#priest!sam

the church was basked in a warm autumn glow, with some parts colored from the stained glass. the dust in the air roamed over the room, being carried alongside the chilled air and soft hums of the old air conditioning.

everyone had filed out an hour ago, mass being long over. all that remained in the lonely church was you, and the priest twenty years your senior.

the wooden pew groaned under the shifting weight of you riding him. you were leaned back, sweaty palms braced on the back of the pew behind you.

sam had his large, aged hands wrapped around your waist, assisting you in your movements.

“hah—father winchester, please—”

“please what, baby?” his voice rumbled like the combined singing of the choir during mass. his grip tightened on you, practically slamming you back down onto him.

you cried out. it felt like he was somehow deeper than he already was. his tip kissed your cervix as gently as possible, making you clench and scream.

“please—cum, cum! i—shit!” sam immediately pulled you down with a hand around your jaw, trapping you in a searing kiss.

he seized all motion in your connected bodies, drinking in your whines of protest.

his lips parted from yours but stayed close, ghosting. “what did i say about swearing in church, honey?” he placed a small peck against your swollen, panting mouth. his gaze glanced over to his wrist, which he held up to see his watch properly.

the next service was in about thirty minutes. and the set up was half finished due to your current activities—but he still had time.

“just a little longer. can y’do that f’me?” he asked sweetly. his puppy-dog eyes still sparkled despite his years, and god, if you weren’t swooning over them.

you nodded with a matching hum, too dazed to say words. but that’s all he needed.

sam connected your lips once more. his warm palms grabbed onto the soft flesh of your ass, manhandling you down onto him.

he swallowed your shocked gasps while your hands flew to his broad shoulders, gripping tightly as he thrusted up into you simultaneously.

hushed curses spilled from your lips and into his mouth. the pew grinded against the flooring, moving at every wet squelch.

this was the fourth time he denied you. and it was getting more and more difficult to hold back your orgasm as time passed.

your head dropped to the crook of his neck, heated breaths fanning over his sweat slicked skin. “fa‐father—please! please let me—oh my god!” you slurred, each thrust making your words sloppier. “just let me cum, ple—ase!” you choked out a sob, your words slowly blurring on incoherency.

sam shook his head, dipping his fingertips into the skin of your ass and the tops of your thighs—causing you to whimper out. “not yet, fuck,” he growled the swear, biting his tongue as to not sin any more than he already is. “just—wait, baby,”

“ca—an’t!” you screamed against his collar between moans and whines. your folds kept sucking him in, desperately trying to reach your high.

sam couldn’t hold it any longer. especially after glancing at his watch again—he was running out of time.

“shh, dear. don’t want them hearing you, now do we?” he whispered into your ear, body shaking under his large grasp. the blasphemous noises of your arousal coated skin was enough to potentially alarm the convent in the next building over.

you grinded your hips down against him every few thrusts, trying to work for it. as if you hadn’t been doing that the whole time.

your knees dug into the sides of his large thighs, aching from the wood of the pew below. your walls began to flutter, and the knot in your stomach grew stronger, you couldn’t resist it.

sam pushed you up a bit—to the point your hands flew back to the pew behind you. he kept one hand on your hip, while the other snaked up to your chest, pulling the disheveled neckline of your pure, white dress down, freeing your breasts.

you looked ethereal with the sunlight surrounding your hazed form. the sight was all he needed to convince himself.

“ask properly,” he told you, fingers wrapping around your breast, squeezing roughly.

“please let me cum, father—ngh—father winches—” you were cut off by a moan bubbling up your throat, “father winchester, please! please, i need it—need you, so bad!”

he gave you a small nod, wrapping his lips over one of your hardened nipples as the other was played with his hand.

the mix of your jumps and his thrusts became primal, sloppy. you were never good at keeping your voices to a minimum—but for him, you tried.

“do it. now.” he grumbled against your skin. his free hand slid down, thumb circling your puffy, sensitive clit.

you prattled mindlessly at the pleasure, teetering just over the bridge for a few seconds. and then it crashed down on you.

you cradled his head, pushing his beard further into the swell of your breast, itching it slightly. your fingers carded through and tugged at his long, brown locks, searching for stability as you thrashed.

“sammy,” you moaned into the crown of his head, kicking off his own orgasm.

he spilled inside you, coating you with his arousal. it mixed with your own and dripped down onto his dress pants, staining them with your dual sin. your mutual panting allowed you to simmer in the moment for a while before sam checked his watch, panic setting in.

You make it to the front of the line, where Sam and Dean make a show of introducing themselves, some throwaway Irish names.

“Deloris Van Cartier,” you say with a coy smile as you shake Dean’s hand. He only makes a face that shows his renewed annoyance at the name you insisted on, but when you extend your hand to Sam, you see the small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. His mouth that you’re really taking an interest in right now. He must notice, because when you look up into his eyes again, his hand still hasn’t left yours, his index finger splayed over the inside of your wrist.

“Anything?” Dean mutters and you blink to break the eye contact with Sam, look over at him.

“Nothing so far,” you say, then look back at Sam, only to catch him looking down at you with an unreadable expression. “But I’ll keep watching.”

Service is boring, but it allows you to keep looking at Sam. He and his brother are sitting in the front row, exchanging low words every once in a while, both looking around. It allows you to see his strong profile, expression awake and curious. His hair is sticking out a little on one side, and you want nothing more than to brush it behind his ear. Or tug your fingers into it, make him look at you. You shift in your seat, earning you another friendly nod by Mrs. Johnson. If only she knew. 

