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Husk never truly got used to the feeling of sweat under fur. He scratched his neck. Shit. He was too much of an old man for this song and dance.
Horny.
He was fucking horny of all the god damned things.
He thought he was over those days long ago. Whoever knew that dying would make an old man like him horny again. How was he supposed to know that his final resting place was going to give him no rest at all? He thought he was going to get eternal blackness. Nothingness. But instead, he got hell. And being horny was its own special kind of hell.
He wasn’t even the kind of horny where he could just ménage à moi. He was the kind of horny where he wanted to share heaven with someone else. He wanted to feel someone in his arms. He wanted to feel their skin against his.
It was the worst kind of horny.
He tossed around in bed. He longed for the days as a human when he had a hard time seeing in the dark. Damned cat eyes. There was too much to look at in the gaudy hotel room. He tried to think about whose decor was tackier, his room at the Hazbin Hotel, or his old room back at his casino. Then the thoughts he was trying to avoid came back. He thought of Angel. The curve of his back when he was being a total fucking sassafras. The way he caressed the bartop when he was flirting.
Fuck.
No, no, no. Angel deserved better than that. He needed the people in his life to look out for him. He didn’t need another lonely fucking loser looking at him like a sex thing.
But damn was he ever sexy. Angel was dipped in sex appeal and strutting around wet in it. Husk's fur would be more than sweaty if he could get his body all over Angel’s.
Husk tossed around in the bed. The sheets tangled in his legs. His half-chub rubbed up against the blankets. He scrunched his eyes shut. He wished there were some drug that could make the horniness go away. If he just lay there long enough, maybe he could go to sleep and wake up with the horniness gone.
Angel was just a few doors down the hall.
Fuck.
No. No, Husk. Bad kitty. Bad fucking kitty.
Angel needed a friend. He needed a father figure. He sure as hell didn’t need a failed overlord knocking on his door in the middle of the night for a quick bang.
But Angel had given him the invitation plenty of times. Angel would probably invite him in with a slutty smile. Angel would probably get on his knees before the door even closed.
“Cripes,” Husk said at his own thoughts. He kicked the sheets away. He scritched at the itchy scalp around his ears. He rubbed his eyes, got up, and walked to the door.
He knew Angel’s room number. He remembered it long before Angel even told him the number with a wink. He was going to remember that room number for the rest of his existence. Husk gripped the doorknob, making the metal hot in his palm. He took a deep breath. Just a few paces down the hall. Just a few taps on the door. Just a sweet little release.
No. If Husk was going to bump uglies with Angel, he was going to make it meaningful. And he wasn’t ready for meaningful. He would probably never be good enough for meaningful. Angel deserved commitment. He deserved patience. He deserved love. And Husk was just some piece of shit bartender who didn't have his own problems figured out.
But what would Angel’s sharp teeth feel like, biting into Husk’s neck? What would those long legs feel like wrapped around Husk's waist? What would those back dimples feel like under Husk's palms?
Husk pressed his forehead against the door.
“Someone get a fuckin’ spray bottle,” he whispered.
He couldn't have Angel. It was best for both of them.
But god damn it did Husk ever get teased with all those porno posters and billboards of Angel fluffed up, strapped down, and spread eagle.
Oh shit.
Husk glanced at his phone.
The porno.
He took his hand off the doorknob. He walked back to the bed, staring carefully at his phone.
He couldn't. If he was going to be the kind of pal Angel needed, he couldn't watch the fucking porn. How could he look Angel in the eye knowing he was some dirty old man, choking the chicken to Angel’s videos.
Husk was a mess.
But it was no use trying to sleep the horny away.
He would use his imagination like a classy gentleman. He fell back in the sheets and on the silky, pink pillowcase. Determined, he put his hand in his pyjama pants, being careful with his claws. He closed his eyes. He took a firm handful of his erection. He had gotten well acquainted with the barbs by then. They weren't sharp like a cat’s. There were bumps instead, ribbed for his or her pleasure.
Husk wondered what kind of naughty noise of delighted surprise Angel would squeak out if he experienced the barbs.
No, shit. No thinking of Angel.
Husk tried thinking of women. That would keep the thoughts of Angel the farthest away. He really did try his best to go back to ol’ reliable fantasies of bouncing tits and girlish squeals and lipstick stains. But he was in too much of an Angel mood.
So instead he tried thinking of other tall twinks. God damn did he ever love railing people who were taller than him. And a tall twink was perfect.
But Husk's thoughts kept drifting back to Angel. What would it feel like to caress his claws up Angel’s legs? Would his fluff stand on end? What would it feel like to spread those legs? How easy or hard would Angel make it? What would it feel like to have Angel's fingernails digging into his back?
“Fuck,” Husk cursed. He was pissed at himself. Angel was just some guy. How the hell did he manage to get himself so deep into Husk's desires?
He couldn't use his imagination. He grabbed his phone. He would watch something on some free porn hellsite. Something that was not Angel.
He rapidly used his free hand to get to Hellhub and typed ‘daddy fucks twink’ before he could stop himself. He could feel ashamed of it later. He cringed as he pressed enter.
