Work Text:
Ashes fingers brush against his face. Her hands are soft- it’s nice as he’s laying against her carpet and staring up at her as she hangs off the side of her bed. Her room is still a mess- it smells like sweetness and dust and somehow both at the same time. There’s not really anything happening between them. Ashe touches his face. He stares up. It’s nice.
Ashe constantly has the A.C on, because the rest of the house is constantly warm like a sauna, and he’s regretting taking off his outer layer of clothes as he feels the air kick in.
“You wanna like…do anything- or-“
Her hand pulls away- “Nah- nah- uh- it’s getting late though, are you gonna head back soon?”
It’s not that late. He’s stayed later- with the movie nights and the post-Trickster nightmares and the recovery and-
Well, everything. He doesn’t really have to sleep anyways.
“Can I stay?”
“Yeah- yeah- I’m going to-“ and she does before she even finishes the sentence, flopping off the bed like a cat. Will has to laugh a little, and she does too as she lays her head in his lap, spreading the wings across the floor.
“Did- did it hurt, Will?”
“Hmh?”
“When I…y’know. Killed you.” Ashe’s voice does that thing where it gets all thick and dry.
“No-“
“Just- tell me?”
He doesn’t know if he should. There’s a pause. “It hurt for a bit. I guess.”
He pauses for a bit before moving his hand over his chest. It doesn’t have scars anymore, save for a row or puncture marks and the line running down his body. “It uhm- it felt like needles first. With the hands.”
Ashe puts her fingers against his hands- and then the scars. She runs colder nowadays, and he shivers as her nails leave.
“Sorry- should I not do that-“
“No- no it’s fine it’s just...yeah. It’s like exposure therapy or whatever- you’re good.”
“…do you want to continue?”
“Yeah- just- give me a sec.” Ashe’s feathers are warm against his hands. He fiddles with them- preening its called- and he lets himself breathe before continuing.
“I guess I just…said my final words and then I…died.” He does air quotes around final words. “It hurt less because of the fact I just…died. I wasn’t awake for that- not really-“ he coughs, “If that helps.”
“It does- it does- thanks.”
“Yknow that wasn’t…you, right?”
“Yeah. It’s just- exposure therapy.”
He chuckles a little under his breath, “Not sure that’s what that word means.”
“What ever. It’s like-“ she takes a deep breath, thinking,”If I…see you. See that.” She cups her hands around his face “- Then it’s less like oh I hate this and moreee-“
“I’m fine and not dead?”
“Exactly.”
“…I’m guessing your actual therapy’s been fun then?”
“ God no. I didn’t think it would be that weird.”
He sighs and lets her stay where she is, "At least you’re not paying for it?”
“Yeah hhhhh.” And she pauses again, “This is sudden- sorry- would you be up to…you know.” She gestures. Her hands are back on his scars again and he lets himself relax before nodding.
The way Ashe’s hands scratch at the surface of his scar send tingles through his spine, and he doesn’t shiver as her nails draw blood.
The nails. The horns and the wings and the runes on her fingers is everything that’s different . On the outside atleast. Those confidential hours at the asscrack of dawn are- something.
Do you ever want to- hurt people, William?
That was a fun conversation to have in the middle of the night. Ashe needs to tear into muscle and he wants to see how much he can take. It’s weirdly mutual.
Blood begins to drip from the small wound where her nails dug into the puncture marks, and it gives that same static feeling as every other wound does. He doesn’t feel the actual pain, it just…feels like falling asleep.
“Does that hurt?”
He shakes his head. She’s gentle with how she does it- he knows it’s hard to do anything else but hurt and he can appreciate that. How it feels being a monster or whatever.
God, he should get therapy too.
Ashe’s carpets are that off-colour white, and blood drips down and stains it a bright red as she gets more of what she wants. Her hands are scratching at the dip of his chest, where there’s the most mass. Where the scar is- from the fall and the dissections and her. He’s fine to just lay against her bed frame and let her drink-
Ashe has his blood coated on her fingers, and it’s currently 11pm on a Sunday and William doesn’t know what to do other than look at her.
“Yknow I can’t get blood loss right? It w-won’t matter.”
“Yeah- it’s just-” she finishes cleaning off her fingers, dyeing her mouth that weird maroon mixed with bright, bright teal. “This feels lame.”
He puts on his best puppydog eyes, “Am I too lame for you, Ashe?”
She blinks like an owl before giggling, “No- no- oh my god don’t say that-“
He has too laugh too- it kind of hurts because she started digging around near his ribs again but honestly it is funny-
She does look like an angel, doesn’t she? Like- the wings. They’re covered in the gross-grimey-dusty floor blood and there’s that wildness in her eyes as she laughs, but she really does.
“You wanna finish or are you just gonna leave me bleeding here?”
“You look fine just bleeding there, honestly.” She says as she comes close again, leaning into whatever body warmth he has before going back to carving up his body again. The arms get tighter with every pull on the hanging meat, and he stops crossing his legs as she starts to thrash at pieces- the crook of his collarbone, where the tissue gets jagged.
And she bites down on his Adam’s apple, and the last thing he feels before his blacks out is the tearing, and the bristling of feathers as that softness envelopes him.