Make Me Soar
Title: Make Me Soar
Author: earth_heart
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Warnings: Superhero AU, abuse of leather
Spoilers: None~
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
AN: For sully86. Thank you highermagic for once again helping me figure out what the fuck I want to name people.
Summary: They’re not really sure what to call him-not Batman, because he’s not like that, but at the same time he does have the whole Bruce Wayne kind of vibe about him.
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The town of Lawrence, Kansas hasn’t had a crime in years. Not since the arrival of the man with the wings emblazoned on the back of his leather jacket. He literally swoops in on every crime scene, riding the thermals some might say, and punishes the wicked with his own particular brand of justice that leaves them unconscious and tied up in front of the police station, and civilians craning to catch a glimpse of his masked face. They’re not really sure what to call him-not Batman, because he’s not like that, but at the same time he does have the whole Bruce Wayne kind of vibe about him. He’s dark, and mysterious, but he doesn’t answer to a calling card of any kind. It’s just like he knows when he’s needed.
Osprey cannot believe the simplicity of people, sometimes. Then again, it’s not like they were ever expecting to be blessed with something like him. That’s all right, though, he doesn’t really care what they think. Newspapers bash him and praise him constantly, and civilians follow pretty much the same pattern. He’s exalted for his ability to keep them safe, but at the same time he’s scorned for doing something as childish and fantastical as donning a mask and a costume and prowling the streets at night. It doesn’t matter to him if they know his name or not. So long as they’re safe, that’s all he cares about.
Well, it used to be. Now it’s that and the creature that has invaded his turf, slinking through the dark alleyways and outright killing the more seedy criminals. Osprey is not okay with that, because masked hero or not, there are still rules to follow. The thing is breaking the law, and he won’t stand for that. He tails it for days, trying to get a sense of what it is, and then one night he turns around and it’s just there, staring at him with glowing cat-like blue eyes and dark, pointed ears that are flattened against the top of its-his-head.
“Saw you weren’t bothering to come and say hello yourself, pretty thing,” the creature drawls; his deep, rumbling voice caressing the air like a purr. A long, sinuous tail twitches and curls behind him, swaying and cutting a path through the dark air. Osprey, with his hawk-like sight, zeros in on the movement with wide golden eyes. He only uses this sight when he’s fighting crime, because otherwise it would be unnaturally hard to explain, but tonight he’s glad he’s letting this side of him free.
“You’re breaking the law,” he growls in reply, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring at the other man. “There are codes, you know.” The fact that the creature has the audacity to snort at him makes him click angrily, a sharp sound that vibrates through the air. “You’re not above the law just because you put on a mask, kitty.”
“Oh, like I haven’t heard the kitty comment before.” The man steps into a pool of fractured light, and Osprey gets his first good look without the aid of his enhanced eyesight. It looks like the guy got the idea of his wardrobe from Catwoman, because he’s dressed from head to toe in leather; dark, tawny-dyed leather with artfully-placed rips in the fabric across his chest, abdomen, and where the tight leather wraps around his powerful thighs and calves. There’s a whip coiled and hanging from a clip at his side, but it’s not like any whip Osprey has ever seen before. The actual length of the whip itself is dyed black, and it’s got silver barbs woven into the braided material-thick thorns of steel that are hooked to catch and rip. There are even barbs on the handle, but he doubts that’s a problem for the creature standing before him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have the weapon. The man sees him eying the weapon and smirks. “Like my length?”
Osprey hisses in reply and feels his wings stirring. He keeps them under control though, and hidden away. He’s never actually liked flying, and he’s not about to put himself on display for such a carefree, stupid fool. “You really just don’t care at all about human life, do you? You don’t deserve to call yourself a hero,” he spits, turning and starting to walk away. The air changes; he hears the crack and turns, throwing up an arm and wincing when the barbs of the whip wrap around his forearm and dig into the gauntlet there with uncomfortable pressure.
