Chapter Text
[Say my name, I want the neighbors to hear it
Want your body to feel it
Boy, you know if there's a heaven, I'm near it
Darlin', can I be your favorite?
I'll be your girl, let you taste it
I know what you want, yeah, just take it]
When he opens his eyes, the world is too fucking bright.
“Fuck.” He groans, rolling on his back, only to find an arm draped around his waist. He blinks his eyes open slowly, his head pounding. He’s in his bed, which is always a good thing, and there are two other guys in the bed with him. He’s half on top of one of them, a handsome guy with dark skin and dark hair. The arm on his side belongs to another man, curled around him.
He rubs his fingers into his eyes, trying to remember what the fuck he got up to last night. He remembers going out with Cherri, and he remembers going to the club. He remembers taking enough angel dust that the world had melted out of focus.
(Focus, Angel.)
Attractive Guy #1 groans when he moves, but he doesn’t wake up, and so begins the tortuous process of trying to get out of bed. He makes it without waking up either man, which is a big success in his book.
The floor is a little unsteady under his feet, he hasn’t been this hungover in a while.
(He needs a fucking drink.)
He gets dressed quickly, pants and a shirt, not bothering to button it all the way up. His shoulder holster is on the nightstand, and his guns are under his pillow.
(Because clearly, not even his drunk-self likes to be away from them.)
He picks them up, ensuring they’re both fully loaded, and he runs his fingers over the handles for a second, the weight familiar in his hands. They’re a matching set, one black and one gold, finely decorated with flower motifs, the handle in cold metal, delicate lines crossing through it, almost like spiderwebs. On the barrel of both guns a line is carved in, black on gold and gold on black.
Amor arma ministrat.
(Love provides weapons.)
(Molly gifted them to him for his birthday a few years ago.)
(Focus, Angel.)
He tucks them in their holsters, and throws on a jacket, runs a hand through his hair and takes one final look in the mirror. He didn’t take off his makeup last night, and there’s melted mascara under his eyes, left-over traces of red lipstick on his lips, through most of it seems to be on Attractive Guy #2’s neck. Oh well.
Fat Nuggets the beagle is curled on its round bed by the closet, staring at him with bright eyes. He kneels by the dog, scratches its head, and Fat Nuggets tries to lick his fingers in return.
“‘morning, baby.” He whispers, as to not wake up his guests. “Let’s go, yeah? It’s breakfast time.” Fat Nuggets licks his face when Angel picks him up, leash in hand, and with that, he’s out the door.
His room at the Bella Vista Hotel is on the tenth floor, and he takes the elevator down to the lobby and to the bar. There are guests milling around, sitting on the many armchairs. The room is opulent like everything in Las Vegas is, a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the lights low. There’s soft music coming from the piano in the center of the room, and he waves at Jim the pianist.
He takes his place in one of the more secluded sofas, Fat Nuggets jumping on the couch to settle on his lap, even though dogs aren’t technically allowed at the Bella Vista.
(But then, the rules don’t apply for the boss’ son.)
A waiter is there immediately, and he orders a Cosmo and a stack of pancakes.
He’s listening to the pianist, sipping his drink, when someone sits on the armchair opposite to his.
“Lovely for you to grace us with your presence, brother.”
“Hey, Sal.” He greets, refraining from rolling his eyes. “What’s up?”
“It’s noon.” Salvatore says, and Angel bares his teeth at him.
“I had a busy night.”
“You’re a disgrace.” Sal says, and Angel flips him off.
“Did you come all the way here to tell me that?”
“No, Pop wants to see ya.”
(Focus, Angel.)
“Lovely.”
“He’s been waitin’ for ya. He’s at the restaurant.”
“Cool.” He replies, stuffs another piece of pancakes in his mouth. Sal doesn’t leave. “Anythin’ else?”
Sal sinks in the armchair, looks up at the pianist.
“Valentino called again.”
(Focus, Angel.)
“What did he say?”
“He wants to see ya tomorrow.”
“Tell me we’ve got somethin’ to do. Small business to terrorize, maybe?”
“No. Pop- Pop already told him you’d go.”
“Christ.”
(Suddenly, he’s not very hungry anymore.)
He downs the rest of his drink instead, scratches Nuggs behind its ear. He runs one hand through his hair, pushes them off his face and he stands, Nuggs jumping to the floor.
“I’m off then.” He says.
“Tony.” Sal says, standing too. He always looks so put together, in his dark suit and pressed shirt.
(If only it wasn’t for the traces of coke on the collar of his jacket.)
(Not that Angel can judge.)
(Focus, Angel.)
“Don’t call me that.” He says, and Sal’s eyes soften.
“Be careful, yeah? Pop’s in a bad mood.”
(Sal has always been softer.)
He smiles, picking up Nuggs, and walking off.
“When is he not?” He throws behind himself, and Sal’s quiet laugh follows after him.
***
The restaurant is pretty inconspicuous, for Las Vegas. That had been the whole point, when they first started the operation, almost twenty years ago.
(He’d been only five.)
It’s just a brick building squished between other brick buildings, off the main roads. On the front, over the door, Italian Food, family owned! is written in cursive, no actual name.
