Warnings: AU, priest!Castiel, Alpha!Dean, rimming, D/s themes
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
Summary: “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses; as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory, forever and ever. Amen.”
The church is cold—built from rough-hewn rocks no doubt excavated during the medieval days and held together with flaky, chipping mortar. It stands on its own legs, though, built strong and built tall, with high arches and an almost cathedral-like presence to it. The windows, once bare and empty, are now fitted with stained glass in a multitude of colors, and each one depicts a picture of biblical worship and pride. Every Sunday, people file into the padded granite pews to exalt their devotion to God and profess their love and worship to His mercies. And every Sunday, Father Castiel stands before them and leads them through the motions like a good priest.
He is not a good priest, though, and he knows that. He is a twisted, unsavory man, but when dressed in the robes and rites of his calling, it is impossible to tell. He is sincere, and perhaps the most outspoken in his love of God—after all, he is a priest. The fact that he is allowed to stand in the beauty of the church without punishment proves to him that God either isn’t paying attention, doesn’t believe him unworthy, or He just doesn’t exist and therefore cannot care. Still, Castiel preaches His word, and he watches the uncaring and the manic swallow his words to their different pleasures, and when the sermon is over, Latin spoken in his deep, rolling voice still fading and dissipating into the cold air of the old church, he blesses them all and sends them on their way.
Rubbing a hand over his face, the priest sighs; feels the rough scrape of stubble against his palm and fingertips and revels in the simple action. A trickle of warm air makes him shiver, his body already so long adjusted to the cold of his existence, and he looks up to watch the heavy oak doors of the church slowly close behind the last departing parishioner. The dull thud of it shutting sounds final, imprisoning, like he’s trapped here; chained down by his choices and his questioning beliefs.
A noise breaks him from his morose thoughts and he looks up, looks back, turns around to face the pulpit and stares at the wolf standing where he stood just scant moments ago. The creature stares back at him, one dark brown ear flattened and its lips curled to expose its upper canines. As he stares into its golden-green eyes, it begins to advance—scruff bristling and a slow growl working its way from deep in the wolf’s chest. It’s a dangerous sound, a warning rumble, but Castiel just throws his head up, nostrils flaring, and growls wordlessly back.
“I told you to stay in the basement.” He walks towards the wolf, unafraid, even though the beast’s head nearly comes up to his chest. Nowhere in the world is there a canine this massive, and beneath the sleek fur he can see the ripple of muscles and bulk. It snarls at him again, warning him still, but Castiel reaches out to grip a fistful of the animal’s scruff and twists his hand before forcing it down to the cold, rough floor. It struggles until he bites its ear, feeling the prickle of coarse fur and the hot pulse of blood against his tongue as his teeth grind into sensitive flesh.
That achieves the proper response, and the wolf yelps in pain before falling silent and still. It whines and licks at the front of his robes before dipping its head and turning in a way that bares its throat. It’s submission, supplication; something powerful enough to tear Castiel to pieces bowing before him. It sends a rush like no other through the priest, arousal curling thick and hot in his groin, and the wolf’s nose wrinkles in response as it snuffles the air wetly. It whines eagerly, its body shifting, and Castiel lets go in order to stand up and step back.
“Let me see you, Dean.”
Being able to order around a creature as powerful, as old, as Dean will never stop being arousing. Castiel watches as the wolf laying at his feet shifts and blurs, bleeding away into nothing until there is just a man left behind. Green eyes stare up at him, dark with lust and anger.
“Y’know,” the man grunts, pushing himself up to rest on his legs, “you’ve got balls, to order me around so carelessly.” The cold of the church makes his skin pebble and his nipples stiffen. Castiel watches eagerly, detached interest and exuberant curiosity bleeding into something that settles, heavy and wanting, behind his ribs. Dean is watching him warily, his claws scraping across the exotic bronze skin of his thighs as his fingers curl into fists. The priest sees them, but his blue eyes are more interested on the twitching flesh of Dean’s cock, hardening and filling with blood under his gaze.
“You are the one who submits to me,” Castiel replies, dark and victorious. “Now get up. I can’t have anyone walking in here when you look like this. We’re going to the room.” Watching as Dean stands, the graceful play of muscles and rippling, tanned skin, sends a sharp thrill through him. The fact that the Alpha obeys is the real arousal, and it sends a bolt of lust down Castiel’s spine. Dean is old, and powerful, and he’s a creature so far beyond the realm of normal and human. He never was human, even despite the human body he walks around in. It unravels Castiel; turns him from the formal, religious figure that he is known by and morphs him into something dark, and unholy. Something that revels in the fact that he has a supernatural creature submit to him.
Dean stumbles under the force of his scent, pheromones and endorphins filling the air and making the Alpha hazy-eyed with want and lust. He turns to Castiel, the swell of his lower lip caught between white, perfect teeth, and whines softly. Castiel motions him forward and he goes, a quicker speed to the way he moves. Rather than watching his ass, like he knows he can, Castiel watches the way his muscles shift beneath the skin of his broad shoulders. There’s so much power housed in Dean’s body, and anyone who looks at him can only see a fraction of it. He’s built large, and strong, but he’s got so much more strength than a normal human could even hope to assume.
