Title: Into Temptation [1/3]
Rating: Explicit R?
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Genre: AU, smut, Plot? What Plot? It's
paper-thin and borderline blashphemous.
Warnings: Sadomasochism, flogging, improvised
sex toys, masturbation, comeplay, eventual bottom!Dean,
inaccurate representations of 18th century lifestyle and
religious practices. Also, I use the term 'Sadist' loosely here,
under the assumption that since the Marquis de Sade only just
published his works, the differences between 'sadism' and
'masochism' are not yet clearly defined or commonly known at this
time. (In case you didn't know, the term 'Sadism' was coined from
the Marquis de Sade's name).
Word Count: apx 3.4k this part, 11.3k all up.
Summary: In a small provincial chapel in the
18th century, a young lord obsessed with the writings of Marquis
de Sade comes to Father Castiel for help.
A/N: It's officially Halloween on my side of the
world folks! Usually at this time of the year I add to my
Halloween in Bondage verse, but I really needed a break from
that this year. So you get this S&M instead! Just another old
idea I've been lugging around for years, but never had a chance
to get to until now. Happy Halloween!
Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine. I just
borrow for smutography.
~
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
Castiel blinks in surprise at the voice that comes through the
woven screen of his Confessional. There are few houses of wealth
in the surrounding provinces, and of those, most that visit their
small chapel are women. But this is a voice Castiel hasnt
heard before deep, and rough around the edges, as many in
the country are but still too cultured to be anything
other than aristocracy. Castiel tries not to reveal his surprise
as he recites his blessing.
Tell me of your sins, he prompts.
There is a long moment of silence from the other side of the
screen, fraught with hesitation, before the man finally speaks.
Father
Have you heard of the Marquis de Sade?
Castiel blanches. I have, he replies, trying to keep
his voice even. Of course hes heard of the infamous
Marquis. Hed heard of a great many dark and disturbing
things when he was living in the capital. And because of the
libertine lifestyle much of the aristocracy indulged in, most of
the things hed heard were of a sexual nature. De
Sades writings had become a frequent topic since their
recent publication. But Castiel hadnt expected to hear such
things out here in the country.
Father, the man speaks again, more quietly this time,
Im afraid I might be one of those
Sadists
as they are being called now. Please, I need your help.
Castiel heaves a quiet sigh. He hadnt expected this, but
its not as if he can turn this man away. It is his station
to listen. To provide absolution. Have no fear, he
replies soothingly. Tell me, what makes you think
this?
When I learned of de Sade and his writings recently in my
travels, it reminded me of certain
incidents in my
youth. For example, when I was a boy, I greatly enjoyed being
spanked by my nursemaid. In fact, I often went out of my way to
misbehave so I would be punished.
Is that all? Castiel asks. It simply sounds as if the
man enjoyed stirring mischief as a boy. Its certainly far
from definitive evidence of Sadism.
No, theres more, the man replies quietly.
Go on.
When I was older, I had a tutor named Alastair. He knew a
great variety of ways to punish my misbehaviour. But once, when
he bent me over his desk and whipped me with a ruler
I
became aroused.
I see, Castiel replies. That is a little more
worrying.
And now, ever since Ive learned of de Sade
. I
cant stop thinking about it. I cant stop thinking
about being whipped, and whether it would arouse me. The very
thought of it does. Tell me, Father, am I damned? Am I just filth
in a mans body?
We are all filth in the eyes of the Lord, my son. Only
through prayer and repentance can we hope to be absolved of our
sins, Castiel intones. Recite the Our Fathe-- A
loud bang resounds on the wood of the confessional, startling
Castiel.
I need more than your absolution, Father! I need your help,
the man hisses in desperation.
Startled, Castiel crosses himself out of habit. Very
well, he says once he has caught his breath. There
are some methods I know of that may help cure you of this
affliction.
At his old church in the capital, it was usually one of the more
senior priests who administered such therapies, but now, out
here, unfortunately the responsibility lies with Castiel. He
doubts if any of the other priests here in their small provincial
chapel have even heard of such things.
Given the right conditions, the punishment of the flesh can
be a powerful tool of cleansing and communion. In fact, I myself
have experienced great joy and closeness to God through the
Discipline. But it is the joy of penance. Perhaps, through proper
exposure, we can purge the body of its inappropriate sexual
desires and make way for true contrition and penitence,
Castiel explains.
Exposure? the man echoes, breathless with hope.
I see.
It will be difficult. For us both. And there is no
immediate guarantee of success, Castiel warns him. He
remembers some men and women returning over and over again for
private sessions with the priests in the capital, and how much
strain it was for the priests as well as the supplicants
how dishevelled and exhausted they were afterwards.
