Cass found Jesse in the church's restroom, the small one next to the kitchen that always smelled like Febreze. Now he knew why. Jesse was down on his knees—usually a good thing—but this time it was so he could shove a gloved hand down a toilet nearly overflowing with shit.
"Ain't you supposed to use a plunger for that?" Cass asked, gagging.
Jesse's face was equally contorted. "Don't you think I'd be usin' one if we had it?" He pulled his hand out with a wet squelch and they both groaned, the smell somehow getting worse. Cass subtly, oh so carefully, edged back out the door.
"Well. I can see you're real busy an all that, so I'll just come back later—"
"Or you can get your ass back in here and help me."
Cass went, he had to, but that didn't mean he needed to be quiet about it. The bathroom filled with good old Irish cursing as Cass plopped himself down onto the bathmat, knocking deliberately into Jesse. Unsure of exactly how to "help," he settled for flushing the toilet.
...the whole thing gurgled. The water rose higher. Jesse glared.
"That's your own damn fault, padre, askin' someone like me for help..."
"Suppose so," Jesse answered and plunged his hand back in, this time up to his elbow. Cass grimaced on his behalf as he tried desperately to unblock whatever was screwing things over. Jesse leaned his clean arm on the toilet rim and his head upon his arm.
"This is what happens when you've got an attendance of two-hundred trying to use the same restroom every week."
"An' a vamp livin' above with a messy bowl system," Cass said. He grinned and settled in, waving a hand to try and dissipate the smell. "Here's one far ya: How many animals can you fit on a toilet?"
"Don't know. How many?"
"One pussy and one-thousand hares."
Jesse snorted into his arm. "Not bad," he said. "Got any others?"
"Wha' did one toilet brush say to another?"
"I know the shit you've been through."
"Aw, y've heard it," Cass groused and watched as Jesse pulled his hand out again, cursing.
"Shit. Grab me a bucket, will you?"
So Cass got back on his feet, wondering when the hell he'd given up drugs and the high life to watch preachers digging shit out of toilets. Honestly, it was right pathetic of him. If he didn't love the man he'd have beat it fast, Word or no Word.
Then again, wouldn't be in this mess at all if he didn't love the bastard.
"Don't believe me if I tell you," Cass sang, voice pitched low. "Not a word of this is true. Don't believe me if I tell you, especially if I tell you I'm in love with you..."
There was a pail out on the church porch, courtesy of Emily trying to grow flowers in their graveyard (just the kind of morbid irony Cass loved). It took some wrangling involving a broom and a blanket but he finally got it out of the blazing sun, slinging it over one arm. He paused in the entryway though, considered, then hoofed it upstairs to grab his gardening gloves as well. Only then did Cass make his way back to Jesse.
"Here's your bucket," he said. "An' here's the nicest thing I've done for a bloke in three decades," and Cass got down on his knees, shoving Jesse aside to have a go himself. Jesse immediately turned away, half laughing, half gagging.
"You haven't got one of the tall gloves," he said, waving his filthy, elbow-high monstrosity as evidence. Cass just shrugged, pulling a face as dove in. There was all sorts of nasties under his fingers and the water was ice cold against his skin. Cass let out a full body shudder.
"This is love," he announced. "You hear me, padre? I don't crawl through shite for just anyone."
"You ain't crawling."
"Fuck you."
"Yeah, you're right. This is real romantic."
With one arm lost in the brownish murk, Cass turned to pucker his lips. "Give us a kiss?"
The expression Jesse pulled was nothing short of revolted. "Ask that again and it'll be your head down there."
"Just try it, yeh weak-ass mortal..."
They actually worked in silence for a time, Cass trying his damnedest to actually fix this catastrophe, Jesse watching with what could only be termed awed horror. It was only when his arm started going kind of numb and his shoulder ached from the position that Cass growled, "Can't you just order this damn thing to unclog?"
