Chapter Text
That night, Cherri came back tired and frustrated from a turf war that dragged on way longer than she would’ve liked. She found her two adorably stupid drinking buddies at the bar counter and sat with them, demanding to be flooded with booze until she couldn’t think straight anymore.
Her two friends immediately obliged.
Angel was already sipping on what looked like his third Harder Daddy cocktail that Husk swore he would never prepare again, but he did. Just for him. Like he always did.
And Angel was, understandably, already buzzed. Which was never a good thing when in proximity of his favorite bartender.
Husk’s drink of choice was of course whisky, and by the looks of it he had already downed half a bottle by the time Cherri joined them.
Angel had sat at the counter and chatted with Husk the whole evening before their friend turned up, eyes following the demon cat’s hands pouring drinks to both of them and his voice getting rougher as they drank. And for some reason Angel’s brain had already decided, very rudely, that tonight was the night to completely dismantle itself.
So, in retrospect, thank God for Cherri’s appearance.
Three hours later, the room was spinning. The empty bottles were piling up and all three of them were absolutely wasted. Laughing, snorting, and now blurting out the most embarrassing and unhinged things in an insane round of slurred “Never have I ever” game proposed by Cherri at her fourth tequila.
“Okay, okay,” she laughed, after gulping down her shot and thinking for a split moment. “Never have I ever hooked up with someone just ‘cause they looked dangerous.”
Angel drank immediately– almost smugly, because dangerous hookups were his whole shtick. No shame in that. More or less.
Cherri also drank, unsurprisingly.
Husk hesitated, one ear twitching nervously.
Angel’s eyes flickered and watched that pause like it was in slow motion.
Then Husk lifted the glass.
What.
And drank.
Angel’s head snapped so hard it almost gave him whiplash. “...excuse ya?!”
Husk shrugged, head tilting gently, mouth curling down on one side. “Bad habit.”
Cherri howled and slammed her glass on the counter.
“Didn’t know you had it in you, pussycat!!”
Already incredibly drunk, Angel’s mind narrowed like a camera zooming in too fast.
I’m sorry, what the fuck?
Bad habit?!
How?
Dangerous how?
Knives? Chains?
BOTH?
As his mind ran in a circle like a toy train, he suddenly felt a sling of saliva trying to escape his lips.
Oh, fuck, what?
He squeezed his eyes, dumbstruck at himself, and didn’t inquire further. Even though he wanted to so fucking bad.
When it was his turn, Angel regained control with a sly smile. As much as completely wasted could be considered in control.
“Never have I ever gotten paid to fake an orgasm.”
Husk cocked one eyebrow, unamused. He watched both Cherri and Angel downing their shot, almost proudly.
“Seriously?” he asked.
“Ya never did?”
The unamused look turned into a slight, drunken smirk and Angel swore he saw a glint in those golden eyes.
“Never had to.”
“Yeah! Kitty’s on fire today!” Cherri cackled and gave him a fistbump. Angel laughed a tad too loud.
"Oh, word? You think you're all that, huh?" he snarled, and he physically heard the jealousy in the undertone of his voice. What the hell had gotten into him?
Husk tipped his glass, unaware of all that was going on in Angel’s head. “Usually.”
Fuck.
Angel realized the blush spreading from his cheeks to his nape a second too late. That sudden and uninvited heat was making his thoughts blur at the edges.
Hah.
I’m gonna fuckin’ pass out over a smirking hunky old cat that needed to down the equivalent of the entire liquor stash of the hotel to finally open up sexually to me!
Fuck!!
Oblivious of what was happening, Cherri took the reins again, her head softly wobbling and her eye flickering, trying hard to stay alert.
“...‘kay, mhhh– never have I ever– been ruined by someone older.” she slurred, downing her drink right away.
Angel scoffed. Too easy. The booze didn’t even have the time to touch his lips before going straight down his throat. He slammed the glass on the counter.
Husk froze for a moment, wings still, tail idle, as if he had just seen a ghost.
Angel looked at him, eyes blowing up and head feeling progressively dizzier.
Don’t you dare.
Husk sighed. And drank.
Angel immediately felt something restless stir inside of him.
Huh?!
His mind ran faster than he could stop it.
Ruined? Older?!
YOU?!
His breath stuttered as his thoughts spiraled.
How. Physically? Spiritually? Emotionally?
Oh, for God’s sake, Angel. Don’t ya fuckin’ picture it.
“... ruined how.” Angel finally whispered, trying to look and sound unbothered while the room was narrowing again to the sound of his own pulse.
Husk gave him a quick glance and ignored him, refilling the drinks.
Don't pretend ya didn’t hear me!!
The only sound left in the lobby were Cherri’s hysterical laughs.
After a brief pause, Cherri slammed the counter with a dangerous grin on her lips.
“Thissss is gonna be good. Never have I ever hooked up with more than one person in the same night.”
Angel’s pulse climbed as he put the glass on his lips, his eyes glancing not subtly—not subtly at all—at someone that looked like Husk but, with all this new info, Angel wasn’t so sure who the demon cat in front of him was anymore.
Husk drank again and a very strange shiver crept down Angel’s spine.
“...plural?” Asked Cherri, consonants blurring together and creating a new word that sounded like the one she wanted to say.
Husk squinted at the ceiling, not sure if he would’ve liked for it to fall down on his head or to be swallowed whole by the floor underneath him. “Different century.”
“What do yo–” Angel inquired, not sure if his confusion was because of the alcohol or if he really hadn’t understood. Then it hit him.
Husk wasn’t talking about his life on earth. But a different ‘century’ in his afterlife.
“Crikey. Did ya just admit to havin’ had bloody orgies?”
Husk hummed, filling his glass again and drinking so he didn’t have to explain further.
Angel felt a breathless realization creeping in.
He had orgies.
Overlord orgies?!
No, that couldn't be, right? If there was something like Overlord orgies Valentino wouldn't have shut the fuck up about those, even to just taunt Angel.
Crap. Should he have poked around it now that they were all too gone to make good decisions anyway?
Probably yes. But he could only do one thing at the time with his drunk and now unsettlingly aroused brain. And the traitor obviously chose to dive into the vividly-picturing-Husk-in-an-orgy lane without any brakes.
Too many hands.
Too many limbs interlocking.
Too many tongues—
The climbing spiral got interrupted only when Cherri laughed “HOLY SHIT!”
Slightly peeved and turned on at the same time, Angel pursed his lips, scouring in his brain about things he wanted to pull out of Husk now that he had the once-in-a-afterlifetime opportunity to do so.
“Never have I ever…” and he looked directly in his eyes. “Made someone beg.”
Husk reciprocated the slightly hazy, drunken look. And when he downed his drink without breaking eye contact, Angel knew he fucked up.
“... for what.” he shot out before he could stop himself.
“Depends what they asked for.” Husk smiled smugly, finally moving his gaze away to go and refill their glasses.
Ohh, the shudder that crawled up Angel’s nape had no right to feel this delicious.
Asked for what?
Begged HOW? On their knees? On a bed? AGAINST THE WALL?
Oh. Stop imaginin’ it—
Why am I thinkin’ these things about my friend?!
Angel pressed his palms on the cold surface of the counter to ground himself, nerves humming lazily under his skin.