Yes, of course, Father. I understand, the man
replies. But I am willing to try.
Then I will expect your return after supper, Castiel
instructs. I will wait for you in the antechamber.
Yes, thank you, Father, the man replies
enthusiastically.
Eat sparingly before you return. And until then, spend the
day in prayer. Recite the Our Father. Prepare yourself in mind
and spirit so as to better purge the body of its desires.
Yes, Father.
In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,
Castiel recites his final blessing.
Thank you, Father. I will see you tonight, the man
says, exiting the confessional.
~
Castiel sits in the antechamber behind the main chapel, sipping
slowly from a cup of wine as he waits. The other priests have
returned to their cottages for the night, so the chapel is empty,
silent, save for the low crackling of the fire, keeping the cold
country drafts at bay. Castiel picks up the flogger resting
across his lap the Discipline, as it is called
its handle a comfortable and familiar weight in his palm.
He does not understand the kind of deviance that derives sexual
arousal from such a tool. In fact, it is this very tool he uses
to punish himself when he experiences inappropriate
thoughts or bodily reactions. It is through self-flagellation
that Castiel purifies himself those desires.
Back in the capital it was, at times, problematic. The
confessions hed heard, the things hed read
sometimes he had to go to such extremes of purification, it took
many days to recover. It was part of the reason why hed
been sent to the countryside, in the hopes that a less stressful
environment might improve his health. It has worked so far. He
feels well-rested and mentally prepared to help with this
particular sort of problem, although hes never personally
administered this kind of treatment to another before.
Father Castiel? A knock sounds against the door.
Are you there? It is Dean Winchester, returned at your
bidding.
Lord Winchester, Castiel echoes in surprise.
But of course.
Of the few high-born families residing in the area, Samuel
Winchester is probably the only lord that attends service and
takes confessional regularly, and the young man often speaks of
his older brother Dean. Through young Samuel, Castiel knows that
Dean travels often for the family business, and recently Samuel
has spoken of his excitement over Deans return.
One moment, Castiel answers, leaving the Discipline
on the chair as he stands to open the door. He doesnt know
what kind of man he expects to meet on the other side. Something
of a brute maybe, from the tales young Samuel had shared with him
plain and oafish, for all their familys good
breeding.
He doesnt expect to open the door to the most breathtaking
young man hes ever seen.
As many in the country are, Dean is dressed simply, without the
frills and powdered wigs typical of his high-class counterparts
in the city. His dark blond hair is simply tied at the nape of
his neck, the long strands curling naturally at the ends.
Theres no sign of powder or rouge on his face either, and
his skin glows with the warmth of many days spent in the sun,
riding on horseback. And yet, his features are more delicate than
many a noblewoman Castiel has seen lips full and pink,
eyelashes naturally curled to perfection, skin soft and smooth
with lingering youth even the freckles smattered across
his nose are a testament to the beauty of youth, whereas most
others would try to hide such blemishes under layers of powder.
Castiel is grateful Deans travels are mostly overseas, far
from the city. He shudders to think of what the men there would
do with such a one as this.
Please, come in, Castiel says, stepping back to allow
Dean entrance to the room.
Thank you for seeing me, Father, he says,
forest-green eyes fixed on Castiel with a heaviness that lends to
the sincerity of his words, seeming to indicate true gratitude.
Of course, Castiel nods, swallowing down a sudden
dryness in his throat. I hope you have managed to pass the
day as Ive advised?
I did my best, Father, Dean nods. Though I must
admit, it was a bit difficult escaping my brother.
Ah yes, Castiel chuckles softly. Young Samuel
is quite fond of you. He speaks very highly of you.
He speaks with you about me? Dean asks in surprise.
Frequently, Castiel replies, smiling.
Oh, Dean replies, somewhat breathily, his cheeks
reddening prettily with embarrassment. Again, Castiel finds
himself grateful for the lack of powder that would have covered
up the sight, and he has to force himself to look away, clearing
his throat to break the long silence.
Can I offer you a drink? he asks, indicating the
small cupboard nearby. Some wine perhaps?
Yes, thank you, Dean replies. I did not have
any with dinner, as I wasnt sure what you wished of
me.
Castiel smiles again at the report, impressed by Deans
forethought and dedication. One drink to calm the nerves
will not do any harm, he replies, pouring Dean a cup from
the bottle on the shelf. It is not a bad vintage. Probably not as
rich as the wine Dean is accustomed to, but certainly better than
the ceremonial wines used for mass.
