Dean's breath caught.
Then, because he was still responsible for preserving some balance in the world, he frowned.
"You are not allowed to say things like that when we are pressed for time."
"I was not aware beauty required scheduling."
"It does when your mother gave us fifteen minutes."
"Fourteen."
"You keep making it worse."
Arion's hand slid from the collar to Dean's jaw.
The touch was gentle.
The bond was not.
It rose between them, warm, deep, and possessive, still bright from the ceremony, still vibrating with the echoes of vows spoken before crowns, law, family, and witness.
Dean had known a public bond would feel different.
He had not expected this.
