Chapter Text
It was unusual that Angel hadn’t come back before Husk was closing up for the night, but not unheard of. Still, it made Husk’s chest feel tight with a pinch of anxiety, but it wasn’t like he could actually do anything about it. Angel would come home, sore and bruised if he was lucky, broken and battered if not, and Husk would be there for him. He wouldn’t lie to him with soft “it’ll be ok”s and venomous “I’ll fucking kill him, I swear”s because he wasn’t an optimist and wasn’t an idiot, but he would be there for him.
So Husk did what he could and grabbed a bottle of Angel’s favorite spiced rum from under the counter before locking it up for the night.
It wasn’t until he was up in his room, pulling out his phone to text Angel a quick “come up to mine when you’re back”, probably add an “if you’re up for it” to drive home the optional aspect of his offer, that he saw he had a missed call. It put a pit in his stomach like a crack in the hull of a ship, slowly letting in icy water to fill his chest and compress his lungs.
He tapped to the missed call notification and felt that little drip, drip, drip very quickly give way to a full-on flood of freezing panic that buckled his knees and forced him to plop on to the edge of his bed. It read ‘Angel’ with the cute little emojis he had added to his own contact in Husk’s phone that Husk didn’t understand but he was sure were some kind of innuendo.
The thing was, Angel didn’t call. He texted, all the time even. More to Cherri than to Husk since he apparently “texted like a grandad” but it was still a near daily occurrence that Angel’s contact would light up his phone. He would leave Husk voice memos, send him pictures, a video sometimes if he wanted to show off a sparkly outfit that still photos couldn't do justice to or share that Nuggets had sneezed twice in a row, but Angel had never once called him.
Husk set the voicemail to speaker and hit play. He worried the phone would clatter against his cheek with how his hands were starting to tremble. He uncapped the rum he'd brought up for Angel and took a swig.
The first few seconds of the recording were static ending in a distant thud and a few heavy breaths. It was quiet, like the source was far from the receiver but it was deafening in Husk’s ears in contrast with how distinctly lifeless his evenings were without Angel.
Had Angel pocket dialed him?
There was some muffled grunting and an uncomfortable spark zapped down Husk’s spine, ruffled his feathers with a full body shiver. Had Angel pocket dialed him while with a client?
Husk had no issue with sex work, no qualms with his– with Angel doing it. That was never the problem he had with Angel’s job, and they both understood that now. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be one of his millions of viewers. Or, listeners, in this case.
He moved to end the voicemail, not too keen on being an unwilling voyeur to an unknowing party, but something stopped his hands. Something was…different.
Angel sounded so sweet under, or more often, over, Husk. He was breathy and gasping, soft in a one-eighty from the man on firm who twisted Angel’s gorgeous face into a raunchy mockery of seduction with faux pleasure, loud and crass.
This didn’t sound fake, though, and for once that was the issue.
A clipped little gasp of what was distinctly Angel was muffled by the loud crackling of shuffling static interjected by a sharp “Hello–” that singsonged so loudly out of the tiny speaker that Husk quite literally jumped, pulling his feet and tail up onto the mattress with him like whatever beast was on the other end might skitter out from under the bed and grab his ankles.
The voice was muted next, like the source had turned away from the receiver “what was that name you moaned so sweetly on set, Amorcito? --Husker?”
Husk’s gasp felt like a lung full of ice water, the crack in the hull holding himself together splitting straight down the middle.
“Val,” the recording picked up Angel’s voice, quiet and distant but frantic and strained like he was speaking around gritted teeth. “Hang. Up.” He snarled, slurred and angry in a way Husk had never heard before.
Valentino clicked his tongue chidingly next to the receiver “It's always so cute when you try to threaten me.” Came his voice, dripping saccharine and laced with pure malice. “Like a little lap dog: all bark and no bite.” he cood, condescending before his voice took on an irritated edge “but still very out of line, darling. You know better.”
Husk felt his whole body lurch like he was actually going to be sick right there on his bedroom floor. Wouldn't be the first time. Angel had so vehemently refused that pet name from his lips, time and time again, and he had thought it was funny. Cute, even. He had poked and prodded at this sore spot thinking it was a bruise, but it was a third degree burn that he’d been running his claws over this whole time with a smile.
“You own me, but you don’t own my fucking phone!” more shuffling blew out the audio, the smack of the phone presumably changing hands back and forth before a last loud thump and the popping static stopped completely. Instead, the recording filled with labored breathing, a punched-out whine, “get offa me–” clipped short with a broken cry and “stop! ”
Angel yelped, sharp and loud, then hissed in what Husk recognized from experience as pain in the not-so-distant background.
