Chapter Text
November 1st – present
Anthony woke with a start from an endless fall.
He had dreamed of what had been tormenting him for weeks now: the Halloween overdose.
He touched the inside of his elbow frantically, his breathing still rapid, checking for non-existent holes – a path of desperation embroidered by needles, one dose after another – and slowly regaining contact with reality.
His apartment. His room.
Henry Husker naked in his bed.
That last thought made him hold his breath, a wave of adrenaline that came back to knock on his consciousness, or maybe it was the last remnants of that nightmare sinking its teeth into his mind.
To be fair, he and Husk hadn’t exactly cleared up the situation the night before; there had been a lot of interesting things, but not many words.
Sighs and moans, Henry’s low voice and Anthony thought he had really fucked his brains out, that the drugs had finally scrumbled his head with a delayed effect, because that voice really sounded like he’s purring. Into his ear, along his throat in a trail of wet kisses while those big, tawny hands searched for the zipper of his cat suit to pull it down completely. Kisses that, in that dim pink light of the strings hanging behind the headboard, had lingered slowly on the slightly faded purple marks left by Valentino’s fingers on his neck.
Anthony rolled over on his side, in those wrinkled sheets, wedging himself under Husk’s arm to search for his neck nuzzling his freckled nose there; whether to kiss him or breathe him, it didn’t really matter.
Henry just mumbled something sleepily, holding him better without even opening his eyes.
Tony couldn’t help but smile in such a way that, if he had looked at himself in the mirror, he would have slapped himself.
You can’t do this, Anthony. You just fucking can’t.
And yet, as he walked his right index and middle fingers along Husk’s chest so he could open his hand and place it right there between the dark hair on his sternum, something told him that he had already lost control.
It had been very, very different sex from the first time. Or the second one, to be more precise.
There hadn’t been the same desperate hunger, that need to devour each other. This time, Henry had savored him slowly and Anthony had let him do it – even though the little voice inside him, very similar to Valentino’s tone, had cruelly whispered that his role wasn’t that.
You cannot come if I haven’t come first, amorcito. Don’t be selfish with pleasure.
Husker had undressed him slowly, lowering that black cat suit – a low laugh, mixed with a huff, “it’s so fucking tight, how the hell did you wear it in the first place?” – and walking to make him move backwards towards the bed; he had chuckled at the mountain of pillows, a sound that Anthony had felt in his mouth and that had made his stomach do a fluttering.
Damn the fucking butterflies.
The pillows had been removed, soft thumps on the floor as well as the soft thump of Tony, practically naked, who had let himself fall face up on the now empty bed.
The other’s clothes had remained in place instead – only the Elvis jacket was gone – and the image of Henry leaning over him on his forearms, the black eye, the unbuttoned shirt and that trail of open-mouthed kisses that continued downwards until reaching his thong and taking it between his teeth to pull it down had been categorically included in the repertoire for the best wanks in the world.
A brushstroke of cherry red silk along his pale, freckled thighs, his already hard cock popping out, and Anthony’s languid moan as he felt even Henry’s breathing right there against his aching erection.
Husker, still almost dressed, in contrast to him naked, with cat ears and lying in his bed, had been such a horny sight that Anthony’s blood had gone to his head; and say that he thought it had all gone elsewhere.
And yet it wasn’t a fantasy, oh no. It was all incredibly, fucking real.
The final blow hadn’t been that vision, but what he had said to him.
Let me take care of you.
If he hadn’t been a pro – so to speak – those words spoken in a husky but velvety tone, soaked with arousal, would have made him come. Like, instantly.
And instead, as he sank his fingers into Husker’s salt-and-pepper waves – a pleasant tickle on the inside of his thigh, between the beard and the hair – arching his back and his pelvis toward his mouth with his heels planted on the edge of the bed, he found himself looking at the pink lights upside down and desperately concentrating on making that blowjob last more than two minutes.
Husk had taken him into his mouth without hesitation, but with the same, intoxicating slowness with which he had kissed that path along his body, as if he had to count every freckle under his lips.
He had sucked a bit and then run his tongue over the length, slowly, before moving down between his cheeks to taste him and soften him where Tony was eager to feel him inside.
Present-Anthony buried his nose against the neck of the still half-asleep Henry, nuzzling at the memory of that lips kissing his hole, that tongue lapping and pushing to prep him, before moving up and taking him into his mouth again to suck him good.
So good.
He was sure he’d choked out a sound he didn’t think he could produce when Husk had started massaging his balls while sucking him; there, right there he had completely lost control and had come, in a languid moan that resembled a sob.
