Work Text:
Wings were ment to be a gift. Something to be held up with pride from the moment you were born. The few without them would envy those who did. And Martin found that they worked their way into every aspect of life.
Children on the playground getting in trouble for pulling out fistfuls of soft down. Teenagers comparing mottled browns and reflective blues once their adult plumage grew in. Glossy feathers Gifted to loved ones found hung around bedrooms or worked into jewellery.
Seeing it all happen around him made his heart hurt, a world he couldnt let himself be apart of. But Its not like he'd never known what his own wings were like.
They were ugly, grey things, too stunted to be of any real use. Itchy patches of feathers either bent awkwardly or missing entirely from years of stuffing them into various bindings.
Old habits die hard he supposed.
All done for her, of course. She couldn't bear to look at them, especially after his father left. Martin was just old enough to put the pieces together, and he stopped wearing shirts with the holes cut in the back.
Over time, he'd found more subtle ways of concealing them, rolls of cheap bandages, undershirts worn a size too small, loose clothing over the top to hide the pained spasms that started when they were still for too long.
There was always the option of surgery, but it was only ever done for serious medical reasons, and he didn't have the time or money for it anyway.
when martin started work in the archives, he was pretty sure he had them all fooled. Though, that may be because they never questioned him too harshly.
He didnt mind being the only 'flightless' person down there [but its not like any of them could actually fly]. Even when jon puffed up his wings to try and look more intimidating. Even when he glimpsed Tim and sasha preeing eachother on their lunchbreaks. Even when the scared little animal living between his lungs woke and began to claw its way up his throat.
Involuntary vocals quickly became a real issue. It wasn't unheard of for a wingless person to show other avian traits, but it would invite prying questions that were best avoided.
Low, anxious whistles turned into humming part of a song he'd heard that morning. Subconscious calls for help coughed over like a bad cold. The others definitely noticed that one after a few times. A spare box of tissues was left on his desk.
Martin knew it was a stupid thing to hide, his friends didn't care weather or not he had wings. But they were... gross, to put it lightly. The youtube tutorials for self-preening he'd searched through had made that startlingly clear.
They felt permanently ratty and dirty, no matter how he tried to clean them. He wouldn't be surprised if they were disgusted at the state he'd let them get to. At how he would neglect something so precious. Thinking about it made his pulse spike horribly, so he just dodged the topic entirely.
He was in far too deep now.
-----
The safehouse felt... safe. Or about as safe as he could feel given the situation.
And Jon had been lovely, seeming to want to spoil Martin with affection before they'd fully unpacked. Soft brushes of hands and kisses all over his face that were somehow softer.
'Tell him!' Some deep, animal part of his mind cried out, 'he deserves to know! We only have so much time!' He pushed it back down again. He's been doing this for years, another week or two would be easy.
Four days later had him realising that it was not, in fact, easy.
It mightve just been the chance to finally relax, or maybe it was because he was closer to Jon now [ both emotionally and physically ] but his wings were the most restless he could remember them ever being.
Just sitting on the patchy sofa with Jon's black and white feathers shifting around them both was near agony. It was like every part of him was screaming to be heard, to be known to someone other than himself. It made him restless. And also very clingy.
Martin had always enjoyed physical contact, but never really had the chance to indulge in it as much as he could now. Many evenings were spent curled around jon as they both tried and failed not to fall asleep early. However, he always made sure that he was behind Jon, arms comfortably around his middle.
He claimed it was so he would be at the perfect angle to press kisses into Jons shoulder or jaw, but it was mostly to make it harder for Jon to accidentally brush against the mess between his shoulder blades.
All the casual touch had made him realise just how badly he missed it. but it felt wrong, almost sinful, the part of him that needed the attention the most was being ignored entirely.
A sort of soft rumble kept returning to his voice, particularly in the later afternoons and early mornings. Running through each sentence he spoke like wind through the trees.
Jon must've heard it by now, mildly confused glances were shot over the washing up bowl when martin couldn't catch himself in time. Yet he never asked, not one question.
Somehow, that made him feel worse.
He wanted Jon to know, he just didn't want to tell him. Just the thought alone made him jittery with nerves. What would he even say? How do you start that conversation? 'Hello my beautiful boyfriend, I've been lying to you for years and I actually do have wings, but they're all messed up - which is my own fault - please dont think Im weird or be grossed out.'
Hmm. probably not like that.
He needed something to happen, something that would let jon discover it by himself. A planned accident, if you will.
----
Another long, slow evening. The best kind, really.
Sat next to each other on the sofa, they had just eaten dinner half an hour ago, and the dirty dishes lay, unwashed, in the sink. Martin slumped against Jon, who turned another page in his book.
'If you wanted my attention, you could've just asked for it' a subtle laugh lifted the edge of his words.
'I know' Martin reached out and brushed the back of his fingers over Jon's slightly rumpled feathers. light reflected off them in gorgeous blues and greens.
Jon tossed the book onto the side table and leant back against Martins chest with a sigh.