“I’m glad we’re in agreement on who you belong to.” a smug, satisfied hum rumbled in Valentino’s voice. “Did you forget to share that little tidbit with your new beau, bella?” Valentino asked, conversationally, talking down to him with mock concern dripping between his fangs but Husk still heard the distinct clink of a belt being unbuckled behind it.
It was like a slap across Husk’s wide-eyed face and all at once the ocean of nausea and panic pulling him under was gone, feet on solid ground now as he pushed himself up from the edge of his bed even if his legs felt numb. His feet carried him towards the door like a man possessed. He didn’t know where he was headed but he knew where he was going, phone in hand like a lamp to guide his way.
“You told him that you’re mine, body and soul?” The muted metallic slide of a zipper being tugged down was deafening in the silence that followed before a seething hiss of “answer me, Angel.” Covered it up.
Husk checked the time of the missed call – Two fucking hours ago.
“...Yes, Valentino.” There was a hiccup to Angel’s voice, a staccato quality that punched the words out of his lungs in a steady rhythm that Husk understood but refused to process because he wasn’t half as strong as Angel was. He couldn't take it like Angel could.
“I-I already redid the take. It was perfect, I said all my lines, I hit all my marks” Angel listed off his good deeds with the desperation of mother counting change in the grocery store line, knowing he was coming up short but hoping somehow it’d be enough to cover what was due. “I’ll be good, I’ll stop fightin’ you, just this once ple–” Angel’s voice broke on a breathy sob.
“Please stop recordin’ me.”
Husk’s door opened with a bang as it ricocheted back from the limit of its hinges, slapping the hand he had extended to twist the knob.
“Angel,” He breathed with the same reverence as if it really was a messenger of God who just threw open his door. His eyes quickly caught on the blood smeared in the corner of Angel’s mouth, dried from the split in his upper lip above a sharp canine tooth.
Angle shouldered past Husk to snatch the phone from his slack hand. He held down one of the keys until a robotic “message deleted” cut off the audio and silence filled Husk’s room. He dropped the gadget to the floor without a second thought, like how he discards his heels after a long night, but never his stockings - livid with the inanimate object but calculatedly casual to not stir up suspicion.
With that task taken care of, Angel knocked the door closed with the heel of his boot and settled his eyes on Husk. He looked down at him, then further down, giving Husk a once over with the slightest downturn of his lips. Angel was startlingly tall, but Husk had never felt so small under his gaze before.
“Make me a deal, Husk.” He said after a lengthy pause, eerily calm, barely above a whisper.
“W-what the hell are you talkin’ about. Angel, what was that–”
“You used to be an overlord, right?” He continued as if Husk wasn’t speaking. He stalked closer, herding Husk deeper into his own room. “So make a poor sinner like me a deal.”
Husk’s hands faltered in the small space between them that kept growing smaller and smaller as Angel advanced, despite the way Husk shuffled his feet backwards. He was unsure if he was supposed to touch or push back. He wanted to wipe at the blood smeared on Angel’s lip. “...what do you need?”
“Forget what you heard.” Angel’s eyes were red rimmed, black smeared along his bottom lashline and settled into the tired creases under his eyes. The underside of his chin was scraped, skin red and angry with pinpricks of blood peeking through the friction burn. “I need you to forget what you heard, then fuck me. ” Angel said again, firmly, and grabbed Husk by his shoulders.
He kissed him, all teeth and irony tang from the blood on his lips. He pushed his tongue into Husk’s mouth, running it against his teeth when he wouldn’t let him in.
“We’re not gonna talk about what the fuck just happened?” Husk whispered, dumbfounded, the second Angel pulled back.
“No.” Angel’s tone was finite as he shoved Husk’s shoulders hard enough that he knocked back onto the edge of his mattress, bouncing with the give and squeal of the metal springs. Angel followed with a knee set between Husk’s and a long protest from the springs as he elegantly took his perch in Husk's lap.
Husk’s hands settled on Angel’s hips like every time he’d found himself in this position before, but he didn’t dare move after that. He hardly dared to breath, just stared forward into the darkness of his own room at blank walls, terrified he’d knock the one precarious piece that was acting like a keystone holding this together.
“Husk, please. ” Angel said into his neck. His voice finally held some life to it, but the kind of life that seemed fleeting, fighting tooth and nail to keep what little it had. It shook around a stuttering inhale, and he repeated “Please.” It sounded like a dirty word on Angel’s tongue after hearing it said with such desperation.
Husk didn’t want there to be any “please” between them like this.
