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Jack Husker loved the sound of rain on city pavement, but hated the cold caress of those drops against his skin. Desert nights weren’t meant to be wet, they were meant to simmer against the skin like a dying god’s last, vengeful breaths. Suffocatingly hot, heavy, downright mean. The storm rolling through Pentagram City tonight was a cold, merciless bitch with ice on her jaws. Droplets gathered in the salt-and-pepper scruff along his cheeks, ran in thin trails down his neck. He scrubbed it away with both hands, calloused fingers working tension from old bones before fishing the office keys from his pocket.
Let the rain fall. Let it drown the alleys and wash the blood from the gutters. Let it shake loose all the rot this city hoarded in the catacombs of its underbelly. It could pour until dawn, pretend to wash the crime from those god forsaken streets, so long as it happened while he was inside.
The tarnished brass bell above the door gave a tired jingle as Husk shouldered it open. Behind him, horns blared, tires squealed through puddles, the wind wailed its lovelorn serenade. Inside, he listened to the rain beat against the window panes in a rough, bluesy rhythm, blurring the reflections of neon lights into sinful smears along the streets.
He didn’t bother with the downstairs lights. No one else would be coming tonight.
Making his way towards the old wooden stairs, he loosened his tie, ran weary hands over his face, tried to roll the adrenaline knotted tension from broad shoulders. It was over. Case closed. Travis Olwell was in police custody with a mountain of evidence stacked against him. Most importantly though, Angel was safe. It was over, but the ache, that quiet, cursed ache that had taken root deep within his chest wasn’t so easy to be done with.
He wasn’t ready for Angel to walk out of his life as abruptly as he'd stormed into it. Couldn’t imagine nights without those long, impossible legs sprawled across his sheets. Didn’t know how he’d go back to drinking alone after weeks of being ruined softly, wrecked stupid by the blond bombshell he’d tried not to care about in the first place.
The cold truth of it was though, that Angel had no reason to stay now that the case was closed. A man like that needed to exist where the sun shone almost as brightly as he did. Be a part of the world, not a silent observer in the shadows. Their nights together had been unprofessional, reckless, doomed from that first kiss. But they were the best thing Husk had tasted in years. He’d carry those memories long after everything else fell away.
Passion like that didn’t last for men like him. Nobody stayed, and he’d convinced himself he preferred it that way. Lonesome nights cloaked in smoke and shadow were better than the press of warm skin and sweetly suffocating scents of sex and perfume.
Or so he thought, until he reached the hallway and saw the soft golden spill of light pressed against the frosted glass of his office door.
His hand went instinctively to the gun at his side. Honeyed brown eyes narrowed.
Then the scent drifted out from beneath the door, coiling around him: cigarette smoke and heady, saccharine saturated perfume.
Angel.
Husk pushed the door open. And there he was, perched on the desk like an altar of sin carved from moonlight and lustful poetry. Lasciviously radiant legs crossed at the ankle, daring Husk’s eyes to travel the length of dark stockings towards a flash of bare thigh, across the fringe of lace peaking from beneath the folds of the trench coat slipping off his shoulders.
Mouth dry, Husk’s gaze shifted. Traced the line of Angel’s throat, the curve of his neck. Dips of shadows and sharply cut lines of cheap amber light pulled him closer, drowning him in pulsing heat and reckless need.
A soft, teasing hum brushed across Angel’s lips, smoke curling from the cigarette balanced between delicate fingers. “Was wonderin’ when you’d come back,” he drawled, pausing to take a long drag from his cigarette. “All work and no play…” A click of his tongue. “Makes me a very bored, very lonely boy.”
Husk’s eyes swept over the casual confidence in Angel’s posture, smoldered beneath the heat in those hazel eyes, glittering like cursed treasure in the lamplight. His eyes flicked down, caught on the split lip hidden beneath Angel’s lipstick. Lower again, to the bruises coiled around Angel’s slender wrists, evidence left by a man who’d tied him down with a vile kind of hunger.
His jaw ticked, clenching tight enough to crack teeth. He stepped closer, inhaling the clove-sweet smoke, letting it settle into his lungs, letting Angel settle into him with all the grace of a dream he didn’t deserve to be trapped within.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Husk said evenly, swallowing the gravel in his throat, letting it sink heavy and rough into his gut.
