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Husk refused to be the one to break the silence. To acknowledge the frailty of their situation, of them, would be to make it real, make it inescapable. Even when they both knew it to be such.
Instead, he committed the moment to his mind, swearing to remember every detail, every inch, for as long as he remained alive in Hell — however long that ended up being.
There was the familiar but foreign room, with its the almost sickly pink that claimed every corner, every furniture and fabric of which it was comprised. An even coating of dust kissed every surface save for the freshly made smear on the vanity, the mirror wiped clean with a hand print. Nifty would have wanted to clean it, had Husk not taken the key.
Then there was the scent: heady and musky and sweet, evidence of their sin laced throughout the air. Mostly, it smelled like him, sweat and pheromones which drove Husk insane, but just as thickly did his own odor linger, flooding the space with cigarettes and scotch.
And of course, there was the fur. Matted and tangled, knotted and pressed; white fur which mixed with his own, until he couldn’t figure out where the strands of his own chest ended and those of the body curled atop his own began.
…
Their reunion should have been prefect: a night of pure unadulterated bliss, of a longing satisfied, of a heart’s hearth stoked through the throes of tender love.
Instead, it was desperate; an animalistic hunger neither could satisfy with what they had. They had stolen hours for what deserved days, filled the months they had lost with minutes of rabid attention. Mouths parted and hands explored without reservation or foreplay, neither of them daring to risk what little time there was.
And when it was done — when their mutual lust reached its inevitable climax — when exhaustion racked the pair and the thrill of what was long overdue ebbed away — they ended as they were, with the body of the other draped over Husk’s own.
Legs had always been taller that Husk, lanky and large in a manner that commanded so much attention, that had drawn eyes even when he hadn’t wanted them. But that had been months ago, before he’d been trapped in V Tower, before the bastard that owned his soul had taken renewed interest in his favorite pet. Now, half curled upon his chest, hugging at the side of his body, Legs seemed so small and delicate, fragile as the uneven peace which hung over them.
Like the peace, he too was so capable of shattering.
“Hey Whiskers.” Angel’s voice wasn’t the same as it had been, when he’d showed up at the hotel, when he appeared in front of Husk after the cat had all but given up hope.
With Heaven’s army on their doorstep, with the Vees’ new master plan, with Alastor’s bid to wrest Lucifer’s power as his own certain to throw Hell into further disarray… it had been Angel to take the final step — not him. It had been Angel who confessed first, with the confidence of someone who only had a night left to give.
Heaven be damned. Lilith be damned. Valentino and Alastor be damned, too. Husk breathed deeply, pressing closer into the nape of Angel’s neck. He’d rather drink this in than to his way towards the bottom of another bottle as he waited for the impending shitpocolypse.
“Husky?” His attention snapped back to reality — to the tiny hotel room box, that no matter how hard he wished, couldn’t replace the world outside. To the body pressed against his own, in a voice that still sounded nothing like the confident confession he’d gotten hours before. “I didn’t rock the last of those brain cells outta ya, did I?”
Husk chuckled weakly. “Not quite.” Clearly, it was a joke, even if the sad smile stretching across Angel’s face betrayed the spider’s inner workings. Their eyes met once more before the other’s shied away. “Something wrong?”
“It’s… nothing.” Angel bit his lip intensely, mulling over the matter, before finally turning around, pulling away from Husk. The cat’s body wilted from the lack of contact, just as the spider curled tighter into a ball, his two sets of arms coiling in on himself. “Don’t matter, anyway.”
“Hmm.” Husk’s gaze narrowed. He reached out, gently making contact with Angel’s shoulder; he tried to suppress his sadness when the other flinched involuntarily at his touch. Husk instantly retracted the paw.
Whatever came of tomorrow… he swore he wouldn’t pass up the chance to given Valentino what he was owed.
“Angel.” Husk tried a different tact, speaking as softly as he could manage. Still, the spider’s body tightened, muscles growing taut at the sound of his own name. “Whatever it is, matters to you.”
“It’s stupid.” Probably, Husk’s first instinct was to agree. After all, it was Angel: Angel, who sat at the bar and distracted him with photos of hideous animals when he was supposed to be working. Angel, who he suspect invented a drink simply to force Husk say the words Harder Daddy. Angel, who would rather sacrifice his freedom than risk being used as a weapon against the hotel once again.
But Husk suppressed that urge, reminding himself this wasn’t the same Angel from those months ago. More and worse had transpired in V Tower, all of which was impossible to predict; all of which had been impossible to protect him from.
“That don’t mean it don’t matter.” Angel stirred, seemingly surprised by the response. The lanky body uncoiled slightly, the other now daring to look in Husk’’s direction. The cat smiled gently.
“Now no more of that self-censorship.” Angel’s eyebrows arched questioningly, and Husk’s mouth morphed into a smug grin. “I’ll have you know, I’ve gotten quite good with this counseling shit since you been gone.” Granted, that was because Husk had unwilling become a patient of said counseling after Angel had left, due to much of Charlie’s incessant prodding, but the spider didn’t need to know that. “So say what you want.”
“I just…” Slowly, Angel’s body turned back to Husk. Fuzzy white limbs slowly returned to wrap around his waist and chest, the spider all the while struggling to get the words out and meet the cat’s eyes. “I know… it ain’t for us.” Husk’s grin faltered and threatened to slip. “And I know you ain’t one for hypotheticals.”
“But do you think in another world…” A finger wandered over Husk’s chest, tracing the space where white fur met gray. It was easier for Angel to pay attention to the act than to face Husk with the question; it was simpler for Husk to watch the motion than focus on the tears welling in the other’s eyes. “In another lifetime…”
They weren’t the words of someone looking for reassurance or convincing; there was an acceptance behind them, more in tune with his previous confidence. Instead Angel spoke with the sad clarity of someone whose lifetime of mistakes and misfortunes were laid out before him, like landmarks on a map of the future, all directed to the same, inevitable end.
“Do two losers like us ever have a shot in hell?”
The lump in Husk’s throat felt like he was choking; like a collar tightened round his neck, being yanked and pulled. When he closed his eyes, it wasn’t hard imagining Angel much the same.
Both of them lived up to the role: just two sad saps, bound to foreign masters, fated to be pawns in another’s game. There was no use denying what tomorrow would bring; the chaos of Heaven’s attack, the Vees’ counter play, and Alastor’s machinations would leave little of Hell unscathed. They would be doomed to the plans and whims of their betters, to those which held their souls in chains.
They would likely die. For real, this time. All of Heaven and Hell were armed to the teat with angelic weaponry and the means to excise sinners. If they had a shot for happily ever after… it was not here. A hypothetical world or lifetime where they might was not an unwelcome one.
Still… Husk wouldn’t hold his breath. Someone like him? A drunk and a gambler, who’d spent his second chances like chips. Was there a world out there with peace for him? A reality where he didn’t royally screw things up?
Husk couldn’t imagine the universe finding him worthy. He wasn’t Angel; he wasn’t someone trying to do good, even when they’d been dealt a shitty hand. His mistakes were his own; his decisions weren’t those of one worthy of redemption.
But still, Husk thought — losing himself in the feeling of Angel’s touch, to his scent, to the warmth and comfort of a body that rested so perfectly on his own — that he rather liked the idea, however selfish it may be.
“I hope so.” Heaven and Hell be damned, Husk wished for a world like that with all that remained of his soul.