WAIT! Hi, I hate author notes, so I'll keep it short. I loved this plot so much that I turned it into an original work of fiction. A longer, better written ebook that is available NOW from , if you want to at least read the blurb. Me and Mine with the two hands clasped on the front cover.
So you can enjoy a better, longer, more in-depth version of this story.
But if you came for the fanfiction, more power to you, I wrote it for people to enjoy so which ever one you choose –
Dean shuffles in his seat, his eyes flicking to the square of grille work. The confessional is small and warm, smelling of beeswax polish and the smudgy scent of generations of candles and incense. It doesn't cover the scent of the man behind the grille, or at least, Dean still imagines he can smell him. Mint toothpaste and lemon soap, the detergent on his robes like ozone and starch. He can hear Father Novak's breathing, level and calm as he waits for Dean's next sin.
"I've disobeyed my parents." He stalls. "I lied to them and stole ten dollars for a new CD...they hate my music." He tries to breathe but it comes out too loud, rasping through his lips. "I left off on my chores and football practice...I've been lazy...and..."
"Go on, my son." His voice is deep and calm, listening to the lesser sins that Dean has committed.
"It's worse Father...I..." He shuffles in his chair again and the warm air closes around him like a fist, sweat dampens his collar.
"I need not remind you that this is a private ritual." Father Novak soothes him with his proper tone and prescribed phrases. "No one but myself and God will know of your confession."
"I've had thoughts Father...about men."
The pause is torturous.
"I see." The priest breathes regretfully. "Is that the extent of it?"
"No, I..." Dean swallows hard. "I've..."
"You gratified yourself?" His voice is soft and Dean feels his breath catch, at the words, the way in which the priest says them, the way they make his stomach curl in anticipation and revulsion.
"Yes" his voice is small, shamed, because it is so much worse than that, so much worse, and he still has to tell that part of it. "Only a few times Father..."
"It is still a sin, even if the act is performed rarely." His voice is regretful and Dean detects sympathy in it.
"I know...but, Father...I think my thoughts are the greater sin."
"I think...I have thought...of you, Father." His stomach tightens and he feels his face burn with shame, his body locking and filling with heat. The priest is silent for a good long while.
"Don't pretend you don't know who I am." Dean's voice shakes. "We're a congregation of thirty people...you know who I am, Father."
"Dean..." Father Novak sighs.
"I need help." He's only known Father Novak for a year, and for the first fifteen years of his life their priest was an older man, Father Sandover, and the younger man must surely be able to help him in ways their previous priest would not have been able to.
"I realise that, but it is not worth breaching confessional over." The priest sighs. "See me after the remainder of the service. I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you Father."
"and Dean...this took a great deal of courage, taking the first steps towards redemption is often difficult." He hears the rustle of robes, the soft chink of the other mans rosary, the door of the confessional opens and Father Novak is gone. Dean sags against the chair, knowing that the hard part is only just beginning.
Father Castiel Novak knows a great deal about struggling with one's own demons. He's successfully fought his homosexuality for most of his life, entering the priesthood and taking his vows of celibacy, of chastity, with the knowledge that he was strengthening himself against temptation and moving closer to God. Now he is in the position to help another, and he thanks his heavenly Father for the opportunity to strengthen himself further and bring another soul on the verge of sin back into the fold.
Dean Winchester had let his anonymity in the confessional slide, but Castiel had known his identity and it would be foolish to attempt to pretend that he didn't. Dean was the son of John and Mary Winchester, brother to Samuel who served in the choir as Dean had done before he entered puberty. Dean was almost seventeen and coming into adulthood would be hard enough without the unnatural urges he had confessed to.
I think of you, Father.
It was most distressing to consider that Dean found his priest, his bastion against sin and temptation, a figure of lust. It was an evil thing indeed and one that Dean should not have to bear alone.
After the remainder of confession and his few other duties to his congregation, Castiel met Dean in his office at the back of the church.
