Chapter 1: In the Land of Gods and Monsters, I Was an Angel
Chapter Text
♥🕷♥
Being in the makeshift dressing room, Angel felt like he was breathing in more perfume than air, the mist of it gathering on the feathers of his costume and sticking his fine fur down to his skin, a Verosika Mayday song playing through a small speaker at the back of the room. He couldn’t wait to get out onstage, out of this heat and into a different kind. Tiffany was to his left, attempting to cram her massive bosom into a tiny beaded top. To his right, Nini, shirtless as usual, with a cigarette dangling from her lips as she heaped dark powder onto her eyelids.
“Angel, do you have that waterproofing stuff?” Nini asked.
Angel scoffed. “Waterproofing stuff?” He raised a brow, looking at Nini out of the corner of his eyes. “Are you talking about setting spray? ”
“Yeah, whatever,” she confirmed.
Angel fished around on the mess of the vanity in front of him, and handed over the setting spray, which apparently Nini didn't even actually need yet, as she just set it in front of her and kept packing on eyeshadow.
The door opened, and Trix slipped through, carrying a plate loaded with little finger foods. “Holy shit,” they said, “it’s crazy out there. I’ve never seen so many overlords in one room before.”
“Imagine that,” Tiffany reached for something on the tray as Trix approached, only for Trix to smack her hand away.
“Be a bitch, you don’t get snacks.”
Tiffany scoffed indignantly. “You eat all that yourself, you’ll throw up the second you get on the pole.”
“Who said I’m eating it all myself?” Trix dropped the tray between Angel and Nini, and began to strip off their clothes. “I heard some whispers while I was out there.”
“Like what?” Nini asked, reaching for a tiny croissant.
“Like the Radio Demon is gonna be here.”
“Who?” Angel asked. He was barely listening to begin with, focused instead on applying his lip gloss and smoothing his hair.
Nini and Tiffany both asked, “Are you serious?” Though Tiffany was addressing Trix, and Nini was addressing Angel.
Angel ignored them both. “You got five minutes to get dressed, Trix. What are you doin’?”
Trix grumbled something about being grateful for the snacks they smuggled as they made their way over to the costume rack to retrieve their outfit for the night. “Do you all think the rumors are true?”
“What rumors?” asked Tiffany.
“The rumors that Valentino’s on the rocks with the other Vees, and he’s lookin’ for investors because the studio’s about to go under.”
Angel’s stomach twisted sickly. He’d heard those rumors, alright, but they weren’t true. They couldn’t be. Without the studio, Angel had nowhere to go, no income, no protection, and with the next extermination in three months—
Those were just rumors. Valentino had been in more fights with Vox and Velvette than Angel could count, and they always came back around to the same old toxic arrangement of the three of them against Hell.
“Well, whatever the reason, Val’s got prime pickin’s tonight with the crowd out there,” Nini said. “So long as we all do our jobs, and really sell it.”
“What is this, a pep talk?” Tiffany sneered, the bitch. “Need something to get you hard?”
“Shut the fuck up, Tiffany. I’m saying pull your damn weight, or we could all be out on the street.”
“ You might be.”
Angel rolled his eyes, and tuned out the incessant arguing to inspect his costume, hair, and makeup. He looked flawless. All he needed was a little something to wake him up, and he’d be ready to go. Reaching into his makeup bag, he pulled out a small bag of white powder and poured some onto the counter. He reached for his wallet next, and retrieved his credit card and a fifty. With speed only an addict could muster, he cut the powder into lines and inhaled it through the rolled up bill. Placebo, probably, but he felt better instantly.
Just in time, too, as the door to the dressing room opened, and Valentino himself slipped inside. The others turned to face their boss immediately, while Angel kept his eyes trained on him in the mirror. His thoughts upon seeing him now were remarkably similar to the first time they met.
God, what a beautiful, powerful, terrible man .
“Hello, chickens,” Valentino greeted with a slithery sort of smile. “We all ready?”
“Born and died ready,” Tiffany said, literally preening the feathers on her costume.
“Good, because there’s a lot of dicks out there, waiting for you to suck some money out of them,” Valentino said, and Trix covered up a giggle. Pathetic.
Valentino didn’t even spare them a glance, rather locking eyes with Angel in the mirror as he stepped further into the small room. “And how’s my star? Ready to put on a goddamn show?”
The corners of Angel’s lips curved up in a deeply self-satisfied smile. “Always.”
He was Valentino’s star, after all.
“Good boy,” Valentino approved, reaching a hand out to brush over Angel’s shoulder, and Angel pressed back into his touch. Valentino left his hand there, but turned away from him to address the room at large. “They’re thirsty out there, so you’d better be ready to deliver. I want them begging to invest.”
“Yes, Valentino,” the other three chorused.
He clapped his lower hands together. “Let’s go fuck some overlords!”
Angel scoffed at the ridiculousness of that statement, then turned to follow the others out of the dressing room. Valentino had rented out a five-star hotel ballroom and an entire floor of bedrooms for this event—further proof that rumors were just rumors, and the studio was not in any financial trouble. Angel and the others made their way down a long hallway to a set of grand double doors, where an imp in a crisp tuxedo was waiting to let them in. When the doors opened, they were immediately greeted with the smooth sound of contemporary jazz and the smell of delicious food. The food wasn’t for Angel and the other performers, though; oh no, they were the main course.
The ballroom was dazzling—lights and glitter everywhere, tables and couches all around, and a full bar in the back corner, filled with overlords just as glitzy as the room itself. In the center of it all was a round stage set with three poles, surrounded by a dance floor, crowded with the guests who wanted to take one of Valentino’s toys for a spin. A dozen or so of his whores were already out dancing and mingling and flirting, and yet, this party was only getting started. Many of the overlords looked and leered at the new performers as they made their way in, and while Nini and Tiffany and Trix shot a few smiles and winks in their direction, Angel paid them no mind. They wanted him , not the other way around.
(They all want you, amorcito, but they are nothing to you. I am the only one you want.)
Tiffany, Nini, and Trix were big names at the studio, but none were as big as Angel Dust.
As his three companions stepped up onto the stage and took their places at the poles, Angel felt two familiar sets of arms snake around his waist and shoulders. “Come, mi amor . Let me show you off.” Valentino led Angel out onto the dance floor. They couldn’t exactly go to the middle, as that’s where the stage was, but he headed right for where the crowd was thickest, and pulled him into a dance frame. Valentino danced like he fucked, dominating and unpredictable. Angel was used to it by now, letting his overlord take control of his body, whether on the dance floor or in the bedroom, and he knew how to make it look good. That was why Angel was Valentino’s favorite.
That was why he was the star.
Out of the corner of his eye, Angel could see people watching, eagerly awaiting a chance for their own turn with him. They would just have to wait. He was Valentino’s for the moment (always).
For three songs in a row, they put on a good show—flashy, but also elegant, not desperate for the attention they were naturally attracting anyway. Valentino knew exactly what he was doing, and as the third song drew to a close, he pulled Angel close, groping his ass and waist as he pressed a heavy kiss to his lips. “Go get a drink, baby. You’ve earned it.”
What Angel really wanted was to step out for a minute and do another line or two, but a drink would do well enough. He slipped gracefully out of Valentino’s arms and crossed the room to the bar, keeping his eyes on his destination, and not on all the hungry guests tracking his movement. Angel loved the attention, needed it like he had once needed air to breathe, but he never let on. That was what separated him from the other whores. He wasn’t easy.
(He was, but only when Valentino wasn’t watching. Only on the nights when he got to leave the studio and give into the special kind of crippling loneliness that came from always being seen but never known)
Angel placed himself at the corner of the bar, out of the way but in plain view. The bartender came over after only a moment; even he wasn’t immune to Angel’s gravity, it seemed. He already had a drink in hand, and offered it to Angel, nodding towards some overlord in the middle of the bar. “From him.”
Angel turned to look, and was met with at least four men trying to lock eyes with him. He turned back to the bartender. “Uh…which one?”
“The one with the whole beetle thing going on.”
There was indeed one that was definitely more insectoid than the others, so Angel shot him a smile and blew a kiss in his direction before taking the drink and heading back towards Valentino. Unsurprisingly, he was intercepted on the way by a hulking, crocodilian sort of guy.
“Hey, gorgeous,” the overlord greeted.
“Hello.” Angel sipped his drink. It was strong, and a little sweet, with some kind of fruity syrup sticking to his tongue.
“You were lookin’ pretty good out there on the dance floor.”
“I know.”
Croc-man grinned. “I like the confidence, that’s hot.”
Angel smiled, and took another sip of his drink, glancing behind the man in search of Valentino, sure the overlord was watching, and indeed he was, lounging on a couch, with a succubus cuddled up under his arms on each side, all petting up on his legs and chest, but his eyes and smile were locked on Angel. Angel took that smile as permission to move forward, or at least plausible deniability, so he shifted his eyes back to the overlord right in front of him. “You know, once I finish this drink, I might be looking for a new dance partner.”
“I don’t dance that much…” Croc-man admitted. “My tail gets in the way. You could dance for me though.”
“The boss usually charges for that.”
“Whaaat, we aren’t getting freebies tonight?”
“It’s a party for you;” Angel said, “I’m still workin’.”
Croc huffed, but reached for his pocket regardless. “Good thing I brought cash, then.”
Angel hummed into another sip of his fruity drink. “What’s your name?”
“Jas. You’re Angel Dust, right?” It was barely even a question; he obviously knew who Angel was.
“The one and only,” Angel confirmed anyway. “Come with me, Jas.”
He led the overlord over to a plush chair located conveniently well within Valentino’s line of sight and gestured for him to sit. Jas did just that, sitting with his legs and a grin both spread wide. Angel smugly took notice of the bulge in the overlord’s trousers as he placed the sole of his boot on his knee, dragging his fingers up his own thigh. Maybe it was just the drugs and alcohol, but Angel would have enjoyed a cock in his mouth right about then. At least Jas seemed to know how to mind his manners; he hadn’t even tried to grab Angel yet.
“So, what do you do?” Angel asked.
“Whatever I want,” Jas replied unhelpfully.
“Mmhm.” Angel set his foot back down, then climbed onto Jas’ lap instead, careful not to spill his drink. “And what do you want?”
“Want you to dance for me, don’t I?” Okay, clearly not the cleverest overlord around.
Angel chuckled. “Well, that’s something for me to do, ain’t it?” He trailed a single finger over Jas’ shoulder and down his chest, catching at the opening of his white button-down shirt.
There was a small table beside the chair where Angel set his drink down so he could dance in earnest, letting his body move in time with the sultry music playing, ever so slightly brushing against the overlord without providing any real friction. Angel caught him glancing shiftily over Angel’s shoulder, likely at Valentino, but whatever he was looking at, Angel didn’t like being ignored while he was giving a lap dance. Smoothly but suddenly, he rolled his hips down onto Jas’ obvious erection. Jas inhaled sharply, and his eyes shot back to Angel’s face. At the same time, his hands landed on Angel’s hips.
“I’m sorry,” Angel said, and he knew better than most that he was taking a chance by taunting an overlord, but Jas had said he liked Angel’s confidence. “See something else you like?”
Jas laughed, pulling Angel a little bit harder into his lap. “Not yet.”
Angel hummed, enjoying the firm press of Jas’ bulge between his legs, but not nearly as much as he pretended he was. He reached for his drink with one hand, pulling Jas’ suspenders off his shoulders with two others. Jas certainly seemed to be enjoying himself as well, and he was definitely more focused on Angel now, beginning to grind his hips up against him. Angel dragged his hands up and down Jas’ chest and his own.
“What do I gotta pay for a little something extra?” Jas asked.
“Depends what you have in mind.” Angel pushed the overlord’s hands off him and turned around to face the opposite direction, locking eyes with Valentino when he did. Valentino grinned at him, and Angel smiled back, turning his head to listen to Jas as he asked, “What if I wanna put my cock in you?”
Angel looked back over his shoulder. “Then you’ll have to talk to Valentino.”
Jas huffed. “Well, I don’t wanna put my cock in him… ”
“He owns me,” Angel reminded him. “He makes the decisions. But I’m sure he’ll let you have me…for the right price.”
Jas seemed hesitant to talk to Valentino, and Angel didn’t blame him. The right price was usually damn high, and not just in regards to cash. If you weren’t powerful enough, or high enough status, it didn’t matter what you were willing to pay. Angel Dust was the best pleasure that Hell had to offer, and that offer wasn’t for just anyone.
Angel arched his body, and tipped his head back onto Jas’ shoulder. “Of course, if you’re not sure, Valentino does have more affordable options besides me.”
Just as Jas was putting his hands on Angel again, the song wound to a close, and Angel expertly slipped off his lap before he could get a hold on him. Angel turned, flashed him a smile, and planted one hot and heavy kiss on his toothy mouth. “Enjoy your evening.” He didn’t wait for a response before walking away, taking a swig of his fruity drink to wash the overlord’s taste out of his mouth.
Valentino’s attention had turned away from Angel, rather focused on a dark, feline overlord in a nearby armchair. Angel couldn’t hear what they were talking about over the music and the sound of the crowd, but Valentino looked pleased. Angel sashayed up to his couch, and draped himself over the back. Valentino was too engrossed in his conversation—something about viewership and profit margins—to acknowledge his presence, but Angel was too busy eyeing up the other overlord to care. He looked older than Angel or Valentino, or at least he had been older when he died, but that didn’t make him less easy on the eyes. Rich too, by the looks of his crisp, black pinstripe suit with blood red detail on the cuffs and around his shoulders. His eyes glowed like molten gold, but most striking of all was his voice, deep and rich and smooth in a way that made ‘last quarter’s gross income’ sound like bedroom talk. Those dark eyes found Angel, and Angel didn’t even try to look away. Unfortunately, it only lasted a few moments, and that was the only acknowledgement he got, so he quickly got bored and decided to get another drink before his performance.
Naturally, there was another overlord eager to buy him a drink. This one was at least a little cuter than the beetle one—more fuzzy, though Angel couldn’t quite tell what she was supposed to be. He walked around the perimeter of the room as he sipped his new beverage, less sweet but no less strong or enjoyable than the last. Nini, Trix, and Tiffany were back up on the poles, drawing attention and cash from all directions. Funny how even Hell’s elite could be reduced to drooling partygoers by the mere prospect of sex. How many of them had been condemned for the simple and inevitable sin of lust?
There were no clocks in the ballroom, no doubt by design, but Angel knew from the song that was playing that he had more than five minutes before his performance. He looked for Valentino across the room and found him still locked in with that sexy-ass cat. Angel wasn’t used to anyone (other than himself) holding Valentino’s attention for more than a few minutes at a time, and especially not with business talk. Hopefully that was a good sign. It was a good sign for Angel, anyway, because Valentino was thoroughly distracted, so Angel could make a quick and unnoticed trip back to the ‘dressing room’ down the hall. The drug was still on the counter, right where he had left it, with his credit card and a rolled up fifty. Angel dumped out the rest of the powder and finished it off before taking a seat with a heavy sigh.
Sometimes, he wished he could get out of there.
He reached down under the counter and rummaged in his bag for his phone. When he found it, he checked the time—he had just under five minutes now—and sent a text to his best girl.
You: Gonna need some more drugs after this
Her reply came in quickly.
Cherri: Damn, that bad?
You: No, I’m out of drugs
Angel put his phone away, quickly swiped on more lip gloss, and headed back out into the hallway, fixing and smoothing his outfit as he went, so focused he almost ran straight into a mass of red. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, startled.
The air filled with a sudden burst of voices, though there was definitely only one person in front of him, all a little more distant than one would expect, and distorted from radio static. The clamor quieted quickly though, giving way to just one voice, like an old-time talk show host, loud and annoying, that said, “My goodness, apologies! I wasn’t expecting to be accosted outside the ballroom.”
Angel took in the creature in front of him. It was a willowy thing, dressed in red from head to toe, with red hair and red eyes to match. Tall ears and small antlers rose from the top of its head, and it leaned on a tall microphone as if it were a cane. Somehow, with no additional information, Angel was one hundred percent certain, “You’re the Radio Demon.”
There was a little bell sound, like one would hear for a correct answer on a game show, and the demon, already smiling wide enough for his face to crack, smiled wider. “Yes indeedy! Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!”
“Rrrrright. Yeah, you too.”
“You’re tonight’s entertainment, aren’t you?” the Radio Demon surmised, looking Angel up and down, though the look on his face was far different from the usual lust Angel saw when being ogled. This was something more akin to amusement and disgust.
“Yeah,” Angel replied flatly. “Angel Dust, at your service.”
“Oh, hahahaha, no, no I don’t think I’ll be needing any of your service, hmm, no.”
“Oookay.” Why are you here, then? Angel wanted to ask, but he was already getting the creeps, and he was supposed to be onstage in two minutes, so he sidestepped the demon with a curt, “Nice to meet you,” and continued down the hall.
He could feel Alastor’s eyes on his back until he slipped through the doors back to the ballroom, where he was immediately dragged to the side by an arm clamped around his upper right bicep. “Where the fuck have you been?” Valentino hissed in his ear. “You’re on in one minute!”
“Bathroom,” Angel lied, because it was safer than admitting he had stepped out for a hit, and he had a strange feeling he shouldn’t mention the demon he had just spoken to in the hall.
“Get back out there,” Valentino all but snarled, giving Angel a hearty shove into the room.
Angel hurried over to the stage as the previous song was wrapping up, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. There was no announcement, but even so, everyone’s eyes were on him, as Nini, Trix, and Tiffany stepped down from the stage, and he stepped up. Angel scanned the crowd for Valentino, and of course, he was front and center, seated at a table right by the foot of the stage. That feline overlord was there, too.
Angel locked eyes with Valentino, who gave him a look that he well recognized to mean ‘get on with it.’ Angel took a deep breath, and the music started.
♥🕷♥
Angel stumbled over to the bar, exhausted and exhilarated from performing. It wasn’t always easy, and he didn’t always love it, but sometimes it was, and he did, and he never quite doubted he was born and died to do this.
“Somethin’ cold, please,” he told the bartender, who nodded, and turned away to mix ‘something cold.’
Angel turned around and rested his elbows against the bar, tipping his head back and closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. At least this crowd had enough etiquette, it seemed, to avoid disturbing him so soon after a song and dance. He had truly given it his all (a little afraid of what Valentino might do to him if he didn’t), and the energy in the room was electric.
The bartender gave him a glass, and he took a drink, savoring the boozy chill, but he only got to enjoy his peace for about three minutes. Then, he caught sight of Valentino sweeping towards him.
“Finish your drink,” Valentino instructed as he reached Angel’s side. “You have work to do.”
Angel wanted to complain that he had just gotten his drink, but he knew better, so he drank what he could in a matter of five seconds, then set the still half-full cup back on the bar.
Valentino grabbed his arm, and pulled him away. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up and changed.”
“Why?” Angel asked. “For what?”
Valentino grinned, wider than Angel had seen all night. “You have a client.”
“A client,” Angel repeated. “You mean… Did someone put up the money?”
“After a night with you, he will.”
Valentino led Angel out of the ballroom and down the noticeably Radio Demon-free hallway to the dressing room. As the door clicked closed behind them, Valentino let go of Angel, and began rifling through the costume rack, while Angel moved over to the counter to touch up his makeup. “Who is it?” Angel asked.
“Husk. He runs that big casino downtown.”
Angel had heard of Husk in passing. He was one of the richest overlords in the Pentagram—rich with souls, rich with money, the guy was all around flush. “Okay, and what do we know about this guy? What’s he into?”
Valentino scoffed. “We were talking business, not kinks.” He paused to shoot Angel a grin. “Though, with us, that’s one and the same, right baby?”
Angel briefly met his eyes in the mirror, then shifted his attention back to touching up his eyeliner, too focused to rise to the bait. “So I’m going in blind.”
“Ugh, he’s all boring and classy,” Valentino offered, continuing to look at costumes, and discard them into a pile as he rejected them one by one. “Though I’ve heard he’s got a real mean streak.”
Angel grunted. It was starting to sound like he was in for a boring night at best, and a painful one at worst. “What’s he look like?”
“That cat thing who was at my table,” Valentino replied, holding up a set of black lingerie to inspect it closer.
Angel twisted to face him without the safeguard of a mirror between their gazes. “ That’s Husk?”
“Yeah,” Valentino replied, not looking at him.
Well, at least he was hot. Boring, classy, and mean, apparently, but hot.
Angel grabbed his bag out from under the counter, and fished out the plug and lube he had on hand, setting them on the counter before unfastening his costume. “Anything else I should know?”
“Do you think his dick is barbed?” Valentino mused. “That’s a thing with cats, right?”
Angel’s eyes widened, and he turned to Valentino. “Are you serious?”
“Well, he’s also got the feathers and shit, so maybe he’s got bird junk, I don’t know.”
Angel exhaled, halfway between a huff or a sigh. Whatever Husk had, the overlord right in front of Angel had probably put worse inside him. Nonetheless, Angel heaped a generous amount of lube on the plug before inserting it. Better to be prepped than sorry.
“Wear this,” Valentino instructed him, carrying over the set of black lingerie: lacy panties cut super high in the leg to ride nearly up to his hips, a matching bralette with a deep V neckline, a garter belt and stockings, and a long robe to ‘cover’ it all, so ephemeral it might as well have not existed at all. Valentino draped the outfit over the back of Angel’s chair. “You better hurry.” He pulled a room key card out of his pocket, and dropped it onto the counter. “He’ll be waiting in room ten-oh-six.” He caressed the back of Angel’s shoulders, causing him to shiver as he moved away, back towards the door. “Knock ‘im dead, baby.”
“Yes, Val.”
He stepped back out into the hall and closed the door behind him, leaving Angel alone in the dressing room to sort himself out. It felt like an entirely different place now, more liminal, too still and quiet. The calm before.
Angel took a breath and inspected the outfit he was to wear to seduce his client (and anyone else who happened to see him along the way to the tenth floor). The lace was soft and well made, the sheer robe surprisingly heavy, and he couldn’t help but waste a little time getting dressed, admiring each piece on his body. The bralette supported the fluff on his chest enough to be feminine without looking female. The garter belt accentuated his waist, as the stockings did his long legs. What Angel wouldn’t have given to wear something like this for himself, just once, or for someone he loved. Maybe then he would feel as beautiful as he looked.
He removed the plug, slipped his boots back on, and stuffed his room key in his bralette before leaving the dressing room behind and making his way to the elevator. Room 1006. Top floor. They’d have a nice view of the city from up there, though Angel doubted they’d be spending much time looking out the windows. So late at night, there weren’t many people to gawk at him either, so he made it to the tenth floor without incident and with only a couple prolonged stares. Once on the tenth floor, there was no one else to be seen. It was deadly quiet. The short but plush carpet even dampened the sound of his footsteps as he approached the room and scanned his key card.
He stepped through the door, shutting it carefully behind him. The room was fancy as fuck. Big. Everything was white, and the furniture—king-sized bed, an armchair, a fucking fainting couch —all looked plush as hell. There was a kitchenette, and a small high top table and chairs, with a bottle of champagne nestled in a bucket of ice on said table. The floor to ceiling windows on the far wall did indeed provide an amazing view of the city. The lights in the room were dim, so he could see out easily. The overlord, Husk, was standing in front of those windows, with his back to the door, but judging by the slight prick of his ears and a swish of his tail when the latch clicked into place, he knew Angel was there. It was only now that Angel realized the red detail around his shoulders was not a part of his suit, but an absolutely gorgeous pair of wings.
By the time it occurred to Angel that he was staring, it had been an awkward number of seconds, and he chastised himself internally as he stooped to remove his boots, then moved farther into the room. “I was told you were expecting me,” he said.
“I was,” Husk replied. God, his voice was like velvet. He finally turned around, hands folded on a short, black cane in front of him. His eyes dragged slowly up Angel’s body, and for the life of him Angel couldn’t tell if the look on his face was lust, or weighing value.
Angel was taller than him by a good amount, but the overlord practically radiated power. It set Angel’s nerves alight. “Husk, I presume.”
He dipped his head in a slight nod. “And you’re Valentino’s Angel.” He started forward, not in any sort of rush, and began to walk a slow circle around Angel. He used the gold tip of his cane to move the long fabric of Angel’s robe, so he could get a better look at his legs. “You don’t look like any angel I’ve seen before.”
“Angel Dust,” Angel corrected, heart beating faster with each step the overlord took.
Husk hummed, directly behind Angel at this point. He felt the overlord’s hand—just the tip of a claw or two, really—brush over the lace covering his lower back. Angel held perfectly still, but couldn’t avoid a short, sharp intake of breath.
“I’ve been told you’ll make me very happy,” Husk said, voice low and deep and Jesus Christ he was a lot closer than Angel had thought he was. Angel turned to face him, and found him even more handsome up close. There were a couple white streaks through the black hair on top of his head, and a red heart like a playing card inside the tip of each ear. Angel wondered if the hearts came with the demon form, or were some kind of tattoo. He didn’t realize Husk was expecting him to respond until he caught sight of the crooked smirk twisting up the corner of his mouth.
“And how do I do that, huh?” Angel asked.
“You show me what you can do,” Husk replied, calm and cool, like he meant some sort of party trick, as opposed to taking his cock. “Valentino says you’re quite…” His eyes dipped down Angel’s body again. “…talented.”
Angel raised an eyebrow. “You talk like you’ve never seen any a’ my films.”
Husk stepped away then, moving towards the chaise. “Can’t say I have.”
Angel watched him go, surprisingly disappointed to have even a small distance put between them. “I find that hard to believe.”
Husk turned to face him again, sitting down as he did so. “I’ve heard of you, certainly. Hard not to, with your face plastered on so many billboards.”
“But you never got curious? Never wondered what all the hype was about?”
“I’m here now, ain’t I?”
Fair enough. “Well, let me give you a plot summary.” Angel stepped forward, and knelt on the floor in front of Husk, placing two hands on his knees and pushing them apart. “I can make you so, so happy.”
Husk smirked again, setting aside his cane, and moving his own hands to unbutton his jacket. Angel flashed a sharp grin, and lifted himself up on his knees, leaning in towards Husk’s face as if for a kiss, but stopping just short. He was struck by the scent of expensive cologne and whiskey, and it took every bit of his self control not to bury his face in Husk’s neck and inhale. “Can I get you anything? Some champagne, maybe?”
Husk chuckled. “We got anything harder than bubbly?”
“I’ll find out.”
Angel stood, and walked over to the kitchenette, opening cabinets until he found, sure enough, a small stash of top-shelf liquor. “I see wine, brandy, vodka…” He smiled over his shoulder at Husk. “Bourbon.”
Husk nodded. “That’ll do.”
Angel pulled the bottle and a glass down off the shelf, and poured some for Husk before making his way back to the chaise. Husk had shrugged out of his jacket and set that aside, leaving him still with a vest over his shirt, which he reached under to unclip a pair of suspenders from his waistband.
He accepted the glass of bourbon as Angel handed it over. “None for you?”
“Seemed like you wanted to keep my mouth busy. If I was mistaken, I’ll go pour another.”
“I was being polite,” Husk replied, taking a drink.
Harsh, but clients often were. Angel sank back down to his knees and began to stroke Husk’s thighs, massaging with his thumbs and inching closer and closer to his groin. “You a ‘sir’ or a ‘daddy’ or a ‘master’ kinda guy?”
“I don’t mind a ‘yessir’ when warranted. Other than that, you can use my name.” Husk leaned back against the cushion behind him, spreading one arm over the back of the couch. His golden eyes were locked on Angel, gaze heavy and expectant.
Angel licked his lips, and slid his hands up to the waistband of Husk’s trousers to unfasten the button and zipper. He pulled the fabric down just far enough for Husk’s cock to spring free, half-hard and mercifully barb-free. Looking up at the overlord through his lashes, Angel licked the underside of his cock from root to tip, then took the head into his mouth and sank down. Husk let out a slow exhale, but otherwise didn’t react, save to take another drink of his bourbon. Angel’s core tightened. There was something unbearably hot about Husk’s composure, his control. Angel wanted to see just how far that would go.
On the next bob of his head, Angel took Husk’s cock all the way to the root, pressing his nose into the soft fur on his lower belly and moaning in satisfaction. He really had been craving a cock all night, and he’d have taken it from a much less attractive overlord. Barely, just barely, he felt Husk shift his hips, pressing just a hair forward. He looked back up at him, and was met with intense, hungry eyes.
“You look damn good on your knees,” Husk said.
Angel moaned again. That smooth voice did something to him, stirring his own ignored dick to attention.
Husk moved his arm off the back of the couch, reaching down to twist his finger into Angel’s hair. Angel braced for the tug that never came, and after a moment began to move himself, tightening his lips around Husk’s shaft as he lifted his head, then sinking down more quickly than before. Husk’s grip tightened, but still he allowed Angel to move on his own. Angel took full advantage of his freedom to savor every inch of Husk’s cock as it continued to grow and harden in his mouth. Husk was big, but not to the point of being particularly noteworthy. Angel had taken a hell of a lot worse.
Bafflingly, though, Husk remained solidly composed, even more so than Angel. Judging by the hardness of his cock, and the tightness of his grip in Angel’s hair, Angel was doing something right, but you’d barely know it to look at him. Angel didn’t know if that was more frustrating or hot, but it was certainly both, and Angel couldn’t help but overthink what might be going on in the overlord’s head. Obviously, he found Angel attractive; he wouldn’t have hired him if he didn’t. Did he not like what Angel was doing? Why not say something?
As if he’d read his mind, Husk’s grip solidified in Angel’s hair, holding him still, and he said, “Okay, enough of that.”
Angel froze for a moment, then slowly pulled off, heart pounding. “Something wrong?”
Husk released his grip in Angel’s hair, moving his hand to one of his arms instead, just above the elbow. He pulled Angel to his feet, standing as well, and began to push him backwards. Angel wasn’t sure what his plan was, until the backs of his legs hit the edge of the mattress. Seemed they were right on track, after all.
Angel sat down, placing two hands on Husk’s hips and stroking his cock with another while Husk began to unbutton his vest. Angel spread his legs in invitation. “How do you want me?”
“Strip,” Husk ordered, rather than answering his question.
Angel smirked. “Yessir.”
He stood back up, right into Husk’s space, and slowly untied his robe, letting the fabric slip off his shoulders and fall into a heap. Husk’s eyes followed the fabric to the floor, then trailed slowly up Angel’s body.
“You don’t want me to leave anything on?” Angel teased, pulling a bralette strap off his shoulder.
“I said what I wanted,” Husk replied, shedding his vest, and starting on the buttons of his shirt. “Or do I have to do it for you?”
“You could.” Angel’s gaze followed Husk’s hands as they exposed more and more of his chest, before shifting back up to his eyes. “I wanna keep my stockings on.”
Husk shrugged, pulling his shirt untucked and letting it hang open. “I’m not tryin’ to fuck your feet.”
He gave Angel a shove, knocking him onto the bed again. Angel gasped as he landed on his back. Before he was able to properly collect himself, Husk had grasped his hips, and pulled him to the edge of the mattress. He took a second to consider the situation of Angel’s garter belt, stockings, and panties, then simply gripped the seam between Angel’s legs, and tore.
It all happened so fast, Angel barely remembered to slip into character. “O— oh. ” He dragged two of his hands up his body to grasp at his chest fluff. “Fuck, yes, take me.”
Husk outright scoffed. “I don’t wanna hear that fake shit.”
Angel stopped, and blinked up at him. “What?”
Husk met his eyes. “Your pornstar bullshit. Can it.”
“Oh?” Angel propped himself up on his elbows. “And what should I do instead, hm? You want me quiet?”
“I want to see you enjoy yourself,” Husk replied, leaning closer so he could reach around Angel’s back and unclasp his bralette.
Angel took a slow breath. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
Husk hummed, sounding not quite convinced, but clearly more focused on looking at Angel’s body below him as he straightened up again.
Angel pulled his bralette the rest of the way off. “I’m all yours for the night, handsome. You can do whatever you want to me.”
Husk laughed shortly, “Oh I will.” He shrugged out of his open shirt, and quickly shed the rest of his clothes as well, dropping them to the floor.
Angel bit his lip, and raked his gaze over the body in front of him, from the tips of those glorious wings, down the expanse of soft, black and white fur, to the red feathered tip of his tail. Husk cupped a hand under Angel’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze, then brushed his thumb over Angel’s lips, coaxing them apart. Angel almost expected him to lean in for a kiss, but he didn’t. Instead, he raised his other hand, and pressed three fingers into Angel’s mouth. Angel licked and sucked dutifully, gathering as much saliva as he could to coat the digits.
Husk dropped his hand from Angel’s chin and brushed his fingers through Angel’s hair, tugging just a bit, and after a few seconds of this, he withdrew his fingers from Angel’s mouth. He moved his other hand to Angel’s chest, pressing him down onto his back again. At the same time, he pushed Angel’s legs further open, then reached down to press a single finger inside him.
Angel hummed, gripping the sheets on either side of his head while his lower hands came to rest on Husk’s shoulders. He rolled his hips, forcing Husk’s finger deeper. “I can take more than that.”
“Yeah, I bet you can,” Husk agreed, immediately following up with his second finger, and the third barely two seconds later.
“ Hmmm, ” Angel sighed, shifting so that Husk’s fingers would brush near his prostate. “That’s it. Gimme more.”
Husk worked his fingers deeper, stroking and plunging and stretching Angel open. He wasn’t being gentle, but he definitely knew what he was doing, which was better than Angel could say for a lot of his clients.
The next press of his fingers hit just right, and Angel’s body jerked. “Oh! Oh, hell yes,” he moaned, then moaned even louder as Husk repeated the motion, pressing a little harder. This treatment continued for not quite a minute more, then Husk withdrew his fingers, and moved his other hand to grasp Angel’s leg just above the knee. He pulled, flipping him over onto his stomach, and once freed, Angel pulled his knees up underneath him and arched his back. He heard Husk spit, presumably into his hand to wet his cock, and then he was pressing into him, slow and smooth. Angel’s eyes rolled back and closed. “Oh…”
Husk gripped Angel’s hips, holding him in place as he pushed deeper, moving steadily forward until he bottomed out. He smoothed a palm up Angel’s spine, then raked his fingers back down, not quite digging in with his claws, making Angel shiver. He began to move then, pulling his hips back to thrust in again, not too fast or hard, but deep and intentional, so Angel could feel every inch of his length sliding in and out.
Angel breathed heavily, lost in the pleasure of it, moaning softly as Husk ground his hips hard against his ass. “Fuck, that feels good.”
He had resigned himself to a slow and sensual fucking when Husk pulled back and thrust in significantly harder than before, and Angel cried out, eyes snapping open. Husk chuckled lowly, and it was probably the sexiest sound Angel had ever heard. He worked up to a solid rhythm, not too fast, but hard enough to knock Angel forward with every impact, though his grip on him kept him mostly in place. “Fuck,” Angel whimpered, scrabbling for purchase and digging his fingernails into the plush white blankets.
One of Husk’s hands remained solidly on Angel’s hip, but the other began to wander. He leaned closer over top of him, slipping his palm over Angel’s stomach and up to grope at his chest. Heat and pleasure caught like fire in Angel’s core, white hot and near-agonizing in its intensity. Fucking hell, Husk was good at this. Every thrust hit deep inside Angel and forced a short, staccato sob from his throat.
Husk paused to grind against him again, pressing closer still, his face less than an inch from the crook of Angel’s shoulder, and inhaled deeply, then licked a stripe up the side of Angel’s neck, his sandpaper tongue catching on Angel’s skin. Fuck, that’s hot…
Husk snapped his hips, rolling hard against Angel before working up to that same hard pace. He straightened back up, using his arm around Angel’s torso to haul him upright as well. He braced his knee on the bed, giving himself better leverage, and changing the angle of his hips just so. Angel uttered a choked sound, letting his head fall back onto Husk’s shoulder, as the new position shot another bolt of pleasure up his spine.
“There we go,” Husk muttered, right by Angel’s ear. He turned his face towards Angel, not kissing him, not even quite touching him, but so, so close. Angel could feel his breath against his cheek. It made him shiver again.
Husk slid his hand up from Angel’s chest towards his throat, but again, not quite there. Fingers open, like he meant to grip and choke, but resting just above his collarbones, right at the base of his neck. Angel opened his eyes and looked down, as if seeing what Husk was doing would give him more information—it didn’t—but when he started to look back up, he caught sight of his reflection in the massive window, and more importantly, he caught sight of Husk’s reflection. He looked like some sort of dark angel, all black and red and feathered wings. He was focused entirely on keeping Angel’s body against him, sliding his hand from his hip around to press against his lower belly, below his waist. Then his gold eyes flashed to the side, and met Angel’s in the window. Angel couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, pinned in place by Husk’s stare as much as his hands.
Then, Husk’s hand slid down the V of his hips to wrap around his cock, and the surge of pleasure that pulsed through Angel’s core nearly knocked him out.
The rhythm Husk was fucking him with now was perfect, and the angle hit just right inside him. Husk slid his other hand up, properly around Angel’s throat, and just barely squeezed as he began to pump his fist around Angel’s cock. Angel grabbed Husk’s hand at his throat, not to remove it, but just to have something to hold onto. His pleasure was growing rapidly and with startling intensity. Husk’s pace hadn’t faltered, hard and steady as he rutted into him, with his whole body pressed up against Angel’s. He was breathing heavily at this point, but showed no signs of stopping.
“I—I’m gonna cum,” Angel gasped.
Husk grunted, and sped his pace. Angel voiced every exhale, growing louder until he finally succumbed to the pleasure Husk was fucking into him. He cried out, legs shaking, as he finished in Husk’s hand, onto his own chest and stomach. He felt something rumble in Husk’s chest, and it took him a moment to realize what he was hearing was a purr. Dazed, Angel lay back against Husk to feel it.
Husk had removed his hand from Angel’s cock, and it was back on his hip now—the opposite one this time, with his arm wrapped around the front of him, holding them together as he continued to fuck into him. Angel couldn’t do anything but hold on and take it. He watched Husk’s reflection in the window, captivated by the sheer power he emanated as Angel’s nerves frayed into overstimulation. It felt like forever, then no time at all, but finally, Husk’s rhythm started to waver. He sped up again, growing almost erratic. Angel moaned weakly at the sight of it.
Husk thrust hard, once, twice, three more times, and then spilled inside him with a low, choked sort of sound, not quite a moan, but it did something for Angel anyway. It always gave him a rush, reducing Hell’s great and powerful to this. Animals, all of them, at the end of the day; give them a hole to fuck, and they’d give you anything.
Husk held Angel against him for a moment longer, chest heaving and still rumbling with a low purr, then released him, and pulled away. Angel fell forward, onto his hands and knees, weak as a goddamn fawn and his head spinning. He took a moment before laying himself down, staring up at the ceiling. Husk had disappeared into the ensuite bathroom. Angel could hear water running in the sink.
Fuck, that was good. Angel couldn’t believe how good that was, and how deeply satisfied he felt. Maybe Valentino just needed to hire better tops, but damn. Angel was going to be getting off on the memory of Husk’s reflection for a long time.
After another minute, the water shut off in the bathroom, and Husk returned, carrying a damp hand towel. He approached the bed, and handed the towel to Angel.
“You sure you wanna clean up?” Angel asked with a smirk as he sat up. “I could go another round or two.”
Husk chuckled. “If you wanna get crusty while I’m takin’ a breather, be my guest.”
“Some guys like it,” Angel explained, but he did go ahead and wipe down his chest, ass, and thighs. “Makes ‘em feel like they own me, I guess.”
The overlord looked rather amused. “I don’t think I need help with that little power trip.” He headed towards the kitchenette, collecting his abandoned glass of bourbon on the way.
Angel watched him go, fascinated, both with the overlord’s ass and his attitude. “You fuck many porn stars, sir?”
“Not many,” Husk replied. He set his glass on the counter, and stretched up onto his tiptoes to pull a second one down from the shelf. Angel bit down on an amused smile.
“Coulda fooled me.”
“Oh yeah?” Husk refilled his glass, and the second one as well, before crossing back towards the bed to sit down.
“Yeah.” Angel’s brow raised in surprise as Husk handed him one of the glasses. He took a sip.
Husk relaxed back against the plushy headboard, and took a drink of his own. “Do you say that to all your clients, or just the ones with deep pockets?”
“All my clients have deep pockets.” Angel moved to sit next to Husk, back against the headboard. “Valentino doesn’t let just anyone have me.”
Husk hummed. “Bet mine are deeper.”
“Think so?”
He looked sideways at Angel. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
“A little.” Angel shifted a bit onto his side, towards Husk. “I know you have a lot of souls, and a lot of money, and a big c…” He glanced down Husk’s body. “…casino. Makes me wonder, though…” He reached over to touch Husk’s chest, just for the sake of it. “What do you need me for?” he smoothed his hand down towards Husk’s stomach. “You have everything. There must be thirsty sinners falling at your feet wherever you go.”
“I don’t need you,” Husk agreed. “You’re a luxury. That’s sort of the point.”
Angel smiled. “You sayin’ I’m good at what I do?”
“Wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
“And?” Angel wrapped his fingers around Husk’s cock again, still sipping whiskey from the glass in another hand. “Do I live up to expectations?”
“Something like that,” Husk replied, shifting his hips slightly.
Angel hummed, pausing for a moment to knock back the rest of his whiskey and set the glass on the bedside table. He snuggled up to Husk’s side after that, gently grinding against his hip, stroking his chest with his upper hand and his cock with his lower. “Whatever you want from me,” he said, “all you have to do is ask.”
“How about you stop talkin’, and put’cher mouth back on me.”
Angel’s lips pulled back into a sharp smile. “Yessir.”
Chapter 2: Street Walk at Night and a Star by Day
Summary:
Valentino is pleased with Angel. Angel takes advantage of that.
Notes:
We've decided we're going to try for a chapter every two weeks and see how it goes. Wish us luck!
Chapter Text
♥🕷♥
You: Are you sure you don’t have anything you can bring
You: I’ll pay you back I swear to god
You: or Satan or whatever
You: I’ll pay you double or triple what do you want
Cherri: Babe, you know I’d bring you shit if I could, I’m all tapped out. I got no extra.
You: can you get some??
