10. Rusty Is a Big Ol’ Softy

Chapter ten

Rusty Is a Big Ol' Softy

"So," Glyma chirped cheerily Monday morning, "how was the rest of your weekend?"

Willow, Zef, Rusty, and Oliver exchanged loaded looks before collectively agreeing to take the happenings of the past weekend to their graves.

"It was good," Willow said.

"Pretty uneventful," Rusty said.

"Nothing to write home about," Oliver said.

"Oh, that was not my impression at all. I found it extremely unforgettable in the worst way. Oliver and Gem shared a vomit bucket, which is apparently the plot for a pornographic fetish film," Zef said.

Okay, so Zef had missed the unspoken pact apparently.

"Oh my god." Oliver buried his face in his hands.

"It was rather repulsive," Zef said.

"Really gross," Willow agreed.

"I saw things," Rusty whispered, thousand-yard stare unfocused. "So many horrible things."

Glyma blinked her wide, hot pink eyes as her hand feathered over her throat. "Oh my."

"I don't know what you're all talking about," Tad said as she waddled into the kitchen, zipping her wetsuit closed. "I thought it was awesome. I set a fire!"

"Well, isn't that… nice," Glyma said in a wavering voice.

The kitchen doors creaked, and Oliver jumped as Bob scuttled past him on his many, clicking legs. He swore the bug hissed at him, and he took it as a sign to escape the kitchen and the conversation.

After the group vomit session, everyone had lain around Gem's apartment for several hours. No one wanted to brave public transportation for fear of more puking. But once his stomach had felt stable enough, Oliver had slogged his way back through the veil, dragging Jude with him. They'd spent the rest of Sunday on their couch, sipping Pepto-Bismol and popping aspirin.

Oliver swore he still had dry-mouth, but thankfully, he'd woken this morning without a headache. The coffee he'd made for himself, with a generous shot of energy, had helped immensely.

On his lunch break, Oliver sat outside beside Rusty as he rolled a cigarette and lit up. The tobacco smelled spicy and sweet, and it lingered on Rusty's fur and clothes. Over the past few weeks, Oliver had grown to like it.

"Can I ask you something?" Oliver broke the silence as Rusty exhaled a cloud of smoke into the mustard yellow sky.

"You just did," Rusty said, and Oliver snorted.

"Dick."

With a chuckle, Rusty tucked his cigarette between his lips and muttered around it. "Ask away."

"Why do you work here? You don't seem to like it very much." Rusty sent him a fluffy brow arch, and Oliver blushed. "Sorry, that came out wrong."

"No, it's fine. I guess…" The tip of a black claw tapped against his raised knee. "Working at the cafe beats turning tricks in Lust, so…"

Startled, Oliver laughed.

Rusty didn't.

"Wait, you're serious?"

"Got a problem with that?" Rusty challenged.

"No. God, no. Sex work is work. I just didn't…" Another questioning look, and Oliver struggled for words. "You don't seem the type."

"I'm a Pyclon demon. From Lust," Rusty said, like it answered everything. At Oliver's blank expression, he huffed and took another long drag. "People don't really… hire demons like me. You know, for respectable work. So we do what we need to do to survive."

Toni had touched on the speciesism in Hell Saturday night, but Oliver hadn't realized it ran so deep it affected Rusty's ability to get a job. He searched for something to say, finally settling on, "I'm sorry."

"Prejudice exists everywhere, even in Hell," Rusty said simply.

"Still. I'm sorry you had to do that."

He shrugged. "I was sixteen, bisexual, and hungry. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Sixteen?" Oliver screeched, though he quickly backtracked as Rusty turned to face him fully, expression unreadable. "I'm not judging you, man. It's just… sixteen? You were a kid."

Rusty hummed noncommittally. "Some people are into that. Why not benefit?"

Not wanting to discuss any type of possible benefits to pedophilia, Oliver took a sip from his water bottle to give himself something to do.

Rusty continued after a moment, smoke pouring from his mouth with every word he spoke. "Mom died. Siblings took off. And eventually…" He flicked ash off the end of his cigarette and sighed. "Hunger's one hell of a motivator."

"Jesus," Oliver breathed.

Like he couldn't stand the pity, Rusty shrugged nonchalantly. "I didn't always hate it. A job's a job, and it kept me from starving. But then I met Glyma, and she didn't care that I was a Pyclon or that I worked Flesh Street. She offered me a different option, and I just—" Like he only now realized the vulnerability blooming between them, he cleared his throat and shot Oliver a smirk, "The cafe offers better hours, and I don't always go home with splooge stuck in my fur. I'd say that's an improvement."

Despite the heavy topic, Oliver laughed, and Rusty's smirk widened into what might have been the first genuine smile he'd ever seen on the demon's face.

"You don't always ?" Oliver teased, and Rusty flashed sharp canines.

"You don't know what I get up to during my breaks when you eat inside with Zef and Toni," he joked back.

Shaking his head in mock shock, he sighed. "I always wondered how you made more tips than me, especially with your attitude."

Rusty shoved his shoulder. "Asshole."

Emboldened by Rusty's uncharacteristic openness, Oliver pushed his luck a little farther. "Do they know?"

Rusty didn't need Oliver to specify who they were. He glanced at the back door to the cafe, propped open by an empty crate. "Maybe? I don't hide it. If they asked, I wouldn't lie. Most people just don't ask."

