Archive of Our Own

The cabin door automatically closed behind him as Sunday stepped into what was going to be his temporary home for the next few months (perhaps even more) to come. He scanned the area, nothing too gaudy as he’d initially expected of the Astral Express – just a simple double bed, its length trailing along the frankly huge window looking out into space, with black blinds lining either side. A small bedside table sat next to it topped with a bulbous shaped lamp, a closet decorating the other corner of the room along with a standing full-length mirror next to it.

To say it had been a stressful day would be putting it mildly; for a split second, Sunday had thought Ms. Stelle was going to refuse him travelling on the Astral Express – he could sense the possibility bouncing around in her head. Luckily, she agreed eventually, probably trusting in Mr. Yang’s recommendation of him with the other members following her lead. He let out a sigh, thank Ena that Mr. Yang had enough of a conviction in him, even if Sunday himself didn’t.

You are one of my trailblazing goals.

Sunday felt a certain warmth as he remembered those words – he could not recall a time when someone who was not his sister genuinely seemed to care about him as a person and not simply see him as a title, a list of deeds he’d done and the atrocities he’d committed.

He held onto that warmth as he took off his rings and placed them on the bedside table. Next came the straps and buckles in order to take off his gloves, and then his tailcoat, unpinning the scarf attached to it. Finally removing all of the upper layers and folding all of his clothing into neat squares and putting them away, he yawned, stretching and fluffing out the wings on his lower back.

Sunday frowned as quite a large number of down feathers as well as a few primary feathers fell to the ground, all either slightly bent or not in their best condition. He walked over to the mirror and stretched out his left wing, inspecting how the navy blue sheen to it was dulled, a greater portion of the feathers bent this way and that, the fluffing barely having done anything to rearrange them.

When was the last time his primary wings had been preened? He had a habit of absent-mindedly preening his secondary wings that sprouted from the back of his neck since they were constantly in plain view but his primary wings? It was usually Robin who did it for him and vice versa, the process too arduous to do by oneself considering it was near impossible to get the feathers on the base of the wings even if you folded them in front of you. And when Robin wasn’t available, well, he had to make do with a halovian working for the Family.

He groaned lightly, it had to have been a few months at least what with everything that had occurred in Penacony followed by his captivity. Sunday was a lot of things but unkempt or slovenly was not one of them. He resigned himself to preening his wings by himself – they wouldn’t be perfect but they would at least be better than whatever their current condition was.

He would most probably also end the session with sore shoulders and arms what with all the twisting and stretching he’d have to do. Sunday let out a few more groans of frustration as he reached for the buckle on his pants, a couple of knocks echoing throughout the cabin halting the action in its tracks.

“Mr. Sunday, Ms. Himeko wanted to deliver some coffee to you. Are you alright, I heard some – oh.” It was Welt standing at the doorway, his golden eyes rapidly widening as he took in Sunday’s state of undress as well as the feathers scattered on the floor around him. “I – I apologize, I did not mean to interrupt.”

Sunday didn’t want to make Welt feel uncomfortable considering all he’d done in order to get him on the Express in the first place so he forced a pleasant smile despite the heat he could feel creeping up his face, trying to keep himself from feeling too conscious of how exposed he was.

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Welt, at least you didn’t arrive a few minutes later, then it would have truly become awkward.” Avoiding any eye contact, he quickly rummaged through the closet and donned on an undershirt that ended at the bottom of his ribs, giving his primary wings plenty of space still to stretch.

When Welt huffed out a chuckle at that, Sunday internally breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted. Welt’s eyes once again flicked to his feathers on the floor and a slight frown replaced the smile the man had had. “Uh . . . if you don’t mind me asking, is shedding that many feathers considered normal amongst halovians?”

“Not exactly, I just haven’t groomed them in a while,” Sunday replied, arms moving to clasp behind him before Welt stepped forward and handed him the warm cup of coffee.

“Any particular reason why?” When Sunday looked down at the cup with mild distaste, Welt continued, “And don’t worry, I’ve . . . tampered with the coffee Ms. Himeko made a little bit. Don’t tell her I did that.”

Sunday huffed out a quiet laugh and took a sip of the coffee, delighting at its rich taste as he let out a few chirps of contentment. It took a few seconds for him to realize he’d been asked a question. Welt was simply watching him patiently, though the corner of his lips were tugged up into a smile. “I just didn’t have the time to request my sister to do it, unfortunately.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you couldn’t groom your wings yourself,” Welt commented, amber eyes firmly fixed on Sunday’s own yellow ones now.

“It’s rather challenging to reach some sections of the wings by myself, not to mention exhausting, so halovians get others to preen their primary wings, usually family members or spouses,” Sunday explained lightly, draining the cup of its coffee with his next sip. “Please thank Ms. Himeko for the coffee, I will make sure to return the favor.”

Sunday expected Welt to take the cup that he was holding out and exit the cabin, however, the older man just stayed still, expression twisted into one of deep thought. He was just about to inquire if something was wrong when –

“May I assist you?”

Sunday blinked. Had he heard that correctly? “My apologies, could you repeat that?”

“I could help you in your . . . preening, if you desire,” Welt offered. He seemed as well put-together as usual but Sunday could detect a hint of nervousness in the former’s expression, as if he was afraid of overstepping. Under normal circumstances, Sunday would never agree to let a nigh stranger get anywhere close to his primary wings, let alone groom them, yet somehow, that simple twitch of the brow and the anxious lick of the lips brought his defenses crumbling down.

