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Pushing Sunday to his limits was something Aventurine liked to do as much as he could.
At first, it was small things to help Sunday overcome his initial anxiety once they first got together. Holding hands in public, officially introducing Aventurine as his boyfriend to Robin, anything that helped Sunday come to terms with making their relationship public.
But of course, pushing Sunday to his limits in private was Aventurine’s absolute favourite.
Nudging just a bit too close for either of them to be perfectly comfortable, wrapping his arms around Sunday’s torso, resting his head against Sunday’s shoulder so Aventurine’s lips just barely graze the soft skin of his neck...
This all took time, of course. Getting close to Sunday took a lot longer than he would have expected. He wasn’t very fond of physical contact at first, Aventurine noticed. Even if he sometimes felt like Sunday wanted to initiate something, he noticed he never had the courage to actually do it.
The more Aventurine played with Sunday’s limits, the more he found Sunday definitely liked it. Even if he didn’t show it.
The first time they kissed was brief. A dull, chaste kiss pressed against Sunday’s lips before they went to sleep. Aventurine swore he could feel the heat radiating from Sunday’s body as he laid beside him after.
The first time they properly made out was nowhere near the same. Sunday oh-so-kindly asked Aventurine to kiss him, the first time he had verbally done so, and of course Aventurine could never refuse such a request. Sunday asked him so shyly and yet with such want that Aventurine had to muster up all the power he could to restrain himself from connecting their lips and drawing the soul out of Sunday’s body through his mouth.
So, he started slow. Planted sweet, gentle kisses against Sunday’s lips, perhaps even too slow as he noticed gloved hands beginning to grasp at Aventurine’s sleeves in a pathetic attempt to pull him closer. Honestly, Aventurine didn’t remember much else about that day except pliant lips against his own and the light fluttering of Sunday’s wings against the sides of his head.
Aventurine will not forget the sound that escaped Sunday’s mouth.
He let out a muffled moan, so quiet Aventurine wondered if his sick and twisted mind simply imagined it in the heat of the moment. And fuck, he doesn’t want to admit it, but that noise flew past his ears and went straight to his dick.
Their little make out session didn’t continue for very long after that, as Sunday was much too embarrassed by himself to continue.
Aventurine is not the type to get so riled up over such trivial details. But Sunday is usually so restrained, so put-together that it gives him an odd feeling of pride when he gets to tear down that nonchalant exterior he cautiously shields himself with.
What can he do except vow to himself he’ll do anything in his power to knock down Sunday’s composure again?
Aventurine crawls into bed beside Sunday and wraps his arms around his torso. He swats Sunday’s phone out of his hand. “Come here, put that away.”
The playful action makes Sunday smile. He sets his phone to the side, and even through the dimmed lights of their room Aventurine can already see his hand trembling from the sudden contact. No matter how many times Aventurine initiates it, he notices it always catches Sunday off guard.
“Sunday~” Aventurine makes sure to draw out each syllable as he murmurs into Sunday’s ear. “You’re shaking. Are you cold?” Sly fingers trace their way along the side of his arm, reaching out to interlock with Sunday’s.
Sunday leans to press his lips to the top of Aventurine’s head. “Not at all.”
He takes a deep breath and turns to cup Sunday’s cheek gently, pressing light kisses to his neck. He makes sure to go slow, letting Sunday feel every imprint of his lips against his plush skin. The action is so sickly sweet yet so intimate, he can tell Sunday is taken aback. How long could he tease him like this before he starts to get restless? Not long, Aventurine assumes. Just a minute of this would probably have Sunday burning up and pushing him away in embarrassment.
As if on cue, Sunday deliberately clears his throat in an attempt to draw away Aventurine’s attention.
Aventurine smiles at the thought of breaking down his calm demeanour, tucking away the notion into the back of his mind for now to focus on licking along Sunday’s collarbone with the tip of his tongue, dragging his lips along his skin gently.
