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Entry tags:
your angels will dance at your will
Title: your angels will dance at your will
Fandom: The Gray Garden
Character(s): Lost, Ciel
Pairing(s): Lost/Ciel
Genre: Angst/Fluff
Word Count: 505
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Ciel's wings are far lovelier than Lost's.
Notes: For the prompt "fabric/feathers".
Lost’s wings are like those of a bat. They feel much like the rest of his skin, or perhaps a bit more leathery. They don’t give as much lift as a bird or angel’s wings, but they’re better at maneuvering in tight spaces, though it rarely makes much of a difference. Lost’s are small compared to those of the other demons he knows, but he’s never had a reason to complain about that. He doesn’t like to show off, anyway.
He doesn’t often have the chance or the reason to inspect angels’ wings. Usually, the only time he cares about an angel’s wings is if he’s trying to injure one to keep an angel from flying away from the battlefield. Then all he focuses on are the easiest parts to attack and disable. He doesn’t care much about the aesthetics of them.
Except on Ciel.
Ciel’s wings are pure white, with the softest feathers Lost has laid his hands on. If he wanted to, he could rip her feathers out, handful by handful, but he would never. Instead he gently rubs each feather between his thumb and index finger and marvels at the wide white expanse of them.
“They’re beautiful,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur. “You’re beautiful.”
Ciel smiles, just slightly, and reaches out to stroke one of his wings. He shivers as she says, “Yours are just as nice.”
He shakes his head. “They’re practical, but nothing special. Not like yours.” Leaning in, he places a kiss at the top of one of her wings. The feathers tickle his nose.
“I’ve never thought much of them,” she says. She closes her eyes as her wings flutter slightly. “They’re just a part of me, that’s all.”
“Every part of you is beautiful.” He lays more kisses on her feathers, slow and reverent. He would far sooner worship her than Etihw. “Nothing about you could not be lovely. Not in my eyes.”
“Lost,” she says, stroking her hand down his cheek. “You’re so kind to me. What did I do to deserve you?”
He lets the kisses he dabbles over her wings speak for him. They’re not quite as sensitive as his own wings, with another layer over the skin to get in the way, but she still trembles at each touch of lips and softly calls his name again.
When he pulls her to him and lets his hands wander elsewhere, if her back is pressed to his chest then he will feel the way her wings flutter at the touch of his hands on her skin. Trapped between his body and his hands holding her close, she resembles nothing so much as a caged bird. Her crooning voice when he touches her does nothing to dispel that illusion.
But generally, he prefers to face her for ease of kisses, and let her wings move freely. If she is like a bird, she is like one that loves him enough to willingly ignore the safer, and perhaps more sensible, option of flight.
Fandom: The Gray Garden
Character(s): Lost, Ciel
Pairing(s): Lost/Ciel
Genre: Angst/Fluff
Word Count: 505
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Ciel's wings are far lovelier than Lost's.
Notes: For the prompt "fabric/feathers".
Lost’s wings are like those of a bat. They feel much like the rest of his skin, or perhaps a bit more leathery. They don’t give as much lift as a bird or angel’s wings, but they’re better at maneuvering in tight spaces, though it rarely makes much of a difference. Lost’s are small compared to those of the other demons he knows, but he’s never had a reason to complain about that. He doesn’t like to show off, anyway.
He doesn’t often have the chance or the reason to inspect angels’ wings. Usually, the only time he cares about an angel’s wings is if he’s trying to injure one to keep an angel from flying away from the battlefield. Then all he focuses on are the easiest parts to attack and disable. He doesn’t care much about the aesthetics of them.
Except on Ciel.
Ciel’s wings are pure white, with the softest feathers Lost has laid his hands on. If he wanted to, he could rip her feathers out, handful by handful, but he would never. Instead he gently rubs each feather between his thumb and index finger and marvels at the wide white expanse of them.
“They’re beautiful,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur. “You’re beautiful.”
Ciel smiles, just slightly, and reaches out to stroke one of his wings. He shivers as she says, “Yours are just as nice.”
He shakes his head. “They’re practical, but nothing special. Not like yours.” Leaning in, he places a kiss at the top of one of her wings. The feathers tickle his nose.
“I’ve never thought much of them,” she says. She closes her eyes as her wings flutter slightly. “They’re just a part of me, that’s all.”
“Every part of you is beautiful.” He lays more kisses on her feathers, slow and reverent. He would far sooner worship her than Etihw. “Nothing about you could not be lovely. Not in my eyes.”
“Lost,” she says, stroking her hand down his cheek. “You’re so kind to me. What did I do to deserve you?”
He lets the kisses he dabbles over her wings speak for him. They’re not quite as sensitive as his own wings, with another layer over the skin to get in the way, but she still trembles at each touch of lips and softly calls his name again.
When he pulls her to him and lets his hands wander elsewhere, if her back is pressed to his chest then he will feel the way her wings flutter at the touch of his hands on her skin. Trapped between his body and his hands holding her close, she resembles nothing so much as a caged bird. Her crooning voice when he touches her does nothing to dispel that illusion.
But generally, he prefers to face her for ease of kisses, and let her wings move freely. If she is like a bird, she is like one that loves him enough to willingly ignore the safer, and perhaps more sensible, option of flight.