“If you say no, it's a no, but I swear to you I'm good for this.” Angel pressed kisses to Husk’s neck along with his words, hiding his face in the soft black fur. “I want this. With you. I–” Angel’s whole body shuddered like he was fighting to get the words out.
“Make love to me.” He breathed, two sets of fingers idly running over the downy feathers at the base of Husk’s wings while the other set rooted in between Husk’s fingers, gripping into his own hips more firmly than Husk was comfortable with in the moment. “I wanna know what it's like.”
It was while they sat there for a moment, Husk stock still with Angel draped on him, his body slowly going limp with the weight of the admission off his shoulders and his words hanging stale and thick in the air that something clicked.
Husk had been turning his pages for Angel slowly, one by one, obscuring passages he didn’t want the other reading into, sometimes skipping whole chapters or tearing pages right from the spine entirely. It felt like, in contrast, Angel had dropped his whole manuscript, looseleaf papers scattered all around them on the dingey hotel carpet. Husk just needed to put the pages back in order, and he’d finally found where this foreshadowing he’d been seeing on page after page all came together.
That sticky sweet smell that always clung to Angel’s fur, that made Husk lick his teeth because they hurt from it, that laced his breath when they kissed and smothered his senses now more so than ever before– it had never been Angel; it was Valentino from the start. The venom that he spluttered on with every word, that poured from his mouth like smoke from a dragon's maw – that's what clung to Angel. Every time he came back to the hotel, sat and smiled at Husk's bar, pulled them down into bed together - he'd been drenched in it, and now he understood why.
Even if he knew he didn’t deserve Angel–nobody deserved Angel– Husk itched to rub his grimy hands all over his white fur, ruin him in his own unique way just so it wasn’t only the smoky ghost of Valentino’s hands on him.
Husk knew he was bad, he was in hell for fucks sake, and nobody ended up here without a reason. Heaven didn't make clerical errors. But whatever sin he was filthy with seemed pure as holy water if it could scrub Valentino from Angel’s skin.
Husk breathed in, deep until his chest expanded with it, until the smoky, synthetic-sweet smell made him nauseous and hazy. He exhaled the resolute “Yeah, ok.”
“You’re in control,” Husk started, bringing his hands up to let Angel lean back into them so he could look at him while he spoke. Seeing Angel’s face helped ground him. Those mismatched eyes looking back at him with unwavering determination had a part to play in soothing the tremor from his fingers. “You say ‘stop’ and we’re through, you say ‘wait’ and I’ll back off, no questions asked– unless ya wanna talk about it, but I won’t make you.”
Angel nodded along, agreeing to the terms and conditions.
“And you don’t say please to me. Ever.”
Angel leaned back into Husk’s hands, trusting him with his full weight while his own hands draped over Husk’s shoulders like an afterthought, not a safety net. “Then fuck me, Husk.” he said, resolute with no pleasantries attached.
That meant slow and gentle to Husk, nothing like what he’d been through, and he let Angel know that with a single finger hooked under his chin, guiding but never pulling him down into a kiss.
He kept one hand on Angel’s back, kept his wings hunched forward so they curled around them to try to shut out everything else. It was just them, just this moment, just the warm, unhurried kiss they shared that was turning filthier by the second because they just couldn’t help themselves. Revenant and romantic was never them, but lustful and luxurious might be able to fit with a few adjustments.
Strong arms hauled Angel squarely into his lap, not that much strength was needed for it. Angel was all length and no bulk, but his weight was a comfortable blanket over Husk’s lap, long legs straddling his hips, back arched in that pretty, longing way that left no space between them.
Hands grabbed for every bit of Husk they could reach, one tangled in the soft fur behind his ears, one looped around his shoulders to keep him close, and two shoved between them, unbuckling his belt like this was a lunch break quickie.
Husk let the leather slide from his belt loops as Angel shifted back just enough to get the job done, but he didn’t lift his hips to give in to the hands pulling at the waistband of his slacks. “Easy, I ain’t going anywhere, baby.” He said against Angel’s lips.
“Want you, though.” Angel’s huff of annoyance blew against Husk’s face, a defiant whine of his name swallowed up before it could hardly get past Angel’s bruised and bloodied lip. A zing of copper lite up against Husk’s tongue when their mouths met again.
“And you’ll have me, but we ain’t running up the meter here. You wanted somethin’--different” Husk grimaced on how stilted the substituted word felt but wiped it from his face quickly. “Now, you want this on or off?” He offered with a hand settled on the collar of Angel’s shirt.
