Work Text:
Adam wasn’t the type for aftercare beyond the basics, a short cuddle, a little hydration, get the fuck out. No attachments, no commitment, everyone knew the deal when they walked past the doomchair and landed on his fantastic mattress.
He liked to celebrate with a couple rounds of Street Fighter 69 on his own time, in his own boxers, complete freedom.
He felt a little stupid for grabbing her wrist, but it wasn’t hard to lie to himself that he just wanted to get another round out of her in the morning. He didn’t usually let his bedmates stay the night — but sure, why not, the sex was worth the possible bickering in daylight.
Maybe he enjoyed the way her eyes rolled in slightly fond annoyance when he riled her up.
She had been too tired — oh yeah, that was definitely his fault — to refuse the quiet offer, instead she had managed to wedge herself against his chest and the wall in a way that should have absolutely given her back problems before she turned thirty.
It was almost cute. By some strange miracle, he had roused before her crack-of-dawn gym routine, the mild bluedark before dawn keeping her features out of focus, her chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of sleep.
He didn’t dare move for longer than he’d ever admit. He tried to commit this particular moment to memory, just in case.
Just in case what? Sap.
He suppressed a groan at himself, he was getting too old for this sentimental shit. His gaze traveled down her lithe, scarred body — maybe he should be thinking about how good she looked riding him, but he was instead thinking of the way she twisted in training, straining against his heavy swings and barking out a laugh at his failure to maintain his balance.
He sat up on his elbow slightly to get a better look at her face, and her wings shivered at the loss of his heat — drawing his attention to the mess of feathers that somehow still looked both beautiful and also like they spelled his end by a thousand painful cuts.
He noticed that there was new growth, tightly wound pinfeathers that looked irritated and probably were the reason she was a little more hissy than usual during foreplay.
His fingers itched to fix it — a man of impulses and instinct, he was already reaching out to stroke her smoky feathers, as careful as cleaning burs from wool.
He rubbed the casings between his thumb and forefinger without thought, fixating on the need to preen her. There was a moment where her feathers stiffened, then relaxed into his gentle but firm touch. He barely registered a soft, appreciative groan.
His tongue poked slightly out from between his lips and his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. It took time, enough to see sunlight spill into the room, painted in dawn’s warm palette.
Her wings stretched into the warmth, his fingers retreating as he let out a satisfied hum. His gaze flicked up and was surprised to meet her own pale gold, the same satisfaction blooming across her expression.
He coughed, “What, can’t have my best girl looking like a mess, yeah?”
She scowled immediately at his attempt to smother the moment. “Can’t you just shut up for once? You almost didn’t ruin it.”
”Ruin it? Babe, I fuckin’ made the moment. I made you, like, a thousand moments last night.”
Rather than rising to the bait, she did that huff of a laugh she only ever did when they were alone, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the fact he could fucking tell the difference in her laughs.
She pushed against his chest and he raised an eyebrow at her.
“Roll over.”
”You’re not fucking pegging me dangertits, I’m not prepared —“
She growled in annoyance, pushing against his chest hard again. He couldn’t help but grin at getting under her skin, throwing up his hands in a mocking surrender before reluctantly obeying her command.
Her fingers were as intricately-curved as paring knives, separating his feathers with all the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. She hunted for the remainders of his own self-preening attempts, finding missed spots that he never bothered to double-check.
He could never reach every spot anyway, why obsess about it?
But the feeling had his heart settle into a languid, comfortable rhythm again. He tried to forget the embarrassing little groan he did as she found a particularly itchy spot he’d gotten used to having for months.
There were places to have professionals preen your wings in heaven. He didn’t see the point of letting strangers have the satisfaction of touching the Original Dick’s wings without getting something more out of it, like, y’know, getting laid by a curvy little masseuse.
But Sera occasionally forced him to attend Archangel functions and clean up a bit. But professionals weren’t as thorough as Lute was being, fucking obsessing over every inch of his wings to hunt down every ounce of imperfection like, well, like a fucking bloodhound.
He felt simultaneously like he was a bug under her microscope, and also like he was getting the deepest tissue massage possible between every vertebrae as she slid her fingers down his back to force his wings open to their fullest.
He didn’t often get to stretch them out in a way that was this relaxing. This groan was louder and more appreciative, impossible to ignore, but he didn’t care anymore. Her soft laugh had something he might have mistaken for affection if he didn’t know better.
Right. Sunday. No gym routine, nowhere to be, nothing to do but have her bounce on his cock one more time before he melted into his perfectly-formed couch.
Yet, he found himself resenting the idea of doing anything but this.
He was tempted to beg her to keep touching him when he felt her slide down his calves, hands lifting away from their task. He moved his head enough to look back at her with one half-lidded eye, seeing her self-satisfied smile and infuriating, adorable smug pride that sent his heart into a weird little backflip he wasn’t going to examine even a little bit.
He let out an incredulous laugh, teasing with a softness that felt unfamiliar, “Didn’t think your claws were good for anything but scratching my hips to hell and back.”
She shook out her adorable — adorable? — silver bob, snorting, “You could say thanks.”
He smirked, “You’re welcome.”
She rolled her eyes again and made a move to slide off his bed, and if he were a smarter man, he wouldn’t have grabbed for her hand a second time in as many days.
Getting dangerously close to attached, Adam.
“Lieutenant. Stay a little longer. Bed’s colder without you.” He was lying through his teeth and she probably knew it, but she stilled.
She cocked her head to one side, seemed to think better of saying something biting in response before simply sliding back into the nest of blankets they’d made together.
His rough palm slotted on her hip, his breath tickled the back of her neck, and they laid like that as if time didn’t move without them, like they could spend millennia just like this, still and quiet as two immortals could ever be.