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celestialtraitors · 8 years

Text

Happy Birthday...!

Happy Birthday @theblindtorpedo So…A bit longer than I expected (3000 words). Apologies. I tried to be less…angsty, in celebration - and this is what I ended up with…might be too mushy. Might still be angsty. Hmm. Anyway, Happy Birthday! Thanks for being so welcoming! (Update...cleaned it up, now 3600 words)

A Moment & A Memory

“Let’s see that.” Deblanc gestured to Fiore’s bloodied hand.

“Why?” The question was genuine. Short of dying, Fiore had no idea what was to be done to such an injury.

“We need to clean it,” DeBlanc began, now reaching toward the hand in question.

Fiore offered it, but was still perplexed. “Clean it?”

“Yeah.” DeBlanc knitted his brow and gently rotated the angel’s hand in his own. Using his ring finger, he dabbed at the center of the gooey pulp – an action which resulted in a sharp intake of breath from Fiore, who clenched his fist without intending to. DeBlanc nodded and frowned to himself as he stood up from the bed. Fiore watched him disappear into the bathroom.

“Clean it how?” He asked, beginning to stand up himself.

DeBlanc returned in time to tut in disapproval, and gently push Fiore into sitting again. He had a small, polyester bag with him.

“No, no…you stay down.” Fiore obediently returned to his position on his back, watching quietly as DeBlanc sat on the bed’s edge and busied himself with sorting through the bag’s contents.

“Clean it how?” He repeated.

“With this.” DeBlanc set out a plastic bag of cotton balls and a small bottle labeled Rubbing Alcohol. Fiore knew of alcohol. But he did not know of its relation to tending to a wound.

DeBlanc unscrewed the lid to the Rubbing Alcohol – causing a harsh burning scent to irritate Fiore’s nostrils. Stronger than most. Placing a cotton ball over the bottle’s mouth, DeBlanc quickly twisted his wrist – turning the two items downward and back upward again. Balancing the soaked cotton ball between his pinky and ring finger, he screwed the cap back onto the bottle, which he then set aside.

He gestured for Fiore to give him his hand again.

A moment later, holding the cotton ball above the wound, DeBlanc pauses – guiltily looking away from Fiore’s eyes.

“This’ll sting…sorry.”

Before he had a chance to fully process his words, Fiore’s hand was burning with yet another new and unique variety of pain. Somehow, a sudden noise had found its way out of Fiore's mouth. He quickly directed his mouth to close, and his vocal chords to stay still – but it was too late. He grimaced in frustration as DeBlanc finished dabbing fire into his flesh.

“Didn't want to make a noise.” Fiore explained, jaw tight, as DeBlanc prepared another cotton ball for his cut-up forehead.

“I know, my dear.” DeBlanc replied softly, leaning in closer to move some stray hair away from the perimeter of cuts on Fiore's forehead. “Ready?”

Fiore closed his eyes tight and nodded quickly – determined this time to not feel anything. But as the cotton ball erected small razor blades of fire in the pattern of his cut up forehead, he could not help but clench up in reaction. Once the dabbing had finished, he realized his wounded hand had been gripping DeBlanc’s wrist. As Fiore released it, DeBlanc sort of smiled a bit – poignantly.

Again DeBlanc shuffled through the bag, soon finding a box labeled Bandages: Assorted Sizes. A few moments later, he was peeling off a particularly large one for the side of Fiore's hand.

“Hold still.”

He watched DeBlanc carefully apply the material to his flesh – making sure none of the sticky part touched the actual wound. Once the blood was covered, he pressed the rest of the bandage down around the curves of Fiore's hand with what look like intense concentration.

DeBlanc opened and closed the hand, examining the way it absorbed its blood, and how pliable the edges of the bandage were. Satisfied, he placed the hand down gently onto the bed. This done, he then scooted up closer to where the bed met the wall – sitting cross-legged, he gestured for Fiore’s head to move up onto his knee.

Once repositioned, DeBlanc leaned in to examine Fiore's black eye and collection of cuts. He pulled a different box out from the bag. This box was too close for Fiore to read, but he didn’t mind.

“Hmm. These are shallow – don't think we need to go and cov’r-rup your whole head. Clear ones’ll do.”

Fiore nodded, though he didn't know at all what DeBlanc meant. What he did know was that the sensation of his Other’s fingers delicately maneuvering the terrain of his forehead and hairline…tracing crevices of stress away into lulling smooth…left Fiore thoroughly enraptured. His soul was utterly captivated – yet absolutely at peace.

Although Fiore had closed his eyes, he could that DeBlanc had finished taping up his forehead when he felt DeBlanc’s fingers begin to open and close idly in Fiore's hair, no longer dedicated to a precise task.

“Ah, sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings…

Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;

Am I not singing? – see, I am swinging –

Swinging the nest where my darling lies.”

DeBlanc released the old verse quietly, almost just to himself. Almost. Fiore supposed a more apt description would be that DeBlanc sang at a level meant only for the two of them. Because somehow, he was sure that DeBlanc had intended for him to hear.

As his thoughts grew quiet, Fiore remembered an early stroll of theirs.

A stroll…that's what they had called it. After their first…encounter, it quickly became the solution to their confusing inability to leave the other alone.

“What is it?” DeBlanc had asked him. Even though he most certainly knew what ‘it’ was… even though he knew Fiore knew he knew. At the time, pretending not to know better was a staple to all their conversations. Of course, DeBlanc was much better at it than Fiore.

“I – I don't want to…not see you again.” Fiore explained, awkwardly.

DeBlanc’s face had lit up in the strangest way then. His eyes were smiling without reserve – but his actual smile was subdued – controlled. He chewed his bottom lip in thought for a second before he spoke…the whole time, he kept his eyes aligned with Fiore’s.

“Well…” He'd started, terribly slowly. “We could end up in the same place, it isn’t impossible. And…if we did…there’d surely be no harm going on a stroll, right?”

In retrospect, Fiore would consider DeBlanc’s suggestion to be incredibly brave. At the time, he was too relieved to consider much beyond the immense comfort he gained from knowing that he would see him again.

“A stroll?” Fiore paused, deciding to ignore all but the most innocent implications of such a meeting. He nodded. “You’re right…there wouldn’t be any harm in that. I can – I’ll find you, when you're back around again. Then we – together – can – er – go for a stroll.” Fiore then swallowed, nodding in a bizarrely misplaced businesslike manner. As he turned to leave…he felt DeBlanc’s sparkling eyes watching him go.

At that moment, Fiore hadn’t understood why saying the word together had made his soul shiver. Back in the present, Fiore smiled to himself. It was all so obvious now.

That first rendezvous was special. DeBlanc had – in his typically quiet manner – gone extravagantly out of his way to create a place worth strolling through. Something based on what he felt Fiore would find intriguing. Using an abandoned pocket of limbo tunneling – an old, semi-collapsed passageway between Heaven and Hell – DeBlanc had exhausted all his resources creating a scene analogous to one he remembered from a travel of his to Earth.

As DeBlanc ushered him through – Fiore’s sense wonder took control of his system immediately…leaving him far too enthralled to give a second thought to how ludicrously illegal all of it was.

The area he entered was wooded. Leaves lit emerald with false sunlight – a small brook babbling as silver fish flitted beneath its surface…even breathing was new – the air laden with the honey suckles and pollen. Below him, grass glittered with dew…the green, decorated with glass pearls, seemed precious and delicate – and it took several moments of staring at his feet before Fiore understood he was allowed to tread through.

“You…made this?” Fiore crouched to examine a dandelion – he knew it was a dandelion, though he was certain he had never seen or thought about one previously. The same could be said for most of plant and animal life that surrounded him…he was so peculiarly able to put names and identities to each fragment of creation – yet he was not knowledgeable enough to understand much beyond their definition. Holding his breath, he touched the softness of the dandelion’s seeds – which responded to his touch immediately – breaking apart into a hundred silver wisps – swirling up and away without hesitation into the breeze. Fiore watched them disappear, mesmerized.

DeBlanc smiled a strange smile – it was a little embarrassed, a little proud – like he wasn't sure he knew which he should be more of.

“I model dimensions, for…” DeBlanc shifted uncomfortably and nodded downward. “…ya know. I’ve gotten…okay at it, but I never get to make anything nice.” He paused, eyes following his finger as he gently traced the veins of a low hanging leaf. DeBlanc sighed, refocusing on Fiore as he continued. “And even if I hid it in the tunnels, like this – I wouldn’t have anyone to…”

Fiore looked up at him, not out of understanding – but simply because he felt he should. Meeting Fiore’s eyes, self-awareness eclipsed DeBlanc’s features. He quickly turned away, developing a sudden interest in tree bark. “Anyway – no one would see it. So, you know. I thought – might as well.” His mannerisms and voice were saturated with uncharacteristic anxiety. Fiore, deciding DeBlanc didn’t want to be looked at, stood up – ready to further explore the chamber.

He carefully ducked below bough of tangled vibrance. Everything was so incredibly full of life – of color, texture, and smell. He slowly approached the brook, crouching again. Fiore never had seen Earth water before – and the idea of it had always fascinated him. Unconstrained – shapeless, formless, yet able to become so much. Water was the sustenance of creation…the sustenance of sustenance. On Earth, it existed as part of the very landscape.

And here it was…in front of him. He slowly dipped a hand beneath the surface. It was soft. When he removed his hand, he saw that its residue – though transparent – gleamed with stray light. Fiore grazed his hand over the flowers dotting the stream’s edge. They were soft too, but in a different way. His hand left bits of water…bits of gleam…on the petals as it passed over…extraordinary.

“This…is this really what it's like on Earth?” Fiore asked quietly. He didn't look at DeBlanc when he asked. He couldn’t break his gaze away from watching a stray leaf float across the surface of the water…something he found to be so seamless, so natural, so beautiful.

“Some parts of it.” He answered. “Others parts are…less nice. But I went someplace like this once. I…I tried to remember – of course, it isn't perfect – things fall apart too easily, and I couldn't get the sky right – but – ”

Fiore interrupted him, suddenly realizing DeBlanc had no idea what he was thinking.

“It's…it’s…” Fiore stood, and tried to sum up what was around him. “DeBlanc…it’s beautiful. I've never seen anything like this before. I never expected… But you – ah. Thank you. This…this is wonderful.” He looked at DeBlanc – who looked nothing short of star-struck. Fiore’s soul buzzed pleasantly. Had he done that?

The demon smiled a fraction, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other – before gesturing for the Angel to see something else.

They approached a thick bush of blackberries…another creation Fiore found himself knowing without knowing. DeBlanc parted the bush in a way that shouldn’t have been possible – crumpling them to the sides, like curtains. Within was a deep, displaced darkness…a separate nook of creation.

“I made a little bit of nighttime, so it you could see the lightning bugs…watch –”

Fiore knelt and peered into the small hollow which held darkness in contradiction to the laws of nature. After a moment, he saw a small bulb of light surround the silhouette of a small beetle. It occurred again, and again. Floating, the creatures would glow – creating perfect pulses of soft, yellow, light.

Fiore spoke with more breath than voice, startled by the heavenly nuance he was witnessing. “They…oh – look – how…how lovely.”

DeBlanc nodded, and smiled – now his expression clearly favored pride to shame. He gestured toward a set of stone benches.

“We can sit, if you'd like.”

Still speechless, Fiore sat on the closest bench. DeBlanc sat on a separate bench, a little further away. Engulfed in wonder, it took Fiore a while to become cognizant of the distance. He looked to his side, expecting to see DeBlanc, when he realized.

“You…you don't have to sit over there. I mean, if you want to be closer – this one’s enough for both of us.”

As he stood to join him, Fiore could tell DeBlanc was trying to play down how much he appreciated the invitation. A beaming smile rested beneath the dreamy expression he was maintaining, and his easy step was just a tad too rushed.

Together, the two of them watched the elements of creation dance with one another in perfect unity.

After some time spent doing this, DeBlanc released a verse – whispered it out into the air – where it seemed it belonged as much as the Dandelion seeds:

“I once knew all the birds that came,

And nested in our orchard trees,

For every flower, I had a name –

My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees;

I knew where thrived in yonder glen

What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe –

Oh, I was very learned then,

But that was very long ago.”

Fiore's brow knitted as he heard the words. “What…what was that?”

DeBlanc’s expression snapped back to the reality around him, and – looking a bit surprised himself – he shrugged sheepishly in reply. “Ah – sorry. Just a poem, something I read in a book once. Up on Earth.” He frowned slightly, then chuckled. “Well, I suppose down on Earth for you. Hah…”

Fiore didn't respond. The words were still tumbling around in his head. He'd felt so peculiar, hearing the verse spill out and across a place like this. His brow remained furrowed while he considered this – the spell only broken when a butterfly landed on Fiore’s knee.

“Is there more?” He asked, causing an unsuspecting DeBlanc to jump.

“Ah…sure, sure there is.” DeBlanc watched Fiore, confused.

“I would like to hear some more, please.” Fiore said, realizing he may not have been clear before.

DeBlanc nodded slowly, then turned to look far away – at a horizon beyond the perimeter of what could be seen within the microcosm he'd created. His features relaxed as he spoke, and the words joined the wind as naturally as they had before.

“I knew the spot upon the hill –

Where checkerberries could be found.

I knew the rushes near the mill –

Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound!

I knew the wood – the very tree

Where lived the poaching, saucy crow,

And all the woods and crows knew me –

But that was very long ago.”

Silence again. DeBlanc was still looking off wistfully. Fiore wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. So instead he asked the first question that crossed his mind:

“What were you doing? When you were down on Earth?” DeBlanc’s wistfulness fizzled away as he turned to raise an eyebrow at Fiore, who – thinking he understood the root of the expression – quickly corrected himself. “Oh – I mean, up on Earth, for you.” Fiore looked at DeBlanc earnestly, waiting for this correction to sink in and relieve any confusion.

DeBlanc cocked his head for a beat, and opened his mouth as if about to speak – but ultimately he just chuckled genuinely – shaking his head as he looked to the ground. “Hah. You're sweet.” He said, quietly.

Fiore looked from side to side, surprised by the word’s effect on him. Hurriedly, he tried to think of something nice he could say back.

“Erm – well, you're short.” He said, conclusively. When DeBlanc looked up at him, his face was all crunched up in bewilderment, and glazed slightly with offense. Fiore realized that wasn't necessarily a nice thing to be called. He stammered as he tried to elaborate on what he meant.

“Ah – what I mean is – you're smaller than most.”

DeBlanc looked off in a moment of consideration. When he turned back, his eyebrows were raised to a higher level of bewilderment – and any shade of offense he’d held was replaced by one of slight bemusement. Fiore tried again.

“No, no. As in your size – ”

DeBlanc shook his head in disbelief, smirk widening.

Fiore took a breath. “You're small, short.” DeBlanc began to laugh – but Fiore cut him off. “No no – listen. Because you're also, you know.”

DeBlanc’s features calmed a bit, considering this new information. He spoke slowly, his tone not making secret of the fact that he was humoring Fiore’s point. “So…I'm short, smaller than most – small as in my size – and, I’m a demon. Is…that it?”

Fiore’s features converged in frustration…something that seemed to have a direct effect on the length of DeBlanc’s grin.

“Wait wait. I mean, Yes – but, you – ” Fiore exhaled loudly. “You don't care. About any of the extra parts, the parts we have to care about, because we’re told to. You go and just talk to anyone without fear. Because you’re more than what anyone thinks, or assumes. You know what you are able to do, and be. If you were a tall, high-ranking Seraphim – ” Fiore paused to acknowledge DeBlanc’s knee-jerk scowl and wretch of disgust. “Well, right. Besides being irritating, you also wouldn't be so…impressive. But because you're…you, it's different. So, ah, I don't know. I…I like that you're short.”

DeBlanc stared back with a brand new expression – eyes and mouth slightly open, like the wind had been knocked out of him. Eventually, DeBlanc took a breath, regaining composure. “Well…huh. I – Thank you, Fiore. That was…sweet.” He turned and looked out at the brook a distance in front of them.

Fiore stared up at the false sky, which was a different shade now – purplish, orange, and pink. “You made it so the day changes?” He asked. DeBlanc nodded, still watching the water.

Fiore caught sight of a glowing pulse floating out near the honey suckles. “If…if you were going to have it become nighttime anyway, then why did you make a separate pocket of space for the glowing bugs?”

DeBlanc turned to him in confusion. “Glowin’ bugs? You mean lightning?”

Fiore frowned, crinkling up his brow, following a glowing bug with his eyes. “They don’t seem like lightning.”

DeBlanc’s eyes wandered away, as if solving a problem. “So…you just…” His gaze snapped back to Fiore. “…Changed it?”

Fiore’s face wound-up tightly for a second, considering the question. After several beats, he shrugged, features relaxing. “I like glowing better. Glow works too.”

DeBlanc’s mouth hung open a bit – expression caught somewhere between amusement and shock. “I…I don’t think you can do that. Just…change it, like that.”

Fiore was unperturbed. “I like glowing better,” he repeated.

DeBlanc leaned back, stretching slightly. “Huh. Well…I think I might like glowing better too.”

Fiore nodded. Then he frowned. “You didn’t answer – why’d you make a separate nighttime for the glowing bugs, if you had night coming anyway?”

DeBlanc smiled slightly, looking up at the trees. “I didn't think you'd stay long enough for night. And I thought maybe if I showed you the lightning – the glowing – bugs, you might want to stay longer.”

Fiore considered this for a moment. “I would have stayed anyway.” He announced. A pause. Fiore looked at DeBlanc. He looked tired.

“You can lay down, if you like.”

DeBlanc raised an eyebrow – and spoke slowly. “On…the other bench?”

Fiore shook his head, and gestured across his lap. “If you use me as a pillow, then you can fit here – I don't mind sitting up right, if you don't mind bending your legs.”

DeBlanc’s face was frozen for a moment. Fiore wasn’t sure what he was thinking.

When DeBlanc spoke, his voice seemed trapped in a jar. “I don’t mind.”

Fiore nodded, and moved to the far left of the bench. DeBlanc, carefully, laid the back of his head on top of Fiore’s legs – but Fiore could tell DeBlanc was holding back some of his weight, afraid of lying down completely.

“It’s all right. Your head can go all the way down. Can’t sleep, otherwise.” Fiore half-whispered, hoping that his tone made it…easier, for DeBlanc to relax.

“…okay.” The demon spoke softly, before yielding his head’s weight to the angel. It was even darker now. A few moments passed.

“How does it end?” Fiore murmured dreamily, watching artificial stars reflect in an artificial pond.

DeBlanc didn't need clarification. His tone was low, and poignant – matching the night perfectly.

“And pining for the joys of youth,

I tread the old familiar spot

Only to learn this solemn truth:

I have forgotten, am forgot.

Yet here's this youngster at my knee

Knows all the things I used to know;

To think I once was wise as he! –

But that was very long ago.”

He sighed, then yawned, beginning the last verse.

“I know it's folly to complain

Of whatsoever the fates decree,

Yet, were not wishes all in vain,

I tell you what my wish should be:

I'd wish to be a boy again,

Back with the friends I used to know.

For I was, oh, so happy then –

But that was very long ago.”

Fiore hummed in appreciation. “It's almost like a prayer.” He whispered, speaking to the treetops. He felt DeBlanc’s head nod in his lap a few seconds later.

“I suppose it is.”

Back in the present, Fiore turned suddenly to look up at DeBlanc.

“Hmm?” DeBlanc asked, Fiore’s movement rousing him from sleep.

“Thank you.” Fiore spoke with as much sincerity as he could convey in the darkness.

Sleepily, eyes still closed, DeBlanc smiled. He drummed his fingers in Fiore's hair a couple times, before lovingly flattening it out again.

"You're sweet.” He sighed.

And then Fiore drifted off, thinking of bugs that glowed.

____________________

All Poem credit to Eugene Fields (The poet who wrote “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod”)

Posted to Archive of Our Own (Please comment!)

#defiore #angelship #happy birthday!#preacherfic #wrote something

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clarespace · 8 years

Text

fic: craving

[jesse/cassidy] . nc17 (just porn yo, mind the warnings in the tags). 4063 words.

AO3 or

Jesse had always liked the mouthy, bad-for-you ones. The ones who stole your heart when you weren’t looking and then broke it when your full attention was on them. That’d been Tulip through and through. Jesse had sworn off people like that, sobered(ish) up, got his hands as clean as they’d ever be, and went home to make true his promise to his father. The people in town were still shit (forgive my thoughts, Almighty Father) and the church was in shambles, but Jesse felt like he could turn everything around if he tried hard enough. There were people counting on him to lead them down the righteous path and that was a nice feeling. To be good. To try to be good. To pretend to be good.

But when those mouthy, bad-for-you ones came knocking ‘round…Christ.

Cassidy grinned what he would call a cheeky grin at Jesse with his mouth full of cock. Shouldn’t be possible because Jesse was blessed down there and Cassidy had a small mouth, but hell if the corners of those thin lips didn’t curl up mockingly around Jesse’s dick. They’d only been drinking and talking shit like they’d done the past few days, sharing spit on the whiskey bottle and horror stories about the worst sex they’d ever had. Cassidy had been winning by a mile because Tulip had been Tulip, and after her Jesse had found God. Jesse’d been cackling about Cass’ reenactment of the ‘bleeding worst blowjob in the universe, mate, it was tragic’, and Jesse’d played devil’s advocate, saying, ‘no, no, Cass, it’s impossible to ruin a blowjob’, and Cassidy had tipped his sunglasses up into his hair (the weirdo wore them inside and at night), got down on his knees, and before Jesse had swallowed his mouthful of whiskey, he’d found his soft cock slipping into Cass’ mouth.