“Off. All of it.” he said hurriedly, all four of his hands working on the buttons. There was something about the way Angel moved that said he needed to do this. This needed to be on Angel’s terms, one hundred percent. So Husk sat back and let him, watching Angel get out of his clothes in a way that was just that. No show, no tease, or slow reveal of skin. This wasn’t the Angel he’d seen performing in his acapella burlesque shows, his own bed the stage where he came to life under the longing gaze of his only audience member. This wasn’t Valentino’s Angel, either, with pupils blown wide from the dope and desire, choking on his people pleasing “god, yes, more”s through gritted teeth.
This was someone new that Husk had never had in his bed before.
Infront of him was just Angel, hands steadily popping the hastily misaligned buttons of his top with no flare but no tremor, either. It was just Angel, face as bare as his body, just a few smears of old eyeliner clinging to the dark circles under his eyes, a few flecks of blood dried on his chest. Just Angel, clambering back into his lap with the practiced grace of Hell’s favorite porn star, looking at him with the simpering, almost shy smile of the Hazbin Hotel’s poster boy.
God, Lucifer, and whatever third power was behind the scenes pulling both their strings be damned – Husk was all in for his man.
Angel took him easy, but fast. Faster than Husk thought he should, but he had said Angel was in control, so he kept his mouth shut and trusted him even if it scared the hell out of him.
Husk kissed a line from Angel’s jaw and skipping over the purpling peak of a collarbone to continue to his chest. He tried not to look at the play-by-play bruised into Angel’s skin everywhere he touched, or get caught up on how wet Angel was as he sank inside. They weren't having the carefree, giggling-between-kisses kind of sex that would let him jab and ask if he’d really gotten Hell’s most infamous pornstar dripping from a makeout session alone.
There was an unspoken promise of honesty here and Husk was sure he wouldn’t like the honest answer.
So he tried to pry his brain from where it had sunk so quickly, gripped in the hot, pink perfect little vice between Angel’s mile long legs as he leaned back on his two lower arms, hands gripping just shy of Husk’s knees to use as leverage. Angel rolled his hips in a gorgeous display of strength. His eyes were closed, not trained on Husk’s reaction for once. He let his head slip back limp to enjoy, reaching out and taking his own pleasure by taking Husk’s cock to the hilt and grinding down onto it as if he had more to give.
Too quickly Angel’s thighs started to shake, the muscles quaking on a threat to give out from overuse alone because Husk knew his tells by now, knew how Angel’s breath came fast and short just before he’d lose himself. His hands would start to grab and pull for any bit of the lover in his bed he could reach to hold close to himself through it. He distinctly wasn’t doing any of that. What he was doing was getting sloppy with the exhaustion, rough even, and that's not what Angel had asked Husk for.
“Angel, can I-”
“You’re inside me, Husk, of course you can touch.” He laughed breathlessly, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips while his voice picked up some of the trembling from his legs.
“Gonna put you on your back, baby.” Husk murmured into Angel’s shoulder, only so he knew what to expect when wide palmed hands grabbed Angel’s ass firmly to keep them steady. Husk carefully lifted them off the bed with Angel in his arms, just enough to turn and lay him out on the worn flannel sheets, his head cushioned in Husk’s flat pillows, bathed in the unforgiving gray light of the city seeping in through the curtains. It was nothing like the backdrop of plush comfort in Angel’s bedding, faux fur pillows and minky soft blankets backlit by pretty colored lights.
Something felt right about it, like this, though.
Husk ran the back of a finger over Angel’s cheek, feeling the heat simmering off his skin. “You ok like this?” The touch was too tender, the way Angel turned his cheek into it heart-wrenchingly so.
Angel nodded. “I think I can handle missionary .” He teased, but his voice was only sweet, his cheeks a dusty pink in the graying darkness of Husk’s room.
“Ya ever think you’ll come full circle? Where vanilla kinda stuff like this gets ya all hot?” Husk snickered. He was talking just to have an excuse to keep looking at Angel’s pretty face for another minute. He wasn’t actually expecting an answer.
Angel’s voice was small when he replied “It does, when it's with you.”
Their tolerance for tenderness was getting impressive, but even they knew this was a dangerous dose.
Husk ducked his head, nuzzling his forehead against Angel’s shoulder as he leaned over and into him, one hand planted by Angel's shoulder so the other could guide them back together. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.” He mumbled, the words squeezed out of him more like a wheeze. The gasp of quiet laughter breathed right into his ear was the first nail in his new coffin.
This new angle let Husk slide so much deeper. He didn’t even know he could get deeper than Angel bouncing on his lap, deeper than Angel grinding their hips together with his full weight, but here he was, nudged up inside Angel with everything he’s got and then an extra push of his hips for good measure because the way it made his partner mewl was music–
Angel winced, his face faltering for a second as he hissed in a muted replay of the sound Husk had heard from the voice recording. The one he’d promised to forget.
