Work Text:
It'd been a difficult mission. Suguru'd gotten a nasty, deep scrape along his side after the special grade had tossed him into the rubble, and his uniform jacket was ripped and bloodied. However, besides Suguru's wound and a slight ache between Satoru's eyes from the strain, they weren't in horrible shape.
Satoru's eyes narrowed underneath his circle-lensed glasses, his feathers ruffling where they rested in the car. This was the third time the higher-ups had mis-graded a mission in that week alone. Were they seriously attempting to get someone killed? Just two weeks ago, Haibara and Nanami had been assigned a first grade rather than the grade three they'd been expecting. It could've been horrible if Satoru and Suguru hadn't impulsively decided to take their mission, hoping Nanami could muster up the courage to take his classmate on a date.
Suguru grits his teeth as his raw skin brushes up against the seat, his pain mostly invisible but for the small tells that Satoru had gotten to know. It wasn't a threatening wound, but his now-oversensitive skin was a painful inconvenience.
"We'll just head over to Shoko's once we're back, 'kay?" Satoru says, a teasing, saccharine lilt in his voice, at odds with the small concerned crinkle in the corners of his eyes.
Suguru only sighs, his forehead coming to rest in his hands.
"Do those work?" He grumbles, grabbing one of Satoru's ears and tugging it despite the pitiful whine the other man lets out. Infinity always parts for him, and Satoru can't even force it to.
"I swear, you don't listen to a single thing Shoko or I say," he continues. "She's going out with Utahime for the weekend, idiot."
"When the hell did she say that?" Satoru says under his breath. "Anyways, I guess you'll just have to suck it up for a day or two, huh?"
His voice is teasing and light, but his face again betrays the worry he has for Suguru. It's asked more like a question, an unheard will you be okay?
His friend scoffs, in a bit of a mood because of the situation. He's gotten a bit of blood on his feathers, and Satoru knew how much he was incredibly particular with them, just as much as he was his hair. He'd wash his wings obsessively, and preen his feathers for hours on end. Not a single feather was ever out of place, and they smelled like the lavender shampoo he wouldn't let Satoru use. He kept everything about himself to an absurd level of cleanliness, never faltering for a day. He'd yell at Satoru when he wore his outside clothes on his bed, insisting he had to shower or at least change before getting in his covers.
Not that he was complaining about the state of his feathers, though. The oil-slick black of Suguru's feathers was captivating, a stark contrast to Satoru's own bright white and gray wings. He'd even picked up a few of his feathers here and there, even gaining a primary once. Not that Suguru knew, of course. Satoru hoarded those feathers like gold, keeping them in the bottom slats of his shitty dorm bed frame.
The rest of the car ride passed in silence, and they arrived back at the school relatively quickly. The two walked upstairs to the dorm rooms together, going their separate ways into their rooms and offering a quiet "goodnight" to the other.
When Suguru entered his room, he let out a deep sigh, unbuttoning and removing his jacket carefully as to not agitate the raw skin, peeling off the bloodied white tank top soon after. God, the feathers of his right wing were revolting. They were caked in blood, and the crunchy texture and the scratching sound they made when they moved set him on edge. He needed a shower.
He walked to his closet, searching for a particular loose black shirt he'd liked. Damn it, Satoru needed to stop stealing his clothes. As much as some primal part of him enjoyed when the other man would wear his shirts, his pants, letting them swallow his lankier frame, it was getting a little inconvienient.
He eventually finds another t-shirt suitable enough, grabbing a clean pair of boxers and loose shorts. Suguru rubs his face in exhaustion as he heads out of his room and to the communal showers down the hall. He walks in, turning the shower on before fully undressing, leaving his dirty clothes in the pile against the wall. He'd get them when he left. Suguru eyes the water with a vengeance, knowing it'd sting his raw skin.
He steps under the spray, biting back a hiss when, as predicted, his side burned at the exposure to the water. He got used to it in a moment or two; he'd sustained worse injuries.
Working his shampoo into his feathers was a different matter, however. The lather dripped down his skin with the gravity, rolling straight into the wound. Suguru pressed on, however, shampooing his right wing once, twice, three times until the water finally ran clear instead of crimson. His skin prickled, though, and he felt dirty still. He washed another two times for good measure, conditioning efficiently and thoroughly before stepping under the spray and washing it all out.
He turned the tap off, standing bare in the steamy air for a moment before grabbing his towel and stepping out. He wrapped it around his waist, setting it low to not brush his side. His wings and hair were dripping, and he grabbed the second towel and began meticulously drying them off.
However, he quickly found his limit. Stretching further to reach the tricky spot between his wings pulled harshly on the wound, and he knew already that fully drying his feathers would be difficult, preening them all near impossible.
He mulled over the issue as he got dressed, tugging the open-backed t-shirt on and tying his pants around his waist. Suguru tied his hair back into a messy braid, the damp hair giving his skin a slight chill when the air conditioning kicked up.
He fumbled underneath the sink for the small medical kit they kept there, grabbing a bit of gauze. He brought the hem of his shirt up, holding it between his teeth and lifting his wings as he bandaged the gash. It wasn't bleeding anymore, the scabbing ugly and dark. The gauze covering his waist only made it more difficult to reach his back, and he internally groaned. His feathers itched, and Satoru's fingers were nimble enough, he supposed. He'd walked in the other man's room enough times to see him plucking pin feathers from his freakishly long wings.
