Chapter Text
October 19th – present
The following weeks were a kaleidoscope of acid trips: the job as a bartender that he couldn’t afford to fail and the odd jobs that Zestiel had started assigning him in parallel; the attempt to make the house a livable place for an eight-year-old girl; the attempt – failed several times – to not gamble his salary in the first available betting shop, which always ended up making him open a new bottle.
The final blow was a dinner that Alastor had organized together with Zestiel to ‘celebrate his first month in the new workplace’. A dinner that had ended up being a sort of meeting between various Wall Street tycoons that were up to their elbows in Zestiel’s affairs.
One of them was a certain Vox; Husk wasn’t sure how to link him with Alastor, considering that his friend had always been rather hostile to any relationship or sexual approach from anyone.
And he could speak from personal experience, considering that in that crazy semester spent in college without taking exams but busy with the underground poker circle, one night when they had both been drinking a lot, Henry had clumsily tried to stick his tongue in Alastor’s mouth, earning him a headbutt back.
Luckily they had never spoken about that night again.
Anyway, that dinner with the Wall Street sharks had turned out to be also some sort of internal poker tournament in which Henry had, in order: lost more than he could afford, drank a bad whiskey sour, listened to Alastor coldly complain about how Vox had been staring at him all night and physically kept the aforementioned Vox away, who had tried to smear himself on top of his friend who – regardless of the collateral damage – had used him as a human shield.
The delirious list of those two weeks could have gone on and on, but the constant that had kept Henry from going crazy was the ding! of his cell phone that every now and then notified him of a new message; the only one who was writing to him, aside from various service messages, was Anthony.
They were stupid texts, no big deal: comments about the day, photos of dogs he took for walks – there were several of a white chihuahua stuffed into a collection of clothes larger than Henry’s closet – selfies at Starbucks, some even together to the girl who had introduced herself as Cherri the other time. They were songs, memes, shared moments that embroidered a thread of thoughts and had made Husk feel like he hadn’t felt in a long time: seen.
He had never doubted Lidia’s love, never, not even in the darkest moments; but since the Accident had happened, it wasn’t just him who broke. Their entire relationship had crumbled, slowly, and with a four-year-old child and a hasty move to the other side of the country, his wife’s attention had been focused on their daughter. Holding together the pieces that he himself had helped create.
No one teaches you about guilt but damn, how it hurts.
The fact that there was someone interested in him – someone who spontaneously asked him how work had gone or informed him that he had bought a supply of Cheetos at the market down the street because they were on sale – was a decidedly pleasant novelty.
They had never touched the divorce thing again, or the fact that Anthony’s life was a mess too – who ends up making porn movies and then stops abruptly? – and that was fine like this.
It was even better when a certain type of photo arrived and the moments before going to work or after coming home practically at dawn, Henry spent jerking off to the image that Anthony – fucking tease – had sent him with the utmost nonchalance and a simple ‘ have fun, tiger ’.
Between one message and another, they had agreed to meet the following Saturday – after asking Zestiel for a hard-earned day off – at a place Henry had never heard of.
Tony 💖
*location sent*Husk The DILF
What place is this?Tony 💖
a club, handsome, so put on smth appropriateHusk The DILF
Are you mocking me, Tony?Tony 💖
noooo what makes ya think that ~
you're always sexy husky, nw xxx
cya there 💗
Henry stared at the glowing heart for the umpteenth time, before looking up at the blue and pink neon sign that towered over the entrance to what looked like a disco or a strip club: The Vees, in the heart of Midtown.
He looked at the queue to get in, after Anthony’s last text telling him to come in ‘ no problem ’, that he’d be there and that they’d meet inside.
“No problem, huh?” he muttered, getting in line behind a very young couple and feeling incredibly old to frequent such a place.
When he got to the front, the bouncer – a guy with a pierced eyebrow and not very friendly looking – asked him boredly if he had a table reserved, and Henry cleared his throat.
“No clue. But a guy named Anthony told me that–”
He didn’t even have time to finish his sentence before the bouncer lifted the red cord, unhooking it, and waved him through, barely looking at him.
Husk frowned, vaguely puzzled, and stepped through the door of The Vees to be hit by the music and the atmosphere.