“Never have I ever tied someone up and forgot ‘bout ‘em.”
Husk felt both their eyes looking at him as they downed their drinks.
They saw the angle of his mouth twitch, and then— drink.
Angel almost choked, because that was the one thing he didn’t think Husk would ask, let alone drink to.
“Ya forgot people?!" he then almost squealed, gesturing so broadly he nearly took Cherri out, who didn’t absolutely care because she was cackling so hard right next to him.
Husk squeezed his shoulders, and looked very innocent in doing so. “Sometimes they liked waitin’.”
Angel inhaled sharply, scatterbrained. The heat gathered in places he didn’t dare think about yet. His lower abdomen twitched inexplicably and his brain kindly supplied about forty scenarios he absolutely did not ask for.
What a liar.
Cherri slammed his glass once more after drinking, and she looked disheveled. "Righto, ya sneaky bugger. Never ever have I done somethin' illegal for sex—”
“---That was fast.” she continued, as Husk downed his drink before even letting her finish the sentence, his wings slightly flailing.
“How much illegal we talkin’ ‘bout?” Angel inquired, intrigued, after drinking his share. His skin felt too thin and too aware of the fact that Husk had lived an entirely different part of his afterlife he would now kill to know more about.
“Well. That depends which part of the city you askin’.”
“You were a slut, mate.”
Nope. Just an Overlord. Angel thought, checking Husk up and down and trying to superimpose the image of Overlord Husk over grumpy bartender Husk.
How was it? I need to know so bad now—oh, shit.
The thought almost took him out for good.
Husk groaned at Cherri teasing him. “Christ.”
As the energy was slowly coming down the high and all of them were drifting into the too-much-intoxicated territory, the questions also became softer and quieter.
Angel leaned on the counter, wobbly, eyes squinting at Husk, weight shifting a little too far. “Never have I ever been… someone’s first.”
Cherri drank. Angel also drank. There had been a bunch of coworkers he had to wean himself. It was, sometimes, fun. Sometimes terrifying.
“Why you lookin’ at me like that?” Husk chuckled, setting down the glass he just drank from.
Angel’s eyes unfocused for a moment, his heartbeat filling his head.
“... were you gentle?”
Husk moved his eyes up to him. They softened, and were looking at him warmly. The thump in Angel’s ears didn’t show any signs of quieting down. Damn it.
“Mhh.” he softly exhaled, pensive. “I always started slow,” he said, voice deliciously rough because of the alcohol. "Gave 'em time to bounce if they wanted."
Then paused, and grinned smugly. “Most didn’t.”
“Oh, ya fucker.” Angel laughed, but his stomach flipped in that deep, aching way. He never thought he would get to see Husk exuding this kind of lost self-confidence.
And Angel knew he wasn’t supposed to find it unsettingly hot.
But he did.
“Righto ya pair of lovebirds, stop rubberneckin'!” Cherri hicked, waving her glass in the air. “Never have I ever made someone cry in a good way.”
“C’mon, these are a reeeal snooze-fest, babe.” Angel slurred, moving one of his fingers to point at her. “Everybody did it at least once! See! The cat is drinkin’—”
He immediately stopped in his tracks. Then, with his tongue tripping over the sentence, he asked, “How’d ya do it…?” squinting again at Husk.
Husk smiled, but his eyelids were clearly one drink away from giving up. “By not rushin’.”
Angel’s breath hitched.
“Master of edgin’, I see. I like it. You’re evil.” he grinned, pointy teeth showing, as if he could somehow regain control of whatever was going on in his lower stomach by doing that.
Husk chuckled, closing his eyes and softly shaking his head, seemingly amused.
“Only when invited.”
And Angel didn’t know why that made his knees squeeze together.
“How'd ya get from that to this, mate?!” Cherri complained, gesturing at him. “You were fun!”
Cherri was gone, passed out on the lounge’s couch with a blanket on her.
The bar became eerily quiet.
Angel sat across from Husk, glass untouched, dazingly staring like he’d just discovered a new kink, a new religion and a new emotional crisis all at once.
“You,” Angel said hoarsely, words trying so hard not to melt into each other. “Ain’t allowed to be that good in bed and not tell me.”
Husk chuckled as he lined up the absurd amount of empty glasses and bottles to be put away. “Never claimed I was good.”
Angel shook his head, slowly. “Ya didn’t have to.”
He quieted down for a moment, head heavily resting on his tired palms. Then softly exhaled.
“…You ever miss it?”
Husk considered. His eyes were telling. Then, as if he hadn’t understood the question, he finally replied.
“Miss what.”
Angel swallowed, his heart picking up pace without asking. The booze in his veins wasn’t helping his decision making. Who was going to pick up the pieces of him tomorrow?
“The way ya used to…” he bit his lip before he could stop himself. Which was not something that usually happened when he wanted to ask racy questions. “Ruin people.”
Husk’s gaze lingered on him. Warm, like Angel was used to. But also dangerous, something he very rarely had seen in those typically lazy black and golden eyes.
“Mhh,” Husk murmured, softly sighing and vowels stretching lazily in his hoarse, drunken voice. “Some things are better left in the past.”
And Angel stiffened like he had touched a live wire he wasn’t supposed to. Then, his heart picked up the pace again as he saw the curve of Husk’s mouth curling in a cunning smile.
“…or saved for the right kind of company.”
Boom.
Angel’s heart detonated and a light, unsteady thrill curled in his stomach. The buzz in his veins rushed somewhere low and impatient.
He smiled, dazed and doomed.
“…Good to know.”
And as he said that, he knew in his ribs that he was absolutely, catastrophically, hopelessly hooked.
Angel watched the neon light in his room tilting politely back and forth.
He kicked his boots off and collapsed on his bed face first.
The world around him lagged for a moment more before settling. He then turned his head to one side, breath catching and eyebrows furrowing to try and counteract the warmth on his cheeks.
Exactly after three seconds of blessed silence, his brain hit the ground running.
Softly rumbling in his head there Husk’s voice came, totally uninvited.
It was rough, pleasantly thickening.
“I always started slow.”
Angel groaned and pushed his face onto the cool material of the sheets. But that didn’t help a bit.
Why slow? He didn’t care about slow. He hated slow. Sex was supposed to be fast and messy, not slow and… delightful.
Betrayed by his own brain, flashes of Husk leaning on the bar were supplied, totally unsolicited.
Husk’s lazy smirk.
Husk saying ‘gave 'em time to bounce if they wanted’ in that low, patient tone.
Of all the unhinged revelations Husk disclosed today, why was this the one Angel’s mind couldn’t split up from?
Angel rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, pulse spiking up without asking permission.
This is not happening.
He gulped down, eyes blowing up, cheeks burning hot.
This is your best friend we’re talking about.
And sure, you liked him from the start, but now you’re friends.
He bit the right side of his lower lip, heartbeat thumping softly in his ears.
See, there was a huge problem here. How the filthy details were not the ones that awakened something in him.
Why would they? He was a professional, for God’s sake. He heard, seen and done much worse than that.
Oh no. It was the implication of pace.
The idea that Husk… that he wouldn’t rush. That he wouldn't take without making sure, that he wouldn’t grab forcefully.
The image that he would just… wait.
Make him squirm, maybe. Let him want.