After mass, the church empties. Some people stand around, talk, and it’s a good way to ask about the recent murders. The downside is that the Johnsons introduce you to their single neighbor, Jerry. Jerry talks at you like he’s trying to say something like I’m gonna give you the night of your life, then rub at your thigh for two minutes, before asking if you came. You manage to disentangle yourself from that conversation quickly.

When Sam, Dean and you finally check in with each other again, everyone else is gone.

“There’s something suspicious about that padre,” Dean says, blue steeling hard, so you know he’s picked up a trace. He’s capable, so you don’t feel bad about what you suggest.

“Maybe you go and follow him,” you say, “and Sam and I make sure there’s no other clues here?”

For once, Dean doesn’t catch that you’re just trying to get his brother alone. It’s shocking actually, but you’re not gonna question it. Maybe the idea of you and Sam fucking in a church is a little too salatious, even for Dean. He pretends to be the sex-crazed one, but you’re almost certain he’s pretty vanilla.

Not Sam though. Sam is a goddamn freak. Literally.

So Dean leaves, but then Sam, to your utmost disappointment, actually starts searching the fucking church for clues. That’s okay. You’ll get him where you need him.

You watch Sam as he moves, all the way on the other side of the church. He’s got that intense look on him, the one where his lips are pressed together, his forehead knotted. You stop where you are, two rows of pews between you and him. Take a careful look around to make sure there really is no one else there. Then your hands go to your knees before travelling under your dress and quickly pulling down your panties. You push them into your handbag, then put the bag on one of the seats. You also take off the cardigan you were wearing over your summer dress to cover your shoulders, lay it next to the bag. Clear your throat.

“Sam, I think I found something,” you say and his head snaps up, eyes searching you out. You nod at the ground. “Some kind of weird inscription. Looks like it was scratched in recently.”

And Sam, sweet lamb, he thinks you really found something, walks over to you with long strides, expression attentive. 

He looks at the ground before you and you can immediately tell he doesn’t see the made-up scratches, but is too polite to say it. He stops at arm’s length from you, head bent down.

“I don’t see it,” he says and you point at the ground. 

“That’s cause you’re all the way up there, giant man,” you say and Sam huffs and then lowers himself, drops into a squat.

You step forward before he can tell you again that he doesn’t see anything. You gently lay your hand on the back of his head and then you’re pressing his face against your crotch.

Sam’s hands shoot to your thighs and for a second you wonder if he’ll push you away. Sam has a hard time initiating stuff, but when you do, he’s like a switch that’s flicked. 

His hands wander up, quickly, under your dress, up the back of your thighs, roughened, tough hands against the milky softness of your skin there before his big paws find your ass cheeks, squeeze them hard and then pull you harder against his face.

He takes a deep breath, so deep and lustful that it makes your eyelids flutter, and you make a fist of his hair at the back of his head, pull it without pulling him away, while Sam keeps massaging your ass. 

You can feel the tip of his strong nose pressed against your softest parts, the thin fabric of your summer dress still separating you, but not by much. Sam’s shoulders rise again as he takes another deep breath. He must smell your wetness, the earthy musk. The one that's all for him.

He pulls back his head a little, lets go of your ass cheeks, but only to grab the hem of your dress, push it up. His eyes are on your pussy, and he groans when he sees you're not wearing any underwear. He tilts his head up, chest rising and falling slowly while his strong fingers press into your skin.

“For me?” he asks, voice husky and you feel a messy grin sneak onto your face.

“Always for you,” you say with a smile that you’re only pretending is coy. Sam narrows his eyes up at you.

“Is it a… priest thing?” he asks, just slightly tilting his head. You shrug, all innocence.

“It’s mostly a you thing,” you reply, then bite your lip, drawing Sam’s gaze there. “But the priest thing isn’t hurting.”

You see the small tug at the corner of Sam’s beautiful mouth, the slight raising of his chin, the same one he does when he discovers something interesting in a book, but also the one you’ve learned to spot when he’s thinking up something nice for you.

With your dress still bunched up in his fists, Sam pulls you in. 

His mouth lands high on your thigh, warm breath fanning over the skin before determined lips press against it. You feel another gush of wetness join what is already there as you scratch your fingernails down the back of Sam’s head, eliciting a low groan from him, but then he detaches from you, looks up at you. 

“Sam,” you breathe, “don’t stop.” But he just raises his eyebrows a little.

“Sam?” he asks. You need to swallow, almost painful arousal shooting through your core, a tight fist of need.

“Father,” you say instead and Sam nods slowly.

“Keep your hands by your side,” he says, voice low, but you’d think he shouted with him quickly your hands leave his head and drop to your side. One side of Sam’s mouth twitches into a half-smile.

“Good girl,” he says and then lowers his head again.

Your eyes nearly roll up and a needy whimper leaves you at the mix of his words plus the feeling of his open mouth pressed just to the side of your pussy. He’s kissing you, strong lips and wet, hot tongue darting out, like he would kiss your mouth, but he’s keeping an inch of distance from your clit, taking his time as his mouth makes you wetter than you were before.

His stubbled cheek brushes against your lips and it feels like a hundred volts pumped into you, only that little touch making your breathing come out chopped, your hands form into fists to keep them where he told you to keep them. You can feel your wetness start to travel onto the inside of your thighs, desperate and waiting for any relief, and at the same time sure that direct contact will kill you on the spot.

Sam’s tongue and lips are still exploring you, taking his sweet time, and if you had the wherewithal to look down, you’d see his eyes are closed in reverence as he is lost to the taste of your skin, the warmth of it. 

“Please,” you mutter, the word leaving you without intention, just the single thing your brain can still come up with. But if anything it makes things worse, because he pulls his head back and looks at you again.

