(Lil blurb I wrote based off art my friend Chauncey made me of Rosie putting Husk in a muzzle. A ridiculous scenario we joked about. Enjoy!~)
The note on Rosie's monogrammed stationery had been cordial enough, but Alastor had tossed it onto the bar without so much as a second glance.
"Dearest Alastor," he'd recited it out loud, his radio-filtered voice dripping with theatrical boredom as he poured himself a glass of something that glowed faintly ink, "I do hope you'll indulge me for an evening at the parlor. There's a matter of business I'd rather discuss in person, and you know how I adore your company."
Husk had heard the whole thing, because Alastor had made damn sure of it, leaning against the bar with that infuriating Cheshire grin while he read the letter aloud like a radio play he was narrating for a captive audience of one.
"A lovely invitation to what may have been a delightful time! There's one teensy problem; I have much more interesting and important matters to tend to today, I'm afraid." Alastor had said simply, folding the letter into a paper airplane and letting it sail across the lobby.
"Then don't go," Husk had grumbled, not looking up from the glass he was polishing.
"But Rosie is a dear, and it would be terribly rude to decline outright." Alastor's grin had widened, and Husk had felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "So you'll go in my stead."
"What? No. Absolutely fucking not."
"You'll go," Alastor had repeated, and the static in his voice had dropped to that low, warning frequency that meant the conversation was already over. "And you'll be gracious about it. Rosie is an Overlord, after all."
"Then send Niffty. She loves that creepy cannibal shit."
"Niffty is occupied." Alastor had produced a second envelope from somewhere inside his coat; pristine, sealed, and addressed to Rosie in his looping, elegant hand. "You'll deliver this and stay for the evening. Consider it part of your duties."
Husk had wanted to throw the glass at him, but knew all too well that he didn't really even have a choice. He never did with Alastor. Husk snatched the envelope, crumpled it, and stuffed it into his pocket.
"Mm." Alastor had taken a sip of his drink, eyes half-lidded with amusement. "We'll see."
Rosie's parlor sat at the heart of Cannibal Town like a jewel in a rotting crown of warm lamplight and bone-white trim, the windows glowing amber behind lace curtains that looked like they'd been stitched from spider silk. Husk had passed the butcher shops and the bakeries on the way in, each one displaying cuts of meat that were a little too humanoid for comfort, and by the time he pushed through the parlor's front door, his mood had curdled into something genuinely foul.
The bell above the door chimed like a funeral toll.
Inside, the parlor was exactly as overbearing as he'd expected, plush velvet, polished mahogany, crystal decanters catching the firelight, and everywhere the faint, cloying sweetness of something floral layered over something meaty. A gramophone in the corner played a slow, dreamy waltz that made his teeth ache.
Rosie was waiting for him at a small round table near the window, a porcelain teacup held delicately between her gloved fingers. She looked up at the sound of the bell, and her smile was warm and genuine and utterly maddening.
"Well, well," she said, her voice like honey poured over broken glass. "If it isn't the Radio Demon's errand boy. Are you going to stand in the doorway looking like a sodden raccoon all night, or come in and have a drink?"
Rosie’s parlor flooded his drunken senses with periwinkle cigarette haze, the sting of juniper, and the cloying silk of her perfume. Husk glowered and crammed his paws deeper into the pockets of his trousers.
“You know, it’s funny,” he growled, “I was under the impression I didn’t need to be here. I'm doing him a involuntary favor or whatever this is.”
Rosie’s smile flashed against the cut crystal of her highball. “But you are. Which means you want something, dear. Or perhaps,” her gaze flicked up and down his shambolic form, “someone wanted rid of you.”
“Alastor’s idea of a punishment,” Husk spat. “Shows what kind of degenerate he thinks you-”
She was on him before the next syllable could curdle. Her heels whispered over the carpet, closing the distance. She was a tall woman, and her presence shone out like a pinprick celestial body. She stopped a foot from him, those dark lips closing around the straw of her drink.
He sucked in his gut and his pride at the same time. “What, you gonna try to charm me, too?”
“Not at all,” she purred. “You’re far too bitter to sweeten.”
He bared a fang, ears flatting indignantly. But before he could snarl something clever, her left hand had seized his bowtie, gently but with a hinge of steel. She used it to steer his head downward, and her right hand caressed his jaw. Instinct nearly knocked him back a step, but her obsidian eyes held him, inviolable, like he was the most fascinating little critter ever to scuttle into her parlor.
Husk's claws quivered as he pulled the crumpled envelope from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. It skidded across the polished surface and came to rest against a saucer.
"…He's not coming. This says whatever it says. I'm leaving."
"Already?" Rosie's smile didn't waver. She picked up the envelope, smoothing it flat with her thumb before breaking the seal with one elegant nail. "But you've only just arrived. I've prepared tea."
"Then what do you want?" She unfolded the letter, and her eyes moved across Alastor's handwriting. "Because clearly you want to be somewhere else entirely, and I'm simply dying to know where that might be."
"The bar. A casino. Literally anywhere that isn't a cannibal's living room."
Rosie laughed. "Oh, you're delightful! No wonder Alastor keeps you around." She folded the letter and tucked it into the bodice of her dress, patting it once against her chest.
"Great. Message delivered. We're done."
"Ah, ah, ah! Sit down, Husk."
