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There’s a dead look in Husk’s eyes when the old demons come back.
Angel comes in and sets his gym bag down, and he sees it right away. Husk sits at the kitchen table, a game of solitaire set out before him, but he isn’t playing. He’s just staring into nothing, and there’s that look, the one that lets Angel know it hasn’t been a good day.
“Hey baby,” Angel says softly.
Husk doesn’t answer. He’s not quite here. His mind is probably in some bar right now, a glass of whiskey on the rocks sweating on the counter in front of him. Or maybe he’s in a cloud of cigar smoke in some casino, playing game after game of poker and draining the hours while he drains poor suckers’ bank accounts.
Either way, he’s not with Angel. Angel knows what to ask to get him back, but he also knows it’s gonna hurt.
Still, he figured out a long time ago that coming back to the here and now will always hurt like a bitch, but it’s a pain you can stand. Especially when you’ve got somebody there to sit beside you while you go through it.
He always had Husk to lean on when he was going through the agony of pouring his consciousness back into his body. Husk was there, a steady, solid presence at his side. Not taking the pain away—nobody can do that—but making sure he didn’t have to heal alone.
Now it’s Angel’s turn. So he rips the stitches out, opens the wound, and gets ready to sit next to Husk while he bleeds.
“Minnie get home okay?”
Husk’s breath stutters out of him like an old engine that doesn’t want to start back up. “Her mom just came to get her about an hour ago.”
Her mom. Not Edith. Not my ex wife. Whatever else she was to Husk, the most important thing is what she still is: Minnie’s mom.
Angel toes his shoes off by the door and walks over to Husk. Husk is too heavy to pull his chair back (and thank God for that; there’s only room for one twink in this relationship), so Angel pushes the whole table away from him. Husk makes a soft questioning sound, a curious hum in the back of his throat, and Angel answers him by plopping right down in his lap. Not sexy style, straddling him like he’s giving a lap dance. That may come later, but for now he’s side saddle, one arm draped around broad shoulders sloping down.
He could say a million things you’re supposed to say at times like this. You’ll see her soon. You're doing your best. She knows you love her. You’re a good dad.
Instead, he asks, “You miss her?”
Husk closes his eyes, and his face crumples with pain. He doesn’t cry. Not much of a cryer, his man. Not like Angel. But he knows it hurts all the same.
“Miss her even when she’s still here,” he whispers. “Sometimes it feels like she ain’t mine anymore. Like ever since the divorce, I’m not really her daddy.”
And fuck if that doesn’t stab Angel right in the heart too. He wraps both arms around Husk’s neck now, pulls him in so his head rests on Angel’s chest, strokes his hair.
“Oh, baby,” he says because it’s something to say while he figures out how the fuck to answer that one.
Husk wraps warm arms around his waist and leans into him. He tilts and resettles his head, and at first Angel doesn’t know what he’s doing, but then it hits him.
Listening to his heartbeat. Pride warms him from the inside out. That’s right, baby. I’m still here. And so are you.
“You’re a great dad,” Angel whispers. “You’re the best dad.”
He means it, he means it so fucking much, but even to his own ears it sounds hollow.
Husk stays silent. He’s too polite to tell Angel he doesn’t believe him. He will let Angel pretend his words mean something even when they’re useless.
He remembers what his therapist told him. When that voice tells you that you’re worthless, go back to the concrete proof that you’re not. Remember the things, the real things you’ve done. What you’ve accomplished.
So Angel gets up from Husk’s lap. Husk’s brow furrows in confusion as he watches Angel walk over to the refrigerator, but he doesn’t say anything.
Angel pulls a piece of paper off the fridge and slaps it down on the table like a royal flush. It’s a crayon drawing: a man with a big smile, holding hands with a little girl with her hair in two puffs on top of her head. The big yellow sun above them is smiling too. They are both holding ice cream cones (or maybe lollipops? It’s hard to be tell).
Underneath, written in careful print with a bright purple crayon, are the words I LOVE MY DADDY. The word “love” is a big, pink heart. She asked Angel to check her spelling. It was perfect. She’s so smart for a kid her age.
Angel taps his finger against the slightly crooked purple letters. “Look at this. You’re still her daddy.”
Husk’s big hand traces the edge of the drawing as if it’s made of spiderweb, might fall to pieces under his touch. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. His throat bobs as he swallows. But his eyes are still sad.
Angel reaches into Husk’s back pocket. Husk jolts in surprise. “What’re you doin?”
“Gettin’ your wallet,” he murmurs. He pulls out the worn leather wallet and thumbs through it.