You must be a pretty sight - cheeks flushed, eyes closed, brow knotted, hands tight fists at your side. Sam squeezes your thigh where one of his hands is holding it, and you manage to blink your eyes open, look down at him.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice stern and challenging. You lick your lips, try to calm your breathing, concentrate on what you’re saying.

“Your cock, Father,” you breathe out and you can see the effect it has on him, the tensing of his beautiful features.

Sam lets go of you, presses himself up to stand. He briefly sways, his hands already going to the fly of his pants, his large, imposing body so close to you you can feel his body heat radiating off him.

“Oh yeah?” he says, his own breathing heavy as you hear the clink of his belt buckle. “Down your throat or in your cunt?”

You press yourself closer to Sam, his words nearly making you dizzy, but not as dizzy as the need between your legs. Still, there is nothing better than seeing Sam lose it like this, watch all his self-control and strength come apart.

“My mouth,” you reply, voice breathless, and you’re almost certain Sam didn’t expect that, because he looks away from where he’s opened his pants, at your face, eyes going wider for a second, before his hand shoots to your neck.

He pulls you up towards him so hard you feel the stretch in your neck and calves as you try to meet him as much as possible. Sam’s kiss is hard, all lips and teeth and uncoordinated as he pants into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “you’re gonna drive me crazy.” You just have time to grin against him before you drop down again and then go lower, your hands wandering down his body. 

Your knees meet the cool stone floor as you keep looking up at Sam’s face. He looks even more hulking from down here, miles and miles of long, lean limbs, making you feel tiny. Since you no longer need to hold on to him, your hands go to his opened fly, one diving in and taking him out.

You can’t help the moan that leaves you at the sight of him, thick and quickly hardening. Since you don’t have the self-control Sam has, you lean forward immediately, lips wrapping around his head, gently suckling.

A long, deep groan leaves him, making your eyelids flutter. Two things you were more than happy to learn about Sam once you started hooking up: he’s well-endowed, fitting his large frame, and he’s vocal.  

Popping your lips off him, you stick out your tongue, begin running it along Sam’s length, the soft skin of him kissing your cheek and lips, spreading your saliva over your chin. His hand wanders to the base of your neck, long fingers tangling in your hair there and gripping it hard, whether to encourage you or control your onslaught impossible to say.

You go back to the head of his cock, suck it into your mouth as you hollow out your cheeks, before taking in more of him. Sam grunts again, his hips slightly rocking forward before he controls himself.

“Touch yourself,” he breathes out and it takes a moment for the words to seep into your cockdrunk head. Your eyes open, just for a moment, and then your hand drops between your legs and you begin petting yourself.

You’re careful with how sensitive you are, your thighs slightly twitching. You’re uncoordinated, blind with lust, can’t settle on a rhythm, on a spot. Your middle and ring finger dip into you, their entry easy with how wet you are, but they feel all wrong, they’re not bringing you any relief, only more need, more want.

The sound you make around Sam’s cock must betray your frustration, because with his grip in your hair, he pulls you back, tilting your head so you look at him. There’s spit all over your mouth and your eyes must be misty as you open them, your chest rising and falling quickly. Sam’s raised eyebrows ask a question without words.

“Can’t reach where you reach,” you press out, unable to form a full sentence. “Doesn’t feel as good as you.”

Sam’s upper lip pulls up and then suddenly the hand at the back of your neck is gone, only for it to wrap around your upper arm like a vise.

Sam pulls you to your feet and then forward, and you nearly go tumbling with your needy lack of coordination. But he’s there to hold you up, and when you see where he is dragging you, renewed arousal makes your knees buckle. 

Your front meets the altar at the head of the church, not too hard, but hard enough that your hands go out to steady yourself. Not that you could go anywhere, not with how close Sam crowds in behind you. One of his hands flies to your front, under your breasts, running over the fabric of your dress, blindly searching but only touching, only taking you in, while his other pulls up your dress again.

“You need my help to go deep?” he pants and you nod, before Sam’s other hand pushes against your back, making you lean forward until your cheek meets the surface of the altar, cold marble burning against your hot skin. “Need me to show you the depth of His love? Of mine? Hold up your dress.”

Your hands go to your hip, bunching up your dress and how exposed it makes you to Sam sends an intense shudder through you. His hand wanders higher, to rest between your shoulder blades, keeping you down and in place where you belong, while his other moves behind you.

It’s his finger that enters you, though, not his cock, and despite that being a significant improvement, you still mewl in disappointment.

“No, need more,” you moan, your voice cracked and broken. “Need your cock, Father, please.”

Sam huffs as he slightly twists his finger inside you, making you feel how deep his long digit is going as he explores your inner walls.

“Don’t be greedy,” Sam answers, his finger only blurring the edges of your need. “You’ll get what I give you.”

You flex your fists, bite your lip, then clench your pussy in the hope of feeling more of him, but Sam is taking his time, until he finally pulls his finger most of the way out of you, and pushes in again with two.

You turn your head, your forehead pressed against the surface below you, as a long drawn-out moan leaves you. The urge to rock your hips back is overwhelming, but you’re too worried that Sam will take the game to the next level, will withdraw to teach you a lesson. Still, it’s almost impossible not to.

“You need to be opened up,” you hear his low voice, the sound of it making you feel like a feral animal. “Be a receptacle for the Lord.”

You have something brewing in your brain and on your tongue about what you’d much rather be a receptacle for, when suddenly you hear voices.

