There have been very few times in Faye's experience when she has actually regretted her specific choice in clothing, but now she finds herself conflicted. A rush of cold air hits skin, draws a sharp intake through her teeth before Dean has her in his palm, his thumb running roughly against her skin. It stalls her movement suddenly, a soft hum on her lips even through the kiss, hungry and trying to fill a void in her heart, one that she hasn't allowed to ache since Spike's departure— but as is quickly becoming a pattern, it's always Dean Winchester breaking her down, pulling her with him.

When she comes up for breath, Faye pushes away enough to try and reach for the lever and controls of the bathysphere, bringing them to another slow halt. There's a part of her, too, that finds comfort in a decision finally made, in being too far invested to step away now, her hands desperately working at his shirt, tugging with enough fervor that she can feel a few strings snap, threads woven through the buttons loosening before one falls to the floor of the bathysphere with a clatter.

"I thought I was supposed to be the one with the difficult clothing," she quips with a grin, her hands shaking as they roughly tug his shirt down, eyes lazily tracing along the tattoo partially exposed before leaning in, tracing along the ink with open-mouthed kisses and teeth lightly grazing skin.