To Salt the Flame, Part Three, SPN/Leverage, NC-17
Fandom: Leverage/Supernatural
Title: To Salt the Flame, Part Three( Part One here & Part Two)
Pairing/Characters: Eliot Spencer/ Father John Winchester
Word Count: 1172
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Pre-Series for Leverage, AU pre-series for SPN. John Winchester lost everything, and surrendered all that was left into the church that saved him. He became a priest who served his God in the traditional ways, as well as a few less traditional ways. Eliot Spencer is a young man restless and on the move, trying to outrun his past and chasing a life of painful destruction toward his future. When the two collide one stormy night, it leaves a mark...on both of them. This follows directly after the second part. John attempts to pray his way past what happened with Eliot, but Eliot's unexpected arrival at the church changes that, and him.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for ziplockeddaze for her geneosity. Also, a part of the week of birthday love for havenward This is priest!kink, people. Vows are broken and faith is wrestled with. Both our boys have dark pasts and when they come together, demons of the figurative kind may not be the only thing they have to deal with.
He prays. Hours pass. He is restless and can not sit still. He can only think of that long, scarred back and the way it lay beneath his hands...Eliot's story etched in his skin, left there for him to read with his fingers.
It was wrong of him, to take advantage the way he had.
Or maybe he was the one taken in, taken advantage of.
Those hours Eliot slept beside him, John had learned of his past. He learned of fire and lash, knife, gun, broken bone. He had learned of sin perpetuated on a child, fostered in the dark and angry places. He learned of sorrow long since hardened in the pressure of a life so trod under it was a wonder the boy could stand upright.
His hands had not laid idle then. They had touched, caressed, held sacred a body he desired in intimate trespass.
There was no prayer that could burn the desire from his loins. None that he had ever learned as a priest, none he could find in his heart as he kneels in this cold sanctuary.
He shifts and slides back into the pew behind him, his eyes lifting to the crucifix hanging above the altar. In all the years he's been in the church he has never felt this…uncertain of himself.
He hears the footsteps, listens as they slow and falter and then stop. There's an awkward cough and John turns slowly, his heart speeding up when he spots the kid standing there, staring at him.
"I thought you were heading for Houston." John says, standing slowly. The hours of prayer have him stiff.
"Was. Am. Just…I felt the need to apologize." Eliot's eyes glance over him, up to the altar, then away. "Could I…buy you a cup of coffee?"
It's a bad idea. He can feel it in his bones. He can feel Eliot in his bones. He nods slowly. "Yeah, I'd like that."
Eliot waits for him to lead the way out, following John out into the late afternoon sun. They don't talk, but it doesn't have that same awkward feeling it had when they were last together, waking up after…"So, Father…" Eliot stops them at the street corner, his hand on John's arm. They both look at the hand, then Eliot pulls it back. "I'm sorry."
John shakes his head, not sure why the kid is apologizing when he was the one that fucked things up. "Eliot-"
He holds up his hand. "Just, the way I left was shitty. You didn't deserve that." He pulls a hand through his hair. "I have…issues. You just picked a bad day."
John looks him over, nodding slowly. "It's okay. You don't owe me anything."
"Well, I did say I'd buy you coffee." Eliot says with a grin, gesturing toward the local diner with his head. "Come on. Can't break a promise to a priest."
John chuckles and nods, settling in beside him as they walk. It's oddly comforting…despite the thoughts running through him about Eliot's ass and hands and-He forces himself to think instead about the scars and the issues and the fact that Eliot very clearly has a past that isn't pleasant. Think like a priest, John.
When they're sitting at a booth in the back of the place and the waitress has brought them both a steaming mug of coffee, Eliot lays his hands out on the table. John can see he's been in a scuffle, the knuckles lightly bruised and scraped, red rings around his wrists.
"Is everything okay?"
Eliot shrugs, wraps his hands around his coffee cup. "Rough night. Haven't really slept."
John raises an eyebrow. "Is coffee the best choice then?"
Again he shrugs. "I didn't sleep because I was…thinking."
"With your hands?" John asks, lifting his mug to sip.
Eliot chuckles. "Well, that's kind of what led to thinking. I…" He huffs out and shakes his head. "You weren't wrong. The nightmares, the…I just don't talk about it."
"I understand. There are a lot of things I don't talk about either." He sips at his coffee.
