spn fic: "gloria fratri" (NC17, Sam/demon!Dean)
title: Gloria Fratri
author: fannishliss
rating: Explicit
pairing: Sam/Dean (wincest)
1252 words
spoilers: none, takes place after the s9 finale, speculation only
warning: this story mingles the sacred and the profane, possibly shocking to someone religious. No offense is intended.
Thanks very much to runedgirl, who prompted “Demon!Dean/Sam, tempting”
series: Vatican Cameos. This story takes place in the same world as “The Greatest of These” - but whereas that was mostly theology, this is all pr0n. :D
======
The Vatican, thronged with pilgrims from around the world by day, was eerily quiet by night. Dean’s footsteps echoed softly, swallowed up by the vast and lofty corridors of stone. Long past midnight, Dean found Sam kneeling in a quiet chapel, praying.
“Kyrie eleison, Lord have mercy on me, a sinner,” Sam intoned as he knelt. “Christe eleison, Christ have mercy on me, a sinner. Lord God, Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. Sri Krishna saranam mama, Sri Krishna saranam mama. As I will, so mote it be. Om mani padme hum. Om, shanti, shanti, shanti. Omm.”
Dean scoffed silently at the random mixture of different faiths Sam was invoking, but at the same time his demonic nature stirred uncomfortably at Sam’s underlying faith and belief. Since Dean had been transformed by the Mark of Cain, he could perceive his soul in its rage or slumber, as it lusted or ached, shuddered or shrieked, a nearly unstoppable force that drove his conscious self before its whims and delights. Without Sam’s blood - purified by prayer and penitence - Dean felt no impulse to resist the hellish urgings the Mark worked upon his spirit and mind.
Even now, after Dean had murdered Crowley at Sam’s behest, and Sam had given vial after vial of his own blood to drag Dean back from wretched oblivion - even now, when Dean laid eyes on Sam, the line of his neck bent in penitence and supplication - Dean felt an urge to kneel down next to Sam - but he didn’t mean to join him in prayer. The temptation of Sam - the beloved little brother - all unawares, deep in prayer most likely for Dean’s own benefit - it was too much to resist. Sam was tempting, and Dean could no longer deny what he wanted.
Dean’s sullied soul rose up inside him like a serpent, scenting the heat of a victim. He paced forward silently, down the carpeted aisle, and as Sam knelt, deep in prayer, Dean dropped, draping himself like a blanket over Sam’s back, biting onto the tempting spot where Sam’s broad shoulder sloped up to his neck, and there Dean latched on, sucking a mark, dizzy with longing for his brother’s blood, however he could get it.
“Dean!” Sam cried out, arching back into Dean’s hold. His prayers made him sluggish, Dean thought- drowning himself in so much penitence, making himself an instrument of peace: Sam was a lamb and Dean the blade of slaughter.
“Dean,” Sam moaned, quivering in Dean’s hold, unsure but unresisting. Dean’s arms around him only tightened.
“How much do you love me, Sammy, huh?” Dean quizzed. His hands roamed knowingly across Sam’s body, his left hand pinching a nipple through Sam’s shirt, his right hand tracing a path down Sam’s belly, toying at the waistband of Sam’s jeans.
“You love me, yeah? little brother?” Dean demanded, tickling lower, thrilling at the shiver of Sam’s belly under his hand.
“Yes, Dean, god, I love you, so much,” Sam confessed, on his knees, his deepest, most heartfelt confession.
“I know you do, Sammy, I just, I need to feel it,” Dean whined. His hand, the hand that ached for the blade, unbuttoned Sam’s jeans and dove down to wrap around Sam’s cock, squeezing as Sam got harder.
“Oh, oh Dean,” Sam moaned, as Dean touched him, pumping slow and gentle, sucking a bruise on the side of his neck where everyone would see.
“You love it,” Dean murmured, “you love my hand on your dick,” he accused.
“Nnn,” Sam moaned, unable, unwilling to say yes or no, but his hips thrust forward into Dean’s grip.
“God, Sammy,” Dean panted. His left hand came up, thrusting into Sam’s mouth.
“Get my fingers good and wet for you, Sam,” Dean ordered. Sam’s soft mouth, his sloppy tongue as he laved Dean’s fingers, made Dean harder than steel. His left hand pushed Sam’s jeans further down, pushing roughly against his hole. Dean’s harsh touch made Sam moan, but this was by no means Sam’s first time taking Dean at the demon’s whim.
Dean’s fingers slipped inside, first one, then two, opening Sam up just enough. Dean rutted against Sam’s hole with his dick, spilling a little, easing the way as he pushed inside, and Sam bore down, pushed back, and took him in.
The demon in Dean burned to feel such love, self-sacrificial, all-accepting love - carnal though it was, Sam knew how Dean needed him, would deny him nothing.
“Sammy, you love it,” he grunted, fucking deeper, forcing his brother back onto his dick.