Dean accepts it gratefully, and Castiel gives him a moment to
collect himself before they start. But as he watches Dean drink,
Castiel forgets to drink from his own cup as well, distracted by
the sight of Deans adams apple, bobbing along the
stretch of his throat as he swallows. Dean manages to drain his
entire cup, uninterrupted, before speaking again, calling Castiel
back to attention.
Well, Father, he says, looking up through his lashes
as he lowers his cup, How shall we begin?
It takes another moment for Castiel to shake himself out of his
trance, moving to take their cups and leave them on the shelf
before turning to the back of the room. Along the wall there, is
the small altar Castiel and the other priests use to prepare
their vessels and vestments for mass, though at the moment most
of its surface has been cleared.
Please remove your coat and vest, and then come here. You
can leave your things on the chair beside you, Castiel
instructs, clearing away the last items on the altar and placing
them in the closet nearby.
Dean nods, leaving his hat on the seat and commencing to remove
his outer layers, draping them over the back of the chair.
Castiel tries not to watch while he folds away the altar cloth,
but he cant help but notice the tremble in Deans
hands as he disrobes.
Should I remove my shirt as well? Dean asks, fingers
hovering over the strings at his neck.
That wont be necessary, Castiel swallows,
returning to the chair to pick up the Discipline, You will
feel this through your clothing.
Dean gulps at the sight of the flogger, eyeing the long cords of
knotted leather that hang from the wooden handle.
Please face the altar. You may use it to brace
yourself, Castiel instructs.
Dean takes a deep breath, nodding and doing what Castiel has
commanded, leaning over to grip the stone edge of the altar.
Now, clear your mind of all thought, and open yourself up
to penitence. Use the punishment of your flesh to help you focus.
But you will see that here, in a house of God, you will not find
any sort of
sexual distraction.
Yes Father, Dean replies, voice trembling in his
nervousness.
Are you ready? Castiel asks, letting the flogger
swing through the air.
Dean nods, unable to even speak anymore, clenching his eyes shut
as he tenses for the first blow.
Castiel swings.
The first strike is an easy one. When it lands across Deans
back, he doesnt even cry out. He only gasps a little bit,
his eyes still firmly shut tight.
But the second strike has momentum behind it now, and when it
hits, Dean shouts, eyes flying wide at the impact.
Castiel strikes again, and again, each blow drawing cries from
Deans lips. But he stands them, knuckles turning white as
he grips the edge of the altar for support.
Castiel is impressed. The young Lord is taking to it very well.
If Dean hadnt told him otherwise, Castiel might not have
even suspected this is his first time. Castiel begins to think
that perhaps it will only take this one session to cure Dean of
his affliction after all.
Perhaps it is Castiels overconfidence that does it then,
that causes his vigilance to falter. erhaps what results is its
own punishment for his pride. But that is when one of
Castiels strikes goes awry. Instead of striking Dean across
his back, his aim errs, and the blow lands lower, across
Deans buttocks.
And perhaps it is Castiels mistake, but perhaps, if it had
been with someone else, it wouldnt have mattered. But when
Castiel strikes Deans rear, the sound Dean makes then
is
more than just a cry of pain. Its also a whimper,
a moan, and his entire body seems to shudder differently than
before. The reaction makes something inside Castiel tremble as
well, giving pause, and he finds himself breathless at it.
That is when Castiel realizes the state Dean is in pupils
blown dark, and the front of his breeches
full with
arousal. Dean turns his glazed eyes on Castiel then, gasping to
catch his breath and licking his dry, full lips
A
growl escapes Castiels throat as he swings again, harder
than before.
Sickness. It is Deans sickness that makes him so.
Recite the Our Father, Castiel commands.
Our Father, who art in Heaven, Dean begins, and
Castiel continues to strike him, squarely on the back, making
sure not to miss anymore. Hallowed be thy ah
name ah! Dean recites, the words
broken by his cries of pain.
But instead of Deans cries becoming louder, as Castiel
expected they would, they begin to lessen, until they are nothing
more than breathy gasps in between the words of the familiar
prayer.
Lead us not unh into temptation
oh!
Castiel would like to hope that it is because the prayer has
given Dean focus, that he has begun to transcend the punishment
of his body as Castiel sometimes experiences when he takes
the Discipline to his own flesh. But as the prayer comes to an
end, Castiel sees it is just the opposite. Dean is even more
aroused than before.
Ahhh
Amen.
Again, Castiel orders.
Our Father Ah! Dean begins again, gasps
turning to cries once more as Castiel whips him even harder.
Hard enough to slice through the thin fabric of Deans
shirt. But now, to Castiels dismay, Deans cries are
thick with ecstasy, and not the kind that comes from the joy of
holy communion.