"Truth is, I haven't dreamed about…Emily…" He glances up at John when he says the name, then back down at his coffee. "…not in a long time. She…died."
John nods.
"She…wasn't…mine." Eliot's voice is soft. "Her mother…" He shakes his head. "I tried, but I couldn't save them." He clears his throat. "I was fourteen. Grace was…she took me in when I had no where else to go. Emily was six months old."
He stops talking abruptly, drinking from his cup, swallowing around a pain John can see etched on his face. "I don't know why, but I had to tell you that."
"Fire?" John asks as gently as he's able.
Eliot nods, one hand dropping to rub down his scarred thigh.
"I lost my wife in a fire." Not just his wife. John swallows that truth…the son he couldn't save that night, and the son he lost even though he'd pulled him out of the flames.
They're quiet for a while then, each of them lost in their own painful memories. Eliot is the first to move, the first to break the silence. "You want to…" He shakes his head and stands. "Never mind. I should go."
John should let him to, and yet he stands as Eliot drops money on the table to cover their bill, his hand brushing Eliot's shoulder and fire lances through him at the touch. Eliot looks up at him, eyes narrowing.
He isn't sure which of them gives in first, only knows that before he really realizes what they're doing they're in the alley, in the shadows between the diner and the apartment building and John's back is against the wall with Eliot pressing into him.
"Forgive me Father?" Eliot murmurs, his voice gravel that grinds into John's need even as his hands find their way into John's pants and his lips close over John's mouth and for a long moment words fail to form at all in his brain.
"Absolvo." John whispers back just before Eliot drops to one knee and sucks John's cock between his lips. His head falls back against the wall, his mouth opening and closing as the words of salvation bubble up within him, the petition for redemption falling in breathless Latin from lips dry with need, in a voice broken open.
He comes across swollen lips, and cries out in release of far more than just his cock, reaching for Eliot and needing to taste him, to feel him. John licks his own spilled seed from Eliot's face, licks his lips open and they stumble into the other wall, Eliot's calloused hands sliding over his bared skin, guiding them from one lustful act into another and his voice breaks over the words before Eliot is inside him, the prayer fading as his skin comes alive.
He's on his knees in an alley and as Eliot comes inside him, John thinks he's closer to sanctified than he's ever been.
Title: To Salt the Flame, Part Three( Part One here & Part Two)
Pairing/Characters: Eliot Spencer/ Father John Winchester
Word Count: 1172
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Pre-Series for Leverage, AU pre-series for SPN. John Winchester lost everything, and surrendered all that was left into the church that saved him. He became a priest who served his God in the traditional ways, as well as a few less traditional ways. Eliot Spencer is a young man restless and on the move, trying to outrun his past and chasing a life of painful destruction toward his future. When the two collide one stormy night, it leaves a mark...on both of them. This follows directly after the second part. John attempts to pray his way past what happened with Eliot, but Eliot's unexpected arrival at the church changes that, and him.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for ziplockeddaze for her geneosity. Also, a part of the week of birthday love for havenward This is priest!kink, people. Vows are broken and faith is wrestled with. Both our boys have dark pasts and when they come together, demons of the figurative kind may not be the only thing they have to deal with.
He prays. Hours pass. He is restless and can not sit still. He can only think of that long, scarred back and the way it lay beneath his hands...Eliot's story etched in his skin, left there for him to read with his fingers.
It was wrong of him, to take advantage the way he had.
Or maybe he was the one taken in, taken advantage of.
Those hours Eliot slept beside him, John had learned of his past. He learned of fire and lash, knife, gun, broken bone. He had learned of sin perpetuated on a child, fostered in the dark and angry places. He learned of sorrow long since hardened in the pressure of a life so trod under it was a wonder the boy could stand upright.
His hands had not laid idle then. They had touched, caressed, held sacred a body he desired in intimate trespass.
There was no prayer that could burn the desire from his loins. None that he had ever learned as a priest, none he could find in his heart as he kneels in this cold sanctuary.
He shifts and slides back into the pew behind him, his eyes lifting to the crucifix hanging above the altar. In all the years he's been in the church he has never felt this…uncertain of himself.
He hears the footsteps, listens as they slow and falter and then stop. There's an awkward cough and John turns slowly, his heart speeding up when he spots the kid standing there, staring at him.
"I thought you were heading for Houston." John says, standing slowly. The hours of prayer have him stiff.