It wasn't a request. The warmth hadn't left her voice, but something underneath it had shifted. Husk found himself suddenly lowering into the chair across from her before he'd consciously decided to move, and the realization that he'd obeyed made his ears flatten against his skull.
"I.. don't take orders from you," he said, but the words came out weaker than he intended.
"Of course you don't." Rosie poured a second cup of tea and slid it toward him. The liquid was dark and fragrant, steaming gently. "You're here as a guest. And as my guest, you'll at least pretend to have manners for the next” she glanced at the clock on the mantel, "hour or so."
"Alastor said to make you stay the evening. I'm being generous requiring just the hour." She took a sip of her tea, watching him over the rim of the cup. "Drink."
Husk didn't touch the tea. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, fixing her with the iciest glare he could manage. "Look, lady, I don't know what game you think you're playing, but I'm not interested. Alastor can fuck right off with his little power trips, and you can-"
"Kitten." Rosie set down her teacup with a soft clink that somehow cut through every word he was about to say. Her smile had sharpened like a blade being turned in the light. "You're being very rude to your host."
"Rude? I'm being honest. There's a difference."
"Hmmm, I have an idea, dearie,” She stood quickly, sashaying toward the sideboard. Drawers rattled and Husk caught the glint of polished leather and metal.
"A muzzle, darling. Surely you've seen one before." Rosie picked it up, turning it over in her hands. "Alastor mentioned you've been having trouble with that mouth of yours. Said I was free to put you in your place, should the need arise." Her eyes lifted to his, bright and delighted. "And wouldn't you know, the need has arisen.”
“House rules, Husk. No biting.~”
Husk shoved back from the table so hard the chair legs screeched against the floor. "Fuck that. You are not putting that thing on me!"
"Darling, I'm not asking." She rose from her seat with the fluid grace of a woman who had never once been refused anything she truly wanted.
“I’m not a goddamn dog,” he bristled, but as she approached, the heat crawling up his neck said otherwise.
She regarded him with an arched brow and a sly upturn at the corner of her mouth. “I assure you, it will match the rest.” And then, without waiting for permission, she cupped his chin again, nails teasing through the scruffy fur, guiding him down so she could fit the muzzle around his snout. Her breath grazed his cheek, hot and close; the perfume turned intoxicant, thickening the air between them.
He ought to have fought. Instead he felt a switch flip in his chest; annoyance transmuting to an uncomfortable, mortifying excitement that made his tail twitch. There was a click as she fastened the buckle. He snapped his teeth at her, useless, the thick leather and cold bars holding him shut.
"Good boy.~" Rosie murmured, and the words sent an unexpectedly humiliating flush of heat straight through his chest.
“Oh, you look fetching! Would you like to see?” She swung him around, steering him to the gilded mirror. He saw himself: a grown man-cat-thing, ex-gambler, somewhat proud drunk. And now, glowering through steel and leather at some coquette in a velvet dress. His ears burned so brightly they hurt. He tried to snarl, came out with a wounded rumble that made Rosie's composure threaten to break.
“Go ahead,” she soothed, running her fingertips along the edges of his caged mouth. “I do enjoy a feisty beast.”
Husk's muffled growl climbed in pitch. He grabbed for the buckles behind his head, but his fingers were shaking too badly to find purchase, and Rosie tutted softly.
"Ah-ah. Leave it. You'll wear it until you can behave like a gentleman. And based on that little reaction, I'd say we have a ways to go." The gramophone waltz drifted through the room, and the fire crackled, and somewhere in the back of the parlor, a clock ticked with the patient, inexorable rhythm of a countdown.
"You know," she said softly, "Alastor did warn me you'd be difficult. But he also said you'd fold. Eventually." She tilted her head, studying him with that mysterious curiosity. "I think I'm beginning to see what he meant."
He gave her a look that said 'fuck you', but she only smiled wider, standing back up and stepping in so close the hem of her gown brushed his shins. He could smell her heart beating, steady and absolutely unafraid. Her hands trailed down from the muzzle to his chest again, dipping lower still as she tangled her fingers in his fur. And God help him, his cock was suddenly so uncomfortably hard, pressing against the seams of his trousers where she could see it, if she cared to look down. Which, naturally, she did.
“My, my,” Rosie cooed. “What happened to all that bravado?” She pressed her palm lightly into the bulge, just enough to make him gasp into the muzzle.
He couldn’t even insult her, teeth locked behind the bars, breath coming faster. He squirmed, which only made her arch an eyebrow and purr, “So much for being a wolf among sheep.”
He tried to twist away, but she placed a single hand to his chest, holding him in place with little more than a fingertip. The fact that he didn’t just shove her off, didn’t even try, was another humiliation. He felt it all the way down, a pulse of heat winding up his spine, making his vision blot at the edges.
Rosie’s tone dropped to a silken velvet. “You may not like it, Husk, but sometimes it’s good for a beast to have something, or someone, hold him back, hmm?” She stroked behind his ear, and the involuntary shudder that rippled through him made her eyes flare with glee. His heartrate tripled; the seconds distended.
“Shall I let you out?” she murmured in his ear, “Or is it better for you to stew a while longer?”
He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, and that was answer enough for her. Rosie stepped away, turning her back. “get comfortable, Husk,” she called over her shoulder, “Oh, and do try not to drool on the furniture.~”
What the fuck had Alastor gotten him into?
