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It's not like he tried to hide them, really, so it was pretty quick that Benji, even while still working in IT, knew about his wings.
He didn't try to hide them, but he wasn't exactly forthcoming about them, either. They were strapped tightly to his back, held down by strong, serviceable black bindings. "Oh!" Benji had exclaimed, involuntarily, seeing them after Ethan had returned for a debrief in tatters, "you're--"
"No," Ethan said shortly, pulling on a clean T-shirt, "I'm not." He threw his torn clothes into the trash and left the room.
But he was, and it explained everything about him. Ethan was by far the oldest agent they had, almost sixty, but he was still as active and fit as he had ever been; light on his feet, resilient to pain, quick to heal. Perhaps it even explained his Hollywood-star good looks, but Benji wouldn't know. Ethan was the first he'd ever met. They were rare, these days. Or, maybe they weren't--but they didn't associate with earthbound humans any more.
They weren't yet friends; even if they had been, Ethan's manner implied he didn't want to discuss it. Which was more than fair enough, it was nobody's buisness but his own. Benji had to keep reminding himself because he couldn't help burning with curiosity every time he saw Ethan climb up the outside of a building, or almost shatter his ankles jumping from a height. Putting oneself in unnecessary danger was a symptom of PTSD; Benji wanted to scream to him down his earpiece, is that why won't you fly?!
It was an open secret in the IMF; and though they were rare, it's not as if they had fallen into myth just yet. People would have been amazed if they saw him, it may have made the local news, but that would be all the buzz about it. Many criminal organisations already knew; once Ethan's shirt was off, it was obvious, and stripping people down is an easy way to make them feel frightened and vulnerable. Sometimes, when he wore nothing but a vest, the bindings were visible anyway--he wasn't actively trying to hide.
So, why then?
Why did Ethan come back with broken bones and bruises from falling, from doing mad things like scaling the outside of the Burj Khalifa? Why did Benji hand over those gloves, when Ethan ignored the obvious? He reached out for Ethan, at the last minute, about to say to him, why don't you just fly up there, this is ridiculous, because the adrenaline, the I-don't-wanna-do-this energy, was pouring out of Ethan's body. Benji saw his movie-star jaw clench in profile as he turned towards the empty window frame, and withdrew his hand. It was none of his business, after all. Why should be know? Were they friends? Ethan was friendly, but he was friendly with everyone. He was a nice man. Benji could take not knowing over not knowing Ethan at all.
Why should he know, when they were surrounded, when the stairwell was full of AK-47s, and the fire exit was bristling with the same, and Ethan's eyes were full of fear as he spun wildly, looking for an escape? Why should he know?
"Fly us out," Benji heard himself saying. Ethan glanced at him, barely, but otherwise didn't respond. Their makeshift barricade across the door was buckling under the pressure, the sound of boots on the iron fire escape was getting louder. Benji hit Ethan's shoulder, his heart hammering. "Ethan, please!"
He was, inexplicably, sprinting to the side of the building, looking for lower roofs to jump to, for open windows, for nearby fire escapes. "Ethan!" Benji yelled again, over the noise. "There," Ethan said suddenly, determinedly. He grabbed Benji's shoulder, pointing down towards a narrow parapet. If they made it, they could get in through the window, and they might have a fighting chance, but it would take an uncertain leap across an alleyway, and the ability to cling to sheer brick. "No," Benji snapped, backing away, "that is insane--"
"It's the only way!" Ethan shouted, but the door to the stairwell burst open, and there was suddenly no time left at all. Ethan seized him, and threw him, bodily, over the side of the building.
Benji found himself caught, a second later, in midair, and just had time to look up, had a split second in which to believe he would see Ethan above him, wings outstretched. He did see Ethan, briefly, as Ethan turned them, so that he, Ethan, took the brunt of the impact as they smashed through a window, and into the living room of the flat opposite the roof. "Stay down," Ethan wheezed, rolling Benji off him. It was testament to his resilience that he could speak; Benji could barely breathe. Bullets were whizzing into the dark room, over their heads, as Ethan half-dragged him out of the line of fire.
