Work Text:
There are always signs beforehand.
Nothing big or fancy – after all, Valentino doesn’t need to put any real effort in, seeing as he owns him – but Angel has become exceptionally perceptive in the years they’ve spent together, so he can recognize them all the same.
That’s what spending most of your life – and pretty much all of your afterlife – in survival mode does to a person: Angel can’t protect himself if he doesn’t know what’s coming, can barely manage to protect parts of himself when he does know…
Anyway, the point is: he is somewhat ready, when Valentino spends most of the time on set in silence, a contemplative look in his red eyes as he watches the scenes playing in front of him.
Comparatively, Angel has had quite a tame day: some sensory deprivation, a couple of messy blowjobs, one facial cumshot… Nothing particularly hardcore, painful or even degrading and that in itself is another sign, right there.
So, he’s expecting it, when Valentino glides towards him as he’s still toweling cum from his fur and takes over with uncharacteristic gentleness. “You’ve been so good today, Angie”, he croons lowly, a predatory smirk on his lips. “I’m very pleased with you. I think you deserve a nice reward”.
It sounds like a concession on Val’s part, except Angel is well aware that this is not so much an invitation as it is an order – and while Valentino is feeling generous at the moment, a refusal of his gift will turn the switch firmly back to cruelty and humiliation.
Angel is tired of that. In fact, he has actively been doing his best to behave and gain Val’s favor, just so that he doesn’t have to hurt all the time.
Except… that’s not completely true – or at least, it’s not quite how it happened: that’s the easier version of it, the more palatable one that depicts Angel as powerless and struggling in a game that he lost before he even got the chance to learn all of the ground rules; a victim, through and through.
The reality of it is ever so slightly different – and infinitely more complicated.
You see, there are always signs beforehand. Nothing big or fancy, but Angel has become exceptionally perceptive when it comes to his own self-destructive tendencies, so he can recognize them all the same.
That’s what spending most of your life – and pretty much all of your afterlife – addicted to something does to a person.
Angel hasn’t been able to sleep properly lately, and that’s how it always starts: long hours of lying in bed, empty gaze focused on the ceiling and anxiety buzzing underneath his skin; a heavy pit of emptiness low in his abdomen, slowly crawling higher, towards his chest; the feeling of claws dragging on his skin, more persistent the longer he’s trapped with only his thoughts for company, until it settles into a weight compressing his ribs and the base of his throat – making it so difficult to breathe.
Adding to that, the hotel has been going really well; maybe a bit too well, if he’s being selfishly honest: Charlie is drowning in work, trying to coordinate activities for all the new residents and navigating the newly restored relationship with her dad, who’s constant presence after years of distance has left her jarred and unsure – Angel might have overheard some of that being vented to Vaggie one evening fairly recently…
All the while, the king of Hell is involved in a weirdly charged pissing contest with Alastor, whenever the demon actually deigns to show his face around the hotel; he’s been segregating himself in the radio tower quite a bit more often after the last Extermination and he seems to be going out of his way to interact with other guests less and less as the weeks go on – with the glaring exception of Husk, which is quite ironic, really, considering that Angel is certain the cat demon would rather be left alone when it comes to his boss.
Anyway, with Husker on leave of absence more often than not, someone had to pick up the slack at the bar and Cherri was all too happy to offer her services – never mind that she’s usually on the other side of the bar. Then again, that’s probably why she’s the most qualified out of the team currently available; at the very least, she knows what shit tastes nice together and what can get you drunk the fastest.
Hell, Angel hasn’t even seen Niffty recently – more guests equal more dirt, after all. Little maid has had her hands full for weeks now.
The point is: everyone has been exceptionally busy, no one has the time to entertain poor Angel when he’s feeling a bit neglected – not that they’re to blame for anything, they’ve got their own shit to deal with same as Angel, he gets that.
It’s just unfortunate that everything has lined up quite as it did, because, well… Angel can feel when he’s about to do something dangerously dumb and, with no one to pull him back from the edge and distract him from the darkness lurking at the edges of his mind, it is ever so easy to fall back into his usual pattern.
(Never mind that it always ends up with him feeling even shittier afterwards, making empty promises to himself that this is the last time, it won’t ever happen again, all of it lasting only until the inevitable next time…)
So yeah, maybe there’s been the familiar prickling under his skin lately, the one that no amount of alcohol or sex has ever been able to quite scratch. He’s tried with drugs, too, seeing as Charlie’s been too occupied to raid his room and throw away his stashes lately – and yet… The itch was still there, getting more implacable every day, every hour, every damn minute…
He just needed to stop thinking for a while.