Your eyes fly open and Sam’s fingers stop moving. You’re pretty sure the voices are coming from the vestibule, the door luckily closed. The volume of the voices remains the same and it sounds like they’ve stopped outside, but still. They could walk in any minute.

Sam pulls his fingers from you, and you’re getting ready to push down your dress, mentally already flattening your hair, calming your breathing, even though you know there is no way someone could walk in now and not know what you have been doing. But that’s not what happens.

You feel the pressure of it against your entrance, and for a second, you are struck dumb by what is happening, and then Sam’s cockhead penetrates your folds, slipping into you and you know.

The sound that leaves you is accidental and animalistic, the surprise and stretch making you feel like you’re losing your mind. One hand lets go of your dress and shoots forward until your hand is resting just below you, and you lean down, sink your teeth into the skin on the back of your hand to stop any other sounds from leaving you.

It’s a good thing, because Sam presses deeper, your whimpers muffled against your flesh, eyes squeezed shut. He’s breathing hard, but low, his fingertips squeezing you where he’s holding on to you.

“Can you be quiet?” he half whispers and you’re honestly not sure you can. But the alternative is having him pull out, and that is not an option, so you quickly nod. Sam must see your head move because he presses deeper.

The voices are still there but either retreating or just difficult to hear with the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You can feel Sam disappearing into you, know that the sight of it is like a magic trick being performed, how much of him fits inside of you. It’s why you love being able to see how he fucks you. But right now, you can only feel.

Sam bottoms out, his pelvis pressing against your ass as if he’s hoping to bury even more of himself inside of you, but there's no room, no more room anywhere in you with how absolutely he fills you. You concentrate on your breathing, in through your nose, out through your mouth, but already you can feel your own desperate clenching around him, your body looking for friction, release, anything.

And then Sam pulls out and you can’t help but arch your back, needing to feel as much of him as possible. The pull in your back muscles is almost painful, but it’s a wonderful accoutrement to the drag of Sam’s cock. He pushes in again before he’s fully left you.

Your clit is screaming for attention, your body is screaming to come and you want nothing more than to grab all parts of Sam, inhale him, suck on his skin, but all you can do is lie there and take what he is giving you. His thickness rubs along your most sensitive spots, begging for more stimulation, but you get what you get.

Sam pulls out and pushes in a few more times, and then you’re finally sure the voices are retreating. Your body relaxes somewhat and Sam lets out a long, tense breath. His hand on your back finds your shoulder, squeezes it.

“Oh God,” you whimper, finally daring to make a sound again and his hand moves again, wraps around your face, fingers pressed against your lips.

“Never heard that thing about using the Lord’s name in vain?” he asks, voice shaking a little, but you can barely hear him, instead press your tongue against his fingers, then suck two of them into your mouth. Sam groans roughly, his next push into you harder, less controlled.

“Fuck,” he grunts and then pulls his fingers from your mouth and his cock from your pussy. You whine, but only until his hands grab your hips, turn you around.

He is a sight to behold, when you turn around and face him. He looks like the Almighty himself, wrathful and powerful and beautiful. He leans his head down, presses his forehead against yours and you press back, desperate to touch him.

“Need to taste you,” he says, and you moan at his words. “And then I need to really fuck you.”

With that, he leans down a little, his arms going around your waist, yours around his shoulders, and then Sam lifts you up onto the altar. He pushes you back, bullies you into position until you are lying down. Roughly hoists up your dress again.

This time there is no preamble, no playing around. Sam goes for your clit, sucks it into his mouth and your body bucks up at the sudden assault, loud whimpers bursting from your mouth. He lets go of your clit, then drags his tongue along your entrance, swirling as if he’s tasting ambrosia, before running it up and going for your clit again. He must be tasting so much of you, plus his own pre-come, and momentarily you’re jealous that he gets to savor the cocktail of both of your essences mixed, and you don’t.

You want to grab his head, press him against you, but you remember his words from earlier. Keep your hands by your side. Maybe he still wants you to do the same. So instead, you extend your arms to both sides, hoping that keeping your hands as far away from him as possible will do the trick.

You raise your legs though, and Sam uses his big hands to press them up against your torso, slings his arms over them to keep you in place. The last glimpse of him that you see is him staring down at your pussy, his own lips parted, heavily panting.

Sam dives in, licking and sucking and even nipping at you when he can’t control himself. He’s pressing his face so hard against you you’d be worried how he’s still breathing, if you had a single coherent thought left in your brain. You feel his thick nose crush against you, the press of it making the muscles in your stomach contract.

You can only lie there, eyes closed, lips parted, needy, desperate and pathetic noises leaving you. A high whimper when Sam sucks on your clit hard, making your lower body buck, half to meet him, half to get away from him, but Sam keeps you in place. There’s no way for you to move.

You feel your orgasm approaching rapidly and for a moment, you let your eyes flutter open, the darkness of your eyelids making you feel almost too much. You look up, at the vaulted ceiling, the rich, gold decorations and then, as you press your head back, your shoulders twisting up, pushing yourself down to feel more of Sam, your body making the choice for you, you see Him.

His arms are stretched away from his body in a mirror position of you. Long, dark hair, on his head and shorter on his face, a lean but muscular body. His face filled with such deep longing. Just like yours must be.

You burst into your orgasm, fingers desperately trying to hold on to something, body bucking up as Sam keeps tongue-fucking you roughly, and you are filled with so much light and heat you think you’re about to implode. Your cries are high and loud. Someone walking in wouldn’t know if you’re in pain or ecstasy. 

As your body stops its shaking Sam gives your clit another quick suck, making you gasp and flinch. He lets go of you and you drop your legs, then close them, roll onto your side. You’re painting and shivering.

