Chapter Text
He stays with Sam the whole weekend. Because he wants to, because he’s having fun. Sam shows him around campus, and introduces him to his friends, like he’s not embarrassed to let Dean into his life at all.
Part of Dean knows, each of the three nights that he sleeps on Sam’s floor, that he should really be getting back to Cas, before the man moves on. The trucker had told Dean he wasn’t leaving until Monday, but what if he changes his mind about that? What if, in the time Dean wastes visiting Sam, he finds some other twink to fuck instead?
A big part of him thinks he’s overestimating his own importance. Thinking Cas will wait around without replacing him at all.
A bigger part of him, though, is so sick of being scared, of being afraid of being abandoned. He’s fucking tired of it, of the loneliness, of the deep, deep dread that haunts every waking thought.
Cas asked him to stay. Cas asked him to trust him. So. So…this is Dean trusting him. To wait, the way he said he would.
It’s petty and childish. Playing games like this, almost sort of testing the man. It’s not something someone like Dean can really afford to do, but he does it anyway, for whatever reason. Because he’s having fun with Sam, and Cas said he’d let Dean visit him. And because he’s just not willing to rest his weight against someone who’ll drop him the moment Dean gives in.
He’s tired of begging for affection. Is sick of being afraid of losing it for any offense.
There’s a reason, for his behavior, but it doesn’t make him less nervous. That, when he finally does leave, he’ll find that Cas is long gone.
On Monday morning, he says goodbye to Sam, promising he’ll be back, knowing it’s true whether or not Cas is still around where he said he’d be. He takes a cab to the rest stop, paying for it with the money the trucker had given him. Anxious the whole ride, that he’s already been forgotten.
When he arrives at the rest stop, it’s busy, and bustling. Several rows of trucks crowd the parking lot, and there’s at least 30 guys hanging around, getting ready to go.
Clearly, Cas was not the only trucker to be given the weekend off, to be housed in the motel attached to the lot for the past few days. Dean didn’t realize the place would be so busy, but he braces himself for whatever harassment he might get.
It’s not that bad. A couple of whistles, as he gets out of the cab, but the men mostly ignore him. They’re busy, either with their cargo or their smokes or their own girls and fairies, and Dean sort of has to think about the fact that it’s maybe more the way he dresses and hangs around in the evening that screams harass me, more than some inherent trait that shines out of his skin.
At the very least, being less underfed and beaten up has got to be helping him look more normal. He’s mildly surprised at the lack of attention he gets, as he looks around for Cas’s truck.
Maybe, deep down, he’s very slightly miffed about it. The light of day makes the seediness of the night drift away from him, he supposes, but it also makes him feel like he’s not as cute as he thinks he is.
It doesn’t help that he sees at least eight or nine other hookers hanging around, same as he is. Most of them seem to have attached themselves to someone already, but there are still a few floaters, and Dean worries that he could have been replaced.
When he spots Cas’s truck across the lot, he feels relief that the man hasn’t left yet, but the knot of anxiety in his chest doesn’t yet fade. Making a beeline for the truck, he feels irritated at the catcalls he gets, and even more irritated at those he doesn’t.
Insecure. It’s stupid. He feels like he should be wearing makeup or something, to make it more obvious what he is.
What even is he. Not a hooker, anymore, if Cas really wants him. He doesn’t know why he feels weird. He doesn’t want to wear makeup. He just wants it to be obvious that he belongs to Cas.
It takes him less than a minute to cross the space between the taxi and Cas’s truck, but it only takes that much time for imaginary jealousy to take over his brain. When he comes around the front and actually spots Cas, standing next to the cab, being talked at by some 19 year old twink, he stops dead in his tracks and tenses up.
The kid is cute. Blond, because of course he’s fucking blond. Leaning against the door, saying some bullshit, giving Cas a look like he’s going to eat him alive.
Dean expects to feel devastated, but instead he just feels pissed off. At the kid, more than Cas, who’s just standing there looking confused.
The man is so fucking oblivious, always. He’s holding two chocolate popsicles, which are slowly but surely melting in his hands.
One of those better be for me, Dean thinks, distantly surprised at his own confidence. Possessiveness is usually Cas’s M.O., but it seems like Dean’s caught it like a bug.
