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Husk could see it in the beautiful stranger’s eyes as they longingly watched couples sway on the dance floor, how badly he wanted to be on it and swept into the current of the music with them.
Valentino’s escort was gorgeous, - tall and lean with two sets of elegantly satin gloved arms. His eyes were wide and perfectly winged, one of them with a black sclera and a bright pink pupil. The floor-length gown he wore was red to match the tacky coat worn by the overlord he was attending the gala with and it was form fitting, with a deep V cut out of the chest to show off the thick fluff there. There was a slit up the left side, to tease a glimpse of his already long legs, which were only elongated by tall heels.
Even from across the crowded room, Husk could tell the stranger would tower over him. Still, standing next to Valentino, he looked small, despite holding himself as straight as he did. He stood properly, stiffly, with Valentino's arm circled tightly around his slim waist, like he was trying really hard to look like he belonged there among all of Hell’s elite. Valentino was busy socializing with other overlords, making advances on them while completely ignoring the sweet candy he had on his arm. The sinner demon tried to look interested in the conversation too, despite the fact that he wasn’t being included in it, or acknowledged at all for that matter, but his eyes kept wandering to the couples on the floor.
It was obvious. He didn’t want to be used as nothing more than a pretty accessory to Valentino. He didn’t want to be there witnessing him charm other guests. He wanted to be swept off his feet, romanced. He wanted to dance with the overlord to the slow string music being played live by the imp quartet in the corner of the ballroom. At the very least, he wanted to be paid some fucking attention.
If it wouldn’t start a fight that Husk knew he couldn’t win with a certain bald and hot headed imbecile, he would have been the one to invite the escort onto the dance floor himself and whisk him away from such drab conversation. Sure, Husk took risks and chances at the card tables, but he wasn’t stupid enough to mess with a soul that belonged to one of the Vees.
For a brief moment, the stranger’s wandering eyes met Husk’s. They widened a little, surprised to find that someone had been watching him. Husk smirked and a flirty smile was returned to him. That was the one time Valentino did look down at his escort and the moth’s easy smile shifted into a scowl. He took a draw from his cigarette and trapped the smoke in his lungs for a bit. A thick, pink shackle materialized around the smaller demon’s neck from the smoke he exhaled and Valentino tugged at the chain attached to it. The stranger’s proper stance wavered and he cowered, shoulders shrinking in as Valentino excused them both from the other overlord’s presence and led him somewhere private.
‘Angel Dust Live!’ the poster outside of the club advertised with a photo of Valentino’s sinner from the gala. The demon was topless, displaying the heart pattern in the fur of his chest. He posed sensually, biting his lip and winking. His two upper arms were pushing his hair back and his lower two were running up his soft looking sides.
Visiting strip clubs wasn’t a habit of Husk’s, but curiosity, wanting to see the beautiful demon again, this Angel Dust, got the better of him. He sat in the very back of the dimly lit club and tipped the brim of his hat lower, not wanting to be noticed.
When the show started, he was enamored by what he saw. Angel Dust was the kind of performer that was too captivating to look away from. And of course, his body was sexy in the revealing lingerie he wore, but there was an artistry to his routine, to the graceful, alluring way he moved and danced, both on the stage and on a pole. He was confident and powerful, demanding the attention of everyone in the room. This was not the same demon that Husk saw at the gala, out of his element and uncomfortable. This was his stage, his spotlight. This was his show to take ownership of and his performance to take pride in. He was incredible, Husk thought.
Of course Husk recognized Angel Dust when Alastor summoned him to tend the bar of the same shabby rehabilitation hotel the adult film star was staying at. Who in Hell didn’t know who the porn demon was? Unsurprisingly, Angel Dust did not recognize Husk from the small moment they shared from across the room at that overlord gala. Several decades had passed and Angel had seen how many other faces in that time? Honestly, Husk was glad Angel didn’t remember him as he was then. It was humiliating, how far he’d fallen since then, - once strong and powerful, now nothing but, well, a husk of who he was. He was a sorry, old, broke, down-on-his-luck drunk on the end of Alastor’s short leash.