You: I’m already nauseated I’m gonna be fuckin dead at the end of these shoots
You: please I’m literally begging you rn
Cherri: I’m literally on the other side of town rn
Cherri: I wouldn’t get to you before cameras roll
You: Bitch
You: I’m sorry I didn’t mean that
Angel sighed and set his phone down beside him. His next scene was set to start filming in less than an hour, and it had been well over twelve since he’d had a hit, and he was starting to feel it. The fear of a real withdrawal was starting to set in. Lying on his bed, he covered his face, and muttered under his breath, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck. ”
Angel Dust had been hooked on angel dust since well before he adopted its name. He’d been hooked on a lot of other shit, too. You name it, he’d been hooked on it, but he was in an angel dust phase again, and something about it being his namesake made the withdrawals feel that much worse, like he had been stabbed in the back by someone he trusted.
Just as he was considering crunching up a bottle of aspirin and snorting that, he heard the front door to his little apartment rattle and then open, and he sat up. The door swung inwards as Valentino pushed inside, with some sort of fancy looking box in one hand, and a wide smile on his face.
“Heyyy, baby,” Valentino greeted.
“Hey,” Angel returned, sitting on his hands to hide the trembling in his fingers.
“How’s my star today?” Valentino asked, crossing the room towards Angel, and Angel had to lie.
“Good,” he said. “A little tired from last night.”
‘A little tired’ was an understatement. Husk had sent him away after their third round of mind-blowing sex, and Angel had ended up sleeping in the makeshift dressing room with his head on his bag. It was still one of the nicer places he had slept, all things considered.
“I heard good things about last night,” Valentino purred, sitting down on Angel’s bed beside him, uninvited but always…well, entitled if not welcome. “I got you a present,” he went on, setting the box in Angel’s lap.
“What’s this for?” Angel asked as he opened it, then looked inside to find a necklace, or really more of a collar—a wide, short band, absolutely covered in clear, sparkling stones. Angel recognized it from a film they’d done years ago. It was a goddamn costume piece.
“Husk came by my office today and signed the papers. We’re loaded, amorcito. ” Valentino brushed a hand up Angel’s back, and Angel looked back up at him.
“Really?”
“You did good,” Valentino affirmed.
Angel exhaled, grinning from ear to ear. Maybe the rumors had worried him more than he cared to admit, or maybe it was always nice to hear that he had done a good job. Either way, he was pleased, and more importantly, so was Valentino.
The overlord reached over to pull the shitty ass necklace out of the box, and slid it around Angel’s neck, clasping it for him. “Real diamonds,” he lied, brushing his other set of hands up Angel’s sides. “You deserve something nice.”
“Thank you,” Angel said.
“ I should thank you, ” Valentino replied, distinctly not actually thanking him. “You’re gonna make us so much fucking money off that idiot.”
Husk hadn’t struck Angel as an idiot—the opposite, in fact. He gave off the impression he was cold, calculating, and always in control. Angel supposed that made sense, for a gambler. Maybe Valentino knew something Angel didn’t, or maybe he was going to get them into trouble with that line of thinking.
“We haven’t laid out plans for the films he’s producing yet, but he doesn’t seem to care that much, as long as they turn a profit.” Valentino’s first set of hands moved from the clasp of Angel’s necklace to rub down his back, while the other set slid around his waist. “And as long as he has access to you. ”
“What kind of access?” Angel asked, although he had a pretty good idea.
“Whatever he wants,” Valentino replied, “whenever he wants it. In exchange for an enormous amount of money for me to use as I please, obviously.” He continued sliding his hands over Angel’s torso, not quite rubbing or groping, just smooth contact. “But you’re worth it; why else would he invest?”
Angel closed his eyes, relaxing into Valentino’s hold. “Lots of reasons, I’m sure…”
“Nooo,” Valentino crooned, really drawing the word out. “You’re the prize, you’re what everyone wants. But I’m the one that’s got you. Isn’t that right, amorcito? ”
“Yes, Valentino.”
“Good boy.”
His hands ran down over Angel’s legs, dipping briefly between them, just to tease. Angel groaned, “Val…”
Valentino ignored him, just continuing to pet over his skin, murmuring praise and compliments, going on about how pleased and how proud he was. It was just enough to distract Angel from his cravings, if only for a minute.
“You deserve some fun,” Valentino was saying. “What do you want? Want me to take you out? Show you off? Show everyone else what they missed out on?”
There was that tremor in Angel’s fingers again. Don’t push your luck, he told himself, moments before pushing his luck. “I want a break,” he said. “The night off.”
Valentino’s hands stilled, and he was quiet for a moment. Angel’s pulse skyrocketed, but then Valentino said, “I suppose we can get by without you for one night… After the shit you pulled off yesterday, you deserve it.”
Angel didn’t let out a heavy sigh of relief, only because Valentino was listening. He did close his eyes, though, and say a silent thank you to whatever powers saw fit to show him mercy for once.
Valentino withdrew his hands, and stood up, seeming to have instantly lost interest, now that it was established Angel wanted something other than his attention. “Be back by your shift tomorrow.”
“Yes, Val.”
The overlord left the apartment, leaving the door not-quite-closed behind him, fucking asshole. Angel waited until he should have been far down the hall before he stood up and closed it. He couldn’t believe he had actually gotten the night off, but as his stomach continued to churn, and a line of sweat was starting to gather on his hairline, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the ass, or whatever the expression was.
After giving himself a quick once-over in the bathroom mirror, not really caring what he looked like for this, he grabbed his wallet and made a break for the elevator. He swore the ride down to ground level got longer every time, longer still when he was craving a hit, and it didn’t help that it had to stop on every other floor to ferry Vox and Velvette’s employees to and fro. When the doors finally opened to the lobby, Angel pushed his way through a couple of junior fashion designers to get out as quickly as possible. He was starting to feel claustrophobic, like his skin was too tight and too hot, and thank fuck he didn’t film like this. He burst out of the front doors, hailed the first cab he saw, and didn’t even wait for it to completely stop to fall into the backseat.
“Get me to the Doomsday District as fast as you fucking can.”
The cab shifted back into motion. “You gonna give me an address, or…?” the driver prompted.
“Just get me there, and I’ll figure it out,” Angel snapped.
The driver muttered something that would have probably been insulting if Angel had been listening, but they drove anyway. With a heavy exhale, Angel leaned his head back against the window, and pulled his knees up to his chest, focusing on breathing and trying not to throw up.
It was only a ten minute drive or so before the cabbie spoke again. “Am I just dropping you on the curb or what?”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Angel reached into his pocket and grabbed some cash to hand over.
The cab stopped, and the driver took the cash, barely waiting for Angel to shut the door behind him before he drove off. Angel was already reaching for his phone to text his dealer. That was when he realized he had left his phone on his bed.
“Shit,” he hissed, looking around. He knew where he was, at least vaguely, and he knew where his dealer was likely to be on a Sunday night. He crossed the street and headed in that direction. Gunther usually slummed around the back alleys behind the clubs, selling a quick high, or taking one himself. Angel didn’t know how he managed to turn a profit, dipping out of his own supply all the time, but whatever; that wasn’t his problem, as long as Gunther still had enough leftover to share. They’d been doing business since the Nineties, and Gunther had never let Angel down.
Angel stepped into Gunther’s favorite dive and took a look around, finding most of the usual rabble, but no rat-dog-man, so he cut through the bar and out the back door into the alley. Sure enough, there was the ugly fuck, pissing on the corner of a nearby dumpster. There were two other guys out there, smoking and talking about who fucking cares what. Angel made a beeline in Gunther’s direction. Gunther didn’t even notice him approaching, and Angel briefly wondered how often he got mugged.
“Hey. Gunther.”
The hellhound turned around, cock still out, but mercifully no longer actively pissing. “Oh, shit, Angel Dust.”
“Yeah, hi.” Angel folded his arms to stop them from shaking. “You got anything?”
“Yeah, sure,” Gunther replied. “Got some primo stuff today, what’cha lookin’ for?”
“Angel dust?”
Gunther nodded. “Yeah, I can hook you up.”
Angel slumped in relief. “Usual price?”
Gunther glanced down at his dick, which was still hanging out of his pants. “Works for me.”
The ‘usual price’ was half what Gunther usually charged, plus Angel blitzed out of his mind, scraping his knees on the uneven concrete ground while Gunther shoved his weird little cock down his throat. He grunted and grasped at Angel’s hair, jerking him roughly wherever he wanted him as he thrust into his mouth at a merciless pace. All Angel had to do was keep his jaw relaxed, and moan and gag when appropriate. It wasn’t so bad. It didn’t last long, and with the right high, he barely even noticed it was happening.
Soon enough, Gunther was cumming, shuddering head to toe as he pushed himself deep as he could into Angel’s mouth, both hands clamped on the back of Angel’s head to hold him there. Angel shuddered at the taste. Gunther’s was always bitter, but he could take it, and he did, and finally, the nasty little man let go of him, shifting a step back to pull out of Angel’s mouth. Angel fell back onto his ass, and lightly bumped the back of his head against the dumpster. He heard laughter coming from nearby, and looked over to see those two guys, still in the alley. Looked like they’d stayed to enjoy the show.
One of them grinned at Angel. “You wanna let me in on that action, hot stuff?”
“You wanna pay for it?” Angel shot back.
“How much you chargin’?” the guy asked.
“How much you got?”
“Fifty bucks?”
Angel barely considered the offer before opening a hand towards him.
The guy—some scruffy, hyena looking sort of sinner—walked over towards Angel, already unbuckling his belt. He slapped a small wad of cash into Angel’s hand, and clarified. “I don’t want your mouth, I’m gonna fuck you proper.”
“Okay.”
He grinned, reaching down to grab Angel by the arm and pull him to his feet. Then manually turned him to face the dumpster, and unceremoniously pulled his shorts down over his hips.
Valentino would kill Angel—put an angelic bullet between his eyes and make a film of someone violating his corpse—if he knew where he was, that his precious star liked getting fucked in back alleys for what amounted to pocket change in the Vees’ district. Maybe it was an act of rebellion as much as it was anything else, because let’s face it, the sex wasn’t good. The sinner barely bothered to open him up before shoving his dick in, and his rhythm was hardly a rhythm at all, just frantic plunges of his hips, nearly knocking Angel face first into the dumpster before him. It was a far cry from silk sheets and expensive cologne and top-shelf bourbon, but this, Angel had chosen for himself.
The sinner had one hand gripping Angel’s hip, and the other on his back, pushing him to bend as he thrust quickly into him. He was taking longer to cum than Gunther had, and Angel found himself fussing with his own half-hard dick to pass the time. It wasn’t like the asshole was even trying to get him off—no, he was only focused on his own dick, until he finally moaned and spasmed and came in Angel’s ass. Angel sighed in relief as he pulled out.
“You’re pretty hot, you know,” the guy said, like that wasn’t the whole goddamn point.
“Yeah,” Angel said. “I know.”
And that seemed to be the end of it. The guy walked off, Gunther was already gone, and so was the third guy hyena-dick had been talking to. Angel pulled his shorts up, and turned to lean against the wall, slowly lowering himself to the ground. He could go into the bar, get something to drink, maybe find another dick to suck for future drug money, but his body seemed intent on staying down, in the gutter where he belonged, no matter how much Valentino dressed him up as Angel Dust and paraded him around with the rich and elite.
It was later, when Angel finally peeled himself off the concrete. He didn’t know how much later, but it must have been pretty significant, judging by the lack of traffic when he stumbled into another cab to ride back to V tower. This cabbie didn’t even say a word to him, just took his jumbled instructions and drove. They were probably used to strung-out whores in the backseat. The hard part came when he got out of the cab, and had to find his way through V Tower back to his apartment. He remembered the first few times he had done it high, he’d gotten completely turned around. He’d slept on the floor in the corner of the hall more than once. Now, though, he had done it so many times, he only got disoriented once, and almost didn’t exit the elevator on his floor. Next thing he knew, his wake-up alarm was blaring on his phone, and he was curled up in his bathtub, fully clothed, with cold water from the shower pouring down on him. Honestly, not the worst start he’d had. At least he was at home and thoroughly rinsed off. He slowly stood up and peeled off his clothes, then proceeded to actually wash himself, since apparently he hadn’t done that upon getting into the shower the previous night. Once that was done, he turned off the water, wrapped himself in the fluffy towel hanging just outside the shower, and stepped out to survey the damage in the mirror. His knees were a little scuffed up, but not bad enough to draw attention. Angel’s knees spent more time scraped and bruised than not. He looked tired, too, but that was nothing another line of angel dust wouldn’t fix.
He didn’t bother getting dolled up, just yet—he could do that in his dressing room—so he threw on shorts and a jacket, and snorted a couple lines of dust off his dresser before heading down to the studio. Neither Valentino nor Travis were there yet when he arrived, so he went ahead into his dressing room. He undressed, and replaced his clothes with a robe, then sat down at his vanity to do his makeup and look over the script he found sitting there. It looked simple enough—just some businessman and secretary bullshit. He was the secretary, obviously. One of his lines had him describe himself as a ‘sexcretary.’ Ugh.
There were only a few pages of lines, and then they were instructed to improvise when they got to the sex, so Angel had it down with time to spare before heading out on set. “‘Sexcretary’?” he asked Travis in lieu of a greeting. “Seriously?”
“What?” Travis shrugged, “It’s descriptive.”
“It’s stupid.”
“People don’t watch porn for smart dialogue.”
“Whatever.” Angel looked around. “Is wardrobe here, yet?”
Travis glanced at his phone—maybe a schedule, maybe a text, maybe some bullshit, who’s to say? “Any minute now.”
Angel rolled his eyes, and walked on set to look around. Unsurprisingly, it was set up like an office, with a large wooden desk and a swivel chair with no arm rests.
The door to the room opened, and Angel looked up, hoping to see a rack of costumes wheeled in, but instead saw a now familiar feline figure. He was still in a suit, though it wasn’t as fancy as the one from the other night—just plain black, no pinstripes, and the jacket was open, with no vest underneath. He still had his little cane with its bright gold tip, which clinked audibly on the floor as he walked. It was distracting, or maybe that was just Husk himself, handsome bastard. He walked further into the room, eyes scanning the occupants like he was looking for someone, and not finding them. Valentino, Angel assumed.
After an appraisal of the room, Husk came to a stop in front of the set, and sat down in what Angel—and everyone else, but apparently not Husk—knew to be Valentino’s chair. Angel raised an eyebrow, but didn’t know if it was his place to say anything. There was another chair next to it, between Valentino’s and Travis’, which wasn’t usually there, so it was definitely for Husk. It was also a bit smaller than Valentino’s chair, which made sense considering the difference in stature between the two intended occupants, but more likely it was a stupid ego trip for Val.
Husk’s eyes landed on Angel, and Angel smiled. “Hello.”
Husk nodded, and his gaze wandered away. Not even a ‘hello’ back.
Angel walked towards him. “It’s good to see you again.”
Husk looked over at him again. “You saw me less than forty-eight hours ago.”
“Did a lot more than see you,” Angel teased. “I was glad to hear you’re gonna be stickin’ around.”
One of Husk’s eyebrows cocked upwards. “Oh, were you?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t take you for the type to get attached to a client so quick,” he folded both hands over the top of his cane, “though I suppose you got some reward for securing my investment, a nice pat on the head from your pimp.”
Angel grinned. Was that supposed to rile him up? “As a matter of fact, I did.”
Husk hummed. “Bet you enjoyed that.”
“I’ll ask again—why wouldn’t I?” Angel winked, and walked past Husk as he saw the wardrobe team finally come in, trailing his fingers across the top of one of Husk’s wings as he passed.
Husk didn’t make any move to pursue or continue the conversation, but either way Angel was distracted as one of the costumers handed him a very short, gray pencil skirt, and a white button up that was clearly flimsy as hell (he could see right through the fabric) along with a pair of lensless glasses. He stepped into his dressing room to change, and when he came back out, Valentino was there. Husk had stood up to greet him, and the two were talking, most likely about the shoot for the day.
Angel’s scene partner had arrived as well—some new guy he had never worked with before. He was generally humanoid, with greenish skin, multiple horn-like protrusions sticking up amidst stark white hair, an extra eye set into each of his temples, and something more akin to a blowhole in the middle of his face where a living human’s nose should have been. He was wearing a suit that was hilariously reminiscent of Husk’s, at least insomuch that it was also black, and there was no vest. It was certainly not as well tailored, and no way it was anywhere near as expensive, but the visual similarity entertained Angel nonetheless.
Travis returned from wherever the fuck he had gone, and he, along with Husk and Valentino, took their seats. Well, Husk took Valentino’s seat, and the look on Valentino’s face was priceless, but he kept his smile locked on, tight and sharp though it was, and called out, “Okay, sluts, let’s do this thing,” before sitting down in the somewhat smaller chair.
“Any particular blocking you’re looking for?” Angel asked.
“It’s all in the script. Didn’t you read it?”
Internally, Angel cringed. “Yes.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
“Maybe there was something else you wanted.”
“Just go through the fucking door, and bring him the coffee, and then sit on his dick like the fucking script says,” Valentino snapped.
Before Angel had a chance to actually do any of that, Husk spoke—not especially loud, but Angel could hear, and likely everyone else too. “What the fuck is a sexcretary?”
“Travis’ wet dream,” Angel deadpanned as a stagehand passed him a cup of lukewarm coffee.
“It’s stupid,” Husk replied.
Valentino was smiling so hard it looked like his teeth might shatter, and Travis’ face was the definition of comical indignance. “Told you,” Angel mumbled.
Husk flipped the script packet in his hand closed, and set it down. “Whatever, I’m not the one gettin’ off to it.”
“If you’d like things altered —” Valentino clipped out, but Husk waved his words away.
“It don’t matter to me.”
“Alright then.” Valentino gestured sharply at Travis, and Travis announced through his entirely unnecessary megaphone, “Action!”
Angel walked through the prop door into the ‘office.’ “One black coffee, just like you ordered.” He leaned over the desk to hand the cup to his scene partner, giving the cameras a nice shot up his skirt.
His ‘boss’ scoffed. “ Black coffee? That’s not what I wanted.”
“No?” Angel straightened back up. “Did I mess up your order again?”
He shook his head, all stern and condescending. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, or I’d have fired you weeks ago. What good is a secretary who doesn’t listen?”
He was so rigid with his dumb ass lines, Angel just hoped he fucked better than he acted. “Oh, please, boss—how can I make it up to you?”
“Well,” the guy gave Angel a lascivious look up and down, eyes distinctly lingering on his chest, which was barely contained by the tight, flimsy button up. “Maybe if we put our heads together, we can think of something.”
Before Angel could answer, they were interrupted by a quiet but distinct snort from off camera, and Valentino snarled, “ Cut! ”
Angel turned to look, just as Husk was shifting in his seat and clearing his throat. “Sorry, sorry, don’t mind me. I just wasn’t expecting so many puns in a fucking porno.”
“Start over,” Valentino barked at Angel and his scene partner.
Angel grabbed the coffee cup and stepped back through the prop door. The second time through, they made it up to Angel straddling his ‘boss’, but unfortunately, his next line was ‘sexcretary’, and although Husk didn’t laugh aloud again, Angel did see him press his fist to his mouth, trying not to snicker. Then, Angel’s scene partner leaned in close to his ear and ‘whispered,’ still plenty loud enough for the microphones to pick up and everyone in the room to hear, “Don’t forget again, I like cream with my coffee,” and Husk muttered, “Jesus Christ.” Valentino looked like he might kill him.
“ Cut. One more time.”
It seemed the third time was the charm, as Husk managed to keep his commentary to himself while they went through the bullshit intro. By the time Angel’s top was off, he wasn’t even laughing anymore. Of course, by that point, Angel and his scene partner were improvising.
It was a little weird, kissing a guy without a nose, Angel was very conscious of the placement of his own nose, making sure not to accidentally dip into the fucking blowhole on his scene partner’s face. The actual kissing wasn’t too bad though; at least the guy knew how to use his tongue. He was almost disappointed when the guy turned him around to fuck him. Angel moaned, tossing his head back, closing his eyes, and sticking his chest out for the camera as his scene partner’s long, slender cock teased against his rim. He dragged his hands up his own thighs, pulling his skirt up with them, because of course the skirt had to stay on, and as he faced forward again to make eye contact with the camera, he found himself making eye contact with a set of intense, gorgeous, golden eyes instead.
From the overlord’s attitude about the script, Angel had expected indifference, maybe disinterest or amusement, but certainly not the rapt attention he was getting from Husk. The overlord was still, save for a slow, rhythmic twitching at the end of his tail, and his eyes were locked on Angel’s face with such a heaviness that it pinned him in place, just like it had in the reflection in that hotel window not forty-eight hours earlier.
God, Husk had fucked him so well.
God, Husk was so handsome.
With his eyes locked on that molten gold gaze, Angel’s brow creased and his mouth fell open, and he let out a wail of pure pleasure as his scene partner penetrated him, loud and oh, so genuine. Husk’s eyes flashed, but otherwise he didn’t react, simply watching as the other man began to fuck him. Angel leaned forward, still seated forward in his costar’s lap, but gripping the edge of the desk now. “ Fuck. ”
After a minute or so of Angel hanging onto the desk with two hands, and groping himself with the other set, the guy stood up, using his hips to drive Angel forward, and pressing a hand into his back to bend him over the desk. Angel whimpered, and laid his head down, finally breaking the connection between him and Husk, but the knowledge that the overlord was still watching was enough.
The guy actually fucking Angel wasn’t anywhere near as good as Husk had been. Sure, it felt like his dick reached all the way up into Angel’s guts, and he used it well enough, but it wasn’t really anything noteworthy. He just thrust into him, and groped his hands over his body. Angel reached down with one of his lower hands and began to jack himself off.
“That’s right, sexy little bitch, show me what you got,” the green guy panted. He was keeping up a good rhythm, but Angel could feel he was starting to falter.
Leaving his cheek pressed against the cool wooden desktop, Angel tipped his chin up to look out again. To the audience, it would look like he was looking into the camera, but he wasn’t. Husk’s eyes were still locked on him, heavy, maybe even hungry, though his face was impassive as stone. Angel wanted to see that composure snap. He wanted Husk to grab him, pin him down, and ravage him until he cried.
Angel’s body spasmed painfully against the wooden desk as he came, suddenly and hard. He wasn’t entirely sure, but for the briefest second, it looked like a smile twisted up the corner of Husk’s mouth. Angel was distracted though, by the green guy continuing to fuck into him, growing increasingly erratic and sloppy as he neared his own peak. Angel closed his eyes and relaxed into it. It didn’t take much longer before the guy finished, made another stupid comment about the fucking coffee, and then they were done. Travis called it a wrap.
Angel stayed bent over the desk for a minute, catching his breath, before standing up and straightening his skirt. His scene partner had put his dick away, and gone over to look at the camera screen, apparently asking to ‘review his performance’ and ‘receive notes’. What a dipshit. As if the cameraman’s opinion mattered.
Angel turned to look at the overlords. Valentino looked pleased, or at least satisfied, but Husk, Angel still couldn’t read. Damn gamblers and their poker faces. Angel grabbed his shirt from the floor and made his way over to Valentino’s side.
Valentino reached out for him, running his hand up Angel’s side. “That looked good, baby.”
Angel beamed. “Yeah?”
“Mhmmm,” he cooed. “You looked like you were into it. That’s always sexy.”
It was pathetic, truly, and Angel knew just how pathetic it was, that he still craved Valentino’s praise and attention as much as he did. There was no high like it, no drug that could replicate the tingly feeling in Angel’s blood when Valentino was pleased with him.
“Don’t you think so, Husk?” Valentino prompted, turning his attention to the feline overlord beside him, though his hand stayed on Angel.
“Yes,” Husk replied simply.
Angel would have rolled his eyes, but that would have been rude and possibly would have gotten him killed, so he blew Husk a kiss and turned back to Valentino. “I’d better go get cleaned up for my next scene.”
“Good boy,” Valentino approved, giving Angel’s butt a light smack.
Angel stopped by his dressing room to grab a towel, his robe, and his bag of shower supplies before making his way to the bathroom. He turned one of the showers on full blast and stepped under the scalding spray. He scrubbed away the evidence of the shoot, all the sweat and spit and cum and the feeling of his scene partner’s hands on his body, and replaced it all with the amber and cinnamon scent of his soap. He always found it hard to get out of the studio showers once he had gotten in. He managed to make it quick, though; he only had half an hour before his next shoot, and he needed his hair dry and his makeup done.
He left his soiled costume on the bathroom floor for the wardrobe people to clean up later and returned to his dressing room in his robe, with his hair wrapped up in the towel. His next scene was supposed to be ‘amateur’ style, so there were no lines to memorize, no script; all Angel had to do was look pretty and get fucked by two guys at once. He could do—and had done, actually, multiple times—that in his sleep.
He almost didn’t hear the knock on the door over the sound of his hairdryer, but it was just loud enough to be noticeable. He frowned at the door, because who the fuck would be knocking? He didn’t need actual hair or makeup or wardrobe team for this shoot, and Valentino never knocked. He set the hair dryer down on his vanity and made his way over to the door, still frowning, and opened it. His eyes widened when he realized it was Husk standing on the other side. “Oh.”
Husk’s eyebrows went up in mild amusement at this greeting. “What, didn’t wanna see me?”
“Just surprised,” Angel said. “Come on in.”
Husk stepped past Angel into the dressing room. “You put on a good show, out there.”
“I always do.” Angel closed the door, and walked back over to his vanity. He sat on the top.
Husk hummed, folding his hands on top of his cane. “Do you usually enjoy your work?”
“Usually.”
Husk glanced absently around the dressing room. “Are the scripts all that shit?”
“Just the ones Travis writes.”
He chuckled, and it was fucking delicious. “Honestly, I’m impressed you can make this garbage look good.”
Angel smirked. “I’m good at what I do. You know that.”
“Yes,” Husk agreed, “though you don’t do much, do you?”
Angel narrowed his eyes, and felt the edges of his smirk sharpen. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“You just get fucked and look pretty. Make some good noises. You’re an object. Do you ever take an active role?”
He said it so conversationally, like he wasn’t being fucking insulting. Angel leaned forward, and gripped the edge of the vanity. “Of course I do. But Vox’s crunched the numbers, and that don’t sell as well. You are here to make money, aren’t ya?”
Husk nodded. “I am. I was just curious.”
“Why? Want me to top ya, next time?”
He chuckled again. “No, I don’t.”
Angel leaned back now, propping himself up on his lower hands. “I get the feeling you don’t like me very much.”
Husk’s eyebrows went up. “Am I supposed to?”
“No. Not as long as you want me.”
“Hm, you don’t have much trouble with people wanting you, do you?” Husk observed.
It was Angel’s turn to chuckle. “No.”
Husk clicked his tongue, like he was disappointed. “Damn, guess I’m not as special as I thought.”
“Oh, you’re plenty special.” Angel slid down off the vanity, and crossed the room towards Husk. He stilled with inches between them, placing his hand on Husk’s chest and sliding it up, towards his shoulder. “You’re the one who gets to have me, after all.”
“So do plenty of others,” Husk replied. “For the right price, right?” He gestured over his shoulder towards the door. “Or anyone out there.”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“Did I say I was jealous?”
“You didn’t say you’re not.”
“I’m not.”
“Good,” Angel purred. “I think we’ll get along just fine, then.” He leaned in close to Husk’s ear, and spoke lowly. “I can make you so much money, sir. Just you wait.”
With that, he backed off, and returned to his vanity, but he kept an eye on Husk in the mirror. He had that heavy look in his eyes again, desire and perhaps even approval. The tip of his tail was twitching again. There was almost a smile on his lips, too. Angel was viciously satisfied.
“Did you need something?” he asked, picking his hairdryer back up, but not turning it on yet.
“Nothing you can give me right now,” Husk replied, but he didn’t move for the door.
Angel looked back over his shoulder, intrigued. “And what might that be?”
Husk scoffed. “What do you think?”
A smile slowly spread across Angel’s lips. Oh, yes, that was very satisfying indeed. “Just wanna watch me get ready, then?”
“Don’t tell me you’re shy.”
“Not at all. Watch all you like.”
Unable to delay any longer without being late (or starting his next scene with damp hair), he continued blow-drying his hair, while Husk, indeed, watched—just watched. He stood almost perfectly still, save for the rhythmic flicking of his tail, hands folded neatly and softly atop his cane. Angel could see him in the mirror, just watching, and for reasons beyond Angel’s comprehension, it was turning him the fuck on. If Husk had been jacking off or something, well, Angel would have been more used to that, but he wasn’t. He was watching, and Angel was hard as a rock under his robe.
Once Angel’s hair was dry, he set down the hairdryer, and started on his makeup. “Valentino makes my schedule, I’m sure you know.”
“Mhm,” Husk hummed in affirmation.
“So you’ll have to talk to him if you want,” Angel met Husk’s eyes in the mirror, “something I can’t give you right now.”
“Yes, I know how it works,” Husk answered.
Angel couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling any longer. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Stoic and grumpy.”
Again, he almost smiled. “Yes.”
Angel almost smiled back, and had to beat back the urge to walk over there and kiss him, just to see what he would do. “Well.” He swiped on some lip gloss, then set the tube down on the vanity with a solid clack. “It’s time for me to get back on-set.”
“No shitty costume this time?” Husk asked.
“Nope.” Angel turned. “Will you be watching again?”
“I gotta see what I’m putting my money into, don’t I?”
Good, Angel thought, but he wasn’t ready to show that hand just yet, so he simply smiled and headed for the door. “Then I’ll try to put on another good show.”
♥🕷♥
You: Hey
You: Sorry about last night, I got some stuff
Cherri: Feeling better then?
You: Yeah
Cherri: Good
Cherri: Bitch
Chapter 3: If He’s as Bad as They Say, Then I Guess I’m Cursed
Summary:
Angel goes to his first appointment with the studio's new investor. It doesn't go the way he expects.
Chapter Text
♥🕷♥
Angel stepped out of the limousine, slightly taken aback by the building in front of him, not because he had never seen a fancy-ass hotel before, but because this fancy-ass hotel reminded him so much of being alive. It was almost as tall as V Tower, exquisitely decorated in gold and glass. His father had taken him places like this in New York City on business, and stepping into the lobby felt like stepping back into life. The carpets were red and gold, and the whole place was as gilded on the inside as it was on the outside. There was a large fountain in the middle of the lobby, and a glass elevator attached to the wall on either end of the massive room. A key for room 1248 had been dropped off at his apartment earlier that day, along with instructions to ‘wear something nice,’ so there was nothing stopping him from going on up, aside from his own desire to gawk at the art deco extravagance around him.
For about two seconds, he felt almost human again.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t that early, so he stepped into the nearest elevator and pressed the button for the twelfth floor. On the way up, he pulled a compact out of his overnight bag and checked his hair and makeup in the small mirror. Everything looked to be in place, so he put the compact away and smoothed down his clothes. ‘Wear something nice’ wasn’t particularly specific, so he had gone with a black slip dress (and absolutely nothing underneath it), a long tan coat, and his usual high-heeled boots with stockings underneath.
The elevator came to a smooth stop at the twelfth floor, and dinged as the door opened. Angel stepped out into the hall. There were a few guests walking to or from their rooms, but none of them paid him any mind. He followed the little signs indicating which way the room numbers counted up, and found 1248 a little ways down to the left.
Without further ado, he fished the room key out of his bag, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The room was just as fancy as the lobby downstairs, just a touch more muted, probably so guests weren’t blinded by gold as they tried to sleep. As he had been their first night together, Husk was already in the room. This time, he was sitting on the couch, with a glass of some dark liquor already in hand.
“Hey there, handsome,” Angel greeted, dropping his bag by the foot of the bed, slipping off his jacket, and sitting to remove his boots. It was a shame, really—his dress would have looked a lot better with some strappy heels, but then Husk would have been subjected to Angel’s weird spider feet, so boots and stockings it had to be.
Husk looked towards Angel, his gaze dragging slowly over his body. “Evening.”
Angel smiled, and gave Husk the same once-over. He was wearing either the same suit he’d worn to the studio the other day, or one very similar—who’s to say how many nigh-identical fancy black suits an overlord like Husk might own? His jacket was still on, but unbuttoned, and Angel could see no vest, but suspenders and a crisp white shirt underneath.
He stopped at the minibar on his way across the room and poured himself a glass of cognac. Going by the bottle sitting out on the counter, Husk was drinking scotch, which Angel couldn’t pretend was a favorite of his. Cognac it was, then.
Drink in hand, he continued to the couch and took a seat next to Husk. “Nice place.”
Husk glanced absently around the room. “Yeah, it’s not bad. Suits me, when I don’t want to be home.”
“Nostalgic, ain’t it?” Angel looked around the room as well, at the patterned wallpaper and crisp lines. “I lost my virginity in a room kinda like this. Died in one, too. Same hotel.”
“You from the twenties?” Husk asked, sounding, for maybe the first time, genuinely interested.
“Twenties, thirties, forties.” Angel took a sip of his cognac, and hummed. That was some good stuff. “You?”
Husk nodded. “Died in the seventies.”
“How old were you?”
Half a wry chuckle. “Not quite in my seventies.”
“We’re about the same age, then,” Angel pointed out.
Husk hummed into his glass, taking a drink before asking. “Where were you from?”
“New York City.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Just interesting.” Husk shrugged. “I visited New York a few times in the forties—didn’t stay long though.”
“Where were you from?” Angel asked.
“Out West. Vegas mostly.”
“Hm. I visited Vegas a few times in the forties. Don’t think we ever crossed paths though.” Angel tilted his head, and kicked his feet up, resting them across Husk’s lap. “If you looked half as good alive as you do dead, I’d remember.”
Husk stared down at Angel’s legs for a second, looking almost insulted, but then just took another drink and replied. “Yeah, I was pretty hot.”
“What did you do?”
“A lot of what I do now—hustled pool, dealt cards, some show biz here and there.”
Angel’s eyebrows shot up all the way to his hairline. “Show biz?”
Husk actually shot him a smirk. “Didn’t expect that, huh?”
“Not at all.” Angel leaned forward. “What kinda show biz?”
“Magic,” Husk replied simply, taking another drink.
Angel stared him down for a moment, before leaning back into a regular position. “Nah. I don’t believe you. What else?”
Husk scoffed shortly. “What, life in the Vegas casino circuit ain’t interesting enough for you?”
“I’m just makin’ conversation. Jeez.” Angel pulled his feet back towards him, making sure to brush one solidly over Husk’s groin along the way. “Voice like yours, s’a shame you’re not more of a talker.”
One of Husk’s eyebrows quirked slightly. “You like my voice?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Hm.”
Angel rolled his eyes, and shifted closer to Husk, reaching over with one of his many hands to turn Husk’s face towards him. “Go on. Say somethin’.”
Husk looked him dead in the eyes, and said flatly, “Somethin’.”
Angel responded with his best annoying porn star moan. “Oh, yes, don’t stop!”
Shockingly, this got a proper laugh out of Husk. Angel realized this was the first time he had heard that, and holy shit, he wanted to hear it again.
Husk brushed Angel’s hand off his face, though he didn’t turn away. “What, you want me to read you a fuckin’ bedtime story or some shit?”
“I wouldn’t be opposed.”
“Too bad you ain’t the one in charge,” Husk replied, taking the last drink of his scotch.
Angel pouted.
“Is that actually what you want?” Husk asked as he set his glass aside, sounding like he very much doubted it.
“What, you to read me a bedtime story?”
“Or just to talk to you,” Husk clarified.
“Well…yeah.” Angel smiled at him. “Your voice is sexy.”
Husk just looked at him for a second, then said, “That sounds boring as hell.”
“Conversation?” Angel chuckled. “Fuck, handsome, don’t you got any friends?”
It hadn’t been super obvious that Husk was relaxed, and enjoying himself, but the sudden absence of that energy was palpable. His expression didn’t really change—maybe a hardness in his eyes—but he was sharply closed off nonetheless. “I meant as opposed to other possibilities. I didn’t bring you here to be friends. ”
“Right,” Angel said calmly. He knew when he had hit a nerve. He also knew how to pacify an angry overlord. “You brought me here for… other possibilities. So why don’t you tell me what you’re lookin’ for tonight, and let me make you feel good, hm?”
“How about you start by gettin’ me another drink?” Husk suggested, gesturing to his empty glass on the end table.
Angel stood, and scooped the glass up in one of his free hands. “Comin’ right up.”
He swished his hips a bit more than necessary on the way over to the mini-bar, fully aware of how good his ass looked in his slip dress, and refilled Husk’s glass from the bottle of scotch on the counter. When he returned, however, instead of returning to his seat, he handed the scotch to Husk, then straddled the overlords lap. Husk’s hand—the one unoccupied by the glass of scotch, obviously—landed on Angel’s thigh. He didn’t seem at all surprised, or at least he didn’t show it.
“What now?” Angel asked, trailing a finger down the front of Husk’s shirt.
“Remember what I said at the studio?” Husk asked, absently brushing his thumb over the satin of Angel’s dress.
“You said a lot of things at the studio.”
“I wanna see you take an active role,” he clarified, pushing his hand higher up Angel’s thigh, bringing the fabric with him.
Angel smiled sharply. “Easy.”
He set his drink down on the side table, sliding out of Husk’s lap, and crossed the room to retrieve a bottle of lube from his bag. Once the lube was conveniently placed next to his drink, he reached down to unclip Husk’s suspenders and unfasten his trousers. Husk shifted, lifting his hips as Angel pulled the fabric down, and once the trousers were discarded, Angel straddled Husk’s lap again. As the fur on Husk’s legs brushed the insides of Angel’s thighs, and Angel settled properly, he saw Husk’s eyes darken, and briefly dip towards his lap. It seemed the overlord had finally noticed the lack of anything beneath his dress, and it seemed he approved.
Angel grabbed the lube with one of his lower hands, flicked the bottle open, and put some in his opposite palm. He then wrapped that hand around Husk’s cock. Husk took a drink of his scotch, then set the cup down, moving his hands to unbutton his shirt as he kept his gaze locked on Angel’s face. “Allow me,” Angel said. He set his glass down, and used his first set of hands to replace Husk’s.
“Handy, havin’ four of those,” Husk said, then half smirked at his dumb joke.
Angel paused for a moment. “You had children, didn’t you? Only a father would say something like that.”
“If you call me ‘daddy’—” Husk warned him.
“You already told me you’re a ‘sir’.” Finished with Husk’s buttons, Angel moved to push his jacket off his shoulders. “I think that suits you better.”
Husk nodded, shifting to pull his arms out of the sleeves, and discarding first his jacket, then his shirt.
Angel watched, with one eyebrow raised in amusement. “You have trouble givin’ up control, don’tcha?”
Husk scoffed. “Thought you were a whore, not a therapist.”
“And I thought you wanted me to do the work, but you’re doin’ it all for me.” Angel picked up Husk’s scotch and placed it back in his hand. “Relax.”
Husk’s eyes narrowed a touch, but it wasn’t like he could deny this had been his idea. He leaned back to settle against the cushions of the couch, draping his arm along the back of it.
Angel reached for his own drink again, and took a sip while twisting his hand around Husk’s cock. Husk rocked his hips up, just slightly, into Angel’s fist. His gaze was getting all gorgeous and heavy again, liquid gold eyes boring into Angel’s, as Angel rose up on his knees and repositioned himself to take Husk’s cock. Husk let out a slow exhale—not quite a sigh—as Angel sank down.
Angel hid a smug smile behind the rim of his glass. He didn’t make a sound, not because the urge wasn’t there, but because that wasn’t the part he was playing tonight. He was hot and unbothered, sipping his cognac as he began a leisurely rhythm of grinding in Husk’s lap.
Husk rolled his own hips up to meet him, adding to the friction as Angel worked. He took a drink of his own, and moved his other hand to Angel’s shoulder, absently plucking the strap of his slip dress so it fell off his shoulder.
“You like my dress?” Angel teased.
“Do you ever dress like a man?” Husk asked, rather than answering the question.
“Sometimes.” Angel took a drink. “Why? Would you like me to?”
Husk half shrugged, crinkling up his nose in dismissal. “I don’t care; I’m just curious.”
“You can dress me up however you want,” Angel added. “Just tell Val when you make an appointment.”
Husk hummed, reaching towards Angel’s other shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He slid this strap off as well, and Angel’s dress, loose and satiny as it was, spilled down his body like water, pooling over his thighs. Husk’s eyes trailed heavily down Angel’s body, and Angel could almost feel the heat from that golden gaze on his skin. He moved his hand to Angel’s chest then, and gently pushed him back—not like he wanted him to get up, just to tilt back, offering a better view of where their bodies met. Angel placed his second set of hands behind him on Husk’s knees, to prop himself up as he leaned back farther. He had to bite his tongue to stop a moan from slipping out at this new angle.
Husk dragged his hand slowly down Angel’s torso, over his chest and stomach, just exploring and observing. Angel watched him watching, oddly fascinated. Husk was so unlike his few other clients, so much more thoughtful and intentional—and handsome, can’t forget that.
Husk’s hand reached Angel’s cock, and he brushed his fingertips lightly up the length of his shaft. Angel hummed, eyes drifting closed for a moment, but Husk didn’t wrap those lovely fingers around him, rather just settled his arm across the back of the couch again, and took another drink of his scotch as his eyes moved back up to Angel’s face. Tease. Angel could work with that.
He shifted his hips a little harder, pressing down, letting his eyes close again and sighing in satisfaction at the feeling of Husk’s cock moving inside of him. Husk simply continued to roll his hips against him, like none of this was even affecting him—though judging by the weight of his gaze, and the hardness of his cock, it certainly was. The only question was which of them would break first. Angel was determined that it wouldn’t be him.
He took his last sip of cognac, then set the glass down on the side table. “Alcohol’s your vice, ain’t it?”
Husk shrugged, indeed taking another drink. “Not like I’m tryna hide it.”
“Everyone down here’s got one,” Angel said. “Sex, drugs, alcohol…” He smirked. “Gambling got ya too, or d’you just give that one to others?”
“Little bit ‘a both.”
“My father told me when I was alive, there ain’t nothin’ a gambler won’t bet. That true?”
“Depends on how desperate the gambler.”
“Hmm.” Angel trailed his fingers along Husk’s jawline. “You ever been desperate, Husk?”