"Stairs," he gasped, tugging Benji to his feet, "quick!"
Staggering, Benji followed; with no breath in his lungs, it was like moving underwater. Ethan's face was scratched and bleeding, his clothes ragged with a hundred little cuts. Glass glittered in his dark hair. "Why?" Benji wheezed; his voice sounded like a child's sob, and it made him wince. Ethan ignored him. The block they were in had an underground car park, and Ethan wired them a car. Benji was stuffed into the passenger seat of a black hummer, or something like one, almost too winded to strap on a seatbelt.
They got lucky. Ethan drove sedately out of the complex, safe behind black tinted windows, while gunmen poured through the main entrance around the corner. "That wasn't too bad," he quipped, glancing down at Benji with one of his big, movie-star grins. There were cuts all over his face. Blood dripped down his cheek and stained his shirt collar. Benji wanted to put his head in his hands, so that's what he did. They travelled to their safe house in silence.
Almost recovered--at least able to breathe--by the time they got there, Benji had had enough time to really get his temper up. He slammed out of the car without speaking.
"Benji," Ethan appealed. He sounded like he was smiling.
"What?" Benji snapped, spinning on his heel. Ethan took a step back, his eyebrows going up in surprise. "I'm sorry," Ethan said, a little laughingly, something which, Benji guessed, had mollified a fair few people over the years. That laugh, that face, his smile, were so charming, so apologetic. Benji's bitter little pot boiled over. "You're sorry, for throwing us both over the side of a building?!" He shrieked, "we could've been killed, Ethan!"
Ethan held his hands up pacifyingly. "It was the only way," he said, "we definitely would've died if we had stayed where we were." His tone was patient, a little patronising, but it had an edge to it. A gentle warning not to say precisely what Benji said next.
"You have wings!" Benji yelled, flinging out an accusing finger. The words dropped like lead into silence. Ethan's affable smile was gone. He looked uncomfortable, he looked--hurt, as if someone like Benji had the power to hurt someone like Ethan. "Don't tell me it was the only way!" Benji continued, more quietly. "Don't keep doing stuff like this and telling me it's the only way, because it isn't. I don't know if you just love the thrill or you're addicted to the glory, but whatever it is, it has to stop."
"Is that what you think of me?" Ethan asked, and oh God, he really was hurt. Benji finally lifted his eyes and saw it, written all over the Hollywood-handsome face. "Do you think I'd do that to you, deliberately put you in danger, for--for a cheap thrill?"
Benji couldn't speak. He felt like his throat had closed up. Ethan shook his head disbelievingly. "I thought we were friends, Benji," he said softly.
Swallowing didn't help. His throat hurt, something was choking him. He watched Ethan shrug, scratch the dried blood from his face with his nails. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up," he said, "extraction team should be here tomorrow, I guess. Will you put in the call?"
"Eth--"
But he was gone, and Benji felt like scum, arguably worse than he had felt on the roof. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and heard the shower start in the bathroom. "Oh, God," he mumbled to himself, raking his hands back through his hair. "Sure, he looks like he was sculpted by the gods and he may have the abilities of a demi-god, but he's a fucking human being--broadly--and you just fucked up having him as a friend. Well done, Benji, absolutely top," he aimed a kick at the side of the sofa. "Sterling work, Agent Dunn, we're sending you for a fucking knighthood."
The shower seemed to go on for a long while. Ethan was one of those people who could skim by on a tiny amount of anything; food, sleep, and rest included. Maybe it was Benji's imagination, or the way he was pacing a bare spot in the carpet, waiting for the water to shut off, giving Ethan a grace period to get dressed, before he sprang in to grovel at Ethan's feet. Or maybe, Ethan was miserable about his so-called friend acting like a dick and he was licking his wounds. Benji knew his own face was peppered with little dried cuts, and his own clothes were ruined, and his whole body ached, and really, he should at least have bathed his face at the sink to get some of the crap off it--
But the water had shut off, and Benji was taking the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering hard enough to shake his whole body.