Angel Dust wasn’t big on politics, Vaggie mentioned him telling her, which would explain how he hadn’t heard of Husk or how Alastor now owned his soul, which had been a fairly big deal, as it always was when an overlord is toppled and another gains authority over them.
Angel had no idea who he was, - or rather, who he’d been, - and yet, it still felt like a taunt whenever he hit on Husk, which he did often, regardless of Husk telling him to knock it off. And Husk wasn’t sure why Angel was fucking with him in this way, trying to make him think he had any real appeal. There was no fucking way that the Angel Dust, most desireable demon in all of Hell, who could have any man he wanted with just a wink, was really interested in someone like Husk in his current state.
Husk wasn’t dumb. He’d seen Angel’s porn. He’d seen the men that usually fucked him. He’d seen the kinds of demons that Angel flirted with and picked up. They were big, muscly, young, nothing like Husk. No, Angel wasn’t interested in him. Not in that way, at least. He was only interested in messing with him, in using him as entertainment, because wasn’t it so fucking funny, seeing pathetic ol’ Husk get so flustered by such dirty insinuations and filthy offers?
Husk hated that those offers did something for him, that Angel’s constant lack of respect for his personal space, just the fact that he was close, made his heart race. His heart was not on the same page as his brain was because, while his brain told him not to let Angel walk all over him and get the satisfaction of successfully screwing with him, his heart still saw Angel as the elegant escort that he hadn’t asked to dance, but wished that he had. The one that wanted more than what he had even now, - to be treated like more than just an accessory, a novelty, a trophy. He wanted someone to want him for reasons other than obtaining the bragging rights that came along with getting to fuck Angel Dust.
Maybe that was why Husk got so fed up with Angel disregarding his boundaries and coming onto him, why he called Angel out for being so fake. Because he knew. He knew it was all bullshit and he could see right through Angel’s phony persona from day one. He knew he was only being played, that Angel meant none of it, that Angel was hurting and using that hurt to get under Husk’s skin.
He knew Angel wanted more than what he had. Even if Angel truly did enjoy fucking strangers for money and drugs as much as he claimed to, there was a part of him that still dared to hope for deeper, more intimate connections. There was a part of him that hoped for a lover that wouldn’t kick him out of their room or car as soon as the sex was over, who he could wake up next to and cuddle. He wanted to dance, but Valentino kept him on such a tight leash for other reasons and none of the men who paid him could hear the violins, the running water, and heartbroken, shaky Italian vocals punctuated with the sobs which the music failed to drown out through their hotel room walls at three a.m. the way Husk could.
For a brief moment, it felt good, the fact that he’d obviously gotten to Angel the way Angel had been getting to him. It wasn’t his fault that Angel had less self-control, less emotional regulation than he had and apparently, couldn’t face his own truth. But now, Husk was following him to the club he had stormed off to, watching him self-destruct. He was getting high and wasted with a gang of sharks, telling them about the argument they’d had at the hotel. “So I said, ‘You couldn’t afford me in a million afterlives.’ I got better options, right boys?”
What he’d actually said when Husk told him off for coming onto him was, “You would be fucking lucky to get a chance to fuck me! You know how much I'm worth? You know how many people would kill to have Angel Dust come onto them? Fuck you. Have fun being a lonely piece of shit!”
Now that Husk really thought about it, maybe Angel hadn’t been messing with him for sheer entertainment purposes so much as he’d just been trying to gain validation, attention (even if it was negative), from someone who wasn’t responding to his advances. Evidently, he didn’t deal with rejection well. He probably wasn’t used to it.
