Work Text:
"They're doing it again."
"Hmm?" Shane hums distractedly, glancing up from his phone to take in his co-host. Ryan's shifting in place, his eyes darting between the space between them and the crew setting up their intro shot on the other side of the room, where two plush armchairs sit framed by a lavish window that looks out onto the grounds of the Ravenswood Mansion.
"Your - your, uh... " Ryan waves his hand in the vicinity of Shane's shoulders, his voice trailing off awkwardly.
"Oh! Whoops." Unseen by the humans around him, Shane's wings fold along his back and sink smoothly out of sight. Pesky things have a mind of their own these days, taking every opportunity to curl around Ryan's side. He used to be better about controlling them, keeping them tucked close or hidden away, but ever since Ryan caught on to his little secret, it’s been harder to keep the things contained.
They’re… protective, is the thing. It’s just instinct, deeply-seated and not easily ignored, so Shane usually doesn’t try. When someone he cares for is upset or in need of a boost of morale, he picks up on it and his wings just… follow suit, stretching around the person and curling in, just enough to soothe them.
He’d done the same to Ryan throughout their friendship, helping to ease his fear and anxiety both in and out of the office. It was just… magnified, now that they were together. Together together.
That was why Shane had told him, all those weeks ago. The truth about himself. He’d felt shifty enough keeping his identity under wraps when they were just friends; to go any further with that secret still weighing on his soul hadn’t been an option.
It had all worked out well in the end, after Shane had busted out his wings and Ryan had stopped screaming. He couldn’t hold it against the guy – it was a lot to take in, the whole ‘I’m actually a divine being wrapped in a soft, squishy human coating’ thing. It had been a heck of a surprise to drop on someone who regularly lost their shit over faulty flashlights and the wind.
“At least you’re not a demon,” Ryan had said toward the end, his voice steady but his pupils very small. Shane had known it would take time for Ryan to acclimate to such a huge shock and so hadn’t pushed, had let Ryan sort of… assess things in his own way, offering up answers to every question Ryan had inevitably asked. Well, most of them. No, he wasn’t human and had never been. Yes, he had wings and a few other… extra appendages. No, he wasn’t possessing anyone, the form he’d chosen tailor made for him, by him.
“This is all me, baby!” he’d said, gesturing to the long expanse of himself, and when Ryan had snorted, shaking his head and giving Shane the same exasperated look he’d seen a thousand times before, across their desks, in the soundbooth, over popcorn and boring staff meetings and a hundred hotel beds, Shane knew they’d be alright.
“S’not a bad thing,” Ryan murmurs presently, rolling his shoulders and refusing to meet Shane’s eye. “Just – y’know, thought you should know.”
T.J. calls for them across the room, ready to shoot the intro, and Shane fights a grin as he follows along behind Ryan. It had been a pleasant surprise, to find out that Ryan could feel his wings, knew when they were out and especially when they were wrapped around him, even without them being present on the physical plane.
“It’s like… wearing a warm blanket, or something,” he’d tried to explain once, a flush to his cheeks that Shane hadn’t been sure could be blamed on the alcohol they’d been consuming. “Just… pressure and heat and – fuck, I don’t know, it’s nice, okay?”
His wings had taken that as blanket permission to wrap around Ryan whenever they damn well pleased, which would be fine if they didn’t do it in the office, and on the street, and in the soundbooth, and while he and Ryan were out with friends...
Shane supposes he should be grateful it’s only the two that act on their own. He tries to imagine all six of them flaring out around Ryan, covering him in a blanket of heat and feathers, unseen but felt all the same, and smothers a laugh.
And then he smooths his face into its usual disinterested mask as Ryan addresses the camera, and prepares himself to hunt some ghouls.
Ravenswood Mansion isn’t much to write home about, but they have an entertaining jaunt through its halls nonetheless. They scour the grounds for the lady of the house, Shane calling out for her in his best Southern drawl, though all they find are big empty rooms and dusty antiques. Ryan loses his shit when an ornament falls off the big Christmas tree in the foyer and smashes on the ground, and Shane tries and fails to hold back his laughter as the little guy puffs up like a startled bird.
“It’s just gravity, Ryan,” he says cheerily, and only laughs harder when Ryan tells him to fuck off.
They finish the investigation by exploring the large expanse of the lawn in the pitch black, calling for Nadine and keeping an eye out for any stray lantern lights, remnants of the lavish parties she used to throw and supposedly still does, even after death. Ryan’s on pins and needles the whole time, even when Nadine refuses to show, and so Shane pulls him into a clumsy waltz across the neatly cut grass while T.J. snickers behind the camera, until they’re both flushed from the cold and wheezing with laughter. All in all, it has the makings of a solid ep.