"Ethan," he called, unsurprised at the tone of misery in his own voice, "Ethan, can I come in?"
There was a pause.
"Give me a second," Ethan replied eventually, in neutral tones.
The only working bathroom in that grubby little house was an ensuite. Benji perched on the end of the dilapidated bed awkwardly. When Ethan emerged, he was dressed in the standard white tee and grey sweatpants left in the wardrobe of each of their safe houses. His hair was wet and his face was scratched to hell, and he was still the most handsome man Benji had ever seen in his life. "Ethan," Benji said, all in a breathless rush, "I'm so sorry, I was angry and I lashed out and you didn't deserve--I shouldn't have--"
"I'm sorry. I thought you knew," Ethan cut in. Benji felt like he'd been falling and he'd abruptly hit the ground. "Shouldn't have behaved like--what?"
"I said, I thought you knew," Ethan continued, with a sort of determined patience. He sat beside Benji on the bed; the springs creaked, though not as much as you'd expect. He was lighter than he looked, more aerodynamic. "They don't work."
"They...?" Benji gaped at him, at the side of his head. That movie-star profile, which seemed to droop in despair. "They don't work," he repeated; then, softer, "I can't fly. Never could."
Benji dropped his head into his hands again. "Oh, God," he said, on an outward breath, "Ethan, I'm so sorry, I can't imagine how I must've made you feel. I--I understand if you don't want to work with me any more, but if it's any consolation, I didn't mean any of it. I was scared and I lashed out, and even if you could fly, it has absolutely nothing to do with me how you choose to--"
"Benji," Ethan interrupted again, this time even looking at him with a hint of his smile, "it's okay."
"It's not okay," Benji said forcefully. "Don't let me off because you're a nice guy, Ethan. It wasn't okay for me to just bring that up, it's your body, it's harrassment, or something, it was totally unprofessional and over the line, and--"
Ethan was grinning at him fondly, maybe laughing a little. "It's okay," he smiled, "I forgive you."
Benji shook his head. "I'm going to do more harrassment training. And I'm sorry for being such a huge turdbasket."
"A turdbasket?" Ethan repeated, the warmth back in his voice. "Is that one of your quaint, English colloquialisms?"
Benji laughed a little wetly, relieved when Ethan gave him a playful nudge with his elbow. He heard Ethan's soft breath of laughter in return, and relaxed slightly; he still hated himself, but at least Ethan was smiling. "Are you all right?" He asked, looking at Ethan properly for the first time. He allowed himself to linger on the cuts on Ethan's handsome face, his torn knuckles. Ethan gave a little shrug, and then exaggerated a wince. Benji grinned and rolled his eyes. "Did you antiseptic your cuts? Actually, I better go over you with the x-ray scanner, just to make sure there's no glass in you."
Ethan twisted his mouth as if he'd bitten into something sour. "Okay," he said grudgingly. "Get cleaned up yourself first, though."
He meant for Benji to take care of himself, have five minutes under some hot water, see to his own injuries, and Benji knew that, so he curtseyed. "Oh, yes, my dirty hands cannot touch your perfect, handsome self, your majesty..." he dodged Ethan's answering swipe and ducked into the horrible bathroom. "If it's any consolation, you'll have to scan me as well," he added, bending over the sink and warily raking his hands through his hair. Tiny shards of glass twinkled into the basin. God, they had been lucky to come away with a pair of eyes each.
To that end, Benji spent a while with a gentle current of water carefully cleaning out both eyes, in case of a stray grain of ground glass. He could hear Ethan moving around next door, perhaps finding any supplies which had been left to them, maybe getting out the medical kit which would come with its own high-tech little scanner to pick up any glass left in their cuts before it started to cause trouble.
