Arion's expression didn't shift into a smile, but the terrifyingly still, 'careful' Alpha mask finally cracked. His eyebrows twitched upward, barely a shift that, in Arion-speak, was equivalent to a full-blown double-take.
"Better," Arion repeated. His voice was still a gravelly rumble, but the dark, suffocating weight of his guilt was being rapidly replaced by a much more familiar brand of blunt exasperation. "You find this better, Dean? Being pinned against a door because I've spent seven days trying to calculate if you were going to file a diplomatic protest if I touched your shoulder?"
"I find it recognizable," Dean countered, his breath hitching as Arion's weight pressed firmer, effectively grounding him back into reality. "I'll take your territorial nuisance mode over your 'gargoyle-at-the-window' act any day of the week. At least I know where I stand when you're busy trying to occupy my personal space like it's a strategic hilltop."