Husk cocks an eyebrow and gives him an amused grin, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Y’know, if you wanted me to buy you somethin’, you just have to ask…”
Angel rolls his eyes. “Shut up, I probably got more money in my bank account than you.” He pulls out what he was looking for and sets it on the table next to the drawing, a little bronze coin.
It’s a chip. Not one of the plastic ones Husk is so familiar with, hasn’t touched in so long. This one is worth much more. It has a triangle in the middle with a big number 1.
“I don’t gotta tell you how fuckin’ hard it is to get this,” he whispers. “You know and I know how much it means. And you did it for her. Because you are a good fuckin’ dad.”
Husk looks down at the chip. The drawing. There’s a lot going on behind those eyes, and Angel could probably write it all down word for word. He knows that look, knows the cruel words that go with it. One drawing doesn’t mean shit. No little girl should have to have two houses. If I’d really loved her, I woulda done it a long time ago, before it was too late.
That last one stung a little the first time Angel heard it. Because where does “before it was too late” leave him? If Husk wishes things had worked out with Edith, does that mean…
But no. He’s past that now. Husk has a lot of things to regret, and hey, who doesn’t, but Angel is not one of them. After years of being everybody’s punching bag, guilty pleasure, side piece, toy to use and break, he is, now, somebody’s silver lining. The best thing that came out of a whole mess of heartbreak and regret.
He rubs Husk’s shoulders. “You fought like Hell for that kid. Fuck, you’re still fighting every day. She doesn’t know how hard because you’re a good fuckin’ dad who doesn’t let her see that shit.”
Angel leans close to kiss under his ear and whisper to him, looking over Husk’s shoulder at the concrete proof he’s not the piece of shit he’s afraid he is. “Maybe someday when she’s grown up she’ll understand how much you did for her. But I see it now. I know people, Husk. I know bad men. And you ain’t one of them.”
Husk is quiet a while. When he responds, it’s not with words. He turns in his seat, cups Angel’s face in both hands, and pulls him down for a tender kiss.
He kisses Angel until they’re breathless. His kisses say things his words won’t—can’t—things like you make it so I can bear it and I hate myself a little less with you around and you’re nobody’s consolation prize.
It’s okay that Husk hasn’t got the words tonight, finds it harder to tell the truth sometimes now that he’s sober. Angel knows. He can feel it in the way Husk’s lips fit with his.
When they break off, Angel rests his forehead against Husk’s. He clicks the ball of his tongue piercing against his teeth as he thinks.
Focus on the proof. Words are good. The picture, the chip, are better. But Husk and Angel both are men of action, and to chase back the despair, they need to do something.
“Baby,” Angel says. “How late d’ya think the hardware store’s open?”
Husk looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “The what?”
Angel grins. “Get up, old man. We’re goin’ shopping.”
He drags Husk to the car as if he’s half asleep—no, worse, stumbling along through the haze of his despair, despair so thick it makes you stupid, feels like you’re on the bad side of a bender or taken too much of the wrong kind of downers. But they make it there with an hour and a half before closing, which is lucky because Angel’s got a lot of shopping to do.
Husk looks bewildered as Angel swings a can of paint into the cart, and it’s the first time he appears awake enough to realize where they are.
“What are we—”
“We’re gonna do somethin’ for your girl. Because right now that room’s just a spare room, and it needs to be a little girl’s room.”
Husk swallows. “She loves purple,” he says softly.
“I know,” Angel replies, tapping the swatch of lavender paint on top of the can. “Why d’ya think I picked it?”
Husk is still quiet, following behind Angel as they walk up and down the aisles. That’s fine. Angel has never had a problem with filling other people’s silence, and he’s more than happy to chatter on about room decorating schemes and what six year old girls like and how he never got to do anything fun with his room when he was a kid, but security deposits can lick his freckled ass.
Angel grabs fairy lights and tosses them in the cart. He starts with two boxes, considers, and grabs one more.
“How many fairy lights does one house need?” Husk asks.
Angel laughs. “You can never have too many. Besides, she loves ‘em. Remember when she saw the ones in our room?”
Husk chuckles. “Fuckin’ pink fairy lights all over my bedroom,” he mutters.
“Our bedroom,” Angel corrects. “And Minnie loves ‘em, because unlike you, she’s got taste. If you had your way, the whole place’d look like some tacky ass Vegas casino.”
Husk grunts in protest. “I ain’t the one trying to turn our apartment into some college kid’s moodboard.”
Angel’s witty comeback flies right out of his mouth when he spots the perfect finishing touch. He lets out a whoop of triumph as he snags it from the shelf.