It's snowing by the time they leave, big, fat flakes falling from the dark sky. The chill feels nice against Shane's bare face and hands - he's always run warm - but Ryan shivers and ducks his chin into the collar of his jacket, and sits a little closer to Shane than strictly necessary in the back of the rental, even after Teej has cranked the heat to blasting. Not that Shane minds; he likes having Ryan against his side and under his arm, always has. Likes it even more now that he can duck his head when the others aren’t looking – or at least are pretending not to – and press a kiss to Ryan’s brow, just under the hem of his beanie.
“Still cold?”
“Fucking freezing,” Ryan mutters, and shuffles closer until he’s tucked as close to Shane as he can manage. Shane bites back a grin and wraps both arms around him, rubbing his hands over Ryan’s biceps to build up heat.
“Some hot food’ll fix that, I bet,” he muses, tucking his chin against the crown of Ryan’s head as T.J. turns down the road into town. Some food, a drink or two, maybe some mindless television - usually that’s all it takes to distract Ryan after an investigation. Well, that and a couple of hours wrapped up in Shane’s wings.
The thought makes him smile. Ryan acts prickly about it sometimes, like he’s gotten caught doing something embarrassing, but he’s fascinated by them, by their weight, by their feel, by how it affects Shane when he touches them.
Good lord, that had been an… interesting discovery. Shane shivers as he recalls it, the first time Ryan had slipped curious fingers over his feathers, tracing the curves of his wings with wide eyes and breathing a soft “holy fuck” whenever they had twitched beneath his hands.
“You alright, big guy?” Ryan’s peering up at him, a curious quirk to his brow, no doubt having felt Shane shudder.
“Cold,” Shane says, even though they both know it’s a bald-faced lie.
“Alright, god,” T.J. huffs from the driver’s seat, throwing them a glance of fond amusement in the rearview mirror. “There’s a diner down the block where we can grab some food and warm up a bit, so will you stop your whining?”
“Pancakes,” Ryan practically moans, slumping against Shane’s shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “God, I could eat my weight in pancakes right now.”
Shane gasps, “You heathen! I can’t believe you’ve kissed me with that mouth.”
Ryan scoffs. “Waffle snob. There’s nothing wrong with pancakes.”
“Other than everything.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Says the guy who likes pancakes.”
“One more word outta either of you and I’m turning this car around,” T.J. warns, his voice firm enough that Shane actually clamps his mouth shut. “Man, fatherhood’s gonna be a breeze after looking after you two.”
“Aww,” Devon gushes from the passenger seat. “Papa T.J. What does that make us?”
“What?” Shane pipes up. “You don’t consider yourself part of Teej’s brood?”
Devon scoffs. “Please. If anything I’m like the Cool Aunt of this group.”
“You could totally rock a wine glass,” Ryan cackles, his body shaking against Shane’s chest. His joy is a bright sunburst to Shane’s senses, like pop rocks crackling on his tongue. “What’s that make Mark then?” Ryan asks, and almost as one they all glance over at the last occupant of the car, whose currently got his head lowered over the workings of a rather impressive scarf, fingers moving confidently over his knitting needles.
“Crafty Grandma,” T.J. intones seriously, and the rest of them nod. Well, except for Mark, who’s either thrilled about his new moniker or just doesn’t give a shit.
They wind up finding a diner in town whose windows are still lit up, a rosy glow resonating from inside, and they all pile into a booth with sighs of relief, shimmying out of their heavy jackets and ordering a veritable mountain of food.
Shane clucks his tongue as Ryan goes straight for the flapjacks, and Ryan gleefully tells him to fuck off, before sipping gratefully at his coffee. He’s radiating contentment, the usual flare of his soul softened to a warm pulse, and Shane slumps against the booth as he drinks it in. He’s never been shy about expressing his appreciation (and okay, his enjoyment) of Ryan’s fear, but he prefers this aura of peace and cozy contentment, and finds it contagious.
By the time their food arrives he’s so relaxed he’s nearly slipped into a doze, though the mouthwatering, cinnamon-and-maple scent of the waffles the waitress sets in front of him wakes him up well enough. His eyes close in bliss as he takes the first bite, moaning at the burst of flavor on his tongue, warm and syrupy and practically divine. He doesn't actually need to eat, not in the sense that he needs the sustenance to survive, but it's something he's always enjoyed. Same with drink and sleep and sex, all things he could do without but would rather not, especially when he has such a compatible partner to share in all of it.
A soft swell of emotion takes up residence in his chest at the reminder of all that he gets to share with Ryan, the feeling just as warm and twice as syrupy as the waffles he's currently plowing through, and Shane turns to his boyfriend, wanting to indulge in it a little, only to find Ryan already looking at him.
Well, at his mouth. And he's not so much looking as staring, his eyes dark and focused like he's studying a particularly compelling bit of film.