He’s still not quite confident enough to actually do anything, until the twink seems to decide to make his move. As Dean watches, the kid smirks, and leans in, and licks one of the popsicles right from Cas’s fist.
Cas’s eyes widen in surprise, and Dean sees red, pissed off at everyone involved.
He storms over to the two of them, more driven than he expects to be.
“Hey!” he snaps, infuriated, and the blond guy jumps back, startled by how loud Dean is.
“Dean?” he hears Cas say, sounding equally startled. Dean doesn’t pay him any mind.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarls.
Ignoring Cas, giving the hooker a glare of death.
The guy looks taken aback, by Dean’s aggression, which Dean knows is probably kind of over the top. He doesn’t care, though, and just keeps staring the blond down.
“Uhh…”
It’s pretty obvious what the stupid pretty kid had been doing. Dean seethes, as the hooker takes another step back.
“Dean, you came back!” Cas says excitedly, like he’s completely oblivious.
Annoyed, Dean merely gives Cas a withering look.
“Yes, of course I came back,” he says, pissy, as if that had been remotely obvious. As if he hadn’t dramatically ended things with Cas, and told him over and over it was done.
It doesn’t matter. He’s still mad.
“You said you would wait for me!” he bites, before whirling on the random fucking twink once again. “He’s already got a fag, alright? Piss off!”
“Jesus,” the hooker says, and then he does piss off, leaving very fast.
Because Dean is acting like a crazy person. But he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter. Cas is crazy too, and he’d said he’d wanted Dean.
He whirls on Cas now, who’s still looking visibly overjoyed. More emotive than Dean has ever seen him be.
It doesn’t calm Dean’s hurt. His insecurity throbs like a wound. The man is just standing there, looking hopeful, chocolate popsicles dripping down towards each fist.
“Who the hell was that?” Dean demands, gesturing plaintively, off towards the direction that the hooker had scampered away.
“Dean! You’re here!”
“Yes, I’m here. Who was that, Cas? I thought you wanted me.”
Cas blinks at him, confusion creeping into his expression again. He looks towards where Dean had gestured, like he doesn't even know what Dean is referencing.
“I do want you. Who are you talking about, that strange child?”
“Yes, obviously!”
Cas just shrugs.
“I don't know who that was. He just started talking to me.”
Dean huffs in frustration, cheeks already getting pink at how ridiculous he knows that he’s being. So Cas was talking to some twink, so what? He can do what he wants. He can do what he wants.
He doesn’t like it.
He glares at the ground.
“Dean.”
Cas's voice is gentle, and Dean already feels stupid.
“Did you buy that popsicle for him?” he asks, childishly.
“No, of course not. I got it for you.”
“I wasn't even here. It's melting.”
There's a pause. Then, Cas says, with a lot of emotion in his voice:
“I really was hoping you would come.”
With the stupid ice creams double fisted in his hands. Dean blinks at the ground, which is almost too bright in the sunlight, despite the black asphalt absorbing the sun. His view of it and his beaten up sneakers is suddenly interrupted, as Cas holds out one of the popsicles towards him. Like an offering. Dean looks up, heart in his throat.
Cas’s expression is earnest.
Dean feels like a child throwing a fit.
“He licked it,” he says, unhappily, and Cas immediately switches which hand he’s holding out towards him.
“Here, take mine,” he suggests immediately, and Dean contemplates agreeing.
But for some reason he still feels pissy, feels insecure, and the offering of ice cream isn’t enough to calm him down. He knows he has no right to demand anything, but damn. It really wasn’t easy of him to come out here like this, to throw himself back towards Cas, and immediately seeing him talking to some other guy had not at all helped.
“I don’t even like chocolate,” he mutters, crossing his arms petulantly.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well. Now you do. I like orange.”
“I can get you an orange ice pop.”
Cas sounds exceedingly indulgent.
Dean scowls at nothing.
“Ok.”
Then he tries to climb into the truck cab, like it belongs to him, like it’s his home that he doesn’t need Cas’s permission for. The door is locked, though, as Dean discovers when he climbs up to the perch. He looks back at Cas peevishly.
The trucker, still holding the ice pops, just snorts. Then, carelessly, he drops the melting things both on the ground, wipes his hands on his jeans, and roots around in his pockets for his keys.
When he finds them, he tosses them to Dean. Dean catches them just barely, after a half second of surprise.