Angel walks in with Nuggs close to his chest, because Pop never liked people, let alone animals.
The restaurant is half-empty, too early for lunch still, mostly regulars and affiliates of the Family hanging around. He makes a beeline for the table in the corner, where Pop is sitting, newspaper open on the table, coffee next to him.
Vincenzo Saviano is a burly man, tall and imposing. Angel can spot the guns hidden under his jacket. Another matching set, he knows.
(Focus, Angel.)
“Pop.” He says, sitting down, and Pop glances up at him, grimaces, and who knows if it’s the pink shirt, the dog, or just Angel is general.
“Tony.” Vincenzo says in return. “I’ve got a new potential client.”
“Great.”
(And he can tell where this is going.)
“He’s a new kid on the block.” Vincenzo continues. “Showed up on the Strip coupla years ago, but he’s making a name for himself real quick.”
“Who is he?” He asks, only to be promptly ignored.
“I’m tryna broker a deal with him. He’s rising fast, owns one of the casinos down the Strip, it’d be smart to have him on our side. Let him know who runs the place around here,”
“You wanna put the screws ta him?” He says, hopes.
“No.” Pop says, and
fuck
. “There might be an easier way, this time.”
“Such as?” He asks, knowing exactly what kind of answer he’s about to get.
“I’m told he runs in your… circles.”
(Focus, Angel.)
He pulls back, and Pop finally looks at him.
“I understand.” He says, plastering a smile on his face, one he knows looks cocky and natural and confident, and which makes Pop glare.
“It ain’t a one time thing, Tony.”
(Focus, Angel.)
“You know I don’t do long-term things.” He says, forcing his voice to hold steady.
“Yeah, well, he wouldn’t agree to anythin’ else, eh? Plus, he’s doin’ us a big favor. Only fair he gets one in return.”
(Focus, Angel.)
“You said I was done with that shit.” Pop just glares, eyes made of ice and steel. “You said-
(Pop is deceptively fast, for being such a big guy.)
He leans across the table, grabbing the front of his shirt to pull him down, and Nuggs squeals in his arms, suddenly pushed against the edge of the table.
(And he feels the other patrons look at them, feels them look away right after, because this is nothing out of the ordinary.)
(Focus, Angel.)
“I don’t give a shit ‘bout what I said, yeah? You better show some respect, son.” Pop says, low and dark, and Angel stiffens, chills running down his back.
“I ain’t one of your girls.” He says, because he’s not.
(And he can’t do this again, not again, not when Val is still-
“You’re a cocksucking whore.” Pop grits out, and he flinches. “You constantly bring disgrace to our Family, son. The least you can fuckin’ do is make sure this deal goes through.”
He doesn’t answer, glaring, and Pop just glares back.
“Am I clear, son?”
(Focus, Angel.)
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.” He grits out, and Pop lets him go, so he stands. “We done?”
Pop sinks back in his chair, picks up the newspaper again.
“He’s coming by the Bella Vista to pick ya up tonight at 7. Sal’ll give you the rest of the details.”
He doesn’t answer, turning on his feet and walking out, Nuggs still cradled closely in his arms. He puts the dog down when they get outside, the sun scorching hot, and he leans against the wall.
(Just for a second, just so he can catch his breath.)
(Focus, Angel.)
He lights up a cigarette, takes a long drag, and watches as Fat Nuggets takes a piss on the one patch of grass in front of the restaurant. When he’s done, Nuggs comes back to him, and he squats to pet him, breathing out the smoke.
“That wasn’t very fun.” He whispers to the dog, as Nuggs tries to lick his burning cigarette. “This ain’t for you, silly.”
Fat Nuggets barks at him, which is enough to rip a smile out of him.
“We better get home. Daddy’s got a date tonight.”
***
Molly is laying on his bed, the late afternoon light washing everything in golds and pinks.
“What about this?” He asks, pulling out a short, pink cocktail dress and matching heels. Molly shakes her head.
“Isn’t that too much for a first date?” Angel scoffs, throwing the dress back in his closet and lighting a cigarette instead.
“It’s not a date.” He says, opening up the window. When he turns around, Molly’s eyes are soft, too soft. He smiles. “Don’t look at me like that, doll. ‘s nothin’ I can’t take.”
“It’s unfair. He promised you’d be done after Valentino.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “You know how Pop is.”
“I’ll talk to him.” She says, and he whips around to look at her again.
“Are ya crazy, Mols? Jus’ let it go, ‘s fine. It don’t matter.”
“Maybe I can change his mind! He listens to me.” He scoffs.
“Or he’ll just get mad, and then it’ll be worse for both of us.” She rolls off the bed, walking up to him by the closet. He’s much taller than her, Molly barely reaching his shoulders, but somehow, he feels so goddamn small.
“Tony.” She says, low and quiet, with that look of hers that he never knows what to do with.
(Molly’s always been softer than him.)
“Stop callin’ me that.” He replies, putting out the finished cigarette in the ashtray by the window. “It’ll be okay, yeah? It’s just a job.”
“Promise?” She asks, and for a second, they’re seven again, at mom’s funeral.
(‘What are we gonna do now, Tony?’
