Chapter Text
“I've always liked to play with fire” - Sam Tinnesz
..~..~..
When Angel Dust stands behind the velvet curtains along the curved edges of the stage, he knows that in only a few moments this entire room will belong to him. Eyes of every imaginable shape and hue will follow his every move, captivated and hungry. There's a power in that knowledge, in knowing that nearly every one of them will be reaching towards him, wanting him. And there's no limit to the empowerment he feels in being able to deny them even just a brush against his fur. They can look all they want, they can fantasize the sweetest or most vulgar things their minds can conjure, but not a single one of them can touch him here without his consent or a very hefty donation to his bank account.
Even after thirty years of this, there's still a moment of stilled apprehension when the lights dim and the music fades. With a time eroded hint of envy, Angel watches Starina strut across the stage, collecting the bills she missed during her set with the same practiced and perfect arches of her curvaceous form. Angel’s always been unashamedly proud of his new body, he might not have those curves, but he knows how to move this form to achieve the same effect. Still though, he can’t help but admire her. She’s lovely, legs for days and wide, curved hips flecked with golden glitter. She’s perfected the art of moving her slim shoulders to extenuate breasts hardly contained in the tight bit of azure sheer fabric stretched across them and she’s grinning, that sultry, disinterested grin partially hidden beneath untamed, golden curls that drives the club's patrons wild. Natural beauty like that belongs in the Lust ring, but like every other Sinner in Hell she’s stuck here in Pride, working her ass off for a handful of crumpled bills and a chance to catch more lucrative eyes. Just like he is.
Its a struggle most of the dancers here know very well. Hooked is one of the better clubs to work, but even with its reputation its still filled with nickel and dimers stretching their funds across the long hours of the night. The job manages to pay the bills, but its sh*t for supporting bad habits and Angel knows just as well as most how expensive those habits are. He’d been reborn with those same addictions that had plagued and eventually killed him on Earth. They followed him everywhere, relentless and eternal, a constant reminder and dull craving. Leftover bills weren’t gonna be enough tonight, Angel needed to attract someone with cash to burn and he knew exactly where he might find it.
They all know who to look for in the crowd, and he’s already seated across the room in the VIP lounge. Valentino. Just the thought of that name whispering across his mind has Angel feeling pins and needles over every inch of his long, lithe form. Everyone’s been talking about him, his quick rise to Overlord and extensive searches for a particular brand of souls. Theres been an abundance of gossip about the work he’s starting at VoxTec, and, about his prowess beneath the sheets. Angel isn’t interested in selling his soul to anyone, he had enough of being owned when he was alive, but he’s got cravings that aren’t cheap to satisfy and his supply is running dangerously low. Gazing across the room, cerise eyes traveling the length of that red coat towards glowing eyes hidden behind wide, heart-shaped glasses, Angel puts on his best face.
The room goes dark, dimly lit by the small gold lights along its walls. Angel slips out from behind the curtains, masked in darkness and presses his back to the pole. Vibrant, magenta neon lights the stage as a steady beat fades in through the speakers. Breath in, breath out. His heart is already beating in tune with the rising music, drowning out every thought in his mind but one. Conquer. On this stage he is a goddess, he is in control, and he is going to work every moment to sucker these horny bastards out of whatever is left in their wallets and if he’s lucky, draw in a new customer.
Angel has long since learned the arts of stripping, some of it came naturally, the rest was learned through years of watching the other dancers. His most powerful move has always been eye contact, and he’s got eight of them. From the first step he’s got his eyes set on the tall creature across the room, flashing him his most playful, lusty glances as his upper hands run the length of the pole above his head and the lower brush over his tight, lacy top. Angel pops the first button, releasing a burst of soft fluff. Whistles and howls fill the air.
With a teasing shake of the head, Angel turns away from the room, his hands taking hold of the pole. Neon lights and glowing eyes become a haunting glow as he spins. Round and round the spider goes, where he’ll stop… Angel sings to himself before slowing, his grip firm as he arches his back into the lean. One hand traces the length of his leg before he pats himself on the ass.
Upright again, Angel moves down the rings of steps, the click of his heels load despite the pounding music. Arms cross over his chest, brushing fabric and shifting fluff before he frees the remaining two buttons. The room erupts into enthusiastic victory while he inches the top down over his squared shoulders, then down the long lengths of his arms. He knows to drag out the removal of what little he is wearing, to keep those eyes pinned to him while his hips sway. He slowly rolls his head, showing off his slender neck as he turns away from them all, glancing confidently over his shoulder, he lets the top fall into a crumpled mess at his feet.
