Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a Friday night, around ten pm. Men filled up every table and bar stool at Valentine in Vegas, a drink in their hands and eyes on the stage. 

Right now the opener was up there, keeping the freaks entertained and on the edge of their seats; amongst other things. A Vegas veteran was giving it her all. The man behind the bar has seen it happen so many times before. The patrons stop cheering and start getting bored when the dolls lose their sparkle. His heart stopped bleeding a long time ago, but it was always a sad sight seeing the hook peeking from the edge of the stage, ready to pounce. 

He can say with much certainty that he won’t be missing this dying star. She’d been here since before him and her words were clipped from the very first glass. 

Husk never really watched the show. He was too busy pouring drinks, occasionally making conversation with those more obviously here for a numb night more than the atmosphere, and when he had a moment of serenity, he poured himself a glass from under the rack.

 The club itself was tolerable. The bartender may be a grumpy old ass, but he made a damn good Old Fashion and hell, the dancers on stage were fine. That's all Vegas needed. Fine. You just gotta be young, shiny and able to cut a rug. Newbies and tourists come for the landmarks and regulars can’t find anywhere with less gossip than Val’s runnings. 

The pearl on stage finished her little song and dance earning a few claps from the crowds. Her face refused to drop as she looked around, eyes pleading. Love me again. It’s all I have. Please.  Husk remembered when she used to get whistles and roses thrown at her. Twas the life of a showgirl. 

She left the stage, chest still rising and dropping in a steady rhythm, hands balled. Husk would go on to pass her a hefty glass once she came out for closing. 

“Alright, everyone give another round of applause for our very own Baby Bella!”

Valentino came out, wrapped up in his furs, letting it trail behind him. He looked like he could put on a show and a half, himself. But the audience wasn’t here for him, he was merely the feeder, hunting for and supplying the goods into their grubby paws. “We do like to keep it traditional here, don’t we?” He paused, sauntering stage right. 

“Now, I’ve got a real good treat for you; Someone who will really make you all sweat tonight. Brand new to Valentines and to Vegas. I’ll tell you he’s a real doll!” 

A few heads jerked at this. It wasn’t unusual to see a pretty boy strutting around every once in a while, but it was usually for the more private crowds. Husk had seen Val bring in a lad or two, dress them up and stick them among the background, but as a main course? The guy had to be good for that. 

The band off to the side gave a steady drumbeat. “For his very first stage show, give it up for Angel Dust!” Valentino took his swift exit as the curtain rose and all at once, everyone was leaning in for a better look. Silence so loud you could hear the collective heaving.

The boy on stage was a young thing. He couldn't be much older than 25. His hair was blond, tipping on the edge of bleached, leading up to natural dark roots. He was decorated with a large pink feathered headdress, matched with a white bedazzled top and the tiniest of pink- 

Husk kept his eyes on the drinks in front of him. He didn’t want to know what heels the poor boy had been stuffed into. 

It was plain clear why the others were so taken with him. His face was caked up, smooth and glowing. He was a budding starlet, refusing to start with anything less than a bang. He’d fit in just fine with Val’s usual for now.

Angel Dust held the microphone stand in between slender fingers, eyes half lidded and pointed down. There was a united breath being held around the room, waiting to hear the divine thing speak. An experience that held everyone captive in his web. 

One smooth note. 

“Do I want you?” 

The words slipped out soft like honey, the music following. His voice was not entirely feminine, but too high to be considered anywhere near macho. Maybe a little grating in a way that was more intriguing than irritating. Angel Dust carried the stage like he owned it, walking around on air and not six inch stilettos. 

“Oh My, Honey, indeed I do,”

 He swayed down to look at one of the men in the crowd, a sculpted smile as he charged each individual word. Every smile on stage was crafted to please the audience, suck away their wallets and inflate their lust. This one was no different. He was holding their attention with an iron fist.

“I'm glad that I'm the one who found you, That's why I'm always hangin' around you,” 

 Angel came off the stage to slide his hands around men's shoulders and faces, giving them all a little taste of heaven.  They were always left hungrier, hands trailing after milky skin, desperate for more than just a touch. It gave them hope. That maybe this one could be mine. 

