Work Text:
If Sunday were to think of his body as beautiful, he’d be sorely mistaken. For so long he’s not recognized the face in the mirror. He’s plucked so many of his feathers that a few haven’t grown back…never will. Stress is a dangerous thing. So are the parts of his mind he can’t control.
The dark blue wings that extend from his lower back, clipped so that he remains forever flightless, make him look like some failed science experiment. And the wings on his upper neck, white and ruffled…they are ugly. But they are the least of what makes him so ugly. His skin, stretching almost too tight over his bones, is ugly. His hair, never lying exactly how he needs it to, is ugly. His hands, which he covers with gloves so that he may not stain the world with his impurity, are ugly. He is ugly.
And now he’s crying. He’s always been such an ugly crier. Fat tears that make his skin red and splotchy. A quivering lip that makes him look pitiful. Drooping wings that flutter helplessly to cover his embarrassed face.
“Angel, am I hurting you?”
That voice, rough and yet soft at the same time, pulls him from the very pits of his despair. It’s calming. Sweeter than honey and smoother than whiskey. The teeth that had been busy pinching the skin of his neck have retreated.
Gallagher’s looking down at him, where the two of them lay on the bed, nothing but concern in his gaze. He cradles Sunday’s face, encourages their eyes to meet.
“No…no…”
“Is it too much for you?” Gallagher chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. “I can’t read your mind, birdie. You’ve gotta tell me these things.”
“It doesn’t…it’s fine.”
Gallagher hesitates, lips just a breadth away from Sunday’s neck before he changes his mind. His fingers drag down the buttons of the halovian’s shirt. “Then…can I?” He receives a slow nod in return, and starts to strip Sunday from the waist up.
As soon as the article of clothing’s gone, Sunday looks away, the wings on his back nervously hiding away beneath his body. He feels so vulnerable. Exposed. The air is cold, but Gallagher is warm — Aeons, he’s so warm — and Sunday’s face goes red with embarrassment. “I…I apologize. I know they aren’t…very nice to look at.”
“Huh..?” Gallagher starts to ask, but he realizes it. Sunday's talking about his wings. The second pair. The larger pair. The clipped pair. The smallest smile spreads across his face, and he looks at Sunday with so much adoration it could kill him. “I think they’re quite pretty.”
Sunday wraps his arms around himself, curling in instinctively. He has to protect himself. Shield himself from anything that may hurt him. Even Gallagher —
But…fuck. Their relationship had been so rocky at the start — for good reason — but now…Sunday trusts Gallagher. He does. He feels so safe, so comfortable with him. He just doesn’t know how to let him in…doesn’t know if he should.
Gallagher’s lips are on him again. He’s holding one of Sunday’s hands — though they’re still gloved — and he kisses them, moving inwards to Sunday’s wrist and kissing him there too. He holds his other hand now, fingers intertwining, and then locks their lips together, and in that brief moment, time seems to slow. Seems to stop completely. Sunday always thought that was something of fiction. That kisses like these were only in films. He’s been kissed before. Just not like this…
“Why are…you…”
Gallagher squeezes his hand gently, about to dive in for another kiss. “Hm?”
Sunday eyes his lips curiously. Gallagher smells like cigarettes and expensive alcohol — always does. The first time they’d met, it had irritated him to no end. He’s grown accustomed to that smell now. Finds comfort in it. Finds comfort in the rasp of Gallagher’s voice, weathered with age and smoke. “It doesn’t…benefit you at all.”
“What, kissing you?”
“Mm…” Sunday’s eyes dart away. His wings curl to hide his face. “Shouldn’t you be…undressing me? And- and putting it in by now..?
Gallagher looks his face up and down, tilts his head aside in concern. Just how far down do these wounds go? “Angel…you’ve- you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” Sunday wasn’t lying when he said he had…relevant experience. “I’ve…I've had sex.”