This body was made to be admired and Angel is determined to make the most of every inch of it. He’s gotten very flexible over the years, and despite the insane length of it he easily widens his stance and bends, letting his back arch as he crawls down the length of his left leg. Warm air rounds the hen of the tiny black skirt, and he knows they can see the curve of his ass. Eat it up boys. He grins, rising just as carefully as he’d descended. Another shake of narrow hips, a slow turn of the head to graze over the eyes watching him. Angel blows a kiss to the man across the room before strutting back towards the ring of stairs to lower himself unto the middle step.
Legs pressed together; he poses with innocent mischief. Fingers dance along the thigh high boots, and he slowly starts to part his legs. More fingers curve in teasing circles through the fur of his thighs. One of the club's bouncers stops a reptilian sinner from crawling unto the stage. Once thats handled Angel leans forwards, arms puffing his fluff out, and begins the slow, sliding crawl across the stage. He tosses his head to flip the long tufts of hair away from his face. They are eating it up and their money is starting to litter the edges of the stage. Angel makes sure to give each of them their own smirking smile and batting of long lashes.
Nearing the end of the walkway, he pushes himself back onto his knees, letting himself fall into the curve of his back while he caresses himself with more force. Driven by the music now, he’s getting too far into it. Its a tricky line to walk and Angel knows that he’s crossing it as one hands pushes his skirt higher up his thigh, giving the closer sinners an intimate view of the dark underwear he’s moving his hand around. Angel closes his eyes; a deep breath dances over his lips, and he lays himself back onto the walkway. Arms rub against the surface, slowly rising over his head so that he can tease his hair. One leg stretches out, the other bends before sweeping across the stage.
Everyone is watching, they are whooping and cheering, and Angel is eating up every moment, basking in how powerful he feels illuminated by the neon lights. Glowing like a neon star, a supernova of sex appeal an adoration. There's a reason he goes on last. Why posters with his figure and name are hung outside to draw patrons into the club. This building is a lustful kingdom and he’s the f*cking queen of it all. Angel rolls onto his stomach, lifting himself ass first back onto his knees. With inhuman agility he brings himself back onto his feet and begins to shimmy out of the tiny black skirt while meeting the red gaze curiously watching him.
Angel has seen more then a few red eyes in Hell, they tend to be the norm down here, but these ones grab hold of him in a way he hasn’t felt in years. Lighting up those cute heart shaped glasses, glowing like hellfire beneath the shadow cast by the wide rim of his hat. Angel knows this guy is dangerous the moment that gaze grabs him. He’s falling into its power the same way that his own is keeping those eyes on himself. Its intoxicating. Lethally adventurous and for a moment all Angel wants to do is explore.
Valentino. f*ck that name is perfect. Angel thinks as he lets his gaze roam across the man’s body. His teeth set into his lower lip, eyes close and shoulders roll. This ones either gonna be great for business, or very bad. He tells himself while forcing himself to turn away and make his way back towards the pole. His sets coming to an end and he wants to finish strong. He needs to remain in control of the room. Climbing the poles length is easy, he’s much stronger than he looks and, and ones he’s near the top he lets himself lean back, his weight fully supported by his long, limber legs. For a moment Angel hangs there, illuminated and weightless. His hands are moving over the arching curves of his body, loving the feel of himself and how beautiful he feels. Like a trashy Angel, He laughs to himself before pulling himself upright to begin the twirling decent back towards the stage.
Flawless. He tells himself as the fading music is overpowered by applause and hollering. Angel makes his way around the stage, collecting the monetary offerings and tucking them into his garter. When he reaches the end of the walkway, he’s disappointed to see that his target is already gone. A casual glance around the room tells him that Valentino has indeed left. f*ck. The club’s owner comes over the speaker, urging the patrons to buy drinks for their favorite dancers, a fun nudge in the right direction for the club to make as much profit as possible.
The last two hours of every shift are just lap dances and shameless flirting. Its easy work and aside from some unwanted groping and sloppily delivered innuendos, there's never really much trouble. Some of the dancers follow the patrons home, either because they are themselves, sexually starved after work or to see how much more they can make. For Angel theres rarely enough incentive to go anywhere even remotely private with the horny drunks that stick around until the doors close for the night. If he wants sex, he knows Hunter will gladly deliver as long as he’s not too strung out or passed out.