"What's up, Ry?" Shane asks, forcing a tone of casual curiosity into his voice as he spears another chunk of waffle. "You realizing the error of your ways?"
Ryan blinks, nose scrunching up in confusion. "Huh?"
Shane raises his fork, dangling the morsel in the air between them. "You were staring at my mouth, figured you wanted a bite," he says, and grins as realization spills across Ryan's face, color staining his cheeks.
"Uh, yeah, sure. Waffles." His eyes dart between Shane's face and the fork held temptingly in front of his mouth, his legs shifting beneath the table - all nervous tics, ones that Shane has seen a million times before and revels in now. "You were hyping them up so much, you know?"
"I know," Shane agrees, though it's pretty obvious he's not talking about waffles. He can tell the moment it hits Ryan, too, because he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. Another tic. "Well? Bottoms up, buttercup. Better hurry, before it drips." A glob of syrup has already slipped down the tines of the fork and clings helplessly to the edge, threatening to fall.
Ryan narrows his eyes, annoyed at Shane's teasing now that he's aware of it, and leans forward to take the bite, lips tugging on the fork a little as he pulls his head back. The syrup has left his bottom lip slick and shiny. He chews and swallows, his eyes fixed on Shane's.
"Not bad," he says, swiping away the bead of sticky sweetness on his bottom lip and sucking it free of his thumb. The digit slips from his mouth with a soft pop, and his lips curl in a self-satisfied smile around it. Shane feels an answering pull in his groin and huffs, partly in amusement and partly in helpless arousal. Beneath the table, he presses his thigh against Ryan's, relishing in the heat of his body tucked so close, separated as they are by layers of clothes.
"We really can't take you anywhere," T.J.'s voice interrupts them. They glance over as one to catch the exasperated look on his face, sheepish grins curling their lips.
Devon snorts next to T.J., amused. “Let ‘em be, Teej. It’s cute. Kinda.”
Shane gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “Devon, how could you? We’re not cute - “ He nearly spits the word. “We’re fucking adorable.” He reaches for Ryan’s hand and curls their fingers together on the tabletop, nudging Ryan’s shoulder with a petulant, “Tell her, Ry.”
Ryan rolls his eyes, though his lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile and he doesn’t bother to wiggle free of Shane’s grip. “Don’t drag me into this, dude,” he says, and then proceeds to stuff a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. Disgusting.
“Some boyfriend you are,” Shane tsks. “You’re supposed to defend my honor.”
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “You have some of that?”
Shane practically squawks, “Ryan,” all aghast, and struggles to keep up the bit as Ryan ducks his head to hide a smile, brilliant and white, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
Cute, Shane thinks, his chest warm with so much more than the divine fire that crackles in his lungs and races through his veins.
On the tabletop, his fingers squeeze around Ryan’s. After a moment, Ryan’s squeeze back.
He lets Ryan take the first shower, content to stretch out on the bed and scroll through his social media while he waits. The snow had picked up considerably while they ate, leaving a blanket of powder on the ground, and their shoulders and heads had been dusted in white by the time they reached the safety of their hotel room. Whatever warmth Ryan had gleaned from the diner had long fled, and he’d been shivering as he slipped free of his jacket and shoes. Shane had teased him about his delicate Californian constitution, but only after nudging him toward the bathroom with a kiss and a pass of his fingers through Ryan’s messy hair.
A hot shower would fix him right up, and then they could retreat under the blankets and pass the rest of the night in a cocoon of feathers and flesh, binging Netflix and watching the snow fall.
Or, Shane thinks with a smirk, remembering the way Ryan’s eyes had lingered on his mouth earlier, they could finish what they’d nearly started in the diner.
They usually tried to behave on trips for Unsolved, considering they tended to share a bank of rooms with the crew and hotel walls were notoriously thin, but sometimes they slipped, a teasing remark or an adrenaline-fueled romp through some dark, dank death trap paving the way for roving hands and hungry mouths.
Surrendering to it wasn't the smartest idea, but one glance at Ryan’s smile or his eyes or that mouth and Shane was gone, restraint cracking like a broken twig. He couldn’t control it anymore than he could control his wings whenever they ached to wrap around Ryan; he was helpless to Ryan’s pull, just like they were.
And he was thrilled by it. The loss of control, the blinding, fevered hunger, the surge of want and need flooding through his veins – it was glorious.
The door to the bathroom clicks open, dispelling his heated thoughts. Shane lifts his head to watch Ryan emerge in a cloud of steam, his Twitter feed instantly forgotten as he rakes his eyes down the bare expanse of Ryan’s torso, over the knot of the towel wrapped around his hips and down to his bare feet, toes curling as he steps onto the springy hotel carpet.
