Edged Emotions - Its_Just_Me7 - Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Angel shouldn’t be pissed. He shouldn’t. There isn’t anything to actually complain about. Not when Husk has been so nice and kind to him. Not when Husk doesn’t even hold Angel’s hand without consent. But there’s only so much Angel can take, there’s only so much patience he has. Especially for a demon like Husk.

Husk, who stays up until Angel comes back from the studio, even if it means faceplanting on the bar with drool pouring out of his mouth. Husk, who doesn’t look at Angel like he’s an object, but a person. Husk, who allows Angel to stumble into him and drags his lanky body up the stairs when he’s too exhausted or bruised to do it alone. Husk, who despite his grumpy “I don’t give a f*ck” attitude, softens his face and allows the smallest smile to grow when Angel needs it. Husk, who does something as simple as lean over the bar to place a delicate kiss on the top of Angel’s head as he mumbles tiredly into the counter about his day. Husk, who has been in Angel’s room but doesn’t do anything other than run his claws through Angel’s hair and wrap his arms around Angel loose enough that he isn’t trapped. Husk, who from the beginning Angel was enamored with, not because he was the first demon to straight up reject Angel, but because he didn’t allow Angel’s chain to define him like every other demon has. Husk, who right now is growling to Charlie about how it’s not his fault if a sinner is scared out of the hotel by his past as a powerful Overlord, he can’t just change his face.

Angel doesn’t particularly care about what they’re saying or how Charlie intends to fix this situation (and Angel doubts that many sinners will actually recognize Husk anyway, but he won’t point that out), but he does care about the gravelly voice Husk is using. He cares about the shifting of Husk’s wings and how his fur stands up ever so slightly in agitation. Angel peers over the couch just to watch Husk’s reactions, to watch him as he rolls his eyes and grips his bottle of alcohol so his claws just barely scrape it. Angel watches Husk and he can’t help but imagine Husk looking just like that, on top of Angel but with a teasing smirk instead of an annoyed frown. He can’t stop thinking about how much better dirty talk would sound coming from that deep voice of his, a mixture of a growl and purr escaping with the first bit of sexual intimacy between the two.

And so, here Angel is, sporting a semi and glaring at the bartender. It’s not like Husk knows what he’s doing to Angel, but it’s not that hard to get the hints Angel’s been tossing at the cat demon. Maybe Husk is taking them like all his other teasing flirtations, but Angel isn’t teasing. Not this time. No. This time, he’s desperate. He feels like he’s been getting teased and edged for over a month now, never able to reach the edge, never able to tip over.

Angel gets that Husk wants to take it slow. He understands the caution the other man is taking. And he appreciates it, really. But now, Angel is over it. He just wants to drag Husk up to his room and pounce. He wants to climb on top of him and see him naked and feel every bit of fur and skin and feather that is covering Husk’s body. Angel wants to drag his tongue down Husk’s midriff and tease him until Husk is quivering. And only then will Angel touch him where he most desires.

But that won’t happen anytime soon, apparently. And it’s pissing Angel off. It’s not like their relationship is new, or platonic, or Husk is asexual. Light pecks and chaste kisses are normal, but so are late-night makeout sessions with tongues entwining and heavy breathing. It’s just when Angel begins to shift his hips to position himself to grind down on Husk, the other demon immediately backs away, tells Angel that they should cool down, and that they’d talk about the next step “later.”

Angel wants “later” to mean “now.” He wants to get this talk over with so he can either f*ck or be f*cked by his lovely boyfriend. And if that isn’t going to happen, Angel is going to make his sexual frustration known by continuing to glare from over the couch. And he’s going to continue to be ignored. Charlie left to start a new plan to make Husk seem more welcoming or something while the man in question turned around to do something behind the bar. Angel doesn’t know what it is, but if it isn’t anything remotely sexual, he doesn’t care. So, he keeps glaring. Even if he knows Husk can’t see him.