“What hurts?” Husk rushed out, shooting back up to arm's length above Angel. He sounded a little too frantic even to his own ears, so he tried again, tried so fucking hard to forget that call because he can't be the one freaking out right now. “Gimme some words, baby. What do you need?”
“I-I, just…n-not” Angel stumbled, then took a slow breath, closing his eyes in concentration. “I don’t wanna stop.” He rushed out on one breath.
Voicing a need over a want had always tasted like ash on Angel’s tongue, made his mouth dry and his throat seize up like it, too. He tried to swallow around it, exhaled a quiet, shaky “fuck.” in defeat.
“Take your time.” Husk soothed, trying to calm himself as much as Angel. He kissed the sweat from Angel’s brow to fill the quiet. Finally he licked his thumb to wipe the blood from Angel’s upper lip.
It took almost an awkward amount of time before Angel found his voice, but when he did there was no flirty lilt to it, no question to his tone or turn of phrase to mask what he needed in a joke. “Not so deep.” He didn’t even whisper it.
Husk peppered kisses over his face. “Thank you.” He wanted to add ‘I’m so fucking proud of you’ but knew that even with how deep Angel’s praise kink ran, now wasn’t the right time. Tonight was to forget, they could work on patching the wounds another day. “I won’t.” He promised, and started to move before he could get in his own head about it.
He fucked into Angel shallow, with a hand between them like a safeguard, stopping short before his hips bump the heel of his palm. His thumb was perfectly positioned to rub Angel off like this, so he did just that. Slow, in time with every pull back so one way or another, there was pleasure singing through Angel’s blood. “That better?”
“Oh, thats good,” Angel agreed, nodding and almost breathless on a laugh as he added “Fuck, it's really good, Husk.”
“It's good to hear it," Husk smiled, an off-price mockery of the beautiful one on Angel's lips. "But I could tell by how you were clenchin’ around me.”
“Smug little bitch.” Angel said around that smile and a gasp. His head fell back, hands grabbing the pilled flannel sheets above his head with his top set and Husk’s upper arm with his lower.
“You get ‘baby’, and ‘sweethear’, and ‘beautiful’ and I finally get a pet name and it's ‘little bitch’?” Husk was finding his rhythm, with his hands and his hips and this banter that was comfortable and them.
“Smug little bitch.” Angel corrected, and pointedly squeezed around Husk, giggling when it made his elbows buckle above him, a swear breathed between them. “You got ‘handsome’ and ‘Mr. bartender’, ‘kitty’, and –oh fuck, Husk!”
Husk had caught himself with one hand on Angel’s hip, the weight of it tilting their bodies and making Husk hit him apparently just right.
The breathy moan was kissed from Angel’s lips. “Think that one's my favorite.”
Long fingered hands wove between Husk’s feathers, sliding under the larger ones and gripping into the softy downy fluff underneath. Angel pulled some loose as his hands tightened, but it was just the right side of pain to keep Husk grounded. “Say it again for me, sweetheart?” He asked, just to hear more of the pretty way Angel’s voice broke but all he got was frantic, barely audible breathes of “Husk, Husk, fuck I’m gonna cum–” and the sound of their bodies connecting going from slick to sloppy to wet before Angel was gripping around Husk in a vice that kept clutching tighter and tighter until it almost hurt to try and pull back.
The funny thing about Angel was how quiet he was when the pleasure was for himself. He was all soft gasps and whining exhales, hands pulling but never, ever scratching. None of the throaty moans, and “yes please, give it to me”s from his videos.
When Angel was coming down from the only kind of high Husk liked to see him, he was trembling, yes, and his pupils were blown pretty and dark but his chest was heaving and there's a smile pulling as hard at his lips as his hands are at Husk’s shoulders to press their mouths together. Just like their first kiss, it's hard to do while he’s grinning ear to ear but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You’re so good, baby.” Husk soothed, brushing Angel’s hair back from his face before he sat up and slowly, so carefully because the last thing he wanted to do was sour Angel’s pleasure with overstimulation, he tried to pull out. The word was tried because Husk hadn’t so much as shifted his weight back onto his shins before he was ensnared in a tangle of spindly limbs.
“I said make love to me.” Angel restated, a little more firmly but the word was still whispered, his eyes darting from Husk’s face to the empty room behind him like his big yellow eyes with pupils blown so wide they looked like the peak of a solar eclipse were too intimidating.