Perhaps he could make an exception.

“You never told me you knew how to groom wings, Mr. Yang,” Sunday replied, a slight teasing lilt to his voice, trying to mask how his anxiety had heightened slightly.

Welt uncrossed his arms and made his way over to the other, sitting down on the bed beside him at a respectful distance. Sunday’s left wing brushed against Welt’s back in this position. “I do not, unfortunately. However, I’m a quick learner if you provide me with proper instructions.”

Sunday still had the option to backtrack, to refuse, but for some reason he had no urge to do that, his natural instincts somehow trusted in Welt to handle him, despite him being a non-halovian. “I’ll do my best then, Mr. Yang.”

Welt proceeded to take his shoes off, placing them by the door and came back to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing Sunday’s left wing. Sunday furrowed his brows and tilted his head to which the other just offered a light one-shouldered shrug. “You said the process was lengthy, I am simply making sure that my muscles don’t give out on me before I’m done. We should both be in a comfortable enough position, yes?”

 “I suppose,” Sunday agreed.

“So, where should I start?”

“Um,” Sunday started, fluffing up his feathers. “Just run your hands through my wings and pick off any loose feathers that catch in your fingers? It’s similar to brushing through shedding hair. You don’t need to apply too much force, the loose feathers will mostly fall off on their own at a hint of pressure.”

“Alright, I think I got it. Tell me if I do anything wrong,” Welt replied, shuffling closer to Sunday until their thighs were practically touching, the former facing his wing. He saw Welt reach out his right hand, plunging his long fingers into his wing.

“Aeons-” Sunday gasped out suddenly as a jolt went through him, spine giving out as he fell forward, barely stopping before his forehead hit a knee. What was that?

“Sunday?” Welt asked in an alarmed tone, removing his hand as he supported the aforementioned into sitting up again. Sunday was too out of it to even notice Welt dropping the honorific. The older man’s calloused hands against his arm and shoulder were grounding as he breathed in deeply, never having experienced such a sensation. A white hot bolt zipping through his body. “Are you alright, I’m so sorry, did I touch you somewhere I shouldn’t have?”

Sunday swallowed, eyeing Welt’s hand with a touch of apprehension. Perhaps it was a fluke? A non-halovian has never touched his wings before, perhaps his defensive instincts kicked in. It should be fine now that Sunday was prepared for the sensation . . . right? “I’m fine, Mr. Yang, you didn’t do anything wrong. I believe it was just some unknown instinct surfacing, it should be fine now that I am prepared for it.”

“If you’re certain . . .” Welt acquiesced, taking back his hands when he was sure Sunday wouldn’t collapse again. This time, he was much more hesitant, fingers fluttering close to the same area for a few seconds before slowly ‘combing’ through the soft downy feathers of his lesser coverts.

Sunday shuddered, the same feeling taking over his body but more muted this time, making it manageable. Welt was incredibly thorough in his work, applying just the right amount of pressure on the calami and soon, the bed was littered with midnight blue feathers – quite a lot of them but as long as Sunday regularly preened them from now on, they should grow back to their regular number and volume.

“I imagine it feels nice?” Welt asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as his hands wandered lower to the secondary coverts. It was only then that Sunday realized with a small amount of horror that he’d been letting out noises akin to chirps. He quickly slapped a hand onto his mouth, mortified, face cherry red as he wrapped his secondary wings around it in embarrassment. “Ah, I didn’t mean to make you feel self conscious. Don’t worry, I don’t mind at all, you let out beautiful sounds.”

Sunday froze at that last sentence, tossing the words around in his mind. Ena above, what was that supposed to mean? It made a certain part of his brain go haywire, the part that he’s buried deep into the recesses of his mind – the part that has been a little infatuated with the older man ever since he’d been offered that modicum of genuine concern and care.

“I -” He shook his head, making sure to keep his mouth shut this time around. It didn’t mean anything, Welt saw him as his ward and that was all. It was not like Sunday was some radiant being capable of making people fall head over heels for him, not like his sister was, regardless of what people believed about halovians. “Mr. Yang, you don’t need to be overtly consoling to me.”

Welt’s hands paused for a second before resuming. “Consoling? Why would you think that, you do have a beautiful voice. Fitting for your species, I suppose.”

Sunday let out a small chuckle, bordering on self-deprecation. He didn’t see Welt frown at the action. “When I was young, Robin and I used to take music lessons. She was the star pupil, our teacher adored her. Me, though, she had no fondness towards. She used to say my voice sounded like a snarl and that I sounded like a sick duckling. I eventually dropped the vocal lessons, focusing mainly on the piano. So forgive me if I don’t believe you, Mr. Yang.”

“Hey,” Welt started and Sunday felt warm fingers taking hold of his chin and lifting them up so he had no choice but to stare directly into the former’s eyes, so similar to molten pools of amber and filled with a near unending supply of kindness. “Just because some irresponsible adult disrespected you more than two decades ago does not mean you have to keep carrying those assumptions with you your entire life. That was then, this is now. And right now, I’m telling you that your voice is beautiful. This might be presumptuous of me, but I sure hope my opinion is a tad more important to you than that of a music teacher that you had when you were a child.”

There was that warmth again, the one that accompanied any of Welt’s praises directed towards him. Anyone else and Sunday would’ve waved their words away, but Welt just sounded so incredibly sincere that he couldn’t help but take a few seconds to consider if the older man was correct. It wasn’t a conclusion by any means, but it was a start. “Then I thank you, Mr. Yang. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Good job,” Welt praised, and Sunday hid the raging blush that bloomed on his face with his secondary wings. The man was going to be the death of him.

