Beyond Edenton

But he wasn’t thinking about that. Too busy staring at his husband, wondering why he had bothered dressing in the first place, when their destination was their private bathroom.

“You’re… absolutely getting’ hosed when we get home.”

Loose. His wings extended to their utter reach, shivering out the last grain of sand, before being tucked to his ribs.

“Would ya mind… if this became our ritual?"

"Of course," he nodded, catching that stray thought easily in this world of just the two of them. "And so are you. But we have to be sure there are no neighbors out for a late stroll on the hill."

"Well, shes had more time to practice. Thats hardly fair" she mumbled. "Shes had what. Seven years? I've had like... just over two."

Henry had his name on every bullet.

"But not by you. That would be terribly predictable, wouldn't it? Wanting to be another scar I carry?"

@anedendarkly

“Predictable or not. You’re still here.” Henry crossed his legs and sat back in his chair, lit a cigarette.

She wouldn't live in a hoodie, she knew that much. And she was normally good at hiding her feelings but these traits popping out and giving her away would ruin everything. She had to listen to what he said and learn.

@anedendarkly

Henry bit back a smile, but there was little humor in it. No. It was the motion of a predator showing its teeth. He looked back at the demon, a biting remark already sitting ready in the chamber.

He fired.

"Might as well make a sand angel. Ya can't get any worse." Charles' chin was pinched, pulled gently into a final kiss before his final flight. Take off was decided by running downhill, minimizing kick up from the push of great wings, leaving twin dust devils in his wake. Rather than the ocean, he circled, like a patient, hungry vulture, reacquainting himself with turns, only to dive and rise, changing from left to right. Hardly ten minutes of indulgence, before the demon-hybrid began his descent.

Charles was once more struck by the wonder that was his beloved in flight. His eyes followed his every sweeping turn, even as he struggled to set himself to rights. The soggy, sandy cashmere that clung to his skin simply had to go. The chill could be borne. But without the distraction of Mason's touch, the fabric had become a sensory nightmare.

He peeled the jumper away before locating his discarded trousers and boots. By the time his demon touched down, Charles was mostly dressed, only the shirt draped over his arm. He was a dreadful mess, but dressed.

"The hell do you mean: practice? You gonna keep getting me all riled up or something?" Manon half scoffed. "I don't think bread will solve it in the throes of passion or whatever. And I haven't really met many people cool being with surprise shifters and acting like they're normal."

Lucien stared at the TV for a moment, taking in a few of the undercut jokes the women made between each other. Of course he liked this show. His mother had watched when he was little; the humor reminded him of her. He could almost smell her perfume.