#dove writes

“C’mon, baby, you can do better than that.”

Sam’s voice rumbles against your center. It’s hard to tell just how long he’s had you pressed against the mattress like this, panting and trembling under his tongue. It feels like it’s been hours since you started, but you haven’t gotten to cum once — all because he’s been edging you, trying to get you to moan nice and loud for him. 

It’s not that Sam doesn’t treat you well — there’s not a single other person on this planet that could possibly make you cum as hard as he does — but you’re naturally quiet in the bedroom. Whether it’s your own hand, a toy, or Sam’s cock stuffed inside you, you’re typically silent during sex, save for some heavy breathing and the occasional low whimper. 

Sam isn’t the type of guy to take it personally at all, but — well, he’s long since had a morbid obsession with trying to break your quiet streak. Call it research. He wants to know what you would sound like, if he could pull some obscene noises out of you. He’s not looking for cheap porn star moans — he wants the real thing. 

So here you are, shuddering and clutching at his hair. You try to tug him back down so you can rub your clit against his nose and finally get off, but the second he realizes what you’re doing, Sam pulls away. You whine petulantly, reaching for him, but you wind up clawing at the air instead of his head. 

“Not yet,” he murmurs, sitting back on his knees between your parted legs. “I told you, baby, I wanna hear you first.” 

“Sam, come back,” you grouse, close to tears. “Please, that’s enough. I wanna cum.”

He smiles at you so sweetly that, had you not witnessed him torturing you for the past hour, you’d find it endearing. 

“I know,” he says, looking almost a little guilty as he kisses your knees. “I know, and you will. I just wanna hear that you like it, that’s all. Not so hard, right?” 

You huff, frustrated and needy. If you weren’t so desperate to get off, you’d up and leave him alone on the bed; you already attempted some time ago to sneak your hand down to your clit, but Sam made you close your legs and just sit there until you promised to behave yourself, so that’s out of the question. Besides, it’s already hard enough finding time to get in bed with Sam without his brother unintentionally cockblocking, so you might as well suffer through it. 

When you’re finally relaxed again — as much as you can be, at least — Sam trails his mouth down your inner thighs, alternating between each, until he’s hovering over your puffy folds. He kisses your slick, glistening cunt before licking a stripe up the middle. You whimper, dragging your hands over the sheets below you. They bunch up into fists when Sam’s tongue juts out further, slipping into you and flicking upward. You audibly squeak, the sound squeezed out of you from your restraint. 

Sam chuckles against you, repeating the motion. His laughter vibrates from your pussy all the way up your body, lighting up every nerve ending. You arch your back, trying to grind against his face, but Sam doesn’t let you — he clamps his hands around your thighs, holding them against the side of his head. His hair tickles your skin, making you jump and shiver while he bobs his head, tongue-fucking you, then sucking your clit, then repeating the actions. 

He eats you like he’s been starving for it — and honestly, he just might be. If there’s one thing you know and love about Sam, it’s this: he loves to taste you. 

Sam is beginning to moan by this point, losing himself between your legs. He starts to eat you out more voraciously, digging his fingertips into the meat of your thighs — and it’s that possessive gesture that makes your hips twitch, and a weak sound escapes you. It’s not quite the full-on moan he’s been waiting for, but he’s getting closer to where he wants you now. 

He pulls his head back briefly, hiking your legs up to sit around his shoulder now. Sam yanks you down by your hips, and you yelp, tugging the sheets down with you. Sam lands on your cunt again with a dark chuckle under his breath. He openly groans, lapping you up and rubbing his nose against your clit like you were hoping for earlier. The sensation is like a zap of electricity to your body — you moan aloud, squeezing your legs around his head. A shuddering sigh escapes you, then another loud whine when his tongue squirms around your clit. 

“That’s it,” Sam mutters between tastes of you. “There you go, just like that.” 

Tears puddle in your eyes, wetting your lashes. You’ve been on the edge for so long now, and the end is finally in sight. Sounds rip from your throat that you didn’t even know you could make — low, warbling sounds and animal-like wails. Sam smiles against your cunt, shoving his face against you until he can hardly breathe. His mouth closes around your folds, kissing and suctioning his lips to make you squirm and moan all over again. He grabs ahold of your hips, lifting them up to meet his face, and stars speckle the outskirts of your vision. 

With a loud cry of his name, your walls clench, then release. You gush right onto his waiting tongue, and Sam eagerly laps up the cum that pours out from between your puffy folds. He doesn’t let a single drop hit the sheets; he slurps it up, making obscenely loud noises that have your cheeks burning hot. 