Angel squeezed his eyes shut. His hard-on pressed lazily against the fabric of his shorts.
“...Oh my God.” he whispered, as if he hadn’t done this to himself.
One of his hands drifted on instinct, then clenched, freezing on the spot.
No. Not like this, his mind whispered. Not careless. Not rushed, not— uncontrolled lust.
If he couldn’t stop himself then he wanted to do it, well… right.
By not rushing.
Angel took a slow breath in, then another out. He slipped out of his sweater, then his shorts. Each rustling sound suddenly felt too loud. Like he was getting ready for something way more serious.
He laid back, head burrowing in the pillows and then, finally, his hand slid where it always went.
It closed around the base and, God, it had been a hot minute since the last time he had properly masturbated all by himself.
Dang it, he was hard.
His throat twitched with a swallow that didn’t want to come down. His hand stayed there, not moving.
Because his brain, very rudely, decided to fish Husk’s voice again from the folds of his mind.
“Only when invited.”
Angel’s breath hitched, eyes wide open once more. His body was reacting way faster than his brain could keep up with.
Shit.
Hands that didn’t rush.
In his mind, white, sharp claws were faintly brushing up his upper thigh.
Hands that waited.
One blink. And there was Husk, leisurely over him. Not touching. Just there, waiting.
Angel couldn’t stop the shudder rippling through his body.
There was a look in Husk’s eyes that was making tension curl right onto Angel’s trembling hard-on.
And whispering directly into his ears.
‘You’re already mine, sweetheart. I’m just lettin’ you realize it.’
Angel whimpered softly on the pillow.
Fuck.
“Don’t– don’t look at me like that…” he admonished, as if it wasn’t a figment of his own imagination.
His fingers started brushing the underside of his erection, softly pressing, moving slowly. Like they were building up to something, unhurried and pleasant, and not chasing the release immediately.
Well, that was unheard of.
And uncomfortable. In a delicious way.
He exhaled, hips shifting without permission, seeking friction, finger pressing on the hot, taut skin of his hard-on, and his breath went shallow immediately.
God, I’m really this desperate.
Angel tilted his head to the side, his mind moving with him and his fantasy as well. Now Husk was closer, leaning over him. Still not touching. Not kissing. Just close enough that Angel could feel—imagine his breath along his exposed throat.
Ohh, this was becoming dangerous.
And then, his voice filled his head again.
Low, and rough. Lazy.
“Relax.”
Angel’s eyes fluttered open. “Christ. I am relaxed.” he whispered desperately, lying to himself.
His hand tightened around his quivering shaft, that was now shamelessly oozing precum like it was anticipating something more, something better.
Angel brushed a thumb on the leaky tip, he tortured his lower lip again and then his brain, traitor supreme, delivered something even worse.
Husk’s mouth made his way into his fantasy like it had any right to do so.
Wet lips opening, pointy teeth, barbed tongue dangling then steadily dragging painstakingly slow along places Angel was not emotionally prepared to imagine. And yet, he did.
The thought alone made him gasp, sharp and helpless, back arching slightly off the mattress. His hand sped up the pace, the precum coating his fingers.
“Oh–, oh fuck–”
A shudder tore through him, his legs trembling and his other hands twisting the fabric of the sheets underneath him. God, he was so close.
Husk in his imagination was taking his time, as if he wanted to see how Angel would act when he was made to wait. Truth to be told, even Angel wanted to see it.
And the tongue teased slowly.
And Angel’s hand slowed down with it. Because he felt Husk’s eyes looking at him, and they were saying not to rush.
“Why are you like this—” he whispered, half to himself, half to the imaginary presence absolutely ruining masturbation for him forever.
His breath went ragged, eyes half-lidded, legs twitching helplessly as pleasure hummed tight and hot in his stomach.
The worst fucking part was that Husk in his imagination hadn’t even touched him properly yet.
His fantasy was teasing him devastatingly. Close, barely brushing him, letting Angel do all the work of coming undone under his eyes.
Angel moved one of his lower hands to slide between his legs, fingers coated in saliva brushing faintly at his entrance.
Husk wouldn’t let him.
So, what if he wanted to be defiant?
Angel’s pointy teeth pinched at his lips again imagining Husk’s claws closing around his wrist and stopping him. But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.
A soft, broken sound left his throat as he pushed one finger inside, hips rocking in small, desperate motions.
“Don’t stop—fuck, don’t stop--” his breath stuttered, as his body tightened and the tremors rippled through his body.
Eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering uselessly as release tore through him in one long, shaking wave.
Angel felt it deep into his lower stomach. So much more intense than he expected that he actually gasped in surprise.
“Oh—fuck!”
He came hard.
Really hard.
Like he hadn’t in a very, very long time. Well, not by himself at least.
Feeling his release dripping down his fingers as the shudders tried to placate he groaned, half in pleasure and half in frustration.
Did I fuckin’ edge myself on purpose?
Haha. This was going to fucking ruin him, right?
Husk woke up feeling like he always did after indulging too much: head trying to kill him, mouth tasting like regret, ash, something citrus that should not have existed and what might well have been poor life decisions marinating overnight.
“Fuck...” he croaked. His voice sounded like gravel soaked in whiskey.
He exhaled, keeping his eyes closed. As a strategy. If he didn’t open them yet, technically nothing was going to happen.
Unfortunately, between the poundings, his brain decided that it didn’t give a shit about his strategy. Slowly loading in his mind were the memories of the bottles, the game, Cherri laughing too hard, Angel leaning across the bar, grinning teasingly, and…
Oh. Fuck.
Husk grimaced into the pillow, trying to chase the memories away.
No, no, no. He did not, he absolutely did not.
He dragged one eye open, staring blearily at the ceiling of his room.
“Please tell me I didn't just say all that out loud.”
The silence offered him no reassurance. And fragments came back in cruel little flashes.
Orgies.
God, no.
Tie people up and forget them.
You didn’t say that.
Make them beg.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
The tone of it, too. Casual and smug, like he hadn’t spent the last several years trying very hard to pretend that version of himself had died quietly somewhere unrespectable.
He groaned, flipping onto his side and his wings twitched as if they were trying to crawl away from the memory on their own.
Wouldn’t you like that, motherfuckers.
It wasn’t really the content of what he spilled that bothered him most. He was not a kid. He’d done worse. Confessed worse.
But he flinched at the memory of him enjoying saying it. And that wasn’t just the booze loosening his tongue, that… happened. Rarely, now. But it did, occasionally.
Husk curled slowly on the sheets. The words came too easy. It unsettled him thinking about the way he had been comfortable saying all that shit. The way that old confidence slipped back into place like it had never quite left.
That smug, dangerous edge of his overlord days.
The part of him that used to look at people and already knew exactly how they’d fall apart.
He squinted at the wall, peeved. “...that ain’t s’posed to still be in there.”
He pushed himself upright and immediately regretted the ambition. Head throbbed, room tilted, and he had to brace himself with his elbows on his knees, claws in his hair.
Okay. Fine. The hangover was fine, he was used to that. Probably his worst one in a while. But was that the problem? Oh, of course not.
The problem was Angel. And Cherri.
Husk rubbed his hands on his face, tail flicking irritably behind him.
“They ain’t gonna remember,” His hoarse voice tried to tell the empty room. “They were drunker than I was.”