“Aventurine.”
He presses a small kiss to Sunday’s throat before looking up to meet his gaze. “Yes?”
Sunday looks down at him, and Aventurine is certain he spots a faint blush painted across Sunday’s cheeks through the fingers covering his face. He almost finds it laughable how predictable he is. “What are you trying to do?”
Aventurine swings a leg over Sunday’s thighs to pull himself into his lap. He can tell Sunday is desperately trying to stop his wings from fluttering. “Nothing. Can I not kiss my boyfriend?” Boyfriend. That word, it makes Sunday’s heart skip a beat every time and oh, does Aventurine love to see that flustered expression on his face.
He doesn’t let his embarrassment seep into his voice. Sunday moves his hands away from his face to splay them against the sides of Aventurine’s head. “Of course you can.”
The way his lips quiver reveal the hesitance behind his calm expression, but nevertheless Sunday pulls him into a gentle kiss.
It ends just as quickly as it begins, much to Aventurine’s dismay.
“Good?” Sunday whispers, still leaning in so close Aventurine can feel the warmth of Sunday’s breath on his own lips. He thinks Sunday can tell where this is going, with the way his wings now refuse to stay still near his ears and the obvious hint of desire in his eyes pathetically glossed over by a feigned look of innocence.
“How is that supposed to be enough?” Aventurine complains.
Sunday smiles softly. “Enlighten me, Aventurine. How far must I go to satisfy you?”
Aventurine says nothing at Sunday’s newfound confidence, just presses more short kisses around Sunday’s face, ending with one to his lips. After a few seconds Sunday starts to pull away, and Aventurine tugs him back, grabbing a fistful of his hair behind his head just in front of his halo. He thinks Sunday might be holding his breath.
He decides to have some sympathy and frees his grip on Sunday’s hair, letting his suspicions be confirmed as Sunday inhales sharply. He stares at Aventurine with wide eyes.
“Feeling lightheaded?” Aventurine teases. “You’re supposed to breathe, you know.”
Sunday pinches Aventurine’s cheek lightly, annoyed. He takes a second to catch his breath before speaking.
“I was— Mmmph—?!” Aventurine pulls him into another kiss. Sunday whimpers and he can’t help but smile against his lips, feeling proud at finally eliciting a noise out of him.
It’s obvious Sunday is still holding his breath. He decides that’s not going to stop him from drawing this out as much as he can. Sunday’s hands find their way down to Aventurine’s shoulders, grabbing pathetically at his clothes.
Aventurine swipes his tongue along Sunday’s bottom lip, grazing his teeth against it. He slides his hand down Sunday’s chest, slipping it under his shirt.
The fingers buried deep in Aventurine’s clothes begin to tighten around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Sunday gives up trying to kiss back, letting his head hit the bed frame behind him as he leans back. Aventurine takes the opportunity to shift closer onto his lap, leaning down until their chests are practically pressed together.
He realizes Sunday is shaking and figures it’s a good time to let him breathe again. Why is he holding his breath, anyway? Whatever, Aventurine doesn’t know. Doesn’t care, really. He finds it’s much easier to tease him like this, anyway.
When Aventurine finally pulls back, Sunday gasps. He loosens his tense grip on Aventurine’s shoulders and lets his body relax.
“Sunday.” He whispers against his lips, and Sunday slowly opens his eyes to meet his gaze. “Is this okay?”
Sunday shuts his eyes back closed, seeming too flustered to look Aventurine in the eye for any longer. “Ah... yes.”
Aventurine nods, amused, but makes no effort to continue. “Mhm. Can you breathe so I don’t kiss you to death?”
For a moment it looks like Sunday considers it, as if he actually wouldn’t mind being suffocated by Aventurine’s lips, with the way his face turns rosy and his eyes widen at the very suggestion. Then, he tears his gaze away before responding.