The place was much more like a Vegas club than the speakeasy, and part of him felt almost like he had come home: spending his winnings in the clubs outside the casino – glitter, sequins and strobe lights – was a bit of a tradition for the young Henry Husker, who used to squeeze Sin City to the core.
Falling in love with one of the club dancers – who also performed in his own casino, from time to time – had been a different story entirely; a story that ended with a marriage, a daughter and a divorce.
He shook his head, coming back from memory lane and looking around for Anthony; in all that blue and pink lights, the crowd and the loud music, finding his mop of blond hair proved to be a difficult task.
He pushed through the crowd to the bar, a sort of blue structure with a decidedly modern design, and perched himself on a stool to gather his thoughts. He fished his phone out of the pocket of the dark jeans he’d been wearing, along with a simple, dark red long-sleeved Henley shirt and a new leather jacket; more suited to a pub or rock concert than a club, but his closet had offered no other options. And most of all, he wasn’t the club type.
Husk The DILF
Where the fuck are you.
Straight to the point.
He waited, turning to stare at a sort of raised stage on which various male and female dancers were rubbing themselves sinuously around the poles. Some had started out dressed and ended up essentially naked.
He also eyed the various privè placed right in front of the stage, small alcoves occupied by those who wanted to enjoy the show in the front row; he thought once again Anthony's choice of the place in question, which, considering the behavior of the bouncer at the entrance, had probably been calculated.
Either he wants me to know his world, or he has something in mind.
“What can I get you, man?”
Husk stiffened reflexively, turning back to the counter and eyeing the bartender who had asked him: an Asian man, perhaps Japanese, with a very well-groomed goatee and a bunch of tattoos on his arms – various intertwining snakes, dragons and various reptiles – perfectly visible, given the black short-sleeved shirt.
If he wasn’t a bartender, he could easily have been a Yakuza hitman.
“Whiskey neat.”
The guy nodded, without batting an eyelid, disappearing for a few moments to pour his favorite poison.
Henry took off his jacket, balling it up but, this time, taking care not to abandon it on the stool next to him; he looked at his phone screen again, waiting for a notification that wasn’t there.
He ditched you, Husker.
He stifled that little voice by swallowing only a vague sense of unease and running his fingers through his silver-streaked tuft, thanking the bartender in a nod and taking out a bill to pay.
As he took his first sip, amidst the applause that greeted the dance troupe that had just finished, a presenter came on stage – dressed as a playboy bunny – to announce something.
“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Get your bills ready and don’t be shy, ladies and gents, because he most certainly is not! Give your horniest welcome to the wet dream that The Vees is always happy to offer: Angel Dust!”
Henry watched idly as the crowd clapped or wolf whistled like they’re in the most infamous strip club in Queens, which made him chuckle a little.
Who the hell could be this Ang–
The thought choked in his head as the sip of whiskey threatened to suffocate him, sending him to see the Creator before his time and for an alcohol-related reason that was not an alcoholic coma. A nice change, there's no denying it.
He coughed a lot, under the implacable gaze of the tattooed bartender and a few other customers at the counter, before recovering the use of his lungs and returning to focus on the dancer on stage who was greeting the audience by blowing kisses and winks here and there.
What the fuck was Anthony doing on stage dressed like that?
The little voice didn’t even bother answering that decidedly superfluous question.
He felt a lot of things, observing Angel Dust more carefully: he had a sort of black shrug made of intertwined chains and small armor-style plates sleeves on the shoulders, that left his entire back and chest uncovered, in a riot of freckles and glitter; the right sleeve was connected to the left through a chain choker. Black leather shorts that left very little to the imagination and a pair of knee-high, square-heeled boots, also black.
The touches of color that he sported – apart from blond hair, in which he had traced various shades of glittery pink – were all in the makeup: a sort of pink and purple smokey eyes, enriched by three fuchsia rhinestones applied along the line of the cheekbones under both eyes. To complete the look, a pink heart silhouette painted on the bare skin, starting from the chest, surrounding the nipples and running in a brushstroke down his torso, passing by the belly button and continuing suggestively under the shorts.
Henry, who in his life had never been particularly attracted by the physical appearance of people but by what they managed to transmit to him – their vibes, whether they were from males or females did not matter much – that evening felt one of the cornerstones of his sexuality dangerously waver.
