Oh, Jesus, didn't that sound all kinds of kinky and full of some kind of big promise. For what, exactly, Dean couldn't have said, but, uh... he definitely had a vague idea going on right now. Those treacherous fingers of her, slowly gliding up his stomach and up the line of his abs, but it was only when her knuckles started kneading at his jeans that, hi, Dean couldn't help the split second of buckle to his knees and the way one of his hands grabbed roughly at the counter and gripped, hard.

Had been a while, a very very long while.

"And, ah, for that?" Dean's eyes flashed to Rachel momentarily, his mouth slightly slack in something he didn't know what to say, somewhere between the jolt of blood to his downstairs brain and the fingers working across the front of his jeans. "I am so sorry. Very sorry. I mean it." Oh, god, that hand was going to drive him nuts, and Dean's own fingers, the free ones, were easily sliding past the length of the dress, tips tracing across the laces in the back, that arch of her spine. "However that needs to be made up, you know. ...Well."