Chapter Text
"Oink!"
Fat Nuggets, woken by the sound of the door opening, hopped off the couch and clattered his hooves on the floor, spinning around Angel's legs. Angel, meanwhile, staring blankly, leaned one of his trembling hands on the dresser to keep himself from falling. His throat was so raw he couldn't even swallow his own spit. The white fur on the back of his thighs was matted with dried cum; his loosely tied robe threatened to fall to the floor at any sudden movement... Collapsing onto all fours, the spider let out a ragged sob, clenching his four fists, and burst into tears, his whole body shaking. Snorting in fright, Nugget climbed onto his lap...
"It's okay, little guy. Daddy just needs to... to g-get himself together..."
Get himself together, are you fucking kidding? He was literally living in Hell – and he had only himself to blame. Dust couldn't even hold himself upright anymore, so he shamefully crawled to the bathroom on all fours. Once there, he climbed into the cast-iron tub, turned the water on as hot as it would go, and sat for a long time under the pounding stream, hugging himself. Washing away someone else's bodily fluids, touches, smells – too bad you can't erase them from your memory! He scrubbed his body mercilessly, until it hurt, until tufts of fur swirled down the drain with the soapy water. But at least it got his blood flowing. At least it made him feel alive again...
Even the dressing room wasn't safe from prying eyes – a VoxTek surveillance camera hung in the corner. Luckily, Angel had long ago figured out its blind spots. Covering himself with a different robe – not the flimsy, see-through one, but a long, fluffy terry cloth one – he slipped behind the wardrobe, leaning his back against its polished surface. Through a small window, draped with pink tulle and pompous tassels, he could see the nighttime landscape of Pentagram City. Another shoot, stretching on for nearly twenty-four hours... Angel himself didn't know how he managed to keep up this brutal schedule year after year. Val never cut him any slack, dragging him in on weekends, even when he was sick... Being the most famous porn star in Hell was a heavy burden. So many sinners would kill for what Angel Dust had, and he, looking out the window at demons wandering the streets at this late hour, dreamed of being in their place... Poor, maybe, without an influential overlord, but – free! But dreams, alas, remain just dreams, and you can't undo the choices you've made. So, wiping away the unsolicited tears that had welled up again, the spider left his little sanctuary. He already knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without his favorite substances, so, with some difficulty, he sat down at the vanity and opened one of the drawers. Inside were fresh syringes, little bags of pills, tabs, and powders, a smoking pipe, and... Laying out a line on the table using his work ID, Angel threw a few hesitant glances at it. Then he couldn't resist and, momentarily putting aside his high, picked up a casino chip. Admiring its colorful facets, he tossed it in his palm, as if he was about to bet on... Suddenly, the door started to open. Startled, Angel jumped and, pasting on a sweet smile:
"V-Val!.." – with the dexterity of a magician, he tossed the chip back into the drawer and quietly closed it. - "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
That's just what he fucking needed. The boss showing up in the dressing room after a shoot – it couldn't get worse! After visits like that, Dust hated this life and himself ten times more than usual. Glancing at the powder on the table, Val chuckled:
"What, rewarding yourself for your righteous labors?" – he closed the door behind him. – "Hold off on sniffing that for a sec, Angelcakes. Come here and make your daddy happy instead..."
Every cell in his body screamed that he was, to put it mildly, exhausted for the day. The moth seemed to be in a good mood, which meant he probably wouldn't beat him – but if anyone knew how fast that mood could change, it was him. Angel walked over to his master, who was sprawled on the couch, pasting a playful smile on his face along the way. What would His Highness desire this time? Snorting, Valentino reached with his lower hands for the belt of his robe:
"What an ugly thing," – he untied it. – "Where do you even get these tasteless rags, Angie?.."
And he'd just showered... A hand with golden claws moved imperiously down his spine, all the way to his lower back. After a moment's hesitation, it went even lower – luckily, Angel had long ago learned to mask his sobs of despair so they sounded like he was enjoying it. Nuggets, squealing, sank his teeth into Valentino's flared pant leg, but without looking, Val shoved the piglet away with his foot. At least he didn't kick him across the room! Fixing the right expression on his face, Dust knelt between the boss's legs and leaned in for a kiss himself, even though everything inside him curled up with disgust. He'd endured the whole shift – well, he'd have to endure a little more. If Valentino wanted to use his mouth or his ass, he honestly never gave a shit how much it hurt...
