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He can't feel his body anymore. He doesn't know what he's doing, who he's with, or even where he is. It's a feeling Angel is far too used to but feeling this now… he knows it's abnormal.
Angel is looking up at the ceiling, that's pretty normal. He feels pressure pushing in and pulling out of him, that's normal too. But his hands aren't numb from being tied up, they just don't feel like his. And the partner he's with isn't being aggressive. Firm, yes, but not aggressive. And his partner’s hands aren't moving aesthetically, so Angel can’t be filming right now. The hands aren’t gripping onto Angel or digging sharp claws into his skin. It’s different from any other time.
And now… the figure on top of him is slowing down. No, he’s stopping. Saying something. But Angel can only hear ringing in his ears and a slight rumble from a deep voice. No words come through his haze.
And yet, something in Angel recognizes the question being asked. And he flips a hand up in the air, waving off his partner’s concern with a quick, “I’m fine, Baby, as long as you are,” and follows his statement with a wink.
But that seems to have been the wrong thing to say because Angel’s partner is pulling out, running his hands across Angel’s body, stopping the tingling in his limbs and brain from spreading further.
Still, Angel knows wrath will come if Valentino learns about what’s happening, so he grasps onto the warm and furry wrist running over his cheek and moves it to his chest. “C’mon, Sweetheart, I’m good to go. No reason to stop.” A grin, small, sultry, tempting. It’s what he knows how to do. Pretend he’s in the moment, put on a show. It has convinced every other client Angel has been with.
So why is it not working with this one? Is Angel not doing enough? Most demons want the control and roughness and to make Angel look ruined from them. Maybe this client prefers to be the ruined one. It’s not too strange for Angel to get clients like that, but it is odd that they didn’t go straight into what the other demon wanted. If he wanted to be dominated, then why was he on top of Angel?
The deep voice is still talking, he sounds gentle and caring. He, somehow, freed his hand from Angel’s and is massaging his limbs. Not that Angel can feel it fully. It’s just something he knows is happening. Angel still doesn’t feel in his body. Just floating through the motions, constantly trying to move his arms to feel up his bedmate and tempt him some more. But he never wavers. Whoever this man is, he continuously moves his arms away.
Until he finally gives up, although not in the way Angel is expecting. Instead of falling back into bed and continuing fucking Angel, like he expected, the demon moves off Angel and brings the blankets up and over him. Tucking Angel in. Tight, but not in a suffocating way. A cocoon of cotton rather than feeling trapped in a net.
Whoever this client is, he treats Angel better than he’s ever been treated. And a part of him is terrified. If this is a trap Valentino set up, if he’s watching, Angel is fucked. Angel is an actor, he knows how to fool millions, but this one Sinner isn’t being swayed. He just keeps talking with his deep and rumbling voice, gently running dangerously sharp claws through the hair on top of Angel’s head.
It’s so different from what Angel is used to. It doesn’t make sense. He can’t get himself to fully relaxed, ready for the snap. Ready for frustration. Waiting for the disgusting and condescending coo of, Amarcito, I knew you would fail and waiting even longer for the punishment that is sure to come after. Despite everything Angel’s partner is doing to calm Angel down, all of his muscles are still locked up. Ready to deal with the next hit or forced sex.
But nothing ever comes. Angel doesn’t know how much time has passed before he finally hears the words the deep voice is whispering, but he assumes it’s been a while.
“-- half an ounce of peach Schnapps on top of that, then half an ounce of Malibu layered on that, and then--”
Angel blinks. It’s Husk. He’s rattling on about how to make some cocktail. In a stupidly calm voice. “Are you teaching me how’t make a damn drink?”
The face Husk responds with is soft. Gentle. Different from how every other person in Hell looks at Angel. Even the rest of the Hotel residents. It’s weird. It’s nice.
Husk shrugs. “Got you to come back to me, didn’t it?”
Angel just blinks. He can feel a smile pulling at his cheeks. He knows he’s lucky to have Husk. To have someone who won’t take advantage of his dissociated state. Who won’t take his words at face value. Who won’t fuck him until he’s satisfied. Angel remembers Husk telling him one night that all this, all that the cat demon is doing is basic human decency. Angel remembers responding that, We’re in Hell, toots. Human decency doesn’t exist down here.
But somehow, Husk proved him wrong. Is continuing to prove him wrong. Every damn day. Every damn hour.
Husk caresses Angel’s cheek. “What can I get you?”
Angel just shakes his head and nudges his semi-numb body closer to his lover. “Nothin’. Just you holdin’ me is good. Keep telling me about your drinks.”
Husk rumbles out something that is half-purr half-laugh. It’s one of Angel’s favorite noises. He didn’t even know he had a favorite sound. Not until he met Husk. Not until Husk met him . The real him. Not Angel Dust. But just Angel.
Yes, Angel still might be a little dizzy. Fuzzy. Lost in his mind. But he knows that when he comes down, when he feels guilt of leaving Husk emotionally during sex, Husk will tell him it’s fine. It’s natural. Everything is okay.
And maybe, that’s all Angel needs.