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When Riddle was eight years old, he made a mistake.
His mother was- is a strict woman. Nothing is more important than order in the Rosehearts household. Control and order is absolute. There are no exceptions to laws in the real world, so why should there be any inside their home? Their rules are set in stone and Riddle is to follow them as perfectly as he would the laws outside.
He did his best, constantly working hard to please his mother. He would write for hours at his desk, diligently working on the assignments she’s given him so that he may be a successful, providing, and valuable member of society. The rules were his guide and he followed them to a perfection that is astounding.
Until he didn’t.
Riddle is not like his mother. His mother is human. He is… something else. A changeling, he remembers his mother saying once. With his feathers, pointed ears, and sharp, colored nails. He is not a human, not with his oddly shaped legs and large wings that he keeps tucked around his waist at all times.
Riddle has wings, but he cannot fly.
Flying is unnatural for a little boy, his mother told him. He is to stay on the ground, in the house, where she can see him. Who knows what sorts of trouble he would get into if he could fly?
Riddle wanted to fly, but he would never tell his mother that.
He wanted to jump from his bedroom window and soar. He wanted to feel the air between his feathers and fingers and touch the clouds. He wanted to disappear into a storm and never be seen again, free to open his wings and lose himself in the openness of the air around him.
And one day, he got his wish.
Two boys, a clover and a cat, appeared at his window. Trey and Che’nya, two best friends, so curious about the boy they never saw
Riddle adored them.
They pulled him from his home, his rules. Riddle broke the rules, and he didn’t care. Trey and Che’nya loved him and his odd features. They called him beautiful. They would sit in Trey’s room for as long as they possibly could, petting their hands through his feathers and delighting in his chirps and squawks. Riddle was never allowed to do such things at home. They were unbefitting a proper boy.
But Riddle wasn’t a proper boy with Trey and Che’nya. He could be whatever he wanted.
“How come mew don’t fly?” Che’nya asked him one day, after Riddle had used his wing to save himself from a splash from Trey’s water gun.
“I don’t know how,” He’d answered.
Che’nya could fly. Though, maybe calling it flying wasn’t the most accurate. He could float, hover a few feet off the ground and move through the air as he was swimming. Riddle was jealous. Che’nya vowed to teach him, Trey only a few steps behind, promising to catch him if he fell.
And Riddle leapt.
Every day after then, they would help him. Riddle’s wings were weak, flimsy and lacking any muscle. He’d never flown, he never grew the appropriate strength needed as he got bigger. Riddle would leap from boxes and staircases, opening his wings to glide. Trey used a paper airplane he’d made to show him.
His wings ached, but it was fun. For the first time, Riddle could feel more than fabric pressed against his wings. He could finally feel the drafts of air traveling between his feathers. He felt free, stretching his wings and tossing aside the coat his mother always made him wear over them.
Before any of them knew it, Riddle could lift himself off the ground to reach higher shelves for his friends. He could carry his entire weight for longer and longer stretches of time without fatigue.
Riddle loved flying.
But he didn’t deserve to fly.
Before he knew it, that freedom was ripped from his hands. His mother found him flying with Trey and Che’nya.
Riddle was pulled home. He screamed and clawed, fighting his mother to return to his friends. She yelled at him, calling him unnatural. He was behaving like a feral beast, not a human boy.
Riddle is not a human boy.
But he doesn’t get a choice.
A new tradition is introduced into his schedule.
Every six months, he is to sit still and silently as his mother clips his wings, plucks his feathers, and cuts his talons. Riddle learned to stop crying when his mother pulled the feathers from his body. No matter how cold or exposed he felt without them, at least she would be gentle enough to prevent any bleeding if he stayed quiet. The very first time, Riddle squirmed and yelled.
His chest, sides, and legs were painted red and he was left to clean himself up when she was finished.
He learned to bow his head and keep quiet.
He wasn’t allowed to see Trey and Che’nya after that.
Riddle is not like his mother. His mother does not want to fly. She wouldn’t even if she could. She is a human who limits herself to the ground.
Riddle is not like his mother. He wants to fly, he wants to escape. He wants to see things he could never even dream of reaching from the ground.
But that was never a choice for Riddle.