The star slid a hand over a bar patrons thigh, squeezing himself between the two burly men. They practically had their tongues draped across their chins. Then Angel leaned onto the glossy wood, his ass stuck out for everyone to see, and for a moment, his eyes met Husks, catching the bartender's stare. His sharp smile melted across his face in a way that almost looked natural.

 “Do I love you? Oh my! Do I? Honey, deed I do.” 

He had an accent bleeding in. It was a soft warble, an edge of mystery and realism. Brooklyn maybe, the exaggerated kind you’d see in the common plays put on by the community. 

Angel gave his hips a shake, pulling cheers from the crowd and breaking the vow of silence. One of the men must’ve touched him then because the dancer stood up very abruptly, a crack in the mask, his movements stilted, but not near enough to break the magic of the moment. He's done this before.

Husk turned away, ignoring the way the words verberated around the room, shifting every ear and dick that could hear. He missed final verses in favor of filling up emptied drinks. They’d all be very thirsty after a show like that. Husk took a long swig of his own glass. 

When it finished the place was in an uproar. The spell lifted.

 Angel Dust was joined on stage by Valentino. The man wrapped an arm around his showboy, soaking in the praise as if he’d been the one shaking his ass in men's faces like a piece of raw meat. “Yes, yes! Let's hear it for Angel Dust!”

Husk noted that he’d have to wipe the bar better tonight. 

“Come back at midnight for an extra treat from this darling star!” Valentino squeezed his shoulder and Angel Dust’s smile curled up his cheeks, gloved spindles waving like he just won pageant queen. 

 “Some show, huh?” One of the bar hogs spoke before lifting amber to his lips. 

“Sure was something.” Husk acknowledged. Never mind he’d seen fifty just like it in the past month. “You got eyes on ‘em?” He lifted his own eyes in question.

The man laughed, a broken, cough of a sound. “Hell, no. What do I look like to you?” He barked, burying his muzzle in the glass. Husk didn’t get paid enough to shove it one way or the other. “Nah, I just hope he doesn’t take a permanent spot here. If I wanted a men's club, I’d head West. A bunch of those there.” 

Husk only shrugged in response. Val brought in every helpless shit show he found on the street. Who’s to say what kind of dish he was cooking here. 

The patron continued. “You’ve ever been out to the golden grounds, Husker?”

Husk couldn’t say he had. He couldn’t say he’d been to many places outside of Vegas before.

“It’s not as good as here. It’s good if you’re looking to sell. Everyone's looking to make money there, but they don’t want you to know it.  You can’t let em know you’re hurting for cash. Bunch’a fake assholes.” 

“That right?” 

“Yeah, dirty place too. If you’re not working, looking for work or pretending to not look for work, you’re sleeping in a tent on the street. I had to for about a week. ‘Had a whole neighborhood of tents.” He shook his head, finishing his drink and gesturing for Husk to fill up again. “Don’t go unless you’re desperate and willing to kiss ass for it.”

It didn’t sound too different than Vegas actually. Husk had mostly forgotten why they were talking about this in the first place. The man was giving him advice on California despite being some years younger. 

“I’ll take your word for it, John.”

It wasn’t like he was getting out of Nevada any time soon anyways. 

***

It was nearing four am and far past the end of Husks shift. He was wiping down and kicking out the passed out bar leeches. He was ready to go home and drink himself to sleep until he had to come back in about 12 hours. 

One of the wooden stools scratched against the tile floor. One of Vals' girls coming down to stop his night for a drink. He would be here only another half hour if he was lucky. 

“A pink lady please.” That Brooklyn accent was thicker than presented on stage. 

Angel Dust sat perched at the bar, changed into something more modest, though the skin of his chest was still kissing air. He smiled, the same way he did to those suckers in the audience. Husk knew it from a glance.

A week past and everyone loved the shiny new toy. He had a poster out front and everything, his legs in large font. He was a best seller and he fucking knew it. 

Husk sighed and resigned to making the drink. This was a usual with all the girls. He never made friends or anything, but he’ll sit and listen to a poor girl cry into her drink about all of her woes, and at the end of the night, there's a reason a bar stays between him and the rest of the world. 