Henry’s swallowing; his amber eyes watching him from below, crouched between his thighs, in the pink darkness of his bedroom. Dark hair, whiskey eyes. Anthony’s quick breathing, the other one getting back on his feet, the Elvis costume disappearing on the floor. Husk’s mouth, the tongue searching for his, his own taste as he kisses him and feels him rubbing against his hole.
Tony glanced at the nightstand, where between an alarm clock that didn’t work, a couple of hand creams and a half-full blue crystal ashtray there was the bottle of cherry lube – “Are you for real? ” – that he had indicated to Husk with rather confused gestures when he had felt a question against his neck, where he was still kissing away those purple marks.
And to think that only Sunday night had he fucked Valentino in that dingy alley behind who-knows-what club because he was convinced that Henry had dumped him.
The moment Husk had pushed inside him, in a hungry thrust of his hips, Tony had called himself an idiot.
You idiot, you are such a dickhead.
He had meowed every moan against the other’s mouth, as if on that Night of the Witches Henry couldn’t tear himself away from his lips due to some bizarre spell. Anthony had gotten hard again, one thrust after another, and he had dug his nails into his shoulders, being careful to avoid his back.
He had rocked his hips, tightening his thighs around his hips and meeting him halfway as Henry pressed him against the mattress and fucked him exactly as he had said: taking care of him.
When Husk had taken Tony’s cock in his hand and started to jerk him in rhythm with the thrusts, the control had evaporated like snow in the sun.
Thinking back to the orgasm that had seized him for the second time, just before Husk also emptied himself inside him in a soft growl vented against his mouth, Anthony repeated for the umpteenth time what had now become a mantra.
I’m fucked.
“Why do you keep staring at me.”
Henry’s sleepy voice made Tony blink a couple of times, coming back from that long, hot memory of the night before.
He grinned, settling back into him and leaving a kiss on his neck; Husk began to purr again, and now he no longer knew if it was his imagination or if it was really happening.
“I wasn’t staring.”
“I felt it.”
Anthony chuckled softly, stretching and pressing himself against his body to push him down, face up, so he could position himself on top of him.
“It’s not my fault you’re sexy, daddy.” he cooed, folding his hands one on top of the other on Henry’s chest and resting his chin on them, so he could peek up at him.
Husk slowly opened his eyes, still too sleepy to give a prompt answer.
He just stared at him and raised his thick left eyebrow skeptically.
“What? That's true,” Tony reiterated, turning his head to rest his cheek and rub it a little against that hairy chest, without breaking his gaze. “You should stop questioning the fact that you’re a cock-tease daddy and start agreeing with me.”
“And you should stop talking bullshit.”
Anthony’s indignant reply was lost in an amused and crystalline laugh, while Henry in an unexpected maneuver grabbed him to reverse the positions in a rustle of sheets and lie on top of him, tucked between his thighs, with a smug smirk.
The blond chuckled again, looking up at him; in the gray light of a lazy November morning in the Village, Henry was a far more welcome sight than last year.
The plastered ceiling of the hospital, the rhythmic beeping of the machines, the smell of disinfectant and the feeling of sandpaper in his throat. Molly’s voice, it sounded just like her, talking to someone – someone who was placing something cold on his chest and trying to open his eyes to shine a light on them.
“Are you okay?”
It was Henry’s voice that brought him out of his thoughts.
Anthony blinked a couple of times, before taking a breath and stretching again, holding on to Husk’s shoulders and spreading his legs a little wider to make more room for him.
“I was just thinking that last year I had a very different morning,” he practically purred. “That’s fucking better.”
“Yeah?” Husk grinned, languid, pressing his hips and that morning hardness right into Anthony’s inner thigh. “And what kind of morning was that?”
He took a breath.
Charlie had said lying about being an addict was against the NA code, but technically he’d never actually lied, right?
I can’t tell him I overdosed on a friend’s bathroom floor and my sister basically locked me in rehab for nine months.
He ignored Charlie’s voice and the little speech about honesty once again.
“I was alone and far, far less happy.”
Only half-truths.
Henry’s amber eyes narrowed, as if he knew there was more to that answer. He didn’t investigate, though, just making a low, affirmative sound, before stiffening slightly: Tony had slowly moved his hands to risk a caress on his back and those scars.
“Don’t.”
It was the first time Husk had made such an explicit ‘stop’ on the matter.