“Aw, pretty bird, don’t walk away from me now. Not before I get your name, at least.” The creature pads forward on bare, silent feet, his lips curling into a grin that shows of a flash of upper and lower fangs. They’re relatively small, though longer than a normal human’s, and Osprey would bet that they’re sharper than they look-stronger, too. The distance between them closes until he’s breathing in leather and musky heat with each breath, his golden eyes narrowing angrily as he stares into amused blue. This close he can see the way the man’s slit-shaped pupils expand and contract as he breathes in and tastes Osprey’s own scent, his full lips parting so he can bring it into his mouth, too.
“Call me pretty bird again, and I’ll kill you,” he growls. “My name’s Osprey. Try to remember that, kitty.”
“Osprey, huh? I like it, bird. It’s fitting.” There’s another flash of teeth, a smirk, and then Osprey is keening in angry surprise as a hand fists in his hair, careful not to dislodge the mask, and his head is jerked back. He feels a rough tongue rasp against his pulse point, licking up the sweat there, and the creature purrs. “You can call me Jaguar, pretty Osprey. Try not to be a stranger next time, yeah? It’s no fun when my prey flies too high in the sky. They always forget that landing hurts.”
Before he can strike, Jaguar is gone, melting into the shadows as if he’d never been there. His scent disappears just as quickly, leaving Osprey with a fading memory of heat and spice that makes his nose wrinkle and his groin throb. He’s always liked a challenge, the fight to come out on top, but this is almost too much. He doesn’t know what the hell is wrong with Jaguar, but the man seems to have no reservations, no care, and no inhibitions. That’s a dangerous mixture.
His wings cramp, pained from being held away for too long; he groans out a sound of relief as he peels off his jacket and exposes his bare back to the humid night air. He has to wear the jacket over the rest of his costume because of this, but when he’s alone he lets his wings free. That doesn’t mean he flies, because Osprey doesn’t do flying, but he still shudders, his spine rippling, and then his skin swells and ruptures as two enormous wings unfold. The spread wide and flap, unfurling slowly to ease the strain of being held in for so long, and he falls to his knees in relief from it-unaware of the two glowing eyes watching him from the shadows, or the flashing glint of teeth that speaks of a smile.
They meet again barely two nights later, while Osprey is carefully arranging his catch in front of the police station. The drug dealers are unconscious, one of them bleeding from the temple, and Osprey is letting his wings hang freely behind him. They’ve been temperamental, cramping and spasming if he keeps them tucked away for too long, and none of the criminals are ever expecting to see them when he arrives. He can ride the thermals down without them, relying on his light frame and his ability to warp the air pockets to his needs, but the wings do add a certain kind of dramatic effect.
“Well, well, fancy meeting you here,” he hears from behind him, and he whirls around immediately, wings bristling from anger, and glares at Jaguar. The creature is leaning against a lamp post, the light making his dark hair shine. He’s brazen, going without wearing any kind of mask, and Osprey realizes that he wasn’t wearing one last time, either. It’s like Jaguar doesn’t care who sees his face, which is incredibly unusual, and more than a little reckless.
“What the fuck do you want?” Osprey isn’t in the mood to deal with this. His wings hurt because he’s molting, and one of the drug dealers managed to clip the outside edge of the left one with his knife. It didn’t cut deeply, but his feathers are matted from blood and it’s making him more aggressive than usual. He watches Jaguar scent the air and know he smells the blood. The creature’s blue eyes go dark, almost navy, and he looks right at the injured wing.
“Those fuckers get you, pretty bird?” he asks seriously. It almost looks like the thought of it enrages him, and Osprey wonders if camaraderie actually does mean something to Jaguar. It’s a surprising realization, considering how their last interaction went. Still, he pulls his injured wing closer to his body even despite the lance of pain it sends through him.
“Not badly.” It’s a deflection and they both know it. He watches Jaguar’s lips curl up into a smirk as the man slinks forward, his leather costume shifting fluidly with his body and rippling with his muscles. It’s erotic and entrancing, something he almost doesn’t want to look away from; like this is part of the man’s power, ensnaring others with just the way he moves and looks. Before Osprey knows it, he’s breathing a little heavier and hot fingers are curling around the upper edge of his wing, nails scraping lightly through feathers and down.