They eventually moved on to chatting about lighter topics such as the Astral Express’ previous adventures and after what seemed like one and a half system hours, Welt seemed to be done with both wings, a large pile of feathers swept together at the foot of the bed, ranging from small downy feathers to primary feathers spanning half a meter in length. The older man clasped his hands together and stretched, rolling his shoulders to seemingly work out kinks.

Sunday immediately felt guilty.

“What now? Is that all?” Welt asked, small indulgent smile playing around his lips.

“It’s . . . not,” Sunday replied, deciding he couldn’t lie to the man even if he wanted to. “But it’s alright, I can do the rest myself, Mr. Yang, you’ve already done more than enough.”

“Sunday. As your caretaker, I am offering to do this with my full free will. You’re not being a burden and I don’t mind becoming slightly sore,” Welt reasoned, reassuring him as if he knew the exact thoughts that were bouncing around inside Sunday’s head. “Now tell me, what do I need to do now?”

And Sunday folded. How could he argue against such sincerity? The flooded river of guilt slowly ebbed into a lazy stream, Welt’s words soothing his inner torment. Caretaker. He’d never even thought that of his own father, more a guardian than anything. “My healthy feathers need to be coated in preen oil, it’ll help in maintaining their shine and protecting them from outside impurities. I brought some artificial preen oil made especially for halovians, it should be here somewhere . . .”

Sunday trailed off as he got off the bed, wings folding against his back as he went through the meager luggage he’d carted onto the Express. He got increasingly more panicked as he overturned every single item, not finding the sizeable container he was certain he’d packed . . . hadn’t he?

“Sunday . . .?” Welt’s question sounded from behind and Sunday cringed a bit. Ena, it was not going to be easy explaining this to him.

“It . . . appears I didn’t bring the oil after all, I must’ve forgotten it,” Sunday replied with a hint of frustration in his voice. No matter what, he still had leftover instincts from his avian biology, the urge to be clean and well groomed, especially in front of potential mates (not that Welt was even a suitor, of course, Sunday reminded himself). He resigned himself to a few more hours worth of grooming, by himself this time.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but you said ‘artificial’ oil? That implies natural oil which can be used, am I correct?” Welt inquired, and Sunday imperceptibly froze.

His secondary wings fluttered a few times before covering his face again. “Um . . .”

“Sunday.” Welt’s voice was still kind but firm.

“. . . I have glands that produce preen oil, yes,” Sunday mumbled.

“I’m guessing they’re similar to uropygial glands found in birds. I can use those, no?”

And Sunday couldn’t stop the blood rushing to his face at the mere thought of Welt getting anywhere near those sensitive glands. He simply wasn’t sure how to shut Welt down when he’s like this, concerned and insistent on helping; not to mention a traitorous part of his brain not wanting the older man to back down.

Welt evidently noticed Sunday’s hesitation because suddenly, warm hands were gently prying away his secondary wings before cupping his face, a stray thumb rubbing across his cheekbone. This . . . this did not fall within the professional boundary Sunday believed Welt has been trying to maintain at all, and his heart stuttered with something akin to hope. “Let me help you, Sunday.”

There was endless warmth and conviction in those mere five words, and Sunday found himself nodding before he could even consciously make the decision to accept.

“Wonderful.” Another swipe at his cheekbone before the hands fell off. Sunday missed the touch already. “I’m extremely proud of you for walking out of your comfort zone and accepting my help, little dove.”

Sunday did not notice Welt scanning his face for any discomfort to the unexpected use of the nickname (petname?), his eyes darting anywhere except to Welt as a pleasant sensation ran through him the way it did whenever the aforementioned praised him. After getting no opposition, Welt continued, “Shall we continue? Where are these glands, should be somewhere in your wings, right?”

“They’re-” Sunday’s voice came out slightly hoarse and he cleared his throat, finally turning golden eyes toward amber ones. “They’re on my inner thighs.”

Welt’s eyes widened for barely a fraction of a second before he schooled his features, but Sunday caught the minute display of rare emotion. It subconsciously made him smile despite himself – the amount of problems Stelle and March caused on the daily on the Express and Welt bore it with a calm and collected expression and yet, it was this that knocked him off kilter. “They’re on your . . . I see. I’m sorry for insisting so ardently then, are you sure you’re alright with me doing this?”

Any other day and Sunday would’ve refused, would’ve respectfully told Welt to leave so he could finish superficially cleaning his wings. But the phantom feeling of the man’s hands still lingered on his cheeks and perhaps Sunday was also curious about what else was enough to shake the older man. “As long as you’re not opposed to it.”

Upon Welt’s hum of affirmation, Sunday slowly reached for the belt around his pants, failing to unlatch the buckle due to his slightly shaky fingers. “I-”

“It’s okay,” Welt consoled in a low voice, his own hands moving to take Sunday’s place, removing the belt with quick fingers. The latter took a sharp inhale when he felt the fingers move to the waistband, Welt continuing, “So how frequently do you have to preen your wings, exactly?”

Sunday turned his eyes to the ceiling, recognizing the question as a way for Welt to distract him and deciding to indulge.

