Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Impala door shuts with a thud after Dean as he scratches his nose and flashes his eyes black in preparation.

The church he parks Baby beside is tiny, idyllic, with a high, pointed roof and a steeple and a dormer window at the top, a stained glass depiction of Noah’s Ark. And the priest inside matches his church, a quiet, wise man who’s never acted out a day in his life, one of many in a line of holy men who Dean would--has--killed to defile.

He knocks on the door, swinging it open, and digs a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, lighting up.

The priest is praying in the front of the room, at an altar. He’s dressed in his dog collar (damn, Dean’s always had a thing for those) and his hair is carefully kept, his back straight, his head bowed.

“On your knees for me already, Father?” Dean calls, shattering the worshipful silence. The priest half-turns, rising from the ground.

“Dean, isn’t it?” he smiles, brushing off Dean's lecherous greeting and approaching him. “It’s a pleasant surprise to see you again. I believe you described yourself as ‘Not the church going type’, the last time we spoke.” Dean laughs and flicks ash onto the floor.

“I wasn’t lying,” Dean nods, taking another drag. “But you’re so good-lookin’ I figured I could find myself some religion.” Father Novak blushes.

“Whatever brings you into the arms of the church, Dean, we’re happy to have you.”

Dean smirks.

“Well, that’s real charitable of you, Padre,” he says, meandering past Cas to the altar table, where the communion wine is already set out. “You ever get drunk on this?” he asks, flicking the heavy cup with two fingers.

Father Novak raises his eyebrows, scandalised. “Never, Dean,” he dismisses, as though Dean had suggested something truly awful. “The wine is for Godly purposes only. And indulging the body--”

“”Indulging the body” is a hell of a lot more fun than anything Godly, don’t you think?” Dean asks, swirling a finger in the cup.

“I can’t take part in anything that distracts from my closeness to God,” the Father says, maybe with a tone of regret--or is that wishful thinking? “My vows prohibit me from all earthly pleasures, however...appealing they may be.”

Dean clicks his tongue.. “‘S a real shame,” he sighs, sucking the communion wine off of his finger without breaking eye contact with the priest, who blushes vividly. Good. “We could have so much fun together.” He flicks his cigarette, knocking off a coil of ash. “...Are you a virgin, Father?”

The priest flushes and stutters, standing still, silent.

“If you must know, Dean, I am,” he says softly. “And proudly so. The body is a temple, a tool for us to glorify God. To taint it with sins of the flesh would be a slap in the face to Him.”

Dean whistles, long and low. “You really are a good little choir boy, aren’t you?” He steps away from the altar table, circling the priest like he’s prey. “Did everything right, didn’t you? No sex, no drugs, no drinking, none of the finer things in life. All to keep yourself pure, and for what? So your cosmic daddy could pat you on the head one day, tell you you did such a good job playing by his made-up rules? Is that it?”

Father Novak swallows. “I expect no reward,” he says, looking at Dean through his eyelashes. Dean wonders if he knows what he’s doing, not like it makes a difference. “I just do the best I can. I await the judgement of the Lord, our God--”

Dean laughs, the sound twisted and rich, like barbed wire digging into an old tree. “You’re not waitin’ for him, sweetheart,” he purrs, his voice dangerously low as he saunters over to the priest, close enough to grab him. “Whether you know it or not, you’re waitin’ for somebody to show you the other way of livin’. Somebody--” green eyes flash black, and a predatory smile curves across pink lips, giving way to sharp teeth, “--like me.”

“Christo,” Father Novak breathes, stumbling backwards over the raised platform of the nave and landing flat on his back. Dean’s filthy grin widens, and he takes a long moment to admire the priest, splayed on his back, his breaths harsh and afraid, a bead of sweat running down his furrowed brow.

“Father, Father, Father,” the demon laughs, taking a casual drag of his cigarette as he stands above him. “That’s minor league stuff. I’m a whole new kinda horror, sweetheart, you can’t get rid ‘a me so easy.”

“This is a holy place,” the priest manages, a valiant attempt to reason the demon into submission, if a failed one. “Your kind doesn’t belong here.”