He caught himself scoffing, because he knew already, even if his own words were trying to lie to him.
Alas, Angel’s face floated back into his mind, bright, drunken eyes, that too-attentive tilt of his head that meant he was filing things away for later amusement. That smirk.
Oh, that smirk that always stirred something in him that he really shouldn’t humor.
Quiet and badly timed, a faint thrill tightened low and hot in his stomach. As it so often did.
And, as it so often happened, he decided to let it go.
He closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowing, sighing loudly as he shooed away visions of that smile and those lips that shouldn’t have come up in his brain anyway.
“Fuck.” he groaned, flashes of laughers and fistbumps coming back to him once more. “They’re totally gonna remember.”
Every fucking word. Every implication of his stupid smug grin. Every stupid, reckless detail.
And Angel, who already made a hobby out of teasing him for just existing, was now armed with explicit knowledge that Husk once ran orgies and tied people up for fun.
Hah. Hilarious.
“I ain’t never gonna hear the end of this, am I.”
And as he was rummaging on all that, a sudden, quieter thought slipped in.
Why now?
He, regrettably, drank constantly. It wasn't even one of his worst drinking sprees. He knew exactly how to stay numb and safely uninteresting so he didn’t have to explain himself.
That then begged the question: why did that part of him surfaced last night of all nights? Or, the better question: why with them?
His mind went to Cherri’s laughter, wild and unbothered. Loud. She was having fun.
Then to Angel, teasing and laughing and listening intrigued without recoiling. Like he wasn’t hearing the unhinged confessions of a fallen overlord, but a story about someone he was keen to know more.
There was a flutter in his chest that he chased away immediately.
He scoffed again, but with a bitter smile on his lips now.
Because Cherri didn’t know, but Angel did. So that meant that Angel was linking all that he had said to his Overlord past.
The thing was that Husk didn’t lie or exaggerate, he was being somewhat truthful. If anything, he’d sanded the edges down a bit, trying to bury the Overlord deep down, under contracts and humiliation and exhaustion and self disgust.
He promised himself, no more adrenaline rushes.
And last night, for whatever stupid reason, that part of him had tried to peek up from the deep pits of his self-loathing.
Huffing another humorless laugh, he hauled himself to his feet and shuffled towards the bathroom, pausing in front of the mirror. The reflection that stared back was always the same: tired, disheveled, scruffy, unruly cowlick between his pointy ears.
There was no crown, no power in that reflection. No souls screaming in the background for mercy.
And yet.
Somewhere under the hungover and the self-hate, Husk could feel it. Old recklessness and that dangerous steadiness.
The knowledge that he once knew exactly how to ruin people slowly and make them thank him for it.
He winced, immediately going to splash his face with cold water.
If Angel looked at him differently, now… well, that would be devastating.
He groaned loudly. “Next time I’m drinkin’ water and keepin’ my damn mouth shut.”
But then smiled, despite himself.
“…And maybe avoidin’ horny party games with hypersexual demons.”
Angel slid onto his usual stool like nothing was wrong.
Like he hadn’t had one of the best jerk-off sessions in a long time the night before.
Like he hadn’t imagined the gritty tongue of his loser of a bartender dragging on his neck while he touched himself.
Like he wasn’t now actively being spiritually disassembled by the way Husk twisted a rag around a bottle and wiped it down with methodical precision.
Oh, fuck, he thought. Don’t stare. Don’t stare. You are starin’.
Angel’s eyes tracked every movement. Of his hands, of his claws. The things he had been obsessed with since the night before.
Following the way Husk’s claw pressed into the glass as he poured drinks, or the way his fingers flexed afterward, just once, like he was working the tension out of them.
The swallow came uninvited.
Oh God. I let this happen to me.
Finally done with his task, Husk glanced up and met Angel’s eyes.
And immediately, Angel noticed— that soft, familiar half-smile tugged at Husk’s mouth.
“Hey, Legs.”
Angel’s stomach flipped so violently he almost made an undignified noise.
“Oh– hey Whiskers,” he managed, leaning on the bar with what he hoped was casual grace and not visible internal collapse. God, what was happening to him?
Like he ever had problems meeting the people he masturbated to.
Husk moved closer, and Angel almost flinched because he just thought about masturbation and Husk in the same sentence, again. He succeeded at masking his unexpected frisson with a half-smile, only to then see Husk setting a mug in front of him with coffee in it.
“Rough mornin’?” he asked, rhetorically.
Angel opened his mouth to answer, but it dangled right there because his eyes fixated again on Husk’s hands.
“I, uh… slept weird.” he said weakly, eyelids fluttering and eyes going back to his loser of a bartender.
Husk huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah? Get in line.”
Their eyes met again, and this time they lingered.
Oh, Angel noticed right away.
“Are you… embarrassed or somethin’?” he giggled, staring at what looked like pink flush spreading on his cheeks.
“Huh? What? NO!” Husk blurted, and it was too fast and too antsy to be considered a nice save.
Angel grinned, intent immediately sharpening in his gaze. “Hah! Ya thinkin' 'bout last night, ain'tcha?!”
“I’m most certainly—”
“Hey, Husk!!”
Angel flinched internally as Charlie popped up beside him, bright and cheerful and entirely unaware she was committing a personal crime.
“Could we maybe brainstorm new cocktails for the incoming residents? I was thinking something themed—”
“Yeah, sure, Princess.” Husk said, turning to her and leaving Angel with an inscrutable glance.
Angel stared after him, abandoned, betrayed and emotionally widowed. Like they had just taken the most delicious meal from under his nose as he was about to dig in it.
He spent the rest of the morning slowly sipping his coffee, watching as Vaggi pinned Husk down about inventory and Niffty climbed the shelves directly behind him like a feral goblin to clean them—that one was fun. He liked to watch Husk losing his patience if it wasn’t about him. There was something sexy in how his voice growled.
Calm the fuck down, tiger.
Now his fingers were tapping the mug, peeved. Shoulders tense, jaw clenching. He had to watch Husk spend twenty minutes being cornered by Baxter who wanted to talk about his fascinating ‘behavioral reinforcement techniques’.
Something was brimming inside of him.
Hah. That couldn’t be, right?
Jealousy.
You jerk off once to his hands and his tongue and now you think he’s your property? Get a grip, Anthony.
But it was psychological warfare. He had too much time to observe his hands pouring, wiping, passing glasses, gripping bottle necks like…
No dick jokes, come on.
Every time Husk laughed at something, Angel felt it in his spine, and every time Husk leaned over the counter, Angel had to physically remind himself how breathing worked, his body bracing as if something were about to happen.
Dear Lord. This is not happening.
Oh, but it wasn’t just that. To be totally honest, it wasn't even something new, so to speak. It was, as a matter of fact, just something that Angel had only now suddenly become hyperaware of.
Of Husk keeping finding reasons to check in. A quick glance, a raised brow, a half-smirk when Angel made a dumb comment.
Something that Husk always did, so why the sudden awareness?
Heat burned quietly behind his nape, his head going pleasantly light.
Wow. That was hitting him hard.
Then, in a moment of well-earned quiet, his adorable bartender leaned closer right where Angel was. Namely wrecked, with his mug empty and his heart full.