“Can I borrow your sweatshirt?” Ryan’s asking, scrubbing at his damp hair with another towel as he crosses the room, heading toward their suitcases, stowed by the desk so they’d be out of the way. “It’s warmer than anything I packed.”
Shane would love nothing more than to see Ryan in his sweatshirt, the soft fabric clinging to his shoulders and the swells of his biceps and the sleeves tucked over his fingers, smelling like himself and Shane all mixed-up and tangled, but Ryan’s skin is still steam-damp and red from the heat of the shower, his hair fluffing up from his vigorous rubbing, and the roll of muscles beneath smooth, olive flesh is too tempting to ignore.
“You could wear my sweatshirt,” Shane says, pushing himself up so that he’s braced on his palms. “Or you could just come over here and let me warm you up the old-fashioned way.”
Ryan pauses, quirking a brow. “The old-fashioned way, huh?” He runs a hand through his hair, tossing the towel over the desk chair. “What’d you have in mind, big guy?”
As if he doesn’t know.
Shane tilts his head, warmth filling his belly as he catches sight of a stray drop of water slipping down Ryan’s throat, over the curve of his Adam’s apple, slow and meandering until it can collect in the dip of his collarbone. “Could use my mouth,” he muses, tapping his bottom lip with his pointer finger. “I mean, you seemed pretty distracted by it at dinner.”
"I wasn't - " Ryan starts, automatic, before he sighs and gives up the ghost (hah). "It's your fault. You were being all - " He waves his hand in a gesture that presumably means something, though hell if Shane knows what that something is supposed to be, and Shane snorts.
"I was eating."
"You were moaning," Ryan shoots back, crossing his arms as if Shane's being deliberately obtuse, which, fair.
"They were good waffles," Shane hedges, fighting a smile as Ryan squints at him. He doesn’t look too impressed by what he finds, though Shane can fix that easily enough. A cock of his head, his best attempt at an innocent look, and a soft sigh as he stretches his long legs out in front of him is all it takes for Ryan’s eyes to go dark, and Shane struggles not to preen when he’s blessed with such scrutiny.
“I know what you’re doing,” Ryan says, though Shane can’t help but notice that his voice has grown a little raspier.
“I mean, I did tell you,” Shane says, lips curling. “Gonna warm you up. Get you niiiice and toasty.”
Ryan furrows his brows. “That sounds like a line from a porno.”
“A porno - Ryan, have you looked outside lately? We’re in the middle of a snowstorm. You asked to wear my sweatshirt. We’re one shared bed away from starring in our own holiday rom-com.”
Ryan snorts a laugh, his arms falling. “Pretty sure the people in those aren’t half-naked,” he says, his fingers tugging pointedly at the knot of his towel. “Actually, I’m pretty sure the people in those have never gotten naked at any point in their lives. Ruins the whole – you know, that wholesome image they’ve got going on.”
Shane shrugs. “Eh, you can be wholesome and nude at the same time.” He waggles his brows. “Want me to show ya?”
“What, are you gonna wholesomely suck my dick? Lay me out on the bed for some thoughtful fingerbanging? Tenderly fuck me silly?”
“All of the above, baby!”
Ryan wheezes, and the brightness of his joy fills the air, coats the back of Shane’s tongue with the taste of sugar and heat. “I’ll believe it when I see it, big guy.”
“C’mere, then,” Shane coaxes, inwardly thrilled when he doesn’t have to tell Ryan twice. Ryan's bare feet shuffle across the carpet, the only sound in the room aside from their breathing, soft and hushed, and combined with the silent snowfall outside, the room feels… sacred, almost, like a private bubble suspended in time. Like they're the only two on earth. It’s a nice thought.
Maybe not as nice as Ryan’s hips, though, warm beneath Shane’s hands even through the terrycloth wrapped around his waist. Shane thrills in the heat of him and in the scent of his skin, hotel soap and the familiar bite of his aftershave, along with that undercurrent of warmth that Shane has come to associate with Ryan at all times, rich and sweet like the California sun has soaked straight into his skin and left brilliant summer spilling through his veins.
His position on the bed puts him at eye level with Ryan’s chest, and Shane decides to take full advantage, leaning over to press his lips to the swell of Ryan’s right pec and giving him a lazy smile.
"Hey there."
Ryan huffs a laugh, chest rumbling against Shane’s mouth. "Hey, big guy," he murmurs, fingers coming up to drift feather-light through Shane's hair.
Shane tilts his head into the caress. "That's nice," he says, and punctuates his words with another kiss to Ryan's chest, a bare inch from his nipple.
Ryan's lips twitch. His fingers firm in Shane's hair, sinking in, and oh, that’s even nicer. "Yeah?"
Another kiss, this time directly on the little bud. “Yeah,” he murmurs, following it up with a slow, teasing lick.