Eventually, clean and smelling of generic soap, Benji emerged in a matching tee-and-sweatpants combo. Ethan was sitting on the bed, fidgeting with the scanner. He glanced up as Benji walked in, and offered him a quick, brilliant smile. "Old army rations for dinner," he remarked, tossing the scanner to Benji, who managed not to fumble it, despite the news. "Urgh," Benji grimaced, as Ethan stood, surprisingly nimbly for someone who, not three hours, had hurtled through a window. "Would it affect the safety of our safe house to order pizza?"
"Yes," Ethan replied cheerfully.
The portable scanner was something relatively new to them, but it was a handy thing to include in all of their medi-kits. Glass had lead in it, which ought to show up in a scan, and it meant that nobody was walking round with little grains of glass in their bloodstream. The scanner relayed information to a tablet computer, which Benji dutifully connected to, and walked slowly around Ethan, frowning down at the screen.
"Well," he said eventually, "you have five or six bits in your shoulders, just one in your cheek. Shouldn't be too hard to clean out." He reached for the rest of the medi-kit. "You need my shirt off?" Ethan asked, his hands already on the hem. "Hm? Oh, yes, please," Benji replied absently, digging out saline, tweezers and dressings.
Under the white tee, Ethan was wearing his usual black bindings, wound tightly around his torso. There was barely a curve to his back to show where his wings were plastered down. The bindings were ordinary, spandex sort of stuff, heavy duty and practical, the kind of stuff from which shapewear was made. It was very neatly, evenly done; not a scrap of fluff or quill was showing from the edges. Benji scooched closer, sitting cross-legged at Ethan's back. "Shuffle back a bit?" He asked, sliding on some magnifying glasses. Ethan obliged. "Thanks. This is going to sting, I'm afraid."
Carefully, he opened the cut a little more, and dropped a pipette of saline across it, just to clear it out. Ethan didn't make a sound, but Benji felt him tense. "Sorry, sorry," he murmured. The jagged edge of glass, tiny but visible, winked at him. Gently, he tweezered it out. "One down, five to go," he remarked cheerfully.
The other five were duly tweezered out, cleaned and dressed. "Done?" Ethan asked immediately. Benji paused, wondering how best to phrase his next statement. Ethan half turned his head, curiously. "Benji?"
"I wasn't able to check your wings," Benji blurted out awkwardly. "They're folded so tightly, there's too much on the picture for me to get a clear view."
There was a slightly edgy pause.
"Uh. Okay," Ethan sounded a little flustered, if Ethan ever got flustered. "I guess I better let you check them, huh?"
"You don't have to!" Benji said hastily, "and I wasn't implying that you should, I just had to tell you, in case there is any glass in there, you need to get it checked when you get back."
Ethan raked a hand through his hair. "I doubt there's any glass in them," he said slowly, "but, uh, I heal quick, and I don't want anyone to have to start cutting into them to get little bits of glass out."
"Or work its way in and shred your innards," Benji agreed. Ethan gave a slightly strained laugh. Benji fidgeted a moment, until he heard Ethan take a short breath. "Okay," he said, on the exhale, "I trust you. Promise you won't laugh."
"Laugh?" Benji echoed, confused. He quickly moved back as Ethan started undoing his bindings, dropping his eyes to give him some impression of privacy. He saw the fabric drop on to the mattress, saw it disappear as Ethan folded it together. He didn't dare look up.
Ethan gave a little snuffle of laughter. "Benji, you can look," he said. He sounded like he was smiling.
Benji looked.
He did see what Ethan meant. They were small wings, clearly too small to carry him, and their feathers were crooked and ragged as an old crow's. Nevertheless, they were--
"Lovely," Benji breathed, staring at him in awe. Ethan's eyebrows went up a bit, and Benji felt his face flushing. "I mean it!" He said, a little cross at his own embarrassment. "Ethan...." he tailed off, gesturing with both hands. The wings, now fully outstretched, were about half a metre or so longer than his armspan. He had black feathers, pitch dark in places, and iridescent as a magpie's in others. Blues, greens and purples winked at Benji as they moved gently with Ethan's breathing. "I think you're the loveliest creature I've ever had the privilege of looking at," Benji murmured, half-lost in thought.