“Where should I be, then?” Angel smirked, peering up through thick, dark lashes. “Doctor cleared me. Cops got my statement.” His shrug was a far too casual gesture betrayed by the shadows in his eyes. “Pretty sure I’m exactly where I wanna be,” he added, dark temptation lacing his tone as he let the coat fall further open, flashing freckled thighs and a web of dark lace.
Husk’s arms remained at his sides, fingers clenching around his keys, letting the dull bite of metal ridges stop him from reaching out. “Case is over, Angel. That means I get paid, and you walk back outta my life.” Every word was hollow.
Smoke curled around the edges of Angel’s lips as he tilted his head back. “Maybe I ain’t ready to walk away just yet.”
“It's dangerous,” Husk started to argue, already knowing he’d put a bullet in the next creep that even looked at Angel like a fantasy wrapped in flesh. Hell, he’d help Angel hide the body of the next perv who threatened him, because the man sitting across from Husk was far more dangerous then he looked. Lethally beautiful. A poison coated kiss in sensually tempered glass.
“Danger never bothered me, Husker.” Angel leaned forward, eyes bright, a soft, breathy laugh filling the space between them. “Spent my whole life getting high on thrill. Didn’t care if it killed me.” He paused, looked at Husk, saw him the way Husk made him feel seen. “Until I met you.”
The words hit like a freight train, and Husk was tied to the damn tracks.
His brow furrowed. “You’re still shaken,” he said quietly, crouching slightly to meet Angel’s gaze. “I don’t play games that take advantage of people.”
“Who says this is a game?” Angel let one shoulder go bare, soft, freckled skin aglow in the harsh lamplight. The cigarette dangled, ignored, between his fingers.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want it, so you ain’t takin’ advantage of anything.” His manicured nails traced a slow, incendiary line along Husk’s thigh, stopping just shy of where Husk was already hardening. “Yeah, maybe you’re dangerous. But it’s safe danger.” His voice caught on a quiet breath between warm lips. “I wanna feel alive, preferably without someone tryin’ to kill me.”
Husk’s pulse jumped at the way Angel’s eyes locked on his, challenging and vulnerable at once. Drawn in, inescapable, like a moth to dancing flames. He reached up, brushed his knuckles along Angel’s thigh, then plucked the cigarette gently from his fingers. Husk breathed, inhaling the cocktail of Angel’s perfume mingling with his own spiced cologne, the cloying tang of smoke lingering between them.
“Rules,” Husk managed, voice low and rough. Dark honey over jagged stones. Angel was a tempest storm in five inch heels, the exception to every rule known to man. But Husk needed to tell himself, to believe, that he wasn’t taking something Angel wasn't truly giving. Needed to stop himself from diving in too eagerly to drown himself in something he couldn’t keep. “You push yourself too hard, try to hide any pain, and I shut this down.”
Angel’s smirk softened into a playful pout, leaning back slightly, testing Husk’s patience. “You wound me, detective,” he teased, tone playful beneath the dare in his gaze. “Ain’t that kind of masochist, at least not for free.” He winked, noticed the skepticism in Husk’s eyes, and softened. “Someone tried to take my control from me, I just want to take it back. I need ya,” His voice softened, trembling beneath the weight of honesty. “not because you want me, but because I’m choosing you.”
The tension between them was electric, humming under the murmur of pattering rain and distant engines beneath the washed out glow of the city outside his office window. Thunder rolled. Lightening lit the sky, flashing towering buildings like jagged teeth along the brief horizon. And Husk couldn’t stop himself from leaning closer, exhaling held breath and smoke between those lips that had held him captive from the moment they’d met. Sharing breath along syncing heartbeats.
“All right,” Husk whispered across Angel’s lips, tasting the waxy sweetness of his lipstick. There was no turning back, it had never been an option. “If it stops being your choice, we stop. That clear?”
“Crystal,” he whispered, breathing warm and wet against Husk’s ear. Desperate to taste the bitter whiskey and stale smoke on Husk’s lips, Angel wrapped his arms around Husk’s shoulders and pulled him close in a slow, aching embrace. “Crystal clear, detective.”
The cigarette between Husk’s fingers burned low, the dying ember singing the hair on his knuckles. He hardly noticed, had almost forgotten it entirely until Angel leaned forward to take it back. He dragged in that final breath of smoke, savoring the cold burn in his lungs, letting his head tip back, throat bared, body arching toward Husk.