The worst part was: Angel knew what he had to do, since there was one drug in all Hell that was guaranteed to give him the relief he craved and it would be stupidly simple to get some. Every single night for weeks, he’d gotten so close to giving up and just going to beg for a fix, he could practically taste it already – and yet, he endured, kept waking up and attending his designated redemptive activities, and then went to work on set, giving his all for the performance, rinse and repeat…
After all, if he was good enough, the drug would come to Angel – and when it comes to getting what he needs from his daddy? Angel can be the very best.
So, he’s been shaking his ass, fluffing his chest fur just the right way to be extra enticing and sending the camera his lewdest winks, biting his lips just so, moaning the filthiest sounds; making sure to never glance at Valentino while simultaneously always being aware of his reactions to him.
Waiting patiently for the reward that he deserved, the one that he knew was coming – Val is a brutal master, but when Angel is on his most obedient behavior? Fuck, he never reaches higher heights than that.
(Didn’t he, though? Wasn’t the feeling of not being alone, of having at least one person who understood to wade through shit with – the affirmation that Angel himself was worth something more than the performance he could put on – one hell of a high in itself?)
In the end, the reality of it is this: Angel is an addict and addicts often relapse.
He follows after Valentino with excitement and anticipation, because he’s been working so hard for this and finally, he’s going to get what he’s been aching for.
Distantly, through the heavy fog of expectation, he notices that Val is holding his hand; fingers threaded together, a lazy grip that speaks more of wanting to touch than needing to restrain. It’s different from when Valentino cages his wrist and tugs him along forcibly, those times Angel had fucked up so royally that he’d needed to be dragged to the higher floors of Vee Tower, despite knowing full well that resistance would only make his punishment worse.
This feels… nice. Has he ever held hands with someone just for the pleasure of the contact?
(He did, one night months ago; he’d held hands, sang and danced his heart out with his friend – with someone that was… more than that? – feeling the most ephemeral sense of freedom…)
Angel shakes his head hard, trying to dislodge the errant thought: this is part of why he craves what Val is offering; this is part of why he needs his reward – that line of thought is dangerous and will only end up in misery. Better to strangle it with pink smoke before it can seriously take root.
(Who’s going to be more for someone like Angel, anyways? Used goods don’t get rescued; they only end up in the trash).
When they get to his floor, Val releases his hand – and for one single, foolish moment, Angel thinks about fighting against it and prolonging the contact, demanding the reward that he’s been promised (Val wouldn’t like that, he would take it like a challenge rather than simple desperation, he would turn today into another lesson of who’s in control between the two of them, like Angel could ever forget that…), but he comes back to his senses quickly enough to avoid catastrophe, feeling just the smallest twinge of mourning at being left.
Valentino sashays towards the couch, completely at ease in his space, then sits down on it and turns to where Angel has stopped, standing hesitantly at the room’s threshold. “Come here, baby boy, don’t be shy,” he coaxes him, smirking with a raised eyebrow, long legs spread and offering that same hand back to him.
(Has he noticed his moment of weakness? Is Angel really that transparently frantic? Is Val in that good of a mood as to indulge his silly, little fancy? Would he… indulge him more, if he kept slipping?)
Angel doesn’t want to think about it, he’s so tired of thinking.
He lets the promise of relief pull him forward, takes that hand again and climbs over Valentino’s lap with ease borne of habit. His boss is fully clothed underneath him, while Angel only has his usual silky robe on – he lets it slip from his shoulders and onto the floor, leaving him naked and vulnerable straddling Valentino’s thighs, just the way the moth demon likes it.
Angel will continue to be on his best behavior until the very end; he can’t risk today turning sour, not when Val is studying him in silent approval, his red eyes glowing with hunger behind heart shaped glasses. Not when Val’s lower hands are so very gentle on his hips, not grabbing or squeezing or pulling. Not when one of his upper hands is still holding his and the other cups his cheek slowly and oh so tenderly…
(That same hand had struck his cheek so viciously not very long ago; it had become so swollen and painful that he couldn’t chew on that side for a good few days. He’d needed to ice it constantly and no one at the hotel would believe him when he told them it was just a tooth that was rotting.
