Title: Lead Us Not Into Temptation
Characters: Castiel/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1983
Disclaimer: Insert standard admission here, that I am only torturing and abusing these boys for the public good.
Author's Notes: This is the AU prequel to Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned... that I mentioned to nu_breed in the comments. I had initially drafted it as the beginning of "Bless Me", and couldn't resolve the direction Cas seemed determined to take things.

She seemed interested in seeing the story anyway. It took me a while to find Castiel's motivation and polish my rough draft to a point where it matched what I saw in my head, but I'm definitely happy with the results.

Tags: Bondage, D/s, m/m, heavier overtones of priest!kink than "Bless Me"


==================================================================================
“Cas, man – I’m out of options. He’s slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

What neither of them can admit is that Dean can’t fix what’s wrong with Sam. The very nature of their relationship negates him being able to take the kind of firm hand Sam needs to start setting things right again. And if we lose one, we lose the other.

So Castiel has swallowed his misgivings, and agreed to do whatever was necessary.

He’d never intended for things to go this far.
**********************************************
Sam is on his knees, head bowed – tension screaming through every line of his body. Castiel freezes – momentarily unsure whether he should interrupt. It goes against his nature to come between man and God in time of prayer.

He’s been praying for weeks. Castiel has not received revelation on this matter, but he suspects they’re well past that point now. “Sam.”

Sam flinches at the sound of his voice – a guilty flush on his cheeks as he looks up at Castiel. “Cas.” He braces himself on the nearby table, starts to push himself to his feet. Castiel is at his side in an instant, hand on his shoulder, pressing him back on his knees.

“You were praying.”

Sam ducks his head, unable to maintain eye contact. “I didn’t know…” He swallows, and Castiel can see him trying to collect himself. “I didn’t know what else to do.” His voice is steadier, but still little more than a whisper.

Castiel sighs gently, seeing for the first time the depth of Sam’s despair and frustration. Reaching out, he tips Sam’s head up and back – forcing the eye contact Sam himself is too scared to make on his own. “You have been heard.”

Sobs rip through Sam’s chest, making him shake against Castiel’s touch. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so, so, sorry.” Tears spill over his cheeks, splash against the angel’s wrist. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make it right.”

“Sam.” His voice is sharper now. Sam flinches, but manages to calm himself. “Do you understand what you are asking for?”

Closing his eyes briefly, Sam nods quickly.

Castiel’s hand drops to his side, and he steps back a pace. “Forgiveness does not come without confession of your sins, Sam Winchester. True absolution comes at an even higher price to the soul.” They are entering dangerous waters now, and despite his promise to Dean, Castiel knows he cannot continue without something resembling informed consent.

He watches Sam grapple with the implications, and is relieved to see a gleam of understanding in his eyes.

“If you wish me to be your confessor,” Castiel says at last, “that is within my power.” He gestures sharply, silencing whatever Sam was about to say. “If I agree to this, you will be confessed in the old way. You will place yourself entirely at my mercy. You will be stripped bare, inside and out, and I will have all your secrets before we finish.”

He has Sam’s full attention now, and Castiel briefly senses him reconsidering the entire operation. Good.

In the end, however, Sam makes the only answer he can. “I’m ready.”

Castiel studies him for a long moment, then nods sharply and makes the only answer he can. “Remove your clothes.”

He retreats slightly, watching as dispassionately as he can as Sam pulls off his shirt. The nearby lamplight catches the swell of his muscles, throwing them into sharp relief. So much strength, in so young a package.

So much centered on one man who until recently had no idea how important he was.

Castiel’s mind starts to drift ahead, focusing on the particulars. Whip, chain, cuffs, blindfold. He looks up at the ceiling overhead, idly scanning for weaknesses in the structure.

Movement catches his attention – Sam getting to his feet in order to remove his shoes. Their eyes meet for a second, before Sam nervously looks away. It’s only a flash of contact, but a nervous flutter threads its way through Castiel’s gut - leaving a pleasurable tightness in its wake. Definitely blindfolded. Nothing requires that the penitent be robbed of his sight, but Castiel knows the trust in those eyes will be his undoing.

Sam finishes disrobing and faces Castiel again – his expression showing more than a little uncertainty, now that he’s committed himself. Gathering himself for the ordeal ahead, Castiel pushes off the wall and closes half the distance separating them in two confident strides. “Kneel.”

His reaction is immediate – as much a response to the bite of command in the angel’s tone as the instruction itself. Castiel begins slowly pacing a circle, marking Sam’s posture, his expression – anything and everything that can be used to help achieve their goal. When Sam turns to keep Castiel in view, the angel grabs him firmly by the back of the head, and reorients his attention to a spot on the floor. “Don’t move.”

A tremor shivers across Sam’s shoulders – the only visible sign of his growing fear.

Finishing his circuit, Castiel crouches close in front of Sam – deliberately violating what the humans call his “personal space”. He turns Sam’s face toward his, forcing eye contact once more. “Understand me well, Sam Winchester. This is not some game you and your brother play for your mutual gratification. You are bending your knee to Heaven now, begging me to hear your sins and punish you in His name. There will be no ‘safe word’ here in this room tonight. Only repentance, true and deep, will buy you your release.”

Sam tries to look away…can’t. He swallows twice against a throat gone tight and dry before he can manage to whisper, “Yes, sir.” Castiel holds his attention for a moment, then nods in satisfaction – redirecting Sam’s focus back to the floor.