“My secondary wings on my neck? I go through them every few hours. My primary wings are usually hidden beneath my clothing so I do a pro-” Welt gestured for him to lift his hips up and Sunday complied, taking a deep breath as he felt the material being gently dragged over his legs, exposing him and the black undershorts he was wearing that stretched down to mid-thigh. “–A proper preening a couple of times every week. Well, I say me, but it was usually Robin who did it and vice versa.”

Welt was careful not to touch any bare skin as the pants were pulled over his ankles and placed, neatly folded, on the vacant corner of the bed. Sunday couldn’t see the man’s expression, his eyes closed and his secondary wings now folded over his face. His hands twitched as his brain fired at a thousand thoughts per second.

He wanted this, didn’t he? To place control over him in someone else’s palms, to trust someone implicitly because he couldn’t tend to every single aspect of his life, no matter how much he wished he could. Sunday forced himself to unfold his wings; he needed to take a gamble, needed to trust Mr. Yang not to take advantage of him.

“–Okay, little dove?” Welt’s voice filtered through the fog around his head and he snapped back from his thoughts, a concerned expression staring back at him highlighting the wrinkles on the older man’s face.

“I’m – I’m fine,” Sunday pushed out, willing his heart rate to go down. Unfolding his primary wings once again, he pushed up the ends of his shorts, revealing the slightly raised fleshy glands on his inner thighs.

“Sunday, there’s still time to tell me if you’re uncomfortable. Or if you want another member to help you, I can always get Himeko or someone else to help,” Welt offered, his eyes never straying once from his face.

“Mr. Yang, barring Robin, you’re currently the person I trust the most so, while it may be a bit difficult for me to do this, I assure you I would ask no other to do this for me. Please do take care of me,” Sunday said, a bit of pleading bleeding into his tone. He needed Welt to stop asking for permission every single time  – he was afraid the habitual part of his brain might win and make him utter a refusal.

Before Welt could reply, Sunday spread his legs, pressing a couple of fingers to the gland on his left thigh – the stimulation causing viscous and slightly golden liquid to ooze through the thin skin of the gland. His voice came out a bit shaky. “You just – you just need to press down gently and I’ll produce preen oil. Get enough of it to spread it over your palms and then just cover my feathers with it. Just an extremely thin layer would be fine, so it won’t take enormous amounts of oil.”

“I see. Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Welt said, eyes finally dropping down to his lower region and Sunday fought the urge to squeeze his legs together, the other no doubt noticing a certain . . . body part missing by now. Sitting cross legged beside him facing him diagonally, Welt’s hand hovered over his inner thigh for a second before pressing down on his preen gland.

A white hot pulse reverberated through his core and Sunday was letting out a loud moan before his brain could even process the sensation he had just experienced.

Both the men froze – Welt in startled confusion and Sunday in mortification. “Sunday, what-”

“I – I’m so sorry,” Sunday squeaks out, wings covering his face in embarrassment even as arousal now softly simmered beneath his skin. He didn’t know that this was even a possibility.

“. . . I wasn’t aware these are erogenous zones for you,” Welt said, his voice sounding minutely strained. Sunday looked up at that and found the older man’s cheeks dusted with the lightest of red, his pupils dilated. He’d always thought Welt saw him as a ward, a sort-of charge he’d taken in to foster – but his heart pounded at the possibility that his feelings could be reciprocated, that Welt may be attracted to him too.

“I didn’t know, either,” Sunday breathed out, the air in his lungs not enough to sustain him suddenly.

“I’m sorry, this is probably crossing a line, I should leave. I do apologize for not being able to finish the task – I’ll get Ms. Himeko to order the artificial oil so we can continue,” Welt murmured, eyes looking anywhere but in Sunday’s direction.

The man stood up, clearly making to leave, and suddenly Sunday’s mind went blank. This was it, this was the last chance for him to be in such a vulnerable position around Welt – his barriers down, his inhibitions gone. Sunday wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to get into such a headspace again, especially after an apparent rejection.

“Mr. Yang, I like you,” Sunday blurted out, his voice audaciously loud to his own ears. Welt paused and oh Ena, he was going to turn around with a pitying look on his face, or worse, disgust. Welt would think him a hedonistic degenerate for being attracted to his pseudo-guardian.

Welt’s actual face was a mask of indifference when he finally turned, flush gone, and Sunday couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. “Sunday, I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”

Sunday’s wings puffed up in anxiousness and he had to make a conscious effort to tamp them down. It wasn’t a rejection, not yet. “I do, trust me, Mr. Yang. I like you, I’m attracted to you – I’m not . . . much anymore, but if you would have me, I’ll do my best.”

Welt’s index finger and thumb went to pinch the bridge of his nose as he exhaled, a stuttered thing. “Sunday, I think you should take some time to think about this. I’m the first stranger to have shown you respect and care, you simply think you have some attachment to me, much like a child does to a parent figure.”

“I’m not a child, Mr. Yang. I’m a fully grown adult, please don’t try to infantilize me. I’m aware you’re a bit older than me, but it shouldn’t matter as long as we both want this,” Sunday reasoned, until a thought struck him – maybe he’d been reading this all wrong. “Unless . . . you don’t want this?”

Welt seemed at a loss of words, the slightest hints of distress making its way onto his face. “Sunday, it’s not right, you’re supposed to be my ward.”

“I was never your ‘ward’, Mr. Yang. You vouched for me and provided me with much needed help, that’s all. Will you just answer my question – are my feelings reciprocated or not?” Sunday stood up, crossing the room in two swift steps, stopping in front of Welt. There was barely any distance between them and when the latter went to take a step back, Sunday loosely grabbed onto his wrist, stopping him. “Just tell me, and stop seeing me as some helpless child who knows nothing of the world.”

