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It didn’t matter much how they’d got here.
She propped herself up on her knees before him, swords discarded, eyes closed against the gentle touches to her uncloaked face. The vulnerability was just on the verge between uncomfortable and oh, so nice. Uncomfortable because she was weak, unprotected. Nice because it was familiar, rough callouses ghosting over her skin, mapping out her divine image.
Because it was him.
“You’re the only one who could ever get away with this,” she sighed against the thumb brushing over her lips, wings ever so slightly shuddering in response to the answering hum from his throat. Cracking her eyes open confirmed the smile in his voice, and reminded her of the small distance between them. She was all but unwilling as his hands traveled just behind the downy feathers adorning her head, fingers tangled in her curls, coaxing her forwards at the same rate that he lowered his own face towards her, soft melted gold meeting burnished silver that gleamed with adoration, with the worship she so heavily craved from him, only him.
His breath was warm and sweet as he lightly pressed his forehead to hers, practically feeding his words directly into her throat, “I’ll have to take that as a compliment, angel.” She would forever deny the pleased little chirrup she gave in response to the pet name, as well as the involuntary flutter and poofing of feathers. Telamon was not a soft god, however even she had her exceptions, one of which being the tiny, almost undetected surge of want from the other, tugging her every so slightly closer to press their lips together finally, completely.
Swords, she hoped this would stay forever.
“Hold still for me.”
Shedletsky grunted, one wing folded tight against his back while the other was more or less manhandled to stay open against the duvet. The limb trembled under the weight of Builderman’s arm pinning it down, the man releasing a strangled yelp as the snapped pin feather that had been jabbing him for nearly a week was yanked out, tossed aside in favor of placing more pressure on the wing to stop any blood from seeping out.
This was pathetic, he never had problems with his wings back then. His past self would be ashamed to have the hot mess protruding from his back. Ashamed that he was too weak and irritable to handle one measly pin feather on his own. Ashamed that he’d let himself go so far. Ashamed in general, really; Shedletsky was everything that Telamon was not, and Swords forbid one mock her visage, intentional or not.
Being a mortal sucked ass, he decided. Well, more like affirmed to himself.
The pressure on his wing lessened gradually, allowing Shed to sag against Builderman’s lap, shivering as the now empty spot was prodded lightly to check for injury. He learned, after his wings had begun to grow back, that arguing against the action was completely useless; he told himself he was simply allowing the man to do it. It was better than admitting he didn’t have much power in the situation anyways, not anymore. “There you go,” he hummed once he was satisfied there would be no lasting damage, his hand methodically sorting through the rest of his feathers while the other carded into his hair, thumbing lightly at his temple as he buried half his face into his stomach, sighing into it. “Y’okay?”
“Mmh,” Shedletsky offered nothing else, closing his eyes and focusing instead on the deft hands preening his wing. Smoothing fibers, lightly scraping away debris, dried blood, and old pins with his fingernails. The hand at his head prodded at the stub of what remained of his other wings buried under his curls, rubbing the downy tufts coating it in a way he knew he liked. The grooming wound up becoming a routine for them, of sorts, a mutually beneficial arrangement; Builderman found it soothing when under stress from work to preen him, and the wings were far too small now for Shedletsky to care for properly on his own, even less so when they were busy trying to not die.
He missed his actual wings.
Sure, these were still “his”, but they were shamefully pitiful when compared to what he’d had before. They weren’t tiny by any means, still rather sizeable, but they were small enough to tuck away under his clothing, useless in flight thanks to a combination of being entirely unproportional to his body and the complete lack of the vital flight feathers. They lacked any of the regality he’d had before. Telamon’s wings commanded attention, while his were at best just something for people to bump into and get in the way of.
Rephrase, maybe he just missed being Telamon.
“What are you thinkin’?” Builderman’s voice was rough with the lower volume, gentle as if he thought he might be fragile. He was still rubbing at the remains of his head wing, feeling it twitch beneath his fingers at the question.
“It’s stupid, don’t worry about it.”
“Doesn’t seem stupid if it’s got you this caught up.”
He’d always been able to read him so easily without the veil of his cloak. It didn’t make him angry anymore, like it did when he’d first fallen. “…just reminiscing, I guess.” He paused for a long while, simply focusing on the hand in his wing. “I miss it sometimes.”
Without a word, the other gently folded the open wing closed, watching the shudder run down the length of it to get the feathers back in line. Shedletsky took the silent prompt to offer his second wing for the same treatment, a faint purr chittering in his chest with the switch of hands, nails scratching his scalp as he went right back to work, his voice growing tired as he continued. “I miss not feeling so useless half the time. Like I have the ability to actually benefit the others, instead of just…” He lazily waved a hand, draping his arm comfortably around Builderman’s waist. “Whatever I’ve been doing here. Not helping, I know that much.”
“You didn’t ask to be nerfed, Shed. You said it yourself.”
“I didn’t ask to subconsciously manifest my own malice and have it quite literally birth itself from my back either, but here we are. Can’t even fight my own creation correctly,” he sighed, breath hissing as he found another broken feather and plucked it.
“Knowing him, he probably wouldn’t even attempt to do anything about all this. Always too high and mighty for ‘busy work’.” Builderman smiled slightly at the snort against his hoodie. “You’re already doing leagues better, yeah?”
“Mmh…not gonna lie, I have had the ‘if you die you die’ thought sometimes…” He snickered, flicking his wing against the light smack he got in response. “Yeah, yeah, I know. He’d probably just join the Spectre for shits and giggles.”
“And thank the Heights she can’t. I can just imagine the bloodbath now.” He smoothed his hand over the feathers, giving the point of connection between his wing and his back a light pat. “‘M done, if you wanna get up now.”
He shook his head against the other, lifting himself just enough to bunt against Builderman’s chin in wordless thanks before relaxing back in place, both wings spreading like a blanket over them as he released a soft chirrup. “You wanted to do this on the bed for a reason, we can stay here…” He lifted himself slightly again as the other shifted into a more reclined position, shuffling himself upward to rest his head instead on his chest, purring as the hands went right back to petting his head and combing lightly through the down between his wings. Just like he knew he liked.
He’d learned it from her.
It wasn’t good to be envious, even less so of Telamon. It was stupid to be jealous, those were his memories, his experiences. But he wasn’t a god anymore. He wasn’t Telamon. Just the husk of what she used to be.
“You’re thinking again.” He brought his attention back to the present, acknowledging him with an involuntary chirp. “You know how dangerous that can be, c’mon.”
“If I…” he started, eased by the gentle rubbing at his shoulder blades, but still trailing off briefly. “…If I hadn’t lost it to get to where I am now,” mortal, fragile, pointless . “…would you still worship me?” Shedletsky mumbled, voice almost uncharacteristically meek. Almost afraid of what the answer might be.
Afraid it might be no.
The pause dragged on far too long for comfort, eyes just beginning to sting and throat tightening before his head was tilted upwards, their foreheads pressed together, oh so familiar. “I never stopped, angel,” he hummed with a lopsided smile, silver shining with adoration.
Swords, he hoped this would stay forever…