The screen door creaks shut behind Dean as he strolls into the cabin and throws his keys on the table. "It's dragons," he announces.
He flops down on the couch next to you. Sam clicks off the tv from his vantage point at the table on the side of the room. "You sure?"
"Definitely all virgins," Dean says, giving a crooked suggestive grin.
Your stomach drops. You're suddenly glad you didn't take that thirty mile drive with him to play FBI with the locals.
"Well at least we have this," Sam says reaching down into a duffel bag at his feet and pulling out a mason jar full of congealed red liquid. He palms the jar and crosses the room, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "I better get a move on though. If I drive all night I can be at Greg's by tomorrow morning." Greg is a hunter and metal worker and has promised to help fashion some new dragon slaying swords.
"So, question?" you venture. "What exactly is a dragon's definition if virginity? Are we talking Bill Clinton, gotta be P in the V, or does like, third base count?"
Sam shrugs. "Well, traditional views of virginity would suggest any sort of sexual contact like oral sex would, uh, count so to speak," he answers.
Dean shakes his head and tsks at his little brother, sitting up somewhat. "Are you saying you wouldn't treat a girl who's done 'everything but' as a virgin?" Dean asks.
Sam thinks for a moment. "No...I guess you're right," he responds You shift uncomfortably. "Wanna come see some swords forged, Y/N?" he asks you with a grin, grabbing Dean's recently discarded keys.