Dean shakes his head again, condescending, almost disappointed. “No, Father Novak, your kind doesn’t. The good men are all dead, padre. Or else they turned into guys like me. This whole church,” he says, spreading his arms wide, raising his voice, “this whole world, this is an unholy place. Either you learn to live with it, you learn to change, or you suffer the consequences.”

Dean crouches down beside the priest, picking the cross charm of his rosary up from his chest.

“Are you scared?” he murmurs, confidentially.

Father Novak swallows hard; Dean, practically salivating, watches the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” the priest manages, his voice firm despite the fear Dean knows he feels.

“Aw, ain’t that nice.” Dean stubs his cigarette out on the ground. “But I don’t plan to kill you, padre. I’m just lookin’ for a good time.” The priest tries to scramble away, but Dean is faster--he wraps his hand around the rosary, yanking him up close until they’re nose to nose, his eyes flashing black again. Father Novak shivers, and it’s not because of Dean’s ice-cold breath on his skin. “Now, c’mon. Let’s indulge, Father.”

For a moment, the father’s eyes are closed, his lips parted; Dean doesn’t know what kind of submission this is, willing or unwilling, but he can’t find it in himself to much care. The priest is pretty, there’s no other word for it, thick-eyelashed and full-mouthed, and from what Dean can see, his body is lean muscle under his cassock. Like he’s reading Dean’s dirty thoughts, though, he starts, and tries to move away.

Dean tugs the rosary tight again, though, and drags him in close, close enough to kiss. His lips brush the priest’s when he asks, in a soft, acridly tender voice, “What do you want, angel?”

Father Novak doesn’t answer, looking down and away, still under the stare of Dean’s black eyes. Dean can hear his pulse, a dull pound in his ears, quick like a rabbit’s and just as skittish.

“‘Cause I’m no mind-reader,” Dean breathes, “but I think you want me. I think you want me to fuck you, right here, right in this holy place. I think you want me to taint you.” Dean reaches up, making the priest face him, scared blue eyes meeting cold black ones. “Ain’t that right, Father?”

Father Novak is silent, but for a high whine at the back of his throat, pleading, or maybe surrendering. He starts chanting, a soft prayer, his eyes closed and his lips moving a mile a minute.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Dean coos, cradling his cheek, almost gently as he crowds between Cas’ long, spread legs, leaning down over him. “I just wanna have some fun.” He swipes a thumb along Cas’ soft cheekbone, along the high planes of his handsome, flushed face, and nudges their noses together, finally, slowly kissing him. It’s the first chip away at his innocence, the first brick removed from the wall of Cas’ defences. Cas’ mouth doesn’t yield to him, and on some level, Dean’s impressed. He laps his tongue against the seam of his lips, coaxing them apart, patient (at least for now).

Cas shifts underneath him, eyes squeezed closed, Dean baring down over him like a hungry animal. Finally, after a long minute of resistance, his lips loosen, enough that Dean can slide his tongue into Cas’ wet, warm mouth, run his tongue over the flat smoothness of Cas’ teeth, take and give in equal measure.

“Not so bad, is it?” Dean purrs against his mouth, rocking his hips down against Cas’.

The priest makes a little repressed, strangled noise--Dean can feel his lungs seize in his birdcage chest.

“Yeah,” he coos, grinding them together as he trails his lips down Cas’ neck. He takes the dog collar in two fingers, pulling it out of his shirt to lay the little divot at the base of his neck bare. “I’m gonna make you feel real good, Father.” Dean kisses the tiny space the collar had concealed, licking nervous sweat off of his pure, clean skin, one hand wrapped in Cas’ rosary to bare his neck just the right way.

“Why are you doing this?” Cas asks, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling, his voice small and fragile. “What do you want?”

Dean picks his head up from the hickey he’s creating on Cas’ neck. “What do you think I want, angel?” he purrs, dragging his nose across his jaw like he could smell the purity he was so intent on stripping away.

“But--but surely there are others,” he murmurs, “that you don’t have to...fight, so much.” Dean chuckled lowly.