He gave himself a little shake. "Oh, God, sorry," he said suddenly, "I've just fucking--objectified you again, haven't I? Oh, Ethan, I'm--"
"It's fine," Ethan said, sounding a little strange. He was looking at Benji oddly, as if he expected Benji to suddenly peel off a mask or transform into someone else. Benji ducked his head awkwardly. "Sorry," he repeated, "I'll just get on with it, shall I? Won't take a minute."
He bent over the scanner, unnecessarily checking its connection to the tablet. As he moved it along Ethan's right wing, he saw something glittering on the downy feathers where the wings met Ethan's back. They were dark and soft-looking as a blackbird's wing. Instinctively, Benji reached out to brush the glass away, but as he touched it, it burst under his fingers and winked out of existence. He heard Ethan take a little breath. "Sorry, did that hurt?" He asked contritely. "I thought I saw glass, but it was water," he rubbed his fingertips together until the little cold spot of moisture was gone. The feathers had been so soft, he'd barely been able to feel them, but he'd felt the tickle of Ethan's body heat beneath them.
"No, it's okay," Ethan replied quietly. "Water runs off these feathers, but it gets trapped in those little fluffy bits." He tapped the dark, iridescent feathers which lay gleaming under the bare lightbulb above them. Benji touched one delicately, brushing his fingertip along the quill. Ethan's shoulders trembled, just a little, and Benji pretended not to notice.
The scan showed there was no glass in either wing, which was a relief for both of them. When at last he was done, he did another quick scan across Ethan's shoulders to make sure he'd gotten everything, and proclaimed him fit to go. "Don't forget the one in your cheek," he said, handing Ethan the medi-kit. Ethan glanced at the scanner. "Oh, yeah. Uh, Benji, would you get it for me?"
He was half-turned on the bed, one leg still dangling on to the floor, the other crooked on the mattress. He looking at Benji in an open, innocent sort of way which Benji didn't trust at all. "Yeah, of course I will," he said. "Lean forwards a little for me?"
Ethan leaned forwards obligingly, his eyes on Benji's face. "Stay very still. I don't want to be responsible for damaging your face."
"It's insured," Ethan deadpanned. Benji sniggered, cupping Ethan's left cheek to keep him steady. Carefully, he opened the little cut, not missing Ethan's wince. "Sorry," he breathed, distracted. He dropped saline across it, and the drop rolled like a tear down Ethan's cheek. Benji brushed it away with his thumb, unthinkingly. The little speck of glass was almost too small to be seen, but he managed to get it with the tweezers. "There!" He said triumphantly, holding it aloft. He beamed down at Ethan, and then realised, rather abruptly, that the whole of Ethan's very lovely face was still cradled in his left hand, and that Ethan's expression was very, very soft.
He was totally still, but there was an electricity about his stillness, like air charged before a thunderstorm. Benji's hand was still cupping his left cheek. Ethan leaned into it, fractionally, without breaking eye contact, and Benji felt his breath catch. Shocked at his own audacity, he moved his thumb gently against Ethan's skin, certain that his mouth was hanging open, but quite unable to feel anything except where his skin touched Ethan's. Ethan smiled, and Benji felt it in the palm of his hand.
"Thanks, Benji," he said softly. He stood up, taking himself out of Benji's grip, and began tidying up the medi-kit. "Have you scanned yourself?"
"Oh. No, I haven't," Benji replied dazedly.
"Stay still," Ethan angled the scanner towards him, gesturing for Benji to hand him the tablet.
Ethan had taken the brunt of the impact, and none of the glass had embedded itself into Benji's skin. Ethan proclaimed him free of glass, and whatever had transpired between them seemed to be over. Ethan busied himself with trying to make something palatable out of the army surplus rations, Benji threw out the used medical supplies. However, the bindings stayed folded on top of Ethan's other kit, and the white tee remained crumpled on the bed.
