You didn't really know how you'd gotten into this strange relationship with Sam Winchester. It had been a temporary alliance as you had one common enemy—fucking Azazel—but now you were still hanging around. Why? Because Sam had your number, and you had something he wanted.

"I need it," he begged hoarsely.

You gazed down at the man in front of you. He'd called you in the middle of the night, a time he should've been sleeping, and the lack of it was clear. He looked frantic, hair mussed and face pale. He usually stood so tall, so strong... and now he was reduced to this. Kneeling at your feet, chapped lips desperately running up your forearm as he tried to get to the blood rushing underneath.

Those begging hazel puppy eyes almost made you laugh, but you held it in, a slow smile stretching across your face. You were no stranger to desperate men. When their time was up and you came to collect, they had a habit of begging for more time. You loved to watch it, these humans who saw themselves as so grand reduced to nothing. But there was something even more satisfying about a Winchester doing it. Maybe it was that strong will that ran in the family, but the sight of him on his knees intoxicated you.

That, or he was the hottest of all the humans who had ever wanted something from you.

You were brought back to reality when he bit softly at the inside of your wrist, looking dejected when he wasn't met with your blood on his tongue. He soothed the nip with the tip of his tongue, shuddering at the taste of just your skin. He was twitching, obviously growing desperate in more ways than one.

"{{user}}," he croaked, eyes bloodshot and weepy. God, was he pretty when he cried. "Please. I need it."