He would never tell Hank — or anybody, for that matter — but Angelo kind of unofficially thinks of the Stones' "Satisfaction" as their song. He listens to it on repeat, sometimes, when he wants to get high. He doesn't get high anymore. Having a partner who's a doctor with heightened senses puts kind of a damper on that kind of thing.
"I'm thinking of being nosy and asking what you're thinking about," Hank says casually, not moving from where he was peering into a microscope. Angelo grins, shifting in the chair he's draped across.
"Yeah, you could...if you were a girl," he says, putting as much scorn into the statement as he can muster. Hank, unperturbed, smiles as his tiny glasses slide down his nose.
"Well, then," he murmurs. "Far be it from me to say anything that would compromise my seemingly tenuous masculinity."
Angelo grins wider. He loves listening to Hank talk, his rumbly-soothing voice, his sixteen-dollar words. Hank uses his words with love and attention, with the Professor and his set the same as with the littler Guthries who come a-visiting. He doesn't believe in multiple sets of standards. It's one of the reasons Angelo finds him so likeable.
He scrabbles his heels against the floor and scoots his chair over to Hank; his chair is low and Hank's stool is high, but he leans in anyhow and presses his forehead against Hank's side. The white labcoat he's was wearing presses in against his fur, blue plush like the stuffed Grover doll that Angelo's cousin Graciela had dragged around everywhere when they were kids. Hank absently bumps his glasses up with a knuckle and they make him look kind of like Benjamin Franklin.
"S'okay," Angelo mumbles, letting his nose scratch against the cloth. "I'm macho enough for the both've us." Whatever Hank's doing is important, so he doesn't stop doing it, but he laughs a bit, gently, and reaches over with one paw to stroke Angelo's hair. Bits of his fur tangle in Angelo's hair with each pass, and Angelo thinks of the time when Graciela got a really bad fever and her mama burned the Grover doll. How much Graciela had cried, because she insisted on watching it, the blue wisps of fur turning black in snaps of flame.
Angelo can still see the flames if he closes his eyes, so instead he presses deeper against Hank's labcoat. It's white, so white, and everything turns blank.
Angelo had never thought about their relationship much. It made sense, in a way, because hopping into Hank's car was what got him into this whole mutant crap in the first place. In another way, it makes no sense at all, since this is arguably one of the most significant turns his life has taken so far.