There You Are

by ANClara

Summary:

Anthony is a fuck-up who is determined to earn a place by his father's side, though not for the reason everyone thinks. He finds that remaining goal-oriented is more difficult than he thought when he catches the eye of their rival's bodyguard.

Or

Human!Huskerdust 1940s Mafia AU where Angel and Husk meet while still alive. Will they reconnect in the afterlife?

Notes:

See tags for content warnings.

Chapter 1

Notes:

TYA turned 1 last week 😭🎉🥳

When I started writing this, I had no idea of the whirlwind to follow. I didn't anticipate writing anything other than a couple of chapters before disappearing from fic writing for another decade. I have met new friends I don't know how I ever lived without, traveled across the world, and learned a lot about myself and my writing style since then. I'm not sure where I'd be without There You Are.

As a thank you to the fic that is still my baby, I've given her a little face-lift. So far, I've only worked on chapter 1, but I plan on dressing up the rest as I go along, too. If you're new here, welcome 🥺 If you're rereading TYA for the x number of times, welcome back and THANK YOU. I wouldn't have kept writing without my wonderful readers, all your comments and support.

Cheers to another year of making my favorite queer demons fall in love a thousand times over 🥂

Anthony was at home in Las Vegas in a lot of ways. The bustling streets, lit up with a thousand bulbs on every corner and new neon signs popping up on the daily, felt a lot like New York. The buildings didn't quite reach the dizzying heights of his skyscrapers, but they still somehow felt larger than life. People were pretty much the same, too—always on the move, in a rush to get one place or another. Pretty unfriendly. Booze was the same, even if it cost a little more out here, still watered down in overpriced drinks. And work, unfortunately, was very much the same.

He wasn't really sure how the whole thing kicked off—their expansion into Vegas. It didn't make a whole lot of sense from the outside, and Anthony, as always, was definitely on the outside. As the youngest—and least liked—of the D'Angelo children, Anthony was kept out of the majority of the planning when it came to family business. He preferred it that way most days, too. The less involved he was, the easier it was to get away with whatever the fuck he wanted to do. His apathy was now coming around to bite him in the ass.

Anthony eyed himself in the mirror, uninterested in the figure he cut in his well-tailored suit. The pinstripe slacks emphasized his long legs, making them look like they went on for miles, even though he was overall fairly short-statured. The jacket, when unbuttoned, gave the illusion of a broader chest, disguising his thin frame. It also concealed the pistol on his right hip. A bland slate gray tie completed the look. It was a color Anthony didn’t care for, but it matched what his family would be wearing, and he was not attempting to stand out.

Of course, he looked amazing—Anthony always did no matter how he was dressed. He had to admit he liked how the masculine clothes made him look more imposing, aligned more with his status. At the same time, his skin was too tight and spiders skittered all over his body. He felt more comfortable in clothes his sister would wear, loose slacks and blouses, the occasional skirt if he could get away with it when no one else was around. This presentation never felt right, even though he had an image to uphold. That didn't mean he had to like it.

He did another once-over to make sure everything was perfect. Anthony had to be perfect.

“Ay, Tony, hurry the fuck up, would ya? You tryna be the prettiest princess at the ball?”

Anthony's brother, Carmelo, stood in the doorway behind him, hands shoved in his pockets in a casual way that was betrayed by the tension in his shoulders. If he was nervous for this meeting, Anthony should've been pissing himself right now. Instead, he straightened his tie unnecessarily and asked Carmelo if he had a smoke. The elder brother rolled his eyes and threw his cigarette case at Anthony.

“We ain't gonna be late, asshole,” Anthony said as he lit a cigarette between his lips. “Ain't tryna have Pops in a bad mood for the meetin'.”

Anthony took a long drag of the cigarette, feeling the rush of hot smoke down his throat, into his lungs. He remembered the first time he smoked, how he hacked and coughed for several minutes and screwed up his face at the taste of the tar as it clung to his teeth and lungs. After that, Anthony had sworn off ever picking up the habit, unsure why anyone would willingly kiss a filter until your eyes watered. Funny that, how Anthony thought smoking tobacco was the worst thing a guy could do to himself. Somewhere along the way, he became a dozen cigarettes a day man, though he couldn't tell you when that happened.

Carmelo rolled his eyes. “And since when are ya reliable for fuck all?”

He had a point. Carmelo was their father's favorite for a reason—he was even named after Carlo. Anthony was always fucking up one thing or another. He was notoriously late, but only for the less important things, he reminded everyone. While he was the family fuck-up, he didn't need to give his father any more reasons to get rid of him. And Carlo would. Anthony was just lucky he was good at what he did well when it came down to it.

Anthony waved off his brother and motioned for him to lead the way. The men traveled the busy halls together in the silence they were used to. They didn't have much to say to each other outside of business, and as long as Ma wasn't around, they didn't have to pretend. When the elevator doors shut and left them alone again, Carmelo glanced at Anthony from the corner of his eye.

“This is a big deal, Tony. Don't fuck it up. It ain't like the shit we do in New York. These people—”

“I ain't an idiot, Carmelo, even if ya think I am,” Anthony snapped.

The men made tense eye contact through their reflections on the mirrored walls. Carmelo's eyes narrowed. They were the same color as Anthony and their sister Molly's—a rich brown, like a good espresso. That is where the resemblance ended.

Even as fraternal twins, Anthony and Molly looked so much alike, all pale skin smattered with a dusting of freckles. Anthony had deep golden curls framing his face that he wished he could grow longer to match Molly better. Meanwhile, Carmelo was tall and a bit stockier with tan skin, like their father. His dark hair was always neatly slicked back, a few greys growing out at the temples but never a strand out of place. He looked like the kind of man who could handle taking over the family business when their Pops died. Anthony looked exactly like what he was: a useless pretty boy.

If the twins hadn't shared the brown eyes and pointed nose of their father, there might've been some trouble for Ma. They looked nothing like the rest of the family, having inherited all of their mother's most delicate features. Anthony liked looking like Ma, down to the fullness of his lower lip and thick, dark eyelashes. She and Molly were the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. He liked being beautiful like them instead of rugged like D'Angelo men should be. And his father hating it gave Anthony even more reason to love living in his skin.

“This is your chance to prove you ain't as stupid as ya look,” Carmelo finally said.

Anthony only nodded then looked away from his brother, taking another couple quick puffs of his cigarette. The elevator stopped on the ground floor several seconds later. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray installed next to the doors and regretted it almost instantly because now he didn't know what to do with his hands. Anthony settled on one in his pocket and the other hanging limply at his side, even though that didn't feel right either. He always felt like he had too many arms to keep track of how they moved, even if it was only two. They weren't in the meeting yet, but that didn't mean they weren't being watched, and Anthony couldn't keep fidgeting if he wanted to be taken seriously. So his hands remained where they were.

The elevator opened onto the casino floor and was louder than anything Anthony had experienced before. That was saying something, considering all the time he spent in the city back home. Between the shouting of gamblers at various card tables, simultaneous pinging of dozens of slot machines, and the live music being played at top volume, Anthony felt his bones vibrating with sound. He was somewhat overwhelmed by it now but knew if he took a hit of something in the bathroom first he would have a great time. Maybe tonight he would give it a try.

Carmelo took Anthony across the floor and into a hallway where some of their men were waiting for them. They were far enough from the main casino now that the sounds were muffled, though still identifiable. Anthony would have normally welcomed the volume shift; today, walking toward the conference room with the sounds slowly fading behind them made Anthony's chest tighten. He'd led enough men down a similar road before taking them out. He had to force his breathing to remain steady, reminding himself that he knew this meeting was legitimate. It wasn't a front for his execution, it was just a meeting.

At the end of the hall stood their father, flanked on either side by his usual muscle. He greeted Carmelo with the smallest of smiles and clapped him on the shoulder, proud of his first son and the man he had become. Then he regarded Anthony like an afterthought and his expression soured again. Anthony bowed his head respectfully, afraid his voice might reveal he lacked the confidence he forced into his posture.

"Don't embarrass me, Anthony."

The or else was heavily implied. His father's voice was stern, low, an attempt at discretion. Still, Anthony had to grit his teeth, ashamed at having been called out in front of everyone.

"Yes, father," he replied obediently.

Other than the quick exchange, his father did not seem too displeased with Anthony today. The youngest D'Angelo made sure his tie was straight nearly a dozen times, that there was not a single scuff mark on his expensive leather shoes. Anthony had taken today more seriously than anything he could remember. It appeared that his efforts were paying off so far. But he had no other choice.

Anthony wasn't supposed to be here; Carmelo was the only D'Angelo kid invited to the meeting in Vegas. Anthony pleaded with his father, damn near dropping to his knees begging to come along. He tried extra hard to not fuck up even a single job over the last few weeks, and he was ready to prove himself to everyone. Not that Anthony cared what any of those assholes thought of him. No, his motivation was much more personal.

Carmelo was married. He had a kid on the way and was doing the family proud. Molly was going steady with some schmuck their father approved for her. It looked like they were barreling their way toward marital bliss as well. That left Anthony—the youngest, stupid fuck-up. Pops told him he needed to get serious and fast. Anthony knew it was coming, even before his brother’s wedding; it was only a matter of time before his infrequent and pathetic attempts at relationships with women weren't enough anymore.

Anthony would take a nice girl on a date every once in a while. It wasn't hard to convince them to go out; Anthony was attractive, well-liked, and wasn't nervous around women. Actually, he found them easy to talk to, easier than men since he had more in common with them. A few times when Anthony was really desperate to get his family off his back, he would take a broad back to his place, have the worst sex of his life, and never talk to them again. It was embarrassing, being known as a terrible fuck, but Anthony had to do what he could when his father became a little too suspicious of his... extracurricular activities. The act served its purpose for as long as humanly possible. Now he had to figure out something else to appease his father.

So that's why Anthony insisted he should go to Las Vegas with them. Carmelo was five years his senior and he just now settled down. If Anthony could insert himself into the business, become an asset rather than a liability, he could buy himself some more time—half a decade ain't nothing to sneeze at. Maybe it would give him enough time to think up another excuse to avoid marriage. Anthony wasn't ready to be saddled with the responsibility of his own family, the expectations a wife would have of him. He already had to expend so much energy hiding most of himself from everyone, and that was with him living alone far across the city from the others. A live-in family would make it that much more difficult. Dangerous. Unlivable.

The doors to the conference room opened and they were invited inside. Each of the Italians were required to relinquish their firearms upon entry, which rubbed Anthony the wrong way. It went against everything he was taught from the time he learned what a gun is, that you never go anywhere without protection. Well, if that was the case, Anthony tried leaving his gun in his room upstairs since he wouldn't have access to it anyway. Carmelo said that was stupid for more reason than one.

"Never walk into potential enemy territory unarmed."

"How the fuck is it any different than lettin' them take—?"

Carmelo punched him for "talking back." Anyway, even if Anthony had left his gun upstairs, the Russians weren't going to believe him.

"Unless ya wanna be humiliated with a pat down or somethin' worse in front 'a everyone, you're gonna bring your gun an' give it up when asked."

That's how it was done, and exactly how it happened.

Anthony was then invited to sit next to Carmelo, who sat at their father’s right. He took a steadying breath as he tried to ignore the sleight against him. The brothers should be seated on either side of their father as a show of respect to their rank. Instead, one of Pop's favorites took his place on the boss' left. This was already going worse than Anthony thought and they just got there. He forced his hands to remain still despite his mounting anxiety, keeping them folded together on the table like his brother's.

Across the table, the benefactor of the evening was seated comfortably, lazily smoking a cigar with one hand and palming a glass of clear liquor with the other. The lines of his pale face were deep, deeper than Pops', and there wasn't a hint of color left in his hair—white as Ma's Cadillac. Old, fat, rich-looking motherfucker.

He looked at ease as if everyone in the room were close friends of many years rather than two factions bordering on a major dispute. That set Anthony more on edge than anything. He tried to channel his years of practice into appearing nonchalant. He wasn't sure how successful he was, especially with the sensation of sweat starting to dew on the back of his neck.

“Carlo,” the man said in his rich Russian accent. “It is pleasure to be seeing you again.”

Pops returned the pleasantries, though Anthony didn't understand the words or hear the name he used, drowning in his own nervousness. Then Carmelo was introduced, but Anthony… was pointedly not. Anthony tried not to become enraged by the blatant disrespect; he had to be agreeable if his plan was going to work and with him getting worked up already, it was a bad start. Still, Anthony clenched his jaw tightly to bite back everything he wanted to shout at his father in the moment.

The Russian countered by introducing his own son whose name Anthony also didn't catch. It didn't really matter anyway. Not like Anthony would be given any real responsibility that would require him to know names or directly interact with anyone. He continued to sulk for several minutes, utilizing his energy to resist fidgeting.

It was some time later when Anthony noticed the person standing just over the shoulder of the Russian, a respectful but safe distance between boss and bodyguard. His skin was even darker than Carmelo's, jet-black hair similarly slicked back. It was hard to peg how old the guy was, though he couldn't have been much older than the D'Angelo boys. He was tall, and his suit barely concealed how muscular he was, though Anthony's jaw went slack watching how the jacket strained over his upper arms when he moved.

And when he finally glanced up at the stranger’s face, Anthony was nearly startled out of his chair when he saw that the man was staring back at him.

Anthony must have at least partially dropped his steady facade because one side of the man's lips curled into an amused smile. He felt his face getting hot under the weight of the attention. Anthony had to rein it in quickly before his skin betrayed him by turning an unmistakable shade of scarlet. Fortunately for him, everyone else in the room had their attention on the strained negotiations, where Anthony's should've been as well. Even though he tried and somewhat succeeded, Anthony caught himself sneaking quick peeks at the man more often than he liked. Some of those times the man was looking back. Even when he wasn't, that amused smile never left his face.

It was torture being so close to this man, completely understanding the extent of their exchange, but being unable to get any closer. They didn't have to speak the same language for Anthony to know they were alike in their interests. He had more than enough experience back home with men, even in social circles where it was unlikely for him to find someone to take back to his place for the night. It always started with a look. But Anthony never felt quite like this.

He managed to get a grip on himself long enough to get the gist of what happened at the meeting. It ended in a tentative truce that they would have to explore further in the upcoming months. Anthony knew this would take some time, but he wasn't expecting to be here for more than a week or two. Not that he minded when there was such a good view…

The view in question exited the room behind his boss but not before scanning Anthony up and down with a sadistically attractive expression. Anthony forced a cough into the crook of his elbow so that he would have even a pathetic excuse to explain the color creeping up his neck. The man's face screwed up like he was holding back a laugh. Then he was gone.

Carlo beckoned for their people to exit the room next, each man collecting the gun they had forfeited at the beginning. Anthony made sure to stay close to his father and brother so he could leave as closely to the Russian man as possible. He could see the top of his head amongst his associates but not much else. Anthony didn't know what he expected other than disappointment. Well, he found it.

Carlo's voice tore Anthony abruptly out of his thoughts. “I'm surprised ya sat still for once in your goddamn life, Tony.”

Anthony perked up at that. Was that… genuine praise? He couldn't remember a single time when his father said anything neutral about him, much less something like this. Beside him, Carmelo had an unreadable expression that Anthony liked to think was concealed approval; his brother was about as forthcoming with positive reinforcement as Carlo. The conversation in Anthony's room was as close to a heart-to-heart as the brothers ever had, so Anthony wanted to believe his performance was praiseworthy, even if he spent half of the meeting eye-fucking the Russian bodyguard.

“Thanks, Pops. I told ya, I wanna do good by the family.”

Carlo hummed thoughtfully but said nothing else on the matter. He and Carmelo broke from the group to continue discussing their game plan. Anthony didn't mind that he wasn't asked to join. He was afraid that he'd be pushing his luck, especially since he didn't know the finer details of the meeting.

All Anthony could think about from that point on is how the Russian man looked at him. He'd never been so happy to be undressed by someone's eyes as he was tonight. It had been a while since Anthony fucked anyone, and he didn't think he would be able to on this business trip since he usually tried to refrain from sleeping around when he was working. He was cautious, scared of taking the additional risk away from home. But now that he knew this was an extended stay, Anthony was unlikely to behave himself for too long. Regardless, he knew needed to stay far away from the Russian’s bodyguard, if nothing else. It was a bad idea to get any closer to their group than strictly necessary.

Anthony wasted no time retrieving some coke from the private stash in his room. He expertly lined up the powder in two neat lines on the nightstand and made them disappear in quick succession, tilting his head back with fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Cocaine wasn't necessarily his favorite drug, the manufactured chemical taste always unpleasantly thick as it ran down the back of his throat. Still, it was a drug easily accessible via his father's business and always did the trick.

The headrush was nearly instantaneous and Anthony messily brushed the fine powdered remnants away from the table with the back of his hand, then scrubbed it across his face for good measure. The last thing he needed was for Carmelo to find any evidence he was using. Again.

Let's fucking do this, Anthony thought to himself as he swept out the door and headed for the casino.

Chapter 2

Notes:

I already have 4.5 chapters written and I'm impatient, so here you go. See tags for content warnings.

Anthony loved the casino. Everything was so bright and loud and fun. The vibration he'd felt in his bones earlier was more like a pleasant hum throughout his body that made him feel alive. That was the best part about drugs: he felt like life was worth living when he was high, even though so much of his existence was bullshit. Any negative thoughts that popped into his head were easily pushed away. Nothing was going to ruin his night. He could thank the cocaine for that.

He first spent some time trying to understand the slot machines. Pops ran an illegal gambling ring up in New York, but it was mostly horse racing and sports betting. Even if his father hadn't prohibited all the D'Angelo kids from participating, none of that interested Anthony anyway. He found that he liked the slots and how the various moving parts spun so quickly the symbols were unrecognizable until they came to a full stop. Sometimes money came out. Sometimes nothing happened. He wasn't quite sure what the rules were, but he was too high to care. It was a good time regardless. Fuck those horses and baseball, this was fun.

Even the slots grew boring after a time and Anthony went to get a drink, hoping some liquor would potentiate his high. Alcohol was illegal when they were growing up and Carlo made an absolute killing with underground booze, cashing in on people’s desperation to escape life at the bottom of a bottle. This income stream died out when Prohibition ended but Anthony didn't mind because it meant he could drink freely, like at the casino tonight. Plus their family was wealthy regardless. He didn't notice any difference in his lifestyle before or after Prohibition, though he was smarter than to say this out loud, especially around his father.

Anthony leaned against the bar counter, chin on his hand, as he waited for the next bartender available to serve him. He hoped it would be the cute ginger guy across the way so he could gauge his odds of getting lucky tonight—and he didn't mean at the slots. Someone else made it over to him first.

“Can I get your drink for you?” someone asked from behind.

The voice reminded him of smooth, flowing honey and it made Anthony want to do the most sinful things to the person it belonged to. Electricity shot straight up his spine. Forget the ginger, he was taking whoever this was to bed the second he got the chance. Though he wasn't sure how he clocked Anthony for being queer when he didn't remember interacting with anyone else tonight…

Anthony turned around to face his soon-to-be newest bed companion when he was stunned into forgetting his next line. The Russian bodyguard from the meeting was within inches of him, hand raised slightly to signal one of the bartenders over. He shouted his order over the commotion—whiskey, neat—and turned back to Anthony, asking what he wanted. The blond just stared back at him in shock, much like during their first encounter. The man raised an amused eyebrow at him but did not try prompting him again. Anthony continued looking at him dumbly.

“Make that two!” he added with a laugh. The bartender nodded and poured their drinks, sliding them across the bar top with practiced ease.

Anthony would have recovered more quickly if he hadn't laughed. The sound was like nothing he ever heard before. He wanted him to do it again.

The man held out one of the glasses to Anthony, which he took without having to think, which was good because his brain was spinning quicker than the slot machine symbols. He tried to blame everything on the coke, but he knew that was a shit excuse. The man laughed again and leaned closer until he spoke into Anthony's ear.

“I should have assumed you might not speak English,” he said in Italian, trying another language instead. Somehow his voice was an even better fit with Anthony's mother tongue, how it effortlessly caressed each syllable like a lover.

Anthony felt himself turning red again. Whether from embarrassment or arousal, he couldn't tell; It was likely a combination of both. He was brought to reality by his frustration.

“I speak it fine, asshole!” Anthony shot back in a harsh whisper.

The man reared back in surprise, though the smile remained on his face. “There you are,” he said with a laugh. “My next guess was you couldn’t speak at all.”

The man brought his glass to his lips, tilting it just enough to down the contents in one gulp. He looked at Anthony's drink expectantly, so Anthony followed suit. They both set their glasses on the bar top where they were quickly refilled as though the bartender knew exactly what he wanted before he asked.

“Name’s Henry.”

“Anthony. Tony to my friends.” He downed the second glass without a thought. He needed it desperately, even if he didn't usually care for whiskey. “Ya sure as fuck don't sound Russian.”

Another laugh. Anthony thought his legs would collapse beneath him.

“That's because I'm not,” Henry answered without elaborating.

“Ya also ain't Italian, so what are ya, some kinda mutt?”

Henry held back a chuckle at that. “You could say that. I've been around. Picked up some things in my travels.”

Anthony didn't retort that an entire language isn't something you just pick up . Henry finished his second drink and asked if Anthony wanted another. He did, but he needed to give his mind a minute to catch up. Then Henry asked him something else, Anthony thought he heard “cards”. He mentally shook his head to clear it of Henry's sultry take on Italian. The words were on repeat in his head, making him want to melt into the floor.

Henry scrunched up his face, mouth stretched into a thin line, as he tried not to laugh again. “Is that a no?”

“What's that?” Anthony recovered, though it was a pathetic attempt.

“Do you play cards?”

Anthony tucked both hands in his pockets and leaned against the bar top. He tried being the cool, unbothered guy he normally was around men. “Sometimes. Not real big on ‘em.”

“Because you're a sore loser?” Henry’s question was a challenge and Anthony was pissed that he was going to fall for it. “”Cause I could always teach you.”

Henry's quirked eyebrow returned, testing the waters. Anthony hated how fucking handsome his stupid sarcastic face was. He hated that the taller man knew it too. That is why he liked sticking to nice, average to moderately attractive men back home. It also drew less attention when only one gorgeous man, Anthony, was a part of the pair. Two insanely beautiful men leaving a club together would turn a few more heads, though not dangerously so. Anthony also liked being the hotter, funnier one in any situation. Then he didn't have to work to impress them. They were already blown away by his looks and charm, no need for him to play it up.

That's why talking to Henry was so goddamn unbearable. The long lashes… His sculpted jawline and even sharper wit. Those muscles he couldn't take his eyes off of at the meeting. It made Anthony want to prove himself, show he was worthy of touching a man as perfect as the one standing before him. He never felt like anyone was out of his league before. It made the pit of his stomach roil with disdain.

He was fucking Anthony D’Angelo for fuck’s sake! There was never a man with an ounce of sense in his body that would turn him down. So why did he feel like this might be the first time? Then again, Henry approached him and bought him a drink. As always, he was being pursued and he could work with that.

“Are ya offerin’ to help a fella get lucky?” Anthony purred, feeling confident while slipping into a more flirtatious persona.

“I could be persuaded to.” The casual shrug of his shoulders brought Anthony's attention back to how tight Henry's clothes were when he flexed. He would like to thank his tailor personally for the gift.

“Yeah… I'd like that.”

Henry took Anthony around the casino, pointing out what games were played where on the floor. The blond asked about his familiarity with the layout and Henry said he'd spent a lot of time here as a kid. He didn't press for more details. They both knew that you have to grow up fast in their world, you do what it takes to establish yourself as young as possible. Even Anthony had vaguely important jobs from when he could be trusted to walk down the street.

Anthony didn't pay attention to which table Henry chose for them. You think he would, given how the rest of the details were burned into his mind, but he played dumb so that Henry had to keep explaining the game's rules. Anthony also wasn't above tossing money away and pretending to lose repeatedly so Henry ultimately had to stop playing to give Anthony's hand more attention. The brunette slid his chair closer until his knee brushed Anthony’s. A breath caught in his throat. This is the first time Henry touched him.

“So that's what went wrong in the last round,” finished Henry, completing his tangent on why Anthony's decisions were shit.

“Uh huh, that makes sense,” Anthony lied. He didn't hear anything Henry said, just relishing in the sound of his voice breathed into his ear, the feeling of his leg against him. It's almost like the blond wasn't even paying attention to the cards…

Under the table, Henry's hand settled on Anthony's knee for a second and squeezed. It was discreet, in theory, other than how it made the shorter man's skin take on the color of the casino's carpet. But Anthony fortunately kept a straight face. He reached for his drink with a hand he was surprised wasn't trembling and tipped it back. A waiter went to replace the empty glass with one that was full but Anthony waved him off. He'd had enough if he didn't want to embarrass himself further.

He was even more glad he declined the drink when Henry reached up to loosen his tie, letting it fall carelessly around his neck. Anthony’s gaze was drawn to the hollow of Henry's throat, which was now exposed. His breath hitched. He was starving for this man. The game did very little to distract him from that fact.

“It doesn't take much to get you going, does it?” Henry's tone was lightly teasing. It's not like he was naive about his looks. He knew exactly what he did to people, just like Anthony did.

“Says the guy who eye-fucked me in front ‘a his boss for an hour!” snapped Anthony quietly.

“And we see how much you enjoyed the audience,” Henry countered mischievously. “But I'd rather fuck you alone if it's all the same to you.”

Anthony's mouth went dry. He panicked, looking around to see if anyone had heard Henry. The dark-haired man knew exactly what he was doing though, and no one would hear their very public private conversation over the casino's ambiance. Anthony remained frozen, now for a very different reason. He had never been free to do anything remotely like this in New York. Even the bars Anthony frequented maintained a relatively reasonable volume, meaning that any number of people could listen in on what you were saying.

“Take me,” Anthony demanded. “Now.”

Henry's eyes lit up and he cashed out with the dealer for them as fast as he could. He started for the opposite side of the casino, one Anthony hadn't seen, and Anthony followed. Despite their height difference, he had no difficulty keeping up with Henry. Anthony had the advantage of long legs and his desperation to touch the man leading the way. As thrilling as it was to hear Henry say those things out loud, he longed to openly touch him in front of everyone, to show them that this man was his for the night. He would have to settle for this.

They wound through the crowd with relative ease. Most people were swarmed around tables or slots, leaving the walkways primarily open for their intended purpose. There was a time or two when someone who had overindulged slowed them down, bent at the waist to vomit directly on the carpet. They sidestepped and continued, undeterred.

The alcohol began making Anthony's head feel pleasantly light. He drank just enough to take the edge of nervousness off without impairing him. After one encounter ended badly, Anthony had since aimed to be sober enough to extricate himself from all future scenarios. It was one of his only rules. If he was going to live dangerously, he needed some guidelines to limit the fallout. He was only happy that he didn't have a standing rule about fucking a rival's bodyguard. He would have probably broken it anyway because how could he pass up a night with Henry?

They forewent the elevator in a halfhearted attempt at discretion. It was one thing for them to have a casual drink at the bar or a friendly game of cards, another to be seen going to Henry's floor without any reasonable explanation. By the time they reached the fifth floor, Anthony was grateful no one had attempted to build anything much taller in Las Vegas. He was also relieved that the hall was empty at this time of night, everyone either out on the town or gambling away downstairs.

Henry unlocked the door after several attempts of fumbling with his key. His desperation made Anthony's gut twist with desire. He couldn't remember the last time he wanted someone this badly if he ever had. Silently he cheered when the door swung open at last. The taller man pulled him inside and slammed it shut behind them. Then Henry's lips were on his and Anthony knew he would never be the same.

Anthony pulled Henry down by his slack tie and still had to roll up onto the balls of his feet to accommodate their height difference. Anthony knew that the brunette could manhandle him however he wanted and that sent another thrill through him. He wanted Henry in a wild way. It was like Henry knew what he was thinking. He reached for the back of Anthony's thighs and prompted him to hop up to wrap them around his hips. He was pressed roughly up against the door. Anthony felt a familiar shape against his inner thigh, making him smile against Henry's lips.

“That a gun in ya waistband or are ya just happy to see me?”

Henry reluctantly removed one of the hands that was exploring Anthony's backside to swiftly take his gun from the holster, still holding Anthony against the door with only his weight. He emptied the bullet from the chamber onto the floor with an efficiency Anthony prayed carried over to his talents in bed. The shorter man reached for his pistol too and was surprised when Henry did not seem even slightly jarred by the motion. With their work, you usually weren't casual about your rival pulling a weapon on you. Henry took the gun as it was handed to him, setting both aside on the entry table. He didn't even check if Anthony's was loaded. Before he could decide if he was offended or touched, Henry's mouth claimed his even more urgently this time.

Now there was no doubt that the hardness pressing into Anthony's thigh was exactly what he wanted. Henry ran his palm up Anthony's leg, then his waist, and settled with a firm grip on the back of his neck. Anthony fisted one of his hands in Henry's shirt and the other into his dark hair, testing his limits with a forceful tug. Henry moaned into his mouth and Anthony was ready to come undone. He needed this man more than the air in his lungs.

“Henry,” Anthony begged breathlessly, pulling away from the kiss just enough to get the words out. “Please.”

He didn't need to ask twice. Henry wrapped his arms securely around Anthony whose lips moved down to his throat, kissing and nipping at whatever skin was exposed. The blond didn't even register when his back hit the mattress, his focus solely on Henry making those ungodly sounds under his touch. They helped each other messily remove their suit jackets first, then Anthony started on the buttons of Henry's shirt as the latter's hand began working him through his pants.

