Ten years ago…

"Where the fuck you been?"

I closed the door firmly behind me and peered around the short expanse of wall to the clock on the stove. "It's three- twenty," I supplied, trying to sound reasonable and sorry all at the same time. I didn't even have to look at Tom, slouched in the trashed lazy boy in front of the TV and littered with empty beer cans to know that he was glaring at me. "There was a wreck over by the Safeway or I would have been home sooner," I lied.

That seemed to satisfy Tom because he grunted and turned back to whatever he was watching. Sports highlights by the sounds of it. "Glad you made it back safe," he muttered as I drifted into the kitchen, only half listening to his voice as I rummaged around for a clean cup. "I'll be glad when you don't have to go out anymore and I can keep you safe like your mom."

I froze. What? I wanted to scream. No. Never. I'm getting away from you. I'm leaving and never coming back. Except I didn't because that would be stupid and because I, no Melissa, didn't exist here. Just Missy, and Missy didn't give a shit. She couldn't or I'd lose it. I'd lose everything. Instead, I opened the fridge and asked, "Do you need another beer?" He grunted, which meant yes.

I brought it to him. "Anything else?" I asked quietly, ignoring the silent little prayer that ran around and around in the back of my skull.

"Yeah. Pick up the damn trash," he growled, chugging at the beer, eyes never leaving the tv screen. "Fuckin' pig sty in here, after all I do for you." I stood still against the onslaught of the familiar words pouring out of his mouth, waiting. "I put a roof over your head, feed you, take care of you, give you purpose so you're not out doing drugs in the street letting every boy fuck you. Stupid bitch. Can't even keep the house clean. You know your mom's too sick to do it. Gotta step up girl."

"Sorry," I apologized meekly and knelt to gather the trash. It was mostly beer cans but there were a couple of used napkins, an empty tv dinner container, and an empty bag of salt and vinegar chips. It really wasn't all that bad as far as dirt went. Things had been worse.

Of course, this wasn't about the house being a mess. No, this was a game. One that required me to crawl around on my hands and knees with my ass up in the air for an extended period of time.

"C'mere," the slurred rumble of his voice broke through my focus on picking a piece of dried gum out of the carpet under his chair. His fingers slid through my hair and twisted, tightening against my skull as he pulled me up by my hair, leaving me scramble upwards or risk losing an entire handful of my hair. "You know what I want?" He asked softly, pulling me between his legs.

I nodded against the inside of his thigh as he dragged me higher. "Yes sir," I whispered against his fly. Behind the cover of denim he was half hard, the bulging growing firmer with every puff of my breath against his groin.

"That's a good girl," he groaned, hand tightening painfully in my hair, blunt fingernails digging into the soft skin beneath my hair as I slipped him between my lips.

Ten minutes later I rinsed my mouth again, spitting the Listerine into the sink and watching it and the streaks of blood spiral down with the flow of water to the drain. I'd brushed too hard again. Couldn't be helped though.

"Missy!" Tom's voice drifted up the stairs and I sighed at my reflection. My eyes were a little wide, my hair a knotted mess, and cheeks flushed red from scrubbing. At least he hadn't gotten anything on my clothes.

"Coming!" I called, loudly enough that he would be able to hear me through the closed door. "Four and a half months," I mouthed to my reflection, terrified to even whisper it. My reflection stared back at me and then nodded: a swift, sharp jerk of my chin. I could do this. I could. I'd made it through the last four years; making it through the next four months would be nothing.

With one last look in the mirror I turned off the lights and headed back down stairs, stomach rumbling as I massaged my aching jaw.


Present day…

When Crowley finally released my lips I dropped my head to his shoulder, panting as little black dots danced before my eyes. "Fuck," I muttered into his collar, the fabric of jacket and shirt pulling against my kiss bruised lips. The King of Hell chuckled a bit as he ran a hand through my hair, massaging at my scalp and tugging at the soft, tender hairs lining the base of my neck. I shuddered beneath his touch.