“Maybe I’d rather fight,” he replied smoothly, smirking a little, baring his white teeth. “Especially when it’s as worth it as this is shaping up to be.” He drags his teeth across Cas' skin, nuzzles his nose against his collarbone. There's a little of him that would like to make Cas come willingly, corrupt him a little more thoroughly that way, if Cas decides to yield to Dean of his own accord. But hell, Dean'll have him either way.

"It's a sin," Cas manages, a little tremble in his voice. It's funny, how still he is, how he's just lying there without Dean even having to hold him down. "Sex--sex before marriage is a sin. Especially with someone like you."

Dean laughs against his throat, nips a little mark into his skin like a brand. "Someone like me how, baby?" he asks, smoothing one hand over his chest; he can feel Cas ripple under him, the way his stomach seizes and flips. "What am I, huh?"

"I'm not going to play your games," Cas insists, his voice steely. "I'm not going to let you hurt me."

Dean laughs again. "You are too funny, Father," he teases. "You must kill at the parish potluck." He picks his head up to admire the priest, lying on the ground on his back, lips parted, throat marked with a little bruise from Dean's lips. He has an idea.

"I'll tell you what," he says, shifting, throwing one leg over Cas' hips to straddle him. "You'd be a holy terror if you batted for my team. Betcha you get off on the whole "serve God" thing, huh? You like having rules you have to play by?"

For the first time, Cas nods. "It gives me structure," he answers, voice more even this time. "I like--I like to be a part of something."

Dean grins. "You like to know your place, don't you?" Cas hesitates, and Dean prompts him, in his best Sunday school voice: "It's a sin to lie, Father."

"Yes," Cas whispers, eyes closed, convinced by the reminder. "Yes."

Finally. Somewhere Dean can find a little purchase. He can feel Cas getting hard in his pants, and his plan starts to change in his head. Bringing a priest to the dark side sure would make an impression on the big man downstairs, and Cas is really growing on him--doesn't hurt that he's pretty, either.

"I can give you that," Dean tells him, sliding his hands down Cas' chest. "I can put you in your place, Father. You come with me, I'll give you everything--power, sex, money, whatever you want, it's yours."

Cas shakes his head furiously. "I don't want power, or money," he insists. Dean smiles and leans down to whisper in Cas' ear, so close his lips brush the warm sensitive skin.

"What do you want, then, handsome?"

Cas gulps. "I want--" he thinks, and his answer surprises Dean, said with an almost angry certainty of someone done wrong. "I want justice."

Dean laughs out loud. Justice, he can do. He's lucky Cas didn't say world peace, although he could probably swing that, too.

"How long have you been waiting for justice?" he asks. He's not a patient guy, by nature, but playing a long game with Cas, really getting him to turn away from upstairs, that's worth waiting for. "Huh? How long have you been told to sit on your hands and pray for it?"

Cas looks up at him with those clear, serious blue eyes. "My whole life."

Dean smiles. "I can give it to you in a day," he promises, and he means it; he trades in contracts, after all. "You let me help you, angel. You let me give you justice. I'll give you whatever you need." He kisses Cas' cheek, trails his lips over to his ear again. "I'll take care of you."

There it is. Cas shudders, and Dean feels him break.

"What do I have to do?" he grates.

Dean pets his cheek with one hand. "Just kiss me," he says simply. "And then you're mine. And justice is yours. Forever."

"...You're not going to hurt me," Cas says, like it's a term of engagement. "And you're not going to hurt my parishoners. They're good people."

Dean nods. "You got it, Father." He wonders what kind of wrong would make a devout man go dark so easy. What's he looking for justice for?

"Will you take me to Hell?" he asks.

Dean chuckles. What priorities this guy has. "Yeah," he admits. "But I'll keep you safe. It's under new management, anyway. Not such a bad place these days."

Cas laughs wryly. Dean thinks he'll make a pretty good demon. "I find that hard to believe."

"Believe it, baby," Dean says. "Your guy's a propagandist before anything else. Don't believe everything you see in stained glass."

Cas swallows. "Let's get it over with. Kiss me."