"Was. Am. Just…I felt the need to apologize." Eliot's eyes glance over him, up to the altar, then away. "Could I…buy you a cup of coffee?"
It's a bad idea. He can feel it in his bones. He can feel Eliot in his bones. He nods slowly. "Yeah, I'd like that."
Eliot waits for him to lead the way out, following John out into the late afternoon sun. They don't talk, but it doesn't have that same awkward feeling it had when they were last together, waking up after…"So, Father…" Eliot stops them at the street corner, his hand on John's arm. They both look at the hand, then Eliot pulls it back. "I'm sorry."
John shakes his head, not sure why the kid is apologizing when he was the one that fucked things up. "Eliot-"
He holds up his hand. "Just, the way I left was shitty. You didn't deserve that." He pulls a hand through his hair. "I have…issues. You just picked a bad day."
John looks him over, nodding slowly. "It's okay. You don't owe me anything."
"Well, I did say I'd buy you coffee." Eliot says with a grin, gesturing toward the local diner with his head. "Come on. Can't break a promise to a priest."
John chuckles and nods, settling in beside him as they walk. It's oddly comforting…despite the thoughts running through him about Eliot's ass and hands and-He forces himself to think instead about the scars and the issues and the fact that Eliot very clearly has a past that isn't pleasant. Think like a priest, John.
When they're sitting at a booth in the back of the place and the waitress has brought them both a steaming mug of coffee, Eliot lays his hands out on the table. John can see he's been in a scuffle, the knuckles lightly bruised and scraped, red rings around his wrists.
"Is everything okay?"
Eliot shrugs, wraps his hands around his coffee cup. "Rough night. Haven't really slept."
John raises an eyebrow. "Is coffee the best choice then?"
Again he shrugs. "I didn't sleep because I was…thinking."
"With your hands?" John asks, lifting his mug to sip.
Eliot chuckles. "Well, that's kind of what led to thinking. I…" He huffs out and shakes his head. "You weren't wrong. The nightmares, the…I just don't talk about it."
"I understand. There are a lot of things I don't talk about either." He sips at his coffee.
"Truth is, I haven't dreamed about…Emily…" He glances up at John when he says the name, then back down at his coffee. "…not in a long time. She…died."
John nods.
"She…wasn't…mine." Eliot's voice is soft. "Her mother…" He shakes his head. "I tried, but I couldn't save them." He clears his throat. "I was fourteen. Grace was…she took me in when I had no where else to go. Emily was six months old."
He stops talking abruptly, drinking from his cup, swallowing around a pain John can see etched on his face. "I don't know why, but I had to tell you that."
"Fire?" John asks as gently as he's able.
Eliot nods, one hand dropping to rub down his scarred thigh.
"I lost my wife in a fire." Not just his wife. John swallows that truth…the son he couldn't save that night, and the son he lost even though he'd pulled him out of the flames.
They're quiet for a while then, each of them lost in their own painful memories. Eliot is the first to move, the first to break the silence. "You want to…" He shakes his head and stands. "Never mind. I should go."
John should let him to, and yet he stands as Eliot drops money on the table to cover their bill, his hand brushing Eliot's shoulder and fire lances through him at the touch. Eliot looks up at him, eyes narrowing.
He isn't sure which of them gives in first, only knows that before he really realizes what they're doing they're in the alley, in the shadows between the diner and the apartment building and John's back is against the wall with Eliot pressing into him.
"Forgive me Father?" Eliot murmurs, his voice gravel that grinds into John's need even as his hands find their way into John's pants and his lips close over John's mouth and for a long moment words fail to form at all in his brain.
"Absolvo." John whispers back just before Eliot drops to one knee and sucks John's cock between his lips. His head falls back against the wall, his mouth opening and closing as the words of salvation bubble up within him, the petition for redemption falling in breathless Latin from lips dry with need, in a voice broken open.
He comes across swollen lips, and cries out in release of far more than just his cock, reaching for Eliot and needing to taste him, to feel him. John licks his own spilled seed from Eliot's face, licks his lips open and they stumble into the other wall, Eliot's calloused hands sliding over his bared skin, guiding them from one lustful act into another and his voice breaks over the words before Eliot is inside him, the prayer fading as his skin comes alive.
He's on his knees in an alley and as Eliot comes inside him, John thinks he's closer to sanctified than he's ever been.