“I can try.” He notices Aventurine staring at him, smiling widely as if he’s trying not to laugh. Sunday pouts and narrows his eyes at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Aventurine whispers, trailing his hand back up from where it was splayed below Sunday’s shirt.
Aventurine weaves his fingers through Sunday’s hair again, gripping firmly before leaning back down to link their lips together again. He tugs gently and Aventurine immediately decides he likes this when Sunday throws his arms around Aventurine’s neck and hums against his lips.
All he can think of is how hot that was, how much he wants to hear Sunday make that sound again.
He pulls Sunday’s head back sharply, disconnecting their lips. Sunday blinks his eyes open in confusion, leaning forward slightly as if chasing his lips.
“Much easier when you’re breathing, isn’t it?” Aventurine teases.
“I suppose.” Sunday mumbles. “I have never... done something like this with anyone else.”
He smiles against Sunday’s lips. “I’m honoured, then.” Aventurine leans in again, pressing his lips to Sunday’s fervidly before pulling back with an audible pop of their lips. “This is nice, isn’t it?”
Sunday stares at him, confused. “What is? Kissing?”
“Kissing you.” Aventurine pecks his lips. “You look adorable when you get all flustered like this.”
“Adorable...?”
Soft feathers graze Aventurine’s skin over and over as Sunday’s wings flutter rapidly. He smiles, already thinking up numerous ways in which he could tease Sunday about this.
“Sunday, did you know...” Aventurine trails his lips down to Sunday’s neck, scattering light kisses along the side. “...your wings flap when you’re excited?”
Sunday opens his mouth to respond but all that comes out is a choked gasp as Aventurine moves his hand to rub Sunday’s feathers.
It’s amusing to him, at the very least, to watch Sunday build up such composure just for something so trivial to reveal his true feelings.
Aventurine traces along the side of his wing, pressing against the base of it. It twitches against his fingers and Aventurine smiles in satisfaction. He brushes his fingers against the place where Sunday’s wing has been pierced, two gold spikes going directly through the tender muscle.
“Hold on—” Sunday’s voice cracks and he shuts his mouth immediately. He grabs Aventurine’s wrist and tugs his arm away, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Slowly, his wing starts to droop low near his shoulder and he closes his eyes in relief.
“Are you alright?” Aventurine intertwines their fingers gently.
A small whimper escapes Sunday and he throws his head back against their bed frame, breathing erratically. Aventurine pauses, concerned, and waits for Sunday to calm down.
“Too much?” He whispers. “If it hurts—”
“No.” Sunday rasps. “It doesn’t hurt.”
Aventurine brings his hand back up cautiously and rests it on Sunday’s shoulder, not quite touching his wing. “Are you sure?”
Sunday’s voice shakes as he hesitantly says his next words, embarrassed at the way Aventurine elicited such a reaction from him. “It’s fine. Just sensitive.” Aventurine stares at him blankly and Sunday looks to the side before continuing. “A halovian’s wings are somewhat of an... erogenous zone. Typically, we don’t let anyone touch them after growing up. Even in childhood, it is not common for anyone but family to touch one’s wings.”
After the explanation, he clears his throat. Aventurine doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except stare at him incredulously.
Sunday’s shoulders tense up once again as Aventurine starts to separate his feathers with his hand, flicking through them with the tips of his fingers. He bites his lip, the touch feeling so intense now.
“How sensitive?” Aventurine whispers. He continues to glide his fingers across Sunday’s wing, paying special attention to some of his feathers by rubbing them.
The action feels so intimate, so personal to Sunday that he can’t help but feel a bit on edge. He remembers Aventurine asked him a question, but he’s afraid if he opens his mouth to answer whatever dignity he has left may be lost, so he keeps silent. Keeps looking away to avoid meeting Aventurine’s gaze.
Aventurine notices, with the way Sunday presses his lips together in an effort to preserve his remaining level of composure.