Getting to his feet again, Castiel goes directly to the drawer Dean has told him about. His gaze passes quickly over the jumbled assortment of items – the only things he takes for himself are a heavy black blindfold, a whip, and a pair of thick, sheepskin-lined cuffs. He returns to Sam’s side then, kneeling in front of him.

Sam manages to keep his head down, but Castiel can see his eyes widen in surprise. He sets the blindfold and whip on the nearby table, and shows Sam the cuffs. “Give me your wrists.” It takes Sam a moment to respond, and Castiel tenses slightly – waiting for him to panic.

One deep, shuddering breath, and the moment passes. Sam extends his arms, muscles so tight they’re cording under his skin. Castiel leans in, buckles on the first cuff. As he shifts around to get a better angle on the second wrist, Castiel’s thigh brushes lightly against Sam’s now-hard cock.

They’re close enough, that Castiel can feel Sam tense, hear the quiet hiss of his indrawn breath. To his credit, Sam doesn’t say anything, doesn’t break position. Castiel finishes with the second cuff and gets to his feet again, guiding Sam’s arms behind his back. A gleaming silver quick-release dangles from one d-ring – he uses it to fasten the cuffs together. Immediately Sam pulls against the connection – testing his bonds.

So much power… He wonders again if he’s making a mistake, if he should refuse to see this through. They don’t know you are compromised. Sam’s arousal in this situation is not unexpected. It can be handled, controlled – turned in service of the ultimate goal.

His own physical response to Sam chained and kneeling submissively at his feet is another matter entirely.

You can’t stop. The brothers are both looking to him for help, each in their own way. How can he refuse them anything after everything they have endured?

He grabs the blindfold, realizing when he turns that Sam is watching him. “Eyes down.” Once he has obeyed, Castiel steps in on him again. The point of Sam’s shoulder brushes against his crotch, freezing him in place for a heartbeat and making him painfully aware of his own erection.

Forcing himself past the moment, Castiel blindfolds Sam. He waves his hand in front of the black cloth – Sam’s lack of response reassures him that whatever happens next, Sam won’t be able to see.

Alone for a moment - even if it is only symbolic - Castiel retreats to the wall, still facing Sam. “From this point forward, you will speak only when spoken to.” He clears his throat, tries to steady himself. “I am empowered to use whatever means necessary to have your confession.” He is babbling now, reciting the litany in an attempt to distract himself. His palm skims across the front of his own trousers, stroking the now aching bulge between his legs.

Castiel’s breath hisses out between his teeth, and he closes his eyes against the urges rising up inside him. The failings of his physical form are fast becoming a distraction, threatening everything that still needs to happen.

You have consent.

Pushing that thought to the darkest recesses of his mind, Castiel fumbles with the button on his pants, opens his zipper, reaches in and pulls out his cock. He’ll jerk himself off. It won’t take long – Sam will never know – and then his mind will be clear for the work ahead.

“Meditate on your sins, Sam Winchester. Consider what you will bring out of this night.”

His hand is circling his shaft, when Castiel finds his attention drawn to the curve of Sam’s mouth. He knows what they do in the dark together, how they feed emotion and need. Heart thudding against his chest, hardly daring to breathe, Castiel closes on Sam again.

Reaching out with his free hand, he twines his fingers in Sam’s sweat-soaked dark hair, tugs him closer. Sam gasps in surprise at the touch, but offers no resistance. “Open your mouth.”

Blood roaring in his ears, Castiel guides his cock to Sam’s lips. Sam looks briefly startled at the first brush of skin, but then he leans into Castiel’s grip – swallowing him to the root in a single move. Castiel inhales sharply, knees buckling slightly. He flexes his fingers in Sam’s hair, trying desperately to steady himself.

Slow, sweet drag of lips and tongue against his cock, enveloping him in an impossibly wet heat…Castiel struggles to control his breathing, content to let Sam set the pace at first. He watches, transfixed, as Sam’s head moves back and forth, setting his nerves on fire.

Please…God…yes…

He has no idea how much time has passed, when Sam moans low in his throat. The sound vibrates through Castiel, tightening things low in his body. Growling softly, hand still twisted in the strands of dark hair, he fucks into Sam - grabbing control for himself. Sam is soon struggling under the ferocity of his thrusts, nostrils flaring as his body tries to take in enough oxygen to continue functioning.

So close… Castiel is barely aware of Sam now, so focused is he on the moment of release shining in front of them. When he finally comes, he nearly collapses – body jerking and stuttering as he unloads into Sam’s throat. Sam swallows convulsively, draining him well beyond what Castiel would have thought his human body was capable of.

Reality blurs around them as he finally pulls free. Sam leans after him blindly, determined to clean every inch of his cock. Breathing heavily, trying desperately to regain some semblance of balance, Castiel does not fight the gesture - shivering as Sam laves his tongue over the shrinking folds of skin.

Compromised. He can’t fight it – can’t deny it – not after what has just happened.

Finished with his self-appointed task, Sam sits back on his heels; pulling free of Castiel’s now slackened grip. Castiel lets him go, troubled to see how calm he is.

You had consent.

Castiel shivers again, deciding that he’ll deal with the implications of that later. No matter his own failings, there is still work to be done this night.

He is still needed.
=================================================================================
Next step, put final polish on the sequel to "Bless Me, Father" - noteworthy in that it is my first recorded *ever* Wincest piece.