He slid the drink over and watched Angel suck cherries off the wooden pick. He was never off stage. Every interaction was another sell waiting to happen. He’d done the same thing two nights ago in front of some of the guys. They hung onto Angels every word, every sour note, every inch that he moved, they tracked it. They wanted a taste and Angel used that.

Husk didn’t fall for any of it. He saw the calculated way that Angel pushed his hair behind his ear or smiled through his dirty jokes and flirts. 

They’d done this dance two nights ago. It didn’t end in Angel's favor, a grunt or a sideway glance was about all Husk was willing to give a showgirl; or boy. This time it seemed the starlet was after something more, teeth set on edge with hunger.  

“You keep yourself entertained behind this bar all night?” Angel asked, leaning forward onto his elbows so that his artificially pushed up breast peeked  out, inviting. 

When Husk turned, he kept his eyes set on cleaning glassware. “I do just fine back here.” He said it plainly, maybe a little harshly. He was tired and he wasn’t tied to the strings Angel was trying to pull. 

He pouted ever so slightly. “Well, you could be more than just fine,” He said, that note of seduction laced between his words. “I can do more than just sing, you know.” And there it was, a bite of the lip and a slide of the hand over his chest. 

Husk had gotten good at reading folks in his time. He saw through everyone's bullshit, and everyone was full of bullshit these days. Even pretty boys that sell themselves through all hours of the night. 

“I’m sure you can.” Husk agreed.

“I can show you. Val doesn’t let me have any real fun up there and I know you’ve been watching me,” Angel pressed, hand reaching across the bar. “Why don’t you and I-”

“I said I’m just fine.” Husk grabbed his wrist, pushing it away with an air of dismissal. “Thanks.” And like that he was back to wiping dishes. He refused to be a pawn in some prostitutes game. He had his own vices that kept him numb. Sex was not one of them. He liked to think he had enough dignity to pump the breaks at slight alcoholism. 

He didn’t look up, but there was a knock of glass on wood and then the clicking of heels. The distance made the air breathable again. Husk took the emptied martini glass to be cleaned so he could finally go the fuck home.

Chapter Text

Anthony sat atop his boss’s lap, hands wrung into the flaps of his coat and smoothing over the creases he brought to it. Val pressed repeated apologies into his skin, biting out assurances of ‘it's fine, he's okay. No harm done, really. It didn’t even hurt.’ “Sorry” simply vibrated against his throat and rattled around in his head.

The only thing actually breaking through in Anthony’s wall of dissociation is what story he would give his father in the morning when he sees the new shiner. Last time he’d told Henroin he’d snuck out to see a girl. He got a kick in the ass for disobeying orders and a pat on the back for scoring because at least he was getting goods from a woman this time. He’s golden tonight for sneaking back in as long as no one checks between now and 6 am.

“You know I love you, right?” Val finally pulls away from the tender patch of fresh maroon to look the younger man in the eyes. “I really do, Angel.” He smiled, holding Anthony's chin, and forced him to zone back in.

That’s what he'd taken to calling him now. Angel.

He had actually called him heavenly the first time they fucked. A slip of the tongue (and hand) right on top of the desk, papers and all. ‘Said he’d must’ve been some kind of  magic sent down from the Heavens just for him.

Val didn’t coin the name Angel until he hired the boy, off the record. His club wasn’t nothing like his properties out west, but it drew in a good crowd and Angel just had such long legs and oozed charisma. He was his own spotlight in any room. ‘You’d be divine. They’d worship your touch up there, my angel.’

“You’re my everything.”

Angel became another nickname and he only heard the word ‘heavenly’ before a performance now. “I know, Val.” The older gentleman had still given him so much. A second job, gifts. Attention. Anthony went his whole life upside down, grasping for land to hold onto and then the Val roped the earth around to meet him there in a back office of a seedy dive bar.

Anthony slid a hand through Vals hair, smiling back at him and kissing him chastely. “I love you too.”