“Is your halo sensitive as well?” Aventurine asks excitedly and reaches out to touch it, but to his disappointment Sunday merely gives a quick shake of his head. Aventurine clicks his tongue, retracting his hand. “What a shame.”
Sunday finally looks back to glare at him. “It is sensitive, just not in the way you think. It’s not quite tangible, but if you touch it, it would likely hurt me.”
He hums absentmindedly to himself and continues to stroke Sunday’s feathers. “I guess that’s alright then...”
Sunday exhales, his breathing still ragged. “Please, slow down. This is—”
Aventurine pinches a feather between the tips of his fingers, and Sunday immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, lowering his head. He grabs Aventurine’s wrist again, weakly this time, as his wings flap tirelessly next to his ears.
“What’s wrong?” Aventurine chuckles and Sunday digs the tips of his fingers into Aventurine’s wrist. His wing flutters against Aventurine’s fingers. “Trying to fly away from me, little birdie?”
Another shaky hand moves to settle against Aventurine’s chest, grabbing a fistful of the fabric of his shirt. Sunday lays his head against Aventurine’s shoulder, pressing his forehead to Aventurine’s neck. His right wing curls around the lower half of his face, seemingly trying to silence his light whimpers.
Aventurine runs a finger over one of the gold spikes pierced through his left wing again. This time, he twists it between his fingers, eliciting a sharp gasp out of Sunday. “Want me to stop? Painful?”
“No.” Sunday murmurs into Aventurine’s neck.
“Good.” He kisses the top of Sunday’s head. “What’s there to be so shy about, then?”
Despite how heavy his head feels at the moment—his entire body, actually—Sunday manages to raise it to meet Aventurine’s gaze. He’s met with a kind smile that feels so tender Sunday almost lets himself relax before Aventurine so cruelly pinches another one of his feathers. How deceiving. It pulls a strangled cry out of him, the sensation deeply unfamiliar yet leaving him craving more.
Sunday desperately wants to hide away, wants to cover his face so Aventurine won’t be able to see just how pathetic he looks right now. Horribly, his own body betrays him and his wings curl into Aventurine’s fingers.
“Do you have to be so harsh?” Sunday manages to choke out in his sorry state.
Aventurine simply leans down to catch his lips into another drawn out kiss. He doesn’t pause his movements across Sunday’s feathers, even becoming rougher as he tugs on one of the piercings slowly. To his absolute delight, Sunday moans into his mouth and Aventurine thinks it might be the sweetest sound that’s ever graced his ears.
He pulls back sharply, watching Sunday’s slightly parted lips, saliva daring to drip down. Aventurine presses a kiss to his wing, just next to his piercings.
“Such pretty sounds you make.” Aventurine swipes his tongue over Sunday’s feathers and marvels at the way they shake against his mouth.
“Are you really enjoying this?” Sunday whines. “Do you get off on humiliating me?”
Aventurine laughs lightly and moves away from his wing to look at Sunday. “Sunday,” The way his name falls off of Aventurine’s lips feels contaminating, like a mockery of Sunday’s very being. “I think you’re having a lot more fun than I am right now.”
Sunday freezes up as Aventurine shifts in his lap, brushing his inner thigh against the now very obvious bulge in Sunday’s pants. Aventurine drags his hand down to his waist, falling dangerously low. Sunday squeezes his legs together, mortified.
“I don’t want—” Sunday’s voice shakes as he speaks. It sounds pitiful. “Please don’t.”
Immediately, Aventurine raises his hand back up to cradle Sunday’s face in his palm, kissing his lips sweetly in apology. “Sorry. I won’t.”
He feels grateful until Aventurine swiftly continues his assault on his wings, twisting and tugging on his feathers relentlessly as if Sunday is merely a doll, some sort of plaything for Aventurine to toy with as he wishes.
