"Don't tempt me," Arion murmured against Dean's ear, and the words were so soft they barely disturbed the air.
Dean's spine went rigid on instinct, then immediately betrayed him by relaxing again, because his body had apparently decided Arion's lap was a legally designated safe zone.
"That's… not what I'm doing," Dean mumbled, voice rough with sleep he refused to admit he needed.
Arion didn't answer with words. He answered by tightening his arm around Dean's waist just enough to make it clear the conversation was over and the priority was still the same: Dean, warm, alive, and not shivering on winter stone like an idiot.
Boreas huffed, satisfied, and settled more firmly across Dean's chest like a living blanket with opinions.
"Traitor," Dean whispered at him.
Boreas blinked slowly, unrepentant.