Husk chuckled, “Not in a long, long time.”
“I bet you haven’t.” Angel leaned forward again, so he had to look down slightly to keep his gaze on Husk’s face, nice and close. “They say you have everything.”
One of Husk’s eyebrows quirked up just slightly, and he ground his hips up into Angel’s. “Is that what they say?”
Angel sucked in a sharp breath. “Yes.”
A small smirk twisted up the corner of Husk’s mouth. “What else do they say?”
“They say you have a mean streak.”
He laughed outright. “A mean streak?”
“That’s what I heard.” Angel smirked back at him. “Are they wrong?”
“Depends on how you count ‘mean.’” Husk replied, hooking his arm around Angel’s waist to press his hand to the small of his back, holding him closer. “Do you think I’m mean, Angel?”
Holy shit… “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Would you like it, if I was?” His voice was all low and rich and rumbly, like the bastard was doing it on purpose.
“Maybe sometimes. Sometimes, I deserve it.”
“We’re in Hell; I already know what you deserve.”
“What do I deserve?”
“Nothin’ so nice as the likes of this,” Husk replied, gesturing slightly with his mostly empty glass to indicate the room around them. “But that ain’t the point. The point,” Husk paused to take a sip of his scotch, “is that I can give you so much more than you deserve. I can give you anything you want.”
Angel chuckled quietly. “And why the hell would you do that?”
Husk grinned. “Oh, so you do got some brains in that pretty head a’ yours.” He shifted his hips, rocking a little deeper into Angel. “But nah, I don’t care what you deserve. I care what you earn. I’m here to see what you’re worth.”
“I’m worth your money,” Angel said. “I can promise you that.”
“So far, it seems that way,” Husk agreed.
“I’ll prove it, when you finish that drink.”
With an eagerness Angel really hadn’t expected, Husk downed the last of his scotch, and set the glass on the side table, locking his eyes on Angel expectantly. Angel smiled, and began to pull back, out of Husk’s lap.
Husk’s hand pressed firmer on the small of Angel’s back, and his other hand—now unoccupied—clamped down on his thigh. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To bed.”
Husk didn’t release him, but he did stand up, taking Angel right with him, with his hands looped under his thighs.
“Oh, fuck,” Angel gasped. The rush of arousal to his core was dizzying. Husk lifted him like he weighed nothing.
He carried him easily to the bed, and sat down again, not dislodging Angel for even a moment. Angel pushed him gently down to lie on his back, and Husk went without a fight, shifting to be fully on the bed, rather than on the edge. Angel placed his hands on Husk’s chest, and began to ride him properly. Husk’s hands held tight to Angel’s thighs, gripping and almost kneading at his flesh as he rolled and bucked his own hips to add to the impact. Angel finally let himself moan. It felt too good not to. Husk smiled, smug and satisfied. It was clear he liked it when Angel was enjoying himself—probably some sort of ego boost, getting the pornstar off, but hey, whatever got him there. It wasn’t undeserved either.
“You probably hear this all the time,” Angel said, “but you have such a perfect cock.”
Husk chuckled. “Oh really?”
“Mmhm,” Angel purred, bouncing on that perfect cock. “Feels so good, Husk.”
Husk grunted in brief acknowledgment, and shifted his hands to Angel’s hips as he began to thrust harder into him.
Angel closed his eyes, and just rode the waves of pleasure pulsing through his core. He hadn’t been lying; Husk cock really was perfect, for Angel’s body at least, pushing him right to the edge of painfully full without crossing over that line. Husk kept up the rhythm of his hips, moving his hands to pet over Angel’s waist, hips, thighs, wherever he could reach. That felt nice, too. Felt fucking amazing. How did a such a simple touch feel so fucking amazing?
Then Husk’s hand found Angel’s cock, and this time closed around it. Immediately, Angel knew he couldn’t let that stand, or he was going to cum within seconds. He grabbed both of Husk’s hands and pinned them down to the mattress. Fuck, he shouldn’t have gotten carried away, focusing on his own pleasure instead of the clients.
He opened his eyes, and was met with a look of sheer indignation. It seemed Husk didn’t take well to being pinned down. He pushed forward with one hand, bucking his hips solidly as he did so, and dislodged Angel, turning himself at the same time to essentially swap their positions, landing Angel on his back, with Husk over top of him. Angel gasped, “Husk—” but the rest of his sentence was cut off with a cry as Husk thrust in hard, plowing right over that line between pleasure and pain. He braced a hand on the mattress by Angel’s head, moving the other to grasp his thigh and pull his leg more securely over his own hip as he pulled back and thrust in again, bottoming out. “ Fuck… ” Angel groaned, arching his back.
Husk shifted back onto his knees, giving himself freedom to move his other hand, cupping under Angel’s lower back and pressing him closer. This new angle proved to be absolutely insane. Angel’s eyes rolled back, and he cried out. Husk let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, and sped his pace, rutting into Angel fast and hard, absolutely hammering his sweet spot until Angel could barely breathe, let alone form a coherent thought. All he could do was lie back and surrender.
Someone was talking—Husk, presumably, with that low, beautiful voice—but it sounded like Angel was underwater. He moaned softly. Then a hand found his face, fingers pressing into either side of his jaw, turning his face upwards. He opened his eyes, just enough to see Husk, staring intently down at him. “You ignorin’ me?” he asked.
“N-no,” Angel murmured.
“Then do what you’re told,” Husk replied, releasing Angel’s face with a slight shove. “You got hands, use ‘em.”
Touch yourself. That’s what Husk had told him to do.
Angel wrapped one of his hands around his dick, and his vision immediately went blurry, then dark as his eyes rolled back again. A pathetic wail clawed its way out of his throat. Husk made another noise of his own, deep and rumbly in his chest. The pace of his hips hadn’t slackened, pumping white hot pleasure and pain into Angel’s waiting body with each deep thrust. Angel was right on the edge of something (he wasn’t quite sure if that something was cumming or passing out) but the pain was just a little too much to get him there. He exhaled sharply, a desperate plea to slow down slipping out barely voiced.
“You got somethin’ to say?” Husk asked, moving his free hand to paw over Angel’s thigh and hips. He was breathing hard, but he was far from faltering.
Angel whimpered, and shook his head.
On the next thrust, Husk ground his hips hard against Angel, and for the first time, an actual moan slipped past his lips. Angel’s mouth fell open in awe. That was, without a doubt, the hottest thing he’d ever heard.
“Fuck—” Husk muttered lowly, pulling back and thrusting in again to repeat the motion, somehow harder, like he was determined to bury himself in Angel’s very core.
“Yes,” Angel gasped. “Come on. Wanna feel you cum.”
Husk braced his hand on the mattress by Angel’s head again, leaning over him, with his other arm still wrapped beneath Angel’s hips, holding them together as he pounded into him, grunting and panting. Finally, his legs started to shake, and Angel moaned softly, at the sight just as much as the feeling. He reached out, placing one of his free hands on the back of Husk’s neck. And somehow, just that little act was enough for Husk. He tensed, practically vibrating as he spilled inside Angel with a throaty groan. The feeling of Husk’s cum filling him pushed Angel over the edge as well. He clung to Husk, digging his nails into his skin, legs shaking and breath caught in his throat as he came almost simultaneously.
For a minute, he was barely aware of anything besides his own rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears. By the time he came back to his senses, Husk had pulled out, and was laying on his back next to Angel, chest still heaving as he caught his breath. Angel rolled over onto his side and rested his head on Husk’s shoulder, head tilted up to see his face. The overlord made no move to cuddle him closer, or even accommodate his presence, but he also didn’t shove Angel away, so Angel closed his eyes and focused on coming down. The peace and quiet only lasted a minute or so though, and then Husk sat up, dislodging Angel. He shifted off the bed, and headed for the en-suite bathroom. Angel rolled all the way over onto his stomach, and listened to the water running in the sink.
If Husk kept fucking him so well, Angel thought he might start actually looking forward to their appointments.
After a minute, the water shut off, and Husk returned, carrying a damp hand towel, which he offered to Angel just like last time. Angel accepted it, and sat up to clean himself off. He was bleeding a little.
Husk had stepped away to refill his glass of scotch, though it didn’t look like he’d bothered to take Angel’s glass as well, not that Angel would have expected him to. Husk was still the client, and Angel was still working. Once he refilled his drink, Husk didn’t return to the bed, rather turning to rest an elbow back on the counter in the kitchenette, watching as Angel finished cleaning himself up. As Angel set aside the now soiled towel, Husk spoke. “I have an early morning tomorrow, so I’m afraid I can’t go for round two tonight.”
Angel looked over at him, brows raised in surprise. “You picked the night, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and then something came up.”
“Okay, so…what?” Angel asked. “You want me to leave again?”
Husk nodded, and took a drink of his scotch.
“Are you…sure?” Angel stopped just short of ending on ‘serious.’
Husk gave him a look—not reproachful, or quite scathing, but he clearly wasn’t expecting Angel to talk back, and apparently ‘are you sure’ counted as talking back. “Yes, I just told you, I got an early day tomorrow.”
“…Right, fine.” Angel tugged at his dress, still bunched up around his waist, and pulled the straps back up over his shoulders. Husk just kept fucking watching him, cool and collected and entirely unbothered, and sure, most of the time Angel found that hot, but right now it was kind of pissing him off. He gathered his things, and put his boots back on. “I guess I’ll see you at the studio.”
Husk nodded again. “Ask the concierge to call you a car—have them put it on my bill.”
“I can get a cab.”
Husk just looked at him for a second, eyes slightly narrowed, then shrugged. “If you wanna spend your own money…”
“I guess I don’t.” Angel turned to the door. “Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight,” Husk replied simply.
Angel stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him a little harder than necessary. What was the damn point of being a prostitute if he didn’t get a place to sleep out of the deal? He huffed in irritation, and headed back towards the elevator. It wasn’t even that late. Another drink sounded nice, but going to a bar or a club would more than likely end with him wasted in some random’s bed, and he didn’t feel like getting railed again that night. He supposed in that sense he should have been grateful Husk didn’t want to go another round.
You: Where are you?
Cherri: Home
Cherri: Aren’t you working?
You: I’m coming over
You: You got booze or should I grab some on the way?
♥🕷♥
“He’s hot as hell, and rich, and really good in bed.” Angel took a large swig of cheap tequila straight out of the bottle, savoring the burn as it went down. “But he’s such an asshole, Cher.”
Cherri scoffed. “I mean, that sounds better than your usual clientele…”
“Oh, miles. But still, that’s twice in a row he’s kicked me out in the middle of the night. What gives?”
“Maybe he snores, and he’s embarrassed.”
Angel snorted, choking on his next swig of Tequila.
“Or—” Cherri snickered, “you said he’s kind of old, right? Maybe he’s got a fuckin’ CPAP machine. That’s super un-sexy, I wouldn’t want my whore seein’ that, either.”
“Do they even make those, in Hell?”
“I mean, being hooked up by the mouth to a super loud machine every night sounds like a special kind of torture if you ask me, so yeah probably.” She shrugged, swiping the bottle of booze from Angel’s hand so she could take a drink herself.
Angel sighed and leaned back against the arm of Cherri’s second-hand couch. It was old and always seemed to be a little bit sticky, but it was squishy and comfortable. Angel had crashed on it more times than he could count or remember. Cherri’s trailer was a good bit nastier than Angel’s apartment in V Tower, but at least it was hers. No one else could come barging in unannounced at all hours—except Angel, of course, but that was different. No one could threaten to kick her into the gutter if she didn’t put out. It was shitty, but it was secure. As secure as a trailer in literal Hell could be, anyway.
“At least he’s paying you,” Cherri went on with another shrug, then screwed her face up. “ Is he paying you? I know he’s investing in the studio, but like, that isn’t paying you. ”
“He’s not paying me,” Angel said. “Not directly. Fucking me is one of the terms of his investment or whatever.”
Cherri screwed her face up further, like Angel had just insulted her, or perhaps something had died and started to rot. “That’s fucking gross. And he’s not even letting you sleep in the fancy hotel rooms?? What’s the fucking point?”
Angel gestured to her emphatically. “That’s what I’m saying!” He sighed again. “I mean, I guess the point for me is gettin’ the best sex of my afterlife. Never tell Val I said that.”
Cherri snorted. “Oh damn, now what am I gonna tell him in our weekly gossip sessions? You know how often I tell Val things. I was gonna text him right now.”
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”
“I don’t think Valentino even knows I exist,” Cherri went on, clearly amused. “Like imagine that from his perspective. He’s just going about his day, doing whatever shitty overlord things he does, and this random bitch he’s never seen in his life walks up and is like ‘just so you know, Angel thinks Husk fucks hard’ and then leaves.” She laughed. “Like, what?”
Angel laughed too, making grabby hands for the bottle of tequila. “Knowin’ Val, he’d try to recruit you.”
She made another disgusted face, and handed over the bottle. “I’d actually rather die. Again. What if he made us fuck?” She shook her head. “Can’t take that chance.”
“Aww, you don’t wanna fuck me, sugar?”
She gagged, much more dramatically than necessary. “At least you recognize I’d be the one doing the fucking.”
Angel rolled his eyes, and took a drink. This was exactly what he needed—time to do nothing with his best friend. Maybe he really did owe Husk a ‘thank you’ for effectively giving him the night off.
“You crashin’ here tonight?” Cherri asked, clearly assuming a ‘yes’.
“Would you mind?” Angel asked, assuming a ‘no’.
“Not as long as you make pancakes in the morning,” Cherri replied, shifting around to get cozy on the other end of the couch. “Dumbass overlord is missing out, your pancakes fuck. ”
Angel snickered. “Well, not just everyone gets pancake privileges. You oughta be grateful.”
“Why do you think I let you sleep over so much?” Cherri teased.
“Because you love me and want me to have a safe place to sleep, obviously.”
“Oh, right, I forgot that part.”
Angel kicked at her, not hard, and sat up. “D’you wanna get high?”
“Yeah, I’m always down.”
Angel reached into his bag and dug out his stash. “PCP or ecstasy?”
“Mmmm, let’s do X,” Cherri decided.
“X it is.” Angel handed the bottle of pills to Cherri, then asked. “Mind if I borrow something comfier to wear, too?”
“Yeah, go root around,” Cherri invited, waving Angel towards the plastic accordion door that separated her bedroom from the main portion of the trailer.
Angel popped a couple pills before heading that way, and dug some sweatpants and a T-shirt out of her closet. “I’m not wearing any underwear,” he called back to her as he changed. “Hope that’s okay, because it’s too late.”
Cherri scoffed. “Fine, but you owe me a quarter for the laundry.”
“That X’s worth more than a quarter—that’s the good stuff.”
“Right, that’s the charge for a night in this fine establishment,” she teased, “the clothes is extra.”
Angel chuckled as he returned to the couch. “Fine. A quarter for puttin’ my raw dick in your pants.” More like capris, on Angel. The hem rode up almost to his knees, when he sat down. “Turn on the TV. All the good shit’s on this time of night.”
“If I don’t wash ‘em, we could hawk ‘em online,” she mused, reaching for the remote and flicking through the late night channels.
“Probably.”
“Game show, or reality shit?”
“Game show’s just a subset of reality shit.” Angel snuggled up to Cherri’s side, head on her shoulder. “I want somethin’ trashy, though.”
“I’m right here,” she replied, clicking past something that looked like Wheel of Fortune, if Wheel of Fortune had a guy basically crucified on the wheel.
Next was Hell’s equivalent of an evangelical megachurch pastor giving an overly emphatic speech about salvation. Angel was pretty sure this guy had been an evangelical megachurch pastor in life, if he remembered correctly, and now he spent his afterlife leading death cults to the exorcists. Funny how he always ended up in a bunker somewhere before the portal opened.
“Do you know where you’re goin’ for the extermination, this year?” Angel asked Cherri.
She let out a blustery exhale. “I found a spot in, like, the storage basement under the mall last year. Only a few folks down there. It was pretty good. But they’ll probably all head back, and bring more with them, so…” She shrugged.
“I can ask Val to let you into V Tower. Really, I know you don’t want to, but—”
She cut him off. “Not my style. I just wish there was a point fighting the fuckers. I feel like such a little bitch, hiding every year.”
“I know,” Angel said. “You ain’t doin’ that again, though. I’ll drag ya to the basement myself, if I gotta.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I learned my lesson. You don’t gotta come down from your princess tower, I’ll find a place to wait it out.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Angie, I got my butt whipped that first year. I know I can’t do shit against ‘em, so what’s the point getting another licking? Relax. I’m not gonna make you rescue me again.”
“I know, I know.” Angel exhaled roughly. “It’s still a few months out, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Cherri patted his arm, “I got time to find a nice dumpster or something.”
Angel remembered what that was like, back before he became one of Valentino’s favored few. He’d had his share of close calls, that was for sure. He didn’t miss it. But of course, the favored few were few, and they weren’t allowed plus-ones. Angel may have been safe from the exorcists, but his loved ones—well, loved one —were on their own.
Cherri kept flipping through channels until they stumbled upon reruns of Hellanovela. Angel was just starting to feel the ecstasy hitting his blood stream, and combined with the copious amount of alcohol already in there, he wasn’t feeling much of anything anymore, just how he liked it. Somewhere along the way, Cherri had started absently petting his hair, and it was just lovely.
“I love you, you know that?”
“Well yeah,” she replied, very matter of factly. “I’m basically the greatest.”
Angel wrinkled his nose. “Eugh. Nevermind.”
Cherri snorted, and gently shoved the back of his head. “I love you, too.”
Angel smiled, and closed his eyes, listening to the TV as he drifted off to sleep deeper than he had in a long time.
♥🕷♥
Anthony never liked cooking. His mother had taught him; she’d said no son of hers would be caught needing a woman to cook for him. Anthony couldn’t help but notice she didn’t bother teaching his brother. She must have realized Anthony was never going to have a woman. No matter how much he whined and moaned, she made him cook with her and his sister from the day they turned ten onwards.
Angel Dust liked cooking. It reminded him of a gentle, pretty woman whose face he had long forgotten, but whose voice he sometimes heard in his dreams, slipping away before his waking memory could catch it in the morning.
Cherri was just dragging herself out of bed as he set a plate of pancakes on her small kitchen table. “You were outta chocolate chips,” he said, “so I chopped up that half-eaten bar you had on the counter.”
“Sick,” she replied, slumping into the metal and red vinyl chair that looked like it had been stolen directly out of a greasy chromium plated diner.
Angel handed her the bottle of long-expired syrup he had found in her cabinets, then set about making another stack of pancakes for himself. Cherri took a bite, and then moaned, loudly and obscenely.
Angel grinned. “Yeah, baby. You eat that pancake.”
“Dumb fuckin’ overlord doesn’t know what he’s missing! ” Cherri declared aggressively through a mouthful of pancake.
Angel laughed, and shook his head fondly. She took another bite, and moaned even louder, really hamming it up.
“You sure you don’t want a job?” Angel teased.
“These pancakes gonna be comin’ in with the paychecks?” Cherri shot back.
“You could put it in your contract.”
She snorted. “What if, instead of selling my soul to Big Pimp Daddy, I just sell it straight to you, in exchange for these bomb ass pancakes, and then I don’t even have to make porn for ‘em.”
“And make me an overlord?” Angel scoffed. “Gross.”
“Does having one soul on the hook even count for overlord status?”
“Technically.”
“I think that’s more like, overmanager. Overrrlandlord.” She snapped her fingers. “ Under lord.”
“I mean, I spend a lot of time under overlords so…” Angel tossed his own stack of pancakes onto a plate and carried it over to the table.
“Eugh, all the more reason for me not to work for Val.”
Angel sat down, grabbing the syrup and one of the forks he had set in the middle of the table. “What are you gonna do today?”
“Gotta go over to the industrial district. There’s this bitch, owes me fifteen dollars.”
“Gonna blow her up?”
Cherri nodded, “If she doesn’t give me the fifteen dollars…and maybe even if she does.” Cherri pursed her lips thoughtfully, then shrugged. “What are you doin’ today?”
“Trix, probably.” Angel took a bite of his pancakes, and had the briefest feeling of…something. Nostalgia, maybe. A memory still just out of his reach. “Val’s got us doin’ an improv scene this afternoon. Gotta appease the, like, two people who wanna see me top from time to time.”
Cherri chuckled. “Gotta feed the freaks, too.”
“Oh, is that what makes someone a freak?” Angel reached for his phone as it buzzed in his pocket. “Seriously, d’you know anyone down here who ain’t a…”
Valentino: Where the fuck are you?
“Shit.”
Cherri cringed sympathetically, eyes on his phone. “Daddy’s calling?”
“Yeah,” Angel grumbled, typing quickly.
You: I didn’t think I was scheduled until the afternoon
Valentino: Not when you had an appointment with an investor. He said he didn’t keep you??
You: He said he had something come up
You: I’m sorry, I’ll be there as soon as I can
Valentino: And you didn’t come straight home? Just thought you’d take the night off without telling anyone? Who do you think you are?
You: I’m sorry
“I’m in trouble.” Angel stood from the table, and moved into the living area to grab his bag.
Cherri cringed again. “Did you at least do what you’re in trouble for?”
“Yeah.” Angel slung his bag onto his shoulder and headed for the door. “Eat the rest of those pancakes.”
Cherri nodded, “Text me, after he’s done ripping you a new one.”
“I’ll bring your clothes back…I dunno when.”
“Whenever, don’t worry about it.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.” Angel ran outside, and heard Cherri yell through the rapidly closing door. “Try not to let Valentino kill you!”
This was far from the first time Angel had pissed Valentino off, and it wouldn’t be the last, but he tried not to make a habit of it. He really tried. Valentino’s bad side was not a fun place to be. If only his good side wasn’t so fucking difficult to stay on.
The cab ride back to V Tower felt uncomfortably long. Angel never realized just how big the Pentagram was until he was stressed and in a hurry, and there was nothing he could do about it. He chucked a fistful of cash at the driver when they pulled up to the curb, nearly tripping himself in his urgency to get out of the cab and into the tower, ignoring the shocked stares of those he barreled past. He hit the ‘up’ button on the elevator about fifteen times, increasingly impatient. Finally, the doors dinged open, and he was (much too slowly) whisked upwards to the floor near the top, where Valentino’s office was. Angel took a deep breath, and leaned back against the side of the elevator. When had he become such a well trained pet, always coming when called, and not even trying to defend himself? He never said no, he never talked back.
Eternity was a long, long time. One day, Angel told himself, he’d get out. Until then, he would keep his head down, and keep Valentino happy.
As soon as the elevator doors opened on the correct floor, Angel made a beeline for Valentino’s office and knocked on the door. A second later, he heard something crash against the door, and shatter. Then a whirring sort of noise, and the door was opened by Valentino’s Fizzbot, grinning that eternal plastic grin of hers. Angel looked down at the broken glass surrounding her feet, then over her head into the office, where Valentino sat behind his desk, smoking like a particularly angry chimney.
“So, there you are. Finally decided the studio is worth your time, hmm? Finally decided to grace us with your presence? Did you have a nice, relaxing night?”
“He told me to leave, and I did.” Angel stepped past the Fizzbot, over the broken glass.
“Yes,” Valentino snarled, “you left. Didn’t even think to come back here?? You were supposed to be working last night. That stuffy overlord doesn’t get to decide when you have a vacation, and neither do you!”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It had better fucking not!” the overlord shouted, and Angel flinched hard, averting his gaze down from Valentino’s eyes, heart racing.
Voice suddenly cool again, but filled to the brim with knowing disgust, Valentino asked. “So who did you fuck?”
Angel met his eyes again. “No one. Except him, I mean.”
Valentino’s gaze dragged over Angel’s body, pointedly observing his ridiculous, sloppy outfit. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I went to a friend’s place,” Angel told him. “We drank and got high, and went to sleep.”
“Fucking useless,” Valentino spat at him.
“Val, I swear—” Angel insisted.
“You’re lucky, you know.” Valentino stood up, looming to his full height. Angel tensed from head to toe, but didn’t back away. That would make it worse. “Things could be a lot harder for you,” Valentino went on, circling around his desk to move towards Angel. “If I didn’t like you so much… Do you even know what it’s like for some of the others? The low performers?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it like?” Valentino prompted. “I want to know you understand how good you’ve got it with me.”
Angel tried to swallow his nerves, and was resoundingly unsuccessful. “You’ve killed them for less.”
Valentino smiled, “That’s right.” I reached a hand out to trail his long fingers under Angel’s jaw. “I make it hurt, too. Do you want me to make you hurt, Angel Dust?”
A full-body shudder moved down Angel’s spine. “O-only sometimes, Val…”
Valentino hummed, smug as anything. “And why should I give you what you want? You were bad. Bad boys get punished.”
There was an unwelcome spark of arousal amidst the fear coiling in Angel’s gut. Valentino’s threats ended in Angel getting fucked enough times that his body had learned to react, to prepare, even when Angel’s mind resisted with everything he had.
When Angel didn’t answer, Valentino pulled his hand away from his jaw, only to replace it, quick and stinging, across his cheek. “ I asked you a question, ” he hissed.
“ You shouldn’t. ” Angel covered his cheek with his hand. It fucking hurt. “You shouldn’t give me what I want.”
“Because you don’t deserve it,” Valentino agreed, moving his hand again, this time to grip Angel’s jaw and force his face up, so Angel had to meet his eyes. “You’re trash. I give you the goddamn world, and you run away to get high with your little friends. ”
Angel blinked away the moisture gathering in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Valentino released him, shoving his face in doing so. “You’d better be. If I find out you skip out on me again, I won’t be this nice.”
“Yes, Val.”
Valentino moved to perch on the edge of his desk. “I’m moving your shoot up. Get on set.”
“You don’t want me to shower, or—”
“ Now. ”
Angel flinched again, “Yes, Val,” and turned to leave.
Valentino spoke again, this time into his phone. “Travis, find someone ready to fuck Angel into the ground. We’re shooting in two minutes.”
Angel made it out into the hall, tears falling down his cheeks before the door even closed behind him.
One day. One day, he would get out of there.
Chapter 4: Casino Oasis
Summary:
Angel and Valentino enter Husk's territory.
Chapter Text
♥🕷♥
All possibilities considered, a spit-roasting wasn’t a terrible way to kick off a Wednesday morning. Honestly, Angel rather enjoyed it, and the handjob in a confessional, ‘sorry daddy I’ve been naughty’ bullshit scene he’d done afterwards had also been kind of fun. He was finished and showered by one o’clock, with a long break before his next scene scheduled for three-forty-five. He was rooting through his fridge for lunch ideas when he heard the painfully familiar sound of keys in the lock to his front door. He didn’t even react. That would have required him to be surprised. The door opened, and it was, of course, Valentino, who else would it be?
“Hey amorcito, ” the overlord greeted as he stepped into the room, “hope you haven’t made lunch yet. We’ve got business.”
“What kind of business?” Angel asked, closing the fridge.
“Well, I’ve got business, you’ve got a date,” Valentino said, as if that clarified anything. He held one of his arms out towards Angel, and on it was a black garment bag. “Come on, hurry up and get pretty. We’re going to the casino.”
“The casino?” Angel took the garment bag and walked it over to his bed. He laid it down, then unzipped it to reveal a shimmering gold dress. His eyes widened slightly as he reached out to feel the pleated fabric.
“Yeah,” Valentino confirmed. “I want to see if I can milk some more money out of Husk. I think your next big film could use a bigger budget.”
Angel began stripping out of his clothes. “Sounds like something the two of you need to discuss.”
Valentino rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning sideways against the wall to watch Angel change. “Obviously. He’s gotta have something to look at while we talk. Gotta see the vision.”
“I’m not arguing,” Angel assured him, reaching his arms through the dress to pull it on over his head.
Valentino stepped closer and began fussing, helping arrange and settle the fabric over Angel’s body. The hem reached the floor, and the neckline plunged all the way down to his navel, with a small embellishment there to draw the eye.
“This is beautiful,” Angel said.
“It’ll look better on the floor.”
“Did he ask for this?”
“Oh.” The overlord grinned. “He doesn’t know you’re coming.”
Angel looked up at him. “What?”
“Nothing like a sexy surprise to loosen him up, right?” Valentino purred, drawing a finger down the middle of Angel’s chest.
Angel smiled. It was only a little bit forced.
“Do your makeup,” Valentino instructed, dropping his hand and stepping back, “you look like a slob.”
Angel’s smile fell. “Right.” He started towards his bathroom. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
“You get ten.”
Luckily, Angel had plenty of practice doing quick and decent makeup. He dabbed a pale, shimmery powder on his eyelids, followed by black winged eyeliner and some slightly tinted lip gloss. He was done in eight minutes, but Valentino was still tapping his foot and checking his watch impatiently by the door by the time Angel joined him.
“Fucking finally,” he complained. “Let’s go.”
Angel followed Valentino down to the garage, where a driver was waiting for them in a black limousine. It seemed the driver already knew where they were going, as he took off almost the second the doors were closed behind them. Angel just hoped the drive would go quickly, before Valentino could go from fussy to outright agitated
The Lucky Shot Casino wasn’t too far away from V Tower. Angel had seen it before. It was big, three stories tall, and glitzy as hell, all gold and vintage neon. It truly looked like it had been ripped right out of Las Vegas in the 1940s, and now that Angel had spent a bit of time with its owner, he understood why.
The driver pulled up the big curved driveway, under the awning out front, and stopped by the curb. He began to get out, presumably to open the door for Valentino, but the overlord didn’t wait that long before stepping out himself. Angel hurried out after him, and Val manually looped one of Angel’s arms through his own before starting for the building. There were two doormen, who quickly swept wide the double doors for them, and Angel wondered if this was standard practice, or just for a big shot here on business like Valentino.
The inside of the Lucky Shot was even more extravagant than the outside. Gold and glass chandeliers dangled from the high ceilings, illuminating a grand bar in the center of the room, and game tables all around—roulette, craps, and other games Angel didn’t even recognize. Half the room had grand, arched ceilings, straight up to the third story, and a massive, sweeping staircase led up to the second floor, covering the other half of the space. The room was full of sinners and hellborn, most dressed even more ornately than the building. Angel was fascinated, but barely had time to gawk as Valentino swept past it all, towards the staircase. The second floor was just as packed as the first, filled with card tables, and of course, another bar, off to the side. The walls were lined with slot machines, almost all of them occupied by glazed-eyed sinners who didn’t even seem to realize they were throwing their money away. Addicts, just like Angel. Still, Valentino didn’t stop, heading for another staircase at the back of the room, not quite as elaborate as the first. It seemed their destination was right at the top.
The third floor was considerably more closed off. Valentino just went straight for the large double doors at the top of the stairs, and for the first time in his life (well, death), Angel witnessed the overlord knock on a door, and wait. Disconcertion stirred in the pit of Angel’s stomach. Valentino wasn’t in control here. Angel wasn’t sure he had ever been in a situation with Val where Val wasn’t in control.
There was a long enough pause that Angel began to wonder if anyone would answer, or if they were simply making Val wait longer on purpose, but then the heavy door swung inwards, revealing Husk himself, and a dark, ornate office behind him. He was wearing his usual black pants, crisp white shirt, and suspenders, but this time he had neither his jacket, nor his cane. What he did have was a look of surprise, fixed on Angel.
“Good afternoon,” Valentino greeted, slick as algae or something gross like that. “I hope we’re not too late. You know how long it takes for pretty little things like our Angel here to get ready.”
Eight minutes. For fuck’s sake, it had taken him eight minutes.
Husk pulled his gaze off Angel, and over to Valentino, and shook his head. “Not at all. I didn’t even notice.”
He moved back, making room for the two of them to step inside. The office was no less elaborate than the rest of the casino, but surprisingly less gilded. Floor to ceiling dark wood carved paneling on the few walls not covered in bookshelves, a thick, rich, dark red rug covering the majority of the floor, and a large desk at the back of the room, with a leather wingback chair behind it, and two smaller chairs in front. The chandelier in the middle of the ceiling and the sconces on the walls were gold, so it wasn’t a complete break from theme. The whole space felt so lost in time that Angel was almost surprised to see a computer on the desk. One of VoxTek’s newer and better models, even.
Valentino walked into the room, guiding Angel beside him, and took a seat in one of the smaller chairs in front of the desk. Angel sat in the other. Husk, rather than moving to his own chair, stepped across the room to a fancy looking bar cart.
“Can I get either of you a drink? I’ve got the good stuff up here, none of that shit downstairs.”
“Can you do an espresso martini?” Valentino asked.
Husk paused, halfway through lifting a bottle of bourbon. “…No.”
Valentino huffed. “Then a regular martini is fine, I guess.”
Angel stared at him in absolute awe, somehow surprised that even Valentino would ask another overlord to mix him a drink in their own office.
Husk smiled what even Angel, barely knowing him, could recognize as a dangerous smile. “One ‘regular martini.’” He finished pouring what was presumably his own drink, and set about making Valentino’s with practiced ease. “I’m gonna guess you like it dirty?”
“Of course.”
“Mhm,” Husk didn’t quite chuckle, “and what about Angel?”
Angel looked to Valentino, unsure if he was supposed to speak in this situation. He really should have asked while they were in the limousine.
“Oh, he likes it dirty,” Valentino purred, brushing a hand up Angel’s arm, and clearly not talking about a martini.
Husk scoffed, though he sounded more amused than irritated. “Uh huh. I meant, what does he want to drink?”
Valentino gave Angel a brief look that was close enough to permission for him to answer.
“A…sidecar?” Angel decided. “Or just cognac is fine.”
Husk nodded, “Easy enough,” he finished mixing Valentino’s drink, then poured a glass of cognac for Angel, and carried the drinks over to them. “Enjoy,”
Valentino, in true Valentino fashion, didn’t even thank him before taking a sip, and Angel followed his lead. At least, that was his excuse. He was still a little bitter about Husk kicking him out of the hotel after their last appointment, mostly because he still wasn’t back on Valentino’s good side, and he was getting tired of walking on eggshells.
Husk fetched his own drink before circling the large wood desk, and settled into his chair. “So, what do you think of my casino?” he asked, taking a sip of the dark liquor in his glass.
“It’s nice, I guess,” Valentino replied, and one of Husk’s ears twitched, as if a fly had landed on it.
“It’s beautiful,” Angel rushed to say, instinct to keep an overlord happy rearing its head.
Husk’s eyes flicked over to him, and narrowed a hair. “Thank you. I’d offer you a tour, but,” his eyes shifted back to Valentino, “I suspect you’d rather stick to business.”
“Oh, yes, I would just love a tour, I’m sure,” Valentino crossed his legs, shifting into what looked like a more comfortable position, “but I’m a very busy man. You know how it is.”
Husk smiled a tight smile that was all sharp teeth. “Yes, of course. On to business then. You wanted to discuss…?”
“A new series of films with sweet Angel, here.”
Angel turned to look at Valentino in surprise. He hadn’t heard anything about a new series. But of course, Valentino was ignoring him, focused on laying out his plan to Husk.
“I’m thinking we go vintage—really play up the old Hollywood glamour. Pinups, damsel in distress, all that noise.”
Husk arched an eyebrow in skepticism. “What, you gonna tie him to some train tracks or something?”
Valentino grinned. “We could tie him up and run a train on him, for sure.”
“How glamorous,” Husk deadpanned.
“Yes, but glamorous is expensive.”
Husk hummed shortly, and took another drink.
Valentino went on, trailing his fingers across Angel’s shoulders and down his arm. “It is a good look for him, though, don’t you think? Make us a lot of money in the long run.”
Husk’s eyes followed Valentino’s direction, moving slowly over Angel, like he was studying him. Angel held nice and still, good little doll that he was. Anything to keep the big, powerful men in his life happy. That was a skill that predated even Valentino. Finally, Husk conceded. “I suppose it could be lucrative, with the right marketing.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement.” Valentino produced a contract. “I was thinking we go seventy-thirty on both ends. You put up seventy percent of the money, and receive thirty percent of the profits. It’s only fair, as I’ll be providing the actors and crew. They need to get paid as well.”
Husk hummed, accepting the paper from Valentino, and picking up a pair of rectangular reading glasses off the desk to look over the contract. Angel was pretty sure he didn’t have a kink for that, but he was less sure than he had been a few seconds before.
Husk’s eyes skimmed over the paper, then he set it down, and took off his glasses again to look back at Valentino. “I’ll go over this in detail, but I’m sure you’ve worked it out to be quite satisfactory.”
“Of course.” Valentino’s smile was sickly sweet. “Take as much time as you need.”
“I’ll send you a copy once I’ve signed—or if I have any revisions.”
“Well then, I look forward to hearing from you.” Valentino set his drink down on the desk and stood. “Come along, Angel.”
“Oh, I’d like him to stay,” Husk cut in.
Valentino chuckled. “I thought you might. When can I expect him back?”
“When I’m done,” Husk replied. “I’ll have my driver bring him back to the studio.“
“I’ll clear his schedule for the afternoon.”
Husk just nodded. “I’ll get this contract sorted out within the next day. I’m sure you’re eager to get started.”
“Absolutely.” Valentino turned, and placed his fingers under Angel’s chin to tilt his gaze up towards his own. “Be good.”
“Yes, Valentino,” Angel said.
Val hummed approvingly, and dropped his hand, offering Husk a nod, and then crossed the room to slip through the door, leaving Angel and Husk alone.
For a moment, Husk just sat behind his desk, looking at Angel, then he finally spoke. “I hadn’t realized you’d be joining us today.”
“I hadn’t either,” Angel admitted.
“What do you think of the place?”
Evidently, Husk was not satisfied with Angel’s simple answer of ‘it’s beautiful’ from before. “It’s very impressive,” Angel tried this time.
The overlord hummed. Perhaps ‘impressive’ was better than ‘beautiful’. “Do you gamble, play cards, anything?”
“Yes. It’s…been a while.”
He stood up. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Angel stood and followed him to the door, bringing his drink with him unlike his fucking dick of a boss. Then, in a surprisingly gentlemanly move, Husk held the office door open for Angel, and offered him his arm. Angel offered him a slight smile in return, and placed his hand in the crook of Husk’s elbow.
Husk’s eyebrow quirked upwards. “You’re awful polite today.”
“Ain’t I always polite?”
“Y’ain’t usually this quiet, ” Husk pointed out, starting towards the stairs.
Angel would have liked to tell him that was his own fault for getting Val pissed at Angel with his bullshit, but of course he knew better, so he just shrugged. “Guess you don’t really know me.”
Husk hummed. “I suppose I don’t.”
He led Angel down to the second floor, and gestured grandly to the room. “We’ve got the slots and cards up here. Any game you can think of, my guys know how to deal it.”
“Souls you own, I assume.”
Husk nodded. “Of course.”
“How many?”
Husk looked at him. “How many souls? Working here in the casino, or total?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Oh, I‘d say about eight hundred in the casino, and maybeee…four-hundred thousand or so elsewhere.”
Angel pursed his lips in the slightest frown. That was an awfully casual answer, wasn’t it? Most overlords loved nothing more than to brag about the number of souls they owned. Four-hundred thousand was less than Vox, if Angel remembered correctly, but more than Valentino or Velvette. Nothing to scoff at.
Husk cast him a knowing smile. “I know the exact number, but I don’t see a reason to share it.“
“Fair enough.”
“We’re on the smaller side,” Husk admitted, as he led Angel around the second floor, “as far as casinos go.” Obviously, this was meant to be impressive—‘smaller’ or not, the place was still huge.
“Quality over quantity, I see.”
Husk actually smiled. “Takes a personal touch to be the best in the business.” He led Angel down to the first floor next, and explained, “Down here we got the bigger table games; roulette, craps, pool, etcetera.”
“Is it always this busy?” Angel asked.
“Oh yes, often more so.”
“Wow.” He looked around, having a hard time imagining the place much busier than it already was.
Many of the people who weren’t deeply engrossed in their games were staring at Angel and Husk. A couple were taking what they probably thought were sneaky photos on their phones. Angel was sure the rumor mill would be running out of control by morning, after Angel Dust was sighted arm in arm with an overlord other than his own.
“If your association with us isn’t already public,” Angel said lowly, “it’s about to be.”
Husk chuckled. “I run a game hall; these folks know I like to have a bit of fun.” He walked Angel over to the bar, taking his now almost empty glass from him and setting it on the countertop, where it was almost immediately whisked away by one of the multiple bartenders. “You got a favorite game?” he asked, “I know you said it’s been awhile, but…”
“I used to be damn good at pool.” Angel leaned back against the bar, resting his elbows on the countertop. “Made a lot of money hustlin’ when I was alive. Poker, too.” Angel flashed a cheeky grin. “Maybe that’s why I’m such a good actor.”
Husk’s eyebrows went up, either impressed or intrigued, or maybe both. “We’ll have to play. A sidecar.”
Angel was momentarily confused, but then realized the last sentence was directed at a bartender who had just stepped over to set a glass of something dark on the rocks on the bar by Husk’s elbow. The bartender nodded, and whisked off again. Angel looked at Husk. Why was it kind of hot that he remembered? And what was this guy’s deal? He went from inconsiderate asshole to gentleman so quickly and completely, it made Angel’s head spin.
Angel’s drink arrived with surprising speed, and the orange peel garnish appeared to be cut to almost resemble a little spider. Angel stared at it for a moment before taking a sip, and humming in surprise at how smooth it was. Husk was busy sipping his own drink, eyes scanning over the room at large, but after a few moments, he seemed to find what he was looking for. He shifted away from the bar, gesturing for Angel to follow, and led him across the room towards an empty pool table.
As they approached, a man in a vest appeared basically out of thin air, holding two pool cues, and a rack of balls. “Good afternoon, sir,” he greeted Husk, and Husk tipped his head in acknowledgement, taking one of the offered cues. Angel accepted the other, and quietly thanked the man, who nodded, and quickly set up the balls, arranging them in proper order in the triangle on the table.
Husk had set his drink down on a nearby high top table, and was twisting one of those little cubes of blue chalk on the end of his cue. “Care to break?” he asked Angel.
“Sure.” Angel took the cue ball and placed it on the table. He had only played pool a small handful of times since he died, but it felt a little bit like riding a bike. He still knew where and how to place his hands, and if he hit the cue ball a little too hard, at least he got the angle exactly right. The balls scattered, making that satisfying noise as they did so, and after an initial ricochet, a striped ball sank into the left side pocket.
