Author's Note: I don't write for Supernatural anymore, but I did fulfill two challenges at Supernatural Het Love on LiveJournal. This one is for the prompt "These Are a Few of my Favorite Things." So here's the first, a short drabble. The second in a few days.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
Maelstrom
She could've gone for Dean if she wanted to.
In terms of targets, he was almost too easy. It would have been simple: get him in bed the first night she landed in Indiana, and he'd be dead before the AM. Hell, she could've slit his throat thrice times over, if she had picked him.
But instead, she chose Sam. It wasn't because he was tall or handsome, or that she was just the tiniest bit curious to see what those impressive hands could do. It was the eyes. The eyes of a drowning man clawing his way to the surface. The eyes that, when narrowed in hatred or anger, were enough to make her palms sweat. To make her fingers itch to touch him, to scratch those pretty browns out herself. One look and there was a fire in her black, barely-there heart, spreading over the ocean he was lost in, keeping him two-thousand leagues below.
So she toyed with Sam, dangling him on the end of a hook, watching him writhe and squirm. She let him break surface every now and then, strive for oxygen, tread in a stagnant sea. And then under he went, thrashing, struggling to see through the bubbles and din. She reveled in it, in the helplessness, in the resolve. But it was only when she'd possessed him; when she'd made his body her own; when she'd looked through those eyes and stared straight back inside; that she felt like she was fighting for air herself.