Venom

018

It had been exactly three weeks since Derek had given Helen her mission.
In three weeks, so much had changed.

She'd finally recovered from the multiple wounds caused by her boss, she had the large bed all to herself since Dean categorically refused to lie next to her again, and she didn't have to wear handcuffs around the house anymore.
Though...she did kinda miss the warmth of Dean's body against hers.

Speaking of, the Cobra hadn't been able to stay at home all day long, unlike the week before, when Helen was his prisoner. Everyday, he woke up and went to his office, then back home in time for dinner, though she barely cooked him anything. They weren't a married couple, and he was a grown up man who could cook some eggs and fry some bacon. He could manage.

During the day, Helen studied Isaac's life and information - as much as she could get from the internet and Dean's files - trying to find a way to get to him and kill him. He wasn't an easy target. Catching him would be harder than it had been with Dean, since Isaac knew her face now, and knew who she technically worked for, although - as far as she knew - her real job as an assassin was still a secret, even to him. In his mind, she was just Dean's interpreter. And whore.

Helen was eating chicken noodles on the couch when the door flew open, and Dean stormed inside the house with his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, angrily loosening his tie.

She lifted her eyes, sucking the noodles in her mouth. He was shouting at someone on the other line, "I don't give a fuck who they are and what they do! They owe me money, and I want it. Now. So fucking call them, or put a gun to their head, but I want their money in my goddamn bank account. Am I clear?" he barked. Whoever he was talking to must have said yes, because Dean concluded, "Good. Now go do your job." He ended the call, and muttered something around the lines of "Fucking incompetent son of a bitch."

He stormed to the bedroom, taking off his tie and ripping the white shirt open, tossing it carelessly on the bed. Everyone in his business was slowing down, making him earn less money than last month, and he was furious about it.

Soft steps approached the room, and he quickly turned around, seeing Helen leaning against the door frame with a bowl of whatever she'd cooked in her hands, ankles crossed and brows lifted. "T'apposto, zio? (You okay, dude?)" she asked in Italian. He wouldn't tell her, but he'd missed hearing her speak other languages, especially Italian.

But, he had no idea what she'd said. "What," he snarled at her, unfastening his belt. He slipped it out of the pants loops, and threw it on the mattress, next to the wrinkled shirt.

Helen let out an exaggeratedly loud breath, brining one hand on her heart, the other one holding the bowl still. "Damn, and here I was thinking you would threaten to spank me," she joked. Dean flashed her a warning glare, clenching his jaw. Helen rolled her eyes, trying to keep them away from his shifting muscles.
She probably wouldn't have stopped him if he'd started spanking her.

She cleared her throat. "Uhm... Chicken noodles?" she tried, giving him a small smile, that looked so stupid and childish, but also honest.

Dean frowned, facing her as he unzipped his pants. He kept a straight face, though he was about to start wheezing at her flushed cheeks and wandering eyes. She swore under her breath, but he ignored it. "You made me dinner?" he asked, keeping his voice low and steady. Ahh, he loved teasing her. He bit back a smirk.

She stratched the nape of her neck, looking down. "Nah, not really. But I can give you mine. I wasn't going to finish it anyway," she told him, shrugging.

By then, his pants were on the floor, and he was reaching for his sweatpants. But why should the fun end so soon?
He walked towards Helen and took the bowl from her tiny hands, purposely brushing his fingers against hers. "Careful, doll. You're starting to be kind," he winked, walking towards the kitchen to sit at the table.