He expected Cas to open the door for him. He didn’t expect the man to hand him the keys to his home.
But Cas always surprises him.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” the trucker tells him, eyes crinkling in amusement.
Once again, he seems taken in by Dean’s nonsense, instead of angry, instead of threatened by his insistence on being a brat.
It makes Dean swallow down some of his own bullshit. Taken aback, his fist curls around the warm metal of the keys as he watches Cas walk off again, towards the vending machines.
He turns away. Towards the truck that’s become so familiar so quickly. Opens the door, and climbs quickly inside.
Shuts the door behind him. It’s hot and simmering inside of the cab, with no windows open. It smells like rubber cooking slowly under the burning sun.
It’s familiar, now. Dean hauls himself over to the passenger’s seat and crumples up into it. Picking at his nails and staring at nothing, nervous, embarrassed by the fit he’s having, half certain Cas thinks he’s a crazy person for real now and is never going to come back.
But he does come back, predictably.
Dean sits up straight immediately as he catches sight of him, and keeps his head up, tracking the figure, until the man is climbing up to the truck’s cab.
Then he crumbles back into a ball.
Petulant.
Cas opens the door. Slides inside, coming to sit in the driver’s seat.
“Hey,” Dean says, false casual. Staring from under his lashes.
“Hello,” Cas says back, sounding warm.
He’s holding a popsicle, covered in white plastic packaging.
“Is that for me?” Dean asks.
“Yes.”
“Is it orange?”
“Yes.”
Dean looks down at where he’s digging a scab into his nailbed.
“Well, you can give it to your other friend, I guess,” he mutters, grumpily.
Pointedly not looking, and not reaching out to take it. Cas just snorts, and Dean hears the sound of the plastic wrapping being removed from the ice cream.
Then, without asking, Cas grabs Dean’s jaw. Turning towards the passenger’s seat, leaning forward, reaching out to grab it with one hand.
Dean, who’s also partially angled towards Cas already, looks up in startled surprise as the man’s hand grabs his chin. The trucker’s eyes are dark again, possessive and interested, but still not angry, despite the many different ways Dean has been determined to drive him nuts.
He’s over it now, though he’s not going to hit Dean about it. But he pulls Dean’s body in closer, and sticks the orange popsicle right up against the hooker’s lips.
It makes Dean’s heart beat faster, and he glances up at Cas from under his own eyelashes. The man stares back at him, gentle but unyielding and warm.
Dean blushes hot.
“I don’t have any other friends, Dean,” Cas tells him gently, pressing the tip of the ice pop more firmly against his pursed mouth.
His words are earnest, and Dean shivers lightly, feeling himself melting.
“Me either,” he murmurs, against the freezing cold of the ice cream. Then he parts his lips, and Cas pushes the popsicle gently inside.
Still holding his jaw. Still staring him down. Heat and mugginess breathe down Dean’s neck, as the cool sensation of the sweet ice pop starts to spread, cold and tangy, on his tongue.
The way Cas is watching him…it feels like how he’d watched Dean eat in the diner, what feels now like forever ago.
It’s as weird now as it was then, but knowing Cas has done something to him. He starts to get hard, all curled up on the overly-heated gray seating. With the trucker’s hand holding his face steady and pushing an ice pop into his mouth like it’s a cock.
Dean’s eyelids flutter. He lets himself push in, moving his lips down over the popsicle’s shaft. Like he’s blowing it. He knows what he’s doing. Cas knows what he’s doing. The man lets him, still gripping his jaw.
The cold tip of the ice pop touches the back of Dean’s throat, and Dean just holds his mouth there, with it pushed all the way in. He hollows his cheeks, sucking lightly, and swallows what comes off of the popsicle in sweet, liquid waves, patiently. Looking, shyly, back up towards Cas, and feeling himself heat, and settle, under the man’s dark, dark gaze.
It’s not even 10 AM.
His cock is hard inside his jeans.
He’d like to touch it. Like to rub himself through the fabric. But he’s all for Cas, all for Cas, now, so he just curls his fist against his thigh.
He makes a soft sound. Not sure what he’s doing.
His face is hot, but Cas likes to watch.
“That’s good, Dean. I got it for you. Take your time with it.”
The hand that’s not curled against his thigh digs with helpless clawing into the warm fake leather seat.