Valentino tugged on the back of his neck, deepening the kiss. “I’m gonna make you a star, you know that? I’m gonna give you everything.” His fingers dug into Angel's side in a way that was both painful and pleasurable. “Once we get you out of here. Would you like that, baby? You could be on the screen, they’d all love you out there,” He bit down on Angel's lips, pulling him closer when he jerked. “Just as much as I do. Do you want that?”

Anthony had some kind of hole in his chest to fill. An empty void of nothing, but with dreams of lights and song, it could be shaped into something else, vaguely star shaped if not an actual beating heart. “Yeah, Val, I want that. I want to get out of here, with you.”

Angel took a deep breath, sitting across from his own roughed up reflection. The splotch under his eye still hurt to touch, but it was a wonder what a little foundation could do for a guy. He’d almost laughed when it first happened. My father throws punches better than that. He had thought to himself. He could ice it tonight after Val was finished with him.

They were setting up in the other room which means Angel had a moment of isolation to look over the script. It was just some raunchy bullshit again. No one came for the award winning storyline, but still Angel found himself spilling praise after every shoot. “It’s great, Val!” “Some of your best work!” “You’re a genius!” He made himself sick.

He was playing a house maid this time, really fucking generic, and they had this other actor to play the stern boss type. Angel had noted that he had the kind of face that belonged in actual films, a sharp jawline and square chin just like a hero in his bothers old comic strips. He could definitely be taking jobs better than Val’s red room after midnight.

Sometimes Angel likes to think he had the kind of face to be in actual films too, or at least those fluffy stage musicals. Perhaps if things had been different he could be playing the leading man back in New York.

He snuck into quite a few showings with his sister in tow. First time it was Oklahoma. They were barley teens, broke and past curfew, but Henroin was  away for the weekend, someone had left the back door ajar after a smoke and it wasn’t all that hard to march backstage if you looked like you were meant to be there.

The play was fine. Looking back, Anthony has seen better, but at 13 his eyes were glued with confetti stars in his eyes. He swore that  night, he’d be up there one day, singing out as Curly McLain, and everyone would throw flowers and shout his name and he’d never look back for nothin’.

The stage lights dimmed with a harsh knock on the door, pulling Angle out of his reflection. “Out in a minute!” Never mind the script. He’d have to do some improv if it came down to it. Val wouldn’t even notice.

Valentino was in his director's chair, ordering around those on set to move things, making sure the lighting was right, camera angles needed to line up. Way too much thought and production for a line of film to get people off. “Ah there's my Angel!” He turned in his chair to look at the star in question. “We’ve been waiting, quickly, quickly, get in your place!” He shooed.

Angel leaned against the frigid tiled counter, away from the camera, a duster in his hand. His skirt rode up on the curve of his ass and his corset pierced into his chest so that it might seem he actually has a pair of well-rounded tits.

“Action!”

Angel couldn’t remember half the words, but he didn’t need to. They put on a good show for the crew. Angel and a man whose name he never caught and never will. He didn’t want to know it and when he tried to catch Angels hand after the cameras were cut, his dressing room was a safe haven.

 Valentino had another movie to play Wednesday night for the creeps of Vegas and Angel's face amongst other things would be plastered into yet another frame on the wall for all who could pay and Angel needed more foundation before tonight’s show, a thousand miles away from the Broadway strip.

***

It's been a little over a month now since Angels moved out here. Despite the distance Vegas was very similar to New York in a lot of ways. They were both bright, big and loud, but Vegas was buzzing with energy all through the night, New York was rough and drained of its luster after 12 pm. The lights were just for show and advertisement. No one actually had time in New York, always rushing and shoving. In Nevada it felt like there was nothing but time. You could sit at the same card table all night and not make a dime, but it’s okay because you’ll be back tomorrow. Time didn’t exist here. Weeks, days, hours all blurred together when you’re blind, horny and high. A never-ending downward slope for dopes. Booze, bets, drugs, sex.

Angel had to admit he missed New York, not the people in it but the familiarity. When the energy got too high in the club and he worked all week, he longed for something tangible. He used to know just the right place to get dinner when his dad passed out on the couch and they were low on funds. You just walked down to Dannie's and batted your eyes real nice, just make sure Mike doesn’t catch you on the way back out.

