and deep, and Castiel takes everything he has to give, feeling the way the plug vibrates against his prostate. His body seizes up again in a second, false orgasm, making him whimper in pain and dig his nails into Dean’s back. Luckily they are blunt and clipped short, so there will be no evidence.
There is never any evidence.
Dean stills suddenly, his eyes rolling back in his head and his teeth baring, and then he is coming inside of Castiel, filling him up while the priest moans in delight and milks him for every drop. When Dean is spent he pulls back, a thumb on the anal plug to make it stay in place. Castiel doesn’t realize what he’s doing until after it’s finished and Dean’s cum is trapped inside of his body except for where he can feel it dribbling out around the plug.
“Get dressed,” Dean tells him, stroking Castiel’s sweaty chest and leaning forward to suck on one of his nipples. Castiel whines, over sensitive, his body still tingling and shaking through the after-affects. He gets up and dresses himself though, his head bowed and his gaze averted from Dean’s eyes.
“Tomorrow. Five o’clock.” Dean tilts his head up and Castiel has no choice but to look at him, at his lust-dark eyes and his blown pupils, his hair damp and curling slightly from sweat. He is perfection, beautiful beyond describing, and Castiel wants him so much that he damns himself just for a chance of feeling like Dean is his.
“Yes, Dean,” he whispers, licking his lips.
Dean smirks. “Bring the gag, and the spreader bar. Meet me in the choir loft.”
The priest can do nothing but nod, his blood already singing with excitement even as his mind and his heart rebel against what he is allowing Dean to do to him. Dean does not love him, and Castiel does not even really love Dean. He needs Dean in ways he cannot describe, needs his strength and his cruel affections and his body pinning the priest down and taking him, but he does not love Dean.
It’s better this way, he thinks, only it’s really not because he watches Dean walk away without a backwards glance. He watches Dean leave the church and moves to the window so he can watch him climb into his car and drive away, back to his house and his wife and his son. Dean has a life Castiel never wanted, but still Castiel hates him for what he can give himself, what he can take without care or consequence.
Turning, Castiel returns to the altar and strips away the soiled cloth, carefully not looking at the sweat or cum stains, and takes it to the laundry before laying down a fresh cloth. He picks up the plate he knocked down and sets the bread aside to be given to the birds at a later date. The man goes about the rest of his chores, and when he is finished he kneels in front of his robes, still in a pile on the ground, and picks them up carefully, his blue eyes fixed on the ground so he does not have to look up at the cross.
Dean will return tomorrow. He must make himself ready. Castiel stands and whimpers softly, feeling the plug inside of him vibrating gently. His thighs are slick with his own release and what little of Dean’s that has escaped out of him. Feeling it on his skin makes Castiel close his eyes, his hatred marring his purity; his sins making him dark and sticky with shame and burning want.
“Our Father,” he mumbles softly, the rest of the prayer fading into silence as he walks through the church and out the door, heading for the rectory and his own home.
Dean will come tomorrow, he thinks again. He must prepare himself.
Author: earth_heart
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, mentions of Dean/Lisa
Warning: AU, priest!Castiel, dark!Dean, toys, orgasm denial, blasphemy, dub-con, dirty talk, adultery
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
AN: Do not be fooled by the title. I have spent the past week listening to nothing but Korean pop music, and the song “Lucifer” by SHINEE is now stuck on repeat in my head. If you get the chance, you should really go and listen to it. It’s fucking glorious. Oh, and look up Big Bang too. *flails*
Summary: It’s hard to remember when this turned from something he never wanted to something he craved every waking moment, his skin prickling and crawling with a dark need he didn’t even begin to know how to face.
------
The church is cold, cooled by the slowly-rotating fans overhead and the general size of the room itself, designed specifically to have heat dissipate towards the ceiling while leaving the occupants undisturbed by the stifling summer heat outside. Castiel himself is too hot in his thick robes, his hands shaky as he turns the pages of the large bible until it is open to the section for next week’s service.
A man is sitting in the front right pew, watching him work silently. His green eyes are dark and intense, following every one of the priest’s movements with an undisguised hunger that makes Castiel’s hands shake harder while heat coils, throbbing and unpleasant, through his abdomen; pulsing in his groin.