And yet, when Husk turns around it’s with a sex on the beach, with a little umbrella, an orange wedge balanced perfectly on the rim of the glass, and two maraschino cherries. It’s Angel’s favorite drink, but not because of the flavors or alcohol, but because of the name. And because it comes with cherries. In all honesty, Angel prefers something that will get him f*cked up fast, things like shots of rum or vodka. He doesn’t like the taste, but he likes how little he has to do in order to feel the weightlessness that comes from alcohol. With Husk, though, he doesn’t mind the lack of a dizzy feeling when he stands or the absence of the burn in the back of his throat. Because he wants to remember his time with the demon. And that pisses Angel off, again. Because he’s not supposed to be going slow! He’s a p*rn star for f*ck’s sake, living life on the edge, getting f*cked and getting f*cked up.

“You gonna come here and tell me why you’re pissed or you gonna keep glaring at me like a toddler in time out?” Husk asks as he sets the gradient-ed drink down.

Angel huffs, flips his boyfriend off, but still softens his face. “I ain’t a toddler, I’m just frustrated,” he groans, dramatically flopping himself on the couch, eyes closed and arms spread wide.

“Sure, Legs,” Husk sighs and leans against the bar, chin in his palm. “What’re you frustrated about?”

Angel shakes his head, even though he knows Husk can’t see him. “You wouldn’t wanna hear it.” It’s just a mumble, half slurred in anger and frustration, but it doesn’t stop Husk from hearing it.

With a stretch and a roll of his neck, Husk makes his way over to the couch Angel is starfished on, making sure his footsteps are loud enough so he doesn’t startle the spider. “‘Kay, Angel.” His voice is softer than it was mere minutes ago, while talking with Charlie. It’s still deep and rumbly but without a hint of a growl in it.

Just his voice, closer to him, makes Angel shiver. Without the harsh tone, Angel can imagine Husk being gentle, putting Angel’s pleasure first, slow and steady, but deep enough to feel every inch. Gentle hands rubbing down Angel’s body, in the same direction as his fur, and every once in a while a light scratch from the tips of Husk’s deadly claws. Eyes meeting each other and sweet smiles exchanged. Nuzzles and sweet kisses.

It’s so easy to imagine Husk in bed, fantasizing about all different scenarios. And it really shouldn’t make Angel feel guilty that he’s thinking of his boyfriend like this, but it feels dirty, in a way. If Husk knew what Angel has been thinking about nonstop recently, he’d probably be disgusted by Angel. Maybe he’d think Angel is a whor* who can’t get enough sex from his job. Angel shouldn’t be as pent-up and needy as he is, he really should be fine. He goes to the studio and gets f*cked by so many different demons in so many different ways. But he still wants Husk. Angel doesn’t know if Husk will take it as a compliment, that Angel wants Husk like that. He doesn’t know how Husk would take it if he knew Angel is constantly imagining Husk and comparing how Husk would be to his costars. It’s gross. Husk is obviously not interested in Angel like that, or at least he hasn’t acted in interest. He gets hard, Angel knows it, but he always stops them. Maybe Husk thinks Angel is dirty. Maybe he thinks that Angel going to the studio is cheating and is disgusted by the idea that Angel allows others to use him. Maybe Val is right when he says Angel is a good-for-nothing crack whor* who doesn’t deserve anything long-term. Nothing like love. Nothing like what he feels for Husk.

Angel covers his face, mood spiraling down from frustration to sorrow. This isn’t a conversation he and Husk have to have. Angel knows he’s gross. He’s used up. He’s broken. Nothing worth Husk’s time.

But Husk sits down on the edge of the couch, just barely stopping himself from falling over with a light flap of his wings. A whisper of touch glides over one of Angel’s secondary arms which are still spread out, one up the back of the couch and the other being maneuvered from off the edge to lay next to Angel’s body.

“Alright,” Husk mumbles more to himself than to the demon he’s trying to talk to. A giggle fueled with mania echoes throughout one of the hallways, probably Niffty chasing a bug or finding a new cleaner. After a moment, when the pittering of feet can no longer be heard, Husk speaks again. “Wanna tell me what’s going through your head?”

