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Jimmy’s not quite sure how he ended up like this, laid out on his stomach with Grian sitting on the small of his back, hands in his wings, and downright mean words falling from his lips, followed by sickly sweet phrases. The contrast is too much for him.
Maybe ‘not sure’ isn’t quite right. He can recount every moment that led up to this, but what he can’t pinpoint is why he doesn’t want to leave. Why his head is all floaty and his only instinct is to let it happen.
Jimmy’s wings had been bothering him since… forever, really. Since the damn things sprouted, it’s been nothing but itch and scratch and discomfort. At first he wondered if all… bird people, avians, whatever they’re called, deal with this. His resolve is that it will roll past, that maybe the discomfort only comes from it being his first time having the damn things.
But then Third Life comes and goes. He thinks that's the end of it. Stupid. It’s Last Life where he learns that this isn’t normal. That he’s doing something wrong.
Grian scoffs at him as he’s bent over searching through a chest, “Your wings are disgusting. When’d you last preen them?”
Jimmy sits up and stares at him blankly, tilting his head just slightly, “...hm?”
The small sound results in Grian gaping at him. The parrots own wings, perfectly prim, proper and maintained, fluffing up in agitation. “Tim. You absolute idiot, have you not been preening?” He chides, scolding. Jimmy's own nose scrunches.
“I don’t- well, how was I supposed to know to do that? I don’t even know what it is!” He snaps back, quite defensive. Grian scoffs at him and Jimmy feels like he must have just said something stupid, like this is something everyone should know.
“You’re meant to clean your wings up.” Grian taps his foot, impatient. “You know, pick out all the dirt, bent feathers, the lot of it.”
Jimmy feels even dumber hearing that. Of course there’d be some kind of care he should have been doing. “...oh.” is all he says. God he’s stupid.
Grian stares at him, as if waiting. “...well?” He urges.
Oh. Oh, right, the preening. Jimmy awkwardly stretches his wing, moving his hand into it before Grians instantly grabs his wrist and yanks it back with an appalled look on his face. “Not like that!” He snaps at him quickly.
Jimmy’s slightly offended, “How should I be doing it, then?”
Grian gives him that damn look again, and Jimmy feels small.
“I’ll do it. Lay down, on your stomach and spread em.” He demands. Jimmy can’t help but get a bit red. He quickly turns around but he’s sure Grian saw.
He gets onto his stomach and splays out his wings, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling. He doesn’t mess with the limbs much. They’re too new, too foreign to him, “If you ask me,” He scoffs, “These things are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Don’t say that.” Grian snaps at him, “They’d be beautiful if you weren’t an idiot.”
Grian, rather than staying to the side of him, straddles him. Jimmy twitches at that contact but reminds himself it's just being cared for. Just… helping, because he thinks Jimmy's too helpless to do it on his own.
…Jimmy knows that's not true. But it feels like it is.
He tries to hold back a noise when Grian’s hands land in his wings, but Grian's response is to coo at him, “Awe, baby bird. Too dumb to do this by yourself, huh? It’s ok. I’ll do it better than you would have anyway.”
He knows Grian’s looking for him to bite back, to argue, to protest or maybe even laugh. But instead Jimmy buries his face into his arms and splay his wings wider.
Jimmy wishes he could see Grian’s face at that moment. There’s a pause, then Grian settles down, sitting on the small of Jimmy’s back like the other man is his to mess with.
Then Grian’s hands are back but they’re tugging and Jimmy gasps. He hears a noise from Grian in return.
“Oh, gorgeous…” Jimmy’s heart thuds in his chest. Him? Grian’s talking about him?
The kind words leave as quickly as they came.
“These wings are disgusting.” Grian says, sorting through the golden feathers with a deep frown. “If I see them like this again, you’re done for. A disgrace to avians, honestly.”
Jimmy whines slightly, “I didn’t know I was meant to-”
“Shush.” Grian quickly interrupts, sharp. “Sit and be a pretty face while I fix you up so you don’t offend my eyes. Best part about you and you can’t even keep it up.”
Jimmy wonders if he means his wings or his looks. Maybe both, by the way he can’t quite stick to that stinging tone it the moment. But Jimmy, to his credit, bites his tongue. Maybe it’s because he knows Grian will snark at him again if he speaks up. Maybe it’s because of the need to just listen he cant help but feel.
Grian seems rather unsurprised by Jimmy's state at the moment, which makes him think. Is Grian this floaty when he preens, too?
“How is your nest not a mess of feathers every morning?” Grian grumbles as he carefully sorts through the feathers, unfurling pin feathers and carefully removing those that are loose or bent.
Jimmy hesitates to answer because he knows Grian’s going to squawk at him again. He clears his throat, “Ah… am- am I meant to have a nest, then?”
He feels Grian’s hand tighten around the base of his wing, other hand pausing it’s movements. Then he hears a chirp, “God damn it Tim, how are you not constantly complaining?!” He sounds more frustrated than mad. Worried. “Yes, you need a nest. It- agh, I can’t believe I have to explain it. It’s an instinct thing, you’ll end up grumpy all the time without one.”
“Can’t I just share yours?” Jimmy asks before thinking. Because why would he think? It’s Grian, the man who probably knows him better than anyone, the man who despite all the snark and teasing, is one of his best friends.
“Not unless there's a ring on your finger.” Grian eventually snorts, sounding a bit amused. Jimmy gets red again. Grian sighs. “...until you have your own.” He relents.
Jimmy settles back into the feeling of Grian’s fingers flitting through his wings. He never wants to get his own.
They’re sat like this for what feels like hours, until Grian tells him to sit up. He lets Grian get off his back and does as told, splaying his wings to look at them. They feel brighter, and… they don’t hurt.
“They really feel better.” He comments, happy. Grian scoffs at him.
“I’d hope. They were awful. I’m not doing it for you next time, so make sure to actually try it sometime.” He scolds, before faltering.
Jimmy’s staring at him. At his lips, then back into his eyes. Grian raises a brow.
“Don’t go imprinting on me like a chick.” He says, but he’s grinning. Jimmy scoffs but before he can argue back there’s a hand tangled in his hair and a mouth on his. He whines into it, leaning forwards.
Grian doesn’t let it last long. But Jimmy still feels like he’s won.
He's snapped out of the haze by Grian pulling his hair.
"Don't let them get like that again."