Anthony rolled his hips up into the touch and made a sound he wasn't sure he'd ever made before. It was needy, wanting like he was for the brunette on top of him. He didn't think he ever sounded this desperate. Usually, it was his lovers who begged for him—to touch him, taste him, to have him for just a short while. Now it seemed the tables had turned. He didn’t have the brainpower left to be annoyed by the development.

Henry sat up briefly to undo Anthony's belt, then his pants. He pulled them down just far enough that he could easily free the blond's cock and palm it once again without anything between it and his hand. Anthony had barely even finished unbuttoning Henry's shirt before he was distracted by the sensation of the rough hand around him.

“Henry,” Anthony nearly whined. He trailed his fingers down Henry's exposed chest, pleased to feel the muscles tense when he said his lover's name.

“You're so desperate for me.”

“Fuck you. Like ya don't want me real bad, too.”

Henry ran his thumb up Anthony's length and reveled in the sound it elicited from him. “You sound so perfect, Anthony. Tell me how much you want me.”

Anthony was about to tell him he could go fuck himself instead when a loud banging sounded from the door. He reflexively covered himself with one of the discarded jackets and tried not to panic. Henry just groaned angrily but did not move away from him.

“What do you want!”

Someone answered back in what Anthony assumed was Russian. They didn't sound angry though, so the man likely didn't know he was there. Henry rolled his eyes and smiled down at Anthony. He replied to whoever it was with a good-natured tone, pushing the jacket to the floor and resuming stroking Anthony. The blond looked at him with wide eyes.

“What the fuck are ya doin’!”

Henry laughed sweetly, not helping with either his terror or arousal. “I'm finishing what I started.”

“Not with whoeva the fuck is poundin’ on the door!”

“I told him I have someone pretty in my bed and I'm not leaving until I’m done.”

Anthony's core went molten. Pretty. He liked the way it sounded on Henry’s tongue.

The outside voice said something. Anthony had no fucking clue what was happening, so he focused on stifling the sounds Henry was drawing from him. The taller man started his next sentence in English for Anthony to understand.

“I said I'll be done in a minute!” Then he added what Anthony thought was a curse in Russian.

The man in the hall laughed boisterously. “Fine! Fuck you, too!” But there was no sound of retreating footsteps, so Anthony knew the man was still waiting.

Henry seemed annoyed but only mildly so. He then apologized to Anthony in the best way the blond could imagine. Henry moved to kneel at the end of the bed and roughly dragged Anthony down by the hips until he nearly came off the edge. The blond yelped in pleasant surprise. His lover rested one of Anthony’s long legs on each of his shoulders, then his mouth replaced the work his hand had been doing only moments before.

Anthony had to bite down on his hand to keep himself from yelling out. Henry firmly pressed the blond against the bed to prevent him from taking control, but his thumbs rubbed soft, comforting circles over his hip bones. His head bobbed at a furious pace that Anthony normally wouldn't enjoy were the context not just so. There wasn't much in the way of technique, just desperate need. He found that the slight exhibitionism and urgency of the act brought him to completion as quickly as Henry had hoped.

Anthony cried out Henry's name as he came, the sound muffled by his hand. He felt his legs trembling where they were wrapped around Henry's shoulders and he could not will them to stop. Henry swallowed, kissed the inside of the blond's thigh, and smiled at him smugly. He then immediately removed himself and started redressing as Anthony came down from one of the most intense orgasms he ever had. It was like Henry was completely unaffected by what they just did.

The blond propped himself up on his elbows and glared at Henry, angry with him yet again. How could he just leave like that? No one walked out on Anthony. He was perfection incarnate and you don't just leave that half-utilized in your bed. Henry seemed to understand where his mind had gone, coming back to kiss Anthony sweetly.

“I have to go, baby. You can stay as long as you like. Not sure when I'll be back,” Henry said in a rush. His fingers delicately caressed the side of Anthony's face. “I'd like to see you again.”

“Uh, yeah. I'd like that too.”

Henry looked incredibly self-satisfied. “Then I'll see you around.” Another soft kiss against his lips. Henry's eyes lingered on Anthony's mouth when he pulled away. “Fuck, you're beautiful.”

Anthony was too dumbfounded to speak.

Then Henry was gone. The door shut and locked behind the brunette and Anthony was left alone in the dark wondering what the fuck just happened. He could hear the two men's voices fading as they moved down the hallway, speaking jokingly in Russian. He took a minute to collect himself, dress, and grab his gun from the table before leaving.

Anthony returned to his room and was already ready for a second round he wouldn't get tonight. The aftermath of their rendezvous had him hard, touching himself the way Henry had until he came again. He hated himself for letting the brunette bastard walk out like that before he was finished with him. But then he remembered the reverence on Henry's face as he called Anthony beautiful…

He was so fucked.

After bathing, Anthony dried his hair in the mirror and carefully styled some of his curls with deft fingers. He kept looking at his lips, reminiscing on how Henry kissed him. He saw a light pink reminder of where Henry gripped the back of his neck. Though the pressure was not bruising, Anthony's delicate porcelain skin remembered what it had felt like to be held by him. Similar marks decorated either side of his hips and he was pleased, though he knew they would fade soon. He hoped some of the bites he'd left on Henry would be just visible enough on his dark skin for him to enjoy too. Anthony didn't stop smiling for the night.

He fell asleep with the thought of Henry calling him baby and the soft caress of his face.

Notes:

The next chapter takes a turn, so check tags for content warnings.

Chapter 3

Notes:

I'm apparently going to crank out this entire fic in like a week. Enjoy!

See tags for content warnings.

The next morning started off… normally.

Anthony felt like his entire existence had been upended last night but nothing had changed when he left his room. At all. He didn’t understand how something as impactful as Henry could leave him feeling completely ordinary once he returned to the land of the living. It was like nothing happened, the night conjured by his coke and whiskey-fueled imagination. But Anthony could never imagine how it felt to be held by Henry, even for the little time he had him.

He joined Carmelo for breakfast as usual, though their father did not make his regular appearance this morning. They maintained their easy silence, which made it more pleasant for them to be around each other. The brothers may not get along, but it was often because they were too much alike rather than too little; stubborn, hot-headed men who liked to get their way no matter what. That, and Anthony was still pissed about what happened before the meeting yesterday. He needed to bite his tongue if he wanted to maintain the peace and keep this thing going smoothly.

“Pops wanted me to talk to ya,” Carmelo said toward the end of their meal, preventing Anthony from ducking out the door the second he finished his food.

“Why don’t he tell me himself?”

“Christ, Tony. Can ya shut the fuck up already? Ya don’t even know what it’s about.”

Anthony wanted to protest further but Carmelo was right. He didn’t know what his brother was going to say. Their father probably wouldn’t have even brought it up at breakfast if he came anyway. He said he didn’t talk business during a meal. So Anthony would have waited all day to hear it from the source’s mouth. The blond brother motioned for Carmelo to go on, trying to put on an air of disinterest.

“We gotta job for you.”

His blood boiled at his brother’s use of we . It was like he was purposefully drawing the line between them with Anthony on one side, Carmelo and Pops on the other. Anthony pressed his mouth together in a tight line and waited.

“We gotta rat, Tony,” Carmelo said reluctantly. “Pops suspected him ‘fore we even left New York but now we know. He’s tryna fuck up this good thing we got goin’ with the Russians.”

Anthony obviously didn’t pay enough attention at the meeting to argue with his brother that things didn’t necessarily seem good with the Russians. Well, beyond what happened between him and Henry last night. The thought nearly made him blush, so he shoved it way to the back of his mind.

Now it made sense, Carlo’s lack of reluctance in bringing Anthony to Las Vegas. He thought his father truly believed in him and his promises to be better, to make them proud. Of course he didn’t. Pops probably saw right through his bullshit but didn’t care enough to figure out his ulterior motives. They needed him to do the one thing he was actually good at. His only exploitable talents were how well Anthony shot a gun and getting people alone to use it. Carmelo was nearly as good as him, too. However, Anthony came with the bonus of being expendable if he died; the other brother was actually important.

“Who is it?” He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to see the image of the man he likely knew most of his life flash in his mind. But it was his job.

“Frankie,” Carmelo said coldly as though the man was already dead to him. As far as the family was concerned, he was.

Anthony showed no outward reaction. Fortunately for him, it wasn’t one of the few men who he viewed in a more favorable light than his father. He wasn’t sure what he would do if the day came when he had to take care of someone who as good as raised him.

“Done,” Anthony said with finality. “I’ll take care of it tonight.”

Conversation over, he finished the last few bites left on his plate even though it tasted like ash on his tongue. He excused himself from the table. Carmelo waved him off, no other words exchanged between the brothers. This was the only thing he trusted Anthony to not require handholding for. His life was so fucked up that he was allowed to kill people without a chaperone but required one for a simple drug drop. He only dipped into the supply once! Twice. Maybe more than that.

Anthony originally planned on tracking down Henry at some point during the day and enquiring about the raincheck he was owed. Now he had to spend his time making a plan and preparing Frankie for his little dirt nap instead. If he wasn't already going to kill the guy, he wanted to now. Fucking inconvenient is what this was.

Before he started that, though, he decided to write to Molly first. She was expecting them home in a few weeks. Anthony wanted to be the one to manage her expectations and break it to her that they were gone indefinitely for now. He missed her and Ma desperately and it was difficult to be on the other side of the country from the only people in the world who understood him. So he'd write to her today and maybe try a phone call sometime next week. That way if something delayed him, they would still have his letter to fall back on for news of the D'Angelo men. Pops and Carmelo weren’t the sentimental type, more “we’re done when we’re done”, so he was likely the only one who would update them on the situation.

He opened his letter by asking Molly about her boyfriend, even though it made him want to vomit. Anthony didn't want to think about his sister with any man or how she'd become his perfect little housewife someday soon. He thought of the awful sex he'd had with women to protect his image and dreaded that life for her. She could have so much fun and see the world if she didn't let that flat-faced asshole drag her down. He wanted to tell her as much. Instead, he asked if Molly anticipated a proposal soon. He wanted to be there for her when it happened so they could celebrate the beginning of her miserable life together.

Anthony wrote about the desert and how unbelievably alien he found it. They'd experienced the big city before, and the country, occasionally the beach. Anthony couldn't come close to finding anything remotely similar to what Nevada offered. He was a little glad, to be honest. None of them, extended company included, cared much for Las Vegas outside the hotel walls. He knew Molly would chastise him in her return letter about his unwillingness to try new things. That briefly made him think about trying out Henry last—no, not going there.

At the end, he buried the lede of their extended business timeline. He couldn't write much about what they were doing, given the illegality of it all. Molly wouldn't care about the why anyway. She would be disappointed all the same. They had never been separated this long before. It's like a part of him, the only good and decent part, was missing. Anthony was anxious to return to the person he was when he was with his twin. That Anthony was somewhat redeemable.

For now, this Anthony had to get ready to murder a guy in cold blood.

---

Anthony waited at the bar for Frankie, trying not to check his watch too frequently for the time. It was getting late, sun having set hours ago. He felt antsy again, fingers repeatedly turning over a coin in his pocket to prevent him from fidgeting outright. The hit didn't make him anxious in the least; Anthony was good at this for a reason. No, it was the appearance of a certain dark-haired man on the casino floor that set his nerves alight.

He cursed himself every time he couldn't prevent his eyes from wandering to Henry's last known location in the crowd. Stupid fucking idiot. Henry is just a man, he reminded himself. He could find a dozen of him on a New York city block if he wanted to. There was nothing special about him at all. Except for the way he kissed Anthony, how he called him baby, when he touched him like he was someone worthy of worship…

Shit.

Anthony flagged down the bartender for a drink and shot it back before he could remind himself why he shouldn't be drinking in the first place. He needed to be on top of his game tonight. This was unfamiliar terrain, even if he'd spent much of the day staking out exactly where he would carry out the hit. He even knew where he was going to dump the body when he was done. But he never hunted here before. He needed to be careful.

“Rough day?” the voice equally prayed for and dreaded asked as Henry leaned against the bar next to him.

Those beautiful amber eyes framed by long lashes lit up when they saw Anthony. He couldn't help noticing Henry's five o'clock shadow, making Anthony realize his lover didn't make it home until much later than he anticipated last night. Facial hair would suit him nicely, Anthony thought. The blond suppressed his reaction to catching the hint of a small bruise under the side of his left jaw, definitely the result of one of his love bites, just as he hoped. Then he watched as Henry's face suddenly seemed less excited to see him. He appeared more apprehensive in response to Anthony's irritable demeanor.

The blond acted vaguely focused on his job. He glanced at Henry and let out a heavy sigh. “That obvious?”

Henry shrugged and ordered from the bar. Anthony was quickly realizing that the other man often didn't even need to speak for his desires to come to fruition, especially when alcohol was involved. Then he remembered that Henry basically grew up within these walls. Of course, everyone knew him and anticipated his needs like they were their own. It helped that he had a great rapport with all of them, too.

“Just a little,” he said. “What's going on?”

Anthony's heart swelled at his genuine concern but he couldn't let it show. Instead, he took a hostile stance. He was always good at that when all else failed.

“And what's it to ya? Just because I was in ya bed last night doesn't make us friends.”

Henry seemed to see right through his tough-guy act.

“You haven't stopped watching me all night, and you want me to believe you're freezing me out? Nah, I don't think so.” His words made a jolt of guilt course through him. But then Henry tried giving him a gentle, knowing smile. “You know, you're much more pleasant with your cock in my mouth.”

Anthony instantly flushed in the way only Henry could make him. The casino wasn't quite as loud as it was the previous night, but it was less crowded. They didn't have to worry about anyone listening in on their exchange. For that Anthony was grateful. The words still made him clench onto the coin in his pocket tightly to get a grip on himself, even though he'd let his walls down enough for the brunette to see.

“There you are,” Henry chuckled. “Welcome back, Anthony.”

“I need ya to shut the hell up and… leave me alone.” Anthony doubled down on the aggression and tried a more direct approach. He injected all the venom he could into the last three words, but they came out almost pleading instead.

He now saw Frankie making his way through the casino. Anthony's pulse quickened, needing to get away from Henry as soon as possible. Even though Henry had nothing to with this, the Russian’s bodyguard's presence would definitely set his target on edge. The brunette followed the trajectory of his intense gaze, landing on Anthony's next hit. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, concerned.

“Okay,” Henry conceded a little too easily.

“Okay.”

“I'd still like to see you around when you aren't busy.” Henry said it in a way Anthony didn't quite understand. It was almost protective. That didn't make much sense, but he didn't have time to consider it further.

“Yeah, sure, whateva’. Now scram.”

Henry retreated with a quick farewell just before Frankie saw them together. His target showed up late but Anthony was banking on that. It was all a part of the plan. He had a few seconds to regain his composure before the newly graying Italian man approached him, a nervous upturn of his lips making an appearance. Anthony almost felt guilty that he was about to take several decades off his life. Almost. His talents did not leave him much room for remorse.

“Heya, Tony. Sorry to make ya wait. I couldn't find Gino anywhere, the useless fuck.”

Anthony turned to Frankie with a feigned look of annoyance. “Where ya think he ran off to?” he asked as though he hadn't ensured Carmelo would keep Gino far from here.

Frankie tried lightening the mood. “Probably on top ‘a some broad he met down ‘ere.”

Anthony huffed out a breath in what seemed like a cross between annoyance and amusement. He was a good actor and this was his favorite part of the game before the unpleasantness began.

Of course, Frankie was never intended to find Gino like Anthony had asked. He just needed a person to buffer the fabricated scenario of a last-minute drug drop. No way was anyone about to willingly step into a room alone with the son of Carlo D'Angelo, even if it was the pathetic one. By asking Frankie to bring Gino along, Anthony ensured that his target would show without being any the wiser.

“Pops will wring his neck for this later,” Anthony said halfheartedly. “But I think we can handle it between the two ‘a us.”

“Sounds good, Tony. Let's get this show on the road so we can get to drinkin’.”

“Sure thing, Frankie. Ya know what? Drinks on me tonight. Fuck Gino for bein' a no-show.”

Anthony was a sadistic little fuck.

The two Italians slipped out of the casino, neither aware they were being followed.

---

After offering Frankie the flask of spiked whiskey, the rest was quick work for Anthony. By the time the sedative kicked in, they were near the exact location he set up for the moment, an old butcher shop in a run-down plaza on the outskirts of Vegas. It must have closed down in the Depression or sometime thereafter, having fallen into a state of disrepair that wasn't worth the manpower or cash needed to put it to use again. Anthony particularly liked places like this for his hits. It was a lot less cleanup if people were unlikely to stumble upon the scene, even better if they were expecting blood to be there already if they did. He could get this done, quick and dirty, then report back to his father before it got too late.

Frankie stumbled around like a drunk trying to pretend he was sober enough to not be cut off. Anthony snapped at him for drinking too much before a job, which Frankie naturally denied. And he was right. That was the only drop of alcohol the man had touched all night. Anthony knew that, of course.

“Ya drunk idiot, sit ya ass there and try not to be useless,” Anthony scolded, gesturing to the chair centered in the room.

Frankie was too far gone to see it for what it was: a trap. He slumped into the chair without protest. He didn't even notice when Anthony started securing him to the seat with some rope left conveniently within arm's reach. It wasn't until the blond nearly had each of his legs also bound to the chair that Frankie realized something was very wrong. He started thrashing around to the best of his ability, but the drugs and his bonds were stronger than he was. Even with Frankie fighting him, Anthony still easily finished all his knots.

“Tony, whatcha… doin'?” Frankie slurred, head lolling to the side as the effort to hold it up became too great.

“Sorry, Frankie. But ya know why ya here now.” Anthony was interrupted by Frankie's attempt at a scream. “No, no, none ‘a that. I don't want yellin’ or denials. I wanna know why ya did it.”

He must have given Frankie just a tad too much in his drink because he immediately fell into unconsciousness. Fuck, Anthony thought as he ran an annoyed hand through his hair. Now he'd have to wait around until the man came to so he could get the information he needed before finishing the job. Anthony wasn't usually this sloppy. He didn't like being on site for any longer than necessary, and for good reason. There were plenty of times when someone unexpectedly showed up. Either he successfully avoided them or took them out too, no problem. He wasn't in the mood to deal with that tonight, though. Not when he could potentially still see Henry.

Anthony normally would have tried to ignore the thoughts of Henry that had become damn near intrusive. Seeing as he had nothing better to do for now, he indulged them for a time. He didn't like acting so cooly toward the brunette before he left. Even though Henry wasn’t convinced by his act, Anthony liked being the slightly softer version of himself when he was around. He was still a little coarse and very foul-mouthed, but more palatable like Henry said using... different words. The fact that he could make Anthony blush and swoon like a lovesick dame was foreign to him. Again, he usually had men stumbling over themselves to talk to him. Yet here he was, smiling like an idiot just thinking about Henry.

It didn't take too long for Frankie to come back around. He could think more about his lover later and see where the night took him.

Anthony sighed, taking no pleasure in what he was about to do. Sometimes he liked this part of the job, when it was a jackass he couldn't stand. But he didn't mind Frankie too much. He was a nice enough guy, never did nothing to him. So Anthony wasn't going to enjoy beating the shit out of him. Still, he needed something to report back or he'd have to answer to his father. No point in killing a guy just to get slapped around anyway.

The weight of the tire iron was comfortable in his hand, familiar, and not because Anthony had an affinity for mechanics. He liked their portability and how unassuming they were in the right context. No one questioned why one was in the trunk of the car, or even the back seat. Maybe it would be a little weird to see it in a garage that no one usually parked in, but garages house cars, cars have tires. Therefore, tire irons belong there too, even in the absence of a vehicle. In the butcher shop the weapon was very much out of place, though Frankie wasn’t in his right mind to notice the odd accessory when they entered.

“I need ya to be Frank-ie with me,” Anthony said with a laugh the joke did not deserve. Fuck you, it's hilarious. “Tell me why ya were fuckin’ with the Russians.”

Frankie blinked his eyes groggily, still a little too snowed for Anthony’s liking. He began pleading sloppily with his would-be assassin, trying to say he didn't know what Anthony was talking about, that he wouldn't do that to his family. The blond casually tossed the tire iron into the air and caught it in his other hand. Then he struck Frankie in the face without any warning. Whack . The older man cried out in pain and started begging more desperately.

“Carlo is pretty fuckin’ pissed, Frankie.” Whack . “I need an answer. Why were ya tryna fuck us ova?”

“Tony, I swear—”

Whack.

This time Anthony felt the man’s nose break. He’d done a decent job with Frankie’s face, each strike of the tire iron tearing open skin. Blood pooled from his nose and dribbled out of his mouth as he sobbed. Bruises were already forming around his left eye where the first hit landed. Anthony looked bored as he expectantly waited for an answer to his question instead of the shit Frankie was trying to pull. The bound man continued gasping and crying in the chair, not even trying to appease his captor.

“I’m waitin’, dickhead.” Anthony raised the iron to beat him again.

“Wait!” Frankie shrieked. “I was just tryna mess with the negotiations enough that they’d give us what we want!”

“Now how the hell does that make any sense? You gotta try harder than that, Frankie.”

Whack. The weapon made a different sound when it struck his chest, as did Frankie. Anthony kind of liked it. It’s like he was playing a little living instrument. A cruel smile lit up the blond’s face. He wanted to see all the different ways he could make him sing. Whack. So maybe Anthony did enjoy this part of the job. Sue him.

Frankie’s blubbering was starting to grate Anthony’s nerves, though. He told the man so and his eyes went even wider with fear. The left one was beginning to swell shut.

“O-kay. I was paid off,” Frankie whimpered.

He told a brief tale of one of their rivals in New York approaching him with a deal. They paid him handsomely and upfront, too. If he could stall their deal with the Russians, block Carlo from infiltrating Vegas, he would be bestowed tenfold when he returned. In the meantime, he’d pass along whatever intel he could gather on their operation in the Southwest. Anything he could get on the Russians would be rewarded with a bonus. He had been quite good at his job and spilled the information to Anthony.

Anthony wasn’t surprised. Stuff like this happened frequently, hence his honed skill set. Information was sold to the highest bidder and loyalty could be bought. None of what Frankie got had been particularly juicy, but he was a traitor. Even if Anthony wasn’t instructed to kill him before, he had no choice now. Before that, though, he would take his time punishing the man for his transgressions. Altering their plans to navigate around what Frankie spilled would be so much work, the kind Anthony didn't like and wasn't good at. He was an expert at this, though.

“Now was that so hard?” Anthony asked sweetly. “Oh, Frankie… ya complete imbecile.”

Taking out all his anger and frustration with his family, Anthony began beating the man mercilessly with the iron, the hits landing wherever they may. He felt warm blood spray on his face. Bones crunched satisfyingly under his assault. Even though he didn’t actually want to physically harm his brother, he still pictured Carmelo’s face. Then his father’s, but he would like to take a swing or two at his old man. At this point, he didn’t even register Frankie’s wailing. He just

Kept.

Hitting.

Him.

“I’d say he’s probably had enough, but it’s insanely attractive when you’re pissed off.”

The tire iron fell to the floor with a loud clang, his gun replacing it in Anthony’s hand. Anthony whipped around with his pistol drawn, though he recognized the voice almost instantaneously.

“The fuck are ya doin’ here, Henry?” he hissed.

Henry stepped fully into the room, nodding appreciatively at the space Anthony chose for his hit. “You’re a smart kid. Not sure how you found this, but good job.”

Anthony hated the patronizing words even if they sounded genuine on his tongue.

“I asked what ya think you’re doin’.” He gestured at Henry with the gun.

“No, you asked what I am doing here. I’m admiring your work. And you. You look so fucking good, armed and dangerous.”

Henry’s grin widened when Anthony began turning red. The blond turned back to Frankie when he moaned, realizing the man was still at least semi-conscious.

“I figure you’re going to kill him anyway. I don’t need to mind my words,” Henry added.

“I’m serious, Henry. Why did ya follow me?”

“I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

Anthony was growing tired of this game already. He huffed in agitation. “Do I need to give ya the Frankie special, too?”

Henry laughed without any nervousness and held both of his hands out in front of him in surrender. Anthony lowered his pistol but did not return it to his side. No matter how much he liked the brunette, he couldn’t let his guard down any more, not yet.

“I’ve been keeping my eye on this asshole for the last few days. Knew he was up to something, I just didn’t know what. Then I saw how you panicked when you saw him. I was… worried about you.” The admission seemed difficult for Henry to say out loud. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt when you left with him. I didn’t know that you were the real threat.”

He approached Anthony with only a minute amount of caution. They were less than arm’s length away from each other now and the tension between them continued to build.

“Why would ya worry about me?” Anthony asked softly, suddenly not as angry anymore.

“You know why, baby.”

Henry touched Anthony’s face with all the gentleness of last night and the blond holstered his gun once more. His lover wiped the blood away from Anthony’s lip with his thumb, lingering there for a moment. The blond’s eyes closed reflexively as he let the feeling of their closeness engulf him. He felt like he would burst into flames right there. Then Henry removed his thumb, replacing it with his lips, and the world around them stopped existing.

It was a light touch at first, almost demure. But Anthony was overtaken by his untamable desire for the taller man. He fisted his hands in Henry’s shirt, forcing him down into a crushing kiss. Strong arms wrapped around him, hands roaming the blond's body appreciatively until coming to rest on his ass. Anthony opened his mouth, prompting Henry to do the same so they could explore each other with their tongues. He wanted more.

“I need ya, Henry,” Anthony admitted without reluctance though his voice remained low. “I need ya so fuckin’ bad.”

Henry’s response was to pick Anthony up so that their heights were more even, much like he did last night. Anthony tucked his legs around the brunette and ground his hips against Henry's. They both responded with sounds of desire. The shorter man didn’t know if he would ever get over how effortlessly Henry could toss him around. It’s everything he never knew he needed.

The lovers kissed like they needed it to breathe, gasping into each other's mouths as they moved together. Anthony hadn't had a man who knew how to turn him on or please him like Henry; usually, he was the one putting in all the work to satisfy his partners. Not with this man. He found the places to kiss, lick, bite, and touch to make Anthony feel fulfilled. He took his time learning what made him throw his head back with a moan, buck his hips harder—

They were ripped away from the perfect world they created by Frankie’s renewed sobbing. Anthony scowled at him while still held firmly in Henry’s arms. He was going to kill this asshole for ruining their moment. Well, he was going to kill him anyway, but his point stood. His mood only soured more when his lover set him down gently. He then turned the hostile expression on the brunette. Henry found Anthony’s pouting to be equally endearing and hilarious. It’s not like he wanted to stop any more than Anthony did.

He swiped his thumb across the blond's lower lip again, gently tugging it down. Anthony took it into his mouth and sucked on it seductively, all the desperation he felt expressed in his eyes as he gazed up at Henry. He wanted more than just Henry's fingers in his mouth. By the look on his lover's face, every feeling was mutual. He could tell that Henry was considering taking him right there in front of their hostage almost as seriously as Anthony was.

“Let’s take care of him so we can get back to the important shit.” Anthony removed his pistol and double-checked that it was loaded, snapping the chamber back in place with a satisfying click.

“Tony, wait, no! Please let me go! I—I won’t tell Carlo you’re a fag!”

That was the wrong thing to say. Before Anthony could even react, blood spattered his face, and he was not the cause of it this time. He only registered the sound of the shot after. His ears rang slightly from being too close to where the gun was fired, but nothing too bad. Anthony turned to Henry who stood with his arm still outstretched toward Frankie. The pistol in his hand breathed out a thin wisp of smoke. The older man was now slumped over in the chair lifelessly, a good portion of his face nothing more than a bloody pulp.

It took Anthony only a few seconds to put it all together. That was the hottest fucking thing to ever happen to him. This man who he had only just met was willing to murder someone for calling him a slur that didn't even bother him all that much. Anthony was more than capable of pulling the trigger and was moments away from doing so. But Henry would do everything in his power to protect him and Anthony realized that he would never love anyone again, not like Henry. It didn't matter if he sounded crazy. Anthony loved him.

They resumed their previous embrace and Anthony never wanted to let this man go. He could tell that Henry felt the same way. The brunette carded his fingers through his lover's hair in a way that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. Anthony blinked at him with the biggest brown eyes Henry had ever seen. He didn't even care if he was laying out all his cards for Henry to see; he was falling for this man faster than he could imagine possible. It was like their souls were intertwined with them connecting on a level he didn't know could happen. He didn't even care if maybe he was wrong and that this was only infatuation. Anthony was willing to risk it for him, for his Henry.

Henry bent down to kiss him warmly and enveloped Anthony in his arms. The blond rested his forehead on Henry's left shoulder. They stayed that way for a while. Anthony could only hold back for so long, of course.

“I’m going to fuck ya so good ya’ll never want to leave ya room again,” he whispered against Henry's chest, right over his heart.

Henry responded with a passionate kiss.

Notes:

I headcanon Husk as someone who was softer in his early life. I'm a sucker for Sunshine Husk and Grumpy(-ish) Angel.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Just when I was starting to think no one liked murder husbands as much as I do, I got out of work and saw all these notifications. Y'all are the best.

See tags for content warnings.

They drove out to the middle of the desert together without a word between them. Henry held Anthony’s hand, rubbing his thumb across the back in the most soothing way. Their hair blew wildly around them as they sped down the dirt road in Carlo’s convertible, borrowed for the occasion. A peaceful smile never left Anthony’s face. He couldn’t think of the last time he was this happy. He didn’t think he ever was, at least not like this. Next to him, Henry looked just as content. It was like they were going on a romantic drive, the two of them.