“I – I can’t, you don’t –”

And Sunday wasn’t exactly sure where he got the sudden burst of bravery. All he knew was that he was tired of tip-toeing around Welt, especially since he was now fairly certain that the other felt the same and was holding back due to some irrelevant moral dilemma. He moved the hand holding onto Welt’s wrist to grab the front of his shirt instead and pulled him down, pressing their lips together. His eyes remained shut tightly even as heat rushed to his face so he didn’t see the older man’s eyes widening, trying to pull away but Sunday didn’t let him.

Sunday moved his lips against Welt’s, letting out an embarrassingly needy whine from the back of his throat, and that seemed to finally break something in the latter, hands wrapping around and grabbing at Sunday’s bare waist as lips finally moved against his own. It was unlike any of the handful of kisses he’d gotten in the past – short pecks on the cheek and forehead by Robin, an inexperienced makeout with friends he never talked to again.

All encompassing and meticulous, Welt expertly ravaged his mouth, tongue slipping in to taste him. He felt wet suction on his own tongue and a whimper escaped him, not having the energy to reciprocate Welt’s intensity. The other seemed to not mind Sunday’s noises if the appreciative hum, low in his throat, was anything to go by.

Warmth enveloped him from the inside out as Welt’s hands squeezed around his waist, his own hand snaking around to find home in the other’s hair. They stood there languidly kissing for what seemed like an eternity before Welt finally pulled away, resting his forehead against Sunday’s as they both caught their breath. If it was up to Sunday, they never would’ve parted.

Sunday felt a bit delirious – he had just kissed Welt Yang. He had just kissed someone for the first time in his life without the metaphorical guillotine that was Gopher Wood swinging above his head. While those first few times, he’d felt shame so potent that he had immediately cut off all contact with his friends and spent days praying to Ena for forgiveness, the same feeling wasn’t overtaking him this time – wasn’t trying to drown him.

He let his secondary wings unfurl to wrap around both of them, the tips tickling Welt’s ears and the latter chuckled warmly. “I suppose it’s pointless to deny myself any longer. You clearly have your heart set on this, even if I still don’t completely agree with it. I’ll do my best to take care of you as long as you’ll have me then, little bird.”

Sunday sighed internally – the man still thought he was just misguided and didn’t understand his own emotions. Not to worry, Sunday will make sure they’re on the same page eventually. Who knew it would be harder for Welt to accept his feelings than it would be for Sunday?

“I’ll always want you, Mr. Yang, that is not going to change,” Sunday murmured in response, his breath no doubt fanning across the other’s face with their proximity.

“You’re so beautiful and pure,” Welt said in lieu of a response, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I fear that I won’t be able to give you what you need.”

Sunday let out a shaky laugh, tinged with a bit of self loathing. “Me? Pure? You have seen all I have done, and yet you’re saying this still – you truly are a talented liar, Mr. Yang. I almost believed you were sincere.”

“You are pure in your beliefs and your morals, Sunday. While your perception might have been a bit skewed, it was nevertheless pure and whole, just like the entirety of you,” Welt reaffirmed, making sure to look him in the eyes.

“You’re the only person who tells me these sorts of things. And you still wonder if you’ll be satisfactory to me,” Sunday huffed out, suddenly feeling a well of emotions for this man that should’ve scared him – would’ve scared him just a few weeks ago – but now felt like a stepping stone in his personal journey to become his own person. Perhaps it was Welt’s conviction in him making him so bold.

Welt sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Sunday’s face. “It is quite the responsibility for you to be in my care, in more ways than one it seems, but I wouldn’t wish for anything else. Alright then, Sunday – I’ll be your caretaker, your partner, whatever you desire.”

Sunday’s eyes lit up at the declaration, both his pair of wings flapping a few times in a subconscious display of happiness. This was real, Welt liked him back.

Granted, it wasn’t the grand gesture of reciprocation he was imagining but this was Welt Yang, just those words were enough for him. “Mr. Yang, I-”

“Would you not prefer to call me just Welt now?” The older man lightly interrupted, one hand coming up to caress along one of his secondary wings, making Sunday shudder lightly from the sensation.

He paused, mulling it over. To be honest, he quite liked calling Welt ‘Mr. Yang’ – liked the idea of being called his first name and petnames while he only used honorifics. It gave the illusion of the power being in Welt’s hands alone and Ena knows he’s already had his fill of power and wouldn’t want it again. “I would still prefer calling you Mr. Yang if that is alright with you. I get a sense of security from it.”

Welt blinked, as if processing his words, before returning to his serene expression. Sunday noted how his pupils dilated, though it could’ve just been a trick of the light. “Of course you may, little dove. Ah yes, I apologize for interrupting you, what were you saying?”

To be honest, Sunday had forgotten what he’d been saying and wasn’t sure how they should proceed now anyways. Everything about their relationship had changed in the span of ten system minutes and now Sunday barely knew what to do about it. “I forgot . . .” His words trailed off, leaving a semi-awkward silence in their wake.

Luckily, Welt decided to take pity on him. “Would you like me to finish preening your wings then, Sunday? Or my previous offer of ordering in your artificial oil still stands as well.”

