“You should be a masseuse...” He never felt any safer than he did than in Alfred’s arms, closer to him than he had even been with his own brother, a bond forged in their unwilling alterations. In the days after his wings had been grown, and his body was alternately adjusting itself, then readjusting, then rejecting the new forms, he had spent it curled in Alfred’s hold, crying and shaking as every wave of regeneration flowed through him.
He was nearly ready to sleep when the door to his room slammed open, their master striding into the room. “Having a relaxing night, my little sparrow, my iron giant?”