Anthony – Angel Dust – was truly an erotic dream on two legs.
Legs that were miles long, straddling him while he fucked him, his wrists tied behind his neck and a spectacular view of his—
The thought was interrupted again, when the music started.
Contrary to what Husk had thought, given the tenor of the place, a sort of rock song started sung by a voice dirty enough to make Angel’s moves even more indecent; a pretty slow rhythm at the beginning, punctuated by the drums and the scratching of the guitar.
The moment of the chorus – which the audience probably also knew well – was a fierce grip of desire straight to Henry’s gut: to the excited cheers of the crowd, above the singer’s now more shouted voice, Anthony had fallen to his knees on the edge of the stage, his thighs spread and his arms raised above the head, clinging to the pole from which he had just slipped and busy moving his hips towards the audience in a decidedly explicit wave in time to the music.
The wave of lewd thoughts that washed over Husker at that moment was probably so obvious that even the tattooed Yakuza noticed: he chuckled lightly, passing right behind him to serve other customers at the counter.
He found himself draining what was left of glass in one gulp, setting it back down on the bar with more emphasis than necessary, and nodding to the bartender to catch his attention.
“Another one.”
He poured him the second whiskey without batting an eyelid while glancing at Angel as he continued his act, hanging from the pole to lean forward towards the crowd and tease the loyal fans in the front row, who in the meantime were stuffing bills into his shorts.
“He’s good, isn’t he?”
“Mh?” Henry jumped slightly, tearing his amber gaze from the stage: he had just caught a glance from Anthony, directed right at him with a wink attached, and he found himself smiling like an idiot. He stared at the Asian bartender, hoping that in the bluish darkness the blush that he felt had pinched his cheeks could not be seen.
“I said, he’s good right?”
“ Oh . Yes.” he blinked, pulling out another bill to pay for his second round. “He dances well.”
“I don’t think the people at The Vees come here to see his dance moves.” the other pointed out, with a rather knowing and ironic half-smile, as he pocketed his tip; he rapped the bar once with his knuckle, satisfied, called away by yet another order and leaving Henry alone with his arousal and the finale of Angel’s number, which garnered applause and horny whistles from the crowd – as well as a fair amount of cash.
Husk kept his eyes on him as he walked out of the wings; he turned back to the bar, as the place filled up again with loud music, probably the background dance music between numbers.
So Anthony was a dogsitter, a former porn star and a performer; Henry – swirling his glass idly – began to put the pieces together, one after the other, to create a more precise picture of the blond who he had met by chance one evening in a bar and had turned his life upside down.
“Heeey, whiskers ~ ”
The singsong and very suggestive tone reached him even before Anthony’s arms, which slid over his shoulders and over his neck to embrace him from behind and rest the chest against his back.
Despite the pleasant contact – the smell of the other mixed with sweat and a sugary, fruity scent he couldn’t immediately pinpoint – a scorching flash of the Accident slithered through his head.
Husk reacted, purely on instinct: he stiffened and shook off the man, who in response immediately released his grip and raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.
“Woah woah, Henry.” He turned just to see Anthony’s slightly puzzled smile and wary expression as he stood before him with his hands still slightly raised. “Sorry, I thought you recognized me.”
I’m a fucking idiot .
“No, I–” he replied with some urgency, before sighing heavily and pressing a pair of metaphorical ears against her head. “You caught me off guard. Of course I–” he cleared his throat, turning fully on the stool so he could look at him properly. “I recognized you.”
And judging from what had happened during his dance number, his dick had also recognized him enthusiastically.
Anthony stared at him for another couple of moments, lowering his hands and searching his face as if trying to fully understand his expression and his words, as if he was expecting something after that sentence.
Rejection , a thought suggested to him somewhere; his stomach tightened, tucking that piece into the picture as well.
Anthony’s vulnerability, underneath all the bravado and raw hyper-sexuality, that Husk had only glimpsed from time to time.
Apparently, however, Tony liked what he saw; he smiled again, a mischievous and amused twinkle in the depths of his hazel eyes – the glint of his golden tooth confirmed that he was his usual self again.