Again! Castiel barks, striking hard enough to draw
blood.
Dean throws his head back at the impact, releasing a filthy cry
into the air. Our Father Unh! Who art
in Heaven Ohhhh, he begins once more, and
this time Castiel recites the prayer with him, hoping to lend his
strength to the words though he finds his voice strangely
thick and even more rough than usual.
Alas, it is to no avail, as Deans cries reach a fevered
pitch. They barely get three lines into the prayer before it is
all over.
Thy kingdom COME! Dean shouts, and his entire
body seizes, spasming with unintended completion.
Castiel is stunned, unable to do anything else but watch as
Deans climax takes over him, suddenly and so thoroughly.
And afterwards, when Dean collapses to the ground, Castiel is
still frozen, transfixed by the sight of him cheeks
flushed, lips bitten dark, chest heaving
a wet splotch
darkening his pants where he has spent himself
When Dean
licks his lips then, Castiels eyes are helplessly drawn to
the movement, and he realizes, with horror, where Dean is looking
now.
Castiel is aroused.
So aroused, its showing through his cassock.
He drops the flogger in shock, staring down at himself in dismay.
Suddenly, the throbbing between his legs is impossible to ignore,
overwhelming and near paralysing.
There is only one thing for it.
His hands are already pulling off his robes before he even makes
the conscious decision to.
He must take the Discipline to himself. Immediately. It is the
only thing he knows to do when such a bodily reaction
arises.
Except
except
when Castiel has divested himself of
his robes, he does not take the handle of the flogger again. His
hands keep pulling at his clothes, moving of their own
accord, unbuttoning his pants to let his desire free. Before he
can stop himself he is closing his fist around it, and a deep
groan fills the air, which Castiel barely recognizes as his own.
Castiel staggers against the altar as his hand begins to move,
pumping his length in a tight grip. The sensation is
overwhelming. It is so good. But it is so wrong. He
is a man of the cloth. He should not succumb to such the sins of
the flesh. He should be above this. He should be setting an example.
Dean is watching him, for pitys sake.
And yet, though Castiel knows all this, he cannot bring himself
to stop. Cannot even bring himself to move away or pick the
Discipline up off the floor, as he so desperately should. He
finds himself clutching at the rosary around his neck, as if it
might give him strength. He clutches it so tight, he feels the
beads bruising his palms.
Suddenly, Castiel struck with a frantic idea. Pulling the rosary
off his neck, he wraps it around his member, and though he
cant stop pumping himself, the beads of the rosary now make
it increasingly difficult, every stroke edged with pain.
Yet, the pleasure persists. It increases. And even amidst
his consternation, Castiels hand stubbornly manages to find
a rhythm, enslaved by the sensation. Soon he is dripping his
arousal, and it catches on his fingers, wetting the beads and
smoothing their glide over his skin. He gasps and groans,
throwing his head back and letting the sounds escape past his
lips into the air, utterly helpless to stop them.
Then suddenly, he feels another sensation. The grip of another
hand, clenching around his thigh.
Castiels eyes fly wide, startled at the touch. And when he
looks down, he sees Dean kneeling before him, head tilted up
towards him and lips parted to catch the drops of Castiels
desire in his mouth as if receiving the Eucharist during
mass.
The parody of it is near blasphemous. And still, Castiel is
helpless to stop it. He is entranced by the fallacy of devotion
on Deans face, the way Dean seems to radiate with it
in the candlelight, illuminating every dark curl of his lashes
and glistening against the wet drops on his lips.When Dean licks
them then, pink tongue swiping across the drops of Castiels
arousal to take them in his mouth, Castiel can stand no more. The
sight undoes him, pushing him over the edge into oblivion, his
entire body racked with the tremors of his climax.
When Castiel opens his eyes again, he sees Dean still kneeling in
front him, face striped with Castiels completion, and still
greedy for more, tongue reaching for the white ropes of it
dripping down the end of Castiels rosary.
Castiels knees finally give out, and he collapses back
against the altar, sliding down until he lands on the floor, cock
still hanging out of his pants, rosary defiled. He cannot even
make a move to cover himself as he gasps to catch his breath,
staring numbly at Dean in utter disbelief.
With a sigh, Dean crumples, sitting back on his haunches and
looking helplessly at his hands.
It is confirmed then, he finally says, resignation in
his voice.
What is, Castiel asks, breathless and bewildered.
I am a Sadist, Dean answers. And now, you are
one too.
~ tbc A/N: This chapter was inspired by
this NSFW
priest!Cas fanart at tumblr. Future chapters will remain plotless, but
smut-filled ;D