Sam/Dean. ~900 words. NC-17. For Kinkfest.
“Tell me you’re not eating communion wafers.”
Old lights dangled from dusty rafters in the vestibule. They flickered as outside the rain came down in solid sheets, rattling the heavy stained glass windows. The doors flew open in a sharp gust of wind, spilling both Dean and a flood of water across the worn carpet before Sam could slam them shut against the night.
Dean looked up, wet and dishevelled, as if the entire thing were all Sam’s fault.
Shrugging, Sam held out a hand and hauled his brother up. “You’re the one that picked a church to squat in.”
“I was hoping you’d get stuck in the car all night.”
Sam shrugged again, adding a little smirk entirely for Dean’s benefit. Still, he took the dripping duffle from Dean’s chilled grasp. “There’s a choir room over there that looks pretty good. It’s got a couch.”
Dean nodded, slapping his palms against his sodden jeans. “Gonna go see if they got anything we can use.”
“Stealing from a church?”
“Hey, we already desecrated the place, might as well.”
“Sure, man. Whatever.” Sam dropped the duffle in a pew to see what Dean had snagged in his mad dash through the storm. The usual, mostly–salt, guns, flashlights, matches and lighter fluid, a few pieces of chalk and the journal. He took half a squished protein bar for himself and left the rest for Dean.
There was a full water bottle along with two empties. Sam eyeballed the fount, debating between one bottle or two half-full.
“Found some blankets!” Dean shouted.
Carefully, Sam sunk the first bottle into the water with his fingertips, watching air bubbles snap to the surface.
“Hungry?” Dean asked, sticking a tiny round cracker right in Sam’s face.
“Jesus,” Sam muttered, water splashing his hand as he lost his grip on the bottle.
“So they tell me,” Dean said, chewing loudly. “Doesn’t have much flavour though, does he?”
Sam sighed. He stared at the bottle bobbing about the font. His fingers curled over the edge just above the water line. “Tell me you’re not eating communion wafers.”
“I’m not eating communion wafers.”
Resolutely, Sam snatched the bottle up, swearing quietly as he freshly singed himself with the holy water.
“I wish you’d quit doing that,” Dean muttered.
Sam said, “It doesn’t hurt, not really,” and wiped the water off on his jeans.
“Then what’re you cussing for?”
“It sorta stings a little, okay?”
Dean shifted his weight, his gaze turning speculative. He ate another wafer, slowly.
Warily, Sam said, “What?”
Dean brushed crumbs off his hands absently. “Didn’t burst into flames when you crossed the threshold.”
Dean took a step forward, then another, backing Sam up against the cold stone basin. He reached past Sam, arms bracketing Sam’s hips, to flick his fingers through the water. “Wonder why that is,” he said, but not like he was wondering that at all.
“Maybe ’cause the blessing on the water’s fresh,” Sam said, tongue darting out to dampen his lips.
“Maybe.” Dean brought shiny-wet fingertips to his mouth, rubbed them slowly, catch and drag, over his lips. “Maybe, I don’t care.”
He kissed Sam then, soft and open-mouthed. The sharp, tingling burn spread quickly, eased briefly by the flick of Dean’s tongue. When Dean pulled back, Sam’s lips felt hot, full.
“Might care a little,” Dean amended, sucking holy water from his fingers before kissing Sam again, pushing the burn straight into Sam’s mouth with his tongue.
He didn’t linger long before sliding down, licking a wet stripe under Sam’s jaw, all soft and gentle and prickly-hot. Sam’s breath came faster, caught until Dean bit and a soft noise jerked free.
With one hand Dean tugged at the zip on Sam’s jeans and plunged the other into the holy water with a muted splash. Drops pattered to the carpet as he reached under Sam’s shirt, dragged thin lines of too-hot across Sam’s stomach.
Sam hissed, “Dean, what’re you-”
Pure heat wrapped around Sam then, sweet and aching. Dean went to his knees, kissed the soft, vulnerable skin of Sam’s belly while his hands, one after the other, dragged along the length of Sam’s cock. The hard edge of the fony bit into Sam’s back, barely-there sensation compared to the feel of Dean’s hands and mouth all over him.
When Dean snatched up the bottle from where it’d dropped, drank, Sam had time to gasp, “Fuck,” before Dean’s mouth was on him again, chill from the water to start then warm, too warm, perfect.
He came moaning, fingers cramped tight on the font to hold himself up. Dean licked at his cock, short bursts of cold between long, lazy swipes, and looked about as pleased with himself as Sam felt.
“So it was a good idea,” Sam said, only a little breathlessly.
Dean sat back on his heels, hand braced on his thigh as he idly regarded the water bottle. His mouth was shiny-red in the dim yellow light. One eyebrow slowly rising, he waggled the water gently so it sloshed against the sides before tipping it up to drain the bottle dry.
Sam said, “You’re gonna need a lot more holy water.”
“Don’t know if you noticed, but there are a hell of a lot of churches in this state, Sammy boy.”