Husk’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Alright.”
“I told you,” Angel lined up to take another shot. “I was good.”
He sank another striped ball in the corner before just barely missing his third shot across the table, then stepped aside to take a sip of his drink and watch Husk. The overlord quickly lined up and sunk two shots of his own, then landed a rather impressive ricochet for his third.
“Damn, handsome,” Angel purred. “Maybe you aren’t just a pretty face.”
Husk shot him a brief look of amused scorn, and lined up his next shot, though he overshot this one a bit, and although the ball sank, the cue ball went in after it.
Angel giggled. The alcohol was starting to loosen him up. “Or maybe you are…”
“I got more than you,” Husk retorted, collecting the cue ball and handing it to Angel.
“For the next few seconds.” Angel placed the cue ball back on the table, and sank three more stripes before ending up without a clear shot, and using his last one to knock one of the solids out of its place near a pocket.
Husk chuckled. “You really aren’t half bad, are you?”
“I’m not just a pretty face either.” Angel grinned, and shot him a wink.
“Then I’m not gonna go easy on you anymore,” Husk replied, proceeding to sink his final three effortlessly, leaving just the eight ball, though it wasn’t lined up for an easy shot by any means.
“Alright, handsome.” Angel took a seat at the high-top and a sip of his drink. “Impress me.”
Husk ignored him, studying the table. After a moment, he leaned over the table, seeming to be aiming the entirely wrong direction. “Eight ball, corner pocket.” No less than five ricochets later—two of which were off other balls on the table, rather than the edges—the eight ball was sunk in the corner pocket, and the cue ball was balanced right on the edge.
“Ho-ly shit,” Angel enthused. “You actually did it—impressed me.”
Husk laughed. “That wasn’t even a hard game.”
“I bet it wasn’t. Your opponent’s a few decades out of practice.”
“Hardly a challenge,” Husk agreed, moving over to the high top to collect his drink.
The attendant had appeared again to gather the balls and reset the table. “Would you gentlemen like another game?” he asked cordially, but Husk waved him away, so he nodded, honestly kind of half bowing, and collected their cues as well.
“Maybe next time you can help me fix my form,” Angel suggested. “Get behind me, wrap your arms around me, put your hands on my hands—”
Husk chuckled. “I somehow doubt you’d pay much attention to what I’d teach you.”
“And why’s that?”
Husk’s eyes were heavy on Angel as he spoke lowly, “If I got you bent over a table with my arms around you, movin’ your body for you the way I want it, you really expect me to believe you’re gonna be thinkin’ about pool? ”
Angel smiled, the very essence of smug innocence. “Baby, if you’re a bad teacher, just say so.”
Husk chuckled, shaking his head slightly before taking a long drink from his glass. The end of his tail was twitching again. The movement caught Angel’s eye, and his smile slipped into a smirk.
“Maybe you’d like to give me a private lesson, instead.”
“That’s likely a better idea,” Husk agreed. “I don’t make a habit of putting on shows here like you do over at the studio.”
Angel pouted. “You sure? I bet you could make a lot of money, if you let me work this place.”
“This ain’t that kinda club.”
“It could be.”
Again, Husk chuckled and shook his head. “Finish your drink.”
Angel only had a little left, so he quickly finished it off in one smooth sip. Husk set his own glass, empty as well, on the high top, and gestured Angel towards the stairs. Angel walked ahead of him, intentionally swishing his hips a little more than necessary, enough to be noticeable but not obvious. He knew how good his ass looked in that dress.
Husk didn’t pass him until they neared his office, where once again he held the door open for Angel. This time, Angel did a little curtsy before stepping past the threshold. Husk offered a brief snort of laughter, and followed Angel inside. He closed the door firmly behind them, and Angel didn’t miss the heavy clunk of the lock sliding into place. Angel smiled to himself, but didn’t turn around, instead stepping up to Husk’s desk and running his fingers over the smooth surface. He was almost completely hard already, and he couldn’t decide if he was grateful or disappointed that the dress hid it well.
“Now, I don’t got a pool table up here,” Husk told him. It sounded like he had stepped away from the door, but he wasn’t close yet, “but I’ll bet you have a good imagination.”
“Part of bein’ an actor,” Angel confirmed.
Suddenly, startlingly fast and silent, Husk was right behind him, so close that if Angel shifted even an inch he’d be up against him, or else the desk itself. He bit his lip, holding perfectly still.
Husk spoke. “When you’re linin’ up a shot, you wanna work backwards.” His hands landed on the fronts of Angel’s thighs, sliding up and pushing back at the same time, pressing Angel back against himself.
Angel’s eyes slipped closed. “Mmhm?”
“Look where you wanna sink the ball. What angle it needs to go in.”
Angel could feel the hardness of Husk’s length against him, his hips slotted right against Angel’s ass. It was hard to resist the urge to grind against him, but Angel wasn’t that far gone just yet. He wanted to see how Husk’s little game played out.
“It’s just lines and angles,” Husk went on, sliding a hand around to Angel’s back, and pressing him to bend at the waist, over the desk. Angel braced his hands on the surface and arched his back just slightly. Husk leaned over him, his chest against Angel’s back, lining up their arms as well to place his hands over top of Angel’s, like he was connecting every point of contact he could. He spoke again, quieter, deeper, and damn close to Angel’s ear. “You just gotta hit it hard enough that it don’t stop before you sink it.”
Angel hummed, tipping his head up and back.
“I’d suggest you take the shot, but…like I said, we don’t got a pool table.”
Angel chuckled, eyes still closed, feeling absolutely high. “What should I do instead?”
“I got a few ideas,” Husk replied. He leaned back a bit, giving himself space to reach the zipper at the back of Angel’s dress.
The fabric whispered quickly over Angel’s skin as it slipped off him, only held off the floor by his hands, still braced on the table. Husk wrapped an arm around Angel’s torso, pressing his hand against his chest to straighten him up, and conveniently grope at the same time. The dress fell to the floor, pooling around Angel’s feet, and he sighed softly. Husk’s hands began to wander, smoothing slowly over Angel’s torso.
“What do you want today?” Angel asked.
“I want to fuck you,” Husk replied simply, fingers briefly digging into Angel’s skin.
“How?”
“Like I said downstairs—bent over a table, with my arms around you, movin’ your body the way I want it.” Husk’s hands had slid down to the waistband of Angel’s underwear by this point, and he dipped his fingers beneath the fabric, pulling it down over Angel’s thighs to drop to the floor as well.
“And how do you want it?” Angel demanded. “Tell me what you’re going to do to me.”
“I’m gonna fuck you slow,” Husk told him, dragging his hands slowly back up Angel’s thighs and over his ass. “I’m gonna take you apart with my hands, and then I’m gonna fuck you till you’re hard again, and make you cum on my cock.”
“ Fuuuck, yes,” Angel moaned.
“Spread your legs,” Husk instructed.
Angel did as he was told, bracing his hands on the table again, right on the edge. “Like this?”
“Good boy,” Husk approved. He moved one hand to lightly grip Angel’s hip, and the other left his body completely for a moment, then two fingers, slick with spit, began to circle and tease at his entrance.
“I—” Angel cringed momentarily. “I’m not prepped at all. Just so you know.”
Husk paused. “I don’t got any lube in here. It’s not like I normally fuck in my office…”
“I’ll be alright. Just… Wait, where do you normally fuck?”
“Depends on who I’m fucking,” Husk replied, resuming the motion of his fingers, practically massaging around Angel’s hole before slowly slipping a single digit inside.
“ Hmm. Well. Just…go slow. Not like I ain’t done this before.”
“I got it,” Husk began to move his finger, gently crooking and petting inside him. It wasn’t hard for Angel to relax and enjoy it.
After nearly a full minute, Husk added his second finger, pressing in just as slowly as he had before. Angel moaned at the stretch, the slight burn. Taking Husk’s cock was going to be a lot, he could tell, but he was only looking forward to it. Maybe it was his masochistic side coming out, or maybe it was something about the raw desperation to be filled and fucked even if it hurt that had him so excited. More than likely, it was the light haze of alcohol clouding his judgement. Any which way, he wanted Husk inside him.
Husk didn’t seem to be in any hurry, slowly and carefully working his fingers deeper, pressing and scissoring to ease Angel open. Finally, his fingers hit just right inside him, and Angel’s knees nearly buckled. Husk seemed to notice, and quietly chuckled, wrapping his other arm around Angel’s hips. He wasn’t grinding against him, but he was pressed close, and Angel could still feel the hardness of Husk’s cock against his thigh as he continued to move his fingers inside him, pressing and brushing against that same spot over and over.
“Oh, god, Husk.” Angel balled his upper hands into fists on the desktop, second set gripping the edge, resisting the urge to touch his own cock. “If— If you keep doin’ that—fuck—I can cum without you touchin’ me.”
“I’d like to see that,” Husk replied, his voice all low and rumbly and delicious.
“Yeah?” Angel smiled. “Want me to cum on your desk?”
In response, Husk’s fingers pressed harder, and Angel mewled, shuddering as he edged very close to climax right then and there.
“That’s right,” Husk praised, repeating the motion, “tell me how it feels.”
“So good,” Angel whimpered. “ Ugh, you make me feel so good, Husk.”
A deep, rumbly purr had kicked up in Husk’s chest, and he held Angel a little tighter against himself, barely grinding his hips against him. Angel’s legs were beginning to tremble as overwhelming pleasure pulsed through his body, from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes, with every calculated press of Husk’s fingers. He was almost ready to forgive the bastard for kicking him out the other night.
“Come on Angel, give it up for me,” Husk murmured.
It was only a few more seconds until he did, letting out a broken whine as his core tensed and he came, untouched, onto the desktop.
Husk didn’t let up, working him through the aftershocks until Angel gasped, “Stop. Please.” And he did, withdrawing his fingers, but keeping his arm around his hips. Angel panted, eyes closed and head spinning. Husk moved his free hand to roam over Angel’s body again, petting and half kneading at his waist, his hip, his thigh, his stomach, his chest. Angel found it helped him stay grounded, stay present.
“Fuck,” he breathed when he finally found the words, “that was good.”
“That was nothing,” Husk replied, sounding smug as all hell.
Angel laughed. “Oh yeah? Show me somethin’.”
Husk moved his hands away from Angel, and there was the sound of pants being unfastened, then Husk spit, and a moment later Angel felt the blunt head of Husk’s cock press against his entrance. He took a deep breath and relaxed on the exhale, biting down on his lip in preparation. Even slower than he had with his fingers, Husk pressed forward. Angel grunted as pressure began to build against him, and let out a short, sharp exclamation as his body finally gave way to Husk’s. That initial sensation was right on the line between pleasant and unpleasant, but Angel was fucking into it.
Husk placed a hand on Angel’s back, pushing him to bend over the desk again. Angel went easily, almost bonelessly, only barely remembering to catch himself on his hands instead of letting himself land chest-first into a puddle of his own cum. Husk’s other hand found Angel’s hip, as his first slid heavily down his back to rub circles over the base of his spine. He kept pressing forward with his hips, achingly slow as he sank into Angel, soothing with his hands. After another moment he pulled back, then thrust in again, still slow, but deeper, and Angel sighed in satisfaction. This was starkly different from the hot and heavy fucking Angel had come to expect, but Angel was every bit as pleased as Husk slowly rocked into him, deeper with each thrust. One hand massaged at his spine, and the other pet over his stomach and thighs.
“Careful, Husk,” Angel teased breathlessly. “You’re startin’ to treat me like you like me.”
“A man can’t want a little variety?” Husk scoffed, and Angel laughed.
Finally, Husk pressed deep enough to be fully sheathed inside Angel, and ground his hips lazily against his ass. Angel moaned. He was absolutely blissed out, and that slow grind deep inside of him was only driving him further into oblivion. Husk was still purring, which Angel took to mean he was feeling pretty good himself. He finally began to move his hips in a proper rhythm, still slow and deliberate, but no longer outright cautious, and it was absolutely perfect.
“ Oh, fuck, ” Angel moaned loudly, tipping his head back. He could feel every inch, every detail of Husk’s cock dragging against his insides.
“You like that?” Husk asked.
“Yes.”
“Good,” Husk pressed in again, ending his next thrust on another deep grind of his hips.
Angel continued to moan and whimper, pleasure building steadily as Husk fucked him in long, slow strokes. Then, Husk’s wandering hand found Angel’s cock, and Angel gasped as his fingers closed around him. He brushed his thumb over the head of Angel’s cock, then began to pump and twist his hand around the length of him, just as deliciously slowly as the thrusts of his hips. Angel’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he began to move his hips as well, forward into Husk’s hand and back onto his cock. It felt like his mind was melting.
A barely audible moan broke loose from Husk, and the rush of arousal that followed it left Angel dizzy. He straightened up a bit and reached behind him, wrapping his hand around the back of Husk’s neck just to have something to grip. Husk pressed closer to him so his whole body was flush against Angel’s, barely even pulling out between thrusts and grinds. He tucked his face into the crook of Angel’s neck, not kissing, just there. Pressed up properly against his chest now, Angel could feel Husk’s purring vibrating through them both.
Angel let his head fall back onto Husk’s shoulder. “Holy shit…”
Angel felt Husk’s mouth open, and then his teeth pressed into Angel’s neck. Not a sudden, sharp bite, it didn’t even hurt, it was honestly more like he was scruffing him.
“Oh, holy shit. ”
Husk chuckled, not releasing his grip in any capacity, and suddenly, Angel was close again. He tightened his grip on Husk’s neck, and squeezed his eyes shut tight as his climax began to build. Husk rutted into him harder, though no faster, and each impact forced a whimper out of Angel’s chest, each louder than the last until he came with a relieved cry.
Husk’s purring seemed to get louder, and he released his grip on Angel’s cock in favor of palming over his stomach and chest, gripping and releasing as he continued to fuck into him. It took another good minute for him to finally reach his own peak, by which point Angel was nothing but pleasantly exhausted putty in his hands, humming weakly as Husk came inside of him.
For a long moment, Husk just held Angel close to his chest as his breathing steadied, but eventually he let go, and shifted away. Angel mourned the loss of Husk’s warmth against his back. He could see Husk approach the bar cart out of the corner of his eye, where he collected a small towel off the handle, and began to clean himself up. Angel, meanwhile, bent down to retrieve his underwear, and pulled it back up his legs.
Husk paused to fix his pants, then moved back towards Angel, offering the towel, though his eyes were on the desk. “You made a damn mess.”
“You told me to,” Angel pointed out, quickly wiping off his chest and stomach before setting the towel aside and bending back down to retrieve his dress. He didn’t bother cleaning his legs; the dress covered them anyway, and there was just something about going back to Valentino’s studio covered in another overlord’s cum that Angel found both amusing and incredibly hot.
Husk narrowed his eyes at Angel for a moment, then grabbed the towel and actually wiped the damn mess up himself.
Angel smirked. “I was getting to that.”
“Fuckin’ slowly. ”
“I’m sorry, are we in a hurry?”
“Maybe I don’t want your cum drying on my desk.”
“Well, how else are you gonna prove I was here??”
“Weren’t you the one talking about us ‘going public??’” Husk demanded, and Angel raised an eyebrow.
“Weren’t you the one that didn’t care?”
“I didn’t say anything about caring. My point is that there’s plenty of folks downstairs to ‘prove you were here.’ I don’t need your fuckin’ cum stains for that.”
Angel, just to be a little shit, took a seat on the now-clean desktop. “Well, if you did care, why’d you parade me around downstairs like a show pony?” He smiled. “Nah. I think you want folks to know what you’ve got.”
Disappointingly, Husk looked unbothered. “What’s the point of having something if other folks don’t know it?”
“Having it, I think.”
Husk wrinkled up his nose in either displeasure or disagreement, but didn’t argue his point aloud. Instead, he simply moved back to the drink cart to drop the soiled towel in a small trash can, and pour himself another dark something with ice.
“You want a drink for the road?” he offered.
Angel shrugged, and slid off the desk. “Why not?”
Husk nodded, and grabbed another glass to pour a cognac for Angel, who accepted it with a smile.
“I’ll bring your glass back to you next time, handsome.”
Husk waved his hand dismissively. “I got others.”
“Aw, you giving me a present?”
Husk halfway huffed a laugh. “If that’s how you want to think of it.”
Angel grinned as he took a sip of cognac, then asked, “Shall I see myself out?”
“Just tell one of the guys at the bar you need a driver,” Husk replied in confirmation.
“Until next time, then.”
Husk nodded, then narrowed his eyes as Angel crossed to the door. “The car and driver aren’t a gift. Those come back to me.”
Angel paused in the doorway to laugh. “I know, Husk. You aren’t my first client, you know.”
Husk rolled his eyes and muttered into his glass. “I was making a joke. ”
Angel laughed again, “Goodbye, Husk,” and stepped out into the hall.
Chapter 5: Take Another Drag, Turn Me to Ashes
Summary:
Valentino gives Angel a little treat, and Angel learns a little more than he bargained for.
Chapter Text
♥🕷♥
Mornings scheduled without Valentino at the studio were…odd. Operations continued as normal—often smoother than normal, in fact—but there was a weird energy in the air, heavy and anticipatory. On this day, Angel felt it particularly strongly, but only because he knew what likely had the overlord occupied. If Husk’s second investment fell through (if Angel had failed), Valentino was going to be pissed. Nobody liked it when Valentino was pissed, least of all the one that was bound to take the blame.
Angel had showered and gotten himself put back together after a shoot, and was just finishing putting his makeup back on when the door to his dressing room opened. He turned immediately. “Did he sign?”
“Aww, were you worried he wouldn’t?” Valentino teased, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. He didn’t look angry, and Angel felt a spark of hope in his chest.
“But…he did?”
Valentino started across the room towards Angel. “I don’t need you worrying your pretty little head about the business side of things.” He put two hands on Angel’s shoulders, moving another to cup under his chin and tilt his face up. “I just need you to keep being the sexiest damn thing in Hell that no overlord can resist.”
Angel let out the breath he was holding, and smiled.
“It’s like you got him under some spell, baby,” Valentino approved, carding his other hand through Angel’s hair. “He’ll do whatever you say—whatever I want.”
Angel didn’t know if that was true, but far be it from him to tell Valentino he was wrong about something he thought Angel was doing right. Instead, he threw his arms around Valentino’s shoulders, and hugged him tight.
“I’m so proud of you,” Valentino crooned, “my perfect little star.”
“I won’t let you down.” I can’t.
“I know you won’t,” Valentino slipped an arm around Angel’s waist, another palming smoothly up his side. “Come on, I wanna give you a treat.”
Angel pulled back, and looked up at him. “What kind of treat?”
“I’m not giving you another night off, if that’s what you’re asking.” Valentino scoffed, though he still didn’t sound angry. “Come on.”
He kept his hands on Angel, pulling him along as they made their way up to his office. Inside, the ceiling was already swirling with a heady pink smoke from the large hookah in the corner, by the chaise lounge and couch at the end of the room. Valentino brought Angel to sit across his lap on the chaise, wrapping two arms around his back—one around his waist, and the other up to the back of his neck—reaching with a different hand for the hookah pipe. Naturally, he brought it to his own lips first, inhaling deeply, and letting out a slow cloud of rich smelling smoke before offering the pipe to Angel, who did the same.
“He’s obsessed with you,” Valentino told Angel, and he genuinely did sound proud.
Curiosity got the best of Angel. “What makes you think that?”
“He hasn’t asked for anyone else, has he? Just you.”
Angel hummed, and passed the pipe back to Valentino, who took a slow hit as one of his hands began to rub absently over Angel’s lower back. “I’m not surprised, though,” he went on, pink smoke seeping out between his lips. “He’s got expensive taste; makes sense he’d want the best.”
Angel’s lips slowly curved into another smile. Every word Valentino spoke felt like it was lifting a weight off his chest—he was still the best, and he was still Val’s star. Val was still proud of him. All that meant he was safe.
Angel took Valentino’s face in two of his hands, and leaned in to kiss him. Valentino exhaled just before their lips met, all but drowning Angel in a cloud of heavy, sweet smoke. He kissed him slowly, allowing Angel to do the work, and Angel did, lips working lazily against Val’s. It wasn’t often at all that Valentino let him have any amount of control.
Soon, Angel broke the kiss to take another hit, as Val pushed the pipe back into his hands. “What’s in this?” he asked on the exhale.
“I mixed crack and DMT,” Valentino said with a grin, “thought we’d see what happens.”
Angel moaned, and took yet another hit, inhaling from the pipe until his lungs burned, then holding his breath. Valentino sure knew how to spoil an addict, when he felt like it. Valentino chuckled, moving a free hand to pet over Angel’s thighs. Angel finally exhaled, and passed the pipe back to him. “The new project—do you have a plan?”
“The start of one,” Valentino replied.
“A plot?”
“Relaaaaax, baby,” he chuckled, smoothing his hand up towards Angel’s hip. “we got the money, it’s not like we’re on a time crunch.”
“I know,” Angel said. “I’m just curious.”
Valentino hummed, lips closed around the hookah. After a moment he pulled back and slowly exhaled. “Something dramatic and sexy. Old Hollywood, silver screen, all that bullshit.”
“And where do I fit in?”
“Mmmm, stop talking about work,” Valentino pouted, though Angel knew an order when he heard one. “I brought you up here to have some fun.”
“Yes, Val,” Angel answered obediently, taking another hit when offered instead. This time, it was Valentino who raised the pipe to Angel’s lips, and Angel met his eyes as he took it between them.
After a long moment, Valentino pulled the pipe away, and leaned in, covering Angel’s mouth with his own in a demanding kiss before he had a chance to breathe out the smoke. Angel wrapped his arms around Val’s shoulders, and let him have his way with his mouth. Valentino’s tongue was even more oppressive than the smoke, pressing past his lips and filling his mouth. It was familiar, though. It was comfortable. It was easy for Angel to surrender to whatever Valentino wanted, and at the moment, it seemed Valentino wanted to drown him in smoke and kisses, using his fingers to draw nonsense patterns over Angel’s thighs. Of course, it was very unlikely for things to stay so tame. Angel couldn’t remember the last time more than five minutes alone with Valentino hadn’t ended with him sore and panting and covered in at least two bodily fluids.
Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before one of Valentino’s hands slid up the inside of Angel’s thigh, pushing his legs further open so he could grope at Angel’s groin. Angel let out an airy sigh, and shifted to lie back on the chaise with his legs still across Val’s lap. The euphoria was starting to kick in, and oh, this was what he loved about Valentino; he could make Angel feel things Angel never knew possible.
“That’s my boy,” Valentino approved, “you feelin’ it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” the overlord moved two other hands to begin unbuttoning Angel’s jacket.
Angel pressed his hips up, grinding against Valentino’s hand. Valentino hummed in approval, using his remaining hand to bring the hookah pipe to his own lips.
Angel watched, fascinated as ever by his overlord as he continued to grind into his hand. Valentino was a lot of things. He was two-faced, hot-headed, and cruel. He was also charming, passionate, and beautiful. He was, by far, the most addictive drug Angel had ever taken, and the most destructive. He ruined his users. He had ruined Angel. There was no point now in not enjoying the good he had to offer.
Once Valentino got Angel’s jacket open, he pushed the fabric aside so he could palm both hands up over his stomach and chest. He set down the hookah then, and reached to pull Angel’s shorts down over his hips, leaving him laid open and exposed. Angel spread his legs as far as he could, and Valentino purred, “ Eres tan lindo, ” one hand gripped Angel’s thigh as he moved another to trail his finger up the underside of Angel’s erection, and Angel’s mouth fell open on a soft gasp. Valentino began to stroke him, slow and lazy, groping at his chest with another hand. He moved a third hand to the end table beside the chaise, opening the small drawer to pull out a bottle of lube, and quickly slicked up his fingers. Angel moaned, eyes closing as Valentino slid those fingers into him. He began to stretch Angel open, pawing over him with his other hands, leaving not an inch untouched, inside or out.
“Yes, Val,” Angel breathed as he writhed under his ministrations, high as a kite and all the more eager for it. “Come on. Come down here.”
Valentino shifted, managing to maneuver Angel off his lap without knocking him to the floor, and then leaning down over top of him to press a heavy kiss to his lips. Angel wrapped his arms around his shoulders and his legs around his waist, and kissed back eagerly.
Two of Valentino’s hands left Angel’s body, and he could hear him unfastening his belt and pants. After a moment, the overlord withdrew his fingers from Angel’s ass, and in one smooth motion, replaced them with his cock.
Angel keened, arching his back off the chaise. “ Val… ”
“Ohhh, that’s it, take it, good boy.” Valentino pulled his hips back, and thrust in again, deeper.
Angel whined, and opened his eyes to look dazedly up at his overlord. He loomed over top of Angel, caging him in with two of his arms braced on the chaise beside his head. His eyes were dark and lustful, and a little glazed over, looking so much more red than usual, his skin so much more purple. Clever bastard added just enough DMT to the mix to get Angel right on the edge of a trip, disoriented but still present enough to feel Valentino’s cock spearing him open.
Valentino groaned as he bottomed out, barely waiting a second before pulling out and thrusting in again, harder and faster. He knew how to make it hurt just right. Angel screamed as white-hot, pure sensation exploded in his core, pleasure and pain and everything in between, all at once. He dug his fingernails into Valentino’s back and shoulders, and tossed his head back, rocking his hips to the absolutely brutal pace Valentino set. Valentino moaned loudly, ducking down to mouth aggressively at the underside of Angel’s jaw and along his neck. Angel turned his head away, further exposing the skin beneath Valentino’s mouth. And unsurprisingly, Valentino sank his teeth in, drawing a choked whimper from Angel. (Valentino bit harder than Husk, sharper, like he meant to tear and mark and devour. Valentino wouldn’t have liked it if he had known Angel was thinking about anyone else, but what Valentino didn’t know couldn’t hurt Angel)
Valentino rutted into him, harsh and brutal. He was panting, running his lips and tongue over Angel’s skin, palming up Angel’s sides and over his chest. He was high too, that much was obvious, but he was still in control, unlike Angel. Without noticing, Angel had let go of Valentino, let his arms fall beside him and his legs fall open, helpless, watching the room shift unnaturally around him. Valentino’s perfect little sex doll with a pulse.
When Valentino’s hand found his cock again, Angel barely even reacted. He felt it—oh god, did he feel it, vision going blurry, then dark as overwhelming pleasuring blossomed through his core—but all that left him was a weak moan and a short, sharp twitch of his hips.
“God you’re a fucking mess,” Valentino said, the tone of his voice suggesting adoration, though Angel certainly knew better. Sometimes, though, it was easier to pretend he didn’t. And maybe Valentino did adore him, in his own sick and twisted way. At the very least, he adored what Angel could do for him.
The overlord continued to murmur a melodic mix of degradation and praise as he fucked into Angel, growing increasingly erratic as he seemed to near his peak. Angel was nearing his as well, though he absently wondered if Valentino would bother to make him cum. He usually did, but sometimes he liked to edge Angel for hours until he came so hard he blacked out. It was a control thing, for him—control over Angel’s body and mind, because just his soul wasn’t enough. He increased the pace of his hand on Angel’s cock, twisting his wrist just so, driving Angel right to the edge. In his drug-addled mind, Angel begged him for just a little more, for release, but all he managed was another weak moan. Valentino echoed the sound, louder, and ground his hips hard against Angel. In a rare stroke (ha) of good fortune, that was enough, and Angel finished in Val’s hand. Valentino released him, bringing said hand up to his own face and licking up some of the cum that had spattered there. Gross, Angel thought absently, despite doing the exact same thing and worse most days. It was harder to ignore, through the drug-fueled haze. It was kind of gross, wasn’t it? Hot, but gross.
Valentino thrust into Angel again, harder each time, until finally his hips juddered, and he spilled inside him. Angel sighed and let his eyes slip closed, relief and satisfaction in equal measure mingling with the high. That dangerous combination that had an affectionate aftertaste. That was how Valentino snared his victims.
To make matters worse, Valentino hummed, and kissed Angel’s forehead before pulling out and standing up. Angel would hate himself for it when he came down, but in the moment, he smiled and cooed, “I love you…”
Valentino chuckled. “Good.”
Angel remained on the chaise, gazing up at the colors swirling on the ceiling, while Valentino headed for the bathroom connected to his office. He returned a few minutes later, not having even bothered to bring Angel something to clean himself up with. Angel didn’t care. He didn’t care about much of anything at the moment.
Valentino crossed to the couch, rather than the chaise, and picked up the hookah pipe again, taking another slow hit while Angel watched.
Valentino’s eyes trailed over Angel’s body, and a slimy smile slid across his face. “Yeah…you stay there, baby. Keep lookin’ all wrecked and pretty.” He waggled the pipe towards Angel. “You want some more? I could mix up another round; put in some more DMT this time, send you to the fucking moon.”
Angel reached out for the pipe, and Valentino grinned, handing it over as he stood again, this time to cross the room to his desk, where he opened a drawer, and pulled out two little baggies. He returned to the hookah, opening up the bowl, and quickly poured in a bit from each baggie, significantly heavier handed with one than the other. He mixed the contents with his finger, then set the coal back to heat it. Angel waited a minute, then raised the pipe to his lips and inhaled deeply.
He didn’t even start to come down until what must have been hours later, after Valentino had fucked him a few more times, unless Angel had imagined that. It was hard to disentangle reality from the trip. He didn’t want to, either, far too content to float as close to Heaven as he’d ever been. He had to be close to Heaven; how else could he remember his mother’s face, or the smell of his sister’s favorite perfume? But then the high peaked, and he slowly began to fall, wondering all the way down if those were still his mother and sister, if there was anything left of Anthony in Angel’s tar black soul, if there ever had been.
Distantly, he heard a door slam, and hushed voices growing louder. He listened, because he could. His feet were so close to the ground now. He could almost understand what the voices were saying, and then he could.
“—you insane??”
Valentino—he would always know Valentino’s voice—scoffed. “Right, you fucking abandon me, but I’m insane.”
“Does he know?”
“Does he know what?”
“That you’re so deep in debt even I can’t dig you out this time.”
Angel frowned slightly, and cracked open his eyes, just in time to see Valentino throw himself into his desk chair, smoking like a particularly pissed off chimney. Vox was only a few steps behind, and pressed his hands against the desktop. Angel couldn’t see his ‘face’, but could tell from the glow of his screen that he was glaring at Valentino.
“I wouldn’t say he knows, ” Valentino offered, “it’s not like the information is public. ”
“You’re a fucking idiot, Val. That’s why I can’t save you, this time. And now, ” Vox straightened up, “you’ve gotten tangled up with another overlord. ”
Valentino scoffed. “What, you jealous, baby?”
“No,” Vox snapped, way too fast if you asked Angel.
Valentino snickered, like he thought so too. “It’s an investment, ” he wheedled, “mine as much as his. With the cash he’s fronting, I can make bank. Sure we’re in the red now, but soon—”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
Valentino laughed outright. “Am I—? I don’t think I’m his type, baby.”
“It’s a yes or no question, Val,” Vox growled, hands balled into fists at his sides.
Well, that all but confirmed he was jealous.
Valentino, on the other hand, looked absolutely delighted. “What if I was?”
“ Val. ”
Valentino stood up, taking another slow drag on his cigarette as he circled around the desk and Vox—who turned as well, continuing to face Valentino. Valentino braced his hands on the desk on either side of Vox, penning him in, and exhaled a plume of smoke right into his face. “No.”
Vox roughly grabbed the edges of Valentino’s wings. “You’re a fucking prick, Valentino.”
Valentino chuckled, and leaned in to kiss him, but Vox shoved him off. Valentino half tripped backwards, laughing, and as Vox followed him with his gaze, he noticed Angel watching from the chaise.
“He’s awake.”
Valentino turned to look, then gestured vaguely, dismissive and unbothered. “He’s out of his head, he can’t hear us.”
“He’s watching.”
“So? It’s not like he’ll remember. ”
Vox grumbled something Angel didn’t catch, then headed towards the door.
Valentino scoffed, shifting to lean back against the edge of the desk. “You need to relax, baby, you’re all paranoid.”
“Fuck you, Val.”
“If you want,” he purred.
Vox stepped out into the hall, and slammed the door behind him. Valentino just chuckled, taking another drag on his cigarette, and moving to sit in his chair again. He pulled out his phone, and began to tap here and there on the screen—maybe texting someone? Angel had no idea. He was losing energy as fast as he was gaining awareness, exhaustion seeping into his body as the drugs seeped out. He shifted, and his joints popped. All six of his arms were out—when had that happened?
His voice sounded like it was being dragged across sandpaper as he quietly groaned, “Val…?”
Valentino glanced up from his phone. “Oh, you are awake…”
Angel hummed, struggling to keep his eyes open. Valentino didn’t seem interested in conversation, or really in giving Angel any proper attention at all, which hurt more than Angel cared to admit after decades of the same damn thing. He gave up, letting his eyes close and his head fall to the side, and within a minute, he was gone.
♥🕷♥
“Angel Dust.”
The photographer’s voice was barely enough to get Angel’s attention. He was crashing, absolutely exhausted, and had bigger things on his mind besides another photoshoot.
“Angel Dust!”
“What??” he snapped, eyes finally focusing on the sinner holding the camera.
“I need you to look up here.”
Angel did as he was told, only for the photographer to specify, “Just with your eyes, not—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, who cares?” Valentino asked, blowing pink smoke from his cigarette. “He looks like shit anyway. Let’s just take fifteen.”
No one else said anything, but Angel didn’t miss the shared glances between his coworkers as they all relaxed into motion, stepping offset. He shook his head, trying to clear away the fog, then reluctantly followed Nini as he started towards the door, maybe if he just kept his head down…
“You’re off your game, amorcito, ” Valentino said lowly as Angel passed him, and Angel stopped short, still looking out at the floor in front of him.
“I’m just tired,” he said.
Valentino chuckled. He knew exactly why Angel was tired. “Get it together, baby. I expect you to be on your A-game when you get back.”
Angel nodded and left, without ever looking at his overlord, sure that if Valentino looked into his eyes he would see what Angel knew—what Angel remembered, in spite of Valentino’s own insistence that he wouldn’t.
As Angel stepped outside, he was relieved to see that Tiffany had headed somewhere else for her break. Nini was leaned against the wall smoking a cigarette, and Trix was fussing with their ears. The two of them weren’t so bad.
Until Nini met Angel’s eyes and said, “What’s the matter with you, anyway?”
Angel leaned against the railing, looking down at the alley several stories below. “Trix was right about the rumors.”
Trix looked over at Angel, “What rumors?”
“ The rumors.” Angel sighed. “I heard Vox and Valentino talking yesterday. The studio…we’re in the red.”
Nini looked over now as well, his eyebrows raised in concerned surprise. “Oh shit, really?”
“That’s what they said.”
“Shit…” Nini said again, taking another drag on his cigarette.
“Do you think we’ll go under?” Trix asked, and Nini scoffed.
“No. Not as long as Valentino’s angel over here does his job.”
Angel bristled at his tone. “Excuse me?”
“We’ve got that fancy new investor, right? That big rich overlord who’s fucking you once a week? Word on the street is, he’s paying us the big bucks to stick his dick in you.”
“He is,” Angel confirmed. There was no point in denying it.
“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t get bored.”
“Fuck you.”
“We do that plenty during business hours,” Nini replied, disinterested, putting his cigarette between his lips again.
Trix still looked concerned. “What happens to us, if we do go under?”
“We won’t.”
“But what if we do? It’s not like we can just start job hunting… ”
“Please. We can get work on any street corner, Trix.”
Angel finally managed to say the quiet part out loud: “We can get exterminated on any street corner, too.”
The others got real quiet then. Finally, Nini said, “I had a pretty popular cam channel, before Valentino picked me up. Maybe some of my old sponsors—…”
“Your sponsors? ” Trix scoffed.
“Some of ‘em were loaded!” Nini argued, “I don’t know!”
Angel didn’t know, either. He could go to Cherri, but she didn’t have a safe place to stay. His father and brother were in Hell somewhere, but he hadn’t seen them in years, and he wasn’t even sure they would take him in.
“This studio is my home,” Trix said, reflecting Angel’s reluctant truth. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Nini sighed. “Let’s hope Angel keeps bein’ a perfect little toy then.”
“Yeah, let’s hope,” Angel grumbled, pushing off the railing and heading back inside.
He walked back to the studio, where Valentino was leaned over the photographer’s setup, clicking through the pictures they’d already taken. Angel took advantage of his overlord’s distraction to continue straight through to his dressing room. He took a seat in front of his vanity, and caught sight of himself in the mirror. Valentino was right; he looked like shit, and he needed to get it together. But how was he supposed to do that, when the entire afterlife he had worked for lay in the hands of an unreliable and still largely unfamiliar overlord? Valentino was dangerous—Angel knew that better than most—but Valentino was familiar, and whether he liked it or not (he didn’t), Angel was nothing but a desperate crackwhore without him. He needed Valentino. He needed the studio.
Now, he needed Husk, and he had no idea yet what that was going to mean for him.
He didn’t think Husk would have liked the outfit he was wearing. It was latex, hot pink, criss-crossed over his chest and stomach, leaving his legs completely bare. He looked sexy, sure, but he looked trashy. He would have looked sorely out of place in Husk’s casino, or at one of the opulent hotels he brought him to. That mattered, didn’t it? After all those years, there was an opinion that mattered besides Valentino’s.
If Angel went against Valentino’s instructions, he risked incurring his wrath.
No, not risked—gambled.
I’d suggest you take the shot.
Angel stood up so fast and determined, he nearly knocked his chair over, and a few minutes later, just after the fifteen minute mark, he emerged from his dressing room in a light pink, sequined dress that went down to his mid-calf, with a slit all the way up to his hip on one side.
Valentino looked at him— everyone looked at him, but Valentino’s eyes were the ones that mattered in that moment, and those eyes narrowed. “What are you wearing?”
“We’re rebranding me, aren’t we?” Angel walked right up to him. “You didn’t like how I looked before, anyway. I look better, now.”
His eyes narrowed further, eyebrows not quite dipping into a frown. “Turn.”
Angel did, and by the time he was facing Valentino again, the overlord was—well, not smiling, but he definitely wasn’t frowning. “Good?” Angel asked.
“He doesn’t fit the theme, now,” Tiffany spoke up, and Valentino held up a hand to silence her, not even bothering to take his eyes off Angel.
“Rebranding,” Valentino agreed, “get back on set.”
Chapter 6: The Experience of Being an American Whore
Summary:
Angel pushes Husk's boundaries. It does not go like it does in canon.
Chapter Text
♥🕷♥
Valentino really leaned into the whole ‘rebranding’ thing. Angel had what amounted to an entirely new wardrobe composed of fancy dresses and jewels that made him look all elegant and classy. He had done two solo photoshoots, modeling him as an exclusive luxury item—not that he wasn’t already, but now they were really playing it up. It seemed, at least for the moment, Angel’s little gamble had paid off. Maybe Husk would have been proud of him, if he’d known. Unfortunately, the other overlord had been ‘busy’, and unable to see Angel until a full week later. Angel only hoped that was the truth, and not a sign of Husk getting bored with him already.
Angel had just gotten dried off after his shower when there came a knock at the door. It wasn’t Valentino; he wouldn’t have knocked. “Just a second!” Angel called, and quickly pulled on a pair of socks before opening the door, wrapped in his towel.
It was a small, sort of salamander-looking guy Angel didn’t recognize. He had a little headset, and he was holding a large, black box, with a red ribbon tied around it.
“What’s this?” Angel asked.
“Delivery for you, Angel Dust,” the little guy said, passing the box to Angel. “A car will be waiting out front whenever you are ready.”
“Um, thanks.”
He nodded, and scampered off down the hallway. Four legs, weird.
Angel stepped back into his room and closed the door, then set the box down at the foot of his bed to open it. Inside was a room key for the same fancy hotel as last time, on top of a mass of black fabric, embroidered with gold filigree and impressive beading. There was a note as well, in neat, blocky handwriting: ‘Wear this for me tonight.’ No name, but Angel could guess. He pulled the garment out, and immediately his eyes widened. “Woah…” It was a robe more than a dress, long enough to sweep the floor, with wrist-length batwing sleeves, and enough gold sewn into the black fabric to make the whole thing damn heavy, but in that rich, expensive way. He slipped it on over a pair of black lace underwear, relishing the weight of the fabric on his body, and tied it around his waist. It hugged his hips and legs, open down to his navel at the top.
If there had been any doubt left in Angel’s mind that Husk had immaculate taste, it was gone now.
With his wardrobe taken care of, he moved on to his makeup, dark and smokey with a little gold at the inner corners of his eyes to compliment the robe. He finished the look by replacing his plain socks with lace-trimmed stockings and putting on his boots, and down he went to the car, pretending not to notice the stares of just about everyone he passed in the tower.
The driver was waiting for him by the car door, and he opened it as he approached. “Good evening.”
Angel nodded in response and slipped into the back seat. The driver shut the door, moved to his own seat, and they were off. Angel watched out the window on the way, twirling his room key between his fingers. The driver didn’t try to make conversation, which wasn’t really surprising, but it wasn’t a long enough drive for Angel to get bored anyway. Soon enough, the car pulled to a stop out front of the hotel. The driver once again got out and moved to open the car door for Angel, and Angel thanked him with another polite nod as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. He glanced at the keycard in his hand; the little envelope sleeve marked it as belonging to room 1220—top floor again, he wouldn’t have expected any less.
What he wasn’t expecting was what he found when he entered room 1220. Sure, it was laid out and decorated exactly the same as the last room, right down to the feline overlord on the couch. This time, though, there was an array of food on the low table in front of that couch—oysters, shrimp cocktail, bruschetta, some pink-looking stuff Angel wasn’t entirely sure about, fucking caviar, wine, the works.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked as he removed his boots by the door.
Husk looked over at him. “Is dinner an occasion?”
“Well, we’ve never done it before.” Angel smirked. “Dinner, that is.”
“Well, I was hungry,” Husk replied. “If you’d rather come back after I’m done—”
Angel interrupted him, “I don’t believe you,” and crossed the room to the couch.
Husk’s eyebrows knit slightly, though he looked amused rather than upset. “You don’t believe I’m hungry?”