The blond moved his hands again, without a fuss, going up to his shoulders and sliding one into the hair at the nape of the neck for a slow massage that made him soften again. The man went back to lie on top of him, giving a few lazy kisses to those bruises on Anthony’s throat – maybe the goal was to make them disappear completely like this, considering how much he had lingered on them last night too.
“What are they?” he murmured in his ear, softly.
Henry stopped and remained silent.
Another of those silences that made a lot of noise in his head.
When Anthony was finally convinced that he would not get an answer, a low, intimate murmur came – the confession of someone who perhaps had never spoken of it before.
“I had an accident.”
Tony dared to slide a hand down again, while his right hand remained to slowly scritch the back of Husk’s neck through his salt-and-pepper hair, as if he were trying to coax a big, reluctant cat.
This time, Husk tensed again but did not withdraw from the touch.
Anthony ran his fingertips lightly, without pressing, following the contours of the scars; burns or cuts, it was not clear, probably both. Lying under him he could not see well, but there was definitely a design of some kind – he traced the outlines blindly, breathing slowly and whispering a soft ssssht every now and then when Henry stiffened more and hid better against his neck, clenching his fists on the pillow.
He blinked after reaching the end of that macabre path.
“They look like wings.”
What kind of accident leaves such precise scars?
Husk snorted a bitter half-laugh, a snort that made Anthony shiver; he felt him move again and, in a twist of the hips, he reversed positions once more. He found himself straddling him, no longer able to touch his back.
“Let’s just say I pissed off the wrong people.” Henry concluded, quite lapidary, and something in his tone suggested to Anthony that he wouldn’t add more to that.
The blond nodded slightly, with the awareness that only the son of a mafia boss can have in these kinds of situations, but with curiosity that devoured his brain.
There was a whole world, inside Henry Husker, that he desperately wanted to sink into.
"What about you?"
Oh no.
“Me?” Tony took his time, straightening in that position and resting his hands on Husk’s chest to steady himself as he rocked his hips once, rubbing their cocks together in a perfect distraction.
“Those.”
Ok, maybe not so perfect.
Anthony swallowed hard; his Adam’s apple bobbed, left hand instinctively reached up to his neck to massage the faded bruises absentmindedly.
Henry had opened up to him about a very sensitive subject that morning. Maybe he owed him an explanation, even if it meant risking seeing him get out of bed, slam the door behind him and never come back.
He cleared his throat, while Valentino’s voice laughed languidly and cruelly in his thoughts.
“Last Sunday, when you—” Anthony cleared his throat. “When you had that bad day, I still went out.”
Maybe taking it one step at a time was easier?
“I saw Valentino.”
No, better to rip the band-aid off.
Husker watched him from below, in an indecipherable silence, a dark flicker at the bottom of his amber eyes.
There had been no need to tell him how he had won the bruises.
After all, he’d seen in the dressing room what Valentino was capable of.
Anthony closed his eyes in a broken breath that made a wave of fear rising in the back of his throat, ready to take Henry’s refusal.
At least he wouldn’t watch him walk out the door and leave him there.
Instead, he felt something else.
Hands that caressed his freckled thighs and slid to grab his ass for a moment – the stylized heart tattooed on his cheek that squeezed slightly, under the palm – before going down again. Another hand that went up to brush those purple marks with its knuckles, in a hinted caress that made him reopen his slightly teary eyes and seek for Husk’s gaze again.
There were no signs of pity, just silent acceptance. No one had ever looked at him like that, like something precious. Like someone to take care of.
Oh, you’ll be fucking damned Henry Husker.
“I’m sorry.”
For not seeing each other on Sunday, for the bruises, for Valentino, for the fact that almost every man in his life had turned out to be shit?
It was those amber eyes – which in the soft light filtering through the window seemed almost golden – that told him there really was no need to specify.
Anthony rocked his hips astride, as if trying to settle himself and the other issue that was keeping him on edge.
“We haven’t talked about—” he cleared his throat again. “You know, I didn’t know if you—”
Husk came to his rescue, with an amused smirk.
“Since when did you lose your tongue, hmm?”
“Shut the fuck up.” Tony said, making him chuckle – the hands still resting on his chest wobbled up and down as the laughter infected him. He found himself smiling again, ever so slightly.
“I was saying, we haven’t talked about an exclusive.”
Henry rubbed his hands against his thighs again, a pensive caress.
“Want something exclusive?”
“No, I—” he tried to ignore the happy, crazy flutter in his stomach at the thought that there really was ‘something’ then, that he hadn’t imagined it. “It’s just we haven’t talked about it, so I don’t—”
“Look.”