He really should have pushed Cassidy away. That was the right thing to do. The Christian thing to do. Jesse had one hand in Cassidy’s hair, dislodging the sunglasses, and the other gripping his shoulder, and one little shove was all it would take -

And Cassidy would back off. Probably. Maybe. The whiskey burned down Jesse’s throat, nearly choking him as he gasped, and his head spun madly from the drink, from the heat in the stuffy little church, from Cassidy’s lips swallowing his dick. He stared blankly at the cross at the altar, head slightly tipped back so he was looking at it through his eyelashes. Jesse’s mouth parted, and he licked his lips. Any minute now, Jesse was going to kick Cass away, beat the hell out of him for even daring to lay a finger on him, because this was the cousin to sodomy and one ticket straight to hell. Jesse was going to stop him even if it felt good

and

fuck was it good.

‘God,’ the blasphemy slipped from his lips unbidden, carried on a pained whine when Cass dragged his mouth violently up Jesse’s dick, teeth catching on the sensitive skin. ‘Oh, fuck, oh Jesus, oh God.’

‘Darlin’, prayin’ to God whilst I suck you off is some kinky shite, let me tell you,’ Cassidy said, barely even winded, wiping his mouth, now plump and pink in the moonlight, with the back of his hand. He held on to Jesse’s thighs and leant forward, nosing around the tight curls around the base of Jesse’s cock. ‘And I concede this one to you, Padre: it’s impossible to give a bad blowjob, though I still maintain that Sheila’d given me a subpar demonstration of her skills.’ Cassidy’s dark eyes, staring up at him, were equal parts mischievous and wary, and hungry all over.

Jesse didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or punch Cassidy’s teeth from his mouth. He was hard enough to drill for oil, and Cass was still kitten-licking at his dick, and - and -

This was going to be his very last sin, Jesse swore.

Jesse roughly dragged Cassidy up on the pew, knees knocking together like their teeth did, Cassidy flinching back as if expecting to be hit. Then the touch of soft lips seemed to register with him because he jerked into motion, graceless, obviously eager, straddling Jesse’s lap and licking into Jesse’s mouth. Cass tasted like dick and whiskey, something forbidden, new and hot. Jesse groaned and pushed into the tangle of their tongues. He left behind his conscience at the door; threw his guilt over his shoulder and shut off his ears to any divine voices that might disrupt the wild, dark lust blooming in his gut like a knife wound.

‘Forgive me, Padre, for I’m about to sin again,’ Cassidy murmured teasingly into Jesse’s mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter. Jesse smacked the back of his head.

‘Shut up, idiot,’ Jesse said, his lips curving in a reluctant smile because that was what Cassidy did, made him laugh and grin at the stupidest, most un-Christian things.

Cassidy was delicately biting his way down Jesse’s throat, and in between nips, he said, ‘You really don’t have a leg to stand on with this one, Padre, what with your dick poking me belly like tha’.’ The touch of his hand sent a jolt through Jesse, and he tipped his face up towards the ceiling.

‘Fuck, what are we doing, Cass?’

‘What two blokes arse-over-elbowed inevitably end up doing.’ A sudden kiss to his cheek, sweet and chase, startled Jesse into looking at Cass, but Cass was rummaging through the pockets of his borrowed jacket, muttering to himself too thickly-accented to be understood, until he produced a tube with a triumphant sound. ‘Aha, I knew this bugger was going to come in handy. Mind ya, I’d reckoned it’d be for dry skin and not for other, less savoury things.’

Jesse gaped at him. His thoughts whirled on why they would need lotion at all. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘Never you mind, darlin’,’ Cassidy waved him off. He hopped off Jesse’s lap, nearly brained himself on the pew in front, laughed, and then started to undress without the slightest hint of shame. Jesse went slack-jawed. Cassidy wasn’t graceful, too long-limbed and impatient to be, but there was a certain fluidity to his movements that was really quite - and he was pale all over, stereotypical Irish skin, even more so in the silvery moonlight that streamed in from the windows. He had more tattoos than Jesse was expecting, soaking in the seemingly random images he’d only got a peek of under sleeves and collars and the hems of shirts. Shadows and light chased across his body with every twist and turn until the jacket and shirt and jeans were a mess on the floor. No underwear, and Jesse should really be panicking right now, coming to his senses, except his senses were focused on Cassidy, drowning further in filth.

Cassidy glanced over at him, lips pursed thoughtfully. ‘That’s how you want to play it, eh?’ Cassidy said, then threw himself back on top of Jesse, hard enough that the pew scraped backwards with a loud racket. ‘Oops.’ The bastard grinned and bit down on Jesse’s bottom lip. This close, Cass’ eyes were black.

‘Cass - ’

‘Oh, hush, let’s not ruin this with good sense,’ Cassidy admonished, voice going low, hitting a spot Jesse didn’t know he had so hard that Jesse had to bruise up that smart-assed mouth. His arm came around Cassidy’s tiny waist and closed over a prominent hip bone. He was damn skinny, all angles and sharp edges, and he smelled like any man would after a long day in the heat. Cassidy was as unfamiliar as his priest’s collar had been, and it made Jesse’s mouth water with thirst.

Cassidy arched against him, leaning a bit sideways, and their mouths slipped apart. Jesse growled in annoyance. ‘What are you - what - oh fucking Christ, Cass, are you - ’ The words caught in his throat, tangled tight around his ribcage until he couldn’t breathe, and Cassidy grinned at him, tongue poking out slightly, as he reached back and fucked himself open with his own fingers. Jesse couldn’t really see because all he saw as he looked down was Cassidy’s cock bobbing in the space between their bellies, but he could feel, and what he felt was the brush of Cass’s knuckles on his dick whenever he thrust his fingers into himself.

‘Yeah, that’s the spot,’ Cassidy sighed happily, then made a sharp noise as his body jerked, head falling back. ‘S’been ages since I got fucked.’

Jesse honestly had no idea what was going on except he wanted more. So much more. Right or wrong, good or bad, they no longer had meaning in his head. He reached back with trembling fingers, brushed against the curve of Cass’ ass, and joined the messy slide of fingers. Cassidy cursed meanly and slapped Jesse’s chest with his palm. His cheeks were flushed, eyes tightly closed. The lines on his forehead were deeply grooved in concentration. Jesse stared. This weird, foreign, feckless creature that had staggered into Jesse’s life not knowing where he was on God’s green earth was the last thing he’d expect to think of as beautiful.

‘Padre,’ Cassidy mumbled, then went into a blasphemous prayer in rolling Latin that forced a laugh out from deep within Jesse’s belly, unexpected and fond. Goddamn Cassidy, Jesse thought, disbelieving, and swept his tongue along Cassidy’s stubbled jaw. He tasted like sweat and smoke from the whiskey, bristles pricking the soft insides of Jesse’s lips, and Jesse shifted closer until they were swapping spit again, already addicted to the rough kisses and even rougher slide of tongues; too long since the last time Jesse had kissed someone, really kissed them with intent and want and enjoyment, which was why it took a while before Jesse noticed Cassidy murmuring into his mouth, at first a rumble of noise that eventually clarified into ‘more, now, more, what’re you waiting for, lovely, fuck me now, come on’. Cassidy was squirming restlessly on Jesse’s fingers, his own now free and smearing lube on Jesse’s clergy shirt as he grabbed onto the tab collar. A single tug and it broke free, dangling from Cassidy’s fingers. Jesse scowled - he only had three of those - and snatched at the white cloth, but Cassidy held it above his head faster than you could blink. Reaching for it would topple both of them to the unforgiving floor. Jesse stopped fucking Cassidy with his fingers, and Cassidy pouted down at him.

Cassidy twirled the collar in the air. ‘This here is the bloody noose round your neck. This here, Padre, is what makes you boring and you choose it,’ he said with a shake of his head. He lowered his arm and dragged one end of the collar down Jesse’s cheek. ‘Take it off and now you are the furthest thing from boring.’ Cass rolled his hips down on Jesse’s hard-on. The slick drag of his ass made Jesse hiss and buck upwards in response, but he resolutely kept the glare on his face.

‘Give it back, Cassidy,’ Jesse said, quiet-like and rough, and Cassidy watched him thoughtfully, bringing the white collar to his own lips.

‘If I do not?’

‘You won’t like what I’m gonna do.’

A careless shrug. ‘What can you do to me that others haven’t already done, Padre?’

Quick as anything, Jesse grabbed hold of Cassidy’s thieving hands in his before transferring both into one grip. Jesse took out the rosary in his pocket and wound the length of it around Cass’ wrists. Then, calmly, Jesse slipped the collar loose and fastened it back around his neck, straightening the shirt’s collar with its metal studs around the tips.

Cassidy’s lips formed an O, then broke into a shit-eating grin. He shook his bound hands until the dangling cross bounced wildly in the air. ‘Isn’t this an interesting turn of events? You like this: me, helpless, you, with all the power. Ought I whimper and beg for mercy, cowering on your lap like so?’ Cassidy brought his hands up to his lips and caught the cross with his tongue, and God truly forgive him when Jesse’s dick throbbed urgently at the sacrilegious sight. The dark red of the beads looked stark against Cass’ flesh. Jesse clenched his fingers and lightly brushed his knuckles against Cassidy’s ribs gently curving from under his skin, climbing the ladder of them up past sparse chest hair and the palest pink nipple until he could splay his hand along one side of Cassidy’s neck and tug him close.

‘You’re the Devil Incarnate,’ Jesse whispered into Cassidy’s ear.

‘And you, Padre, are…’ Cassidy trailed off, in that way that was ominous in certain special situations, and Jesse thought that having a naked and tethered (by his own goddamn rosary) man on his lap certainly classified as a special situation. Then Cassidy blinked and grinned toothily at him. ‘Well, are we going to commence on the fucking or shall we schedule it at a later date, in case it gets in the way of God’s grand plan for you?’

Again with the urge to smile. Jesse bit down on his lip to stifle it. The drunken haze had lifted and though the lust remained, Jesse was back in his right mind. He should put a stop to this before the worst could happen…only the worst, to Jesse, seemed to be stopping whatever ridiculous thing this was. Cassidy had become a friend in the few days since they’d met, a good one, a really good one who could lift the lonely and bleak fog surrounding Jesse’s life here in Annville. And this thing, right now, could ruin that. This just might be a drunken one-night stand (unlikely as it seemed now, sober as Jesse felt, and Cassidy seemed annoyingly immune to alcohol) or something more. Could it be something more? Fuck, Jesse didn’t know but what he did know was that he was still unbearably turned on and Cassidy was waiting (and willing) to be taken up the ass. Unable to help it, the smile quirked up the corners of his mouth as he cupped Cassidy’s hips in each hand.

Cassidy laughed at him. ‘Finally! I thought we’d never get to the main event!’ He raised his arms over Jesse’s head, caught him between his elbows so Jesse felt the rosary beads and cross pressing against his nape as fingers tangled in his hair. His mouth opened under Cassidy’s, breaths coming in fast, and he gently urged Cassidy to get up on his knees.

Jesse took his cock in his hand, groaning at the feeling, at the thought of burying deep inside Cassidy, hot and tight. ‘Cass, where’s the lotion?’

‘Wha?’ Cassidy looked over his shoulder, hips squirming impatiently. ‘Ah shite, it’s on the fucking floor!’

They couldn’t move without untangling themselves, too much effort and Jesse didn’t want to lose this closeness, this unforeseen warmth. Cassidy huffed, then nipped on Jesse’s ear, letting loose a frustrated growl that slid down Jesse’s spine like claws. ‘Fuck it, just fuck it, we don’t need more. I can handle pain, yeah?’

Jesse hesitated for a second because he was sure that a dick like his wasn’t supposed to go somewhere it didn’t naturally belong in without copious amounts of preparation and lubricant but reason slid away the same way Cassidy’s tongue slid along his own. Taking a deep breath, Jesse gripped his cock in one hand whilst the other clamped tight on Cass’ hip and gently but inexorably urged him lower, lower, lower.

‘Fuck,’ Jesse swore loudly, head thrown back and mouth open. Cassidy parroted the curse half a second later, and it echoed in the dark church the same way the parishioners’ prayers did. Cassidy was tight, and hot, and wet from the lotion, and it was overwhelming in a not entirely good way. Jesse dug his fingernails into pale skin. Jesse felt Cassidy gripping the hairs at the back of his neck tightly. Jesse breathed out and Cassidy gasped in. Cassidy gave a little swivel of his hips that hooked out a moan from Jesse’s throat, and Jesse thrust up in reply, then thrust up again, and again, and Cassidy let out an exclamation along with a rough pull on Jesse’s hair, and God it was good, yes, so good, yes, yes, Cassidy, yes -

‘You were made for fucking,’ Cassidy laughingly told him, accent even thicker now, and Jesse felt that laugh intimately where he was fucking into Cassidy. It made him snicker, too. The pew under them creaked alarmingly, skidding back and forth with each thrust. They were going to break the pews, this very church. His congregation was going to see them in the morning, Jesse still dressed, Cassidy naked and sucking on the cross again (Cassidy cooed at a particularly violent thrust), both of them sore and bruised and filthy with come. Emily’s horrified face. Tulip with a raised eyebrow, displeased twist of lips. Eugene still ass faced (and Jesse was never going to look at him the same way again, God help him, especially if Cassidy was going to crack more tasteless jokes).

God up on high looking down at them now, later, and forever with an expression on His face like He couldn’t believe the idiots populating the world.

‘This is crazy,’ Jesse said.

‘Mental,’ Cassidy agreed. He buried his fingers deeper into Jesse’s hair. ‘Harder, Padre, I’m beggin’ you.’

‘Any harder and I’ll break somethin’,’ Jesse groaned. Sweat slid down his temples and soaked his shirt. These pants were going to be ruined. His hip and stomach muscles were already aching, and the burn joined the unbelievable pleasure centred on his dick until Jesse didn’t know if this was Heaven or Hell or both. Cass just shook his head and lapped up the sweat glistening on Jesse’s neck.

‘Break me, hurt me, tear me apart,’ Cassidy said carelessly, ‘just more, make me come.’

Jesse felt him tugging his hands apart, and Jesse turned his head sideways to nip at the delicate inside of his wrist. ‘Don’t, that’s the only good one I got.’

‘I feel like you’re darin’ me to do it,’ Cassidy breathed, then choked on a gasp when Jesse angled his thrusts differently, the flush darkening on his cheeks and down his chest. ‘Oh, Christ, yeah, that’s it, Jesse, come on ya bastard, harder!’

The sound of his name, rarely uttered in that lyrical accent, made Jesse grit his teeth as lust scratched at him. He felt drunk on pleasure, on sex, and he fitted his mouth around one bony shoulder, putting all his muscles to work fucking more filthy noises out of Cassidy. He could feel the tension curling low in his belly, fierce like a beast, and he poked and prodded at it until it stirred, awoke, and threatened to eat him up bloody and whole.

‘Motherfuck! I’m getting tired.’ Jesse had to laugh. Cassidy let out a high giggle.

‘You’re getting tired? What about me poor arsehole?’

‘Oh God, Cass, don’t say that!’

‘This isn’t working. Let me - ’ Cassidy heaved up, and Jesse’s dick popped out. They both groaned out loud. Cursing, Cassidy dropped a messy, scratchy kiss on the corner of Jesse’s mouth, raised his arms off Jesse’s shoulders, and climbed down from his perch. Jesse couldn’t catch his breath from exertion, from amusement, made worse when Cassidy hopped around naked as the day he was born, hard cock bobbing in the air. Jesse wrapped a hand around his dick, stripping it at a brutal pace that kept him on the edge, so close, and his toes curled in anticipation of the most unorthodox but undoubtedly spectacular orgasm he could feel lurking in his balls.

Cassidy kicked at the pew in front of them until he’d cleared a space on the floor, grabbed his discarded jacket and spread it out, then went on all fours on top of it. He gave Jesse a waggish grin, eyes focusing on his hand between his legs, and mimicked the action on his dick. ‘Padre, please help relieve this hard burden o’ mine.’

‘I don’t know why I let you stay here,’ Jesse muttered but got on his knees behind Cassidy and without further ado, sank back into that pale, gently rounded ass in one smooth stroke.

‘I can give you one good reason,’ Cassidy groaned. His shoulders shifted restlessly under Jesse’s grip, muscles straining. ‘Fucking rosary, I can’t touch myself.’

‘Tough,’ Jesse said, and directed his thrusts at the sweet spot that made Cassidy cry out. ‘Think you can come on my cock alone?’

Cassidy whimpered and dropped his head, arching his back even more. ‘Fuck, probably. D’you want me to?’

‘Shit, yeah.’ The thought made him dizzy. ‘Come, then. I’m. I really need to.’

‘Come? God, yes. God, oh God.’

‘Cassidy - ’ The drawn out groan of his name seemed to spark Cassidy on, and his ass jerked wildly with his cries. Jesse inhaled sharply, thrusts pausing for a second. ‘Did you, did you really - ’

‘Fuck yeeeees.’ Cassidy sounded drunk, dazed, delirious. He lazily rolled his hips back, shameless, and Jesse knew he was leaving bruises on Cass’ skin. Cassidy didn’t seem to mind or even notice. ‘Let’s have it then, Padre. Bless me with your holy come.’

‘You’re filthy,’ Jesse started to say, except then Cassidy deliberately tightened around him and that was it. The beast was fully awake and rending him to shreds. The world narrowed acutely down to where he was coming in Cassidy’s ass, filling it up until he was eventually, agonisingly fucking his own come out. ‘Jesus,’ he finally said, voice ground down to grit as he curled over Cassidy’s lean form, out of breath and heart pounding. He was seeing stars, for fuck’s sake.

Cassidy purred, the noise vibrating under Jesse’s ear where it was pressed just below Cassidy’s shoulder. Jesse hummed thoughtfully, eyes closed. He slid his palms down to Cass’s chest, raking through sweat and resting over his pectorals. The fingers of his left hand curled inwards.

‘Cass,’ Jesse said.

‘Whasit, Padre?’ Cassidy mumbled. ‘Fuck, I could do with a fag right now. Get off, will you? I need a smoke.’

Jesse didn’t budge. He was too blissed out to let real world worries intrude but - ‘You don’t got a heartbeat, Cass.’

There was a second’s pause. ‘Jesse, you did hear me say I was a vampire, yeah?’

‘Huh. You did say that.’ Then: ‘We’ll deal with this in the morning, I guess.’

‘Brilliant. Now, off.’

Jesse groaned from his very soul as he gently pulled out of Cassidy, cupping his tender, soft dick in his palm as he watched the come start to drip out of that ass. His dick twitched at the sight, and Jesse glared down at it. Once was enough, he told himself firmly as he tucked his cock back inside his pants. You’re a man of God. Also, Cassidy is a fucking vampire. Shit.

‘I sincerely hope you’re not having some sort of crisis over there,’ Cassidy said, distracted, as he rolled over onto his back and sat up with a wince. ‘Bad idea, that.’ He looked down at his jacket and made a hilariously pained face, reaching up to scrub his hands through his messy hair. ‘Fan-fucking-tastic. I’ll have to clean this up before the morning’s sermon. You’re like a geyser, you are.’ Sighing, Cassidy patted down the soiled jacket and took out a pack of cigarettes from one of its numerous pockets, tapping two sticks out. He handed one to Jesse and then fished out his lighter. Jesse finally shrugged off his own jacket and slid off his tab collar, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He let Cassidy lean in close to light up his cig, head tilting towards him as their eyes met over the glowing cherry.

‘No freaking out, yeah?’ Cassidy said with a rueful little smile, then drew back as he brought his cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag. Jesse watched his perfectly ordinary, crooked teeth, then the bruised up lips, and licked his own. Cassidy exhaled with a decadent sigh and waved his hand, smoke trailing in loops after. He canted his head to the side and gave a crooked grin. ‘So I’m a vampire, you’re a preacher, and we just had some rather spectacular shag in a church. Sounds like the beginnings of a terrible joke, innit?’

For the moment, Jesse could only laugh.

#jessidy #preacher #amc preacher #preacherfic #jesse x cassidy #retts #fanfic #nc17 #rosaries used in ways rosaries are meant to be used #barebacking #sex in a church

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itsclydebitches · 7 years

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Title: Trial by Fire

Summary: Tulip and Emily are so disgusted with Jesse and Cass that they decide, entirely through logic, that they should set them up. After all, now the fools can torment each other, right?

Emily and Tulip finally getting close is just an added bonus.

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 3,756

Warnings: None

Pairings: Jess/Cass, Tulip/Emily, implied Jesse/Cass/Tulip/Emily

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

Trial by fire

Tulip believed firmly that the strongest friendships were forged in fire. No, not just facing the flames together—setting each other ablaze. If you hurt someone, betrayed them, kicked them when they were down and they still reached up a hand in trust to you... that was someone worth keeping. Probably wasn’t the healthiest way of viewing things—sure as hell wasn’t the nicest—but it was a goddamn truth she’d learned hard and fast over the course of her life and it had held true. Everyone who’d ever given Tulip a sunny smile had left as quick as it took for it to sour. Everyone she’d bared her teeth at and who’d bit her in turn? They’d stayed. They’d been worth investing in.

