InsaneJournal

Current mood:	embarrassed
Current music:	Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams Are Made of These

FIC: Nice Girl Like You
Title: Nice Girl Like You
Fandom: SPN
Length: 835 words
Characters: Succubus, Sam, Dean.
Summary: A succubus thinks she's found the perfect quarry, and she can't wait to taste it.
A/N: So, I was going to write shameless porn for Bring Back the Porn day. It was going to be Snarry porn, and it was going to be nice and hot and not even too kinky or anything. And then I started writing, and my brain said, "Wait, dude, this isn't porn. This isn't even the right fandom. This isn't the right ballpark, and fuck, forget the ballpark, it's not even the same fucking sport", and then I told my brain to shut up and kept at it. Hence, you get… this. I fail at porn, but I provide the stalker sex demon shit.
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. I don't even pretend to own demons or Winchesters.



She was hungry.

In the haze of smoke and dim, swaying lights, the men hadn't noticed her. They never did; not until she wanted them to. The taller, shaggier one had his nose stuck in his laptop, coming up occasionally for a gulp of cheap beer. The shorter, prettier one didn’t seem to hear anything other than the click-clack of balls against the sides of the table, coming up occasionally to chalk his cue.

She'd spent several minutes whittling the bar down. Too young; too old. In company. A regular. Girlfriend sitting right there.

The tall one caught her attention first, sharing his corner table with four empty bottles. She figured him for a student, almost feeling the soft brush of his hair against her thighs. He looked like he'd been waiting for someone who never showed, but given up, turning to his computer and the bartender for solace.

It would be so easy to slip in next to him at the table; she liked her quarry to suddenly see her there, gorgeous, wanting and ready. The tendrils of her voice would slip around his will, smoky and smooth, wrap his strength up like a gift for her. He would say something pointless and sweet – "If she'd shown up, I wouldn't have met you" – and he'd belong to her by the time they walked out together. The other bar patrons, following with their eyes, would pretend they weren't desperate to walk in the place of the bastard taking her home, the back seat of a car, a motel room.

She turned away from the student just in time to watch the other one sink three balls in a row. There was a dull glint of ring on his hand, and a leather jacket thrown on the barstool behind him. This one might not even need the voice; she could let him talk instead, standard, predictable phrases humans reserved for such occasions. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" "Got any Scottish in ya? Want some?" "Baby, somebody better call heaven, 'cause they're missing an angel." She was really partial to the last one.

They all looked the same in the end, she considered, licking her lips. Either one would shudder beneath her, then lie still. The panting breaths would come slower and slower until she leaned in to swallow the sweetest one. Bloodless skin, glassy eyes, smiling mouth. All she needed to do was choose one to get the happy ending.

The tall one made her decision for her, dropping a few bills on his table and folding up his laptop. He was out of the door in seconds, never knowing he was the lucky one. It would have to be the pool-player, then; she watched him dig in his pocket to answer his phone and judged it the perfect time to drop the glamour and let him see her.

Swaying her hips as she traversed the room, she caught the end of his conversation before he flipped the phone shut – "just on time, told you it'd be me. Nah, everything's fine. Later, man."

"Hey," she said, and ran her fingers down his pool cue.

~~~~~~~~

He parked his beast of a car in front of room ten and hopped out first, opened the Chevy's passenger door for her.

"Gotta be quiet," he said, sliding the key in, "don't want to wake up my brother, so, sshh."

"Wow, you sure know how to show a girl a good time," she mocked, but the hunger was spiraling through her in delight. So the pretty boy had a pretty brother; it just didn't get any better than that. The things she could make them do before drinking the both of them up! Two of them in her, in each other, hot, guilty, hungry, devouring - she ran her tongue over the hard little points of her teeth, craving.

"Quiet as a mouse", she promised with a careful tipsy giggle.

The room was dark, two beds, one empty, one not; he was guiding her to the one closer to the door, hands on her shoulders, until –

"What the fuck are you doing?"

She struggled to move, but couldn't, noticing suddenly that he had backed away, no longer touching her, but her feet were rooted to the floor. A long shadow sprang up from the second bed with a disturbing snick she recognized as a gun being cocked, before the room flooded with light. Salt and runes on the floor, protective sigils on the walls around her, and on the ceiling – seven hells! Humans didn't work like this, humans were fragile little things, to toy with, feed on, bleed, destroy –

"I will break you," she hissed the promise, but there was a devil's trap holding her in place, and, in front of her, the shaggy tall man from the bar aimed a gun with one hand, held a leather-bound book open with the other.

"Surprise, hell bitch," the pretty one said behind her. "Ready, Sammy?"