“Did you like the surprise? Rei.” he intercepted the tattooed bartender as he passed by. “I’ll have my usual, thanks sugar.” He looked back at Henry, taking a couple of cautious steps forward to get closer to him again.
This time, he opened his legs – still sitting on the stool – to give him space and held out a hand, palm up, in an inviting gesture: it was his silent positive answer to the question about the surprise.
Anthony, smirking, didn’t need to be told twice: he took his hand and slipped in right there, leaning on his thigh as if he were more or less sitting in the other’s lap – under the envious glances of the other customers in the place, which made Husk’s thick eyebrow raise a little.
“I’m still working, baby, so for now you’re a nice break in my shift.” he informed him, purring in his ear. “Just ignore them.”
Henry muttered something grumpily, resting his free hand on the small of his bare back to steady him.
“Such a gentleman, Husky. Thank you.” The last words were for Rei, who had meanwhile placed Anthony’s glass right there in front of him.
Husk silently considered the drink, comparing it to all the others: not that he remembered the first night precisely, to be fair, but even at the speakeasy the blond hadn’t ordered alcohol. He had never seen him drink a drop of booze since they had met.
Another ‘ why ’ that he silently asked himself, absentmindedly stroking Tony’s back.
“You’ll get all the glitter on you, whiskers,” he muttered, mouth still on the rim of the glass as he finished his fruit juice. Sugar rush incoming.
Henry looked at his palm: oops .
He snorted a half-laugh, in his throat, putting the hand right back where it was before.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Mmm, yeah?” Tony commented, rearranging himself in his lap after placing the empty glass on the bar and pressing the tip of his index finger on Henry’s nose to make it slide further down in a gesture very similar to the one from last morning: he ran the index over his lips, his salt-and-pepper goatee, his throat, reaching the three buttons of the shirt in a scorching touch.
Or maybe it was his sharp and languid smile that suddenly made Henry feel very hot.
“If you want, I can leave them everywhere afterwards.” Angel continued, gazing at him from under his lashes.
With that pink smokey eye and the three rhinestones under the eyes, the green in his left eye was again very evident.
Who knows if anyone had ever told him that his eyes had two different colors.
“Angel.”
Henry, before he could even respond, jerked his gaze in sync with Anthony's to stare at a girl who had just appeared: dark eyes, dressed like a sexy and rather revealing version of a jester.
“Kitty, darling,” Tony greeted her, not flinching but straightening up for a moment. “What is it?”
As if something in the girl’s almost shy tone had warned him.
“You’re–” Husk saw her searching for the most appropriate term to use, considering that she peeked at him as well for a moment before returning to the blond. “Requested elsewhere.”
Angel looked instinctively in the direction of Kitty’s gaze, peering somewhere towards the stage – where the fans had been – before sighing theatrically and standing up.
“Time’s up. Comin’.”
Kitty nodded quickly, disappearing back into the crowd as Anthony put on an artfully constructed pout and looked at Husk.
“You wait for me, right tiger?”
Something in the blond's behavior suggested to Husk again that he wasn’t totally quite himself that night; he compared the image of the Tony tucked into his shirt, at the breakfast table – busy giggling at his cell phone in a lazy silence of an ordinary morning – to the sexy Angel Dust pouting at him and flirting a lot more than usual.
‘ Do you think you’re the only one with problems? ’
The memory of Anthony’s tone that morning made him blink a couple of times.
He nodded, slowly.
“Sure.” he confirmed. “You came while I was working too and waited for me.”
Something about that clarification made Anthony’s expression melt into a sort of held breath, a suffused happiness that made him curl a genuine smile.
He placed the right hand on his cheek, scratching his salt-and-pepper beard a little, and leaned over to leave a kiss right on the corner of his lips.
“See you later, Henry.” he cooed, getting up and disappearing into the crowd, drawn back into the chaotic club.
As Husk absentmindedly rubbed the thumb to remove the lip gloss – another stupid smile that he couldn’t suppress – he couldn’t help but feel the familiar tingling sensation of being watched.
He turned in that direction, looking up at the balconies that ran around the entire perimeter of the place: up high, in the dim light mixed with neon lights, the embers of a cigarette with a strange reddish smoke looked back at him for a couple of moments before disappearing.