“Oh, uh…ok.” Husk agreed with a single stilted nod. His skin started to prickle, like there were splinters stuck under his palms , paper cuts between his fingers. Made sense that someone who had sworn off love decades ago wasn’t up for the task. But fuck, if Angel didn’t make him want to try. “What exactly are the requirements for that?”
“You cum inside me, you kiss me after…” Angel peeked up at him, an actually shy smile spreading over his lips that he tried to bite away. “…and you get me off one more time.”
God the bar was on the fucking floor, wasn’t it? To think he was nervous to have Angel in his bed, for a large number of reasons, but in part because there simply was no way he could measure up to what he was used to.
“Just once?” Husk chuckled, rubbing the shameful anxiety off his hands with the sinful drag he pulled Angel’s hips into. It was slow, luxurious, and they both shivered into the feeling.
Angel rode that fine line between gearing himself up for another orgasm and pushing his body into the sharp soreness of overstimulation while Husk was honestly trying not to lose his mind edging himself into Angel, slick and tight and warm with one orgasm under his belt.
“Maybe twice. I won’t say no to three times. Fours kinda excessive though.” Angel snickered, voice getting thinner with each word as he rolled his hips into Husk’s hands to meet him halfway.
So that was exactly what Husk did. He fucked into Angel slow and deliberate, using the heel of one palm to nudge against his clit when the meeting of their hips jostles it. The other hand held Angel's narrow hips up so he could rut against him at that angle that made Angel short of breath, the way that made him use that new pet name Husk was so fond of. Incidentally, holding his hips like this gave the perfect view of his cock sliding into Angel. Like this, he could watch the flushed and sensitive tip of his dick catch on Angel hole when he drew nearly all the way out, see the slick, glistening evidence of their pleasure nearly drip out of him before Husk leaned forward and pushed it all back inside. And when that got him a little too hot under the collar, he could look up and get lost in how pretty Angel looked taking him faster than he loses himself in the bottom of a bottle.
Husk very nearly does lose himself like that, only realizing he’s close to drowning when Angel lets out a long, needy whine behind bitten lips like he doesn’t want to share the sound. He’s long overdue for being selfish; Husk does everything he can to ignore how his own limbs feel like they're buzzing, how he’s pretty sure he’s shaking and definitely breathing like he sprinted up to the hotel’s roof and back, taking two steps at a time.
Husk pushed all that down so he could watch Angel’s second orgasm wash over him. It starts behind his ribs, spreads like spilt honey from the tips of his fingers and toes, up through his hands that gripped into his sheets like they might tear and feet that kick and knock against the bedframe before everything met in the middle where Angel’s body bowed with tension that didn't snap like a cord but frayed and unraveled under Husk’s hands.
“Angel–” Husk’s too weak a man to hold himself off until Angel’s even through the first shudder of his orgasm before he’s ready to beg for his, but the way Angel gasps an angry, hurried, “don’t you fucking dare pull out,” in the midst of it all takes the air from his lungs. He couldn't beg if he tried.
Husk spilled inside him as Angel drew his orgasm out in shudders. For a second, he has the presence of mind to worry he’s in too deep again and jerks back, the friction forcing an undignified sob from his lungs that turns into a tight reprised plea of “ Angel.”
Husk’s ears were ringing, and for a moment he thought they must have set the place on fire again. His skin felt hot enough that he would have believed it. But the ringing dies down until it’s just the two of them gasping for air, his pulse hammering in his ears and little hums of contentment coming from both of them. Husk didn't know when or why he closed his eyes, but when he opened them again it’s to a very satisfied Angel, flushed and breathless in his sheets.
Words try to jumble all at once out of his mouth. ‘You’re gorgeous’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘can I have this forever?’ all trying to jam their way out at once through the narrow passage of his throat. He just flapped his mouth, open and closed like a fish out of water until his eyes drew to the movement in Angel’s right shoulder. He followed the motion, down Angel’s forearm to his wrist to where one nimble hand lay between his legs, lazily rubbing his swollen clit just above where Husk had him split open around his slowly softening cock.
“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” Husk chuffed a breathy laugh in disbelief. He playfully smacked Angel’s handout out the way to replace with his own. “You’re gonna lay here, keepin’ me warm with this pretty little body of yours, and not give me the chance to satisfy you?”
“I’m bein' greedy tonight.” Angel’s laugh caught on a little “ah” and a twitch of his hips with the first rub of Husk’s hand.