Sweat plasters Sunday’s bangs against his forehead, sticking his hair uncomfortably to his skin. He’s forced to become insanely aware of every single sensation across his body. Aventurine’s fingers mercilessly stroking his feathers, his lips being dragged along his wing and peppering light kisses to the side. His other hand is held steady against the back of his neck, tangled into his hair as he twists strands absentmindedly around his fingers. Aventurine’s thighs pressing down firmly onto his own shaking legs, his body so close he thinks the warmth of Aventurine’s skin radiates onto his own.
Aventurine flicks the individual feathers apart by the tips, licking along the sides to wet them thoroughly. He practically coats Sunday’s wing in saliva.
It’s absolutely disgusting. The feeling of Aventurine’s tongue between his feathers and his fingers splayed across his wing is already impossibly lewd in and of itself, but the fact that Sunday is enjoying this? That his wing lifts itself up into Aventurine’s touch, that he can’t help but pant wildly like a mere animal at all of this teasing? He feels filthy, feels crazy for allowing himself to indulge in his own pathetic desires this much.
“Hey, what are you thinking about?”
Sunday shudders as he’s snapped out of his thoughts. Still not pausing or slowing his strokes against Sunday’s feathers, Aventurine sprinkles kisses all over his face.
“I wasn’t thinking—” Sunday pauses and grits his teeth to stifle an embarrassing noise he’s sure was about to escape him as another wave of pleasure seeps its way down his body. “Nothing. Nothing important.”
Aventurine pouts slightly. “Do you trust me so little you have to lie to me?”
“Of course not.” Sunday whines. Aventurine grazes his nails against his wing, and for once Sunday allows a moan to be ripped out from his throat. He immediately regrets it as he hears the tone of his own voice in such an obscene way. “This is unsightly. Look at me.”
Another pinch to his feather. This time, it almost feels like Aventurine did it to scold him rather than tease.
“I’m looking plenty, don’t you worry. How could I not when you’re this pretty?” He kisses Sunday’s forehead gently.
“Pretty?” Sunday chokes out. “This is disgraceful.”
Aventurine finally moves his hand away from his wing, and Sunday finds himself whimpering already at the sudden loss of his touch. He places it against Sunday’s cheek. “Nothing about you is disgraceful. You like this, don’t you? It’s just me, so don’t hold back.”
Before Sunday can respond, he crashes their lips together again and it is nothing like before. He winces as his halo knocks against the bed frame and his skin stings when Aventurine’s nails dig into his neck to hold him in place. He kisses him fervidly, pressing his tongue against Sunday’s bottom lip and sucking softly. A hand is brought back up to caress his wing, and Sunday lets himself relax into the touch once again. Lets out all the shameful whimpers that crawl up his throat for Aventurine to swallow down selfishly.
He pulls back and Sunday suddenly becomes so aware of the saliva from before starting to dry up on his feathers. He grabs Aventurine’s wrist, feeling tainted once again.
Instinctively, Sunday reaches behind his head to rub his halo, gasping at the touch.
“Did I hurt you?” Aventurine’s gaze flicks between Sunday and his halo. His hand hovers awkwardly in the air, unable to determine whether it would be alright for him to touch it or not. “You can’t, uh—” He laughs nervously. “It can’t break, right?”
“Not here.” Sunday assures him. “In any sense... please be careful.”
Aventurine kisses the top of his head. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’ll be gentle, so relax now.”
He presses more short kisses along his wing and, now that Sunday isn’t actively restraining himself, he finds it much easier to enjoy the special attention.
A few rather harsh rubs of his feathers forces another noise out of him. Sunday shuts his eyes closed tight, his fingers shaking against Aventurine’s clothes as he grips his sleeves, needing something to hold onto. In some pathetic way, it gives him a feeling of control in a situation in which he has none.
Aventurine smiles against his wing. “That’s it. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”
The now rather enthusiastic moans encourage him to become rougher. Aventurine takes a feather between his teeth and bites down, tugging lightly but making sure he won’t hurt the fragile wing.