To call it sex is a stretch. Sunday may think it so, may think of it as intercourse but that’s not what it is at all. Years ago, he’d been told he and his sister, as two of the Harmony’s biggest advocates, had a duty to every guest that visits Penacony. He still remembers that day…the day Mr. Gopher Wood had taught him about sex. And he also remembers the day he’d said Robin’s body would help bring people closer to the Harmony. Blessed Robin, younger than Sunday, she didn’t know what those words had truly meant. She didn’t know he meant “her body” so literally. But Sunday knew. He offered to take her place. To allow his body to be defiled, and leave his sister pure.
Poor Robin would cry if she knew. She’d cry if she knew that Mr. Gopher Wood had taught her about sex as such a young age in order to exploit her, not educate her. Cry if she knew her brother was getting raped in her place.
And all Halovians are gifted — or, as Sunday often thinks of it, cursed — with dual anatomy. Not a pervert out there would decline a chance with Sunday. The way those despicable demons would put it: a hole is a hole. And though Sunday’s desirability decreased as as he got older, more mature, those monsters would fuck anything that walks.
Countless strangers have touched and defiled his body, “made love” to him, “received a taste of the Harmony’s blessings” on his behalf. That’s how Mr. Gopher Wood had put it…this was his purpose. As the head of the Oak Family, it was his duty to let all of these strangers fuck him and desecrate something holy. To taint something so pure.
To cull a flightless bird.
In the beginning, it had been so easy to convince himself he enjoyed it. As he got older, though, he became more aware of what was happening to him. But how could he ever stop? How could he ever make this end? He convinced himself he loved it. He had to. He had to tell himself that he loved being exploited like this. That he loved saying “yes, sir” and “yes, ma’am”. That he loved being touched by strangers. By Mr. Gopher Wood.
That he loved the attention.
“Sunday.” It seems he zoned out for a moment. “Hey, birdie, there you are. You okay?”
“Mm…” Sunday nods, closes his eyes, raises his head for a kiss. He needs those lips on his again. There’s a spark when they touch. This isn’t the stuff of fiction. This is real. Maybe all those other times were — it’s best not to think about all that now. All he knows is he wants Gallagher. Wants Gallagher to touch him, to kiss him, hold him, fuck him — no, make love to him. Maybe Gallagher can fix him, put the broken pieces of an ugly thing back together to make something beautiful.
“Oh, angel…” Gallagher smoothes his hands over Sunday’s hip bones. He presses kisses into Sunday’s neck again, then his collarbones, down to his pierced nipples, pink and protruding. He takes one into his mouth, flicking the other with his hand.
“Wh- ah…” Sunday’s fingers can’t tangle in Gallagher’s hair fast enough. “What…are you…”
“Does it hurt?”
“No…”
Gallagher nods, as if confirming something, then licks the bud again. And then he pulls it into his mouth, rolls it between his teeth gently.
“Ah — mmgh…” Try as he may, Sunday cannot restrain himself, and a few quiet moans escape him. Why does that feel so good..? “Gallagher — stop…”
“Mm?” Gallagher does as he’s asked, but he’s kissing down Sunday’s stomach now. His stubble is ticklish, and Sunday arches off the bed a little, trying to escape that awkward feeling. Gallagher’s reached his trousers now, and fiddles with the buckle. “This okay?”
Sunday digs his fingers into the sheets. “Yes…” Why is Gallagher asking him so many questions? He shouldn’t…he shouldn’t care so much…
Gallagher hooks his thumbs in the belt loops, and tugs down Sunday’s pants, raising his legs to slip them off completely. Thin, pale legs await him, completely shaven and smooth to the touch. He noticed earlier that Sunday’s arms are much the same. In fact, he wouldn’t assume it a stretch to say that Sunday’s whole body is hairless, spare for his face and head. Perhaps his cleanliness really knows no bounds.
There’s the faintest wet patch in Sunday’s underwear. And a small bulge as well. Gallagher thumbs over it tentatively, looking up at Sunday, who breathes heavily as if he’s just run a mile. “Y’know,” Gallagher says calmly, so nonchalant as he pulls the garment down, “you really are so beautiful, angel.” He’s surprised upon the sight between Sunday’s legs. A small dick lays half-hard against Sunday’s belly now, having been freed from its fabric cage…but beneath it is a cunt as well, a little slick with Sunday’s arousal. Further down is his other hole, between the cleft of his ass.