“Gonna stand there and brood, detective,” he murmured, exhaling the last plume of wisping smoke towards the ceiling, “or are you gonna come over here and frisk me?”
Shadows cut sharp over Husk’s face as he shook his head with a low, humored huff. “Frisking you usually means I think you’re hidin’ something,” he said, calloused fingers drifting across Angel’s bare shoulders. They skimmed down to the buttons of Angel’s coat, tugging one loose. “You hidin’ anything I should know about?”
“Plenty,” Angel smirked, mischief smoldering within mismatched eyes. “But you already know what I keep hidden beneath my clothes.”
He did. God help him, he did, and Husk couldn’t deny how badly he wanted to worship every inch of Angel’s body. Taste it. Mark it. Wash away the memory of the man who’d tried to take it. Rage rushed through Husk’s veins, a crashing course driven by the fear of what could have been lost against the anger of how close the collision had been.
“You don’t gotta,” Angel started, voice thin as he followed Husk’s gaze to the rings of bruising around his wrists.
Husk cut him off with a touch. One hand settling warm at Angel’s knee, the other wrapping gently around his hand, skin pressed against skin. “I’m lookin’ because I care about ya,” he said, the confession heavier on his tongue than he thought it would be. “M’not mad because ya got marked up, just don’t like that someone hurt you.”
“I’m fine.” Angel swallowed hard, chest heavy, heart light at Husk’s words. Any other time he might’ve cracked a joke about how much worse he’s been through, how insignificant a few rope burns are in the grand scope of his life, but not tonight. Not with Husk. “So stop lookin’ at me like I’m part of your case report,” Angel whispered, “and look at me like I’m the same guy you’ve been fuckin’ these past few weeks.”
Heat crept into Husk’s cheeks, an eternal ember beneath the scruff of his beard. A million words gathered on his tongue, each one dying in an attempt to be spoken, leaving a wickedly dangerous smile in their wake. His hands moved, reaching for the buttons of Angel’s trench coat, hesitant at first, waiting to be told no. But Angel didn’t tense, didn’t pull away. Instead he leaned closer, gazing up at Husk through those long, darkened lashes, mouth parted in an unspoken challenge.
One by one, Husk unfastened each button, heavy hands commanding dedicated fingers. The coat folded open, sliding from Angel’s shoulders with a whisper of fabric on skin until it pooled across the desk. The sight beneath locked Husk’s breath in a choke hold he would gladly suffocate against.
Delicate webs of black and pink lace wrapped around the long lines and soft curves of Angel’s body. Sheer panties, already damp from anticipation, telling wordless stories. Dark garters clinging to the stockings stretched along those impossibly long, slender legs. Husk didn’t think he’d ever seen Angel sit as still as he was in that moment, frozen in want beneath Husk’s stare.
There had been nights since they met when Husk had stared at Angel and thought he could map constellations across the scatter of freckles along his body. Mornings when he’d sworn a corner of heaven resided in the space between his thighs. Staring at him now, silhouetted by the flashes of lightning and neon glow outside the window, Husk couldn’t help but believe it criminal, how fucking beautiful Angel was. How deceptively divine he looked sculpted in the warm, amber glow of the lamplight and the sharp shadows it cut across his features.
Husk brushed the back of his knuckles along Angel’s jaw, tracing the lines where light met shadow. Large hands drifted down, caressed the crescent scars on his chest, down his arms, thumbs skimming the bruised rings around Angel’s wrists. Husk leaned forward, bowing his head to brush warm lips over the watercolor splotches staining Angel’s skin.
Angel’s breath shuddered, thighs falling wider apart without thought. Tender didn’t come from men like Husk. Gruff, world weary, hardened by the whiskey and violence of a city that didn’t love anyone the way they loved it. Every time they’ve been together, Angel had prepared himself for rough, for the kind of man that always hid beneath the masks he’d grown accustomed to watching fall. But Husk’s touch had always been gentle, only ever as rough as Angel invited him to be. Perfectly mean without cruel intent.
“Like what you see, detective?” He crooned, pretending he wasn’t diving deep into the lust glowing in Husk’s eyes. He was diving deep, drowning without fear.
“I see trouble,” Husk murmured, fingers sliding around Angel’s waist, thumbs dragging slowly over lace. “Plenty of it.”
“Then avert your eyes,” Angel mock-scolded, laughter lit beneath the words. Slender fingers trailed over the length of Husk’s suspenders, sliding them off broad shoulders.