He didn’t remember what had happened. All it ever takes is a wrong word, a wrong move, a wrong breath…)
“Please”, Angel whispers, when the hand makes contact with his skin. The word slips out of his mouth shakily, trembling and broken in the still silence of the living room.
“What do you want, cariño?”
(Angel can’t have what he really wants and even if it was possible – even if demons like him could get what he actually, truly desires – Val isn’t going to be the one to give it to him).
Angel doesn’t answer in words, but he lets his eyes glance down at Valentino’s lips, leaning ever so slightly forward; he’s sure the pimp can feel the movement with the hand that’s still holding his cheek so gently.
There’s a beat of hesitation, with Val narrowing his eyes in clear confusion (Angel’s heart rate jumps up at that, the thump thump thump so loud in his ears he’s sure the other must hear it too; has he fucked this up already, before even getting the taste he’s so desperate for?), before a smug grin appears, Valentino breathing out: “Oh, it’s like that, uh…”
And then he’s sliding his hand down Angel’s cheek, the caress so delicate and tender that it brings hot tears to the spider demon’s eyes. He’s going to walk away from here wrecked – and he’ll be grateful for it.
“I see now, amorcito. Don’t worry”, Val continues, leaning forward to whisper the last words right against Angel’s own lips. “Papi’s going to take such good care of his boy”.
The kiss Angel has been aiming for finally comes, soft and unhurried; so different from Val’s usual approach that his head spins a bit. It’s persuasive without being forceful, not demanding Angel’s participation but coaxing it out of him – his mouth opens willingly, pliant and eager for Val’s tongue, licking inside languidly and with deliberation, already savoring the sweet release the pink saliva will offer.
It’s the longest kiss they’ve ever shared without sex being involved – and one of only a handful that Angel has actually, truly wanted.
He feels lightheaded when they eventually separate, a thin line of pink fluid dribbling from the corner of his lips. The drug’s already doing its job: his muscles are lax; he feels at ease, pretty much sprawled on Val’s lap now, taking the liberty of tucking his head under Val’s chin and nuzzling his face in the other’s fur – the softest shit in all Hell and the perfect spot to rest and let go of his manic thoughts as the pheromones keep working their magic (the perfect spot to get ready for the next step, because while daddy gave Angel what he wanted, he’s going to expect a proper thank you for his kindness).
Angel sighs deeply at the unwanted thought, whining a bit when he feels hands pet his fur, from the back of his head all the way down to the low of his back. “Give it a second, baby”, Val shushes him, continuing the caresses, pleasurable shivers running down Angel’s body with the movement. “Let it work, you’re going to feel so much better afterwards”.
(It feels wrong, to hear that endearment in Valentino’s honeyed voice, it shouldn’t be… It should… Angel can’t quite remember the reason; it’s slipping from his grasp, impalpable like pink smoke…)
A small tug on his hair brings Angel back to the present and he moves to meet Val’s eyes with a big, dopey smile on his face, happy and carefree and so, so high – finally higher than the loneliness, higher than the anxiety, higher than he’s been in quite a while.
And yet, because he’s greedy – because Val is smiling back with satisfaction and that makes Angel want to push, want to see how far he can go before it turns into a snarl – he bites his lips with a little pout and asks: “More?”
Val chuckles at his antics, looking almost endeared (dangerous, ominous, risky), as he replies: “Once more, then it’s my turn, Angel,” and the spider demon is not sure if that’s just his name or more sweet talk; then he’s not sure of anything anymore, because Val is connecting their lips again and this time – oh, this time he’s breathing out smoke directly in his lungs, the pheromones mix so strong that Angel can’t help but moan obscenely, even as he pulls Val closer by the lapels of his coat, even as the kiss turns so much deeper and filthier than before…
He’s too far gone to question it when he feels Valentino lifting him in his arms, lips still connected as they make their way to what is presumably the bedroom – Val calls him little love and he never feels smaller than when they’re together like this, being manhandled like he weighs nothing, helpless in a heavy haze of pleasure.
They drop gracelessly to the bed, Valentino moving to kiss down Angel’s throat, nipping at the skin beneath his fur as he gets down, down, down; two hands restraining his lower wrists in that way that he loves, as the other two prop a pillow under his hips, elevating and spreading his ass to Val’s predatory gaze.
Angel licks his lips – still chasing the aftertaste of the dose that he’d earned – and looks up with slightly unfocused, half lidded eyes, his pupils huge. “Like what you see, daddy?” he moans, opening his legs wider around Valentino, putting his tight hole on full display. Teasing in a way that he seldom gets to do.