“We’ll- just keep goin’, Mols.”
‘I’m scared. I don’t wanna be alone.’
“You ain’t alone, silly. I’ll always be here.”)
(It had been much easier to say it than to do it.)
(‘Tony? Tony, what the fuck d’you take? Tony! Sal, he’s not breathing, call 991-
“Promise.” He replies, lifting his pinky. She smiles, small, and he knows she doesn’t believe him, but she takes his pinky anyway.
(Focus, Angel.)
She sighs, then, stepping back to look at his closet, stuffed full with clothes.
“You need to clean this up, by the way.”
“Can’t. Need all of ‘em.”
“You haven’t worn some of this stuff in years!”
“Yeah, and you never know when it might come back in style, alright? Fashion’s unpredictable.”
“Whatever.” She scoffs, but then she dips her hands in one of the drawers. “How about this for tonight?”
She pulls out a lacy shirt, black but so sheer it’s almost transparent.
“Gorgeous.” He says, taking the shirt from her. She returns to his bed, still undone from his early morning activities.
(But it’s best if she doesn’t know about that.)
“What do you know ‘bout this guy, anyway?” She asks then, and he shrugs.
“Not much.” He replies. “I googled him, name’s Husker, he’s thirty somethin’, and he’s pretty goddamn handsome.” He says, with a smirk, and she rolls her eyes at him, pulling up her phone, probably to look him up too.
“Oh, he’s the owner of the Black Cat.” She says, and he hums, putting on the shirt and leaving far too many buttons undone. “No wonder Daddy wants him close.”
“Yeah.”
He throws on a pair of deep burgundy pants, tight, and hangs silver necklaces on himself, rings and bracelets to match. He does his makeup quickly, nothing too complicated, a swipe of red eyeshadow and red lipstick, it makes his blue eyes pop.
“How do I look?” He asks, twirling on himself, and Molly gives him two thumbs up.
“Great.”
***
By the time seven rolls around, he and Molly have popped open a bottle of wine and are halfway through. He receives a call on the room’s phone that a car is waiting for him downstairs, so he grabs his holsters, throws them over his shoulders and checks his guns are loaded. He grabs the jacket matching his pants, and then he’s off.
“Stay safe!” Molly screams as he leaves the room, and he winks at her.
“I always am, doll.”
He takes the elevator downstairs, walks outside, where a sleek, black limousine is waiting for him. The chauffeur is waiting for him, and when he spots Angel, he opens the back door.
“Thanks, gorgeous.” He says to the man, who frowns at him. He huffs a laugh, sliding in the backseat of the car.
“You must be Angel.”
He smiles.
(Focus, Angel.)
“Pleasure’s all mine.” He says, holding out his hand, and Husker really is handsome. “The tabloids don’t do you any justice, mista.”
Husker’s a tall guy, large shoulders, dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes. He takes Angel’s hand with a sharp smile, bringing to his mouth to brush his lips against his knuckles.
“Name’s Husker. Or Husk.” Husk says, lets Angel’s hand go. “You look beautiful.”
“Aren’t you charming?” He says, batting his lashes the way he knows men like. He smiles, pretty and dirty, makes himself smaller, and predictably, Husk’s eyes blow wide, hungry.
“So, where are you takin’ me, handsome?” He asks. Husk leans forward for a second, pressing a button on the side of the car. It opens a window, glasses and bottles appearing behind it.
“Fancy a drink?”
“Sure do.” He says, because he’s far too sober for this. Husk grabs two flutes, pops open a bottle of champagne, and hands one to Angel. He takes it gladly, clinking it against Husk’s glass, before drinking half of it in one go.
(Focus, Angel.)
“So?” He asks, and Husk lifts a brow at him. “Where we goin’?”
“You’ll see.” It’s all Husk says, a small smile pulling at his lips.
“Mysterious.” He replies. “You ain’t gonna kill me, are ya? ‘cause I got a brunch tomorrow mornin’.”
Husk’s smile widens, just a bit, and it feels like a victory.
“I wouldn’t tell ya if I were, would I?” It rips a small laugh out of him too, and he finishes the rest of his glass.
(He’s feeling quite hopeful about tonight.)
“No, I guess not.”
The rest of the trip is uneventful. They drink a couple more glasses, and by the time they get to wherever they’re going, he’s slightly past tipsy. When they park, the chauffeur opens the door for him, and Angel steps out of the car to find himself in the middle of the Strip, flashing lights blinking at him.
“Thought I’d show you my property.” Husk says, appearing next to him. Now that they’re standing close to each other, Husk turns out to be just a couple of inches shorter than him.
(He smells like expensive whiskey and cologne.)
(Focus, Angel.)
“Tryina impress a girl?” He asks, taking the arm Husk offers him.
“I don’t know.” Husk replies. “Is it workin’?”
He smiles, as they walk inside the Black Cat.
“Yeah. But then, I’m easy.” He winks, and suddenly there’s a faint blush on Husk’s cheeks, and it’s cute.
Husk leads him inside, and he’s immediately hit by the noise and the lights. The Black Cat is grand like everything in Las Vegas is, with glass chandeliers and women in long dresses and men in tuxedos.
