[Smut chapter ahead.]
Arion's weight pressed him into the sheets. The heat of him bled through Dean's thin lounge trousers and through the twisted remnants of Arion's sleep shirt still bunched around his ribs. Dean's own cream shirt had ridden up somewhere near his chest during the roll.
Vetiver curled into the space between them.
Dean's scent glands prickled at his wrists and throat. Mint lemonade lifted, bright and sharp-edged, tangling with Arion's musk until the air in the bedroom tasted like something you could drink.
Arion inhaled slowly above him.
His eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, dropped to Dean's exposed throat.
"You smell like you've been awake longer than five minutes."
Dean's hips shifted against the mattress. "My body's been staging a rebellion since I opened my eyes."
"Is that what this is?"
Arion's hand found the hem of Dean's shirt and pushed it higher. Warm fingers grazed over his ribs, and Dean's breath stuttered.
"Maybe."