"I bet you could tell them. I don't think they'd care," Oliver said. "They're good people."

Rusty's throat worked. "I guess."

"Thanks for telling me, though." Oliver reached out and placed a hand on Rusty's shoulder.

Rolling his pale eyes, he groaned. "Don't make it weird, K.O."

With another chuckle, Oliver moved his hand up Rusty's neck to give a scratch behind his ear. For a split second, Rusty stiffened, and Oliver almost pulled away. Maybe he was reading the situation all wrong. He didn't want to overstep.

Before Oliver could jerk his hand away, Rusty's tail fluffed up and drifted to press against Oliver's hip as he released an odd, vibrating sound in the back of his throat. It wasn't like a cat's purr, but it was close. Then he pushed into Oliver's hand ever so slightly, granting permission.

Carefully, Oliver ran his fingers more firmly through Rusty's soft fur, and that strange purr grew stronger. It vibrated up Oliver's arm and made him smile.

"Your fur is really soft," he said, hoping it wasn't an offensive thing to mention.

"Conditioner," Rusty said flatly, but the tension he always seemed to carry in his body melted away as Oliver rubbed an ear between his fingers. There was a notch in it, and he remembered Tad saying something about her giving it to Rusty when he "encroached on her territory." He'd thought she was just blustering, but maybe she'd actually maimed the pink demon.

"Did Tad do this?" Oliver eventually asked, pinching Rusty's ear gently.

Rusty blinked his eyes open, looking a little dazed. "Huh? Oh, no. She likes to tell everybody she did, and I let her."

"Why?"

Taking one last drag from his cigarette, Rusty crushed it out against the teal sand beneath them. "She likes it when people are scared of her."

Oliver leaned back against the brick and wrapped his arms around his knees. "Gem's right about you." At Rusty's questioning brow arch, he grinned and said, "You're a big, ol' softy."

"Fuck off." Rusty shoved Oliver's shoulder, and he chuckled.

"Whatever, trash panda."

That made Rusty frown. "What's that?"

"It's what humans call raccoons."

Rusty looked even more confused. "What's a raccoon?"

Snickering, Oliver pulled out his phone and searched for a picture, angling his phone so Rusty could see. "That's a raccoon."

Rusty made an offended chittering sound in the back of his throat. "I don't look like that."

"You kinda do."

"I'm a Pyclon. Not a raccoon!"

Oliver shrugged. "Meh, demon raccoon."

"Slug," Rusty shot back.

"Hey, now." Oliver climbed to his feet and tucked his phone back into his pocket. "That's offensive, apparently."

As they both laughed, Oliver offered Rusty a hand to help him stand. After only a moment's hesitation, Rusty slipped his mauve paw into Oliver's grasp and let him haul him to his feet. He squeezed Rusty's hand briefly before dropping it, and Rusty's grin faltered.

"Wait," he said, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You're not, like… hitting on me, right?"

Flushing hotly, Oliver spluttered, "Oh god, no. No, not at all."

"Okay, good." Rusty scratched behind his ear, ducking his head like he was embarrassed. "I didn't think so, but I don't know how humans flirt."

Oliver rubbed at the flush creeping down his neck. "Honestly, me neither, and I'm human." Rusty chuckled at that, and Oliver grinned sheepishly. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable or—"

Rusty cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Nah, this is on me. I just… people can get weird about, you know, my old work. And I never know if they—like, maybe they're expecting shit. Or think I'm into—fuck, I didn't mean…"

For the first time since Oliver had met him, Rusty was rambling. He shifted his weight, clearly embarrassed, and Oliver reached out a hand, cautiously resting it on his forearm.

Keeping his tone light in hopes of alleviating Rusty's discomfort, Oliver said, "Listen, don't take this the wrong way, but you're not really my type."

Another genuine grin split his face, and Rusty laughed in relief. "Cool." His smile turned a bit playful as he added, "'Cause you could not pay me enough…"

"You little shit!" Oliver made to kick him, and Rusty danced out of the way, tail standing tall and swaying mischievously.

As they entered the kitchen, Oliver knocked his shoulder against Rusty's teasingly, bringing another husky chuckle from the raccoon—Pyclon. His tail brushed against Oliver's side, the hair a little coarser than the fur on his head.

"Unholy shit," Toni drawled, leaning his ass against the steel prep table. "I didn't think it was physically possible for Rusty to smile. What'd you do to him?"

And just like that, every ounce of levity fled, and tension flooded Rusty's body, tightening him like a spring. His tail lowered to its usual position hovering an inch or so off the ground, and he hunched his shoulders, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"Eat my ass," he bit out as he passed the smirking shark demon.

"Nah, I don't want to get a hairball," Toni slapped back, and Rusty hissed at him as he stalked out of the kitchen.

"You're such a douchebag," Oliver said, and Toni waggled his tongue, entirely unfazed.

Returning to his spot behind the register, Oliver tucked his water bottle under the counter and offered the next customer a warm smile. They worked through the next burst of customers, and when the line dwindled, Gem started wiping down his station. Rusty rounded the bakery case and searched for fingerprints and smudges to scrub away. Oliver handed a paper bag full of baked goods over the counter, wishing the customer a good day.

Focusing on the next customer, Oliver opened his mouth to greet them, but the words died in his throat as he met a pair of bright, brilliant yellow eyes.