"Oh, I plan to love," he growled and I felt my eyes widen as he pulled my head up to face him. He was smirking. I shivered against his grip and watched his eyes flip to solid crimson between blinks. "Before this is all over I'm going to possess you in every way you could possibly imagine."

God help me, but I shouldn't be turned on by the idea of being possessed by a demon. And I wasn't. I had an anti-possession tattoo. Two of them, actually, just in case – a girl couldn't be too careful these days. Getting possessed meant that I'd have to slice or burn the damn things off and that was going to hurt like a sonofabitch. But I didn't believe in God, or rather I had no faith in him. The only constant higher power in my life was currently kneading his fingers along the line of my spine and watching me shiver with that damn fucking dirty smirk dancing across his lip.

The idea of being possessed by a demon? Less than thrilling, outright insulting, and more than mildly revolting.

The idea of being possessed by this demon? I was ready to start begging and it'd been less than a minute. And he could tell, too. Crowley could always tell. The bastard.

"Hmmm. Like that idea, don't you love?" I swallowed and refused to respond, which of course was a response in and of itself. Crowley's eyes narrowed, moving over my face with a ferocity that could see straight to where every dark desire I'd ever had was written on my soul. "You do," he repeated, the usual mockery slipping from his voice and leaving nothing but astonishment. "Bloody hell."

Huh. Apparently one could still surprise the King of Hell. Good to know.

His lips were soft against mine, barely present as his tongue traced the contours of my mouth and teased the seam between my lips. I opened to him with a small sigh, my brain scrambling to respond to the fact that Crowley was being soft. Not just gentle but soft.

Apparently the King of Hell could still surprise me. Also good to know.

"You want to feel it," he whispered into the warmth of my mouth, astonishment still tinging the rough, sultry drawl of his voice. The brush of his breath made me rock against his lap, whimpering a little as his voice pooled like molten gold between my legs. "You want to know what it feels like to be shoved aside, to be forced to watch and feel things that you can't control." I groaned as his tongue slid along mine in a slow, sinuous dance, rocking in his lap in a desperate attempt to press closer, to get the more that my body was screaming for. "To be utterly dominated in your own body. The things I could do to you, love, the things I could make you do…" He captured my mouth again, harder this time, and I practically cried in relief, giving myself over to the strength in his grip, the heat in his touch.

Jesus fucking Christ, a demon should not be able to do this to me. But he did and had since before we had ever properly met. He'd always been able to take me apart with nothing but glances, or words, or touch. Alone, all three were deadly. Together… Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

"Crowley," I whined as he drew away, hands on my neck and hip keeping me from following him.

"Shhh," he growled, tightening his grip at the nape of my neck until I could feel the blunt edges of his fingernails digging into my skin. "You know what it does to me when you get all desperate." I shivered as his words washed over me, arching against him in an attempt to get closer. I didn't need a mirror to know that my pupils were blown to hell, gone almost demon black with desire.

"Crowley!" I whined again, trying desperately to grind the heat between my legs against him. Seriously, I should not be this hot, this needy but I was kind of past caring. The grin was back, positively evil as it split his lips to reveal of a flash of brilliant white teeth.

"Do you know what I really want to do?" he asked conversationally, as if I wasn't trying to ride his lap like my life depended on it. "I've always wanted to see if I could possess more than one body at the same time." I stiffened in his lap, his words running through me like a bolt of lightning. Why would he…? I caught the predatory twinkle in his eye and felt my heart rate shoot through the roof as he continued calmly, softly, leaning forward to draw the words in a hot line up the curve of my jaw to the soft flesh of my ear. "Can you imagine? Me in your skin, filling you up and shoving you aside until you're nothing more than a cramped little presence in the back of your head. Completely powerless to do anything but watch and feel what I do to you… I wonder if I could keep possession of this body long enough to fuck you and make you watch."

I came.

Just like that I came, completely blindsided as the rasp of his voice shoved me over an edge I hadn't even been completely aware I was teetering on.