10:53 Tuesday morning and the number of investments Tulip had was exactly two: Jesse Fucking Custer, asshole extraordinaire, and Cassidy of first name unknown, professional monster—whose title had absolutely nothing to do with his bloodsucking nature. Tulip loved her boys. Never doubt that, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t on the lookout for something more.

And she found more, in the sunny living room of her piss-poor neighbor.

“Stay away from my boyfriend!”

Tulip hurled the words even harder than whatever projectile she’d scooped up into her hands, dimly aware of it smashing against the far wall. They were rage-filled and a little fragile, because Tulip didn’t know where any of them stood anymore. She and Jesse had yet to recreate what they’d had outside of Annville. Tulip didn’t know what she had with Cass. What Cass and Jesse had with each other? Ha! That was a whole mess of shit that she’d stepped in. God help her poor shoes.

And then here was Emily, encroaching on it all.

Tulip might have been a firecracker, a pistol, and goddamn fuckin c*unt and so many other things, but even she balked at getting violent with pretty little Emily, soft-spoken and oh so polite. It was coming too, Tulip could feel it building in her bones and smashing some stupid art project did shit all to alleviate the itch. She had to leave then. Quickly. Tulip pushed past Emily’s shell-shocked expression before she started throwing punches at it.

It was a little better out in the car. Tulip let the heat and claustrophobia press down on her anger some, containing it. She had everything under control. Yes siree. Fucking peachy.

Which means she assuredly did not jump when Emily came banging on the window.

Tulip stared. Her mouth was catching flies and her eyebrows crawled up into her hair because goddamn, who would have guessed it? Sunny Emily Woodrow—renowned for her pies, charity, and a history of letting people walk all over her—was cussing Tulip out just fine and fair. It was in that moment, leaning away from the window because Jesus Christ Emily was leaning in, that Tulip remember that the girl had grown up in Annville, just like she had. Mousiness aside, she was a Texan, and Tulip would have done well to remember that.

Emily was reminding her now.

“You broke my kid’s art thing,” she hissed, shaking the bits of pottery in Tulip’s face. It really should have been funny, but Tulip wasn’t laughing just yet. That ‘art thing’ was a treasure now. The shards’ edges sharper than any knife. Emily’s fury wasn’t something to piss on so Tulip nodded, holding up her hands like so many arrests and eased her way carefully out of the car.

“Alright,” she said. The sun was beating down hard on her head. “Don’t throw a fit about It, ‘Em. I can fix the stupid thing. Just gimme a chance.”

A calculated risk, but Tulip was nearly as good with words as she was her fists: the quick agreement, tempered by a an implication that Emily was overreacting, that Tulip wouldn’t take all of this shit lying down; slipping in a personal nickname; the blunt request for a second chance, obvious to anyone with half a brain... and Emily had a whole noggin to work with. Tulip was only half surprised when she lowered the shards and gave a clipped nod in response.

Her sensible flip-flops smack-smack-smacked on the way back inside.

There were lots of names for Tulip O’hare, but not one of them was ‘liar.’ Not to those she’d weathered fire with. So Tulip sat her butt down at that pretty, yellow table and set to mending things with patience and a bit of cheap glue. Emily watched her for the first ten minutes, looking about as thrown as Tulip felt. When she couldn’t take the judgment anymore Tulip flapped a hand in her general direction and told her to sit.

Emily stared. Her shoulders jerked a little. “It’s my house.”

“All the more reason.”

Tulip had her eyes firmly on a particularly messy chunk of clay (the hell was that anyway? The nose? A hoof?), but she watched from the corner of her eye as Emily turned on her heel and walked stiffly to the kitchen. Tulip mentally shrugged. Okay. Let her play it that way. It wasn’t as if she actually gave a damn.

Except that just a few minutes later Emily came back out, this time bearing a tray laden with a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses, and a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints. There was even a little doily beneath the offering, all fancy like. Tulip abandoned her work to watch Emily pour herself a glass and down it back like a shot.

“You make that fresh?” Tulip asked, pointing to the lemonade.

Emily came back up with a gasp. “Of course.”

“Jesus you’re a messed up lady.”

Which was true enough she supposed. Though of course, Tulip was messed up too.

She snagged a glass of her own and got back to work.

***

Somehow, they got talking.

Emily asked her with forced casualness where she’d learned to do this. Tulip responded cuttingly that ‘this’ was just shoving chunks of shit together and slathering on some glue—didn’t they teach you this kiddy stuff in school? Her tone somehow didn’t get her kicked out of the house and so Tulip pulled her weight, asking next what the ever loving fuck this was supposed to be. Emily said a bear, though Tommy had always been awful at crafts, huh? It startled a laugh out of Tulip that filled up the room.

The heat sent them through the pitcher of lemonade faster than normal, resulting in Tulip asking with gritted teeth where the bathroom was located. She got an embarrassed wave of a hand in response. So she bypassed toys on the floor and more awful art on the walls, sneaking into the powder room (who called it a powder room?) like she was still an intruder instead of a guest—which Tulip kind of thought might be the case. There was smelly potpourri in a dish and a ‘Home Sweet Home’ plaque on the inside of the door, cheesy enough that Tulip considered vomiting when she was done. Instead she snooped through the small medicine cabinet.

There were bottles of Xanax and Lorazepam. Neither looked like they came with prescriptions.

Tulip pursed her lips. She marched out, grabbed the empty pitcher, and made a beeline for the kitchen. She threw Emily a rude gesture when she implied that Tulip couldn’t make fucking lemonade.

As if.

“I think that goes there,” Emily said, pointing to a piece that was obviously the snout and not the tail. “Also this is watery.” She sipped at the glass with lazy disdain.

“Yours had too much sugar.” Tulip smacked the bit of clay against the rest of the bear’s face. It would fit.

“I need the energy. That doesn’t fit.”

“It does. And my waistline don’t need all that.”

“You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Well that line caught Tulip’s attention. Not because of the compliment, or even the offhanded manner Emily delivered it with—a tone that was entirely genuine. Rather it was the curse word snuck in the middle. She’d heard the girl cuss before, but it was always carefully under her breath, kept close to her chest lest it actually escape out into the world where it belonged. It hit Tulip for the second time that day. Annville. Slumped in a rickety chair, drinking lemonade like booze, raising compliments with curses. That was Annville.

“Yeah. Guess I am.” Tulip turned the piece and connected the tail. Emily smirked. “Jesse always thought so anyhow.”

She saw Emily freeze. Saw her deliberately relax too. The Thin Mints had melted onto the doily and she flicked at the chocolate with her nail.

“Jesse has good taste,” Emily said. It came out like a sigh.

“Jesse settles.”

“Hardly. He could have anyone.”

“Yeah, but there ain’t much to choose from in this town, is there? Except you.”

Emily rolled a mouthful of drink between her cheeks. “Am I a choice?” She suddenly grinned, more wicked than sad, and Tulip felt her heart speeding up like they’d started a race. “I’m not exactly the greatest catch. Got an iffy ex, after all.”

“You think I don’t?”

“...a side-piece too.”

Hearing Emily say ‘side-piece’ was easily the highlight of Tulip’s week. She sat back with a grin. “No. Who?”

“The mayor.”

“The mayor? Oh hell fucking no.”

Emily shrugged. “He’s... there."

“Mmm.” Tulip nodded, considering. “Suppose I’m the same. My piece is the ratty drifter who just came through.”

“Cassidy?”

“The same."

"...oh. He asked me for drugs the other day."

Emily said it so straight-face and confused that Tulip inhaled that last gulp of lemonade, choking and spraying a fine mist all over her table. When she finally got some air down her windpipe she started laughing and Emily, astoundingly laughed with her.

"Fucking hell." Tulip wiped spit from her chin. "Yeah. That sounds like Cassidy."

Emily's face twisted. "That sounds like all the men in my life. Your life too. Even Jesse."

It felt like some sort of strange, tentative peace. Tulip only hesitated a moment before agreeing: "Jesse is trash."

"Awful."

"The fucking worst."

The two women paused, making eye contact for the first time in an hour. In that moment they were both aware of the fact that they each wanted Jesse Custer, that neither of them truly had him... and the most important thing: that he wasn't fucking worth this. 'This' being smashed art projects and hearts and the fact that it had taken them this long to maybe, sort of, unexpectedly enjoy one another's company. It was a revelation—hot and scarring like flames.

"You know..." Tulip traced her finger slowly around the edge of her cup. "I've got it on good authority that Cass has a thing for Jesse."

Emily's eyebrows jumped. "What authority is that?"

"The freaking dent in his pants whenever he passes by."

Emily laughed, leaning into the table. "That's fascinating, considering I think Jesse kinda likes Cass too."

"Oh?" Tulip very deliberately kept her voice light. She could feel Emily doing the same.

"They're very... cozy, after church."

"Hmm."

They were each thinking along similar lines, though what those lines were exactly remained muddled. It was something though, like possibility. Concepts that moved past the boring man-and-wife mentality of the town. The desire to simultaneously hurt these men and give them everything they'd ever wanted. They were thoughts of sharing, thoughts that never would have been possible if Emily hadn't shared first. Breaking bread, so to speak.

Tulip took another glass of lemonade. A cookie too. She stared out over the table and into the kitchen. "Want to get those two fools together?”

She couldn't seem Emily's expression. Tulip caught the slight intake of breath though.

"What if it doesn't work?" She finally asked. "Jesse's... the preacher. What if it ruins him?"

Tulip grinned. "Even better."

"...what if it doesn't?"

"Then that's something I think we can work with."

Emily sighed. It wasn't one of defeat though—more the exhale that came before a woman began her work.

"More entertaining than Miles," she muttered.

Emily lifted her glass for a toast and Tulip happily complied. They left the rest of the art project behind and stepped out of the house together.

It was a scorcher of a day.

***

Cass was having one hell of a weird day.

Weirder than normal—and considering this was the town with an All-Powerful preacher, immortal government officials, and a fucking racist 'Indian' dude always loitering outside the bar, that was saying something. And okay, maybe that last fucker wasn't uncommon, but he was still weird.

Cass extended a finger and suspiciously poked one of the cookies, gorgeous and gooey on a little blue plate. It indented a bit at his touch because good god, they were still warm.

"These are for me?" he clarified because that right there was throwing Cass' world into a confused orbit. Emily just blinked innocently and pushed the plate a little closer to his chest.

"Yes." She shook her head. "Honestly would you just take them already? I'm exhausted."

Cass quickly snatched the plate and Emily drooped like a marionette on cut strings. She wiped real sweat from her brow.

"Exhausted from... bakin' these?" he asked. Cass still held the plate like it was crawling with spiders or some such. Even though he could still feel how warm the treats were. They were piled in a perfect little pyramid that emitted curls of steam, floating up towards the sky. Like holy hell and what the fuck, who managed actual fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies?

"I did," Emily said slowly and Cass came back to himself, feeling a little like he should be down on his knees. "But I wasn't really intending to. I mean, I was fine with my Thin Mints, I normally only bake on Saturdays before the church potluck." She pursed her lips, considering. "Someone asked me to this morning though, as a favor. I mean, I've got so much to do, but I couldn't say no to such a cute request."

Cass stared. "A cute...? You've lost me, luv."

"Really, Cassidy. Someone asked me to bake you cookies. It's all rather sweet. Looks like you've got yourself a secret admirer, but I'm not saying who."

Weird indeed. Eerie too. Cass had resigned himself to seeing some strange sights in this here town, but Emily Uptight Woodrow giving him a saucy wink? Walking her fingers up his chest and snatching one of the cookies? Cass felt like someone had pulled the proverbial rug out from under him—and the floor was a fucking lava pit with lava crocs come to snap him up. He was sure his already pasty ass looked like it was going to faint.

"Uh huh," he managed.

Emily did eventually leave and what passed for Cass' brain did, in time, start firing again. When it did the useless slab of meat told him exactly two things:

He still had a massive plate of vaguely warm cookies to devour.

There was only one person in Annville who could maybe, possibly, even hypothetically be this so-called "secret admirer."

Cass sat down, right there in the dirt by the side of the road, under the safety of a nearby tree. The occasional car drove past and gave him the confused, dirty looks that could only be achieved by those small-towners spotting someone who Didn't Belong. Cass waved them all off with a smile. He felt light and bubbly in the heat, smashing cookies into his mouth so that the chocolate ran down his chin.

He was a (literal) bloodthirsty animal. He killed without thought and often enjoyed it. He was also, irrevocably, a romantic.

"Jesse Custer," Cass said, shaking his head. He wiped crumbs and chocolate on the edge of his shirt. "You big old softie bastard."

***

Tulip was fixing the air conditioner.

She was, in fact, fixing it fast, pulling out every bit of knowledge that her uncle had ever dropped (few and far between; between the increasingly common periods of drunkenness, that is) and relying on a Youtube video for the rest. There was shit all service in the church, damn thing could only be reached by balancing on the couch, and Tulip could feel a whole mess of drippings rolling down her wrist and dropping onto her jeans. At least maybe that meant the stupid thing would finally work.

Lo and behold, it did. Just in time too. Jesse clomped his way to the back of the church, hollering Tulip's name.

"In here," she called, giving the ancient machine one last smack. It sputtered to life and Tulip had all of a millisecond to stuff her tools under the couch and spread out casually, one hand propped behind her head. It was a good look on her. She was quite the liar.

"Hey, Jesse," she said.

He didn't repay her the greeting. Asshole. Well, to be fair, he was a little distracted, staring as he was at the air conditioner like he'd finally, finallygotten to witness the miracle he'd always dreamed of. Tulip took a perverse sort of pleasure in watching his mouth unhinge—not exactly the most attractive look on Jesse. For the first time since this morning Tulip wondered if, when push came to shove, she'd have really been willing to beat Emily's head in over this here fool.

Jesse shut his mouth. The image was restored. Shit. Yeah, probably.

Hot damn.

"You fixed the air conditioner?" he asked. Tulip scoffed with full force—though she made sure not to overdo it.

"Me? Hell no. It was all fixed up when I got here." Tulip settled deep into the cushions, making it look like she'd been here a good long time, and raised a languid hand to pat the machine fondly. She hoped her light touch didn't set the thing choking again. "Someone obviously spent a lot of time on this, huh? Gotta think it was just for you. After all, rest of us aren’t spending much time back here. Now I can’t swear to it… but I’ve got a good guess as to who’d go through all the trouble…."

It wasn't a lie—Tulip certainly knew herself most of all—but the implication set Jesse's eyes alight.

"No," he said. It was slow with disbelief. Tulip had to bite hard on the inside of her lip to keep from grinning. Best that Jesse come to his own conclusions.

In fact, best that she not say anything at all. Tulip settled for shrugging against the pillow.

And Jesse nodded. There was a whole world encompassed in that nod, a considering, almost sweet (cloyingly, ugh) spark of hope. As she'd hoped he would, Jesse took in all the little details that Tulip had left for him: the now spotless and dust free exterior, the thin blue ribbons attached to the grill that fluttered prettily in the breeze.

You could say a whole lot with just an air conditioner.

Jesse still had his keys in one hand. He shook them, absently, before finally pointing them Tulip's way.

"Mind if I take off?"

"But you just got here." Tulip had to play with him, just a little.

"I won't be long, promise—"

And oh, how sad, Jesse was already out the door, the sound of his increasingly quick footfalls echoing off the church floorboards. Tulip sat up and cranked her neck, even though she couldn't see him. The front doors slammed shut at the exact moment the air conditioner gave out.

Tulip laughed like a gunshot. "Perfect timing," she said, giving it another slap. It was almost sad how easy that had been.

Now all they had to do was wait.

***

There was actually little waiting involved. Emily had stationed her car just to the side of the church, watching and waiting for Jesse to leave again. When he did—walking in the way that meant he really wanted to run—she came waltzing in, holding up her second plate of cookies in triumph. Tulip took another minute to re-fix the air conditioner and soon the two of them were shoulder to shoulder on the couch, halving gooey deliciousness and sighing at the breeze on the back of their necks.

"What now?" Tulip asked. She pulled apart a cookie until the strings of chocolate stretched thin.

Emily rolled her eyes. "I left Cass on the side of the road—the one damn road Annville has. Jesse will reach him in about, oh," she checked her watch. "Now. I suspect they'll start having sex in the flatbed of the truck soon enough.”

Tulip snorted. "Nah. Under the tree. Right there in the open. Cass needs the shade."

"What? Why?"

"...Just 'cause."

"Uh huh. Well, I hope they're happy together."

"Them? Never. You think they'll realize it’s a setup though?"

"Them? Never."

“Ha.”

There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Their topic of conversation—the only one they presumably had—was well and dry. Tulip held another cookie in her hand and ran her thumb along the heat. She thought of Thin Mints in Emily’s kitchen, and of fire.

Together they went through the little batch fast and soon there was another blue plate between them, this one bare but for a few remaining smears. Tulip was thinking hard, so hard, when Emily glanced up with a large piece of cookie dangling from her lips, realization that it was the last one spreading across her face.

"Oh," she mumbled. "Sorry—"

Tulip leaned forward, taking the rest of the cookie in her mouth, pushing gently until Emily swallowed to let their lips finally meet.

“Oh,” she said again.

Emily tasted of chocolate, obviously, but her skirt underneath Tulip's hand was softer than she would have imagined. It took her a hot, fuzzy moment to realize she was palming Emily's skin. They were similar then, Tulip could feel it: dainty things with hard interiors, capable of moving through whole waves of emotions in just a day. They were strong and furious. They were Annville girls.

Tulip wondered if Cass and Jesse were doing this exact same thing, some three miles out from. Probably. One might say, undoubtedly. The four of them were just synched that way.

"Screw 'em," Tulip murmured, smiling against Emily's lips. “Just…”

She trailed off because then Emily had pulled her closer, her hands spanning Tulip’s back with a touch that was both tender and bruising.

They left prints that smoked against Tulip’s shirt.

Trails of fire.

#Preacher #AMC Preacher #Jessidy #tulip/emily #preacher fic #preacherfic

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itsclydebitches · 7 years

Text

Preacher Summer Secret Santa Gift: A Three Flower Bouquet

Title: A Three Flower Bouquet

Summary: Jesse's said before that their lives resemble the start of a bad joke: an ex-preacher, a rich wedding planner, and a foul-mouthed bum all walk into a flower shop...

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 4,574

Warnings: None (except maybe cursing, but if that bothered you you wouldn’t be watching this show lol)

Pairings: Jesse/Cass/Tulip

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

A/N: Hello, @homelygrantaire!! I come bearing a gift! Just so you know I had a blast writing an OT3 flower shop AU, so I really hope you enjoy this little present. Happy Summer Secret Santa!

A Three Flower Bouquet

Week One

Jesse had once read in National Geographic that there were only six degrees of separation between him and every other person on Earth. A friend's colleague's niece's kindergarten buddy grew up to be the wife of the barista who once served the President a cappuccino, that sort of deal. He'd never put much stock in that kind of science-y nonsense, though it might go a long way towards explaining how the hell the three of them kept ending up in here together.

A former preacher, a bum, and a renowned wedding planner all walk into a flower shop...

"We're the beginning of a bad joke," Jesse muttered, hefting his watering can like a pistol. He aimed it at Tulip's head. "What can I do you two for?"

"I need BIG flowers," Cass said promptly at the same time that Tulip went, "The Montoya order." They turned to glare at one another. Jesse just shook his head.

And so the day began.

***

The first time Tulip walked into his shop she was all figurative fire and brimstone—except for the literal fire at the end of her cigarette. She'd commanded the small space with all the ferocity of an army general, laying out a series of rare and rather large orders that she'd need from him within the coming months. At no point did she give her name—which, Jesse would come to learn later, was because she assumed everyone should already knew it—and paid him no heed when Jesse insisted that this was too large a job for his small, out of the way establishment.

She needed tulips, dammit, and she needed them now.

Jesse had been wrist deep in soil at the time and he’d felt is oozing between his fingers, this woman already grating on his nerves, spine, and driving a steak straight through to the back of his skull. He had to take a deep breath and deliberately release his fists, lest he crush the fragile roots just a hairsbreadth below. Jesse turned with a smile.

"I've got some," he said, probably sounding less amiable and more like he was constipated. While passing a kidney stone. God he hated these richie-rich types. "I've also got a contact an hour out who can make up the rest, but it'll take a bit. Really, ma'am, you're better off hitting a larger store."

The look she'd turned on his was pure in its intensity. Jesse's shop was filled with a color and life that didn't belong in Annville's desert, but this woman didn't belong in his shop, not with that sharp tailored suit and three-inch heels. She'd torn the sunglasses from her face and for the first time Jesse got a look at searing black eyes.

"I'm Annville born and bred," she drawled. "I'm loyal."

Jesse couldn't help punctuating her words with a disbelieving laugh. "You're Annville?"

"Fuck yes I am, you got a problem with that?" And one hand curled into a waiting fist, actually rearing back in preparation.

Oh damn. She was Annville. Alright.

Jesse had raised his muddied hands in surrender and went behind the counter to clean up, getting the order forms ready as she prattled on about her work as a wedding planner, her name in the magazines, how the flowers had best be fresh despite the climate because the Livington's were not an easygoing couple.

Jesse weathered her prattling about wanting whites, or maybe pinks, no, wait, maybe something two-toned, and each time she changed her mind it was another scratch out with the pen. By the time he actually got to flip the order around for her to sign it Jesse had determined that small town pride and stunning good looks didn't make up for this kind of nonsense.

