Work Text:
Even before the drink, Husk offers Angel ice from the chest below the bar wrapped in a thick wad of napkins.
“Here, those sharks really got you in the moneymaker.”
Angel snorts, it hurts his swollen eye. “You know my face is not my moneymaker, right?”
“Just take the ice.”
He holds it gingerly to his eyelid while Husk starts whipping them up two tall glasses of something Angel secretly hopes will do some numbing. That was a pretty good scrap they got into. There's still viscera in white hair and down the back of his jacket collar. He picks at the stuff, face scrunched up in as much disgust as he can muster without hurting himself worse.
“Didn’t know you could fight,” Husk says as he pulls ingredients.
“Didn’t know you could either.”
“Didn’t know you could dance.”
He can tell from the pleased rumble Husk doesn’t mean pop or pole. “Same.”
Turns out there’s a lot Angel didn’t know. Fucking Overlord? Hello? Angel’s going to be revisiting that conversation later, for sure. But not while his head is still pounding behind his swollen eye and the soft clink of glass is making the bar light seem extra cozy.
Husk hums while he works, which is unusual enough, but things get real Twilight Zoney when Husk flips a cup from one hand and catches it flawlessly upright in the other without loosing a single ice cube or a splash of lime juice while Angel stares with one wide eye. Husk never winks or pauses for applause. It wasn't some flex or brag because Angel’s watching. Just a brief flash of fun for the sake of having it.
Angel doesn't know who this guy is. This guy who hoists two-bit mobsters by the back of their collar and laughs while blowing off their heads with explosive dice and does cute, little bartending tricks just for the heck of it… Angel wants to fuck him twice as much as the old Husk.
Problem is, when Husk said ‘once,’ he really meant it. The second Husk had fulfilled the conditions of his impromptu freebie and slunk away, sweaty and disheveled all those months ago, Angel tried to set them up on a regular banging schedule. Just for a little after work stress relief. When Husk firmly refused that, Angel started looking for special occasions to use as excuses. Birthdays, holidays, cataclysmic events. Nothing worked.
Once meant once. No actually meant no.
Which was a hard thing for Angel to absorb both professionally and personally. He eventually got used to it. Stopped asking every day. Mostly managed to push aside the wanting and live in a casual acquaintances-who-know-the-size-and-shape-of-each-others-dicks-but-don’t-bring-it-up-ever sort of space. But Husk never stopped being attractive. It’s just the way he gets Angel hot under the collar that changed. Now it's changed again from proven-fuck-worthy-but-emotionally-distant-manly type to sings-and-dances-and-shakes-mixed-drinks-while-Angel-stares-at-his-ass-guy.
But Husk is built differently. He’s got miles of boundaries and never once been openly horny about anything (unlike Angel who’s been sternly advised not to masturbate in hotel common areas at least three times whether he was really doing it or not). Husk’s not going to let Angel have what he wants in terms of sex. But maybe Angel can have something else. And give a little something in return.
Angel snags his nearly complete drink and tosses back a big gulp of it for courage when he knows he could be brewing up a colossal, Angel Dust-style fuckup. “Hey, Husk.”
The bartender rises from a crouch, little umbrella in his hand from some stash of frilly drink decorations only Charlie ever requests.
Angel leans over the bar, hooks a pinky under a red bow tie, and pulls Husk close enough to place a careful kiss on lips.
Angel doesn’t bite, he doesn’t use a hint of tongue. There’s no demand, no seduction. Just gratitude for Husk coming to find him, for listening to him vent, for busting heads with him, and giving him a reason to come back to the hotel.
The bartender doesn't flinch, doesn’t flail, and most surprisingly, doesn't push Angel away.
“Hmm.” Husk hums quietly, lips not quite curled in a smile but not frowning either, when Angel finally releases him. “How much you charging me for that?”
It stings for just a second. But it’s a fair assumption given their one and only sexual encounter. Angel exhales and tries to make it sound like a laugh. “Your tab’s all settled.”
A feathered eyebrow quirks and Husk gestures gently to the wall of bottles behind him. Husk’s voice is stuck between something rough and dreamy smooth. “My tab? You’re the one who still owes.”
Banter, he can do. Flirting? Totally got this. Angel shouldn’t feel it in his dick when he leans in again and asks softly, “How much?”
“I’m thinking…” the bartender uses the tip of a white claw to tap his own lips while staring at Angel’s, “one more of those would make us about even.”
Angel tries not to look too eager- lower hands gripping a barstool to ground him- and tips forward one more time to meet Husk’s lips. This kiss isn’t fancy either. But when Angel settles back on his heels seconds later, he makes sure to breathe Husk in first, like maybe he can steal some of that soft, peppery, warmth for later.
The shorter man kisses with his eyes closed. Which means Angel also gets an extra second to watch the grumpy cat demon looking pleasantly unguarded before black and gold eyes ease open.
Husk nods, approval of payment, and just like that, the soft magic of flirtation gives way to reality. The bartender clears his throat until the offer sounds like it would any other day. “Want me to top you off?”
Angel definitely mishears for an embarrassing length of time. Stares all the way up till the point Husk nods at the half a drink that now holds a little umbrella.
He must be an idiot. He thought he could do this and then go back to matching Husk tone for tone but he’s still stuck in the feeling of warm flirtation. He’s got to cut and run.
“Nah. I’m turning in.” Angel slips off the barstool feeling unsteady, kicks back the reset of his drink in three huge gulps and clenches the impromptu ice pack in lower limbs. “But here. A tip. For the drink.”
He sneaks a quick peck of kiss to a white cheek before speedwalking for the stairs with his spine straight, shoulders tight, and eyes stinging.
He is so fucked.