Henry’s low, calm voice put a stop to the spiral of thoughts that threatened to devour him.
“You’re young, you’re sexy as fuck, and you have a job where you basically have make other people horny. I am a recently divorced forty-year-old with a lot of other shit going on.” Henry had a lot of skeletons in his closet too, but this silent game of not touching on certain topics seemed to come naturally to both of them. “If you want to fuck someone other than me, go ahead. Hell, if you want to fuck the entire Yankees team, feel free to do so.”
“I actually fucked one of the Yankees.”
“Good boy.” and Anthony laughed, deeply amused. “But seriously, do whatever you want Tony. My life is such a mess that I have no right or desire to stop anyone from being themselves. Just—”
It was Henry’s turn to clear his throat, hand returning to the purple marks on Anthony’s throat.
Was it concern what was seething in those amber eyes?
“Don’t let anyone hurt you. Whether it’s Valentino or some random asshole.”
‘Or me,’ seemed to be the words hanging at the end of the sentence.
Tony took a thick, soft breath – something that settled warmly in the pit of his stomach; he grabbed Henry’s right hand to press it to his cheek and bend his head into his palm, closing his eyes again to enjoy the touch.
For a moment, it really did seem like there were just the two of them in that room and the whole world outside.
He reopened his eyes in yet another blink, placing a kiss against Henry’s palm and letting him go into a sharp, malicious smile.
“I want breakfast.” he stated, lying again on top of Husk and hoping that the rapid beating of his heart - a foolish, foolish happiness – would pass for excitement.
And it wasn’t entirely wrong, actually: he had gotten pretty hard, rubbing himself against his cock.
Henry smirked, sliding his hands up to grab his ass and push it back against him in a low, satisfied, throaty sound.
“The house is yours, I’m the guest.”
“Last time too you acted as a guest even if it was your apartment.”
“You’re a brat.”
He won a sort of spanking that maked him meow spitefully and arch against him.
“Harder, daddy ~”
“Mouth is back, huh?”
“Wanna see where it ends up now, this mouth?”
Henry’s gaze became hungry again – that shade of amber that had become a thick, sweet honey to dip fingers into – just like his tone.
That gaze was more than enough of an answer, one that he didn’t say out loud because Tony kissed it away in a languid breath, finding Husk’s lips already parted to slip his tongue in.
The way Henry let him do almost anything in bed kept messing with his brain. Qualified service tops were rare to find.
As they kissed, a ringing broke the sigh-filled silence, coming straight from Husk’s pants, scattered on the floor with the rest of Elvis' costume.
The blond ignored it, brutally; the same couldn’t be said for Henry.
“Tony—” he tried to say, between kisses. “Tony, I have to— It could be about Caroli—”
The exasperated snort that Anthony let out against his mouth, before letting his forehead fall against his shoulder and raising a hand in an exasperated ‘go, answer’ gesture made Henry chuckle, and with one last kiss he took him off of him and crawled on his stomach towards the mattress’ edge to reaching his pants and rummage through them for his phone.
“Yeah?”
This allowed the blond a spectacular view of Husker’s ass, as well as his tawny, scarred back.
Ignoring a male voice with an odd Transatlantic accent on the other end of the phone, Tony remained quiet, looking intently for the first time at the trail of scars he had only followed with his fingers.
While Henry was answering in almost exasperated monosyllables, Tony instinctively leaned down to place a kiss where a cluster of burns seemed to join the two wings carved into the flesh.
Husk shuddered a bit beneath him, dressing in goosebumps and peering over his shoulder in a silent question.
“Not that I recall, no.”
The phone conversation continued but Henry rolled over onto his back, calling Anthony to lie on top of him again; the blond obeyed, in a happy silence, placing another kiss on his hairy chest and nuzzling against it while Husk’s fingers lazily traced meaningless squiggles on his shoulder, in a distracted caress.
When Anthony Scavo wanted something, he just took it.
With yet another mischievous smile, that trail of kisses continued silently and downwards, under the attentive gaze of Henry – who in the meantime was trying to concentrate.
“Tell me when…”
The last word came out perhaps a little too much like a moan, because Henry placed a hand over his mouth the moment Tony actually showed him where he wanted to put that mouth: on his dick.
“Al, can I call you back?”
When he took it in his mouth and Husk’s hand slipped between his blond hair in a sigh that sounded a lot like a ‘oh yeah baby’, he knew he had won.