His breathing quickens, but his heartbeat steadies. It feels good, to be just…made to take it. To be forced to enjoy what Cas got for him.
He closes his eyes.
He has the whole popsicle like that, just sucking on it gently, as Cas pushes it slowly in and out of his mouth. It’s like he himself is melting, slow and steady as the ice does on his tongue, and his insides settle down into something trusting again as the flavor gets thin.
When there’s nothing left but the wooden stick, Cas pulls it out of him.
Dean blinks his eyes open. Looks at Cas, who’s looking at him.
The sounds of talking and driving float in between them, muffled through the glass from outside.
It’s very bright.
“Do you feel better?” Cas asks him, and Dean shifts, embarrassed, in his seat.
“Yes,” he admits, truthfully.
Then there’s a pause, and he just breathes in the hot air.
“What made you change your mind?”
Cas asks him, blunt and intense.
There’s no question about what Cas is referring to. So suddenly earnest, despite the simmering heat between them. Despite the strange, possessive dominance. The man is always so unaware like that, swinging wildly between intense sexuality and being sweet as hell.
It makes Dean’s throat close up.
He doesn’t even know how to respond to the question, and half a dozen answers flash through his mind all at once.
You take better care of me than I do, is one.
I worried about you crying without me, is another.
What he ends up saying out loud is the simplest reason, and the most honest.
“I missed you,” he says quietly, and then he slides out of his seat.
Coming to straddle Cas, across his lap in the driver’s seat. The blazing sun beats down against his back through the windshield, and he can feel it even through the black fabric of his shirt.
Anyone who cared to look up from the ground right now could see them, Dean is sure, could see him, straddling the trucker.
He doesn’t care, though, might even be proud of it, in some stupid, childish, messed up way.
He wants to be seen as Cas’s.
When the man grabs the back of his neck, and hauls him in to kiss him, he whines, knowing he’s going to get what he wants.
That stupid blonde twink can go suck some other guy’s cock. This one is mine, Dean thinks, satisfied. Grinding his hips, his erection, greedily, against the matching bulge he can feel through Cas’s jeans.
The man’s fingers are strong, gripping the nape of his neck, and his arm immovable, where it wraps around Dean’s back. He makes helpless noise after helpless noise, as Cas kisses him roughly, so long and hard that he feels like he’s going to pass out from lack of air.
When Cas finally lets go of him, he’s gasping, and shaking. He says, “Don’t let me leave again,” and Cas says, “I won’t.”
He says it hot and heavy and deep in his throat, like a growl, like a threat Dean wants to hear.
They’re both insane, and Dean is happy. Cas goes back to kissing him, again and again.
Then he decides it’s not enough, and he’s yanking Dean’s shirt off, ripping it over his head and tossing it aside like a rag. Then that’s not enough, either, and he stands up, hauling Dean along like a sack of flour.
He essentially tosses Dean onto the bed like one, and Dean lands with an oof, falling backwards. Heart racing, his legs spread on instinct, as Cas hovers over him. The man’s face is ablaze with desire, and Dean feels wanted, truly truly wanted, for the first time in his life.
“Jesus, Cas,” he gasps. “Fuck me, please.”
“Oh, I very much intend to,” Cas says back, yanking frantically at the belt around his jeans.
The belt Dean had been scared of, before, because so many men had hit him around with it, like he’s a fucking bad dog. Cas has never hit him, though, and Dean believes him now that he never will.
He lets his head flop backwards against the mattress, lets himself stare up at the tin ceiling as Cas fumbles with his pants. Unafraid, of what’s coming next, cock throbbing in his own jeans, waiting very impatiently for stimulation. He spreads his legs wider, and feels his heartbeat speed up, as he feels Cas grab his hips and yank them to the edge of the bed.
“Cas,” he moans, as the man grips the fabric of Dean’s jeans and boxers. He yanks them both down at the same time, and Dean kicks off his shoes.
The trucker pulls his pants and boxers off the rest of the way, and tosses them aside, so Dean is entirely naked. Then he grabs Dean’s shins, and pushes them backwards, so Dean’s legs are bent with his knees up against his bare chest.
Ass on display, pink, soft, hole open and vulnerable. Especially after Cas groans, at Dean’s willingness, and spreads his knees apart with his strong hands.
