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Husk doesn’t do parties. Never has, never will. He just gets roped into them. The bartender, the card dealer, the DJ that one time which he will never do again. It’s not the alcohol that’s the issue, it’s the drunkards. Party drunks are thousands of times worse than bar drunks, and at his usual gig Husk rarely has to deal with bar dunks. The usual crowd just wants some tasty beer, not hangovers.
Charlie’s to blame for his presence at her Christmas party, of all things. Husk had grumbled and groaned, but she gave him puppy eyes and promised he spike his own eggnog so he rolled his eyes and groaned and grumbled his way to the fridge. The eggnog is worth it. Seeing everyone else in Christmas get-up is worth it. Even Alastor has a Santa hat on.
Husk is minding his own business, dealing out non-alcoholic liquor—he’s still not sure how Charlie managed to get a crowd when she’s not serving real alchohol—when Angel Dust enters the room. Husk’s heart goes skittering across the lobby floor. Angel’s late because he spent a little too long getting ready. Not that anyone else spots the extra effort—Husk just notices because he’s keeping track of the residents, his job and all. Yup. Nothing else.
Angel’s wearing a short, strapless Miss Clause dress with red-and-white striped thigh-high stockings attached to what are surely matching panties with black garter belts. Wrapped around his waist is a giant red bow, and he’s taken his gloves off. Brown heels are switched out for black flats so the little red bows at the tips of his stockings are visible.
Since he’s doing his job and keeping an eye out, Husk watches Angel survey the room, their eyes meeting briefly as Angel decides where to go. He gives Husk a sexy smile, Husk pretends he has a glass to clean and focuses on folding his towel. When Husk looks back up, Angel has wandered toward the couches on the opposite side of the lobby.
“Ả̵͕͚͉̩̭̒̋̊̏͆̌̀̒̈́̇h҉̮͎̳̙͇͈̰̤͍̱̱͈͙̄́̓̐̏͛̽̓̈͊̋͗̈́̽,̸͔̰͓̤̯̖̫̠̲͂̈́͂̿̈́͂̅͒̅́ H҈̣̥̙̟͎͔̯͍̣̰̱͔̘̀̈́̌̿̆̂̎̐̆ű̸̳̬̪̭̙̪̖̝̬̟̙̾͐̇͋̄̉͋͌̽ͅs̵̪̱͖͕̙͈̔̊͑̇́̾͐͗̏̆̚k̶͎̳̠̫͎̮̪̳͗͑̇̄͗̏̚̚e̷̬̬̮̘̘̪͉̤̫̓̓͛̌r̶̤̞͓̳̱͐̑̀̋̌̈́̃ͅ!҈̩̦͓̳̩͙͕̜̙͎̥͐̋̄͛̎̾̃̊͛̊ E̴͎̠̦̟̗̳͇͇͉͖͖̣͚͈͖̽̍̌͌̒͑̉̓͂͌̚n̵̪̳̯̯̩̯̤̮͈͕̽͊̽̂͗j̵̣̟͍͔͐͒̽͒̏̄̅̔̈́͐̋ò̵̗̘͖͎͙͉͍̘̘̦̩͇͓̫̭̃̅̅̂̅̉̓̃̎͐̈ỳ̵̭͖̘͍̗̝͚̦̭͚̜̓̍̊̿̃̈̾̆͗̎̐͋i̴͚̭̳̘̝͈̘̪̣̩̘͓̱̟̭̊̾̓̐n̴̥̰͍̦̦̞̰̦̔̉̆̈́̈́͛͋̆̑͐̈́̿̎g̶͈̭̟̲̥̫̘͓̘̟̘̦̪͑̈͛̅ͅͅ t҈̞̯̣͚̟͇͉͔̈́̓̉̀̌̀̈́̃̚h҈͈͓̟̝̞̣̉̽̍́̀e̵̦̟͙̩͓͎̍̊̅̀̒̈́̊̽͐͂͊̀ͅ p҈͎̖̟̝͍̳̭̩̖̰͓̓̍̀͌̃͛a̶̬̰̖͚̖̩̾̀͂̂̏͗̔̊̎̾͊͂̍̄̚r̶̗͍͉̫̥̙͈̯̐́̃̑ͅt҈̲̘͇͖̆̓̅͐ỷ̸̙͍̝̠̗̤̌̇̽̈́̂̊̉̅̍̽̅?”
Alastor appears at the counter, grin a little too mischievous for Husk’s appetite.
“…’S alright.” He grumbles, setting the extra clean glass on a shelf under the counter.