You feel Sam’s hand low on your spine and you turn your head when you feel him lean over you, meet his lips. His kisses are frenzied and you can taste the sweet tang of your pussy on his lips and tongue.

You shuffle, bring one leg under him and then to his other side, Sam now between your thighs and his lips twitch, a sinful smile on them, before he grabs your hips and with one hard tug pulls you closer to the edge of the altar, closer to him. He straightens a little, positions himself to penetrate you again and you raise yourself on your elbows, chase his jaw with your lips.

“Make me good, Father,” you pant, licking at him, only getting the dimple in his chin. “Fuck your goodness into me.”

Sam pushes one of your legs open, then looks at your face as he presses his cock into you. Your eyelids flutter as you’re tossed between the shores of feeling too much and already feeling like you could come again. He leans over you, his hair falling into his face, and sinks home.

You kiss him again as Sam starts fucking you, deep, intense thrusts that immediately respark the flames of your arousal. One of the straps of your dress has fallen off your shoulder, and Sam hooks his finger into the fabric, pulls it down, revealing your breast to him. You move your leg higher on his side and in response, Sam hooks it over his elbow. He drops his head, finds your nipple and runs his tongue over it, then sucks it into his mouth and gives it a gentle bite. You moan loudly, grab his biceps to have something to hold on to as Sam begins snapping his hips against you.

The stretch of Sam’s thick cock is rooting you perfectly in the moment, your body rejoicing at the intense intrusion. He’s breathing hard now, low grunts leaving him as your pussy drags pleasure from him, your lips meet his cheek and lips, your fingernails dig into his arms. He’s got you under him, strung like a taut wire, but it’s his groans that are becoming more intense, more uncontrolled. 

“You want me to make you full?” he asks, voice deep and cracked, so raw you feel it in the tips of your fingers and down to your toes. “Make you full of His love?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Make me so full, so full it runs out over your big cock.” Sam groans, picks up his speed.

“Come with me,” he pants. “I want you to.” You’re pretty sure you nod, but you can’t be fully certain. What you do know is that you bring one hand away from Sam’s arm to between your legs, to where Sam is opening you up so perfectly. It’s all wet and warm there, and you begin petting yourself.

“You’re gonna come on my cock?” he asks, his voice becoming strained.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely able to make any sounds anymore.

 “You’re gonna let me ruin you?” he asks, interrupts himself with a loud moan.

"Yes," you gasp, your orgasm within reach, so close you can taste.

“Gonna let me make you a sinner?” Sam asks, voice raw and forced.

You open your mouth to answer, but it’s too late - the feeling too intense, too overwhelming, as a high whine leaves you to accompany your second orgasm.

Sam grunts loudly, maybe at how tightly you’re squeezing him, how eagerly your walls are pressing against him, trying to keep him there, sucking him in, and in the next second, just as you barely manage to open your eyes, he comes too.

His shoulders are heaving, his eyes squeezed shut, the most sinful, perfect moans leaving him. He presses his open mouth against your jaw as he keeps grinding into you to fuck his come deeper into you.

Sam goes slack over you, his big body untensing, his broad chest expanding against you on every breath. His face is still pressed against your neck and you run your hands from his arms to his back, stroking him, just needing to keep touching him.

You both lie there as your breathing slows and ultimately syncs, as you both come back to yourselves and each other.

“What the fuck? ” he mumbles against you, sounding very much like himself again. All you can reply with is a fucked-out chuckle.

“I think I skipped Sunday school when we covered this part,” you say, your fingers running into his hair, twirling one strand between your fingers. “I only remember the part about the good Samaritan.” And Sam doesn’t react, just keeps breathing delicious warm breath against you, so you poke his shoulder.

“Get it?” you say. “Sam-aritan?”

Sam’s shoulders begin shaking, and then he presses himself up, the breath and the press of his nose against you disappearing, but at least you’re rewarded with seeing his face. He looks down at you, expression amused and critical at the same time. The way you know him.

“You just got me to fuck you in a church,” he deadpans, “and now you’re making bible puns?” You shrug.

“I contain multitudes,” you reply. Sam raises his eyebrows.

“That’s Walt Whitman,” he corrects you. You press your lips together.

“It’s a good think you’re handsome and fuck like a god,” you reply, “because you’re a goddamn smartass.” Sam chuckles, making your heart bloom with warmth, and then he pushes himself up.

"Language," he says, but there's little authority in it now.

Once he’s standing, he slowly pulls himself out of you before helping you sit up. He wraps one arm around you to help you drop off the altar, and you can’t resist getting both your hands on him to steady yourself. And as if you’re not swooning enough already, Sam’s hand goes up, runs over your hair where it must be messy from how hard he fucked you.

You both flinch when you hear the creak of the door and then you turn, and there’s Mrs. and Mr. Johnson walking in. You drop your hands off Sam quickly, forcing a polite smile, while Sam clears his throat, crosses his hands in front of his body.

There’s a short moment where the four of you just stare at each other, no one saying anything. You blink repeatedly and hope no one notices your shifting around when you suddenly feel Sam’s come begin to run out of you.

“There’s a…” Mrs. Johnson starts, pointing over her shoulder at the door leading to the outside. “We were… looking for you…” You nod, widen your smile.

“Father and I were just…” you start and then you realize you have no idea where you meant for that sentence to go.

“Praying,” Sam quickly adds. “We were praying.”

“How… nice,” Mrs. Johnson says, and her husband nods along.

“But now we’re gonna go outside,” you say, and then you quickly cross the distance to the bench where you left your things, strategically holding the cardigan in front of you. Sam is right behind you, throwing the older couple another friendly smile. The two just continue staring. 