Ryan shivers beneath him, fingers clenching in Shane’s hair, pulling slightly at the strands, and Shane’s eyes drift closed as he follows a meandering path along Ryan’s chest, alternating between close-mouthed kisses and soft nips, listening to Ryan huff and mumble his name.
The warmth beneath his lips is intoxicating, soft skin stretched across powerful muscles, shivering like waves lapping at the shore as he follows a line down Ryan’s sternum. His hands stroke along Ryan’s hips and thighs, fluffy terrycloth covering taut flesh, resisting the urge to slip beneath and drag along hot skin. Not just yet, he thinks, ducking his head to press a series of chaste kisses to Ryan’s lower belly, light and ticklish along his abs, before fitting his mouth to the warm swath of skin beneath his navel and sucking a bruise to life.
Ryan shudders and laughs, a soft rasp of a thing. “Such a fucking tease,” he murmurs, both of his hands nestled in Shane’s hair, fingers carding through the strands.
Shane grins, gripping Ryan’s hips. “Just takin’ my time,” he promises, nosing at the dark trail of hair leading from Ryan’s navel into the band of his towel, reveling in the heat of Ryan’s swelling cock against his cheek. He pushes at Ryan’s hips, ordering him to, “Scooch,” and drops to the floor as soon as he has room, knees digging into the springy carpet. "You got a problem with that, little guy?" he asks, reaching for the knot of Ryan's towel.
Ryan swallows, shaking his head. "No, no problem," he breathes, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as Shane tugs his towel free, leaving it in a pool of white at his feet.
Shane draws in a breath at the sight of Ryan's bare thighs and hard cock, flushed pink at the tip and curving toward his stomach. Lust swims through his veins, thick and heady, going straight to his head, and he's helpless against it, unable to resist the urge to wrap his fingers around the base of Ryan's cock and part his lips around the tip.
"Fuck," Ryan mumbles, his nails scratching at Shane's scalp as Shane mouths at his crown, tongue flicking against the leaking slit with the ease of someone long practiced with the act of taking Ryan apart.
Shane's proud of that talent, needless to say - how all it takes is a word, or a look, or a touch from him to make Ryan melt. That's the sort of power that humbles him, makes his own iron clad control falter, even if only for a moment. Like now, with Ryan tilting his head back on a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut as Shane licks at his shaft, tracing the thick vein running along the underside and feeling Ryan pulse against his tongue - it's exquisite, Ryan's face, Ryan's sounds, the thrum of Ryan's soul echoing all around them, heady and quick, like a bird beating its wings to take flight.
Along his back and shoulders, Shane's wings ache in kind, pushing at his skin, wanting to unfurl. It's a struggle not to let them; it's been too long since he's allowed them to be corporeal, and in moments like this, where he's wrapped in a warm haze of joy and contentment and desire, it's difficult not to crack the shell of his humanity and allow his more angelic traits free reign.
Ryan wouldn't mind. He's seen it all before, inasmuch as Shane can allow him to see without, well, frying his brain. He's struck a delicate balance between what's enough and what's too much - the lengthening of his spine to prepare for the splay of his numerous wings, the white hot glow of his halo bursting from behind his ears and forming a crown around his head, and the slits of his many, many eyes, parting to reveal pupils bathed in white.
He doesn't always go full tilt like that, only when Ryan asks to see him, all of him, but it's nice, knowing he can. Knowing Ryan won't turn tail and run in the opposite direction. Knowing Ryan isn't afraid. Awed, maybe. Overwhelmed, definitely. But never afraid.
There's not a sliver of fear in Ryan now, just the sweetness of pleasure and the softest affection, and Shane could gorge himself on it, filled to the brim with Ryan's love until he's overflowing. It's a saccharine thought, one he would normally roll his eyes at, but it's true.
A fresh gush of precome pools on his tongue as he squeezes Ryan's ass, fingertips delving between his cheeks, and Shane drinks it down with a pleased hum, licking the salt and slick from Ryan's skin. His head is foggy with Ryan’s scent, soap and sweat and musk, and he could drown in it if he isn’t careful.
He could stay like this all night, in fact, parked on his knees with Ryan's cock resting heavy on his tongue, rubbing the tips of his fingers teasingly over the furled rim of Ryan's hole - he's got the stamina for it, and the patience, but judging by the increasingly needy whines Ryan keeps trying to smother, it won't take much more to send his mouthy boyfriend crashing over the edge. Ah well. The night's far from over.
And Shane wants to feel it, wants to hear Ryan cry out as he cums, wants to feel him gush over his tongue, so he bobs his head with gusto, suckling at Ryan's cock just the way he knows Ryan likes it, rolling his tongue along the sensitive skin beneath the head and dipping into the slit with a low hum of pleasure.
