For three months. He was gone for three months. Three months of doubting it happened. Three months of my muscles getting a lot better, a lot faster, than before. Three months of nightmares. Three months of dying to talk to my therapist about it, but ...if it was real that would be a very bad idea. Three months of eating a lot of salty foods, vitamins, of drinking a lot of booze, of gaining three pounds. Three months before I walk out my bedroom door, and into decidedly not the hallway to the living room.

"Hello darling. Miss me?" I freeze. I tense. The room I'm in is secondary. The fact that it's 30 degrees warmer. Tertiary. The fact that it's bright midday when I had walked out of my room in the early morning sun. Didn't matter in the least.

My focus is on one thing. My fear and its source sitting across from me behind a mahogany desk.

"Honeymoon time." I swallow and take in the room now. It's expensive, expansive, and contains a lot of wood. The pillars behind the desk are wood. The floor is wood. Tables, chairs, liquor cabinet, wood. Only things that aren't wood are the fireplace and the curtains.

"I doubt the efficacy of a demon living in something so easily ignited." He snorts at my comment and moves a chair in front of the desk indicating I should sit down. I hesitate, and he rolls his eyes. I'm pulled forward and pushed into the chair which turns toward him. I blink and sigh. He looks exactly the same; his suit impeccable, his demeanor relaxed, terrifying. But real. So that was nice to know. It happened. Not insane. Not another thing to add to the long list of mental problems I had. I sigh again in relief.

"Ah, you did miss me."

"No, I did start to believe I imagined you. Had you waited a couple more weeks, I might have broken our deal and you'd own me. But now…" Crowley chuckles.

"I already own you. Chew Toy, be realistic. So...drink?"

"I'd love one."

"No. No no no no. No. ….No. You're going to make me one. Something new." I pause and think quickly trying to find options.

"Have you heard of a shrub? Were you here in America during the colonial times?"

"No, but I have heard of a shrub. They are all over those fancy new bars in California. It's disgusting, they should have actual liquor."

"Uhm…. can you really not eat salt?"

"Sorry darling, no margaritas today."

"You're cutting out a lot of options." He raises his current glass of whiskey, or scotch, or something amber, and toasts me.

"Tough." I sigh and walk over to the liquor cabinet and go to open it. "Ah. No. That's where the expensive stuff is. I'll get whatever ingredients you need." I pause, and smile. He could torture me, but I had an idea that might torture him, just a bit.

"Well I need something you might not like...being seen buying...or even being bought for you." He snorts.

"I doubt there is anything-"

"Bud light lime." He freezes and I grin. "And Punk Lemonade Cider by B. Nekter. Both cold." He looks at me, disbelieving, and blinks.

"You're joking."

"Nope." He sighs and swirls the drink, rolling his eyes.

"What else?"

"That's it." He stares at me again.

"Last time you made me a drink with fresh grapefruit and gin and reputable ingredients...and now This? Disgusting!" I shrug.

"Trust me, or don't. Or bring me corona, fresh elderflower, a teabag, and lime….and it might not turn out as good. Or send me to get it. I have no qualms or worries about my reputation being ruined by my taste in beer." He grits his teeth.

"...I could introduce you to pain you couldn't-"

"You won't." He pauses, curious and disbelieving.

"Really? Why not?"

"Because it could damage your secondary vessel. If I'm...comatose from brain damage, or perhaps even mental trauma, it'd be easy to figure out what I am to you...if you ever die. Guards, around a comatose meat bag? Why would the King need that? Me walking around? When you have twenty, minimum, other people also being watched, means nothing. You guarding an invalid who can offer you nothing? Suspicious. Not worth risking, at least until you have your new army, but then you risk being in a damaged body in a type of possession that you...haven't tried before. And Then, even THEN if I'm insane, you'd have to waste resources guarding me from myself. You can't kill me, as per contract, besides it'd be a waste. Finally, and most importantly, if I go insane I'm rather not capable of fulfilling other parts of my contract, or being interesting. Nah, you won't do anything that might jeopardize my ability to blend in, or do my job, that much." He stares at me, his head tilted, and frowns. Nodding, showing me he was mildly impressed, or perhaps putting me at ease while determining the best way to punish me for my complete insolence. "So...bud light lime and punk lemonade, you getting it or am I?" He smiles. And nods. And snaps his fingers. The bottles appear on his desk and I shake my head. "Right… that thing." I head back over to the desk and sit, pulling the bottles toward me.

"You'll pay for taunting me. And on our honeymoon. It's almost like you don't want to be here." I look down at my jeans and sweatshirt.

"Well I'm certainly not dressed for it. Completely underdressed for such fine company as yours on such a special occasion." I open the drinks and pour them together into a tall glass, half and half.

"And I say you're overdressed." There's a slight sound and then I'm cold, and the fabric on the seat is not comfortable. I sigh and manage to not drop the bottles.