It was three o’clock when the bouncer with the eyebrow piercing came to tap him on the shoulder, announcing that he had to get out of the way.
He had been eyeing Angel Dust all evening, watching him wander through the crowd and stop here and there where he was required to chat with the customers – mostly in the privès.
When he happened to pass by his area, with the utmost nonchalance he would run his fingers on the back of Husk’s neck in an absent-minded caress, something that had made him shiver and had attracted his gaze until he saw him disappear again in the club.
The weirdest, most exciting first date he'd ever had.
The Vees had slowly emptied and the lights had come back on: the blue and pink neon lights, which had immersed the place in an almost surreal and certainly sensual atmosphere, had given way to reality.
The remaining dancers were having fun, laughing and chatting among themselves, some sitting at the tables previously occupied by customers and others right at the bar for the stirrup cup; Anthony, however, was nowhere to be seen.
Rei, noticing the bouncer's gesture, intervened.
“Hey, he’s cool Jason. He’s waiting for Angel.”
The man shrugged, leaving him alone and joining the others.
Henry rose from the stool he had colonized all evening and cracked his neck in a heavy breath, putting his jacket back on.
“Thanks, but–” he looked around, vaguely puzzled. “Do you know where I can find him, by the way?”
“Probably still in the dressing room.” Rei shrugged, not looking at him and continuing to tidy up. “Try going to look for him, they’re over there.” he jerked his thumb toward a door to the right of the counter that said STAFF ONLY.
Henry nodded, heading off.
“It’s been a pleasure, Rei.”
“Same for me, Husk.”
Reflecting on the fact that in one way or another he always ended up making ‘friends’ with potentially lethal people – no one would ever get the idea out of his head that Rei was a former Yakuza – he opened the door towards the dressing rooms and closed it behind him.
The back hallway of The Vees was decidedly less polished than the interior, a perfect representation of any nightclub, and once again he felt transported back to Vegas’ past.
The neon lights flickered, turning on as he passed door after door in search of Angel Dust’s dressing room; he passed the changing room for the waiters, bartenders and bouncers, a break room and what looked like a storage room of some sort before reaching the dancer’s dressing rooms.
In the almost deafening silence, compared to the volume of the music he had heard all evening, Henry’s ears caught at least two muffled voices speaking from behind a door not too far from where he stood.
Or to say it better: they were arguing furiously.
Henry frowned, not being able to catch any of the words precisely, but he recognized one of the two voices: Anthony.
The other was a voice with a thick Spanish accent, which occasionally rose higher as Husk slowed his pace to stop just around the corner of what he had now deduced was Angel’s dressing room.
Unsure what to do, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and waited, although that sort of fight made his fur metaphorically bristle; he didn’t like it, not one bit.
He caught just a snippet from Anthony, something that sounded a lot like ‘go fuck yourself and your Wall Street Prince’ before a couple of noises: something breaking, falling to the ground, and some sort of dense, more impactful sound.
A slap?
Henry stiffened abruptly and marched toward the dressing room just as the door swung open to let out a figure whose back he could only glimpse; a decidedly tall man, taller than Anthony, with a lean, sinewy build, wearing a long red coat with butterfly wings drawn on the back, the cuffs and collar trimmed with white zebra fur.
Cursing in Spanish, he disappeared down the opposite hallway without noticing Husker, who nevertheless took note of another detail that tickled a recent memory: a trail of reddish smoke that snaked behind him.
He watched him vanish around the corner, a flicker of anger in the depths of his amber eyes, before clicking the tongue a couple of times in a low growl.
Calm down, Husk. Breathe.
He reached the door of Angel Dust’s dressing room, which had been left ajar, to knock with his knuckles and open it a little more, asking for permission.
“Hey, Tony, is everything–” okay?
He never finished the question: his gaze fell on Anthony, wrapped in a cyclamen-colored dressing gown very similar to the coat of the guy who had just left, leaning against the wall with his right hand pressed against the same red cheek, his makeup a little smudged and the eyes of someone who had just cried.
In front of him, the shards of a vase and a bunch of roses scattered on the ground.
Meeting Angel’s gaze – a mixture of fear, shame and surprise – Henry answered himself.