"Oh, man, you are awesome," Dean grinned, balancing the case of beer awkwardly on his shoulder as he juggled the bag of food. "Seriously, I owe you. I mean, I can't...like, pay you. But you are seriously awesome for this," he repeated, awkwardly. He was blaming the warm feeling the curled low in his belly on the whiskey from earlier, and not that the guy--Master Morgan, he corrected mentally--was really fucking hot. Just...almost pretty, and tall. And maybe Dean had a type? Because Isaac had been the same.