For a second Angel's about to launch into the spiel -- how great it is, how fun, how every night is the best night of his entire life, how awesome it is being hot and sexy and desired. It's second nature, after all this time. It's who he's used to being.

But -- nobody knows him here. He can be anyone he wants. He doesn't need to lie. Iggy might understand -- he does cam work, but he does it for himself, no fucking boss standing over him, yelling and hitting and never, ever taking "no" for an answer. Angel's always wondered what that would be like, if he could do this for himself.

So he pauses, a little too long, mismatched eyes going faraway. Then he clears his throat, settling for something in the middle. "Yeah. It's, uh -- it's a fuckton of work. Sixteen-hour days, no breaks, gotta go through like five lines of coke -- the good shit -- to get it all done. And it's Hell, yaknow, so it's all kinds of weird fucked up crazy kinks -- like, my boss is into the hardcore shit, so that's what I do most'a the time, so."

Angel stops himself, finally, all four hands clutching bruisingly at the bench. He clears his throat, looking away and shrugging. "But, uh. Yeah."