'I'm glad you're here with me'
Martin hummed an agreement, letting his arms drop and loop around Jon's middle. They stayed like that for a moment, soaking in the life they thought they'd only ever dream about. It was nice, to be able to sit and do nothing for a while.
How much would he lose? Martin passively wondered. Would Jon still want this with him? Was it too cruel to interrupt such a precious moment? He fidgeted with a strand of Jon's hair, maybe he could wait a little longer.
No, he had to do this before he changed his mind.
Turning him so they were face to face caused jon to squawk in surprise. But the change delighted him, if the string of happy chatters and fluttering wings was any indication.
They began to exchange gentle kisses, martins hands settled firmly on Jon's hips, then steadily moved to his lower back. Jon had a habit of copying whatever Martin was doing, Martin had no clue whether this was purposeful or accidental. Either way, he was counting on it for his plan to work.
Jon slid his hands up under the back of his shirt and Martin fully flinched away.
'Ah, sorry. Too much?'
'No, it's just-'
His breath caught in his throat, why was this so difficult?
Leaning back, Jon searched his face, wings behind him shuffling anxiously 'martin, whats wr- Shit, sorry. Again.'
'Don't be, there's something i need to...' He glanced at the ceiling like he'd find the words he needed up there 'there's something I need to tell you'
'Okay, I'm listening.'
'I wish it was that simple' Martin could feel himself beginning to go red.
Jon's head tilted, almost imperceptibly, to the side. Oh, Now he was curious, no going back then. But words were failing him, he needed to change this plan before he changed his mind about it entirely.
'Maybe it'll be easier if I just show you?' Martin sighed.
This clearly confused Jon, who's face scrunched up like a used napkin. and just like a used napkin, the expression was quickly discarded, and replaced by one of quiet concern.
'Then show me'
Martin stood, this was it. This was really happening. Right now.
His hands shook as he gripped the hem of his shirt. Just one motion, is all it is, one action and it'll all be out in the open. one way or another, it will all be over. His heart was hammering so hard, he was afraid it might manage to jump out of his chest and escape out the door.
He didn't move. Jon kept watching from the sofa, picking at the seams of one of the cushions, eyes dark with a strange mix of intrigue and worry.
One last breath, then Martin shakily pulled the shirt over his head.
Silence hung in the air for far too long.
'Oh, Martin'
'I'm sorry' his voice was breaking. He knew how he looked, he was ment to change the bandages a couple days ago, but had run out, and couldn't think of a decent excuse to buy more.
'Would you like me to help take these off?' Jon hesitantly stepped forward, he didn't quite know what to do. Who would?
Martin nodded mutely, bunching his shirt between his hands as Jon carefully helped unwind the bandages, slowly revealing more and more of the damaged wings. A low, sad noise from Ion when one of them feeblely pushed against his hand.
'This is- this is bad, Martin.'
'Sorry' He tried to say again, but it crumbled into a sob.
Jon quickly stepped around and reached up to cup Martins face, guiding him to look away from the stain on the floorboards and towards Jon.
'Can you go into the kitchen and get me a big bowl of warm water?'
Martin blinked away tears '...what?'
'I can help with this, ive picked up a thing or two about more advanced wing care after my own... accidents.' His wings flared behind him slightly, and Martin glimpsed the patches of feathers that were slightly shorter and more discoloured from the rest. 'of course, you'll need to see a doctor tomorrow, theres only so much I can do, unless you want to go tonight?
'No, not tonight.' Martin managed to push out. Just showing jon had been emotionally exhausting, the last thing he wanted now was for all the questions and tests and procedures that would come from showing a medical professional.
'Alright' Jon let his hands drop ' there's a bowl under the sink, it should be big enough.'
In a bit of a daze, Martin wandered into the kitchen, quickly running what had just happened through his head. The reveal had gone well, Jon didn't seem disgusted by him, so that was a win.
He'd even voulenteered to... wash them? That was nice. Valiant attempts had been made in the shower, but there were certain spots where he couldn't quite get the angle right between his feathers.
Water from the tap always started cold, so he busied himself with folding his discarded shirt on the counter while he waited for it to warm up. It felt good to do something useful for a while, even if it was only temporarily.
Shuffling could be heard from the living room, Jon's footsteps padding up and down the stairs, then pacing back and forth anxiously.
Martin poked at the stream of water to check it was warm enough, before ducking under the sink to retrieve the grey plastic bowl that they'd tried [and failed] to mix cake batter in. As the bowl steadily filled, a reasonably clean tea towel was fished from where it was slung over a cabinet handle.
He nudged the the door open to reveal Jon standing over a haphazard pile of pillows and blankets, wings held upwards and outwards proudly.
'Why not on the bed?'
'Don't want to deal with a damp mattress if this thing spills' Jon answered plainly. 'Now lay down on your front and get comfortable, this might take a while.'