“Is this—” Sunday opens his eyes, and a tear falls down his cheek as he blinks. “Is this what you consider gentle?”
He feels a bite to another feather and wails. Sunday’s arms shake rigidly, torn between pulling Aventurine closer and pushing him away.
“Your reactions make it look like you don’t want gentle, Sunday.” Aventurine’s words are teasing and it feels so incredibly belittling. He presses wet kisses to Sunday’s wing, a wild shift from his earlier behaviour.
Aventurine takes one of the spikes pierced through Sunday’s wing between his teeth and tugs on it gently. The feathers around it twitch and he hears Sunday let out a strained sob. Immediately, he pulls back.
“Hey, are you crying?” Aventurine’s tone softens at once and he looks over at the man. “Was I really too rough?”
Sunday pants, his tongue hanging out of his open mouth slightly allowing saliva to drip down his chin. Tears lay on his eyelashes, his closed eyes preventing them from falling. The scene is so wonderfully lewd that something deep in Aventurine’s heart wants to hurt him more, wants to see just how much he can break him. He decides to listen to his mind instead, slowing his movements down.
“Hurts...” Sunday whimpers. “H-Hurts so much. Aventurine, it hurts so much...”
His head dares to drop down and Aventurine lets go of his wing to cradle Sunday’s face, holding his head firmly in place.
“Sunday—”
“Why’d you stop?” Sunday whines, and another sob escapes his mouth after.
“Huh?” Aventurine rubs his cheek gently. “You said it hurts.”
Sunday’s wings flutter again, curling into his face as if chasing Aventurine’s touch. “Hurts in a good way. Keep going.”
Aventurine lets go of Sunday’s face, tilting his head back slowly to lean it against the bed frame. Without another word, he brushes the tips of his finger against Sunday’s other wing this time. It shakes against his hand, clearly not used to the sudden stimulation. He leans back in to lick right near the base of Sunday’s left wing.
“Then I’ll gladly hurt you. Please tell me if I should stop.” Aventurine whispers.
He bites down at the base of his wing, causing Sunday to cry out again. He takes Sunday’s right wing in his fist and strokes it from the base to the tip, straightening it out. Aventurine feels him sob against his neck, saliva dripping onto his skin.
More tears start to flood Sunday’s eyes as feelings of pain and pleasure blend together until he can no longer differentiate between them. He thinks it’s impossible to hold back now, with the continuous abuse of his wings that leaves him unable to focus on anything else.
So he lets go. Opens his eyes to let the tears sticking to his eyelashes fall down his cheeks as he sobs and pulls Aventurine closer towards him. “Hahh...”
Another tug pulls a gasp out of him that turns into a wail. Sunday wants to say so much, wants to beg for more and for mercy at the same time, but he can’t possibly form words in his mind let alone say them aloud when all he can manage to choke out are pathetic mewls and mangled versions of Aventurine’s name.
Some deep, unfamiliar feeling flashes through him as Aventurine decides it’s a good idea to bite down at the base of Sunday’s wing and scrape his teeth along his feathers all the way to the end.
“Aventurine, Aventurine, wait—” Sunday cries out and his entire body convulses, pathetically trying to hold onto Aventurine’s clothes.
Aventurine laughs lightly, muffled by the feathers between his teeth. “What’s wrong? Too much?”
Despite getting a nod in response to the question, Sunday’s cries of pleasure send a rush of satisfaction through his body and only encourage him to keep going. The way he sobs into Aventurine’s shoulder right near his ear sounds like music to his ears. Reserved, orderly Sunday, being reduced into a mere shaking mess beneath him. How could he ever resist this?
Even through his faint complaints and pleas for Aventurine to slow down, Sunday claws at him pathetically and pulls him closer. All his embarrassment from before is suddenly thrown away in the moment as all he can think of are Aventurine’s soft lips. So warm and tender against his feathers, it feels perfect. His left wing being soaked with saliva suddenly doesn’t bother him as much as Aventurine’s tongue swipes the fluid over his piercings, and then all the way to the tip of his feathers. His wing shakes and flutters in response to the stimulation. Aventurine is so harsh and unforgiving and it causes more tears to make their way down Sunday’s face but he can’t bring himself to break away when it hurts so well.