"So romantic," Dean grins. "You gotta kiss me back this time, now. Like you mean it."

Cas props himself up on his elbows, and Dean leans down and they kiss, and Cas' mouth tastes holy in a way that Dean aches to defile. The kiss goes on forever, both of their mouths open, and when Dean slides his tongue into Cas' he gasps and yields. Dean can feel his own dick straining against his jeans, and Cas' underneath him is hot and hard too, and he grinds them together and Cas makes a helpless little noise that steals Dean's breath.

"Wow, Father," Dean laughs, dragging his lips away from Cas'. "You sure do take direction well, huh?" He kisses down his throat, makes more marks, more little brands. "You're going to be so good for us, I can already tell. So excited already." He reaches down to squeeze Cas through his pants. "Was that your first kiss, baby?"

He's teasing, but then Cas nods, and Dean gets dizzy with how good that makes him feel. God. The little priest really is all his, and the possessiveness that tears through him like fire pushes a little growl through his teeth.

"Am I the first one to touch you like this?" He swipes a thumb over the head of Cas' dick through his pants, and Cas cries out. "You can tell me. Don't be shy."

"Yes," he manages, almost sobs.

Dean drags the collar of his shirt down and bites at the skin it exposes, and Cas yelps and shakes.

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes," he says again, like he's having a fit, a religious experience, like he's possessed, which he is, by Dean and by himself and by what's passing between them. "Yes, yes," he sobs again, and Dean feels it surge in him like a drug. He wants to keep Cas like this forever, he wants to keep him in ecstasy every minute of their eternity-long lives, he never wants to leave this church. He pushes down the hem of Cas' pants and pulls his dick out, pink and hard and wanting, and starts stroking it quick and filthy. When it's not slick enough, he lifts his hand to Cas's mouth, and says, "Lick right here, angel, lemme see your tongue," and Cas does, looking Dean in the eyes the whole time with his big black pupils that will take over all that blue and white before they're done.

He wraps his hand around Cas' dick again and coos to him, come on, sweetheart, let me make you feel good, let me give you everything, and when Cas arches and his feet scrabble on the floor and he splatters his little black frock and his own face with white Dean thinks he's seen God, and he knows that God is his now.

"Good, baby," Dean murmurs, kissing his throat as he pants. "Good, angel. Fuck, you were beautiful."

Cas breathes hard under him as Dean scoops up his come on his fingertips and feeds it to him, or licks it off himself and then kisses him to share the taste.

They aren't even done kissing before Cas' cock twitches against his stomach, starting to fill again.

"Look at you," Dean sighs, watching, reaching down to give him a few encouraging strokes. "You're takin' to this like you were made for it, Father."

Cas makes a little whining noise, and Dean laughs.

"I know," he coos. "We'll get you all wrung out. God, am I glad you bought into that "sins of the flesh" shit. If anyone else got to you first, I think I'd have'ta kill 'em."

Cas laughs, sounding a little out of it, which hey, Dean gets. This whole thing has been a fucking trip so far, and they're just warming up.

"Arms up, baby," he coaxes, pulling off Cas' shirt. He's all soft muscle under it, pink and pretty and fresh, and Dean will take his time on that later, but for now, he has other ideas.

He lifts up a little so he can push his pants down more, then works his own jeans down and off; Cas watches him in silence, soft lips parted, dick drooling against his stomach. Dean pulls his own dick out and touches it, feels it jerk against his fingers like it has a mind of it's own. From the corner of his eye, he sees Cas reach for it, sees him sit up a little.

"You ever touched someone else's dick before?" Dean asks. Cas shakes his head, and Dean bites back a groan. "You want me to show you how I like it?" He's gonna be the only one Cas ever touches, anyway--Dean's gonna make sure of that. Cas nods again.

"Use your words, baby," Dean coaxes, reaching out to lift Cas' jaw so they look each other in the eye. "Say please."

"Please," Cas murmurs, like he's still praying. "Let me."

"Yeah," Dean nods. "Good."