“I don’t believe that’s the only reason you did this.” Angel took a seat beside him. “The dress, the food…” He grinned. “You must be starting to like me.”
Husk’s eyes narrowed, just slightly. “I told you, I want to see you enjoy yourself.”
“And the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, hm?”
Husk scoffed a laugh. “I didn’t say shit about your heart.” He sat forward on the couch, reaching for the caviar, because of course that’s where he would start. “You don’t have to eat, I can enjoy my self just fine.”
“Am I allowed to eat?”
“Yes, if you want to.”
Angel surveyed the spread again, and ultimately decided to follow his Italian heart to the bruschetta. Husk did say he wanted to see him enjoy himself. Husk, meanwhile, did the weird ‘elegant’ caviar thing, and basically bumped it off the back of his hand (except he ate it, obviously, didn’t snort it, though the movement was close enough to trigger a short, sharp craving in Angel, which he quickly drowned in bruschetta. It was, of course, delicious).
“You treat all your playmates this nice?” Angel asked.
“No,” Husk replied simply, and Angel’s eyebrows shot up. That wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. Husk either didn’t notice Angel’s surprise, or was simply unfazed, going for whatever the pink-ish brown stuff was.
“What is that?” Angel asked.
“Never had pâté?” Husk questioned, picking up a small knife to spread the stuff—pâté, apparently—on a little cracker.
“I don’t think so.”
Husk hummed, “It’s liver. Tastes better than it sounds.”
“What—you think I have high standards for what goes in my mouth?” Angel took another bite of the bruschetta, and honestly, he would have happily just eaten bruschetta, but now he figured he would have to try at least a bite of pâté to prove a point.
Husk chuckled. “Should I be insulted?”
“Not you, no,” Angel assured him.
“Good; my ego’s very fragile, you know.”
“I don’t believe that, either.”
Husk actually shot him a wink, and Angel’s stomach flipped like he was a damn teenager on a first date. The dress, the car, dinner, flirting? Man, what had gotten into Husk? And when exactly was he planning on getting into Angel?
“The dress suits you, by the way,” Husk told him. “You look good.”
Angel smiled. “Is that a compliment for me or you?”
Husk chuckled again. “I’ll admit I have good taste,” he paused to take a sip of his drink—some time of expensive whiskey, Angel was sure, “but it was meant for you.”
Angel’s smile widened. “Well,” he cooed, “aren’t you sweet?”
Husk snorted. Somehow, even that was attractive. “That’s a new one.”
“I bet.”
“You’re rude, you know that?”
“Sure,” Angel agreed, “but what did I do this time?”
Husk shook his head, amused, but didn’t clarify, turning his attention back to the food for the moment.
“You know,” Angel said, dropping his voice low and flirtatious. “You’re pretty rude, too.”
Husk’s eyebrows went up. “Am I?”
“Very.”
It was the damn truth, and Angel was kind of grateful for the opportunity to share it in a way that might not get him murdered. Husk still seemed amused, so Angel felt pretty safe.
“Does that bother you?” Husk asked.
“No.”
“Alright then.”
There were a few seconds of quiet, in which Angel decided to pour himself a glass of wine. He was in the middle of doing so when Husk spoke again. “Not many folks have the guts to say that to me.”
“S’like you said, I’m rude.” Angel leaned back again, and took a sip of wine. “You gonna punish me for it?”
“Wasn’t planning on it, though I get the feeling you might like it.”
Angel chuckled behind the rim of his glass. “I’ve learned to.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, next time you mouth off.”
Angel took another sip of wine. It tasted lovely, though he would have liked something stronger. He had never been much of a wine drinker, even in life, but he definitely wasn’t going to complain. “You never did answer my question, you know. What’s the occasion?”
“I was hungry,” Husk replied, seeming determined not to admit there was anything unusual or special about this treatment, and Angel reluctantly decided not to push any further. Maybe it really was that simple. It wasn’t that hard to believe Husk was wealthy enough to drop what must have been thousands of dollars on a meal whenever he wanted.
“You not a fan of seafood?” Husk asked him, reaching for the shrimp cocktail.
“No, I am,” Angel replied, “I just like Italian food better.”
“You Italian?”
“My grandparents.”
“Oh, è carino. ”
Angel stared at him for a solid five seconds while his brain caught up with what had just happened. “You’re fucking kidding. You speak—” He shook his head. “ Parli Italiano?? ”
Husk smiled smugly into his drink. “ E pochi altri. ”
Angel hadn’t spoken Italian in years . Valentino didn’t like it, didn’t like not being able to understand. “What else?”
“Russian, German, Mandarin Chinese, Spanish, and Japanese.”
“What the— Why??”
He shrugged. “International clientele.”
“Hm.” Angel supposed that made sense, and now that the initial shock was wearing off, that was kind of hot, wasn’t it? “Well… parlo anche Italiano. ”
Husk chuckled. “I noticed.”
Fuck, Angel was blushing, and judging by the smile on Husk’s face, he had noticed. Stupid. “I, uh…” Angel glanced away, and took a sip of wine. “I speak a little Spanish. Just what I’ve picked up from Valentino.”
Husk hummed. “It’s not a hard one. Romance languages and all that.” He offered a smile. “Though my French is shit.”
Angel gasped. “There’s something you’re not good at?”
Husk rolled his eyes. “Wild concept.”
“Wild that you admit it. I thought you overlords were allergic to acknowledging your faults.” Angel tilted his head, and continued to tease, “But you’re not like the others, are you?”
Husk rolled his eyes heavier, setting down his drink. “If you’re gonna go off on how ‘special’ I am just cause I bought you dinner and spoke a little Italian—”
“You didn’t buy me dinner. You were just hungry, remember?”
“You’re eating.” Husk gestured to the food, and Angel cocked an eyebrow.
“That doesn’t mean you bought me dinner.”
“I bought dinner that you are eating; that means I bought you dinner.”
“Not the same.”
“How??”
“You didn’t buy it for me, ” Angel said, taking a piece of the shrimp cocktail, mostly just to be obnoxious at that point. Husk was glaring at him, but there didn’t seem to be much of any venom in it, so Angel pushed a little harder. “It wouldn’t be weird, you know, if you’d bought me dinner. I mean,” he grinned, “you bought this dress—robe—thing for me. Or would you like to deny that, too?”
“I’d argue I bought that for me… ” Husk disagreed.
Angel purred, leaning closer to him. “Looks that good on me, huh?”
Husk laid his arm out over the back of the couch—not technically around Angel, but close enough. “Glamour suits you,” he confirmed.
“I agree.”
“Not your usual brand though, is it?”
“Might be, now,” Angel told him. “Did you see the photos?”
“I did; they looked good.”
Angel felt Husk’s fingertips find the back of his shoulder, absently fiddling with the heavy fabric covering him. Angel pretended it didn’t make his heart race. “I picked the outfit,” he said. “I thought of you.”
Husk’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Oh?”
“Did you like it? The pink dress?”
Husk nodded.
“Maybe I’ll wear that for you, sometime.”
“I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing it up close and personal,” he agreed, sliding his hand down Angel’s back now, towards his waist. Angel held his gaze as he finished off his wine and set the glass aside. “Do you like the dress?” Husk asked, “This one, I mean.”
“Of course.”
“Good.” He stood then, offering a hand towards Angel, and led him over to bed, where he guided him to sit on the edge of the mattress. Angel placed his lower hands back just slightly, using them to prop himself up as his upper hands landed on Husk’s hips. He looked up at him, awaiting instructions. “Valentino doesn’t, does he?” Husk asked.
“Doesn’t what?”
“Like it. The whole vintage glamour thing isn’t actually his taste.” Husk half chuckled, brushing his fingers over the edge of the neckline, just barely hitting Angel’s skin. “I’m not a fool, I know he’s just trying to milk as much out of me as he can.”
“Well, it’s been working so far,” Angel pointed out.
Husk shrugged. “Seems worth the price, so far.”
“Ooh, does it, now?” Angel toyed with the waistband of Husk’s trousers. “Maybe we should charge more.”
Husk scoffed. “You think I’ll just roll over and take that?”
“Maybe.” Angel spared one of his back hands to unfasten the button and zipper. “Maybe you’d like bein’ the only one who can afford me.”
Husk hummed, but didn’t deny it. Angel shot him a wicked smirk. He reached up with his first two hands to pull Husk’s suspenders down off his shoulders, then slipped his fingers back under his waistband and slowly tugged his trousers down before doing the same with his underwear. The overlord was just half hard, but as Angel wrapped his hand around his length, he could tell it wouldn’t take long to get him where he needed to be. He began to stroke him, slowly and teasingly.
Husk moved his own hands to unbutton his shirt, keeping his eyes locked on Angel as he did so. “I see why you’re Valentino’s star, you know.” He paused to gesture vaguely, “I mean, in general, not just ‘cause your hand’s on my dick.”
“Mmm. You callin’ me pretty?”
“Among other things,” Husk agreed, allowing his shirt to hang open as he finished with the buttons.
Angel smoothed a hand up his chest. “Like what?”
“You’re flexible,” Husk replied, then smirked, moving a hand to trace along Angel’s jaw and tilt his face up. “Your character, not just your body. You’re adaptable. That’s gotta be valuable in your business.”
“Oooh, yes,” Angel purred. “Keep talkin’ dirty.”
Husk smirked. “Didn’t realize a compliment was ‘dirty’.”
“It is when you say it,” Angel told him, and meant it, Satan help him. Hearing Husk talk about anything was turn-on enough; compliments were downright sinful.
The overlord moved his other hand to Angel’s shoulder, shifting the heavy fabric aside so it fell down his arm. “You really do like it when I talk, huh?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Husk leaned in, and for a moment Angel thought he might actually kiss him, but of course he didn’t, rather ducking close to Angel’s neck and inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent.
“Do I smell nice?” Angel asked.
“You do,” Husk confirmed, moving a hand to Angel’s chest, pushing him down onto his back on the mattress.
Angel moaned quietly, looking up at the powerful overlord looming over him now. Husk always looked powerful, but right then he also looked intent, calculated and sure, maybe even a little predatory. Angel’s heart rate spiked.
He laid his upper hands up over his head, presenting himself. “Like what you see, too, Whiskers?”
The next thing Angel knew was pain exploding on his cheek, so sharp and sudden it took him a moment to even realize what had happened—that the back of Husk’s hand had struck the side of his face.
“You put some goddamn respect on my name!” the overlord snarled, that voice that was always so velvety and rich now twisted in anger. His hand gripped Angel’s face roughly, fingers digging into his cheeks and palm covering his mouth, as he forced Angel’s face up so he had no choice but to meet Husk’s burning glare. “You’d best recognize who you’re talking to.”
Angel’s hands gripped Husk’s wrist, his eyes wide in terror and watering from the pain. If he had thought his heart was racing a few seconds ago, well, it was nothing compared to now that he recognized he had fucked up without even realizing it, and angered his powerful overlord client. Apparently Husk hadn’t been kidding about remembering to punish Angel the next time he mouthed off.
Husk braced his free hand on the mattress beside Angel’s head, supporting his weight as he leaned closer to him. “Remember your fucking place,” he growled—actually properly growled, “and know that ain’t a place to be talkin’ down to me.”
Angel nodded as best he could with Husk’s hand still clamped over the lower half of his face. Husk released him then, shifting back upright to reach for the drawer of the bedside table
“I’m sorry,” Angel said. “I didn’t—”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Husk cut him off, a command if ever Angel heard one, and Angel’s mouth snapped audibly shut.
Husk retrieved a small bottle of lube from the drawer, and set it on the bed before shifting his attention back to Angel’s body. He opened the split front of Angel’s robe to expose his legs, leaving it tied around his waist, then pulled his underwear down over his legs and discarding the fabric to the floor, stripping Angel’s lower half bare, save for his stockings.
Angel wound his fingers into the sheets on either side of himself, closed his eyes, and kept his mouth shut.
Husk didn’t bother prepping Angel, only slicking up his cock with lube before slowly pressing inside Angel’s body. Angel whimpered from the stretch. It hurt, but it was nothing he couldn’t take. Husk pushed forward, slow and deliberate, one hand vicelike on Angel’s hip, holding him in place. After a moment he pulled his hips back, then thrust in again, deeper, and harder, punching a strangled moan out from Angel’s chest. Husk exhaled, and Angel felt him brace his other hand on the mattress by Angel’s head again as he began to work up to a hard and intentional rhythm. Angel opened his eyes and was met with an impassive glare, stony, eyes practically burning into his own. He swallowed thickly, and closed his eyes again. This was not the heady, passionate, exciting sex that Angel had come to expect from Husk. This was a statement. A show of force. A reminder of who he was, and who he was with.
Husk moved his hand from Angel’s hip to hook his fingers under his knee, manually wrapping his leg around his own waist as he shifted his weight back, freeing his other hand to grope roughly over Angel’s chest. Angel finally let his lips part to suck in a sharp, shaky breath. Husk’s hands wandered over Angel’s skin, as they had those times before, but now each touch and each grasp was like a demand, harsh and unyielding. No eager exploration, no care to work pleasure into his flesh, just taking. And all Angel could do was let him.
Then another demand came, spoken this time. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
Angel did as he was told. There was still anger burning in Husk’s eyes, but there was something else too—something Angel couldn’t think clearly enough to properly place. He continued to fuck into Angel like he had something to prove, and that something was that he had all the power here; as if Angel needed to be reminded of that.
It was getting harder and harder to stay still and quiet as his body responded to the stimulation. Angel wasn’t having fun, but Husk’s cock always felt good inside him, and tonight was no exception. Husk’s hands slid heavily along Angel’s body until they found his hips, at which point he gripped roughly, yanking Angel down to meet his next thrust, driving hard into him, even harder with the added impact. Angel jolted and cried out, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before remembering to keep them open. Husk repeated the motion, somehow even harder.
“ Fuck, ” Angel sobbed. “Husk—”
He didn’t let up, pounding into Angel at a brutal, merciless pace. Angel held his gaze until Husk finally released his hips, dragging his hands roughly up to Angel’s chest again as he leaned over him, ducking closer to press his teeth into Angel’s neck, sharp this time, biting like he was after blood. Angel grabbed onto Husk’s shoulders without thinking and dug his nails in as he cried out again. Husk ground his hips hard against Angel, sucking on the spot he had just sunk his teeth into. It didn’t feel like he had broken skin, but there was definitely going to be a mark there.
After a long moment he pulled back, caging Angel in with his arms as he braced himself over top of him. The pace of his hips had by no means relented, but his rhythm had changed, slower and heavier now, each thrust rocking deep into Angel’s core. Angel’s body arched into the sensation, and he moaned helplessly.
“That’s right,” Husk growled, “take it.”
Angel shuddered. “Yes, sir…”
“Touch yourself,” Husk ordered him. “You’re going to cum.”
Oh, god, that might have been hot if Angel wasn’t still actively fearing for his afterlife. He spat into one of his lower hands, and wrapped it around his dick.
Husk reached up, gripping one of Angel’s wrists to pull his hand off his shoulder and press it down into the mattress, pinning him as he continued to rut his hips forward. Angel moaned again, louder and longer and even more pathetic. The position, the dominance, the all-encompassing terror of being completely at the mercy of a pissed-off overlord—all if it was overwhelming, and Husk was showing no sign of peaking, let alone tiring. Angel knew it would end. It always did. Even when it hurt much worse. Even when he was drunk and drugged. Even when he passed out with one cock inside of him and woke up with another in its place. Even when he was sure he wouldn’t leave the hotel room alive. It always ended. He always made it through to the other side. Angel Dust wasn’t as pathetic as Valentino made him out to be. Anthony wasn’t as soft and breakable as his father thought he was.
Another hand closed over his, around his cock, and that snapped Angel back into reality, eyes refocusing on the man above him. Husk began to stroke, guiding Angel’s own hand to a faster pace. He had said Angel was going to cum, after all. There hadn’t been a question about it. He was going to make it happen, because he could. It wasn’t (only) pleasure echoing through Angel’s body, but a dizzying, muddy cocktail of sensations— power chief amongst them, a reminder that Husk had all of it, and Angel had none—but there was pleasure enough to push Angel’s body to the edge and over it, dragging his release from him with a scream. His body tensed from head to toe, legs shaking with the force of it.
Husk’s hand disappeared from his, dipping the mattress beside Angel’s head as he braced himself again. Still, he didn’t stop, hips churning and thrusting and grinding endlessly as Angel’s nerves frayed and buzzed. After what might have been forever, Husk finally began to waver, pace growing more erratic as he neared his peak. With what precious little energy he had left, Angel moved his own hips, grinding up against Husk in an attempt to finish him off. Husk’s breath caught, and his body tensed, hips juddering as he spilled inside Angel. Tears of pure relief sprung into Angel’s eyes. He sobbed quietly, his muscles trembling from overstimulation. Husk pulled out almost immediately, and didn’t so much as look at Angel before crossing the room to disappear into the en suite.
Angel stared up at the ceiling, feeling used up and hollow, chest heaving with every breath. His body was sore in ways and places most sinners probably didn’t even know existed. He was all too familiar with the feeling, that soul-crushing ache that followed. He sat up, head spinning, and straightened his robe. It was another minute or two before Husk returned, though this time he didn’t bring anything to offer so Angel could clean himself up. His clothes were back in place, and once again he didn’t look at Angel, rather crossing the room to pour himself another drink, which he downed in one go.
“I didn’t mean,” Angel tried again, speaking quietly but firmly, “to disrespect you.”
“You’d do well not to do it again,” Husk replied as he set his now empty glass back down.
Angel swallowed thickly. “Yes, sir.”
Husk looked over at him then, and Angel looked up to meet his gaze with just his eyes for a moment. There was no warmth to be found there, just cold, hard, impassivity. Angel averted his gaze to the floor.
There was another moment of quiet, then Husk said, “You’ll stay here tonight.”
That certainly drew Angel’s attention back. “What?”
“You’re in no shape to go anywhere,” Husk explained reasonably, “so you’ll sleep here.”
Angel must have looked as much of a mess as he felt. He nodded. Husk reached to pick up his suit jacket from where it was draped over the back of the couch, and shrugged it on.
“I take it you’re leaving?” Angel observed, unsurprised.
Husk looked at him flatly. “Would you want me to stay?”
“No.”
He gestured vaguely in a ‘what did I tell you’ sort of way, and headed for the door. “Goodnight, Angel Dust.”
“Goodnight,” Angel replied numbly.
And then the door closed, and Angel was alone.
He exhaled slowly, unsteadily, then simply lay down on the bed and curled up on his side. He hadn’t bothered to bring anything with him besides his room key—no change of clothes, not even his phone. This job hadn’t gone at all like he had expected, and now…he didn’t know what to do. He wished he had something to take, to wake him up to feeling more like himself, but he supposed this was one of those times when he was just going to have to wait. He was lucky to even be in one piece after that.
If Husk breathed a word to Valentino about Angel being disrespectful, he wouldn’t be in one piece much longer, that was certain.
He was out of his depth, messing with overlords.
In the end, it was pure exhaustion rather than relaxation that dragged him down into an unpleasant, fitful half-slumber.
♥🕷♥
“Excuse me. I need to make a phone call.”
The hellhound behind the front desk looked at him with blank disinterest. “There’s a phone in your room.”
“I need to call outside the hotel, and I don’t want to pay extra,” Angel argued. In truth, he didn’t give a shit. It wasn’t his money. He just wanted to get out of that room as soon as possible.
The hellhound sighed, but said, “Whatever…” and picked up the handset of a landline behind the desk, offering it towards Angel. “What’s the number?”
He rattled off Trix’s number. There was no way in all of Hell he was calling Valentino, and he knew better than to call Cherri again after last time. He had memorized a few numbers from work a while back for situations exactly like this, so Trix’s it was.
The concierge punched in the number as Angel spoke, and then the line began to ring. And kept ringing. And kept ringing. And then Trix’s voice, all tinny and pre-recorded. “Hey, this is Trix, how the hell did you get this number?” And then the beep of voicemail.
“You’re a bitch, you know that?” Angel spoke into the receiver, then gave them Nini’s number instead.
The concierge plugged in the next number. This time it only rang twice, and Nini’s voice— not pre-recorded, thank god—came through. “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me,” Angel said.
“…Okay?”
“I’m kinda stuck at this swanky-ass hotel. I need a ride.”
“Okay?” Nini said again, sounding bored and uninterested. “So call a cab.”
“Oh, gee, why didn’t I think of that? Maybe it’s because my wallet’s back at the tower, dumbass. Come get me.”
He could practically hear Nini roll his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m not working right now.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll suck your dick later, just get here.”
Angel gave him the address, and Nini hung up, without actually confirming he was coming to the rescue. He was, though. He would never pass up a chance to hold something over Angel’s head.
Angel took a seat in the corner of the lobby, where hopefully he would attract less attention than he usually did. He had seen himself in the mirror that morning, and he looked like absolute trash. He had three black eyes—specifically, the three small ones beneath his primary right eye—from Husk backhanding him, and an ugly purple bruise on his neck. His makeup was smudged, and although he had been able to fix that somewhat, it still didn’t look good.
Of course, he didn’t manage to go completely unnoticed or unrecognized, as a few guests passing through the lobby glanced obviously in his direction, and exchanged murmurs and scoffs. At least no one took a fucking picture, or tried to engage. Unfortunately, Angel had nothing to do but people-watch. Sinners couldn’t leave the Pride ring, but that didn’t mean they were all damned for their pride; that was all for Lucifer’s punishment, surrounding him with the worst of humanity that he allowed to fall. The sinners in this hotel—most of them, anyway—reeked of greed, the kind of opulence that only came from clawing your way up the ladder with no care for who you pushed down or how far. Angel had known the type in life. He wondered if it was part of his punishment, getting stuck with them in death, too. The crowd certainly fit the aesthetic of the place, and Angel found himself wondering if there was some sort of glamor worked into the foundation, specifically to draw greed inside. If there was, it had certainly worked on Husk.
Greed, pride, wrath —Angel wondered which of these had actually tipped the scale to send that bastard to Hell. God knew he had plenty of all three. Angel hadn’t even realized he had started to feel comfortable around the overlord, until that comfort was suddenly and brutally yanked away.
Well, fool him twice.
The main doors opened, and thank fuck (or maybe ‘ugh’) there was Nini, looking pissed off in a mini-skirt and heels and fucking drag show makeup.
Angel stood up, and started towards her. “Fuckin’ took you long enough.”
Nini scoffed. “Aww, you’re welcome, Angel. I’m happy to come rescue you after you did whatever got you all fucked up.”
“You know what got me fucked up, asshole. Just take me home.”
“That fancy overlord finally tired of your shit?” She asked, turning and starting back towards the door, with Angel just behind.
“Yeah,” he said flatly.
Nini hummed shortly in acknowledgement. Her car was parked right by the curb, still running, and she circled around to the drivers side and got in. Angel climbed into the passenger’s side and just about slammed the door.
He saw Nini ‘adjust’ the rearview mirror, but she was very clearly using it to take a better look at what a wreck he was. He rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Nini.”
“Come on, you look like shit,” Nini argued, setting the mirror back in place and putting the car in motion. “What did he do to you?”
“What they always do.”
She frowned, eyes on the road, and after a second said. “I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay—”
“Just drive the fucking car.”
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” she snapped. “Christ, not even a fucking ‘thank you?’ I could drop you on the curb and leave you to rot right now.”
“You won’t,” Angel said. “You’re too scared a’ Val.”
“So? You’re always a nightmare, he wouldn’t know I had anything to do with it.”
“Please. You know as well as I do his flat-faced fuckboy has eyes everywhere.” Angel closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window. Now that he was back in familiar company, his body was begging him for more rest. Maybe, if he was particularly lucky, he would be able to get a nap in before his first shoot of the day.
There was quiet for a moment as they drove, then Nini said. “There’s makeup wipes in the glove compartment. Fix your face.”
“Fuck you. It’s a smoky eye.” Angel opened the compartment. Sure enough, there were makeup wipes, plus a mostly empty bottle of lube and some handcuffs. He flipped down the sun-visor and looked in the mirror there while he cleaned his face. He could get the smudged eyeliner off, but there was no hiding his black eyes or the absolute atrocity that was the side of his neck.
“So was he just having fun, or did you fuck up?” Nini asked.
“What part of shut the fuck up and drive—”
“I’m not asking ‘cause I’m nice, ” she interrupted, “I want to know if I need to worry about the investment bullshit.”
“There’s nothin’ to worry about!” Angel insisted, entirely unsure of that fact himself.
“There better not be,” Nini snapped, and it took all of Angel’s meager self-control and self-preservation not to grab the steering wheel and drive them both off the road. It was what they both deserved, anyway.
Nini didn’t ask any more questions, just frowned at the road as she navigated them back to V tower.
Angel kept his mouth shut until they were parked in the garage, but then he sneered, “Thank you, Nini.”
“Don’t fuck up again,” she replied shortly, and got out of the car. Angel took a deep breath, and followed.
They walked into the tower side by side, and took the elevator to their floor. “Do you want anything?” Angel asked.
Nini glanced at him and wrinkled up her face in either dismissal or disgust. “What? Fuck off. No.”
“That ain’t what you sound like on set.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know you like screwin’ around with me, bitch. You ain’t that good an actor. And I know you don’t do favors without wantin’ somethin’ in return, so what do you want?”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I didn’t have a fucking price in mind. Maybe you just owe me.”
Angel scoffed. “Of course.”
The elevator opened, and they stepped out onto their floor, finally heading separate directions. Angel didn’t even wait until he was at his door before beginning to strip his robe off. It wasn’t like everyone in Hell hadn’t seen him topless, and he wanted out of the damn thing before he ripped it off himself. No sooner did his door close behind him than it was cast into a pile in the corner, along with his underwear. He had to stop for a moment to kick his boots and stockings off, but then he was headed for the bathroom to survey the damage.
It was worse than he had originally thought.
Maybe it was because he had taken his makeup off, or maybe it was actually getting worse, but his bruised eyes were swollen nearly shut, and the bite mark on his neck looked absolutely vicious. Angel shuddered, stomach churning, just at the sight of it. He had been in danger. He still was in danger.
He turned the water in his shower on as hot as it would go, then stepped back into his bedroom while it heated up. He checked his phone for the day’s schedule. It looked like he had about an hour before his first shoot. Not really enough time for a shower, a hit, a nap, and still making it to wardrobe without being late, but he’d managed worse time crunches. With a good enough hit, maybe he could skip the nap. He grabbed his stash out of his bedside table drawer, and bumped a few lines of coke before getting in the shower. The blisteringly hot water wouldn’t help his bruises, but it sure as hell helped him feel cleaner, if a little raw. The pain was grounding. He needed that.
Only after scrubbing every inch of himself twice did Angel step out of the shower, feeling a little more like himself than when he had stepped in. He threw on a simple but sexy little turtleneck and skintight pants, and did just enough makeup to be presentable on his way down to the studio. The artists there could fix his bruises. He had a goddamn job to do.
He was fucking Angel Dust.
He stepped out of his apartment with a convincing smile on his face.
Chapter 7: Money Is the Anthem of Success, so Put On Mascara and Your Party Dress
Summary:
Angel can't get a break from his most important client, as Husk has plans to show off his new investment.
Chapter Text
♥🕷♥
Angel’s heart just about stopped the next time he caught sight of Husk, not forty-eight hours later, walking into the studio like he owned the place—did he? He sort of did. Some of it, anyway. Fuck—no more than five minutes before Angel was supposed to get railed by three guys on camera. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, then hoped to God and all demon royalty the overlord hadn’t heard him. His face and neck were still black and blue beneath his makeup. The last thing he needed was for Husk to prove another point. He pulled his robe tighter around himself and looked away, pretending he hadn’t noticed Husk enter. Valentino approached the other overlord, and Angel kept them in his peripheral vision as they talked.
“Good morning, Husk,” Valentino drawled, syrupy sweet. “What a lovely surprise. We weren’t expecting you.”
“Yes, well,” Husk continued in a lower tone, and Angel didn’t catch the entirety of what he said. He heard ‘event’ and ‘Angel’, and the rest was lost.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Valentino responded. “Whatever you want with him, he’s yours.”
Angel felt like he was going to puke.
Husk nodded tersely, and then his gaze turned to Angel, whose eyes were traitorously drawn to the slight movement. Husk offered him a nod, but thank god he didn’t approach. Angel looked away again, only to jolt as Valentino clapped his hands.
“Places, everyone! Let’s try to get something done on time, for once!”
Angel shrugged out of his robe and handed it to a dresser while his scene partners placed themselves on set. There was no script, no elaborate role play this time, just Angel taking it and making it look good enough to sell. Travis was there to ‘direct,’ of course, though there wouldn’t be much of that, unless Valentino got picky, to show off to his investor. Travis called action, and Angel stepped on set, dressed only in stockings and his signature boots. He was facing his scene partners, away from the cameras and the overlords he knew were watching.
Rocky, lumbering as ever, approached first, and actually greeted Angel. “Hey, hot stuff.”
Angel turned his head so the camera would be able to see just a bit of his profile, and smirked. “Hey there.” One of his other scene partners came up behind him and put his hands on Angel’s hips. Angel leaned back against him. “You three ready for a good time?”
“If you can take it,” the third guy—some rhinoceros-looking fucker—said with a grin.
It was a miracle Angel managed to not roll his eyes. He laughed instead. It was forced. “You know who you’re talkin’ to?”
The guy behind him—mostly human-like, if humans could be eight feet tall, almost as wide, and firetruck red—didn’t say anything, simply lifted him into the air like he weighed nothing at all, and carried him the few steps needed to dump him unceremoniously on the bed. Angel did his best to make it look graceful. How successful he was, he couldn’t be sure until he saw the footage. He rolled over onto his back, and looked up at the three hulking sinners leering down at him. He’d worked with all three of them before, but he only remembered Rocky’s name, and that was because Rocky was reasonably nice to him off camera, not the best lay. Rhino-man had been rough enough with him last time to piss Valentino off. Angel couldn’t decide if he was disappointed or glad to see him back in one piece. And the big red guy—well, his dick was shockingly small compared to the rest of him, but he did an okay job with what he had, so Angel wouldn’t complain. He had plenty else to complain about.
Rocky once again led the charge, crawling onto the mattress after Angel, and beginning to paw carelessly over his body, leaning down to press a kiss against his chest as well. He was always so clunky, the type of guy whose real partners would spend the entirety of their intercourse thinking about what to make for dinner that night. Angel wasn’t a real partner of Rocky’s; he was an actor, and he was gonna make Rocky and every lame-ass who fucked like him think they were doing it like a god, so he arched his back and moaned.
“Oh, yes. ” Angel grinned sharply. “What are you gonna do to me, daddy?”
“I’m gonna wreck you,” Rocky replied. The other two had moved to touch him as well, groping and tugging, trying to get at more of him. Had they even discussed a fucking plan? Whose dick was going where? Angel certainly hadn’t been in on the conversation if they had, but that was typical. Porn stars in Hell didn’t have boundaries.
Big Red Guy dislodged Rocky from overtop of Angel, and dragged Angel forward by his shoulders, all the way over onto his stomach. Angel looked up, intending to look into the cameras, but his eyes were immediately drawn past them. There wasn’t a seat set next to Valentino’s this time—as the overlord had said, they weren’t expecting Husk—and it seemed this time he hadn’t had the audacity to take Valentino’s chair. He simply stood, hands clasped on that stupid cane of his.
What had he done to deserve his lot in the afterlife? Why was he standing there, looking all put-together in his expensive suit, while Anthony was naked and bruised and fucked?
Not Anthony. Angel Dust.
He felt hands clamp down on his hips, and he was pulled up onto his knees, with a hand pressing between his shoulders to keep his chest down. His eyes snapped to the nearest camera lens for a split second before someone (he assumed Big Red, by how small it felt) began to push their dick into him. He gasped, clamping his eyes shut, as if that little thing was doing anything for him whatsoever.
Rocky was back, pushing Big Red’s hand off Angel so he could pull him upright and into an aggressive, sloppy kiss. Rhino hadn’t even tried to get in on the action yet, absently playing with his own erection while he watched Rocky and Big Red squabble for control of Angel’s body. Angel let them do what they wanted and moaned when he was supposed to. It was second nature.
The mediocre threesome with a fourth uselessly watching carried on for barely a minute more before an unexpected voice spoke up from the sidelines. “Is this honestly good enough for you?”
Angel’s eyes snapped open in shock. He saw Husk facing Valentino now. Obviously it was his blatant interruption, loud enough to ruin the fucking shot, the look on his face skeptical and curious, as if he was questioning Valentino’s taste in cocktails, not pornography direction.
“Quiet on set!” Travis hissed, only for Valentino to all out smack him.
“Cut!” Val called. “Everybody reset!” He turned back to Husk. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Angel,” Husk replied simply,
Angel’s heart dropped. Shit, shit, shit, shit—
“He can do better than this.”
Angel, still chest-down-ass-up on set, frowned. Was this piece of shit really trash talking him and his scene partners in the middle of a shoot?
Valentino’s own gaze snapped to Angel, then back to Husk, and a slimy smile slid onto his face. “Well, remember, you’re paying for the exclusive experience. Of course he’s putting on a good show for you. This is filth for the common crowd.”
Husk’s eyebrows went up. “I would’ve expected a stricter standard from you, Valentino.”
Despite Valentino’s command to reset, no one had moved, all eyes watching in horror as Valentino’s smile stretched into something vicious. “Of course. Angel!” he barked, with a fury in his tone that made Angel flinch. “Get your shit together and take it from the top.”
“Yes, Valentino.”
“Didn’t I tell you all to reset? Get your fucking dick out of him!”
Oh, this was not good. Valentino was pissed, and that was never good. Everyone scrambled to get back to where they had started, including Angel. The only person in the room who didn’t seem on edge now was Husk, eyes back on Angel, cool and smug and sickening. Angel had to force himself to look away.
“Aaand action!” Travis called, and once again, Rocky approached Angel.
“You ready for some fun, hot stuff?” he asked.
Angel forced a grin. “You know it.”
Within seconds, he was back on the bed, facing the cameras, with Big Red feeling him up. He glanced at Husk, and found his expression unreadable.
This was stupid at best, cruel at worst, and Angel got the feeling it was the latter. Of course he looked and sounded better when he was with Husk; he was actually attracted to Husk, Satan help him, and Husk was exceptionally good in bed. Fuck, even just thinking about the way Husk touched him—
Oh.
Oh, that fucking bastard.
Suddenly, that unbreakable facade cracked, just an inch, but Angel could see Husk was pleased. Like he could smell Angel’s arousal, and he liked it.
This time, when Big Red gracelessly shoved his microdick into Angel’s ass, Angel didn’t have to pretend to moan. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Husk behind him, taking and using and manhandling him, and the resulting rush of fear and arousal in his gut punched a moan right out of him. Angel always had been a traitor to himself, even if it made him sick to admit it, even in his own head. He was still catastrophically attracted to Husk, even after Husk had snapped and hurt him, and knowing he would probably do it again and do it worse. Angel wasn’t surprised, only disappointed that after a hundred years he hadn’t stopped laying himself down for rich and powerful men. He doubted he ever would. He liked sex too much, liked being wanted by the ones who wanted for nothing. A luxury, Husk had called him, in that smooth, deep voice like liquid gold. God, that voice drove Angel crazy when it wasn’t yelling at him.
“Yeah,” Rhino-man enthused, “take it, you filthy slut.” He pulled Angel upright so he could kiss him, and he was fucking terrible at it—too much tongue, too much movement, just too much—but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Angel made it look good. All he had to do was remember that first hotel room, held in the same position he was now, his reflection in the picture window as Husk fucked him better than the all-body, no-brain bastards Val kept at the studio ever did. His toes curled, and he moaned tightly in the back of his throat. He wondered how he could convince Husk to fuck him in front of another reflection.
Yes, that was it—Husk pressing Angel’s hands against a mirror, his second pair tied behind his back, scrabbling for purchase on the smooth glass as Husk pushed inside him. Husk’s fingers winding into his hair, pulling his head back, making him watch himself cum, making him see what Husk reduced him to.
Angel opened his eyes, and looked into the camera like it was the mirror in his fantasy. Big Red had worked up to a quick rhythm, hands pawing over Angel’s hips and thighs, while Rhino-man groped at his chest. Rocky sidled up to them as well. One of his hands found Angel’s dick, and Angel’s eyes rolled back into his head. “Ohhh, fuck…”
“You want another cock in you?” Rhino suggested, pulling back from Angel so he could unbuckle his own pants.
“Yes, sir.”
He grabbed a fistful of Angel’s hair, and pushed his head down, lining his cock up with Angel’s mouth, and Angel obediently opened it, looking up at him with just his eyes. He could do this. He had two overlords to impress.
Rhino’s cock was considerably bigger than Big Red’s, but that was more a comment on Red’s size than Rhino’s. Angel had taken plenty worse with ease. The problem was him being a fucking brute, slamming his cock into Angel’s mouth over and over with no finesse. Angel was going to have a bruise in the back of his throat for a week, at least.
Not long after Rhino-man started fucking his face, Big Red pulled out and came all over his back, before passing him off to Rocky. At least Rocky could manage a proper pace. It wasn’t anything to write home about, but it was a rhythm. Better than Rhino-man was doing. Rocky pumped his hips aggressively, leaning heavy over Angel’s back so he could grope at his chest with one hand, and at the same time he pressed his face close, licking sloppily up the side of Angel’s neck, right over his makeup-covered bruise. Angel wondered if it was visible now, and if so, could it be fixed in post-production? And more importantly, was the artist behind that particular black and blue painting still watching? Did he like seeing the mark he left on Angel? Valentino always did.
It wasn’t this line of thought that brought Angel to climax just then. He was disgusted with himself already. He didn’t need that particular kinky charge on his already soiled record. At least he moaned prettily while it was happening.
Rhino-man echoed his moan. “You like that, slut?”
Angel couldn’t answer, dick in his mouth and all, but he knew Rhino-man didn’t really care about whether or not he liked it. No one ever cared whether or not Angel actually liked it. Hell, even Angel didn’t care, as long as it got done. It seemed Rhino-man certainly liked it though, as it was only a matter of a few more seconds before he came, spilling down Angel’s throat. Angel gagged a little—that was fine, people liked that—and Rhino just pressed in deeper, like he wanted to choke Angel, or maybe drown him. Angel didn’t resist.
Once he was spent, Rhino pulled out, and the second he was out of the way, Rocky wrapped an arm around Angel’s chest, and hauled him upright, back against his chest. This changed the angle, and much more importantly, changed Angel’s line of sight. Husk’s eyes were locked on him, burning with intensity. He stood stock still, hands folded on top of his cane, not a muscle moved, save for a twitch at the tip of his tail, hitting the floor in time with the rhythm of Rocky’s hips. Fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest thing Angel had ever seen. Was that really all it took? A few flicks of his tail and all was forgotten, if not forgiven?
Rocky’s free hand groped up Angel’s body till it found his throat, and he squeezed, completely cutting off Angel’s supply of air. Angel’s eyes widened, momentarily, instinctively startled, but Rocky wouldn’t choke him out, not without explicit instructions. Angel trusted that, so he forced himself to relax, close his eyes, and tip his head back against Rocky’s broad chest. Only when he really started feeling lightheaded did he grab at Rocky’s hand. After just a moment of scrabbling, Rocky let him go, shifting both hands to Angel’s hips as the pace of his own continued, unrelenting. Angel gasped painfully, and fell forward onto his hands, chest heaving. Once the encroaching darkness cleared from his vision, he tipped his head back up, groaning from the effort, and locked his glazed eyes on the camera lens. Rocky groaned loudly, and Angel could finally feel his rhythm starting to falter, just a few seconds before he went rigid, hands clamping down hard enough to bruise. His hips juddered as he finished, and Angel forced out one last moan for the camera before dropping his head again, and letting it hang between his arms.
“Alright, that’s a wrap!” Valentino called, and Travis quickly added, “Cut!” like that was necessary.
Angel looked up, and was again met with Husk’s intense gaze. His tail was still twitching, significantly slower now. Angel shifted his gaze to Valentino, but Val wasn’t even looking at him, already talking to Travis about editing, tapping out who even knew what on his phone.
Angel felt a finger of dread creep up his spine, sliding slowly over each vertebra. He wasn’t going to survive these two overlords, was he? He was nothing but a pawn in Valentino’s game, his deception against Husk. If and when it all came crashing down, Angel would be in the middle of the resulting explosion. There was no way for him to make it out of this alive.
Rocky didn’t pull out so much as Angel pulled off, dashing for his robe and pulling it on as he all but ran for his dressing room. He needed to get out of there. Too much was running through his mind, from the sheer amount of power that was now in play in that studio to the fact that he may or may not have gotten off to the memory of Husk hurting him. It was too much.
He sat down in front of his vanity and tried to steady his breath. A look in the mirror showed that the makeup over his bruises hadn’t budged, and that helped. It was times like these that threw into relief exactly where Angel was, that his soul was damned, and there was no recourse for that. He was going to suffer. It was only a question of how long and how badly.
He was still struggling to get his breathing under control when there came a knock on the door. Quiet, but firm. It startled him anyway, and there was that dread again, encircling his throat now. That wouldn’t be Valentino, but he had a suspicion as to who it would be. For that reason, he stood and opened the door, instead of simply telling the knocker to come in. As he had expected, Husk stood on the other side of the threshold, holding his cane in one hand now.
“Hello,” Angel said.
Husk nodded in greeting. “Looked like you were having fun out there.” Angel couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.
“I usually do.”
“Good for you.” He shifted focus, apparently over what could generously be called ‘pleasantries.’ “I didn’t just come to watch you work today, though. You’re coming with me tonight.”
Angel’s heart sank. He tried not to let it show. “Oh?”
“Thought I should give you some time to get ready. I have an event this evening, and I want to bring some arm candy along.”
“What kind of event?”
“An exhibition for up and coming acts in the entertainment district.” Husk gestured vaguely. “Mammon puts on a showcase in Pride every year. I want some new blood for the casino.”
“And what do you want me there for?”
Husk shrugged. “An accessory, I suppose. Make me look better.”
Of course. Arm candy, he had said. Angel wasn’t paying very close attention; he was too busy focusing on Husk’s hands in his periphery, watching for the slightest movement. “You talked to Val about this?”