Husk guides him through the poker tables and roulettes, nods at a few employees, towards the back of the hall, where a long, wooden bar is located.
“Sit.” He tells Angel, and he does, taking his place on one of the stools. Here, the lights are lower, the atmosphere softer, intimate, even though they’re still surrounded by hundreds of people. He leans over the counter, fully expecting Husk to sit next to him, only to have the other man step behind the bar.
“What can I get ya?” Husk asks, and he laughs.
“Don’t you got people for this?” Husk just smiles.
“I like making my own drinks.” He answers. “I was a bartender, before this.”
“Before… at what? Eight years old?”
“I started young.”
“Clearly.”
“My dad owned a bar downtown.” Husk says. “I used to work there after school. What can I get you?”
“Cosmo.” He replies. “How did you go from working for your dad to owner of one of the most popular casinos on the Strip?”
He watches as Husk mixes his drink, hands deft and precise, like he’d done it a million times. Probably has, if what he’s saying is true.
(It’s sort of really attractive, actually.)
“Hard work.” Husk replies. “If I’m not mistaken, your father has done something similar, no? Started with a tiny restaurant and built the Bella Vista?”
(Focus, Angel.)
“He sure has.” He replies, taking a sip of his drink, which is, of course, delicious. God.
(He better get his crap together, before he starts liking this guy for real.)
(The last thing he needs is a doomed crush on a client.)
He watches as Husk pours himself a glass of top-shelf whiskey, takes a sip, leans across the bar. He does the same, watching Husk’s eyes drop to his lips when he takes another sip, down his open shirt.
(It’s a look he’s more than familiar with.)
“So, handsome, let’s talk business.” He says.
Husk’s eyes keep sliding lower, and Angel suppresses a flinch when Husk reaches across the bar to pull open his jacket a little, the handle of the gun flashing under the lights.
“You bring ‘em to all your dates?”
He smiles, baring his teeth a little.
“I like to be prepared.” He replies, finishing up his drink. “Correct me if I’m wrong, handsome, but you’ve spoken to the Don already.”
“I have.” Husk says, mixing him another drink. “Pleasant man.”
“Charming.” He replies, and Husk’s eyes are dark as he slides his drinks across the bar. “Then tell me what you want, baby, and you can have it all.”
(Focus, Angel.)
“You really are easy.” Husk says, and years ago, it would have hurt. Now, Angel just smiles at him.
“You’ve already made the deal.” He replies. “No need to drag this out. Plus, I’m sure this ain’t your first rodeo either.”
“Right.” Husk says, frowning for a second before his face smooths out again.
He squints.
“You have done this before, yeah?” He asks, and Husk scoffs, pouring himself another glass.
“Fuck off.” He throws back.
“Just askin’.” He sing-songs, leaning further across the wooden bar, and Husk’s eyes are blown dark in seconds. “You got a room here?”
“Yeah.”
“Then lead the way, handsome.”
Husk circles back around the bar, holds up a hand and Angel takes it. Husk makes a beeline towards the elevators, pulls out a key from his jacket to access the penthouse button.
“Guess it pays to be the boss.” He says, whistling lowly, as the elevator starts climbing. It’s full of mirrors and glass, so Angel takes a moment to fix his hair, feels Husk’s burning gaze on himself.
“Can’t be all bad.” Husk replies, holding his stare, and Angel grins at him. He leans in, just a little, close enough he gets another whiff of his cologne.
(Something like sage and pine, the lingering scent of booze.)
“I think I’m ‘bout to make your night infinitely better, handsome.” Husk rolls his eyes at him, and Angel blows him a kiss.
“How many of these lines you got?”
“Enough for a lifetime.”
“They’re cheesy as shit.”
“Can’t believe you’d say that to my face.” He says, bumping their shoulders together and ripping a tiny smile out of Husk. “And here I was, thinkin’ I found myself a gentleman for the night.”
“Shut up.”
He doesn’t get to add anything else, because then the elevator dings, and the doors open. Angel steps out and finds himself at the entrance of a large foyer, all marble floors and exposed brick and huge glass windows. It’s dark up here, the lights off, but it’s also not dark at all, the city skyline extending at their feet, neon lights blinking up at them. It throws an ethereal glow over the room, pink and soft, hazy.
“Wow.” He breathes out. “Nice view.”
“Yeah.”
He feels Husk behind him, feels his hands come to settle on his hips. He turns between his hands, smiles as he runs his own fingers down Husk’s chest, arches his back just a little.
When Angel kisses him, Husk pulls back.
“Relax.” He whispers, runs his hands across Husk’s shoulders, under his jacket. “I’ll take good care of ya, baby.”
Husk kisses him back then. It’s hungry, demanding, he moans, lets Husk take control. He grins against Husk’s lips when Husk’s hands finally move from his sides, sliding Angel’s jacket off. He lets it fall to the floor with a quiet thud, and then Husk pulls back, just a little, just enough to hook a finger in the holster on the left, taking another good look at the gun.
“Real pretty.”
“Matching set.” He replies, sliding the holster off his shoulders and depositing it gently on a table nearby. He leans on the edge of the table, watches as Husk’s eyes fill with want as he slowly undoes the two buttons holding his shirt close. He takes it off just as slowly, as Husk closes the space between them.