"Ha. Teach it English and I will." Jesse shook his head. "Burton's fridge," he announced.
Cass blinked. "What's that now?"
"Old trick my daddy taught me: when you're in the shit—and we are literally in shit, Cass—you think of something worse than whatever it is you're dealing with." Jesse shrugged. "Burton's lived down the road when I was a kid, where the Lin's are at now. Back when I was... twelve? Maybe thirteen, they went on vacation and got delayed coming back a few days, never did find out why. Anyway, we had a power outage that week and Dad sent me over there to clean out the fridge, knowing everything would have spoiled in the heat. Good Samaritan and all that..." Jesse stilled, and Cass recognized the universal look of a man trying to keep his lunch down. "The stench..."
"Seriously? Worse than this?"
"The milk, Cass."
He outright laughed at that, thinking back. "Sticking your arm in is bad, sure, but try getting tossed down head first down a sewer. Fuckin' Jen."
"Jen?"
"Aye, real wanker she was."
Jesse grinned. "Had some awful Taco Bell once."
"No. No, no, no, no. You've haven't had ripe food 'till you've tried the Indian at this shady lil' place in downtown New York. I'll take you sometime."
"Looking forward to it. Getting a knuckle-punch right in the nose."
"Gettin' a shotgun blast in the fuckin' gut."
"Morning after a one-night stand."
"Every goddamn mornin' of my teenage years, lemme tell ya."
"The dentist."
"Aw, no one likes the dentist!"
"My dentist then."
"My fuckin' name."
Cass froze, actually stiffened all around because where the actual hell had that come from? Well, he knew, obviously, but why he'd bothered to blabit out was another question entirely.
Jesse stilled too, giving him a funny look. "Really?" he asked. "I think 'Cassidy' is a beautiful name."
Oh. Huh. Now fuck if that didn't just warm the cockles of Cass' heart, though that really wasn't the issue here. He winced, digging deeper and attempting to play it cool.
"Sure, sure, I suppose," he said. "Fine Irish name an' all that. 'Cept it's not my first." Cass tried for a cheeky grin. "Think you know all about me, don't ya?"
"No," Jesse said, sounding surprisingly serious. "Of course I don't. I'd like to, but..." he ended with a soft, funny smile.
"... right."
The smile grew. "So what's your first name then?"
"Ah nooooo, no fuckin' way." Cass made a shooing gesture at Jesse. "I'll tell you that the day this goddamn toilet finally decides to unclog itsel—"
Right at that moment Cass' hand hit… something, and the toilet gave another, massive gurgle. The water bubbled up and seconds later drained away, leaving just a small puddle, Cass' filthy arm, and Jesse cackling behind him.
"Fuck yeh, fate, I swear."
"So tell me," Jesse insisted, ten minutes later. With the toilet fixed—and a series of victorious texts sent Emily's way—they'd tossed their soiled gloves into the bucket and headed upstairs to the shower, careful not to touch anything on the way. Except that Jesse was peeling off his shirt and Cass really wanted to touch him.
He opted out of the strip tease, shucking off boots and jeans real quick. Jesse already had the water going and was hopping slightly, waiting for it to get warm. Cass took a moment just to watch him, a plain made up of nothing but muscles and scars. Surprisingly pale for a Texan too. A lot like him.
Funny that.
Jesse's head popped out from around the curtain he'd drawn. "We got the washer going?" he asked, shivering.
"Nah. Just give it a mo,' whole plumbin' is busted."
"You're telling me."
It took a little while, but eventually the water heated and they both crowded in, stripped and pressed together in the small tub. Not that Cass was complaining. He let Jesse push him to the front, right under the spray, and wrapped himself around Cass with a hum of appreciation. Cass pressed backwards.
"Could help a mate out with that lil' problem," he said, grinning, grinding.
Jesse just huffed against his hair. "You're not touching me with that hand until you've washed," and a bar of soap was shoved against his chest. "Don't think you can distract me, neither."