“Why do you keep your wings hidden?”
Riddle glances over at his boyfriend, currently lounging in his bed, all dressed for the end of the day in something comfortable. Riddle frowns, pursing his lips as he considers how to answer the question.
He knows his answer won’t make any sense to Malleus, not with the way he takes pride in his fae and draconic features. His wings are a source of light, not a ball and chain like Riddle’s. His scales are to be honored, not plucked and trashed like Riddle’s feathers. His fire is mighty and powerful, completely unlike Riddle’s unnatural chirps and fluffing.
“...I have no use for them,” He answers, honest but omitting necessary details. Lying by omission.
He hasn’t been in a relationship for longer than a week and he’s already lying to his partner. How shameful of him…
“No use for them?” Malleus cocks a brow, “I understand our campus is small enough that it can be traversed on foot alone, but surely you use them to fly.”
Riddle purses his lips and opts not to respond, unbuttoning his uniform jacket. He knew this conversation would come up when he agreed to be… romantically involved with the prince only a few days ago. He knew it would be inevitable. His feathers may be gone, but he possesses the same pointed ears and pale, ghostliness of all fae. His boyfriend would have figured it out sooner or later. Foolishly, Riddle pretended it did not exist. He pretended it was not a pressing issue, that he could simply enjoy his time with Malleus without dreading the weight on his back.
He tosses aside his jacket, shirt, and vest, ignoring the piercing stare trained on his back as he unfurls his wings. They ache from being confined against his body all day, and don’t fold against his back as properly as they should.
Riddle cannot hide his features the same way Malleus can. Malleus took on a whole new form to better blend in. Riddle cannot do the same. He has one form and he cannot change it, so he has to adapt and hide his features in other ways.
Hiding his oddly shaped legs is an easy task, as are his ears. He hides his ears behind red hair and gets his pants a few sizes too big. He’s learned how to tuck his wings under his shirts around his waist, making them look like extensions of his hips. They are easier to hide with his dorm leader uniform, less so his standard one. He’s managed, at the cost of teasing from some students about his hip size…
Riddle shrugs on a sweater, his wings disappearing beneath the fabric where they instinctively move to wrap around his waist where he usually has them. It’s become muscle memory at this point. They’re not useful for much else than guarding his torso. He can hardly stretch them out most days. They’ve grown too accustomed to spending every day in one position.
He couldn’t fly even if his wings were in pristine condition.
Something bitter gets caught in his throat and Riddle quickly finishes changing. He doesn’t mind the way Malleus is silently studying him, climbing onto the bed and flopping onto the mattress beside him. Clothing shifts as he feels the weight of Malleus lying beside him.
“Why do you have no use for your wings?”
Riddle sighs.
He knew Malleus wouldn’t want to drop it.
“Does it matter?” He asks, fighting to keep the irritation out of his voice. He doesn’t blame Malleus, he can’t. He just… he knows that Malleus wouldn’t understand. His wings aren’t to be admired the way Malleus’ are. They’re useless. They do nothing. They can’t even create a wind current strong enough to push someone’s hair. Malleus’ wings could knock people to the ground if he really wanted them to.
Riddle’s wings are just… there. Would Malleus think him foolish? To learn you share a feature with your partner, only to learn the version they possess is utterly pathetic… Riddle thinks he should be ashamed.
Malleus is silent for a beat, the only sound accompanying them being the soft breathing as they relax in bed together.
“...No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Malleus says, his voice calm. Riddle bites into his cheek, guilt clawing at his chest. “But,” The prince continues, “I would like to see them, at least. May I?”
No, Riddle almost bites immediately. He swallows the word before it can escape. It’s an innocent request, he can’t get upset at his boyfriend just for wanting to see them. His mother told him that he’s to keep his wings hidden at all times. He knows that he should tell Malleus no.
So why does he nod his head and sit up to remove his sweater?
Malleus follows him, facing his back as the sweater is tossed aside. Riddle forces his wings to uncurl from around him, laying limply across the sheets between them.
He nearly jumps when he feels a cold hand meet the bare skin of his back, hissing in shock. The hand quickly retracts.
“Sorry,” Malleus’ voice intones, soft and kind, “May I touch, please?”