You’re too sensitive to take much more of his ministrations. One hand lazily reaches for his head, curling into his hair and lightly tugging him off of your pussy. Sam lifts his head up, eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiles at you. His lips and chin are glistening under the lamplight; he makes no move to wipe away your release. 

He never wanted to train another agent in the first place. The last thing he wanted was some wide-eyed newbie trailing behind him to make his job harder. It’s bad enough going on missions alone, fighting against whatever fucked up, biochemically-engineered, zombified monstrosities are waiting for him. He can’t risk having an egotistical trainee around for some on-the-job training.

Unfortunately for Leon, you are exactly the type of rookie he prayed he would never be stuck with. 

When Leon first met you, he was surprised by your lack of filter. After he extended his hand to you and introduced himself by name and title (as is expected of him), the first words out of your mouth were not a typical greeting. Instead, you grasped his hand with a firm shake, your lips parted in wonder.

“Wow,” you said, low and breathy. Leon almost expected the awestruck praise of a fan until you followed up with: “Your hair is exactly the same as the decades-old photos.”

Needless to say, he was not pleased. 

You haven’t been much better since then. Even though you apologized for the unintentional insult, Leon has yet to forgive you for your transgression. If it were anyone else, he probably would have gotten over it by now. But you, with your constant airheaded attitude and annoyingly bright smiles, make it hard to forgive and forget. He’s stern with you in such a way he does not display with others; he speaks down to you, as if herding a child around throughout the office and on missions. 

Despite his gruffness, you seem wholly unaffected. 

You talk constantly. You just don’t know when to stop. It’s like you’re incapable of sitting in silence, like a bomb is strapped to your chest that reads MUST SPEAK OR WILL BLOW UP. It’s the only explanation as to why you cannot for the life of you hold your tongue in any given scenario. If Leon demands for you to be quiet, you can shut your mouth for roughly twenty seconds before you say something stupid, like: “Do you think worms have feelings?”

It’s a miracle he hasn’t strangled you yet.

Although you’ve had a handful of investigative missions with Leon in the past few months of training and shadowing his work, you have yet to see any real action. So, when Leon is tasked with clearing out one of Umbrella’s abandoned testing facilities, he’s absolutely horrified to bring you along with him. 

It’s a rainy day. Leon grips the steering wheel as he drives the Porsche — his beloved, company-issued vehicle — while you drum a beat on your thigh. Much to his chagrin, you’ve pushed your seat back and kicked your feet up on the dashboard. He keeps glancing at your boots with a grimace, damn near close to popping a blood vessel when he sees your foot bobbing along to the radio (which you, of course, switched on). His only respite is that you kept it on his favorite rock station; he’s slightly less pleased when you hum along to it, interrupting his listening with the sound of your off-key singing. 

After several long minutes of driving, Leon grunts, “Can you please take this seriously?” 

Your eyes dart from a relay race of raindrops on the window to the aging agent beside you. You lift your brows curiously. “What do you mean? I am serious.”

“Get your feet off the dash.”

His jaw is clenched and his knuckles are turning white, so you reluctantly obey, dropping your feet on the floor of the car. With a slight pout, you shift in your seat. Then again. Then yet again. The leather squeaks against your uniform. Eventually, you recline the seat back a few inches. Leon’s eye twitches.

“You need to be prepared for anything,” Leon mutters, already going on a tangent. “This isn’t a joke. This isn’t a shooting range. If you don’t have your head on straight, it’s life or death. You might’ve gotten lucky getting by until now, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to save you if you get yourself into trouble. Got it?”

By the end of his rant, Leon nearly runs a red light. He slams on the breaks a little too hard; you jolt forward, but the seatbelt catches to hold you in place. Still, the force of it is surprise enough that you let out a little oof under your breath, and your hands shoot out to catch the door handle for stability.

“Damn,” you exclaim. “I think I should be more worried about your traffic violations.”

Your stupid quip is the straw that breaks Leon’s aching back.

The second the light turns green, Leon hits the gas with a heavy thud and a screech of tires. You let out a yelp, straightening up in your seat and swiveling your head around to look at the agent.

“Woah! Slow down, you’re gonna kill us before we even get there—!”

Your comment is cut short when Leon abruptly pulls over at the side of the road. The Porsche sits crookedly against the curb, nearly taking down a streetlight. When Leon shifts the gear into park and trains his gaze upon you, the rain suddenly pelts furiously against the windows. For once in your life, you’re silent. 