“Gift?” He asks, leaning in to press wet kisses against his neck, and he throws back his head to give him more access, lets a low sound escape his lips.
“Yeah.” He answers, taking off Husk’s jacket and quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt, letting both drop on the floor.
“Fuck, you’re pretty.” Husk grits out then, hands moving lower to squeeze his ass, and he moans, Husk’s hands large and warm over his clothes.
“Bet you say that to all the girls.”
“You talk too much.” Husk takes him by the wrist, drags him down a hallway and into the bedroom. He pushes Angel on the bed, pushes him down on the mattress and he blinks up at the ceiling as Husk makes space for himself between his legs.
(Focus, Angel.)
Husk undoes his pants next, pulls them down to reveal the panties he’s wearing, black and lacy just like his shirt, his cock peeking from the top, already half-hard.
“Jesus Christ, baby.” Husk whispers, hoarse like he suddenly ran out of voice.
He tilts his head to the side, blonde hair falling over his eyes, smiles.
“You like ‘em, handsome?”
“Yeah.” Husk says, running greedy hands over his thighs. He shivers a little, lets his head fall back when Husk’s lips make contact with his stomach, his chest, suck a nipple in his mouth.
He lifts a hand to bury it in Husk’s dark curls, the strands fine and soft between his fingers. Husk lets out a quiet groan, and then, he flips Angel around. He grins, landing on his hands and knees, and he arches his back to give Husk a nice view, maybe even better than the one outside. Husk’s fingers trail down his spine, leaving goosebumps behind, settle on his hips again, pulling gently at the thin elastic of the panties.
“Keep them on.” Husk says, and he nods, turning around a little so he can look at him. He watches as Husk rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing tattooed forearms that he’d like to lick. “Can I tie you up?”
(Focus, Angel.)
“You ask that to all your dates?” He asks, turning around, and Husk shakes his head.
“You can say no.”
(No, not really.)
(He’s the bargaining chip in a deal already made.)
(Nothing more, nothing less.)
He smiles.
“‘course you can, handsome.” He replies, and Husk’s eyes narrow.
“Are you sure?”
“‘course, baby.” He says, turning around again and getting up on his knees to cup Husk’s face with one hand, pull him in a kiss. “Tonight, I’m all yours.”
Husk pulls back, stares at him for a long second, and Angel keeps his smile firmly in place, holds Husk’s burning gaze.
(It’s been a while since someone’s looked at him like that.)
“Alright.” Husk says in the end. “Color system good?”
(It’s been a while since someone asked him for a safeword too.)
“Sure.”
“Good.” Husk’s hands slide over his neck, press over his pulse, and he feels his heart jump. “Stand up.”
He offers Angel a hand to hop off the bed, and he takes it, standing by the bed. He watches as Husk steps aside for a second, pulling open a closet. He returns a minute later with a length of red rope, and he swallows hard, adrenaline pumping in his veins.
“Turn around.” Husk says, voice deep and low, it runs straight down his spine and straight to his cock. “Hands behind your back.”
It’s quiet, as Husk bends his arms at the elbows. He feels the rope slide on his skin, tying his forearms over each other, loops around his chest to cup his chest like tits, across his shoulders, a deep V down his neck. It’s grounding, Husk’s fingers brush against his skin, delicate, gentle, firm.
“Good?” Husk asks when he’s done, and he nods, haziness pulling at the corners of his mind, and he blinks against it.
(Focus, Angel.)
“Real good.” He replies. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“Told you I’ve done this before.” Husk says, leaning in to press a kiss at the nape of his neck, and shivers run down his body again, his cock straining against his panties.
“Well, thank her for me.” He says, tilting his head to the side so Husk can lick at his neck, suck red bruises under his jaw, strong hands settling on his waist again. Husk pulls and he goes, grinding back against Husk’s dick, and he can feel his erection even through his pants, pressing back into him.
“You really talk too much.” Husk says again, and he grins.
“If it bothers you that much, give me something else to do with my mouth, handsome.”
“Christ.” Husk huffs, spinning him around. “Get on your knees.”
He does, dropping to the floor in one fluid movement, his knees making hard contact with the wooden floor, pain sparking down his spine. He blinks up at Husk from under his eyelashes, licks his lips, watches Husk’s pupils blow dark.
“C’mon, handsome.” He whispers, lowering his gaze to Husk’s bulge. Husk’s moving then, he rips his belt open, undoes his pants and they drop to the floor. Husk’s a brief man, simple and dark, but when he pulls them off, his cock springs to attention, hard and leaking, and it makes his mouth water.
He leans forward, Husk’s fingers slipping through his hair to hold him back.
“Fuck.” He whispers, and Husk chuckles above him, closing his other hand at the base of his dick.
“Eager.” Husk says, and his cock pushes against the panties, the friction delicious, not nearly enough. “Open up, baby.”
He does, lets his tongue fall out, blinks up at Husk, towering over him in his sharp suit, he looks so goddamn good.
Husk smiles at him, sharp and dark, holds his cock with one hand and pushes in. Husk’s cock is long and thick, hits the back of his throat immediately, and he doesn’t gag, moans, eyes fluttering close.