"You've been inside me, apparently, so you know nudity doesn't bother me. Art School and all. If you want to look at me, fine, but I'd like my underwear at least please. I don't know who has sat, died, or fucked, on this chair."

"Not my house, don't know." He looks at me a moment before standing up to circle me. "I knew it was bad but, have the last 3 months really been so stressful Chew Toy?" I blink. Maybe this was an opportunity.

"Yeah it has! I still don't know what to believe about that show or not! It's stressful!"

"And?"

"Throw me another bone? Please?" He stares. And chuckles.

"Alright. Monsters aren't real." I freeze.

"What?"

"That really isn't a complicated concept."

"But...oh c'mon. You talk about foreplay and then shove that fact into my head like an over eager college kid sticking his dick into a roofied teen?! C'mon!" He chuckles.

"That was the first crack of a whip darling. Patience, I'll build you up slowly." He paces behind me, not allowing me to see where he is. Something he somehow knows makes me nervous as Hell. My body is so tense my arms are shaking from stress as I hear him pace. "There are two things, besides the big players who left eons ago. Angels and humans. Humans however can be, and make, lots of things: good, bad, witches, warlocks… and demons."

"But….then where do all the other stories come from? Like unicorns, and dragons?"

He scoffs.

"Unicorns were birthed from an extinct rhino and someone who needed glasses. All the other things out there? Well, demons and angels wear many masks in order to get what they want." I stare.

"No way angels can pull off that level of acting if they are anything like the show."

"There is...was, a faction of angels specifically made to interact with humans in disguise."

"And you? Did you ever play any of those...roles off screen? And seriously, underwear or I'll piss on this seat."

"And I...don't care and won't tell." He takes the drink, suddenly next to me again, and sips, shrugs, and takes another sip. "I know someone who'd like this. I'm not partial, too sweet, and it's not unique."

"Sorry to disappoint, underwear?"

"I don't Like being Disappointed. Have you forgotten who you're dealing with?!" I flinch as he pokes at one of my scabs. "Heroin?" He questions, repeating an incident in college. I had been driving and missed a stop sign that was hidden by trees. I was stopped, and the cop asked if I was a druggie because of all my scars from picking nervously at my skin until I bled.

Crowley knew I wasn't an addict, he was just showing off his knowledge of my past.

"I really don't need any other drugs in my system, you know damn well these are from stress. Why are we playing at...whatever the fuck this is?" He sighs and pushes into my wound once more before stepping back, shaking his head sadly.

"No fun, no sense of climax; what a sad little dance we are doing. You requested more decorum, not less, and now you act blunt? You're such a tease."

"I can't dance if I don't know What the music is! Why am I here?" He sighs and snaps his fingers, my clothes restored. He stands behind the chair, hand playing with my hair.

"I'm here to enjoy my Chew Toy on our honeymoon. Drink, talk, maybe take a hit or two... test something." I tense again. Probably not good. Ok, definitely not good. Nothing I can do, disobeying would cause much more trouble than I could probably handle. "Don't worry, it shouldn't hurt. Ok it won't." He pauses and looks at me, a slight false question on his face. "Unless you'd like that?"

"Not, really? Not to the amount you'd inflict."

"Degrees of pain. I prefer medium...to excruciating." He circles the desk, sitting across from me and setting the drink down, pushing it aside, sitting up straight. "Shame, I'd figure you'd be a bit more adventurous. Foreplay, so important to relationships, in building tension." I hated it, I knew what I had to say, he set it up so obviously I was actually worried what would happen if I didn't play along.

"Building tension...for what?" He smiles, that tight lipped smile, happy I was willing to dance right into whatever trap was waiting. It wasn't like I had a choice.

"Climax, of course. It's our honeymoon. Like I said… this was all just foreplay, a whip lightly licking your skin...preparing you." He leans back a bit and smiles demurely at me. "I want to be inside you darling." I freeze, not knowing what would be worse; if it was an innuendo or not. "Don't fret, we'll share that drink after, as promised." And the last thing I see is red smoke.

I awake in my bed, half a day wasted by the type of light in my room...and the clock on the wall. I sit up, feeling a bit wobbly. I look down at my right arm, left arm. No marks. I had no clue if I was tired from, what I assumed was possession, or blood loss. I sigh and go to grab my phone, which is on my bedside table. That is weird because I usually leave it on my bed, and as I reach over I see a small vial. I pick it up. Small label with perfect cursive.

"That drink, as promised. Don't worry, it's All yours. C."

I turn the vial, examining the liquid in it. Blood, definitely mine ...probably. I smile. He really should have paid more attention to my books while he was in my head. It probably wouldn't do anything but piss him off...and show him I actually was capable of playing this game. As close to his level as I could be.

Write enough nefarious characters, you start to think like one.