"Distract you from what?" Cass asked innocently, but a second later Jesse had him in hand, gripping his cock just hard enough that Cass jumped and let out a yelp. His arms skittered out—one grabbing the curtain, the other plastered against the tile—because at some point Jesse had soaped up and was now teasing Cass with an expertise that told him the man had too much experience and had spent too much time studying Cass' preferences. Weirdo probably had a mental spreadsheet about his Likes and Dislikes or something.
Yes. Spreadsheets. Data. Logical, impersonally things that would keep Cass centered because he knew exactly what Jesse was doing.
"You're not gettin' it out of me that easy," Cass said, though it honestly came out more of a groan. A few teasing pumps and already his knees were getting weak, which was just all sorts of wrong considering what they'd been doing the last half hour. It was some sort of scary proof when you were hard for a guy after he'd just had his hand rammed down a literal bowl of shit.
Reassuring that Jesse was just as hard though.
He was there for Cass too, sturdy in an otherwise slippery tub, his left hand keeping Cass up and steady as his right mixed pre-cum with the water. Jesse nestled his cock against Cass' ass and leaned in to suck on the lobe of his ear.
"I could make you tell me," he growled.
"Yeh wouldn't do that."
"Wouldn't I?" and Jesse squeezed.
The threat sent a jolt of pure pleasure through Cass... as did the lie. If he honestly thought Jesse was the type to take advantage of him, with a power like that, he would have beat it half to hell an age ago. No. This here fucker was a good fucker. Jesse could growl out all the threats he wanted, the hand splayed and gently stroking across Cass' chest said otherwise.
Must have been lost in his own thoughts too long—too silent for Jesse's liking—because all at once he turned Cass and slid down to his knees, just barely enough room in the tub for him to spread his legs. Shaking water from his hair, Jesse washed away the remaining soap… then began licking long, wet strips up Cass' cock, mouthing him, refusing to actually take him damn the bastard. In this position Cass' vision filled with nothing but Jesse and the water beat a hellish, hot staccato against his back.
Jesse was speaking then. No wonder he needed his mouth free—both hands working now and lips nibbling, kissing, sucking if they weren't forming words. It wasn't Genesis, but it might as well have been for all the desire Cass had to disobey. A single command again and again, drumming into him with each wave, accompanying every curse. He gripped Jesse's hair hard enough to flood the drain with black strands and all the preacher did was give him more. Cass was whining and begging before he knew his shame from his pride, and in the end it wasn't Jesse's name on his lips when he came.
Cass took a moment to come around, now slouched against the tile, one leg pressed hard against Jesse. He was running his hand over Cass' calf, playing with the hair there, periodically kneading. It was stupidly soothing... though when Cass finally looked down Jesse was grinning like the devil himself.
"Proinsias?" he said.
"Fuck you and fuck yours," Cass groaned, splashing to the other side of the tub. It got him all of a foot away from Jesse but it was the principle of the thing.
"Proinsias," he said again.
"You ain't even sayin' it right! No 'ass' in it, padre, haven't you watched Orange Is the New Black yet? Like Poussey. You gotta say it right!"
Jesse just laughed harder, splayed out at Cass' feet. He laughed so hard he snorted water up his nose and Cass hoped he choked.
"I hope you choke," he announced because really, that needing sayin' aloud. "I'll have you know it's a perfectly respectable name an' I was born a hundred years past, you insensitive wanker, and Jesus Christ would you stop laughin' already?" Cass shook his head, because this, this was the asshole he'd settled for.
Jesse put his head between his knees and howled.
"You can't tell anyone about this, padre! I'm buildin' a reputation here!"
Reputation as a lovesick fool, apparently, because Jesse never told. He just whispered the name in Cass' ear whenever he needed help mucking out a toilet or something equally awful. Whole town got to see Cass following meekly along.
(Not that he wouldn't have gone anyway.)
Fin.