Dean's lying at his feet, mouth wet with blood, eyes pleading more
eloquently than his mouth had for mercy.
Please, Cas…
A prayer. To him. Castiel's fist is clenched, a rock, anger and
disappointment surging inside him like waves, beating mountains down
into sand.
Dean swallows, stares up at him. "Do it. Just do it."
And they've been like this before, a broken voice, a wet, swollen mouth
begging him for mercy, but Dean was naked then, sprawled out, his body
tense and quivering, needing release, a touch.
Castiel lets his fist become a remembered shape, cupped, curved,
holding mercy.