“What is this thing?” Husk asks, holding up the box Angel just shoved in his arms.
“It’s a bed canopy,” Angel replies. “You hang this part from the ceiling and then you put the curtains over it and it makes it like a princess bed. Minnie wants one.”
“How d’you know?”
“‘Cause she told me. We were watchin’ cartoons and the kid had one. She said she wanted a princess bed too.” He sees the look on Husk’s face, the guilt starting in, that voice asking, where was I? Oh, fuck that. “You were busy makin’ chocolate chip banana pancakes, which all three of us were s’posed to do together, but then you kicked us out.”
“Had no goddamn choice,” Husk replies. “Between the two a you, we weren’t gonna have any chocolate chips left for the pancakes.”
Angel shrugs. “I’m still not sorry, and I don’t think she is either.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the ghost of a smile tugging at Husk’s mouth. It’s a start.
“Gimme that,” Angel orders, taking the electric screwdriver from Husk. “You’re gonna strip the screw.”
“‘Course you’d be the expert on strippin’ and screwin’,” Husk jokes, and Angel rolls his eyes. He squints and gets the thing aligned just right, then presses the button and there we go, screw goes right in, no more of that awful grinding sound.
“My brother taught me,” he murmurs as he admires his handiwork. He drops his voice an octave and squints at Husk, pinching his fingers together and wagging his hand for emphasis. “‘You wanna be a real man, Tony, you gotta know how to fix shit in your house by yourself.’”
Husk laughs. “That’s pretty decent a him.”
“Yeah,” he says as he hops off the ladder. “He’s still annoying as shit, but he can be okay sometimes. After Pops threw his shit fit about the whole thing, Ari decided he was gonna put me through the Ragno school a becomin’ a man all by himself.”
Husk hands Angel the gauzy curtains. “Wonder what your brother’d say if he found out I don’t know shit about tools.”
Angel grins. “Beat him in a few rounds a poker and I bet he’d shut right up.”
Husk smirks and winks at him. “Baby, if he was fool enough to play me, I’d drain him dry.”
Fuck. Angel’s anything but dry now. He swallows and takes a moment to collect himself. “Right. Ladder.” His legs shake as he climbs back up to hang the curtains.
By the time they’re done, it’s like a whole new room. Gauzy white curtains make a canopy around Minnie’s bed. The walls are a soft lavender—no matter how Angel tries, he can’t get the girl to like pink as much as he does—and fairy lights twinkle in the ceiling.
“Looks like a goddamn enchanted forest,” Angel says, standing next to Husk and beaming.
Husk swallows. “Think she’ll like it?”
Angel laughs. “Baby. She’s gonna love it.”
And Angel, like always, is right.
The next time Minnie comes to visit, Angel can’t resist dropping hints and immediately pays the price when she throws a fit the whole way home.
“What do you MEAN it’s a surprise? Why can’t I have it now?”
“You gotta wait, you brat!” Angel laughs. “Your daddy worked his ass–”
“Angel,” Husk warns.
Angel grimaces. “Sorry, your daddy worked his butt off to get this surprise together for ya, and I ain’t gonna spoil it.”
“Think we both know you did mosta the work,” Husk mutters.
“C’mon, I’m tryin’ to earn you cool dad points here, babe. And you helped. You got the ladder out.”
Husk sputters, indignant. “Got the—I did more than that!” he protests.
Minnie giggles. “You said ass,” she whispers, dark eyes sparkling as she grins impishly at Angel.
“Oh now don’t repeat it, you’re gonna get me in trouble!” he wails.
Which is the worst thing to tell a six-year-old, of course. Minnie spends a good portion of the ride to the apartment yelling, “ass, ass, ass,” until Husk uses his Dad Voice and tells her no surprise if she says it again. It gets Minnie to knock it off and Angel to shift in his seat, wondering what he’d have to do to get Husk to use that voice on him.
She bursts into the apartment and whirls around, eyes wild, a jungle cat scenting fresh meat. “Where is it?” she demands.
Angel crosses his arms and leans against the wall. “Ask your daddy. He’ll show you.”
Husk scoops a squealing Minnie up in his arms and carries her to the bedroom thrown over his shoulder. Angel’s dying to see her face, but he hangs back. This isn’t his moment. It’s Husk’s.
From the bedroom, he hears a glass-shattering shriek.
Minnie probably says words. They might even be in English or some other language known to man. But she’s talking so fast, howling like a banshee, feet pounding the floor as she runs around the room, that Angel can’t make out a word of it.
When Angel finally decides it’s time to come in and check on them, he finds Minnie clinging to Husk’s legs, face buried in his stomach. “BEST DAD EVER IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD!” she bellows. Man, the kid’s got lungs.
