Fic: Fiat voluntas Tua
Title: Fiat voluntas Tua
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: All of this happened fictionally between 2 fictional adults who are both over 18.
Warnings: graphic wincest, fisting, severe misuse of religious details
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Priest!kink PWP with fisting. Honestly, it's nothing more.
Dedicated to hugemind, who essentially enabled this together with way too late night and my perverted brain, and made this ficlet better so much better by being subjected to the first draft.
Also, she wrote this. Apologies, then, for being redundant.
"Come on, Sam," Dean groaned, glancing over his shoulder. "We don't have the whole day, you know."
"Just wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am?"
"Oh, for the love of- Oh!"
"Relax, Dean..." Sam murmured against the skin just above the black collar, his fingertip slowly swirling inside his brother, Dean's breaths turning to pants, the black slacks around his ankles, cheek pressed against the dark green leather of the writing pad. "You wouldn't want to keep the congregation waiting, would you?"
Dean grunted, pushing back against him, eyes closed as Sam worked his finger into the tight passage, the crucifix brushing the insides of Dean's thighs, the beads growing warmer with each breath.
"Open your eyes, Dean," Sam whispered, feeling a shiver running through his brother's body.
"Sam, please, just..." Dean stuttered, bucking against him, seeking more. Sam drew his hand back only enough to press in another finger, going deeper slowly, Dean's muffled moan making him bite his lip, rub himself against the back of Dean's thigh, his bare butt, the black cotton of his own pants too tight.
He scissored his fingers, drew them out a little, pushed them back in again, the hot flesh yielding under his touch, Dean's gasps mixed with whimpers, want, need loud and clear in every sound. Sam kissed the back of Dean's shirt, the incense from last night's sermon still lingering in the cloth. He breathed it in, listened to the broken words Dean was pulling from somewhere, Latin fragments of prayers, improvised curses as Sam drew his fingers almost all the way out, leaving barely even the tips inside. He danced them around the rim, the dark beads and the bright silver of the rosary jingling with the movement.
"I swear, if you don't stop pussy-footing around..."
Sam grinned, slipping in the three fingers as far as they could go in one smooth move, relishing in the strangled sound leaving Dean's throat. He curled the fingers, Dean pushed against him, whimpers back in his voice, nails scrabbling over the dark wood surface of the desk.
"I'll get you there, frère," Sam said, nuzzling the short hairs at the back of Dean's head. The skin there was wet with sweat, its scent heavy in his nostrils. "Don't I always?"
Dean rocked against him, rubbing Sam through his pants.
"Want you, Sam," he gasped, Sam's fingers twisting inside him.
"And you'll have me, I swear," Sam breathed, spreading his digits, the tight ring of muscle looser than before. He drew himself up, looked down as his little finger joined the rest, squirmed inside that lube-shiny flesh, fever-hot, the construction of garnets and metal around his hand brushing against Dean's skin. He swallowed, trying to find his voice. "God, Dean... if you could see yourself... You feel so good..."
His brother's answer was just bucking against him, welcome him, begging for more.
Carefully, Sam thrust his hand in and out, steadily feeling his way onward, willing flesh tight around him, words mangled into a moan. He wanted to just tear off his own pants, pound Dean into the damn table good and hard and fast, lose himself so utterly he'd forget everything but sweet sensation.
But no, not yet.
Slowly, he drew his hand out further, let it slide back in even slower, his thumb laying against the rest of his fingers. He bit his lip, the crucifix dangling between Dean's buttocks.
Dean groaned, long and low, body stilling between Sam and the desk as Sam's hand went in further and further, fraction by fraction.
"Sam...?"
Yeah, this wasn't exactly what Dean had asked for. Sam twisted his hand, felt Dean's flesh try and resist, words long gone from the sounds falling off Dean's lips.
"Shh... it's okay," he breathed, smoothing his other hand under Dean's shirt. "Just... "
He bent his fingers, fingertips brushing lightly over a nub, a ragged half-sob leaving Dean. As gently as he could, Sam rubbed that spot again, the rosary kissing Dean's skin, listening as Dean's breaths were littered with small whimpers, pleas for more-more-more. He began a shallow rhythm, his hand slip-sliding inside his brother, stroking that bundle of nerves inside Dean then and again. He circled his other hand to Dean's front, closed it around the hard length of Dean's dick.
"Sam, God..." There might have been other words on the tip of Dean's tongue, but all of them were lost as he clenched, hard, around Sam's trapped hand, come painting the mahogany of the desk, head thrown back, eyelids shivering, sweat beading above his lips, parted and full.
Sam kissed every inch of skin he could reach, waited for the aftershocks to pass before beginning to ease his numb fist out of Dean. His own erection pressed painfully against the seam of his pants, his collar tight as he turned Dean over, put all his own want and love and desire into the kiss as he plundered that sweet, pliant mouth, the rosary tangled in his fingers, in Dean's short hair. Dean's hands wrapped around him weakly, his fingers tugging him closer, their hips fitting together.
They broke apart for air, Dean's sated eyes meeting Sam's, a lazy smirk climbing its way up to those lips just begging to be fucked.
"Holy fuck?"
"No hard feelings?"
"Just yours, Sammy," Dean said, a glint in his eye, one hand slipping down between them, stroking over the taut-drawn fabric. Sam drew in a sharp breath, buried his face in the side of Dean's neck, low whine in his throat.
Dean's fingers crawled higher, drew down the zipper ever so slowly, sneaked in past his briefs to curl around Sam's length, the touch blessed with promises.
"Dean..."
There was a knock on the door.