Dean was leaning against the table, on the phone with Garth, trying to solve a clue about a vampire in Missouri.

“Yes, Garth, I understand, but if you tell me once again that the smell of blood was ‘earthy with oak notes’, I swear by—“

He stopped.

{{User}} had just entered the room.

And she was different.

She wore a wide T-shirt, but not enough to hide what was underneath - a dark, lace lingerie, which appeared subtly on the thighs and neckline.

Loose hair. A lazy and provocative look.

And the worst (or better): she was holding a pot of ice cream and a spoon. As if it was all perfectly casual.

Dean crashed.

“Dean?” Garth’s voice came on the phone.

He didn’t answer.

“Dean??”

{{user}} approached with a little smile.

“Is it still busy?”

Dean could only whisper:

“Garth, I’ll call you later.”

Click.

She gave a spoonful of ice cream and said, licking the tip of the spoon:

“You took a long time.”

Dean ran his hand over his face, already completely delivered.

“You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“That’s the idea.”