“You’re the one who walked in here half-dressed,” Husk growled against Angel’s neck, giving him a playful nip that earned a quiet gasp. “Can’t blame me for noticing unlawful intent.”
“Maybe I wanted you to notice.” He breathed, a softly whined dare for Husk to keep looking. He loved the feeling of Husk’s eyes on him, the weight of his adoration, the way Husk’s warmth soaked into his fingertips as he started undoing the buttons of Husk’s shirt.
“Angel,” Husk warned, breath already going ragged. Shivers raced beneath his skin, an electric pulse that left him momentarily stupefied.
“What?” Angel replied, feigning innocence. His hand drifted lower, to Husk’s waistband. “We’re just talkin’.”
“Isn’t the words I’m worried about.” Husk breathed through teeth sinking into his lower lip. Angel’s nails skimmed down through the hair of his chest, hooking into the waist of his trousers, pulling him closer.
He wanted to taste Angel’s smile, feel his composure crumble. Go back to a few days ago, before the weight of the future had begun to settle heavy on his chest. Without a reason to stay, Angel would leave, and Husk had never felt more lost than he did acknowledging that.
Husk’s gaze fell to Angel’s mouth; the injury masked in makeup, the ever present smile that had turned his darkened nights into twilight reveries, and felt his chest tighten. He lifted Angel’s chin, brushing a thumb along his lower lip, feeling the crack of split skin.
Magnetic, inescapably doomed, darkly blessed. Didn’t much matter what set of words flashed neon bright across his mind as he leaned in to kiss Angel again, mouth gentle against the wound.
“Careful, baby,” It wasn’t Angel’s hands that called him closer, it was his eyes. His smile. Everything about him. “I’m tryin’ real hard to be good,” Husk whispered, forehead pressed to Angel’s. “But you’re makin’ that damn difficult.”
“Good is overrated.” Angel slid his hand down over his thigh, drawing out the motion like a striptease in miniature. He paused, let his head fall back while he traced taunting lines against the growing dampness between his legs before his fingers disappeared into his knee-high boot. “Besides, I know what I’m doin’,” he murmured, unsheathing the knife, pressing it into Husk’s hand. “And you know you like it.”
Husk’s fingers curled around the blade's handle, though his mind went blank. The last time, it hadn’t been after Angel had been abducted. He hadn’t been hurt. “Angel…”
“Show me,” Angel whispered, guiding Husk’s hand, bringing the blade to the band of his panties. “Show me I’m safe.”
“You scare me,” Husk murmured, slipping the blade between flesh and lace, lulled by the decadent hiss of tearing fabric. Delicate cloth fell soundlessly, yet it roared in Husk’s ears. “Not this,” he continued, raising the knife, letting cool steel kiss the warm flesh stretched over Angel’s collarbone. “But how much this, how much you, matter to me.”
It was never meant to be spoken aloud. Never meant to be a confidential confession whispered between them. Husk had spent his entire career, most of his life, warning himself against getting involved with clients, against getting too close to anyone. How the hell had he let himself fall this fuckin’ hard?
Angel opened his mouth to tease him, but Husk’s lips met his first, swallowing sound, stealing his breath. And Angel let him, moaned, licked those whiskey stained lips while fisting his hands into Husk’s open shirt, holding onto him like nothing else in the world mattered anymore.
Husk inhaled the casual dominance in Angel’s pull, felt the knife grow heavier in his hand as it pressed against Angel’s skin. A shiver. A sigh. Endless legs hooked around his waist, holding him close. Angel should have felt vulnerable like that, half naked, damn near pinned to the desk with that knife close to his throat, but Husk wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Angel more relaxed. No, not relaxed. Eager. Trusting. Completely of his own will.
“Do you know,” Angel mouthed the words against the column of Husk’s throat, hand curling around Husk’s wrist before taking the knife back. It only took a breath before he pointed the tip at Husk’s chest, steady over his heart. “How easy it is to stab someone right here.”
Maybe he should have pulled back, done anything to distance himself from that blade whispering into his chest. But Husk didn't even flinch. “Nothin’ there to stab,” Husk replied softly. “You cut it out the moment you came through that door. It's yours.”
It had always been Angel’s. Right from the start. Before Husk had known it, before he could have hoped to stop it.
“Don’t say shit like that.” Angel’s throat tightened, smile tucked into the flush of his cheeks. He never wanted to stop hearing words like those. “You trust me with this?” he asked, tracing the knife lower, pressing lightly against the softer skin of Husk’s stomach.