The overlord nodded, and Angel got the sense he was quoting Valentino when he said, “You’re mine.”
Angel swallowed thickly. “Okay then.”
“It’ll be a nice evening,” Husk went on, like the event was the part Angel was worried about. “Dinner, drinks, a couple shows. It’ll be high class company, so,” he glanced Angel briefly up and down, “wear something nice.”
“What will you be wearing?”
“My pinstripes, maybe a gold tie.”
Angel nodded. “What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Husk nodded. “Good,” his hands moved then, just shifting his cane in his grip as he turned to leave, but Angel tensed up nonetheless. Husk either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, and simply walked away.
Angel closed the door, locked it this time, and retreated to his vanity with a lump in his throat and miserable tears welling in his eyes. He had been to Mammon’s events before, and even performed at a couple. They were…a lot, and he wasn’t a big fan, and yet, that was the least of his worries.
Make me look better. And if Angel didn’t make him look good enough, what? Would Husk hit him again? Tell Valentino and let him handle it? How long before Angel got hurt again?
He sobbed, without even trying to fight it. It didn’t matter if anyone in the studio could hear, and it didn’t matter if anyone was watching through Vox’s stupid cameras. He broke down in tears and let himself cry until he felt better.
♥🕷♥
Green was not Angel’s color. It might have been once, back when his irises were green instead of pink, but now it just gave off strawberry or lackluster watermelon. At a Mammon event, though, looking pretty wasn’t nearly as important as looking expensive, and pride may not have been Mammon’s sin but lord knew he had enough of it to overfill the fucking circus tent he called a body, and Mammon liked green.
Angel’s dress was emerald green satin, with the fabric loosely pleated across the bust, and corset-like seams running down around his waist. Below, the fabric draped down from one hip, leaving a slit up to mid-thigh. It wasn’t extravagant—Angel didn’t exactly have a lot of options in green—but he made up for the simplicity of the dress with his accessories, gold to match Husk. A gold choker wrapped around the base of his neck, with matching bracelets on each wrist, and gold eyeshadow to match. He even replaced his black boots with gold heels. He looked like a sexy Saint Patrick’s Day mascot, waiting outside V Tower at seven o’clock.
At exactly 7:01, a big black car pulled up, stopping at the curb right in front of him. The driver got out, and circled around to open up the back passenger door for him. He could see Husk inside, in the other seat, dressed, as promised, in pinstripes and gold. Before Angel had a chance to even take a step, Husk spoke. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
Shit. “Mammon,” Angel said, as if the name alone were an explanation. “You’ve been to his events before, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have. Not everyone dresses to match him. You look like a fucking Lucky Green scratch off. Get in.”
Angel did as he was told. Already off to a great start.
The driver shut the door behind him, and got back in his own seat, smoothly pulling back onto the road again. Unsurprisingly, Husk had a drink in his hand, and even more unsurprisingly, he didn’t offer anything to Angel. Angel kept his eyes straight ahead and his breathing steady. He was not going to fuck up this job. Charming and schmoozing with the upper echelon was something he was good at. Whether Husk appreciated that was another matter.
It took about twenty minutes to get to the grand hall that had been suited up for Mammon’s showcase, and Husk didn’t say a goddamn word, even as the driver parked, and got out to open his door. He stepped out, and finally surprised Angel by rounding the car and opening his door, rather than letting the driver do it. Angel stepped out beside him, and Husk took Angel’s arm by the wrist, manually threading it through his own before starting for the doors, which were quickly swept open by two of Mammon’s many Fizzbots.
The inside of the hall was dazzling to the point of overwhelming, even for Angel—bright colors, neon lights, too many speakers pumping too much music into the air that was already thick with chatter amongst the crowd of sinners and hellborn filling the space. The room was massive, of course, with a bar off to each side, and a large stage and assemblage of chairs at the back, but plenty of open floor space for the crowd to mix and mingle as well. Unsurprisingly, Husk made a beeline for one of the bars, dragging Angel along.
“What can I get for you, sir?” asked the bartender as they approached.
“I’ll take an old fashioned,” Husk replied.
The bartender nodded, then turned his eyes to Angel. “And for the lady?”
Husk frowned. “Excuse me?”
“For—”
“Get him a sidecar.”
“Oh.” The bartender glanced between Husk and Angel, and offered a quick, “My mistake, sirs, ” before going to make their drinks.
“You’ll get used to that,” Angel said, to which Husk scoffed shortly, and Angel took that as a cue to shut up.
Husk shifted to lean back against the bar, eyes wandering absently over the room. Angel did the same. Husk had been right; not everyone was dressed in Mammon’s green theme, but Angel certainly wasn’t alone in it. He did notice, however, that most of the other Mammon-themed guests were…of lower station, Angel supposed. This event was obviously expensive, and while most of the guests appeared to be overlord-adjacent at least, there were some run-of-the-mill sinners interspersed throughout with their Mammon T-shirts and starry eyes. The poor suckers probably skimped and saved for years to be able to attend an event like this. The overlords, on the other hand, many of whom Angel recognized from previous events with Valentino, looked a lot less inclined to kiss Mammon’s big green ass. The joke was on them; Valentino had never had such reservations, and he had rarely been anything but rewarded for it.
Amidst the crowd was a flash of red that caught Angel’s eye, familiarity sparking in some recess of his brain. Tall ears, small antlers, an old-timey microphone atop a tall cane— The Radio Demon.
Fuck, what was his name?
Angel had completely forgotten about that weirdo after their brief but perplexing meeting, but now, he remembered vividly the static in his voice. Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure…
“Alastor,” Angel mumbled as the memory clicked into place.
Husk looked over sharply. “What?”
“What?” Angel’s meager sense of self-preservation kicked in. “Nothing. Ignore me.”
Husk’s eyes narrowed, and as he scanned the room again, he was much more deliberate, looking for someone. “You know him?” he asked.
“Who?”
He shot Angel a scathing look, and snapped under his breath. “The Radio Demon.”
“I—… I met him,” Angel confessed. “Once.”
“What did he want from you?”
“Nothing. Nothing, we just bumped into each other, literally.”
Husk offered a short ‘hmph,’ but before he could press further, the bartender returned with their drinks. Husk accepted his with a brief nod, and took a drink, eyes scanning over the rim of his glass. He looked distinctly less predatory than he had a minute before.
“I take it you know him?” Angel asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
Husk’s lip wrinkled in disdain as he pulled his glass away from his mouth, and he quipped, “I’ve met him.” Angel got the distinct impression Husk had more than just met the Radio Demon, but at least for the moment, self-preservation won out over curiosity. Husk straightened up, away from the bar, and gestured briefly towards Angel. “Drink your drink.”
Angel grabbed his glass as Husk moved back into the throng, pulling Angel with him. He wasn’t stopping to chitchat as they went, but Angel witnessed a good number of nods of recognition and even some greetings called between Husk and the other attendees. Husk was well-known among this crowd, though whether he was well- liked was harder to tell. Angel caught a few whispers of his own name, too.
“What am I to you?” he inquired under his breath, keeping his eyes trained forward as they walked. “If anyone asks.”
Husk hesitated for a moment then replied. “My companion for the evening.”
“You might as well tell them you hired a whore. You okay with that?”
He scoffed. “I’m pretty sure they already know you’re a whore.”
“That ain’t the point.”
“What’s the point?”
Angel finally turned to look at Husk. Husk didn’t return the courtesy. “I’m here to make you look good, ain’t I? You want people thinkin’ you’re a common John?” Now Husk looked at him. He did not look pleased. Angel wondered with a chill if Husk, like Valentino, was the type to make an example of unruly underlings in public. “Don’t make it sound like you just paid for me for the night or whatever,” he suggested. “I’m…I dunno, your newest business venture or somethin’. Or is that still a secret?”
Husk considered for a moment before half nodding his head to the side. “I suppose that does sound better.”
Angel released his breath. “Okay, then.”
Husk continued to lead him towards the stage at the back of the room, to a couple of chairs in the front row—because of course it was the front row—that had been reserved in Husk’s name. Angel took his seat, and a sip of his drink. It wasn’t nearly as good as the sidecar he had been served at Husk’s casino. Leave it to Mammon, the literal embodiment of greed, to cheap out on liquor. He didn’t seem to have cheaped out on anything else at this event.
“I want you to talk to people tonight,” Husk instructed Angel. “You don’t gotta go initiate, but don’t just be a fuckin’ ornament. Be interesting.”
Angel scoffed. “Yessir.”
Despite the instruction, Husk didn’t seem that eager for conversation with Angel himself. He just nursed his drink, eyes absently scanning the crowd, until a woman came to sit next to him and greeted him in a language Angel didn’t understand. Husk replied in kind, and took her hand in his to briefly kiss her knuckles. Someone he knew, then, and more than that, someone he respected. Another overlord, in all likelihood.
The woman glanced past Husk, eyes landing on Angel for a moment, and as she spoke again, Angel caught his own name amongst the unfamiliar words.
Husk answered her, then shifted in his seat to more easily gesture to Angel. “Angel, this is Irina. She runs a modest little speakeasy a few blocks from the Lucky Shot.”
Irina chuckled, low and throaty, and reached past Husk to offer Angel her hand, speaking in thickly accented English now. “Yes, Husker and I have been friends for years.”
Angel took her hand and kissed her knuckles, as Husk had done. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Have we met before?”
“Not officially. I have seen you before with your, ah… other overlord.”
“Of course. I’m sure I would have remembered, if we had met.” Angel flashed her a smile as he released her hand, then glanced sideways at Husk. Husker? he mouthed.
Husk scoffed lightly. “A nickname.”
Oh, so other overlords could call him by nicknames without getting backhanded all the way to next Tuesday. Noted. Good to know.
Irina went on, “It is surprise to me that Valentino let you be…how do you say…borrowed?” She cocked an eyebrow. “He speaks of you as prized possession. Surely he has not let you go.”
“Of course not,” Angel said. “I am a prized possession, and not just anyone is allowed to borrow me, either.” He cast a pointed glance at Husk.
“A new business venture,” Husk explained to Irina, then continued quickly in that same language that Angel didn’t know, no doubt going into further detail that he didn’t care for Angel to hear.
Angel sighed quietly, and sat back, taking another sip of his mediocre sidecar and a look at the stage. There wasn’t much by way of set dressing, just a sparkly gold backdrop, some stands and risers, and really that was it. There wasn’t any sort of program for the evening’s acts, so Angel had no idea what to expect beyond ‘circus bullshit,’ seeing as circus bullshit was Mammon’s whole brand.
Irina laughed at something Husk said, then leaned forward to see past him to Angel. “So how is our good man treating you? You having fun, out and about, off your uh, your leash?”
Obviously, Irina had never sold her soul. If she had, she would know Angel was never off his leash. “Absolutely,” he said anyway. “ Our good man does know how to show a fella a good time.”
She hummed, nodding. “He showed me a good time, when I first landed. Helped me get my feet under me.”
“How kind of him.”
Husk scoffed lightly. “ Kind got nothin’ to do with it.” His eyes slipped from Irina to Angel. “I know a good investment when I see one.”
Angel raised an eyebrow now, pleased enough by the compliment, however degrading. Satan knew he was used to it, and he would take what he could get.
Irina chuckled knowingly. “Of course, investment, all the fun is just perk on the side.” She shot Angel a wink.
Angel chuckled behind the rim of his glass. “Of course. Money is success. Everything you get with it is just luxury.”
Irina’s eyebrows went up slightly. “Sounds like you are not just pretty face, Angel Dust.”
“Well, no one watches porn for the faces.”
“Oh, oh!” She burst into laughter, sounding almost startled, like she hadn’t expected him to make a joke.
Angel glanced at Husk, whose expression was mostly hidden as he took another drink of his old fashioned. His eyes were on Angel, and he didn’t seem to be frowning, but damn, was Angel starting to really hate that poker face. Husk could at least give him something, anything, to work with. At this point, Angel rather felt like he was doing it on purpose. Impassive, impossible, infuriating.
Just then, the lights in the hall began to dim, and Irina quieted her laughter as the first act took the stage. It seemed to be an entire pipe organ on wheels, with a little sheepy-looking sinner perched on an attached stool, and a pair of two more sheepy-looking sinners pushing the whole contraption.
“So,” Angel asked Husk quietly, “what kind of act are you looking for?”
Husk opened his mouth to answer, but jolted sharply, nearly dropping his glass, and fur going all bottle brushy for a second as a horrible loud note screeched out of the pipe organ, and a painfully chipper circus type tune picked up. The two sheepies that had been pushing the instrument began a rapid tap dance, singing a rather stupid little melody about ‘Mammon’s Annual Show Biz Bonanza.’ Angel tilted his head, watching in horrified fascination. It was like an annoying, rhyming advertisement from a kid’s cartoon had come to life right before his eyes. It was loud, and fast, and thank god it was over quickly, but then the whole thing got worse as Mammon himself erupted out from behind the backdrop in a blast of confetti, glitter, and the sound of many bicycle horns.
“Hey hey hey, welcome, ladies and gentlemen, and all the rest of you fucks!” the green behemoth declared, and the audience burst into applause, Angel a half-second behind. “You little bitches ready for a party? ” Mammon enthused, somehow making it sound like a threat, but nevertheless everyone continued to applaud and cheer, and Mammon continued talking, parading his enormous bulk across the stage. “I’ve got a great line up for you tonight. Been scouting the best talent in the seven rings all year, and tonight, they’re here, for you! ” More applause, it was like it was scripted. “We got singers, we got dancers, comics, musicians, fuckin’—I don’t know—clowns and shit. We got these two guys that’ll just beat each other up until one of ‘em blacks out. It’s great!”
“Oh, that would be great for your casino,” Angel muttered.
Husk scoffed shortly, eyes still on the stage as Mammon went on, “Acts like you’ve never seen before, acts like you have seen before, but you just wanna see ‘em again! We got it all tonight. So, without further ado, give it up forrrrr—”
Another screech from the organ, and the tap dancing and singing about ‘Mammon’s Annual Show Biz Bonanza’ started up again. Mammon poof ed out of sight in another explosion of air horns and streamers, and the sheepies—still tap dancing and singing—began to push the organ—still playing—off stage again.
Angel cleared his throat. “Anyway…”
After a second of just staring at the now empty stage, Husk turned a bit towards Angel. “Well, I don’t want anything like that… ”
“What do you want?”
“Something old school. Classy. I don’t really care what the act is, they just gotta fit the Lucky Shot’s style.”
Angel nodded. “Old school. Classy. Got it.”
The first proper act made its way onto the stage then—two lithe as fuck demons that appeared to be some kind of incredibly tall and skinny fish with arms and legs and vaguely humanoid faces—and after a quick set of bows, began a frankly mesmerizing contortion act. There was slippery sounding music playing from the speakers above the stage, and blue and silver lights played around the room as the two fishes twisted and contorted around each other. It seemed more Valentino’s taste than Husk’s, like it was definitely someone’s kink.
The act was long enough to be interesting, but ended before it got boring; there’s only so many ways you can twist a fish. Then bows, applause, and on to the next. A beautiful sinner woman in a dress that almost exactly matched Angel’s took the stage, and Husk quietly snorted, but Angel felt pretty damn vindicated over it. The woman approached the front of the stage, stepping into a spotlight, and began to sing a slow, bluesy ballad. This seemed more Husk’s style. Angel shifted his gaze, hoping Husk wouldn’t notice him looking. Husk’s eyes were on the woman on stage, and his ears flicked slightly forwards as she sang. As usual, his stupid face was like a brick wall, though he seemed at least mildly interested, if the ears were anything to go by. Angel would have to keep an eye on that. The song was rather short, only a minute or so, and when it ended, Husk joined the gentle applause. He hadn’t done that for the twisty fishes before her.
Angel allowed himself a small, smug smile for being right. “She was good,” he said. “Kinda basic.”
Husk nodded. “I’ve heard better.” He paused to take a sip of his drink, then said, “Heard worse, too.”
“It’s a solid bet, if that’s the vibe you’re going for. It won’t ‘wow’ anybody, but do you really want it to? I mean, you want them focused on makin’ bets and spendin’ money, right?”
Husk hummed, nodding his head slightly to the side. “Ambiance more than showstopper.”
“Right. She could be good for that.”
Husk nodded again, focusing back on the stage as the next act came out. Two little foxy-looking bitches ran on stage, each holding three little batons. In a moment, all six were suddenly aflame, and the two foxes began a frankly very impressive juggling act.
“Absolutely not,” Angel said immediately.
Husk snorted, and glanced sideways at Angel. “Not a fan?”
“You’ve got a building full of playing cards and alcohol. Do you want to torch the damn thing?”
“Yeah, not the best combination…”
“Fun to watch, though,” Angel admitted.
Husk hummed, looking back to the stage, then cringed as one of the foxes fumbled a baton, and it hit the stage, breaking the pattern. The crowd ‘ooh’ed in disapproval. The fox who hadn’t fucked up tried their damndest to cover the mistake, quickly switching to a different pattern as if this had been the plan, but the fumbler couldn’t keep up. They visibly slipped into a shaky panic, and dropped another baton.
Husk sighed, speaking into his glass as he raised it to his mouth. “Well, there’s Mammon’s dinner sorted.”
Maybe it was the poor quality of the liquor in his glass, or maybe it was the way he intimately recognized the scene in front of him—a failed performance, and the wide-eyed dread that followed—but Angel was completely sober as he watched it all unfold. One of the foxes bolted for the side of the stage, and the other scrambled to pick up their fallen batons, but before either made it more than two steps, four massive, spidering limbs descended from the ceiling with each pair holding open a stretch of webbing. Quick as lightning, both foxes were wrapped, and yoinked up, disappearing amongst the rafters.
Angel wondered how many souls he would have to own to be able to do something like that.
There were quiet murmurs around the hall, and then someone began to applaud, but was quickly shushed. The next act was announced as if nothing had ever happened.
It took Angel a few seconds to comprehend the contraption that was wheeled onstage. It appeared to be an amalgamation of various instruments—a piano, drums, a bass guitar, and a couple of horns. It all made sense when a squid-like sinner took the stage and began to play a jazzy tune on all five instruments at once. Truly, the diversity of Hell’s body types would never cease to amaze.
From beside him, Husk chuckled. “I half expected him to start making Looney Toons noises.”
“Excuse me?” Angel asked.
“The cartoons?” Husk replied. “Bugs Bunny and shit?”
“I know what they are. What about this reminds you of Looney Tunes?”
He gestured to the Frankensteinian instrument. “Looks kinda like the things they used to make the soundtrack.”
“How do you know that? Why do you know that?”
“How many times do I gotta tell you I was in show biz?”
“Pretty sure this is only, like, the second time. Calm down.” Angel turned his attention back to the performance. He found it pretty impressive. All ten limbs going at once, working a quick tempo on the varying instruments. Angel wondered what it was like, mentally, to have to apply all those separate techniques at the same time. Like dancing and also singing, but times ten. He understood better than most, probably, having a grand total of eight limbs himself, but the most he had done was jack off four guys at once.
After another minute, the song ended, and the squid-guy stood up to take a rubbery bow—how interesting that he also walked on the same tentacles he played with. Then again, Angel had also jacked guys off with his feet.
Next to take the stage was a pack of at least eight hellhounds performing an aggressive hip-hop routine. It was a wild departure from the jazzy tone of the previous act, but that was Mammon, in Angel’s limited experience. He didn’t have a brand so much as his brand was anything and everything that would make him money. Even his clowns, which were as close to his specialty as anything, varied widely in terms of their acts and aesthetics. Husk seemed entirely uninterested in the dance troupe, which really wasn’t surprising at all, Angel wasn’t entirely interested in them either.
The next few acts were much the same in that they weren’t bad, but they were…well, very Mammon —bright, colorful, loud, overstimulating. They began to blur together in Angel’s mind. If anyone had a problem with his eyes glazing over, he would blame it on the barely-existent alcohol in his cocktail. The next act that he properly paid attention to was a couple of feline sinners doing a very sultry and sensual tango. They didn’t have wings like Husk did, but they were still quite pretty, and very talented. They were lucky Mammon had gotten ahold of them before Valentino did.
Anticipating a less interesting act to follow, Angel considered asking if he should make a trip back to the bar and get Husk a new drink, but before he could voice his suggestion, the next performer caught his eye. Now, Angel was no expert on hellborn anything, but sexual dimorphism among imps was hard to miss. That was the only reason he could tell the imp coming to the stage was, in fact, a drag queen, and not simply the most beautiful hellborn he had ever seen.
Anthony had dressed up in his sister’s clothes once. They were just kids, too young to know the difference when they raided their mother’s vanity for makeup and jewelry, and Anthony had tried on her much-too-big shoes. The black eye he’d had the next day was far worse than the one Angel Dust had now, concealed beneath his makeup. Anthony had worn women’s clothes only one other time, at the behest of a man he was sleeping with, followed by fast and ugly sex that had left Anthony as sore as he was satisfied.
Angel Dust did drag sometimes, at the behest of Valentino.
Angel couldn’t always tell the difference between a drag queen and a transgender woman. He wasn’t entirely sure he understood the difference (he died in 1946, sue him). What he did know was that the imp onstage was, at least for the moment, the kind of woman Anthony had sometimes dreamed of being, while he was kissing boys in basements and back alleyways, heart racing and stomach sick with the fear of getting caught.
“She’s beautiful,” Angel murmured.
Husk only hummed in answer as the imp began her performance—which was partly dancing and strutting around the stage, and mostly flirting with the audience and taking her clothes off piece by piece. It wasn’t just stripping, it was more artful that. Proper burlesque. It turned out her gorgeous floor length gown was actually a bodysuit with a tear away skirt.
She came down off the stage, music still playing, to seek ‘help’ removing her gloves, and of course Angel and Husk were front and center. Angel was so transfixed, he almost forgot to defer to Husk when she offered her hand. Husk glanced at Angel for just a moment, but went ahead and took her hand, holding just right so that when she pulled away—after leaning in to kiss his cheek of course—the glove was left behind, as was Angel’s gaze. Husk made that look so practiced and natural and, well…hot. There was a perfect bright red lipstick mark on the white fur of his cheek, and he was smirking in amusement as the imp pranced away to her next target. Then Husk’s eyes met Angel’s, and Angel quickly looked back towards the imp. She was making her way back onto the stage, gloveless, still in her glittering bodysuit and incredible shoes, and with a final twirl and fanfare of the music, it was over.
“She was incredible,” Angel said, just loud enough to hopefully be heard by Husk over the applause. “You know, it ain’t as easy as it looks to make burlesque look good and not tacky.”
Husk nodded, “I know.”
“You—… Right. ‘Show biz.’” Angel didn’t roll his eyes, but he sure thought about it. “You gonna tell me you did burlesque back in your glory days?”
Husk chuckled, “No, but I knew plenty of girls who did.” He offered the glove abandoned in his hand to Angel.
“Aww, for me?” Angel took the glove and held it to his chest. “You shouldn’t have.”
Husk shrugged. “You looked pretty enamored. Thought you might want an excuse to talk to her later.”
Coming from another man, that might have been sweet. “And you weren’t?”
“Did I say that?”
Now, Angel couldn’t help but roll his eyes, but further conversation was drowned out by the announcement of the next act. It was, as Mammon had promised in his introduction, two guys that just beat each other up until one of them blacked out. It got pretty fucking bloody, and Angel found himself wondering if brain damage was a thing after you were dead. In the end, shockingly, the smaller of the guys was the one still conscious, and the other was dragged off stage while he bowed. Husk applauded, but in that very uninterested ‘I’m being polite’ way where you don’t really make much noise.
“And now,” Mammon’s voice boomed from somewhere, “enjoy a generous intermission while some fucks I hired clean the blood off the stage. See you all again in thirty minutes!” There was a blast of confetti, and the lights rose. Angel blinked, and turned to Husk.
“I’d have thought Mammon would’ve put this act at the end,” Husk mused mildly.
“That would have been too efficient.” Angel stood, relieved to have a chance to stretch his long legs. “More drinks?”
Husk nodded, standing as well. He glanced towards Irina, but she seemed to be having a conversation with the person on her other side, and Husk evidently didn’t care enough to interrupt, so off he went. He didn’t stop to chit chat with anyone on the way, just weaving easily through the crowd with Angel trailing behind like a well trained puppy. When they reached the bar, he flagged down the same bartender from before, who came over quickly and asked what he could get them.
“I’ll take a neat bourbon,” Husk answered, then gestured for Angel to order.
Angel briefly considered ordering something different to see if it would be a little, you know, better, but ultimately decided to play it classy. “Another sidecar, please.”
The bartender nodded, and turned away to make their drinks.
“You’re a fan of those,” Husk observed.
“I’m a fan of a lot of drinks.”
He hummed. “I’d’a expected you to be more into the fruity stuff.”
Angel chuckled. “It’s a little fruity.”
“I guess, technically.”
“Orange is a fruit.”
“Yes, that’s why technically— ” Before Husk could finish stating the obvious, a loud voice interrupted from behind Angel.
“Well well, if it ain’t my favorite gambling buddy.”
Husk glanced up, and gave a smile that was very distinctly polite, but with an undertone of ‘ugh.’ “Rosco, I hadn’t expected to see you here.”
Angel turned and found himself face to face with shark-like features, slightly too human to be hellborn, in an honest to god zoot suit. The man’s gaze shifted from Husk to meet Angel’s eyes, and his already too-sharp smile sharpened impossibly further. “Ooh, and what have we here?”
Husk gestured between the two of them. “Angel Dust. Angel, meet Rosco, a regular at the Lucky Shot.”
“A porn star, eh?” Rosco leered at Angel, but Angel could tell he wasn’t actually speaking to him. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Husk.”
Husk cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you mean,”
“Always goin’ on about the Lucky Shot bein’ such a classy establishment. Whores don’t seem like your brand.”
Angel didn’t like him. He knew the type well—the men who spat the word ‘whore’ like venom from beneath their tongues but wouldn’t hesitate to drag one into their beds. He had never liked a single one.
Finally, Rosco addressed Angel. “How much is he paying you to be here, doll?”
Angel smiled back placidly. “This ain’t that kinda gig.”
Now Rosco’s brow went up. “Ohhh, a freebie, huh? How’d I go about getting me a go?”
Husk let out a huff. “It’s a party, Ross, have some class for fucks sake.”
“Says the guy who brought a hooker.”
Says the guy who just asked for a freebie, Angel thought, holding in a scoff. At least the bastard knew he couldn’t afford Angel, even if he wanted to.
Husk’s tail lashed, just once. “It’s a business deal, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
Rosco laughed, and Husk wrinkled his nose and upper lip in what was probably meant to be a smile, but was clearly just a look of dislike, or maybe disgust.
For fuck’s sake, why are overlords like this? It was always the same stupid dick measuring contest with them, and this one looked to be going downhill fast. Angel was not looking forward to standing in the crossfire. “Well, Husk,” he purred, laying a hand on the overlord’s back, “ no one’s going to understand if you don’t explain it. Why so secretive?” He turned to Rosco. “Husk has generously invested in our studio. A drop in the bucket for him, I’m sure. He and Valentino are going to make each other very rich.” Back to Husk, Angel put on a smile. “Isn’t that right, boss?”
Please, God, if you’re still listening to me at all, don’t let this be an overstep.
Husk met his gaze, one eyebrow just barely arched, then he nodded. “That’s right.”
Angel was able to relax slightly. At least, if he was overstepping, Husk apparently didn’t feel the need to make an example of him in front of everyone. He dared to push it ( up the ante, his mind supplied), turning back to Rosco. “Husker here was kind enough to let me tag along tonight. I don’t get out of the studio much. It’s always nice to get a little excitement, eh…what was your name again?”
“I’m Rosco,” Rosco replied, looking at least a touch less presumptuous and gross.
Angel hummed. “Rosco, right. And,” he tilted his head curiously, “what do you do?”
At that moment, the bartender returned with their drinks. Husk reached for his and took a hearty drink as Rosco explained. “My father was a business mogul, and I inherited his books, so—…”
So he doesn’t do anything, he just sits on a fat pile of cash and looks down on people. Typical.
Rosco went on about business trade and stocks and other such dumb buzzwords that made it rather clear he had no idea what he was talking about. Husk kept up politely enough, though as close as he now was, Angel could feel the tension in his frame. He didn’t like this guy. Did any overlords ever actually like any other overlords, or did they just pretend?
Before the dry conversation had a chance to whither and die, another man approached. This one was more humanoid, though he had no nose, ears, or hair, and his skin was entirely blue, and a little shiny; though Angel was unsure if he was actually reflective, or just wet. “Husk, Rosco, I didn’t know you two would be here.”
“Barold!” Rosco greeted loudly, “Finally dragging yourself out into high society, huh?”
The new guy huffed. “Just because I don’t frequent the places you do does not make me a recluse, Rosco.” He stepped up to the bar and flagged down the bartender.
Rosco scoffed. “Eating dinner at your own restaurant every night doesn’t count.”
“Neither does getting wasted and losing a dozen souls at Husk’s casino.”
Something about the way he said it made Angel’s blood run cold. Of course overlords were betting souls at Husk’s casino—that was what overlords did—but talking about it like a mild weather forecast? Yeah, Angel was not among friends.
“Maybe you should come join us sometime, Barry,” Husk suggested, “Try your hand, see how easy it is.”
Rosco scoffed, glaring at this ‘Barold’ as if looks could kill. Angel’s money was on him actually having lost twenty souls at the casino recently. “He doesn’t have the balls.”
Barold waved dismissively. “I have the sense. ”
“It ain’t always about sense,” Husk appealed, “sometimes it’s luck.”
Barold frowned now, looking derisive. “Is it luck that the house always wins?”
Husk blinked, and now he was frowning too. “It— That’s not actually how it works, Barry.”
But Barold was still talking. “I can’t say I remember ever seeing anyone leave your Lucky Shot a richer man.”
Husk’s frown deepened. “Then clearly you haven’t been looking that close.“
Barold hummed, obviously unconvinced, but paused to order his drink before offering any more veiled accusations.
Angel turned back to Rosco in the meantime. “So, you’re a regular at the Lucky Shot?”
“High roller, sugar tits,” Rosco replied. Eugh.
Angel grinned sharply. “Good for you. And,” he turned to Barold, now finished ordering, “I take it you’ve never been?”
Barold outright scoffed, and Angel felt Husk bristle. “No, no I’ve never been. Can’t say I see the draw to losing all my money in a game of Go Fish.”
“Well,” Husk said through his teeth, “conveniently, we don’t usually deal Go Fish. ”
Angel laughed. “Have you ever been to a casino, baby?” He took a sip of his new drink. It was just as watery and disappointing as the last. He set it aside. “I dunno when or where you were alive up top, but I was in New York City way back in the good ol’ days. I know a nice establishment when I see one.”
Barold looked skeptical. “And I suppose you’re saying the Lucky Shot is one of those ‘nice establishments’?”
“I suppose that’s a matter of opinion. And yours is irrelevant, since you haven’t been there.” Angel took another miserable sip of his drink, for dramatic effect. “Barold, I take it?”
Barold looked indignant, clearly surprised Angel would be so bold. Hell, Angel was surprised Angel would be so bold, and he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. He knew better than to talk back to an overlord, but he had never seen this overlord before and likely never would again, unlike the one standing beside him. Angel didn’t know if Husk was the type to take his frustrations out on innocent whores, and he wasn’t prepared to find out.
So far so good though, Barold wasn’t exactly in a position to punish Angel for his impertinence, so the best he could do was just sound really disparaging when he said, “And who exactly are you?”
Angel paused for just a second, deferring to Husk to introduce him if he wished, and Husk took his cue, gesturing to Angel with the hand not gripping his drink. “Angel Dust. If you did anything other than read restaurant reviews, you might recognize him, too.”
Barold made a face. “Ain’t she a porn star or something?”
Husk made a face—more of just an intense blink where his eyes got really wide for a second after they opened again. “ He is a porn star, yes. And a valuable asset.”
Angel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected to be promoted to ‘valuable asset’ so soon.
“Oh, so he’s a good porn star,” Barold said, somehow making ‘good’ sound like an insult.
“He’s talented,” Husk replied stiffly, and Rosco laughed.
“Oh, you sampled the goods, Husk?”
Husk shot him a glare, but didn’t fully rise to the bait, so Rosco turned to Angel. “I don’t gotta ‘invest’ to get me a sample, do I?”
Hopefully Angel’s disgust didn’t show on his face as he answered, “Sorry, toots—I’ve already got a date tonight.”
Rosco’s eyes shifted briefly to Husk and he scoffed shortly. “What, Husk got an exclusive contract or something?”
“Not yet,” Husk replied sourly.
Angel froze, Rosco’s reply sounding muffled.
Not yet?
Was that what Husk wanted? Was that ever on the table? Would Valentino ever even consider letting that happen?
If it was Angel versus the entire studio, he might.
Fucking shit.
Angel tuned back in when he realized Rosco was reaching towards him. “You might just convince me to do a little investing myself,” he was saying. “Not that I need the money. But with perks like these…” He curled his fingers under Angel’s chin and tilted his head up slightly.
It barely lasted a second as Angel felt a hand clamp on his waist, and he was pulled sharply backwards and a bit to the side, right up against Husk, who was glaring outright daggers at Rosco. “Yeah, well, good luck with that.”
Rosco grinned, obviously amused. Angel wished he had bitten his fingers off when he had briefly had the chance.
“We’re not looking for any more investors at the moment,” he said, although he had no idea if that was true. “We have everything we need.”
Barold chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, I’m sure Husk’s money suits Valentino just fine.”
Now Husk just looked exasperated. “Do you just not understand how businesses work, Barold? You run a restaurant, I’d think—”
“Speaking of businesses,” Angel interrupted. He was sick of this conversation, and sick of overlords in general. If he got his shit rocked for it later, it might just be worth it. “We do have actual business to conduct here, don’t we?”
Husk looked over to him, and there was actually a flash of gratitude in his eyes as he said. “Yes. Yes, we should go see if we can corner one of those performers before the second half starts.” He shifted to start moving away from the other two, pulling Angel with him. “Say goodbye to the boys, Angel.”
“Goodbye, boys.”
Without even waiting for responses, or any farewell of his own, Husk pulled Angel away from the bar, starting back towards the stage.
“Friends of yours, I take it,” Angel said once he was confident they were out of earshot.
Husk let out a short, sharp laugh. “If that’s what you want to call it.” He didn’t seem angry. Not at Angel, anyway. That was a good start. After another second, he spoke again. “You handled that mess well, back there.”
Angel glanced at him, scanning his face for any sign of dishonesty. He was actually looking at Angel, and for once, he looked sincere.
“Don’t be too impressed,” Angel said evenly. “It’s my job to know how to keep people happy,” he faced forward again, “and whose happiness actually matters.”
“Fair enough.”
They returned to the front row and took their seats. Angel set his drink down on the floor in front of him with the convenient excuse of smoothing his dress, then just…left it there. “What are your thoughts so far on the performers?”
One of Husk’s eyebrows quirked up in amusement. “Are you making small talk, or are you trying to actually ‘conduct our business?’”
“If you wanted me quiet, you should have included that in your instructions.”
He let out a quiet huff—it sounded more like laughter than irritation. “Honestly, I was expecting you’d just,” he gestured vaguely at Angel, “sit there and look pretty. Didn’t think you’d make an actual effort.”
“What would you prefer?”
The overlord took a drink of his own drink, and made a bit of a face, “No, by all means.” He set his glass down as Angel had, then went on. “I think some of them are properly talented, and some of them are just flashy.”
Angel glanced down at Husk’s drink. “And the alcohol?”
Husk met his gaze flatly. “It’s not even flashy.”
“It sucks, doesn’t it?”
He shrugged. “Greed ain’t the right sin for good drinks.”
“What is?”
“Gluttony, obviously. What kind of question is that?”
“That fancy whiskey you always have in the hotel is from Wrath.”
Husk shot Angel an appraising look, and if Angel didn’t know better—and maybe he didn’t—he’d say Husk looked impressed. “Fair enough. I guess I should say Mammon ain’t the sin for good drinks. Too costly for a big event like this.”
“Fair enough,” Angel parroted.
“Do you do this sort of thing a lot?” Husk asked. “With Valentino, or whoever else?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘a lot,’ but you ain’t my first.” Angel shot him a wink, and Husk actually chuckled. It was sexy. Angel took a deep, furious breath.
“I suppose that’s good; don’t have to teach you the basics this way,” Husk said.
“You plannin’ to make a habit of this?”
“What, takin’ you out?”
“Yeah, takin’ me out.”
He hummed, like the possibility hadn’t really occurred to him. “I guess I could…‘course I got actual business here tonight, but you ain’t the worst arm candy I’ve had.”
“Ooh, high praise,” Angel said flatly.
Husk’s eyebrows went up again, just barely, and he looked deeply amused. “Oh, do you like being praised?”
He could stop being charming any time now. It was pissing Angel off. “Who doesn’t?”
The fucker was smiling. Just a bit, just a little, but there was definitely a smug twist to the corners of his mouth. “I’ll remember that.”
Angel crossed his legs, because that was a dainty way to sit, and not at all to hide a boner. He had to stop popping those for guys that beat him, seriously. He breathed a subtle sigh of relief through his nose when the lights in the room flashed to indicate the end of intermission. He was ready for a break. He picked his drink up off the floor and swallowed the rest down in one gulp. Bad alcohol was still alcohol. “Back to business, I suppose.”
“Back to business,” Husk agreed, shifting slightly to get more comfortable as he faced the stage. In this case, ‘getting more comfortable’ involved resting his arm across the back of Angel’s chair, and Angel was painfully aware of it. He resisted the urge to look at him again. He refused to let this bastard know he was getting to him.
♥🕷♥
After another round of performances, the lights went up, and the crowd began to mingle again. Husk, as before, led Angel to the bar, and once they had drinks, headed back towards the stage once more. This time though, rather than returning to their seats, he aimed for a door to the side, where some of the performers had begun to appear and mix in with the crowd. He approached the woman in the green dress who had sung the ballad in the first act, letting go of Angel’s arm a few feet away. Angel took this as his cue to hang back and pretend to sip on his third awful drink of the night.
Husk immediately began to work his aggravating charm, greeting her with a polite kiss on the back of her hand, followed by something spoken that made her smile and laugh. He wasn’t speaking loud enough for Angel to hear, but it was obvious from the woman’s reactions that he was being complimentary towards her, and Angel watched in bitter fascination as she fell for it lock, stock, and barrel. The charming overlords were the most dangerous, Angel knew. Did this woman know? At least Husk wouldn’t likely take her soul, or would he? Was that what he meant by hiring a new act? Did he own everyone who worked for him?
Suddenly, there was a screech of radio static behind Angel, and then a loud, jarring voice spoke. “My my my, I didn’t realize Mammon hosted your type of performance.“
Angel whipped around, and found himself face to face with what was becoming a familiar red ensemble. The ‘Radio Demon.’ “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Alastor didn’t answer his question, rather continuing, “Did I miss an act? I don’t recall seeing you on the stage tonight.”
“I’m not here to perform, I’m here with—” Angel turned, and didn’t see Husk where he had been just a moment ago. It seemed he had moved down the line, and was speaking to another performer.
“Ohh, I see, ” Alastor leaned on his long microphone, twisting the upper half of his body rather sideways to do so. “I wouldn’t expect Valentino to let his little toys out so easily. Business, is it? Or pleasure?” He laughed, and many other tinned voices laughed with him. “Though I suppose that’s one and the same for you.”
“Gee,” Angel deadpanned. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
“Hmm, not my most clever jape.” He twisted upright again. “So which is it? I’ve heard rumors that Husk is dabbling more into the entertainment industry.”
“You’ve heard correctly.”
“How delightful, I do wonder why.”
Angel looked back towards Husk, who was now conversing with one of the performers from the second half of the showcase—a lagomorphic man with massive white ears, who had done some pretty impressive stage magic. It was a rather animated conversation, Angel would’ve almost guessed Husk was having fun. He obviously hadn’t noticed Angel’s new company.
“Can I ask you a question?” Angel turned his full body towards Alastor. Maybe it was all the cheap alcohol, or maybe he had simply reached his limit with shitty overlords for the evening, but he didn’t wait for an answer before asking, “Why’s everybody so scared a’ you? You look like a strawberry pimp, an’ you’re smilin’ all the time, so what’s your deal?”
Alastor looked surprised, and deeply amused. “Well, you’re awfully out of the loop, aren’t you?”
“I don’t concern myself with overlords I don’t answer to,” Angel sneered.
Alastor looked pointedly over towards Husk. “And you answer to him, now?”
Angel looked as well. Husk was still with the same performer as before, watching intently as the performer showed him a card trick. The feathered tip of his tail twitched back and forth, and his eyes were locked on the performer’s moving hands with impressive focus.
“Yes,” Angel responded to Alastor.
The Radio Demon hummed again, maybe skeptical, maybe amused, likely both.
Angel turned back to him. “You got somethin’ to say?”
“Oh, I simply wonder at his motive, ” he replied with a twirly gesture of one hand. “A man with his power, his finances, his souls. What could he possibly need with a piddly thing such as yourself?”
“Ha. You don’t spend a lotta time around rich people, do you?” Angel turned to see Husk moving on to speak to the next performer. “Folks with money always want more.”
“Yes… more… ” The air crackled for a moment. Alastor continued when Angel turned back. “I suppose someone of your value makes for good leverage in such ventures.”
Angel made a face. “Leverage? Whadda you mean, ‘leverage?’”
Alastor smiled so wide that Angel was amazed his face didn’t just crack in half. “Well, you’re the object of desire, aren’t you? The talent, the bait. You, my effeminate fellow, are why people part with that money our dear Husker wants so badly.” His red eyes narrowed slightly. “Why people part with a lot of things…”
Angel narrowed his eyes right back. There was more going on underneath those puny antlers than Alastor was letting on, he could tell. Fucking overlords and their dramatics. “Oookay.”
Alastor’s expression shot back to normal—beaming, uncomfortably enthusiastic. “It’s a compliment my dear! Take it in stride.” He clapped Angel on the back twice. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m afraid I have my own matters to attend to.”
