by Jane Davitt

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.

Return to Home

Click here if you'd like to send feedback