“With everything,” Husk answered, voice rough with the honesty of the revelation. “Against my better judgment,” he added with a soft chuckle.
“Thought you were smarter than that.” Angel laughed softly, grounding himself in humor before emotion could take him down.
“So did I.” Husk closed his hand over Angel’s, over the hilt of the knife, guiding it gently away.
Angel let the knife fall to the desk with a soft clatter, grabbed Husk by the hair instead, silver-streaked dreads sliding between his fingers as he pulled their mouths together. The kiss was messy, greedy, a little more desperate then he intended. It was easy to dissolve into Husk’s heat, to crave it, chase after it while the taste of him saturated Angel’s mouth.
Husk’s fingers closed around Angel’s jaw, holding him steady, thumb stroking the fevered flush in his cheeks. His other hand curled between Angel’s thighs, parting soft heat, stroking over slick, dipping deeper into that welcoming heat.
“Don’t be gentle,” he moaned, arching into the touch, clutching at Husk’s shoulders. “Please.” His hips shook, clenching around Husk’s fingers as they slipped deeper, teasing.
“You know what you’re asking.” Husk’s mouth found his throat, teeth grazing in warning.
It wasn’t an option. No matter how they played, how heated the moment got, how roughly they craved one another, Husk would always be gentle. He wouldn’t hurt Angel beyond pleasuring him, wouldn’t take more than Angel was willing to give. There was rough, and there was mean. One thing Husk wouldn’t let himself be with Angel was mean. Lasciviously cruel though…
“Tell me how badly ya want it,” Husk growled low in his throat, fingers curling with devious precision, leaving Angel squirming against the desk. His own blood rushed when Angel clenched around him, grinding his hips in a wordless plea for more.
“Please,” Angel whimpered, face flushed, eyes heavy as the arousal coiled tighter within him. Husk’s fingertips danced around his clit, strummed, played him like a fucking violin underneath heavenly stage lights. It was torture. It was bliss. Shivers raced along his space, heat pooled low, burning bright. “Husk, please.”
His body arched, chasing Husk’s touch, demanding friction, pleading for release. Angel’s mouth continued to move, words dissolving into wrecked, needful sounds. Tipping over the edge, he bit down hard on a sudden cry, ruined in the wake of the orgasm crashing through him as he gave freely to Husk what someone else had intended to take from him.
He gave it all, biting back a scream, broken breaths a sacred whisper chanting Husk’s name as he came against the fingers drawing out every shudder.
Husk held him through each echoing shudder, fingers coaxing, guiding, prolonging the sweet unraveling until Angel collapsed forward against him.
“Fuck you,” Angel rasped, caught between a laugh and a sob, clinging to the gentle caress of fingers slipping away, leaving him throbbing, ravenous for more. “Got all dressed up, snuck in here, and ya-”
His eyes widened, unfocused, disappeared behind painted lids as Husk’s hand threaded into his hair, tugging him into a kiss that was filthy and hungry and far too intimate for how casual they were both telling themselves their attraction was. Angel gasped against him, tasting the smoke on Husk’s tongue, the low hum that vibrated within Husk’s chest, competing with the thunder outside.
Wet heat, the kind that weighed into bone like desert humidity, blew through the cavern of Husk’s lungs. Angel was a desert sun draped in sunrise splendor, an inescapable heat. The buzz that haunted every neon light along the Vegas strip. When Husk finally pulled back, his eyes caught on the amber-gold glow of the lamplight spilling across Angel’s skin, glistening with sweat. Lightning flashed against the window, carving Angel’s silhouette into something divinely unholy. For just a moment, Husk felt like he was drowning in the sight, sinking into a mirage that would vanish if he blinked or tried to reach out and touch it.
But he was touching. Holding. Husk could taste him, felt his heat, was captive to it.
Angel’s breath caught, not in fear of the man standing before him, but with the pleasure of release. A freedom he’d always known but never been allowed to wield. And when Angel slid off the desk and dropped to his knees on the tacky green carpet, it wasn’t out of fearful obligation, but of choice. His own want, a need that ran so profoundly deep he wasn't sure it could ever be filled.
“Let me make ya feel good.” It wasn’t really a question, and even if it had been, Husk wouldn’t have denied him.