Through the pink fuzziness at the edges of his vision, it feels amazing to be desirable and have Val’s full attention focused on his body – to see him react to Angel and only Angel.
The moth demon chuckles darkly at his little show, but then the unthinkable happens: Valentino moves away from Angel and he whimpers in confusion, so utterly frightened for a moment because if his – daddy? Master? Owner? – Val can just up and leave him like this, after he’s been so good and obedient, then what chances were there for him outside of this tower? Who was going to make the effort for a broken, messy screw up that couldn’t even keep the attention of a fucking pimp for long enough to get some dick?
“Oh, baby, you’re so needy tonight”, Valentino is suddenly back on top of him – naked, this time, and with a bottle of lube in one of his lower hands – shushing him softly, soothing in a way that instantly calms Angel down. One of his upper hands reaches up to brush tears off his cheeks; Angel wasn’t even aware that he had started crying until he takes a shuddering breath at the gesture. “I’ve told you I’d take good care of you, didn’t I? Daddy’s not a liar”.
It feels like he should have an opinion on that, but his head is blissfully empty and silent, thoughts sticky like molasses and just as difficult to wade through.
One slick finger is suddenly pushing inside Angel – everything is moving so weirdly that he didn’t even notice Val squirting the lube in his hand and warming it up – so slowly and carefully, coaxing the little hole to open up and suck it in; waiting for a breathy moan or a stuttering sigh before advancing further, making the slide so unbelievably smooth and pleasurable.
Angel gets a little lost in sensation as another finger joins in, stretching him thoroughly, prepping him in a way that he hardly ever gets to indulge in on set or in private – after all, no one has the patience to take their time with an experienced, used up whore who’s taken more cocks than one could possibly hope to count; surely, at this point his hole is loose enough from past encounters that he’s always ready for something to enter him at any given time.
And anyway, who cares if it hurts, right? Angel is a damn professional; he’d learned very soon how to play the part very convincingly.
Here and now, however, there’s nothing fake – not in the way Angel shamelessly moans and lifts his hips to get Val’s hand deeper, when those skillful fingers rub against his prostate once, twice, three times; long, leisure strokes that feel like liquid fire all the way up Angel’s spine and down to his toes.
It’s the first time he realizes his cock is hard and has probably been for a while, if the almost painful throb of arousal as Val keeps stretching him is any indication. The moth demon is three fingers deep now, still sliding so effortlessly, with just the smallest ache when he moves to scissor them – and even that is just an added little thrill of pleasure, at this point.
Sometimes, when it’s been a while, Angel almost forgets – until the next time, only ever until the next time – that Valentino is actually a tremendous fuck.
Eventually, Val’s fingers retreat, judging him ready for his cock – and he’s damn well right if the emptiness that Angel feels is any indication. He whines a low sound of dissatisfaction when Valentino’s dick doesn’t immediately slides back in him; looks at him with large, beseeching eyes and raises his hips just a bit more, unable to verbalize what he wants, but making it crystal clear just the same.
“Shhh, amorcito, let daddy enjoy this”, Val murmurs, his voice so low that it almost sounds like… Angel is not entirely sure; does he even know someone else with such a low timbre?
It’s not important, not when he’s trembling with need beneath the avid gaze of Valentino, when his lower hands are caressing the back of his thighs, down to the edge of his boots – and why does he still have those on, anyway?
He must have been able to communicate his confusion somehow, because Val suddenly says: “It’s okay, cariño, you know your feet are ugly… We don’t want papi to be turned off so close to the grand finale, do we?”
That comment should sting, for some reason – but it’s barely a distant twinge over the much more pressing concern of Valentino not fucking him, after all. “No, daddy”, he manages to answer, finding his voice somewhere in the midst of the pink mess in his brain. Urgently, he adds: “Please? Want your cock”, not a shadow of acting in his voice, the raw longing as genuine as anything Angel has ever shown while on his back in a bed.
Val inhales sharply at that, licking his lips in anticipation; Angel follows the movement with his eyes, wondering if Val will kiss him again before their time is over.
“How could I deny you anything, sweet thing?” Valentino says, all the while lining up his cock. “This is your reward, after all”.
It doesn’t feel like the entire truth, but Angel doesn’t have the time to dwell on it because Val is thrusting inside in one long movement, bottoming out with a low groan and causing Angel to close his eyes tightly, focusing only on the overwhelming feeling of finally being full again.