Sunday sucked in a quick breath. He knows what he’ll be getting into if he agreed to continue their preening session, he isn’t foolish, he’s aware of the possibility of him being unable to control himself but perhaps this was another step he needed to take. He huffed out a laugh internally; look at him venturing so far outside his comfort zone today, Robin would be proud. “I would like for you to preen my wings right now if that’s alright with you, Mr. Yang.”

There was a near imperceptible flash in Welt’s eyes before he acquiesced. “Alright, little dove, whatever you want.”

Feeling high strung, Sunday walked backwards onto his previous spot on the bed, the other following after him to settle down as well. “I apologize if I make any sounds in advance, Mr. Yang.”

“Considering what we just did, I think I’m allowed to be a little crass, but your pretty little sounds would not be unwelcome whatsoever, Sunday,” Welt murmured, cupping Sunday’s cheek with one hand and squeezing in an affectionate gesture before pulling it away. “Just let me know if you feel uncomfortable or want me to stop.”

With Sunday nodding his head in affirmation, Welt’s hand dipped between his spread thighs once more. This time, Sunday was better about controlling his reaction – even though the press on his gland caused his core to pulse and wetness to leak out of him, he only made an aborted sound, fighting the urge to close his thighs and rub them together.

“And now I just coat your wings with this oil, yes?” Welt asked, and Sunday didn’t think he was imagining the slight hoarseness to his voice.

“Y – yes, Mr. Yang.”

Thankfully, Sunday was already well used to Welt’s touch on his wings by now so it didn’t affect him as much as he twisted his head around to see his marginal coverts being carefully massaged through with the oil. Like the previous task, the older man seemed to be proficient in this as well – making sure not to bend the feathers or massage in the wrong direction.

“How long does this oil coat last?” Welt inquired conversationally.

“About –” Sunday cut himself off with a moan he couldn’t suppress in time, his face burning now. “I’m sorry, Mr. Yang. A – about a month if I keep them covered, less if I let them out and expose them to outside impurities.”

“Sunday, are you sure you want to go through with this?” Welt asked once again, a slight blush of his own climbing his cheeks.

“Just keep going, please. I think I need to prove something to myself,” Sunday muttered that last part but he was certain Welt had heard. He didn’t push any further, simply shaking his head as if to reset his thoughts, and went back to the back and forth motion of collecting the oil and coating his feathers with them.

Welt discarded all attempts at conversation and Sunday couldn’t blame him, not with the little pants and moans he was consistently voicing. He’d thought he had enough self control and willpower to not be affected by the stimulation to an extreme extent, however, by the time Welt was done, he was a complete mess. His core kept pulsing, sending jolts of heat through him, and he was fairly certain his underwear was completely soaked.

“Okay, and I believe that’s the last of it,” Welt muttered to himself as he finished with the last of his primaries. “Is that satisfactory, Sunday?”

Sunday was too far lost in his pleasure-dazed mind to form a coherent thought regarding anything except for his pleasure, however. He could only close his legs and groan. “Mr. Yang?”

He felt warm hands cupping his face and he sighed in contentment, leaning into the touch. “Yes, little dove?”

“P – please help me,” Sunday stuttered out, not sure what he was even asking for. He just needed the older man to alleviate the unbearable ache down there. To make sure Welt did not misunderstand him, he swallowed down his shame and guilt and spread his legs once more, exposing his mound which was no doubt visible through the wet underwear. “It hurts, please help me.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re asking for?” Welt tried to confirm, though his eyes had noticeably darkened at the way Sunday was minutely thrusting his hips into thin air.

“No,” Sunday admitted truthfully. “But I trust you, Mr. Yang. Just as I’ve trusted you the other times before this. Won’t you take care of me?”

“Fuck, Sunday, you can’t just say things like that,” Welt groaned out and a small part of him was delighted that he’d gotten the man to let down his defenses enough to swear. “Alright, again, just tell me if you want to stop.”

 Sunday had no idea about what Welt could possibly be thinking of doing before he saw the other scooting back. Sunday was pulled in by the hips and he barely stifled a gasp when he saw the other kneeling down right between his legs, Welt’s face sinfully close to his pulsing heat. “Mr. Y – yang?”

“Shh, relax, little dove. I’ve got you,” Welt murmured in that comfortable drawl of his, pressing a tiny kiss to his inner thigh right above his gland, making Sunday’s muscles twitch. Pressing himself forward, Welt stopped before him, mouth hovering right over his mound. Sunday could almost feel Welt’s hot breath against his underwear. “May I?”

Shakily, Sunday nodded his head, his secondary wings coming up to hide his face from view. However, they promptly flapped open once he felt Welt plant a kiss on his clit right over the useless soaked cloth. “Ah! Mr. Yang!”

“You make such sweet sounds, Sunday, how can I not tease?” Looking upon the aforementioned’s slightly frustrated expression, Welt just huffed out a chuckle, the action causing his mouth to brush against Sunday.

Deciding to have mercy on him, Welt hooked his fingers into the waistband of his underwear, slowly pulling the now ruined piece of clothing down, laying Sunday bare. It took all of his willpower not to use his hands to hide himself away although the astonished blink coming from Welt did lessen the mortification of the entire situation. “I suppose you weren’t expecting to see feathers down there . . . or a vagina, I guess.”

Halovians had always had secondary sexes that determined their reproductive organs and genitals. Most of the time, the two sexes corresponded properly with one another – a human male with male genitals, and so forth. It was extremely rare for someone like Sunday to be born with opposing sexes, something Gopher Wood had told him was a hurdle to overcome and compensate for. Perhaps that’s why he never had the beautiful singing voice or the people pleasing charm of an average Halovian.