Except then she signed Tulip O'hare and suddenly Jesse's day was fantastic.

"You're a Tulip," he said slowly, "in need of tulips..." Jesse looked up with a stunning grin and Tulip, bless her, just rolled her eyes instead of decking him good.

"Yeah, like I've never heard that one before." She threw his pen back on the counter. "I'll be here next Thursday. You'd best have my flowers."

"You doubt me?"

"Oh good god yes."

He'd laughed because yeah, their 'good god' had doubted him too and Jesse had eventually decided that growing things was better than sticking a dead, white collar on his neck every morning. He'd shed his chain like some kind of dog, mangy and still a little bit feral. But now Jesse had bright colors, heady scents, and the picture of someone like Tulip O'hare just begging that he come through for her. Jesse let his eyes follow the sharp lines of her bodyand thought that he could get used to this kind of clientele.

"Thursday then," he agreed. "It's a date."

"It's definitely not."

Tulip had put her cigarette out in his potted iris and honestly? If it had been anyone else Jesse would have had them leaving his store in pieces.

But she was something entirely.

***

Cass was something else too. Holy shit.

Jesse rubbed at his forehead, unconcerned that he was smearing soil over his skin. What had begun as a headache had blossomed (ha) into a migraine of epic proportions, all due to the skinny little twerp half sitting on his counter. Cass had come in for the first time exactly 69 minutes after Tulip left—a fact Jesse only knew because he was that obsessed with when he could close shop—and if that number didn't encompass the man's entire being, Jesse didn't know what would.

He'd known Cass for a handful of seconds. It was one handful too much.

"Back up," Jesse said. He sighed. "You want a cactus?"

"Yep."

"But mine are too pretty?"

Jesse gestured to the small collection of cacti sitting over by the windowsill, most of them in teeny-tiny pots that people found cute and not too intimidating to take care of. They still weren't overly popular though. People could see dry, prickly brush on their way to work everyday, or outside their bedroom window, free for the taking. No, they came to Jesse for the lush and the colorful, things he either had to import or that he grew himself, so slow that sometimes it was hard to part with them. No one in Annville wanted to buy a freaking cactus.

Except this asshole.

"Look at 'em!" Cass said. His voice held enough indignation that Jesse did look again, half expecting the view to change. "They're stupidly pretty. All fuckin' green an'... an' small." Cass pushed his hands palm to palm to demonstrate their smallness, looking pretty angry about it.

Jesse just stared. "...thank you?"

"It won't do. How they hell am I supposed to give Laura somethin' like that? She'll think I actually like her." Cass shook his head despairingly. "The fuck am I supposed to do now?"

That day had felt like something straight out of the Twilight Zone. Jesse was a small town boy with a small town business and he'd gotten used to his routine over the years. That routine sure as hell didn't include a stranger than normal customer, let alone two back-to-back... and yet, let it never be said that Jesse Custer couldn't roll with the punches.

"One sec," he said.

Jesse's backroom was a mess of tools, soil, and vegetation. On his bench was a pot of very dead petunias, the poor things all shriveled and brown. It wasn't his fault the damn things were finicky in this weather and honestly Jesse wasn't bemoaning the loss of those pink flowers, not when they were that cheap to come by. The plan had been to take back the pot and move on. Now Jesse snagged the whole thing, a few dead leaves trailing behind him.

He set the pot down in front of Cass. "This Laura of yours... she the one down at the auto-shop?"

"Yeah! One in the same."

"That woman's a piece of work."

"You're telling me."

"So how about giving her this?"

It was surreal to be presenting that run-down plant like it was something actually worth selling, but sure enough Cass' eyes lit up at the prospect. In that moment Jesse saw the whole situation clearly, how a man like Cass might think that breaking things off with a shitty gift—rather than just some good, old fashioned honesty—might be the way to go. Decked out in a whole collection of ratty clothes, Cass looked like the kind of creative asshole you only ran into once in a blue moon. He wore at least three torn shirts that as a whole nearly succeeded in covering his chest. His jeans were colored over in marker, like a freaking middle schooler's, and that was definitely weed doodled down on his left knee. The only reason Jesse knew his name was because Cass had a "Hello! My name is ____" sticker plastered on his stomach and he could only guess where he'd picked that up. Maybe one of the church's monthly events. It would fit. Jesse was pretty sure the guy was homeless. He kinda smelled homeless.

"I had my heart set on a cactus," Cass sighed. "But I guess a dead thing is better than just a looks-dead thing. Here," he rummaged in his jeans and pulled out three super wrinkled dollars, jellybeans, and a nearly empty packet of Camels. "Does this cover the shit you weren't even planning to sell?"

Jesse raised an eyebrow as he slid the offering across the counter. He left the jellybeans. "How were you gonna pay me if you wanted the cactus?"

"Duh. Was gonna pay you with a kiss. Gotta move on sometime, don’t I?"

Cass winked, grabbed his dead plant, and sauntered out the door with what he probably thought was a seductive strut. Despite the absurdity, Jesse did find himself staring at Cass' ass.

"Aw hell," he said.

***

Week Five

In the two years since he'd chucked the collar, beat up a few old contacts, collected their funds, and started up his shop, Jesse hadn't seen anyone of particular interest come through the door. Emily often came in on the church's behalf, asking for whatever was fresh and cheap to put up front. Jesse honestly didn't know if she did that because they really didn't have the funds, or because she couldn't stand to look at him long enough to actually choose something herself. Probably both. She'd taking his defrocking worse than most.

Others mostly picked up flowers on their way to and from service. For their windowsills. Their gardens. Local weddings, funerals, stupid boys looking to make up with their girls (of which Cass was in the obvious minority). Jesse had resigned himself to a life of flower mediocrity until those two assholes had plowed through at sixty miles an hour.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't keep showing up together.

"I thought you ran a clean establishment, Jesse."

Tulip said it with all the rancor he'd come to expect of her, looking none too subtly at Cass’ grimy attire. A month had passed since she'd grudgingly complimented the tulips he'd provided and in that time she'd no more warmed to Cass than she had to dressing down. Today was a blue, pleated skirt; bright yellow top; killer heels and jewelry fine enough that it could probably feed Jesse for the rest of his miserable life.

Tulip kept a healthy distance between her fine clothes and Cass' scruffy self.

"It's a flower shop," he said. "These things grow in dirt." Cass shook a nearby plant for emphasis. "Manure, luv. Or does your fancy little life not cover some literal day-to-day shit? If you do go is it on a porcelain throne?"

Jesse slowly and carefully leaned his head into his palm. It wouldn't do for Tulip to see him laughing.

He had to hand it to her though, she was a master of manipulation. Tulip kept scrolling through her iPhone, occasionally holding up some pic or another against one of Jesse's flowers, typing out some notes, took a pic of her own... it was only after three long, agonizing minutes had passed that she looked up and said blandly, "Sorry. Did you say something?"

"Jesus fuckin' christ."

"Better question." Jesse raised his hand like a schoolboy. "Are you two assholes actually going to buy something?"

"I like your orchids," Tulip said, for the first time actually taking her eyes off Cass. "But I think they're a little classy for the Taitts. They're humble folk, you know? They need something bright with those white table cloths, just nothing that's going to distract from Laura's dress—it's not a very nice dress, can't afford anything more eye-catching. I do worry about the bridesmaids upstaging her—so maybe those sunflowers. Yeah, over there..." She completely missed Cass 'yapping' with his hand behind her back.

"I've only got enough for five vases," Jesse warned.

"That's fine. Humble, like I said. They've only got enough people for five tables anyway."

As Tulip rummaged for her credit card Cass slipped to the floor (he'd been sitting on the table with the lilacs, a smudge of pale brown amongst all the purple) and sauntered up behind Tulip. Like a kid faced with a dog, too stupid to know he'd get bit, Cass curved his hands around her waist and leaned into Tulip's back. He pressed briefly there before peeking out over her shoulder.

Except miracle of fucking miracles, the pretty doggie didn't bite.

"Uh," Jesse said.

"You better be cleaner than you look," Tulip muttered, still shifting through her purse. Cass waved his arms in demonstration and wow. He was clean. Relatively, at least. Jesse was still trying to re-boot his brain when Tulip said, "Ah!"

"No, no." Cass pushed her wallet back down. "This is on me, luv."

Tulip scoffed. "You can pay for five bouquets?"

"Well, not in the traditional sense, but Jesse and I have got a tab going, don't we?"

They most certainly did not. Cass' 'tab,' established after his first dead-plant purchase, consisted of promises he never kept and a pair of lethal puppy-dog eyes he wielded with precision. Over the last few weeks Jesse had given the man not perfect, but still serviceable flowers in exchange for all sorts of stupid trinkets and words. He liked to think that he gave Cass lilies and irises because he felt bad for the freeloader. It probably had more to do with Cass' obscenely pouty lips.

He was pouting right now, clearly begging Jesse to help a guy out. His arm moved numbly and somehow (dammit) Jesse ended up signing over the month's largest order for free.

"Enjoy," he said automatically, still staring at Cass' hand wrapped just under Tulip's breast. There were 'thank you's and sly glances and when they finally left the shop, Jesse followed them like the scoundrel he was. An apron, muck boots, and pollen dusted t-shirt sort of ruined his look though.

Still, Jesse could move silent when he needed to and what he found in his spying were his two favorite customers hoofing it to Tulip's Fiat 124 Spider, a car so fucking immaculate that it had no place on Annville's dusty streets. It seemed a shame then for the two of them to immediately start defiling it, both literally and figuratively: Tulip hiking Cass up onto the hood of the car, straddling him as he kept them balanced, the kiss that sent flecks of spit down to sizzle on the paint job, Cass' muddied boots leaving streaks on the tire. It wasn't any voyeuristic guilt that finally turned Jesse away. Just the disappointment that neither of those figures were him.

Of course, all that changed when Cass came back twenty minutes later.

"Crush my sunflowers in your enthusiasm?" Jesse muttered, forgetting for a moment that good, respectable businessmen didn't follow their customers out of doors and watch them going at it like bunnies on a sheet of hot metal. He ducked his head over seed packets and thus missed Cass turning the little sign from 'open' to 'closed.'

In fact, Jesse determined not to notice Cass at all until he was making himself at home between his legs.

Cass dropped to his knees and looked up with a rakish grin. If there was a god in this world maybe he wasn't so disappointed in Jesse's career change after all.

"Told you I'd pay you back," Cass said. He pinched a mouthful of jeans between his teeth and tugged, running hands up under apron and shirt. "Just didn't say how, now did? Think this'll clear up my tab?"

The answer Jesse gave was tangled as a vine because by then Cass was pulling down the zipper, palming the wet spot on Jesse's jeans, breathing deep like he enjoyed the scent of both of them together. Jesse gave up on words entirely and when he looked up there was Tulip standing just outside the storefront, watching them with a cigarette between her lips. There was a sunflower in her hair. She caught Jesse's eye and winked.

"Fuck you both," Jesse muttered, tugging hard at Cass’ hair.

He pulled off only for a moment. “Pretty sure that’s the point, eh?”

***

Week 13

So. Those two showing up at the same time—probably not a coincidence after all.

"Do you even like each other?" Jesse asked one Saturday morning, re-potting a Peperomia. "Do you like me? I'm honestly curious."

"You're serviceable," Tulip said as Cass licked his finger and made a sizzling sound. Right. Jesse didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't like any of them were built for straight answers, the kind of lovey-dovey declarations you got in the movies and on TV. Besides, didn't actions speak louder than words and all that shit?

If they did, their actions told Jesse that they were both complete and utter assholes. Also that they had nowhere better to go.

"This place is awful on my allergies," Tulip moaned, pulling a Kleenex from her purse. "And I was supposed to Skype with a potential client an hour ago." She checked her phone and shrugged, too lazy to move from the tiny chair Jesse had dragged out from the back room. Tulip flapped her hand at her face in a sad attempt to start up a breeze. "And your air conditioning sucks."

"Non-existent," Jesse countered. "Its been busted for weeks. The hot house stuff likes it, but..." He trailed off, staring at Cass who'd scrounged up an ancient GameBoy. He leaned against Tulip's legs and periodically peeled her skirt off of his bare back. It was that kind of heat. "Hey. You could fix the damn thing. Earn your keep if you're gonna hang out here all day."

"No," Tulip said. She kept fanning her face, eyes closed.

"Maybe," Cass said. Which meant 'no.' Dammit.

"Excuse me?"

The three of them turned as an older woman snuck in through the door, opening it so slow and careful that the bell barely rung. Her nerves didn't seem to ease when she spotted Cass and Tulip. If anything, she looked like she wanted to sneak back out.

"Welcome to Flowerworks," Jesse said, hurrying up to the front. "Sorry. Ignore them. They're just friends of mine."

"Is that what we are?" Tulip murmured and Jess flipped her the bird behind his back. The client latched onto his arm as Jesse carefully guided her away from his two fools. Her hand was brittle and fluttered like a bird against his arm.

In fact, the entirety of her looked frail, too thin and breakable for a place like Annville. Hair that was white and thin as cotton candy waved about her shoulders, and her dress—powder blue with a sensible belt—hung on her awkwardly, too big despite the 'XS' tag Jesse could see peaking out from the collar. She looked like a good breeze or a decent curse would send her topping to the ground, and Jesse hurried her over to the remaining chair next to the chrysanthemums, lest she fall and break something here where awful things like suing might get involved. Jesse then took a healthy step back once she was settled. Old people gave him the creeps.

"It's good of you to come in, Mrs...?"

Her mouth worked silently. The woman looked up at Jesse and her expression told him that he'd said something unexpectedly shocking, crude even. Finally, she smiled, but it was a small, awful thing.

"Sawyer," she said. "But I suppose it's 'Ms.' now. My husband died last night."

Behind him, Jesse heard the strangled noise that Tulip made and Cass' tiny "...aw shit." Mrs. Sawyer didn't seem to hear. She reached out a bony hand and gripped the edge of Jesse's apron, the parody of a small child and her mum.

"Howard needs white lilies," she said urgently, gaining some energy. "Although, yes, he never expressed any interest in flowers. Said they were commercial gimmicks. What's the point in spending money on something that's just going to die?" Her voice broke hard on the last word. "But they're coming for him later and I can't leave his grave bare I just can't I—"

"We have lilies," Jesse interrupted gently. He gripped her hand." Plenty of white."

"I woke up next to him," Mrs. Sawyer said. "I've done that every morning,” and all at once she sobbed and put her head between her hands.

This wasn't the first time Jesse had dealt with a distraught customer, but usually they were more composed than this: just slight, hiccupping cries or silent tears that slipped down the cheeks. He was used to anniversaries and useless birthdays, not the immediate aftermath. He floundered, turning to Cass and Tulip, only to find that their support was already underway. Tulip left at a brisk walk to the café down the street, returning with tea and plenty of chocolates. Cass filled the silence with any sort of prattle that seemed to soothe her. As Jesse bundled his best lilies in a black bow, he heard him telling Mrs. Sawyer that he'd once been a preacher. When she looked up with a disgusting amount of hope Jesse couldn't meet her eye.

Mrs. Sawyer left with their awkward condolences. She didn't pay a cent.

"Fucking hell," Cass said. He leaned into Jesse's shoulder as Mrs. Sawyer shuffled out of view.

"Yeah," Tulip agreed.

"What a mess she is. Like a broken doll or somethin'. It's fucking awful." He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and for once Jesse didn't yell at him for getting smoke around his flowers. Cass took a draw, passed it to him, and Jesse next passed it to Tulip. Cass blew the smoke up at the ceiling, nice and slow.

"Think that'll be us someday?" he asked.

"Can only hope so."

***

Week 27

Flower shops felt like they were always standing still. There was something about the slow growth of the plants, the heady scents that added a dream-like atmosphere, and the contrast to the outside world that made it all... removed. Despite flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed' each evening, Jesse had the distinct feeling that time never actually passed here. Maybe it was a quality that all stores possessed. Maybe it was just his.

Or maybe it had something to do with Tulip kissing him.

"Hey, hey, hey," she pulled back and pinched Jesse's side, merciless. "Don't fuck up the hair. I've got a video call at 2:00."

"Plenty of time to fix it," Jesse murmured, starting in on her neck instead.

"You obviously know nothing about hair care."

"I know some other things though..."

Tuesdays were always slow for some reason and Jesse felt no guilt in dragging Tulip to the back room, especially not after she'd been gone two weeks, supervising a wedding in Oklahoma. She's brought back a sweat-stained invitation and a piece of stale cake that Cass had still eaten with relish. He'd gone out to 'work' (hustling the locals at poker) while Tulip had remained.

She was something to behold now, stretched out across his table, her skirt hiked up and her shirt pulled down. Cass was quick blowjobs behind the counter and late night secrets he’d never admit to in the morning. Tulip was slow and worshipful. She gave you nothing but absolute focus. It was rare for any of them to end up in an actual bed.

Jesse slid off the end of the table so he could put his mouth to work below. Tulip's thighs were the color of his soil, stretch marks pale like veined leaves, she trembled as gently as a petal.

He stupidly wanted to tell her that she was prettier than any flower in this store. Jesse knew she'd kick him for it.

Panting, Tulip propped herself up on one elbow and grinned. She reached behind her, fumbled, and snapped off the plant nearest to her. It was a little spring of aster.

"Got you a flower," she whispered.

"You stole it from me."

"Do you care?"

He really, really didn't.

***

Week 52

Six degrees of separation. They couldn't brag about knowing the president or the pope, but fate had certainly brought three distinct people together. More importantly, it refused to let them go.

"We should go on a trip." Cass said it with all the enthusiastic optimism of a toddler. "Just fuckin' drive outta this joint for a while. You know, see the sights, take in the open road, go all the way to the sea." He raised his hand and squinted, the horizon just beyond his reach.

Jesse snorted. "And who's paying for this idiotic romp?"

"Don't need no cash. You just drive an' shit. Take whatever you're given."

"Just drive," Jesse said. "With that gas you can't pay for. On the food we can't buy—"

"Don't be a shit spoil-sport about it."

"I'm rich," Tulip offered. She looked up from her phone when the room was silent too long. "What? I am. So if we're going anywhere it's in something nicer than whatever beat-up trash you're picturing."

"A camper."

"Absolutely not."

"Where would we go?" Jesse asked, because suddenly it all seemed possible, in as much as the three of them ever planned for anything. Not just the trip either, but that they'd be around each other long enough for more trips. Vacations. Growing old. Life.

"Anywhere." Cass skipped around the room until he found the oxeye daisies. He plucked one and not for the first time Jesse marveled that he wasn't run out of business by these two.

"Who'd watch the store?"

Tulip shrugged. "Wait it out. Cancel orders for a while, sell what you have, give a few things to Emily. She can keep them in the church..." For once Tulip wasn't smirking or glowering his way. "It'll be here when we get back."

"Suppose it will," and just like that Cass knew he had won.

He slid back onto the counter, messing up papers and knocking the poor cash register nearly off the side. Cass twirled the daisy between his fingers before plucking off a petal.

"Hey!" but before Jesse got indignant, Cass spoke.

"He loves me, he loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not..."

Oh. Alright. So the three of them watched, confident in where they'd finally land.

#Preacher #AMC Preacher #Preacher Secret Santa #Jesse/Tulip/Cass #Preacherfic #yay posting gifts!

9 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 7 years

Note

heyy you're still accepting prompts right? so I was thinking... what if jesse woke up during cassidy's fight with fiore and deblanc and watched most of it happen unnoticed by any of them - bonus points if he watched cass lick the blood off the floor *wink* - and then confronts cassidy the next day about it

Title: Five Second Rule

Summary: Same as above prompt

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 3,060

Warnings: Blood, dismemberment, disgusting fetishes...

Pairings: Jesse/Cass

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

Five Second Rule

“You’ll experience shit in your life, son,” Jesse’s daddy had said, stirring a pot of cheap pasta and letting the words hang. “Real god-awful, gut-wrenching, soul-searching, testicles-drawn-up-between-your-ass shit. But nothing, nothing is gonna compare to a Grade A hangover.” He’d looked down for the first time, marinara staining his clerical collar and a bright sheen to his eyes. The Reverend took a swing from his bottle. “Us Custers can deal with anything, Jesse, except the shit we bring on ourselves,” and he took another massive, endless drink.

Jesse had believed him. Through all the fights and bad runs, missteps and bouts of stupidity, he’d always come back to the bottle. Not just for some kind of solace, but for comparison as well. Broken bones would never be as bad as the pounding that came after a night of drinking. Broken promises couldn’t compare to drinking alone.

Nothing was worse than what they did to themselves. He’d somehow taken comfort in that.

Now though? Now Jesse knew his daddy to be a goddamn liar. Because nothing compared to this.

His head didn’t just ring or pound, it was splitting, and oh, he’d used that expression before sure, sure, but never to describe the literal, impossible cracking open as his forehead got the messiest divorce in recorded history. It was a life changing kind of pain. The sort of pain that either drove you mad or threw you to new heights, and Jesse hadn’t been experiencing it long enough to figure out which was which. Hell, who could think in all this? Not him. He was nothing but pain, pain of the head, pain of the mind, the soul, and Jesus Mary Joseph that must reside in the intellect because his heart was thrumming just fine.

About a thousand miles a minute, but otherwise fine.

