Chapter Text
It all started with the way Husk rolls. How he can be so deft with those big ole kitty paws tipped with claws, Angel has no idea. But the way those fingers move has him entranced every time.
“Hot,” Angel said instinctively as they sat on his carpet and he watched Husk at work.
“You say that every time,” Husk says, then has the audacity to let his tongue lol out of his mouth to run in across the freshly rolled joint.
“Yeah, and I mean it every time. How’d you learn to roll like that?” Angel asks.
Husk holds the joint between his lips as he fishes in his pocket for a lighter. “I like to do things right,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. He furrows his brow as he lights the joint, the light flickering in his eyes in the low light. He takes a long drag, passing the joint to Angel while still holding his breath.
“Jesus, where’d you get this shit?” he sputters.
“Don't ask,” Angel laughs and takes a hit.
“Now I gotta ask.”
“Alright, well there's this crocodile guy at work who only does piss play… or maybe he’s an alligator?”
As he tells the story, they pass the joint back and forth. Talking to Husk is so easy that time slides by. They're halfway through the joint when a little thought in the back of Angel’s mind starts to get louder, no doubt amplified by the weed.
Husk is beautiful when he smokes.
Of course, he's always beautiful, the fucking bastard. His eyes are deep, dark pools filled with reflective molten gold, framed by that heavy, expressive brow. His face is a mix of soft curves, from his full lips to the soft curve of his muzzle, and harsh lines, like his strong jaw. His fur is thick and silky (the asshole doesn't even take care of it. It just looks like that!). And his body drives Angel absolutely insane. Even now, with the whole boundaries thing they've got going on, it sometimes takes all of Angel’s effort not to grab onto the soft flesh that pudges over the edge of his pants and bury his face in that broad, fluffy chest. Doesn't help that his ass and thighs are equally well endowed.
All that to say, Angel always enjoys gazing at Husk like the pervert he is, but on the special occasions where they smoke together, it's on an entirely different level. Husk sits with his back against the bed, his legs splayed out in front of him. As he brings the joint to his lips, he tilts his head back and his face furrows just slightly, not in discomfort but in pleasure. As he exhales, his lips purse and all the tension falls from his shoulders and he couldn't look more kissable.
“...so I was uh…we were…” Angel’s voice trails off as his brain is filled with half-baked thoughts of closing the distance between them and kissing Husk breathless. Even just the fantasy has him feeling warm and tingly in a deep, private, aching place.
“Angel.”
“Huh?”
“The fuck are you staring at?”
Caught. Husk looks more amused than anything and it makes the embarrassment that much worse. However, Angel Dust is no wilting flower, so he turns back to Husk and snatches the joint from his fingers. “You, asshole. I'm not allowed to admire from afar?” he asks and takes a drag.
Husk rolls his eyes and snatches the joint back. “Think by now you'd find a new joke,” he says, a slight edge to his voice that Angel just can't help but poke.
“Whose joking?” Angel asks and Husk responds with a quirk of his brow, like something's obvious. Angel isn't about to let the topic go that easily. “No, wait. Hold on. You think I'm flirting with you as a joke?”
Husk sighs heavily. “I think you're a man who knows what he wants. And if we're both being honest here…” He emphasizes the word like it's supposed to sting. It does. “...that ain't me.”
If it weren't for the weed, Angel probably would have yelled back at the implication that all of his embarrassingly earnest flirtations had been nothing but a performance. As it is, he sputters for a moment before he can even talk. “Are you kidding me? You think I ain't got shit else better to do than flirt with some shmuck I don't even want? Well, news flash, Mr. fucking know-it-all. I mean every fucking word.”
Husk's eyes widen and he rears back, looking genuinely shocked and confused. He really did think Angel was joking this whole time, didn't he? Sure, in the beginning, Angel’s flirting was more an impulse than any reflection of more meaningful feelings, but the attraction had always been there. In fact, it had only grown as their relationship did. To think Husk actually thought that Angel was merely playing around with him, mocking him… He sees the hint of sadness in Husk’s expression as he takes another hit and Angel feels his heart clench in his chest.
“I wouldn’t fuck with ya like that, Whiskers. You're fucking hot.” Husk's face flushes across the bridge of his muzzle and he runs his paw over his face, as if trying to wipe it away. He looks like he's about to burst and it's as heartbreaking as it is adorable. “What, you don't believe me? I could go into detail-”
“Please don’t,” Husk says gruffly. Angel opens his mouth to go into graphic detail only to have a joint placed between his lips. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
Angel takes a hit. “Fuck does that mean? I don't know if you've forgotten in your old age and all, but I happen to be a famous porn star. That makes me an expert in hotness. A motherfucking PHD. I could write a book about sexy men and that shit’d be a best seller,” Angel snaps, gesticulating wildly.
“You'd have to learn how to read first.”
“Fuck you.”
“You sure are trying.”