Sam presses his hand against the small of your back to get you moving, and then you’re both hustling it out of the church. However you can’t stop yourself from grabbing his hand once you’re out of sight, just as you’re about to walk out of the church into the sunlight. 

You squeeze Sam’s hand and he squeezes back, and when you look up at him, you see his dimpled grin, barely contained.

as you’re walking around, talking to the few people in your house, you receive a knock on the door. opening it, you’re faced with two…priests? they’re awfully young for priests and you, despite your belief or lack there of, go to church very frequently yet you have never seen them.

“hello, i’m father osbourne, this is father hetfield. we heard someone here has passed away, thought we would drop by and give you our prayers.” the shorter one, with green eyes said with a smile. you don’t question their names being familiar. you give your gratitudes and invite them in.

you take a look at both of them. father hetfield is tall, and is too gorgeous for a priest. both of them are but father hetfield is a different story, you think.

you show them the couch, and sit across them as they sit down. father osbourne immediately reaches for the finger sandwiches on the coffee table.

“are you…new to the church? i’ve never seen you before.” you ask, curious. your voice is frail from your grief.

that question halts their movements for a short moment—father ‘osbourne’ stares at you for a second, the finger sandwich halfway in his mouth, and father ‘hetfield’ clears his throat. weird.

“uh, yes! yes we are.” father hetfield responds, getting a nod from you. you wring your hands in your lap, not sure what to say.

“how did you know the deceased?”

“he was my brother.” your voice barely a whisper.

“we’re so sorry for your loss.” father hetfield’s eyes filled with empathy. “do you mind if we ask some things about him?” you nod when you’re asked this, waiting for their questions.

“was there anything strange about his behavior before his passing?”

“yes. he did a lot of drugs so i guess his brain couldn’t take it anymore. two weeks ago, he became weirdly violent. he scared me. he kept murmuring things i couldn’t understand, he kept wandering around, throwing things and breaking them and then one night he just…died.” you can’t help the tears pooling in your eyes at the memory of finding him dead on the living room floor.

“did he have any enemies? anyone that would want to hurt him? maybe he owed some people money?”

“i mean, not a lot of people liked him but no one would want him dead. he didn’t owe anyone anything because he kept selling our dead mother’s jewelry for drug money.” you don’t mean to sound bitter about it. your brother is dead for god’s sake but you can’t help it. “why do you ask?”

“just curious as to what could’ve possibly killed him that’s all.” father osbourne’s smile offering you comfort.

“the autopsy results say it was an overdose.” you look at them to see their reactions. it’s hard to figure out what they’re thinking.

“of course.”

after sitting in silence for a beat, one of the guests calls you. you excuse yourself and leave the two priests alone.

looking over at the fathers, you see them standing up, walking towards the door.

“are you leaving?”

“yes, we must run some errands for the church. we will come back to visit of course. god bless you.” father osbourne smiled again. you thank them for coming and close the door once you see them get in their car.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

the night rolls around faster than you wanted. first night you will spend with your brother buried under the ground. you toss and turn but you can’t fall asleep no matter how hard you try. you drank chamomile tea, took a melatonin pill but nothing worked. you’re still awake, thoughts still so loud you can’t hear anything else.

sighing, you slip out of bed, put on one of your church dresses, brush your hair out and leave to go to the church. maybe it will help quiet your thoughts.

arriving at the church, you stand there, taking a deep breath. you slowly make your way to the benches, sit down and close your eyes.

“god, if you’re there, take my thoughts away. make it quiet. please.” you plead, voice barely audible.

“are you okay?” a voice startles you, making you slightly jump in your seat.

“father hetfield…you scared me.”

“sorry, i didn’t expect to see you here. something the matter?”

“my thoughts get too loud sometimes. i come here to clear my head,” you give him a tight lipped smile as he sits next to you.

“you must be very religious then.”

“not really. you?”

“not really.” that confuses you. a priest who isn’t religious is certainly rare to come by.

“but you’re a… priest? how does that work— i sound rude. i apologize.” you immediately regret questioning it. a priest’s faith is none of your business.

“oh no, you’re fine. it’s complicated, let's just say that.” you nod once more, unsure of what to say.

“your name is the same as a singer, by the way. both your name and father osbourne’s.” you point out.

he lets out a chuckle, telling you how they’re always told this. you give a shy smile in return, look away towards the altar.

you guys lose yourself in conversation, you don’t even notice your thoughts quieting down. he has the capability of drawing every bit of your attention on him, leaving no room for any thoughts that aren’t about him.

“call me sam by the way, if you want, that is. ‘father hetfield’ makes me feel like i’m eighty.” he looks at you and your mouth goes dry.

“isn’t that…against the rules or something?”

“i suppose. but a lot of things are, aren’t they?”

“alright,” you let out a small laugh “ sam it is then.”

the air between you suddenly feels thicker. father sam is looking at you like he wants to say something else. his hands stay clasped tightly in his lap, knuckles pale.

“you’re not really a priest are you?” you question. you can’t help it. a gorgeous guy shows up at your door, calling himself a priest of your church when you clearly have never seen him before, with the same name as the guy from metallica and he isn’t religious. you’re naive at times, sure, but you’re not stupid.

“w-what?” you just look at him with your eyebrows raised.

“it’s kinda creepy you know, pretending to be a priest to get inside someone’s house.” you joke, looking at his reaction.

he sighs, as if weighing his choices. “alright, yeah. i’m not a priest. but my intentions are pure, i promise.” he confesses after a beat.

you giggle, “what are you then?”