When Angel gets home to their small apartment, Hunter is awake and willing, but too stoned to make the experience worth the effort he has to put in just to get off. To his surprise though, its not his roommate that Angel is thinking about as he’s thrust into. Its Valentino. Those eyes are staring back at him behind his closed eyes, burning through his mind and into his very core. Next time, he’ll make sure the overlord sticks around. The next time he’ll do better and when he does, that moth will be caught in his web and there will be groceries in the cupboards instead of unused dishes and empty drug containers.
~.~.~.~
Five days come and go before Valentino steps back into Hooked, and when he does Angel is ready. This time he’s wearing the Moth’s colors; red and black leather fit so snuggly it feels like it had to be painted onto his slender form. It seems to work though, because tonight Valentino is still sitting in the VIP lounge when Angel finishes his set and he’s grinning the sharpest, most inviting smile Angel has seen in a while. Refined and eager, not the hungry, use a guy up and ditch him look he gets from the other faces in the crowd. Angel doesn’t need his boss to tell him to make that customer happy, he’s already set on it.
Confident and beautiful, body warm beneath the club's lights and the leather he’s wriggled back into, Angel cuts across the room and slides onto the round, lavender sofa like he owns it. “Welcome back.” He purrs, inhaling the scarlet smoke surrounding the overlord. Fragrantly electric with just a hint of ashen aftertaste. Something deep within himself stirs as that scent fills his lungs.
“You’re quite the performer.” Valentino nods towards the empty stage and smiles. “Had to come back for another show.”
Angel can’t help but smile pridefully. “They save the best for last.” Something about the way Valentino chuckles fills the air with curious amusem*nt. Its not the fake, flattering laugh he’s used to getting from people and before he knows it his smile shifts from the one, he wears for customers to something more genuine, almost bashful. Get a hold of yourself, his mind whispers in a chastising tone.
When Valentino reaches towards him, Angel doesn’t flinch or shoo his hand away the way he normally might. Instead, he lets those glowing eyes hold his own as a hand brushes over his cheek, and to his own surprise Angel finds himself leaning into that gentle touch, his lips grazing across Valentino’s fingers. Oddly, the first thing he considers is how clean this man is. Hints of soap waft in alongside the cologne. His coat is clean too, that deep red feels warm and inviting beneath Angel’s hand while it runs the long length from hip towards thick, white fluff around Valentino’s neck. For someone so sharp and intimidating, everything about his so damn soft and welcoming.
“Can I buy you a drink, baby?” Valentino exhales another plume of fragrant, rosy, red smoke and gestures towards the wall length bar across the room.
“Yes, Valentino.” Angel sighs out the response, his entire being hesitant to pull away from the invisible grasp holding him. He can see the pleasure that response summons in Valentino’s smirk and once again, Angel feels like he’s in control. The web is spun, and this guy has fallen into its threads, now he just has to make sure he can keep him there.
“How long have you been in Hell?” Valentino looks around the room, carefully assessing the other dancers before bringing his gaze back to the spider sitting coyly beside him.
The question isn’t entirely unusual, though it isn’t one Angel gets very often while working. “About thirty years now.” He’s been dead almost as long as he’d been alive, and its always a strange thing to think about. “You haven’t been down here to long, have you?”
“Not very long at all.”
“Makin’ a quick name for yourself though.” Angel twirls the narrow black straw around his glass. “Theres all kinds of rumors about what yer starting at VoxTec.”
At this, Valentino chuckles, earnest amusem*nt and pride. “Just bringing a taste of home. I think it’ll do pretty well down here.”
“Oh yeah?” Angel leans against the counter, arching an inquisitive brow. “If ya don’t mind me askin’, how’d ya,” He hesitates, hoping that such a personal question won’t throw a wrench into his efforts.
“Die?” Valentino finishes for him. “Up there life was all sex, drugs and love. It was easy to get caught up in the rush and one day, I found myself at the wrong end of my own game. What about you?” He leans intimately close, making himself all that Angel can see. “I want to know all about you.”