“You good, Legs? Never seen you this quiet, now I’m concerned.”
Hah! Angel Dust, quiet? The audacity.
Well, Whiskers. It’s your fault. But he couldn't say that now, couldn't he.
So Angel leaned in too, elbows on the counter, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
“I’m contemplatin’ a crime.”
Husk snorted, genuinely amused. “Sounds healthy.”
“Alright for legal reasons, that's a joke.”
“Sure it is.”
“…Ya got a lotta admirers today,” he then finally muttered, glancing at the crowd.
Husk’s mouth curved, subtle. “Yeah?”
“Mhm. The whole freakin' hotel's got the hots for ya.”
“Yeah, right.” Husk huffed, a smile on his lips as he started polishing glasses under Angel’s attentive eyes.
Angel then waited a few seconds, to see if anyone was coming to bother again. And when that didn’t happen, he shifted on the stool, leaning closer.
“...So,” he said, too brightly to be something good.
Husk sighed, already bracing himself. “Here we go.”
Angel grinned, “Relax, Whiskers. I’m bein’ friendly.”
“Havin’ a hard time believin’ that.”
Angel ignored that, tilting his head with a witty smile. “So, as I was sayin’... you remember the drinkin’ game last night.”
Husk froze, his hands stopping moving and his eyes glancing around to see where the others were. Too far to pry, at least.
“...Unfortunately,” he answered.
“Don’t be like that! You dropped some mad lore.”
Husk groaned softly, lowering the glass and rug in his hands. “I knew I shoulda faked alcohol poisonin’ this mornin’.”
“Oh c’mon, you were adorable. Big scary overlord confessin’ his sins.”
“Don’t call me adorable.”
“Too late.”
Husk squinted at him, like he was already aware that this conversation was going to take place one way or another. Not that he could stop it anyway now that Angel was prodding further.
“Well, ya said some very interestin’ things so now I’m here to know the rest of the tea.”
“... and why’s that.”
“For science, of course.”
“Liar.”
“How dare you accuse me of– okay, yeah. I’m lyin’.” Angel laughed, but was glad that Husk wasn’t actively pushing him away.
Husk as an Overlord had been an abstract thing since the moment Angel became aware of it. He knew that it was a past that Husk wasn’t particularly proud of, so he never pressed much about it.
But last night felt like a huge breakthrough, and it was pretty clear now that Angel couldn't stop thinking about it.
Husk sighed, resigned. “...What do you wanna know.”
Angel’s face lit up immediately. “Oh. Wait, really?”
“Yeah. Get it outta your system so I can finally go on with my afterlife.” Husk answered, already regretting this with all of his being and that showed in his face.
“Alright! Back when you were… big scary boss cat…” Angel joked, pretending to think with an amused giggle escaping his lips, “... Were you scary scary or scary sexy?”
“What?” Husk choked on the air and looked at him in disbelief.
“I’ll go with scary sexy cuz I like it more. Next–!”
“Don’t–”
“Did people hit on you a lot?”
“Yes.”
Immediate.
Angel’s stomach did a very unwelcome flip.
“... like, how much ‘a lot’ we talkin’ ‘bout?”
Husk shrugged, trying to clear his throat so his voice wouldn’t come out as meek as it felt it was going to. “Power’s a strong aphrodisiac. Comes with the job.”
Angel laughed bitterly, because, well. He kind of knew that. He was owned by an Overlord and he had seen that firsthand.
But internally, his mind was blaring ‘oh nos’ at the thought of Husk being hit on.
Huh. This wasn’t going as he expected.
Why was he picturing Husk as being powerful but at the same time not that much… as frightening as the other Overlords he knew? He really couldn’t see him being cruel. Stern, sure. Maybe brazen, clearly reckless, knowing how it all ended, but…
Angel shook his head, trying to get back on track. “Did ya, uh. Entertain that.”
“... Sometimes.”
Of course. Angel didn’t really know how Husker looked as an Overlord, but he knew enough of them that he could visualize the aura.
Well groomed. Standing tall. Probably broader. Crowned in power, surrounded by bodies that wanted him.
Eyes still tired, but darker. Smoldering.
Angel coughed himself out of that dangerous image.
“God, ya were a slut. Oh, relax! I’m not judgin’!” he laughed, trying desperately to regain control of himself and of the situation.
Husk chuckled, head shaking. “You’re the worst person I know.”
“And yet here I am, yer favorite spider,” Angel chirped, leaning on the bar with the kind of posture that had ruined decades of sinners. Yes. Now that felt like control.
“C’mon. Ya can’t hint ‘bout 'orgies' and expect me not to double back. That’s, like, a whole violation.”
Husk muttered, resuming wiping the counter with excessive focus, clearly praying for someone to come and fish him away from that absurd third degree.
“I was drunk.”
“And eloquent.”
Angel saw Husk’s ear twitching and the white, thin skin of the flap getting to a delightful shade of pink. There was a scary rush of adrenaline hitting his body.
He knew, deep down, that a part of him was being that much bratty because he was trying to shield himself from the answers to the questions he himself was asking.
Poking the grumpy cat until he got flustered, just to lie to himself and prove somehow that this wasn’t affecting him only.
Behave, Angel. If you push, luck's gonna snap.
“Well then,” Angel continued, trying to act breezily again, eyes bright, pulse suddenly loud in his ears, “Were these, like… political orgies? Networkin’? Or were you just stress-fuckin’ yer way thru eternity?”
Husk choked loudly and that almost caught Vaggi’s attention.
He looked at Angel like he had just made a crass joke. Angel expected a grumbled ‘none of your business’, but he was sorely mistaken.
Instead, a wording Angel had heard plenty the day before came out from him, tame and layered.
“...It just hinged on the night.”
Husk then paused for a moment, looking at Angel’s puzzled expression before resuming talking.
“…Mostly it was double-dares and casino bets gone wrong.” he clarified, one arm gesturing in the air as if the movement could somehow help Angel picture it.
“Ain't like I ever twisted no arms, though. They showed up all on their own.” he shrugged, hand stopping mid-air and lips pursing for a moment, still pensive. Then chuckled to himself. “Sometimes… it kinda felt like they were throwin’ bets on purpose.”
Angel blinked, doomed.
Holy shit.
That whole sentence shouldn’t have done what it did in his lower stomach.
“You… you realize the more you get me curious the more I’m gonna be all up yer business?”
“I knew what I was gettin’ into when I gave you permission to ask.”
“Oh, I’m gonna need a drink.”
“Agreed.”
And Husk brought two glasses up on the counter, with some sort of provoking stare in his eyes.
“Ask away.”
“God. That was hot, stop it.”
But Husk didn’t answer. Just filled up their drinks, like they weren’t half hungover, half turned-on, half keen in making bad decisions today as well.
It was clear now that both were fighting for control. Which was strange. Angel knew Husk and he knew he was one to throw in the towel as soon as things became too much to handle. But now he was somehow opening up to him, and that’s what was making Angel hungry for more.
“Okay. If you insist, buttercup… Now I need to know. Were you callin’ the shots or were you the attraction?”
Husk’s breath stuttered, and he paused for too long.
Angel watched and observed as the memories flashed before Husk’s eyes without permission.
Fuck, that hesitation just did unspeakable things to him.
