Chapter Text
“So, what are ya into?” Angel shimmed himself under the blankets, long and numerous limbs careful not to nudge Fat Nuggest snoozing near the foot of the bed while he got himself comfortable next to Husk for their “movie night”. He expertly flicked his wrist to open his table’s case and tapped the Vox branded gadget to life. The cold blue glow of the screen showed Ange’s own portfolio, a pretty profile picture of his face wearing a perfectly crafted demure mask at the top left followed by a centerfold style banner of his lanky body laid out in layers of pink silk that covered him but left very little to the imagination.
Husk stopped mid-munch with his mouth full of popcorn and swallowed thickly to grumble “I don’t know why I thought it would be a different kinda movie.”
Black and yellow eyes fixed on the white lettered blurb under the photographs that detailed Angel’s talents. He squinted at the small lettering, leaning a little closer to Angel to make out the small text: Certified slut catering to even your darkest desires. Long legs waiting to be tied up, held down, or– The screen scrolled down before Husk could get much further. Probably for the best.
“I don’t either.” Angel chuckled and tapped the first video on the list. “This one's my newest, just came out yesterday.” he explained, then pointed to a spot outside the video frame to draw Husk’s attention. “Already a few million views.”
Husk remembered Angel complaining about this shoot, his upper body laid flat on the freshly wiped bar top while he made wordless grabby hands over at Husk for a drink. That part was kind of cute. For any other patron he would have hated doing a dealer's choice of cocktail, but he knew well enough by now what Angel liked and had mixed him a cherry mojito for his right hand and a two finger pour of Heaven’s Door on the rocks for his left. He remembered the sweet compliment Angel gave his even sweeter mixed drink, and the little grimace he gave him after downing the bourbon like a shot.
Less fondly, Husk recalled the bruises that mottled Angel’s forearms, red angry abrasions on the outsides of his bony wrists. Husk felt his face sour when he spotted the culprits on screen - a pair of metal cuffs roughly shoved onto Angle’s wrists and clicked into place far too tightly that were quickly used as leverage to keep his arms behind his back with a painful looking twist to the chain between them.
“What, you don’t like this kinda thing?” Angel looked at him with a little exaggerated pout on his lips. Husk visibly bristled before averting his eyes from the blue glow of the tablet screen balanced between the fluffy decorative pillow on Angel’s lap. He knew a little too well what it felt like to have someone yank your body around on a metal chain to enjoy watching it happen to someone else, let alone watching it happen to Angel.
“Ok, ok, I know it's not for everyone.” Angel sighed, over dramatic, and swiped a finger across the screen to minimize the video. He let the enticing audio continue while he looked for another of his works.
“Please, Officer, maybe you could let me off…if I get you off?” Angel’s voice said sickly sweet into the silence of his own room.
Video thumbnail after thumbnail rolled by as Angel scrolled a few pages down with a quick flick of his finger, his painted nail clicking against the glass, before he found what he was looking for.
“This ones what sent me to the SeXXXi awards last year” he bragged before he clicked the little preview image. The video started immediately; as an official partner of Vox Industries, he had a premium subscription. No adds, everything in 4K, all the premium content at his fingertips.
Husk’s eyes flicked over to the screen but his face quickly contorted again, his whiskers sticking straight out while his face crinkled up like a schoolboy recoiling at the first splash of whiskey straight from the bottle. Unlike that, though, he's not sure he could get used to this.
“I hate seein’ you like this.” He muttered in that gruff, quiet voice of his and crossed his arms over his chest. He made no move to leave the cozy warmth of the “movie night” nest Angel had made his bed into, though. Instead he jammed his hand into the popcorn bowl, taking a fistful and shoving it in his mouth. The crunch in his own head muffled Angel’s rehearsed come-ons, laid on thicker than cake icing and twice as sweet but it did nothing to distract from the visuals.
Even if Husk had trouble discerning the small text in the margins of the screen, he could read between Angel’s lines like they were printed in bold. He caught the flash of angry red teeth marks embossed into his thigh, hastily covered by the wardrobe team - even if they weren’t going for realism, who in their right mind wore stockings poolside? - He saw the little flinch close of Angel’s big, dilated eyes and jerk of his head when his costar reached for his neck before his chest expanded in a deep, resigned inhale and he offered his throat to grabbing hands.