“I was aware of your species’ secondary sexes, but I must admit, I didn’t expect the feathers in place of hair. It’s . . . cute,” Welt commented with a smile, pulling Sunday right out of his spiraling thoughts.

Cute?

“Cute?” Sunday repeated dumbly. He’d been called a myriad of compliments (and insults) alike, but he’d never been called that particular word before.

“Quite,” Welt replied, reaching his hand up to stroke through the soft white downy feathers. Sunday squirmed under the touch, desperately wanting those fingers to trail further down. “I don’t know what you’ve been told regarding your appearances or personality your entire life, Sunday, but you are a beautiful, wonderful and, frankly, adorable person. And I feel honored to be allowed so close to you and for you to place such trust in me.”

Welt did not give him a chance to respond before he ducked his head and placed his tongue flat against his core, dragging it upwards to playfully flick at the clit with the tip of his appendage. Sunday threw his head back, a moan torn out of his throat at the wet heat pressing down on him. “Aeons!” He realized he’d instinctively tried to close his legs but Welt was already ahead of him, holding both of his thighs open.

“Don’t shy away from me, little dove,” Welt said, looking at him with a mix of kindness and barely concealed hunger, and Sunday realized somewhere along the way the other had taken off his glasses. It revealed the crow’s eyes and other wrinkles more plainly, which sent another bolt of heat through him. Throwing his head back, he groaned – perhaps he did have some problems he should unravel. “Also, you taste wonderful.”

“Mr. Yang!” Sunday groaned, half in embarrassment and half in arousal.

“Alright, alright.” And that was all the warning Sunday received before he was earnestly being devoured, Welt’s tongue and fingers working in tandem to bring him closer to the precipice with Sunday having been high strung for so long already. The coil in his stomach wound tighter and tighter and there was an instance when Welt wrapped his lips around his now engorged clit and sucked, where Sunday felt like each of his senses had left him – each throb of his heart accompanied by almost painful pleasure.

“Mr. Yang, r – right there, yes! Please, please don’t stop –”

Sunday’s oncoming orgasm stalled when he felt Welt’s finger prod his entrance and he sucked in an abrupt breath, having never been touched there before. He instinctively clenched down, his brain protesting against the sinful intrusion he hadn’t even ever attempted with his own hands. He looked down, heart beating impossibly faster at the way Welt was staring at him, his kind gaze somewhat rendered sinful by the way his mouth and tip of the nose were glistening with Sunday’s own juices. “Hey, Sunday, look at me, okay? Relax, I have you, I’m right here. It’s okay.”

Welt twisted the hand, using his thumb to rub against his seam as well. Sunday shuddered at the administrations, quiet noises leaving him as his body relaxed subconsciously and Welt was able to push his middle finger in up to the first knuckle. He closed his eyes, the foreign feeling of something inside him not exactly comfortable yet not unbearable either.

The finger pressed against his walls, massaging his insides, producing a squelching sound which Sunday was immediately mortified of. He ignored the slow-building burn in his core, letting out a whine as he wriggled, trying to push Welt out of him. “Mr. Yang, that’s –”

“Does it feel good, Sunday?” Welt asked, though he’d paused in his administrations.

“But it’s –”

“Does it feel good?” Welt repeated, his voice firmer.

Sunday panted, squeezing down on Welt’s sole finger. “Y – yes.”

“Good. That’s the honesty I want if we want to make this work,” Welt praised as he managed to slip in his ring finger while Sunday was distracted.

Sunday whined as Welt started thrusting his fingers in and out of him shallowly, the action reigniting the fire within his gut. “Mr. Yang, it’s not enough . . . please!”

“Give me a second to admire how wonderful you look like this, little dove,” Welt responded, reaching a free hand to swipe against his cheek and it wasn’t until then Sunday realized he’d let a tear slip. He desperately wanted to cover up his face with his wings however . . . Welt had said he’d wanted to look at him.

“Ena!” Sunday cursed as Welt pressed against a certain spot inside him that made him breathless, the pleasure that punched through him unlike anything he’d ever felt. He panted, throwing his head back – only opening his eyes when he felt Welt’s own on him, his expression a mix of arousal and dry amusement. It was only then he realized which Aeon’s name he’d just used and groaned, not having realized when his strictly mental thoughts escaped his mouth. “. . . I know, I’m working on it, Mr. Yang.”

“You don’t need to work on anything, Sunday, if that is an Aeon you wish to . . . worship, for lack of a better word. Let’s just not do anything as drastic as Penacony again, hm?” Welt said, though his words had humor to it rather than genuine warning, as if he fully believed in Sunday not to repeat his past mistakes.

Rather than unpacking how he felt about that, Sunday decided to push all of it to the back of his mind for now, rolling down his hips and pushing himself down on Welt’s fingers to try and emulate whatever he’d just felt.

Welt stilled him with a squeezing hand around his hip. “No, Sunday, I can’t get to it like that. Here.”

He angled his fingers in a very specific way and pressed, a moan and a litany of ‘yes’s leaving Sunday’s lips at the action. Sunday wiggled his hips in a silent plea for the other to continue when Welt merely went back to leisurely massaging his insides – not where Sunday wanted it. Not that Sunday wasn’t grateful for the slow simmer of pleasure, however, he was getting quite tired of the older man toying with his impending release.

