Title: Strokes. Pairing: Warren Worthington iii(Angel) x Reader. Words: 480. Rating: K.
Your fingers rubbed tentative circles on his back, focusing your touch more towards the middle of his back, on the small of his back. Warren felt a small moan tumble from his mouth as you scooted your hands up, to bridge the gap between his wings. Rolling his shoulder blades, he tilted his head and spoke gently, “Are you getting tired?” He wasn’t even sure what time it was, all he knew is that it was nighttime, and the moon’s light was leaking into the abandoned building he had the honor of calling home. And in Warren’s defence, it was actually rather homey, and gave off a warm vibe. If you were asked what the building was before, you couldn’t give an answer, but now, it was just the shadow of a building, the insides gutted out, the roof full of holes and busts. It suited Warren though, the more you looked around.
“Sort of,” You answered, petting his soft feathers with a soothing gesture. That seemed appreciated, and you could tell by the way his wings would twitch and move under your simple touch. This had become such a habitual thing between the two of you, and he didn’t even need to ask. You would sit with him in front of you, in the make-shift bed that sufficed enough for the both of you, and your hands would dive along the muscles of his back, tending to the knots and pain he carried there. “Are you?” Your left hand traced inwards, delicately tracing the scars that rounded near the skin where his wing came out.
They were a sensitive topic, and Warren was hesitant for a few seconds after feeling your hand there. What you knew about them was scarce, but you were aware that he had inflicted them onto himself, after endless days upon days of trying to cut his own wings off.
“Sort of,” He echoed your words with a small smile, drawing his wings inwards; a silent beckon for you to rub his shoulders now. You obeyed without a second thought and began rubbing his skin. It was hot under your fingertips, lighting up your senses a bit more as you looked at the nape of his neck, then upwards to the tosses of blond curls on top of his head. A sigh of contentment escaped his lips, “That feels good.”
“I bet it does,” You smiled softly, “Warren.”
“(Name).” Your name came out smooth.
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“No,” You laughed quietly, “I love you more.”
Warren smiled, reaching back with one hand to guide you back into a laying position. A few seconds later, he was straddling your waist, careful to keep his weight to a minimal so he didn’t crush you. His wings stretched out slightly, curling on the bed beside your body, as if to protect you, “I do.”
Toad's Cave 