There is movement and he watches as the man rests his arms on the back of the pew, his lips curling up into a knowing smirk. The priest is quick to look away, turning and moving towards the other side of the pulpit so that he can set that bible to its correct pages as well.
“Forgive me, Father,” Dean says, and there is no shame or repentance in his tone, which curls dark and smoky around Castiel, stroking across his skin and making him shiver harder. The man’s tone is mocking and dark, greedy and demanding as one of his hands slips down. Castiel tenses even before a shudder wracks through him, making him stumble as the toy pressed deep inside of his body clicks on and begins to vibrate.
Castiel falls to his knees, curling his fingers into the dark red carpet. He is kneeling in front of the large cross affixed to the wall before him, his head bowed as though in servitude while his teeth worry at his lower lip, making it swell from abuse until it is soft and puffy.
“Why do you do this?” he whispers even as he grinds down against his own thighs, desperate for some kind of release, for a more intense feeling. It has been only two days since they have done this, and already Castiel feels the need to spread himself before Dean, parting his legs so that he rests between them, his back arching and his head tipped back as he tries not to let any sound escape him. It is when he makes noise that he feels the most shamed. Dean loves his desperate cries and moans; calls him a dirty whore and bends him over the pews, defiles him in the house of the Lord while Castiel tries to pull away, to push closer, to fight what he knows is wrong even as his body craves it.
It’s hard to remember when this turned from something he never wanted to something he craved every waking moment, his skin prickling and crawling with a dark need he didn’t even begin to know how to face. Castiel’s robes feel too heavy against his skin, too thick and oppressive, but he does not move.
He hears when Dean stands, follows the sound of his approaching footsteps without looking up. Hands touch his hair and he moves without being told, settling back further and tilting his head to the side for Dean. Warm, rough fingers brush over his throat, squeezing briefly and making his breath stutter.
“Strip,” Dean commands him, and Castiel cannot deny him. He rises to his feet on legs that are far too shaky; has to hold onto the altar with one hand as he unties his robes and lets them fall around him. The next thing to go is his regular clothing. Castiel removes them without being told to, and when he is naked he turns to face Dean.
“You’re wasted as a priest,” the man chuckles, his eyes dark and kindly cruel as he touches Castiel’s chest; thumbs a nipple and makes the priest shiver. He sees how much Dean enjoys it, watching him squirm and shake apart as his faith and his bodily needs fight one another.
“Why do you do this?” Castiel repeats, his voice quaking and his resolve cracking. It always cracks, because he cannot deny Dean. He can never deny Dean. The anal plug inside of him, as well as the cock ring slowly driving him to agony, is proof of that.
“Because you let me.” Dean’s hands are hard on his flesh, gripping his hips and spinning him around. Castiel has no choice but to lay over the altar, feeling the soft cloth against his skin and wincing as the head of his cock bumps against the edge, smearing a streak of pre-ejaculate across the unsullied purple fabric.
“You defile my church,” he whispers, but he does not stop Dean. He fists his hands in to ceremonial cloth, his left hand nudging up against the polished silver cup they use to carry the wine, and he closes his eyes.
“You defile it too, padre,” the man retorts, and then his fingers are on Castiel’s ass, opening him to rub against the plug inside of the priest, pushing it deeper and turning it this way and that. Castiel chokes on his moans, shoving his face into the altar and closing his eyes tightly. He used to fight this, pushing at Dean and fighting him, but now he lays there and lets it happen.
“Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me.” Hot breath brushes across his ear and he shivers. “C’mon, padre, I know how much you love it. You moan like a slut after cock for it. You love feeling me inside you, fucking you. Look at you, already spreading your legs like a whore.”
Dean slaps him, and the sudden sting sends a jolt of pleasure through Castiel that makes him cry out, his voice echoing through the empty church. He shoves back against Dean, desperate and wanton and hating himself for it. The priest bites his lip when Dean pulls the plug out; whines high in his throat as it is shoved back inside of him, still vibrating and sending pleasure sparking along his sensitive nerves.