Husk downed his drink like it wasn’t midday.
“Christ. Both.” he finally said, voice rough like sandpaper.
Angel spat his drink, and that finally earned the attention of everyone else in the lobby.
“...‘s okay! I’m okay! Go back to whatever shit ya’ll were doin’!” he growled, waving his hands to chase away unwanted attention.
“...Real smooth, Legs.” Husk huffed, passing him a napkin.
“Oh, so now it’s my fault!”
“I’m just sayin’, don't go askin' if you ain't ready.”
“Wow… that’s wow.” Angel just answered, a little breathless.
And as he cleaned his chin, and the conversation paused for just one moment, his traitor brain just provided him with hands.
Not Husk’s, this time. But on Husk’s waist.
Mouths. Too many mouths.
Angel exhaled, eyes fluttering. Not the moment, ya backstabber.
His stomach was already burning and that usually was a good thing but not this time.
“...And did ya like bein’ in control,” Angel pressed lightly, “Or– I mean, did ya ever let ‘em flip you over and ruin you a little?”
Husk’s voice went rough without anyone’s permission, let alone Angel’s.
“If they earned it.” was his answer.
Angel’s smile twitched, because he was dying inside. What the fuck.
“Oh,” he said softly. “So you tellin’ me some lucky bastard got to see ya lose control.”
Husk noticed the change in his eyes. The way Angel’s teasing has gone a shade slower, a shade hungrier. He thought that he had never seen that before.
“You’re gettin’ weird about this.”
“Me? Never,” he lied, a silly smile on his lips. “I’m just… tryin’ to visualize the logistics. Picturin’ it.”
And he was: flaring visions of Husk, still powerful and in charge. Mouth open. Eyes dark. Wings broad and imposing.
Pinned.
Claws and horns and mouths with sharp teeth everywhere.
Power humming in his skin while strangers touched him with hands that did not deserve—
Angel’s fingers tightened around his glass.
Who touched you.
Where.
How.
What kind of sounds were you makin’?
“So they liked ya rough?” Angel asked instead, still smiling, still playful, absolutely pretending this was not doing things to him. “Or were you secretly a gentleman overlord?”
Husk snorted, shaking his head.
“Earnin’ that privilege was very difficult.”
Angel immediately regretted asking.
“Ohh, so ya were the dangerous one,” he insisted, eyes bright, voice too cheerful. “Tie people up, make ‘em beg, collect souls and orgasms, that kinda Overlord?”
Husk stared at him.
“…You enjoyin’ this way too much, Legs.”
“Oh, I am.”
He wasn’t.
“And ya liked it?” Angel pried more, casually, like he was not actively self-destructing. “All that attention?”
Husk shrugged.
“Wasn’t complainin’.”
I am.
Why did the idea of Husk being touched by people who weren’t him felt… wrong?
Okay but like–, his mind started bubbling with questions that, for once, wasn’t ready to hear the answers of.
Were they good at it.
Did they make you lose control.
Did you let them take you apart.
Or did you break them first.
God.
Where did that come from?
“Anyway.” Angel finally rolled his shoulders, hopping off the stool a little too quickly. “Gotta go to work. Ten outta ten tho, fascinating lore. Try not to start any orgies without me!”
Husk looked at him, one eyebrow up, concerned. “...You sure you good, Legs?”
“Never better.”
Which was a lie.
Because as he walked away, his brain was no longer listening to him at all.
In his mind everything was flurrying together like a blender gone haywire, his thoughts going somewhere profoundly unhelpful.
Different hands.
Different mouths.
Different ways to make him come.
Power and submission tangled together until Angel couldn’t tell which one he wanted more.
Want? Oh my god. I don’t want anything, he lied to himself.
His eyes fluttered, burning desire making his already dangerous thoughts blur at the edges once more.
Crap.
Suddenly, he became aware that imagining Husk being wanted was not enough.
He wanted to imagine Husk being undone.
“…Oh, motherfucker.” he muttered softly.
Because now.
Now he knew.
Exactly how tonight was going to end.
By the time Angel’s third shoot wrapped, he’d already had three orgasms. And not a single one of them fucking counted.
They were… fine. Technically. Bodies in the right places, hands doing the right things, mouths saying the right words.
But something was wrong, and had been wrong the whole damn day.
The first time, it was halfway through a line: he was arching his back, playing it up for the camera, voice breathy and practiced. Professional, as always.
But his mind drifted for a moment, thinking about Husk, behind the counter, ears pink, unwittingly taunting him by saying “If they earned it.”
Angel stumbled, but managed to work it into the scene seamlessly.
That’s good, all’s good.
Liar.
Then the second shoot, a different set, different partners, same fucking problem.
There were hands on him everywhere and all he could think about were hands on Husk, letting people touch him.
Why. Why!!
That was not even his kink.
Was it?!
Angel came anyway. Hard, and too fast. And immediately wanted to scream.
He muttered, glaring at absolutely everyone as he cleaned up.
By the time the third shoot started, he was in total internal crisis.
Overstimulated but unsatisfied. How ridiculous was that?
That horrible state where everything was too sensitive and not enough. Every touch was wrong: too clumsy, too eager. Not…
Husk.
His brain screamed in his stead.
Mid-scene, a big, inept hand grabbed his wrists to pin them on the mattress.
Angel’s mind couldn’t help but galloping away to Husk holding someone down in the same way.
In control.
Then, flipping as fast as a pinwheel, a flash of Husk pinned down instead, enjoying it.
Angel’s breath stuttered.
He came with a broken sound he absolutely did not rehearse.
The director called cut, and Angel stared at the ceiling, sweaty, annoyed and, most frustratingly, unfulfilled.
Angel’s room was quiet, thank God. No camera, no hands, no voices. Nuggies napping between the pillows of his bed, probably in a food-coma, unaware that his owner came back.
Angel locked the door, leaning against it for a second.
Now it was just him, and the echo of a fantasy that had been stalking him all damn day.
He breathed, low, slowly sliding down the door.
His body was already aching. That deep, restless heat that came from too much arousal with nowhere to go.
This is so stupid, he muttered in his mind.
Because it was. Because Husk was soft and grumpy and absolutely not– Overlord.
Yet, the image flowed back in the second he thought about it.
And suddenly, Husk wasn’t behind the bar anymore.
He was sharper, bigger. Almost majestic.
Wings spread wide in a room full of heat and noise and velvet shadows. Surrounded by bodies that wanted him.
… Fuck.
Too many people.
Too many hands reaching, mouths hungry, heat building. Not controlling him, but worshipping him.
And Husk letting them. Lazily smiling, taking his time because he didn’t have to rush.
Angel swallowed, his four arms hesitating.
His thighs parted unconsciously.
He imagined Husk sitting at the center, one leg open, relaxed. Wings half unfurled while people knelt between them.
Angel’s arms started to slowly move. One hand to his mouth, another bracing against the wall. The other two drifted, restless, searching.
“Fuck,” he breathed, as his fingers caressed his aching hard-on, the other hand pushing his shorts down to the knees.
The fantasy sharpened as the touch of his hand made his heartbeat hammer against his ribs.
Husk was seated high on some sort of high-end couch, in some decadent, candlelit chaos. Angel huffed a meek laugh. That was so not-Husk it made him smile.