“it’s complicated. i can’t really explain it to you. but we’re trying to help. i can tell you that.”

“okay,” you study his face in the dim light. it looks perfectly sculpted under the yellow candle light.

“i should go,” he attempts to hastily stand up, only to be stopped by your hand holding his forearm, stopping him from leaving.

“i don’t want you to…”

sam freezes. for a moment the only sound is the faint flicker of candles and the wind’s slight whistle. neither of you talk. he looks down at your hand on his arm, then back at your face. his eyes are dark, conflicted, filled with something you can’t put your finger on.

“i just…don’t want to be alone right now,” you admit.

you’re starting to feel a bit embarrassed. you don’t want to sound desperate for his company, but his presence really helped you.

“o-okay.” he listens and sits back down.

you sit down in silence. neither you nor sam say a word. either not sure what to say or not wanting to say the wrong thing.

“sometimes, my thoughts get really loud too.” he speaks up. your brows furrow as you look at him.

“how do you shut them up?”

“i don’t,” he answers honestly, voice low. “not most of the time anyway.”

“what are they about? if you don’t mind me asking,” you ask, unsure if you’ve overstepped.

“guilt, mostly. things i couldn’t stop, people i couldn’t save. feeling like nothing i do is ever enough.” he looks towards the altar before glancing back at you.

you nod, understanding him more than he probably realizes. “i…pray. i’m not even sure anyone is listening anymore but it helps me feel like i’m not alone.”

“you’re really sweet, you know that?” that makes you blush and look down. your knees are touching but you don’t move away. perhaps you don’t want to.

your hands are clasped in your lap, your eyes are glued to your knees touching. you see sam’s hand slowly approaching yours and hold both with a single hand. the contrast between your small, soft hands and his big, calloused hands makes you feel fuzzy inside. you shouldn’t be feeling this way. especially about a fake priest. especially in a church.

“you don’t have to be alone,” his voice rough and low.

“no?” you feel yourselves lean in towards each other a little.

“of course not,” you can feel his breath on you now. you lashes flutter as you struggle to say or do anything.

slowly your lips brush against each other but sam quickly pulls away. “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have—you’re grieving, we’re in a church. sorry.”

you look at him with your head tilted, unable to see what’s wrong with your current situation. maybe the grief of your brother has blurred your judgement.

“it’s not like anyone is here, i don’t mind.” you don’t tear your eyes away from him. you can see the wheels turn in his head, clearly figuring out what he should do.

you stare at each other without saying anything until he finally gives in and presses his lips against yours.

the kiss is soft yet hungry. feather light yet filled with emotion. your lips start moving in unison slowly, as his hands cup your cheeks and your hands cover his wrists, feeling his pulse quickening as you continue.

you feel him slowly pushing you on your back. your back hits the cold wooden bench as he climbs on top of you, never daring to break the kiss.

his hand starts slowly wander around your torso, never going lower as if that’s a line he would never dare cross.

“this isn’t right.” he whispers, more to himself but even as he says it, he doesn’t stop his wandering hand as it cups your breast.

“i don’t care. please, sam.” you beg, voice shaky with anticipation, your cross necklace cold on your chest like a reminder of where you are. a reminder that you’re too out of it to acknowledge.

he swears under his breath and he slowly, drags his hand lower. his pace is so slow that even someone as patient as you, can’t take it anymore.

his hand finally reaches the destination you’ve been waiting for it to reach. his movements feel like they’re in slow motion. he pulls up your dress to your hips, revealing your panties. he drags a finger across your clothed cunt, making you shiver as the cold, wet material touches you more than it was initially

sam’s eyes darken as he takes in the view of your panties, soaked with arousal.

“look at you,” he murmurs. his finger drags slowly up and down over the drenched fabric, pressing just enough to tease your clit. your hips twitch helplessly toward his touch.

“you’re so wet… is this all for me?” his voice is rough and hungry. “in a church too?”

you nod, biting your lip, trying to stop a moan from coming out, too embarrassed and turned on to speak. he curses again under his breath, then hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly drags them down your legs.

goosebumps form on your body as the cool air of the church hits your bare pussy.

his thumb brushes over your clit and your whole body jerks, a broken sound escaping your throat. he draws circles on it, making your eyes roll in the back of your head.

he thrusts two of his fingers inside you while his thumb continues to move across your clit.

you’re possessed. not by a demon, no, god, no. he can’t be a demon; with his presence, his body, his hand, his voice. you’re completely and utterly bewitched. you’ve never felt this way for anyone before. you’re almost overwhelmed by this feeling.

your moans echo through the empty, dark church as he builds up your orgasm one stroke at a time. your head is fuzzy, your eyes are blurry as you try to look at him. it’s as if he has a bright aura around him, making it hard to keep your eyes open.

his praises give you that final push that you’ve been looking for. you scream out his name as he drags your orgasm out of you, the echo of the church making it sound like a holy choir.

neither of you move. both of you catching your breath. he gently takes his fingers out of you, making you whimper at the loss of them inside you.

seeing him suck his fingers clean of your cum alone could give you another orgasm. oh lord.

“are your thoughts quiet now?” he asks, his voice soft. you can’t muster up an answer so you just nod, smiling as he presses a soft kiss on the corner of your lips.

“c’mon let’s get you cleaned up, angel.” he pulls you off the bench, leading you to the church bathroom. after cleaning you up, he insists on taking you back to your home, to which you don’t protest.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

the walk home is quiet but not awkward. it’s the quiet you’ve been after for a long time. upon arriving, he kisses your lips again and leaves you to sleep.

you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. the thoughts finally shut up. all thanks to sam and his magic like existence. you’d like to you see him more often, you think to yourself.

