#wing stuff

The rest had been a bit of a blur to the Illyrian spy, and when he finally composed himself to take in his surroundings, he was laying face down on a cot in a medical tent. Azriel blinked, his hazel eyes slowly scanning the tent. He registered the low lantern light only seconds before he felt the searing pain in his wings, his shoulders, his back. He remembered falling, but not how he’d gotten here.

“You’re awake,” a soft voice said.

Azriel hadn’t noticed anyone was in there with him, a testament to how out of it the spy was. When his eyes finally fell upon the owner of the voice, he was surprised to see a beautiful young Fae female dressed in all white. A priestess, perhaps? Did she bring him here? How long had he been asleep? Where was his High Lord? 

“You’ve been unconscious for about four hours. The High Lord and his war general brought you back to camp,” You told the male, watching him carefully.

You’d been summoned by Mor when Rhysand and Cassian dragged a slumped over Azriel back to the war camp. As Madja’s best apprentice, you’d been stationed at the camp in case of something like this. The sight of Azriel’s injuries had made you wince, all too aware of the nerves running through the intricate Illyrian wings. You’d tended to him carefully while the others returned to the fray of battle, not without longing gazes back at their unconscious friend. That had been pressure enough to have you working on healing the male nonstop. 

The gentle tug in your gut urged your movements, too. Something inside of you wanted, so very badly, to make sure that Azriel was alright. You didn’t know much about him, but you knew his name and how hard he worked for his court.

“When can I return to battle?” The shadowsinger’s rough voice snapped you from your recount of the day.

“Not today,” you replied, taking a seat on a stool beside his cot, “Your wings will need some time to fully recover, probably about a week or two.”

Azriel studied you, his gaze roaming over your face. The tug in your gut pulsed, just once, but you ignored it. With a handsome male staring at you like that, anyone’s stomach might flutter. Azriel, on the other hand, felt the tug much stronger. Mate, it said to him. Mine. He shifted, wincing at the sharp pain the movement sent through his body.

“Hold still. I’ve only just managed to close your worst wounds.” You chide, setting your gentle hands on his arm to stop him from moving. 

The male couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through his body at your touch. He looked away from you, forcing his eyes to focus on anything other than your face. You smiled at him, a warm thing that made his insides twist in a foreign way. 

“How much longer will I need to be still?” Azriel asked.

“Just a few more hours before you’re on your feet again. The High Lord has asked me to keep you overnight for safety, though.”

Rhysand, that overprotective bastard. You could tell from the look on Azriel’s face that he wasn’t pleased with the news. You let out a soft sigh, standing to grab a healing serum from your medkit. 

“I’ll get right back to work, though, hopefully have you standing sooner.”

Azriel just nodded, opting for silence as he let you work. He was grateful to his brothers for having brought him back, and he was grateful to you for working so hard to patch him up, but he was angry with himself for being useless to the fight. Your eyes glanced at his face every now and then, checking on his pain levels as you dripped the serum onto his wings. 

“I’ve got to rub the serum in now, alright?”

The Illyrian’s eyes snap to yours as you speak, a flush slowly crawling up the back of his tattooed neck. Hands on his wings were foreign. Female hands on his wings were completely alien. The thought of you, a very pretty thing, touching along the ridges and scars of his wings… Not to mention this newfound pulsing energy of possession that made Azriel tenser than he already was. It was fine. He was a soldier, one of the best, he could handle his brand new mate rubbing up on the most sensitive part of his body.

“Alright,” was all he managed to grit out, his eyes refusing to meet yours. 

You noticed his tension, of course you did, so you did your best to be careful as your fingers lightly pressed a healing scar on the expanse of his left wing. You paused as you heard his breath hitch, your hands hovering over his wings.

“I’m sorry, I know it must hurt.”

Azriel just shook his head, forcing his eyes to the floor. You returned to your work, your hands moving even slower than before, gentle strokes over the flaps of his wings. Azriel’s breath became heavier, his jaw clenched as he stared daggers into the dirt floor below you. You really were being as careful as you could be, but you felt so guilty for causing him pain.

When your fingers touched a wound that had split the bridge of his wing, his body jolted. You cringed, dropping your hands to your sides. You looked to his face, where Azriel’s eyes were now squeezed shut, his jaw clenching and unclenching slowly. 

“I’m so sorry, we can take a break if it’s too painful.”