Over the hideous food, Benji managed to screw up enough courage to remark, "you're not binding them up again?"
Ethan glanced at him, a little shyly. "No, I don't like sleeping in that thing. But if it bothers you--"
"No!" Benji protested, far too quickly and loudly. "I mean..." he sighed, realising there was very little point in trying to come up with a lie. "I think they're wonderful," he admitted.
There was a tender little silence. "Most people find them hilarious," Ethan said eventually. It wasn't a question, but Benji heard the question in it anyway. "I," Benji repeated, forcefully, "think they're wonderful."
"Then you are in the minority," Ethan replied, but he sounded relieved. "Thanks."
"I can't imagine anyone looking at you and finding something to laugh at," Benji remarked, relaxing a little. "Me, yes, all the time, but you? Model handsome, all those languages, all those talents, and wings to boot? No."
"Oh, people find it very easy," Ethan said, without a trace of bitterness, "imagine you've just watched me do something daring, and you decide, 'oh, this guy's a catch', but then you discover these little, stunted wings that look like they belong on some dumb painting of a cherub." He rolled his eyes at Benji, "it takes away from the mystique a bit."
Benji put down his mess tin. "Ethan," he said, not trying to hide his smile, "I just have watched you do something very daring. I've been watching you do daring things for a few years now. Believe me, they're wonderful. But," he leaned across, "you don't seem to look after them very well!"
He meant it as a gentle jibe, something between friends, and as he said it, he tugged a couple of crooked feathers straight. Ethan flinched so hard, he dropped his mess tin. Benji met his eyes, wide; huge in his handsome face, before colour rushed to his face in a bright blush. "Oh, fuck, shit, I've done it again," Benji wailed, at the exact moment Ethan scrambled out of his chair to pick up the (fortunately empty) mess tin. It was one of the most ungraceful things Benji had ever seen him do.
"Are you okay, did I hurt you?" Benji gabbled, dropping to his knees beside Ethan. "No," Ethan said, without looking at him, "no, no, I'm fine, everything's fine." He stood up and all but ran from the room.
Benji scrambled after him, abandoning their dinner things where they were; Ethan headed into the little bedroom with the ensuite, and Benji narrowly made it through the door before Ethan slammed it in his face. "Benji," he said tightly, "I'm absolutely fine. You didn't hurt me, and I'm not angry."
"I've clearly upset you!" Benji protested, "I know I keep messing this up, and I keep absolutely terrorising you, I just honestly want you to know that I don't mean--"
"I'm not used to anyone touching them!" Ethan interrupted, a little louder than usual. It sounded like he had to force himself to say it. "They're sensitive, okay?"
Benji gaped at him. Ethan had his arms wrapped folded around himself, defensively; his face was angled away. It was an attitude Benji had never seen on him. It was shame.
"Ethan," Benji said gently, stepping towards him. He raised a hand uncertainly, holding it near enough to the feathers of Ethan's left wing that he could feel it, just barely, like a whisper against his skin. "Should I--do you want me to--"
"Yes," Ethan hissed, desperately. Though he was still looking away, Benji could see the pink flush in his face, his clenched jaw. His hands were in fists, all of the tendons standing in his neck and shoulders. It must hurt being so tense, Benji thought. In fact, I know it does. He drew his fingertips down from the delicate wrist of Ethan's wing, and watched Ethan's body shudder, saw his eyelashes fall against his cheek as he screwed his eyes shut. "Come here," Benji said softly, using his left hand to tug loose the knot of Ethan's arms. They came apart without much effort, as though Ethan was prepared to agree to anything, so long as Benji was prepared to keep touching him.
Benji reached up and carefully cupped the back of Ethan's head, bringing his flushed face gently to hide in the crook of his neck. Ethan made a muffled noise, wrapping both arms fiercely around Benji's waist. "You let me know if I do something wrong," Benji murmured, "okay?"
