Work Text:
Husk was not a cuddler.
Shock of the century, I know.
But for Angel he would hang the stars in the sky or pull the trigger of a gun if he only asked. And when his partner approached the bar with an uncharacteristic display of nerves, long limbs fidgeting with trepidation, he already knew the answer was going to be ‘yes’ no matter what fell from the spider's lips.
Husk almost wished he had asked him to kill someone instead.
They were taking this– whatever you wanted to call the ambiguous flux of their relationship– slow. Sharing a bed for the night felt like crossing a dangerous precipice. It felt too permanent and tangible– too close to labeling the good thing they had.
(But change was also good.)
Husk dragged a clawed hand down his face, standing on the threshold of Angel's bedroom door. He had already changed into soft flannel pajamas.
(Technically he preferred to sleep in the buff, but that was too much for their first sleepover when they had not yet taken the plunge into a sexual relationship.)
“The things I do for this sonuvabitch,” he muttered. He knocked with his free hand, the other clutching a threadbare pillow.
Angel opened the door with a beatific smile. He was dressed (you could end the sentence there and he would be just as surprised) in a soft, loose fitting crop top that exposed his fluffed shoulders. His low-hanging lounge pants were pink, matching the dim light illuminating him from behind.
“C'mere, Whiskers.” he beckoned Husk inside, gently closing the door with a ‘click.’ He turned to examine his guest. “Ya didn't need to bring your own pillow, I've got a shit ton of extras. Th’ only person in this hotel who could possibly have more is Charlie, and half of her bed is those weird lookin’ round stuffed animals.”
Husk shrugged. “S'fine, this one's for my knees. Fucks up my back if I sleep without it.”
“Aw, my old man~” Angel laced their fingers together and led him to bed with a shy smile. Husk noted with a smile that there were indeed a shit ton of pillows. God knows what they were there for, because half of them ended up on the floor to make room for both sinners.
Angel rolled under the covers and beckoned with affectionate grabby-hands. Husk huffed a warm laugh and maneuvered his way under the pink blankets, adjusting his pillow and scooting closer to his partner’s warm body. Angel placed a single kiss to Husk's wet nose and turned around to nestle against him.
Surprised, Husk hesitantly wrapped an arm around Angel’s narrow body, smirking when his partner was nearly bent in half to be the little spoon.
“Thank you,” he whispered into the air. Husk gave him a reassuring squeeze.
“G'night, Anthony.” Husk pressed his lips to the back of his neck and settled into the welcoming feeling of softness- along his entire front, Angel’s fur tickling his nose; in the silken sheets and luxurious comfort of the duvet; in the plush marshmallow of the mattress supporting his aching bones.
Sleep was quick to embrace him, nearly pulling him into the warm depths of rest, when he felt a gentle weight moving along the bed. Husk slowly opened his bleary eyes, and found himself face-to-face with the tongue of Angel’s pet pig.
And suddenly Husk was wide awake.
He sputtered at the sensation of his fur being dragged against the grain, startling Angel awake. The bleary noise he made pulled on the strings of Husk's shriveled, jaded heart.
“How did he get up here?”
“Nugs has a surprising vertical leap,” Angel yawned.
“I'm not gonna sleep with your pig in the bed.”
Angel sat up, frowning at Husk. “Why the fuck not? He spends every night with me!”
Husk massaged the fur between his eyes and sagged against the pillows in defeat. All of the apprehension and nerves lingering in his mind had flown out the window with the arrival of this new intruder. But Fat Nuggets was here before him, and Husk had to accept his place in the pecking order.
How bad could it be?
Sleeping with a pig was worse than he could have imagined.
The little pig tossed and turned. He licked every limb and body part in his reach- where it kept Husk awake, by contrast Angel seemed lulled to sleep by the action. Husk entertained himself watching Angel’s breathing evened out, his heavy eyes following the steady rise and fall of his chest fluff.
And when Fat Nuggets finally landed on a position he deemed suitably comfortable (crushing Husk's other arm and wedging his ass into Angel’s back) he snored. Loudly, and prolifically. Husk reluctantly lifted his arm from his partner’s shoulders and gently tilted Fat Nuggets’ head to adjust the angle of his soft palate. His efforts were rewarded with an even louder snort.
Sleep no longer seemed possible with the terror that had made itself comfortable in their bed. When he wasn't wiggling around, he was licking everyone and everything in his reach with long, slobbering slurps of his rough tongue. And the snoring. Husk had flown in helicopters that made less noise than this one pig.
And, to the dismay of Husk's incredibly sensitive nose, Fat Nuggets passed gas like a deflating Zeppelin.
The first time it happened, Husk was worried there had been an accident. He turned on the lamp at his bedside and pulled back the covers, earning a whining protest from Angel.
“I think your pig shit the bed,” Husk grimaced.
“Nah, s'just his little toots,” Angel cooed, scratching Fat Nuggets belly and praising his stinky boy. “Come back to bed, babe.”
Heat flushed across his face at the sleepy slip of the tongue (it had to be, no one ever called him by a pet name), Husk returned to the bed…
Only to find his spot had been claimed by the pig. His round body luxuriated in the warmth left behind by Husk.
Husk repositioned Fat Nuggets, muttering a long stream of polylinguistic curses. The pig snorted at the indignant mishandling.
After several repeats of the damnable wiggle-lick-fart-snore cycle, Fat Nuggets finally settled down with a low wheeze, signifying a shift into low power mode. Husk could barely believe his luck. No snores, no smells, just a steady, gentle breath; wide black eyes looking up at him beseeching in the moonlight. Husk chuffed, and gently set his hand down on the little body pumping out heat, scratching the short and coarse hairs with his claws. The snores were at last reduced to sleepy whines, blending into the room like white noise.
“Night, ya little stinker.”
Fat Nuggets snorted in response.