Cas makes a little noise in the back of his throat, and Dean makes a note of his praise kink and takes him by the wrist. He shows him how to wrap his fingers, how to swipe his thumb over the dripping head at every other stroke, how fast to go, and then he lets Cas take over, and Cas strokes him and kisses him and Dean says "So good, angel," into his mouth, until he can feel himself get close, and then he grabs his wrist again and stops him.

"Wait," he says, "I got other plans for us." He reaches around behind himself and grabs the plug nestled into his hole by the head, easing it out with a slick pop.

"I'm always prepared," he grins. "It's the Boy Scout training." He kisses Cas again, then says, "Lie back. I'll take care of you," and guides him in, sinking down slow so every inch gets a groan out of Cas. Fuck, he's big, and thick, and he fills Dean up so good. Dean moans a little loud, puts on a show for Cas, but it's Cas that speaks first.

"You feel so good," he manages, reaching up to touch Dean's hips. "You--God--"

Dean laughs.

"Not quite, sweetheart," he grins, starting to move, dick bobbing between his legs while he rocks and bounces on Cas. "Fuck, that's perfect. You're so perfect, angel." Dean rides him dirty and slow, wants his first time to be something good. He coaxes Cas up and they kiss, Dean's arms around Cas, holding him up, both of them murmuring praise into each others' mouths. Cas is evolving under him, Dean can feel it just like he can feel his dick inside of him, stretching him just right. Cas is his, and he tells him so, pulls his hair so he can kiss his neck and murmurs "Mine" into his skin, and Cas responds with a groan and a little "Yes" that gets louder and louder until he comes, deep inside Dean. Dean follows almost as soon as he starts to fill him, rocking on Cas' softening cock until he spills between them with a groan.

He lays Cas back down, and kisses him again, and Cas kisses him back. He's asleep, or so it seems, before Dean even straightens back up.

"You ready to get out of here, baby?" Dean teases, giving his thigh a little smack. Cas just groans and reaches up for him, and Dean scoops him into his arms like a bride, gets to his feet, and carries him down the aisle, away from the altar.

"Open your eyes," he coaxes as they go, and when Cas does, on the threshold of the church, they're full black.

Dean grins.

Chapter Text

Usually, when they get priests down here, they’re the ones on the slab. Not a lot of priests make contracts with demons, which is probably why Cas is such a big fucking deal when Dean brings him downstairs for the first time.

He waits a little while before he takes Cas to Hell, of course. Dean’s always been a show-off, so after their night in the church, he lets Cas watch him throw his weight around on earth a little. They go to fine restaurants and eat delicious food, and leave without paying. They spend nights in lavish hotel rooms, fucking all night and sleeping all day. Dean gets a surprise hit assignment from Hell, a corrupt politician, and while Cas doesn’t want to be involved in the actual throat-slitting (he will, with time, Dean figures) he does brush some of the blood off of Dean’s cheek and tell him to be careful.

Dean’s tried to pry into Cas’ request for justice, but Cas plays his cards awful close to the chest, so he doesn’t get an answer beyond a promise that Cas will tell him later. He seems to really trust him, Dean thinks, which is a damn good thing. He fell right into Dean’s arms that night in the church, into his lap, even, and Dean doesn’t plan on making him regret it. Truth be told, he’s growing awful fond of the guy.

After three days on Earth, full of Cas doing things he’d never dreamed of doing, Dean gets the call to head back downstairs.

They’re in bed at their latest posh hotel, Dean propped against the headboard watching soaps and Cas asleep with his head on Dean’s stomach, and Dean is toying with Cas’ hair with a softness that surprises him. Better not to think too much about that, he figures--when you pluck somebody from the pulpit and drag them into perdition, you’re gonna have a little soft spot for them, right? It’s nothing.

He’s thinking about not thinking about it when the phone rings from his bedside, and he reaches over and grabs it as Cas lifts his head, bleary-eyed.

“Go back to sleep,” Dean tells him, glancing at the caller ID and swiping to pick up. “Hey, Sammy.”

“Dean,” Sam says. He’s always kind of impressed at how great the reception from Hell is. “How’s Earth?”

Dean hums as Cas beds back down, settling his head back on his torso and drifting back off. “Pretty good. How’s Hell?”