Leon looks like he might finally risk it all — hefty paycheck included — to commit a murder. His stare alone is withering. You shrink in the passenger seat, staring back at him with wide eyes. 

“Shut. Up.” His words are gritted out through his teeth, so fierce and venomous that your heart thuds beneath your ribcage.

Except, instead of fear, you’re instilled with something far more rageful.

Your expression shifts from shock to offense. The leather seat squeaks when you suddenly lean forward, turning as best as you can with the seatbelt still holding you in.

“Excuse you, Agent Kennedy, but you need to stop treating me like I’m a liability.”

Before Leon can even attempt to get another word in, you put your hand up to stop him. 

“No, it’s my turn,” you say, effectively shutting him up. “I know you hate me. A lot of people do. Unfortunately for you, sir, you’re stuck with me. I know I’m a good agent. Deny it all you want, but we both know it. My personality might not be your cup of tea, but I’m not being trained on personality, now, am I? I’m not an idiot, and I sure as hell didn’t land here by chance. All I’m personally waiting for is the day that I get a promotion so you can stop calling me ‘rookie.’” 

After the completion of your monologue, you huff, finally taking a breath. You look visibility relieved to get everything off your chest. Once you’ve settled down, you sigh, wiping nonexistent sweat from your brow. 

“Shit, that took a lot out of me,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

Leon gapes at you. In all his time knowing you, you’ve never complained or fought back when he griped at you. You might make a sarcastic comment or say something insulting, sure, but even he knows your negligent responses are nothing personal. You’re exactly right — you are a good agent, a great one, even. You do your work. You’re efficient. You’re quick-thinking. You’re impressive for a rookie — a goddamn Swiss Army Knife of a human being. 

Still — despite all his nitpicking towards you, he has never, ever seen you angry. 

His hands have gone slack from the steering wheel, settling upon his thighs instead. He’s a little embarrassed to be called out so bluntly. He’s gotten used to other agents treating him like he’s tough shit; he forgot, for a moment, what it must feel like to be you. Back when he was still a rookie cop, Leon recalls being eager to prove himself. Of course, his first day was perhaps the shittiest first day in the history of all of mankind, but — if he’s being honest with himself — you’re far more skilled than he was back then. 

Suddenly, Leon laughs. Not a hearty, full-body laugh, but a breathy chuckle — it’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him, anyway. Your eyes dart back to Leon in surprise.

“Huh? What?” You wonder, eyes sparkling under the dim streetlight outside the car.

Leon stares back at you, and suddenly the tension he created has twisted into something else. It settles close to his heart, wedged just beneath his sternum — but it travels lower, too, a weight that heats up low in his stomach like a simmering pot. 

“Nothing,” he says at first. Upon seeing your unconvinced expression, Leon tries again: “I don’t hate you.”

You blink, surprised. “Really?”

“Really.” He swallows, glancing aside briefly. “I just wish you were a little more focused.”

“I’m extremely focused, Agent Kennedy.”

Although you don’t say it flirtatiously, Leon can’t help the heat in his loins when you call him Agent Kennedy with an adorable level of formality — a formality he has long put up as a divide between you and him. Now, that formality feels painfully ridiculous. 

He swallows, rubbing his thighs, still not meeting your eyes directly. “Right.”

You tilt your head, eyes darting from his hands to his face. “You shouldn’t doubt my skills.”

“I know.”

“And I am very skilled.”

“I’m sure you are.”

A beat of silence. The tension is back with a vengeance, thicker now, tinged with something that has you pressing your thighs together.

“Leon.”

He can’t help himself when his breath catches. The formality is gone in an instant, crumpled with the sound of your softened voice alone. Leon reluctantly faces you, and he has to hold his breath when your face catches the flickering yellow light of the streetlamp. The rain has made everything hazy and dim around them, but Leon sees you in full clarity.

“Yeah, rookie?” His voice cracks. 

You smile. “We’re not being timed, are we?”

Leon is so taken aback that he flinches. With a slight stammer, he manages to reply: “What? No.” He pauses, trying to reel himself in before he can start thinking about reclining that seat of yours even more. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Ideas? Like what?” You ask innocently, batting your lashes. “I was just asking. Professional curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Well, there’s something purring in here, and it’s certainly not the Porsche.”

