Dean doesn't get a chance to answer, Castiel's mouth closing over his windchilled lips, their bodies molding together in the cold. It's the same mix of comfortable and heady that never fails to surprise Dean, and he's lost in it, ignoring the first sting against his ankle, the sudden shove to his shoulder until another comes, and then another.

Pulling away, Dean opens his eyes to a growing pandemonium. "The hell?"