He opened his mouth to complain – or plead, whichever – when Welt suddenly increased his pace, simultaneously burying his mouth into Sunday’s mound. Both pairs of his wings fluffed up around him, a silent scream stuck in Sunday’s throat as a barrage of stimulations attacked him. He writhed in place, not sure if he was trying to get away from or closer to Welt’s skillful tongue and fingers.

“Mr. Yang –” Sunday managed to gasp out, though it came off more as a groan of pleasure.  “It – ah! – yes, right there!”

Welt didn’t slow down at all, tongue lapping up all that Sunday was releasing, and he was releasing quite a lot, the wet squelch of the fingers plunging in and out of him deafeningly loud amidst Sunday’s little hums and moans.

Head filled with cotton and his body feeling as if on fire, he could feel the spring in his belly coiling tighter and tighter, his hips jutting up of their own accord. “Mr. Yang, I – I think I’m –”

Welt briefly parted only to utter a single sentence that was Sunday’s breaking point. “Let go for me, little dove.”

With the tip of Welt’s tongue digging into his clit and both fingers pressing directly into that sweet spot, the coil released. His back arched up as his wings flapped in ecstasy around him, Welt not holding him down this time, merely working him through his orgasm. Distantly, he was aware he was begging or moaning or saying something in quick succession, but he couldn’t tell what it was, the fire running through him blanking his mind.

“–That’s it, I’ve got you, Sunday. You’re okay,” Welt’s voice finally permeated Sunday’s fogged up brain as the aftershocks subsided, his hips thrusting down in useless motions now that Welt had removed his fingers.

“Mr. Yang?” Sunday said, his throat seeming a bit sore and he wondered whether he’d screamed. Soft pants left him, the orgasm leaving his body feeling sluggish and uncooperative, though he felt warm all over, soft contentment still moving through waves throughout his body.

“Are you back with me, little dove?” Welt asked, his voice comforting yet also tinged with a hint of worry as he wiped away Sunday’s tears once more with his clean hand.

Sunday nuzzled into his palm, secondary wings wrapping around the other’s wrist, and sighed in content at the comfort it provided. “I’m here, Mr. Yang.”

“You did very well, I’m proud of you,” Welt praised and Sunday preened underneath it, wings fluffing up in pride.

“What about you, Mr. Yang?” Sunday inquired, eyes flicking down to the bulge prominent on the older man’s pants. “Let me –”

“No.” Welt’s voice was firm and unyielding. “That was all we’ll be doing for today, Sunday. I’ve already pushed you quite past your comfort zone, I imagine. Let me clean you up and then you can rest.”

Sunday felt prickles of guilt in his chest but something told him that arguing would prove fruitless. Not to mention, he truly didn’t think he had any energy left after all the emotional and physical challenges he’d just overcome. As such, he just sighed, melting into his bed after arranging his primary wings to fold into themselves. “Then I will concur and deign to trouble you a bit more, Mr. Yang.”

“You do not trouble me one bit, little dove,” Welt said fondly, leaning forward to press a kiss upon Sunday’s forehead, warmth spreading through the latter’s chest. “I’ll be right back, alright?”

Sunday nodded, letting his limbs fall off of Welt as the other moved into the connected bathroom – he missed his warmth already. He grimaced as he twisted to lie on his back, feeling the cooling discharge on his core and running down his thighs, probably pooling on the sheets as well. Before he could muster up the courage to get up and change the sheets at least, Welt emerged holding a towel.

Shuffling next to Sunday, Welt moved the towel between his legs, pleasantly warm and wet as it dragged gently across skin. He wriggled a little as the slightly rough texture dragged across his sensitive lips but Welt was quick with his administrations, swiping at the wetness with brisk efficiency.

“Let me just –” Manhandling and maneuvering Sunday across the bed, Welt managed to remove the sheets and haphazardly spread new ones, wrinkling and rucking up in certain places but acceptable considering the circumstances of Sunday’s tired limbs.

“Mr. Yang,” Sunday whined.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Welt replied, laughter lining his voice.

Sunday felt the bed dip behind him as a now bare and well toned arm wrapped around Sunday’s waist, dragging him backwards into a warm comfortable embrace. He felt Welt’s bare chest against his upper back while clothed legs tangled with his own, and he felt at ease. Sunday wasn’t sure if it was post-orgasm bliss or something else, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed pressed up against the older man while completely naked.

Welt chuckled suddenly and Sunday felt his warm breath around the top of his head, the former shifting against Sunday. “Sorry, your feathers are just a bit ticklish against my stomach. And don’t worry, I’ll get used to it. You should rest, little dove.”

‘I’ll get used to it.’

As if this was going to be a common occurrence henceforth.

Welt was actually planning on staying with him.

Sunday’s voice came out a bit choked. “Thank you for today, Mr. Yang. And . . . for not spurning me.”

Welt hugged him a little bit tighter, pressing a kiss to one of his neck wings making both of them flutter. “I could never do that, little dove. I care about you and adore you too much. As I’ve said, I will be here for you as long as you want me.”

“That’s quite a long time to dedicate yourself to me, Mr. Yang, I’m learning how to be selfish,” Sunday teased even though a hint of bashfulness was working its way through him at the other’s words.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Sunday.”

Sunday didn’t deign to reply, his eyes closing of their own accord as the last of his adrenaline finally abated, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. The last thing he felt before falling into a dreamless slumber was Welt’s thumb rubbing across his hip while low murmured words of affection rumbled through him, comfort making a nest in his heart.