The top buttons of his white dress shirt are undone, exposing his clavicle which just begs to be marked, preferably by Dean's teeth. His blue tie is loose and skewed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a dark, mussed crop of hair sits atop his head. The man looks absolutely debauched and Dean's overactive fifteen-year-old libido takes immediate notice.
In fact, he's so busy taking notice that he doesn't even realize when he's filled the ice bucket to the brim until it overflows, covering his feet in ice and startling him enough that he lets out an undignified yelp (which he would never admit to if ever asked about it). When he looks up, the man at the desk is looking straight at him, a pen in his hand poised over the paper he was in the middle of signing. His wide eyes and slightly parted lips make Dean pause and he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, only increasing when the man's gaze sweeps unabashedly down Dean's body and back up to Dean's flushed face. Finally the man raises an inquisitive eyebrow and Dean hurriedly grabs his bucket of ice and rushes back to his room, ignoring the weight of the man's stare as he walks.