“Look at me, sweetheart.” Husk says, and he blinks his eyes open again, and then Husk starts moving. He fucks into his mouth with abandon, long, deep thrusts that bring tears to his eyes and he blinks them away, staring up at Husk. “Christ, you look good.”
(Focus, Angel.)
Husk pulls him off suddenly, and he sucks in a sharp breath, licks his lips, grinning up at Husk.
“You can go harder, handsome, I ain’t gonna break.”
He watches, mesmerized, as Husk’s eyes go dark, and it’s a look he’s familiar with. He’s not surprised when Husk’s nails scrape against his scalp, when he grabs Angel’s chin to pry his lips open. He pushes in and it’s faster than before, dirtier.
Husk holds him steady with a deathgrip in his hair and he doesn’t move, lets his jaw go slack and lets Husk fuck into his mouth. It leaves behind a salty taste on his tongue, and he swallows around the head.
“You look so pretty, sweetheart. It’s like you were made for this, Jesus Christ, you feel so good, baby.” Husk’s voice is deep, it rumbles through his chest, and Angel shivers with every word, every praise, they run down his spine like electricity.
(And it’s not like he hasn’t heard this shit before.)
(But it sounds so nice, coming from Husk.)
(Golden eyes and warm voice.)
(Focus, Angel.)
When Husk pulls back again he’s panting, and he blinks through the tears pooling in his eyes, pulls against the ropes because suddenly, he wants to touch. Husk smiles down at him, sharp and condescending.
“Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?” He asks, stroking his cock literally an inch away from his face, and he pushes forward against the grip in his hair, only to have Husk pull him back.
“Fuck, baby.” He grits out. “Don’t make me beg.”
“I bet you look good beggin’.” Husk says, letting out a low groan, gripping the base of his cock. “Get up.”
He does, and he stumbles to his feet, Husk’s hands immediately coming up to hold him up, hold him steady, and he smirks at Husk, tilting his head to the side.
“My hero.” He says, and Husk scoffs, but Angel sees the little smile pulling at his lips. When he leans in, Husk kisses back, and he tugs at the ropes again, sinks in the burn on his skin, Husk’s fingers brushing against his cheeks, down his neck.
He guides Angel backwards until his hips hit the edge of a desk, and then Husk spins him around, pushes him down and holds him up until he’s bent over the desk, face pressed against the cool wood.
“Fuck, sweetheard.” Husk says, tracing his fingers down his spine, his skin breaking in goosebumps. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”
“Husk.” He whispers. “You better hurry the fuck up.”
“Thought you said I could do anything to ya, tonight.” Husk says, and he can hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe I’ll just leave you like this all night, hard and leaking, let the cleaning crew find you tomorrow mornin’.”
“Husk.”
He whines. “You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know that, baby. You just met me.” Husk says around a laugh, and he swallows hard, tries to get some oxygen in his lungs, so maybe his brain will connect again. He hears the familiar sound of a lube bottle popping open, and then he feels Husk’s fingers brush against his ass, moving the panties aside.
“Color?” Husk asks then, and he blinks against the haziness in his head. He turns as much as he can given his current position, and he finds Husk staring at him. “Angel?”
“What?”
“What’s your color, sweetheart?” Husk frowns, one hand resting at the base of his back. “Are you okay?”
(Focus, Angel.)
He blinks, nods, smiles.
(Weird.)
“Yeah.” He breathes out. “Green.”
“Sure?”
“I’m sure that if you don’t fuck me
right now
, I’mma die, Husky.” He throws back, and Husk huffs a laugh. Angel feels him lean in, feels the warmth of his body even through that fucking shirt he’s still wearing. Husk presses kisses into his shoulders and down his back, tugs at the ropes to force his back in a deeper arch and he goes, moans when Husk’s finger starts pressing at his hole, pushing in right after.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight.” Husk whispers, and he moans, fighting against the ropes again, and his cock is still pushing against the panties, and Christ.
“Husk, Jesus- hurry up-
“You gonna beg, sweetheart?”
“Fuck off.” The slap lands quickly, on his ass, the sound sharp in the silence of the room, and he moans, pleasure cursing through his veins. “Holy fuck.”
“Better behave, baby.” Husk says, voice deep, steely, and it sends shivers wrecking through his body, he can’t breathe for a long second. He feels Husk push in a second finger, and he moans, pushes back against his fingers when they brush against his prostate.
“Fuck, fuck, right there, fu- Jesus, handsome, fuck.”
“Should’ve known you’d be loud in bed too.”
He grins, pressing his forehead against the desk.
“Not a bed.” He replies, letting his legs fall further apart, sinking deeper on the wooden surface. A thin layer of sweat coats his skin, it makes his hair stick to his forehead and he sucks in a sharp breath when Husk’s free hand buries in his hair, snaps his head back.
“Husk.” He whispers, the room filling with the wet sounds of skin against skin, Husk’s fingers pumping in and out of his hole, he feels lube dribble down his thighs, the panties rubbing against his cock. “Husk, Jesus Christ.”