Not a lot is going through Angel’s head, not anymore at least. He’s figured out his answer. He doesn’t need Husk to confirm it for him. And yet, “Why don’t ya’ want me?” gets blurted out without a moment's hesitation. When Angel realizes that, yes he indeed did say that, he presses his hands harder against his face. He wants to push so hard into the lids of his eyes that when he opens them, darkness and little fireflies of color dance before comprehensible vision returns.

Husk’s hand leaves Angel’s. It only makes Angel want to squirm and disappear into the scratchy and firm leather couch cushions below him. Angel can feel Husk shift awkwardly, probably prepared to run now that Angel has brought up his obvious disgust. But, he doesn’t. The only thing Husk does, is move Angel’s legs up, sit down fully on a cushion, and rest Angel’s legs across his legs. It’s comforting. This is how they watch movies and play board games Charlie drags them to and how they sit for rehabilitation lessons. It’s comforting but weird. Angel doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t know why Husk doesn’t tell him what he already knows and leaves. Angel doesn’t understand.

“Could’ya look at me, please?” Husk sounds tired, but resigned, as if he knew this conversation was coming up but would rather avoid it.

Angel releases his arms and lets one of them dangle off the couch, wrist curled awkwardly on the carpet below him. The other arm squishes between Angel’s head and the backrest. It’ll most likely end with one, or both, of his primary arms going numb and painfully tingly, but it’s something he’s used to. Intense BDSM scenes will do that to his appendages and at some point, Angel had to accept and get over the discomfort that comes with it. Unfortunately for Angel, his eyes adjust far too quickly to the lights above him. No pretty blues and pinks flash before his eyes. He should have pressed harder against his eyes.

“I need you to listen closely when I say this Angelー” Angel nods but doesn’t say anything, instead he stares at Husk’s eyebrows, “I think you’re incredibly desirable. I do want you, but justー” Husk sighs. One of his ears flicks like a gust of air hit it and his nose twitches like he can smell something of interest. Nothing more is said.

“I’m aesthetically pleasing but you don’t wanna get ya’self dirty ‘r get some sorta disease from me, then?” Angel asks. He tries to put some sort of venom into his words, but he thinks they come out weak and pathetic.

“No, no, Baby, that ain’t it,” Husk is quick to jump in. “It’s justー” another pause. Another bout of silence. Someone is entering or exiting a room based on the squeak of a hinge and the click of a latch snapping back to place as the door closes. “I don’t want you to think I’m into you for what you can do,” Husk finally says.

Angel can tell it’s a truth, but it’s not the truth. It’s an excuse, one Husk is using to escape from the conversation. And Angel isn’t afraid to call him out on it. Especially after all the bullsh*t he and Husk went through with the fake personality stuff. “That ain’t it, Husk.” Angel pushes himself into a sitting position and moves his legs from Husk’s lap. “And if you’re not gonna tell me the truth, I’m gonna leave. Find me when you’re ready to actually tell me what you think.” And with that, Angel stands up and leaves.

He goes to his room, closes his door, and curls up with Fat Nuggets. It's nothing dramatic, no slamming doors or sobs or a cat begging to be let in. It’s just Angel closing his door and petting Nuggs. Angel’s mad, don’t get him wrong, he’s pissed. He doesn’t understand why Husk doesn’t want to talk about it and why he’s acting like Angel isn’t ready. Angel has been pushing for sex with Husk for a while now. And f*ck what if Husk thinks that’s all Angel is after? Or maybe Husk is like Alastor and is against sex. Or maybe he thinks he’s genuinely right for making the decision to hold sex away from Angel, even though Angel is an adult and knows the difference between wanting something and being forced to want something. And Angel knows Husk cares about him, he knows the cat wouldn’t just up and leave him the moment they’re done. And with that, Angel can finally think clearly. He’s not the problem here, or at least he doesn’t think he is. Something is going on over on Husk’s end. And Angel just forced Husk into a conversation he didn’t want. Maybe?

