Arion let out a long, amused huff, as if he wanted to laugh properly, but the aftermath drew him in, the soreness in his own body bringing reality back into focus. His arm stayed anchored around Dean's waist, palm warm over Dean's lower belly.
"And here I thought you'd ask about the shift," Arion murmured, his voice rough with sleepy satisfaction.
Dean made a vague, dismissive gesture with his hand, then immediately regretted it and hissed as if gravity had personally betrayed him.
"Yes, yes," Dean said through his teeth, "that too."
Arion's breath warmed the back of his neck, suspiciously close to a laugh.
Dean glared at the ceiling, cheeks heating. "But why my asshole?"
There was a beat of silence.
Then Arion actually laughed - quietly, low, helpless in the way only exhaustion could make him.
Dean turned his head just enough to shoot him a murderous look. "Don't."
Arion's laugh cut off into a cough that he disguised poorly. "Dean."
Dean's tone was deadpan. "Arion."