“As you should.” That touch was too much, he got it. He eased up on the pressure, petting over Angel in soft, broad strokes. He was tucking the information away for later. For next time. Round one Angel needed it a little intense, more direct pressure and liked a lot of touch. Round two he was deliciously sensitive, so much that he could get off on just being fucked through it if Husk played him right, round three…
Husk pulled Angel’s third orgasm from him so gently, not delicately because he knew Angel was tougher than nails and not slowly, either, because Angel had two hands clasped over his mouth to muffle the staccato little whines pouring from him in what felt like a minute flat. Husk’s hand was cramping, his wrist was going to be so stiff in the morning he was placing bets now on how much he was going to spill at the bar and he hissed through the too-much not-enough ebb and flow of Angel squeezing around him, tight right at his pink little hole and luxuriously plush in the way he clutched at him inside over and over as his orgasm went on for nearly as long as it took Husk to get him there; he’d do this for hours if Angel would let him.
“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna get me hard again if you’re not careful.” Husk groaned, a low growl under his words.
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to me tonight.” Angel winked, breathless and pretty until his face fell when his own words reached his ears, instantly sober from the buzz they’d spent the last hour cultivating.
It made Husk wonder how frequent this was, if Angel’s response was so automatic. Was it only different this time because Husk knew? because Angel knew he knew?
But he said he’d forget, so he wanted to make Angel, too. Even if just for a few minutes. So he steeled himself and asked "You said three more was ok, right?”
Angel looked at him like he was speaking nonsense, confused apprehension and all “...What?”
“You said I could get you off three more times. S’only been twice.” That weird feeling was settling back over his palms, making his skin crawl and tongue feel thick in his mouth. He tried to tell himself this was ok. He wasn’t talking Angel into anything, just talking him away from the sharp ledge to this slippery slope they were both staring down into so suddenly, vertigo turning both their stomachs.
“I was playin’, baby. You don’t gotta–”
“Were ya?” Husk cut him off, but his tone was soft, understanding. “‘Cause you sounded pretty serious when you asked me to make– make this different for ya.” and how did he expect to do that when he couldn’t even say it?
Angel looked between Husk and his chasm that had opened up like a sinkhole in the bed between them. Rock bottom wasn’t comfortable, but it was familiar, so the temptation was there.
“One more, Angel.” The words were bitter on his tongue, burned his throat but much like a stiff drink, they were a necessity. “One more, and I swear I’ll forget. Make you forget about it, too, for a minute at least.”
Not breaking eye contact, Angel nodded slowly. “Yeah, ok.” He said in that same, dumb way Husk had said to him earlier.
Husk kissed him, much like Angel had done to him earlier in the night, too. Sweet at first before dissolving into a sinful slide of tongue against tongue.
Using one hand, feeling blindly while they kissed, Husk gently spread Angel’s swollen cunt, trying to lessen the friction while he pulled out slowly , inch by inch because he was sure Angel was tender by now.
They shared gasps between them, Angel exhaling shakily for Husk to breathe him in.
“Don’t usually even treat myself this well.” Angel chuckled “‘m kinda sensitive, so.”
Be careful, Husk understood. He pressed kisses his knee, then the inside of it, a little lower, all the way down his thigh until he was right at the junction of Angel’s hip. “So what I’m hearin’ is I need to treat you tender, that right? ” He flicked his eyes down, right between Angel’s legs, and let out a long, low whistle. It made Angel giggle and knock his knee against Husk’s temple. “You look sensitive.”
Angel’s face popped back into his view as he propped himself up on his upper set of arms, looking down at Husk. His hair was a mess, the kind of disheveled that Angel Dust would fret over but the angel in his bed didn’t even notice. “You’d do that after…” There was an excited edge to his voice, like he’d just learned he could have his cake and eat it, too.
Husk’s answered with a flat tongued lick from Angel’s hole to his clit, catching slick and cum in the cradle of his it to smear over Angel as he made himself comfortable between his thighs.
Angel smiled, eyebrows raised in scandalized disbelief before he threw a forearm over his flushed face and flopped back onto Husk’s flat pillows with a long “Fuuuuuck” that dissolved into a whimpering laugh. “Knew you were nasty.”
“What tipped you off?” Husk asked after a long moment of eating him out like this was the main event, like getting Angel raw wasn’t the highlight of his evening.
“Got a–” Angel shuddered “Got a sixth sense about this kinda thing.”
Husk hummed in a sarcastic, “oh really, tell me more?” kind of playful mock disinterest and pressed his tongue into Angel’s cunt.
“You got a submissive str-eak” Husk grinned into him as Angel’s voice broke at the end. “Bet you’d be such a good sub ta me. S’fucking hot, Husk.” Angel whined, frustration creeping into desperation like he wanted that as badly as he wanted to get off against Husk’s rough tongue.