Husk wraps his arms around her. “Angel helped,” he rasps, and aw, fuck. Angel’s almost positive he sees tears welling in those amber eyes.
She spends the whole day playing in her room, Husk and Angel with her. They stay up way past bedtime. When Angel comes back from the bathroom, he finds Husk sprawled across Minnie’s bed, face half-hidden behind filmy white curtains, mouth hanging open, fast asleep. Minnie’s curled on top of him with one arm dangling off the edge of the bed, her soft, round cheek pillowed on his chest as it rises and falls, rises and falls, with steady breaths. The fairy lights twinkle overhead, her hair escapes her pigtails in a little halo of curlicues around her head, and the whole thing looks like something out of a fantasy, the kind of daydream Angel never would have let himself believe he could have.
He tiptoes over to the bed. He pulls the covers over both of them and tucks them under Minnie’s chin, careful not to wake her. She snores softly and doesn’t stir at all. She’s left a little puddle of drool on Husk’s shirt.
Angel stands at the door and takes one last long look at them before he turns out the light and goes to bed himself.
Much later, he feels the bed dip, the solid warmth of Husk settling in behind him. The clock says it’s just past 2 AM. He feels the slight scratch of Husk’s beard as he nuzzles close to Angel’s ear.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Angel smiles and closes his eyes. He falls back asleep before he can reply.
When Minnie goes back to her mom’s two days later, Husk sees her off with a real smile this time, the kind that reaches his eyes, and Angel knows right away there won’t be another reckoning when they return to the quiet apartment. Angel’s fucked up a lot of important shit in his life, but he can tell that this time, he got it right.
That night when they go to bed, the light is back in Husk’s eyes. It’s a warm kind of glow, the kind that guided Angel when he was lost and stumbling in the dark. It’s good to see that light again.
Angel’s just finished rubbing cream into his face when he hears music drifting into the bathroom from the little bluetooth speaker he insisted they get for the bedroom. Husk takes him by the hand and leads him out of the bathroom. He guides Angel into a hold, and the two of them move together in slow revolutions around the bed.
“Hozier? Really?” Angel says with a smile. “Didn’t think you listened to anything written in the last century.”
Husk chuckles. “Shut up, kid. I know you love this one.”
“It’s ‘cause it’s true,” Angel says.
“Hm?”
“‘The rest of you, the best of you, honey, belongs to me.’”
“Is that what he’s sayin’?” Husk smiles. He guides Angel into a soft, brief kiss. “It sure as fuck does.”
“Rest of the song’s true too,” Angel adds. “Nothin’ fucks with my baby.” Not even his own head.
Husk grins. “Okay, okay. I see why you like this one.”
By the time it’s over, the dancing has turned horizontal. Husk presses him down into the bed, and their lips slide together. Angel’s fingers creep up his sides, fluttering over soft flesh, pushing up his shirt and feeling warmth under his hands.
When Husk kisses him, he doesn’t taste whiskey—just his lover’s mouth. It’s been a year, and that still feels like victory every time.
Once they’re both naked, Angel spreads his legs, but Husk shakes his head. He sprawls on the bed on his back, dark eyes looking amber in the low light as he smiles up at Angel.
“Sit on my face, baby,” Husk whispers, and Angel is only too happy to cooperate. He crawls up Husk’s body and plants his knees on either side of Husk’s head, grabs the headboard and lowers himself down until he feels the scratch of a beard against his labia, the warmth of a tongue rolling out and opening him up so he can lap at Angel’s clit.
Angel circles his hips and closes his eyes and looks down his own body to Husk beneath him. Amber eyes slide closed, long lashes curved against his cheeks, little crease between his brows as he puts everything he has into making Angel fall apart on his tongue.
Angel thought he was a master of working men’s bodies. But really, what he’s learning is that he’s a jack of all trades: he knows what works in general to get a guy to bust. Husk is the true master, knows every trick and secret of Angel’s specific body, which hitch of breath means slide fingers inside, when to open his mouth and suck on the bud of his clit until he’s trembling, and exactly where to curl his fingers and stroke, say come here, ecstacy, you’re wanted now. Summons bliss to go rushing through Angel’s veins in a way crack fucking wishes it could do.
Angel’s thighs shake so bad he thinks he might fall over and break both their necks. Thank fucking God for the headboard because Husk can’t help him; his hands are busy with more important things, like making Angel throw his head back and shout loud enough to piss off the couple on the floor above.
(Oh well. A little homemade pasta goes a long way to smoothing things out with pissed off neighbors.)