He doesn’t quite notice that his eyes close until the state of bliss fades away. Once Aventurine’s teeth are off him—much to his disappointment—that unsettling sense of clarity settles in and makes home immediately.
Sunday grabs a fistful of Aventurine’s hair and yanks his head back.
Aventurine moves away from Sunday’s wing to wipe the saliva off his lips with the tips of his fingers. His eyes hold a teasing glint that vanishes when he meets Sunday’s. “What’s wrong? Why do you look so scared?”
As soon as Sunday opens his mouth to speak, he finds himself too breathless to force out any kind of coherent sentence. So, humiliated, he takes hold of Aventurine’s hand and places his palm directly atop the now obvious wet patch on his pants. He forces himself to keep his eyes on Aventurine despite him grinning as if holding back a laugh. Aventurine leans in to kiss the tears off Sunday’s rosy cheeks.
“I didn’t know you were this sensitive.” He whispers. “You really came just from that?”
“Please just stop talking.” Sunday whines. “This is mortifying.”
Despite his supposed mortification, Sunday relaxes when Aventurine presses his lips against his, utterly compliant. Aventurine cups his face gently, wiping the semi-dry tears off of the soft skin. He can still feel his wings flutter next to his ears, moving slowly to frame the sides of Aventurine’s head, almost as if trying to hold him closer. Sunday kisses him back weakly, only offering small hums of encouragement as Aventurine leads. He keeps his eyes closed when they break apart.
“Sunday.” He opens his eyes gently at the call of his name, eyelashes still shining with tears. Aventurine smiles warmly at him. “You were making so many lovely sounds.”
Sunday frowns at him shyly, his wings curling in to cover his mouth. “It’s... improper.”
That elicits a laugh from Aventurine, who caresses his cheek gently. “If you haven’t noticed by now, you don’t have to be proper when you’re with me. You’re so cute, I could have finished as well just by listening to you.”
“Don’t say stuff like that.” Sunday groans and his wings fan out to cover the rest of his face. “I don’t want to think of that.”
Aventurine nudges Sunday’s wings out of the way, but retracts his hand when Sunday whimpers in pain and pecks his lips quickly. “Still sensitive, right? Sorry.”
Sunday’s head falls onto Aventurine’s shoulder and he wraps his arms around the man gently, a gesture so uncharacteristically tender for someone like him. He holds him so close Aventurine has to shift in his lap to prevent Sunday from stretching his arms awkwardly.
He sighs shakily, catching his breath, and when he speaks his lips are so close to the other’s skin he’s practically mumbling into Aventurine’s neck. “Aventurine...”
Aventurine stiffens when he feels another tear soak through his shirt as Sunday’s shallow breathing turns into quiet sobs. He runs a hand through Sunday’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp with his nails. “Are you okay? Does it still hurt?”
“No, doesn’t hurt.” Sunday inhales sharply. He sniffles before speaking again, voice a whisper now. “My wings are dirty. Feels weird.”
He pauses, noticing the way Sunday’s wings twitch and flutter uncomfortably. His first instinct is to touch them, stroke them gently to calm him down, but he’s sure such an action would only overstimulate Sunday more, so he chooses to raise a hand and wipe the tears from his cheek instead.
“I’ll clean them.” Aventurine softly plants a kiss to his temple. “So relax for now. Aren’t you tired?”
“Tired...” Sunday echoes. “Yes.”
As awful as it feels, when warm arms wrap around Sunday to bring him into a tight hug, he forces himself to forget about the state of his clothes and his soul that feels just as soiled as his wings.
Aventurine is right. For now, this is enough.