He brought the flat of his palm down slowly over the soft feathers. Like supple grass, the feathers bowed and gleamed under his hand. Ethan made another little noise, his hands clenching in Benji's T-shirt. "How long has it been?" Benji wondered aloud.
"Not since Julia," Ethan replied. His voice sounded strange.
Benji brought both hands up and smoothed both wings at once. The feathers had started to rise, and the texture of it was marvellous. Benji worked his way inwards, towards the centre of Ethan's back, until he found skin rather than feather or quill. For a few moments, he drew lazy circles on the fever-hot skin, and then moved back over the cool, slippery feathers. Ethan shivered and jumped in his arms, his face jammed against Benji's neck. Was that sweat, or tears which stuck their skin together?
The feathers were rising still, as if he was trying to fluff himself up, like a sparrow. The image of it made Benji want to laugh. Emboldened by his success so far, he pushed his fingers through the feathers. Before, they had looked crumpled and crooked where they had been bound together so tightly; Benji had wanted immediately to neaten them, bring them to the same kind of perfection that the rest of Ethan had. He pushed his fingers deeply between the feathers, amazed when his hands sank in, almost to the wrists, and he felt no skin, only more feather. Ethan shuddered, his arms tightening convulsively around Benji's waist as he arched into the feeling.
"God, Ethan," Benji murmured, "don't let yourself get like this again, mate." He dragged his fingertips back through the feathers, as deeply as he could, and he felt teeth scrape his shoulder as Ethan bit hard into his T-shirt. "Are you a vampire now?" He asked lightly, smoothing the feathers where he'd had his hands. Ethan shook his head, mutely; he was trembling even when Benji's hands were still. Hoping to soothe him, Benji rubbed his thumbs along the broad arch of Ethan's wings. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Ethan gasped, "yeah, I'm--Benji--" He let go of Benji, and Benji, regretfully, took his own hands back, prepared to take a step away. "Benji," Ethan all but whimpered, grabbing his wrists. He pulled them around the sides of his own body, and up under his wings, between the press of feathers and the bones of his shoulders. The heat was incredible, trapped between his body and his wings, Benji's hands felt like they were burning "Please," he begged, "please--"
"Here?" Benji whispered, gently stroking the feathers. "Harder," Ethan said wretchedly, pressing his face into Benji's neck. Obediently, Benji dug his fingers deeply into the feathers, shallower here than in the broad part of his wings. This time, he felt quill and skin, and this time, he dared to scratch a little, as he might a cat's ears. Ethan all but jack-knifed, his blunt nails now painful in Benji's back; he yelled something into Benji's shoulder, possibly a swear word. His T-shirt pulled at the neck as Ethan got a good mouthful of it again, presumably to muffle himself. Benji tugged it back, secretly gleeful when Ethan made a miserable little whimper. "It's okay," he murmured, "I've got you, Ethan. I've got you."
"Benji," Ethan sounded absolutely wrecked. Benji worked his fingers back in, under the feathers, being as firm and decisive as he dared; massaging his fingertips right up close to the skin of Ethan's back, fascinated by the shape of his bones, the way his wings soared outwards from the centre of his back. Ethan was shaking, making frantic little sounds in the back of his throat. He was scrabbling at Benji's back like he wanted to climb inside him; Benji put as much force into his movements as he could, but it seemed to make things worse.
Abruptly, Ethan shoved him away, hard. His face was red and his eyes were glassy; his lower lip was swollen where he had bitten it. He wrapped his arms around himself, backing away until he hit the wall. All of his muscles were jumping and twitching under his skin; his hands shook, his wings, fluffed up and rumpled where Benji had touched them, were jammed hard between his body and the cold wall, arched in their own little way above his head, and jerking spasmodically. "Too much," he explained, in a choked voice, "it's too much, I can't--I'm--"
He shuddered, burying his face in his hands. Benji could hear his breath, coming in hard little sobs, and wished he could go over and touch, just touch Ethan, hold him, bring him back to himself. Instead, he dragged the ratty blanket from the old bed and threw it around Ethan's shoulders, pulling it as tight as he could. Ethan's trembling hands clutched it, pulling it tighter still.