For a moment Husk thinks Alastor’s going to keep his shit to himself, because the Radio Douche merely leans on the counter and observes the room with that same expression. It must have nothing to do with Husk, which is good. He’s so sick of Alastor’s—
“O̷̧̟̤͔̦͑̕̚h̷̨̛̦̳͗̈́͌,҉̝̳̞̞̗̰̜͓̄͐͢͠ l̵̲̰͙͍͎̞̿̆͌̌̽̕͜o҈̡̛̣͙̓̎̊̆͂̃o̷̧͎̗͔͈͗͆̈́͝ķ̸̬̗̦̟̎̾̒̂̉̔̕̚ͅs̶̛̩̙͗̓̍̈́̇͌͢ l̶̰̲̪͇̖̃͛̋̀̉́͢͝ͅi҉̢̗̲̩͖͔̊͐͡k҉̢̛͇͙̗̾̓͒e҈̧͓̱͎͐̒̀͒͠ ṡ̷̡̝̗̯̬̉̋̾͒͞ơ̶̧̖͖͈̭̅͗̊̾̀̏m̴̡͖̤̗̞̘̦̽̔̌̒͝ͅe̸̩̮̬̥҇̓͐̄̑̔̉̏͒͜o̷̧͈͇̲̐̿͡n҉̮͙̝͚̬̩͓̳҇̋̉̍̀͢ę̷̟͎͖͚̦̔̏̈͆̄̅͌̏͞’҉̡̱̦͖͚̫̬͆͐̏̿͡s̶̠͙̗̩҇̎̆͒̂̌͢ a҉̱̰̫̙҇̏͋͂̈̆̈̈̌͜ͅb̷̨͚̝͔̟͊̆̔̒̀͒̚͠ǫ̸̥͎̅̌̇̚͞ų̴̯̝͋̑̿̂̉̈̀̊͝t̶̨͎̠̫̝̠̠҇̽͑͛̚ t̴̢̟̘͙̊̿̒̇̅̌͡o̸̜̳̫̣̮̪̟̜͆̈́͗̈́̽͜͝ c̵̫̦̩̙̠̪̭̈͒̚͢͞a̵̡͓͓͇͂͒͋͌͝t҈̢̘̯̬̲̝̗̒̈̔̑̿̋̚͡c҈̢̩̙̔͆̉͛̚͝ͅh̶̛͎͇͒̿͛̎̐͜ A̶͎̝̮͕͆̌͂͑̔͜͠ñ̸̡̛̪̬͈̟͕̃̂͆͆͐̏̅ͅͅg҈̨̯̳͕͔̬͉̳͔̋̆͂͛͒͝ȩ̴͓̥͚̭́̓̑̕l̴̬̞͇̣͍͖͊̇͊̊̈́̓̅͢͡ u҉̟͙̖͔̣̮̾̽̃̔͋́͌͗͢͡ņ̵̦̾͑̍̑̓͞ͅḓ̴̬̮̯̣̤̝̈́͒̉̈͑̚͢͡ę̶͙̤͗̑̒̇̒͡r̵̨̰̱̭̒́̄̈́͑̔͊͝ ţ̸̖̩͇̊̌̒̎̀͡h̷̢̛͚̪̫̠͙͚̪̓̎̂̓͋̌̚é̷̘͖̟̞̥̋̕͢ m̸̢̠̦͈҇̒͗̅͆i҉̛̥̫͌̍̀̇̔͑͜s̶̡̪̣̲̣̗͙̋̃̿͛͝t̴̢͓̞̪̍̅̾̀̊͝l̵̨̗̠̬̝̠͔̩̬͒̓̽̐͌͐̎̃͡ḙ̴̢̛̦͈̭͖͓̞̭̔̎̒t̶̨̝͎͈̝̊̋̓͝o҉̨̣̤̭̰̲͉̰͈̏̍̂͋̉̉͛͡e̶͚̯̣̤̋̀̅̈́͒͑̒̕͜!”
Alastor doesn’t have to finish the word for Husk to be scrambling over the counter. Husk might not enjoy parties but Angel does. No shmuck is gonna ruin Angel’s night. Husk body-slams the wingless cat right as the first words leave his smarmy mouth. The bastard goes flying, but Husk doesn’t give a shit about where he lands and turns back to Angel to make sure he’s unharmed. Angel’s staring at him in complete surprise.
Only then does Husk’s brain fully process what Alastor was saying.
He and Angel glance up at the same time.
“Aw, shit. We’re both under it.” Husk grumbles aloud, then quickly back tracks because he doesn’t want Angel to get the wrong idea, “How’d that even happen?”
Angel looks up again, and when he looks back at Husk he’s got a knowing smile on his face. Husk panics, heart hammering.
‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’ Husk has no idea how to be smooth anymore.
As if proving his own point to himself, he says, “It’s a stupid tradition, right? So fuckin’ dumb.”
“Mhmmm.” Angel raises an eyebrow.
“I mean, who even actually—.”
Angel cups Husk’s jaw with both hands and kisses him. It’s so brief that Husk can’t react before Angel lets go and walks away with a cheery,
“Enjoy the rest of the party Husk!”
Husk knows his ears have collapsed, made of jelly, and that his tail is curled tight around his right ankle, but he doesn’t care. He can still feel the tingle, still taste the bubble gum lip gloss, still see pink eyeshadow way too close to his own face. And he wants it all again. And again. And forever, maybe.
What the fuck?
~
Angel tries so hard not to blush as he leaves Husk behind. He really, really tries. None of his usual tricks work. Husk is just so cute. And he’d finally given Angel an excuse to kiss him! As Angel joined Vaggie and Charlie chatting with some stranger, he began making a mental list of more excuses. Assuming Husk liked that first kiss. By the way he was still standing under the mistletoe like a sponge, Angel felt like that was a safe assumption to make.