“Sorry…I know it’s…strange.”
Gallagher shakes his head. “No. No, it’s not weird. Just wasn’t expecting — ”
“All Halovians — all of us are intersex. It’s not just me…”
“Really. It’s okay.” Gallagher parts his thighs, makes space for himself between them. He licks his lips in preparation. Thumbing through the folds experimentally, he looks up at Sunday, who twitches reactively. “Heh…” He licks a stripe up Sunday’s cock, coaxing it to full hardness, then takes the very tip into his mouth.
“Wai- oh…” Sunday’s sitting upright, having bolted up into that position. Gallagher’s swallowing his cock to the root now, suckling on it like the finest of delicacies. Fuck. His mouth is so warm, and his tongue is so wet. “Th- that’s…” A finger teases his entrance, having gathered his slick. It pushes in, and Sunday’s head tips back, and he falls, writhing helplessly in the sheets. His wings flutter, unable to muffle his moans. “That’s…Ga — Gallagher…”
What is this feeling? That finger’s turned into two, scissoring and spreading to test his stretch. And the lips that seal tight around his dick are incredibly skilled, deft as Gallagher bobs his head up and down. Heat pools in the very pit of Sunday’s stomach, and he bites his lip.
It’s like fireworks beneath his skin. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. All he knows is that heat is rising fast, surging through him like a fiery storm. “Gallagher!”
If he’s listening, he doesn’t act like it. Gallagher grapples Sunday’s body, pulling him closer to taste more of him. He squeezes the halovian’s ass with one hand, kneading the plush globes of flesh as he works, his other hand still busy carving Sunday out. Those fingers flick and prod, and they seem to have found what they’re looking for.
Through this all, Gallagher hasn’t gagged — thanks to Sunday’s small size — but fuck…he sounds like he is. They’re sinful sounds, wet and much like the sound of choking. Gallagher’s all in his work, determined to keep pulling those decadent moans from Sunday’s throat. It’s working. It’s definitely working.
“Ah- I feel…Gallagher — I think- I’m — going to…”
He’s going to come. Just from this. Just from Gallagher’s lips around his cock, and his fingers in his cunt. Everything’s moving so fast. He feels pathetic, feels weak and vulnerable. Completely at Gallagher’s mercy.
He doesn’t understand why. Why is Gallagher doing this? It doesn’t get him off, doesn’t bring him close to his own release…so why? Why…why does he care…
“I’m — !”
But just before the tension snaps, and the heat bubbles over, Gallagher stops. His fingers retreat, his mouth pulls away. He wipes his mouth as he sits up on his knees, watching Sunday twitch in the sheets. Watches tears pull at the corners of his eyes.
“Wh- why…I was about to… ”
“I’d rather have you come on my cock, birdie.” Gallagher chuckles, undoing his belt. “Then I’ll let you come. As much as you want.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand…you were- you were punishing me? But- but with pleasure?”
Gallagher stops, pants halfway down. “No- no, you- angel.” He sighs and cradles Sunday’s face, whispers close to his skin. “I’m not punishing you. I promise it’ll feel so good. So good...”
“I don’t know why…you even want me to…”
“Hm?”
“It doesn’t…my release doesn’t benefit you at all. It doesn’t help you.”
“Birdie. It’s not — sex isn’t a transaction. It’s not about getting mine and you getting yours. It’s a connection. I mean, it can be ‘no strings attached’ too, it can be fun…it should be fun. But this..? Me and you? This — angel, this is supposed to be more than just a quick fuck.”
“Oh…”
“Let me show you. Yeah?” Gallagher chuckles and presses a kiss to Sunday’s forehead. “I want…Aeons, I want you.”
Sunday could cry. Luckily for his pride, he manages not to. Instead, he runs his fingers through Gallagher’s hair and urges him closer. “Okay…I trust you…”
The worst part about betrayal is that it never comes from someone you don’t trust. Sunday knows the sting of betrayal. He knows the false promise: “this will be the last time.” But it’s never the last time. He always…
No. He should focus on Gallagher. That handsome devil, Gallagher…those blood-colored eyes. Gallagher wouldn’t betray him. He’s not like the others. He can be a real prick sometimes but he’s not a pervert. He doesn’t touch Sunday with the intent to harm, but almost…almost with the intent to heal. And fuck, he always asks. Always.