Valentino stays completely still for a few seconds, just enough to take a deep breath, before he starts moving in a slow, unhurried rhythm, chasing the sensations more than racing towards orgasm. If someone walked in at that moment, what would they see? To an outer perspective, would they look like the spoiled, insatiable fuck toy being used by his owner in whatever way he pleased – or would they look like equal partners, like… lovers? (Is this what love feels like? Is this all the love someone like Angel can aspire to?)
With a gasp, Angel re-opens his eyes and tries to rise on his elbows, reaching with his lower hands for Valentino’s thighs and sneaking one upper hand towards his own, neglected cock – finds it covered in pearly precum, suddenly feels desperate for release.
But before he can touch – himself, Val, anything really – smoky pink chains twist their way around his arms and neck, until they settle into a weight compressing his wrists and the base of his throat. “Be a good boy, Angie”, Val murmurs, the smallest strain in his voice as he keeps pounding Angel’s ass, never breaking the rhythm. “I told you already: it’s daddy’s turn now. If you behave, you can come later”.
And just because he can – just because Angel’s evident urgency is clearly a turn on for him – Val changes the angle of his pushes, grazing the spider demon’s prostate both ways on every single thrust, drinking in the frustrated tears that gather in the corners of Angel’s eyes at the stimulation.
Restrained as he is and unable to come untouched, there is nothing Angel can do except take everything that Valentino gives him. And take it, he does: breathless moans and aggravated mewls cascade from his lips in an increasingly high pitched staccato; tears falling down flushed cheeks as Val keeps moving, no evident signs of being close to orgasm except for the harsh breaths interspersing Angel’s constant litany of please, please, please.
Angel doesn’t close his eyes, keeps them locked on Valentino’s, just as his owner likes; doesn’t fight the hold of the chains – he relaxes into them, giving into the comfort they bring: this is where he belongs. (It’s not, it’s not, it’s not!)
Val bends over at the waist to put Angel’s legs above his shoulders, getting impossibly deeper and making him keen. With his red wings spread behind him for balance and blocking Angel’s visual of anything else, Valentino looks like a god – and the spider demon is a filthy sinner, unworthy of worshipping at his altar, but clumsily attempting all the same.
There’s a sudden guttural groan, carrying such aggravation and impatience that Angel is suddenly convinced someone else has actually entered the room while they were busy and has been silently watching them fuck until that very moment; however, before he can follow that line of thought, a hand abruptly wraps around his cock and nothing else matters, except that slippery, warm hold as Valentino strokes him once, twice – and then his orgasm bursts out of him, cum soiling his abdomen and lower chest.
(Why did Val change his mind? Val doesn’t change his mind, ever…)
It becomes apparent all too soon that the orgasm wasn’t a kindness so much as a twisted curse – Angel can’t even start to enjoy the afterglow, as two things become very clear: the pheromones are out of his system and Val is still moving inside of him, seemingly going faster now that Angel’s alert and horrified gaze is meeting his.
With the newfound focus, shame immediately follows, smarting across his face until his cheeks are hot and red, all the pleasure sucked out of him and that hollowness emerging again (sharper than before, in fact – as fucking usual).
He’d begged Val for this, had whored himself out for a kiss – and how’s that different than what he usually does, really? This is peak Angel Dust behavior.
(The others would be so disappointed – what was he even hoping to achieve here? Why was he so useless, weak, a waste of space and time and effort…? How did he expect to be redeemed if he couldn’t even survive a few weeks with only his own fucking thoughts for company?)
Angel whimpers, the sound clearly anguished this time – and Val looks downright delighted at that (what did you really expect, Angie?).
The spider demon tries to slide away, the drag of Valentino’s cock quickly growing overwhelming now that he’s not aroused anymore and that’s when he becomes aware of the chains still around him, straining all four arms in agitation – he hates them, wants them off right now.
Val chuckles mockingly at his futile efforts and Angel feels a little sob climb up his throat, emotions all over the place after coming down from his high so quickly and harshly. “You’re perfect like this, amorcito”, he says, thrusts growing more erratic. Getting closer to orgasm so fast now that Angel is back to his usual self – uneasy, subdued, unwilling. (Is that what perfection looks like on Angel?)
“P-please, Val”, he whispers, little more than a tremulous breath, begging for… what? For Valentino to stop? For him to finish and set Angel free? For…
“What do you want, cariño? This is your reward, remember?”