Just Anthony, Henry, and the dead body in the trunk.

The car came to a smooth stop at the approximate location Anthony had scoped out earlier in the day. It wasn’t the most creative thing he’d ever come up with, but he was going for accessibility. Plus, who would know it was Frankie out here if no one reported him missing? He was originally planning on just dumping the body out in the open, sans any identifying objects. No one would find him for weeks, if ever. Now that Henry was here, his beautiful, well-built Henry, he had another option. Anthony didn’t even have to ask.

Henry grabbed a shovel from the back seat and immediately started digging. Anthony sat on the car hood, kicking his dangling legs, and admired how the headlights ghoulishly illuminated his lover. He traced every muscle with his eyes, studying how they moved with each action. The brunette playfully tossed a shovelful of dirt at him and asked if he was going to help. It was his mess, after all. Anthony only giggled, promising he would be putting in plenty of work back at the hotel. He also pointed out that Henry was technically the one who killed him, making it his mess. Henry responded by flinging more dirt at him.

Just over a foot deep, the shallow grave was more than adequate, considering Anthony wasn’t even going to make an attempt at one before. He had popped open the trunk and Henry took it from there, ever the gentleman. He hauled the body over his shoulder and deposited it into the hole with a thump they barely heard over the sound of the running engine. Henry then piled the loose dirt on top and patted it smooth with the back of the shovel, tucking Frankie into his final resting place. As Anthony looked up at the star-studded sky, he mused that there were worse places to be buried. Frankie probably didn’t see it that way. But who cares? He’s dead.

“Is it strange that this is the most romantic thing a guy’s eva done for me?”

Henry made that face he did when he was trying not to laugh. “Kill a man?”

“Nah, that’s been done. But no one’s eva hid the body for me afterward.”

“I would do a lot of crazy things for you.”

“What about the things ya’d do to me?”

The brunette tossed the shovel in the trunk and slammed it shut. “Let’s get going so you can find out.”

Anthony excitedly hopped off the hood and slid behind the wheel. Before they left, Henry took a handkerchief from his pocket, wet it with his tongue, and began wiping the blood from his lover’s face. Anthony beamed at him. He never experienced this level of devotion before he met Henry. Here was a man who would murder for him yet also touch him with the most gentle hands. He didn’t even care how fucked he was anymore. Henry made him feel something he didn’t think he was capable of, and he was becoming okay with that.

When the blond was free of visible blood, he returned the favor and lovingly cleaned Henry’s face until all evidence of their night was erased. Fortunately, their clothes were dark enough that no one would be able to tell what they’d been up to. Anthony couldn't help the conspicuous lovestruck expression he knew was stuck on his face after the exchange. He was such a sucker for this man.

They cruised back to the hotel in the same comfortable silence in which they arrived, and Anthony’s heart started beating faster the closer they got. He felt like a virgin. Actually, he felt better than that. It was all the excitement of the first time without as much nervousness. At least he knew what he was doing unlike back then. Now neither of them was going to sleep tonight, Anthony would make sure of that. He couldn’t wait.

“I’ll come to ya room as soon as I can. Gotta report back to the boss,” Anthony said. He would also bathe before doing anything else, but that could be inferred.

“Keep me waiting too long and I’ll have to drag you back myself.” Henry grasped Anthony’s chin between his fingers and kissed him roughly.

“Don’t threaten a guy with a good time.”

The partners grinned at each other. They parted with a short goodbye knowing they would be reunited very soon. There was a lot to look forward to when they did. Anthony just needed to give Carlo the rundown quickly. He prayed the old man wouldn’t be in the mood to talk tonight.

Anthony knocked on his father’s door, hoping he was still awake. Regardless of how well he did his job, Carlo was bound to be pissed if he came back too late. He was lucky for once in his miserable life. Carlo swung open the door with his usual unamused expression.

“It’s done, Pops.”

Carlo nodded, appearing slightly less stoic. “You’ll tell me what ya learned tomorrow, after breakfast.”

“Yes, sir. Goodnight.”

The door shut in his face. Anthony almost cheered. Carlo spoke to his younger son as little as possible when he could get away with it. For the first time in a while, it didn't hurt that he was, very obviously, only tolerated by his father. He was grateful for it now. With his duty done, Anthony made the quick detour to his room to ready himself for what he knew would be the best sex of his life.

---

“Henry.”

Anthony loved the way they fit together. He sat astride Henry with his back pressed flush against the taller man's chest. Those toned arms were wrapped around him possessively, one at his waist and the other his chest, gripping Anthony's neck tightly with his hand. One of the smaller man's arms reached behind him to grasp his lover's hair. Anthony rolled his hips until he found the pace Henry seemed to enjoy the most, indicated by the feral sounds he made in response.

“Anthony.”

The blond could lose his mind hearing his name said like that. He rode Henry faster, encouraged by his lover's enjoyment.

“Shit, Henry. I knew ya'd fuck me good. Ya feel so good inside me.”

Henry kissed down the side of Anthony's neck and was rewarded by his lover tightening around him. He let out a groan in Anthony's ear, which only spurred him on.

“I want you to come on my cock, Anthony.”

“Ya gonna have to make me.”

Without protest, Henry moved the hand that was holding Anthony's hip to his erection. He began stroking his lover slowly, purposefully going at a languid pace compared to how Anthony was riding him. The blond wanted to scream at him in frustration. It all felt so good but he needed more. He always needed more when it came to Henry.

“Henry.” Anthony said it like a command.

“I want you to beg.”

“Please, baby. I need ya to make me come. I'll do anything ya want, just make me come.”

“Tell me you're mine.”

That was the easiest thing Anthony had ever said. “Fuck. I'm yours, Henry! Only yours.”

Henry moved his hips, matching Anthony's rhythm to bring them closer together. He stroked the blond faster, harder, until Anthony was ready to come undone. They were both unable to catch their breath as they fucked furiously.

“Please,” Anthony pleaded once more before coming harder than he ever had.

His orgasm made him tighten around Henry until the brunette came as well. Anthony still rolled his hips lazily, squeezing every last drop out of his lover. Henry chucked against the side of Anthony's face after kissing his cheek, removing the hand he was using to choke him. He then lifted Anthony by the waist to help him shift off his cock. The blonde untucked his legs from around him but remained seated on Henry's lap and let his body go limp against him. Both of them were panting heavily and drenched in sweat. Anthony didn't like the feeling of some of his curls plastered to his forehead and brushed them back with a shaking hand. It took them some time to be able to speak. Henry was the first.

“You are something else, sweetheart.”

“Don't I know it. Ya ain't too bad yaself,” Anthony said like the brat he was.

“With how hard you just came? I find it hard to believe anyone has made you feel this way. Isn't that right, baby?”

Henry stroked Anthony's spent cock, overstimulating him in the best way. He arched his back slightly in response. He had the goofiest smile that he was glad Henry couldn't see with him facing away.

“I love the way ya touch me.”

Anthony meant the way Henry held him, caressed his skin, and placed soft kisses all over his body. He wanted to be worshiped by this man. That is exactly what Henry was doing, wasn’t it? The brunette knew exactly what it took to make him feel adored. Now this is how last night should have gone. Anthony likely wouldn't have ended the night wrapped lovingly in his lover's arms, though. That was a development he greatly enjoyed.

They lay like that for some time and Anthony felt so content he thought he would never be able to convince himself to move again. Henry would occasionally press his lips to Anthony's face, neck, anywhere he could readily access. The blond felt his skin flush in the way only Henry could make him.

“I love the way you blush when you’re around me. Do I drive you that crazy?” Henry planted a saccharine kiss on top of Anthony's head.

“What if I said I’m like that with every guy?”

“I wouldn’t believe you,” Henry replied matter-of-factly.

“And what makes ya an expert on everythin’ I do? Maybe I'm just like that. You ain’t that special, ya know.”

“You sure about that, baby?”

Henry kissed his neck exactly where he liked it. He was half-hard at this point. The blond hoped Henry could bounce back as fast as he could. He was not done with him yet, especially when he started doing things like that. Henry alternated kissing and biting his most sensitive spots. Anthony would be fully ready again in no time.

“I don’t know why I need ya so bad.”

“It’s mutual.” Henry resumed steadily pumping Anthony's cock as he had before. “I don’t want to even think about you fucking another man again. The thought of someone else touching you makes me crazy.”

“Ya haven’t known me… for more than a day,” Anthony reminded him, becoming breathless again from the feeling of Henry’s hand around him.

“I don’t need more time to know that you’ve ruined me.”

“Shit, Henry. Keep saying those things.”

“I don’t want another man in my bed. I want you. Only you will ever satisfy me like this. And no one will ever fuck you like I do.”

Anthony didn’t care if it was pillow talk or a lie to keep him compliant. He wanted to believe that Henry craved him like that because that's how he felt about him, too.

“You're right. I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours, Anthony.”

Henry was nearly hard again, pressing against Anthony's ass. The blond was beyond pleased. He felt like he would never be fully satisfied, always wanting more and more of him. For now, he would take a few hours of fucking. But he was determined to find his way into Henry's bed again tomorrow, and the next night… and maybe every day for the rest of time.

Henry laid Anthony down on his stomach when he was ready and entered him slowly. They both knew this was going to be fast and rough, and fuck it was going to feel so good. Henry pinned each of Anthony’s hands at the side of his head with his. He settled his weight on top of him, essentially trapping the blond beneath him.

“I have never wanted someone like I want you,” Henry breathed into Anthony's ear shakily like he was barely keeping himself together.

He then began thrusting into Anthony without any restraint. Anthony sobbed into the bed in pleasure, loving how brutally Henry was fucking him. He felt powerless yet safe. He didn’t know how he could afford trust like this to a man he met only yesterday.

“I’ll neva want anyone else,” Anthony swore into the mattress.

They came together, much faster this time.

After cleaning themselves up, they laid in each other’s arms, tangled haphazardly in a heap of limbs. Anthony felt more content than any other time in his life. He was starting to think he’d never had great sex before. Maybe good, but not exceptional. Nothing with Henry was anything less than perfection. No one else would ever compare to him. He meant what he said before; Anthony wouldn't want another man as long as he lived.

Henry alternated between lovingly playing with Anthony's curls and tracing patterns across his skin. A shiver of pleasure overcame him that made Henry breathe out a laugh that stirred his hair. Anthony moved his head to lay on his lover's chest and was soothed by the rhythm of his steadying heartbeat under his ear. He hummed contentedly. Henry squeezed him tightly in his arms for a moment before relaxing again. Everything between them was so sweet. Were it with anyone but this man, Anthony would feel sickened by their behavior.

“Can we do this every day?” Anthony asked, only half joking. He meant the sex, yes, but more importantly, all this loving nonsense he wasn't familiar with. As long as it was with Henry, he could get used to this treatment.

“Do you think anything could keep me from you?”

The blond thought seriously for a moment. “Death?”

“Not even that, baby. I will always find you.”

“I must be really fuckin’ good in bed to have ya sayin’ shit like that.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Henry sounded differently this time, though not necessarily in a bad way. Anthony could not place what had changed.

“Can I…?”

Henry placed a delicate kiss against his forehead that was a response on its own. “I'd be disappointed if you didn't stay the night.”

“Good, ‘cause I don't think I could walk anyway. And… I really don't wanna stop doin’ this.”

He didn't have to. Later that night they fell asleep in each other’s arms, something neither could remember doing with anyone before. Anthony had the best sleep of his entire life and was even happier when he woke up in the embrace of the man he loved.

---

Carlo was pleased with Anthony's work. He'd gotten all the information, took out Frankie, and dumped the body in a way his father approved of. Anthony handed over the dead man's things: a gold watch, a wedding band, and his wallet. The only thing Frankie was left with was the clothes on his back. The blond made sure of that. He wasn't about to have the body identified by something stupid like the engraved initials he found inside the watchband.

Carmelo watched the other D’Angelos’ interaction like he was waiting for one of them to blow up into a fit of rage. He wasn't wrong for assuming something would go wrong. Even when Anthony did a job well, there was always something else he'd managed to fuck up. Not this time. Thanks to Henry, it was the most successful hit he ever carried out. Carlo would never say he was proud of his least favorite child, not outright. He clapped Anthony on the shoulder and gave him the smallest of smiles, though. That was basically the same thing.

“Ya did good, Tony,” Carmelo admitted, shoving the blond with his hand.

Anthony turned toward his brother, nearly breaking into the biggest grin. He locked it down quickly and thanked him stoically instead. Most of the D’Angelos were a serious bunch. They weren't big on touchy-feely things. Anthony felt like they had both just wrapped him in the tightest embrace. Pride flared in his chest. He'd done well.

“Thanks to that fuckface, we're gonna have to change up our operation.” Carlo produced a cigar, clipped the tip, and lit it. He looked at it thoughtfully before taking a puff. “Both of yas are gonna need to give me ya best.”

Anthony knew the last part was targeted at him. He nodded his head without hesitation. The fact that he didn't say it outright filled Anthony with hope. His plan was working. He could almost taste his freedom. All he had to do was keep doing his job well.

“Pops, ya should know that the Russians thought somethin’ was up with Frankie. How are we gonna deal with that?”

“Lemme think on it,” Carlo said while breathing out a cloud of smoke. “I dunno if it's betta to tell ‘em there was a rat and I took care ‘a it or if we keep this between the three ‘a us. Don't wanna ruin a good thing.”

“They're gonna notice Frankie disappeared.”

Carmelo cut in. “Ya right, Tony. Maybe we should tell ‘em.”

When was the last time Carmelo ever agreed with Anthony? He couldn't recall a single time. The last twelve hours were the best of his life. Everything he wanted, even the things he didn't think he deserved like Henry, were within his grasp.

“I'm gonna think on it more and decide tonight. We have another meetin’ with the Russians end of week. Come to breakfast, then we'll talk.”

The brothers were dismissed. Carmelo went his own way, leaving Anthony to do whatever he pleased with the day. He knew exactly how he would spend it.

Anthony couldn't wait to tell Henry what happened. After having sex last night, they stayed up talking for hours, learning everything about each other like they wouldn't have the chance to again. It was more intimacy than he had anticipated, having expected to fuck and leave like he did with everyone else. Since then, he hadn't stopped thinking about all the other things he wanted to tell Henry. Anthony was about to burst with the need to spill everything to him. Henry had to work for most of the day, however. He typically guarded his boss from early morning to late evening, and then one of the other bodyguards took over. Anthony would have to wait until he was done to track down his lover. Until then, he decided he deserved a little something for all his hard work.

It wasn't difficult to get his hands on the stuff his father didn't traffic. Especially in the epicenter of hedonism that was Las Vegas, drugs came in every variation you could ever want. That's how Anthony found PCP. It wasn't that big in New York, so he'd only tried it once in a joint some guy shared with him before they fucked. He remembered how it made him feel like his mind was separate from his body. It wasn't bad, though the same couldn't be said of the situation that followed. It's why he made the rule to stay relatively sober for all future encounters. No one was ever going to take advantage of him again.

But he'd be willing to give Angel Dust another shot.

Anthony liked experimenting with the dosing. Snorting small amounts caused some dissociation and his arms to go numb. A little more made him feel pleasantly high. The hallucinations that followed were less intense than when he tried that new shit on the streets—LSD he thinks it was called. It also lasted longer, giving him a smoother come down. Anthony always hated the crash. It's one of the reasons cocaine wasn't his drug of choice. He just felt like a more balanced and focused person when he was using coke instead of the same high his friends seemed to get from it. When it wore off, he usually felt like he couldn't even get out of bed.

By the time a knock came at his door some hours later, Anthony was in a relatively okay place to interact with other humans. He only hoped it wasn't Carmelo. The evidence of the day's activities remained fully visible on the nightstand, and he didn't have time to put everything away to prevent his brother from seeing it. Fortunately for him, it was only Henry.

“What are ya doing here!” Anthony asked excitedly when he swung open the door.

“You weren't downstairs. Figured I would try your room before assuming you're out killing someone.”

Anthony let out a laugh that was slightly too loud. Henry was so funny. Was he always this funny?

“Is it a bad time or…?” Henry glanced down the hall on either side of him, making sure no one was around to see him outside Anthony's door.

“Oh, shit, I'm sorry. Come in.”

Henry closed the door behind him and Anthony threw himself into his lover's arms. He's not sure what about his behavior caused it, but Henry took Anthony's chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head up to make eye contact. The brunette looked into his eyes intently like he was searching for something. Anthony realized a little too late that his pupils were probably blown. He looked away so Henry couldn't see just how wide they'd become.

“What did you get into while I was gone?” Henry asked, sounding more amused than anything.

Anthony tried pulling away, but Henry kept a firm grasp on him. He started to panic. What would Henry think of him? He saw that Henry was looking at his setup next to the bed, and he thought he would burst into tears right there. Henry was going to think he was some useless addict and leave him. He hadn't been around long enough to owe Anthony anything. He could leave and—

“I was just havin’ some fun.” Anthony's voice was small. Henry leaned down and kissed his forehead and Anthony felt himself melt with relief. “Ya… ain't mad?”

“Whiskey is my drug of choice, so I have no room to judge. So what if you did a little coke?”

“It's Angel Dust.” The admission scared him, but Anthony had no filter with PCP.

Henry shrugged. “Whatever.”

The brunette released Anthony from his grip and moved to sit on the bed, patting the spot next to him. Anthony narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“So ya don't hate me?”

“Why would I hate you for having fun? Don’t you remember I grew up here? Everyone is on something.”

Anthony felt several emotions crash into him with more strength than usual. It was the drug making everything feel like too much. He wanted to cry and laugh, but also felt so angry at Carmelo and past lovers for making him feel like shit for using. Anthony ignored the invitation to sit next to Henry, straddling his lap instead. He caressed his lover's face, much like Henry had done to him.

“Why are ya so good to me?”

“You deserve the world, Anthony.”

The blond went to kiss Henry, ready to give him everything he had the night before. He was already starting to grind against him to show his lover exactly what he wanted. Then Henry pulled his head back and planted firm hands onto Anthony's hips, stopping him with a soft “no”. Anthony’s brows furrowed in confusion. Henry just said he wasn't mad at him, said sweet things to him, and now he was rejecting his advances? He started spiraling.

“Ya don't… want me anymore?” A sob started building inside of him. “Ya said… I thought—”

A gentle hand brushed the curls back from Anthony's face. “You're high, Anthony. I want you, but not like this.”

“What's ya point? I’m high a lotta the time.”

“You're almost completely gone, baby. I'm not going to touch you when you're like this.”

“Why not?” He couldn't help the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

“I'm never going to hurt you,” Henry replied as he wiped the tears away with his thumbs.

It brought Anthony back to the night he first tried PCP. He wanted to bed the man he was with earlier in the night. The guy was attractive enough and he had good shit he was willing to share. But as the hours dragged on, Anthony liked him less and less, even after the drugs kicked in. He didn't like his shit attitude or how he started to belittle Anthony over the smallest things. They'd only just met, he didn't know anything about him, yet he was hypercritical of the blond’s every move.

Anthony tried to leave. Something had changed. Even if he didn't know what or why, he knew he had to get out of there. He just wanted to go home and sulk about how shitty his night turned out. Then the man was on top of him.

He tried to fight him off, tried telling him to stop. The man wasn't that much bigger than him. He probably could have held his own if it wasn't for the PCP. It made his limbs feel numb, like he had no control over his own body. And that's when Anthony realized he'd fucked up. He pleaded for the man to let him go, said he didn't want it anymore. The larger man called him a whore and said he knew exactly what Anthony wanted.

Anthony walked home at the first opportunity. He got lucky that the man let him leave once he was done with him. He knew that things could have ended differently and had for several of his friends in the past. So he cried in the bathtub while scrubbing every trace of the man off of him, then pretended it never happened.

So what if he fucked a guy he wasn't totally into while he was high? It happens! You can't like them all, right? He asked for it, honestly; he led the guy on all night and tried to leave before he put out. Anthony could understand his frustration, why he was a little rough with him during sex. He… He deserved it.

He deserved it.

He deserved it.

Anthony sobbed into Henry's chest for a long time. He wasn't sure how long, but early on Henry moved him so that he was cradled in his arms. Henry held the blond's head against his chest and murmured soothing things to him. He didn't deserve his lover's kindness. Anthony was a junkie, a slut, a fuck-up. He didn't deserve to be cared for. He was good at two things: fucking and killing. Beyond that, he was nothing. It was his fault that people treated him badly, that he ended up in these situations.

“Hey, baby,” Henry whispered when Anthony's sobbing finally died down to intermittent whimpers. “I'm still here. You're okay.”

He wasn't okay.

“You will always be safe with me.”

Now, Anthony believed that. He buried his face in Henry’s chest and held onto him tightly. He would always be safe with his Henry. That was a fact as true as the world being round or that gravity would keep his feet planted on the ground.

“I know,” Anthony whispered.

“You can tell me anything—if you want to.”

It took some time and more crying, but Anthony eventually told Henry about that night. He left out the details that he refused to think about. Anthony thought saying it out loud would make it feel more real, more terrible. He found that he easily remained detached from his words. They didn't hurt as much as the images that flashed through his mind did. And at the end, when Henry assured him he did nothing wrong and did not deserve it, he felt some relief. Anthony didn't believe him, of course. He couldn't. Because accepting that the man hurt him and that the exchange was anything less than dubiously consensual… it was unbearable.

“You can leave, ya know,” Anthony said after a while.

“Do you want me to?”

“I mean you can leave leave. I come with a lotta baggage. I'm too much work, too fucked up. I wouldn't blame ya for cuttin’ ya losses.”

“I'm not leaving unless you tell me to. You'll never be too much work or too damaged to deserve… good things.”

Anthony laughed out loud. There was no humor in it. “Fuck, I know I'm great in bed an’ all, but this is—”

“Anthony, I'm not joking.”

Henry looked down at him, so serious. Anthony felt like he was being scolded. It was the face the brunette used while working or when he'd shot Frankie. There was no hint of the softness Anthony always received from him. This was a Henry that he didn't know, and the blond didn't care to. Anthony would have been afraid had he not trusted him so emphatically.

“I'm not scared of the darker parts of you,” He continued, and Anthony could feel the honesty in his words. “You can't make me run away because of things other people did to make you who you are. I told you, you're mine. That means as you are, not just the pieces you think I'll like.”

“What happens when ya find out you're wrong? That there are parts of me… ya really won't like?”

Henry touched his lips to Anthony's forehead again, gentleness returning. “I watched you nearly beat a man to death and buried the body for you. I'm still here. I don't think you understand what it would take to make that happen.”

“Please don't leave,” Anthony whispered, praying that Henry wasn't an even better actor than he was.

“Never.”

Chapter 5

Notes:

I'm going to say sorry for backloading this with 90% of the angst. <3 This was supposed to be a quick fic that has doubled in length, so I keep adding chapters.

See tags for content warnings.

Anthony let the only secret he kept from Henry slip. He hadn't meant to hide it from him, but he'd forgotten that it never came up in the week since they met. Honestly, he wasn't sure how he would've broached the subject with him if he had remembered. It's not like he purposefully hid anything from Henry. For him, he was an open book. Except about who he really was.

After breakfast with his family, Carlo told his sons that he agreed with them; he decided they needed to tell the Russians about Frankie and the intel he gathered before his… disappearance. Anthony felt like he was a part of the business when he was let in on this fact, even more so because it was his idea. He couldn't wait to tell Henry that he did something right again.

He went to Henry's room, hoping he hadn't left for work yet and was still getting ready. Otherwise, he would be at his boss’s side until late tonight. Anthony didn't want to wait that long to share the news with him. Plus they had not yet decided if Henry should disclose the Frankie matter to his boss. Seeing him as soon as possible would benefit him in every way.

Anthony tried to calm himself before attempting to enter the room. He couldn't help when he bounced on his toes several times in excitement, trying to reign himself in before he saw Henry. Then he took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. In response to his knock, Henry shouted that it was unlocked. Anthony slipped inside, thrilled to see he caught his lover just in time. Today was going perfectly.

“Heya, handsome,” he crooned to the brunette whose back was turned. “Ya know, you should either lock the door or maybe not let ya guard down if you don't know who's comin’ in.”

Henry smirked at Anthony as he turned around, finishing the buttons on his shirt. “I knew it was you.”

“Uh huh, is that so?”

“No one sounds that excited to knock like you do.”

Anthony's grin faltered a bit, knowing Henry knew something about him that was private, something that was just for himself. He didn't know why this felt too intimate for Henry to know, especially after what he shared with him last night. He had been nothing but vulnerable with him since they met. So why didn’t this feel right? He could not explain why this was where he drew the line. Maybe he did not like how transparent he became with Henry. He wasn't sure.

“What's wrong, baby?” Henry asked, coming closer to touch his lover's cheek.

“I don't… nothing.” He needed time to reflect on whatever that was. Anthony collected himself, plastering on a new smile. “I wanted to tell you something. I didn't want to wait until tonight.”

Henry dropped the matter for now, not having time to delve into what happened. He started working on his tie when Anthony took over tying it for him like it's something they'd done a hundred times. It felt very domestic. Anthony never wanted to be domestic before.

“Carlo was real happy with the Frankie job,” Anthony said, finishing the knot. He didn't let go of the tie.

“You did a great job.”

Anthony knew the praise was genuine and his chest swelled with pride. Henry's smile made him want to swoon. He returned it excitedly.

“An’ I told him we should tell ya boss we took him out. Even Carmelo agreed. But Pops actually listened to me! He's doing it at the meetin’!”

Henry's face suddenly dropped. Anthony released his tie and stepped back, startled by the unexpected shift in his demeanor.

“What's wrong?” he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know what made Henry look at him like that.

“What did you say?”

“Carlo is gonna tell—”

Henry cut him off. “You called him ‘Pops’.”

Anthony paled. He swore Henry knew that he was Carlo's son. He thought it wasn't a problem, that he didn't care. At the first meeting they had introduced… only Carmelo. Fuck.

“Henry, I—”

The brunette checked his watch and cursed, whether at the time or Anthony, he wasn't sure. “I have to go.”

“No, Henry, wait.”

“We'll… talk about it later,” Henry said with a finality Anthony didn't like, almost like there wouldn't be a later.

He left without another word, letting Anthony stew in his latest mistake.

“Fuck!”

---

For days, Anthony did not speak to Henry. The blond was fairly certain Henry was looking for him after the first day or two, but he wasn’t ready to face him yet. Confrontation was not exactly his favorite thing, less so when it could potentially jeopardize his relationship. He wasn’t sure if it even was a relationship. Regardless, he was not ready for it to end. He couldn’t handle the thought of never being held in his lover’s arms again or being the reason he smiled so brightly.

So, Anthony continued to avoid the casino and the hotel in general, choosing to spend long hours exploring the city, often getting high somewhere new each night. Sometimes he didn’t make it back to his room at all. When there was a close-call encounter with some drunk idiots that was too similar to that night, Anthony finally admitted that it was better to return to the hotel. He’d rather risk running into Henry instead of the hands of unknown men.

That is how Anthony discovered the roof. His desperation for a safe hiding place drove him to all sorts of weird parts of the hotel. He spent several hours trying out its various levels, including the subfloor which was primarily used for storage. It was dark, stuffy, and often had employees rushing in and out too often for him to find comfort there. So finally, he made it to the sixth floor, just one above Henry's.

He didn't know he would find the rooftop access door, much less discover it unlocked. Yet it was at the end of a blind-end hallway on the top floor. Anthony was happy to find an escape so close to his temporary home. He did a few lines of coke and brought more along before going up there, not ready to experience another PCP-fueled rollercoaster or go through the steps of shooting heroin. What he really needed was a downer tonight, but it was better than nothing. It was fine.

Everything was fine. He always was.

Anthony sat on the brick-and-mortar wall that bordered the rooftop, legs hanging over the edge. He was never afraid of heights, and he found that he liked the view, not caring about the precariousness of his chosen seat. His fifth cigarette was nearly entirely reduced to ash, so he stamped it out on the wall next to him just as he had the previous four. He considered lighting a sixth just to have something to do with his hands. Instead, he tapped a steady rhythm against the building with his right foot that soothed him.

The colors of the fading evening were incredible. Anthony was unsure if he had seen a sunset like that before. Tangerine, magenta, and cerulean painted a breathtaking canvas that faded too quickly with the sun’s retreat. He was positive that New York did not look like this. Maybe it was the desert in the distance, that flat land, all rock and sand. Anthony wasn’t sure. But he wanted to come back every day to enjoy this little piece of nature he actually enjoyed. He could. Having an escape like this when everything became too much would be good for him, he decided.

After watching the sunset, he was not ready to return to the reality of his life downstairs. The high from the last of his coke had worn off and he was starting to experience the crash that he hated so much. His heart felt like it was beating too quickly in his chest; he recognized the feeling as anxiety. He just wanted to lie down before it got any worse. Anthony hopped off the wall and lay on the ground so he could watch the night sky. He was disappointed when he compared it to how it looked far outside the city where they buried Frankie. There were only a few pinpoints that overpowered the lights of Las Vegas. He could almost make out the ghosts of a constellation or two.

He didn’t know how long he was up there, only that it had been at least several hours since the night consumed the city and brought a slight chill. Anthony still couldn’t believe the scorching hot days could turn into this. He’d left his suit jacket in his room and was only wearing a white collared button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He unraveled them to fight off the initial coolness that slowly encompassed him. After a while, that was no longer enough. He needed to go inside, even if he dreaded the thought.