They dissolve into laughter. Angel loves when Husk laughs, loves that a little smoke can promise him a night of Husk’s low chuckles and breathless wheezes. But after the laughter fades, the question still lingers in the air. “Seriously though. What makes you think you're not a fucking smoke show?” Angel knows Husk has… issues with his form, but Angel certainly can be the only demon who has shared their appreciation.
Angel knows he's pushing it. He can tell by the wrinkle that forms between Husk’s brow. But instead of pushing back, Husk reaches for the bottle of whiskey he always brings to their smoke sessions and takes a long swig. “You don't want me, Angel.”
“Oh, here we go. Thought we were past the whole loser thing. You're an alcoholic. I'm a crackhead. We're right in each other's leagues,” Angel says, though he doesn't know if he quite means it. After all, Husk is smart and thoughtful and capable and strong and Angel is…
“It's not that. Just don't think you'd want what I have to offer.”
Angel narrows his eyes and leans in, as if trying to discern the truth from Husk's facial expression alone. When that doesn't work he throws his hands up in exasperation. “Alright, spil, Whiskers. What's the deep, dark secret? What am I missing that makes you so unfuckable?”
By that time, the joint has been smoked and they're just staring at each other in a haze of smoke. Angel clocks the way Husk’s ears twitch, the way his tail flicks anxiously behind him and he's about to resign himself to never getting an answer when Husk finally sighs and drops his head back against the bed.
“This doesn’t leave this room,” he says, an unspoken rule of their hangouts that Angel affirms with a nod and a hand over his heart. Husk clears his throat, his gaze falling to the carpet. “When I was topside… I wasn't … I haven't always…” He gulps and Angel can't help but watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs. “I wasn't a man topside. At least, I never got the chance to be. Lived and died before that was really an option. When I got down here, some things changed…” Husk’s claws drift up to his throat and drift down to his chest, before falling limp to his side. “...and others didn't. Part of hell's cruel irony, I guess.”
Angel narrows his eyes, taking several moments before the dots connect in his high mind and he finally exclaims. “Oh! You have a pussy!”
Husk immediately sputters, eyes going wide and face flushing red as he immediately slaps a hand over Angel’s mouth and shoves him away. “Shut the fuck up! Fucking loud mouth. Knew I shouldn't have said shit.”
“The walls are soundproofed, dumbass,” Angel responded, playfully shoving Husk’s hands away. “Why’d you make it out like such a big fucking deal? I thought you was about to say you had teeth or spikes or something down there. I’ve seen some weird shit.”
“Motherfucker, teeth? When did you- Nope. I don’t wanna know,” Husk says, throwing his hands up. “Now you know the truth. Maybe it’ll shut you up.”
“On the contrary. Now ya got me even more interested.” Angel plans his hands on either side of Husk’s knees and leans in with an impish smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve played with a kitty.”
Husk inhales sharply and his feathers ruffle, a stronger reaction than Angel’s ever gotten from his attempts at flirting. It’s an unmistakable win, even as Husk scowls in disgust and shoves Angel back, sending him sprawling and giggling onto the carpet. “Fucking disgusting motherfucker, always saying shit…” Husk mutters under his breath. “Ain’t dick your whole thing?”
Angel shrugs. “Eh, that’s more of a branding thing.” Sure, when he first came to hell, his early dalliances were strictly dickly. However, in a world where gender expression was so diverse to say the least, Angel wasn’t about to limit his experimentation. He learned quickly that he was attracted to men much more than he was attracted to any particular genitalia. “Not to say I don’t love dick, but I don’t mind a pussy if the guy’s as hot as you,” Angel purrs, rolling onto his stomach and kicking his legs in the air. “So if that’s the only reason you keep blowing me off, sorry to say but you ain’t gonna scare me off that easy.” Angel’s voice is low, flirtatious, but lacking the usual playful edge. Flirting with Husk usually feels like a losing game, but now that he finally has some traction, he can’t help but want to dig his claws in. It’s been so long since he’s wanted a man like this. Sure, he’s craved men as a concept before, but to want one particular man so deeply is rare for him.
“Guess not,” Husk grunts and polishes off the bottle in his hand. Their eyes meet and for a moment, Angel holds his breath. The look in Husk’s eyes isn’t hungry or lecherous, but it is intense and warm, like Husk himself. The spell is broken when Husk turns his head and stands up. “I should go.”
“Oh.” He hates how disappointed he sounds, hates how much this feels like rejection. The air is thick with unspoken words, but Angel’s brain is too foggy with smoke to pluck any of them from the air. Still, as Husk stands to his feet, Angel manages a quiet “Sorry if I, y’know-”
“You didn’t,” Husk says. “It’s just late.”
Angel nods, unconvinced. “Yeah, it’s past your bedtime, grandpa.”
Husk breathes out a chuckle. As he reaches the door, he looks over his shoulder. The look he gives Angel is almost enough to soothe his disappointment. Almost. “Goodnight, Angel.”
“Goodnight, Whiskers.”
When the door closes, Angel groans up to the ceiling. So close and yet so far. And if he tries to bridge the gap in his fantasies that night in the shower, well, who can blame him?