[Fic] Flap Your Wings
Summary: Wingfic AU Naoto meets a tall, dark stranger in an alley. Problem, he is injured, he is barely conscious, and he has wings.
Characters: Naoki, Naoto, Kenjirou
Rating: T
The stranger is propped against the graffiti-vandalised walls in a dark alley.
The sun has just begun to set, casting long shadows across the empty streets.
Cautiously, Naoto creeps forward, eyes adjusting to the gloom. The stranger is partially covered by something reminiscent of black velvet, hard muscle lines etched on the visible parts of his abdomen. There is no mistaking those sinewy muscles belonging to the male species - as a medical final year student, Naoto prides himself on his intimate knowledge of the human body. Long shaggy hair veils his face, hiding his features from view.
At each step Naoto takes, he realises his skin is mottled with bruises and long, ugly gashes caked by dried blood.
Naoto swallows. “Hey, erm, you’re injured. D-do you need help getting home? I mean-”
At the sound of his voice, the stranger lifts his head, unveiling his face. His eyes slide open and lock on him.
Molten gold eyes suck the air right out of Naoto, watching him with unwavering intent. The only point of softness in a harsh face that is all angles is his lips. Vaguely, Naoto realises the black velvet has rolled off his body, exposing a well-toned eight-pack torso and long legs clad in ripped, filthy white hospital bottoms. The tips brush his legs, half-startling him until he looks closely and realises they take the shape of-
Of bat wings?
The stranger shuts his eyes and slumps to the side, and Naoto decides there and then, that this person will be unable to get home in such a state, wherever he stays. Cursing under his breath, he makes several calls, and waits.
=====
“Wings.” Kenjirou whispers. “Big, leathery wings. Like, a dragon.”
“Yes.” Naoto covers the sleeping form with a warm blanket, and motions them out of the bedroom. Cleaning the stranger’s wounds and changing the rags clinging to his surprisingly toned legs - he is also very well-endowed - has taken a longer time than estimated. Thank goodness he does not seem to be running a fever. “They’re firmly attached to his shoulder blades. I checked.”
“I was hoping for him to have feathers.” Kenjirou spreads his arms. “You know, rich plumage, bloody huge wingspan stretching across our living room. Like an angel.” His gaze falls upon the closed door. “Your guest doesn’t look like one, does he?”
Naoto stares incredulously at his neighbour. “That’s your concern?”
“Hey, I didn’t volunteer to drag him back here. Go thank Keiji for providing the pick-up service, if he isn’t busy drowning himself in alcohol with Kenchi and Tetsuya again.”
Someone is going to need to call the cleaners, just to scrub Naoto’s eyebrow out of the ceiling since he can’t do it himself.
=====
Curled up on the couch beside the bed, Naoto watches his guest as he sleeps. He has to kick Kenjirou out before he keeps him awake with more questions that he has no answers for, or, knowing Kenjirou, before he comes up with incredulous theories which get increasingly far-fetched as his imagination runs wild. Even now, Naoto’s mind is a flurry of thoughts - thoughts with no clear answers, no clear explanations.
Is he a real demon? Is he partially human? Who would be cruel enough to attach a pair of wings to a person? What are they trying to do?
Wings with blood flowing through the veins.
Crimson blood of a living, breathing human.
Thank goodness tomorrow is a weekend. He has two days to wring answers from his guest, provided that said man/creature/humanoid is awake by then. If not…
He checks his sleeping guest for signs of distress, and dozes off.
=====
The next morning, Naoto wakes to find himself curled on the bed, arms wrapped around a bare torso that's distinctively male. He looks up at a pair of golden orbs peering at him, and shrieks.
“What? Where am I? What am I doing on the bed?” He flails, and rolls onto the floor with an undignified thump, carrying part of the blanket with him. Gingerly, he rubs his backside, throwing glares at his guest, now awake and staring unblinkingly at him.
Naoto sneaks a glance at his wings, folded neatly behind him, and decides, nope, it's definitely real.
"What was I doing on the bed?" He asks, not really expecting an answer.
"You were shivering. I carried you." The stranger replies with a surprisingly lyrical baritone. Naoto wonders if he is a musical actor who accidentally glued wings to his body for realistic effects, but decides against this ridiculous notion. If it can be any more ridiculous than what he is seeing right now.
Still, he admits to himself, the wings are indeed fascinating. And his black hair, waist-long and wavy, is in dire need of a trim and lots of washing and vigorous brushing to get back its original lustre. Naoto wonders why he's looking forward to it.
"I'm Naoto. What's your name?"
“Naoki,” he rumbles. “They call me Naoki.”
“They?” Naoto echoes. “Who are they?” His mind flashes back to the hospital scrubs, the unnatural wounds and abrasions on his body.
Naoki shakes his head. “Bad men.”
“Yes, of course I know they’re bad men. Why else would you run away?” Naoto mutters to himself. He stands up, picks up the blanket from the floor, and gestures at Naoki to shift himself so that he can make the bed. “Well, you can stay with me until you’re healed, I guess. And we can decide from there.”
“Thank you,” Naoki thinks, before adding, “Naoto.”