“Please,” he whimpers, bowing his head and arching his hips back. “Please stop, Dean. This isn’t you, I know it isn’t.” He doesn’t know why he says it anymore. Dean never stops, and Castiel never wants him to stop. It is pleasure of the worst kind, a sin that Castiel knows he must not indulge, and yet when Dean is around he cannot help himself. His weakness leads him to whimpering when Dean removes the anal plug, his legs spreading when he feels rough denim against the backs of his thighs.
“You know it is, padre,” Dean growls into his ear, the tip of his cock smearing pre-cum across Castiel’s skin before it bumps against his trembling, clenching hole. Castiel has been wearing the plug for almost eight hours, and now he feels empty. He needs to be filled again, and he knows that’s why Dean does it to him. The cock ring has been on for nearly as long, and Castiel is amazed that he has not burst apart from the restrained, burning need that has been pumping through his veins ever since the door opened and Dean walked in.
“No, it isn’t. You are a good man, Dean. You are good and pure. Why do you do this to me, to yourself, to your wife?”
That’s the worst thing of all. Dean is married, has a son, and yet he comes to Castiel instead of going to Lisa. Castiel hates himself for that most of all, that he is the reason a family is being torn apart, even if they don’t realize it.
“That proves that you’re wrong.”
Dean sounds so sure, but beneath his bravado Castiel can hear his bitterness. In the end they aren’t so different, but Castiel, God help him, still cannot find the strength in himself to turn Dean away. He lets the man enter his church every other day and pin him to the altar; obeys his orders to wear whatever it is Dean demands of him without a single protest until the man is standing in front of him.
Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but his words are forced out of his throat in a sharp moan when Dean thrusts into him, stretching his entrance wider than the plug had until he is buried inside of the priest, his hands on either side of Castiel’s shaking body as he pins him with only his hips and his burning eyes.
“Such a cumslut,” Dean snarls against his throat, and Castiel whines; bares his throat to Dean and feels the rough scrape of stubble against his tender, soft flesh. Dean is not wrong, Castiel feels just like a slut right now, unpaid but spreading himself open for Dean and moaning with every rocking thrust. He throws his head back against Dean’s shoulder, his body arching to try and force the man deeper even as his soul shrivels and roils, trying to pull away from their frantic, wild coupling so that he can distance himself. With Dean, though, it is impossible.
“You always fucking take it, Cas. You’ll always take it for me, won’t you?”
“No,” Castiel whines in protest, even as his body lies and he grabs onto the edge of the altar with one hand, dragging the other one down his body to fist his painful erection.
“Liar,” the man chuckles against his throat, his teeth sharp and painful as he bites the priest in punishment. “I feel how tightly your body is gripping me, how you move with me when I pull back. You want me deep inside of you, never leaving. You want me to fuck you like the whore you are, only me. Don’t you?”
He thrusts in, his cock dragging over Castiel’s prostate, and the dark-haired man cries out loudly, unrestrained, his blue eyes glazed over and his mouth wide and wet. He starts to fall apart beneath the stronger man, submitting as he always does, his toes scrabbling across the carpet as he tries to gain leverage to shove himself back.
“Yes, Dean,” the priest moans, his resolve crumbling with his pride as he bucks and arches, whines when he can’t move the right way because of how Dean pins him. “Yes, I want you so badly. I need you to fuck me, please; harder, need it harder.”
Dean pulls out and Castiel doesn’t protest, knowing what is coming next. He turns when Dean rolls him over and wraps his legs around the man’s waist, dragging him back inside of his body and arching his hips so that Dean’s cock will sink deeper, rubbing against where Castiel craves it the most. He moans shamelessly and tilts his head back, hearing a clatter as he knocks the bread plate down.
“Look at you,” he hears, Dean’s voice dark and wrecked. “You don’t even care anymore, you filthy slut. All you care about is your pleasure, isn’t it. Tell me how much you want it, Cas. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” Castiel keens. “I want you, Dean. I need you so much. Please, let me have more.”
No matter how much he fights it, no matter how much he prays for forgiveness and to be absolved of his sins, Castiel always wants it. He will always want Dean, and he will always take everything the man gives him and more. They damn themselves by doing this, defiling Castiel’s church and committing adultery, but Dean still comes back to him. Castiel doesn’t know what he tells Lisa, perhaps she thinks her husband is just working late. Still, every time his name falls from the man’s lips, every time Dean’s dick slips back inside of him to fill him and complete him, Castiel feels a bitter, hated sense of satisfaction that it is him Dean calls for when they are like this.
