The urge to kiss him or deck him was still there, but Dean was leaning toward the latter at this moment. What he did know, was that he was too worked up to have this conversation here. Dean was passionate in a lot of areas, his mother's French blood flowing through is veins in equal measure to his father's more neutral. The scoff nearly sent him over the edge.

"And you think I didn't?" That was laughable. Everything leading up to that should have indicated that was what Dean would have wanted. It's what he had wanted. Even though he'd felt like shit that night, he hadn't felt so bad as to say no, if it was a regular night. If Dempsey had been sober. "I don't guess, I need to know." Dean could be intense in the bedroom, dominating, rough when the mood struck. Especially with people he was comfortable with and who he knew were open to that. But with too much alcohol, or party potions or drugs in the mix. That communication that he found critical to ensuring enjoyment and safety crumbled and he wouldn't have that.

He stepped half a step back and threw back the rest of his whiskey in a move of pure hypocrisy. "I want to finish this conversation, but not here." He'd wanted to finish this conversation since the summer, the last time they'd tried to start it. "Address has changed, " he rattled off the North Bartonburg address easily. "Floo's open." He added as he stepped further back, turning on his heel to go get his coat and excuse himself.

Dean needed a few minutes to think and this would hopefully give him that, assuming Dempsey even bothered to follow.