His room is small, and sparsely furnished. Castiel doesn’t have many possessions, but he’s never cared about that. He lives a simple, normal life, though with the addition of Dean to that, he’s added a certain flavor that he’s not willing to replace or change. The Alpha climbs onto the bed and turns in a few circles before flopping down and watching him from beneath pale, sand-colored lashes. A small smirk curls the corner of Dean’s lips and Castiel grins back, feral and excited as he sheds out of his clothes and leaves himself bare to the creature’s gaze. He’s not as built as Dean, nor as tan, but there’s a certain strength to his own body that gives him the power to have someone like Dean submit to him. Dean sniffs the air and whines again, impatient.
“Good things come to those who wait, Dean,” Castiel chides as he crawls onto the bed and holds himself over the Alpha. One hand lifts to cup Dean’s face, feeling the slight roughness of stubble. The man burns hotly beneath him, power coiling through his veins and heating them up until he’s like a furnace. At first, the priest wonders if Dean will burn him the same way the fires of Hell will, but then it’s gone and he’s tilting the Alpha’s head and kissing him. Teeth clash and lips slide together as their tongues meet and tangle. Dean’s mouth is hot and slick, tasting of something electric and tingling heat. Castiel will never tire of this, how Dean submits to him even as the creature fights to dominate the kiss.
Once, months ago, Dean told Castiel that he was the father of an entire race—a race of beasts that were more wolf than human, who changed on the nights precluding to and following the full moon. He changed for the first time on that night, standing in the moonlit glow of the church and watching Castiel with dark, devilish eyes. The priest had done the one thing he could think of, and when Dean lunged for him he’d lunged, too. Now, Castiel remains unscarred, and Dean remains trapped in the church until Castiel decides he can be free. That is the price he paid for challenging the priest in a clash of domination. Castiel is alpha here, even if Dean is Alpha to the werewolves.
No one would think Dean was the Alpha, though, not with the way he buries his face into Castiel’s pillows and moans brokenly as Castiel opens him up with tongue and fingers. He licks into the creature again and again, his tongue curling to catch on his rim as he feels the way Dean shakes and trembles beneath him. Each sound is animalistic—each grunt and whine better than any woman’s soft, breathy cries. Dean is raw power, feral beauty, and he shakes apart beneath the priest in a way no one else can ever replace. Castiel stiffens his tongue and thrusts it back inside of Dean, feeling the tight pulse and clench around the wet organ as the Alpha’s body tries to pull him in and force him out at the same time. Dean takes his fingers eagerly though, milking them as the creature shifts to try and get Castiel to touch where he wants to be touched.
Instead, he pulls them out, lube glistening on them in the light. Dean cries out in protest, but Castiel bites at his thigh before spreading the Alpha open and licking back in with just his tongue instead. He laps at the trembling pucker of muscle and feels how Dean quakes beneath him. Castiel loves the sounds the man makes; whimpers and gasps and tiny, hitched mewls as his claws rip apart into the pillows and drag the stuffing out of them. Dean can’t even beg with words anymore. He begs with his body, spreading his legs and bowing his spine to let Castiel know he’s ready.
The priest finally relents and sits back, lube and saliva smeared across his lips in a degrading act that makes his cock throb harder. He needs to be inside of Dean, craves it, so he searches for the lube and pours it into his palm before wrapping his hand around his cock. Dean is rocking back against air, wanton and degraded, and the Alpha whines in absolute pleasure when Castiel finally grips him by his hips and makes the creature sit back on his cock. The Alpha sinks down too fast, his tight heat wrapping around Castiel and clenching down; punishment and tease that makes his blue eyes roll back in his head and his teeth press against the back of Dean’s shoulder. He holds Dean in place by his hips and thrusts up, growling when Dean howls out a sound that is nowhere near human and grips him even tighter. The Alpha’s feet are scrabbling against the bed, desperate for some kind of leverage so he can rock up and back down again. Castiel can feel the creature’s toes curling against his calves and grins with red teeth, Dean’s blood leaking sluggishly from the bite.
“Good boy,” he rasps, and Dean comes so hard that his head snaps back, his skull slamming into Castiel’s nose and making the priest bark out a noise of pain. His own blood joins with Dean’s, mixing in his mouth and creating an exotic, metallic flavor that makes him snarl. He shoves Dean’s forward, settling his weight over the Alpha’s and snapping his hips forward again and again. The fact that Dean just takes it, spreading himself and making Castiel sink deeper, proves that the werewolf gave himself up all those months ago, the first time Castiel fucked him against the altar.
Sinking into Dean again and again is something Castiel cannot describe, though his body knows exactly what it is. It’s heat, and completion, and domination. It’s overpowering something that can easily overpower him, and it sends a heady rush of lust through him. His balls draw up and tighten, and he can feel the coil inside of him winding tighter and tighter. There’s no other sound in the room but the harsh slap of flesh against flesh, broken occasionally by a whine or a yelp from Dean when the priest angles his hips just right and hits the creature’s prostate. He knows the werewolf is already hard again. The refractory period of a supernatural creature is impressive.