He wanted to groan about it, maybe scream if that would drown out some of the pain, but all Jesse could manage was the tinniest, most pathetic whimper, something he wasn’t even sure made it past the back of his throat. It gave him something else to focus on though— small as it was—and slowly, so goddamn slowly, he started taking stock of the rest of his body. Because he did have a body. He existed somewhere outside of this pain.

His legs, for example, had gone tingling cold after...however long he’d been out. His feet felt like concrete blocks nailed down to the floor. His arms were similarly heavy; his head might as well have been the weight of the world. Cracking his eyes open was a Herculean task that nearly sent Jesse back down into the darkness.

What the hell had happened to him?

Something big. Something awful and changing. Lost amongst his own attempts at thoughts, it took Jesse an indeterminate amount of time to realize that the sounds of pain he was hearing weren’t just byproducts of his own mind. Someone was suffering nearby.

Someone other than me, he thought, inner voice dark with the humor. It was enough though, and with that final push Jesse was able to open his eyes, taking in the sight of his church around him.

A church covered in blood.

The word ‘contradiction’ came to mind. As well as ‘fitting.’ Somehow they both seemed right and were able to exist cohesively, side-by-side. Bleary-eyed and cotton-headed, Jesse catalogued the smears of blood along his pews, tiny splatters on the far wall, the growing pool that was quickly spreading towards him. It seemed to be coming from something over there and—oh.

Oh. That was a leg. Not... attached to a body.

Well fuck.

That more than anything told Jesse to get the hell off his ass and move. Fight. Run. Whatever needed doing. That seemed an impossibility though given the weight of his limbs and how exhausting it was just keeping his eyes open. Jesse was used to painful exhaustion, but he’d never experienced anything quite like this. He had a vague, fuzzy memory of someone opening the doors and plowing into him...then darkness. Was that who he was hearing now? Had he been attacked?

“You filthy fuckin’ gobshite,” a voice said. It was gravel, a mouth full of sand.

And Jesse knew that voice.

“That’ll teach you to play with gardenin’ tools, stupid little asshole.”

Oh my god.

It was like some bad special effects. One moment Jesse just had a gory display of blood and leg to stare at, the next Cass flew into view, bearing down on a tall and gangly man who—huh—also seemed to be covered in blood. There was a chainsaw involved (so that was that sound) and by the time Jesse realized Cass was freaking dismembering the guy it was already over. There was a torso and limbs and half a head decorating his floor, and Cass stood amongst it all with the cheekiest grin on his face.

A dim part of Jesse, roughly labeled ‘common sense,’ told him that this was a Not Good thing he was witnessing. The larger part, accurately labeled just ‘Jesse’ thought,

Holy fuck that’s hot.

Jesse knew he’d always been attracted to power. It was Lisa Delver back-talking their eighth grade teacher, then pulling up her skirt and flashing them all in a manner that was more ‘don’t fuck with me’ than ‘fuck me.’ It was the nameless man from out of town, taking him out behind the bar like a goddamn cliché, but making Jesse give instead of take for once in his life. Most recently it was Tulip; Tulip with her hard fists and sharp words, with a thrill for danger and addiction to power that ran even deeper than Jesse’s. They fed off of one another like two mirrors facing each other: a reflection of a reflection of a reflection.

Now though... now there was Cassidy.

Cassidy, with a chainsaw in his hands. Cassidy, drenched head to toe in gore. Cassidy, looking like a goddamn kid in a candy shop as he surveyed the damage he’d laid out on person and property. The irony (unbeknownst to Jesse) was that he’d just been granted the greatest power ever known and he still looked upon Cass with dilated eyes, something obscenely untouchable about him in that moment.

Which of course made Jesse want to touch all the more.

His body was having none of it though. He still couldn’t move his legs or his arms, let alone get something going that was worth offering. Even his eyes were growing heavy again. Cass was a red slit that kept disappearing momentarily and Jesse realized with a pang that he was slipping back under. He hauled himself to the surface with a massive breath that went entirely unnoticed.

“What a waste this is,” Cass was saying. Jesse caught him shaking his head. “Bloody fuckin’ waste. Hmm... that kinda fight takes a lot outta a guy. You don’t mind if I forget my manners for just a moment, do you, padre?”

What Jesse would given to be able to answer, because at that moment Cass made words so fucking obsolete by slipping to his knees and scooping up a handful of the still fresh blood. It was deep enough for that, a steady stream, and Cass titled his head back, pouring it down his throat like a mortal finding ambrosia. It coated his teeth and slipped down his chin. His shirt was a ruined mess and Jesse watched, hypnotized, as that Adam’s Apple worked overtime. Cass was a dying man drinking by the handful until suddenly even that wasn’t enough. Jesse lost all breath as Cass dipped his head directly to the floor and licked a long strip parallel to the man’s broken wrist. Cass hummed in the back of his throat then, pleased, and Jesse felt an answering ache thrumming within him.

I have to remember this, he thought, as Cass kitten-licked blood from the crevices of the wood. I’m passing out, but... gotta remember this.

Jesse’s eyes slid shut. He could still see Cass behind them though: a bright red outline in the darkness.

He had just enough time—and this was an afterthought, now—but just enough time to think,

Oh. So the bastard really is a vampire.

It didn’t put Jesse off at all and he finally, finally slept.

***

Jesse woke up seven hours later in a slightly better state than he’d fallen asleep. That is, his limbs were no longer bent at unnatural angles, his head wasn’t beating on a collection of drums, and the church was miraculously clean. Jesse stood staring out over his domain for a long minute, wondering if everything he recalled from last night was just one messed up, fever dream.

Then Jesse shrugged. “Don’t think I care if it was.”

Nope. He was making this a reality. Whether it would be for the first time or a repeat didn’t rightly matter.

“No, sir. Doesn’t matter one bit…”

Decision made, Jesse made a beeline out of the church, his pace more akin to a bloodhound than a man suffering from the hangover of the century. And heh, bloodhound, wasn’t that just hilarious? Jesse let out a dry laugh as he passed the ‘Open Your Holes to Jesus!’ sign and wondered if he hadn’t suffered some sort of stoke the night before. His eyes were crusty from sleep and his shirt was already sticky with sweat—and Jesse felt his physicality more than he ever had before. He raised his arms above his head as he walked, stretching, rolling his head like a boxer preparing for a fight. His pace was light and quick and he made it to Joe’s in record time.

Joe’s was a run-down, dingy sort of place. The kind of establishment that didn’t deserve the name “restaurant.” Just call it a “dive” or a “hole” and give a warning to all your pals that they were likely to shit out whatever it was they chose to put in—quickly too. Still, it was a part of Annville history, for better or for worse. Little Joe had inherited it from Joe Jr., who inherited it from the first Joe way back in the 60’s. The family would serve you greasy burgers and fries for a better price than the chains and all the soda you could want to wash it down. You didn’t insult the food and didn’t comment on the hygiene, and they’d feed you at any hour of the day, no shirt, shoes, or manners required. It was a system that benefited pretty much everyone.

Jesse had no reason to believe that Cass was there, except for the fact that he wasn’t at the church, the bar wasn’t open, and he quite literally had nowhere else to go. Sure enough the hunch paid off because Cass was lounging in the furthest booth, munching on a meatball sub.

He had tomato sauce all over his chin and Jesse’s stomach tightened; stained white skin like a clerical collar.

Walking forward was something straight out of a dream. He was well aware that it was a decent crowd for a Thursday afternoon, with more than half the spots filled with familiar faces, all of them hailing him with some sort of greeting. It meant that part of Jesse was on autopilot, raising his hand and shooting smiles at random. It also meant that Cass was given plenty of warning.

When he looked up he didn’t seem particularly phased, like he hadn’t dismembered two men last night and presumably hid the evidence while Jesse slept. Cass just gave him a sunny smile and a sweeping gesture to sit.

“Padre,” he said, all syrupy sweetness.

“Cassidy.”

“You’re lookin’ well rested.”

“Mmm, not so much.”

It was a game they were playing, though Jesse was the only one in on the rules. Cass knew damn well he’d been splayed out on filthy wood all night, but he wasn’t meant to know that... and he didn’t know that Jesse already knew. It was one of those stupid, convoluted moments that him splitting a grin ear to ear. Jesse made himself comfortable in the booth across from Cass, sneaking a hand over the table to drum his fingers near Cass’ wrist. He pictured the severed hand from last night and breathed deep.

“You’d never believe the dream I had,” Jesse said, keeping his voice just this side of innocent. “Remember drinks the other night? You telling me you were a—ha!—vampire, of all things?”

Cass had slowed in his eating. He paused entirely now, mouth pursed, before resuming and stuffing a couple chips into his gob. “I remember,” he said. “Finally gonna believe me then?”

“Oh well,” Jesse dodged that with a wave of his hand. “It’s just, it kinda got to me, you know? I ended up with this crazy-ass dream of you tearing these two shucks limb from limb, bleeding them dry, and then, would you believe it? You were licking the blood straight off the floor, like some sort of animal.”

Cassidy froze. Jesse went for the kill.

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you good manners?”

And there it was, that wonderful point of confusion, where Cass wasn’t sure if Jesse knew or really thought it had all been a dream. That right there was power and Jesse reveled in the brief expression of panic, Cass’ tongue poking out to nervously trace his lips.

“Sounds like quite a nightmare,” he settled on, finally meeting Jesse’s eye.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it that,” and Jesse scooped up some of the sub’s sauce, rubbing it between his fingers.

Cass’ eyes blew wide.

“That so?”

“Yep.”

Jesse loved all of it: the realization spreading across Cass’ face, the sticky liquid between his fingers, the hustle and bustle of so many others around them, acting as a constant reminder that this wasn’t a private space. Nonetheless, Jesse sucked the sauce off his fingers, slow and steady, then reached for a spoon without pausing to wipe them down. Cass followed every movement as Jesse scraped down the bun and brought the spoonful over his lap.

“Don’t the kids call it something? The five second rule?” Jesse kept his movements slow, giving Cass plenty of time to see what he was doing. “Tut, tut. You waited far longer than that.”

The sauce was thick and came off the spoon in one glob, falling between Jesse’s spread legs and hitting the floor under the table. All he had to do was tilt his head—a single look—and Cass caved, shucking his skinny frame off the seat and sliding to the floor. He was gone in a flash. Nearly fast enough that someone might think he wasn’t human.

“Good boy,” Jesse said.

He couldn’t know if vampires had enhanced hearing as well. A squeeze of hands on his calves said they did.

Jesse was careful though, hesitant even, scanning the restaurant for signs that they’d been noticed. It looked as if everyone was just going about their business—Davey working through a mound of cheese fries, Alice and William Becker arguing about that goddamn mortgage again, a gaggle of kids running screaming between the counter and the door—and Jesse took a chance, spreading his legs to take a peek at the sight he’d created.

Cass was on all fours in front of him, ass high enough in the air that it brushed the underside of the table. If Jesse had been the bloodhound earlier than Cass was the starved, mangy mutt, licking the sauce straight off of Joe’s filthy floor with neither disgust nor pause. Jesse was equally revolted and enthused with the image.

When he was finished—when the spot was cleaner than it had probably been in years—Cass’ mouth latched onto Jesse’s leg instead, sucking a strip there that was somehow burning straight through his jeans. Jess tensed, shifted just slightly, opening his legs all the wider. He didn’t know if he’d actually spilled any sauce on his pants or if Cass was just coming up with excuses now, but once again, he didn’t really give a damn.

So Jesse snuck a hand down too, fitting it into Cass’ hair and tugging hard. They couldn’t go too far here, not even oblivious Jenny at the side table would fail to miss her Preacher’s face if it started twisting in rapture, but he needed a little something more. Hand trembling, Jesse scooped up some of the excess sauce and brought it down with his left, uncaring as he hit more strands of hair and what felt like Cass’ nose. Jesse just needed Cass’ mouth on some appendage of his body before they moved on to...whatever the hell this was becoming.

“Not blood,” he whispered. “Sorry about that, but—”

Cass sucked Jesse’s finger into his mouth with reckless abandon, giving just as much, more, than what he’d offered in the church. Jesse got to see before and now he felt, resulting in him letting out a noise so strangled and helpless that it brought a mortified blush up to his cheeks.

“Preacher?”

Aw, hell.

Young Sasha trotted over, pink-cheeked in her first week on the job. She gave Jesse a sunny smile that only faded as she caught sight of the other empty booth. “Oh, where did Mr. Cassidy go?”

A sharp pain shot through his knuckle at ‘Mr.’ Jesse kept his own smile fixed in place.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s...taking care of some business.”

A swirl of tongue in appreciation; a gentle scrape of teeth.

“...okay. Were you, um, gonna take care of his check?”

“Mmm hmm. I’m used to looking after him,”—the reverberation of a growl.

“Great! Did you want anything else first?”

“No, no. I’ve got everything I want right here.”

Sasha left again, Cass dug unforgiving nails into Jesse’s legs, and he whispered directions to a nearby alley that had catered to him more than once. Jesse pocketed one of Joe’s knives as well. Dull, but serviceable for their needs.

“Here’s your check, preacher.” Jesse felt Cass’ bite in time with Sasha’s smile.

Oh yes, life was gonna give you shit sometimes, none more so than what you made for yourself. His daddy had taught him that. But this?

This right here was not a part of that heaping pile.

#Preacher #AMC Preacher #Jessidy #prompt #preacherfic #another prompt fill WOOO!#*deliberately does not look at the still massive list left of things to write*#Anonymous

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theboardwalkbody · 7 years

Text

Our Private Traps (ch.1)

Fandom: Preacher (TV) Characters: All Pairing: Emily/Cassidy Summary: That day she sacrificed Miles to Cassidy’s hunger was the day that changed her forever. Surviving the destruction of Annville, Emily ends up with Cassidy, Tulip, and Jesse, finding that maybe the crude Irish Vampire is what she really wants after all.

AN: I know I was talking about that new Cassidy fic for a while and liking the idea of Emily/Cassidy and the things I feel could have been done with her character post her sentencing Miles to his death so I finally started it because I was kind of inspired to finally start it today by @just-a-lunatic even though she doesn’t know it lol.

Crossposted on AO3

Emily stared at the TV screen, the black and white picture playing before her not really registering completely in her mind. She was thinking of too many things; of Miles, of Tulip, of whatever Cassidy was and how he was just down the hall from her and separated by only a thin door, and of Jesse – always of Jesse.

“I think that we're all in our private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can ever get out,” Norman Bates stated, the sound slightly clumsy from the recording equipment of the time.

The line struck something within her and echoed in her otherwise very preoccupied brain.

“Sometimes... we deliberately step into those traps.” “I was born into mine. I don't mind it anymore.” “Oh, but you should. You should mind it.” “Oh, I do... But I say I don't.”

She felt numb. The lines of dialogue causing an ache inside her. She suddenly felt disconnected from the world, unfocused and unattached, a tingling and light feeling filling her starting from her fingers and toes and slowly working to her core. She felt as though she would rise above the world and float out of it if she was still enough.

But she didn’t. She tensed and jumped slightly when another sound was added to the drone of movie playing on the TV near her; Cassidy was banging on the door down the hall.

“I’m hungry!” he yelled, “Please, I’m so hungry!”

She had never heard the Irishman’s voice sound so off. Normally he was brash, he was crass, he cursed too much, and he was, though she would hate to admit, charming. But now his voice was desperate, worried, and weak. He sounds pathetic, she thought. He wasn’t demanding someone bring him something to abate his hunger; he was begging.

Emily rose from her spot, the action making her slightly dizzy as her body seemed to be suddenly reminded of gravity, and when she regained her stability she slowly made her way toward the door at the end of the hall with a little hamster from one of the dozens of cages of various animals Tulip had acquired for the sole purpose of being fed to a man who was definitely not a man at all.

Halfway there her phone rang, the sudden noise making her jump again – how she hated always being afraid. She answered, but stayed quiet. It was Miles. Of course it was Miles. Lousy Miles who was never and could never be what she wanted but who never seemed to get the hint no matter how many times she told him she wasn’t interested. Maybe it was the one-night stands, maybe it was that she was still friends with him; whatever it was that kept him insisting on trying to be a more permanent part of her life only served to wear at her more and more.

This call was different, however. He wasn’t trying to sweet-talk his way into seeing her. He wasn’t trying to make excuses to see her by watching her kids or running some errands. He wasn’t even calling to profess his feelings and insist he just give him a chance as her boyfriend like he had tended to do from time to time. No, not this time. This time he was more assertive. Too assertive. He wasn’t suggesting or asking that he come over to her place for dinner. He wasn’t suggesting they would spend the night together in the romantic sense. He was flat out telling her. She had no say in the matter, he had decided that was what he wanted and he was finally going to have it. Emily knew this was the beginning of something bigger. If he did come over for dinner and whatever else he surely had in mind, if Emily didn’t put a stop to whatever megalomaniac trip he was suddenly on she knew it would only continue. He would take power over and control her entire life if she didn’t stop him before he ever got the chance.

The light and tingly feeling from before returned – her body felt like it was on autopilot and threatening a takeoff. It was brief, lasting only several seconds, and when the weight of her body returned to her she felt different. Heavier and lighter at the same time; different.

It was then she opened her mouth to plead with Miles’ to come and rescue her, when really she was the one who was rescuing herself.

--------------------

She felt more awake after allowing Miles to stumble upon Cassidy in the ravenous state he was in. She felt like she was seeing the world differently, people differently, and later on that evening when Jesse showed up she felt differently toward him, too. She finally stopped pretending the world was a kind and decent place where as long as she simply believed in good then only good would be. There’s always been bad, she realized, and there always will be. If she said she felt her faith beginning to slip it would be an understatement. That was what hurt the most, she realized, and she decided that she would try to hold on to it – just a while longer. After all, she realized now the rumors about Jesse were most likely not just rumors. He wasn’t a saint, rather he was dripping with sins – and she was sure they were not the most forgivable ones. Still, she figured if he could hold his faith she would try her damnedest as well, but her faith in Jesse had completely disappeared.

“Your friend’s inside,” she told him without any particular sort of emotion. Whatever happened to him once he went inside was of no concern to her and so she left.

---------------

When Jesse insisted he was going to bring God Himself to Annville she decided to remain cautiously optimistic. The worst that could happen is that Jesse proves himself to have gone completely off the deep end and she loses her ever-waning faith. The best that could happen is that, while she feels her life has made a complete 180 from before that day she spent with a hungry vampire in an old drunkards home, maybe at least she could save her faith and retain at least a fraction of her former life.

Apparently the universe had some other plans. God is missing. But at least angels exist, that much she saw. But it wasn’t enough for her. Who cares? Angels exist but so do vampires apparently and don’t forget God is missing so who the hell cares about anything else.

She felt hollow by the time she packed up her kids and headed home. Though, to be fair, the entire town felt hollow. She tried her best to give her kids some hope. She may have let go of her faith for the most part but she wasn’t so spiteful that she would ruin it for her children, not after spending their entire lives trying to dedicate them to it. They were scared, and she needed to reassure them.

Her words weren’t working, however. No matter how much she tried to reprogram her children into believing in the power of good even though God was missing it just wasn’t working. She tried to think of how she could prove to two very young and scared minds that it would all be alright.

“Tell you what,” she said to them, “if I got Father Jesse to tell you all about it would you feel better?” “Could he talk to the angels again? Could the angels tell him where God is?” “Yes, maybe. We’ll have to ask. Want me to go get him?”

Her children nodded.

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Emily said.

It was hard to find a babysitter under such circumstance but she did manage to find one teenage boy who seemed to not mind the task.

“They say God is missing.” The kid said, apparently he hadn’t been at the church. “Yeah.” Emily confirmed. The kid laughed, “He was missing the entire time, you know. Much of shit, religion.” “Do me a favor, make sure my kids stay safe and unhurt and don’t you dare talk to them about any of this do you understand?” she asked. Never one for confrontation before she seemed to have decided confrontation was the only way to get what she needed. Just another thing she learned that day with the monster in the backroom. “Yeah, whatever.” The kid agreed and headed into the living room to sit with the two kids he now had the task of keeping alive.

Emily grabbed her purse and car keys and headed out. Annville, being thankfully small, did not take long to search. Unthankfully, however, Jesse was nowhere to be found. Frustrated and angry from hoping she would have found him by now she stopped to think of where the Hell Jesse Custer and his band of Misfits could have gone to. It was then she remembered catching him say the word “fries” on his way out of the church. She’d already searched all the local dives but she knew the best fries came from a place a few miles outside of town. Pulling back onto the road she headed out of town.

#preacher #preacherfic #emily woodrow #proinsias cassidy #emily/cassidy #OPT #manda writes #mandas fic

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itsclydebitches · 8 years

Note

Kind of an odd request probably but I like the way you write. A lot. The voices of the characters are so believable. There's a song called "Weeds or Wildflowers" by Parsonfields I think suits Cass and Jesse. Give it a listen and see if you write anything inspired by it? It's cool if not. 💜 I'll always keep reading.

Summary: As kids Jesse and Tulip find something living out in the woods. It calls itself Cassidy. It likes blood and cheap candy. Jesse wants to take it home with him.

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 2,762

Warnings: Blood, feeding

Pairings: Kid fic so no real pairings, but hinted Jesse/Cass

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 highly recommended for formatting)

Erode From Day to Day

They were so close; so very close to freedom. All the tiny feet clad in sneakers were poised like runners beneath their desks. Arms were straining, hands gripped tight to the edge of their seats, and not a single eye dared to stray from the clock. The only movement was the sneaky packing going on, slow as molasses—impatience lengthening those last five seconds as Mr. Rogan’s eyes narrowed.

