When they finally had a chance to tear off each other's clothes, Root was surprised to find Shaw had long, diaphanous wings folded tight to her back. She stroked them curiously with her fingertips; they rustled and pushed her hand away, just like Shaw would shrug Root's hand off her shoulder. Shaw put her mouth to Root's neck, kissing and nipping hard to distract her, but Root couldn't stop staring. The wings attached at Shaw's shoulder blades, long and double-paired like a dragonfly. One of them had a very obvious bullet hole, the veins circling the rupture in an irregular pattern. Reaching around, Root let her fingers brush the scar, and Shaw hissed and ground against her hip.
"Quit playing with them and fuck me," she said, pushing Root's hand between her legs. That was enough to drag Root's attention away from the wings.
After, Shaw lay on her belly, face down and sleepy. Her wings, spread out and suffused with blood, pulsed gently pink against the white sheets. Root rested her head in the small of Shaw's back and listened to the gentle rustle of the wings. A thought occurred to her. "So, when you punch out someone's tooth, do you have to leave them a dollar?"
Shaw moved faster than lightning, flipping Root over and pinning her to the bed. "No," she said, and licked Root's spine with a tongue that felt too long and thin to be human. "And I don't know the Easter Bunny, either."