“Husk, I had a good time in most of ‘em, honest!” Angel whined. He wrapped an arm around Husk’s raised shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. A huff came out of him like Angel had squeezed a broken squeaky toy.
“Not in this one.”
“Ok, you caught me” Angel would be the first to admit that Trophy Husband Gets Railed by Hunky Pool Boy 2 wasn’t one of his personal favorites. The script was bad and Val refused to let him improve even a word, and the pool boy in question wasn’t really Angel’s type. He kept biting him, hard, and reeked of a meaty, iron-y smell that clung to Angel’s fur for hours later. It made a lot of money, though. People love a sequel.
“Maybe somethin’ a little more vanilla is your style?” He offered with a raised eyebrow and selected another thumbnail. “This ones a cute little POV of me suckin’ this handsome fella’s dick” Angel explained, like Husk needed to understand the context to enjoy it, like even a single one of his viewers was watching for the plot.
“I was playin’ like he was my boyfriend.” He added sweetly with a teasing smile. One of his long fingers gave Husk’s shoulder a playful tap, trying to say ‘this could be us’, ‘’I could do this for you’ and ‘I’d like to do this with you.’ when his voice wouldn’t let him be quite so earnest.
Romance never did sit right on Angel's tongue.
Husk scowled before the video had hardly even started, but Angel didn’t miss the way his yellow eyes caught on his own pretty face in the shaky camera work as he got straight to very enthusiastically sucking some guy off. He honestly couldn't remember this costar's name. He'd been a last-minute sub in, someone a little newer in the industry but not bad by any means. A little grabby, but Angel would have been offended if he wasn't.
“Oh, finally found something you like, kitty cat?” Angel goaded, grinning over at Husk.
Husk bristled at the teasing, the fur on his neck puffing up in agitation “No!” he barked. He realized he was too loud with the way Angel’s little hand around his shoulder flinched, the fingers gripping just a touch tighter before the comfortable weight of his arm withdrew entirely.
Goddamn it, he knew he should have brought a bottle of something up here to calm his nerves. For someone who didn’t usually have a lot to say, he sure knew how to put his foot in his mouth at breakneck speed.
Husk uncrossed his arms and shoved a hand into the popcorn bowl again in irritation, his wide palmed hand grabbing and finding Angel reaching for a snack to diffuse the tension. Now it was his turn to recoil with a start, drawing his hand back to his chest like he’d found a roach in the bowl.
“...Sorry” he muttered and hoped Angel understood it was for, well, everything: touching without asking, raising his voice, probably eating more than his fair share of the popcorn. Sorry for just being here. He knew he should have turned down the 'little date night, nothin' serious. Just you, me, Nuggs, snacks and a movie.' Angel had offered him. Who had he been kidding.
Angel shifted his hips under the blanket so their knees weren’t knocked together anymore, putting a little distance between them while he popped a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth, chewing to fill the silence that was intermittently interjected with the wet sounds of him sucking a stranger's dick on screen. ‘You can get away from me if you want, if I make you uncomfortable’ is what he wanted to say but “I’ve done some solo stuff if it bothers ya seeing me with another man –” is what he came out of his mouth and he knew it was one push too many before he even said it.
“I don’t like this, Angel.” Husk growled but kept his volume in check. “I don’t like you pushin’ my buttons, and I don’t like watchin’ you lie through your teeth about enjoyin’ somethin’.”
It is what Angel does best, after all; push people away if they didn’t quite literally grab and pull him towards themselves greedily. The the man on screen was a great example, with a rough hand fisted in his hair, tugging Angel closer to himself.
“It's like watchin’ some creature that's got your face, like a skinwalker.” Husk gestured vaguely to the little screen between them, “‘Cause that” he stopped to jab a clawed finger at the video of Angel on his knees, gasping for air in a moment of respite where he was preparing to say some shitty, coy oneliner, “ain’t this guy” the same sharp claw turned on Angel, poking into the soft fluff on his chest through his sweater.
“You can just say you don’t like my actin’, Husk” Angel scoffed. The sting of rejection was sharp, like a thorn in his side that the tap of Husk’s finger kept tap, tap, tapping on.