Grip hard enough to leave bruises, if he wants to. Grip strong enough that Dean couldn’t fight, if he was for some reason so inclined.
He’s not.
This position is fucking hot, with Cas hovering over him, still fully clothed, other than the thick cock he’s pulled out of his jeans. Dean is bare, and held firmly open, and it leaves all the pink parts of himself spread wide.
“Shit, man, you gonna take a picture, or somethin’?” he asks, after a moment.
Chest heaving, blush spreading, from his cheeks all the way down to where his nipples rise and fall with heavy breaths.
“I might,” Cas says darkly, and he spreads Dean’s knees wider beneath him. So far apart it’s almost painful, and Dean whines as his thighs are gripped, and he’s yanked closer, so his ass is being ground against Cas’s thick cock.
Hard and throbbing and unrelenting. Like the man himself. Dean feels the coarse hair at the base of it rubbing up against his cheeks and hole, almost like beard burn. He pants, feeling like an animal, feeling like something that belongs.
He grips the sheets over his head. So hard he’s sure he’s ripping them.
“Don’t let me go,” Dean begs, in some brief, panicked moment of vertigo.
“I won’t,” Cas promises, grip tightening and holding him fast.
And then he’s groaning, and Dean is groaning, as the trucker lets go of one of Dean’s legs to guide his own cock into the hooker’s ass.
It’s thick and so fucking hard and hot and insistent. There’s just the copious amount of pre-cum Cas is producing as lube, and the intrusion burns, spreading him open, spearing him like a stake to the heart.
It pushes in, in, in, and Dean whines, hips bucking, trying in weak instinct to get away from the stretch. Cas doesn’t let him, holding his thighs with a grip like cold iron, and Dean moans, long and deep from his gut.
“Jesus, shit, fuck, Cas,” he gasps, as the man sheathes himself fully inside of him. Like a fucking sword, except it’s throbbing, and Dean can feel it pulsing from inside of his gut.
The man’s member feels huge, and Dean had forgotten what it’s like to be fucked like this. Rough and hard, when he isn’t already loose.
How many years has it been, since he’s gone more than a day without taking it up the ass from some weirdo? Too fucking many, and he’d completely forgotten what a difference it makes.
He’s tight, having slept well and warm on Sam’s floor for three nights like a virgin, and now he’s paying for it, in the best way he could possibly be.
“Aw, fuck, Cas,” he whines, shuddering. “Aw, fuck, I wasn’t ready.”
“You’re always ready.”
“You feel like a fucking dinosaur.”
“Good.”
He tightens his grip on Dean’s thighs, and pistons in and out of him, audibly growling. Dean gasps, the possessive wave feeling fucked into him like a punch.
It touches that fucking bright, burning spot inside him, and his back arches, like he’s being run through with electricity. That’s how it feels, especially when Cas just does it again, and again, and again, and again.
“Cas, Ca-ah! Ah!”
Shocked little cries of pleasure are jerked out of him on the thudding beat of Cas’s thrusts.
It fucking burns, and Dean fucking loves it, and he knows he’s lost his mind and his heart and his whole fucking soul here, right here in the run-down back of this truck.
“Take it, Dean,” Cas growls, and Dean cries, “I am, I am,” or at least he tries to, between the gasps of overwhelming pleasure.
It’s so fucking intense, so fucking overwhelming, and Dean feels so so deeply like he’s owned.
It’s all he’s ever wanted.
“Cas, please!”
The bed is shaking with the intensity of Cas’s pounding, even welded into the wall as it is. They’re being so fucking rough, so fucking loud, that anyone nearby must know exactly what’s going on in here, what Cas is doing to him.
How he’s holding Dean down and fucking into him like a rabid animal, claiming him, like a god mounting and claiming whoever he damn well pleases.
Dean. Dean pleases.
Cas wants him.
Cas wants to keep him.
Tears are streaming out of his eyes as his hips jerk and buck in frantic hope of stimulation. As his whole body is rocked, over and over, with the force of being so desperately fucked.
“Don’lemmegodon’lemmegodon’lemmego,” he begs, gasps, nonsensically, frantically.
“Never,” Cas snaps. “Never, never again.”