“Love you, Dean, love you,” Sam chanted, “I love you so much.”
Sam was like a honey trap, innocence and beauty and love, pulling at the demon in Dean, until Dean was caught against Sam every time in this ancient dance - the demon’s depravity sanctified by Sam’s pure intent, his holy mission: to save Dean no matter what, by whatever means necessary.
The holy love radiating out of Sam’s soul burned the demon, drove it back, until it was Dean and not the demon, fucking his brother, pressing his mouth against Sam’s neck, marking it up where anyone could see, crying out in agony and bliss, pure tears of helpless love trickling down from crystalline green eyes.
“Dean, Dean, I love you, I’m gonna - I’m gonna -“ Sam groaned, and Dean thrust harder, faster, jacking Sam relentlessly.
“Give it to me, Sam, give it up, you know I need it,” Dean whined.
“Dean!” Sam grunted as he came, spasming hard on Dean’s dick, spilling his seed hot and thick in Dean’s hand. Dean brought it round and licked his hand clean, and it burned with holiness, hurting the demon, but oh so good. Dean felt Sam burning inside him, all around him, Sam’s love radiating through him like fire, and Dean thrust twice more, burying himself as deep as he could get, letting go inside Sam, surrendering, healing a little more the closer they fit together.
Sam hissed in discomfort as Dean pulled out.
“Sorry,” Dean muttered, trying to help Sam back into his jeans, Dean’s mess dripping out of his ass. Human feelings rose up in him - regret that he had been so ungentle, shame that he brought Sam down to the demon’s lust.
“No,” Sam said, turning to face Dean. His face was calm and resolute, the face of a righteous man, wholly purged of sin - the face of the man who would save Dean, now that Dean couldn’t hope to save himself. “Whatever helps you, Dean - I’m ready and willing. Nothing held back. Do you hear me, Dean? I will do whatever it takes to bring the real you back for good.”
Dean couldn’t speak in the face of such devotion. He just lay his face against Sam’s neck and gently kissed the harsh mark he’d made.
“Thanks, Sammy,” he whispered.
“You need the blood, do you think? Or,” Sam blushed, eyes darting to Dean’s hand where he’d sucked away Sam’s jizz.
“Naw, I’m good,” Dean grinned.
“You will be,” Sammy said, “if I have anything to do with it.”
The demon inside him barely breathed. It was still there, but dormant for a while. Sam’s faith and love had driven it back. Time for Dean to have a little faith of his own, trust in his brother, trust in the love that had always borne him up.
AS it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen, Amen.
author: fannishliss
rating: Explicit
pairing: Sam/Dean (wincest)
1252 words
spoilers: none, takes place after the s9 finale, speculation only
warning: this story mingles the sacred and the profane, possibly shocking to someone religious. No offense is intended.
Thanks very much to runedgirl, who prompted “Demon!Dean/Sam, tempting”
series: Vatican Cameos. This story takes place in the same world as “The Greatest of These” - but whereas that was mostly theology, this is all pr0n. :D
======
The Vatican, thronged with pilgrims from around the world by day, was eerily quiet by night. Dean’s footsteps echoed softly, swallowed up by the vast and lofty corridors of stone. Long past midnight, Dean found Sam kneeling in a quiet chapel, praying.
“Kyrie eleison, Lord have mercy on me, a sinner,” Sam intoned as he knelt. “Christe eleison, Christ have mercy on me, a sinner. Lord God, Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. Sri Krishna saranam mama, Sri Krishna saranam mama. As I will, so mote it be. Om mani padme hum. Om, shanti, shanti, shanti. Omm.”
Dean scoffed silently at the random mixture of different faiths Sam was invoking, but at the same time his demonic nature stirred uncomfortably at Sam’s underlying faith and belief. Since Dean had been transformed by the Mark of Cain, he could perceive his soul in its rage or slumber, as it lusted or ached, shuddered or shrieked, a nearly unstoppable force that drove his conscious self before its whims and delights. Without Sam’s blood - purified by prayer and penitence - Dean felt no impulse to resist the hellish urgings the Mark worked upon his spirit and mind.
Even now, after Dean had murdered Crowley at Sam’s behest, and Sam had given vial after vial of his own blood to drag Dean back from wretched oblivion - even now, when Dean laid eyes on Sam, the line of his neck bent in penitence and supplication - Dean felt an urge to kneel down next to Sam - but he didn’t mean to join him in prayer. The temptation of Sam - the beloved little brother - all unawares, deep in prayer most likely for Dean’s own benefit - it was too much to resist. Sam was tempting, and Dean could no longer deny what he wanted.
Dean’s sullied soul rose up inside him like a serpent, scenting the heat of a victim. He paced forward silently, down the carpeted aisle, and as Sam knelt, deep in prayer, Dean dropped, draping himself like a blanket over Sam’s back, biting onto the tempting spot where Sam’s broad shoulder sloped up to his neck, and there Dean latched on, sucking a mark, dizzy with longing for his brother’s blood, however he could get it.