“Want me to put on a rubber, or?”
Sunday thinks on it. It’s not like he can get pregnant. He was sterilized long ago. Mr. Gopher Wood had suggested it. So that he may spread the Harmony — or rather, his legs — without worry. Without evidence.
A deep desire to be close to this man etches itself into Sunday’s brain. He wants their skin to remain close, to touch forever. Oh, they’re so close to becoming one. “That won’t be necessary,” he says, spreading his legs. “Please…”
Maybe he’s just as pent up as Gallagher. “Okay.” He settles between Sunday’s legs, having stripped himself of his trousers and boxers. He gives his cock a few good strokes before tapping it against Sunday’s cunt. There he gathers the slick, meanwhile his lips are pressed to Sunday’s neck, kissing upwards to his ear. “And when I, y’know, where do you want it?”
It comes practically as an instinct, like a reflex. “Inside… I want it…inside.”
Gallagher nods, his voice breathless. “Mm.” And then the achingly-hot head of his cock pushes inside, fitting snugly and perfectly.
Sunday tries to resist the urge to tighten up, but he can’t. He clenches instinctively, grips the meat of Gallagher’s back and moans. His voice breaks. “Ah- hhh…”
“Fuck.” Gallagher bottoms out in a slow, almost cautious movement. Sighs out in relief when it happens. “So good.”
Sunday realizes two things. One, Gallagher’s groans are fucking sexy. And two…he loves having him inside of him. They’re finally connected. Finally…
Even so, Gallagher is — well, he’s huge. Sunday’s been through his fair share, yet somehow nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Maybe it’s because he can’t stop clenching, out of nervousness and anticipation. Either way, it burns. But the burn is good, the stretch is good. He loves how it feels to be filled, no matter how painful. It hurts so good.
“Nngh — so big…” blurts the halovian, a quiver in his lip, wings curling to cover his eyes.
“Shh, shh…you can take it.” Gallagher pulls back, then pushes forward, a gentle thrust that still manages to catch Sunday off guard. “You can take anything, angel.”
“Ah…hahh — ”
Gallagher creates a steady rhythm, sets a leisurely pace. One hand stays steady on Sunday’s hip, pulling him in to meet each thrust. The other intertwines their fingers, pinning Sunday’s hand to the mattress. His breath is hot against Sunday’s skin, so hot.
“So good…” He already knows he’s not going to last. There’s just no way, with how tight Sunday is around him. And how beautiful he is beneath him, hair unkempt and eyes glassy with tears. Skin shining with sweat. Lip quivering. Throat bobbing. And those sounds…fuck, those obscene sounds. Beautiful moans. A perfect symphony.
“Nngh- haah — ah- Gallagher —”
Gallagher fucks him so gently, with so much adoration and care, that Sunday could cry. In fact, he does, lifting his head to bury his face in Gallagher’s shoulder. Fuck, he never wants to let go. If only he could stitch their skin together, stay in Gallagher’s arms forever.
“Nghh…”
The thrusts have grown a little faster. They hit a little harder. Gallagher’s still mouthing over Sunday’s neck, the vibrations of his groans a bit ticklish. “Fuck, you’re- fuck…so good.” It’s like heaven. Sunday’s wet and warm, tight like a vice around his cock. He can feel himself throbbing inside of him, rubbing every crevice of the halovian’s velvety walls.
Sunday crosses his legs behind Gallagher’s back. “I…I think- I think I’m gonna- ah…”
“Yes. Yes.” Gallagher’s fucking him in earnest. “Come for me, angel. Come for me.”
And fuck, he does. He does, and it’s perfect. It feels like electricity rippling through Sunday’s veins, an almost delirious high. He comes untouched, cock spilling thick ropes between them, head tipping back as a wanton moan spills from his lips. “Gall — agher — !”
“Yesyesyes…” Sunday’s clenching around him in rippling spasms. And fuck, he looks so pretty when he comes. Pupils blown, breath shaking. “Good…good boy.”
