Eliot humped back down on Dean, mouth busily licking and nipping at the exposed skin of the hunter's chest. He smelled distinctive, like rock salt and beer and gunpowder, and Eliot found he couldn't get more of it.

He panted, growing harder still with the bite until his pants felt impossibly tight to wear.

"Take me out," he growled back low in command as he turned and tugged at the delicate shell of Dean's ear with his teeth in retaliation.

Dean was hitting all of his wolf's triggers, the nipping, licking, biting, and Eliot couldn't recall the last time he was ever so turned on.