“Hey, squirts, hey,” he said. “Settle down now. It’s not the weekend just yet—”

The bell made a liar out of him. The normally shrill annoyance might as well have been a call to arms given how quickly everyone was up and out the door. Mr. Rogan tried valiantly to remind them of the math homework due Monday, problems one through fifteen, but it mostly fell on deaf ears. There was a mob making for the bright, sunny afternoon and nothing could stop them.

Especially not with Jesse Custer leading the charge.

“Swing set!” he called and half the class cheered in response. The others had already turned towards the main doors, looking for parents and guardians to take them home, but Jesse’s group made a sharp right, pushing out onto the playground and flying over the wood-chips. They held tight to their backpack straps, bodies bent in an attempt to gain speed. They were sweaty, multi-colored blurs under the 3:00pm sun.

Past the jungle gym and around the sandbox. The swing set was in sight now—Jesse could nearly feel the hot metal under his palm—when, suddenly, a darker hand came out of nowhere to slap it first.

“Fucking O’Hare,” a kid said in a rare display of true cursing. Everyone collapsed as one, hands on their knees as they tried to get their breath back.

Tulip stood tall though. Her hand was already out and demanding the usual fare. Slowly, the other kids began pulling candy and knick-knacks out of their bags, handing them over. Grudgingly.

“You were closest to the door,” Simon grumbled, knowing the complaint wouldn’t do him any good. Tulip just shrugged.

“And I was all the way in the back last week in Ms. Julie’s class and I still won then. Not my fault all you idiots are so slow.” She wiggled her fingers. Simon deposited a half eaten Milky Way in her palm. “Thank you,” and with a vicious kick Tulip sent up a cloud of dust that had everyone else running, cutting across the playground to the cul-de-sac where parents were waiting to yell at them for being late.

Jesse scowled, threading a hand through the back of his hair. “You always win.”

“Turtle,” Tulip said, poking him in the chest. She started jogging in place. “Cheetah.”

“Yeah well c’mon, wasn’t there something about slow and steady?”

Jesse bent on one knee to pick up all the stuff Tulip was starting to drop. He nearly fell backwards when she bent too and just shoved it all into his arms.

“You can have it,” she said. “I’ve still got all that loot from Maya’s birthday party and besides, aren’t you going to see Him?”

Tulip said Him will all the gravity that a middle schooler could imbue in a word. It was grandiose and inexplicable, like all the years’ snow days rolled into one. Or winning relay day for your whole grade. Or even finding that shiny, glimmering rock outside and just knowing it was treasure. It was all those things and more, smushed together and made into a person. Something like a person, anyway.

Jesse wouldn’t even think to disagree.

And he could see how Tulip’s hands shook as she re-wrapped the packet of Twizzlers. She wanted to go so badly.

“You went yesterday,” Jesse reminded her.

“I know.”

For a brief moment she bit her lip and Jesse realized, instinctually, that she was thinking about similarities between the three of them: dead parents, dead mom... dead existence. They didn’t really know how to deal with any of that. But they were kids, so they dealt anyway.

“I’ll tell your dad you had to stay behind and clean the chalkboards again, k?”

“K,” Jesse said and they shook on it, three slaps that ended in them linking fingers, pushing and pulling a bit before finishing with a fist-bump. They hauled themselves to their feet and Jesse crammed everything into his backpack.

“Careful,” Tulip said, already jogging away.

Jesse just flapped a hand at her back. “Never!”

She threw out a messy thumbs up. Always needed to have the last word.

Hauling himself in the opposite direction Jesse took off at a run, knowing that he only had so much time when he could be ‘cleaning chalkboards’ before Dad got suspicious. He took only a moment to make sure none of the teachers were sneaking out the back before jumping the small fence surrounding the playground. He landed in the soft dirt of a graveyard.

It wasn’t common, but sometimes people moved to Annville and when they did they had kids to put into the only school—and when they did that the parents inevitably balked at their angels playing next to the dead. Jesse had always liked it though: watching the tombstones crumble and the weeds grow taller each and every year, reading the strange first names attached to the surnames he’d grown up with; digging for bones, risking both the teachers' ire and some sort of ancient curse for disturbing the dead.

Except Jesse never thought of that as a bad thing. If he was dead he’d want someone to disturb him. Wasn’t that more exciting?

"Did you crawl out of the graveyard?"

"What graveyard?"

"The one back there. At the school."

"Nu uh, padre. Never been buried."

"...do you want to be?"

"Why the hell would I want that?"

"You’re dead aren’t you?"

“…am I?”

Jesse drew his hand over the last headstone for something like luck, plunging into the tree-line. It was the only ‘forest’ that he’d ever seen, but he knew it was paltry compared to other parts of the world, the desert encroaching even here and leaving patches of dry, dusty earth amongst the trees. There was enough brush to darken the sky though—hide things that needed hiding—and it took Jesse long, precious minutes to find the path again, finally distinguishable by the empty bag of Cheetos he’d brought last time. With that familiar route under his feet he made good time. He broke into a grin when he found the log.

“Cass,” he whispered, and an ethereal head popped out from the rotten wood.

It had startled Jesse the first time he’d seen it, that pale, bedraggled face; hair matted every which way with mud and leaves. It was something straight out of the B horror movies he and Tulip had snuck into last summer, telling his Dad that they were at the school’s kiddie camp, the kiddie camp that they were helping Dad with the church, and the lazy teenager managing the ticket booth that they’d just forgotten Tulip’s sweater from the previous film. No one ever bothered to check any of those stories.

The movies gave him nightmares, but of course Jesse never told. A month ago he had gone exploring, half to tell himself that there was nothing out there in the woods to scare him... and he'd been proven really, really wrong.

He’d wet himself a little, the first time he’d seen that face.

Now the face was just Cass. He clamored out of the hollow trunk, jeans stiff with grime and a once white shirt long gone grey. For a moment they just stood and stared at one another. Then Cass lifted his head and sniffed the wind like a dog.

“Hiya, Padre,” he said. He didn't blink.

“I’m not a ‘padre’ yet,” Jesse grumbled and began obediently rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. He’d learned quick that it was always better after this. Whatever parts of Cass were scary tended to leave after he’d fed. He was more Cass like... and for that Jesse was willing to pretend that the feeding wasn’t scary all on its own.

Still, he gave an involuntary cry when Cass materialized before him, seeming to move from There to Here with nothing more than a faded blur. Cass did that a lot. Jesse might have thought he was a ghost if he didn’t know better. But oh, he really did.

“Here,” Jesse said, extending his bare arm. Needing no further encouragement Cass latched on, biting deep into the tissue and hovering there, sucking in quick, jerky gulps. Jesse stared open-mouthed at the display. It hurt of course—fuck how it hurt—but this time, like every time, the pain was overshadowed by watching Cass move like a machine; like some horrible puppet twitching on a Master’s strings. It was only when he’d gotten a good number of mouthfuls down that his swaying grew natural, more human-like, and something similar to a blush crawled up into his cheeks. His animal chittering gave way to the happy hums of a kid just being a kid as he enjoyed dessert—and still Jesse stared.

“You’re hurting me!” he shrieked, the thing pinning him to the ground and taking directly from his neck. Jesse got a knee up into his groin—which did absolutely nothing—and grabbed for a loose branch instead, knocking the thing off his chest and into the weeds. It sprawled there, raving and wild until Jesse managed to raise the crucifix he wore around his neck.

A switch flipped. The monster blinked. It smiled.

"...do you really think that's gonna do somethin'?"

Jesse wouldn’t truly feel the pain until he was back home hours later, with his sleeve pulled down low and lies slipping through his teeth about where he’d been.

Except... this night he wouldn’t be lying. At least he hoped not. Jesse hadn’t told Tulip, but he wanted to bring Cass home with him today. Wanted to grab this strange, frightening thing and drag him straight to their church, praying only that he wouldn’t light up in flames along the way. Jesse would hide Cass beneath his bed every night and whisper any bad dreams he had. He'd sleep easier knowing that at least one monster there was his friend.

“There are Twizzlers too,” he said, like this was any sort of normal conversation. For them it kind of was. Cass finished up with a saner look in his eye, careful to lick away the stray runs of blood curling around Jesse’s arm. They still left rusty rings though. Bracelets he was proud of. When Cass stepped back (feet bare, cold looking) Jesse immediately dumped the loot out between them.

Kit-Kat, Twizzlers, the half eaten Milky Way, and a crushed bag of chips from lunch. There was an equally smashed paper airplane and a yo-yo with a fraying string. Cass poked at it, watching it roll lopsided through the dirt.

“We used to have these too,” he said and Jesse—

“Where are you from?”

Cass stared and grinned until Jesse got it.

“When are you from?”

“When is this?”

“2017.”

He let out a whistle as high and eerie as the wind through a keyhole. “Then I’m old, padre. I’ve got 120 years on you.”

Jesse wondered then how he’d done the math that fast. Jesse needed to know if that was true. Jesse had conflicting thoughts that Cass was both young and old and Jesse—

—knew better than to ask.

“You can have it all,” he said, feeling like those words somehow meant more, as if he hadn’t already brought a fool’s worth of treasure for Cass to play with. It was all piled up in that rotten log, the only things that felt real and tangible around her. Cass himself was sort of smudgy around the edges, like a picture someone got sick of drawing halfway through.

He worked methodically through the offerings though. Because wasn’t that what they were? Jesse had wandered into these woods and found something immense there... and he’d been offering up tributes ever since. Cass fiddled with the yo-yo a little more. He placed the paper airplane in one of the few strands of sunlight that broke through their canopy, inching it there with all the delicacy of a tightrope walker. When he got to the Milky Way he crammed it all at once into his mouth, eyes suddenly blowing wide.

“That good?” Jesse asked.

Cass grinned with caramel teeth. “Yeah. Sure. But there’s blood in it too,” and his eyes went wild again, edging the tattered bite on Jesse’s arm.

And the pain was there: a sharp throb that had him tugging at his sleeve.

Because Jesse remembered what Cass was talking about. Simon had pricked his finger on a picnic table splinter today, the piece of wood going sideways and causing a tiny spout of blood. It had dripped onto his sandwich—two red drops on white bread that made all the kids shriek in disgust—and it had apparently gotten in his chocolate too.

That was what got Jesse to move; the idea of Cass tasting someone else’s blood. Not his. Not Tulip’s. Fucking Simon's.

With a growl he leaned forward and snatched the Twizzlers out of Cass’ hand, mind too wooly to appreciate the surprised, human expression that flit across his face. Settling back in the dirt Jesse pulled out his switchblade with the same jerky movements and drew it sloppily over his arm.

It hurt enough to make the backs of his teeth ache, but who the hell cared? His arm was already a bruised, bloody mess from these daily meetings, and wasn’t it worth it to see that look creeping into Cass’ eyes?

A fool might have called it hunger. Jesse knew it was something closer to love.

“Here,” he said, dipping a Twizzler into the fresh blood and tossing it casually Cass’ way. Like you’d throw a friend a beer. Like you’d scoop cheese onto those fancy crackers. What they had was no different—except that it was better—and Jesse preened a little at seeing Cass gobble him up in two quick bites.

“You’re like a dog!” Jesse howled, amazed and disgusted when Cass relieved himself too close to his boots.

He laughed crazily. “I’m more dangerous than any dog!”

“You’re insatiable,” he said, here and now, and Cass laughed again (was always laughing), his matted hair flying in front of his eyes.

“Tulip teach you that word?”

“Book did. Tulip teaches me four letter words.”

Laughter, longer and louder and Jesse tossed him more blood-coated Twizzlers. He coated all the food in a thin layer of blood until it was gone and then Jesse stood, backlit by the tree’s shadows and feeling uncommonly nervous.

“C’mon,” he said.

Because this is what they did now. He came, Cass drank, he offered things and then he left. There was some boundary between Annville and Cass’ little world that had nothing to do with tree lines or cemetery markers. He didn’t need Jesse’s blood with all the critters about—but he preferred it. He didn’t need cheap candy and toys either—but took them ravenously.

Jesse didn’t need to pull Cass over to his side of the line—but he’d do it anyway.

He held out a hand and Cass just sat there, a mangy cat licking something from the back of his arm. When he was done (tongue papery white, almost iridescent in the red of his mouth) he looked at everything but Jesse before landing his eyes on a small crop of weeds. Cass tugged two out, heedless of the thorns.

“Here,” he said, slapping them into Jesse’s palm. He left his hand there too and hauled himself up. “You gotta protect me from the sun, padre.”

“Told you I’m not a ‘padre.'" Jesse's chest was ballooning up.

“And takin’ me in? Now you probably never will be.”

Maybe it was a lie, maybe not. Either way, Jesse tugged his shirt off and drew it over Cass’ head. He give him too-big boots to protect his feet and they set off together, the half mile to the church feeling unnaturally long.

“Who are you?” Jesse whispered in the dirt, dimly aware that he wasn’t nearly as afraid as he should be.

The monster shrugged. “Cassidy. But... whaddya need me to be?”

Jesse wasn’t sure yet. Something more than this.

On their way out he brushed the bouquet of weeds over the last gravestone. For luck.

Fin.

#Preacher #AMC Preacher #Jesse Custer #Cassidy #kid fic #prompt #preacherfic #here I am #just filling prompts more than half a YEAR after they're given to me #that's fine right??#Anonymous

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itsclydebitches · 8 years

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Preacher Fic: Like No One’s Watching

Summary: A short (and sweet?) fill for the prompt "Cass and Jesse slow dancing in the church."

Fandom: Preacher (TV series)

Words: 1,188

Warnings: Drinking

Pairings: Jesse/Cass

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

Like No One’s Watching

Balmy nights where the stars were out and the cicadas sounded louder than your thoughts. They could lead to all sorts of things. Love. Loss. Confessions. Even juvenile stuff that would be embarrassing as hell come dawn. Now though? With nothing but shadows and a bottle between them?

There was little to think on but fun.

Jesse leaned his head back on the pew, lolling it slightly from side to side. His tipsy grin was starting to put an ache in the apple of his cheeks.

“Never have I ever,” he began, before running out of words. Jesse took a long, unnecessary pull from their bottle; hummed around the lip. When he pulled back there was a ‘pop!’ that sounded obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet church, though it did give him an idea.

Jesse grinned with abandon, as only the drunk can. “Never have I ever given head,” he murmured, looking down through his lashes.

“Aw, you’re just cheatin’ now, c’mon.” Still, Cass flung himself forward to accept the bottle, making more of a show of it than needed. Vampirism came with all sorts of unexpected goodies, including a very near perfect tolerance for alcohol...but Jesse didn’t need to know that. Would take the fun out of the night if he did. And with this town’s strangeness encroaching in on them both, moments of fun seemed few and far between.

Jesse was watching Cass down enough liquor to stun a horse, his awe forcing its way through the haze. “You’ve done it that many times?” he whispered.

“Enough times, sure.” Cass finally paused for air and shot him a toothy grin. “Why? Not hurtin’ your preacher sensibilities, am I? ... or are you jealous?”

“Pff,” Jesse waved him off. “No. And no. You’re not that pretty.”

Which implied, of course, that Cass was pretty in some capacity to begin with. It made him smile, even if he hid it behind a lazy hand. Drunk Jesse was free of all his little town’s expectations—talkative and honest in a way not possible without that liquid courage. Cass loved it. He wanted to take advantage of it.

But hell, if Jesse Custer was worth anything, we was worth a drop of restraint.

...for now.

“I’m pretty enough for the two of us,” he retorted, chuckling at Jesse’s expression as he tried to decipher if that was an insult or not. “Now, now, don’t go breakin’ that head of yours. It’s my turn anyhow. Hmm... not a whole lot I can say though, Padre. I’ve done it all.”

“You’ve never done me,” Jesse said, laughing at his own, artless flirting. He didn’t mean it of course. Not fully. Not yet, though it certainly tightened Cass’ jeans all the same. He crossed his legs and leaned forward, brandishing the bottle.

“No I haven’t, and ain’t that a sin?”

Cass needed something from this boy tonight. Not everything, but enough to tide a poor, thirsty man over.

“Never have I ever… slow danced in a church,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low.

“Wha?” Jesse blinked. “Haven’t what now?”

Cassspread his arms, warming to the subject. A bit of their drink splashed to the floor. Blasphemy.

“Danced, Padre. You know, two people getting cozy in one another’s arms, swayin’ to a beat only the two of them can hear...” he’d lost Jesse somewhere in that romantic poetry. The boy was staring at their bottle with a befuddled expression and, by god, Cass could do nothing but grin. His pretty preacher was wasted.

“I haven’t either,” Jesse admitted, sounding sad about it. Cass’ heart skipped a few beats before he finished with: “Does that mean we can’t drink any more?”

The laugh that busted out of Cass was both loud and joyous. Why, what a perfect opening.

“Tell you what, Padre, how about you and I dance a bit and then we can both drink, yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

It was a breathy, excited answer that sent Jesse stumbling to his feet. Pure vampire reflexes kept the fool from face planting on the wooden floor, Cass up and out of his seat before you could give a damn ‘hail Mary,’ his arms tight as iron around Jesse’s waist. And what a waist it was. Trim and toned, but Cass could easily imagine Jesse’s muscles giving way to a soft beer belly someday, when his physical fights were long behind him. Suddenly, like the burn of the sun itself, Cass wanted to be there when it happened.

He swallowed hard, chin jutting up over Jesse’s shoulder. “I’ve got you, Padre.”

The preacher was deadweight in Cass’ arms. Not that it mattered much with his strength. Jesse smelled of alcohol, obviously, and the sweat from a hot night too... but also sawdust. Hadn’t he been helping out Lars and his brood earlier, out in the barn? Goddamn do-gooder.

Cass was so engulfed in the feel of him—the slide of bold hands across his back, Jesse sneaking one leg between his—that for a long moment he failed to notice the most prominent movement of all: a sluggish back-and-forth that Jesse accomplished mostly through gravity.

“This is what you call dancing?” Cass asked, chuckling.

“Mmm-hmm,” was the only reply. It sounded like Jesse was already half asleep, boneless and trusting against him.

Honestly, Cass wasn’t sure what the hell you were supposed to do with trust like that... so he just pulled Jesse closer.

And raised their hands, intertwining fingers and sliding his palm up around Jesse’s shoulders. Not exactly a formal closed position, but it would do for them. Sloppy and half-assed was sort of their style.

“I do actually know how to dance, Padre,” Cass murmured, directly into his ear. “Wasn’t for the likes of us rats back in the day, but live long and travel far? You pick up a thing or two along the way, I’ll tell ya that. Pretty little waltzes that were just for show, hot salsas in the back alley clubs, boleros that would spin your holy head sideways...”

Jesse wasn’t listening. He’d probably really be asleep if Cass wasn’t keeping them upright and moving, though as it was his breaths were still too deep for the seriously engaged. Cass didn’t mind. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share all of this just yet. Not when Jesse would remember it anyhow.

He shuffled them back toward the pew. Their bottle, nearly empty, met with a wayward foot. It toppled, rolled, and the last bit trickled out onto the floor.

“Whoops. Looks like we both lost that round...”

It didn’t feel like a loss though. Hell no. Not when Jesse was puffing in the curve of Cass’ neck and leaving him a memory he’d carry with him forever.

And forever was a damn long time for a vampire.

Cass smiled, giving them both a little twirl, recounting tales that would soon be lost to the night. They danced until dawn and when wispy bits of sunlight filtered through the church windows, Cass danced around those too; a dangerous, foolish little act.

Worth it though, just to get one more moment together.

#Preacher #AMC Preacher #Jessidy #preacherfic #fic #dancing

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theboardwalkbody · 8 years

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Don’t You Know About Santa?

Fandom: Preacher Rating: G Characters: Fiore, Alice Woodrow, Emily Woodrow, DeBlanc Crossposted: AO3 Summary: Fiore gets a lesson about Santa Claus. Idea inspired by that post asking about Preacher Christmas-related fics.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emily is the one to organize events like Christmas Movie Marathons and she really does go all out - hot cocoa, blankets, the house warm and cozy and fully decorated - but she mostly sticks to the more religious aspects of the holiday and chooses movies like The Little Drummer Boy and things and it causes a lot of people not to show up, and those who do mostly do it to be polite. She is one to try and teach people it’s not about the gift giving it’s about the birth of Jesus. However, she still does let the kids enjoy the gift-giving aspect while working in the religious side, too.

Fiore is beyond confused. Like, he is completely lost. “What are they doing, DeBlanc? What does this have to do with the birth of the Lord? Why do they have a plastic evergreen tree? Why are they giving each other things? Who is that fat man with the red cap? Why are they worshiping him instead?” and DeBlanc has no real answers for him.

He’s at Emily’s for one of her Movie-thons one afternoon; he showed up early, and Emily hadn’t finished setting up yet so he’s sitting in the kitchen staring daggers at a little Santa Claus doll in the center of the table (Alice begged for it to be put there) as Emily finishes setting up the living room. He’s so intently trying to burn a whole through this figure he considers blasphemous that he doesn’t hear the pit-pat of Alice’s tiny feet as she walks up behind him. “’Scuse me, Mister Stranger, but, why are you so mad at Santa?”

He was startled and his body jerked, shaking the table enough to cause the ‘Santa’ to fall over. Fiore turned in his chair to look at the young girl and thought two things almost instantaneously: one) why had DeBlanc not come with him? DeBlanc knew he was no good at talking to the humans, especially the young ones - well, OK, any age really - and two) ‘Santa Claus’? That’s what they called him?

