There was, of course, a natural reaction to having Dempsey in his space like that; the smell of him, the heat radiating off him, it only brought up memories of their time together and under normal circumstances, it would have been all Dean needed to take the invitation. He couldn't deny the involuntary twitch in his trousers at the thought of it. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but Dempsey had been the best fuck he'd ever had. Still, Dean had already consciously crossed it off the agenda tonight.

The more he breathed in, the more Dean recognized the smell; opium, or something like it, not those vanilla cigarettes Dempsey was so fond of. He had never partaken himself, didn't like the smell or the way people were when they were on it. "You're high," he stated rather blandly, now thoroughly turned off at the prospect of this night going anywhere fun. Dean didn't experiment with things like that, he didn't like the unpredictability, didn't know the limits like he did with alcohol, and while he didn't begrudge anyone their vices, obviously, that didn't mean he was about to play along either.