“It’s good. Crowley says you picked somebody up?”

Dean rolls his eyes. Sam’s the new King of Hell, and has been for a while--it didn’t go down exactly like Luci and Azazel anticipated, though. Sam wound up getting too strong for them, and they got, as Sam put it, hoisted by their own petard (or, more straightforwardly, ganked by the kid they groomed to be their servant). Dean lost his mortal life in the process, though, and to keep him around, Sam made him a demon, fast-tracking him past the “torture” phase and right into the “basically immortal plus cool superpowers” phase.

Together, they wiped out the last round of demons, except for a few allies, and overhauled the whole place from head to toe. Sam installed his own advisors--Dean as his right hand and heavy, Rowena as his head of all things magical, and Crowley as his chief of staff and bureaucracy guide. Keeping tabs on the demons on Earth was technically Crowley’s job, sure, but because of some holdover feelings from a tryst he and Dean had a while ago, he keeps an especially close eye on Dean. And rats on him to Sam, basically all the time.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He’s proud of Cas, even if he kind of wanted him to be a surprise, so he’s happy to gloat about the win to Sam. “A priest. Had my eye on him for a while, mostly selfish reasons, honestly, and I got him in one night. We’ve been, uh, catching up on some stuff he missed for the last few days.”

“Gross, Dean.” He knows the exact face Sam is making from his tone of voice, a little pinched-up, bitchy expression that Dean tells himself is more jealousy than disgust. “Well, bring him down here. We’ve got to get him settled, and get his contract drawn up, and then you guys have to be dispatched…”

“Together,” Dean says immediately, firmly. “I don’t want anybody else working with him. He’s mine, I did the legwork, and he isn’t--”

“Take it easy,” Sam interrupts. “I’ll keep you guys together, if that’s what you want. No need to get territorial.”

“You’re damn right I’m gonna get territorial. Soon as he sets foot downstairs, people are gonna start getting jealous, and if anyone else touches him they’re gonna lose more than a couple fingers. Crowley can put that in the fucking contract if he wants to.” Maybe he’s getting a little fired up about it, but the thought of another demon even on assignment with Cas--much less touching him--

“Dean,” Cas says, surprising him. His voice is gentle, as usual, and he has one hand on Dean’s shoulder and the other on the wrist of the hand that holds the phone. “I’m not going anywhere with anyone else. Relax.”

Dean huffs out a breath through his nose, and then turns back to the phone, to a for-once silent Sam. “We’ll be right down.”

“See you soon,” Sam agrees, and Dean can’t tell if the inflection in his voice is teasing or amazement. He hangs up, and Dean sets the phone down and turns back to Cas.

“Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I was already awake,” Cas says. The hand on his shoulder slides down his chest and traces his anti-possession tattoo, which is more like a joke than an effective precaution these days. “I was listening. Territorial, hm?”

“I’m not interested in sharing toys,” Dean replies.

“Nor am I.” Cas shifts, leaning in to kiss Dean’s jaw. He learns fast, Dean thinks. “You staked a claim on me, didn’t you? In that church. You told me I was yours.” Dean makes a little noise of agreement, inclining his head to let Cas work. “Then let me do the same,” he says against his skin, between sucks and little bites. “If anyone else touches me, anyone but you, I will enjoy seeing them destroyed at your hand. And if anyone but me touches you, you can watch me destroy them in kind. Perhaps we should have that written in my contract, as well.”

He pulls his lips back from Dean’s neck, and the cool air of the room hits the wet, blossoming bruise that stretches under his jaw in a florid black-blue splotch. Dean catches sight of it in the mirror that hangs on one side of the bed, and sees Cas, leaning over his shoulder, blue eyes looking at his in their reflection. There’s a lot he doesn’t know about the former priest--the demand for justice, the eager submission from the capital-G God of the church to the new god of pleasure and possession he’s become such an eager acolyte of. But they have all of eternity to answer those questions, Dean thinks, so when Cas turns Dean’s face towards him with one finger, Dean doesn’t do anything but seal their new contract with another kiss.