His room was located nearly in the midpoint of the hotel, slightly closer to where he exited the stairs. He was almost there, key in hand when he saw Henry at the opposite end of the hall. The brunette appeared stunned to see him after days of zero contact, even though he was obviously there for Anthony. He then became borderline panicked, like he knew that Anthony would bolt. He was right, of course.

Anthony rushed to unlock the door and successfully slammed it behind him before Henry could reach him. The taller man's hand thumped against the wood, having just barely missed his opportunity. It made the sound again when Henry hit his forehead against the door in defeat, too. Anthony was out of breath, trying to pant quietly as he slid to the floor. Henry knew his lover was separated from him by only inches, back pressed against the door. That made all of this so much worse.

“Anthony, we need to talk,” Henry said, volume low to not attract the attention of guests that may be in nearby rooms.

Anthony did not respond, knowing Henry couldn’t stay out there all night. Someone was bound to see him and he wouldn't press his luck. He tried one more time before retreating. Anthony did not cave. They would have to see each other at the meeting tomorrow evening anyway. The blond could not handle the thought of sitting at that table mere feet away from Henry if he ended things between them. He would rather sit in this limbo for a while longer. Part of him hoped Henry was afraid and hurting like he was. At least it would mean he cared.

---

The meeting was torture. Something Anthony had been looking forward to only days before was suddenly the last thing he wanted to do. He considered asking his father if he could sit this one out. He could come up with a half-believable excuse. But Anthony had one goal, and that was to be taken seriously. Regardless of what happened between Henry and him, he had to be in that room at his family's side.

Henry stood in the exact spot he had the day they met, flanking his boss’s right side. It felt like months had passed between now and then; it had only been a week. He didn't look at Anthony, the serious expression the blond hated firmly in place.

Anthony wanted to tear his hair out for being so stupid. He should have remembered no one outside of the Italians in that room knew who he was. Carlo downplayed his existence. He didn't even look anything like the other D'Angelos. Then there was Anthony playing hitman—something no mafioso in his right mind would send his son to do alone. Henry didn't know that Anthony held nearly no value to Carlo, so it was worth the risk of losing him. He was a loyal and disposable pawn. There was no way for Henry to know who he'd been sleeping with, who he said all those romantic things to…

Anthony wiggled his toes in his shoes to avoid tapping a foot, which would have drawn unwanted attention. He hated that he always had to be moving. It's like he had no control over his body when there was nothing to distract him. It became worse when he was anxious. And fuck he was anxious.

“I am hoping you and yours are enjoying your stay, Carlo,” the Russian said when they were all seated.

Their meetings always started with pleasantries. Anthony hated how superficial and inauthentic they were during these exchanges. He didn’t know why everyone couldn’t just speak their thoughts and get down to business. At least that way Anthony would not have to withstand the agony of being in Henry’s presence. It appeared that the brunette was not enjoying their silent tension either. Knowing that gave Anthony a little hope. He took it as a sign that as upset as Henry was with him, he hadn’t lied about caring for him.

“We are, thank you for ya hospitality. Now I know we had an agenda of sorts for today,” Carlo started. There was no nervousness about him as he prepared to deliver the news. He was a professional, after all. The Russian stopped him there.

“Ah, yes. You wish to talk about traitor you brought to my doorstep.”

Anthony lost control of his face entirely. The blood froze in his veins as he felt betrayal wash through him like a tidal wave. He didn't want to look at Henry, but he couldn't help himself. The other man was still as a statue, refusing to make eye contact with him. Not even seconds after he thought Henry gave a shit about him, he realized he had been deceived. Anthony allowed himself three seconds to school his features. He didn't have time to lose it in front of everyone. So he took a deep breath.

“Yes,” Carlo answered without any of the outward terror that his son was feeling.

“It is my understanding that he is no longer problem, yes?”

“I took care ‘a him. He can't spill a word to a soul where he's gone.”

The Russian nodded thoughtfully. “You and I will be continuing this meeting alone. I wish to speak of what you learned. I do not know if is suitable for audience. You may bring one man, I will be bringing mine.”

He meant Henry.

Anthony didn't know how to react to any of that. He wanted to be in that room to see what happened, to understand the implications of it all. He wanted to drive to the airport immediately to return home and never look back. He wanted to beat Henry senseless like he had Frankie.

Carlo agreed to the terms. Everyone left except for him, his chosen man, the Russian, and Henry. Even Carmelo was ushered out of the room, finally on the same side of the door with Anthony after all these years. He could tell his older brother didn't like being on the outs like this. His fists clenched at his sides and his jaw was tight. Anthony thought the prominent vein on his temple might explode in his rage.

“How the fuck does he know about Frankie?”

Carmelo whipped around to face Anthony, not even waiting for a response before he punched him in the face without warning. The smaller brother almost went down, but he held out. He muffled the following sobs so the men in the meeting room wouldn't hear him. Undoubtedly, they heard the pathetic sound Anthony made when Carmelo's fist smashed into his face. He would not give anyone the satisfaction of a peep beyond that, though. Anthony stumbled back a few steps, cradling his face in hand. Every other Italian in the hallway froze momentarily before hurriedly evacuating the area, leaving the brothers to their altercation.

“What the fuck, Carmelo! I don't know! I didn't tell nobody!” Anthony lied.

“Then why is Pops in there alone and we're out here!”

“I told ya they were onto him. They must ‘a found out more than I thought. Frankie wasn’t very good at hidin’ what he was doin’.” Anthony winced as he removed his hand from the bruise that was forming around his eye. At least Carmelo didn’t break his nose this time. “You’re such a dick.”

His brother stormed off without an apology. Anthony set off for his new hiding place but not before using a little angel dust in his room. Maybe a little more than a little. He didn’t care if it was a bad idea; he needed it. So, he took himself to the top of the building where he could be alone with his thoughts until everything went numb for a few hours.

Anthony sat on the hotel roof, legs dangling carelessly over the edge of the low wall. He gazed across the city and then up at the sky where the stars were almost completely blocked out by the light pollution, just like last night.

It would be so easy to jump…

Anthony reeled as the thought preoccupied his mind, the image of him tipping over the edge replaying like a never-ending moving picture. What Henry had said the other day, “you did a great job”, repeated over and over as he thought of himself tumbling toward the street below. Each time he heard Henry’s voice in his head, the words took on a different tone, changing their meaning. He often experienced something similar. A record would pop into his head without reason, playing an intrusive melody for hours until something new overtook the fixation.

He didn't want to die. But it would be easy to do. He wouldn't jump. At least, he thought he wouldn’t. Not yet. No. There was more for him to do. He would not be giving up like that. But he could do it. It was having the option to decide something in his life that was so enticing. Of course, he wouldn’t do it. Or would he? Could he? He most certainly could.

An uncharacteristic breeze whipped around the building and tousled his hair. Anthony closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the desert that came with it. He was deeply disturbed by the day's events, but he found a little solace on the roof. With the pleasant, novel sensations filling him and PCP helping, he was able to take a deep, fulfilling breath.

Even though his face throbbed horribly at first, he refused to go inside to apply something cold to the wound. Let it swell, bruise, and disfigure me , he thought. He deserved it. He wanted a physical manifestation of his mistakes, to know that he was an idiot who deserved pain every time he looked in the mirror. It did not take long for the PCP to take that pain away, though.

He was left feeling lighter in spirit though his body felt much heavier. The usually stationary lights of the strip began dancing and whirling, nearly making him feel sick. They were so beautiful. He knew they would be even better when he was high like this. He liked being right. Anthony felt like he would melt into the ground and drip down the building like globs of wet paint.

The dopamine surge started to fizzle out not long after. He began to spiral again as he bore the onslaught of the thoughts that ran circles inside his head. Him jumping. Henry’s words. The pain in his face. Jumping. Words. Pain. Jumping words pain. Jumpingwordspain.

“Anthony,” Henry said hesitantly from several feet behind him.

He would have been startled if he cared more, if he wasn’t so high. He did not turn around.

“Anthony.”

Jumping.

“Please look at me.”

Words.

“I need you to look at me.”

Pain.

“Please don't do it,” Henry pleaded.

The thoughts stopped dead in their tracks, if for only a moment. Anthony peered over the edge and considered the drop. It was maybe eighty feet, give or take with the casino's high ceilings. Maybe it didn't appear that tall from the ground, not compared to buildings he was used to in New York, but it was still a substantial height at the top. It was more than sufficient for a fall from here to kill him. He could jump.

“I'm not gonna do it,” Anthony replied for his own benefit. He didn't care much for soothing Henry anymore. But he also wasn’t sure if that was the truth. Because he could do it. He knew he was capable of it.

“Can you come off the ledge, please?”

The blond leaned forward a tad farther, though he tightly braced himself on the wall with both hands. He just wanted to see. The lights swirled faster and faster, creating a glowing whirlpool he thought would feel so good to dive into. He imagined it felt like taking a warm bath after playing in the snow for hours, like he used to do with Molly. Henry said something else he did not understand, the words sucked into the vortex.

“I'm not doin’ anything you say. Leave,” the blond replied lazily, staring into the breathtaking void below.

“You know I can't walk away with you like this. Please. Anthony, I'm begging you.”

“It's funny how ya give a fuck now.” Anthony said it cruelly, snapping back to his senses just enough to remember he was furious. He turned his head enough that he could see Henry's face. He wanted to watch him suffer.

“I always care about you!” There was suffering there, and it was delicious. “Anthony, come down from there so we can talk.”

“We can talk just fine here.”

“Just let me explain. Everything's okay now. No one got hurt and we're all on the same page.”

“Full offense, Henry, but I don't give a shit. You didn't let me explain myself, ran off an’ told ya boss about Frankie… No one got hurt? I did. You betrayed me.”

“I tried to find you. You kept running away! Fuck, Anthony, just get over here so we can talk this out before I have a heart attack.”

“Do it, then. Why should I care if ya die?” Anthony sounded almost bored again, detached from his words.

“I would do it for you,” Henry said solemnly. “I would die for you.”

Anthony almost smiled. “Yeah, sure ya would, baby. You always so romantic when ya think a guy's gonna kill himself?”

“I only told him to protect you. If your father sprung that information on him in front of everyone, he would've lost it. You don't know the man I work for, Anthony, but I do. I told him about Frankie and how one of Carlo's men took him out as a peace offering. I said I didn’t know who did it and smoothed the worst of it over with him. So you would be safe. So you won’t get hurt. He can’t find out you killed Frankie.”

“Why would ya do that? You left me. Even after you promised ya wouldn’t, fucking dick!”

“What you said... It threw me for a loop. I think that’s understandable. How the hell am I supposed to react to you being Carlo's son?”

“By givin’ me a fuckin’ chance to speak!”

Anthony spun around on the wall so his legs hung from the side facing the roof rather than the steep drop. This did nothing to soothe Henry's worry, his eyes still darting between Anthony's face and how dangerously close he was to falling to his death. In the plentiful moonlight, Henry was better able to see him. He now looked like someone punched him in the gut.

“Who did that to you?”

His voice hardly rose above the sound of the wind, though there was a deadliness lurking under the surface of his words. It reminded Anthony of the calm before a storm. He wasn't sure what Henry was talking about at first, but he feared for whoever earned his silent wrath. Look what happened to Frankie. Then Anthony realized his beat-up face was now visible as Henry's glare lasered in on the bruises that bloomed around his eye, across his cheek. It was probably a nice dark purple by now.

“Carmelo hit me. For ya boss finding out about Frankie.”

Henry appeared close to falling apart. Part of Anthony savored his pain. He figured it was only fair for the brunette to bear a fraction of everything he was feeling.

“He hit you because of me?”

Anthony shrugged because he didn't know what to say. It wasn't the first time Carmelo did something like this to him. He was always punch first, ask questions later. Even as a grown man, he struggled with using words instead of his fists. Anthony was no stranger to his brother’s rage.

“Anthony… I'm so fucking sorry,” Henry said with so much pain in his voice. “I didn't know you would get hurt. I promise I was only trying to protect you.”

“Well, great fuckin’ job ya did there, asshole.”

“Can I come closer?”

Henry took a tentative step toward him. Anthony narrowed his eyes at him. He didn't think he wanted to let Henry anywhere near him. Why wouldn't he just leave him alone so he could sulk in peace? He hugged himself tightly, trying to find the strength to tell Henry to fuck off. Part of him wanted to let him grovel, to try to amend his transgressions. That part craved the comfort of his lover's arms. The one that won out was the anger, however. That part came with the intrusive thoughts as well.

He could still jump.

The thought returned even though Anthony wished it would stay away. He didn't want to jump. But there was an opportunity in front of him to try it. Finding his way to the ground below would be quick and easy. It would be so unbelievably easy. He could find out how the wind in his hair felt as he fell. Henry would probably scream after him as he went all the way down.

He could jump.

It's like Henry knew what he was thinking. He took another careful step forward, then another. He was only a few feet away from Anthony now. Another step. Close enough to reach out and touch him. Henry would have too, were it not for Anthony reflexively leaning back ever so slightly, bringing him closer to tipping over the edge. The brunette froze in place, making no sudden moves.

He could jump.

“Please come down.” Henry looked terrified.

Anthony glanced behind him at the city that had captivated him. The whirlpool of lights was gone. Now it was only the strip below and the hard, unforgiving pavement. Yet he still considered it. It would be… so easy. The faintest smile came to him as did a calmness, a reassurance from the universe that he would be okay. All he had to do was listen to what it was telling him. Anthony rose to stand on the ledge. Everything else was hard, but this didn't have to be. This would be the most effortless thing he’d ever done. He just had to let go.

He was distracted by the thought. Distracted enough that Henry came closer than he anticipated. Before Anthony could register the movement or react, the brunette grabbed him by the arm and yanked him onto the roof. Both men toppled to the floor, Anthony with a yelp of surprise. He half landed on top of Henry.

“What the fuck, Henry! Ya tryna kill me?”

“I'm trying to keep you from doing something stupid!”

Anthony crawled away from him, angrier now that Henry disrupted his connection with the universe. He was so at peace for those few moments. Now it was all ruined. And for what? A man who pretended to care about him.

“Too damn late for that, huh? I trusted you! I fuckin’ knew better but I let ya pretty brown eyes and stupid smile get the best ‘a me. I'm an idiot for lettin’ ya in. I told you… so much. You just wanted to fuck me an’ not give a damn about anything else. All that stuff you said, it was all a lie. So why do ya give a shit if I do it?”

Henry blinked at him in confusion. “I never lied to you.”

“You promised ya'd never hurt me. What do you call all ‘a this?” Anthony gestured to his face, though it was his breaking heart that hurt unbelievably more.

“I was trying to protect you from much worse,” Henry said darkly.

“Fuck you, Henry. I ain’t fragile.”

Anthony scrambled to get up. He would go to his room if he couldn't be alone up here. Henry couldn't follow him there. It would only take one bystander to prevent the brunette from pursuing him. And if that didn’t work, he was prepared to make a scene until it did. Henry rose to his feet and positioned himself between Anthony and the roof’s edge. He did not realize the blond was looking to escape another way now, leaving the thoughts of jumping behind him. Henry ruined it anyway.

“What will it take for you to hear me out?” Henry asked, desperate at this point.

Anthony didn’t have a good answer beyond telling him he would need to turn back time to undo all the damage he’d done. Telling his boss. Killing Frankie for him. Making Anthony fall in love with him in only days. To never approach him at the bar that first night. He would need to completely erase himself from Anthony’s life like he never even existed. But it was impossible to correct the mistakes they both made. So he guessed the truth might help ease the pain of his bleeding heart.

“Have you been usin’ me to spy for your boss?”

“Of course not.” There was no delay whatsoever in Henry’s answer. Anthony still didn’t believe him.

“I want the truth. Don't fuck with me.”

“I’ve been seeing you because I want to. That’s the truth.”

Anthony scoffed. “Oh yeah, and why would I believe for one second ya’d want to be with some loser addict like me?”

Maybe Anthony would feel better if Henry was using him. That meant he had a purpose, some worth. If he was not deserving of happiness, at least he could be useful in some way, even like this. As much as it hurt him to find out that he was nothing to Henry, he was still more valuable to him than he ever was to his own family. In a sick and twisted way, it made Anthony feel needed. That is all he ever wanted. Well, now he had it and it hurt so fucking badly.

“You have made me powerless, Anthony. You’re all I can think about. I spend every moment away from you wondering when I can see you again. The days we’ve been apart are some of the worst of my life. I don't know how I lived without you before and I can't—I won’t do it again.”

The next breath Anthony took caught in his throat. Henry put into words exactly what Anthony had thought all week. Even though he felt insane for having those feelings, they were undeniably real. How could Henry know the deepest desires of his heart without him sharing them? Unless…

Anthony had one more question to ask.

“Do ya love me?”

The words hung heavily in the air. This was the only time Henry held back, thinking of his reply carefully. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, knowing it would push Anthony over the literal edge. Hesitating too much would have the same effect. Henry took a deep breath. His eyes softened as he said the words no man ever had to Anthony:

“I love you more than life itself.”

Chapter 6

Notes:

Okay, apparently I love these two way too much to ruin their lives just yet. Here's a short chapter because I added two more (again).

Anthony was still too high to be certain of anything, so he thought he might be hallucinating. It was not the flashiest of hallucinations that happened tonight, but it was one of the more interesting. And it wasn’t actively trying to make Anthony kill himself, so that was good, too. Depending on how the rest of this turned out, there was still time for that, though. He could always squeeze it in later. He had no other plans.

It sounded like Henry just said he loved him. That was unfathomable, crazy even. Anthony knew he had unreasonably strong feelings for his lover, but it was not likely—actually it was impossible—they were reciprocated. Who falls in love in only a week? Not to mention with a man who is close to his faction’s rival! It makes no sense. Who even does that? Except for Anthony, of course. He was an outlier who had the only unique human experience in the entire world. He was also an idiot.

“I love you.”

Henry said it again, which made it less likely that Anthony imagined it the first time. He seemed so goddamn genuine in that way that made Anthony want to believe everything he said, no matter how crazy it was. The blond tried to find any reason to discredit the words that came out of Henry's mouth. He thought his lover looked a little too assured of himself for someone who has just laid his heart out at their feet. This was vulnerability on a level he couldn’t even comprehend. Anthony thought if that were him, he would be a nervous fucking wreck on the brink of… Oh.

Oh.

Anthony was a nervous fucking wreck losing his mind over Henry and how he felt about him. Wasn’t that what this entire mess was about? It was Anthony’s heartbreak from thinking he was betrayed by his lover, of thinking he didn’t care. Calm, rational Henry saw Anthony’s display for what it was. This was the blond’s way of showing that he cared about him, loved him. So, no, Henry did not need to feel insecure about his feelings; he already knew that they were requited, and fiercely so.

Anthony’s eyes welled up with tears at the realization. He couldn’t tell which of the many feelings were the cause of them, just that it was so raw he was almost knocked to his knees. His lip trembled as he tried to hold it all back.

“Come here, baby,” Henry said tenderly, arms opened wide.

Anthony did. He threw himself into Henry’s arms and wept against his chest like he had nights before. Henry held him so tightly that Anthony knew he wouldn’t be able to fall apart, even if he wanted to. Henry continued whispering that he loved him into his hair, over and over until it started to finally sink in. Anthony couldn’t bring himself to say the words back or anything at all, really. He could only manage to hold onto his lover with all his strength like they’d be torn apart, even though only death would be able to separate them.

They stood there for a time, wrapped in each other’s embrace until Anthony’s high waned almost completely. He was able to come back into his body, which was wholly unpleasant other than having Henry so close to him. He was cold, his face throbbed, and the rest of him felt like he’d been sucked dry by an emotional vampire. Anthony was nothing more than a husk of himself at this point. The day had been too much for all of this.

He shivered with the next wisp of wind that blew over the rooftop. Henry removed his jacket with great difficulty, having Anthony still being wound tightly around his midsection and refusing to budge. He then draped it across his lover’s shoulders and tucked it around him for warmth. It felt nice.

“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart,” Henry suggested. “It’s been… a long day.”

Anthony could only manage a nod at the understatement, letting the brunette gather him up in his arms in the most comforting way. Henry risked being seen carrying his lover the short distance through the hall to his room, knowing that there was no way Anthony was making it anywhere safely by himself. Honestly, he was still convinced he might jump if he turned his back, regardless of how positively things had turned around. Fortunately, it was that sweet spot of the night where everyone had left to hit the town and it was still too early to return to their rooms for sex or sleep.

If he had been feeling more himself, Anthony would have been impressed by how Henry minorly shifted to hold him in one arm so he could unlock the door with his other hand. Instead, he just nuzzled his face in the crook of Henry’s neck and breathed in the scent of him. The door opened and closed behind them with no issues. Then Henry enveloped Anthony in his arms again, squeezing him tighter as though he wanted to ensure he was still there instead of on the perilous roof. The blond nearly sighed with contentment, though he still felt like a shell of a human with nothing else to give.

“I love you,” Henry whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Anthony’s head.

Anthony managed the ghost of a smile that Henry couldn’t see anyway. He knew it wasn’t enough, but it had to be for now. When he was well again, he would tell Henry he loved him every second of the day until the end of time.

Henry gently laid him on the bed and set to making Anthony comfortable. Even after the blond had him running after him wildly all week, Henry was going to make sure he was okay. He helped Anthony out of his clothes and into one of his clean shirts that was way too large for his frame, though it was comforting all the same. Anthony curled up on his side and tried to enjoy the feeling of being in his lover’s bed again.

When he had a moment, Henry called the concierge for ice to be brought up to the room. Even Anthony, who grew up wealthy, was not used to seeing private telephones in hotel rooms. He didn’t want to know how much it cost to install, or the price of ice out in the desert. He was grateful for the luxuries when it meant that Henry did not have to go to the lobby. A staff member arrived with a cart bearing everything Henry had asked for: ice, new linens, and whiskey, of course. They attempted to enter the room, but the brunette waved them off before they could see another man in his bed. He seemed to have an established relationship with them, as he did with most at the hotel, so no questions were asked. The cart was left as he requested.

Henry first offered him a drink. Anthony had enough of mixing substances today, so he declined. The brunette shot back a double, then another, like he'd had a hard day. And he had. Anthony made sure of that. He also wasn't sure what else happened before their interaction on the roof. Even though Henry said the meeting between Carlo and the Russian went well, that could mean anything. Anthony would have to ask for details some other time.

Henry chipped at the small ice block with a gilded icepick, breaking off more manageable pieces until he was satisfied with the amount. He scooped them up inside a cloth and offered the makeshift ice pack to Anthony, who did not move to take it. Henry almost smiled at him, never faulting him for his stubbornness even when he should. The brunette sat on the bed and gently pressed the ice against the injured side of Anthony’s face.

“That fuckin’ hurts,” Anthony complained, the first thing he’d said since Henry’s confession.

“Stop being a baby. You’ve had worse.”

Anthony wanted to protest and ask where his gentle lover had gone, but he didn’t have anything left in him to be obstinate. He relaxed into the mattress and let Henry apply the ice to his bruises. After a few minutes, he noticed that it helped numb some of the pain, even if he did not like how it dampened his neck as it melted.

“What's wrong?” Henry asked a few moments later, sounding amused. “You're making a face.”

“It's cold and wet.”

“It's almost like that's what ice is.”

Anthony glared at him and rolled over, bruised side down. Henry made a new ice pack and wrapped it in another cloth to appease his needy lover. He gingerly brushed Anthony's hair aside and replaced the ice against his face despite the awkward angle.

“I love you,” Henry said. It sounded like he enjoyed how the words rolled off his tongue, as he would never tire of saying it.

Instead of replying with words, Anthony reached for Henry's arm and pulled it over him. The motion was clear; he was done with the ice and needed him. The brunette complied as he always did, discarding the ice pack on the nightstand. He removed his outer layers of clothing and turned off the lights before coming to bed. Anthony moved over to make room for Henry to slide into bed behind him. Those safe, strong arms curled around the blond, and Anthony knew he would have to do everything to be better for Henry. He couldn’t keep being such a fucking mess if he wanted him to stick around.

“I love ya, too, Henry,” Anthony finally whispered. “More than anything.”

---

A letter from Molly arrived days later. She spent most of her reply bemoaning their indefinite separation, stating they promised to return before the summer. They had several months until then, so Anthony felt confident that they could still make it to New York before the imaginary deadline. Still, he understood how she felt. He still missed her all the time. While having Henry was a good distraction, he could never fill the void of his twin’s absence.

Toward the end, Molly mentioned her boyfriend, the one Anthony didn’t like for any reason other than he existed. She said there were hints that a proposal was inevitable, but she was not sure of the timeline. Anthony let that settle over him like an uncomfortable weight. He wanted to be there for her so badly. Everything was changing so quickly. He didn’t know how to navigate all these developments without her.

The last and smallest portion of the letter inquired about Anthony’s romantic prospects in Las Vegas. She wanted to know if he’d found love in the desert. He had. Anthony badly wanted to tell her everything about Henry and how he made him feel. How he was safe and adored. He wanted to tell Molly he hoped she felt the same way with her future husband. She deserved that kind of love and more. Instead, he wrote back something generic about keeping his options open, playing up the bachelor angle he knew no one believed, least of all his twin.

He reread the letter several times and thought of what else he would say to her. Mostly he wrote about missing her too and promised to return home soon. Other than killing someone and falling in love with Henry, Anthony hadn't done much worth talking about. Since he couldn't share either of those things with his twin, his words were superficial, and he hated it. He'd write to her again when anything even remotely interesting happened.

Anthony dressed in something comfortable, a flowy green blouse that was Molly's at some point. It made him feel closer to her for a moment, though the longing for her was still sharp in his chest. He tucked it into his trousers which were a little more form-fitting than he liked and admired himself in Henry's mirror. That is until he looked at his face and saw the yellowing bruises from the other day. While he was high and angry, he liked that they were there. Now that he was more himself, Anthony hated how they made him look paler and sickly. At least he had his favorite shirt to lounge around in Henry's room.

When his lover returned, he devoured Anthony with his eyes. He would've torn him out of his clothes had Anthony not implored him to spare the delicate shirt. After carefully removing his clothing with all the restraint he had, Henry fucked Anthony just the way he liked.

“Please, please, please, please,” Anthony whined as he approached his climax.

Henry did not ask him to beg during sex anymore. Anthony knew what he wanted by now, and he found he actually liked begging for his lover to make him come undone. Plus, he discovered that Henry was very skilled with his mouth when they had the time for him to indulge him. The brunette pulled away from Anthony's cock right as he was about to come, making him groan in frustration.

“Fuck you, Henry. I said please.”

Gorgeous brown eyes looked up at him so sweetly that Anthony couldn't be mad for long. He still gave Henry's hair a sharp tug that made him wince. The taller man chuckled and kissed up the inside of Anthony's thighs, continuing to torture him in the best way. He considered how much longer he wanted to tease his lover before giving into his desires.

“Baby, please.”

Henry pretended to mull it over for a few seconds. Another rough pull of his hair made him laugh. Anthony had never laughed with someone during sex like he did with Henry. The brunette decided he deserved it.

“You are such a good boy. Come for me, sweetheart.”

“Thank fuckin’ Christ!”

That talented mouth took Anthony's cock faster than before. He wouldn’t make his lover wait any longer for the orgasm Henry had been teasing out of him for nearly half an hour. Henry had to go to work after finishing Anthony. If he hadn't spent the morning teasing his lover, they would've had time for sex, which Anthony reminded him. The blond ran his hand along Henry's length through his pants and cursed having to wait to feel it inside of him.

“You're insatiable, sweetheart,” Henry chuckled. He rolled off of the bed to his feet.

“It's your fault! How am I supposed to not want you inside me when ya already hard and ready for me? At least let me return the favor. You know I can finish ya quick.”

Anthony looked at his lover hungrily, praying he'd give in. He was disappointed when Henry checked the time and shook his head.

“No time, baby. Raincheck for tonight?”

“I oughta say no so you learn a lesson.”

Henry grinned at him. “That's a yes.”

“Yeah, yeah, go fuck yaself. Lucky ya so fuckin’ irresistible,” Anthony groaned.

Henry finished dressing, making sure his erection was tucked believably away before ducking down to kiss Anthony. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Then he was gone. Anthony was expected at breakfast soon so they wouldn't have had much time anyway. That didn’t mean he wasn't upset that he didn't get his full morning dose of Henry. Henry was right; Anthony was insatiable, but it was his fault. He'd never met a man he wanted to fuck more than once, much less more than once every single day.

There was the matter of how Henry started looking at him differently, too. His eyes were lidded, smile always soft and genuine. There was such… fondness in the expression. He hadn't been on the receiving end of that before him. Anthony knew he would kill for this man, but he would die for him, too. If Henry asked, he'd put a gun in his mouth and end it all. It wouldn't even cost him a moment of hesitation. But the thing that confused the fuck out of Anthony was that Henry would do the same for him.

Anthony had never been loved before. He didn't know how he felt this way about someone he woke up next to nearly every day. Shouldn't they be getting sick of each other? Or at least be looking for someone else to fuck to break up the monotony of being with the same person over and over? But their sex wasn't monotonous. It was anything but. If anything, it got better each time, like Henry learned all his intricacies and could fulfill him in ways he didn't know he could be.

