Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
"We're having a movie night."
Crowley's words confused Meg. Since being captured she had, as promised, been roasted until jerky. Or at least very close to that. Crowley had bored of watching her roast before all liquid could be removed from her body. Since then Meg had been chained to Crowley's office wall, and kept there as one would a decoration or a trophy. And tortured with boredom, which was proving to be worse than circling over a bonfire on a spit.
A movie-night was a pleasant affair, on earth. Crowley plus something pleasant didn't add up in Meg's mind, and she was suspicious. And uncertain she had heard him correctly. "What?"
"Correction, I am having a movie night." Crowley ran examined his suit a moment, it was flawless, as was the norm. "With Robert."
"Twiddle dumb and twiddle dumber's surrogate Daddy?"
"The very same," said Crowley. He was now trying different colognes.
"How'd you get him to agree to that?"
"The line wears everyone down," said Crowley. "I'd put you there, you'd see the light in days, but you do look fetching chained to my wall. And what is an additional ten years?"
Finding a suitable cologne Crowley applied it. Meg debated making a comment about how it wouldn't help, but decided it was not worth it.
"Now, be as décor does, and be silent," said Crowley. "But lovely."
A knock on the office door sounded. Crowley waltzed over to it, and opened it. "Robert, don't you look dashing."
"Bite me," was the reply.
"As you wish."
Bobby Singer dodged Crowley's attack on his neck, by half-shoving past, half-bolting into the room. Crowley sighed heavily and shut the door. "You say to bite, I oblige, but then you run away. Talk about sending mixed signals, Bobby."
Meg swore she heard Bobby mutter "I hate the line" under his breath. Crowley probably heard it too if his smile of pure sadism was any indication.
"What movie will we be seeing?" Bobby asked.
Undaunted by Bobby's change of subject, Crowley gestured for Bobby to find a seat on the couch, which he did. "I have collected an assortment of possession movies, we can have a marathon. And when we get sick of Hollywood's mistakes, I have a collection of make-out movies."
Meg knew that eventually Crowley would get Singer to kiss him. And when that happened she was sure she would, uncaring about the consequences, make a wide range of retching noises. But until then the look of horror on Bobby Singer's face was the best entertainment Meg had seen in years.