And there he was.
Angel.
In the third video down. Tongue out with the head of a dick slapping into his cheek.
Husk sighed. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.
He had a sneaking suspicion that Angel would somehow know just by looking at him. Husk would betray himself in a guilty twitch of his tail or a poorly timed flap of his wing.
And there was no way in hell Husk would be able to live with himself after. Even if Angel never found out.
He clicked on the video just below Angel's. It didn't matter what was happening in it. Husk would make it work. Just as long as it wasn't Angel being used and abused was all Husk needed. Husk pushed aside all thoughts of where exactly on the line of consent and coercion all pornstars found themselves in every video. It wasn't Angel. He wasn't hurting Angel.
Husk blinked away rational thought and focused on the fantasy. A young, lean man was bent over in the video, head in the pillows and ass up. An older, bigger man spanked him and spread his ass cheeks, showing off to the camera in all its lewd glory, a puckering asshole. And all Husk could do was imagine Angel in that same position.
Husk grazed a claw along his dick as he stroked. If he just stabbed his dick. Maybe that would cure the horny and cut off the Angel nonsense. But then the older man spat onto the asshole and pressed his thumb in with no resistance and Husk became uncomfortably hot in his fur imagining going into Angel. He lifted his claw away from his dick and focused wholly on pleasuring himself.
He couldn't take it. He was lost in the desire for Angel. He just wanted a peek. What did the muscles in Angel’s toned back look like, tensing as he was fucked? What sounds did he make when the euphoria was overwhelming and he needed to cry out? What did Angel’s asshole look like, prepped and puckering and wanting to be filled? What did his balls look like, tense from wanting to come? What did his dick look like, throbbing and needy and begging to be sucked?
Fuck it. The smug brat probably thought Husk was already doing the five-finger shuffle to his flicks anyhow. Husk shuffled back on his phone faster than he could deal a card. He clicked on the video with Angel faster than he could throw dice.
He squirmed uncomfortably under the covers. He tapped impatiently on his dick as he waited for the ad to be skippable. He immediately skipped to the middle of the video to get to the heat of the action. It was a POV angle. Angel was on his knees, looking up at the camera. Mascara ran down his cheeks as a dick way bigger than Husk’s was ruthlessly fucked into his throat. Ever the professional, Angel smiled and moaned that high-pitched, theatrical moan of his through the tears and the gurgled sounds of struggle.
Husk purred. He pressed his fangs together. Oh fuck yes. His dick stirred excitedly. As he stroked quicker along his shaft, the realization that he wasn’t going to last long hit him. He liked Angel a little too god damned much. He quickly skipped to another part of the video so he could blow at a better moment. It was a missionary position. One of Angel’s exquisitely long legs was propped up and draped over the other man’s shoulder. Angel angled his body for the camera, showing off every sculpted part of that perfect, tall body. His fingers were digging into the sheets. He was making bedroom eyes at the camera and crying out for more. All his beautiful nudity was out for the world to see. His dick was the most perfect dick Husk had ever seen. Tall and pretty, just like him, and flushed pink at the tip. It bounced, untouched, with each thrust.
“Ooo, yes, daddy, that feels so good, you’re so big, ooo, right there, I want you to fuck me forever, harder, harder,” Angel cried, wonderful and obnoxious all at once, classic Angel.
And even if Husk wanted to make it last longer, he couldn’t. He bit back a growl. His toes curled and his wings expanded. He forced his head down in the pillow as he brought himself to the zenith.
For a few moments he felt nothing but bliss and relief. He was gliding around in space.
When he floated back down to hell, the reality of what he had done stabbed into him deeper and deeper with each acted moan shouted from the shitty speakers of his phone.
It was fake. It was all fake. Husk rapidly closed the tab, turned his phone off, and tossed it toward the end of the bed like it had electrocuted him.
Those were fake moans, fake faces of pleasure, fake words. Angel wasn’t feeling good in that video. For all Husk knew, Angel was feeling like shit that day, high on love drugs, dissociating, and covering his suffering with an act.
What the hell had Husk done?
He hadn’t even paid Angel for his work. He had watched a stolen video on a free website.
He pulled himself to the bathroom. He didn’t turn the light on. He didn’t want to see his reflection in the brightness. He wiped the cum from his hand with a facecloth. But it didn’t feel like enough. So he washed his hands with soap and searing hot water.
“Christ,” he said.
If anyone found out he had done that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He was hardly able to live with himself knowing what he had done.
For a moment, he smiled sadly. If he even managed to walk himself to Angel’s room for a real horizontal tango, he wouldn’t even last long. What a fucking embarrassment he was.
It wasn’t like Husk was ever going to do it anyway. Angel was plenty sexed up as it was. Husk was even more convicted then in his decision to just be a friend.
But as Husk got back in the covers of his bed, he knew the horny was gone, but the desire to be close to someone still lingered in his heart. He pulled one of the silky pillows to his chest to stop it from bleeding all over the place.
And he imagined what it would feel like just to hold Angel.