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“What’s got you so quiet?” Husk asked. His pupils drifted over the tall white spider on the bar stool in front of him while he poured his friend another cosmopolitan.
Angel had this far away look in his eyes and hardly said a word after dinner. Which was rare. You usually couldn’t get him to shut the fuck up unless you gave him cash. Husk would know. He’s seen a patron at the club do it and laughed for a solid five minutes.
Finally, Angel glanced at him. His brow rose. “I thought you wer’ tired of everyone bitchin’ at you.”
Husk shrugged. “I don’t mind bitchin.’ I just don’t want it to be the only thing I’m good for.”
Angel looked him over before he glanced around. They were alone.
He took out his phone. “Usually I don’t have an issue with ‘Tino’s weird torture porn shit-“
He probably should, Husk thought to himself.
“-But this one…I…I dunno. It’s pretty tame compared to the others but it feels…worse.”
He gave Husk the phone and Husk started scrolling. “Am I crazy?” Angel asked, his chin resting on his palm.
Husk knew Angel’s been called every name in the book. He’s been a personal witness to it. Slut. Whore. Bitch. Hoe. Fudgepacker. Fairy. Flamer. Fruit. Hell, Husk has heard the more niche ones thrown at the spider, too. Ginzo. Goombah. Greaser. Wop. And Angel leaned into it every time. The smirk never cracked, his voice never betrayed his self-confidence. He’d give back just as good as he got.
‘Ouch! Ooh! Such an insult~ Lemme know when ya come up wit' somethin' creative to call me, ya sack o' poorly packaged horse shit!’ He’s laugh sarcastically with an eye roll before glancing at his nails, like whatever low life addressed him that way wasn’t worth the air he breathed. He told Husk he knew the same people slinging those slurs at him were the same ugly harlequins who’d pay Valentino for his time later. It kept them from getting to him. And 99% of the time, he was right.
But there was one slur that cracked at the demon’s self-assurance just enough. The smallest difference in the smirk. The tiniest change in the gleam of the eyes. It was the only one that really hurt, anymore. Husk knew it because when a shark sinner called Angel it one time, Angel’s sharp wit needed a second to recover. The come back wasn’t as funny. He made an excuse to leave the bar a couple minutes later, smile faker than it had been a few minutes prior.
Valentino and Angel had dated at one time. They’d been together for years. Angel said that Valentino promised him marriage if he signed that goddamn contract. Angel now is grateful he didn’t marry the monster, but at the time it had been an easy decision on Angel’s part. A big, strong man who could protect him from his father’s mob, keep his supply of drugs steady, and genuinely cared about him? Speed past every single red flag and sign your name, baby.
Husk knew that Valentino knew what he was doing when he wrote this. He knew that this was one of the few ways left to really hurt Angel Dust. Angel was so desensitized to the cruelty around him, so used to it, very little actually shook him up. Husk could count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen Angel need someone else’s protection. He never thought of a time when Angel asked for any.
“Why he gotta call you a ‘faggot’ so many damn times?” Husk put the phone down, a disgusted look on his face. “I’m not one to kink shame, but your overlord making you do this shit? Fuckin’ gross.”
“Valentino knows it was my fathah’s favorite slur to call me,” Angel replied with a casual shrug, like he hasn’t just dropped the verbal equivalent of a nuclear bomb. “He knows it brings me back there. When my fathah’s beatin’ the shit outta me for thinkin’s a guy’s hot and bringin’ shame to the family name or some stupid shit like that.”
Husk’s non-beating heart broke a lot of the time Angel talked. As much as Husk likes to talk about being real with people and respecting boundaries, he also used to push Angel away with a bad attitude and a severe disregard for how Angel may feel with Husk’s pokes and prods, the equivalent of a wrecking ball against walls he had no business trying to break without the consent of the builder. He thought he was doing the demon a favor by forcing some kind of camaraderie when admonishing him for looking at the bottom of a bottle for his solutions. Like Husk had any damn idea what it was like to be sex trafficked by your boyfriend. Like Husk knew what it was like to know all of Hell got off on you being raped. Because that’s what it was. It was rape. They both knew that. Angel had a tendency to use…nicer…language. But filming under the influence? No safe words? No ability to say ‘no?’ The constant threat of violence? And that was before Angel got very, very drunk and revealed that Valentino has grabbed his chest fluff for spank bank material on a number of occasions while beating him within an inch of his life. That was before Angel told Husk how far back he and Cherri went, when she would comfort him after Valentino raped him, no matter how many times he showed up before, no matter how many times he insisted this time was the last time and he was leaving for good. Husk had been cutting down on his own drinking because getting off heroin and cocaine is hard, damn it, and Husk wanted to support his friend. But when Angel went to bed that night, Husk uncorked the richest, strongest whiskey he could find and downed it to keep himself from going to that studio and tearing that damn moth apart inch by inch. He couldn’t overstep on Angel’s turf like that. Angel deserved to have say in how his abuser was dealt with whenever the time finally came.
When Husk took a wrecking ball to his own emotional walls first that night outside the club, it was easier for Angel to take reciprocate. A little slower than Husk would have liked, but that’s okay. They had time. They had eternity.
“You were born in the early 1900’s right?” Husk asked. He grabbed a glass and a rag. “Homophobic dad?”
Angel nodded silently, eyes on his cosmopolitan. “I dunno why it still hurts aftah all this time.”
Husk snorted. “If I could tell you I would. If my dad ever found out I’ve slept with men? He wouldda killed me a lot quicker than the alcohol did.”
Angel smiled softly. “Is anyone in Hell straight?”
“I think Nifty is.”
Angel scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That explains a lot.”
“Maybe to you.” Husk washed his glass. “…You’re not wrong for wantin your father to love you, you know.”
“It sure fuckin’ feels like it,” Angel pouted, eyes big and sad.
“Well…it’s his loss if he doesn’t see what a great man he helped bring into this world.”
Angel’s eyes got big and watery. He cleared his throat and looked away.
Husk has never seen Angel cry. Never. He’s only heard Angel’s voice break before he quickly gets himself together. Angel prided himself on his ability to be unflappable. It’s a hard-earned skill. Husk would honor it. For now.
“Ya want me to beat up your homophobic dad?” Angel asked after a moment.
Husk laughed, the first real laugh he’s had since Angel left for work that morning. “You can if you ever find the bustard.”
Angel finally looked back at him. “…Husk…thank you.”
Husk didn’t lean in. He didn’t close his eyes and plant a chaste kiss on that beautiful mouth. He didn’t tell Angel that he was so deeply loved already by everyone in the hotel, but also him. He kept that fantasy just a fantasy and smiled back.
“Any time, kid.”