For another taste, just another little bit of pretending…
Angel parts his lips, straining against the collar with eyes fixed on Valentino’s mouth. Val, always so generous when his sluts do what he wants, leans forward – bends Angel in half to reach his face (it’s too much, too much, too much) and the spider demon is so ready to stop thinking again, when instead his owner moves to the juncture between left shoulder and neck and mercilessly bites.
It hurts. It’s going to bruise (that’s the whole point, isn’t it? When has Angel ever left Val’s bed without at least one new bruise somewhere on his body?); it’s not what he wanted… Angel yelps, well beyond the fine line between pleasure and pain – that’s when Val comes at long last, loud groan muffled by Angel’s mouth as he grants him the kiss he’s been waiting for.
It’s a quick one, this time – just enough to appease Angel’s mind for a bit. Just what he needed.
The chains dissolve as Valentino rolls off him, spreading his long limbs at Angel’s side, quiet and sated. Angel turns to look at him, finds that he’s already being watched head to toe by lazy, red eyes – studying him, his disheveled appearance: fur in disarray; mascara and lipstick all smeared and ruined; tear tracks feeling gritty on his cheeks; cum long since dried and uncomfortable on his abdomen, while fresh one is slowly dripping from his hole.
He’s messy, a far cry from flawless Angel Dust, moneymaker extraordinaire.
“Precioso”, Val murmurs, cupping one cheek and smudging his mascara a little bit more – Angel blushes slightly, breath catching for a moment, because there’s something almost like… affection, in Valentino’s eyes and maybe… if this is how Val can love, would that be enough? If it is real, can’t he be content with it?
The sudden chime of a cell phone breaks the moment.
Val releases him and Angel can breathe properly again, as the moth demon turns away from him and takes the call. He doesn’t listen to the one sided conversation, but he does hear: “See you soon, Voxxy!”
When he turns to look at him, Val is staring at his phone, the softest expression Angel has ever seen on his face (…oh. He’s really been fooling himself: that’s what love looks like on Valentino’s face. The cheap imitation Angel thought he’d glimpsed earlier couldn’t be faker – that’s all the spider demon is worth, anyway).
Valentino is suddenly sitting up, stretching with a loud grunt. “Need to go back to work, Angel! Urgent reunion with my associate, you know how it is”, he says, not even turning back in his direction before stepping away from the bed to retrieve his clothes. “You can stay a bit, but change the sheets before going back to that shithole across town, mh?”
Angel doesn’t answer, still caught in that weird space between floating and crashing down. He follows Valentino with his eyes, waiting for… what? He’s not really sure.
This part – being left alone in the too big bed, sheets feeling cold and unfamiliar around him with no one to share them with – is always the worst: he’s going to drift for a bit, not as satisfied as he should be; then the feeling of dirtiness will become overwhelming and he’ll grab a quick shower, before heading back to the hotel in the most textbook display of walk of shame. Rinse and repeat.
“I’m heading out, amorcito”, Val tells him, finally looking at him. He’s clad in fresh clothes, looking as unruffled and put together as if they hadn’t just finished having sex, the picture perfect third of the Vees –absolute polar opposite of Angel, lying there naked, soiled and unsure; high enough to just stare at him with empty eyes (not high enough to avoid feeling prickles of humiliation at the difference in their appearance).
Valentino raises an eyebrow, looking expectant – it makes Angel slightly sick that he knows what his owner’s waiting for. “Thank you for my reward, daddy”, he murmurs, eyes ever so slightly wet again, shaky smirk in place – the mask kept together precariously through sheer stubbornness.
The moth demon looks pleased as punch as he croons: “Good boy” (all Angel hears is pathetic slut); then, without further ceremonies, he leaves Angel alone – his heels clacking rhythmically as he walks away.
Angel sighs deeply and turns on his side, reaching for a pillow to hug with all four arms – it doesn’t feel like a warm body, but it’ll have to be good enough. There’s still the faintest traces of pink tingeing the corners of his vision, but he knows it will be over very soon.
Then, and only then, he will start putting himself back together and will put the Vee Tower and Valentino’s bedroom behind himself for the last time.
After all, this won’t ever happen again – it’s not worth it, nothing’s ever gonna change and he’s got a better thing going on for himself now. He doesn’t need this anymore. It was a moment of weakness, but it won’t happen again.
Yes, this was the last time and it won’t ever happen again.
(At least, until the inevitable next time).