Once again, something deep within Angel stirs and melts. No one’s ever really asked much about him. All of the dancers talk about life on Earth and Angel usually hates to admit how old he really is in comparison. He knows he doesn’t look it, but if he added all the years of both lives together, he’d be pushing sixty-three, and nothing about that feels sexy. “Overdose. Pretty much killed myself and named myself after my killer.”
“Must have taken quite a bit of strength to do that.”
He’d never really thought about it. Angel Dust just felt right, it’d been such a part of his last few years and he’d taken the name rather than wallow in self pity at what the substance had done to him. “I guess. Sounds sexy enough, and it always makes giftin’ easy because people know exactly what to give me.”
At this, Valentino quirks his own brow. “You still use?”
For a moment Angel isn’t sure if he should feel ashamed at the question. “Everyone down here brought their baggage with them. We ain’t exactly given a clean slate after death.”
“No judgment baby.” He leans back a bit and takes a long drag off his cigarette. “Vices are meant to be enjoyed and theres no better place to explore and indulge.”
“If your gonna be grounded for eternity, ya better make the most of it.” Angel finishes his drink.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Valentino grins, tossing back the remainder of his own.
~.~.~.~
Two things start to change in Angel’s life over the next few weeks. To his own pleasure, Valentino is visiting the club much more frequently and, more often than not, staying to share drinks and conversations afterwards. Angel knows the other patrons that favor him are getting restless and irritated, but he hardly cares. Val pays him for his time despite not taking advantage of anything more than his words, and thats a whole new kind of intimacy.
No one in all of Pentagram city knows as much about him as Val does now. No one has ever been so interested in who he was before he became Angel Dust. At first, Angel heavily suspected it all to be some part of a long, drawn-out game to get him into bed, but while Val has clearly shown a carnal interest in the way he looks at Angel, he hasn’t made a move more daring than the occasional gentle touch or lingering stare. He sits with some of the other dancer’s occasionally, but he never acts this way around them, and it has Angel feeling so conflicted about how Valentino sees him.
Angel doesn’t want to admit that he’s been wishing the moth man would treat him more like everyone else does just so he can stop letting his thoughts run wild. The way his heart feels lighter and heavier all at once in the overlord’s presence is exhausting and exhilarating in a way that he’s only ever felt once before, and those memories are best left hazy and buried in the human body he left behind. Angel knows that falling is dangerous, it will only hurt, and he doesn't want to do it again. Or does he?
The other big change in his afterlife revolves around his roommate with benefits, though there hasn’t been much benefit to living with Hunter lately. On the rare occasion Hunter isn’t tripping beyond the limits of time and space he’s been cold and agitated. What sex they’re managing to have has been selfish and underwhelming, and thats a far bigger issue then Angel wants to admit to because he craves touch and fulfillment to an addictive extent. Slightly more frustrating though, has been knowing that Hunter’s spending his half of the rent and other apartment budgets on more drugs and alcohol then seems healthy even for a sinner in Hell.
“Ya date?” Angel asks, tossing back another shot to wash away the annoyance of life at home. Until now they’ve talked about everything from life on Earth to where they are now, but the one thing they’ve danced around has been their love lives.
Valentino shrugs his broad shoulders. “On and off again. Vox and I are complicated. Neither of us wants something serious but we can’t always control ourselves around each other.” He smiles softly, though there’s something more predatory in the curve of his eyes. “You must have a long line of eager boyfriends.”
Angel snorts out a boisterous laugh. “One night stands and back room quickies don’t really count. I live with a guy, we f*ck occasionally, but thats all it is.” Just thinking about Hunter gets him angry again. “That dumb ass is gonna get us evicted and he’s so high he could hardly care less.”
“Is he the one who did that?” Valentino doesn’t really seem surprised as he points to the small edge of a bruise peeking out from beneath one of Angel’s long gloves.
“I gave him one to match it.” Angel shrugs, pushing away the recent fight. Up until a week or so again Hunter had never been violently physical with him, and he’d made it very clear that he wasn’t gonna sit back and take the abuse. Not from someone like that.
“I’m sure you did.” Valentino reaches into one of his pockets, pulling out a sleek, glossy business card. “If he does it again, call me.”
“I can handle myself.” Angel takes the card anyway and uses it to cut the lines of co*ke he’d prepared before stashing it into his purse. Its nice to know that someone might actually care enough to step in, but he’s more than capable of handling Hunter if he decides to lash out again. Next time, Angel will bury a bullet between those spaced-out yellow eyes and when the f*cker regenerates, it’ll be to an empty apartment.