"Fuck!" – hearing his phone chirp, Val reluctantly pulled away from his lips. – "Hello, Vox? Fuck, don't yell at me! What, is it that urgent? Fine, fine..."
And hanging up, he roughly shoved Dust aside:
"Sorry, Angelcakes, urgent business came up. We'll have our fun another time!"
"Yes, Valentino..."
For all his hatred of the smug flat-faced TV man, this time the spider could have kissed his hands and said a heartfelt "thank you" for the rescue! The door slammed, and he was alone again. Waiting a moment so as not to jinx it, he picked up his robe from the floor and put it back on. He took Nuggets in his lower hands, scratching him between his floppy pink ears, and pulled out the chip he'd been playing with before Val arrived. The cool window glass felt nice against his throbbing head. The memory of a warm paw helping him up, and those yellow cat eyes, was like a dream, too beautiful to be true... Angel Dust hated his life. He hated himself, the exhausting work in the porn industry, and Valentino made him especially sick... But maybe people never stop hoping, even in Hell? The flat chip resting in his palm inexplicably warmed his soul. He was so afraid – and yet, he craved change so much... Today, at this very second, he made a final decision. As they say, it's do or die!
***
"Welcome to the Fortune Casino!" – bowed a hostess with red skin and long, curled horns. Squaring his shoulders, Angel entered the hall, flashing his signature smile. To get a day off from that greedy bastard Val, he'd had to bounce on his dick for about three hours, but there was no other way... He'd spent hours getting ready, tearing through his whole closet before settling on a tight black dress with an open back and a small slit in the hem. His shoulders were covered by a fur stole, his hair was styled perfectly, his makeup redone about five times... Today, literally everything depended on his appearance! Angel walked slowly, deliberately swaying his hips, and caught several hungry looks directed at the part of himself he was planning to sell profitably. A fountain bubbled in the center of the hall, its bottom glittering with murky coins. The spider wasn't particularly superstitious, but he still fished a coin purse from his clutch, tossed a copper likeness of Mammon into the water, and made a wish that his crazy plan would work. After that, clicking his heels briskly, Angel reached the bar and, dropping onto a round stool, snapped his fingers:
"Martini!"
Receiving his glass on a thin stem, he crossed his legs with ostentatious nonchalance, surveying the spacious hall. There was a decently sized stage, currently closed off by brocade curtains. A lavish crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The slots of the gaming machines whirled in a frantic dance; sinners of various sorts clustered around the green baize tables – some looked like small fry, others clearly had money... And there was his target. Their eyes met by chance – Hell's most famous porn star and the owner of this establishment. A short black and white cat with wings was dressed today in a perfectly fitted pinstripe suit, leaning on a cane with a polished gold knob. Despite not having the most imposing demonic form, his squared shoulders, the set of his head, and his commanding gaze immediately made it clear that this guy was not someone to mess with...
Smiling charmingly, Angel waved at him. The cat responded to the courtesy with a scrutinizing squint and, after a moment's hesitation, headed towards him with a smooth, silent gait.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Angel Dust?" – he sat on the neighboring stool. – "Whiskey!"
Swirling the ice in his glass, he kept his intense gaze fixed on the spider. It felt a little uncomfortable, but not showing it, Angel giggled:
"Oh, just thought I'd stop by, unwind a little..."
"Specifically in my casino?" – it seemed like Overlord Husk blinked even less often than necessary. – "What a curious coincidence!"
This wasn't exactly how Angel had pictured this conversation. Next to this guy, he somehow felt naked! But, having started, he had to see it through...
"You caught me, Husk," – he fluttered his fake eyelashes. – "Truth be told, I was looking for you specifically..."
"Me?" – the casino owner's tail began to twitch. – "And for what purpose do you need me, Angel Dust?"
This was the crucial moment. Leaning forward, shamelessly fluffing out his chest fur, Angel lowered his voice:
"I'd like to make you a business proposition..."
"Well, well," – Husk raised a broad eyebrow in surprise. – "Now I'm intrigued... What could you possibly want to offer the Overlord of Gambling?"
Angel held a dramatic pause. Spearing the olive in his martini with a toothpick, he ran his tongue over it before delicately removing it with his teeth.
"I'd like you to win my soul contract away from Overlord Valentino..."