Leon chokes on his own spit. He rips his gaze away from you. Your stupid little innuendo shouldn’t work him up this much, and yet, his body responds. Your desire is infectious, spurring on his own, not unlike the biohazards he so often deals with.

“We have a mission,” he reminds you — though, really, he’s trying to remind himself. You’re his trainee. You’re younger than him. If anyone finds out that Leon Kennedy screwed his subordinate — on a mission, no less — he would surely be crucified. 

You roll your eyes, rubbing your thighs together. It’s cute how he tries to pretend he isn’t obviously hard in his pants right now, but you’re getting impatient. 

“This is a life or death mission, Leon,” you sigh. “It could be my final hours. I’d like to enjoy them.”

Leon tenses, forcing his eyes back to you. “Don’t joke about that,” he mutters sharply — and this time, you know you’ve truly crossed a boundary. You press your lips together, nodding slowly.

“Okay,” you murmur, “but the fact remains.”

It’s deathly quiet in the car. Aside from the rain pouring down on the roof of the Porsche, there’s not a sound to be heard. You almost think Leon might refuse you again or straight up kick you out of the vehicle, but then he scoffs, shaking his head as he glances out the front window.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he grumbles to himself.

Before you can probe him about whatever that means, Leon clicks his seatbelt free. He leans over, swiftly shifting his weight whilst his hands fly to you — one to cup your jaw, and the other to unfasten your seatbelt.

His mouth meets yours in a firm kiss. Despite your instigating, it’s still a shock to you when Leon actually follows through. Once the shock wears off, though, you’re closing your eyes and tugging at the front of his form-fitting black shirt. You pull him as close as the vehicle will allow without him climbing into the passenger seat with you. Leon trails his hand from your jaw to your neck to your chest, cupping your breast through your shirt. With a moan, the muscles in your thighs go tense; you press your mouth against his even harder. Your teeth nip at Leon’s lower lip. He groans, squeezing his hand around your breast harshly enough to make you gasp.

He keeps kissing you, sliding his tongue just past your lips — enough to ask permission — before you respond in kind. One of your hands dares to travel down, skirting over his stomach — he twitches from the touch — until you find his belt. With just one hand, you manage to unhook the buckle, loosening the strip of leather around his waist. The act is so impressive that Leon actually pulls away from the kiss to narrow his eyes at you.

“How did you—?”

“I’m skilled,” you remind him. “Highly skilled.”

He hums, amused. “Not bad for a rookie.”

You roll your eyes, already working at his zipper to slip your hand down the front of his boxers. His breath gets caught in his throat.

“I hate when you call me that,” you mutter, “like I’m inferior to you.”

“You— fuck— You are my subordinate,” he rasps, his hips jerking forward when you palm his length. When precum leaks from the tip, he grits his teeth. “...But I’ll stop. For you.”

You smile, kissing him on the corner of his mouth. “Oh? Just for me, huh? Good boy.”

Leon’s cock twitches in your hand. He blushes from head to toe, hardly able to restrain a full-body shudder. “I’m not a boy,” he gripes.

“Okay,” you muse, unconvinced. You abruptly pull your hand out of his pants, leaving him without the pleasurable friction you so politely offered. “Prove it. Fuck me like a man.”

Leon isn’t keen on losing this battle.

The older agent abruptly shoves your shoulder until you’re leaning back in the passenger seat. You let out a startled sound that almost makes him laugh, followed by another sound when he crawls over to the passenger side, reclining your seat all the way back. He plants his knees on either side of your hips, looking down at you.

“You make a lot of noises,” he mutters, beginning to loosen your pants. “Are you always this loud?”

With a huff, you let Leon take over, watching him with hooded eyes. “Well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

He grunts, his face hovering over yours. “Guess so.”

The second his hand slips into your underwear, you let out a shuddering breath.

You’re already wet, which is no surprise to Leon — you were begging him to fuck you, for god’s sake — but he is surprised when his fingers slip between your folds by accident the second he touches you. It’s slick enough to get lost down there if he’s not careful.

“Jesus,” he mutters, grazing his fingers over your cunt. Your hands fly up to grip his arm for stability. “Don’t think I’ve ever felt a pussy this wet. Might drown in it.”

Your hips jerk upward when his thumb briefly circles your clit. His stupid joke is willfully ignored in favor of a whimper, your nails digging into his biceps. “Please,” you beg, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Already?” Leon scoffs, barely dipping a finger inside your hole before removing it. “I’ve hardly touched you.”

