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't ya, 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 upon 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."
Then 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. Platonically or no, whateva brings ya ta my lair." Husk was still staring. "Ah shit, never 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.
Those words never really came, though he studied her with his head tilted. Then he scrambled over the boards, looking for something. When he couldn't find it, Alastor tutted and conjured a wet cloth, using it to dab the blood from her shoulder. "It was worse than you imagined?" he asked.
Leslie nodded. Her teeth began to chatter.
"Worse than-?"
"Al, please."
A pause. More sounds from the bayou; it never stopped.
"Let me tell you something," Alastor said quietly. "You know I've eaten people before, but it's a rare thing to find someone who gives themselves willingly, to that extent. For months, I've wanted that flesh of yours. It makes my mouth water. I've been crazy for it, but we had to wait until you were ready. You don't know how exciting it is, the thought of eating you, and never running out of you."
She shivered. High praise from the likes of Alastor.
"On top of that," he said, "you've been trying very hard to please me, and I do notice." Turning Leslie on her back, he parted her legs, none too forcefully, to clean off whatever was stinging her. The cloth was cold, but bearable. When he was done, she pinned her knees together, returning to the fetal position. "Leslie."
"You should've picked Kain," she said, "getting gored to death is kinda his fetish." Alastor shook his head in distaste, then lay beside her, comfortable in his nakedness. In spite of her mixed feelings, Leslie stared at his aberrant, too-slender form; she was determined to make some memories, in case she never saw him naked again. Then he proffered his hand to her, sparking green light. "Oh god," said Leslie, "not another of these…!"
"I promise you, no more teeth or claws tonight," he smiled, "either side of midnight, so we're clear. You've earned that much."
She barely hesitated before shaking on it. There seemed to be no cryptic language there, no way to work in a nasty little clause. It was easy. Still holding that hand, Alastor pulled her in to kiss her.
"Ah-ah-ah! Blood-beard!"
He wiped it off. Still the taste of it on his gums. As they made contact, Leslie felt a flash of bodily insecurity - conscious of herself, her bareness, and the sounds and movements she made. Only one way to escape it: she forgot herself, getting lost in him instead. It was strange to feel him touch her without the casual pricking of his nails, without the soft bites (or the hard ones, for that matter). Alastor too was unused to it; there was some hesitation as he raked her flesh with his fingertips... but she embraced it. She was glad for this, to be held tenderly. No more violence. He ran her ear through his hands like a magician's silks, speaking into it... "Poor girl. Poor Leslie."
"No more biting," she pleaded.
"We shook on it, didn't we?" Alastor said something else, quieter this time. Something about making them square… or making her squirm… it was hard to hear over the bayou and radio fuzz. Something about doing what she couldn't do herself. Fine, fine, fine… Leslie felt his mouth against her neck, moving down her chest, her stomach. Then she caught that metallic smell, and felt his ghostly teeth in her shoulder, and he had to calm her down.
"Don't bite me-!"
"I won't," he said, and then that key phrase of his: "Let go, darling. I've got you."
Another stab of fear as he approached her legs; another moment of reassurance. Leslie's emotions tumbled over and over like clothes in a dryer, but she tried to relax, and told him to go on. She needed him. More of this, just this. It was very slow progress, and in the end, she had to take his left hand and grip it tight. Whatever happened, the option to hurt him in kind could get her through this. She felt his tongue-tip skirting the seam between her leg and torso, and gasped stupidly. Reassurance. Kisses on her thighs. Her body tensed, waiting, wanting, as she tried to believe his promise that the danger had passed.
"May I?" he asked.
God help her… "Yes, Al."
When his wicked tongue landed, right where she wanted it, she almost snapped in two. Curses came spilling from her mouth; she reached for his antlers with her free hand. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he remembered. He remembered what she'd shown him. He felt so good, and soft, and wet. Though Leslie was locked into place, she praised his sweet restraint, then cursed under the mounting pressure.
For a while, he eased off but kept swirling - oh no - in little circles. A hitched throat sound from Alastor became a sonorous hum, and then she was really in trouble. Her leg gave a stupid little kick. Leslie came closer to the edge on that resonating buzz - thank God she was out of her mind now, truly out of it, thrilling instead of fearing. More of this, only this, I promise I'll be good… As she imagined his tongue moving low, burrowing inside, that was what tipped her over. This time it was striking, almost too much, and her body lifted and crashed, lifted and crashed.
In the midst of this, Alastor wrenched his head free of her legs. There came a grunt which was half-pain, half-something else, taking Leslie out of her pleasant throes. She sat up and saw his teeth, sunk into his right arm.
A beat of silence.
Alastor's eyes were half-closed in a sleepy-sexy kind of way. He unclamped, showed how shallow the marks were, and reached for her shin. Soothing strokes. "It's alright," he said. "Just what I felt like. It's quite alright."
She must have fainted. Exhausted, or overwhelmed… or both. When she came to, her left hand was empty. Alastor lay with his head pinned against her collar. Listening for a pulse.
He kept his word, she told herself. He didn't hurt you… but her chattering resumed. The thought of it was so, so awful. Once more he tried to settle her, kissing her, and she tasted her cunt, with some of the blood from before. Such a well-traveled tongue he had, all of a sudden.
"I could sleep," Alastor remarked. They swapped positions: him laying flat, Leslie curled beside him. "So could you, I bet."
"Here?"
No answer, but she felt a stirring in his ribs, and music played from his inner radio. The Al Bowlly record from their first meeting. Something felt wrong. Something was polluting this rosy afterglow, and that in itself was wrong. Shouldn't she be happy? Grateful that he went out of his way for her pleasure? Her mind was racing, wondering why he had to bite his arm in such a hurry. Wondering if it was deliberate, to scare her.
"Sleep," he said.
Leslie did her best to obey. She closed her eyes and focused on the barest sensations of her world: the rise and fall of Alastor's chest; the scent of his skin; the never-ending calls of myriad critters in the distance. In half an hour, she'd apologize for her nerves, he'd return her to the hotel for the rest of a sleepless night… and if she was lucky, he wouldn't think to clean the blood from her dress, or vanish what was in the pocket.