Then he jerks his hips against Dean’s ass with a strength that has Dean seeing stars, leans over to kiss him. It’s violent, and bizarre, and sweet, and possessive. The muscles in the back of his thighs burn with strained tension, as Dean’s knees become acquainted with his ears.
He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and he whines, as Cas’s lips slam into his own and stay there, claiming him, kissing him, until his lungs are burning with their need for air.
“Cas,” he tries to cry, but the word sounds like nothing more than another whine as it gets lost between their tongues and teeth. Cas’s hand sneaks in between their bodies, to find and stroke Dean’s cock.
And then he’s squirming, and then he’s gasping, as much as he possibly can with Cas’s lips so aggressively taking the place of air.
“Mine,” Cas says finally, in some ripped out moment of heaving.
And that does it, Dean is cumming, seeing stars, seeing light, seeing Cas.
His body spasms, wracked with pleasure, and he feels it shaking, as he’s slammed into again and again. Something hot bursts to life inside of him, just as his pleasure peaks, and Dean relishes the feeling. Thinking, at first, that it’s just another part of his orgasm, before he realizes it has a much more physical source.
It’s Cas’s cum. Pumping, shooting inside of him. Filling him up, molten hot, like he’s a girl.
The thought makes him moan weakly once more, makes one last wave of electricity shudder over him. And then he’s collapsing, arched back folding, giving in like a crumbling bridge.
He falls fully backwards on the bed. Panting, chest heaving with the aftermath.
Cas is on top of him. Collapsed too, heavy and breathing. Dean blinks, up at the nothing in front of him, sticky and damp with sweat.
Floating bits of blinded light dance gently in front of his eyes. Staring at them, he tries, tries, tries to catch his breath.
His lips feel bruised.
His ass feels more bruised.
Cas is still inside of him, and it aches.
“Ah,” he gasps, oversensitive, as the man moves a bit, just slightly adjusting.
He’s so fucked out, though, that it feels like a tidal wave.
For a while, they just lay there, in a pile, Cas’s heavy body right on top of his own. Catching their breath, catching their barings. Dean, clawing back the edges of his sanity by force.
“Geeze, Cas,” he mumbles, after some time has passed. “You really know how to make a guy feel wanted, huh?”
The man huffs, and then pushes himself up on his elbows. Hands braced on either side of Dean’s torso, so he’s looking down.
“You seemed to be under the impression I had become disinterested in you,” he answers, raising one eyebrow critically. “How else was I to put that delusion to rest?”
It surprises a laugh out of Dean, which quickly turns into another groan.
Aching, as his muscles spasm around Cas’s soft dick inside him. Oversensitive, and Cas observes him, and hums.
He pulls out of Dean slowly, deliberately. Staring down, watching how Dean twitches and gasps in response.
It’s so openly possessive. It makes Dean’s cock twinge again, though it feels like it’s gonna be a damn month before he’s actually capable of getting hard again.
Cas smirks at his reaction, very visibly, not hiding it.
But then he softens, and says, “Are you alright?”
Dean huffs weakly.
“You kiddin’? Never better,” he says, truthfully. And then, “You keepin’ me, then? For…a while?”
The insecurity comes out of him, again, against his own will. Reminding him that he’s just some whore Cas picked up a few weeks ago, regardless of how possessively Cas fucks him now.
But Cas doesn’t seem to see it that way. Still hovering above him, the man tilts his head.
“I’m sorry, did I give the impression that I was not serious about kidnapping you for the rest of your days?”
It makes Dean snort.
“You’re not exactly the kidnapping kind.”
“You might be surprised.”
His voice is warm, and fond, and Dean likes how comforting it is.
He likes how comforting he finds the idea of what Cas is promising, to never let him go, to never let him run off with the intent of hurting himself again.
It’s crazy, to feel that way, but Dean is crazy, and so he just sighs. Daydreaming about some kind of life he wants to live.
A life with Cas, a life that might lay ahead of him now. One where they just ramble on, down long roads, happy together, no matter what anyone thinks.
“I think I’d like that,” he says, quietly, honestly. An admission he can only say out loud here, in the safety of Cas’s truck.
Because Cas doesn’t judge him. Cas doesn’t hurt him. For being…whatever fucked up thing he is, all warped and weird.
The man just blinks down at him, expression soft, voice warm, and hands gentle.
“I’d like that too,” he says back, and then he leans down, to kiss Dean again.