Before he could get worked up again and have to touch himself, Anthony dressed appropriately for the day. He was getting hungry after being pleasured all morning, so he looked forward to the meal. At least as much as he could be to sit at a table with his family. And breakfast was good, as it always was. Thanks to his father and their gracious host, there was anything Anthony could want. He ate his fill and enjoyed the silence between the D'Angelos. At least none of them were fighting this morning. That beautiful silence didn’t last forever.

“We gotta target for ya,” Carlo said once the plates were cleared and the staff left the room.

Anthony's head cocked at the news. He had no idea he would be needed like this again. The part of him that relished violence surged in pleasure. It would be nice to have something to do other than sitting around waiting for Henry all day like a bored housewife.

“Sure thing, Pops. Tell me who an’ when, it's done.”

“Ya did good takin’ the rat out quick last time. We need this done within a week.”

Carlo provided some information on the target, some random asshole who independently cornered a part of their desired market. Take him out, secure the territory, and leave the rest to Carmelo. He was the only one doing the hard shit and getting his hands dirty. Carmelo mostly did talking and numbers. Anthony was too happy with his new life outside of his family to care that his work was undervalued.

“I'll get started right away,” Anthony assured him.

He then spent the day learning more about his target: where he went, what he did, and with whom. Anthony would need at least several days’ worth of intel to make any moves decidedly. This wasn't like the Frankie hit where he knew the man and the best ways to get him to comply. At least with this one, he didn't need to worry about an interrogation; they just needed the man dead. If Anthony was good at anything, it was killing indiscriminately. Any additional suffering would depend on what kind of mood he was in that day.

The stakeout led Anthony to several bars along the outskirts of the city. All of them were seedy joints, nothing more than shitty brothels disguised by unkempt bar tops that weren't even remotely believable. They were far enough on the fringes that cops didn’t bother with keeping them in check, however. This was where his target did most of his dealings. He made drops efficiently, as he could get in and out as one person quickly. Anthony would prefer their drug runs more if they were like this. He didn't like all the drawn-out conversation, the maintaining of business relationships. The blond liked being able to run into a place, ask who wanted some coke, and be on his way, cash in hand.

Henry was already in his room when Anthony returned to the hotel that night. Anthony hadn't realized how late it had gotten, but it didn't matter. His lover always waited up for him and vice-versa. That way they were always greeted by the man they loved most in the world after a long day. Anthony stripped and slid into Henry's bed, sighing comfortably.

“I wasn't sure where you'd gone off to. You're not usually out this late,” Henry said, folding his arms lovingly around the blond. There was some discomfort in his voice. “I checked the roof.”

The last part made Anthony wince a bit. He didn't realize that his disappearances could be misread like that still. Anthony thought they moved past everything that happened that night. Then again, he did threaten to kill himself, and he couldn't imagine how he'd feel if their roles had been reversed. It was understandable it would take time in context.

“Carlo's got a job for me. I was out,” Anthony replied.

Henry knew his lover could handle anything that came his way. That didn't mean he liked knowing he was running around town hunting a drug dealer to murder.

“Just be careful. I don't know what I would do if you got hurt.”

Anthony curled more into Henry's chest. “I promise I'm being safe.”

He wasn't sure if that was the truth. Anthony was operating the same way he always had. He hadn't had much to live for before, so maybe self-preservation wasn't one of his strong suits. The blond resolved he would be more mindful of his actions, knowing he had a man he adored at home waiting for him. He had a lot to live for now.

“Do you want to talk about it more?”

“Not really, if that's okay. I'm sick a’ work. Why don't ya tell me about your day.”

Henry relayed what few details of his day were even remotely worth sharing. It was a lot of same shit, different day with him. If anything happened beyond that, it was a bad day. Henry was only needed when something horrible went down. Anthony did like hearing about how he beat up some drunk asshole and kicked him out of the casino, though. The thought was so attractive that he couldn't help how his body reacted.

“Just when I thought we were going to bed,” Henry breathed teasingly on the top of Anthony's head.

“What can I say? Ya get me going.”

Henry's hand traveled down Anthony's thigh and stroked his half-hard length. The blond rolled into his touch and moaned softly, loving that Henry would always give him what he craved.

“You promised me a raincheck, by the way.”

“That I did, baby. Come here.”

Anthony beamed brightly and rolled to straddle his lover. Henry made love to him again.

Notes:

I have so much already written, but it keeps getting jumbled up with new minor plot points. Hopefully will get that sorted out soon to update more quickly.

Thank you all for all the nice comments <3

Chapter 7

Notes:

This chapter doesn't quite flow well into the next. Will I be adding *another* chapter to bridge it? Probably.

See tags for content warnings.

Anthony finally knew what he was going to do. One of the clubs his target frequented to sling drugs was an underground queer bar. The blond started hanging around every night and acting like a normal patron. Anthony drank, danced, and had fun in the meantime. He missed his usual scene in New York more than he thought. It made him wish he could bring Henry here, too. Though the bar was fairly safe for them to be themselves, it didn't change the fact that Henry wasn't necessarily a low-profile figure in the city. Anthony being the son of his boss’s tenuous business partner did not help bring them any anonymity either. Anywhere drugs made money, they were likely to be known. And this was Las Vegas, after all.

Anthony made some quick acquaintances he was happy to see night after night while he learned about his newest hit. It was nice to do something outside of the hotel that wasn't just getting high, though he definitely still did that. He briefly thought about how he could be content living in Las Vegas long-term, especially on the good nights. That brought up all sorts of unpleasant feelings about his impending separation from Henry, so he buried them down deeply where they couldn’t resurface.

Focus.

The end of the week was approaching quickly, and Anthony figured out his next move. He was going to attempt to seduce the guy and see what happens. It's what he was good at, after all. Anthony was proud to say he was never unsuccessful in getting a man into his bed that he wanted. Now he was not absolutely sure the man was queer, but he appeared too relaxed around the bar to be anything but. Heterosexual men weren't quite comfortable around them on any given day. Anthony imagined it would be slightly more difficult to immerse oneself entirely in queerness.

On the fifth night after receiving his job, Anthony took more time readying himself than normal. He was gorgeous on the regular with almost no effort, but he needed to pull out all the stops for this one. If his plan went awry, he only had two days to come up with something else. He didn't want to risk a deadline like that. So he took more time than needed to style his curls with his fingers, carefully laying them around his face in that way that tended to drive men crazy, especially Henry. Anthony knew he loved his hair, the way he played with it tenderly at every opportunity.

Anthony would've liked to apply just a hint of makeup like in New York, but he still had to traverse the casino and city streets to the bar. He wasn't about to open himself up to a hate crime for the sake of a job. Normally he would worry about his family seeing him too, though he could explain the situation away with only a crushing amount of shame that would still get him backhanded. Under his usual plain attire, Anthony wore his favorite blouse. It was concealed well enough by his white dress shirt and suit jacket. That, and his gun, as always.

The queer bar was in a run-down building, its sign illegible through its peeling paint. It wasn't special by any means, but it made Anthony feel something akin to hope fluttering in the pit of his stomach. He didn't bother thinking about a day in the future where he wouldn't have to hide who he was; Anthony knew he would never live to see that. But he hoped that maybe someday queer people wouldn't be quite as stigmatized or live in constant danger. Pushing the thought aside, no matter how lovely, he stripped off the outer layers of his attire and Anthony walked through the doors.

“Heya, Michael,” the bartender called over the music upon seeing Anthony. He was a stocky man not much taller than Anthony with arms and chest covered in thick, dark hair. Not necessarily his type, but sometimes he was a sucker for a man with a pleasant personality.

Anthony didn't like that he had to use an alias here. He found a place where he could openly be himself in one regard, yet he still couldn't fully be Tony, not about his family identity. Anthony brushed off his negativity, flashing the man a bright smile and ordering his new usual: a dry martini. As much as he loved Henry, he hated whiskey and enjoyed grabbing a refreshing drink with his friends. That would put him in a better mood.

“How's business, Bud?”

Bud gestured across the half-empty room, though it was still early in the evening. More patrons would file in as the night progressed. Anthony looked forward to the part of the night where everyone was liberally intoxicated and started dancing. It made him feel free in ways he couldn’t put into words. He liked dancing with men who flirted with him but would never get to have him. He liked that he could have fun but still leave whenever he wanted and go home to his lover. Anthony never had to do anything he didn’t want to do with his body when he was here. It felt powerful.

“It’s gonna be a good night,” Anthony assured the bartender.

He paid for his drink and took a chair at a table in the far corner where he usually made his post. It was his preferred spot due to the vantage point of the entire bar. Anthony wanted to make sure he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to intercept his target if he made one of his quick drops tonight. That, and he could usually avoid any attention he didn’t purposefully attract from other men. As the bar filled to its normal census, one or two still approached him, offering to buy him a drink. He politely declined, half-lying about waiting to meet someone. Over the next hour, they eyed him periodically, confused that someone who looked like Anthony appeared to have been stood up by his date. Just as the projected thought began grating on Anthony’s pride, the man of the hour showed.

The tall man was young, maybe even younger than Anthony, and had hair a color that reminded him of wet cardboard. He was okay-looking in that way that made him exactly Anthony’s usual type. This would be easy. Anthony was excited for something simple and straightforward.

Anthony proceeded to the bar so he could believably order a drink before the man made it there. Bud was always quick on the draw and had another martini in the shaker before he could even open his mouth to ask. The blond gave him a genuine smile, taking the glass as soon as the drink was poured. He carefully watched the target out of the corner of his eye until he was mere feet away. Then with practiced precision that Anthony had done more times than he could remember, he quickly turned around at the exact moment he needed to run straight into the other man, effectively spilling his martini on both of them.

Just as he expected, the man was geared up to scream at Anthony, to call him every name in the book for drenching him in alcohol. But then he looked from the mess to a pathetically terrified-looking Anthony and his entire demeanor changed. The blond hurriedly set his glass on the bartop and reached for the rag Bud tossed his way, the bartender unfazed by a little spilled alcohol. Anthony apologized profusely with a convincingly nervous stutter and started dabbing at the man’s wet shirt with shaking hands. He dipped into his acting experience for a little eye watering, even though it was a bit over the top. Anthony looked up at the man with his wide tearful eyes that made suckers out of men. He instantly knew he won.

The man’s eyes grew larger as he took in the blond, stunned by his beauty for a moment. That was always his favorite part. It’s like they’ve never seen a man that looked quite like Anthony before, and maybe they hadn’t. Now that his bruises were healed, he was an unblemished masterpiece. He was lovely with his freckled skin and golden curls, how his face practically glowed when he smiled. He and Molly always attracted significant attention wherever they went, especially as a pair. How could anyone resist perfection?

“Hey, hey, it’s alright!” the man said, holding up both hands in a way that told him to calm down.

Anthony continued uselessly attempting to sop up his mess. “I—I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it, gorgeous. No harm done. Seriously.”

Hook.

The man took Anthony’s wrists with both of his hands, halting his anxious cleaning. He had a crooked little smile that would have done it for Anthony not too long ago. Now it just made him want to go home to Henry. Still, it boded well for his plan.

“Are ya sure? Ya really ain’t mad?” Anthony asked, laying it on thicker than he needed to.

Bud, who was still very present, made a sound like he was choking back a laugh. The bartender knew a come-on when he saw one. Anthony wished he could shoot him a dirty look that said let him work. Fortunately, the man wasn’t very bright. Or if he did see through the act, he didn’t care.

“Not at all. Accidents happen, right?” The man released one of his hands but held the other.

Line.

“I’m just so… clumsy.”

“That’s okay, hot stuff. Lemme get you another.”

Anthony half-heartedly tried to protest, arguing it was he who spilled the drink in the first place. The man pressured his hand and insisted, saying it was actually his fault for walking by him too closely. He said it would be his pleasure.

Sinker.

Bud made Anthony his third martini while giving him a knowing look. The blond pointedly rolled his eyes at him, wordlessly telling him to mind his business. He then took a sip of his drink while waiting for the man to get his as well. Anthony knew his mark never hung around the bar normally. He was staying for him, just as he’d hoped. Everything was going so well, Anthony smiled smugly to himself. After they both had alcohol in hand, the blond gestured to the table where he was previously seated, inviting him to sit awhile. The man obliged because of course he did.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in a place like this?”

Anthony fabricated some of the shyness that Henry naturally brought out of him, averting his gaze. It didn’t feel the same when this man called him pretty. Something akin to disgust wormed its way under his skin, making it crawl uncomfortably. He busied his hands with lighting a cigarette, which he first offered to the man who declined with a shake of his head. Knowing he had an expressive face, Anthony quickly took a few short puffs of the cigarette and schooled his features to hide his discomfort. Jesus, could he hold it together for five fucking minutes?

“A gal’s gotta have fun sometimes,” Anthony replied demurely, a wisp of smoke curling from his lips. The man’s eyes lingered there.

“And how is it someone who looks like you is having fun alone? Surely every guy in this joint is falling all over you.”

“Who says I’m fallin’ all ova them?”

He took a long drag of his cigarette, making a show of how long he could hold his breath before blowing out the smoke. Anthony was tired of flirting with his target already. He just wanted to be done with it and go home. The only man he wanted would be waiting for him in their room when he did. If he sped things up, he could probably be back within an hour. With that motivation, Anthony slid his free hand seductively up the man’s thigh, abandoning all the fake shyness. He stopped just short of the zipper and started praying the guy wasn’t someone who couldn’t get it up without some effort. His target licked his lips predatorily.

“Looks like I’m a very lucky man, then.”

Anthony bit the inside of his lip and gave the man his award-winning bedroom eyes. He applied some pressure with his hand and nearly thanked heaven when he felt the man’s beginning erection. Unlike at the casino, no one cared enough to watch them and Anthony did not have to hide anything. They could probably fuck right there on the table and it would only turn a few heads. He could work with that.

“Are you wantin’ to see just how lucky ya can get?”

“Fuck yes,” the man breathed, eyes falling closed.

Anthony continued to work the man under the table while pretending he was anywhere else. He didn’t want to touch him, so he was going to do this all as quickly as possible. The man groaned under his touch. It was barely audible over the sound of the crowd and music, though it still made Anthony feel ill. The man plucked the cigarette from the blond's hand and took a puff before stamping it out in the ashtray at the center of the table. He then grabbed Anthony by the hair and pulled him in for a kiss, not even waiting to sloppily insert a tongue into his mouth. The blond almost reared back and pushed him away, completely appalled. He didn’t let men treat him like this even when he was high out of his mind and he sure as fuck didn’t have to take it while he was sober. You have a job to do , Anthony reminded himself again. He swallowed his detestation.

If this were someone he was actually trying to have sex with, Anthony would finish him once here first, just to get the party started. But he was afraid that if the man got off, he would have no reason to stay and would continue on his route. Anthony was sure as fuck not doing this to not even kill the guy, so he removed his hand from the man's lap. The man continued darting his tongue haphazardly around Anthony’s mouth and tried to grab his hand so he would continue stroking him. The blond pulled away.

“Why don't we go somewhere quieter, so we can keep… talkin’?”

Anthony laced his words with innuendo while walking his fingers up the man's chest. He knew his target was hooked as he watched his hand with hungry eyes, imagining how good it felt touching other parts of him. That's exactly the reaction Anthony was hoping for.

“Lead the way,” the man said.

They took a backdoor that was used somewhat infrequently to the alley, so Anthony was not concerned about anyone walking in on their exchange. There wasn't much to it other than abandoned furniture that was broken beyond reasonable use and an electric streetlight that was days away from burning out if the way it flickered was any indication. It wasn't much different than places Anthony did this dozens of times before. Especially when he was a teenager, just beginning to explore his queerness, he became very familiar with an alleyway blowjob. What was one more?

It took only seconds for the man to have his hands all over Anthony, not even giving the blond a moment to make a move. He shoved Anthony against the nearest wall, pinning him to the brick with little care. Then his mouth took Anthony's as hands roamed where they pleased.

It was a moment before Anthony registered the feeling of a man who wasn't Henry touching him. He wasn't used to the sensation of someone new exploring him without regard to his desires. Henry always gave more than he took and made sure Anthony felt like he was worshiped in the bedroom. Even their first time, which was fueled by urgency and lust, felt like something sacred. It was nothing like what he felt now. Anthony hated everything about touching this man, more than he thought he would. It would be over soon, he assured himself.

Anthony made fake little moans and other sounds he knew the man would like. He enthusiastically responded to the kiss like the man was doing exactly what he liked. Not only was he not enjoying himself, but Anthony wouldn't let anyone but Henry know how he sounded with real pleasure. This was all an act, a display he used to draw his target in more. None of it was real and it would be over soon.

There was a point when the man’s urgent desire became something that made Anthony feel deeply unsettled. A hand tangled into his hair and yanked hard. It didn't match the previous energy of the exchange. Anthony yelped reflexively, which the man seemed to enjoy more than his faked sounds of pleasure. While he preferred rough sex most of the time, it didn’t mean Anthony liked feeling like an inanimate thing that could be fucked.

“Hey there, big guy,” Anthony said with more levity than he felt as he pulled away. “You can slow down. We got all night.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

His words were sharp, carrying the undertone of an impending punishment if they were not obeyed. The blood in Anthony's veins froze. His carefully maintained facade completely melted away as fear overtook him.

Shit shit shit. Anthony fucked up.

This thought was only reinforced when the man shoved Anthony harder against the wall, hitting his head on the jagged brick. Anthony cried out, but that was the exact wrong thing to do. It only enraged the man who told him to be quiet and clamped his hand over Anthony's mouth so he wouldn't be heard even if he did scream. No one inside the bar would hear him over its usual volume anyway.

“You're gonna keep your fucking mouth shut and do what I say.”

Anthony only nodded, thinking of different ways to reach his gun in this position. If he could only grab it… Then his job would be done, and he could go home. He just wanted to go home.

The tears in his eyes were real now. He didn't want to give this asshole the satisfaction of seeing him cry, but it was all too similar to the last time. It was worse because Anthony wasn't disinhibited. He felt everything that was happening and was painfully present for every moment. His chest started heaving as the anxiety built. Anthony tried to control his breath. He didn't want to anger the man anymore and make it worse, to give him any reason to be rougher than he already planned.

His pistol was wedged between his back and the wall. Anthony turned his focus to the pain in his lower spine as the man held him in place with the weight of his body. Don't panic. If he could move one of his arms, arch his back just enough, he could reach it. It wasn't impossible. He could do it. Then he could go home to Henry.

Don't panic.

Get the gun.

Go home.

The man still covered Anthony's mouth with one hand and moved the other down their bodies. Anthony had good mobility of his arms now, but there was no way to maneuver how he needed to take his freedom. He could try to fight, especially since the man was preoccupied with undoing the button of his pants one-handed. Anthony weighed the risks of attempting and the odds he would get anywhere with it. He decided that he would be submissive for a while longer. When the man moved to turn Anthony around, that's when he would…

One moment the man was pressing Anthony into the wall with no escape. The next, the pressure of his body was gone. The blond was dazed, though it took him only seconds to realize what happened. In the alley, someone loomed over the man who was now splayed out on the ground. The would-be assaulter shouted at him.

“Fuck off, asshole! This is between me an’ him.”

The only man Anthony wanted to see tonight was there. Henry's tall, muscular frame was backlit by the flickering lamp in the alley. He looked so put together with his slicked-back hair the rich color of petroleum, neatly pressed suit he was about to spatter with blood. Anthony was able to take a steadying breath knowing he was safe. That prick would never lay a hand on him ever again.

“Now it's between you and me,” Henry said levelly like he wasn't about to tear the man apart.

Anthony could have cheered, though rage also wiggled its way through him. He didn't know how he could feel so much relief while also being pissed that Henry intervened. It's like he thought Anthony couldn't manage things himself. He was moments away from taking care of it! He didn’t need Henry to swoop in and save him like some helpless dame.

Henry stomped on one of the man's hands, assuredly breaking something. He appeared to enjoy his screams just as much as Anthony did, the corner of his mouth turning up just a bit. Maybe he liked his pain even more. The man shrieked when Henry did it again, swearing at him between every sob.

“I had it handled, Henry,” Anthony said sourly.

“Sure looks like it, sweetheart.”

Anthony did not appreciate the sarcasm in his voice.

“Oh fuck you, ya didn't even give me the chance to grab my gun.”

Henry gave him a pointed look before turning back to the man and kicking him in the groin. The man sharply curled into himself and cursed at the brunette, obviously having no sense of self-preservation. He'd stay still and silent if he knew what was good for him. Henry crossed over to Anthony and cradled his face in his palm. The blond knew he noticed the encroaching tears. A gentle thumb brushed his cheek and he leaned into the comforting touch.

“Did he hurt you?” Henry asked calmly, though there was fury concealed just below the surface.

“No,” Anthony lied. His pride was already wounded. He didn’t want to admit to anything that would make it worse.

“Tell me what he did to you.”

The words were a command said in a way that Anthony did not hesitate to follow. It sent a unique thrill through him that he hadn't felt since they killed Frankie. Maybe he shouldn't be angry with Henry after all. Not when his wrath was so unbearably attractive.

“Just roughed me up a lil’. He was gonna try to force himself on me, though.”

Henry stewed in his fury, though he continued touching Anthony in the sweetest way. He gathered that much about the situation, of course. Henry knew about Anthony’s past and how he'd been taken advantage of at least once, how he swore he'd never let something like that happen to him again. If Anthony knew anything, it was that Henry would stop at nothing to protect his lover. The blond could almost taste the blood. He couldn't wait.

“You're a fucking idiot,” Henry spat at the man who was on the ground cowering. He turned from Anthony. “No one touches him but me.”

“The slut came onto me!”

This time, Henry's foot made direct contact with the center of the man's face, effectively silencing him for a few moments. Anthony imagined the feeling of his nose breaking and reveled in it. He was only upset that he wasn't the one to do it. The man's slimy touch remained painfully present all over his body and he wanted to ruin the asshole for making him feel this way. An unpleasant shiver ran down his spine that was replaced by anticipation for the man’s death.

Henry was still slamming his foot into the man wherever he could reach, repeatedly knocking the wind or whimpers out of him. It reminded Anthony of why he loved his tire iron so much. He could never hope to dish out as much pain with just his body as Henry could. The metal extension helped greatly. Anthony wished he had something similar with him now.

“You want a go?” Henry asked, quirking an amused brow at his lover.

“Oh so now ya wanna let me do my job, asshole.”

Anthony still took Henry up on the offer and kicked the man in the face several times. It felt good to retake a shred of his power through violence. He then leveled a glare at his lover.

“You just looked like you were going to fuck my brains out and now you're mad?”

Anthony shrugged. “A guy can be two things. Like ya real fuckin’ annoyin’ an’ the most attractive man I eva seen.”

“Duality of man,” Henry chuckled.

The brunette stomped on the man's right forearm and seemed to have caught it at just the right angle that Anthony swore he could hear it snap. Fuckface screamed hysterically. He started begging them to let him go, just like his targets always did. They never understood who they were dealing with, thinking Anthony's angelic face was anything but God's cruel joke. While he was soft and sweet for Henry, there was not much good left inside of him otherwise. He loved to watch men beg. It appeared Henry did as well.

Anthony let Henry get in a few more hits before calling it. They didn't have all night and the longer they hung around, the more they risked being caught. That's the last thing he needed tonight. As much as he hated to cut the dick's agony short, it's what he had to do.

“Okay, baby, you had ya fun. Lemme finish workin’ then I can suck ya dick for bein’ my hero.” Anthony scowled at the piece of shit who tried to assault him. “Ya lucky I don’t have time to make you suffer.”

Anthony whipped out his pistol and shot the man in the head without ceremony—completely anticlimactic. It was as quick and easy as it had been for Henry to put a bullet in Frankie, though much more satisfying at his hands. He kicked the asshole in what remained of his face and spit on him. Fucking prick. Anthony didn’t want to think about how many people he hurt in his miserable life. He deserved what he got or perhaps less.

The blond then handed his gun over to Henry, needing it gone before what happened next. He kissed Henry swiftly and ushered him to leave before anyone saw him. There was only one part left for Anthony to play: victim.

“I'll see ya at home soon, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too. Be safe.”

Not seconds after Henry disappeared around the corner, Bud and a few others barged into the alley. Anthony was crouched over the man's body, pretending to sob hysterically, tears and all. He realized there were already drops of blood staining Molly's shirt and he cursed himself for ruining it. He might as well make it a convincing performance and not hesitate around the expanding puddle of crimson leaking out of the man.

“They killed him!” Anthony shrieked as he tentatively touched the man's chest like he was afraid to put his hands on a dead body.

The men from the bar asked Anthony only a few questions before dropping the matter when he broke into louder sobs. He gave them fragmented pieces of a prefabricated story. A couple of bigots stumbled across them in the alley. A fight ensued. One of them shot the man in the face and they took off running, leaving a distraught Anthony behind unscathed. It was believable enough, given the times. The man wouldn't be the first queer person murdered in Las Vegas and he wouldn't be the last.

His acquaintances broke off into different roles: one to comfort Anthony, the other two to figure out how to handle the body. They couldn’t call the authorities due to the scene occurring outside an illegal gay bar, especially one full of a myriad of drugs and sex workers. One dead man did not mean the rest of them should get fucked over with jail time or worse, though the murder would put everyone on edge for the next several months. Anthony would have felt more badly about that had the danger been real.

After what seemed like a believable amount of time to recover from a near-death experience and witnessing a murder, Anthony said he needed to go home. A few of his acquaintances tried to offer to walk with him, insisting he would be safer. What if the assholes who did this were still out there? Anthony assured them that he wasn't staying far from there and he needed time to process everything. They begrudgingly let him go, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to fight him, not when they had to figure out how to hide a body.

Anthony started for the hotel, pleased that he got the job done and didn't have to dispose of the body himself. He didn't get far before he was rejoined by his lover who refused to leave him behind without protection. The blond gave him another dirty look.

“Ya lucky I love you so much,” Anthony said with the little annoyance he still felt.

“I'm lucky? You could've gotten hurt. He was going to hurt you.”

“I had it handled. I woulda been fine.”

“Anthony, look at me,” Henry said firmly.

The blond complied and made eye contact but only because he wanted to. He let Henry take his hand as they walked on.

“It's okay that you needed help. I'm just happy I found you before it was too late.”

That was enough to make Anthony’s mood take a turn for the worse. He didn’t like how Henry made him sound soft, unable to care for himself. It wasn’t okay that he needed help. He was always fucking everything up and killing was the only thing he did remotely well. He was nothing if he needed Henry to do his job for him. He couldn’t be useful to anyone if he didn’t do this one thing right. That meant he was worthless, just like his father and Carmelo always said. If Anthony could not kill, he might as well be dead.

“Do ya want me to thank you? Thank you! Happy now?” Henry didn't reply, which pissed Anthony off more. “Ya need to stop treatin’ me like some fragile little thing, Henry. I kill people all the time! I woulda been okay. You just didn't give me a chance. ‘Sides, it's gettin’ real annoyin’ that ya keep followin’ me everywhere.”

“At least once it's saved your life,” Henry said darkly, referring to the situation on the roof. “And it’s not following you if you told me where you were going.”

Anthony did not have a good argument for either of those points. “You gonna give me ya jacket or make me walk through the fuckin’ city in my sister's bloody shirt?”

Henry allowed him to change the subject for only a moment, stripping off his jacket for Anthony to conceal himself with. It provided a little warmth he was grateful for, not realizing it had gotten cold. He continued to pout, letting his mind run rampant with negative self-talk. Henry was not about to have any of that, however.

“Can you stop being stubborn for one goddamn minute and see what could've happened tonight?”

Anthony glared at him. “Nothin’ was gonna happen ‘cept that asshole gettin’ what was comin’ to him.”

“Best case scenario, he was going to force himself on you and leave you alone. Worst case, he'd kill you after. And you know that.”

“Okay, whateva ya say.”

“What is your probl—”

“You! You are my problem, Henry! I didn't ask for ya help, and I'm not asking for you to tell me how I fucked up. I know, okay? I was stupid for gettin’ myself into that situation again. Whateva happened woulda been my fault.”

Henry stopped, though Anthony walked ahead a few more paces and tore his hand away from him. He didn't want to see the look on Henry's face.

“Is that how you see what happened to you? That you deserved it?”

“I'm not talkin’ about this with you.”

He couldn't.

“Anthony, that wasn't your fault. What he did to you… that’s on him.”

He didn’t want to think about it. It felt too real talking about it aloud following the close call.

“To be fair, I was gonna kill the guy,” Anthony said dismissively, bringing the conversation back to the present matter. “I had it comin’. Karma or whateva.”

“No one deserves that. Even for murder.”

Anthony laughed in his face. “You have some real fucked up morals, ya know that? Now hurry up, I was serious about sucking ya cock. Even though I'm mad at you, watchin’ ya beat up assholes gets me goin’.”

“You were just attacked by some prick and all you can think about is fucking me?”

The hurt in his voice did something to Anthony. He thought it would make him angry, thinking Henry was making this all about him. But it made Anthony want to curl up into a ball and disappear instead. Henry had to know he wasn’t just using him, right? He meant the world to Anthony—more. He could never be only a distraction for the shitty things that happened to him. Henry was his everything.

“Why should I let him ruin my night? He didn’t touch me, thanks to ya buttin’ in, and I’m fine. So take me home an’ fuck me—like ya would on a normal night.”

Because that’s what this was. It was a completely normal night. It had to be. Henry heard Anthony's voice transition from nonchalant performance to something more vulnerable. He didn't like how fucking transparent he was around his lover. It was unbearable wearing his heart on his sleeve like this.

“Baby…”

“I just don't want to feel his hands on me anymore, okay?”