“What, baby?” Husk whispers back, leaning in to suck red marks into his neck and he groans, eyes fluttering close again. He feels all turned around, heat building in his gut, he’s so goddamn close, Husk’s lips feel like heaven.
“Hurry up.” He says again, forcing his eyes open. “I’m ready, just-
“Just what?” Husk asks, smug smile playing on his lips again and he groans, wills his brain to turn on long enough for him to string a few words together.
“Just- touch me, Jesus.”
“Ask nicely.”
(Focus, Angel.)
“Please.” He whispers, and Husk’s teeth sink into his shoulder. He yelps, sinks in the bite, rocks his hips back on Husk’s fingers.
“Christ, sweetheart.”
“Husk, Jesus- please, please, fuck me, I need it, baby, need it so bad, right now.”
“God.” Husk half-growls, and then he’s pulling his fingers out and he groans, tugs on the ropes, which don’t give in an inch. He turns his head to see Husk roll on a condom, and Christ, he looks hot, he whines a little, Husk’s smirking down at him.
“Ready, baby?” Husk asks, the tip of his cock pressing at his hole. He nods.
“Yeah, so fuckin’- fuck, fuck, Husk, fuck, you feel so good, fill me up so good.”
“Shit, you’re so tight, baby.” Husk grits out in return, and then he’s moving, the stretch delicious, just on the right side of pain, enough to make heat coil in his gut, blood rush through his veins. Husk’s hands are everywhere, they settle on his waist to hold him steady when Husk starts thrusting, bury in his hair to force his head back, hold him up, close around his wrists, the ropes, dig into his skin, like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to touch every inch of him he can reach.
“Fuck, Angel, baby, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this, with these fuckin’ panties on, you look so good baby, so fuckin’ perfect.”
(And who the fuck says this shit to a hooker?)
(It makes his chest tighten a little.)
(Focus, Angel.)
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Husk, fuck-
It’s a fast pace, Husk angles so his dick hits Angel’s prostate with each thrust and it leaves him scrambling for solid ground, he can’t fucking breathe, he can practically feel it in his throat.
“God, Husk, oh my- oh my God, oh fuck, please, please, feel so good.”
Husk leans down then, until they’re pressed together, one hand sneaking around his jaw to turn his head. Husk kisses him like a starving man, licks into his mouth hungrily, desperately, and it’s messy, dirty, leaves him craving more.
“Husk.” He chokes out. “Husk, I’mma come, I’m- Jesus.” Husk’s hand slips under his panties then, closes around his dick to stroke him quickly, in time with his thrusts, and holy fuck, he moans, pushing back against Husk’s cock.
“Come for me, baby.” Husk says then, and it’s all he needs, before he’s coming all over Husks’ hand, ruining his panties forever.
(He really doesn’t care.)
(The apocalypse could start right now and he wouldn’t give a flying fuck.)
“Fuck, baby.” Husk grunts, pushing into his body a few more times, pace stuttering. His fingers dig into his waist, hold him up when his legs threaten to give out under him.
“Husk.” He breathes out, and then Husk is coming too, pushing in again.
“Fuck.” Husk exhales, and for a long, eternal second they don’t move.
(Focus, Angel.)
He sinks against the desk, resting his forehead on the surface as he tries to catch his breath.
“I’ll let you up, hold on, sweetheart.” Husk says, slightly out of breath, and then he’s pulling out. He doesn’t move, hears the sound of Husk pulling up his pants again, and then, Husk helps him up, and he blinks to the ceiling, sinking against Husk’s chest, strong and steady.
“Fuck, that was good.” He says, smiling, and Husk smiles back.
“Yeah.” He says. “Stand up for a sec, I’ll untie you.”
So he does. He stands on shaking legs as Husk undoes the knots, slides the rope off his shoulders. Husk guides him towards the bed, makes him lay down as he massages the feeling back into his arms, and Angel lets him, watches his fingers brush against his own skin, and it feels so, so nice.
(Focus, Angel.)
“How are ya feelin’?” Husk asks then, and he smiles, stretching over the soft pillows and silky sheets.
“Pretty fuckin’ good.” He replies, and Husk huffs a quiet laugh. “Ruined my panties forever, though.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Husk says, not sounding sorry at all. He lays down too, still wearing his goddamn shirt and pants, and it’s driving him a little crazy.
“Can’t believe you didn’t even undress.”
“I got distracted.” Husk says. “C’mere.”
Husk pulls and he goes, curls into his side, and this is- it’s fucking weird.
(Focus, Angel.)
“You don’t gotta cuddle me, ya know?”
“I want to.”
(Seriously, who the fuck says shit like this?)
“Didn’t peg you for such a softie, Husky.” He says, sinking against his side anyways. Husk’s warm, and his hands are running up and down his back, through his hair and down his jaw and over his shoulders, and it’s nice.
(It’s really, really nice.)
(Focus, Angel.)
“Just don’t tell my employees, or they won’t take me seriously anymore.”
It rips a laugh out of him, and he lifts his head to look up at Husk, finds him already staring, eyes warm, soft.
(And he knows it’s probably the endorphin high giving him that look.)
(But it’s nice anyways.)
(Focus, Angel.)