Ryan sucks in a sharp breath, his thready, “OhmygodShane,” coming out as one word before his voice breaks, his fingers yanking at Shane's hair as he begins to cum. Shane's fingers wrapped around his stuttering hips are the only thing preventing him from choking Shane with the force of his thrusts, not that Shane would mind being used that way. There are benefits to not technically needing to breathe, and he and Ryan have reaped those rewards more than once over the course of their relationship.
But that’s for another time. For now Shane is perfectly content to swallow around Ryan, satisfaction curling in his belly as his lover spurts across his tongue, shuddering beneath his palms and panting out garbled versions of his name. Shane strokes a wide palm over Ryan’s stomach just to feel his abs twitch in the throes of his orgasm, keeps Ryan tucked into the heat of his mouth even after the last of his shudders have died away and he whimpers with over-sensitivity, fingers scrabbling at Shane's hair.
"C’mere, Shane, c’mere," he's murmuring, pulling at Shane's shoulders until Shane rises to his feet, the pins and needles sensation as his limbs unfold a brief discomfort until Ryan kisses him, breathing hard through his nose and wrapping his fingers in the back of Shane's sweater. Everything else falls away as Shane cups Ryan's cheeks and parts his lips for Ryan's tongue, heat pooling in his belly as they share the taste of Ryan's slick between them. It's not until now that he realizes this is the first time they've really kissed all day, having spent the bulk of their time filming and with the crew, and that's just a damn shame. You could even call it a sin, and Shane would laugh if Ryan wasn't in the midst of plundering his mouth.
His lips must twitch regardless, because Ryan eases back, mouth red and chest heaving as he fights to catch his breath. Shane hates to lose the contact but loves the way Ryan's looking at him too much to reestablish it, dark and focused, hungry, like he hadn't just cum a few minutes ago, like he wants to eat Shane alive.
Shane almost feels sorry for everyone that won't ever know what this feels like, pinned beneath Ryan's dark-eyed stare and wrapped in the circle of his arms, but then Ryan reaches for his face, thumb slipping along Shane's bottom lip, swollen and pink from sucking Ryan off, and Shane realizes he doesn't feel sorry at all. He feels proud. Enviable. Coveted. Not the most appropriate emotions for an angel, but whatever propriety should be afforded his kind Shane had tossed out ages ago, so fuck it.
"God, babe," Ryan rasps, his voice thick as he thumbs along Shane's mouth. It's slick and a little stretched at the corners, and Shane relishes in the pleasant ache as he smiles, ducking down to press a kiss to Ryan's palm. "Fuck, your mouth. You're so, you're just - "
"Amazing?" Shane supplies, fluttering his lashes like a Disney princess. "Incredible? Devastatingly handsome?" He's not; he's long and gangly and a little weird looking, but hey, you try compressing a being made of divine fire and glowing feathers into a human shell and see how well your vessel turns out.
"All of the above, big guy," Ryan breathes, and laughs, but it's not his You're insufferable and I can't take anything you say seriously laugh, it's his You're insufferable but I love you for it laugh, and Shane feels the difference all the way down to his toes, all the way to the tips of his wings, crackling with holy fire along the ridges of his spine, just waiting to burst forth.
Behave, he tells them, even as he leans down to kiss Ryan, the urgency from before softened into an ache that sweetens rather than sours, his hands roving up and down the broad expanse of Ryan’s back, digging into firm muscle and smoothing over warm, sweat-slick skin. Ryan’s palm remains pressed to his cheek, his thumb tucked against the seam of their mouths where they’re joined, and Shane shivers as he pulls back, nipping playfully at the tip of Ryan’s thumb before he asks, “So? Up for round two?”
Ryan grins, his eyes glittering. “Round two for me, you mean? You haven’t cum yet.”
“I know,” Shane says, dipping down to catch Ryan’s lips in another kiss. This is why they try to hold off when they’re traveling; once he starts, he can’t fucking stop. “I can be patient.”
Ryan cackles, his thumb stroking over the line of Shane’s jaw, rasping gently against his beard. “Carry on then, good sir. But first – “ He plucks at Shane’s sweater, peering up at Shane from beneath his lashes. It’s such a cliché move, so laughably obvious, but damn if it doesn’t get to Shane every fucking time. “Lose the clothes.”
“Oh, you’re giving the orders now, hmm?” Shane teases, slipping into the warm familiarity of their banter. “Just gonna boss me around with your ass bared to the breeze, huh?”
“You’re goddamn right I am,” Ryan tosses back, reaching down to pat Shane’s ass before he eases out of the circle of his arms and hops up onto the bed. “Grab the lube while you’re at it.”
“The nerve,” Shane gasps, shaking his head even as he goes to rummage in their bags. “The absolute gall of some people. You know, there’s gotta be something sacrilegious about ordering an angel to fetch your lubricant.”