~.~.~.~
The next time comes only a few days later. When Angel comes home after work Hunter is tearing the apartment apart in a drug fueled rage. Furniture is overturned, drawers are empty and everything they have is scattered around the room. The canine sinner is digging through Angel’s dresser, Val’s business card in one hand, Angel’s intimate belongings in the other, when Angel angrily charges into the room demanding to know whats going on.
“You f*cking him?” Hunter barks, waving the card through the air like a war banner. “Do you know what that guy is about?”
Angel looks down at the smears of white powder on the coffee table, recognizing the empty pink pouch beside it. That was his co*ke. “You’re a selfish asshole.” He snaps, directing weeks of pent-up anger in the canine’s direction. “And its none of ya business who I decide to f*ck.”
“You’re so f*cking stupid, Angel.” Hunter snorts, dropping Angel’s toys onto the floor with everything else. “He’s just trying to get into your skirt, not that its that f*cking hard to do.”
Angel’s had enough. He doesn’t need this, not from the loser he’s been living with. Sure, they’re both addicts, but at least he has some kind of control over his own addiction. “Get out.” He seethes, one hand pointing towards the door, the others on his hips.
“My names on the lease too.”
“Yeah, and you ain’t paid your half of the rent for the last two months.”
Hunter stills, something akin to shame but closer to angry annoyance in his expression. His gaze flickers to the card still held between his fingers before narrowing on Angel. “He’s getting you right where he wants you. He doesn’t care about you.”
“And you do?” Angel rolls his eyes, done with all of this. Hunter’s disinterested shrug is all it takes to finish pushing him over the edge. “Get the f*ck out.”
“Make me, you dumb bitch.” When Hunter strikes, its with the hand still clutching the card.
Angel stumbles back, tasting copper from the split in his lip and sees red. The first punch hits Hunter square in the eye, filling the room with a pained, furious howl. Before the next can land his wrist is caught, twisted to the side and used to throw him back against the wall. Angel bites back against the explosion of pain in his head, blinking away the disorientation as Hunter charges towards him. Dodging the attack is easy enough, but escaping the clawed hands tearing at his waist is harder.
“Get off,” Angel shouts, nails raking over Hunter’s arm as he’s carelessly pushed to the floor.
“Listen to me,” Hunter growls, dropping down onto Angel’s waist.
“No!” Using all four of his arms, Angel shoves Hunter off and rolls onto his knees. Another wave of pain trembles up his arm as the twisted wrist tries to support his weight. f*ck, that ones definitely sprained. A hand grabs his ankle, jerking him back down against the floor. “f*ckin’ asshole!” Angel spits a mouthful of blood onto a pile of discarded clothes.
Theres no way to describe the strange sensation Angel feels when he pulls his third set of arms from the intangible void that exists somewhere within himself. Its something he’s never really understood or cared much to delve into. Hell isn’t always logical. But it is useful for more than just an extra set of arms. Held tightly in each of his lowest hands are very deadly, loaded tommy guns and they’re pointed at Hunter’s groin and head.
“Angel?” Hunter stares down the long barrels of those guns, momentarily losing himself in the very real threat pointed in his direction. “You know what?” He scoffs, scooting back with his arms raised. “I don’t really care, he can do what he wants with you. You don’t wanna hear me out, fine.”
That sudden change leaves Angel feeling shaken, but he doesn’t let the hurt overpower the fierce ire weighing down on his trigger fingers. His wrist is throbbing and theres blood on his tongue, thats all that Angel needs to acknowledge right now.
They’re both started by the sound of the apartment door bursting open. Angel glances over his shoulder, confused yet almost relieved to see Valentino rushing across the messy living room. Hunter looks nervous for just a second before he shakes his head, a smug, condescending smirk on his lips.
“Dumb slu*t,” Hunter lifts his eyes, knowing that in just a few breaths there won’t be any air left to breath. Each of those insects wants to shut him up for different reasons and he’s rapidly coming down from the high that moments earlier might have convinced him to try and help. “You’ll find out what he really is, and when you-“
The rapid succession of bullets cuts off whatever Hunter was trying to say. Hands shaking, Angel drops the guns and watches the heavy currents of red soak into Hunter’s cloths and fur. He wants to tell Hunter that he’d warned him, he wants to believe that Hunter deserved it for attacking him, but in the moments following the gunfire Angel can only watch as the canine shakily raises his middle finger to Valentino before falling face first against the floor.