Riddle swallows around nothing, a weight growing in his chest. Slowly, he nods.
He’s supposed to keep his wings hidden, but… Malleus is his partner. Surely, there can be an exception made for his partner, whom he will spend his life with…
(His mother has drilled into his head. No exceptions, not for anything. The real world will not allow him exceptions.
Riddle still does not tell Malleus to move away.)
Those same, cold hands slowly meet the skin of his back. Riddle shivers.
They travel up to his shoulder blades, meeting the section of skin that transitions into feathers. They pause just between his wings, feeling at the skin. Riddle knows the skin isn’t smooth, but rather bumpy from the many times he’s had the feathers plucked from where they were embedded in his skin, meant to keep him warm. He hugs his arms around his stomach, feeling pathetic for the way the thought makes him reconsider letting Malleus touch him.
“You’re missing feathers,” Malleus observes, hands traveling up to Riddle’s nape, where the rough skin continues in a long line from his neck to his thighs.
Riddle doesn’t respond.
What could he possibly say? He won’t give Malleus anymore reason to think him pathetic and weak.
A lump forms in his throat as Malleus’ hands travel back to his wings.
The slide down the length of the limbs, brushing over the secondary feathers. Riddle holds his breath, fighting the urge to twitch away.
Malleus’ touch leaves warmth in its trail, leaving him feeling hotter than he’s ever felt in his life. He’s always felt the chill easier without his protective feathers, the heat under Malleus’ palms feels like it’s lighting his skin on fire.
Riddle is sure he’s about to be set ablaze.
His boyfriend’s touch is gentle, filling him with an affection and tenderness he’s slowly coming to associate with the prince and him alone.
A finger prods at the skin beneath the feathers and Riddle almost jerks away.
“What’re you-!”
“Relax,” Malleus hushes him, a smile audible in his voice. More fingers prod under his feathers and Riddle shivers.
Is… Is Malleus preening him?
His heart races in his chest and his ears go hot. The contact is comforting and he likes it, more than he has any right to. He’s so used to cleaning his feathers himself, but to be having his boyfriend doing it for him-!
Riddle is, for once in his life, thankful all his protective feathers are gone at this moment. He’s certain that they’d be puffing up in pleasure. As it is, a soft coo escapes his lips before he can bite it back. Malleus’ fingers pause between his feathers, and for a terrifying moment Riddle wonders if he’s going to stop, if the noise ruined things. But then Malleus laughs, a soft and tender thing, and continues the motions.
Riddle’s entire body feels fluttery and light.
More weak chirps and coos escape him, much less restrained, as Malleus continues to pick through his feathers with gentle hands. Hands that feel so safe and trustworthy, holding his entire heart in its palms. He wonders if Malleus is even aware of it. Malleus could tear chunks of feathers out of his wings at this very moment and Riddle would still offer his heart atop them to stain the pristine white feathers crimson.
But of course, Malleus would never do that. He merely continues to preen Riddle’s wings for him, humming a tune he doesn’t recognize but one that makes him melt at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice nonetheless.
Before Riddle knows it, too much time has passed and he’s a puddle of a fae. His head feels as though it’s been stuffed with cotton, light and fuzzy.
Malleus chuckles and has to guide Riddle back into his sweater, an action Riddle is hardly aware of.
He’s conscious long enough to hear the sound of cloth tearing and feel a cold draft over the skin of his back, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the way Malleus lays beside him on the bed, pulling him closer and spreading warmth all throughout his body.
“Rest,” Malleus croons to him, smiling at the soft “Mrrp” Riddle gives in return.
Riddle huddles closer to his boyfriend, delighting in the pure comfort and safety that surrounds him in the form of his boyfriend’s arms. He couldn’t remember when he last felt so secure. Riddle can’t keep the smile from his face as his eyes flutter shut, lulled to sleep by the steady beating of his beloved’s heart right by his ear.
He falls asleep peacefully and happily.
A contrast to the frowning prince that is studying the clipped primary feathers in his wings, sprawled out in the empty space of the bed behind Riddle, freed by the opening Malleus tore in the sweater’s back.
Malleus does not get much sleep that night.