“What do you think, Nuggsy?” Angel lifts the pig up to his face. “Do I bring it up again or do I apologize or do you think we’ll end up ignorin’ one another ‘cause of the awkwardness?”

Fat Nuggets doesn’t reply to Angel, not really. He just huffs out a snort of warm air, licks his nose, then presses it, all wet and cold and slightly sticky, up against Angel’s cheek.

Angel allows it with a small giggle, hums to himself as he maneuvers Nuggs back on the bed, and responds, “You’re right. Charlie does say most things can be fixed by talking. I should just do that.”

Nuggets lets out a cute little oink and rolls around in the massive pile of blankets on Angel’s unmade bed.

“You’re on fire today, Bud,” Angel says as he rubs the pig’s stomach. “I think I have been payin’ too much ‘tention to the redemption sh*t Charlie talks ‘bout. But maybe it’s a good thing.”

Fat Nuggets blinks at him and tilts his head.

“A’ight, stop hounding me, I’ll go talk to ‘im,” Angel huffs, shakes his head at himself, and moves to his door. He takes a deep breath before he leaves. He needs to stay calm, he needs to have a helpful conversation. No accusations, no yelling, Angel just needs to talk about this in a calm manner. And knowing his boyfriend, Angel assumes Husk will do the same.

Angel makes his way back down to the lobby, headed straight for the bar. Husk should still be there, considering his shift isn’t over. If he isn’t though, Angel will let him be until they see each other again. Maybe Husk needs some time to calm down, just like Angel did with his pet.

Angel’s lucky, though, and doesn’t need to deal with putting this conversation off anymore. Husk is behind the bar, grumbling to himself and aggressively wiping down the already shiny bar top. From the living room of the lobby, furthest away from the bar, almost in the kitchen, Angel can see Charlie. She looks caught between wanting to give Husk space and forcing him to talk about his issues. It’s funny, Angel thinks, how despite all her failed attempts at getting Husk to open up, Charlie never quits. It reminds Angel of his own addictions. Despite how coming down is always sh*t and he hates how he feels and how he acts, he can’t quit. Couldn’t quit? It’s a work in progress. Quitting isn’t as easy as Charlie and Vaggie think it is. Raiding Angel’s room and taking all his stashes won’t stop him from buying more when withdrawal symptoms start to kick in. He’s trying, really he is, but it’s hard, especially in Hell where drugs are everywhere and his boss has a tendency to drug him. It’s not fun, but Angel really is trying. He hopes the Hotel can see that. But maybe not. He knows Husk sees Angel’s attempts. Husk is the one who has held him when he’s shaking and shivering and sweating and throwing up and lashing out and absent from both his body and his mind when withdrawal starts. And he’s there after the fact, to comfort Angel when he crawls back sobbing and filled with guilt over returning to his vice. No judgment from the cat Sinner, just support. And maybe that’s one of the reasons Angel’s mind went from pissed to trying to figure this all out so fast: because he knows Husk. He knows there’s something more than Angel being used up.

Angel catches Charlie’s eye and waves her away, hopefully conveying that he has this and doesn’t need any prying eyes or ears. In response, Charlie nods and backs into the kitchen, where Angel can only assume Vaggie is cooking based on the Spanish curses bleeding through the door as Charlie opens it.

Finally at the bar, Angel knocks twice on the wood. It’s a tap, really, light enough to be heard, but not hard enough to startle. Still, Husk’s ears stand at attention, swiveling quickly to point in Angel’s direction, and his head snaps to follow.

“Hey, Husky,” Angel smiles softly, something making it more sorrowful than it should be. “Sorry ‘bout earlier. Let’s actually talk ‘bout it, now, yeah?”

Husk nods slowly, as if not understanding what is happening. Then, his wings flap and he stands up straighter, ready to talk, to spew anything out of his mouth. “Yeah, okay, we gotta be real now, huh?” It’s said more to himself than to Angel, but he can still hear the mumbled sentence.