I screamed, trying to muffle the sound by biting my lip as I stiffened in his arms, every muscle in my body convulsing as heat and bright white fire consumed me, shattering me apart so that all that held me steady was the touch of callused fingers and a constant litany in a smoky voice that drifted through haze of my pleasure. "That's a good girl, come for me, fuckin' come for me, love. Such a fuckin' good girl." I was dimly aware that my muffled scream had dissolved into me whimpering his name over and over. "Fuck," he growled as I squirmed over the ridge of his thigh, panting and squeaking and making all sorts of high pitched noises. "So bloody gorgeous when you come. So fucking beautiful."

God, that voice. It wasn't fair. Wasn't fucking fair at all that he had a voice like that: all smoke and sandpaper and bloody fucking accent – and it was his voice, make no mistake. I'd seen him in another body once, just once, and his voice had still been the same – if half an octave higher. Still sexy as hell.

And apparently entirely capable of making me orgasm untouched. I could practically see his ego swelling before my eyes.

I told him as much as I came down off my high. "You and your god damn voice," I muttered, glaring. Not that it did me much good. One: he's the King of Hell. Kind of hard to glare effectively when you've got nothing to back it up with – and considering I just got off in his lap on words alone. Yeah. I had nothing, which brought us to two: I was mostly drunk and completely plaint in his arms, the aftershocks of my orgasm still making me tremble and jerk against every puff of his breath, every brush of his skin as the fingers of one hand curled through the fine hairs on my neck. "It's bottled sin."

Crowley grinned mischievously. "Then drink up, love. There's no bottom to this bottle."

"Bastard," I muttered, eyes slipping shut for a moment as I slumped in his lap.

He shrugged. "So I've been told. If you didn't like it you wouldn't have sold yourself to me," he pushed me the rest of the way forward until I was held flush against his chest, whimpering a little as his body shifted underneath mine, the drag of my jeans against tender, wet flesh making fireworks pop behind my eyes. "And you do like it," his whisper traced my ear: hot and damp, making me squirm again. "You crave it…"

I twisted in his lap, tightening the grip of my knees against his hips as I turned into his lips. "So I've been told," I parroted back into his mouth. "What are you going to do about it?"

Crowley leaned further back into the couch. "Well, love," he murmured, letting his fingers slip beneath the lace of my cami to trace my flesh. "In no particular order: I'm going to fuck you, possess you, see if your theory about becoming my familiar is correct, and fetch that lovely little tablet that you found. Where is that, by the way?"

"Somewhere safe," I murmured as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of my jeans. "Don't worry, you'll get it. After you've made me your familiar." The fingers stopped moving against the curve of my ass and I whimpered.

"Melissa," he growled warningly.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry, if it doesn't work I'll tell you – or take you there myself. If it does work then you'll know instantly anyway. It's not like I could – or would - keep it from you." I squirmed invitingly against his hand, arching against the front of his trousers. He was hard, achingly so. He practically vibrated against me, torn between a growling demand and rumble of pleasure. I let my grin fade, let all the masks and personas I usually kept in place slip way until it was nothing but me staring into the narrowed, skeptical glare of the King of Hell. "Crowley, in the decade that you've known me have I ever failed to up hold my end of the bargain? How many deals have we made between us? How many addendums have we added to the original contract? How many contracts have been left unspoken but were carried out anyway?"

He opened his mouth, no doubt to give me the exact number. Crowley never forgot a deal. I silenced him with a gentle press of my hand. "It was a rhetorical question," I muttered. "The point being that I have faith in you, in the deal. And you have faith that I'll deliver, otherwise you wouldn't keep coming back. Don't insult me by comparing me to your other marks. I keep my deals."

A genuine smile spread across Crowley's lips. "Rightly so," he hummed and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Now, go get your altar," he added, shoving me off his lap and giving me a dirty slap to the ass. "I'm in the mood to own your soul and celebrate."


Author's Note: Title from "Anyway You Want It" by Journey.