Once he stepped forward, Martin realised that the pile wasn't as random as it first appeared. There was a structure to it, a clear space for him to lay in, and a smaller pocket on the side which was presumably for Jon.
A nest.
The thought warmed him more than it shouldve, making him feel giddy as he set the bowl down and settled easily next to where Jon was already sitting.
He wasn't sure why, it's not like he hadn't been in one before, their bed was usually a tangled mess from being constantly changed and added to. But that didn't stop his pulse racing like it was trying to win gold in the Olympic 100m.
The first couple minutes were spent getting Martin adjusted to simply being touched. Palms resting lightly on his wings until they stopped eagerly wriggling beneath them.
Jon guiding them to open as far as they would go, taking in the years of grime and damage, before loosely combing his fingers between the dull feathers. Martin twitched when Jon made contact with an old injury, dried blood still caught in the feathers closest to his skin.
'Does it hurt?' Jon was trying to sound casual, but the concern In his voice betrayed him
'No, it's.... quite nice actually' Martins eyes followed Jon's hand to the water bowel, as he wetted the corner of the tea towel, and back again. 'What's the water do ?"
'It helps soften things stuck in the feathers, particularly any soil or blood. Makes it easier to get them out without pulling too much' Jon responded, firmly working the old blood free. A rhythmic, practiced motion.
Sighing, Martin pushed his face against the pillow in front of him, ' it's been forever since someone's done this for me' he mumbled, mostly to himself.
'Oh? Who did it last time?'
'Sasha, It was around the time I was staying in the archives because of prentiss'
'God, that's- almost 3 years ago.' Despite his surprise, Jon's hands didn't still for a moment,moving on to straightening the bent and misaligned feathers with ease. Martin could feel himself melting further into the blankets.
'Mmmm'
'How did it happen? I presume you didn't show her on purpose.'
Martin shot a glance at jon over his shoulder, 'She walked in on me trying to stretch them a bit. I wouldn'tve even gotten them out if id known anyone was still there! but i was so stressed from all that was happening and I just- needed five minutes of air. Of course it would be the same five minutes she chose to ask if I wanted anything from the corner shop.' He slumped back down again. 'She was helpful, though. Showed me how to reach some of the trickier spots. Told me that she'd help me properly 'when all this was over' ' he gestured vaugly with one hand. 'But I guess it never turned out that way.'
Jon was silent for a few moments.
'For what it's worth, Martin. I'm sorry I didn't notice. This is alot to handle alone, and you were dealing with it on top of everything else that was going on' Jon sat back for a moment, and reached for the water bowel again.
'Don't apologise, you had your own messes going on, what with the murder charges and all' he joked
'True, but you shouldve had someone to fall back on, I don't want you convincing yourself this is normal. Because it's not.'
'...'
'But you really never told anyone? Not even tim?'
'Tim kind of caught on, since Sasha started acting a bit different, but I don't think he was ever told directly. I think he thought I had back problems or something.
'Is... that why he stopped leaning on you so much?'
'From behind, sure. But he'd still push on my arm whenever we walked anywhere' he rolled his eyes, even though he knew jon couldnt see them
Martin sharply inhaled as Jon untangled a loose thread from the bend in his wing, springing a few smaller feathers free. It hadn't taken him long to sift through most of Martins feathers, and he was now approaching where the wings joined to his back. An unruly cluster of feathers that Martin couldn't even get close to properly cleaning.
But jon would do it. And he'd do it with love
Martin hadn't missed the way his hands had avoided direct contact with the patches that had been rubbed raw, instead opting to carefully dab at them with the damp cloth. Or the way Jon was tucking his own loose feathers into areas where Martins had grown thin. The tenderness of it all made his heart sing like the wind on a summer evening.
'I didn't know it could feel this good'
'Its always ment to feel good' Jon chuckled ' there's actually an evolutionary reason as to why we-'
Setting his head back down again martin let Jon's voice roll over him like the crest of a wave. Falling asleep here wasn't too bad of a thought. Jon rambling about hormones and a study from a decade ago made perfect background noise to stop him from thinking about anything too much.
Focusing on the feeling of jons hands carding through his wings was enough to lull him into a light doze. He didn't notice how each exhale was beginning to morph into a soft string of coos until Jon started to respond with quiet chatters of his own.
It was an easy feeling to get lost to. Everything felt right, he could properly relax, take off the mask he'd been wearing all these years and realise just how much it was weighing him down.
Words were no longer needed, only the gentle confirmation of 'I love you. Yes, I love you' as Jon worked his way through years worth of grime and tangled feathers.
Martin didn't notice when Jon stood up to swap the side he was working on, or the noise of the leftover water being sloshed down the drain, or the blankets being rearranged around him. But he did stir when the lights clicked out, and Jon wormed his way up next to him. Black and white wings laid over them both like usual, only this time joined by a scruffy grey pair, brushing against each other at the very ends.
They laid together like this, carefully haloed in silver light, until the sun broke the horizon many hours later
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And now for a couple of sketches I did while thinking about this au.....
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