"I am too tired."
Arion's mouth paused just above Dean's skin.
For one dangerous second, Dean thought he might actually behave.
Then Arion looked up at him, gold eyes warm with the kind of amusement that had ended kingdoms, caused diplomatic incidents, and personally ruined Dean's peace several times since their wedding.
"Too tired for what?" Arion asked in a completely innocent tone.
Dean stared at him.
The audacity needed a moment to settle into the room.
"Do not," Dean said.
"I only asked a question."
"You know exactly what you asked."
"I know exactly what I did not ask."
Dean's eyes narrowed.
Arion remained crouched beside the couch, one hand still near the collar, his hair falling slightly forward, his robe loose enough to make Dean resent the existence of eyesight. He looked unfairly composed for a man who had spent two days in the same biological disaster and had absolutely no right to look as if he could begin another one.
Except Dean knew him now.