The confession nearly tipped him over the edge. It was as close to admitting how shaken he was by the exchange. Henry knew that. He motioned for Anthony to embrace him like he always did when he needed Henry. It was nice that Henry gave him the option of touching him, of seeking out physical comfort, instead of forcing it on him. Anthony always had a choice of how much of his body he shared and when.

Anthony closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around his lover tightly. Henry kissed his forehead and held him closely. It was nice to be enveloped in a good touch, one he could request or reject any time he wanted. He would always be safe and understood with Henry. Anthony wondered how he'd gotten so lucky. There were many things he deserved. Henry was not one of them.

“I love you, Henry. I'm sorry I'm a mess.”

“You're not a mess. You're human. And I'll always love you, sweetheart.”

“Ya promise?”

“I promise. In this life and the next, every one after that. I will always find you and I will love you.”

Chapter 8

Notes:

Just finishing up a month-long interview for a job after graduation! It's been a rough couple of weeks but hopefully worth it at the end.

My wife has been working through some ancestry documents and keeps finding arrest records for her great grandfather who was in the Mafia. One of those crimes is the inspiration for the first part of this chapter. It's too priceless not to share.

Two months passed without any more contracts or surprise developments. Anthony felt like he was finally able to take a deep breath and immerse himself in life with Henry. They still drank and gambled together on the casino floor, not bothering to hide their “kinship” from either of their sides. There was hardly a point. As long as they both did their jobs and didn't flirt too openly, no one paid them enough attention to intervene. Anthony was a little surprised neither of the D'Angelos questioned him about it. Then again, they rarely talked the last few weeks, even at breakfast.

After Anthony finished his last job and came back appearing unscathed, they backed off. He completed the hit and Carmelo took over the rest, just like they agreed. The D'Angelos mobilized their business into the new territory and gained a sizable income from it, which was unsurprising. Anthony did enough coke off the bar tops with plenty of people to tell him it was a profitable venture. It justified taking the guy out, even without all the unpleasantness that came along with it. So with that done, Anthony had served his purpose and was infrequently included in business matters, just like before. He didn't have the energy to be angry about it anymore.

Though he wouldn't say so, Henry was happy that Anthony became sidelined again. It was safer, of course, and that's all he wanted for his lover. He tried to say encouraging things and justify the circumstances by saying Anthony did such a good job that they didn't need him for the little things. Why should he care about the boring intricacies of the business when he did the things that were actually important? While sweet, his words didn't mean much when it came to work.

Anthony was becoming more and more restless by the day. He spent long hours alone while Henry and his family worked. Dabbling in drugs didn't quite ease the boredom the way it had before. He started using more. Anthony returned to the clubs that were in his father's territory and began making friends. They weren't exactly like those he'd made at the queer bar; the illegal things they did extended far beyond fucking men.

Anthony primarily got caught up in the thrill of committing petty crimes. While he enjoyed killing for the business, he didn't crave violence for the sake of it. He liked taking out his internalized rage on people he viewed as deserving it, or at least those his father viewed that way. If he could blow off some steam while appeasing Carlo, Anthony was a happy man. Two birds, or whatever. Outside of that, though, he discovered a propensity for minor crimes and chaos, especially when he was using PCP. His new acquaintances were like-minded.

That was how he ended up in his current… predicament.

Henry tried to keep a straight face as he stared at Anthony through the jail cell bars. He successfully maintained that serious face he used at work for the first several minutes. It was so convincing at first that Anthony actually believed his lover was pissed at him. He wanted to say he learned his lesson and just wanted to go home. He would insist that Henry didn't need to punish him more.

“Are ya gonna say somethin’ or just stand there lookin’ pretty?” Anthony snapped.

The flutter of wings next to him made Anthony startle. Henry burst into laughter, dropping the serious act altogether. The sound set off a chain reaction of squawking and beating wings that made him laugh harder. Actual tears started rolling down the brunette's cheeks as he tried to rein it in. It was contagious but Anthony wasn't ready to give Henry the satisfaction of watching him giggle too.

“Why… the fuck did you… steal thirty chickens!” Henry almost couldn't get the words out between each breath. “Where did you even find that many?”

“It's twenty-six, asshole,” Anthony defended.

“Twenty-six, then.”

“Do ya think I have any clue how I ended up here? I don't even fuckin' like chickens!”

Henry wiped tears away with the heel of his hand and tried to get serious again. The constant clucking and rustling feathers made him crack up for another several moments, earning a sharper glare from his lover. Anthony crossed his arms over his chest. His pouting only made the situation funnier. One of the smaller chickens attempted to squeeze through the slim bars of the cell and was almost successful, taunting Anthony further. Even the stupid fucking bird could get itself out of here without assistance. Henry returned the chicken to its confinement with a gentle nudge of his foot.

“Let's get out of here,” Henry said finally.

The brunette slipped some folded-up bills to the jailer who freed Anthony without any pretense of rejecting the bribe. He knew who Henry was and was not about to get on his bad side. Several chickens spilled out of the cell when the door opened, nearly tripping Anthony. He groaned aloud and was more than ready to go home. It's not like he needed anything more embarrassing to happen to him tonight. Being taken out by a bird might have been the thing that made him throw himself off the hotel roof.

The lovers made the walk of shame back to the hotel in relative silence. Anthony’s newly purchased car was impounded for the night with no way to retrieve it until tomorrow. He was only glad he had not used Carlo's convertible in the chicken caper. The blond hoped he could keep the arrest under wraps from his family, but that would be difficult when the evidence was a feather-covered convertible. Still, Anthony was unhappy that the vehicle was confiscated and would be trashed when he went to collect it. Angel dust always got him into hairy situations like this. Well, it could go fuck itself this time. He wanted his damn car.

Anthony let another sound of dissatisfaction slip, remembering Henry came all the way here to bribe him out of trouble. His lover stifled a chuckle and asked what was wrong.

“Whadaya want?”

Henry's face was scrunched up in that infuriatingly adorable way that said he was on the brink of devolving into laughter again. “What do you mean?”

“For bailin’ me out or whateva. Whatdaya want?”

Anthony waited for a response because nothing came for free. He was convinced that one day the other shoe would drop with Henry and he'd owe him more than he could repay. He’d racked up an insurmountable bill already. Henry reached over to pluck a stray feather out of Anthony's hair, still amused.

“I'm not going to let my boyfriend sit in jail all night with his twenty-six chickens, even if it's fucking hilarious.”

Boyfriend.

Anthony cocked his head to the side in surprise, all sense of annoyance instantly leaving his body. Boyfriend. He mulled the word over and over in his mind. Henry called him his boyfriend.

The word would have felt immature for two men in their thirties had it not meant so much more for people like them. Anthony knew they were committed to each other. Neither of them fucked anyone else. They slept in the same bed nearly every night. All of their free meals were taken together. They talked about their pasts, told each other secrets they shared with no one else. Henry knew how to make him smile in the worst of moments. Anthony could always turn one of Henry's bad days around. They loved each other more than life.

Henry was his boyfriend.

“What's on your mind, baby?” Henry asked, unaware of the emotional upheaval he just caused.

“I'm ya boyfriend.”

The smile on his face was brilliant and genuine, nothing like the ones he gave countless other men. This one was for Henry alone. Anthony knew he looked ridiculous with the cheesy grin. He didn't care. He'd never been so happy.

“Yeah? What else would you be? I don't think friends fuck each other the way we do. And I sure as hell don't tell mine I'm in love with them. Feel free to correct me, though.”

“You're my boyfriend,” Anthony said so he could taste the word on his tongue.

“Sure am, sweetheart. Is there a problem?”

Leave it to Henry to be oblivious about how this changed everything. Anthony never dreamed of having a steady partner—a boyfriend. He thought it was heartbreak waiting to happen to think he could not only find love but keep it. The word, no matter how frivolous, made Anthony feel alive in a way he hadn't for some time. He wasn’t sure if he ever felt like this before.

“No, everythin’ is perfect.”

“Good,” Henry replied with a quick kiss to Anthony's forehead.

Boyfriend.

---

The months flew by, and it was now early summer in the desert. Anthony only felt partially bad that they broke their promise to Molly when he realized they still did not have an updated timeline for their return. Things were going well, better than Carlo expected. He continued to expand the business throughout Las Vegas with the Russians’ help. That required his constant presence to keep everything locked down. It looked like they might be there for some time. Not that Anthony was upset by that.

Anthony and Henry had been together for nearly five months. It seemed like an eternity and no time passed at all. He felt like his lover now knew him better than he knew himself. Anthony liked to think he knew Henry just as well. Every day with him was a gift Anthony did not deserve, and he knew that, so he strove to be a better version of himself.

There were a few targets Anthony was instructed to take out over this time, and he willingly brought Henry along with him for every one. He felt more secure with his boyfriend there, yes, but he also just really liked watching him beat the shit out of people before they killed them. Which probably meant he wasn’t becoming that much of a better person. No one is perfect, though. Regardless of morals, Anthony enjoyed being wholly himself with the man he loved. He didn’t have to hide his professional life, violent tendencies, or queerness from Henry, which is something he could not say about anyone else in the world. Anthony felt free with him.

It was one of their usual nights socializing in the casino. Anthony was no more intoxicated than he was normally, though he knew nothing untoward would happen to him with Henry around. Since the hit that went sideways, he was more uneasy around other men, but that was not typically a problem in crowds. There were still moments when the accidental brush of an arm would cause him to jolt with panic before he could catch Henry’s eye, who was able to settle him with a reassuring smile. He knew his boyfriend would keep him safe and he begrudgingly accepted that fact over time. Just as Henry told him, accepting help didn’t make him soft or incapable; sometimes it just meant he was loved.

Tonight, Anthony wished he and Henry were at the queer bar he never patronized anymore. He’d done his job and had no reason to return, to risk being found out as the hitman during his last visit. Still, his head swam pleasantly with liquor. He wanted nothing more than to dance with his boyfriend instead of playing cards. Again. God, Anthony was so fucking sick of cards. Henry loved gambling, though, and the casino was one of the safest places for them to be. So, Anthony suffered through one hand after another, praying Henry would take him back to bed soon. That was where his favorite activities happened.

Though Anthony was thoroughly drunk, Henry was still drinking. The brunette asked if he wanted to go to the bar with him, which Anthony declined. He felt slightly unsteady on his feet but was happy enough while seated. He assured Henry he would be okay there until he returned. And he would’ve been, were it not for the unwelcome blonde who joined Henry at the bar not long after.

The girl was petite and young, so much so that Anthony doubted she could even legally drink. She probably got away with scoring free drinks from men who flirted with her without questioning her age. He felt briefly sad for her, having been young and foolish, letting older men sleep with him for nothing more than cheap liquor. Then she touched Henry's arm, and he no longer pitied her. The rage started building in his core. Henry flashed the girl a smile that made Anthony want to beat her face in, or his; he couldn't decide at who he should direct his anger.

She was frustratingly beautiful and reminded Anthony of Molly, which made it worse. Her platinum-blonde hair was perfectly styled in the way his twin liked, rolled curls pinned back from her face so none of her flawless features were hidden. She wore makeup that made her lashes longer and darker and a bright red lip. Even though she was still growing into her womanhood, she wore a knee-length crimson dress that flattered the few curves she did have. Anthony seethed at how she dared to be that gorgeous anywhere in his lover's vicinity. He hated it even more that she thought she could touch his Henry.

Despite the world tilting sideways when he hopped off his high stool, the blond stomped toward the bar. He didn’t know what he was going to say or do, but he wouldn’t sit there while this girl tried to flirt with his boyfriend. It was not the best idea to draw attention to themselves, especially here. Anthony felt like he had no choice, however. He would not watch this girl steal the only good thing to ever happen to him.

He had to push his way through the crowd to reach them and he did not feel badly about being rude. When he came out the other side, he was nearly behind Henry, so the brunette couldn’t see him. Anthony wanted to storm up to them and instantly make a scene, but he couldn’t. He had just enough sense left in him to wait a few moments and listen to their conversation before intervening. If he didn’t like what he heard then Anthony would let all reason fly out the window and deal with the consequences later.

“I think I'd like to stay awhile,” the girl said in a voice that was too innocent.

Her meaning was clear. It didn’t feel right hearing her come onto someone, especially when it was Anthony’s almost forty-year-old boyfriend. The thought made him queasy. She was much too young for him, likely not half his age, even if Anthony wasn’t upset for a myriad of other reasons. It felt wrong.

The girl ran her hand up Henry's bicep and ogled him with those big blue eyes, batting her made-up lashes at him. Anthony felt unadulterated fear now. Henry was attracted to women, and she was deathly beautiful in a similar way to Anthony. She was the sweetest trap he knew few men could resist. And Henry was gorgeous, too. He could have anyone he wanted, man or woman. While they had a mind-blowing sex life, Anthony just couldn't compete with her overt femininity. He couldn't give his lover what he wanted if he desired someone like her. The insecurities bubbled to the surface, making his chest feel tight with anxiety.

“I think you should if you're having a good time.” Henry took a sip of his drink, and the girl watched his mouth against the rim hungrily as though she were thinking about how it would feel on her skin.

Henry allowed her touch to linger. Anthony couldn't take his eyes off where her hand squeezed Henry's muscular arm, hating how she could openly flirt with his boyfriend in public. It was like a cruel joke of which he didn't like being the punchline. He would never be able to touch Henry like that, to show others who were interested in him that only he had his attention. They could never be themselves. And if Henry wanted that, Anthony couldn't give that to him. She could. This girl could give Henry everything he couldn’t: a normal life, a family…

Anthony never asked Henry if he wanted a family. There wasn’t a point because they could not have that together. It was better to not open a wound that Anthony was unsure was there. Maybe it also brought up some insecurities about himself that he’d rather not touch either. He would never be enough to deserve Henry and that was even more true if he could not provide the basic comforts of a relationship like marriage or children. She could do that for him. Fuck, she could be perfect for him if he’d only let her.

“I'd like to stay and have a good time with you,” the girl clarified.

Anthony felt like he would vomit. How could Henry let this happen? Right in front of him, no less. Is this his way of getting back at Anthony for always being a pain in the ass? Could it be revenge for seducing the man for his hit? He didn't tell Henry before that he was planning on going as far as it took for him to finish the job. His lover had no clue Anthony kissed and touched another man the way he had. But that was months ago! Shouldn't Henry have brought it up before today if he was upset by it? They could've talked it out a hundred times by now. Anthony could have begged forgiveness and promised to make it right if that's what he wanted. Maybe he should have apologized without being asked.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Anthony should have taken responsibility for his actions, for not including Henry in his plans. He knew his boyfriend wouldn't be okay with him attempting to fuck another man, even if it didn't go quite that far. Shit. Anthony fucked up his relationship without even knowing it. He just thought he could do whatever he wanted and get away with hurting Henry without any repercussions. What kind of piece of shit boyfriend was he?

Henry set his near-empty glass on the bar top. The girl was still touching him. Anthony thought about how Henry flirted with him in that very spot before changing their lives forever. It was like watching a reel of his life from an alternate universe. One where Henry fell in love with someone else and Anthony continued with his shitty life, worthless and alone. This mirror version of his lover gave the girl a small, sad smile like he was about to deliver some bad news.

“Sorry, dollface, I hate to disappoint but I'm good as married,” Henry replied smoothly.

The girl slowly dropped her hand, and her face suddenly changed as she processed what he said. There was displeasure there, of course, but also something else. Jealousy. Disbelief. It was likely she'd never been turned down before. Anthony didn't know how he would feel if he was in her position other than embarrassed.

Anthony could have died right there and been happy forever. He almost cheered out loud but swiftly bottled his explosive feelings of utter joy. Henry rejected her like it was nothing, no big deal. He didn't even look mildly disappointed for turning down her proposition despite missing out on fucking one of the most attractive women Anthony had ever seen. Henry said it like he was proud to be Anthony's, like he loved being locked down in a way no one else would ever have him again. That’s how he felt about belonging to Henry.

“Oh… That's a damn shame.”

The girl batted her lashes at him again while frowning. She thought her little crestfallen act could change his mind. It didn’t.

“I don't see it that way. But I hope you still have a good night. Enjoy your stay.”

Henry turned away from the girl, leaving her standing there looking dumbfounded. She left after several seconds of collecting herself. The brunette faced Anthony now, a smug expression in place. He did not seem surprised in the least that his boyfriend was standing there. Anthony knew he was openly all teary-eyed wonderment that made Henry's lips turn up into a wider grin. He was such a fucking sucker for this man. He loved him more than anything in the world.

“There you are, sweetheart,” Henry said like he was waiting for him the entire time.

Anthony was frozen. He thought about how unbelievably striking that girl was, even if she was too young in his opinion. He thought about how much men would pay, how they would kill to have her for a night. She was the kind of girl wars were fought over. And Henry pushed her aside like she was nothing special at all. He did it out of devotion to Anthony. Devotion that he was undeserving of. If Anthony thought boyfriend was good, fuck did he find husband was perfection.

“Married, huh?”

Anthony tried to say it nonchalantly, like his heart wasn't ready to explode out of his chest. He didn’t care that his voice cracked with emotion and made Henry’s eyes soften in that way that made Anthony feel like he was really, truly loved. He didn’t look at the girl like that. He never looked at anyone like that except for Anthony.

“Isn't it the truth?”

“Ain't ya a fuckin’ sap,” Anthony choked out. He took a deep breath to put his emotions in check and returned to a place he was more comfortable. “If ya not in our bed in the next five minutes, we're fuckin’ in the nearest closet.”

Henry laughed and it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Anthony didn't know how he could love this man more than he already did. Yet there they were.

“What doesn't get you ready to fuck me?”

“Absolutely nothin’. Are you arguin’ with me? Bed. Now.”

Henry held up his hands in mock surrender. “Yes, sir.”

That did something to Anthony. He could not explain how something so simple flipped a switch inside of him, making him feel like a version of himself that Anthony did not know. But he would like them to become acquainted.

“Say that again.”

Henry's brow shot up in surprise. Neither of them expected it from Anthony. While he took what he wanted in bed, he was never fully in charge. Henry was always the more dominant one. That's likely why even saying it teasingly made Anthony's skin feel like it was on fire in the best way. The brunette’s lips quirked up. He looked absolutely devilish, and Anthony knew he would sell his soul to him without a second thought.

“Yes, sir,” Henry said again, not teasing this time. The syllables dripped off his tongue like warm honey and sent a pleasant jolt of electricity through Anthony.

“This ain’t gonna be quiet. Upstairs.”

Henry abandoned what remained of his drink on the bar top without another word and turned for their usual stairwell, allowing Anthony to take in his full figure from afar. He was starving for his lover and didn’t know if anything would satisfy this need, especially now. It was undoubtedly going to be another very long night. Anthony could hardly wait. He restrained himself until Henry disappeared from his sight, then followed him to their room.

When they were both safely away from prying eyes, Anthony pushed Henry against the door, much like what usually happened to him when their roles were reversed. The blond fisted both hands in his lover’s hair, bringing him down for a crushing kiss that made him feel lightheaded. Henry’s hands halted on his lower back as he tried to navigate what Anthony wanted from him. He would give him everything without question. Sensing the brief hesitation, Anthony moved Henry’s hands, one to the back of the blond’s head, the other to cup his ass. He smiled up at Henry before moving onto the tips of his toes so he could kiss the taller man’s neck.

“I love you.”

The words were nothing more than the sweetest little gasps as Henry’s breath hitched. In response, Anthony nipped below his lover’s jaw just where he liked it. The hand in his hair tightened. Henry moved his thigh between both of Anthony’s and urged the blond to grind against him with the hand on his ass. While the smaller man was in charge, he allowed the invitation. He craved the friction between them. Anthony ground on Henry’s thigh and continued kissing his neck, torturing them both in the best way.

While Anthony worked on leaving little marks across his lover’s dark skin, his hands started on the buttons of Henry’s shirt. Each inch of him that was exposed revealed a new mark in various stages of healing. There were bites perfectly preserved in merlot and yellowing smudges from fingers gripping too tightly. He could nearly remember the exact nights each one was made, though they started to blend over time. A particular grouping of bruises on Henry's hips reminded Anthony of being fucked mercilessly into the mattress a few days ago after hours of flirting on the casino floor.

Anthony's delicate fingers caressed the brunette’s chest before ranking his nails over the skin, earning the most delicious hiss from Henry. Anthony loved how vocal his boyfriend was in bed, and he pulled out all the stops to draw every sound out of him that he could. He could tell that Henry was becoming impatient as he started to pull Anthony closer to him, encouraging him to grind against him faster, harder. It almost made Anthony laugh that his lover couldn’t stop trying to pleasure him for five minutes. Instead of using words, the blond stepped away from Henry completely, removing the hands from his body. The punishment was evident.

“What? I’m not allowed to satisfy you too?”

Now Henry was pouting. Henry! His level-headed, sensible Henry. Anthony had never seen him like this before. It was refreshing, hilarious, and endearing all at once. He liked learning something new about his lover, seeing a different side of him. He also liked how it brought out a bit of Anthony that was new as well.

“Not if I don’t say ya can.”

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you do all the work?”

Anthony smirked at him. “Boyfriend? I thought I was just promoted or somethin’. Isn’t that what we’re celebrating?”

“I’ll celebrate anything with you. But husband does have a nice ring to it, huh?”

The men sank into the fantasy for a moment, allowing themselves happiness neither of them thought they would ever have. Anthony felt the tears welling up in his eyes again, but he was surprised to see Henry getting emotional too. He was usually either incredibly serious or very unserious. Even when being his mushy, sentimental self, he often kept the weepy stuff under wraps. Anthony saw his lover getting slightly misty-eyed, and he fell in love with him again just as he did multiple times every single day. There were always so many reasons to love this man.

“I think it’s my favorite so far,” Anthony said, getting choked up.

He threw his arms around Henry’s neck and brought him into a passionate kiss that neither of them wanted to break. They stumbled away from the door, never detaching from each other for even a moment. The back of Anthony’s thighs hit the bed and he turned so that Henry was in that position instead. He shoved Henry by the shoulders roughly, causing him to topple backward onto the mattress. Anthony dropped to his knees between the brunette's legs and fumbled to undo his belt in his impatient excitement. The brunette tried to help but Anthony slapped his hand away. He scolded him with a look that made Henry yield to him. Fuck that felt good. It took only a few seconds to do away with the pesky belt, then the remainder of Henry’s clothes.

Henry's cock was perfection. Anthony loved everything about it down to the sight curve that hit his favorite spots just right. He happily thought about how the girl from the bar would never get to experience him like this. Then he let the thought dissipate. Now was about Henry and how well Anthony was about to fuck him. The blond took Henry's cock into his mouth slowly at first, just the way he liked it. While Anthony was always ready to fuck hard and come quickly, Henry tended to like things more drawn out. He enjoyed the journey as much as the destination, perhaps more.

“You're doing so good,” Henry panted as he gripped Anthony's hair.

The blond removed his mouth for a moment. Normally the praise would spur him on, but not tonight. With all seriousness, he said, “I didn't say ya could speak.”

Henry looked pleasantly stunned. “Yes, sir.”

Fuck, that sounded incredible on his lips.

Anthony returned to his previous work and began pumping the base of his lover's cock with his hand while licking short strokes across the head. He liked watching Henry's closed eyes squeeze more tightly shut when he changed the speed of his tongue. The brunette was always so focused on Anthony's enjoyment that he rarely let himself be pleasured like this. Anthony liked making his boyfriend feel good, though. He would almost be content if their sex life consisted only of this. But Henry felt amazing inside of him that he could never live without it for too long.

He teased Henry with a close orgasm several times, relishing in his frustration each time. The hands in Anthony's hair would tighten until his grip was almost too painful and Henry's breathing became shallow and rapid. The blond would continue the movement of his tongue, the speed of his stroking up until the moment his lover's hips lifted off the bed. Then he would withdraw from Henry, mouth and all. They'd make eye contact that had Anthony smirking sadistically. The brunette looked simultaneously annoyed and proud that Anthony could restrain himself like this. The blond was never one for patience. However, he now saw the appeal in denying something he could very easily give. It made sense why Henry often did this to him.

“Are ya gonna be good for me?”

The brunette nodded and moved to undress Anthony as well. He allowed Henry that, loving the gentle caress of fingers against his dewy skin. Anthony then pushed Henry onto his back and straddled him. He stretched to retrieve the lubricant from the bedside table. Henry used it as an opportunity to take one of Anthony's nipples into his mouth. The blond closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the sensation of tongue and teeth on him, how Henry's erection pressed between his legs. It was uncomfortably hot now, but he would burn in Hell if it meant he could make love to his Henry.

Anthony handed the tin of Vaseline to his lover, finally running out of patience. Even though everything Henry was doing felt so good, he needed him closer. Henry took his time preparing Anthony with his slicked fingers. He was always gentle and attentive, even when Anthony insisted he could handle more. Since the blond was in charge, Henry allowed him to rock steadily onto his fingers. Normally he would make Anthony wait.

Once Anthony was ready, he used a hand to steady Henry's cock and he lifted himself up, then brought himself down slightly, only allowing for the tip to enter him each time. He wanted to take every inch of him right now, but he had to restrain himself. Henry moaned with increasing exasperation each time Anthony withdrew from him. He realized that being on the delivering end of the drawn-out actions was much easier than the receiving. It appeared the brunette felt much the same way.

“I think it's time for you to say please.”

“And if I don't?”

Anthony released Henry's cock and sat back on his ankles like he was well-versed in denying his boyfriend anything. His face remained blank. It took everything in him to suppress an impish smile. He didn't want Henry to call his bluff, though he had a feeling he would. Instead, the brunette played along. He wasn't about to ruin Anthony's fantasy of taking control, especially when he was so good at it. God, Anthony loved this man.

“Please.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear that.”

Henry grinned wickedly at him, obviously enjoying this. “Please.”

“Ya gonna have to do betta than that, handsome. Please what?”

“Please get over here and fuck me until I come inside of you.”

“More,” Anthony coaxed excitedly. He squirmed a little in anticipation. Henry noticed. Of course he did.

“Please, baby. I'm desperate for you.”

Anthony felt tingly all over. Is that how Henry felt every time he made him beg? God, he hoped so. It was so fucking good. He figured that was enough begging for right now, though. Henry deserved to fill him up. That, or Anthony just really didn’t want to wait anymore. He allowed the brunette to position himself and slowly slide inside. He took no time to start riding his boyfriend.

“Tell me I'm the best ya ever had.”

“You are the best I've ever had.”

“Say ya won't fuck anyone else as long as I live,” Anthony said between shallow breaths. “Say that stupid little bitch means nothin’ to you. That ya love me. That she. Can't. Have. You.”

The last words were each punctuated by a rock of his hips. Henry was spurred on by Anthony’s jealousy, though there was amusement there too. His eyes lit up as he watched how the blond moved on top of him. The admiration ran so deeply Anthony didn’t know how he ever felt insecure. Henry was beyond smitten with him. There was no doubt that he belonged to Anthony.

“I don’t want anyone else. I love you, Anthony. I'm yours.”

Anthony placed both hands on Henry's chest and rode him faster. He loved hearing that no matter how many times he'd said it before.

“Ya mine, Henry.”

“I'm yours. Fuck, I'm yours.”

Anthony never felt possessive before. He never had a reason to be when he didn't want a man more than once or twice. It was easy to seduce who he desired and discard them when he was finished. There were no strings tying him to any one man for more than a few hours. But Henry changed all of that. Anthony couldn't even picture himself willingly in someone else's bed. Thinking of his lover making the same faces and those precious sounds with anyone but him made Anthony want to commit murder.

He made the roll of his hips that always made Henry's back arch off the bed ever so slightly. Surely enough, it did. The blond was smug with satisfaction. No one else could have his Henry. Only he made him feel like this. No one, blond bitch included, could ever love him the way Anthony did. She could never fuck Henry like him. Despite what he feared earlier, she couldn't give Henry everything he wanted. Because he only wanted Anthony.

“No one can have you but me.”

Henry nodded in assent, words evading him. His breath came more quickly, and Anthony knew he wouldn't last long after all the teasing. That was okay with him, satisfied that he was the cause. He grabbed Henry's hands and placed them on his waist, wanting those little pink marks he cherished decorating his skin when they were done. 

“Anthony, I'm gonna come.”

“Not until I say ya can. Ask nicely.”

“Please, baby. I need to come inside you. Please.”

Anthony squeezed around Henry, making him groan quietly. He still held out, though. He was not given permission. The blond leaned in to kiss Henry. He enjoyed the friction of his cock sliding between their stomachs and how Henry’s arms wrapped around him tightly.

Nothing would ever compare to his Henry. His lover. Boyfriend. Husband. His soulmate.

“Come in me, Henry. Show me I’m yours.”

Henry bucked his hips up into Anthony, holding him in place so he could fuck him furiously. He knew Anthony as well as himself, so he understood how to angle himself so that it nearly made the blond see stars. As he neared his orgasm, Anthony started gasping faster, harder. He was so close. He just had to make Henry come first. He did. Anthony used his cock to get off as well, riding it until he felt like he might fall apart. He came loudly, louder than he thought he ever had.

Anthony’s body gave out and he slumped against his lover, forehead pressed into Henry’s shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. They were overheated, drenched in more sweat than remotely comfortable. Still, Anthony would not leave the arms of the man he loved. Henry wound a hand in his curls and stroked the blond’s back soothingly with the other.

“Ya did so good for me, baby. I love you,” Anthony panted softly.