"What can I do, Ethan?" Benji asked softly, "what do you need?"
"God, I don't even--" Ethan broke off, eyes squeezed shut; "it feels like there's something under my skin, I can't stop feeling where your hands were, it's too much!" He slammed his back, his wings, against the wall, hard. "Jesus, Ethan!" Benji yelped, "stop it! Stop!"
He grabbed Ethan away from the wall, but Ethan was clawing at his wings underneath the blanket, as though he could scrape out the sensation of Benji's hands on him. "Stop it," Benji said desperately, trying to hold Ethan's arms, "Ethan!"
"I don't know what to do," Ethan whined, a heartbreaking admission from someone who never admitted defeat, "I don't know what to do!"
Benji seized the black fabric he bound his wings with, and wound it back around Ethan's body; Ethan complied, folding his wings in tight, pulling the bindings tighter, until he was just Ethan, just as he always had been, looking strange and small and familiar without the wings above his head. He was still arching his back, still trying to reach behind himself and pull the feeling out of his own skin, his face red and eyes teary with frustration. Benji stood behind him and dug his knuckles into Ethan's back, hard.
He went very still suddenly, his body frozen in a lovely arch, and his shuddering breath very loud in the silence. "Yes?" Benji asked. Ethan nodded dumbly; Benji did it again, hard movements where before he had been gentle and sweet. Ethan's head hung in relief, his whole body going limp. "Fucking hell, Ethan," Benji said fervently.
"Yeah," Ethan replied, in an exhausted sigh, as his shoulders began to droop. "I know. Don't stop, though."
"Never, ever, ever again do I want to go through that," Benji told him flatly, "it is not worth it. Lovely and pliant and sexy as you were, just, never again, okay?"
There was a subtle pause, and then Ethan, quite deliberately, stepped away. "Yeah," he agreed quietly, "I'm sorry for putting you through that."
"Next time," Benji continued briskly, obliviously, "we are going to start much, much smaller. And I won't let you seduce me into anything else."
There was another, less subtle pause. "Next...next time?" Ethan repeated disbelievingly, "next time?"
Benji looked up sharply, suddenly realising. "God, yeah, of course next time," he said hurriedly, "of course next time! Ethan, do you think I'd let you get into that state again? For God's sake, I thought you'd had a thing with Ilsa, why has it been so long since anyone touched you?"
Ethan reached for his T-shirt suddenly, his head lowered. "Yeah, I really like Ilsa. But, um. She was--she needed more than I could give her."
Still avoiding Benji's eyes, he ducked into his T-shirt. Benji didn't miss the way he was still trembling. "Come here," he said gently. "Needed more--what does that mean?" Ethan turned around, offering his back to Benji, but saying nothing more. "You didn't want to sleep with her?" Benji asked, connecting the dots. Ethan gave an awkward little shrug. "I don't really want to sleep with anyone," he admitted, quietly.
"You're asexual," Benji said, realisation dawning. "Do you know, that makes so much sense."
"It does?"
"Of course it does," Benji said confidently, knuckling down the centre of Ethan's back. "You could have anyone you wanted, look at you! But you never seemed interested in anyone--except Julia and Ilsa, of course. More interested in saving the world."
Ethan huffed a little laugh. "Would you describe that as a hobby?" His voice sounded normal again, a gentle murmur, just an edge of gravel. Benji dug a knuckle between his shoulder blades. "I'm hoping you have others," he said, his heart hammering. Ethan's head half turned in his direction, with a questioning noise. "Well," Benji said, "how do you feel about kissing, for instance?"
There was another pause, a heart-stopping, world-ending pause, before Ethan turned fully, wearing that charming Hollywood smile, and said, "I don't mind kissing at all."