“Leon—” You’re about to angrily protest when his finger teases you again, this time sinking up to his knuckle. You choke on a moan, tossing your head back and shifting your hips. With a desperation that awes him, you attempt to get off on his finger alone, trying to create enough friction with a single digit. Leon feels his cock twitch in anticipation.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Gotta get you ready.”

“I’m ready,” you pant, still canting your hips against his middle finger.

“No, let me—”

“Leon.” Your stern voice returns, barely sheathed by the lust overtaking you. “I’m ready. Please.”

His gray eyes meet yours, and he knows there’s no room for protest. 

Leon drops down to kiss you again whilst shoving his pants down. You assist him when he moves to yours, next; you lift your hips enough to let your jeans slide down, anchoring yourself with your arms around his neck. Leon hooks his finger — the one that was just inside you — around the elastic of your underwear, tugging those halfway down your thighs. It’s just enough for him to lower his body, guiding the head of his length to your dripping cunt. He teases your folds one more time, dragging the tip over your leaking slit, lathering his cock with your slick. 

You both watch with baited breath as Leon nudges his way into your entrance. A soft breath escapes his lips — a sound of pure, unfiltered pleasure — as he slowly buries the first inch inside you. He holds his length steady as he gently rocks his hips, easing another inch in with every slow thrust.

“Leon…” His name leaves your mouth in a low, breathless murmur.

“I know,” he murmurs, meeting your volume as if you’re whispering in a movie theater. “I’m getting there. Have a little patience.”

Much to his surprise, you withhold your protests for the time being. All he hears from you now is your soft, breathy gasps every time he sheathes himself fully within your cunt. The radio is still playing faintly, but the older agent is hardly focused on the sound. He prefers your moans and whimpers and sighs, the way you cling to his shoulders, how your chests rub against each other. He eventually slips his hand under your shirt, pushing the hem up to your collar. He fucks you slow whilst his hand goes to your back, and — in record time — he unfastens your bra, tugging one of the cups down to knead at your breast. 

With a husky laugh, you speak against his mouth. “Nice work,” you praise.

Leon manages to chuckle. “Highly skilled,” he mutters, echoing your earlier words.

You toss your head back against the seat when he tucks his head down to latch his mouth onto your breast. His tongue presses flat against your pebbled nipple; you arch into the contact, feeling his hot breath and wet muscle circle the sensitive skin. Your fingers fly to his hair, giving the silver strands a harsh tug.

“Fuck,” you moan. Your hips jerk upward to meet his; if your jeans weren’t caught at your knees, you’d lift your legs up to pull him closer. Unfortunately, your movements are restricted. 

On the bright side, Leon seems to know just what you need.

He wraps an arm around your middle, holding his weight up with just one elbow on the leather seat. He fucks you more insistently, sucking your nipple and swirling his tongue around the bud as he thrusts deeper. You can see why he wanted to get you ready on his fingers — the stretch is almost painful when he hits so deep like this. You feel dizzy with lust, though, high enough on your own hormonal needs that the pain is practically nonexistent. Your body leans into his every touch, aching for more, faster, harder — you make your wants known not through words, but with every flutter of your cunt around his cock and the steady stream of whines bursting from your throat.

Leon finally pops his mouth off your nipple, turning back to you for a heated kiss. Something snaps in you; with his thrusts, the friction between your bodies, and the heat rising within the car, you orgasm. Your walls squeeze around his cock, locking around him in a vice grip. He groans into your mouth, slowing the roll of his hips. He hasn’t come yet, but you’re sure he’s close, given his twitching cock. 

“Come inside me,” you plead, the words crashing together into a barely-coherent mumble. “Please, please—”

Leon drops his forehead against yours. With a few more harsh thrusts, he shoots his load inside you, spilling out heavily. You gasp with every spurt of his seed that fills your aching heat.

Still, even after Leon pulls out of your sensitive hole, you’re not done. You don’t let him leave completely, one hand still gripping his hair while the other catches his forearm.

“More,” you pant, nudging your nose against his. “Please. I’m not done yet.”

With a harsh swallow, Leon shakes his head, red-faced and glistening with sweat. “I’m gonna need a few minutes, sweetheart.” Realistically, he might need a week to get it up again, but that’s not something he’s about to get into explaining.

“Use your hand,” you whine, digging your nails into his skin. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

Leon pauses before ghosting his hand over your navel. “Later.” He says the word as if it’s foreign. His eyes narrow. “After the mission?”

