#badcard

[goodtouch]

@badcard asked : ❛ keep reading , i want to see how long you last . ❜ /house ass sentence. he's making angel read his boring ass debt book

he wasn't reading it in the first place, more just flipping through the pages and letting his eyes glaze over the names inside. he vaguely recognizes some of them, names he sees on the news or overhears people whispering about, but it's mostly a lot of nobodies. he's flipping through the most recent ones ( just to check -- no one interesting in there, though ) when house spreads his legs, one hand on each knee. he isn't super eager to keep reading this shit, honestly, but this could be fun. he lets house pull him into place and pushes one free hand between his ears, holding them both still. "what, out loud? tell me what you want from me, sir." laying it on kind of thick, but he thinks they both like that.

[goodtouch]

@badcard asked : ❛  collapse .   to  break  a  bed  during  sex  with  my  muse / this from husk

angel's starting to love letting husk do all the work, especially since he is so good at it, but he's not very good at staying still yet, not with husk so easy to press back against. he arches his back instead, aiming for both a better view (for husk) and a better angle (for him). he can only assume the former (sucks that he can't see husk from this angle), but the latter has him hiding his face inside his elbow, muffling himself. he only gets to appreciate the angle for a few seconds before he hears a foreboding creak -- and then the entire bed tilts at a nice thirty-degree skew. it takes him about three seconds to register, and when he does, he shrieks, already laughing.

"stop it!" he pulls himself out from under husk to investigate. the sheer humor of the situation almost keeps him from missing husk's warmth. he hangs half off the bed, not quite ready to commit to leaving it, and squints at the wooden leg. yeah, that's definitely broken. "this is definitely broken." he rolls onto his back, arms and legs tangling up in the sheets, and beams. "husk! you're an animal. or these beds are just hella cheap. vaggie's gonna be pissed, you know. are you telling her, or am i?"

[goodtouch]

@badcard asked : There must be plenty of rich old people just waiting for you to push 'em around. / from husk

"ugh, you'd think, right?" rich old people do love spending time with angel, and he can't blame them. he's pretty enough to impress everyone else, and he's got no problems with hanging off a guy's arm and making him feel oh-so-special. the types of guys looking for angel, though, aren't too big on being pushed around. he can get away with being a brat, but not with making demands ; he supposes if they want to feel dominated, they go for someone with a little more domineering of a reputation. "nah, i gotta play nice with my boys. more money if i flutter my eyelashes and shit, you know?"

[goodtouch]

@badcard asked : [ tango dip ] a kiss shared while one partner is dipped backward :/

val had taught him how to dance. when he was alive, his family had constant parties : weddings, funerals, the five thousand different childhood celebrations. and angel had stood off to the side for all of them, watching the door and shrinking away from the neighbor boys calling him pretty, trying to charm him onto the floor. but val liked to dance, so angel learned to dance.

learned is generous. val pulled him through the steps, tugging him into place until he started catching himself, angel drunk enough that every dip left his head spinning. husk never pulls. he leans back before he moves, giving angel room to follow. his hands rest light on angel -- not tentative, not with this, but gentle enough for angel to pull away. he steps closer instead, and husk lets him. when husk goes for a dip, angel's expecting it. he braces himself against husk and leans back on his heels, balancing on sharp stilettos.

one heel slips, catching on a crack in the pavement, and husk steadies him ( there's something nice about knowing something softer than the floor is there to catch you ). the pause in motion is enough to break the tension ; angel laughs, moving his hands from their spot on husk's shoulders to curl around husk's neck, and laughs, face half-buried in husk's collarbone. he's still mid-laugh when husk shifts both their weights and tilts angel's head away from his chest.

when they kiss, his head spins.

[goodtouch]

@badcard asked : “how much did valentino pay for you?”

he wouldn't choose this type of pretty for himself. a short skirt, the shoulder-less top of the dress so tight that he can't lift his arms without threatening to spill over. the kind of outfit you plan to take off. he sits across from the house, ankles crossed, knees together ( he's high-end, vox had reminded him, and he shouldn't be offering free shows ). the house has kept his hands to himself so far. angel wishes he'd keep his thoughts to himself instead. he doesn't know what val's set his prices at for this job ( if you have to ask, you can't afford it ), but he remembers how cheap he'd been when he met val.

"i was an investment," he settles. one that this place could afford. he's been watching the bottle girls all night, counting their tips. people spend money here like it isn't real; they must really think they're about to earn it all back. they're more respectful than most places angel's played at, too, placing the tips on the girls' trays instead of their bras or waistbands, but he'd wager that's less their nature and more the way the house seems to watch the entire floor at once. "and a good one, too. why?" he traces his fingers along his neckline, head tilted back so the lights can catch on the glitter on his nails. it isn't subtle, but it draws attention to his assets. "you in the market?"

[goodtouch]

@badcard asked : "I made coffee. Thought you’d want to talk before the world comes back in." / from husk

he's gotten good at sleeping in places that aren't his. if he can avoid staying the night, he does, the sweat and doting too sticky to sit with, let alone sleep through. with husk, that was never a possibility -- he remembers husk pulling the blanket over both of them and playing with the fluff at the nape of angel's neck, asking angel questions, and angel dozing off almost mid-sentence. he'd woken up still tucked in tight, a far cry from his usual entanglements. husk didn't leave him with any time to wonder where he'd went.

husk knows how angel takes all his drinks, and coffee's no different (cream, no sugar); he closes his eyes when he drinks, focuses on the feeling of heat in his chest and taking a mental inventory. he probably looks like a mess, and probably not even a hot one. fuck, he didn't even wash his face last night. he rubs at his eyes like he's just waking up and not like he's trying to clean up the smudged eyeliner. "mm. you get up early."

[goodtouch]

@badcard asked : "don’t look away from me ."

and he totally wouldn't, if he didn’t already know exactly how husk will be staring at him, eyes shining like angel’s doing something real impressive and not…basically just lying back doing nothing.

when it comes to these situations, he's not very good at doing nothing. it isn't bad! just...different. he’s having fun, minus the part where he has no idea what husk expects him to do (lie back, do nothing, and look at him, angel guesses). his hands haven't stopped moving, trailing across the sheets and the pillows and himself. he is good at that last part, and he can tell husk likes seeing him have fun, so no one can blame him for indulging there.

he squints at husk and gets the exact look he was expecting. something twists tight in his chest, and he throws an arm over his eyes, playing up the dramatics enough to hopefully conceal the flush in his cheeks. when he feels that heat start to fade, he compromises, peeking out at husk from under the crook of his elbow. with another arm, he feels for husk’s free hand, looking for something other than his own body to clutch onto. “maybe you need to stop looking at me.”

[goodtouch]

@badcard asked : SENDER drapes their jacket over RECEIVER'S shoulders. // specifically angelhouse i beg. i imagine they're outside smoking

he doesn't get cold easy. never did, even without the layer of fluff and the drinks elevating his temperature. it helps that hell doesn't get cold often, either. on the rare days where the temperature falls, he'd sooner be cold a few minutes than to change clothes every time he gets to work, so he's dressed in his usual attire, something short and silky and hard to get a grip on. today's really cold, though, enough to make him wish he'd at least gone for the stockings. the wind goes straight through him.

the house always lights his cigarette for him, cupping his hand against the wind like angel's not got enough hands to do that on his own. he coughs after the first inhale, exhales something shaky. he doesn't even feel cold, but maybe the house reads it differently. he flinches when the coat lands on his shoulders, but the house holds him steady, his own cigarette abandoned. angel's shaky, still. "i'm good, kitty...thanks."