Much like Angel, Husk didn’t know when to call it quits; fitting, for two addicts.
“It's some uncanny valley shit,” Husk was raising his voice again, fueled by the growing irritation and how Angel rolled all eight of his eyes while the Angel on screen was blinking away tears his gag reflex threatened to make spill.
“You better not be comparin’ my work to those soulless bots Mammon makes.” Angel threw his hands down on the blankets with a muted slap.
The commotion roused the little pig snoozing at the corner of the bed. He peeked a single eye open, assessing the situation before dismissing the spat.
“At least those things ain’t fakin’ it!” Husk sat up away from the headboard, disturbing the bowl of snacks between them. A few pieces went overboard and suddenly Nuggets was very interested in the argument, actually. “It's like theres two of ya! One that sits at my bar every evenin' and we laugh and shoot the shit-" Husk rounded back on the tablet screen, snarling at it "and then there's this guy, so deep in people pleasin' he's hardly even real."
"I am literally a people pleaser, Husk!" Angel shot back, aware his sweet piglet was now headfirst in the popcorn bowl but not caring. They both knew this was reaching a boiling point and one or both of them was moments away from storming out, best someone enjoy the snacks.
"You got a twin or somethin’ then?”
“Fuck you, I do!”
As soon as the words were out Angel wished he could shove them back in. He tried, slapping a hand over his mouth and nose so tightly his fingers dug into his cheeks. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t breathe; he held his breath like maybe if he just stopped moving the whole of hell would come to a halt with him.
When he flicked his eyes over to Husk, though, he was just looking at him, any heat from the argument snuffed out in an instant. Now those big dark eyes just reflected his performance back at him from the toppled tablet screen.
There weren’t rules in hell, no laws to break, no taboos, but there were two unspoken truths: Not even Lucifer himself was safe from Heaven’s exorcists, and nobody gave a shit who you were in life. It's almost laughable that in a place like hell, there were still don’t ask, don’t tells. And Angel had just told the unwanted answer to what Husk shouldn't have asked.
“I-I didn’t mean ta–” The quiet sounds of himself gagging on screen made him feel sick. He fumbled for the volume with a lower hand. “It was a joke, Husk!” He let out a wheeze with a smile on his face that was supposed to be a laugh. “Val woulda had a field day if there were two of me. Could you even imagine? Twice the money, twice the clients.” Angel let his mouth run in the hopes Husk would grab the wheel and steer them to an exit from this topic before he ran himself into a ditch to crash and burn.
Much like an actual car wreck, the onlooker only gawked. Husk sat still, shoulders slumping while he watched the micro shifts in Angel’s expression like flipping channels on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Fear, remorse, anger, pain.
Angel raised his voice, slapping on a bandaid of poorly cultivated anger. “Why’re you just-” his knees snapped up to his chest, the screen snuffed out against the blankets but the audio continued, mockingly keeping him in the spotlight, only muffled. “...starin' at me like that?” Angel’s voice dyed out on a whisper.
“Is he…somewhere I could meet ‘em?” Husk picked his words carefully. The question asked so much more than its face value. Is someone from Angel’s family in hell? Are they even dead? Does Angel know if they’re dead? Husk didn’t even know what decade Angel was from. He was a catty brat sometimes like those 90s and 2000s kids Husk had ran into down here but at the same time he'd heard Angel humming tunes Husk had heard warbling out of the radio in his lifetime. It filled his chest with…something. Not butterflies, not in hell. Maybe wasps? Some buzzing feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time rattled around behind his ribs while his mind wandered to a life where Angel might introduce him to someone important to him. A fiction where Angel might give Husk a street address and a date and time and he’d ask “what can I bring?” and Angel would shrug and say “maybe some wine, if ya insist.” And Husk would panic in the corner store the evening of, the watch on his wrist telling him he needed to hurry and choose between a red or white, but ultimately he’d decide to forgo the choice entirely and get a bottle of champagne, he needed to impress, after all–
Angel’s voice shocked him back like a splash of cold water to the face. “Nah she–” Angel closed his eyes, took a breath and flexed his hands from where they’d been digging into the meat of his thigh through the minky blanket they were sharing. Still sharing, despite everything. “She ain’t here.”
“It's just me”