Angel holds up one of his hands, indicating that he’ll start. “First o’ all: I’m sorry f’r accusin’ you of not thinkin’ I’m sexy ‘n sh*t. I know I am,” he flicks his head as if he had one of his wigs on to toss the hair to the side. Then, Angel becomes serious again, “but it ain’t fair that I used some o’ my own insecurities against ya.” Angel doesn’t know why his accent is so noticeable now. It’s really only this heavy when he’s talking to Fat Nuggets and at his most authentic. Maybe that’s the reason. Maybe he wants Husk to know he’s being genuine. “The thing is, I am getting frustrated by you co*ck blockin’ both o’ us when things start getting all hot and heavy. And whenever I ask you always say ‘later’ but later never seems to come and Husk, this may just be me being a horny p*rn star, but I want to know what gets ya going. I want to know what you like n’ what ya don’t and I want it to be real. I want cameras and work and anything other than you n’ me outta the picture. I want connection, Whiskers, n’ it seems that you don’t want that.” Angel is done. Angel has expressed why he’s hurt, he’s expressed how the lack of communication is frustrating, and now all he has to do is wait for Husk’s response.

It’s quiet. Husk is thinking, his eyebrows furrowed and his wings dropping slightly. He’s fiddling with the rag, eyes attached to it like the red dot of a laser pointer. Then, he nods, just once. “Alright, Angel,” he starts. “I get it, your frustration. I just never knew how to bring up this sorta thing outside of our moments of passion. And this conversation needs to be one had with all the blood up here,” he taps on Angel’s head with the tip of a claw.

Angel nods and mumbles, “‘Kay.”

“I want to be intimate with you, too, Kid, trust me, I do, but I also think this is something we need to have an in-depth conversation about. Sex ain’t a thing I need to keep me happy. I’ve gone without it for long enough and I can keep going without it. But if you do truly want it, then we need to talk. Because you’ve got trauma. Sexual, emotional, physical, all ‘f it. And I want to do everything possible to make sure you ain’t triggered. With you, when I’m your partner, this isn’t ever gonna be on a whim. Not ‘til we have everything sorted out.” Husk pauses, his eyes dip back to his rag and he swings it a couple of times. “There’s also the fact for me that it has been a bit. I don’t want your hopes up. I want you to have a realistic idea for what’s gonna happen. It ain’t gonna be pretty or easy or without fault. It’ll probably be clumsy and awkward.”

Angel grins. “I don’t care how f*cking messy it is, I just want you. We have time to get it right, to get to know how we work and how we work together.”

Husk’s grouchy facade lets up a little and he nods ever so slightly.

“If we talk about it now, do you think sex’ll be on the table for tonight?”

“I don’tー”

“Or wait! How ‘bout we take things slow? Not sex but like… At least gettin’ naked n some heavy petting?” Angel’s eyes are wide, he knows he looks good and pretty and beg-y. But he also knows that it’s real. He’s not playing it up for the cameras or for a client. He’s being himself for his boyfriend.

“Alright, Legs. Let’s finally turn this ‘later’ to a ‘now.’”

And they do. They talk about each of their own experiences, Husk making sure Angel focuses on his consensual exploits and Angel sitting on the edge of his seat wanting to hear every detail of Husk’s sexual adventures.

***

And finally, that evening, Nuggets is locked in the bathroom with his bed, food, water, and a few toys, Husk and Angel are on Angel’s bed, deprived of cold and both awkwardly looking at each other. Angel’s hand is hovering over Husk’s arm, waiting for the go-ahead to touch him. Neither of them is hard, both too nervous for their bodies to react immediately, but they’re both interested. Their eyes are roaming each others’ bodies and saliva is building up in their mouths. It’ll be awkward and a learning experience, but Angel knows it’ll be worth it. He and Husk are sharing this moment, and really, isn’t that all both of them wanted?