Somehow he ends up lying down on the bed, Husk’s strong hands guiding him as he trembles and shakes and comes back down to earth. He can smell the musk of his own slick on Husk’s beard as he kisses along his neck.
“You wanna sleep now?” Husk murmurs, selfless fuck that he is.
Angel snorts and shoves at his shoulder. “Fuck no. I wanna get that dick in me.”
“Real master a romance, you are,” Husk grumbles, but his hands settle on Angel’s hips as Angel moves to straddle him, thumbs rubbing circles into his thighs.
Angel grins. “Oh baby. I could be. Bello. Amore mio. La mia anima gemella.”
Husk smirks up at him. “Tesoro,” he purrs, and Angel’s eyes light up.
“You’ve been practicin’!”
Husk laughs. “It’s one fuckin’ word, don’t hafta throw me aaaaa—ah, fuck,” he chokes, hips bucking up.
Angel smirks and starts to roll his hips, grinding on Husk’s cock, which is now buried in him to the hilt. “You were saying?”
“Got no idea what I was saying,” Husk pants. “Don’t stop, babydoll.”
Angel moans at the nickname. He raises up and falls back down, starts up an undulating rhythm to the slow, smoky beat of the music.
Husk’s hands slide up his torso, over his ribs, palm sliding over the thin scar below his pec until callused fingers toy with the silver bar pierced through his nipple. Angel moans and rolls his hips.
He still dances plenty, but it’s different now. And though he’s in no hurry to admit it, sometimes he misses dancing like this: naked body shining with sweat, low lights catching on his piercings and making them glitter, rocking, undulating, feeling a man’s heated gaze on him as he rolls his hips.
Riding Husk brings back all the best parts of his old life without the hurt and demons that come with it. He is beautiful, sexy, desired, in complete control. And he’s not going home with anybody who doesn’t treat him like a fucking treasure.
Tesoro.
“Get—“
But why’s he even bother? He’s barely opened his mouth before Husk’s hand is already there, rubbing circles on his clit, knowing what Angel needs before he has the chance to ask for it himself. Angel’s breath shudders out of him, chest tight.
He looks down at Husk. The bastard is smiling, smug as he bucks up into Angel’s thrusts just right, works his clit like somebody gave him the goddamn password.
This isn’t the face of a man who hates himself. Those warm, dark eyes are full of sexy, panty-dropping confidence, not dead and defeated. Full lips tilt up in a smirk that says he’s a sex god and he goddamn knows it. He’s alive. He’s back in his own body, his own life, and he knows it’s where he belongs.
“You’re—the most amazing fucking—” Angel gasps as the head of Husk’s cock drags over a spot inside him that makes stars burst behind his eyes.
“Most amazing fucking…?” Husk prompts with that same smug, sexy smile.
“Most amazing fucking fucker,” Angel finishes. Husk raises an eyebrow at him, and he reaches out to smack his chest with a shaking hand. “Shut up, I can’t talk when your hand does the thing.”
“Ohhh,” Husk says. He pretends to consider for a moment. “You mean this thing?” He uses his thumb to pinch his clit, other fingers flicking fast over it so all Angel can do is squeal.
There’s no more banter after that. Just the soft gasps traded back and forth as they move together, the rhythm of their dance. Angel’s body clenches tight around Husk when he comes, muscles squeezing like he can hold him there forever. A gush of hot wetness is his answer, a long, low groan that rumbles from Husk’s chest like thunder.
Angel flops down beside Husk, panting hard. “Holy shit.”
Husk smirks. He turns on his side and looks at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Only then does he notice the song playing. Now that he thinks of it, it’s been playing the whole time they’ve been fucking—he was just a smidge too preoccupied to pick up on it until now.
Nothing fucks with my baby
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing
“Is that—has that been playin’ the whole time?” he asks.
Husk looks up at the ceiling, and Angel swears the smile he wears is almost bashful. “It’s a good song. Didn’t think the playlist needed another.”
“You put the same damn song on repeat and fucked me to it over and over. And it ain’t even jazz!” Angel laughs and shakes his head. “I never wanna hear you bitch about my taste in music again.”
Husk rolls over and hits a button on the speaker. The music stops, but Angel can still hear it echoing in his head.
He curls up against Husk’s side. They kiss, tired and content. Angel smiles up at him.
“I’ve known a lotta men. Enough that I feel pretty qualified to say you’re the very best of ‘em.”
Husk reaches up and strokes his fingers over the side of Angel’s face. “Wasn’t always, babydoll. But you’re sure as fuck helpin’ me get there.”