But the demons at Husk’s feet approached, hands sneaking in everywhere, on his chest, his thighs, his wings, curling on his tail.
Someone kissing his throat while another traced his mouth open—
Angel opened his own mouth in reflex, fingers getting trapped between trembling lips.
Husk’s face was still the same, familiar one. Just heavier with authority, heat pooling in his tired eyes, a crooked smirk that betrayed breathing coming uneven.
“... hah, look at ya.” Angel murmured, didn’t know if to himself or the vision.
In his head, Husk laughed. Low and dangerous.
Angel’s legs trembled and his hand tightened around the base of his quivering erection. One of his other hands was already twitching, caressing his inner thigh, and his tongue started coating the other fingers with saliva.
Angel imagined someone straddling Husk. Someone who was not him, and he didn’t know if that turned him on more or if that made him even more pissed.
Another was pulling Husk’s wings wide. Someone’s hands were finding their way inside his trousers, sharp teeth nibbling at his ears, his throat.
Angel’s hips jerked, helpless. All four arms were moving with him: one in his mouth, one dragging through his hair, one over his chest fluff, fingers curling. And the last one chasing the release desperately along his erection.
Awareness pooled low and heavy, absolutely impossible to ignore.
And with that, jealousy.
So sharp it almost made his head go dizzy.
They’re touchin’ him wrong.
And the fantasy obeyed, seemingly twisting when Angel decided that it was incorrect. His breath hitched and his hand slowed down for a moment.
The edges of his imagination shifted, the faces around Husk became blurred background, the hands became clumsier and greedier.
Just like Angel’s.
Suddenly, he was in control of the fantasy from the outside.
Slow down, he ordered, and in his head, Husk obeyed.
Pleasure drawn out, someone bent between his knees, sucking his cock. Another ravished his neck, hands twisting on his white chest fluff. Husk’s steady claws buried themselves in someone’s trousers, tracing the shape of someone else's erection.
“Shit–” Angel stuttered out loud, on his fingers. He rolled his wrist around the head of his hard-on and among the breathless shivers, he imagined Husk coming once, in someone’s mouth. Twice, between someone’s fingers.
“Christ…” he panted, limbs jolting uncontrollably. “How many times–...”
In his fantasy, Husk was laughing, breathless and wicked.
Angel continued watching him lose control just a little, watching the overlord smile break when someone finally did something right.
His eyes rolled back, picturing Husk growling. Purring. Laughing low when someone tried to rush him. Manhandling someone into place with one hand while another person clung to his hips.
His wrecked body answered with a deep, unguarded tremble. He bit the fingers in his mouth, just enough to ground himself for a moment.
That didn’t help as his fantasy started to shift, imagining Husk letting himself be pinned, with a delicious grin that shouldn’t have riled up Angel that much.
He moaned, picturing Husk letting himself be overwhelmed. His lips dangled open, the thought of someone pushing their dick in Husk’s mouth making him helplessly shudder.
His hand picked up the pace, hips jerking up picturing others dragging sounds out of him that he pretended not to make.
Angel’s jealousy twisted into something darker and needier.
No. Not like that. You’re doin’ it wrong.
I know what he wants.
The thought shocked him.
And turned him on so badly he nearly sobbed.
“F-fuck, fuck—” Angel’s vision went white as the fantasy collapsed inward.
He slowed himself down only to slump even more on the floor, adjusting his hips slightly upward. God, he was a mess, he already knew that.
Hard, wet, needy, trembling. And still with no intention to stop.
His drenched fingers reached down, caressing and massaging his twitching entrance. He shuddered, his brain supplying too many scenarios to choose from.
The chaos blurred, and now he could see Husk pinned down, breathing hard. Still powerful, still beautiful.
Still looking like he could destroy the room if he wanted but choosing not to.
Angel’s head hit the door behind him with a shudder as he pushed two fingers inside of himself, sliding in with such ease that it left him slightly unsteady for a moment.
“Shit–Look at that…” Angel whispered to his fantasy, voice shaking. “Lettin’ yourself get wrecked…”
Husk in his fantasy arched, gripping at nothing, growling.
And Angel lost his mind, curling the fingers inside of himself, rubbing on that sweet spot that made him see flashing stars before his eyes.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck—”
Between one eyelid flutter and one eye rolling back, the fantasy shifted again, and now, for the first time since it started, Angel was at the center of it.
He imagined Husk watching him across the crowded room.
Imagined Husk dismissing someone with a flick of his fingers.
His pulse spiked as he imagined Husk saying, “Not you, him.”
That hit harder than it should’ve.
Angel’s breath stuttered, squeezing his chest fluff between his arms, as he leaned into the fantasy of powerful Husk choosing him among the crowd. Casting everyone else on the side.
That was so on-the nose that it was almost embarrassing. Owned by one overlord. Fantasizing about another deciding he was worth more.
Pathetic.
And hot.
And soon enough, the crowd thinned. One by one, vanished, dismissed by his mind.
Because this was his fantasy.
He didn’t have to share anymore.
Husk was now the one in charge again, and was dragging Angel down. Pinning him in the same way, clawed hands heavy on his wrists, mouth at his throat and control slipped through Angel’s fingers along the tremble that shook his whole body.
The heat was building faster, ugly and needier.
I wanna replace every idiot you’ve ever touched.
The thought hit even harder.
His breath stuttered, his skin burned, he just snuck a third finger inside while his other hand pumped his whimpering hard-on and for what felt like the sweetest eternity, it was just Husk, on him, in him, over and over.
Powerful Husk, soft Husk, dominant Husk, ruined Husk, all of them layered together and slammed into him with the kind of restrained force he’d imagine him to use.
For a split moment, Angel thought that it was so classic for him to imagine Husk starting to restrain himself once with him. Even if he had just spent the last twenty minutes imagining him wrecking others mercilessly.
Hey, a kink is a kink, he concluded.
It was his body there. His legs around Husk’s waist. His mouth on his throat.
And another thought slipped out, breathless and demanding.
Let me.
Let me touch you.
Let me choose how hard.
The hands in his fantasy twisted on Husk’s fur, pushing him and in a flash, he was the one pinning Husk on the couch.
Electricity sparked all around his skin, picturing how Husk would let him be in control, how his grin would stutter when Angel would do the right thing. Shifting the hips, reclaiming, watching his back arching and his breath coming apart until he couldn’t take Angel’s teasing anymore.
…bet I’m better than them.
Angel’s fingers curled right on his favorite spot again and between one pop of white light behind his eyes and the other, that’s when he imagined Husk’s big hands clawing at his waist, thrusting hard in him before flipping Angel down once more underneath himself, wings flaring and licking his lips lasciviously.
Angel’s head hit the door, a sharp, broken moan echoing inside the room as his other fingers flew to the wall, a useless wreck.
“Oh– Fuck—I can’t, I– oh, shit–”
Husk in his head grinned, devastatingly sensual as he slammed back into him, controlling the pace, deciding how gentle, how fast, and how much he was going to ruin him.
Angel’s back arched, breath breaking again into soft, needy sounds he hadn’t planned to make.
“Husk–”
His mouth betrayed him completely, heat coiling and pressure building, his fingers rushing faster and faster.