“Dean!” Sam cried out, arching back into Dean’s hold. His prayers made him sluggish, Dean thought- drowning himself in so much penitence, making himself an instrument of peace: Sam was a lamb and Dean the blade of slaughter.
“Dean,” Sam moaned, quivering in Dean’s hold, unsure but unresisting. Dean’s arms around him only tightened.
“How much do you love me, Sammy, huh?” Dean quizzed. His hands roamed knowingly across Sam’s body, his left hand pinching a nipple through Sam’s shirt, his right hand tracing a path down Sam’s belly, toying at the waistband of Sam’s jeans.
“You love me, yeah? little brother?” Dean demanded, tickling lower, thrilling at the shiver of Sam’s belly under his hand.
“Yes, Dean, god, I love you, so much,” Sam confessed, on his knees, his deepest, most heartfelt confession.
“I know you do, Sammy, I just, I need to feel it,” Dean whined. His hand, the hand that ached for the blade, unbuttoned Sam’s jeans and dove down to wrap around Sam’s cock, squeezing as Sam got harder.
“Oh, oh Dean,” Sam moaned, as Dean touched him, pumping slow and gentle, sucking a bruise on the side of his neck where everyone would see.
“You love it,” Dean murmured, “you love my hand on your dick,” he accused.
“Nnn,” Sam moaned, unable, unwilling to say yes or no, but his hips thrust forward into Dean’s grip.
“God, Sammy,” Dean panted. His left hand came up, thrusting into Sam’s mouth.
“Get my fingers good and wet for you, Sam,” Dean ordered. Sam’s soft mouth, his sloppy tongue as he laved Dean’s fingers, made Dean harder than steel. His left hand pushed Sam’s jeans further down, pushing roughly against his hole. Dean’s harsh touch made Sam moan, but this was by no means Sam’s first time taking Dean at the demon’s whim.
Dean’s fingers slipped inside, first one, then two, opening Sam up just enough. Dean rutted against Sam’s hole with his dick, spilling a little, easing the way as he pushed inside, and Sam bore down, pushed back, and took him in.
The demon in Dean burned to feel such love, self-sacrificial, all-accepting love - carnal though it was, Sam knew how Dean needed him, would deny him nothing.
“Sammy, you love it,” he grunted, fucking deeper, forcing his brother back onto his dick.
“Love you, Dean, love you,” Sam chanted, “I love you so much.”
Sam was like a honey trap, innocence and beauty and love, pulling at the demon in Dean, until Dean was caught against Sam every time in this ancient dance - the demon’s depravity sanctified by Sam’s pure intent, his holy mission: to save Dean no matter what, by whatever means necessary.
The holy love radiating out of Sam’s soul burned the demon, drove it back, until it was Dean and not the demon, fucking his brother, pressing his mouth against Sam’s neck, marking it up where anyone could see, crying out in agony and bliss, pure tears of helpless love trickling down from crystalline green eyes.
“Dean, Dean, I love you, I’m gonna - I’m gonna -“ Sam groaned, and Dean thrust harder, faster, jacking Sam relentlessly.
“Give it to me, Sam, give it up, you know I need it,” Dean whined.
“Dean!” Sam grunted as he came, spasming hard on Dean’s dick, spilling his seed hot and thick in Dean’s hand. Dean brought it round and licked his hand clean, and it burned with holiness, hurting the demon, but oh so good. Dean felt Sam burning inside him, all around him, Sam’s love radiating through him like fire, and Dean thrust twice more, burying himself as deep as he could get, letting go inside Sam, surrendering, healing a little more the closer they fit together.
Sam hissed in discomfort as Dean pulled out.
“Sorry,” Dean muttered, trying to help Sam back into his jeans, Dean’s mess dripping out of his ass. Human feelings rose up in him - regret that he had been so ungentle, shame that he brought Sam down to the demon’s lust.
“No,” Sam said, turning to face Dean. His face was calm and resolute, the face of a righteous man, wholly purged of sin - the face of the man who would save Dean, now that Dean couldn’t hope to save himself. “Whatever helps you, Dean - I’m ready and willing. Nothing held back. Do you hear me, Dean? I will do whatever it takes to bring the real you back for good.”
Dean couldn’t speak in the face of such devotion. He just lay his face against Sam’s neck and gently kissed the harsh mark he’d made.
“Thanks, Sammy,” he whispered.
“You need the blood, do you think? Or,” Sam blushed, eyes darting to Dean’s hand where he’d sucked away Sam’s jizz.
“Naw, I’m good,” Dean grinned.
“You will be,” Sammy said, “if I have anything to do with it.”
The demon inside him barely breathed. It was still there, but dormant for a while. Sam’s faith and love had driven it back. Time for Dean to have a little faith of his own, trust in his brother, trust in the love that had always borne him up.
AS it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen, Amen.