“Hey, baby, be a doll and bring me another one? Daddy's outta juice.” Angel handed his glass off to one of the sharks, who brought it up to the bar for a refill. Husk saw him pull a vial of Velvette’s Love Potion from his suit jacket and pour some into the glass. Absolutely the fuck not on Husk’s watch.
Angel was not as appreciative of his help as Husk thought he should be though because he resisted as Husk pushed him away from the sharks and out of the bar after creating a diversion. He ground his heels into the pavement to make it difficult to move him. “Get off!” He stopped struggling momentarily only to shove Husk away and break out of his grasp. Husk let him resist there, where they were at least out of the club.
“That fucker put somethin’ in your drink!”
That explanation didn’t make Angel any more grateful or willing to be removed from the scene. It didn’t make him any less angry. “You don’t think I can tell if someone spikes my drink? I do this all the fuckin’ time!”
“You just let people drug you all the time?” Husk narrowed his eyes.
“You think I ask for it? I don’t ask for any of this shit!” Angel shouted, frustrated. “I didn’t ask to be this way! I didn’t ask for Charlie to save me; I didn’t ask for you to save me.” Angel pushed back into Husk’s space, finger prodding him the same way Husk had done to call him fake before. “I can handle myself.”
“Really? Because I just saw someone self-destructing. It seems like, I don’t know, you might need a bartender to talk to,” Husk offered an ear, because that was the one thing he could do right these days. Listen to others. Read them like cards. Offer advice. What else was he good for? Day drinking and self-loathing?
“Oh,” Angel chuckled in disbelief, “So now you’re gonna act like you give a shit about me? You think after how you treated me, I’m just gonna open up to you? Please.” He began to storm off, at least heading in the direction of the hotel.
Husk wasn’t sure why he felt like he had to push more instead of letting Angel be pissed off at him. Maybe because he could tell that Angel was so close to breaking, to opening up. “Maybe I'd treat you better if you were real and not some bullshit version of yourself, always pushin' my boundaries! Let me tell ya, nobody in that hotel cares who you are, how famous, how hot. So you might as well just cut the act,” he shouted after the spider.
And it worked because Angel turned back around, tears brimming in his eyes. “It’s not an act!” he admitted. “It's who I need to be. And this…” He gestured around him, to the shady club and gross alley. “This is my escape. Where I can forget about it all! How much I hate... everything. A place where I can get high, and not have to think about how much it hurts. And maybe, if I can ruin myself enough in the process, if I end up broken, I won't be his favorite toy anymore…” He sat down on the dirty curb and curled in on himself, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, as he muttered, “And maybe he’ll let me go.”
There it was, some honesty. The mask was lowered, and Angel was finally being truthful. So Husk sat down next to him and extended some truthfulness back, opening up to Angel about his past overlord status, how Alastor came to own his soul. He couldn’t completely relate to Angel’s exact situation, but he knew what it was like to be at the beck and call of a sadistic overlord. He knew what it was like to feel powerless and terrified. He knew what it was like to want everything to just stop, to look for even a brief escape in vices. Maybe they could be broken messes together. Could Angel see that he wasn’t alone? That, if nothing else, he could have Husk to lean on? He’d have someone to talk to? Someone in his corner?
And it was probably ridiculous, but the next thing Husk did was stand back up and offer a hand to Angel to help him stand also. He pulled him closer and took his other hands. “What are you-” Husk took a step forward, guiding a confused Angel to take one backwards, and then to the side, and back to where he originally stood. Angel frowned down at their feet. “The fuck are you doing, Husk?”
There was no music, no live imp quartet, no records spinning to play Italian violin concertos. They were in an alley behind a club where some guy had thrown up the few too many drinks he’d had. They were stepping over garbage, - used condoms and needles scattered here and there, along with cigarette butts and broken bottles. It was the furthest thing from romantic. Then again, Husk didn’t mean for it to be. He just thought, maybe Angel would feel seen, the way he’d been surprised to be seen in the midst of overlord company when he first made eye contact with Husk at the gala decades ago. “It’s called slow dancing, loser. Relax.”