Weathered hands settled back into the fine curls of Angel’s short blond hair, not to guide, but to hold. Tether himself to reality, to that moment and the man who made him feel more than simple lust. Angel’s palms slid up his thighs, fingertips brushing intent through the creases in his trousers. Then soft lips, those devil-red, sin-painted lips, traced lower, whispering a trail of teasing kisses through the coarse hair along Husk’s lower stomach while deft hands worked his trousers loose, dragging them towards the floor.
There were things Angel could have said, naughty words that people paid him to speak, empty praises that sometimes tricked clients into being gentler with him, but Angel didn’t need any of that when he was there in Husk’s office. When he knelt before Husk then, he wasn’t acting. There was no script to follow, no checklist to work through, just the honest yearning for the weight of Husk’s cock sliding across his tongue. The welcome stretch of his jaw, the annoying itch of the damned carpet grinding into his knees.
Husk’s head tilted back with a breathy groan at the warmth of Angel’s lips closing around him, sinking lower, taking all of him. His fingers tightened in Angel’s hair, and Angel hummed against him, tongue painting teasing strokes along his cock, pressing flat against throbbing veins just to feel Husk squirm the way Husk had made him. He hollowed his cheeks, commanding, refusing to let Husk set the pace for him.
“Fuckin’ Christ,” Husk stammered, hips jerking, legs feeling weak.
Angel slipped back with a wicked grin. “No you ain’t,” he teased, fingers curling around Husk’s cock, pumping him with slow strokes of his hand. He leaned forward again, gazing up at Husk through a curtain of dark lashes. The tip of his tongue circled the head of Husk’s cock, pulling salted beads of precum between mischievous lips.
“No, I’m not,” Husk echoed in a daze, hips pressing against Angel’s hands, pushing deeper, melting into the unrelenting drag of Angel’s tongue. Were he a different man, he’d have been embarrassed by the sounds Angel drew out of him, by the way he forgot how to lead, allowing himself to be wrecked. Blessed. Ruined and recreated.
“M’close,” he grunted, thrusting deeper, trembling on the edge. “Angel, I,” Nightingale curses fluttered from his lips as he pulled back, large hands lifting Angel onto the desk with hurried grace.
Those same sweat slick hands carelessly swept across the desk, scattering stacks of files onto the floor. Husk spared a single, annoyed thought to the work he’d have to do in the morning reorganizing months of violent crimes and petty misdemeanors. Old reports he hadn't bothered to file away. Closed cases. Life before Angel. Looking back on it, feeling years blur in the span of a blink, Husk wasn’t even sure what he’d been doing could have been called living.
Thinking like that could get a man killed. Letting his heart lead, giving it a say at all, Husk was a dead man breathing on the grace Angel granted him.
Husk pressed his palms to Angel’s thighs, parting legs that were already eagerly falling open. He swallowed hard, feeling every once of control he had bend to the arch in Angel’s spine as he leaned back across the desk. Bittersweet honey dripped from Angel’s pussy, leaving a puddle of liquid lust on the desk.
“C’mon, detective,” he whispered, voice dripping like the ribbon of slick shimmering in the soft glow of the lamplight.
And Husk did, slowly at first, sinking into him with a groan so deep it rattled in his throat. There was no resistance, just the caress of unadulterated paradise welcoming him deeper. Angel gasped, a soft, wrecked whimper exhaled over wet, swollen lips. Husk melted, dissolved into the heat and motion, died and was reborn between the legs curling around his waist, pulling him deeper.
“I need ya.” Angel shuddered, moaned so loud the city outside the windows fell silent. “Husk.” His teeth sank into his lip, eyes fluttering closed, body arching higher.
Husk slid in deeper, lost himself to the wet heat, the perfumed musk of their bodies, every little sound that rang too loudly in his ears as Angel begged. Whimpered. Demanded more.
“Make me feel safe,” Angel whispered, wrists crossing above his head at the desk’s edge. “Make the danger feel good.”
“For you, anything,” Maybe it was cliche, maybe those words were too soft for a man whose heart was meant to be made of stone, but Husk didn’t fucking care. “Keep those arms up, darlin,” He growled, reaching for the knife. The flat of the blade pressed against Angel’s throat, a harmless imitation of a threat that had been too real only hours before. Husk’s hand was steady, careful. So fucking careful. Husk’s other hand slipped between Angel’s legs, thumb dipping into his slick before massaging firmly gentle circles against overstimulated flesh.