He placed a kiss at the base of Henry’s throat. They were the words Henry usually used for him, the praise he gave Anthony that made him feel invincible. He thought his boyfriend might like hearing them as well. Henry did.

“I love you, too. That was…” The brunette was at a loss for words.

“Fuck yeah it was.”

The role reversal felt incredible. Anthony didn't always want to be in control, but it was so fucking hot to tell Henry what to do and know he'd actually listen. And afterward, they basked in their love for each other. How could the moment be any more perfect?

Anthony felt more collected after a minute. His breathing slowed and his heart beat more regularly now. Plus, it was hot as shit in the room, making him long for the cool spring nights in the desert. The summer was much less forgiving. He extricated himself from Henry’s arms and started for the window before cleaning up. The brunette rolled onto his side, obviously unconcerned about the mess. His eyes were lidded as he gave his boyfriend that loving little look he cherished. He appeared so satisfied that it filled Anthony with pride.

“What's the rush, angel?”

Anthony nearly choked on a laugh and yanked open the window with the fruitless prayer for a breeze. “‘Angel’? Baby, we both know I'm going to Hell.”

“At least we'll be together,” Henry replied without hesitation.

Anthony hated to admit to himself that he liked the sound of that.

Notes:

Not me crying while writing the ending for this fic because it's finally almost over. It feels like I've been writing it forever and I'm not ready to leave them behind.

Chapter 9

Notes:

See tags for content warnings.

The news Anthony dreaded more than anything finally arrived.

Breakfast was slightly more awkward when it was just Anthony and his father. Carmelo left Las Vegas about three months in, having gone home early for the arrival of his first child, a boy. Carlo and his younger son remained to hammer out the finer details of their deal with the Russians. So, they had their first meal together every day without fail. Primarily the two sat in complete silence from beginning to end. Carlo would excuse Anthony with the wave of a hand, and he was free to do whatever he wanted after that. Today was a little different. After the plates were cleared, the elder D’Angelo did not motion for Anthony to leave. He thought it was strange, but it wasn't unheard of, especially if Carlo had another job for him. This was so much worse, however.

“Tony, we done it,” his father said triumphantly.

Anthony took note that he said we , though he wasn't sure what this was about yet. He did not respond as he waited for Carlo to clarify. Then he wished he would've sat in those last moments forever instead of hearing the next words to come out of his father's mouth. It was the last time in his life he was happy. He should have held onto it longer.

“Vegas is ours. We're established now. All my hard work has paid off an’ we're finally done.”

The blond D'Angelo wasn't sure he'd heard his father correctly. Their work seemed like it would never end. Little roadblocks were disrupting the operation at every turn. There was always a new fire to put out, someone to murder. Anthony had no lack of jobs in Las Vegas. It felt like they had months left, years . Carlo couldn't be serious. It couldn’t all be over yet.

Anthony felt like his mouth was full of desert sand.

“So what does that mean?” he asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

Anthony had not been religious in a long time, but he still prayed that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Please, God, please. Don’t take me away from Henry . He offered many things to his family’s deity—sobriety, repentance—none substantial enough to exchange for what he asked. While he was expecting nothing less, Anthony's prayer was ignored.

“We’re goin’ home, Tony.”

Their work in Las Vegas was done, and they were returning to New York. Anthony had to leave Henry. He was lucky he had this long in the desert, spending the cooler nights curled up with his lover. But their time together always had an expiration date they refused to acknowledge, that they never spoke of. Now the time had come and they were completely unprepared for it. Anthony nearly vomited on the spot.

“Ya got nothin’ to say?” Carlo asked, his tone becoming deadly. “We’re gettin’ outta this fuckin’ hellhole an’ ya ain't got nothin’ to say?”

Anthony quickly plastered on a smile. “Sorry, Pops. Ya caught me off guard. That’s great. I can’t wait to go home.”

Carlo allowed it to slide for now, though his eyes remained narrowed in suspicion. He did not appear to be in the mood to talk with Anthony today, just as was the case most days. The elder D’Angelo dismissed him. Anthony ran to their room to find Henry as soon as he could get away from his father. He needed him now more than ever. He didn’t know what to do.

Henry wasn't there.

Of course, he wasn't. Henry had work, just like any other normal day. It would be hours more until they could see each other. But it was not one of their average days and this was an emergency. The realization served to fuel Anthony’s panic. He grabbed the nearest object and smashed it against the wall, having no other outlet for the intense feelings surging inside of him. Then he grabbed another. Another. Everything within arm's reach was reduced to shards of glass and little metal bits. He attempted to tear the bed sheets apart but found them too well-made to be ripped with his minor strength. Anthony slid to the floor with the debris, crying out in frustration and dissolving into a mess of emotions he wouldn't survive.

He needed to use. There was no way he could manage this alone, not without Henry and not without something to take the edge off. It was too much. He couldn't feel like this anymore.

Desperation drove him to his feet and out the door to his room where he spent very little time those days. It was a front more than anything else, not even acting as a closet now that he moved most of his clothing into Henry’s. The only thing of any value there was his drug supply. There was a small amount in the room he shared with Henry, of course, but he harbored residual shame around using. So he kept the bulk of his drugs where his boyfriend wouldn’t find them.

Anthony wound up on the tile floor of the bathroom. He tightened the tie around his left bicep until he could palpate one of the veins he preferred to use. The powder dissolved rapidly over the flame of his lighter, though his hands shook fiercely. Even as he drew up the amber liquid into a syringe, Anthony was unsure if he could steady himself enough to inject it into his arm. He steeled himself with a deep breath. With a quick pinch and a few seconds, he’d done a fine enough job of it. The blond loosened the makeshift tourniquet. Then everything was okay. At least he didn’t remember anything for a while after that.

It was late evening when he awoke. Anthony had become unconscious shortly after shooting up and must have fallen onto his side, as that is where he was when he came to. He waxed in and out of consciousness for some time before realizing he was lying in a small puddle of vomit. Nausea overwhelmed him until he was dry-heaving in an attempt to bring up whatever was left in his stomach. He could only manage to support himself on his forearms a few inches off the ground as he gagged uselessly. Anthony hadn’t been in this situation since arriving in Las Vegas, even on the bad nights. His aching head searched for an explanation, trying to remember why he woke up here instead of somewhere more pleasant. Everything was so fuzzy. He couldn’t put the pieces together, but he stopped retching, so that was an improvement.

He propped himself up against the wall and reached for the bathtub faucet. It was easy enough to bring a handful of water to his mouth that he spit back into the tub. His tongue was sandpaper and tasted fucking awful, like acid-covered cotton shoved down his throat. Now he remembered why he hated heroin. Coming out of it was always a bitch, worse when he used too much. It also made his head feel stupid. Fortunately for him, that meant he couldn’t quite remember why he used it in the first place. At least, not yet.

Henry found him eventually as he always did, just like he promised. Once he took stock of making sure Anthony was okay, he helped him into clean clothes and tried to coax him to drink some water. The blond’s stomach roiled in protest at even the thought, so he pushed the glass away. His boyfriend didn’t press the matter and sat next to him on the floor, head thumping carelessly against the wall. He appeared worn to the bone. Anthony thought Henry was being unusually quiet, not bothering to make conversation or attempt a joke to lighten the mood. That filled his muddied thoughts with anxiety as he tried to put the fragmented memories of the day back together.

What dumbass thing did he do now? At least there were no chickens involved this time. This seemed much worse, though. Maybe he lost something? Anthony didn't think most things upset Henry, so this must be bad. He should probably apologize.

“Henry, I—”

“It’s okay,” Henry said so quietly. “I know.”

Anthony did not like his tone. It was defeated like he’d lost the one thing he could not live without. He was afraid to ask Henry what happened, what stole the light from his eyes. Whatever it was, he was so scared to receive more bad news…

“ Fuck .”

Everything came rushing back to Anthony then, though his head was still stuffed with wool. He had a conversation with Carlo that morning, the one about leaving Las Vegas. That was how he ended up in his old room, passed out in his own vomit. He used the heroin to numb everything for a while, at least until he could see Henry again. Well, it worked.

“Carlo told us,” Henry said softly, sounding increasingly dejected.

Anthony felt the approaching wave of emotions returning and had to use all his strength to prevent it from knocking the wind out of him. He couldn’t fall apart right now. Henry needed him. He sounded awful, worse than Anthony had ever seen him. Then he had to run all over God’s creation looking for where his junkie boyfriend passed out only to clean up his mess. Again. Anthony had to be here for him, even if he felt like he was being torn to shreds on the inside. He opened his arms like Henry often did as an invitation for him to take the comfort he needed. The brunette curled into Anthony’s side, disregarding the awkwardness of their height difference, and accepted his boyfriend’s embrace.

“I love you, Henry.” Anthony sounded so calm and rational. He didn’t even recognize himself for a moment.

“I love you, too, Anthony.”

They stayed that way until Anthony’s legs went numb and the weight of Henry’s head on his shoulder made his neck ache. That, and lying unconscious on the tile for hours did not help. He was the one who suggested relocating to the bed where they resumed the unsettling silence though more comfortably in each other’s arms. There was too much to be said and not enough. Anthony was still in the uncomfortable period of the come down when he couldn't hold it together anymore.

“I can’t leave ya,” Anthony said with tears welling in his eyes. “I won’t.”

Henry squeezed him more tightly to his chest and took a steadying breath. Anthony was not used to him having nothing to say. It did little to settle his frayed nerves, but Henry deserved time to process the news just as much as Anthony did.

“It’s okay, baby. I told you there’s nothing that will ever keep me from you. We’ll find our way together again.”

Even though he desperately wanted to believe Henry, Anthony knew he would never see him again once he went home. He could feel it in his core, the most unwelcome of premonitions. When he told Henry this, the brunette argued until they dropped the matter. Voices were raised and Anthony cried. Apologies exchanged. Anthony continued to panic on the inside, trying to figure his way out of it.

He couldn’t think of any way that he ended up happy. If he stayed in Vegas, Carlo would disown him. He would never be able to see Molly or Ma again, which was inconceivable. But if he went home, he would lose Henry. You don’t just up and leave your position in a powerful crime family; there was no way for Henry to go to New York to be with Anthony, except maybe for brief reunions that would only tear their souls apart piece by piece.

There would be no happy ending, not without Henry.

“I will always find you, Anthony. That’s a promise.”

“Okay,” Anthony agreed. He still knew that he only had Henry for a few more days.

---

They spent every possible second together until the day Anthony left. Carlo and the Russian held one final audience together. Anthony stood at his father’s side, Henry at his boss’. They were mere feet away, yet it was the closest they would be ever again. Anthony refused to break eye contact with his lover, wanting to relish every moment with Henry until he was gone. He shoved all of his feelings into the back of his mind and did not allow himself to experience any of them. All he felt was numb as he looked into Henry’s eyes for the last time. It was that or tumble into a pit of despair from where he would never return. He saved that for later.

“It was pleasure having you, Carlo. Don’t be stranger,” the Russian said with a rare smile.

Carlo reached for a handshake that was enthusiastically accepted. “Thank you, for all ya time an’ generosity. I’d like to return the favor if ya ever find yourself in New York.”

The Russian never left the city. Henry told him that once. His boss wasn’t much of a traveler since he set up operations in Las Vegas decades before. He had no reason or desire to go anywhere else, lacking the trust it would require leaving his empire for even a short time. He would never go to New York. That meant Henry would never leave Nevada for as long as his boss lived. Even then, he would likely take over protecting the Russian’s son when he came into power. People like them didn’t get vacations either. So that meant they were destined to be trapped thousands of miles apart with no hope of reunion, regardless of what Henry promised.

Usually, Anthony hated how long and drawn-out these conversations were. He always urged them to move more swiftly so he and Henry could run off to do as they pleased together. This time, however, it was the conversation that kept Anthony from having to leave Henry for the last time. He prayed and prayed that something would happen, an improbable miracle that would keep them in Las Vegas, to prevent them from parting for the rest of eternity.

As Anthony forced himself to hold back the encroaching sorrow, he looked into the eyes of the man he loved and tried to commit every detail to memory. Even Henry's typically flawless poker face threatened to break at certain points during the exchange. Anthony hated the dark circles under his eyes from the long nights they stayed awake to utilize every minute they had. He hated how his lover aged years in just a few weeks from grief and lack of sleep. The lines of his face, especially between the brows, were more prominent now from being creased with worry almost nonstop. Anthony recognized similar changes in himself when he looked in the mirror. They complimented each other in the worst way. Still, Anthony needed to memorize it all.

He played the sound of Henry’s voice saying I love you over and over in his head. Anthony would never hear it said aloud again. He couldn’t forget it—he wouldn’t. If it was the last thing he had left of Henry, Anthony would cling to it with everything he had. He knew the sweet caresses and kisses would leave quickly; they would melt into memories of other men who had touched him before, even if it was not the same. But only one man loved Anthony, and he would not forget the way it sounded when those words were whispered in his ear.

The conversation appeared to be nearing its end. Anthony now prayed God would strike him down there so he would never have to live a single moment without Henry. The anxiety flared in his chest, threatening to make him break down in front of the large audience. Unfortunately, he remained painfully alive and had to willingly turn from his lover, tearing his eyes from the only man he ever loved and walking away. He successfully made it to a more private location where he vomited forcefully before being ushered into a private car that was bound for the airport.

Anthony would never see Henry for as long as he lived, just as he had always known.

---

Anthony used to love New York. It was his home, the only one he had ever known. It was as familiar as the freckles on his skin and the honey-brown eyes that stared back at him in the mirror. His family was there and all his memories, fond or otherwise, were made almost entirely within the confines of the city and surrounding suburbs. But he found a new home in the arms of the man he loved, and he felt discontent wherever he went no matter what he was doing. He was restless in the worst way.

He started using more to cope. What was a few hits of cocaine here and there became every day, then multiple times a day, then even harder drugs. PCP became a favorite. It was the only thing that could bring him any sense of joy. Heroin was okay, too, though it just made his mind blank and put him to sleep through the worst of his pain. He knew that he had a problem before. It’s why he was terrible at every job his father gave him. Being separated from Henry only exacerbated his underlying dependence on substances; he wasn’t the cause.

However bleak things seemed, the reunion with Molly felt even better than Anthony imagined. His sweet, kind sister was exactly how he remembered her. He changed so much the nearly six months he was away and he was afraid the same might have happened to her. Anthony was scared that their connection wouldn't feel the same as it had since their birth. He feared losing another person he loved.

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck, he her back, and they cried tears of love and relief together. The longest they'd ever been apart was maybe a week, and that had been torture. This had been its own special brand of Hell. If Anthony couldn't have Henry with him, he was relieved that he had his twin. He knew they would never be separated like that ever again.

“I missed ya so much, Tony,” Molly sighed, hugging him tighter.

“You have no clue how much I missed ya, Molls. It's so good to see you.”

His sister pulled away and took Anthony's face in both of her hands. His eyes were staring back at him, and he felt a peace he hadn't in a long time. It was exactly what he needed right now. She looked for something in his face and seemed to have found it, frowning at him. Anthony wasn't even high right now, at least not that high, so he was not sure what she saw there. Whatever it was, it made her upset.

“I don't know what happened out there, but ya gonna tell me everything . An’ I mean everythin’! Your letters were nonsense an’ ya know it, Tony.” She nudged his shoulder with a gentle fist. “An’ how did you manage to get thinner out there? Ma is gonna lose it when she sees you.”

Anthony had gained weight when he was with Henry. He felt happy enough to sit around with him and enjoy more meals instead of skipping them to avoid his family. His father only required attendance at breakfast, so he was free to do as he wished with other meals. The blond liked how his time with Henry started to fill out his frame more and made him look healthier. Toward the end, as his impending separation from Henry grew closer, Anthony's appetite dissipated. He started to eat less, even less than before they met. The drugs only accelerated the weight loss until he was thinner than upon arrival in Las Vegas.

Ma was going to kill him, or she’d kill Carlo. Anthony hoped he could convince her that nothing in the desert compared to her cooking and he was happy to be home where he would enjoy eating again. She might believe it. Molly wouldn't, however.

A day or so later, Molly and Anthony curled up on the couch in his apartment, snacking on some of his favorite pastries she “just happened” to pack. He knew it was her reaction to seeing his thinness upon their reunion. She’d probably hatched the plan within the first minute they were together. His twin was thoughtful and stubborn like that. The homemade treats were the first thing Anthony had in weeks that didn’t taste like ash. There was still much left to be desired when he had no will to live, however. He put on his best act for her and ate until he felt ill so that she would be put at ease.

Molly opted to go first in catching them up to speed on their lives, knowing Anthony would be a tough oyster to crack. He was going to need to warm up before divulging anything genuine. She was right. Anthony had no clue what he would say about his half-year across the country.

His twin talked excitedly about her boyfriend and all the things she'd done with her friends. She asked if Anthony had seen any of the moving pictures that she had so they could talk about her favorites—he hadn't. She recalled the plot of one in particular she thought Anthony would like. He was relieved the war ended several years ago so all the films were finally not pro-war propaganda, and he enthusiastically listened to her synopsis of the romance. And he was surprised that he didn’t think of Henry once while she summarized, too engrossed in Molly’s happiness to think of anything else. He rested his chin in hand and allowed himself to feel anything other than misery for those few moments. Content was probably too strong of a word, but it was the closest he had to how he felt.

The summer in New York was blazing, though not quite like the last weeks in Nevada. Anthony had the apartment windows open wide. He hoped for a cross breeze to alleviate the sweltering room. It helped some, though not as much as an ice-cold drink would. He dabbed at his damp forehead with a cloth and envied Molly's dress which looked much cooler than his suit. She had her long hair pinned high on top of her head to alleviate some of the heat as well.

Anthony thought his sister was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was so naturally flawless and had a heart of gold that made her undeniably perfect. While Anthony looked so similar to her as though they were identical twins, he had a rotten core. He thought he should grow accustomed to the heat because there would be more of it where he was going. Molly wouldn’t have to concern herself with that, though. Like she could sense the change in his thoughts, Molly looked at Anthony intently and his big brown eyes stared back at him.

“Sooo,” Molly drawled, signaling she was finally forcing Anthony to take his turn. “Start from either the beginnin’ or the best parts, ‘cause I'm not missin’ out on a single detail.”

“Molls, none of it was real interestin’. A lotta business an’ unpleasant shit. I don't think ya wanna hear about most of it.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You know what I'm askin’ for, Tony. I don't care about the business. I want to know who stole ya heart out in the desert.”

Anthony almost flinched just thinking about Henry. He wasn't even surprised that Molly could tell he was heartbroken. He was shit at hiding it. For a second, he considered lying to her, saying there wasn’t someone waiting for him in Nevada. Someone he loved more than life and didn’t know how to live without.

“I don't wanna talk about it.”

“You don't wanna talk about it, or ya don't wanna talk about him ?”

Despite the heat, Anthony felt frozen to his core in terror. He sat stone-still, still making uncomfortable eye contact with his sister. She had the softest expression on her face like she didn't ask him something that should be unthinkable, repulsive even. He was almost unsure she'd said what he thought she did. But there was no slip of her tongue when Molly said him , not her .

“Molly, I dunno what ya think—”

“Tony, we're twins. Do ya seriously think I don't know everythin’ about you?” Molly placed a gentle hand on his knee and smiled brightly at him. “I known a long time. Remember Joey Costanza in grade school? You were head ova heels for that boy. It was real cute how you used to follow him around.”

Anthony couldn't think fast enough to reconcile every thought in his skull. He should deny it. Fuck, he should adamantly deny the allegation and become irate with her, verbally tear her apart until she would never say something like that out loud ever again. But Molly looked so accepting like she asked about her brother's boyfriend as easily as a girlfriend. Anthony longed to feel accepted by anyone as much as he was by Henry.

“What's his name?” Molly implored. She squeezed his knee reassuringly.

“Henry.”

“Ooh! He sounds handsome.”

Anthony actually laughed at that, though the anxiety filling him threatened to explode at any second. He simultaneously felt overwhelming joy in that moment. He'd never been able to talk about one of his lovers aloud before.

“He is,” Anthony conceded, relaxing just enough to continue. “He is the most beautiful man I've ever seen.”

“Okayyy, so what's he like? A nice Italian boy, I'd hope. All serious and manly?” Molly dropped her tone to imitate a man's deep voice.

Anthony almost laughed again, thinking about his Henry being serious with work and little else. “Not Italian, but he speaks it like he is. There's not a serious bone in his body when we're together. He's funny an’ sweet… an’ he takes real good care a’ me.”

“He betta or he'd hafta answer to me!”

Molly didn't have an ounce of malice or violence in her, so the thought was hilarious.

“I really love him, Molls. I dunno what to do without him.”

The confession hit Anthony hard. It was so different to think or write these things, another to speak them. Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over before he could try to stop them. Molly leaned in and wiped the wetness from his face, much like Henry would. It made his heart contract painfully in his chest. Anthony broke out into full sobs.

“I think ya just gotta have faith, Tony. True love always finds a way.”

Faith was a funny word to use, especially when God never answered any of his prayers before. Still, Anthony was relieved some of the burden of missing Henry as he told Molly about the man he loved. He only disclosed the wholesome portions of their relationship, aware that their hitmen antics and near-constant fucking were not stories meant to be shared with her. Anthony was not about to press his luck when Molly gave him this beautiful gift of acceptance.

“I’d really like to meet Henry one day,” Molly said. “If he’d be okay with that.”

Anthony knew that would never happen, though Henry’s comfort did not play into that decision at all. If he ever saw his boyfriend again, Anthony would never let him go. He made the mistake of doing it before, of not fighting to stay together. Now that they were separated with no way back to each other, he would spend every day of the rest of his life regretting it. Anthony fucked up the best thing to ever happen to him and he was going to make sure he never forgot that.

“Sure, Molls. We’d like that.”

He’s pretty sure Molly didn’t believe him.

---

Molly got engaged within a couple of days of all the D’Angelos reuniting at a family dinner. Anthony was high through the entire thing and the celebrations that came after. He doesn’t remember much about anything that happened. He met his infant nephew who looked exactly like he belonged in the family, nothing like him and Molly. The blond thought he was going to fit in just fine, unlike him. Then he went numb again.

At the end of the first week, Anthony wrote to Henry. He poured his heart and soul onto the paper until it felt like he would fall apart permanently. Then he took a hit of something from his stash, he didn’t even care what it was. It gave him the strength to return to the letter only to tear it furiously into a thousand pieces. Later he wrote again, something short and to the point.

 

Henry,

I miss you. I love you. I can’t live without you.

A

 

It was all he could manage.

Two weeks after they returned home, Carlo called Anthony into his office. It was just his father, Carmelo, and him. That meant it concerned intimate family business, or maybe another hit. Anthony almost looked forward to the opportunity to take his broken heart out on some asshole, so he was as close to hopeful as he could get these days.

“Ya look like shit, Tony,” Carlo opened. It wasn’t the best start to one of their conversations. It wasn’t the worst either.

“You haven’t been yaself since Vegas,” Carmelo added. “Even before we left. So, what’s ya deal?”

Anthony was just high enough that he didn’t care about the confrontation. “I dunno. Just been hard adjustin’, I guess. I liked Vegas.”

“Ya life is here, and you have a duty to the family—”

“I know that! Why the hell do you think I’m here!”

Why would Anthony go home if he didn’t have almost everything good in his life right here? He wouldn't have left the man he loved in the desert if he had any choice. Not that the other D’Angelos knew about his relationship with Henry. If they did, that would be another matter entirely. Still, Anthony became furious with his brother who acted like he hadn't done everything right while they were in Vegas. Even when he was running around high off his ass or behind their backs with Henry, his jobs were done, and they were done well.

Anthony didn’t know if he’d ever been this obstinate around his father, yelling at Carmelo like this. He was only glad the slip-up was aimed at his brother instead of Pops. Carmelo looked like he wanted to hit Anthony. He started shouting back at him, causing a heated argument to break out in front of their father.

“Shut the fuck up , both of yas!” The brothers clamped their mouths shut immediately and looked at their father with the fear he earned. “Tony, ya need to focus on somethin’ productive ‘stead of this whiny bitch shit. Ya gettin’ married. You got three months, or me and Ma will pick a broad for ya.”

Anthony began to panic. He went to Las Vegas to prove to his father that he could be useful and deserved more time before he settled down. It’s the reason he met Henry, fell in love, and was now heartbroken, making him act this way. It was all for nothing. His life was ruined to end up exactly as it would have anyway.

“Pops, ya can’t—”

Their father stood from his chair and backhanded Anthony across the face. “Don’t you ever dare argue with me again, Anthony. Ya hear me? Ya gettin’ married. End of story. Capisce?”

Tears pricked in Anthony’s eyes, whether from the slap or terror, he didn’t know. He resisted cradling his smarting face in his hands and refused to show any more weakness in front of his family. He only nodded. Otherwise, he didn’t know what would come out of his mouth next. Carlo dismissed his sons, the conversation over. Carmelo followed a step behind Anthony as though that was enough to give him even a semblance of privacy.

“Tony,” his brother said quietly before Anthony could run out of the house.

“Whataya want, Carmelo.” His voice was biting.

“I… I have a girl or two I could set ya up with. Some nice broads you might like, if you gave ‘em a chance.”

Kindness. It’s the last thing he expected from his brother. Anthony wished he was not so overwhelmed, horrified, and heartbroken that he could enjoy a moment of genuine connection with Carmelo. It might have been the first time, but it was also the last.

“I’m not gonna like any woman you approve of.” Or any woman, for that matter.

“Then we ask Molly. Ya’d like one of her friends. Betta than Pops pickin’ someone for you.”

Anthony took a deep breath to suppress the sob that was ready to tear from his chest. “Okay,” he conceded without meaning it.

Carmelo was soothed enough by the answer that he let Anthony go. The blond stalked home on foot, despite his apartment being quite far across town. He needed time to think, to plan, to try to get out of this.

How did you fuck this up so bad, he internally screamed at himself.

He didn’t lock the door behind him when he finally arrived home. Anthony did not have the strength or sense to do anything other than find his drugs and try to take away the pain. He just needed to disappear for a while. A little angel dust would do the trick. In a matter of minutes, he could be separated from his body and all thoughts about his life. He would find some relief. At least, that's what he thought.

Thoughts of losing Henry and how his life was now spiraling out of control consumed him. He knew being queer would be difficult with a wife. It would be near impossible when it was just having random trysts with strangers. There's no way it would work with a relationship with Henry. A wife would be too close, too observant, compared to the rest of his family. She would have to be damn near comatose to not connect the dots. She would notice when a high-profile gangster's man came around without business, and how those visits would transform Anthony completely. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life hiding from the world and in his own home. That was if Henry ever came to see him, too. He would rather die than live a life like that.

No! That wasn't an option. His Henry was still out there waiting for him. He had no right to abandon him like that, no matter how impossible the circumstances seemed. Anthony couldn't die, not yet. Not just because things were getting hard. Henry wouldn't give up on him, so he had to survive this. That didn't mean he had to do any of it sober, though.

Anthony tied a tourniquet around his left bicep, felt for the best access, and injected himself with PCP. Shooting it always worked faster and lasted longer. It was almost enough. He could still feel the sharp agony of being separated from his lover by time, distance, and circumstance. It was still too much to bear. He needed more. He took some pills that he stole from his parents’ house, thinking they were morphine, and washed them down with half a bottle of liquor he’d left in the apartment. It didn’t matter what they were. No matter what kind of drug it was, it wouldn’t make him feel any worse than he did right now. He followed it up with more PCP, to make sure he wouldn’t feel a thing.

The bathtub filled with nearly scalding hot water that Anthony settled into without noticing it burned his skin. It didn’t take long for his limbs to go completely numb and useless at his sides. He couldn't get out of the tub now, even if he wanted to. But the sensation of the water around him, the tap still running, it felt nice. The sound of the overflowing water lulled him into peace. He couldn’t remember why he was upset anymore. All he felt was sweet, sweet nothingness. Then the world became dark around the edges, blurring into what Anthony knew would be a dreamless sleep he welcomed with open arms.

He never woke up.

Notes:

We're almost at the end of this fic and I'm so sad to say goodbye to these two. I have a new fic in the works, though! It's going to be an enemies-to-lovers Overlord Angel x Overlord Husk AU. :)

Chapter 10

Anthony crashed into Hell what felt like only minutes after he fell asleep for the last time. He spent the first year or so wanting to kick his ass for fucking up the only good thing to ever happen to him. Of course he had to leave at some point. It was the nature of their work. He was never meant to have gone to Vegas in the first place and New York was his home. Molly was there. His Ma was there. He would always return as long as they were alive no matter how much he loved Henry.

Maybe Anthony had dabbled in his father's supply and other drugs before, but nothing new. Perhaps he started using more to dull the pain that came with Henry's absence. And yes, maybe he knew that it was a bad idea, but that didn't stop him from doing what he wanted anyway. He deserved a break from all those feelings. It was too much to deal with sober and alcohol alone only helped so much. The hard stuff could take it all away with ease.

So when he landed in Hell and realized just how badly he fucked up this time, Anthony screamed until he thought he would never be able to use his voice again. How could he ever exist without Henry, regardless of where he ended up in the afterlife? Even heaven would be torture as long as he was separated from his love. Anthony died in more ways than one that day. Somewhere along the way Angel continued on.

Anthony despised the body he was given in the afterlife. He had too many hands—four more than he was born with. He couldn't keep himself from fidgeting with only two when he was alive. Now he had three times as many to worry about, though it was a small blessing he could conceal one set of them at will. The extra several feet he increased in height were something that took time to adjust to as well. His long legs were now impossibly longer and ended in clawed monstrosities instead of feet.