Angel’s step faltered; he stumbled a little when Husk led him to take another one backwards. Husk kept him steady. “I don’t know how to dance.”
“Sure you do. You're all grace on the pole.”
Angel didn’t ask how Husk knew that. “That’s- that’s different. I can dance for other demons.”
“Yeah. Now dance for yourself. I’ll help.”
“Husk-” Angel weakly objected, but he didn’t pull away when Husk once again led his steps. Left foot forward, followed widely by the right. A step to the side to bring the feet back together. Another separation of steps back, and then across until their feet were back where they started. A basic box waltz. A few repetitions of the pattern had Angel feeling more comfortable with it.
Soon, Husk was showing Angel natural turns and he was smiling happily down at their feet as he watched them move. “This is really fucking dumb,” he said, but the joy on his face when Husk dipped him said otherwise. And the more they danced, the more he lit up, eyes bright like they’d once been watching the couples dance at the gala.
The moment was shattered when the back exit of the club flew open and Angel jumped away from Husk. The sharks who were with Angel before drew handguns on them. And however sexy Angel Dust seemed on a stage, performing routines that made demons in the audience salivate over him and cream their pants, Husk thought he was a lot sexier blasting those sharks to pieces with the hidden Tommy guns he protracted from his torso along with another set of arms. There was something very appealing about seeing Angel covered in the blood of a demon that had tried to hurt him, grinning so beautifully and seeming so sure of himself. “I told ya. I can handle myself, baby! Sex ain’t the only thing I’m good at.”
Maybe that was the moment Husk really caught feelings for him, something deeper than attraction and admiration.
Drinking with Angel instead of just serving him was nice. Drinking with the version of Angel who was finally willing to let his mask fall away, who was being genuine instead of an insufferable flirt for the sake of receiving attention and hiding his true emotions, was much nicer. Husk really liked this side of Angel, what he’d been seeing under the surface since he’d been summoned to this dumbass hotel. This Angel was funny and smart and sweet and… not making suggestive comments about Husk drinking shots off his chest or fucking him into tomorrow across the bar counter.
Even if that moment they’d shared waltzing in the alley had been short-lived and was long over, something very clearly had shifted between them that they didn’t verbally acknowledge, but both likely understood. Angel no longer looked at Husk with sultry bedroom eyes, but with eyes that were much softer, almost shy. His touches were less invasive, less bold and more timid. His fingers sometimes lingering over Husk’s when he passed him a cocktail glass, or playing with his hands over the counter while they chatted, tracing the outlines of the heart shaped pads of his palms. Husk let him, finding that he enjoyed being touched by Angel this way. There was only tenderness in the intention.
“The spider has a crush on you! His chest turns pink when you make him happy.” Nifty giggled about Angel’s telling blush one day while the poor bastard wasn’t even present to defend himself, and drove her sewing needle straight through the head of a roach, a little too close to Husk’s paw for comfort. Her giggle turned into something more maniacal and victorious when she held up her impaled victim.
Husk patted her head and thought about just how hot a shade of pink Angel turned the day before when he asked to see a magic trick. Husk pulled a rose out of his hat and handed it off to him, pretending to search around in his hat a little further because the rabbit had to be in there somewhere; where was it? There was no rabbit, but the bit was worth it because it made Angel flush and laugh. Husk asked for the flower back, and Angel looked disappointed to give it up, only until he realized what Husk wanted to do with it. ‘May I?’ He tucked the rose into the breast pocket of Angel’s blazer when he got a nod. Angel’s pink darkened further when Husk made the off-handed comment that the flower was pretty, but Angel himself was prettier. “Yeah, kid. I know.”
Angel had been easy enough to read even when he was masking. Now that he’d let Husk in, he was downright obvious. To be fair, Husk wasn’t being very discreet himself any longer.