“No,” Azriel declined, opening his eyes to finally look at you for just a brief moment before he tore his gaze away, “They’re just… sensitive.”

The flush had made its way up to Azriel’s cheeks, and you took note of the way his pupils were slightly blown. His breath was coming in short, soft pants, and he still refused to look at you for more than half a second.

Oh.

Oh.

Your breath caught in your throat as you understood what he meant. You knew that the wings of Illyrians were sensitive, and that they could be used to enhance sexual pleasure in the heat of the moment, but you didn’t know that just your hands on his wings could get him like this.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask softly, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“No,” he answered quickly, his eyes darting to yours once more, “don’t stop.”

The heat in your face spread quickly across your body at the low tone of his voice, the breathless desperation behind the short-worded request. Everyone knew that the High Lord’s two Illyrian soldiers were handsome, but up close and flushed like this, Azriel was truly like nothing you’d ever seen. You nodded, holding his gaze as you once more returned your hands to the leather of his wings. 

You watched his eyes flutter shut at your movements, spurred by confidence from his confirmation to continue. Your gaze shifted between his wings, the tattoos moving over his muscled back, and his face. His lips had parted, soft breaths slipping past them. You moved with purpose, to heal his wounds, yes, but also to make him feel good. If you could relieve any of his pain, you were glad for it. 

Your hands slid along his wings, meeting at the base of each wing, fingers gently running along the ridges there.

“Fuck…” Azriel breathed out, the sound of it sending heat flooding between your legs.

“Is this okay?” You confirm, and the male below you nods.

“Please…”

You continue to drag your fingers along the sensitive skin of his back, the base of his wings, earning you quiet moans and tiny whines from the back of his throat. His shoulders flexed, his tattoos shifting, and you watched as he shifted his hips forward just the smallest bit. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, doing all you can to keep yourself from clenching your thighs together. He rocked back again, dragging his hips along the cot of the mattress below him as you continued to work his wings.

“Azriel,” you nearly whisper, in awe at the sight of him below you.

The male let out a deep groan at the sound of his name on your lips, his hips thrusting forward with intent this time. Perhaps it was wrong to touch him like this, but the way he sounded, the way he reacted to your touch and seemed to draw you in felt too perfect to deny. You pressed your fingers into the muscles of his back, just between his wings, earning you another low sound. You dragged your gaze up to his face again to find him already staring up at you.

“I’d like to put my teeth there, some time.” He said, eyes flickering to where you still had your bottom lip under your teeth. 

A choked sound makes its way out of your mouth, your hands stuttering for a second. The heat in your cheeks, and in your core, were becoming too much to handle, especially with the way the male was staring up at you. A sharp dig of your fingers had Azriel’s fingers curling into the mattress, his hips faltering as a deep growl rattled from his chest. 

You tore your gaze away from his, focused on your hands, not on how hard the muscles of his back were… You trailed your hands back up the bridges of each wing, your thumb rubbing along where the leather wing met the rough skin of his back. He whined again, a needy and desperate thing as his hips pitched forward again and again. 

“Please, I…” he moaned, burying his head in the pillow beneath him to muffle the sounds that kept slipping from his open mouth. 

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it, and continued to rub your thumbs in soothing lines along his back while your fingers danced along the skin of his wings. Through the pillow you heard his breath speeding up, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the mattress. You knew he was close. Your movements never faltered, not even as his hips did. A few more careful strokes of your thumbs and he threw his head back with a deep groan, his mouth hanging open in bliss as he rode out his high with little cants of his hips.

He sank down into the mattress, breathing deeply, and you pulled your hands away from his wings. You held them to your chest, not daring to say a word.

“Do you help all your patients like that?” A breathless and teasing question.

“No, you’d definitely be the first.” You laughed quietly, suddenly nervous.

“It was… much appreciated,” Azriel said, opening his eyes to look at you, “I hope you’ll be the one in charge of my recovery.”

“I… can certainly speak to Madja about it.” 

You looked away, still blushing furiously, and began gathering your medical supplies.

“Your, um, your wings are stable now. You should be able to walk around without issue. No… no flying for two weeks.” You mumble, avoiding his gaze.

“Any other orders for me, Doc?”

You finally looked up at him, the smirk on his lips making you shiver. 

“Maybe wash up.”

He laughed, a low and hearty laugh, and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”