“Fetch my lubricant,” Ryan repeats in a disbelieving tone, his voice shaking with laughter. “Come over here and I’ll make it worth your while,” he adds, stretching out along the bed in a lazy sprawl, the soft light from the bedside lamp casting his body in teasing shadow.
“There’s probably something sacrilegious about that, too,” Shane chirps, tossing the lube on the bed before he gets to work on his clothes, his sweater, jeans, and underwear finding a new home on the floor before he climbs onto the bed and straddles Ryan, pushing his hands to either side of Ryan’s head.
Ryan grins up at him, hooking his legs in a comfortable sprawl around Shane’s thighs. “Hey.”
“Hey again.” They grin dopily at each other, enjoying the sensation of bare skin sliding against bare skin. Ryan’s cock lies quiescent against his thigh, his body soft and relaxed against the hotel sheets, and Shane’s wings ache to wrap around him, not to cover him up but to pillow him on a bed of brilliant light, because Ryan deserves nothing less.
Something of that must show on his face, or maybe Ryan just knows him too well. “You can let ‘em loose, you know that, right?” he asks, reaching up to run his palms along the dip of Shane’s spine.
Shane shakes his head, even as his wings practically preen at the idea. “Nah, don’t wanna make a mess.” Their room’s not exactly big, and in the throes he’s been known to… lose sight of a few things. Namely his control.
Ryan huffs, fingers digging into the dimples on Shane’s lower back, making his hips jerk forward. “We’ll clean it up,” he says, capping his words off with a sinful roll of his hips, the friction of his inner thigh rubbing against Shane’s dick making Shane hiss out a breath.
“Dirty pool, Bergara,” he rasps, unable to resist grinding into Ryan.
“C’mon, Shane.” Ryan reaches for the lube, pushing the bottle into Shane’s hand and wrapping his fingers around the back of Shane’s neck, easing them through the soft baby hairs there. “Open me up and then let ‘em out. Wanna feel ‘em.”
“Such attitude,” Shane marvels, but he does as he’s told, popping the cap on the lube and squeezing a generous amount into his hand, liberally coating his fingers. “Were you always this bossy in bed or am I just special?”
Ryan shoots him a smirk, canting his hips as Shane’s fingers sink between his thighs. “Get your dick in me and maybe I’ll tell you,” he says. Shane doesn’t need to be told twice.
By the time he’s knuckle-deep in Ryan they’re both on the edge of losing it, Ryan from the three fingers stuffed inside his ass and Shane from Ryan, the tight, hot clench of his body and the sound of his groans and mewls and curses, the lust-blown darkness of his eyes and the swollen bow of his lower lip, red from the way his teeth have been worrying at it.
“'M ready, I'm good, fuck." Ryan tosses his head back and laughs, breathless and loud, his ass fluttering around Shane's fingers. "Gonna make me cum if you keep that up."
Shane finishes sucking a bruise into Ryan's navel, just to the left of the last one, and peers up at Ryan with dancing eyes. "That'd be a shame," he murmurs, voice hoarse, and twists his fingers until he can rub the tips along Ryan's prostate.
Ryan shouts, ass clenching and thighs twitching against Shane's shoulders, and shoots Shane a glare, somewhat tempered by the way he keeps fucking himself on Shane's fingers. "Stop fuh-fucking teasing, asshole."
"I'm not," Shane lies, easing his fingers free with a muffled squelch and immediately missing Ryan's warmth. "You told me to open you up," he adds, grabbing for the lube.
Ryan scoffs, shivering as Shane strokes the length of his thigh with his clean hand. "I'm loose enough already. You just want to torture me, you sadist."
"Angels can't be sadists, Ryan," Shane remarks, using the no-nonsense tone that never fails to ruffle Ryan's feathers.
"Then you're an outlier," Ryan groans, incredulous this time rather than aroused. "That fucking figures."
"I'm one of a kind, baby," Shane agrees, a shiver working down his spine as he coats his length with slick. "You wouldn't have me any other way. Might as well admit it."
"I don't have you at all, yet," Ryan deadpans, shooting a pointed glance between them where his legs are splayed around Shane's hips, a thin sheen of sweat and lube and saliva slicking his thighs. His cock curves towards his belly, pearls of precome glistening at the tip, and Shane watches as a bead breaks off and drips down to Ryan’s navel, his soul or his essence or whatever it is that makes up his core burning with hunger.
“Patience is a virtue, you know,” he breathes, even as he reaches down to grip Ryan’s buttock, holding him open to ease the way for his cock.
“Oh my fucking god,” Ryan gasps, hand pressed to his forehead as he cackles at the ceiling. He’s still laughing as Shane eases inside him, a brief moment of resistance all that stands between them and a slow slide into snug, grasping heat.