He began to saunter off into the crowd, only to dissolve into liquid shadow a few steps away. Angel made a face. “Fuckin’ weird…”
Behind where the Radio Demon had been standing moments before, Angel caught sight of the imp in drag, still in her dazzling costume. She was alone, at least for the moment, and Angel found himself walking over as if drawn by a magnet. He still had her glove with him.
Rather than offer a normal greeting, he came right out of the gate with, “You were wonderful,” and handed back her glove.
She turned to him with a smile even more glittering than the jewels she was wearing. “Oh goodness, thank you!”
“What’s your name? I’m Angel—”
“Short for Angel Dust, I know.” She smiled wider and offered her hand. “I’m Sinnamon, with an ‘S’, so like ‘Sin’—... You get it.”
“I do.” Angel kissed the back of her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“You as well, darling, you as well. So you liked my little performance?”
“It was great,” he enthused. “Your voice, your dress… You’re an artist.”
“High praise, from a star like you.”
“How did you get into this? Drag, I mean. Valentino lets me do it, sometimes.”
“Oh, me and some of my buddies went to a strip club for his stag night a few years ago. Turned out it was a special performance that night, and all the strippers were drag queens. I was hooked right away, and just,” she shrugged, “started learning.”
“Your makeup is flawless. ”
She beamed, holding her hands up to frame her jawline, turning her head this way and that to show off different angles. “I’ve been experimenting with liquid contour.”
“Holy shit,” Angel said. “What brand do you use?”
Before Sinnamon could answer, Angel heard a familiar voice call his name through the crowd, and he whipped around to find Husk. It took a second to spot him, as he was no longer by the stage door, where Angel had left him. He was partway through the room now, though still on the edge of the crowd, having seemingly paused to look for Angel on his way towards the main doors.
Angel turned back to Sinnamon. “Lovely to meet you,” he said again, then didn’t wait for a response before hurrying over to Husk.
Husk offered a hand towards Angel as he approached, and Angel obediently offered his in return. Husk took it, and placed Angel’s hand in the crook of his own elbow as he started towards the doors again, leading Angel with him.
“Have a nice chat with your crush?” he teased.
“I did,” Angel said. “Enjoy your little magic show?”
He was actually smiling, only a little bit, but compared to his usual face, in Angel’s eyes, the difference was distinct. “I did.”
He brought Angel outside, where a car was waiting at the curb. Then he opened the back door, and gestured for Angel to get in. Angel smiled, “Thank you, sir,” and did as indicated.
Once Husk had closed the door behind him and walked around to the other side, the driver had climbed out and opened that door for him. Husk nodded his thanks as he climbed in, and the driver shut the door and returned to his own seat.
“Back to V Tower, sir?” The driver asked, and Husk nodded.
Angel was surprised Husk wasn’t taking him back to that fancy hotel where they always met, but he didn’t mention it. More than he was surprised, he was relieved. He hadn’t forgotten the way Husk had treated him the other night. He didn’t want Husk to change his mind now.
“Did you decide on an act?” he asked instead.
“I’ve got my eye on a few options.”
There he was, nice and vague. Back to his usual, shitty self now that only Angel and the driver were around to see. Angel turned to look out the window rather than attempt conversation, and they finished the ride in silence.
It was late, and quiet in front of V Tower as the car rolled to a smooth stop at the curb. “Goodnight,” Angel said, opening the car door.
“Goodnight, Angel,” Husk replied as Angel stepped out onto the sidewalk. “You did well tonight. I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”
Angel’s eyes widened in surprise—not that Husk was impressed, but that he would stoop so low as to admit it—but he schooled his expression back to neutral before turning to face the car again. “You know what they say; you get what you pay for.”
Husk chuckled, “That you do, goodnight.”
I hate you. The thought crossed Angel’s mind completely unprompted, but not untrue. He didn’t slam the car door, but he did close it with more force than was strictly necessary, and immediately turned on his heel to go into the tower without looking back.
He took the elevator up to his apartment and headed straight into the bathroom, considering another hot shower. As nice as that sounded, he had showered right before the event, so it wasn’t necessary, and a good night’s sleep sounded even better. Makeup remover and face wash it was, then. A quick glance in the mirror showed his makeup was beginning to slip, anyway. Knowing where to look, he could see the black and blue peeking out from underneath. He took a deep breath, let it out as a sigh, and opened the cabinet beneath his sink.
He had no reason to be as agitated as he was. The night had gone fine. It had gone well, actually, by all accounts. Angel should have been thrilled Husk wasn’t still mad about Angel’s little misstep the other night. It wasn’t like Angel had expected an apology. Something was bothering him, though—a little tickle in the back of his mind ever since Husk had spoken those two words in response to Rosco’s inquiry about an exclusive contract.
Not yet.
Angel swallowed the taste of bile sticking to the walls of his throat. How exactly would an exclusive contract work? Would he still belong to Valentino, and just be on private retainer for Husk, or would Husk just…buy him?
Angel balled up the cotton pad in his hand, soaked in makeup remover and only partially soiled with eyeshadow, dropped it into the sink, and stepped back into his bedroom. His dress suddenly felt too tight, the cool slide of satin grating against the fine fur that covered him. He yanked the dress off so fast he heard a seam or two rip, and couldn’t care less. He almost wished he would start crying; he felt halfway there, and maybe tears would flush some of the fear and frustration out of his body before his limbs snapped from the tension.
He only managed to calm down a bit once the dress was in a pile on the floor, across the room.
He looked fucking hideous in green anyway.
Chapter 8: Losses and Wins and Fails and Falls
Summary:
Angel gets another glimpse into Husk's world.
Chapter Text
♥🕷♥
It seemed Husk was going to make a habit of dressing Angel up for their little ‘playdates.’ Angel wasn’t complaining; it took the guesswork out of what to wear, so he had one less thing to worry about when preparing to see the overlord. This week, it was a cocktail dress rather than a gown, black velvet, off the shoulder, hem hitting just below the knee. There was some gold embellishment almost like a sunburst over one hip, but other that it was plain. Pretty though, Angel mused as he gave himself a once-over in the mirror before leaving.
He wasn’t quite dreading spending another (part of a) night with Husk, but he definitely wasn’t looking forward to it. His bruises had finally healed. Hopefully, as long as he watched his mouth, he could avoid a repeat of last week’s painful performance. He had packed an overnight bag this time, just in case. With that bag on his shoulder, he made his way down to the car that was, as expected, waiting for him. He climbed into the backseat, tipped his head back against the headrest, and closed his eyes. A little rest couldn’t hurt, and he wasn’t one to get carsick. If he was, he might have realized before reaching his destination that it wasn’t the destination he had in mind, but when the car rolled to a stop and Angel opened his eyes, they weren’t in front of a fancy hotel; they were in front of The Lucky Shot casino.
“Here?” Angel asked the driver, frowning.
The driver looked a bit surprised to be asked a question, but he confirmed, “Here.”
A little heads up would have been nice, but whores didn’t make demands.
Angel shouldered his bag again and stepped out of the car. There was a porter—likely an imp of some kind, short and red with tall black horns—waiting just inside the door of the casino, who held his hands out to take Angel’s bag.
“Do you have a room already, sir?” the little man asked.
“I…don’t know,” Angel admitted. “Your boss sent for me. Angel Dust?”
“Ah, Mr. Dust, of course, how stupid of me,” the porter chattered. “I’ll just—” He extracted Angel’s bag from his grasp, and gestured towards the grand staircase. “The boss is upstairs, you can’t miss him.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Another almost identical impish man in the same uniform appeared out of nowhere, and took Angel’s bag from the first porter, and then he was gone again, leaving the first porter just smiling away. It seemed he didn’t intend to escort Angel to Husk, or maybe he just wasn’t allowed to leave the door. Either way, Angel made his way up the stairs by himself, ignoring the lingering, leering gazes of the patrons around him. Despite the porter’s assurance, he was a little worried about finding Husk amongst this sea of sinners. Already, Angel could see a host of other felines wearing suits, though admittedly none of them had wings. But then he heard a laugh come from the middle of the room, and yeah…that was hard to miss.
Husk was seated at a large, octagonal table, every other seat filled with some fancy-pants sinner or another, but Angel wasn’t looking at them. Husk looked his usual handsome self—pinstripe suit, a red bow tie to compliment his wings—but most noticeably, he was smiling. The laugh had been unmistakably his. He was having fun, and that made him look even hotter than usual. Damn.
Angel sauntered over, curving through the room to make sure Husk saw him approaching. Husk did see him, one corner of his smile hooking upward as their eyes met. Amazing, how a man could look so punchable and fuckable at the same time. Though, admittedly, in Angel’s experience with this man, the two weren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.
“Sorry I’m late,” Angel crooned as he sidled up to Husk’s chair. He wasn’t late, but seeing as Husk and company were already seated, he certainly looked it. “Hope you didn’t have too much fun without me.”
“Glad you could join us.” Husk put his arm around Angel’s waist, comfortably settling his hand on Angel’s hip. “Boys, you know Angel.”
Angel had certainly never met any of these ‘boys’ in his life—except, ew, there was Rosco, the sharklike sinner who had been obnoxious at Mammon’s show—but most of them nodded regardless.
“ Damn, Husk,” one enthused, raising a cigar to his lips. “How’d you manage to wrestle that one away from Valentino?”
Husk scoffed. “I’m a businessman, I didn’t have to wrestle anything.”
“Yeah.” All in a split second, Angel glanced down, and noticed Husk’s chair was scooted back from the table far enough that he could sit on his lap if he wanted. He didn’t know if that was intentional, and he certainly didn’t want to piss Husk off (again), but if their night at Mammon’s showcase was anything to go by, Husk was unlikely to make a scene in front of his peers. Angel took the shot, and sat on Husk’s knee, draping his arm over the back of his chair. “Valentino owns my soul, not my every waking moment.”
“Just your every moment in bed, right?” fucking Rosco jeered, and several others laughed.
Angel smiled sharply. “Not every moment in bed, no.”
Husk’s hand was still on Angel’s waist, and he actually pulled him closer, shifting him more solidly onto his own lap, and Angel’s smile shifted into more of a smirk. Fuck off, Rosco.
The card game—obviously some sort of poker, though Angel didn’t immediately recognize what kind—continued with betting and chatting. Some players folded, but didn’t leave the table, staying to drink and socialize. It ended up with Husk and three other sinners that Angel didn’t know, and when they all showed their hands, Husk had the high card.
“Not a bad warm up, fellas,” Husk said smugly, “Angel, would you mind?” He gestured to the pile of chips in the middle of the table, and Angel leaned forward to scoop them towards himself and Husk. If it gave the rest of the players a gratuitous view of his chest fluff spilling over the neckline of his dress, oh well. “Who’s in for the next round?” Husk asked, and a new voice spoke up from a ways across the room.
“I will join.”
Angel looked up, and saw another familiar face—that lady sinner with the accent, who had been seated next to Husk at the showcase.
“Irina,” Husk greeted, helpfully reminding Angel of her name, “come on, grab a chair.”
She looked dazzling, in a silver gown that sparkled blindingly every time she moved, with white fur draped around her shoulders and white gloves to match. She took an empty seat across the table from Husk. Angel couldn’t help but notice none of ‘the boys’ leered at her the way they did at him, in spite of how beautiful she looked.
Her eyes landed on Angel, and she offered a smile, addressing him directly. “Angel Dust, I see Husk has you on his arm again tonight. Well, not arm.” She gestured vaguely at the two of them, and laughed lightly.
Angel smiled. He was surprised she even bothered to address him directly. “Lovely to see you again, Irina.”
“Is this, ah…” she gestured again between him and Husk, “permanent arrangement now?”
Husk chuckled, busying himself with shuffling the cards. “I can’t have a little fun without it being permanent?”
“You have fun twice this week. A woman starts to wonder.”
The rest of the table laughed, and Husk looked downright indignant.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Angel said softly. He leaned closer to Husk’s side, looking out at the others as he spoke a little louder. “They’re just jealous.”
The others laughed again, though Irina shrugged, and no one actually denied it.
Angel turned back to Husk, but Husk’s eyes were on the table as he shifted forward to start dealing the cards. “How about some Texas Hold ‘Em,” Husk suggested, phrasing it like a question, but it really wasn’t one. Husk was the authority here, in most every way, as evidenced by the unanimous agreement around the table.
Chatter picked up again as they played. The bets were high, certainly, but everyone was cavalier and casual, at least on the surface. Beneath it all, there was tension—smiles a little too tight, laughter a little too loud. None of these sinners trusted any of the others as far as they could throw them. Husk seemed the most comfortable out of all of them—of course he was, this was his domain—but even he had an edge of sharpness under the surface. His, though, was more predatory.
“Bet.”
“Call.”
“Raise.”
“Call.”
“Call.”
“Raise.”
“Call.”
“Call.”
The social dynamics at play were enough to keep Angel occupied for a while. Rosco, for example, was reckless, raising on almost every round.
“Check.”
“Check.”
“Bet.”
“Raise.”
“Raise.”
“Fold.”
“Call.”
“Call.”
The player three seats to Husk’s right checked as much as he could. Coward.
“Bet.”
“Call.”
“Raise.”
“Call.”
“Raise.”
“Fold.”
“Call.”
Angel was surprised the first time Husk folded. It was during the second game, and it was the right move—his hand was shit already on the turn round—but Angel had half-expected folding to be beneath him somehow. He was, as one could expect, very good at poker. Charming, witty, distracting, impossible to read. Sometimes his tells came through loud and clear, but never consistently. Once, when he got a good hand, his ear twitched. Another time, when he got a bad hand, his ear twitched. Angel wondered if he did that on purpose.
“Bet.”
“Call.”
“Call.”
“Call.”
“Raise.”
“Raise.”
“Call.”
“Call.”
“Call.”
“Call.”
“Raise.” (Damn it, Rosco)
“Call.”
The man to Husk’s left won the pot.
By the time they were halfway through their fourth game of Texas Hold Em—Husk had won the first and third—Angel was bored. He almost wished a fight would break out or something, anything to break up the monotony of eight rich assholes trading money they probably hadn’t even earned. Without realizing it, he had started tracing nonsense patterns on Husk’s shoulder. Husk’s hand that wasn’t holding cards rested on Angel’s hip, or sometimes his thigh, depending on where he landed after sliding the next bet towards the middle of the table. At the next check, he settled his hand on Angel’s lower back, and slowly flexed and contracted his fingers, absently half-scratching. Angel turned to look at him again, and Husk’s eyes darted away from his face so fast that Angel almost missed it.
Across the table, the cigar-smoking sinner sat between Irina and Rosco chuckled. “Damn, you two can’t even wait to get a room before you start petting on each other, huh?”
Husk looked over at him, one eyebrow raised sharply. “You got a problem, Racer?”
“Oh, give him a break,” Angel said. “He don’t get much if he thinks this is petting.”
Husk scoffed in amusement, and the others at the table chuckled as ‘Racer’ frowned.
Angel shot him a vicious smirk, then reached for Husk’s empty liquor glass. “How about I get you a refill, hm?”
Husk nodded, removing his hand from Angel’s back so he had room to extract himself. “Thanks, baby.”
He said it absently, eyes on the cards in his hand, oblivious to the way Angel’s traitorous heart skipped a beat. ‘Baby’ in that silky voice of his would have put Angel on his knees a week earlier. It almost put Angel on his knees right then.
Swiftly, before he could embarrass himself, Angel stood and whisked the glass away to the nearest bar. It took a second for one of the busy bartenders to get to him. “What’ll it be, sugar?” she asked.
“Uh…s’ for the boss,” Angel said. “What does he usually get?”
“Oh, for Husk?” She turned away, reaching for the top shelf. “Anything dark, really. Scotch, bourbon, whatever.”
“Do you know what he was drinkin’ earlier tonight?”
She gestured with the bottle she’d taken down. “Satan’s best single malt.”
“Thanks.”
“Gotta keep the big man happy,” she replied with a shrug.
Angel passed her Husk’s empty glass, and she went about pouring his next drink.
“Anything for you?”
“Depends,” Angel said. “I gotta pay for it?”
“You work for Husk?” She asked.
“Sort of. Yeah.”
She looked vaguely perplexed, but shrugged again. “Employees get a discount on liquor. Food is free though, same with nonalcoholic shit.”
Well, that wasn’t helpful. Angel didn’t have any money on him; it was all in his bag, which had been whisked away to…somewhere. “Nah, nothing for me, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” she handed Husk’s glass back to Angel, and Angel took it straight back to Husk.
Husk held his arm out toward Angel as he approached, looking more like he was inviting him to sit again, as opposed to just reaching for his drink. Angel smiled, if only to piss off the other overlords (it wasn’t only that, he knew it, and he hated it), and took the invitation for what it appeared to be. “Miss me?” he asked.
Husk chuckled, and didn’t answer, simply accepting his glass from Angel, and taking a drink. It looked like a new game had started while Angel had been away. A different game. How exciting.
“Blackjack, huh?”
“A classic,” Husk replied, continuing his role as dealer.
Angel draped his arm along the back of his chair again, and settled in to watch some more.
Rosco was first, and unsurprisingly, he was reckless, requesting hit after hit, until his cards added up to nineteen. “Hit.”
Angel couldn’t help it anymore. “Are you stupid or somethin’?”
Husk choked a short laugh, and Rosco looked deeply insulted. “Excuse me?”
“There are exactly eight cards out of fifty-two that won’t bust ya, and you’ve already got three of ‘em in your hand.”
Rosco was glaring, but obviously Angel was right, the cards were right there. He had a nine, a two, a five, an ace, and another two.
“This fucker’s got a two,” Angel went on, strangely irritated. “Irina’s got a two, this fucker’s got an ace. There’s…what? Thirty two cards left in the deck, and unless you get one of the remaining aces—and what if you do, huh? You gonna hit again and hope you get the last one?”
Rosco couldn’t argue with him. Nevertheless, the idiot doubled down. “Just hit me.”
Husk chuckled lightly. “With pleasure.” He flipped a card, and—wow, who would’ve guessed?—sent Rosco over twenty-one.
Rosco made a noise of furious irritation, and the rest at the table chuckled at his expense.
“Jesus Christ,” Angel huffed. “If I wanted to see guys bust I’da stayed at the studio.”
Rosco scoffed. “Okay, smartass. If you’re so good at cards, why don’t you let Husk deal you in next round?”
“You take my seat for a round,” Irina suggested. “I would like to see this.”
Angel looked to Husk, who tipped his head sideways in a sort of nod. “Why not? Next round.”
Angel nodded in confirmation, and the game continued. One other player went over, the rest decided to stand. Despite the heavy luck component to Blackjack, Angel still wasn’t surprised that Husk’s hand ended closest to twenty-one. Knowing him, he probably had a literal ace up his literal sleeve.
As the ‘boys’ grumbled and pushed their chips over, Irina stood, and gestured for Angel to take her seat. He stood, made his way around the table, and did just that. Husk dealt each player and himself two cards each. Face up in his hands was the Ace of Spades. Bad sign. Angel, however, had the Ace of Hearts.
The Ace of Hearts and Nine of Clubs, specifically—a soft twenty. He could stand on that. The only thing Husk could beat him with was a Blackjack, but with the Ace of Spades, a Blackjack wasn’t unlikely.
“Alright, how many you want?” Husk asked Angel when it reached his turn.
Angel only barely decided against rolling his eyes. He could stand, but he also couldn’t bust on a soft twenty. “Hit me.” Husk set down a card in front of him. The Four of Diamonds, for fourteen. “Harder, daddy.”
The table laughed, and Husk gave him an admonishing—though begrudgingly amused—frown, along with another card.
Angel smirked back at him, and looked down. Six of Hearts. Hard twenty. “Stand.”
Husk nodded, and moved on to the next player. Of course, it didn’t matter to Angel what he or anyone else ended up with. The only hands that mattered to Angel were his own, and Husk’s.
The time came for Husk to turn his hidden card. There were a number of tens and faces still unaccounted for, and any one of those would give him a Blackjack and win him the game over Angel’s twenty and the two eighteens that were still in play. Angel held his breath.
Six of Spades. Soft seventeen. Dealer must hit.
Five of Diamonds. Hard twelve. Dealer must hit.
Things were looking up for Angel now. Any ten or face would bust. Husk would have to stand on a five or more. An eight would end on a push, but a nine would give him a Blackjack.
He drew another card.
Seven of Clubs. Dealer must stand.
Nineteen.
Angel took a breath, looked up, and met Husk’s eyes.
Those eyes were darker and his gaze heavier than Angel had seen before, and slowly, barely, he tilted his head in deference. “Your game.”
Angel really hoped he hadn’t just pissed him the fuck off.
Husk doubled Angel’s chips and pushed them back to him. Angel scooped them up and, for lack of a better place to keep them, stuffed them in his chest fluff as he stood up. He was already playing a dangerous game here. He really should keep his mouth shut.
He cast a disparaging look at Rosco. “That’s how you play Blackjack.”
Irina and a few others at the table laughed. Angel cracked a smile, and made his way back around the table to Husk, watching closely for any sign he was in trouble. Surprisingly, Husk was smiling—not much, but Angel had seen enough of his poker face to recognize the difference at this point. Husk shifted his chair back, and moved his arm out of the way, leaving room for Angel to resume his previous place in his lap, and Angel did just that.
It was Racer, the sinner with the cigar, who suggested they return to Texas Hold Em, and Angel held back a groan. At least in Blackjack he could see everybody’s cards, do the math in his head, see what the hell was going on. As soon as the game started, though, it was clear that something had changed. Maybe these high rollers were indignant to have been shown up by a simple whore, and now felt that they had something to prove. Angel didn’t know, but whatever it was, the bets were suddenly higher than they had been before, and Husk…Husk seemed distracted.
More than that, though, Husk started losing.
His full house lost to Rosco’s straight flush. Then, he got a bad hand and folded twice in a row. By the fourth game, he was getting frustrated. He wasn’t showing it, of course, but Angel could feel the tension in his frame. Angel’s anxiety started to spike around Husk’s fifth loss in a row. Losing streaks happened, and there was little anyone could do about that, but Angel was the prostitute, and that meant he was going to pay for it later if Husk left the table in a bad mood. As they got into the sixth round, Angel was growing increasingly uncomfortable with how low Husk’s pile of chips was. At least he wasn’t doing as bad as one of the other guys at the table, who had just wagered two souls to keep himself in the game.
“Now hang on,” a different guy protested, “we aren’t playin’ for souls, we’ve already got chips in.”
“I figure it’s equivalent!” the gambler argued. “You sayin’ two souls ain’t worth as much as you put in? I’d say I raised the pot.”
“Well, is it equivalent, or did you raise? Make up your mind.”
Their argument was interrupted by Irina’s smooth, unbothered voice. “How much does a soul go for in your casino, Husk?”
“Depends on the soul,” Husk replied, “and what’s attached to it. If you’re wagerin’ a soul by its lonesome, that’s fifty grand right there. If that soul has souls beneath it, it goes up.”
Fifty grand. That was what Angel was worth to these assholes—not even six figures. Fifty grand was probably pocket change to someone like Husk.
With that settled, the betting continued at a hundred grand. No one else bet souls—they had plenty of chips—until the bet reached Husk, and he paused to casually fiddle with the small pile of chips he had left, but Angel could tell he was counting. He could also tell there weren’t enough chips there to call.
“What’s it gonna be, boss man?” Racer asked with a disgusting grin. “Gonna bet the house?”
Husk scoffed, glanced at his cards again—it was a decent hand, not great, but he could win—and pushed his last chips towards the pot. “These, and—“
“You could bet me,” Angel suggested.
Husk looked over at him, caught between surprise and confusion. “What?”
“Not my soul, obviously,” Angel clarified, “but you’ve got the night with me, no restrictions. Val don’t even let people pay for that.”
There were a few quiet chuckles and a murmur or two around the table. Husk looked intrigued by the concept—or perhaps by Angel’s boldness to suggest one night with him was worth as much as someone’s immortal soul.
“I’d accept that bet,” Rosco said, leering at Angel again after seeming to get over that hours ago.
There were various agreements around the table, and Angel felt Husk’s hand tighten on his waist. For a second he was afraid Husk’s stubborn pride would get in the way, but then he nodded his head to the side, and conceded. “These chips, and the night with Angel.”
Angel exhaled softly, relieved—not at the prospect of spending the night with any of ‘the boys,’ but at the lack of a third soul on the table. These assholes didn’t need any more power than they already had.
The betting round concluded, and no more souls were added to the pot. As people began to show their cards, Angel realized Husk was once again not going to win this hand. He had a straight, but so did Racer, and Racer’s went up to a queen while Husk’s only went up to a ten. Rosco had four of a kind.
Of all the sinners at that table, Rosco was without a doubt the one that Angel wanted to fuck the least, and he started to wonder if this was a mistake as the other active players laid down their two pair and three of a kind, bringing them back around to Irina, who had acted as dealer for this hand. She laid down her cards.
Straight flush.
Thank Satan.
It seemed Husk didn’t share his sentiment though, as Angel once again felt his hand tighten on his waist. Angel turned to look at him before looking at Irina. Husk’s eyes were on her as well. “Lucky lady,” he said, and she laughed.
“Only sometimes, my friend. It seem tonight,” her eyes went to Angel, “I will be.”
There were some chuckles from around the table, and then Husk spoke. “Well, I think I’ve had about all the losing I can take for one night.”
Others grumbled similar sentiments, and some, including Angel, began to stand up from the table. Husk found his feet as well, and offered various thanks to the other players, ‘good game,’ ‘always a pleasure to play,’ and so on, while Angel approached Irina.
She smiled at him, “Angel Dust, you enjoy the games?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled wider, knowingly. “So generous to pretend you were not bored just watching.”
“That is my job,” Angel told her, “making men feel like I’m as entertained by them as they are by me.”
“Just the men?” she questioned, her voice light and teasing.
Angel cracked a smile. “ Usually men.”
“But you do women?”
“Of course I do.”
Irina nodded, “Good, I would hate to catch you off your game. A night with famous Angel Dust; I want my money’s worth.” She laughed, “Or, I should say, Husk’s money’s worth.”
“You gambled and won,” Husk said, approaching from behind Angel. “It’s your money now.”
Irina aimed a smile over Angel’s shoulder—no doubt towards Husk. “You played good game. This is much more exciting than just another new soul.”
Husk had reached Angel’s side by now, and shrugged. “Thank him for the excitement, it was his idea.”
“An idea that saved you money and power.” Irina shifted her gaze back to Angel. “Clever thing.”
Angel held her gaze. He knew he was—clever, that is—but it was nice for that to be recognized for once.
“Yes, so I’ve noticed,” Husk agreed. “There’s a room for you upstairs, three-ten, whenever you’d like to make your way up there.” He handed Irina a room key.
“Where are my things?” Angel asked.
“Should be there already,” Husk replied.
Ah, so that was Angel’s room for the night, and of course what was his was his client’s.
“Enjoy your evening,” Husk said to Irina, then his eyes flashed to Angel for a moment before he walked away, towards the bar.
“Would you like drink before we go upstairs?” Irina asked, drawing Angel’s attention away from Husk.
“I would,” Angel confirmed, “if you’re offering.”
“Wonderful,” she turned to follow Husk, making for the bar as well. Angel trailed behind.
Husk looked vaguely surprised—and maybe irritated—when Irina took a seat near him, leaving one between them open. She probably meant it to be for Angel. He wasn’t sure, so he stayed standing.
She looked back at him and laughed lightly. “ Gospodi, where did that confidence go?” She patted the seat, “Sit, sit. What you like to drink?”
“A sidecar,” Husk interjected as Angel slowly took his seat.
Irina looked between the two of them, amused. “You order lots of his drinks?” she asked Husk, who simply shrugged,
“I pay attention.”
A bartender approached Irina, and she ordered, “A sidecar, and vodka, like ice.”
The bartender nodded, and turned away to make the drinks. Another bartender returned with a glass for Husk moments later, and he took a long drink. Angel wasn’t sure if he was crazy, or just reading into things, but it was like there was an outright aura of tension about Husk now, like if Angel tried to reach for him he would hit some kind of force field. Pissed about losing, no doubt. It sounded like that didn’t happen often. Angel wondered if it made it better or worse for him that it was to Irina, who seemed to be the closest thing to a proper friend that the overlord had, from what little Angel had seen anyway.
He was looking at Husk, so he wasn’t expecting it when Irina touched the sleeve of his dress. “This is nice. You pick this out for him?” she asked Husk.
“I did,” Husk replied. His tone was pleasant enough, but the utter lack of elaboration rang sour.
Irina hummed, smoothing her hand up Angel’s shoulder and turning her attention to him. “He takes good care of you, doesn’t he?”
Angel could almost feel the bruise on his face that had only just faded. “Yeah. He takes care a’ me, alright.”
She smiled—smooth, but toothy, as is the way with cannibals. “He is good at what he does.”
“That he is.” And wasn’t that the unfortunate truth?
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Irina,” Husk said, and Irina laughed outright.
“It got me here.”
The bartender returned with Angel and Irina’s drinks, and Irina accepted them both, standing up before she offered Angel’s glass towards him. Angel accepted it, and stood as well. “Will you be alright on your own, Husk?” Irina asked, and though it was well veiled, Angel didn’t miss the slight mockery in her tone.
“Ain’t I always?” Husk answered into the mouth of his glass.
Angel frowned. That sounded almost, not quite, but almost like vulnerability.
“I suppose you are,” Irina chuckled. “Come, Angel, let’s leave the old man to his liquor.”
She started for the stairs that led to the third floor, and Angel, ever the obedient servant, followed.
“He is not all bad,” Irina told Angel as the made their way up, “he is just grumpy.”
That forced a chuckle out of Angel. “I’ve noticed.”
“But he is rich, and he fucks good, so we humor him, yes?”
“What else are men good for?” he asked with a smirk.
Irina laughed. “Not much that I have seen.”
Angel wasn’t surprised to learn that she and Husk had done the devil’s tango; they were both attractive, both overlords, and they seemed to get along well enough. If anything, he wondered why they weren’t together now, given that history. It wasn’t his place to ask. The answer was probably as simple as Husk being prickly and pushing Irina away. Angel doubted Husk had ever hit her, in any case.
They reached room 310 and Irina produced the key Husk had given her to unlock it, then gestured for Angel to go through the open door. The hotel where Husk usually brought Angel was a tough act to follow, but this room was still every bit as nice as Angel’s suite at V Tower. The door opened into a small seating area with a kitchenette and a desk, separated from the sleeping area by a half-wall with frosted glass. Between the doors to the closet and the en-suite bathroom, a large television sat atop a dresser, across from a king bed with plush white sheets. Angel’s overnight bag was on the desk, and he made his way over to it as Irina followed him into the room.
He heard the door close and lock behind her, and asked, “So, what are you into?”
There was a soft clink he recognized as her setting her glass down on the counter in the kitchenette. “Oh, compared to your experience I am probably boring,” she replied lightly. “I don’t do the blood and the tying up.”
“That’s not a problem.” Angel turned to lean back against the desk. “Vanilla is a flavor.”
Irina was crossing the room towards the bed, and perched on the edge of the mattress, lightly kicking off her glittering heels. It seemed she had abandoned her fur shawl along with her drink. “Sometimes simple is best.”
“Sometimes,” Angel agreed. He lifted his bag. “Do you mind if I step into the bathroom for a second, clean myself up a bit?”
She waved vaguely towards the bathroom door. “Go right ahead, miliy, be comfortable.”
Angel crossed to the bathroom and closed himself inside, then set his bag down on the closed toilet seat and began to dig around inside it. He had his phone, his wallet, a couple basic changes of clothes—if he had foreseen this turn of events, he might have packed a nice robe or something to wear, but he hadn’t expected to actually spend the night with his client—basic toiletries, and most importantly, a small bag of blow. He dumped the powder out onto the counter and began to arrange it into lines.
He hadn’t lied to Irina; he did ‘do women,’ but it wasn’t exactly a secret that it wasn’t his preference. Hell, one look at him and most assumed (accurately) that he was as gay as the afterlife was long. He was going to need something to get him through this night. As nice as Irina seemed, she was still an overlord, so Angel knew better than to put anything but his best foot forward. He took a bill out of his wallet and rolled it up tight, then turned on the sink faucet before placing one end of the bill in his nostril and leaning over to snort the lines of power. If Irina asked, he could claim he was just washing his hands.
He packed his things away, tucked his bag underneath the counter, and headed back out into the room, feeling better already. His new client was waiting for him at the end of the bed in only her underwear, with her beautiful dress now draped over the top of the dresser. She smiled as she met his eyes, moving a hand to pull her long, silver hair back behind her shoulder, offering more of her body to be looked at. She was beautiful, if kind of monochrome.
“You never did tell me what you’re into,” Angel pointed out as he approached her.
“I am simple woman, zaichonok, ” Irina replied, reaching to slide her hands up the outsides of Angel’s thighs and over his hips as he came within reach. “Touch me nice, we both feel good. I do not like rough.”
“Understood.” Angel placed two of his hands on her shoulders, two on her waist. “Any other requests?”
“I do not like my feet touched.”
He smiled. “Convenient. Neither do I.”
He trailed one of his hands down, over the swell of her breasts, pushed up and together by her bra, and she hummed, moving one of her own hands as well, further up Angel’s side. “You are beautiful man, Angel Dust. Do people call you beautiful? Or only sexy?”
“I’ve heard both.” Slowly, Angel sank to his knees in front of her.
“Good. People should call you beautiful,” she replied, trailing her hand further up to brush over his hair, then down to cup his jaw as she leaned in to kiss him.
Angel followed her lead, softly working his lips against hers as he slid his lower hands up her thighs. Before they reached her hips, she shifted backwards, lying down on the bed and drawing Angel with her. He braced his elbows on the mattress on either side of her body and awaited further instruction, but she simply kissed him deeper, tilting her head and slipping her tongue inside his mouth. Angel was starting to get the feeling that ‘touch me nice’ didn’t necessarily mean ‘touch me gentle.’ He added that to his list of mental notes right under ‘don’t touch her feet.’
He took advantage of having four arms to keep himself propped up while he placed one hand on her abdomen, smoothing it up her stomach. He cupped one of her breasts through her bra, and gave it a slight squeeze, brushing his thumb over the spot where her nipple would be. He noticed there wasn’t much padding beneath the lace; she really did just have large, perfect breasts. Angel wasn’t quite sure if he was impressed or jealous. Women’s bodies were always so soft; that was one thing Angel could appreciate and enjoy about them. He had often been told, both before and after his death, that he was soft like a woman. Whether it was said as a compliment or an insult, it always made his heart skip with pride. That was often what the men he wanted liked about him, after all, though Anthony had always found it a little confusing, the way some were attracted to men but would specifically seek out those that were like women.
Irina shivered slightly under his touch, wrapping her arms around him, though it seemed less of an embrace, and more of an effort to unzip his dress. Angel held still so she could do so, and as soon as that was out of the way, he sat up on his knees to pull the garment up over his head. Irina’s eyes dragged slowly over his body. There was lust there, certainly, but Angel also saw admiration in her gaze.
“Like what you see?”
“I do,” she replied, brushing her hand smoothly up over his stomach.
Angel leaned over her again, bracing his hands on the mattress this time to leave more space between them to touch and play. He slid one hand beneath her panties, and down between her legs. Irina spread her legs wider in clear invitation, moving both her hands to lightly grope over Angel’s chest and shoulders while he brushed his fingers over her entrance and circled her clit. She took in a breath, not quite a gasp, and smiled, pressing her hips towards him.
“Tell me what works for you,” Angel said. “Let me get you off like this.”
“You want to use your mouth?”
He didn’t want to do that at all, but Irina was never going to know that. He grinned, and leaned down to kiss her lips again, then her neck, chest, and stomach. He eased her panties down and off her long legs, careful around her feet, and guided her legs up onto his shoulders. She shifted to get more comfortable, one arm thrown languidly onto the mattress above her head, the other hand reaching down to gently tangle in Angel’s hair—petting, not pulling—as he put his mouth on her.
Angel didn’t enjoy eating women out (shocker), but he had done it enough times to be good at it, and reasonably efficient. Irina moaned, soft and throaty, as he began his work, flicking and circling with the tip of his tongue in calculated, precise movements. ‘Efficient,’ in this case, didn’t necessarily mean ‘fast;’ it meant getting his client off in a reasonable amount of time while giving himself enough time to get it up. His dick wasn’t completely limp, but it was still nowhere near hard enough to get it in someone.
His go-to fantasy in times like these, for many years, had been Valentino—Valentino pinning him down, with one set of hands tied above his head and the other in Valentino’s tight grip, and Valentino’s second set of hands holding Angel’s legs open as he mercilessly railed his ass. Sometimes, Angel thought back further. Sex was simpler back when Anthony was alive, with no extra arms, wings, or strange, infernal powers. He imagined damp alleys and the stale smell of cigarette smoke, the heels of his hands rubbing raw on a brick wall while he and a man he would never see again forced their bodies together in a way God never intended, sinking teeth into flesh to muffle the sound of the pleasure they weren’t allowed to have.
Recently, Husk had turned out to be a pretty…well… efficient fantasy as well, as much as it pained Angel to admit it. That man was damn good in bed when he treated sex like a luxury instead of a power play (that man was damn good in bed when he treated sex like a power play, too).
Irina’s moans began to rise in pitch, legs tightening on Angel’s shoulders and hand gripping in his hair. She said something in that language Angel didn’t understand, but it didn’t sound like she was complaining, so Angel continued to do what he was doing.
It wasn’t that he didn’t find women aesthetically pleasing to look at. The exact opposite was true, Angel simply wanted to look like them more than he wanted to put his dick in them. He didn’t mind having sex with women, but, well, that was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t mind. Sure, he didn’t enjoy the taste of pussy, but to be fair, he hadn’t enjoyed the taste of cock right out of the gate, either. It was weird to think of body parts as acquired tastes.
Angel liked the taste of cock. He wasn’t sure when that began, only that he liked it when he hadn’t before, and that it tasted to him like pleasure and power. Nothing beat reducing a beautiful man to his most basic desires, to an animal born only to fight and feed and fuck.
Suddenly—or not really suddenly, Angel just hadn’t been paying attention—Irina gasped loudly, legs tightening and shaking as she reached her peak. Angel didn’t stop until she did, of course and soon enough she relaxed, practically melting onto the blankets.
“There you go,” Angel purred, climbing back up over her body on the bed. “Feel good?”
She hummed, draping her arms languidly around his shoulders. “You are good with your mouth.”
Angel grinned. “You wanna taste?”
She smiled back, and pulled him down for a heavy, open mouthed kiss.
Now, Angel knew he was good with his mouth in this context—kissing, that was. He knew how much tongue to use to be sexy, not sloppy. That had come from decades of experience with men who liked to dominate with their tongues like they were having a goddamn sword fight. How that was pleasant for anyone, Angel had no idea. Valentino was the first person he had kissed with a tongue long enough to actually stick it down Angel’s throat without practically swallowing the entire lower half of Angel’s face in the process. Kissing didn’t have to be delicate in any sense of the word, but for fuck’s sake, it had to have some finesse if it was going to be good.
Angel rocked his hips. He had an erection, finally, confined in his own lacy underwear. He pressed it against Irina, and she rolled her hips against his in turn, spreading her legs wider in invitation. Angel used his upper hands to keep himself propped up as he pushed his underwear down with his lower hands, and kicked them off. He lined the head of his cock up with Irina’s entrance and slowly pressed in. Irina moaned, low, but loud, pressing her hips up to meet him.
This was the part about sex with women Angel really didn’t mind. He preferred bottoming, of course, and if he had to top, he still preferred men from an attraction standpoint. From a purely physical standpoint, though, if he had to top, he preferred the way women felt, all soft and slick and yielding. And besides, it was a nice change of pace. Few women actually found Angel attractive—too feminine for the straight girls and too masculine for the lesbians, his only female fans were a handful of bisexuals with only so much money to spend on porn—so Valentino didn’t bother pairing him with women more than once or twice a year, if that.
When was the last time Angel had fucked a woman?
Irina writhed under him, grasping at his body with her hands, meeting his hips thrust for thrust. Her mouth was hot and wet against his, then across his jaw and down his neck. She wasn’t bad. She wasn’t great, but she wasn’t bad. Maybe she would have been great, if Angel had been attracted to her.
A few times, when he was young, Anthony had wished he was attracted to women. It would have made his life a lot easier. Maybe it would have made his father proud. By the time Anthony died, he had known there was nothing he could have done to achieve that, and if there had been, it wouldn’t have been worth it.
Angel didn’t know if the Big Man’s decision to send him downstairs had anything to do with his sexuality. He had done plenty else to earn it. Fucking women wouldn’t have changed his fate. He was exactly where he belonged. At least now he didn’t have to worry about the morality of the things he did. What, was he going to get exterminated and go to Double Hell? Not likely. Everyone knew Heaven and Hell were the ends of their respective roads. Nothing came after Hell. Angel didn’t like to think about that.
He pulled Irina’s legs up over his lower set of arms, and continued to rock into her. She moaned loudly, crossing her ankles behind his back, drawing him closer, and deeper inside her. Angel moaned in turn. That felt good. He began to grind against her more than thrust. She was talking in that language again, low and throaty, head tilted back against the pillows and eyes closed.
“You look absolutely stunning,” Angel told her. After all, who didn’t like to be admired? If they had been making porn right then, Valentino would have been very pleased. He didn’t tell her that part, though; the last thing he wanted was to accidentally offend another overlord and get bitchslapped again.
A smile pulled at the corner of her lips, and she opened her eyes, looking at him through her lashes. “You are good at this.”
Angel smirked. “I’d better be.”
He knew he was. He wouldn’t have been Valentino’s star whore if he wasn’t. If he hadn’t been Valentino’s star whore, he wouldn’t have been the one Valentino auctioned off at that event. If he hadn’t been the one Valentino auctioned off at that event, he wouldn’t have been the one Husk called to the casino that night, and he wouldn’t have been the one in bed with Irina.
Angel wondered absently if she had been at the event, that night when Husk bought Angel.
Angel found it funny that he was thinking about Husk again—not even in a lustful way this time—when he made Irina cum for the second time that night, as if the bastard was so sexy the mere thought of him could travel through Angel’s dick and get his partner off.
Embarrassingly, it was the mere thought of him that got Angel off a few minutes later.
