I'm fairly certain this isn't really what you wanted, but it's what came out. Hope it's not too far off.
*
“Shouldn’t I get a reward?” Dean asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Castiel stood in the doorway opposite him, watching him with the exact same look of perplexed indifference he always had in these situation. “Come on, aren’t you going to pat me on the head for being such a ‘good boy’?”
The angel took a step forward and raised on hand, for a second Dean thought he was actually going to pat him on the head, but instead the hand found its way to his chest, resting lightly over his heart.
I pulled you out of hell
He froze. Castiel could probably stop his heart beat with a thought.
I can throw you back in.
But the angel was looking down at his hand thoughtfully, not like he was imagining Dean dying, crumpling to the ground and his soul sinking down into hell again, but like he was faced with a problem he had not considered before.
At first it just tingled, spreading out warm from where Castiel’s hand was resting. Dean almost pulled back, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. Then the heat increased and he could feel his heart beginning to speed up as the tingling expanded to every inch of his body, running through him.
What came next was beyond description. It was as though he exploded and then reformed, like a spontaneous orgasm, only twice as powerful. There was just a sensation of absolute, pure pleasure, running through him, leaving no knowledge for anything but that single moment. White heat covered him; utter bliss and rapture. Dean knew that he was crying out, but he couldn’t hear his voice over the roar of ecstasy. When the world filtered in again he was on his knees, panting for breath and shaking. His hands spasmed against the carpet and every muscle in his body felt weak.
After seconds – or minutes, or hours – had passed and he had managed to regain control over himself, he looked up. Castiel was gone, the only memory of him the remaining warmth where his hand had been pressed against Dean’s chest, and an echo of it in the scar on his arm.
no subject
*
“Shouldn’t I get a reward?” Dean asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Castiel stood in the doorway opposite him, watching him with the exact same look of perplexed indifference he always had in these situation. “Come on, aren’t you going to pat me on the head for being such a ‘good boy’?”
The angel took a step forward and raised on hand, for a second Dean thought he was actually going to pat him on the head, but instead the hand found its way to his chest, resting lightly over his heart.
I pulled you out of hell
He froze. Castiel could probably stop his heart beat with a thought.
I can throw you back in.
But the angel was looking down at his hand thoughtfully, not like he was imagining Dean dying, crumpling to the ground and his soul sinking down into hell again, but like he was faced with a problem he had not considered before.
At first it just tingled, spreading out warm from where Castiel’s hand was resting. Dean almost pulled back, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. Then the heat increased and he could feel his heart beginning to speed up as the tingling expanded to every inch of his body, running through him.
What came next was beyond description. It was as though he exploded and then reformed, like a spontaneous orgasm, only twice as powerful. There was just a sensation of absolute, pure pleasure, running through him, leaving no knowledge for anything but that single moment. White heat covered him; utter bliss and rapture. Dean knew that he was crying out, but he couldn’t hear his voice over the roar of ecstasy. When the world filtered in again he was on his knees, panting for breath and shaking. His hands spasmed against the carpet and every muscle in his body felt weak.
After seconds – or minutes, or hours – had passed and he had managed to regain control over himself, he looked up. Castiel was gone, the only memory of him the remaining warmth where his hand had been pressed against Dean’s chest, and an echo of it in the scar on his arm.