“Ooh!” Charlie, who had a habit of making the business of the demons she cared about her business too, must have overheard because she inserted herself into the conversation by plopping herself down on the barstool next to the one that Angel typically occupied. Husk poured her a drink she probably wouldn’t touch. He’d drink it instead the second she left. “What are you going to do about it?”
Angel had been called into work. Husk would wait up for him. He would hear about Angel’s shoot when he came back to the hotel much later that night, when the rest of its residents were already sleeping. They would drink together, and feel lighter in each other’s company. Maybe they couldn’t make each other completely forget about their problems, but they could try. They would welcome the morning together because who needed to sleep anyway when closing your eyes meant nightmares?
“Nothing.” Husk shrugged. “What’s there to do?”
“Confess your feelings? Ask him to be yours?” she suggested, trying to be helpful.
“There’s nothing to confess,” - Angel had to have known just as well as Husk did what was going on between them, - “and he isn’t mine.” The very last thing that Angel Dust needed was another person to feel chained to, to feel owned by. He wasn’t something that should belong to anyone. He needed to feel free. Husk wanted him to feel free to explore whatever was naturally forming between them without any sense of obligation. A confession, saying all the things they were keeping unsaid, and asking Angel to be his felt entirely wrong to Husk. “We just… we’re just talking.” Talking. Dancing around more, and figuring out how to breach the territory in a way that felt right.
“I think you two would be good together,” Charlie prodded more, excitement in her eyes over the idea of her friends finding love with each other. Finding love. That’s funny. Who said anything about love?
Husk didn’t know if he and Angel would be good together. There was a big part of him that still believed Angel would get bored with him, that he wasn’t really Angel’s type. There was a more pessimistic part of him that thought a drug addict and an alcoholic getting into a relationship was a recipe for unhealthy disaster. And a part of him was scared too because he thought about what would happen when (not if) Angel got redeemed. He would be left behind. He already knew the eventual, inevitable heartbreak would hurt like a motherfucker. He didn’t know if he wanted to let himself hope, let himself love someone with full abandon knowing he would lose them.
He pretended he had glasses to clean until Vaggie collected Charlie for whatever and Nifty scurried after more roaches. He was left alone with just his thoughts, the drink Charlie hadn’t even sipped, the many bottles of alcohol on the wall behind him, and lots of time left to wait for Angel’s return.
The part of him that was filtered of any doubt and left unsilenced when he was tipsy, a voice much more optimistic, told him that Charlie was right and maybe there was something to do about his and Angel’s current situation. It told him that Angel was worth getting hurt over loving, that he should stop being such a pussy and regenerate some balls. And later, when Angel’s fingers were laced with his over the bar counter, when Angel was looking at him with those wide, infatuated, heterochromatic eyes, smiling that pretty smile at him, Husk made the definitive decision that this was the voice he would listen to.
He leaned closer to Angel, hesitated for a moment, and placed a quick peck on the corner of his lips. It was a question more than anything, and Angel answered by grabbing him by his suspenders, pulling him closer, and kissing him again, deeply, almost desperately. It felt like relief and assurance.
They drank together. And, drunk, they spent the early morning waltzing in silence, stumbling so clumsily on each other’s toes, and stealing kisses from each other right there in the lobby of the hotel.
Kissing Angel was nothing short of heaven, and Husk found himself believing this was his own redemption, a redemption he wasn’t worthy of, but had for some reason been gifted anyway.
The idea of having sex with Angel was terrifying. The voice in his head that told him Angel would get bored of him made him self-conscious. He thought of the men Angel was used to sleeping with, the kind of sex he was used to having. He wondered how the fuck he could keep Angel interested after they slept together and he realized Husk was too vanilla, too small in every sense of the word, and too old to keep up with him.