Angel is vaguely aware of the air rushing over him as Val kneels down beside him. A hand presses against his cheek, turning his face away from Hunter’s body and filling his empty vision with glowing eyes and a crooked grin. “Val?” Angel stammers, shaking his head.
“I heard shouting.” Valentino wraps his arms around Angel, pulling him against his chest.
“What?” Angel pulls back. “What are you doing here?” He doesn’t remember telling Valentino where he lived, the building maybe but not the apartment itself.
“I had to work late, didn’t make it to the club before it closed. I wanted to invite you out tomorrow night.” He says every word so casually, as if what just happened didn’t faze him at all.
The response doesn’t entirely answer his question, but right now Angel doesn’t have it in himself to question it. All of the adrenalin from a few minutes before is crashing through his system, leaving him open to all of the ache and emotional strain of whats just happened. Valentino’s words echo across his mind, drowning out any other thoughts that might try to surface. Was he really here to invite him out on a f*ckin’ date?
“You’re hurt, carino.” Valentino says softly, mindful of the bruised swelling as he takes hold of Angel’s sprained wrist. Another hand wipes the blood from his chin.
“I’m fine,” Angel looks down at the wrist, knowing that it will be mostly healed by morning. “Did ya,” He pauses, closing his eyes to refuse the rising tears any chance of breaking free. He is not going to cry right now. “Did ya just ask me out on a date?”
“I did.” Valentino lifts himself back onto his feet before helping Angel to his own. “Maybe this wasn’t the best time?”
“No,” Angel shakes his head. “Perfect timing.” He’d had the situation handled, but he still felt safer with Valentino in the room. Oddly comforted, possibly cared about, those things felt a hell of a lot better than angry, hurt and betrayed.
“That dog won’t mess with you again after that.”
Angel can smell the blood in the air as he watches it soak into the rug. “No, he won’t.” For a moment he wonders what Hunter had needed to tell him, what he’d been trying to say before he’d filled that body with bullets. When Hunter eventually recovered Angel would be gone, and if he came looking for him Angel was sure that he’d shoot him again. “I gotta get my sh*t packed.”
“We can do it together.” Valentino welcomes himself into Angel’s closet to retrieve the large suitcase leaning against the wall. “Do you have somewhere to go?”
Before Valentino can say anything else Angel assures him that he’s got it covered and starts shoving the things he needs most into the suitcase. He doesn’t need someone else to take care of him, he‘s been taking care of himself just fine for the last thirty years. When people in Hell help, they expect something in return, and Angel’s not willing to be indebted to anyone, not even Valentino. Luckily, Hunter didn’t find the plump stash of cash he’d buried under the bed. Its more than enough to get a new room somewhere and start to rebuild the supply that f*cking dog helped himself to.
Thinking about his drugs, Angel grabs his purse and moves over to the coffee table. Theres at least a single, salvageable hit spread over its surface, and he wants every bit of it for later. Opening his purse, Angel’s gaze lingers on the business card still tucked inside. Hands still before pulling it out to scrape up the leftover powder and brush it back into its little bag. Once thats handled Angel goes back into his bedroom, stepping over Hunter to find the same card still loosely held between Hunter’s fingers. He doesn’t remember being given two of them.
“Angel?” Valentino calls out, a trace of impatience in his concerned tone.
He’s aware that Val has been silently watching him pack, and he’s certain that the overlord must be bored. Angel brings himself back to his feet and turns away from his ex-roomate. He’s done here. Painting on a lazy grin, Angel steps over Hunter’s body and wraps his arms around Valentino’s shoulders. Its rare for anyone to be taller than he is, and something about that difference leaves him feeling vulnerable. “Sorry,” He murmurs, not sure why he’s apologizing.
Valentino’s grin widens. Three of his arms close around Angel’s body, holding him in a possessive embrace while the fourth tilts Angel’s head back. That first, greedy kiss tastes like blood and smoke. Its needful and rough, but Angel falls into it with everything he has. He’s been so hungry for affection, so deprived of touch and even though his on and off again is lying dead behind him, this feeling is all that matters. He’d spent the last week casting his web and now, he had Valentino securely wound within it. At least, thats what Angel tells himself as those arms continue to hold him trapped beneath Valentino’s lips.