Angel gradually learned to embrace and love his body, using it to its fullest capacity and then some. He developed flexibility and grace that he lacked in life, as well as newfound strength that would have had utility back then, too. Extra hands meant more guns and eight eyes even better depth perception, making him an excellent shot. He was grateful to carry over his most cherished skill to Hell. He unfortunately retained the bad habit of not being able to sit still that would get him into trouble later on, especially on camera.

Angel waited for Henry, for a time. Honestly, he may have waited around too long. They'd only known each other for a few months when he was alive. Henry might not have even come for him. He could have made all those declarations of love just to never look back. Anthony wouldn't have blamed him, though he would have been heartbroken. That would be easier to recover from than this endless longing that gnawed at Angel's soul, bringing him closer to the brink of insanity every day.

Years passed. Even though he was almost embarrassed by the feelings—the same desperation that drove him to use and his untimely death—Angel clung to how it felt to be held by his Henry. He asked around and followed any lead regardless of its merit. There were several times it led him into unwelcome situations. He tried not to dwell on those too much. It made it that much harder when he still didn't find Henry. And part of him, the only selfless sliver of humanity left in him, prayed he wouldn't find Henry, not yet. Angel didn't want him dead, even if it meant they would be reunited sooner. He pushed away the panicked thoughts of his lover ending up in heaven, fearing that he would spend eternity separated from the only man he ever loved.

One day Angel stopped looking. Thoughts of Henry still flitted through his head periodically and they ached with almost the same intensity they had when he awoke from his death. He just couldn't do it anymore. Plus the drugs helped numb him of all those pesky feelings, just as they did when they first parted. Angel stopped caring about most things in time, but he had to work to forget Henry. There were so many other things that started to hurt more. He didn't need the ghost of a man he barely knew to be another item on the list.

When he met Val, it was easy to fall prey to his charm and the love bombing that came with the early relationship. It felt so good to be wanted by someone who wasn't Henry. Even though nothing Val did felt even remotely as genuine, Angel was desperate to put even a temporary bandage over the gaping hole in his heart. Between that and the drugs, and fuck there were so many, it wasn't even a question that he would willingly give his soul to the new man he loved. Thought he loved? The man who loved him?

A man who took advantage of him.

Angel's small, broken heart would forever belong to someone who didn't exist anymore. He didn't give a fuck about anything he had left. Especially his soul. Why would he care about selling himself to Val, allowing any man to do what they wished to him? He promised Henry that he would not touch another man while he lived. Well, he was dead now. He would destroy himself with the hands of anyone who wanted him.

But the worst part of Hell was when he realized he couldn't remember the sound of Henry's voice. That was the last thing about him that Angel clung to desperately. The years wore his memory down and Henry's softly whispered “I love you” became distorted by all the new voices he heard over the decades. At some point all he could hear was Val. Even remotely associating his abuser with the man he loved with every fiber of his being nearly broke him.

He had to stop thinking about Henry or he was at risk of stepping out on the street during Extermination Day. Angel thought about it more often than he liked and had attempted at least once. So he used until reaching a perpetual stupor, and he forgot everything about the man he once loved more than life. Decades passed that could only be the torture he’d earned while he was alive.

When he noticed his heart softening toward the most unlikely of demons at the hotel, Angel couldn't help the rise of hysteria inside of him. He'd only been in love twice, maybe, and it ended so badly both times. Had he not learned his fucking lesson already? How many times did he need to get hurt before he realized Val was right? Angel was undeserving of love. He always was and would be forever. No one could love someone as fucked up and ruined as he was. But it was that one look in Husk's eyes that made him want to be stupid, just one more time.

Angel couldn't stop thinking of how familiar it felt. It was something he saw before and had been on the receiving end of many times. He didn't remember who had looked at him like that. It most certainly wasn't Val who eyed him like a piece of meat, contemplating all the ways to exploit him even on the best days they'd had. Angel spent hours mulling it over and over in his head. As he lay awake in his bed after another rough night, battered and sore from a long day, he fantasized about the look and who could have made him feel like that.

On the night he realized, he wept harder than he had in his entire existence. Angel remembered those amber eyes, soft with fondness toward him. There was that smug little smile turning up the corner of his mouth. Angel could almost feel the ghost of loving hands on his body, the ones that had touched him long before all those who had wrecked him since then. His Henry, who Angel had not seen in nearly a century, looked at him like that.

Angel almost packed his things and returned to V Tower that night. He didn't know if he could stand to see Husk again after the realization. It hurt so fucking badly. He didn't even know he could feel suffering like this again. It didn't seem possible that eighty years hadn't dulled the pain of losing Henry. Val's betrayal and mistreatment of Angel paled in comparison, even though the emotional and physical pain were ongoing. How did Henry still have the power to destroy him over and over again?

Angel almost left. But he didn't. He couldn't explain what gave him the courage to face Husk after the realization. Maybe it wasn’t bravery but his self-destructive nature that made him want to see if this was the thing that finally broke him permanently. It brought him to the point of nearly becoming physically ill to sit on his usual barstool like his entire world hadn't upended the previous night.

He studied Husk with cautious curiosity, equally hoping he would and would not look at him in that new way. Unfortunately, Angel was assaulted with the weight of the expression he dreaded the second Husk turned to face him. His eyes were partially lidded but bright like his soul lit up upon seeing Angel. It wasn't quite how he looked when amused, though it was similar. The right side of his mouth curled up like he was fighting back the beginning of a smile and losing. It knocked the wind out of Angel how much he looked like Henry, and he suddenly felt like he was starved of oxygen.

Husk's face fell instantly. “What's wrong, Legs?”

Angel couldn't respond. He was drowning in thoughts and feelings and memories that came rushing back to him all at once. He couldn't breathe.

“Angel, what's going on?”

Husk sounded far away despite them being separated by only the bar top. Angel shook his head rapidly. He wrapped all his arms around himself tightly like he would fall to pieces otherwise. And maybe he would. He felt dangerously close to a breakdown.

“I can't do this,” he whispered, though not necessarily to Husk.

Husk looked beyond startled. He wanted to reach for Angel and have his hand be the anchor that kept him from drifting away into that familiar dark place. He knew that initiating an unwanted touch would cause Angel to panic and retreat even farther into the recesses of his traumatized mind. Husk didn't know what to do, so he stood there uselessly stunned, and tried to think of anything he could do to help, coming up with nothing.

Angel continued avoiding Husk's gaze, stood, and retreated quickly to his room. He couldn't do this. Everything felt so intense. He felt like he had burst into hellfire and would burn for the rest of eternity. This was one of the few times outside of the studio that Angel felt like he truly was in Hell. He was being tormented by a man who had become one of his closest friends. Angel nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Husk was the only thing that made his existence worth continuing. Now he made Angel feel like he was destined for double death. He couldn't go on like this forever. Not again.

Had he not been successfully sober for months with all his hidden stashes around the hotel found and discarded, Angel would have used without question. Fuck redemption and being a better person, or whatever the fuck. He needed to escape. Whatever it took to do that, he would do it, no hesitation.

It was several hours of sobbing until his entire body was drained of its lifeforce, sore and emotionally sucked dry. This was too similar to his first days in Hell when he didn't stop screaming until his voice gave out. Like that day, he eventually stopped when there was nothing left of him to give. If he were not still overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, maybe he could have fallen asleep. He was never very lucky and that did not change today.

A timid rap on his door made Angel flinch. He should have known it was only a matter of time before Husk checked on him. Angel was certain that he periodically listened in and waited until the crying stopped before he dared to approach. The thoughtfulness made him want to throw up. He had no tears left in him, but his body made sure to let him know that it would be creative, need be.

Angel tried to send Husk away, but his mouth did not make any sound. Another tiny knock sounded too loud as it fractured the silence of his room. He threw the first thing he touched, one of the picture frames on his bedside table, at the door. It smashed against the nearby wall and Angel heard the shattering of glass.

"Angel, I'm coming in," Husk said tentatively through the door, undeterred by the outburst. Angel knew that if he could make his mouth comply, he could banish Husk with a single word. Instead, he remained mute.

Husk nudged open the door and carefully stepped around the small shards of glass now littering the floor. He would be the one to clean it up later. The door closed softly behind him. Angel kept his face wedged between several pillows, ready to muffle whatever ungodly noise could leave him without warning. Husk sat at the edge of the bed farthest from Angel, allowing for adequate space between them in case he wanted the distance. Angel felt the weight of Husk's hand settle on the mattress a few inches from his leg. They waited.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Husk shifted a bit. “What can I do to help you?” His words were soft and kind, exactly like they were every time Angel came home a wreck.

Angel could only think about Henry and how he could quell all his fears with only a few words. He still couldn't remember exactly what his lover sounded like, but the voice was no longer Val in his head—it was Husk. The weight of everything settled over him, though it now felt more like the suffocating embrace of someone you don't quite like rather than the crushing weight of the world.

“Everything feels like... too much,” Angel said with what little energy he had left.

“We don't have to talk about what happened at work. But y’know I'm here for you.”

Angel could have laughed at that on a normal day, even one of the really bad ones. “It's not that. It's you.”

Husk became unnaturally still and then swiftly removed his hand from where it rested on the bed. He nearly leaped to his feet to put more distance between them, unsure what he had done, but not about to make it any worse. Angel felt a pang of guilt shoot through him as he realized how that sounded.

“Not like that,” he amended quietly. “I just can't handle how ya look at me, all soft an’ shit.”

“How am I supposed to look at you?”

“I don't care. Just not like that. Not like him.”

Husk felt chilled to the core. “Like Valentino?”

Angel tossed the pillows obscuring his face aside, sitting up only enough to make eye contact with Husk. It was manageable now that he wasn’t looking at him in the way that set all this off. The overwhelmed concern wasn't much better, but it was something.

“Fuck… No, Husk. Not Valentino. Like... Henry.”

Angel hadn't said his name out loud in decades. He didn't even mean to say it now. It just came out like all the pent-up emotions associated with Henry forced it from his lips. Even so, the second syllable died on his tongue.

Husk's ears shot straight up, and his eyes opened wide like the name meant something to him, like he was equally as shocked to have heard it said out loud. He was staring, unseeing, at the space above Angel's head. Angel disliked that Husk wouldn't look at him now. He finally had the strength to confront Husk face to face and the motherfucker couldn't return the favor. Anger began rising in his chest.

“Who's Henry?” Husk asked quietly, too quietly for Angel's liking.

That was a good question. Who was Henry? Angel wanted to reply that Henry used to be his everything—his reason for living, his reason for dying. The only man who ever really, truly loved him for everything he was, even the worst parts of him. He was the breath in Anthony's lungs, the blood in his veins. But he was so angry with his abandonment at that moment that he didn't say any of those things.

“He's the guy I was in love with topside. I OD'd before I could see him again. The asshole has to be avoidin’ me, 'cause I spent decades searchin’ all ova’ Hell for him. An’ he hasn't come to find me neither.”

Husk's eyes widened more, then they flicked quickly back to Angel. It was like he'd seen a ghost. Considering they were both dead, he sort of had.

“Anthony?” Husk's voice broke as he said the other name Angel hadn't heard outside his head in what felt like a lifetime.

“How the fuck... how do you know my name?”

Angel had never seen the expression that crossed Husk's face next. He looked anguished to a degree that matched how Angel felt.

“Because I think I'm the asshole you were looking for.”

Now Angel looked confused and angry and just... tormented.

“Henry?”

The pair stared deeply into each other's eyes, seeing what would happen next. Angel hated how much hope infiltrated his heart while he waited for Husk's response. It was the longest two seconds of his entire existence.

“There you are, baby,” Husk said.

Angel had not processed what happened, but it was as if his body knew what to do before his head caught up. He launched himself at Husk, who caught Angel in his arms without toppling over the bed's edge onto the floor. And then he was sobbing again despite having just felt like his emotional well had run dry and he had no more tears to spill.

“Where the fuck have ya been?” Angel's words caught in his raw throat until he got the full sentence out.

“In Hell,” Husk replied without a hint of sarcasm because he didn't know what else to say or how to explain himself.

Henry had briefly looked for Anthony if you considered the better part of a decade brief. It was difficult when he hadn't seen the man in years upon years, not to mention how everyone took on an unrecognizable demonic form in death. He knew Anthony died young, within mere weeks of their parting. Henry asked around Hell but didn't get very far. Then there was the matter of the Exterminations. He didn't even know if Anthony was alive—well, he was dead—but not double dead. With a significant portion of the population being slaughtered annually, Henry did not like the odds that his lover had survived all this time.

He couldn't bear to think about Anthony being completely wiped from existence, even if Hell was hardly a step up. But he looked for as long as most would consider reasonable. Then he took up a new name, a new persona, and started garnering power for himself. If he became a strong enough Overlord, if he found Anthony, he could protect him from the Exterminations. And if he didn't see Anthony again... at least he didn't waste his afterlife chasing a ghost.

Husk also couldn't guarantee that Anthony would even want to see him after all this time. It had been close to forty years by the time he died and it was also very likely that Anthony had moved on. They hadn't known each other for long, after all. He knew it was unreasonable to think his lover held a candle for him and hadn't found someone else, even in Hell. Fuck, even Henry had been married a few times while he was still alive. He didn't love his wives in the same way he did Anthony, how could he, but he would be lying if he said they meant nothing to him.

There was the matter of Anthony's death, too. Husk knew about the overdose. When he arrived in New York and tried to track down his lover, it didn't take him long to find someone who disclosed the information with a moderate bribe. It wasn't common knowledge, given Anthony was the son of a high-profile gangster, but the cause of his death wasn't exactly a secret either. Henry was devastated, of course, and it took him days to even remotely recover from the news. His informant had also insinuated that Anthony's death wasn't as accidental as it initially appeared. He didn't know if this meant Anthony committed suicide or if it was a hit that was set up to look like an OD.

No matter the case, Husk couldn't keep pursuing Anthony forever. He would go insane with grief if he continued opening up the wound of his greatest loss. He tried to tell himself that Anthony would understand, even if it didn't alleviate the guilt. Henry did not stop thinking about him up until the day he died and spent a significant part of his afterlife continuing his search. He tried. He fucking tried. Apparently Anthony—Angel did not see it that way.

“You're such a fuckin’ piece of shit!” Angel cried angrily into Husk's chest. “Why didn't ya look for me?”

Husk embraced him even tighter, though he wasn't sure that was possible. When he pulled away slightly, Angel held them together with all of his arms. Husk grasped the taller man’s face lovingly with both hands, making their eyes meet.

“I did. I looked all over for you, baby. How could you think I didn't?”

“My face is plastered on every goddamn billboard in Hell and ya couldn't find me?”

The aggravation bubbling up from the pit of Angel's stomach grew more intense. Husk still held his face, thumbs brushing the tears from his cheeks. It was so familiar, like something he had done before. And Angel guessed he had, back when he was Henry.

“You're a little taller and less blond,” Husk answered, attempting the smallest of jokes.

Angel didn't laugh. He punched Husk in the side with one of his lower arms. “I don't care if ya right, I hate you.”

“I never stopped loving you, Anthony.”

“Ya ruined my fuckin’ afterlife! I haven't been able to get ova’ you.”

“I can't believe you're here.”

This went back and forth for a time. Angel's frustration and heartbreak manifested into biting remarks and continued crying. Husk held onto him and whispered reassurances into his ear. Everything was unbelievably different than it had been the last time they were in each other's arms, but it still felt so similar to when they were alive.

After some time and Angel's sobs quieted again, they enjoyed the feeling of being wrapped in each other for the first time in Hell. Angel fantasized about being held by Husk and found that reality was similar to his expectations. He just never thought that he'd also be touching his long-lost lover again at the same time. It added another layer he wasn't anticipating.

Husk ran his claws through Angel's hair soothingly and didn't offer up any conversation. He needed the time to process and collect himself just as much as Angel did. He just closed his eyes and thought about how it felt to hold the man he loved both in life and death. It was confusing in a way that wasn't wholly unpleasant.

“Ya not as fun down here,” Angel said finally. “I woulda had no clue you were my Henry.”

“You're a lot less shy than you were topside. I don't think you've blushed once around me in the last year.”

“Don't have the luxury of shy, bein’ a star an’ all. But ya also wrong. You just weren't payin’ enough attention.”

Angel outlined all the times Husk made him feel flustered, just like he had when they were alive. It made Husk feel like he lost all sense of perception he was so proud of. He used to be able to clock Anthony's thoughts and feelings before he even had them. Now he couldn't even see that Angel had been falling in love with him, again?

“Ange, I'm not…” Husk looked afraid to say what was on his mind. “I haven't been your Henry in a long time. Not down here, and not since you died.”

“How did ya know I died?”

Angel didn't know if he was ready to go down that path. He didn't think he had much of a choice and he needed to know. That would be a recurring theme for them going forward.

“I came looking for you, ‘round October. You'd already been buried for months. I just thought you were still mad I didn't come to New York sooner… that that's why you didn't respond to any of my letters. I thought if I showed you I cared, that I'd kept my promise, things would go back to the way they were.”

“But my dumb ass went an’ died on ya.” It wasn't a question.

“Yes,” Husk affirmed. “I wasn't the same after that. I don't think I can ever be the same. I told you I would come back for you. Why didn't you listen?”

“I did! I didn't believe ya, but I listened! I just… used too much. It was an accident.” Angel's chest began heaving with a building sob. “I neva’ woulda left you and Molly and Ma. Ya think I chose this? Fuck you.”

It was an accident. Husk needed to hear those words, no matter how much they hurt. He needed to know that Anthony didn't go do something stupid because he was impulsive and hurting. Or worse, that his father finally took Anthony out.

“After your letter… I thought maybe you’d…” Husk didn’t want to say the next part out loud, so he didn't. “You said you couldn’t live without me.”

Angel’s blood ran cold. Henry thought Anthony committed suicide.

“Husk, I… No, I’d neva’—I couldn’t. I…”

Husk cradled Angel to his chest, much like Henry comforted Anthony all those years ago. “Shh, baby. It’s okay. We’re here now. We’re together.”

“You found me,” Angel cried. “I can’t believe ya found me.”

“I told you not even death would keep me from you.”

As another round of crying died down and Angel stroked his long fingers through Husk's fur, he thought more about Henry. It hurt less when the man was now here in the flesh, or whatever it is they had in Hell. Angel constructed a mental Venn diagram of Husk and Henry, sorting their various characteristics into categories.

“Ya still a lot like Henry, though,” Angel mused. “Ya killed a buncha guys who were tryna fuck with me. Sounds a lot like our first date.”

“You're calling the hit I interrupted our first date? Baby, we killed a man and left his body in the desert. No one ever found him.” There was no judgment in his statement. Some disbelief, but no judgment.

“Ya did such a good job!”

Angel sounded genuinely impressed, proud. Husk started laughing and it was contagious. Angel couldn't help letting all the tension in his body melt away, listening to him laugh until he couldn't catch his breath. That was exactly what his Henry sounded like.

“It was one of the best nights ‘a my life,” Angel said honestly.

“That's so fucked up.”

Husk chuckled again. He pressed his lips against Angel's forehead, and it felt nice. It was like it's how they always did things instead of completely uncharted territory. Angel could've sighed with contentment.

“Baby, there's a very good reason we're in Hell. Pretty sure it's not for all the sex stuff.”

“No, I don't think it's the sex stuff,” the shorter demon agreed.

“We used to have the best sex, though. Do ya remember? That shit was mind-blowin’. Still don't think I've had anything like it since then. Do ya think we would have the same chemistry now?” Angel waggled an eyebrow suggestively.

“Are you seriously coming onto me in the middle of an emotional reunion?”

“Ya know me, baby. I’m always tryna come on somethin’.” He even winked.

Husk was so happy that he understood Angel, his Angel, the way he did now. Months ago, this turn in the conversation would’ve made his skin crawl and he’d remove himself by any means possible. Now that he knew Angel only flirted with him genuinely, he felt his heart soften a bit instead.

“Anthony would’ve never said anything like that,” Husk mused, teasing. “I think he would’ve died if he tried.”

“An’ Henry was never such a prude! Ya used to be fuckin’ shameless, hittin’ on me in public, in the 1940s , may I remind you. What happened to you?”

“I lost you.” The mood turned serious again. “It was the worst thing that ever happened to me, Angel. I loved you more than life, and I meant it. I died when you did. And whatever was left of me, well, he was a waste of breath.”

“I just needed to get away. It was too hard bein’ apart from ya. Carlo saw I was dyin’ on the inside and said I had to be productive, get married. Was given a strict timeline an’ everythin’. It was too much. I needed to get away, just for a while. I didn’t mean to fuck up so bad. But I woulda been married before October anyway.”

“I would have rather found you married than dead.”

“Yeah, me fuckin’ too. I was such an idiot.” Angel paused for a moment as he remembered something. “Wait! Ya went and got married after I kicked the bucket?”

“Twice,” Husk admitted because Angel already knew.

“Twice! ‘I love you more than life itself’, my ass!”

“It was over a decade before the first one and we were married less than three months.”

“That’s longer than we were married,” Angel argued.

“We were never married.”

“Exactly! Oh, it betta not have been that blonde bitch—”

“You seriously can’t still be mad about that.”

“I ain’t mad but I still hate her! She was eye fuckin’ ya so hard I could hear it across the room!”

Husk felt like they were Henry and Anthony again, bickering over the silliest things. He supposed that was just like he and Angel were now, too. It made his heart feel lighter than it had in some time.

“Don’t get too jealous of my ex -wives. I was a shit husband and a worse father.”

“Father!” Angel could have fainted. “Ya had kids, too?”

“One,” Husk affirmed.

“Ya went and had a fuckin’ kid without me.” Angel was kidding, mostly.

“Angel, we couldn’t have kids.”

“It’s the premise, an’ ya know it, Henr—Husk”

The slip up hurt but also felt so good. Both of their faces dropped, neither knowing how to react to Angel calling him by the wrong name. This was going to take a while to sort out, mentally and emotionally. Neither of them were who they were when they first met. Henry had an entire life after Anthony and the beginning of an eventful afterlife, as well. Angel wasn’t even sure Anthony existed anymore after he left Nevada. Parts of their old selves were there, of course, but things were never going to go back to the way they were before. The people they were for six months almost a century ago were gone.

---

The hotel balcony was familiar to them down to the rusted railing that survived the last Extermination. Standing out there felt different now, having the ghost of their life together always looming in the background. The moment was flavored with the memory of Anthony’s PCP trip on the casino roof that led to the romantic confession that changed their lives forever. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it felt strange to experience the layers of past, present, and in between all at once.

Angel and Husk had spent the last few weeks working through their discovered identities and what it meant for the future. Their future. It was rocky some days, bringing hurt and confusion into a new relationship that hadn't truly started yet. Angel's greatest fear was that he would lose Husk, and by default Henry again, after everything they'd been through. He couldn't bear the thought. So even on the bad days where they communicated through raised voices and slamming doors, Angel did everything in his power to try to be better.

Maybe don't call Husk a selfish prick today.

Have you thought about taking a deep breath instead of throwing something?

Shut up for one fucking minute and listen.

Husk was working through a similar struggle. The more Angel pushed him away, the tighter he held on. He couldn't let the man he loved run away just because things weren't perfect. But he had his own hang-ups as well. There's a reason he didn't stay married while he was alive. Henry was shit at relationships. Husk was not any better. While he pretended to be the wise old bartender who was good with communication, it was so much harder when you had to do it with someone who was your everything. There was so much at stake if you showed the wrong cards. And he couldn't lose Angel.

Today was an okay day for them. Angel came home from work in decent shape, which was a merciful blessing. He showered and changed into something comfortable, then asked Husk to meet him on the roof. He felt like he was finally ready to get some things off of his chest. Angel only hoped that Husk was ready to hear them.

The shorter demon looked wistfully across the burning Pentagram as he waited for Angel to say something. He would be patient for as long as it took for him to be ready.

“I’ve been meanin’ to say somethin’ to ya for a while now,” Angel started.

The lower set of his hands started rubbing together without him realizing. He was nervous, though he didn’t have much reason to be. They’d been here before, in another life perhaps, but here all the same. Angel already knew the words to say and how they would be received. Husk held out his hand as an invitation to be touched if he wanted to be. The spider smiled at him fondly and placed one of his fidgeting hands in Husk’s. His nerves instantly settled upon feeling the pressure of fingers closing around his. It felt new and familiar at the same time. He liked the new.

“Things between us, down here, started off kinda rough. But ya saw somethin’ in me no one else did. Or if they saw it, only you gave a shit enough to push me.”

Husk rubbed his thumb across the back of Angel’s hand. He didn’t need to say anything.

“Ya my best friend, Husk. I was so scared a’ ruinin’ this good thing we had goin’. I wasn’t sure if I said anythin’ that ya’d run for the hills or think I was fakin’ it. But don’t think I didn’t notice you were sweet on me, too.”

Angel bumped his hip into Husk with a breathy little laugh. The shorter demon bumped him back, leaning into the playfulness. He was only like that with Angel. It was nice.

“I’ve always had a shit poker face with you, huh, sweetheart?”

They gave each other soft smiles.

“I know we’re still workin’ everythin’ out…” Angel said while gesturing around them with a couple of his hands. “But I need ya to know that I love you. Angel fell in love with Husk a… a long time ago. An embarrassingly long time ago.”

“I love you, too, Angel,” Husk replied without hesitation like he'd said it a thousand times.

“Yeah, I think I’ve known that for a real long time too.”

“Then what took so long?” Husk was teasing him.

“Hey! You coulda told me first, asshole!”

The taller demon felt his temper flare then subside just as quickly when the feeling of their clasped hands grounded him. He waited for his lover to respond.

“I thought I lost the ability to love when I lost Anthony,” Husk admitted. “It fucked me up that I started to have feelings for you when no one’s made me feel like that since… well, you.”

It was strange that both of them had only been truly and deeply in love with each other despite living two very different lifetimes. Angel never believed in soulmates, despite calling Henry his when he was alive. Now he wasn’t sure if he could uphold that belief when they found their way together again against all odds. Henry was the only man for him. Husk was the only demon for him. While different people now, they shared the same soul that Angel felt like was inconceivably intertwined with his own.

“You were real possessive back then,” Angel said, the hesitation evident.

“I didn’t much like sharing, especially when it came to you.”

Angel knew that was the truth, but hearing the words aloud made him afraid to continue. Husk squeezed his hand, which gave him the courage to go on. He always knew what he needed.

“Husk… ya can’t have me like that. I don’t—even if I wanted to… I don’t belong to myself anymore. I can’t be only yours.”

Angel’s spare hand was fiddling with the hem of his skirt, trying to ease his discomfort. Ever since he discovered Husk’s identity, this conversation had been playing through all the different scenarios in his mind. None of them ended particularly well. He was terrified of losing the man he loved because of his soul contract, but he wasn’t sure if he would give up sex work even if he wasn’t obligated to do it anymore. He would sprint away from Valentino if given the chance, of course. But the sexual liberation, the fame, those things were harder to leave behind. If Angel ever found freedom, there was the possibility he would have to choose between Husk and the work he loved.

“I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if I couldn’t handle Angel Dust being part of the deal.”

The relief was immediate, though some suspicion remained. “So, you aren’t jealous?”

“What’s there to be jealous of?” Husk asked seriously. “The world gets Angel Dust, but only I get Angel. I don’t have to share who you really are with anyone.”

Angel wasn’t sure why he blushed at that. He thought it might be the intimacy of Husk knowing the deepest, darkest parts of him and choosing to love him anyway. Just like Henry had loved Anthony. It was unconditional in the truest sense. Angel would never have to be anyone he wasn’t with Husk. He could leave his act at the hotel door and be whoever he was at his core. Husk was giving him freedom he hadn’t known in decades, maybe since before Hell.

“To be fair, I said I'd never fuck anotha man as long as I lived, and I didn’t,” Angel morbidly joked.

“Shut up and come here.”

Husk pulled Angel toward him with a gentle tug. They no longer fit together in that perfect way that Anthony used to adore. But they weren’t Anthony and Henry; they were Angel and Husk, two irrevocably fucked up people who found love against all odds. They were their own, new perfect that they were going to explore together. Angel wrapped his lower arms around Husk’s shoulders while the others wound fingers behind his ears. He brought them together into their first kiss as their new selves. Husk held onto him securely like he’d never let go.

“I am going to love you as long as I exist,” Angel whispered against Husk’s lips.

The demons pulled apart long enough to gaze lovingly into each other's eyes. It's everything Angel wanted for the better part of a year and more than anything Anthony thought he could have for nearly a century. Finally, Angel found something worth fighting for, worth being redeemed.

“Wherever you go, no matter how long it takes, I will always find you, Angel. Please don’t make me prove it again.”

Both of the sinners laughed softly, even though Husk was serious. Angel didn’t make that promise because he knew he needed his soulmate to follow him into the unknown just once more. Next time, they would end up in heaven together. When they saw each other beyond the pearly gates, Husk would say, “There you are, my Angel.” And they would never be parted until the end of time.

Notes:

I can't believe I finally finished a fic??? Thank you all for reading! Your support has gotten me through a rough transition over the last few months. I couldn't have done it without you. <3

I love these two broken idiots and how they can bring out the best in each other. The fic I am now working on shows how they can also bring out each other's worst qualities. We're moving on from love at first sight to enemies to lovers. Check out "I'll Burn for You"