“You’re nervous?” Angel asked because Husk’s hands were shaking as they unbuttoned his blazer for him. It fell off of Angel’s pretty freckled shoulders and Husk was hesitant to touch him at all, hands just hovering, until they were guided to the fluffiest part of his chest, where they just rested lightly.
“Of course I am,” Husk admitted.
“For what? It’s not like you’re gonna break me or anything. Touch me like you mean it, loser. I’m used to this.”
“That’s exactly what I’m nervous about.” Husk’s hands slid down until they rested on Angel’s waist, in the space just above where his second set of shoulders jutted out, and they were still gentle there, but more firm. “I’ve seen your films.”
“Yeah? You seen a lot of ‘em?” Angel smirked, taking the opportunity granted to him to tease his… boyfriend? Was that what they were? Husk wasn’t sure. To him, it didn’t matter if they were boyfriends or just friends who happened to kiss and have feelings for each other, who happened to have found themselves now together in Angel’s bed. Regardless, the teasing felt normal. It put Husk more at ease.
“Not the point, asshole.” He sighed and let Angel in on the doubts and insecurity going on in his head. “I’m old, Angie. I don’t have much stamina, just to warn you. My hips creak and my back hurts all the time. I’m fucking neutured. It’s been decades since I was last intimate with anyone and I probably won’t last very long because you’re hot as fuck.” Husk hoped that went to Angel’s head. “I’m scared I’m gonna disappoint you and you won’t want anything to do with me after.”
Angel lost it and Husk huffed at being laughed at when he was being honest, but his pout was kissed away. Without breaking the kiss, Angel pushed him back to lean against the mattress and shifted positions so he was straddling his thighs. A string of saliva followed him when he did pull away and he licked his lips as they stretched into a cheeky grin. “So, let me get this straight. You think I’d leave your ass over somethin’ dumb like creaky joints and quick sex, when you treat me as good as you do?” He shook his head. “See, I’m learning not to self-sabotage from Charlie and this idiot bartendah’ I’ve been fallin’ for, and I’m pretty sure that walkin’ away from a good thing just because he comes too early or whatevah’ would be really fuckin’ stupid of me. You’ve got nothing to worry about, baby.” He paused, thought for a second, and added, “Or, maybe you do because, sorry to say, you’re stuck with me.”
Being stuck with Angel was far from the worst punishment Husk could think of enduring. He hoped to be stuck with Angel a lot longer, however long his redemption could be postponed for. But that was very selfish, so instead of saying so, he took the chance to tease back, feigning ignorance. “You’ve been falling for me?”
“Hard and fast,” Angel emphasized, grinding his hips down impatiently. A lower hand slid under one of his pillows and came back with a bottle of lube, which was then traded off into Husk’s. “I want you so bad, you geezer. Can you please just get to fuckin’ me already?”
Husk could take a hint, however subtle it was.
He flipped them over and helped Angel out of his skirt. It got caught on his boots, so Husk went to unzip them, but stopped when Angel told him to wait. He seemed to second guess himself though when Husk glanced up at him questioningly. “Mm, you know, never mind. You shared your insecurity with me, so, uh, I’ve got really big feet. If that doesn’t bother ya, then I don’t want the boots on,” he decided. Husk was surprised that Angel Dust, known for being the sexiest demon in Hell, felt any insecurities about his body, but, shit, it felt good that Angel was open with him and trusted him enough to show him every part of him. He made sure to give loving praise to the long legs and large, furry spider paws revealed when he peeled away Angel’s leather thigh high boots. Angel’s cheeks and chest turned red when Husk told him how beautiful he was before kissing his ankles, trailing more up his shins and knees, and thighs.