“Please,” Dean gasps, arching back against him. “Harder, I know you can go harder. Need it harder.” He’s so incredibly wanton and needy, wrapped up and consumed in his lust and his need. Never was there a more breathtaking sight, and Castiel drinks it in now. The bronze skin is flushed and shining with sweat, Dean’s powerful shoulderblades flexing as he dips and morphs his spine. It’s incredible, addictive, and the priest bites down over the bleeding wound as he thrusts harder.
Dean’s blood fills his mouth and leaks out at the corners. Castiel almost chokes on it, swallows it down instead, and feels it fill his body with heat and power. He groans and Dean whines in response, the Alpha so eager and demanding as he bucks up against the priest. Castiel uncurls his fingers from Dean’s left hip, leaving behind a white handprint from his tight grip, and slides his hand across Dean’s wet skin and around the curve of his ribs; down to grip his cock and stroke it. There’s no need for any kind of lubrication—Dean’s covered in his own cum and sweat, so Castiel just fists him and pumps until Dean shudders, keens, and comes again. It covers his fingers and the Alpha’s stomach, drips down onto the bed beneath him.
When he lifts his hand to Dean’s mouth, he feels the hot curl of the creature’s tongue against his fingers and between them. Dean licks him clean without having to be told, suckling two of the priest’s fingers into his mouth when Castiel rests them against his lower lip. That, right there, is what makes Castiel come, and he feels flesh rip beneath his teeth when he bites down. Dean just whines in pain and writhes beneath him as Castiel rides out the waves of pleasure.
They’re a mess of blood and semen and sweat. Castiel’s face is covered in slick, wet redness, all the way down his throat and to his chest. Dean turns and pins him down to lick it away, his skin and muscle already knitting itself back together while Castiel watches, awed and impressed at the quick healing process. It makes sense though, since Dean isn’t human. Their roles aren’t reversed just because Dean is on top of him, his large hands pressing against the roll of Castiel’s shoulders to keep him in place while he cleans the man off. With Dean’s legs spread on either side of him, Castiel can feel his release trickle out of the werewolf to smear over his hips and groin, as well as the insides of Dean’s thighs. He reaches down to feel it there, gathering up lube and cum on three fingers and pressing them back inside of Dean. The Alpha gasps and bucks back against them, moaning in encouragement around each wide, broad lick of his tongue.
If they wanted to, they could join again, but Castiel is satisfied for now. Dean never is, and that’s part of his charm—his need to mate and fuck can drive him to madness when Castiel won’t fulfill his needs, and that’s just another form of domination that the priest uses against the creature. If Dean misbehaves, his punishment is denial, and it stands to reason that that is why the beast is usually so accommodating to the demands Castiel gives him; though the fact that Castiel is the alpha of their small pack helps, too.
“Feel better?” he asks, running a filthy hand through Dean’s dark blonde hair and smirking at the face the Alpha makes. Dean is still rocking back onto his fingers, his cock already hard where it’s rubbing into the seam where Castiel’s thigh and groin meld. Dean wants more, but Castiel isn’t in the mood to give it to him right now. “Want to tell me what the hell you were doing, coming into the church when you know you’re not allowed there?”
“Wanted to fuckin’ watch you, okay?” Dean rumbles, the sentence ending in a gasp as Castiel crooks his fingers and rubs the creature’s prostate. “Wanted to see you, and hear you. You’re such a fuckin’ liar, preachin’ to them about God and turning around to fuck me. Not very holy of you, priest-man.”
Castiel chuckles and slides his fingers out of Dean, feeling the way the werewolf clenches down to try and keep him inside. He drags his nail against the rim of muscle and Dean shudders above him, coming in hot, quick bursts between their stomachs. He must have really been eager, to come that quickly.
“I never claim to be a holy man,” Castiel says lightly, pulling Dean down to lick at his abused lips. There’s a bit of cum at the corner of the Alpha’s mouth and he laps it up with a flick of his tongue. “God isn’t in Heaven. He isn’t anywhere. I bring those fools peace, though, and for a week they can sin with the knowledge that, come Sunday, I will let them repent and they can go back to repeat the process again.”
“Our Father,” the Alpha grunts, amused and scornful, “who aren’t in Heaven.”
“Exactly,” the priest agrees, biting at Dean’s lips and dragging his nails down the creature’s spine before pushing him away and standing up. “Now come, we need a shower. Maybe, if you’re a good boy, I’ll even fuck you up against the wall like you’ve been wanting me to.”
That’s all the motivation Dean needs to scramble out of bed. He shifts mid-jump, his ears pricked and alert and his tail held high. The Alpha looks at him, his golden-green eyes glowing, and Castiel grins at him. Dean grins back, feral and powerful, and then the wolf turns and races down the hallway towards the bathroom, his nails scraping over the floor. Castiel follows after him, touching the stone wall briefly before slipping into the shadowed darkness of the hallway.
- Current Location:Kitchen
- Current Mood: frustrated
- Current Music:Chris Brown - Yeah 3x