Touch Me, Break Me, Heal Me
Angel felt himself float, infatuated with the hope that Husk felt something, anything for him, and would continue to grant him this comfort.
Angel just wanted it to last. And it did.
Husk let him drape his arm around his shoulder and pull him into a flirty side hug. And outside on the streets or relaxing in the front lobby, Angel found that Husk’s wings began to fall over him impulsively, keeping him close and keeping the cruelness of hell away from the both of them.
It was more often than most Husk and Angel would be the last to go to sleep, mostly because Angel got back so late–yet Husk was always waiting for him when he got home. On those nights where Angel was too tired to walk up the stairs just yet, Husk would sit him down at the couches and hand him a cold glass of whiskey. They’d talk until Angel’s voice was low and tired, and real.
Or;
Angel and Husk's love language is touch. They seriously can't keep their hands to themselves and this begins to cross some boundaries, begging the question: what were they?
Could two shitty addicts perhaps be good for each other?
Or or;
Pure huskerdust fluff!!!!
