Arion didn't need to be told twice.
He charged forward with a controlled violence that made Dean's breath catch, one hand still anchored in his hair and the other sliding down to grip the back of Dean's thigh. Arion lifted, guided, and claimed the space between them until Dean's knees hit the edge of the mattress.
"Wait—" Dean started, but Arion was already lowering him back into the nest.
The shift was dizzying. One moment, vertical and fighting gravity; the next, sinking into the wreckage of blankets and stolen shirts with Arion following him down, the heavy weight of the alpha pinning him into softness. The scent of warm vetiver intensified, threading deeper into Dean's lungs with each breath, releasing something in his chest that had been held taut since he locked that door.
"Wait?" Arion echoed, his voice rough against Dean's throat where he'd started pressing open-mouthed kisses. "You said now."