Husk didn’t mean to edge Angel, not really, but he couldn’t help neglecting his clit to dip his tongue just barely past that tight little hole to lap at the way he tasted mixed with Angel’s pleasure. Maybe he was a lot more into this than he realized, maybe Angel hit the nail on the head and he needed to unpack this now, not later, because he was rutting against the edge of his mattress just to take the edge off of how hot lapping his own cum out of Angel’s cunt was making him, how that little gush against his tongue every time he pressed it into him sent a jolt straight to his cock and how the whole thing was connected with a tension wire to his heart.
On second thought, that all could wait. Later was fine. What mattered now were those hands grabbing at his skull, two behind his ears and two at his cheeks and one under his jaw and yeah, he couldn’t breathe but he’d die for the way Angel’s body quaked under him.
Long, lean legs locked around his head, muting the breathy cries from above him. His lungs were burning, begging for air and the moment his head started to go hazy with it, the limbs clinging to him fell away slack. He gasped for the air that he needed but didn’t want, coming down from a high of his own with his forehead pressed to Angel’s trembling thigh.
Angel mumbled weakly, making grabby hands down the long line of his body at Husk.
“Not done smoutherin’ me?” He sounded so much more wrecked than he expected, voice gravely and winded as he crawled over Angel. He fell into his arms, snuggled into the downy fluff of his chest that heaved under him. Husk tried to catch his breath, but a face full of fluff was slowing the process. He wasn't going to move, though, because Angel smelled like sex, like sweat, dry mouths panting for breath and the weird ‘I haven’t opened my windows in forty years’ stale of Husk’s room. It suited him.
“Thank you.” Angel breathed after a long moment.
“Don’t fuckin’ thank me.” Husk huffed, but smiled into Angel’s chest.
It didn’t hit Husk instantly. It crept in along with the red-orange glow of the sun that stuck its long fingers in through the gap in the hotel curtain. It dawned on him, literally, when the little stripe of sunlight landed on Angel’s dozing face and he squinted, grumbling and turning to shy away from the light. Husk lazily drew up a heavy wing to cover him, shielding him from the sun. It the way he blinked open a bleary eye, looking at Husk with yesterday’s makeup smeared on his face, eyeliner settled into the recess under his eyes, lips dry and a little cracked from gasping through his mouth and that oh so pretty post orgasm blush coloring the center of his cheeks that Husk realized what's happening. Angel smiled up at him, a wordless thanks before he nuzzled back into the crook of Husk’s arm.
Husk’s chest expended with an inhale and he stood no chance of keeping the words in. Panic was two steps too far behind while to catch up to them.
“Angel,” the man in question hummed a lazy acknowledgement that Husk didn’t–couldn’t– wait for “I lov–”
A hand shot out with the quickness like it meant to back hand him, but it stopped short with just a finger held to his lips. Like the flick of a switch, Angel was awake, looking wide-eyed at Husk. For just a second, Husk thought he had gambled on this and stupidly lost it all.
“Anthony.” Angel breathed, hushed like a secret between only the two of them. His face broke into a smile that was so much like the one Husk adored, only this one has his eyes brimming with tears in the crinkled corners. “Call me Anthony when you say it.”
“I love you, Anthony.” he says like it's sacred, fragile, new in a way that's frightening and taboo but trusting. He says it like they’re meeting for the first time after having known each other for a lifetime. He’ll never meet Anthony . He’s seen him, sure. Anthony is a shop shot with a temper, he reckons it’s Anthony who first learned how to change his face so convincingly, to curate himself for whatever audience he held.
“O-ok,” Angel’s voice sounded thick but despite that there was a little quiver to it. He propped himself up on an elbow, leaning eagerly into Husk's space. “Now try ‘Angel’.”
“I love you, Angel.” Husk says with relief like he’s been holding it in for ages, like its too heavy to hold on his own anymore. “I love you so fucking much.” He pours out to the man who sits at his bar, talking with his hands, the one with a quick wit and a quicker tongue, that bleeds confidence and sex appeal, even when he wished he could turn it off.
Angel looks at him like there was something else on the tip of his tongue, like he wants another. Husk helps him search, because there should be a name for the angel in his bed right now, a word to call the parts of Anthony life didn’t squash out of him and the parts of Angel Dusk Valentino never got to touch. There needed to be a name for that smile that showed his age, just a touch, the martyr’s heart of gold that got him into more trouble than the people he cared about were probably worth, that playful sarcasm that he always took one half step too far.
Husk reached out and swiped a knuckle at the corner of Angel’s eye, blinking the wetness from his own. “Love you, loser.”