He wiped off the mirror slightly, looking at the gaunt man that stared back. His undereyes were dark, his skin pale. Suguru eyed his own dark, thick wings over his shoulders, the feathers still beaded with water. It wasn't the first time he envied his friend's beautiful feathers, starkly white with the faintest flecks of gray. He let out a soft sigh, walking out of the bathroom and towards the opposite end of the hall, where Satoru's door stood.
Suguru took a steadying breath, knocking on the door softly. Soft footsteps sounded from inside the room, and he could practically feel the blush on his face. This was so embarrassing. Did he seriously need to ask his classmate to help him preen himself because he couldn't reach his wings? He was as helpless as a kid who still slept in their mother's nest.
The door opened, Satoru's face splitting in a smile as he sees Suguru. He grabs his wrist with a warm, long hand, tugging him inside.
He's never suspicious of him, just takes him along with a grin on his face. No unnecessary questions, no doubt.
"What's going on?" Satoru asks, flopping back on his bed, his head lying on the Digimon plushie Suguru had bought him for his birthday. His massive wings splay out beneath him, and though the beds at Jujutsu Tech were accustomed for larger sorcerers, one hung off the side as he stared up at Suguru.
His eyes really were beautiful. The room was darker, and he'd chosen to abandon the glasses on his nightstand. They were captivating, a color richer than the bluest sky, the brightest sapphire.
Suguru's face practically goes up in flames as he takes a breath.
"Can you help me preen?" He asks rapidly, his words rushed and quiet. When Satoru's face furrows, he repeats it again, clearer.
"It hurts- to stretch like that. Can you help me preen?"
Satoru's eyes soften, filled not with pity, but with gentle understanding. He just nods gently, his obnoxious tendencies falling away to expose the tenderness and care he has for his one and only. He sits up, wings tucking close to make room for his friend to sit in front of him.
Suguru pads closer with socked feet, gently pushing himself onto the bed and puffing his feathers in slight self-consciousness. How was he just so kind, so selfless? He could give and give, and expect nothing in return, though he'd maybe pester him for some disgusting, sickly sweet drink or candy the next time they went to the store. Never mind the fact that the man's pockets were practically lined with gold.
He's taken out of his thoughts as he feels Satoru's gentle, tender hands pulling a wing back, settling it in his lap and gently beginning to run his fingers through them. He hasn't been preened by anyone else since he was maybe nine, and it feels.. nice. It feels really nice. It's similar to when Shoko got her way and played with his hair, but a bit more sensitive.
Warm fingers softly tug on a few pin feathers, setting the old casings in a growing pile next to him. His eyes drift across Satoru's room, and he subconsciously mourns the fact that they can't be sitting face-to-face while he works. The dorms were bare and emotionless when they'd moved in, but both of their rooms had gradually become more lived in.
There was a dent in the wall that Yaga still didn't know about, from the time when the pair had been wrestling on the floor after some silly argument and laughing all the while. Suguru's knee knocked the plaster and the two had frozen, until Satoru had giggled and they both burst out laughing.
Satoru kept his Nintendo DS on his bedside table, too, a few game cartridges scattered there as well. Suguru had gotten him a few of the Pokémon games last Christmas, and he'd been plastered to the device for hours. And, in obvious Satoru fashion, there were candy wrappers littering nearly every surface. Suguru had picked them up less than a week ago, and they were already returning to decorate his shelves. Oh well. A man could try, right? White feathers similarly littered the room, though Suguru was a lot less inclined to want those gone from the carpet.
A soft clearing of Satoru's throat pulls Suguru from his thoughts, remembering the boy sitting behind him and the soft fingers in his feathers.
"They're really soft," Satoru says quietly. His voice has no hint of teasing, no joke, only raw truth exuding in his words. "Your feathers, I mean. And pretty."
Suguru is almost shocked to silence. Satoru, the strongest, not to mention drop dead gorgeous- he thinks his feathers are pretty? He knows what he sounds like when he's not telling the truth, but he is.
After a beat of silence, Satoru stumbles over his words, saying, "Shit, I'm sorry, forget I said that," and all manner of stupid, idiotic things that spill out of his mouth. Suguru only shifts back, finally looking back at him.
Satoru is blushing just as furiously as Suguru, but it only makes his eyes look bluer. His gaze drops to his lips, covered in a shiny gloss day in and day out. What flavor was it again? Cherry? He's not quite sure, but he's completely on board with an impromptu check to see. After a slightly awkward, shaky pause, he carefully shifts closer, minding his still-injured side.
Suguru, unable to wait another minute, slots his lips against Satoru's. It's clumsy and awkward, at first, but as soon as Satoru presses back into him with fervor, it all comes naturally. Suguru's hand gently rests against his hip, a hand carding through raven-black hair. Dark wings widen and flare in the heat of the moment, and it's soft and quiet as much as it's overwhelming and powerful.
After the moment stills, he pulls back, soft purple eyes gazing into sharp blue. Their eyes are filled with adoration for the other as they both realize that it's never been one-sided.
"Holy shit," Satoru says, slightly breathless. His cheeks are flushed and his lips still parted, and Suguru wants to kiss him again. He leans back down, doing exactly that.
"Raspberry," he mumbles, pulling back again.