She’s barely out of her teens, and John shouldn’t be tempted; she’s barely older than his own boys. But she’s told him in plain terms, “You want the totem, you have to go through me,” and John’s pretty sure that with the hard-on her sassy pout has given him, he could go straight through her like an ICBM. He’s on her before he can think to stop himself, and she laughs through the whole thing, scratches his leathery back with nails more suited to a cat than to a catburglar, whispers in his ear, “Oh, John, John Winchester, that’s it, nail me to the goddamned wall while you can, because you’re never going to be able to hold me there.”
And wouldn’t you know it, she’s right. He looks up after an orgasm that’s left him shaking and panting to discover that the totem, the magical artifact he’s been after, is nowhere to be found. Bela slides out the window, bids him goodbye with a “Ta-ta,” and disappears; it takes him a night of investigation to figure out that she’d tossed it onto the fire escape while he was busy nailing her to that very same goddamned wall.