“So good for me,” Husk groaned, hips rolling harder. The knife slipped from his hand as he leaned down, covering Angel’s wrists with his palm, careful not to press too hard on the bruises. “C’mon darlin’,” He breathed, voice cracking as he buried his face in Angel’s sweat-dampened hair.
Angel’s entire body tightened to the pitch of the soft whine sticking to the back of his teeth. Not yet. He wasn't ready for it to be over yet, needed this to last just a little longer. His hips snapped, chasing the sensation of Husk’s cock, clenching around it, keeping it his. Another internal stroke. A deep shudder against the fire licking beneath his skin. His fingers dug into Husk's shoulder, pale crescents forming against the dark canvas of Husk’s skin. The last shreds of his illusionary control shattered with a sharp cry pressed against Husks lips and a rush of warmth spilled from between his legs.
“Fuck, Angel,” Husk gasped, tasting the salt on Angel’s lips as he thrusted once, twice, collapsed into the heavy heat and cloying scents enveloping them. His grip on Angel’s wrists loosened, fingers combed through damp, tousled blond hair, then rested against the curve of Angel’s flushed cheek.
“I, holy fuck, Husk,” Angel slumped back, boneless, a beautiful mess of ruinous wreckage glowing against the darkness. If there had been breath left in his lungs he might have sung Husk’s praises, spoken all the pretty words lovers uttered in quiet, vulnerable moments. Instead, he let himself breath, hips rolling through the last echoes of pleasure singing through them.
Husk laughed, low and deep, still standing, unwilling to pull away just yet. “Are ya-“
“If ya fucking ask me if I’m good after making me see stars I’m gonna take ya to get your eyes checked,” Angel scolded him playfully. “Good doesn’t describe how I’m feeling right now.”
“So tell me,” Husk murmured, kissing the line of his collarbone with tender, grounding warmth. “How d’ya feel?”
Angel closed his eyes, sighing to the rhythm of every kiss along his skin. “Safe.” He answered softly. The word felt too small for the weight it carried.
“Like what almost happened tonight wasn’t real, or-” He paused, brow furrowing. It wasn’t that simple, and yet, with Husk, it felt like it could be. “Nah, it ain’t that it wasn’t real, just, it doesn’t have the power over me that he wanted it to.”
It was easy to dismiss what had almost happened, Angel was used to burying the times that almost became did. Shrugging off bad nights as occupational hazards and masking painful memories as lessons learned. It was all second nature. Getting over it all kept him in business.
Genuine safety though, was a lot harder to let himself accept. Comfort never came without a catch, kindness always hid behind an angle. The last man he’d trusted with that kind of vulnerability had twisted it into a leash. Had taken every soft, trusting part of Angel and turned it into something that could be used. Exploited.
Angel had learned the hard way not to hand over parts of himself worth breaking, thought he knew better than to trust anyone, until he met Jack Husker. Trusted the world weary detective to protect him from the consequences of his own lifestyle. Shared cigarettes and casual sex were never meant to last, but now, Angel wasn’t so sure he wanted it to fade.
For so long, he’d told himself that he wouldn’t be naive enough to let anyone else get close. Hid himself behind the belief that he was only ever going to be used, rented out. That the pieces of himself people coveted would always end up ruined or stolen. That no one would ever hold him without wanting something they didn’t deserve to take in return.
But here, basking naked in the cold neon shadows beyond the window, spread over the paperwork evidence of how fucking wretched the city was, Angel felt something he’d nearly forgotten how to feel because it had been necessary to forget. Against his conditioning, betraying everything he’d taught himself through bloodshed and pain, he wanted to give the pieces of himself he’d locked away to Husk.
No, not give. Share. Offer, not because he had to, not because it was expected or meant to be taken from him, but because Husk had earned the privilege of knowing him like no one else could. Because for the first time in years, Angel didn’t feel like prey defending itself in someone else’s shadow. He felt like a man seen for his worth, and not the price hung around his neck.
“You cold?” Husk asked, catching the tension beneath the shiver.
“No one's ever cold in Vegas,” Angel laughed, rubbing his hands along his arms, brushing the lie from mind. People got plenty cold in a city that burned with sin, but he wsn’t looking to feel the chill tonight.
Husk huffed, a smile bent along his mouth as he reached for his coat and swung it around Angel’s bare shoulders.
