Arion's thumb brushed Dean's cheek again, almost absent. "You could have."
Dean stared at him, his annoyance growing into something more complicated. It was true. Dean had had a dozen ways to escalate. A dozen ways to make this ugly. He hadn't. Because the line was there, and Arion always stopped at it.
Even now, with his arm around Dean's waist and his scent thick in the blankets, Arion was still not crossing into what Dean didn't allow.
Which, inevitably, made Dean want to push harder.
Dean's lips thinned, eyes bright with mischief. "So your proof of your moral superiority is that I didn't commit assault."
Arion's gaze darkened with amusement. "It's proof you trust me."
Dean scoffed, but the sound lacked conviction.
Arion's arm around him loosened, transforming restraint into invitation.
"If you want to go," Arion said quietly, "go."
Dean paused.
He expected the tug. The refusal. The barnacle logic.
It didn't come.