"But first, we're going to get you cleaned up. I believe I have some shirts that can fit you, then breakfast." Naoto sniffs and wrinkles his nose. "Shoo. You stink."
Characters: Naoki, Naoto, Kenjirou
Rating: T
The stranger is propped against the graffiti-vandalised walls in a dark alley.
The sun has just begun to set, casting long shadows across the empty streets.
Cautiously, Naoto creeps forward, eyes adjusting to the gloom. The stranger is partially covered by something reminiscent of black velvet, hard muscle lines etched on the visible parts of his abdomen. There is no mistaking those sinewy muscles belonging to the male species - as a medical final year student, Naoto prides himself on his intimate knowledge of the human body. Long shaggy hair veils his face, hiding his features from view.
At each step Naoto takes, he realises his skin is mottled with bruises and long, ugly gashes caked by dried blood.
Naoto swallows. “Hey, erm, you’re injured. D-do you need help getting home? I mean-”
At the sound of his voice, the stranger lifts his head, unveiling his face. His eyes slide open and lock on him.
Molten gold eyes suck the air right out of Naoto, watching him with unwavering intent. The only point of softness in a harsh face that is all angles is his lips. Vaguely, Naoto realises the black velvet has rolled off his body, exposing a well-toned eight-pack torso and long legs clad in ripped, filthy white hospital bottoms. The tips brush his legs, half-startling him until he looks closely and realises they take the shape of-
Of bat wings?
The stranger shuts his eyes and slumps to the side, and Naoto decides there and then, that this person will be unable to get home in such a state, wherever he stays. Cursing under his breath, he makes several calls, and waits.
=====
“Wings.” Kenjirou whispers. “Big, leathery wings. Like, a dragon.”
“Yes.” Naoto covers the sleeping form with a warm blanket, and motions them out of the bedroom. Cleaning the stranger’s wounds and changing the rags clinging to his surprisingly toned legs - he is also very well-endowed - has taken a longer time than estimated. Thank goodness he does not seem to be running a fever. “They’re firmly attached to his shoulder blades. I checked.”
“I was hoping for him to have feathers.” Kenjirou spreads his arms. “You know, rich plumage, bloody huge wingspan stretching across our living room. Like an angel.” His gaze falls upon the closed door. “Your guest doesn’t look like one, does he?”
Naoto stares incredulously at his neighbour. “That’s your concern?”
“Hey, I didn’t volunteer to drag him back here. Go thank Keiji for providing the pick-up service, if he isn’t busy drowning himself in alcohol with Kenchi and Tetsuya again.”
Someone is going to need to call the cleaners, just to scrub Naoto’s eyebrow out of the ceiling since he can’t do it himself.
=====
Curled up on the couch beside the bed, Naoto watches his guest as he sleeps. He has to kick Kenjirou out before he keeps him awake with more questions that he has no answers for, or, knowing Kenjirou, before he comes up with incredulous theories which get increasingly far-fetched as his imagination runs wild. Even now, Naoto’s mind is a flurry of thoughts - thoughts with no clear answers, no clear explanations.
Is he a real demon? Is he partially human? Who would be cruel enough to attach a pair of wings to a person? What are they trying to do?
Wings with blood flowing through the veins.
Crimson blood of a living, breathing human.
Thank goodness tomorrow is a weekend. He has two days to wring answers from his guest, provided that said man/creature/humanoid is awake by then. If not…
He checks his sleeping guest for signs of distress, and dozes off.
=====
The next morning, Naoto wakes to find himself curled on the bed, arms wrapped around a bare torso that's distinctively male. He looks up at a pair of golden orbs peering at him, and shrieks.
“What? Where am I? What am I doing on the bed?” He flails, and rolls onto the floor with an undignified thump, carrying part of the blanket with him. Gingerly, he rubs his backside, throwing glares at his guest, now awake and staring unblinkingly at him.
Naoto sneaks a glance at his wings, folded neatly behind him, and decides, nope, it's definitely real.
"What was I doing on the bed?" He asks, not really expecting an answer.
"You were shivering. I carried you." The stranger replies with a surprisingly lyrical baritone. Naoto wonders if he is a musical actor who accidentally glued wings to his body for realistic effects, but decides against this ridiculous notion. If it can be any more ridiculous than what he is seeing right now.
Still, he admits to himself, the wings are indeed fascinating. And his black hair, waist-long and wavy, is in dire need of a trim and lots of washing and vigorous brushing to get back its original lustre. Naoto wonders why he's looking forward to it.
"I'm Naoto. What's your name?"
“Naoki,” he rumbles. “They call me Naoki.”
“They?” Naoto echoes. “Who are they?” His mind flashes back to the hospital scrubs, the unnatural wounds and abrasions on his body.
Naoki shakes his head. “Bad men.”
“Yes, of course I know they’re bad men. Why else would you run away?” Naoto mutters to himself. He stands up, picks up the blanket from the floor, and gestures at Naoki to shift himself so that he can make the bed. “Well, you can stay with me until you’re healed, I guess. And we can decide from there.”
“Thank you,” Naoki thinks, before adding, “Naoto.”
"But first, we're going to get you cleaned up. I believe I have some shirts that can fit you, then breakfast." Naoto sniffs and wrinkles his nose. "Shoo. You stink."