“Such a good slut,” Dean’s voice purrs in his ear and Castiel nods. He bites his tongue and moans in agreement, his hips bucking frantically when Dean undoes the cock ring and tosses it away. The punch of relief is so great that Castiel babbles nonsensically against Dean’s throat, clinging to him and hiding his shame in the sweaty line of the other man’s jaw.
Something nudges up against his entrance, rubbing over the stretched muscles and vibrating slightly. The priest chokes when he realizes what it is, and doesn’t have time to prepare himself before Dean is nudging the anal plug inside of Castiel along with his dick, stretching him more than he’s ever been stretched before.
“Look at you, Cas. So fucking wanton and needy. You’re sucking it in and me as well. So greedy. Gluttony is a sin, you know.”
Castiel’s entire body goes stiff, arching up, and he howls through his orgasm, feeling it rip out of him from what feels like his very atoms. Dean continues to fuck him through it, his thrusts smooth and deep, and Castiel takes everything he has to give, feeling the way the plug vibrates against his prostate. His body seizes up again in a second, false orgasm, making him whimper in pain and dig his nails into Dean’s back. Luckily they are blunt and clipped short, so there will be no evidence.
There is never any evidence.
Dean stills suddenly, his eyes rolling back in his head and his teeth baring, and then he is coming inside of Castiel, filling him up while the priest moans in delight and milks him for every drop. When Dean is spent he pulls back, a thumb on the anal plug to make it stay in place. Castiel doesn’t realize what he’s doing until after it’s finished and Dean’s cum is trapped inside of his body except for where he can feel it dribbling out around the plug.
“Get dressed,” Dean tells him, stroking Castiel’s sweaty chest and leaning forward to suck on one of his nipples. Castiel whines, over sensitive, his body still tingling and shaking through the after-affects. He gets up and dresses himself though, his head bowed and his gaze averted from Dean’s eyes.
“Tomorrow. Five o’clock.” Dean tilts his head up and Castiel has no choice but to look at him, at his lust-dark eyes and his blown pupils, his hair damp and curling slightly from sweat. He is perfection, beautiful beyond describing, and Castiel wants him so much that he damns himself just for a chance of feeling like Dean is his.
“Yes, Dean,” he whispers, licking his lips.
Dean smirks. “Bring the gag, and the spreader bar. Meet me in the choir loft.”
The priest can do nothing but nod, his blood already singing with excitement even as his mind and his heart rebel against what he is allowing Dean to do to him. Dean does not love him, and Castiel does not even really love Dean. He needs Dean in ways he cannot describe, needs his strength and his cruel affections and his body pinning the priest down and taking him, but he does not love Dean.
It’s better this way, he thinks, only it’s really not because he watches Dean walk away without a backwards glance. He watches Dean leave the church and moves to the window so he can watch him climb into his car and drive away, back to his house and his wife and his son. Dean has a life Castiel never wanted, but still Castiel hates him for what he can give himself, what he can take without care or consequence.
Turning, Castiel returns to the altar and strips away the soiled cloth, carefully not looking at the sweat or cum stains, and takes it to the laundry before laying down a fresh cloth. He picks up the plate he knocked down and sets the bread aside to be given to the birds at a later date. The man goes about the rest of his chores, and when he is finished he kneels in front of his robes, still in a pile on the ground, and picks them up carefully, his blue eyes fixed on the ground so he does not have to look up at the cross.
Dean will return tomorrow. He must make himself ready. Castiel stands and whimpers softly, feeling the plug inside of him vibrating gently. His thighs are slick with his own release and what little of Dean’s that has escaped out of him. Feeling it on his skin makes Castiel close his eyes, his hatred marring his purity; his sins making him dark and sticky with shame and burning want.
“Our Father,” he mumbles softly, the rest of the prayer fading into silence as he walks through the church and out the door, heading for the rectory and his own home.
Dean will come tomorrow, he thinks again. He must prepare himself.