Actually having sex with Angel was much less terrifying than the precursory thought of it was. Getting to draw out pleasured reactions from Angel, - authentic and kind of ugly and not like the practiced reactions the rest of the Hell got from him, - had Husk forgetting about his own insecurities. He was too focused on earning more of the gorgeously awful moans Angel was allowing him to hear, and on paying back the debt of his redemption with his mouth. The way he’d been able to reach Heaven just by kissing Angel, he hoped to bring an angel to Heaven with his tongue and touch. He’d finished once before even being touched in return, because the visuals of Angel feeling pleasure, not just acting and faking his way through sex the way he obviously did in his films, was in fact too hot to withstand. But Angel didn’t seem to mind, not when he himself was coming for the second time on Husk’s fingers.
And Husk was thankfully hard again by the time Angel wanted to ride him (“Just enjoy now. Save your stamina, old man,” he winked.) Angel was just as much a sight to see on top of him as he was beneath him. So beautiful from every angle. The practiced, smooth roll of his hips and the way he squeezed around Husk was perfect. He supposed that was the expertise of a porn star at work - making this technical shit flow, seem effortless, and look good. What could Husk do but let his hands appreciatively skim over Angel’s lithe, soft body, feed him compliments and praise and gratitude?
It wasn’t long before the pace and rhythm Angel set, the way he threw his head back and got lost in his beat, as well as the hands in his fur and the ones squeezing his own and the others smoothing over sensitive wing feathers had Husk arriving once more at the edge. It was all just… so much.
“You were nervous about disappointing me,” Angel scoffed in disbelief, catching his breath even a few minutes after he got Husk off, legs shaking a little against Husk’s sides. He was still laying on Husk’s chest, still on his softening dick, not bothered a bit by the mess now leaking from him. Husk would fetch a towel to clean him up with the moment Angel wanted to get off of him. He wasn’t sure if the heart he felt pounding against his chest was his own or Angel’s. “Fuck.” Angel sighed in contentment, satisfied, and he nuzzled his cheek into Husk’s neck. “It’ll be twice as hard to get rid of me now that I know you’re a service top,” he joked.
“Good.” Husk kissed the top of his head and held him, arms wrapping securely around him. “I want to keep you around for as long as possible.”
Angel didn’t want to get up for a while. “Sorry,” he apologized when Husk adjusted to get a little more comfortable. “Just a few more minutes? I don’t normally get this,” he murmured and it broke Husk’s heart. He held Angel tighter.
“As long as you need, baby. I’m here.”
Husk watched once again, now from a table much closer to the stage in the dark strip club Angel Dust was performing at, this time as a supportive… something. Angel was sexy as always, maybe sexier because Husk knew exactly how his gorgeous body felt grinding against his, the way he was grinding against that pole, and because he obviously felt so good about himself and confident while he was performing.
Angel’s eyes met his when he found him in the crowded room and he threw Husk a wink before sinking down the pole to the floor, long legs spreading in front of him. The lingerie he wore did little to cover his freckled, thin ass, or to hide the erection Angel sported, always aroused by his own exhibitionism. A few demons whistled and threw cash onto the stage when one of his hands seductively fell down the inside of his thigh, lower, until it traced over the bulge under lacy material. He pushed his hips up into his palm, back arching, eyes squeezing shut to put on a show of pleasure at the more pressured touch, the way he was so used to doing.
More money was tossed as Angel’s floorwork continued.
Angel would spend the night with other men, but the men that paid for his services, the men in this club that drooled over him, weren’t seeing his genuine pleasure. They would never see him raw, unfiltered, not performing the way Husk got to. They would never be trusted with Angel’s insecurities, giant spider paws and nasally, unintentional moans, or his vulnerability when he wanted to be cared for afterwards. They weren’t the ones that Angel would choose to return to, to seek comfort and affection from. They didn’t get to dance with Angel, to see the way he lit up every time a hand was extended to him for him to take. They weren’t lucky enough to get to romance Angel Dust.
Husk removed his hat from his head and pulled another flower out of it. He threw the pretty rose on stage, where it landed among small bills. Angel briefly broke character and grinned at it, before he caught himself and replaced the smile with the sultry expression he was supposed to be wearing.