Rabbit Blood

Chapter 47 - Well-Traveled

Angel didn't understand it; another night of promise slipped away as Husk fell, drunk and defeated, into his arms. Maybe Angel was doing something wrong.

"Hon," he started to say.

"Wait, just wait a fukken minute."

"OK."

They'd progressed from the cellar floor to Angel's room, where the lights were dimmed, gentle on Husk's eyes. Angel made every attempt to create a welcoming space, to be warm and encouraging without smothering the poor guy. Something was still the matter. For one thing, Husker was so drunk that his eyelids hung almost closed.

"Ya do want this, don'tcha, hon?"

"Sure," Husk grumbled, "I mean, yeah, of course." He buried himself in Angel's fluff, sniffing. "No fukken clue why you'd want it."

"You kiddin'? I'd walk through a hail'a bullets if it got me two minutes scratchin' ya between the ears," he said, proceeding to do so.

Husk purred - grudgingly. "Fuck off."

Angel stopped. "I mean it though."

"Look, spidey, I'm an old man. Besides, you've got a kill count in the thousands," Husk countered, sitting up. "I figured, if you ain't sick of it by now, your standards must be pretty fukken high. Higher than me." He made an unusually sober point, his sleepy eyes pointed at Angel's face, before falling on his chest all over again.

"That ain't true," Angel said. "There's more ta life than bangin', anyway." And there was - warmth, security. A peaceful night for two kindred souls. Why did he feel so fucking... poetic around this cat?

Muffled, "I can't love yer stupid ass."

Angel shrugged, faking normalcy when he felt right on the edge of everything. "Well, shit," he said, "if you don't wanna do it... guess I gotta pick up the slack."

"Ha. Pick up the slack..."

"Honest. That's enough for me." God, he was shaking. Husk noticed and dragged himself out of the fluff, and it seemed the carbonation behind his eyes was fizzing out. Those intense, beautiful eyes, burning orange at the center.

"Who are you," Husk muttered, "Dusty Springfield?"

"I don't mean it like that," Angel said. "It ain't a resentful, 'Scraps are fine, I guess' kinda thing. All I means is, I'm here. Platonic'lly or no, whateva brings ya ta my lair." Husk was still staring. "Ah shit, neva mind. Let's go back-"

Husk banged his head against Angel's, apologized, then planted a drunken smooch against his mouth. There was no real tension or finesse, but it was pretty goddamn honest.

"Holy shit," Angel said when it was over.

"Mio stupido angelo," Husk murmured, collapsing. "Uuuugh... can we sleep?" He swung one heavy leg over Angel, like Lennon once did to Yoko, and stayed there, purring.

Angel smiled so hard, it hurt. "Yeah," he said, "we can sleep."

o - o - o - o - o

Leslie was only fit to lie down, staring at the man who took a bite of her shoulder. Then she felt constrained by her dress: bunched around her, and sticky at the back, reeking of copper. It had to go, right now. She pulled it over her head and tossed the thing aside. Meanwhile, Alastor made no move to dress himself. Too hot, perhaps. Somewhere in the madness, he'd lost the monocle, or put it out of harm's way.

"A brave thing you did," he said.

Leslie rolled onto her side. "Uh-huh," she said, preparing for the lecture. He was about to accuse her of sulking, and tell her the idea was hers and she should take responsibility.