To be fair, though, Angel had already fantasized about Valentino forwards, backwards, up, and down, and it would have been pretty hot if Husk had fucked him on that card table.
It took another hour and a couple more rounds to tire Irina out. Once she was done, she thanked Angel with a kiss, and turned away from him to sleep. Angel made sure his phone was plugged in and his alarm set before doing the same, facing the opposite direction. The bed was comfortable enough—about on par with the one in his apartment. It would have been easy to fall asleep, had he not been coked up.
But he was.
He texted Cherri.
You: wyd?
She texted back right away.
Cherri: Sleepinf, bitch, it’s late
You: Apparently not
Cherri: What do you want
You: entertainment, cunt
Cherri: Why is that my problem? It’s Friday, go find someone to fuck
A notification popped up that Cherri had turned her phone on Do Not Disturb, and Angel sighed, letting his own phone tumble out of his hand and onto the mattress.
He listened to the muffled sounds of the casino below him, hundreds if not thousands of voices all talking and laughing at once. He wondered if Husk was still down there, or if he, too, had gone to bed after their games ended. It was driving Angel nuts, the way that guy was getting in his head, but he couldn’t quite ignore the way he wished Husk hadn’t lost him for the night.
Chapter 9: You Can’t Keep Your Hands Off Me or Your Pants On. See What You’ve Done to Me?
Summary:
The morning after.
Chapter Text
♥🕷♥
When Angel’s alarm went off in the morning, he was surprised to find Irina already out of bed, getting dressed. She offered him a smile as their eyes met. “Dobroye utro, Angel Dust.”
He frowned a bit. “What does that mean?”
“Is ‘good morning.’” She was pulling on her stockings. “You sleep good?”
“Yes,” Angel said, although he hadn’t actually slept that much. “Did you?”
She hummed. “No, bad dreams. Is usual for me though.” She offered him another smile. “We all are haunted down here, yes?”
‘Haunted’ was a new one for Angel, but he supposed it fit.
He waited while Irina continued dressing, until she had her dress on. “Zip me?” she asked, and Angel stood to help her. Once that was done, she turned to face him, and gave him a light kiss—almost affectionate, maybe just a formality. “I enjoyed our night.” She smiled again, this one wider, clearly colored with amusement. “Do you do Yelp reviews, or just word of mouth?”
Angel very nearly choked on his own spit upon hearing this woman say ‘Yelp reviews.’ “Valentino takes care a’ my advertising.”
She nodded, seeming to think—not incorrectly—that she’d just said something hilarious. “Well, give Valentino my regards.” Another brief kiss, and she moved for the door, opened it, and immediately let out a surprised, “Oop!”
Angel looked up, surprised, to see what startled her, but she hadn’t opened the door far enough. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, smiling through the partially open door. “Everything is okay, little man?”
There was a small voice out in the hallway. “Oh, yes ma’am. I’m just waiting for Mr. Dust.”
Angel snorted. “Mr. Dust needs a shower before he goes anywhere.”
“Well, I leave you to that.” She stepped through the door, and Angel could now see through the frame, one of the little red porter guys from downstairs, standing exactly opposite the door, hands folded politely in front of him, dumb placid smile on his face. “And you to your waiting,” Irina concluded, absently patting the little guy between his long horns as she started down the hallway.
Angel, still entirely unclothed, folded his arms over his chest, and raised one unimpressed eyebrow at the porter. “Mind closing that? I don’t need to be givin’ everyone a free show.”
The porter nodded, still smiling placidly. “As you like, Mr. Dust.” He stepped forward and reached for the door. “And please, don’t rush yourself on my account.”
“I won’t,” Angel assured him, heading towards the bathroom.
Angel was so used to making himself pretty, he didn’t need to rush to have showered, gotten dressed, done his makeup, snorted a few more lines of coke, and met the porter at the door in under half an hour. The little man was still just smiling away. Angel wondered if he had stopped while the door was closed, or if he was like a smarmy little statue.
“The boss wanted to make sure I caught you before you left,” he explained as Angel stepped into the hallway. “If you’ll just follow me…”
Angel rolled his eyes as the little guy began to move, and Angel began to follow. He had been hoping to get back to his apartment in time to eat some breakfast before his shift at the studio, but of course Husk would throw a wrench in those plans.
The porter led Angel to Husk’s office, and reached his stupid little hand up as high as he could—barely waist height on Angel—to knock on the door.
He heard Husk’s voice inside. “Yeah.”
The little guy took that as permission to open the door, stepping out of the way and gesturing Angel inside. The office was, unsurprisingly, the same as the first time Angel had visited. Dark wood, rich carpet, dim but adequate lighting. This time Husk was already behind his desk, more casual than Angel usually saw him, with no jacket or vest, just suspenders over his white shirt, and he had a motherfucking mimosa in his hand. What an absolute prick.
“You wanted to see me?” Angel prompted.
“I did,” Husk replied, eyes indeed on Angel, gaze gold and heavy. “Too bad I didn’t get to.”
Angel hummed, feeling bold, and dropped his bag beside the door before approaching the desk. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Husk’s eyebrow cocked up. “For?”
“For keepin’ you from losing something a lot more permanent.”
“It was a clever idea, I’ll give you that.” As Husk spoke, his eyes had dipped from Angel to the desk in front of him, where he pulled out a drawer, and withdrew a bundle of cash, which he dropped on the desktop.
Angel looked at it for a moment, then at Husk. “What’s this?”
“It’s yours,” Husk replied.
Angel frowned. He was used to clients paying him, but not Husk, and not when he hadn’t had sex with them. “Um…what for?”
“Yesterday?” Husk’s eyes were back on Angel’s, his look weighted, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “You won.”
“I—… Yeah, one game of Blackjack, with Irina’s chips. I didn’t buy in.”
“She gave you the chips; that makes them yours, as well as the winnings that came of them.”
Angel shifted his gaze back down to the small pile of cash on the table—small, but some large bills. He could afford a few good fixes with that.
Slowly, like he was afraid Husk might smack his hand away at the last second, he reached for the bills and took them in his hand. “This ain’t a trick?” he asked, turning to go back to his bag by the door, but keeping his eyes on Husk.
“You questioning the integrity of my casino?” Husk asked in turn, though he sounded…maybe not teasing, but he didn’t sound insulted. “A win is a win. It’s yours.” He gestured to a breakfast tray that was sitting on the corner of the desk. “You hungry?”
Angel narrowed his eyes, ever looking for the ulterior motive. Overlords always had one. His pride alone urged him to tell Husk ‘no,’ not give him the satisfaction, but his stomach argued. The breakfast of fruit and pastries Husk was offering looked a lot tastier than the cold toaster pastry or cup of dry cereal Angel was likely to eat at his apartment, and breakfast was the only rush.
Angel tucked the cash away in his bag, then returned to take a seat in the chair across the desk from Husk. He reached for an English muffin from the tray. “Thank you.”
Husk nodded. “You’re welcome.” He took a sip of his stupid mimosa, and then gestured vaguely towards Angel with the glass. “You want a drink?”
“If you’re offering.”
Husk stood, and moved over to the little bar cart on one side of the room. Angel watched closely, almost suspiciously, but Husk just made a normal mimosa—maybe a little heavy on the champagne, but normal. He came back to the desk, offering the drink to Angel before he sat down again, by all accounts acting like a normal person, as opposed to a devious asshole.
Angel took a sip of his mimosa. It was definitely heavy on the champagne, but at least it was good champagne. “Why did you want to see me?”
“Well, I didn’t get to last night, did I?” Husk pointed out, picking up a little croissant from the breakfast tray.
“Aww,” Angel teased. “You like my company that much, sir?” ‘Whiskers’ would have fit so much better, there. Too bad the whiskers in question were attached to a violent overlord with Hell’s biggest stick up his ass.
Husk half chuckled. “‘Company’, sure.”
“Must be. You don’t need me for sex.”
“Thought we were talking about liking, not needing.”
“Oh, come on.” Angel rolled his eyes. “I spent last night with Irina. She’s good. Pretty, if that’s what you’re into.”
“What does that have to do with you and me?” Husk asked after a bite of croissant.
Angel shrugged. “Why not her?”
He took another bite, seeming to consider the question before he answered. “Maybe that’s not what I’m into.”
“No?” Angel asked. “Rich, powerful, pretty—”
“Boring, vain, greedy,” Husk retorted, raising his mimosa to his lips.
“An overlord, greedy?” Angel mirrored the motion. “Absurd.”
Husk didn’t reply, but he didn’t look pissed either; he looked maybe even amused.
Angel took a sip of his mimosa, then set it down and picked up his English muffin. “What would you call me, then? If not boring, vain, and greedy.”
“Still pretty vain, and maybe greedy, but you’re not boring.”
Angel grinned. “You really do know me.”
Husk scoffed. “Oh yeah, we’re real intimate.”
“Depends what you consider ‘intimate.’”
“Takes more than just sex.”
“I know.”
“Takes more than breakfast, too.”
Angel smirked. “Are you worried I think we’re intimate, Husk?”
“You asked what I consider intimate!” he argued.
“I didn’t, actually. I don’t think you’re gonna tell me, either. Am I right?”
“You know me so well.” Husk’s eyebrows jumped briefly upwards, teasing.
Angel’s smirk widened into a grin. “How’s that for intimate?”
“Eat your fuckin’ muffin.”
Angel did eat that fuckin’ muffin, and a couple of pieces of fruit, too. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an actual, nice breakfast. He wanted to enjoy it, mindful of the clock.
Once he was almost done, and Husk had finished his croissant and his mimosa, the overlord spoke up again. “Do you have a shoot at the studio this morning?”
“I do.”
“Hm. What do they do when you’re late?”
“Make me regret it.”
“Well, you can tell Valentino it’s my fault, this time.”
“Don’t worry; I’m not late, yet,” Angel said, standing up.
“You will be,” Husk replied, standing as well.
Angel narrowed his eyes again as Husk circled the desk towards him. “Not if I leave now.”
“You think you’re leaving now?” Husk asked, his voice suddenly a touch lower, and seeming almost heavier, richer, as he stepped right into Angel’s space and settled a hand on his waist.
“Husk,” Angel said, “I have to leave now. Valentino—”
“Valentino said you’re mine. Whatever I want with you. Right now—” He pulled Angel a little closer to him. “—I want you to stay here. You’ll still have time for work; I won’t keep you all day.”
Angel really wished he wasn’t getting a hard on right then.
Husk moved his other hand up to hook around the side of Angel’s neck, and he leaned in. For a second, it looked like he was actually going to kiss Angel this time, but of course he targeted the other side of his neck instead. His teeth scraped lightly over sensitive skin, and then, with a short brush of his sandpaper tongue, he moved up towards the hinge of Angel’s jaw. Angel shivered.
Husk turned, moving Angel to push him back against the edge of his desk, and slotting his leg between Angel’s thighs as he pressed closer. “You still wanna leave?” he asked lowly, breath hot by Angel’s ear.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Angel said.
“Humor me.” Husk’s lips brushed featherlight over Angel’s skin. “What do you want?”
Angel groaned. It wasn’t that simple. He wished it was. “I want…to not want you to rail me on this desk as much as I do.”
Husk paused for a moment, then pulled back a bit to meet Angel’s eyes, frowning slightly in bemusement. “What?”
“I need to go.”
Husk moved his hand from Angel’s neck to the desk by his hip, caging him in, though admittedly he was already rather trapped by Husk’s body against his. “Why? You got a different client more important than me?”
“Not a client,” Angel huffed, “a shoot. You know, the thing that makes you money?”
“Well, you already saved me some money last night, with that clever idea of yours,” Husk replied, moving his other hand up Angel’s back, clearly searching for the zipper of his dress. “That means I can afford to make a little less today.”
Angel took a breath, and closed his eyes. He really wasn’t in a position to argue. At least, that was what he would tell himself later when he felt bad about himself for enthusiastically allowing this to happen. He tipped his head back, and relaxed into the sensation of Husk’s mouth on his neck, and the fabric of his dress loosening as Husk found the zipper and drew it slowly down his back. Husk pressed himself closer against Angel, their hips together, just offset. He pushed a little harder with his leg, rubbing against Angel’s growing erection, and Angel gasped softly.
He felt Husk’s lips form a smile. “That’s what I thought…”
Barely more than a week ago, this man had beaten Angel black and blue, and here was Angel, spreading his legs for him like he always did.
God, I’m such a fucking whore.
Husk shifted back just slightly, moving his hands to pull Angel’s dress off his shoulders and arms and down to his hips. The fabric was too tight to slip right off, but that proved useful for Husk, who used his grip on the fabric to turn Angel around and press him forwards against the desk. Only then did he pull the dress all the way off, dropping it to the floor around Angel’s feet. He ran his hands back up the outsides of Angel’s thighs, then up over his hips and back to grope his ass. Angel moaned from the back of his throat, bending forward at the waist, pressing his chest against the desktop. Husk stepped forward again, and Angel could feel his hardness press against him, but it was no obstacle to his wandering hands as they moved to draw Angel’s underwear down his legs. One hand left Angel altogether, and Husk leaned over him, his chest pressing down against Angel’s back as he reached past him. Angel looked up just in time to see Husk’s hand reach a small box on the other side of the desktop. Husk knocked the lid of the box open so he could reach inside and pull out a small bottle of lube.
Angel couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you always keep a special little lube box on your desk?”
“There’s other shit in the box,” Husk scoffed.
“Ooh, like what?”
“Like what I don’t need everyone who walks into my office to see.” He straightened up again, and Angel heard the cap of the bottle pop open, then a moment later two slickened fingers began to massage around his entrance.
Angel couldn’t even bring himself to be a little shit about the box any longer; it was becoming increasingly clear to him just how pent up a night of straight, vanilla sex had left him. “You don’t gotta go slow.”
He could practically hear the expression of smug amusement on Husk’s face. “Your night with Irina not satisfactory?”
Angel rolled his eyes. “She ain’t really my type.”
“Yeah, she was never much of a top,” Husk mused, pressing both his fingers into Angel in a single, smooth motion.
Angel gasped at the slight, satisfying sting. “You would know this—mm—how??”
“Thought it was pretty obvious.” He began to pump and massage his fingers inside Angel, not rough, but far from slow and gentle.
“Pretty obvious you slept together, yes—oh, fuck, yes.” Angel gripped the opposite edge of the desk as Husk’s fingers ventured near his prostate. “Not— ‘Not much of a top’ implies—… Fuck…” Angel dropped his head, with a solid thunk as his forehead hit the desk, and began to grind back against Husk’s fingers.
“There you go, pretty boy,” Husk approved, pressing deeper, almost beckoning with his fingers inside of Angel.
Angel whined loudly, “Come on, you can’t just drop lore like that on me and move on.”
Husk laughed. “You want my lore? Is that what you’re focused on right now?” The next plunge of his fingers hit just right, and Angel cried out at the rush of pleasure. His knees buckled when Husk repeated the motion, but then Husk pulled his fingers away completely, giving Angel a chance to breathe while he unfastened his trousers.
He made quick work of it, but then, surprisingly, rather than immediately pressing inside, Angel felt his hands on his waist, pulling him up off the desk again. Angel frowned, confused but not resisting. Husk pulled Angel around to face him, then quickly lifted him up onto the edge of the desk, immediately pushing his legs apart to grant himself access. Angel, on nothing but instinct, wrapped his upper set of arms around Husk’s neck, and Husk moved his hands to Angel’s hips, pulling him closer. He was supported by the desk, but barely, close enough to the edge he couldn’t have really settled his weight if Husk wasn’t pressed against him, keeping him in place. Husk moved a hand down to line himself up, then, in a flash of golden heat, his eyes met Angel’s as he began to push inside. Angel’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t make a sound. He stopped breathing. He did absolutely nothing but take what Husk had to give him.
Both of Husk’s hands moved to grip Angel’s thighs, then he pulled, wrapping Angel’s legs around his own waist as his hips thrust forwards. Angel inhaled sharply, and exhaled on a drawn-out moan. His eyes slipped closed again. Husk pulled his hips back a bit, then thrust in again, rocking deeper and deeper into Angel until he bottomed out with a tight, slow exhale of his own. His grip on Angel’s thighs was just bordering the edge of painful where his claws dug slightly into Angel’s flesh, but Angel didn’t mind. He needed this.
After a moment, just long enough for Angel to notice, Husk began to move again, working steadily up to a proper rhythm. Angel’s core tightened, pleasure tingling at the base of his spine and creeping upwards. “Oh, yes, that feels good.”
“Good,” Husk replied, the word a low, drawn out purr. He sounded pleased, though there was no actual rumble in his chest to prove it. Angel wondered briefly if it was voluntary—the actual cat purring—and if it wasn’t, what made the difference to make it happen? He’d heard Husk purr before, he’d also seen him cum without purring, so clearly it wasn’t outright related. Of course, now wasn’t really the time to dwell on the purr-specific mechanics of Husk’s hellform, as he ended his next deep thrust with a wicked grind of his hips. Angel cried out again, tossing his head back.
Then, Husk told him to, “Talk.”
Angel opened his eyes and looked at him. “What?”
“Talk,” Husk repeated, grinding his hips hard into Angel, “I wanna hear you.”
“Mm. Most people wanna hear me moan,” Angel quipped.
“Yeah, you do plenty of that, don’t you?” Husk chuckled, punctuating his sentence with a particularly sharp thrust.
“Ah. Yes?”
“‘S not a bad thing,” he clarified, a tone of teasing slipping into his voice, “I just want a little more effort outta you.”
Angel sputtered. “Excuse me??”
“I’m the one doin’ all the work here! Coulda sworn this was your job, not mine.”
“My job is to do whatever you want, asshole!”
Fuck, Angel, rein it in.
Angel did not rein it in.
He shoved Husk off him and back into the chair Angel had been sitting in, then moved to straddle his lap. “You want me to moan? I moan.” He took Husk’s cock in hand and guided it back to his entrance. “You want me to talk? I talk.” He sank down. “You want me to put on a wig and pretend to be your mother?” He began to rock and grind. “I’ll charge ya extra for my fuckin’ therapy bill, but I’ll fuckin’ do it.”
Husk let out a laugh, slightly breathier than Angel had heard before. His hands found Angel’s hips again, but just to grip, not to guide.
“Don’t laugh at me, you piece a’ shit. I have done everything you asked.” Angel lifted himself up, not quite high enough for Husk to slip out, then slammed himself back down. “Worn your dresses, watched my mouth, played nice with your rich asshole friends.” Angel met Husk’s eyes. “I ate a woman out last night. You think I’m into that?? Me??”
“I take it you’re not,” Husk replied, infuriatingly smooth and conversational, though there was something at the corner of his mouth. Not enough to be called a smile, but something.
“God,” Angel slammed his hips down again, and Husk let out a short, tight groan, his hands gripping harder at Angel’s hips, “you piss me off.”
“I had no idea.” An obvious lie, though his voice sounded a touch strained, like that goddamn unbreakable composure of his was finally wearing down.
Angel’s dick twitched, unwillingly aroused by Husk’s pleasure, and that just pissed Angel off more. “If we didn’t need you…”
He let that empty threat die. They did need Husk—Valentino, Angel, and everyone else working in the studio. Without Husk, the afterlives they had all fought like feral animals to build and maintain would crumble. They needed Husk, and that meant they needed Angel to shut up and do his job. Unfortunately, it seemed Husk wasn’t interested in that—at least, not the shutting up part.
“What?” he asked, gripping Angel’s hips tight and holding him down in his lap so he could grind up into him. “You sayin’ you wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole, or you sayin’ you’d try and kill me?”
“I don’t have a death wish.” Angel pried Husk’s hands off his hips, and pinned them to the arms of the chair. “I’d tell ya to go to Hell, but we’re already there.”
Angel didn’t miss the sharp smile that caught the corners of Husk’s mouth, and it occurred to him for the first time that he might pay for this later. Maybe Husk was just waiting to get his rocks off before killing the insubordinate whore. If he was, Angel reasoned, it was too late now for him to save himself, anyway.
“Problem is,” Husk’s smile pushed well past the hint that it had been before, “you do need me. But it ain’t just that, is it? I seen the guys that fuck you in that studio. I seen you acting.”
Angel glared at him, grinding hard against his lap, so hard it hurt a little. Husk’s accusation hung unsaid, but Angel heard it loud and clear: You like this. You want this. Angel grit his teeth and circled his hips, and Husk rolled his own up in response, still smiling. If he was waiting for Angel to admit that he was right, he was going to be waiting a long ass time.
“You don’t know me.”
“Didn’t say I did. I said I see the difference.”
“Maybe I’m a better actor than you think.”
Husk actually snickered, “Bullshit.” He bucked his hips, driving suddenly harder and deeper into Angel, and Angel gasped, but he couldn’t fully appreciate how good that felt with how furious he was.
“Okay, fuck you.”
Husk laughed, wrenching his hands out of Angel’s grip so he could put them back on his body. One pressed flat against his lower back, holding him closer in Husk’s lap as the other palmed up his stomach to grope over his chest. “I didn’t say you ain’t good, I said I got your tells now.”
“Like what?”
“Like the way your breath catches before you moan—really moan, not for show. Or the way your thighs tense when I hit you just right.” He rutted his hips deep again, and Angel did feel his thighs tense, like a reflex. He had never even realized he did that.
“Hm. That ain’t fair,” he argued lamely. “Of course I’m gonna do it when you just said it.”
“There. Your voice.” Husk pressed his hand firmer against Angel’s back as he ground his hips up into him. “When you’re on set, doin’ your bullshit, it’s higher. Those fucks like hearing you all whiny and weak. With me, you’re deeper.” He ground his hips, sinking his cock indeed deeper inside Angel. “Mouthin’ off, havin’ fun. I hear it in your voice.”
Angel scowled and bit his tongue, ignoring the twist of pleasure in his gut. Immediately, Husk slid his hand up from Angel’s chest, brushing his fingers along the column of his throat to then tease down the underside of Angel’s jawline. “And here, when you’re tryin’ to be quiet, keep those pretty moans to yourself, your jaw gets tight.”
Now, that one, Angel knew he did. He just hadn’t realized it was that noticeable. No one had ever mentioned it before. “You’ve got tells too, you know.”
“You been payin’ attention?” Husk teased, swiping his fingers down to the very point of Angel’s chin before dropping his hand to Angel’s thigh.
“Of course. Part of the job.” Angel wrapped his lower two hands loosely around Husk’s suspenders, and slid his top two from the back of the chair down to Husk’s shoulders. “Your tail twitches—those feathers on the end. Sometimes it moves to your rhythm.”
Husk offered a short, “Hm,” but no denial—and no frown either, so Angel went on.
“Your hands, too.” He moved one of his top hands again, this time placing it over Husk’s on his thigh. “They do this thing. I don’t know what to call it.” Angel demonstrated the motion on Husk’s hand, slowly tightening and releasing over and over. “Your voice gets this little growl, too, like a rumble in the back of your throat. Not the purring—this is different.”
Husk’s eyes narrowed, just barely enough for Angel to notice. “That bother you? The cat shit? Kneading, purring…?”
“Should it?”
“I asked you.” There was an odd, sudden measure to his voice, like he was being careful, as if that was necessary.
Angel frowned. “No. Of course not.”
Husk mirrored his expression for a moment, and offered another, “Hm.” A beat, and his face went back to neutral. He rolled his hips, pressing up into Angel with intention. “What else?”
Angel moaned softly. “That’s all I’ve got.” He smirked. “For now.”
Husk chuckled, smoothing his hand up Angel’s thigh, and over to close around his cock.
“Oh, fuck yes.” Angel closed his eyes and rocked slowly but firmly into Husk’s hand. Husk made a low noise of approval, and slowed the pace of his hips to match Angel’s movements, pressing deep every time Angel sank back against him.
For thirty seconds (he counted), Angel relaxed and let himself enjoy it. It wasn’t every day—hell, it wasn’t every month he got this kind of attention. He would have been stupid not to enjoy it at least a little, so he gave himself thirty seconds, and when thirty seconds was up, he batted Husk’s hand away. “Alright, stop. Let me do my job.”
Husk’s eyebrows went up, and he stilled, while Angel shifted in his lap to get the leverage to move. He began to move up and down, bouncing hard and fast on Husk’s cock. Husk placed his hands on Angel’s thighs and began to knead, eyes locked on his face. He didn’t make any noise—not on purpose at least—but Angel could hear his breath hitch and waver.
“That’s it,” Angel cooed. “Let Angel take care of you.”
Husk shifted beneath him, then stilled again, allowing Angel to take control. He wrapped one of his hands around Husk’s throat and squeezed ever so slightly.
“Is this enough effort for you?”
Husk’s eyes actually widened, just a hair, but Angel saw it, and a clear, crooked smile hooked up the corner of his mouth. “Gettin’ there.”
This response almost threw Angel off, not because it was anything odd, but because it was…kind of cute? Luckily, he was a professional; he didn’t miss a beat.
Husk seemed to be making an actual effort to leave control in Angel’s hands, but it was clear he was already struggling, his own hands kneading, wandering and groping, hips jolting here and there with small, half-halted bucks, like he just couldn’t help it. His eyes stayed locked on Angel’s face, burning with such bright intensity that Angel couldn’t look away. He pressed a little harder on Husk’s throat, and Husk made a noise between a groan and a proper outright growl, and just like that his efforts of composure dissolved. His hands clamped down where they were on Angel’s hips, and he yanked him down as his own hips thrust up, hard.
Angel gasped, then grinned. “Oh, you like that, huh?”
Husk leaned forward, conveniently pressing his throat into Angel’s hand, right into Angel’s space, bringing their faces nice and close. He didn’t kiss him, didn’t even touch him at all, he was just considerably closer than he had been a moment before. “Yeah, not bad when you take some initiative.” He began to drag Angel’s hips against his own, forcing the rhythm he pleased.
Angel shook his head. “Uh-uh.” He used his lower hands to pry Husk’s off his hips. “I’m in charge, this time.”
Husk chuckled, deep and rumbly in his throat, and his hands immediately found purchase beneath Angel’s thighs. “Oh you are, huh?” He stood, bringing Angel up into the air, but only just as long as it took him to take two steps forward, gripping tighter with one hand as he used the other to clear some space on his desk—knocking papers and god knows what else to the floor—so he could deposit Angel onto his back on the hard wood.
Angel laughed, arching his back and bracing one of his feet against the edge of the desktop. “Yeah. I am.”
Husk thrust into him, hard, sinking fully to the hilt in one heavy motion.
Angel moaned. “Fuck, yeah. Give it to me.”
Husk growled, low and loud, and worked quickly into a harsh rhythm, pounding hard and deep into Angel with every thrust. One hand held tight to his thigh, claws digging into the meat of it, while the other palmed and groped at the fluff of his chest. Angel splayed his arms out on the desk beside him, with his top two hands gripping the edge of the desktop above his head.
Husk moved his hand from Angel’s chest to reach up and settle over top of one of Angel’s, somewhere between pinning him down, and gripping the edge of the wood as well. “This is what ‘in charge’ looks like?” he questioned, sounding rather smugly amused, but so was Angel.
“Havin’ control ain’t always physical. Sometimes it’s havin’ somethin’ someone else wants.” Angel smirked up at him. “You should know that. What kinda gambler are you?”
Husk’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you have that I want?” His gaze trailed heavily down Angel’s body, towards the place where his cock sank into him. “That I don’t already got, I mean.”
“You want to keep what you’ve got. Know when to fold.” Angel hummed as one particular stroke hit just right, deep and smooth and not too hard. “And as for me, you’re the one who told me to ‘take initiative’ in the first place; why would I fight when I’m gettin’ exactly what I want?”
Husk didn’t respond, but his pace certainly did, slowing, and almost deepening. He had already been burying himself fully on each thrust, but it somehow felt heavier, more intentional, like he was trying to push himself into Angel’s very core.
“There you go,” Angel purred. “Good boy.”
Husk growled, and Angel really wasn’t sure if it was disapproval or pleasure, but either way he paused his rhythm to grind his hips hard against Angel, and it felt fucking good.
“Yes,” Angel breathed, “yes, yes…”
“Fuck,” Husk muttered under his breath, so clipped and quiet Angel almost didn’t hear him—but he did. He definitely did.
Angel grinned, closing his eyes, and let out a long, loud moan. With his eyes closed, he didn’t see Husk bending closer, so it came as a pleasant surprise when a sandpaper tongue dragged a stripe along his collar bone. He shivered, wrapping his lower arms around Husk’s waist, smoothing his hands up his back. Husk began to move again, thrusting slow, deep, firm but not hard. His breath tickled the crook of Angel’s neck, so close Angel could feel the shape of his lips without any actual contact.
“You should cum like this,” Angel suggested; after all, he had been instructed to talk. “Fill me up. You want to own me so bad? Mark your fucking territory.”
“You want a mark?” Husk grumbled, and then his mouth was on Angel—specifically, his teeth. He bit down firmly on the base of Angel’s neck, thrusting into him harder at the same time.
Angel cried out, sensation sparking like fireworks behind his closed eyelids, pleasure on the border of pain. “Yes! Fuck! Yes!”
Husk didn’t remove his mouth, keeping a firm hold with his teeth as he bucked his hips hard, each thrust jolting Angel’s body. It was only a few more seconds before he came, hips juddering as he went rigid. His claws dug hard into Angel’s thigh and wrist where he was holding him down, while Angel gripped the back of Husk’s shirt in his fists. He could feel Husk’s breath catch behind his teeth. Angel tipped his head back and groaned, surprisingly satisfied for a guy who hadn’t finished yet, but he barely had a second to catch his breath before Husk’s weight lifted off him.
Rather than stepping away, as Angel expected, Husk sank to his knees, sliding his hand down Angel’s leg to lift it over his shoulder. Angel hadn’t even processed what was happening before Husk took his cock between his lips and sank down. Angel wailed, arching off the desk as ecstasy poured through his veins. Husk was shockingly good at this as well, keeping the sandpaper of his tongue tucked out of the way as he picked up a rhythm, bobbing his head, taking Angel down right to the root. Clearly he’d done this before, but Angel would have to mull that over later, alongside ‘she was never much of a top’ and the implications of that, when he wasn’t about to pop off like a virgin touched for the very first time.
“I’m gonna cum,” he warned Husk, too far gone to care that it had only been thirty seconds, and Husk hummed. The resulting vibrations rattled through Angel’s very core. He buried his fingers in the fur at the back of Husk’s head, gripping tightly, and screamed as he spilled in Husk’s mouth.
Husk pulled away, reaching for one of the now empty cups on the desk so he could spit into it. It seemed, though the Overlord Husk was the type to suck a dick with the best of them, he was not the type to swallow. Personally, Angel thought spitting into a cup was worse. But either way, Husk set the nasty cup aside, and he was still on his knees between Angel’s legs, one hand hooked around one of Angel’s calves, looking up at him. He wasn’t quite smiling, but there was a distinct sort of…something…about his face.
“What?” Angel asked.
Husk shrugged. “Haven’t done that in a little while.” He narrowed his eyes. “How’d I do?”
Angel took a breath, and blinked a couple times, then burst into a fit of airy laughter, covering his face with his upper hands.
He felt Husk’s hand drop from his leg, and heard him get to his feet. “Christ, fuckin’—” His voice quieted to a mumble, and Angel couldn’t catch the rest of his sentence over his own giggles.
This guy. This fucking guy.
“I don’t believe for a second you don’t know that was good,” Angel said when he managed to get ahold of his breath, dropping his hands from his face.
Husk gestured vaguely, aggressive, but seeming more indignant than properly mad. “You’re a fucking actor! Thought you might wanna—” Another emphatic, yet vague gesture. “—give me some fucking notes or something, I don’t know!”
Angel sat up, and reached forward, curling his fingers under Husk’s chin. “Oh, you want notes?”
Husk swatted his hand away—not immediately, just a second too late to count as immediately—and glared at him, but he didn’t say ‘no.’
Angel grinned. “Learn to swallow. Quitter.”
“I ain’t no actor!” Husk argued. “It’s fuckin’ gross.”
“Bein’ an actor ain’t got nothin’ to do with—…” Angel‘s eyes caught on the clock hung above the door, and his heart dropped. “Shit. Shit, shit…” He shoved himself off the desk, and immediately reached for his dress on the floor.
Husk stepped back, out of his way, and after a moment that was technically quiet, but felt wildly frantic to Angel, he offered. “Do you want me to write you a note?” Despite the patronizing ass wording, his tone was actually shockingly sincere.
Angel briefly but vividly fantasized about punching him while he tugged his dress back on. “It won’t matter.” He crossed the room, back towards the door to snatch his bag. “Do you have a car for me, or am I calling a cab?”
“I’ll get a car,” Husk confirmed, tapping on his phone with one hand and grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair with the other.
Angel frowned as Husk approached him and the door. “What are you doing?”
“Going to the studio,” Husk replied, pausing to hold the door open for Angel. “I have some business with your boss.”
♥🕷♥
The first time Anthony could remember hearing the word ‘faggot,’ he was six years old, sitting outside his father’s office in nothing but his underwear, with a sore tongue and a cut on his cheekbone from his father’s ring. He and Molly had been playing dress-up in their mother’s evening clothes and makeup. It was Johnny who found them. He kicked up a fuss, then dragged Molly away while their father ‘set Anthony straight.’ That was when he backhanded Anthony’s face, and Anthony bit his tongue, bursting into tears. His father had wrestled him out of his mother’s dress and dragged him down the hall to his office before his mother arrived to snatch him away. His parents then left him to sit in the hall, shivering cold, while they had a ‘discussion’ in the office.
“That little faggot ain’t my son! You think I don’t know that? You think I’m a fool?”
It would be years before Anthony realized the full implication of those words. At the time, all he gathered was that he was a ‘little faggot,’ and that was a bad thing.
A hundred years later, Angel Dust found himself in a situation strangely reminiscent of the former, sitting outside Valentino’s office while the powers that ran his afterlife bickered within.
“Angel Dust is mine! I decide who he fucks, and who fucks him; you can’t just bet him away to any lucky loser at your filthy casino!”
“Well it’s a good thing it wasn’t a ‘lucky loser’ then,” Husk retorted coldly. Angel could hear the agitation in his voice, but the overall calmness of his demeanor was enough that he was sure it would only piss Valentino off more. “You got a problem with my high rollers? I’d say my ‘filthy casino’ sees more quality than your studio any day.”
“We have an agreement,” Valentino shot back.
“Yes, an agreement that says I have access to Angel Dust. ‘Whatever you want’ is what you said.”
“Not whenever you want! And definitely not whoever you want! He has a schedule!”
“Yes,” Husk agreed again, cold and sharp, like he was talking to someone exceedingly stupid. “And he was scheduled to spend the night with me. And then that changed. So I took my due this morning.”
Valentino sneered; Angel could hear it in his voice. “Then I expect to be compensated for the extra work my employee did, last night—time and a half.”
“Oh, is that what you expect?” Husk asked, sounding patronizingly gracious. “We can discuss what compensating your employee for his time and work would look like, compared to the fortune I’m giving you now. I can assure you, the numbers separating a client and an investor are rather steep. I’d be happy to discuss your ‘time and a half,’ were I a client of Angel’s. As this studio’s financial patron—this studio’s only financial patron, I believe—I’d suggest you think real hard about what you’re asking for.”
Angel cringed hard in the silence that followed, while Valentino presumably floundered for a retort. From where Angel was sitting, Husk’s argument sounded about as rock solid as Angel’s dick was all of a sudden, and Valentino didn’t like losing.
It seemed Husk wasn’t done though, as he questioned calmly. “Is that a conversation you’d like to have, Valentino? I can have those numbers drawn up very quickly—keep in mind, I’d be showing you a little more this time than would be the new standard moving forward, considering your requested time and a half.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Valentino ground out.
Husk hummed tightly. “I’d say that’s a wise decision.” There was a moment of weighted silence, then he went on, and Angel could hear his voice getting closer to the door. “Now, I’ll be expecting Angel for our usual appointment next week, but if I decide I want him sooner, I’ll let you know.”
“Fine.”
The office door was already opening as Valentino spoke; Husk evidently hadn’t been planning to wait for an answer. Angel looked up from his seat, as Husk closed the door again, then met his eyes.
“You usually eavesdrop outside Valentino’s office?” he asked, sounding completely unbothered.
“No,” Angel answered honestly, “but he didn’t dismiss me.”
Husk’s eyebrows went slightly up. “Thought you were supposed to be shooting this morning? Business as usual needs a dismissal?”
“I was late for the shoot. It’s probably gettin’ rescheduled. I dunno.”
Husk hummed shortly. “Well, we seem to be in better agreement of how things work, now. So you shouldn’t get in trouble for being late—at least, not when it’s because of me.”
Angel chuckled ruefully. “You won’t get in trouble.”
“Angel!” Valentino shouted through the door. “Get your flat ass in here!”
Angel stood and straightened his dress. “I’ll see you next week,” he said, then stepped into the office.
Valentino was standing behind his desk, and Angel wasn’t entirely sure if the haze of pink smoke was coming from his cigarette, or out of his ears. He waited for Angel to close the door, then spoke through gritted teeth. “Come. Here.”
Angel sighed as he approached the desk, keeping his gaze low. Of course, keeping his gaze low didn’t really help when Val threw a half empty glass at his head, only missing by a few inches.
“You fucking slut!” he shouted. “How many people do you fuck without telling me, huh?? He got folks lined up the block waiting for you, just itching to have a taste under the table?? Is he fucking undercutting me???”
“No,” Angel told him. “No, it was just this once. Like he said, he lost a bet—”
“He pawned you off to some bitch who didn’t pay a cent!”
“She gambled. She won. And it was my idea to—” Angel closed his mouth, eyes widening in surprise at himself. Why the fuck was he defending Husk? Where had that urge come from?
“Your idea???” Valentino all but screamed.
“Fuck, no! I wasn’t thinking!”
“Well you’d better start thinking, amorcito,” Valentino snarled, circling the desk to move towards Angel. “What’s your smart little idea to make up for it, huh?”
“Anything you want,” Angel offered.
“Anything I want?” Valentino snapped, grabbing Angel roughly by the shoulder. “You got a whole night’s worth of your hourly rate to give me?? You got anything to show for your little tryst???”
“You could dock my pay until it’s paid off. I’ll do extra work. Anything you want, I promise.”
“I want some fucking respect!” Valentino shouted, cracking his hand across Angel’s face. Angel yelped, and stumbled into the desk. “Your fucking boyfriend thinks he can walk all over me just cause I need his money, but you won’t get off so easy.”
Valentino grabbed Angel roughly by the throat, and Angel clutched at his hand and wrist. “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s just another bastard I work for! I just did what he asked!”
Unfortunately, this seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as pure rage flashed in Valentino’s eyes, and he squeezed Angel’s throat tighter—not cutting off his air, but downright uncomfortable—and leaned in close to his face. “You. Work. For. Me.”
Angel choked, and tried to dig his fingers underneath Valentino’s. “Yes, Val. I’m sorry.”
“You’d better be sorry,” Val snapped, straightening up again, and all but throwing Angel at a nearby chair.
Angel managed to catch himself, but not before slamming his shin into the seat of the chair so hard he saw white.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Valentino yelled at him. “Like you’re his property to bet, like you get to decide who you sleep with!”
Angel heard the familiar sound of Valentino’s belt unbuckling, and uttered a pathetic whimper. He hoped Valentino’s plan was to fuck him, as opposed to a more painful alternative.
Two of Valentino’s hands grasped at the hem of Angel’s dress, pulling it up over his hips. “Bend over,” he commanded.
Angel already was bent over a bit, leaning on the back of the chair. He moved his hands down to the arms. Valentino’s hands dragged over his hips, groping briefly at the curve of his ass, before they left him all together, and were replaced sharply with a crack from the flat of his belt.
“Ow!” Angel jolted and dropped to his knees. “Val, stop!”
“Get up,” Valentino snapped coldly.
Angel slowly and shakily rose to his feet, clinging to the chair for stability. He felt the end of the belt—or likely the middle, folded, considering the rounded end—set against the back of his thigh. Placed there carefully, not another hit.
Valentino spoke, dragging the belt slowly upwards as he did so. “First, you disobey me, offer yourself up to some random bitch so that mangy cat could save some face,” the belt crested over Angel’s ass, still moving slowly, “and now you think you can tell me to stop?”
“Please, I’m—”
“Who do you think you are??” Valentino shouted, striking the belt harshly against Angel’s flesh again.
Angel went back down, turning to back himself up against the wall, arms up to block his face. “I’m sorry!”
Valentino didn’t even offer a retort, and Angel cried out in pain again as the belt cracked across his arms this time, leather stinging against his skin.
“You’re fucking useless!” Valentino screamed at him, drawing his hand back for another hit.
Angel turned again, curling in towards the wall, not that the continued impacts against his back and shoulders hurt much less than those against his arms.
“Next time you decide to think of something clever,” Valentino snarled, “you’d better remember what it gets you.” Another crack of his belt. “You don’t get to have ideas. That’s not what you’re here for. You,” another strike, “are an object.” Another strike. “You are made,” another, “to be used,” another, “by the people I say,” another, “can use you.”
“Yes, Valentino,” Angel sobbed through gritted teeth.
“You’re not Husk’s toy, you’re mine.”
“Yes, Valentino.”
“Look at me.”
He turned his head, ready with a hand to block Valentino’s belt if it came—and it did, but slow, to be placed firmly under Angel’s chin and force his face up as Valentino stooped close. “You make sure you don’t forget who has the power here. He may have the money, but I have your fucking soul.”
Angel felt a tear escape and tumble down his cheek. “Yes, Valentino.”
For a moment he just held his gaze, then sharply raised the belt again, and Angel jerked his fists up in front of his face again. But the impact didn’t come, and Val smirked, straightening up and stepping away, leaving Angel cowering on the floor.
Valentino didn’t look at him again, just dropped his belt on his desk, and walked back around it to sit down again, grabbing a nearby tablet to begin swiping through the screen. Eventually, Angel rose to his feet, and straightened his dress, but Val still didn’t look at him, didn’t at all acknowledge he was still there, the bastard.
“Can I go now?” Angel asked.
“Yeah I think you’d better,” Val replied, cool and calm as if they’d just had a pleasant, professional meeting. “You’ve got a lot of work to do to make up for last night.”
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