The gesture shouldn’t have felt intimate. It was just an old coat, a secondhand replica worn through by years of constant wear and tense nights. But the way Husk wrapped it around him, as though he were sealing warmth back into a body that had been running on adrenaline and fear for hours… it undid something in Angel. Broke through the last bolted door meant to protect himself from the world.
No one ever put clothes back on him. That just wasn’t how his fuckin’ world worked.
“Storm’s receding,” Husk said softly as he tugged his trousers on, then sank into the aged leather chair. Firm hands gently guided Angel down into his lap. How someone so small could weigh that heavily, take up all the space Husk had kept empty for years, was beyond him.
Another one’s rolling in, Angel thought, relaxing into the thick arms circling him, head rested against Husk’s shoulder. The case was solved. The day, and Angel’s ass, had been saved. Their professionally unprofessional relationship was done. But he didn't want it to be.
Tender kisses traced a path along Angel’s temple, his cheek, the edge of his jaw. Soft, hungry, but not gluttonous. Warm without the burn. It felt nice, like a familiar song played through aged speakers. Husk’s hand moved in slow strokes along his back beneath the coat, the rough pad of his thumb drawing quiet circles at the base of Angel’s spine.
“Its alright,” Husk said softly, though he wasn’t sure if he was reassuring Angel or himself.
“You probably saved my life tonight.” Angel didn’t bother with his usual lacquer of sarcasm or flirtation. Instead, he burrowed closer, fingers curling lightly in the fabric of Husk’s unbuttoned shirt. Hesitantly letting Husk’s warmth seep into parts of himself he didn’t usually let anyone else reach into.
Maybe he should have been more terrified after the abduction. Of all the what ifs and almost-could-have-beens lurking in the alleys of his memory. But all he could think about was how it had felt to have someone on his side for a change. How much it mattered that it had been Husk who’d found him. Husk, who hadn’t disregarded his worry or shrugged him off the way the precinct police had that night weeks ago when he’d first sought help. Husk, who took cash for his services instead of expecting Angel to pay in the less conventional ways he’d initially offered to.
His body unwound slowly, like a spring easing out of tension after being coiled too damn long. For once, he didn’t have to hold himself together. Didn’t need to pretend or hide behind neon armor to survive another lonely hour.
Outside, the city exhaled with them. The rain softened with the hushed rustle of a curtain closing. Traffic hissed along wet asphalt. A distant siren wailed and faded. Vegas kept breathing its smokey lullaby, life going on. But it would never be the same.
A few seconds passed before Husk’s hand stilled at Angel’s back, not pulling away, just resting. Assuring himself that Angel was really there. His tone turned quieter, chin pressed down into Angel’s hair “You scared the hell outta me tonight.”
“Not enough to chase ya off,” Angel murmured, humor trembling like a loose thread. “Don’t think I actually thanked you. For finishing the case and comin’ after me.”
“Nothing could have stopped me.” Husk brushed a thumb over Angel’s split lip. “Not just ‘cause it’s the job.”
Angel swallowed. “I know.”
And he did. Knew it better then he understood most things, and in the life he’d lived, Angel had learned to understand a helluva lot. In a city where survival meant reading people, he’d learned real quick to cut through people's intentions, reading them bone deep. He didn’t need dramatic declarations. Didn’t need flowers or promises that couldn’t be kept. He didn’t want words to voice the unspoken confession between them. He’d had enough cheap theatrics to last him a lifetime.
All he wanted now was the unsynchronized heartbeat thrumming under his ear, the quiet certainty of Husk’s arms holding him. The silent assurance that he could stay. That a closed case file wasn’t the end.
“Knew you were trouble the minute you walked into my office,” Husk murmured eventually, lips brushing Angel’s temple as he surveyed the mess; scattered papers, discarded clothing, their stretched, distorted shadows tangled across the floor. “Must be a damn fool for not wanting you to walk back out of it.”
Angel smiled into Husk’s chest, then lifted his head to kiss the curve of his jaw. “Guess that means you’ll have to make sure I can’t walk,” he teased, letting Husk’s coat fall open over his bare skin.
“Yeah,” Husk murmured into Angel’s hair, holding him a little tighter. “I guess so.”
Outside, the rain eased into a final hush. Thunder gave one last rumbling yawn across the velvet horizon. Inside the shabby, dim-lit office where everything had begun, the ending they both feared dissolved, drowned in the amber glow of the desk lamp and the half-finished whiskey bottle mirroring their reflections.