That stirs something to life. “I- I am..?”
“Yes- fuck, yes. So good for me. Such a good, good boy.”
The praise melts him. Sunday clings to Gallagher like a lifeline, hugging him tighter. “I- mmmn- it’s so much … ”
He’s likely hypersensitive, overstimulated. He did just come after all. Gallagher’s whispering in his ear, picking up the pace. “I know, I know…fuck- fuck…it’ll be over soon, you’re almost done.”
But…Sunday doesn’t want it to be over. When it’s over Gallagher will — fuck, will he leave?
Sunday shakes his head against Gallagher’s chest. His wings flutter in frenzy. “No- no- please don’t — please- st-stay…”
“I’m not- haah…not going anywhere, good boy. So good…”
“M-More…” Sunday hiccups. “Jus’ please…h-harder…wanna- wanna come again…” Already? Halovian biology is a marvel. Or maybe Sunday’s delirious.
Gallagher’s mind goes blank at that. He…he has Sunday whining like that. He does. He has Sunday sprawled out beneath him, making him sound like that, making him cry and shiver and he is the one who made him come. This could be his undoing.
“D-Deeper…?” Sunday moans it like a question. As if, on a subconscious level, he’s aware that Gallagher may be too big for that to remain comfortable. But fuck…fuck, he needs Gallagher’s hips to press against his ass. Needs him closer. Needs —
“Ye-eah…” Gallagher does as he’s asked. Presses deeper. Now his thrusts are longer, still fluid but sometimes he slips out entirely, hurries to push back inside before Sunday registers it. But Sunday’s too fucked out to notice. Too blissful to realize Gallagher’s a bit clumsy.
Each press and suck of Gallagher’s mouth sends another wave of euphoria through Sunday. This is it. This is what making love is. This is what sex is supposed to be. It’s supposed to make his heart skip beats, not in fear but in pleasure. It’s supposed to feel good when he kisses someone, not gross. Gallagher is making love to him.
“I can’t… any — fuck- coming, I’m — ”
Sunday swears he can feel the unsteady pulses of Gallagher’s cock, as he fills him with thick ribbons of white-hot cum. Swears he can feel the twitch of the aftershocks. Gallagher shudders above him, hair sweaty and matted, practically glued to his skin. He’s a mess. Totally wrecked. I did that to him..? thinks Sunday.
Gallagher’s breath hitches, and he can’t contain his groans — he finds them embarrassingly loud. “Sunday…”
Every last thought falls out of Sunday’s head, rendering him blank and empty. All that exists is him and Gallagher, their bodies sticky and melted together. He feels whole. Like Gallagher really managed to put him back together.
Gallagher gasps, dropping his head as his hips finally catch up to his brain, stuttering to a halt. “Fuck…angel, you’re…so good. S-S-So…good.” He presses a soft kiss to Sunday’s neck. “Good boy…”
“Mm…I- I am..?”
“Yes. So good. My beautiful, good boy.” Gallagher shifts, about to pull out, but Sunday panics, and his nails claw at Gallagher’s back.
“No- I need…”
“It’ll get uncomfortable if we stay like this for too long, birdie.” Gallagher sighs. “Let me…” He pulls out, but the tip catches the rim as he does, Sunday clenching tight to keep him inside as long as possible.
But once he’s out, he watches his load dribble from Sunday’s cunt, an erotic sight, and Sunday sighs in defeat. “C’mere.” He lays on his side, next to Sunday, and pulls him into a hug.
Sunday nuzzles into his chest, the warmth and security more than enough. But the exhaustion hits him hard.
“You okay? Feel okay?”
“Yes… but ’m tired.”
Gallagher chuckles, another kiss pressed to Sunday’s forehead. “We’ve got to clean up still, y’know.”
“I…know…just need to…rest.” He shuts his eyes, a grave mistake, as the exhaustion tugs him under. That leaves Gallagher to clean up, which he doesn’t really mind, but he won’t let Sunday live it down…later though. Later, he’ll tease him. For now, he’ll wipe the fluids off his skin, and kiss him, and lay here next to him.
For now, he will stay with him.