“What?” Fiore asked her. “Santa Claus,” she pointed to the fallen doll on the table. “You look like you’re mad at him. Did you get coal last year?” “What?” he repeated. “Do you not know about Santa?” she asked him, walking up to the table, climbing up on a chair, standing the Santa upright so he was staring back at Fiore, and sitting down opposite the angel disguised as a man. “No,” he told her, “do you worship him?” “Worship...” she repeated his word, “oh, no, Mister, I only worship the Lord, like Mama says. Go to church every Sunday, like we’re s’possed to.” He cocked his head slightly, confused. “Then who’s that?” he motioned toward the Santa. “Santa Claus!” she said excitedly. “He brings good boys and girls presents on Jesus’s birthday.” “Why?” Fiore questioned. She thought for a moment. “Um. I think... I think maybe... because we’re good! Yeah, we’re good, so we get presents for being good all year long, and Jesus’ birthday is the most special day, so that’s why Santa comes then. To give good kids presents for being good on the best special day!” she smiled, seeming pleased with her answer. Fiore considered this. “You said coal...” “Coal is what the bad people get instead of presents. If you weren’t nice or if you sinned or something” she told him. “You think I would get coal?” he took the accusation of being called bad by a child slightly too personally and his voice was raised slightly as he asked his question. Alice sat back in her seat slightly, “no, no! Um, you just looked mad at Santa is all.”

There was silence for a moment and Alice’s demeanor became mousy. She had made the stranger mad and she was a little scared of what would happen next, but when he turned his attention away from her and resumed staring at the Santa statue (this time with less loathing in his eyes) she timidly asked, “Have you never gotten a present from Santa before? Is that why you’re mad at him?”

“No, I’ve not,” Fiore answered. “Oh... I’m sorry.” Alice said.

There was silence again as Fiore sat fixed in his position at the table. Alice quietly slid off the chair and darted into her room, after several minutes she returned to the kitchen with her hands behind her back.

“Hey, Mister,” she said, getting his attention. Fiore turned and looked at her. “I found this in my room,” she pulled a lumpy object covered in a dirty, wrinkled t-shirt with a floral pattern on it out from behind her back and held it out to him. “Santa must have left it at my house by mistake! See, there’s a letter on it for you!”

Fiore reached out and took the lump from the child’s hands. Turns out there was a note at the top, scribbled on an uncolored page from a coloring book, and in almost illegible handwriting it said, “Sorry I missed your house. Here is your present. Love SANTA”.

“Well go on, Mister, unwrap it! What did Santa get you?” Alice asked, growing impatient.

Fiore looked at her then back to the object in his hands and plucked the shirt off of the object hidden beneath. A ratty teddy bear fell from the dirty cloth, missing an eye, a patch of duck-pattern cloth sewn over the back to keep the stuffing in, and a tear in a seem where some stuffing was poking out. Fiore stared at the raggedy thing.

“His name’s Chip. Santa must have known you would be here and left him for me to give you. You will take care of him wont you?” Alice asked, suddenly worried she may have made a mistake trusting this stranger with the raggedy bear.

Fiore looked at her intently, trying to figure her out.

“Won’t you?” she asked again.

He nodded and she smiled brightly.

“Good! Now, we have to make sure Santa won’t miss your house again! Here,” she climbed back up on the chair and sat on her knees so she could lean over the table and pulling a crayon and another piece of coloring book paper from her pocket she pushed it across to Fiore, “write your name and your address on this and I’ll send it to him in the mail. He’ll get it at the North Pole, there’s still time. Make sure you write it clear and neat that way he can read it, You must have wrote it too sloppy last time, or maybe the mail man lost it on accident. Go on, write it!”

Fiore hesitantly reached across the table and grabbed the paper and crayon. He found himself carefully writing his name and address on the paper like the girl had asked. When he was finished she eagerly grabbed it from him and read it, “FIORE - HEAVEN,”.

“F...Fi... Fi-o-re.” she tried to sound it out, pronouncing it like F-eye-o-ray. “Fiore.” he corrected her. “Fiore,” she repeated, then looked back down at his address and read, “Heaven... YOU’RE FROM HEAVEN? No you’re not!” “I am.” he defended. Alice gasped. “Like...” she pointed upward. “Yes, Heaven.” he told her, though her pointing upward didn’t really mean anything considering Heaven wasn’t on the same plane of existence and wasn’t really in any direction in particular, but he didn’t feel like explaining the concept to a human. “Are you an... angel?” she whispered. “Yes.” he answered and then thought ‘DeBlanc would kill me for telling this human that.’ “Where are your wings? Your halo? Are they hiding? Are you undercover? Do you know Jesus?” she asked rapidly. He didn’t know which to answer first so all he replied with was, “yes” and let her do with that as she wished. He shouldn’t even have told her what he was. “Oh my Goodness!” she whispered but full of excitement. “It’s supposed to be a secret,” he told her. “Oh, right, undercover,” she repeated. “Don’t worry - I won’t tell,” she smiled. “Thank you,” he nodded.

“Alice!” Emily called from the other room, “Ms. Flynt is here, grab your coat and let’s go.” “Sorry, Mister Fiore, I’ve gotta go to Ms. Flynt’s house now. Are you still mad at Santa? Don’t be mad at him. He probably didn’t know how to deliver presents to Heaven, it’s so far away and all. You’re not mad, right?”

Fiore looked over at the Santa doll, still smiling away with it’s rosy red cheeks and nose. He looked back at Alice and shook his head.

She smiled, “good!”

“Alice, let’s go!” Emily called again.

“You’ll take good care of Chip, won’t you? He’s fragile.” she asked. Fiore looked down at his lap where the bear still sat from when she’d given it to him, gave him a gentle pat on the head and nodded at her, a soft smile on his face.

“Oh, thank you!” she beamed and ran up to him and hugged his side, as it was all she could reach from her short height and his position in the chair.

“ALICE, NOW!” Emily called a third time.

“I gotta go. Bye Mister Fiore! Bye Chip!” Before she turned away and sprinted to the door she whispered in the raggedy bear’s ear, “don’t worry, Chip, the angel is gonna take care of you now” and placed a kiss on it’s fuzzy cheek.

Fiore allowed himself a smile as he watched the girl bound across the room and out the door to the other room to meet her mother, brothers, and sitter. He looked down again at the bear and squeezed it against him.

Emily questioned why he was holding her daughter’s old bear when she’d entered the room after saying goodbye to her kids as the sitter was going to watch them for the duration of the movie-thon. Fiore told her it was a gift from Santa Claus. Emily, a bit confused, decided not to even ask any more questions and wondered why, out of the two “agents” that bothered to show up it was the weirder of the two and cursed that he had shown up so early.

Later that evening when he’d headed back to the motel room DeBlanc also questioned him about the raggedy bear.

“What’s that?” “Chip.” “Chip?” DeBlanc repeated. “The girl gave him to me. Or Santa Claus. I don’t understand, really. I think it was her. Said I’d take care of it.” Fiore explained.

DeBlanc watched him, with a mixture of amusement and fondness, as he tucked the old bear gently into their suitcase.

#fiore #preacher #preacherfic #deblanc #fiore and deblanc #emily woodrow #alice woodrow #CUTE FLUFFY XMAS FIC

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itsclydebitches · 8 years

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Preacher Fic: Like Fairy Floss

Summary: Jesse and Cass find themselves in a carnival on a hot, starless night.

@eriakit this started out as a fill for your “Jesse gets jealous when Cass feeds on other people” prompt... and then it turned into something very different. So yeah. Pretty much 99% not what you asked for, but this is still for you ^_^

Fandom: Preacher (TV series)

Words: 2,552

Warnings: Blood and somewhat creepiness

Pairings: Jesse/Cass (just hinted at)

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting. Seriously, it’s 11:00pm and I don’t feel like putting italics in this stupid fic again just go to AO3 until tumblr gets its act together)

Like Fairy Floss

“I will one-hundred per-fuckin’-cent be having nightmares about this, Padre.”

Jesse nodded, letting a disgusted shiver run through him now that he knew Cass felt the same. They’d split two days back, Tulip heading east to track down an old ‘buddy’ of hers who specialized in silent weaponry while Jesse and Cass continued north. More forces than they liked to contemplate had taken an interest in Genesis, all of them sending out foreign soldiers—taking advantage of the power’s language barrier—and the three of them knew that they’d need every advantage possible from here on out, including the element of surprise. Silencers and a cache of minor recoil rifles would go a long way towards easing their minds in this war.

This though? Not so much.

“Didn’t even realize they had carnivals anymore,” Jesse muttered, quickly side-stepping a child too close to his legs. The little gremlin was dressed in all black with some sort of decorative mask plastered to his (or her?) face. In the light of day they probably appeared close to adorable, but night under a star-less sky... it was just this side of creepy.

Jesse hummed, watching the kid scamper off into the shadows. “Not anymore at least,” he finished.

Cass nodded and let a shiver of his own run through him. The carnival felt like the haze after too many drinks. Or the 2:00am silence during a childhood sleepover: the pull to speak truly and freely—the spill secrets—was nearly overwhelming.

“It’s a creep-fest,” Cass agreed, edging noticeably closer to Jesse. It was no easy task with the crowds around them. “Want to get out of here?”

“And spend the rest of the night in that motel? You’re kidding.”

Tulip had the easy life living out in the car. Whatever John-call-me-Jimmy Johnson thought a bed and breakfast was, it wasn’t what Cass and Jesse had been receiving the last two days. Any time spent out of that bug-infested room was a blessing, so Jesse tried taking in the sights as an excited tourist would, not as a strange man walking in what was suddenly a strange land.

Maybe a snack would help.

Leading them off to the side, Jesse forked over too much change for cotton candy and shoved a blue bundle in Cass’ face. They ate it in the mud rising up around a fortune teller’s tent (“We make our own fuckin’ fortune, Padre”), watching the ferris wheel and deciding, without ever having to say it aloud, that the ride was a death trap they wouldn’t be touching. So they slowed down their eating. Kicked mud to splatter their jeans. Washed the stickiness from their hands with a rusty hose. By the time they were done a crowd had begun to gather far down the path, lights and glow-sticks guiding the way.

“Feel like being a sheep?” Cass asked, still sucking bits cotton candy from his finger. Jesse nodded. There seemed nothing better to do.

They merged back into the flow of masked and costumed people, a menagerie of fantastical beasts, all of whom were perfectly average people beneath that cloth... but not being able to see them set Jesse’s teeth on edge. The mummer of constant conversation didn’t help. All those kids laughing and shrieking. He didn’t like anyone who hid their face, even if the masks were just monsters hiding men.

And yet here was Jesse, a man whose body housed a monster. Another one ambling at his side.

“That just ain’t natural...”

Cass’ words echoed his thoughts. Passing various rigged games and more steaming food stalls, they came upon the stage that had captivated so many, the rickety wood surrounded by eager ghouls.

A man stood illuminated only by the moon… and he was swallowing worms.

Jesse grimaced. “Gotta be a trick,” he muttered, but there went another one. The man—whip thin considering his appetite—let his jaw swing wide and another writhing, dull pink worm disappeared into the depths of his stomach. Jesse pushed closer. He ignored the hot press of bodies around him and instead peered, trying to make out the details of this performer. His jeans were more stained than Jesse’s own. His neck and forearms smeared with what might have been coal. He was barefoot. In a flash of light Jesse spotted the brown moss on his teeth and thought hell, maybe he really was eating them. The crowd gave an appropriately disgusted howl.

“Fuckin’ disconnected,” Cass said and Jesse nodded, immediately understanding. This strange performance didn’t fit within the otherwise shabby glamour of the carnival. They realized why a second later as the man, still consuming fat worms that he pulled from his pockets, was ushered off stage by another, nearly regal in a purple suit. Jesse was probably one of the few to realize how ill-fitting it actually was.

The man lifted his cane high in the air. “Astounding!” he boomed, voice rushing over them all. “Another marvel. Another mystery! Do you too have a tale to tell? Some mystical, magical art to share with the masses? Come one! Come all! Show us your skills!”

Jesse never would have thought that a voice that loud could also be so hypnotic, but the whole crowed swayed like they could hear a beat underlying the words. A number of scattered hands popped up, pale and shinning in the darkness, strangers who wanted to share their supposed talents. Jesse felt his heart kicking up a notch at the prospect, wondering what he might see beyond a guy consuming grubs. Maybe they should leave after all.

“My mate here can make you do anything!”

Jesse jerked, Cass’ voice still echoing, consuming all the other voices. As soon as it faded though the others started right back up, this time in excitement.

The performer’s eyes landed on them with scary precision. “Wonderful,” he whispered and he beckoned them both with his cane.

“What the fuck, Cassidy,” Jesse hissed, hoping the use of his full name would really show his displeasure. Cass just grinned though, shrugging loosely.

“Can’t beat ‘em, you join ‘em... and I figure I’m already apart of this lunacy, bein’ a creature of the night an’ all,” Cass gave another shrug as the crowd suddenly surged forward, carrying the two of them with it. Before Jesse knew it he was standing on the rotten planks of the stage, wondering when he’d mounted the steps or walked under the weak spotlight. From this vantage point the masked people appeared even more unnatural. A little sinister too.

With a jerk Jesse realized they were all masked. Every single one. The only plain faces he’d seen were the announcer and the man with the worms... who’d since disappeared.

“Your names,” the announcer asked, jarring Jesse from his thoughts. Cass jumped too, itchy beside him like he was suddenly regretting his impulsive action. What else was new?

“Paul,” Jesse said quick. “My friend here is Sean.” Cass shot him a look, but Jesse didn’t think it a good idea to give these people their real names. He couldn’t explain it... there was just some warning crawling up the back of his spine.

The feeling reached his throat and clench when the announcer cackled loudly.

“Those aren’t your names, boys!” he said and the rest of the crowed agreed, throwing out words of disappointment. “That’s okay though. We’re not interested in your titles, are we?” No, said the crowd. No, not at all. “We want your skills.”

Cass leaned back, eyeing the guy nervously. “Uh... right-o then. Je—Paul here’s got the Word of God in him. Can make any bloke do whatever the fuck he wants, within physical limits, you understand. An’ I’m a vampire. I drink blood.”

He said the last bit with something like pride and despite the situation Jesse rolled his eyes. Leave it to Cass to spill all their secrets so casually. Not that it really made a difference. Those who mattered already knew about Genesis and those who didn’t would never believe.

...except that the masks all bobbed in unison. The announcer didn’t appear the least bit surprised.

“Wonderful,” he said again. “Wonderful! A demonstration from you both then! Entertain us this fine night, if you gentlemen would be so kind. Please, show us what it means to feed, Sean.” He pointed his cane and a figure began ascending the steps on the opposite side of the stage, like he’d just been standing there waiting for his cue. Tall and chiseled—even under the robe-like garments he wore—Jesse knew instinctually that he was beautiful, even with the goat mask covering his face. There was something about the confidence in his walk.

And the odd shine to his eyes.

The announcer swept aside to make room for this newcomer, his movement still languid even as Cass and Jesse exchanged a glance. The man rolled up his sleeves to reveal dark wrists and then, when they hesitated, he rose hands to reveal a dark neck as well. He then spread his arms like an offering, perfectly still.

“You... you want me to drink from you?” Cass stuttered. It certainly seemed like it, and the announcer nodded, the crowd raising their voices in assent.

Cass turned to Jesse for confirmation... and took a step back at his expression.

Jesse could well imagine what he looked like.

He knew exactly when Cass had last fed because he’d catalogued every instance, every single time Cass had so much as glanced in someone’s direction with that hungry, feral look. Blood bags were fine. They picked up what they could every couple of miles, stolen from hospitals, clinics, and mobile Red Cross centers. Watching Cass chug them in the backseat and admonishing that he not spill blood on the leather... it felt like being a goddamn parent, telling their kid to quit making a mess.

So Jesse had been surprised the first time they’d run into a sturdy group looking to pick a fight and Cass and torn the man’s arm open, guzzling from the shoulder even after he’d passed out. Jesse had taken one look at Cass’ lips wrapped along a man’s bicep and had snapped, tearing him from Cass’ hands like a rag doll. The ensuing fight had been quick and violent, burning out fast as theirs generally did. Jesse said it was the moral implications—no need to bleed the jerk out—but he’d known it was a bold fucking lie.

He’d felt the same when Cass had just nibbled from another asshole’s wrist. When the girl he hired took the knife he’d offered with a giggle. Even when Tulip—

Jesse drew in a deep, shaky breath. He could smell popcorn and fresh pine, nothing like the dusty plain where he’d found Tulip wrapped around Cass, desperately shoving an open vein in his mouth to fix the mess that his body had become. He’d healed, of course. They’d even taken care of the bastards who did it, but Jesse never quite got that image out of his head. He was painfully aware that Cass’ mangled body should have been the thing to haunt him... instead it was Tulip’s dizzy expression as he drank from her.

She’d confronted him, after everything was said and done. Asking if Jesse really had his priorities so fucking skewed. He hadn’t known how to respond to that except with a, ‘Yeah. Probably.’

When it came down to it, Jesse just didn’t want Cass drinking from anyone other than him. Real fucking simple.

And that included some asshole goat-man in front of an audience.

He didn’t hear the change in his voice and couldn’t see the flash of red that cut across his eyes. “Cassidy,” Jesse hissed, “drink from me.”

The crowd lost their minds as Cass hurled himself atop Jesse, knocking them both to the ground. He was heavy for such a skinny guy and Jesse let out a grunt—which then turned quick into a small scream as Cass bit down on his arm, teeth tearing the flesh ragged. He could have used the knife in his boot. Taken things slow. There was nothing in his order that wouldn’t allow that. Jesse could only assume that Cass wanted it like this.

Fine by him.

The announcer was yelling something gleefully and the goat-man appeared to be watching them, head tilted in curiosity. Jesse only paid them the briefest glance. He was too focused on Cass: his body now laying across Jesse’s and rocking there happily, the soft snarls and slurps as he fed, the press of splinters into Jesse’s back, blood running hot down the sides of his arm. He raised his free hand and thread his fingers through Cass’ hair, thrilled when the crowed gave an approving cheer. He wondered what blood tasted like to a vampire. If Cass could detect the cotton candy they’d shared.

Jesse turned his head. He saw the waves of faces staring at him, made of plastic and looking like animals. Except that he could no longer see where the seams of the masks were and the voices... they no longer sounded like any language Jesse knew. His eyes went wide, realizing he was in this carnival, with people—things—that were now edging closer, Cass very nearly sucking him dry. Jesse’s vision began to dim and he barely managed to pull tight on the hair in his palm.

“Cass,” he gasped. “Wait—stop.”

He did. Cass collapsed on top of him fully, like the feeding had somehow drained him this time around. Jesse recognized the feeling that came right before you passed out and at the last moment he raised his gaze, finding the announcer standing directly above him.

“Thank you so much for that performance,” he whispered and as Jesse tried to answer, everything went dark.

***

He awoke to the hot desert sun beating down on them. Jesse’s skin—the parts that Cass wasn’t protecting—was covered in dust; red, blistered, and burned. His body was heavy from too much sleep and his stomach roiled from lack of food. Jesse’s parched throat told him he’d been there even longer than he might think.

There were only two movements around them: the buzz of Jesse’s phone in his pocket (Tulip, he knew, panicking about where they were) and the shallow but steady breathing of Cass against him.

Jesse couldn’t move just yet. He couldn’t answer his phone or roll Cass off him. There was too much else to consider—like the fact that they weren’t lying on a stage and there was no carnival around them. The only thing he could see for miles was sand. There weren’t even marks to suggest the existence of tents.

A dream then? A mirage? Hallucination, or hell, even a spell? Jesse had convinced himself of all four when he opened his mouth to whisper Cass’ name and caught the flare of pain along his arm.

Jesse stared. The skin there was torn from a bite mark. Blood had dried and caked along the wound. It already looked like it was beginning to scar.

“Cass,” Jesse finally said, needing his friend awake…

…because whatever this was, it was real.

Fin.

~Be careful of the food you accept from strangers. You never know what their price for it might be.

#Preacher #AMC Preacher #Jessidy #fic #preacherfic

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theboardwalkbody · 8 years

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How did you peeps like chapter 2 of lewd and lascivious? I got no feedback after posting so I'm just curious if y'all liked it or not and if I should do more chapters?

#Cassidy #proinsias cassidy #preacher #fanfic #preacherfic #cassidyfic

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itsclydebitches · 8 years

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Preacher Fic: Small Town Secrets

Summary: It's the fifth call, and this one is the worst Jesse has ever gotten.

Written for the prompt: "Jesse knows Cass is an addict, knows what it's like to have to escape reality for at least a short while. He does his best to mitigate the damage the man does to himself, but it never quite feels like enough. (And of course Cassidy just can't help but take advantage of Jesse's need to save what he thinks is a broken soul and bask in the attention...)”

Fandom: Preacher (TV series)

Words: 1,868

Warnings: Drug use reference, suicide references

Pairings: Jesse/Cass - unrequited/one-sided

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

Small Town Secrets

All you ever really needed to know about Annville was that it was small. The kind of goddamn, horrible smallness where everyone knew everyone—and not in the friendly way either. It was, ‘Why would I hire you, Brad? Couldn’t keep track of your books in sixth grade, why the fuck would I trust you with my kids?’ Or, ‘Bless your heart, Jane. I remember when you were just a little tyke, wetting your corduroy pants...’ There were no true secrets in Annville. Everything got out eventually, and when it did, it spread like wildfire.