He shoved aside the lingering thought that the moment he moaned his name, Husk’s gaze in his mind immediately shifted from powerful overlord to grumpy bartender.
He let his hands chase the high instead of rummaging in what that could have meant.
So, Husk in his imagination was still savouring him, hips moving recklessly, mouth exploring him thoroughly. His snout nuzzled up his throat, smiling that dangerous, lazy smile.
‘Relax, Legs. I got you.’
Angel came apart, hard. Eyes blowing out before squeezing shut again as the orgasm crashed into him with the satisfaction that he had been denied since that afternoon.
Body shuddering, breath breaking, a wrecked whine tearing out of him as everything in his mind collided at once– jealousy, desire, control, want.
His legs shook helplessly for far longer than he was used to. He couldn’t even move his fingers, feeling the muscles still clenching around them unsteady and tired.
For a long moment, all that he could do was stare in front of him, breathing, cooling.
Then reality seeped back in, shame creeping around the edges.
“... what the actual fuck is wrong with me.” he breathed out, trying to push in the very back of his head that he had just jerked off to his best friend being passed around by faceless strangers, among way more alarming thoughts he wasn’t ready to face yet.
It was the disgrace that gave him the strength to stand up and hurl himself on his bed, immediately drifting into a deep and finally satisfied sleep.
When he woke up the next morning, he felt comfortably warm. That floaty, boneless, post-orgasm haze clinging to him like a lazy cat.
He blinked, finding himself face to face with Fat Nugget’s snout, still asleep on his pillows. That meant it was too early for feeding time.
That was when Angel’s memory turned on like a spotlight.
“Oh, fuck.” he whispered, quick flashes of what happened in his mind the night before filling his brain.
“... huh.” he then breathed out, surprised to not feel the panic clinging to his skin.
He rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling and processing.
“...Okay, first of all.” he muttered to himself, voice raspy with sleep. “Objectively? That was hot.”
He blinked once.
“...Like, very hot.” He declared, then shifted over the sheets, testing his body. Still loose and pleasantly sore in that good, overworked way.
He hummed thoughtfully before the dreaded panic actually hit him for real this time.
Because of all the people, of all the freaks, all the beautifully available, morally flexible sinners in Hell… oh, God.
He slapped two hands on his face, groaning.
You did that AGAIN? And somehow you managed to imagine something waaay WORSE than before!!
Twice in two days!
But he couldn’t stop picturing it. The chaos, the power… the hot, wrecking restraint at the end.
The way he’d looked at him in the fantasy…
“...Son of a bitch.”
His body, traitorous as always, gave a very mild, very interested reaction. Not hard but aware. Almost… engaged.
Like, oh we thinkin’ about this again?
Angel glared down at himself.
“Doncha start.”
He flopped onto his side, propping himself on an elbow, finally waking Fat Nuggets up, that squealed peeved at the shift.
Angel tugged a smile on his lips and caressed the small little head of his pet between the ears before going back to his zillionth spiral of the week.
Point one: he was a pornstar. And a very good one. No, scratch that. The best, thank you very much. Masturbating to unhinged scenarios was literally his job description. So, no shame in that, right?
Right.
Point two: jealousy kink? Power kink? Control kink? New, sure, but on brand. That absolutely tracked.
But by the third point, he was already sighing, asking himself why did it have to be Husk?
Or, worse. Was it because it was Husk?
Asking that as if he hadn’t already manifested the answer himself in the most unhinged way the day before.
Angel rolled onto his back again, one arm flung over his eyes. A little knot in his chest made him painfully aware of where his mind was trying desperately not to go.
He knew that all that wasn’t just about sex. It was about wanting, it was about not knowing parts of Husk. It was about wondering if those eyes would’ve chosen him anyway even as an overlord.
About Husk wanting—
He sat up abruptly.
“Nope. NOPE.”
He frowned at himself, pointing a finger in the air.
“We ain't catchin' no feels at eight in the mornin'.”
Husk waited at the bar after closing like he always did when Angel was working late.
He had been wiping that same glass for probably twenty minutes, eyes staring into nothing.
Because he had noticed before he could admit it that something had shifted that week.
Not only the staring, that had been obvious for days.
It was the change since their talk.
Angel had always flirted, and even if he was actively working on himself now, there was always a part of him that performed.
Always loud, sharp, exaggerated like a weapon and a shield to protect himself.
But it was never messy. And this? This was messy, and that’s what got Husk’s attention.
He thought that fulfilling Angel’s curiosity would’ve placated him, instead… It made him linger more.
In the past week, he watched Angel sitting on that stool, eyes following Husk’s hands, legs crossed tight, dreamy and half-lidded. Almost cautiously longing.
And Husk tried very hard to tell himself that it wasn’t anything special, that it was probably Angel’s way to taunt him for all the unhinged things he confessed.
But those eyes were softly hungry, and Husk knew that Angel Dust’s usual hungry looks were bright, sharp and desired to be seen. These, on the other hand, didn’t ask to be admired. They stayed quiet, almost careful.
Husk wasn’t blind. He felt it in his spine, Angel watching him like he was the only thing in the room.
That did things to Husk he did not appreciate.
The nights stretched longer and longer as he tried very hard to quiet down the dangerous images his brain couldn’t stop coming up with, totally unsolicited and completely unacceptable.
He stopped his imaginary claws from reaching more times than he could count.
He shook off the faint desire of picturing how his long, pink fingers would feel on his face, on his body, on—
No.
Putting a sharp end to imagining Angel’s hands gripping fabric tightly. Into imagining himself stepping between Angel’s knees, listening to the sounds he’d make if no one was watching.
Into imagining Angel saying his name like it was a dare, smug grin trying to remain intact.
Shoving everything in the back of his head before it could become a regretful action all over his bed and inside his pants.
He poured ice cold water on himself too many times to mention that week. He resorted to counting cards in his head, running old probability tricks, anything but finishing the thought.
He knew that if he acted on it, it would become an inescapable climbing crisis.
And despite his best efforts to quiet his horny spiral down, Angel was still lingering and sulking at his bar like a wet puppy.
So he tried to call him out on it once, jokingly.
And that look Angel gave him… Flustered, bright with something dangerously real. Beautiful and unfiltered. So unfair to him.
And suddenly Husk understood. Not all of it, but enough.
Angel wasn’t performing, he was spiraling. And somehow… It was because of him.
That should have scared him and he definitely should have shut this down.
But, while his pulse thundered in his ears, he found himself leaning in.
Now when Angel laughed, he found himself smiling before he knew why. When he looked at him like that, he felt uncomfortably steady.
He noticed, with quiet alarm, that he knew Angel’s moods better than he knew his own.
And he found himself shifting his own mood to be less rough and way softer when around him.
Watching fondly a shy, overwhelmed smile that he rarely saw on Angel’s lips, half-hidden by his hands like they were the thinnest shield between that and his own feelings, and Husk’s chest did something uncomfortable.
Christ, you’re cute when you’re wrecked.
That thought startled him. He did not think things like that.
His hand sharply stopped, finally leaving that poor glass alone.
He knew what the problem was.
Because when he had brushed Angel’s fingers on purpose and saw Angel freeze like he was struck by lightning, Husk felt something deep and delightful unfurl in his chest.
Husk, for once in a very, very long time, wanted something back.
And that was the problem.