𑁤 director's notes: FINALLY IM GIVING SAMMY ATTENTIONNNNNN

taglist so far:

@i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @phaelusion

YOU WERE STARING. Scratch that. You were practically devouring Sam with your eyes as he came out of the motel bathroom, adjusting the clerical collar that was around his neck.

Your eyes followed Sam as he bustled around the motel room, barely registering that Dean had gone into the bathroom to change himself. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Sam, your mouth feeling dry as you swallowed thickly, trying to pull your gaze away from the taller Winchester. 

Christ almighty, how could someone look so good in a priest outfit?

You thought to yourself as Sam sat down at the table near the kitchenette in the room. Your eyes trailed up and down Sam’s broad figure from your spot on the bed. The black slacks were tight around his thighs, and you could only imagine how good his ass looked in those pants. 

The white clerical collar was starch white, contrasting the tanned skin at the hollow of Sam's throat. You bit your bottom lip as you saw Sam’s dexterous fingers pull at the collar, adjusting it before your eyes followed his hand as it fell back onto his thigh. 

A low chuckle coming from the man you were staring at snapped you out of your stupor, and you met Sam’s hazel eyes, filled with amusement. You could recognize the familiar look of desire that lingered in the greens and golds that colored his gaze. 

Sam’s plush lips were pulled into a sly smirk as he shook his head, a piece of his hair falling in his face as he did. “See something you like?” He asked, his tone teasing. 

You felt your cheeks fill with heat at being caught staring at Sam. But you tried playing it off, rolling your eyes as you sat up, making your way to the table he was sitting at, and resting your hip against the edge of it, looking to your left at him. Sam had to tilt his head up a bit to meet your eyes. 

It’s unfair how his height barely changes when he sits down. 

“Maybe I do.” You let your eyes trail over Sam’s body again before meeting his gaze again. 

Sam’s lips twitched before slowly rising in his seat, the chair scraping against the carpeted floor, and he leaned forward, his hands resting on the table as his face got closer to yours. Now, you had to crane your head back to make contact with his eyes. 

“This is doing something for you isn’t it?” He questioned, Sam’s head tilted slightly as the sly smirk turned into a grin. The white of his teeth almost distracted you from the devilish expression on his face as his eyes darkened and his tongue peaked out to wet his bottom lip. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to resist the urge to clench your thighs together at the lust filling his eyes as he stared at you, feeling heat pool in your core. 

“Unfortunately.” You grumbled as you broke the eye contact the two of you were sharing as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

You heard another chuckle escape Sam’s lips. You listened to some shuffling and felt one of his fingers push your jaw to look at him. Sam was standing in front of you as he took your chin in between his index finger and thumb. His lips stretched into a lewd smirk as he leaned closer to you, his cologne filling your senses as you felt his breath fan over your face. 

“Who knew that you have a thing for priests?” 

You uncrossed your arms and scoffed at him before hooking your fingers into the belt loops of his pants, pulling him closer to you. “I have a thing for you in this getup, not the other way around.” You clarified, your lips pulling into a half-smirk. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at you. “You sure?” 

“Shut up, you know how gorgeous you are.” You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s honestly unfair how good you look in anything.” 

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose. “Mhm, sure.” He rubbed his nose against yours before capturing your lips between his, pulling you into a fiery kiss, his tongue invading your mouth. You let out a low moan as you pulled him closer to you and felt his bulge grind against you. 

Sam always had this hold on you every time he placed his lips on yours. The only thing that was on your mind was always Sam. It was like there was a giant neon sign that flashed his name every time he touched you. 

Suddenly, Sam pulled himself away from you. What you didn’t realize as Sam was making out with you was that Dean had finished changing into his own priest getup and stepped out of the bathroom.

You heard him clear his throat, and you looked over at Dean. Though you would never admit it out loud or to anyone ever, Dean looked as good as Sam did in the white collar (but you had a bias towards your boyfriend because, well, he's your boyfriend).

Dean raised an eyebrow at the two of you. “You two done defiling each other?” 

“Shut up.” Sam shot a scowl at Dean's smirking face.  

“Nope." Dean said, popping the 'p' obnoxiously. "Next time don’t make out in the same room as me.” He came over to the table and smacked his hand onto Sam’s shoulder before brushing past him and left the motel room. 

You let out a small laugh as Sam’s face twisted into his bitch face before sighing. But a smile slowly appeared on his face at the sound of your laugh. 

He turned around to face you again. You looked at him with a smile. His smile got wider before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss against your lips. Sam pulled away, letting his forehead rest against yours. 

“You should probably get another room before we get back.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?” 

The edges of Sam's' lips threatened to curl up before his face became serious.

"Because I have plans for you and I don't want to share this room with Dean."

"Oh?" A smirk grew on your face. "What kind of plans?" You asked coyly.

Sam let out a soft laugh before pulling back and cupping your face with his warm hand, his thumb stroking the apple of your cheek softly.

"The kind of plans that require you to be on your knees repenting and confessing all the naughty thoughts that your mind conjured up about me ever since I came out of the bathroom."

The heat in your core grew brighter as you clenched your thighs together at the low rumble of Sam’s voice. 

“You understand?” You nodded dumbly at his words, and Sam pecked your lips. 

“Good girl.” Sam sent you another smirk before letting his hand fall from your face and exiting the room. 

You swallowed thickly as you stood frozen in your spot. “Well, fuck me.” You breathed out before leaving the room and getting another, just like Sam asked. 

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