So he puts his head back down, and he lets Husk stroke his hair and down his back, sinks in the warmth of his body. He thinks he could fall asleep like this, if they were literally anyone else.
As it is, it’s quiet for a minute, until Husk’s voice rings in his ears.
“We gotta talk about somethin’.” He says, and chills run down Angel’s spine. No good conversation has ever started with those words. He sits up, pulling away from the heat of Husk’s fingers.
“We just met and you’re already breakin’ up with me, handsome? You know you already agreed to move our product, yeah?” He asks, plastering a smile on his face. “Can’t back out now.”
Husk rolls his eyes. He seems to be doing that a lot.
“It’s not that.” He says, eyes settling back on Angel, face unreadable. “Are you high? Right now?”
(Focus, Angel.)
“What?”
“Are you high?” Husk repeats, eyes dark.
(Familiar, anger simmering under Husk’s skin, he can see it.)
“It ain’t none of your business, I don’t think.”
“I ain’t having sex with you if you’re on something.” Husk says then, and Angel’s throat is dry like sandpaper.
“Why do ya care?”
“Why do I care? I don’t wanna do something you don’t like and not have you be able to say no ‘cause you’re out of your goddamn mind.” Husk grits out, anger flashing in his eyes.
(Focus, Angel.)
He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Husk glares at him, all the warmth gone. Jesus.
“You want me to get sober?” He asks in the end, can’t quite keep the surprise out of his voice. Husk exhales.
“I want you to be sober when you come here.” He answers. “What you do in your own time ain’t my business.”
“Why?”
“I told ya.”
Angel blinks at him.
He doesn’t quite understand.
(Val always says he’s more fun when he’s high.)
(Focus, Angel.)
“Alright.” He says in the end, because it’s the only possible answer. Pop and Husk have a deal after all, and if Husk backs out, he’ll be the one to pay for it.
“So we got a deal?” Husk asks, and Angel nods. He smiles, pretty and perfect and natural.
“You got yourself one sober hooker, mista.” He says, and Husk nods in return.
(Once a week.)
(He can do this.)
(Focus, Angel.)
He stands up, stretching sore arms above his head. He feels Husk’s eyes on himself as he picks up his clothes from the floor.
“Well, I’m off then, handsome.” He says, buttoning up his pants.
“You don’t gotta leave.”
“Once a week, remember? That’s all you get, gorgeous.”
“I know.” Husk says, as Angel slips his shirt back on. “I’d leave you the house if you want me gone.”
(Jesus.)
“You’d leave your penthouse to me? A guy you just met?”
“What are ya gonna do? Rob me?” Husk says, a hint of a laugh in his voice, and Angel can’t help the smirk pulling at his own face.
“Maybe. Maybe I’d shoot up the room.”
Amusement and hunger flash in Husk’s eyes.
“I’d like to see ya try.” Husk says, and Angel smiles at him. He leans over the bed, stealing another kiss from him. Husk lets him, the scent of cologne and whiskey hitting him again.
“Maybe next week, baby.” He whispers across Husk’s lips.
“Sober?”
“Yes, mista policeman.
Sober.”
“Good.” The heat in Husk’s voice brings blush to his face, and he backs up before he breaks his own rules and decides to crawl back in Husk’s arms, despite the fact he doesn’t sleep with clients.
(Except for Val.)
(But he’s always been the exception to everything.)
“See ya Friday, baby.” He says, blowing a kiss behind himself as he leaves the bedroom. Husk doesn’t answer him, but he feels Husk’s gaze on himself anyways as he walks back across the living room. He picks up his guns and jacket and with that, he’s out.
***
“So, how was it?” Cherri drops on the chair next to him, and he grins at her, lighting up a cigarette.
“Pretty fuckin’ good.” He replies. She hands him a drink and he takes it, the music ringing in his ears, the basses echoing through his chest. The club is packed full, and it’s hot inside, sweat sticks to his skin, his mouth tastes like strawberry drinks. “Ya know, he asked for a safeword an’ everythin’.”
He has to scream over the music, and she smiles.
“Ah, a real gentleman.”
“Easy on the eyes too.” He says, and she laughs.
“So you gonna see him again?”
“Next week.” He replies “Pop cut a deal.”
He doesn't miss the way her eyes narrow, the smile slipping off her face a little.
“You serious?” She asks. “It’s not a one time thing?”
“No.”
“Jesus, Angie. I thought you didn’t do that shit anymore.”
“I don’t.” He bites. “Pop insisted.”
“It ain’t gonna be another Val situation, right?”
“Christ, Cherri.” He grits out, downing the rest of his drink. “No, I ain’t gonna fall in love with the guy, alright? It’s jus’ work.”
“Sure.” She says, sounding like she doesn’t believe him. “Jus’ don’t be an idiot, okay, babe?”
(Cherri always says he falls in love too fast.)
(Focus, Angel.)
He grins at her then, done with this conversation.
“Wanna start this fuckin’ party or not?” He asks then, and she smiles, pulling out a plastic baggie full of colorful pills. She hands him a couple, takes a couple for herself, and they swallow them down with the rest of Cherri’s drink.
“Let’s fuckin’ do it, babe.”