You seem a little disappointed with his answer. He's not sure why. You seemed like you would enjoy having sex with him not ten minutes ago. Why are you disappointed when he tells you that he does, in fact, enjoy sex? That's—kind of a dumb question, actually. Since the only explanation can be that the him in your world didn't enjoy sex with you. And that you know that. That realization makes him watch your face, curious, thoughtful. He feels like he'd enjoy having sex with you. It's surprising, but a pretty definite impression he's getting. He's not sure if that impression is wrong. Or if the him in your world had other reasons not to enjoy sex with you.

You distract him by talking about the desolate solitude of human existence. That's cheerful, Cas. It makes him frown a little; he wants to protest, but can't really think of anything to say. You look up, though, meet his eyes and ask him a question, and then you move closer. His throat dries up immediately, and he swallows, shifts a little to be able to reach out, slide his hand over your thigh to where you're resting your hand that you're not using to touch him. Tries to interlace his fingers with yours, still holding your eyes.

"Yeah." That's kind of quiet, so he clears his throat. "I'd want it to be good. To be right." He wets his lips, swallows. "I don't know—if I could get it right. Tonight. This is all, uh. It's all happening kinda quickly."

He doesn't want to rush and mess it up. He's not sure how that synchs up their agreement to keep this to one single night.