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Jess straightens his shirt, heading toward the door, only to be yanked back by Dean’s hand in the crook of his elbow.
“Wait! I’m still —!” he motions down at himself, and Jess nearly snorts, the prominent tent in Dean’s pants glaringly obvious.
“Tuck it up under your belt — not like it won’t reach,” Jess mutters, and Dean’s expression turns pained.
“Could you not compliment it right now?”

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