They both moan as Shane sinks home, their bodies quickly settling into a familiar rhythm, strung along and teased too much throughout the night to worry about taking their time. Still, Shane keeps his thrusts measured and slow, achingly so, his hands curling around Ryan’s thighs and his fingertips sinking into slick, hot skin. Ryan’s like a heat sink when they’re like this, arms tossed over Shane’s shoulders and hips pumping eagerly to meet each of Shane’s thrusts, sweat beading on his brow and in a thin sheen across his chest. Shane never breaks a sweat himself, too accustomed to the heat of his core, but he runs hotter when he’s pounding into Ryan or Ryan’s pounding into him, his body clenching and shaking and straining in paroxysms of ecstasy.
It’s like they’re burning together now, wrapped in a tangle of limbs, sharing skin and breath and the ragged cry of each other’s names. It’s messy, it’s loud, it’s desperation and hunger and need crashing together in a roaring crescendo. It’s glorious.
“Fuck me,” Ryan whines, his head falling back, breath ragged. It’s more praise than instruction, Shane knows, but he happily picks up the pace regardless, hips snapping as he drives harder into Ryan. A punched-out breath leaves Ryan’s throat at the intensity, his mouth falling open, and a chorus of breathy grunts joins the wet slap of skin on skin and the creak of bedsprings. Faintly, Shane hopes none of their neighbors can hear any of it.
And then Ryan’s hands are scrabbling at his shoulders and dragging down the length of his back, pleading brokenly for Shane to, “Show me, c’mon, Shane, wanna feel ‘em,” and all other thoughts scatter like ash from Shane’s mind as he feels his wings surging beneath his skin, roiling along his spine as if they’d been waiting for exactly this, Ryan’s voice and Ryan’s hands urging them free.
“Ryan,” he gasps, followed by a string of curses as his back bows beneath the strain of shifting skin and muscle and bone. Relief crashes through him as his wings push through the thin barrier of his skin, one by one until all six are flaring behind him, crackling with holy fire and casting wild shadows on the walls.
Ryan utters a noise and plunges his hands into the riot of feathers along Shane’s shoulders, sinking in and clenching tight. Shane shouts, bucking forward until he’s buried to the root in Ryan’s heat and grinding his hips in tight, desperate circles. It had taken ages for Ryan to touch his wings with anything other than the lightest touch, but now he knows exactly how much Shane loves them to be held or tugged or raked through, where all of his sensitive spots are and exactly how to touch them to drive Shane wild.
“S’good, feels so fucking good, Shane,” Ryan’s babbling, eyes hooded and breath coming in heavy pants. He’s a fucking vision beneath Shane, the splay of his thighs and his bobbing cock, slapping sticky-wet against his stomach with every thrust, the sweat shining along his torso and the soft, wild mess of his hair making something clench in Shane’s chest, something fragile and vital and wafer-thin, maybe the last bit of resistance he’d been clinging to not to fall head over heels for this brilliant, brave, ridiculous human. The moment it snaps, crackling like a live-wire along his limbs and up into his wings, he’s driving forward and catching Ryan’s mouth in a deep, messy kiss, keening into the heat of his mouth as the pressure in his groin coils tighter and tighter, arousal and need and love crashing over him in a dizzying wave.
Wetness splatters against his chest and belly just as Ryan tears his mouth away, burying his face in the bend of Shane’s shoulder and mouthing at his skin as he shudders through what feels like one hell of an orgasm. His body clenches around Shane, muscles fluttering around his cock, and Shane’s hips stutter as his own release takes hold and tears through him, spilling into Ryan with a low, ragged moan that borders teasingly on a sob.
He collapses onto his forearms as his body shivers through the aftermath, his wings flapping lazily before they finally settle in a veil of white around them. Ryan’s throat is slick with sweat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to catch his breath, and Shane spends a few moments pressing his mouth to Ryan’s pulse and enjoying the wild beat of his heart.
“I think – ” Ryan pants, carding his fingers through Shane’s hair, “ – you broke a lamp.”
Shane eases back, raising his wings a bit to reveal the room beyond their feathery cocoon. Somehow in their… vigor, they’ve knocked the bedside lamp to the floor, along with everything else that had been scattered across the bedside table. Every available surface is littered with stray feathers, some still floating lazily to the ground, and all in all the room looks… like a mess.
Shane turns back to Ryan, widening his eyes in a facsimile of innocence. “Whoops?”
Ryan snorts a laugh beneath him, slumping against the bed as giggles overtake his frame, and Shane’s helpless to do anything but join him, his wings shivering happily at the sound of Ryan’s joy.
The snow continues to fall outside, covering the ground in blankets of frosty white, but the cold can’t reach them here. Shane will make sure of it.