But Vegas, man. One moment he’s on top of the world and the next moment he’s falling with a cinderblock tied to hit gut and a perpetual hangover. This whole place is a terrifying addiction, impossible to put down.

It really is nice to feel wanted sometimes, even if it came a little harsh and he didn’t have to hide so much out here. He hated sneaking in and out of his window every night just to get to work. Worse, he hated when he spotted someone he recognized in the audience and hoped that they didn’t want anyone knowing their whereabouts as much as him. Anthony died in New York. Here, in the club, in the street, on stage, it’s just Angel Dust.

He brushed on the pink in his cheeks and adjusted the headdress into place. He was thankful to have his own dressing room here. The ladies gave him enough shit and stares as they passed backstage. God knows they'd love to corner him and chew him out right before a show. He’d expected this to an extent and he sympathizes. It wasn’t typical for a pretty boy to waltz in on heels out in the open and it probably stung a little bit to know he looked better in them than you do.

“Val wants ye out in five, Angel.” One of Valentinos minions with a clipboard called to him.

Angel waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, five!” He went about touching up his makeup, ignoring the reflection of the man lingering in the doorway, staring at the curve of his ass. A stranger from the night before, lost in a memory. The bum had smelled of cigarettes and body odor, and he fucked like a chump, but he paid kindly. That was enough.

Angel's job was very unfortunately not limited to the stage and behind cameras. In between acts the girls were expected to make themselves cozy with the guest, draw them in closer and entice them to stay. It was Angels' turn tonight. He’d had some trouble at first. People were just as handsy here as they were in New York, grabbing at his ass and stroking his hair. It took everything not to reel back and give them a real good knock out like Henroin taught him.

Angel had gotten good at it over time. He remembered the first time Val lended him to one of the skeeves back in the big city. He’d broken the guys nose and told them both to fuck right off. He hadn’t realized just how much money these fuckers paid for the gentle touch of a pretty face, and how much Val was willing to do for that kind of money. It’s a safe bet to assume Angel didn’t turn down many customers after that.

Tonight Angel made himself cozy at the bar, chatting up a greasy looking man in a brown suit. He had to be twice Angels age, smoking on a pipe, talking about just how stressed he’s been from work. “You could make me feel better, couldn’t you, dollface?” He stroked the younger man's cheek and Angel hid his cringe with a smile.

“I sure could, pumpkin.” Angel returned. He knew how to twist his words, select the right ones to get people caught up in his aura. He’d learned how to negotiate from his father too and he learned how to sweet talk from Val. Together, they made a fine pair. “I’ve been told I’m real great with my hands.” Truth. His father had slapped him on the back once when he was thirteen. Of course it was because he’d knocked the shit out of the boy down the street. Still, the compliment stands.

The man (Angel didn’t catch his name either, but he’s been calling him an asshole in his head) drew in a breath, one bulbous finger pressing against the boys bottom lip, threatening to breach. “You sing so well, I wanna know what else that mouth can do.” Angel thought he might be nauseous, but he stayed still, not a crack in his composure. “What other pretty sounds can you make for me?”

Angel reached up to grab the man's hand, only to get it away from his mouth. God knows where it’s been. “Unfortunately I still have some dancing to do tonight, but I’m sure you can catch me after.” He kept a bottle of mouthwash in his dressing room for a reason. “I’ll make it worth the wait.”

The stranger chuckled. “What a tease.” He squeezed Angel's hand, and it was rough and calloused, a blue collar.

“I have to make my own fun somehow, mister.” He grabbed his fruity drink from the bar and finished it, keeping his eyes on the customer. It was a sure trick to stir up that intimacy they craved so badly. “I assure you, you have my word.”

His word. What even was his word these days? He’d made swears to his father, pinky promises to his sister and what was it all worth? His word didn't stop him from running then. If he really wasn’t feeling it tonight he could sneak out the back like he’s used to.  The thought of putting his mouth on this fucker was sickening.

Nevertheless, by twelve his bare back was pressed to the vanity mirror in his dressing room and he crossed his fingers behind the back of a strange man that he’d never catch the name of.