"Please have a seat." He directs Dean to a chair by the desk and takes the one opposite. Free from the restrictions of the confessional booth he can regard Dean openly and what he finds is mildly upsetting, something he had previously not thought on.
Dean is beautiful. To such an extent that Castiel wraps his hands in his rosary beneath the cover of the desk, feeling the beads press into his knuckles. The teenager is perfect, clear tanned skin and flawless green eyes beneath a sloppily cut fringe of brown hair. He still retains some childish softness, but the majority of his frame is swelling with muscle and broadening at the shoulders and chest. Castiel casts his eyes down Dean's body, the tight, worn cotton of his dress shirt giving way to good slacks that are straining thanks to a growth spurt that seems to have caught the boy unaware. His eyes caress the weight between the boys thighs and beneath his robes he feels his own groin twitch.
His fingers tighten on the rosary. He will not think these things, about a child no less.
"Thank you for seeing me Father."
Castiel lays the hand that isn't wrapped painfully tight with beads, on the desk. "You're welcome, but I feel I should stress, given what you have admitted to me, that though I'm here to help you Dean, perhaps it would be best...given the nature of your preoccupation, to see another priest, or counsellor?" He has to do this, his response to the boy is proof that this is an inappropriate meeting.
Dean shakes his head.
"You're the only one who can help, because of that." Dean clenches his hands on his thighs and the motion pulls the fabric tighter, Castiel fights the compulsion to look down at him. He wins, but barely. "I need you to be my priest, then maybe...maybe I won't feel like this."
"I understand." Castiel sighs inwardly and accepts the challenge that God has set in front of him. Dean is both a temptation and a suppliant, and Castiel will deal with him as such, calling him back to righteousness whilst protecting his own purity. He lowers his voice.
"This is not something I would...publicise...by any means." He says carefully. "but when I was younger, slightly more so than yourself...I found myself in much the same position." Dean's eyes meet his and he swallows nervously. "It is a struggle which never ends, I can assure you...but you can choose to be good, Dean...you can control yourself."
Dean nods with an intensity which truly makes Castiel feel for him. "That's what I want...to control it."
"And you can, you will." Castiel smiles. "Prayer is obviously your first recourse, but if you wish you may come to the church in the evenings and discuss any difficulties with me, and I can offer some explanation and techniques for controlling the...impulse, for gratification."
Dean flushes and his eyes fall to the desk top. Castiel quashes the thought that he blushes so prettily for one usually so brash. He replaces it with concern for the boy's welfare, plans for future meetings.
"I'd like that Father." Dean manages. "It's difficult to...I don't think I can do this alone."
"You don't have to." Castiel meets his eyes with all the warmth and kindness he possesses. "You have God, and you have me, and yourself." His eyes bore into those innocent green irises. "You're stronger than you believe yourself to be."
"I wish that was true."
"I wish you could see that it is." Castiel leans back in his chair, not having realised that he had moved towards the boy. "You should return to your parents, I'll see you tomorrow night, if that is agreeable to you?"
"Yes. Thank you Father."
Dean leaves his office and Castiel opens the adjoining door that leads into his home. He removes his robe, his shoes and his underclothes. Running the cold faucet into the old claw footed tub he stares at himself in the mirror, eyes tracing the beginnings of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He's almost thirty. He's come this far. Once the tub is full he steps into it and lowers himself beneath the freezing water, suppressing a yelp at the sudden heart stopping change in temperature. The beginning of his arousal fails under the force of the assault on his body. He leans back against the frigid porcelain and closes his eyes, feeling the needles of cold travel over his skin.
Dear God, let me be strong enough to hold myself in check, let this challenge not be beyond my abilities, be with me, and also with Dean in this endeavour.
He picks up his rosary with one hand, holding it as he slides beneath the water. For the single twitch of his organ beneath his robes, for the moment in which he found the boy beautiful, he turns through thirty repetitions.
Hail Mary full of grace, the lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women...
Pounding the pavement back towards his home Dean offers up his own prayer with every step.
Please God don't let my fuck this up...Please God don't let me fuck this up...