Jesse always said that adding technology to the mix was just asking for trouble. But no, Emily needed to bring their little, neurotic town into the 21st century. Cell phones for everyone. More than that, a group-text for the church.

Contact your preacher day or night. He’s here for all your spiritual needs!

Jesse ground his teeth as light filled his bedroom again, the bzzz, bzzz, bzzz of some neighbor needing his guidance. Maybe it was Mrs. Harper, here to inform him that her cat’s ghost really had come back to visit—for the fifth time. Or Reginald in another argument with his wife, thinking that Jesse played marriage counselor as well as preacher. It could be Sam asking if he wanted some of her meatloaf leftovers. Ryan, drunk, needed someone to curse at. Even Luke, Sasha’s eight-year-old, who liked tricking everyone into thinking he’d experienced more horrible things in this world than he actually had. Jesse had eventually seen through him the hard way, with too many late night ‘emergency’ visits.

The text could be from any number of nosy, awful people. Jesse was more tempted than not to just ignore it.

Except... except there was one goddamn person...

With a curse of his own Jesse rolled and snatched the cell from his nightstand. It took a bleary moment to see what was written, but when he did he was up like a flash.

A small town, first and foremost. Which meant that it was actually a high probability that the one person he needed to talk to might be calling.

Jesse was damn glad he answered.

“Maria,” he breathed. That one word encompassed all Jesse’s emotions, bound up and forced through the cell line. In seconds he’d gone from groggy to full-on alert. His legs were tangled in the damp sheets. His headache grew with each word she gave him. The last thing Jesse wanted was to move from this spot, but the flutter of anxiety in his chest spurned him on. He blew out a low, dry breath, even as he could manage.

“Okay, Maria? Is he—? Oh. Oh thank Christ, you’re sure? Yes. Yes, of course. Just keep your distance, I’ll... I’ll be there as soon as I can I—shit.”

A click, too loud in the quiet night, signaling the end of the conversation. It was such a small town. If this moment didn’t ruin them... the rumors just might.

Jesse placed his cell slowly, carefully on the nightstand, like he was afraid that it (and the man it was attached to) might break.

Then he set off running.

***

Maria had lived in Annville all her life. She knew every nook and cranny. It was small like that. She was also, ultimately, a creature of habit. Some around here (mostly Ian bagging her groceries and Sophie’s silly book club) said that it was because she’d broken after Rob had left her. Just shattered. Of course, it was completely unheard of, a native Annville resident leaving to ‘seek their fortune,’ after thirty years of marriage no less. Maria didn’t mind, as Annville seemed to insist that she must. She and Rob had married at seventeen, two lifetimes ago for both of them, and that decision had no bearing on the people they’d become. They had no children he was responsible for (another gasp worthy revelation). And besides, Maria knew for a fact that he’d lost all the savings he’d taken in a sketchy casino and was currently living destitute somewhere in Arizona. So yeah. Fuck Rob.

Amazingly, everyone had seen Maria continue her life exactly as she had when Rob had been around and assumed that it was out of some kind of pathetic, desperate loneliness. Didn’t occur to a single fool that maybe she just liked her own routine.

That included her walks.

“Insomnia’s read bad for you, darlin’. Mmm hmm. I should know. Just look at those stars! Too many for our eyes, eh?” Cassidy giggled, kicking his legs, and Maria edged a little closer. She raised her hands… though heaven only knew what she thought she could do.

Bless Jesse Custer. That boy had his own issues, sure, but he wasn’t anything like her Rob (and wasn’t that one of God’s own miracles). Jesse would be there for you if you needed him, so Maria tried her darndest to return the favor. Life and a bad back had kept her up most nights nowadays, kept her moving, and more often than not she ran into Cassidy—stupid boy high as a blasted kite.

This was the fourth time they’d met... but sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Maria hadn’t ever seen him like this.

She’d say he was on ecstasy if she didn’t doubt even Cassidy’s ability to get ahold of that in Annville. Yet here he was, happy as a disoriented clam, thoughts jumping here, there, and everywhere, completely erratic. It was by some sort of grace that he’d managed to sit still—relatively—since Maria had found him.

“You just keep still, honey,” she reiterated, keeping her eyes glued on the curve of Cassidy’s back. “Preacher will be here any minute.”

“Padre,” Cassidy chimed in. Maria didn’t know if he was correcting her or just savoring the name in his mouth. “He’s my favorite. My very good friend an’ don’t you have one a’ those? You with your pretty face an’... an’...” he peered blearily, rocking and causing Maria’s heart to jackrabbit in her chest. “Your coat. Oh, that looks mighty soft, that does.”

Maria swallowed hard. Her old bones were useless here, but she extended a frail arm regardless. “Yeah? Why don’t you come over and see?”

Cassidy wasn’t given the chance to answer. At that moment a screech of tires sounded in the night, causing him to clap both hands over his ears—and for Maria’s fear to kick up another notch. The sound heralded Jesse, throwing himself out of the church van. He landed on one knee, heaved up, and stumbled like a drunk towards his friend. Even in the moonlight Maria could see how sickly pale he was.

“Cass,” he said, voice strangled. “Come down.”

He simply waved though. Cassidy was gloriously happy atop Annville’s one, god-forsaken bridge.

***

Annville was such a tiny goddamn place. Quaint by some standards. Fucking backwards by Cass’. Still, it made finding the one available bridge real fucking easy.

It was a useless structure overall, a lot like the town it led into. Whatever water might have once been there had dried up long ago, sand dunes rising high to fill the space, though there was still a significant drop from here to the ground. Cass wasn’t even near the top. He’d only commandeered one of little thingamajigs that stabilized it, his butt wedged into the narrow triangle it created. Still, this kind of fall was likely to crack his head open like a rotten egg.

How very fitting.

“Cass... come down.”

He closed his eyes, trying to memorize the concern in Jesse’s voice. It was so rare for the man to emote like that, requiring more and more from Cass to drag it out. But oh, he had the resources. Living a hundred years made you manipulative as fuck and Cass had sure as hell tried enough drugs—all the drugs—to accurately mimic their symptoms. If climbing up a bridge was what it took for Jesse to pay attention to him, Cass was well willing to please.

It wasn’t like he was really in danger anyhow. Fall might crack his skull, sure, but it would stitch back together quick enough. Not that Jesse knew that. Still didn’t believe him about the whole vampire thing.

“Cass.”

He felt the vibrations as Jesse climbed... then warm hands slid gently around Cass’ waist. They were trembling. They were scared, and Cass had to close his throat lest he let out a sob and ruin all of it. Jesse seemed to take his sudden stiffness as over-stimulation. He began apologizing, nearly babbling, as he coaxed Cass back into his arms.

No need to disappoint. He let his body go limp and practically tumbled into Jesse’s hold, the two of them making an awkward pair back to the ground. Cass briefly nuzzled his neck and caught a whiff of his hair. Such things were excusable when you were supposedly off your rocker on drugs.

Which was the worse sin then? Actually getting high, or just pretending for the attention?

Cass really wasn’t sure anymore.

“Thank you, Maria—” Jesse was saying, all earnest and... and... just so goddamn sincere. Cass felt a little bad for scaring her, but he’d known she was the one good soul who’d call his Jesse, rather than tipping him—literally—over the edge. Planting himself in her path tonight had been real easy. Easy enough that it felt like fate.

And Jesse had come. It was always a possibility he wouldn’t, too fed up with Cass’ shit to bother. But he was here, one arm steadying Cass’ shoulders, his other hand pressed firmly against Cass’ stomach. Jesse unconsciously rubbed his thumb there. A small caress.

Cass looked to him in the moonlight then. This time he didn’t need to fake the dopey smile.

“I love you, Padre.”

“‘Course you do, Cass,” Jesse muttered, already dismissing it as a temporary, drug-induced love. “You’ll... keep quiet about this?”

It took Cass a long moment to realize he was speaking to Maria. Oh.

“I’ll do my best, Preacher. You know I will but... small town.” She said it like an incantation. Things would come to light, whether you wanted them to or not.

“I know. Th-thanks again.”

They stumbled back towards the van, Cass playing his part and Jesse negotiating knees weak from terror. Cass could feel the lecture building within him. It would boil over sometime tomorrow afternoon, when Jesse roared at him something fierce, maybe even throwing a bottle or two. For now though he simply pressed Cass close to him, reveling in the fact that he was there.

Cass did exactly the same.

“Inside, c’mon lie down...”

Only van the church owned was the one that transported bodies. Jesse guided him onto a cot for corpses, briefly smoothing Cass’ hair. He just smiled in response, lying like the dead.

The last image Cass caught before a temporary darkness was Jesse’s face, holy, set between two closing doors.

What a perfect night.

***

Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead. Jesse closed his eyes and set his head on the steering wheel, breathing.

He was damn relieved it hadn’t come to that tonight.

#Preacher #AMC Preacher #Jessidy #preacherfic #prompt #anonymous prompt

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itsclydebitches · 8 years

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Preacher Fic: Imaginary Realms

Summary: Cass and Jesse sit down for a beer. There are too many ways this can end. (Written for the Jessidy Hiatus Challenge: "Favorite Jessidy Moment")

Fandom: Preacher (TV series)

Words: 963

Warnings: None

Pairings: Jesse/Cass, background Jesse/Tulip, Cass/Tulip

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3

Imaginary Realms

In the church’s sweltering kitchen Jesse is in the process of handing Cass a beer, the top already popped and the act halfway completed. 10:00am and the bottle glistens, slick in his palm. Each drop of condensation contains fractals, light from the dingy bulbs reflected there, and within each fractal are immeasurable possibilities. These, then, are just a few among many.

***

They both feel it, the second when the bottle passes between them and then suddenly stops, held by neither, briefly suspended in the space between their hands before falling and shattering to the floor. Beer washes between Jesse’s toes. Cass jumps back, wanting to avoid shards with bare feet. Though after that they play their roles perfectly. Cass curses up a storm and goes to grab towels off the oven door. Jesse wanders aimlessly towards closet where he thinks there might have been a dustpan once. He places his own bottle on the table.

It’s a moment where Cass could have admitted to vampire reflexes. (“I could have caught that, Padre.”) It’s also a moment where Jesse could have offered him a second beer.

In the end, it’s a moment where they do neither.

***

This time the bottle passes without incident and they each take their seats—Cass on top of the table, Jesse across from him. They move through their script until the tattoos come up and when Jesse torques his body to show the fine lines of a tulip, Cass stumbles to his feet. There’s a new moment where he says—

***

“She’s yours?” (A question.)

***

“She’s yours.” (Resignation.)

***

Another moment entirely where he says, “She’s mine.”

***

Still a fourth, where instead of speaking Cass ambles over, turning Jesse so he can see the hard muscles in his back, the scrapes and raw pieces there. This Cass uses his tongue to trace the scars before pouring the rest of his beer over Jesse’s shoulders, then smashing the bottle and shifting through the pieces, meticulous until he finds the perfect shard to work with. He retraces the scars then, opening them up. When Cass gets to the tattoo he’s barely careful at all, just adding his work atop another’s.

Cass doesn’t need to say “ours’” this time.

***

There’s a moment where they take out beers, discuss tattoos, keep their secrets, and the only difference is that at the end of it all Jesse pulls a face and reminds Cass that they have a recycling bin out back, thanks. They might murder a person here and there, but goddammit, they don’t need to fuck up their trash too.

Cass throws his head back and laughs, giddy. Alright then, padre. He passes the empty bottle back... and this time their fingers brush.

***

Some moments don’t become moments, for the simple reason that there’s too much bullshit to wade through to get there. Or, in the boys’ case, foolishness.

There’s a Cass out there who contests Jesse as Vinnie and a playful argument ensues. They never do get to the beer.

***

A moment, close on the heels of another, where Cass doesn’t care if it’s cold only with the washer running. Why would he? He’s cleaned up in far worse before.

At the prospect of drinking alone Jesse grabs two beers and follows Cass upstairs, technically uninvited... but when had they ever accomplished shit with words? They’re already stripped but for that final layer. Trembling with something like need. Jesse shoves Cass under the freezing faucet and watches his limbs really jerk, laughing at the curses he howls at the tile. It’s too damn cold for much play, but they get the chance to explore at least.

They drink the beer under the spray and it’s the warmest thing between them.

***

In some moments Cass gets distracted. By Jesse’s body on full display. The easy conversation. His willingness to toast an abomination.

These easily outweigh all the others. Cass is amazed, every single time around.

***

Less happily, there’s an awful moment where Jesse hears “fell in love” and fixates on it, worrying it like a scab—pulling away that protective layer again and again. He turns away from Cass and kicks the washer. It’s not a necessary action, but one born entirely out of jealousy.

He breaks two toes, because he’s an idiot like that. Still, it has Cass fussing over him (“You tellin’ me I gotta go back to hospital?”) and he doesn’t mention love again. At least not as it pertains to anyone else. And really, that’s all Jesse dares ask for.

***

“You want a beer?”

“Nah, man. It’s early even for me, ain’t it?”

That’s the end of that.

***

The beginning though is when Jesse says, “You want a beer?” and Cass wants something else entirely. Living as long as he has, this Cass—in this moment—takes what he wants.

There’s the walk forward and slide of his hands over Jesse’s ass, only poor-man’s cotton between them. The heat has them both perspiring and Cass was right, he really does smell something awful. Jesse hardly seems to mind though. He nudges hard until Cass slots his lips against his, the two of them perfect in an imperfect meeting of teeth and noses. It’s sloppy. Rough. Cass kisses tellingly—this is the only chance he’ll get. Jesse’s kiss tries to convince him that they have all the time in the world. Every moment imaginable.

Cass would say Jesse tastes like beer, but they haven’t had the chance to try it yet.

***

(“I went through a period of low impulse control,” he says panting, offering.

“I hope that’s not over with...” and Jesse solidifies the moment. The one they were searching for.

They never return to the drinks. It’s nothing and everything like impulse.)

***

In every moment, Jesse offers Cass a beer.

#Preacher #Jessidy #jessidyhiatuschallenge #preacherfic #Jesse/Cassidy

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itsclydebitches · 8 years

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Preacher Fic: Pitstop 95

Summary: On their way towards God, Jesse, Cass, and Tulip stop at an abandoned gas station. That may or may not have been be a good idea...

(For the prompt: Nosebleed, where Jesse is the one interested in the blood).

Fandom: Preacher (TV series)

Words: 1,346

Warnings: Language

Pairings: Jesse/Cass, Jesse/Tulip, Jesse/Cass/Tulip

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3

Pitstop 95

On the sixth night of their sixth week on the road, they pulled into a darkened gas station, two of them laughing while the third cursed up a storm.

“There’s some irony or something in this,” Jesse said, screeching to a stop beside the convenience store. The motion threw Tulip against the door and brought up a new string of expletives from the back.

“You tryin’ to kill me here, padre?”

“Maybe.” Jesse grinned as Tulip snickered.

The voice that came back was wet and stuffy...yet still managed to sound dry as the desert. “Or maybe I should ask if you’re tryin’ to get blood all over your seats.”

Jesse cursed, ignoring Tulip’s howl and Cass’ cackle as he threw open the driver door, opened the back, and hauled Cass out by his shirt. He looked a right mess in the moonlight, blood pouring out his nose and staining everything from his chin down a dark brown. Cass grinned, teeth the brightest thing for a mile, and Jesse shook his head, wondering if this was what a vampire was ‘supposed’ to look like. Screw that. Cass needed a shower just like the rest of them.

“C’mon,” Jesse sighed. “And tilt your damn head back.”

“Yes, padre, my padre.”

“I’ll wait here,” Tulip said, kicking up her feet on the dashboard and taking out her phone. Jesse almost made a snide comment, but he knew she couldn’t do any of that stuff in the car without getting sick. She could have her Candy Crush for a few minutes.

He dragged Cass towards the storefront, scanning for any sort of alarm system. It was a pretty rundown place though. Creepy, if Jesse was being right honest. Like everyone had been gone for far longer than just a few hours. Still, it worked in their favor. All it took was one elbow to the door to shatter some glass and give them a way in. Jesse cleared away the sharp edges with his sleeve while Cass rambled on, voice thick.

“Got these all the time as a kid. My da’ was a bastard about ‘em! Oh, not in a mean way or anythin’, just teasin’. You know those fuckin’ comics with all the blood splatterin’ out when you see someone hot? Real steamy like? Well my da’ would take one look at little me and the mess I’d made, must be in love then, right? Ha! If you dare to believe it, padre, I wasn’t always my charming self. Avoided all the cute boys and girls until late in my teens—cooties weren’t anything to sneeze at, you hear?—an’ I half blame my da’ for that. Not to mention it was fuckin’ traumatizing at the time. Walkin’ nightmare of a kid. Swallowin’ blood so much I vomited it back up. I mean sure, I obviously like blood now, but what kid wants to deal with that shit, huh?”

“Cass,” Jesse interrupted. “Are you honestly trying to get sympathy for a fucking nosebleed?”

“...is it working?”

He hid a smile by turning to the fridge. Jesse fished out a bottle of Fanta—just because he knew Cass hated the stuff—and tossed it to him in lieu of an icepack. Cass grumbled but pressed it to his nose diligently, trying to slow down the bleeding.

“Chips, cold cuts, beer, cigs...” Jesse muttered, turning around in the darkened store. Everything looked warped and foreign on their shelves. “Where the hell are the towels?”

“Now see, if you were the one bleedin’, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“…that so?”

Jesse honed in on the dark patches covering Cass’ skin and shirt. He didn’t think much about his approach, just sidled forward until he had his hands wrapped around a skinny waist, turning away from all the shadows behind him. Jesse heard Cass asking what he thought he was doing—a breathy tone coloring his voice—but he shushed him, trying to catch a whiff of all the blood covering Cass. He couldn’t. If there was anything to smell it was overpowered by sweat and the stale scent of the store—something sour and slightly rotten. Nothing for it then. Jesse wiped his index finger along Cass’ upper lip, where the blood had yet to congeal, and popped the digit into his mouth. Cass’ expression was worth everything, even the horrid taste.

“How do stand chugging this?” Jesse asked, grimacing around his knuckle.

“Said we craved it, padre, not that it fuckin’ tasted good. Like those stale butterfly crackers. Golden butter my ass. They taste like ass—not even yours or Tulip’s—just grade A straner ass yet there I am, still stuffin’ ‘em in my gob—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Cass opened his mouth again and this time Jesse was there to shut him up, leaning forward to lick a strip across his cheek. The taste was still horrible, sending a roil through his stomach, but Jesse definitely liked the way Cass bucked forward from just the small touch, the way his head titled back until Jesse was practically dipping him. He sucked a bit of blood off his jaw, tonguing the stubble there…before catching sight of the silhouette framed by broken glass.

Jesse jumped, making Cass squawk.

“Shoulda known you two couldn’t just run one errand.” Tulip kept her voice pitched low, like she was trying to maintain the spooky silence of the store. She’d turned her phone on silent and the pink light lit up her face, casting craters and playing havoc with her grin.

Jesse shook the image away and straightened them both. “Like you would have done different.”

“Me?” Tulip asked. “I’m not an idiot. Are you really lickin’ blood off of him in a goddamn abandoned gas station?” Tulip shook her head. “What is this, cheap horror night? You’re just asking for trouble.”

Jesse felt a shiver running up his back—then back down, twice as cold. “Now that you mention it...”

“Aw c’mon,” Cass shook his head at them both. “We were gettin’ all cozy a moment ago an’ you go an’ ruin it.” He pressed against Jesse, crouching exaggeratedly so his head was tucked under Jesse’s chin, peeking out. “You know I don’t like that stuff.”

Tulip snorted. “You mean you’re a superstitious scaredy cat.”

“That is unfair! I’m a vampire, luv. If I exist who knows what the hell else is out there!”

“Except you’re also a vampire. You can defend yourself. We all can.”

“Full offense, but I ain’t trusting even your aim up against some ghost.”

“Excuse me, asshole, I—”

A noise cut Tulip off mid sentence. It was something that came from the back. Tulip would have said it sounded like a bottle sliding by itself across the shelf. Jesse heard the faint tickle of a bell Cass, a voice.

None of them said anything at all though, eyes wide and throats dry.

Jesse and Cass were still tucked together, Jesse now turning them both firmly towards the door. Tulip grabbed hold of Cass’ arm on the way out, unsuccessfully trying to shine her phone’s light towards the back. They couldn’t see anything... and all three were fairly grateful for it.

“Do you think—?” Cass started before a crash, unmistakable this time, sent them all running.

They piled back into the car at top speed, engine roaring. It sounded too loud now and all three of them winced. Jesse got the hunk of junk rolling forward; Tulip had a gun in her lap. Cass turned to peer out the back as they sped away.

“Don’t know about you two,” he whispered, “but I’d really like a nosebleed to be the only blood spilled tonight.”

“Shut up,” Tulip bit out.

“Yeah. Seriously, Cass. Shut the fuck up.”

“Right... promise to never talk about this again?”

Jesse stared out at the open road, now somehow feeling a little too open. Exposed. He glanced briefly in the rearview mirror at the gas station fading from view, licked his lips and tasted blood.

“Swear it on my grave.”

#Preacher #AMC Preacher #Jessidy #Unholy Trio #preacherfic

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