You nod fervently. Leon’s jaw tightens. Then, he presses his fingers to your mouth, nudging your lips apart. You open up for him, sucking on the digits and swirling your tongue around them until he decides it’s enough.

“That means you have to listen to me,” he mutters, slowly letting his hand trail down to your cunt. “Don’t mess around. Ease up on the bad jokes.” He slips a single finger inside you. “You have to promise me you’ll be safe.”

You nod, staring up at your superior with fluttering lashes. “I promise. I’m a good agent, aren’t I?”

Leon hums. He lets a second digit fill you, thrusting them inside your sopping hole right up to the knuckle. When he gets a whimper out of you, he rewards you with a response.

“You are. You’re good. Good enough to keep around, if you play your cards right.”

Leon fucks you with his fingers. The rain outside is barely enough to drown out the loud, wet slap of his hand against your cunt, of the collection of cum currently nestled inside your hole. Your walls flutter again when he hooks his fingers, pressing against a sensitive, spongy spot that makes your hips jerk against his palm.

“Gonna cum again for me, agent?”

You nod, blubbering out something that sounds like a ‘yes’ before your brows knit together. You orgasm for the second time, gushing around his dexterous fingers until you have to shove his hand away to avoid overstimulation.

After a moment to collect yourself, you sigh, meeting Leon’s content expression with your own look of satisfaction. 

“You know,” you breathe, “I prefer when you call me ‘agent’ as opposed to ‘rookie.’”

Leon cracks a smile. 

“I’ll make sure you get that promotion, sweetheart.”

fancy some more?

Angel knew Husk wasn't a fan of his persona, even if it was only there for his own sanity, Husk preferred the real him, Anthony, not Angel Dust. It gave him comfort, knowing someone liked the real him, a place he could drop his walls if he wanted to. Husk came to their room a little later than Angel, cracking his knuckles and wrists as Angel laid sprawled out on the floor.

"What... are you doing down there?" Husk asked, seeming genuinely bewildered as he shut the door behind him, greeting Fat Nuggets with a pat on the head before going to stand over Angel who hadn't responded.

"Hey, Legs! Have you died a second time or what?"

"Certainly feels like it..."

"Ah! He speaks! What's going on? Why are you on the floor?" Angel groaned, long and dramatic, before turning on his back, looking up at Husk who had his hands on his hips.

"Work was a bitch, because Val had an attitude because Vox isn't giving him enough attention I guess. Several of the other actors clearly didn't know what they were doing which made shooting longer. And to top it all off, I had to walk home because Val refused to call me a car." Husk hissed through his teeth, a sympathetic noise Angel heard often.

"Are you hurt today?" Husk asked, much softer than his previous tone.

"You think I can't handle a little pain Baby~"

"Angel.."

"...I'm just a little sore, that's it." Angel moved to get up, wincing a bit. Husk kissed his teeth as he picked Angel up, maneuvering them to lay comfortably together on their bed, Angel laying on top of him, head resting just under his chin.

"You're sure it's just that? You're not lying to me?" Husk asked lowly, hands rubbing up and down his back extremely lightly, just in case. Angel scoffed lightly, bumping his forehead against Husk's jaw.

"I'm alright, I promise, no bruises this time. Why~? You want to give me an inspection~?" Angel purred, ignoring Husk's huff.

"Y'know, I'm talking to Anthony, not Angel Dust. Is he present? Or do I need to make an appointment?" Husk sassed, poking his shoulder blades. Angel's shoulders twitched as he choked on a giggle, reaching for Husk's hand, not being able to grab it.

"Stohop! Thihis is ruhude!" Angel whined, burying his face into his shoulder. A slow smirk rose on Husk's lips, his claws jellyfishing right on his shoulder blades.

"You're being dramatic. You offered me an inspection, now you're complaining that I'm inspecting~?"

"ThihiHIHIhis isn't ihihinspehehecting! Thihihis ihihihis cruhuhuel! Ihihihi cahahan't reheheach yohohou at ahahall!" Angel's feet shuffled against the sheets, all four of his hands flexing and clenching.

"Who am I speaking with~?" Husk teased, sending a few pokes down the back of his ribs and spine.

"Alrihihihight ALRIHIHIHIGHT! Nohohoho mohohore Ahahangel Duhuhust tohohonight!"

"So I am talking to who now~?"

"Ohohoh myhyhy sahahatan, Ahahanthohohonyhyhy okahahay? Cohohome ohohon, ihihi'm tihihired!" Husk wrapped his arms around him firmly, squeezing him to his body, purring lowly.