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The wings are taking some getting used to; Bill's never been with a seraph before. Sean's good about it, though, letting Bill know where he can touch and where not to touch, what's sensitive and what isn't. For the most part, the wings don't get in the way, not even when Bill's topping and Sean's on all fours--Sean just lifts them out, and the only tricky part then is not grabbing hold of the feathers and using them as handles.

It's a good thing Bill's not allergic. But he supposes there's no reason he would be; he's sure as hell not allergic to anything else Sean's got. Allergies are the last thing on his mind when he's lying with his face between Sean's legs, both of Sean's wings up and curling around them, feathery little gusts of air making Bill shiver while he sucks Sean off. Allergies, hell; he's glad he isn't ticklish.

There's a week in March when Sean's just obsessed with sex--more than usual, which is saying something for them. Bill ends up getting home from work and being tackled to the ground just about every day, about which he is not complaining; they order pizzas and drink a lot of water and come up with some really awesome positions, things you don't get to do unless your lover happens to be light from his hollow-bone structure.

He discovers the downside in April, when he's got to clean feathers off everything. Sean leaves them in a little fluttering trail behind him everywhere he goes, and the beautiful white wings look a little worn. He'd be worried it was from all the sex, but he's read up on seraphs, and he knows what this is all about.

"If I'd realized we were in a nesting phase, I'd've changed the sheets more often," he says, carefully putting more feathers into a paper sack; they're far too big for the Roomba to deal with, more's the pity.

Sean grumps at him and flaps his wings again; another spray of feathers floats out behind him. "Yeah, well, it sort of springs up on me, too, most years," he mumbles. "Least this time we got some fun out of it first."