“Looks bad,” Jaguar comments lightly, bending over to sniff at the wound. Osprey sees a flash and curl of pink tongue, and then it’s lapping at the gash in rough little kitten-like licks. It hurts, but at the same time there’s so much heat being created from the action, trickles of arousal winding their way through sensitive muscle and shivering down his spine to settle in his groin. He almost stumbles under the thrill of it, his hands flying out to catch the railing of the stairs so he can cling to it. A soft, startled keen slips from him and he lowers his head, wings spreading wider-putting himself on display until he realizes what he’s doing and jerks away. Jaguar lets him go, his eyes dark from lust and the air around him reeking of it. His ears are flattened against his skull, his tail lashing behind him.
“Don’t fuckin’ do that,” Osprey hisses, his throat producing an array of warning clicks; much like any bird of prey would. “You don’t get to do that.” It’s not helping, though; not making his blood cool or those looks on Jaguar’s face go away. The creature advances on him, like a big cat stalking a wounded robin, and the thought of it makes his feathers bristle and his wings rise in aggression. He’s displaying his size and power, even with the injury, but Jaguar’s not phased at all.
Unsure of what to do, Osprey does the only thing he can think of-he fights. His fists fly, punches tight and controlled but still more powerful than a human could hope to match. When Jaguar ducks and swerves to avoid the blows, he sweeps his foot around to knock the man’s feet out from under him. It earns him a furious hiss and the glint of claws, and he flinches at the fire that burns across his bicep when the creature’s claws catch and dig in. Osprey has always fought hand to hand, it’s what he’s good at, and he uses his wings now too. Jaguar isn’t expecting the sudden blow from the left and goes down hard, his head cracking off the concrete.
Osprey doesn’t wait for him to get up, though he knows he will. He just turns and darts down the closest dark alley, knowing that this kind of fight is not meant to take place outside of a police station at three in the morning. He hears the slap of bare feet, hears Jaguar’s snarl, and can almost image he feels the hot puff of breath on the back of his neck before he’s jumping and catching a low thermal, riding it up to the top of the apartment building. His wings flutter when he lands, and he barely turns around when Jaguar is suddenly there. He must have used his whip to help him get up the side of the building.
Muscle and power slams into him and sends him reeling back. Osprey keens in shock and pain, his injured wing throbbing, but he tucks it close because it’s a weakness and keeps fighting. He doesn’t have an actual weapon, never thought he needed one, and Jaguar drops his whip when they come together again in a clash of muscle and strength. He’s bigger than the man, but that doesn’t mean Jaguar’s not strong. The creature is incredibly strong, maybe even stronger than him, and now that he knows to be wary of Osprey’s wings he’s keeping an eye on them. He’s also unashamedly attacking in points that he knows are weaker, like Osprey’s arm and his injured wing.
A moment of stupidity and Osprey knows he’s lost before the battle is even over. He strikes with his injured wing, just trying to get Jaguar away from it, and the man hisses in victory when his claws dig into the gash and hold on. He has to stop moving in a split second to keep from destroying his wing, and the pain is so intense that his knees buckle. Jaguar growls at him, more beast than animal, and he sinks to the ground when the creature tugs on his wing. He has no choice, and he’s not even sure why they’re fighting anyway. Because Osprey doesn’t like feeling like someone is taking his job, maybe, or because Jaguar is just so uncaring about what consequences his actions might have. Whatever it is, it started two nights ago, and tonight rings with the finality that means they’re going to finish it, one way or another.
“Such a pretty fledgling,” Jaguar whispers, lowering his mouth to the wound again. “I told you to be careful, or the landing would hurt.” He licks up the blood and Osprey moans, collapsing fully against the scratchy roof tiles and clawing at them weakly until his nails rip because he doesn’t know what else to do. His free wing flaps wildly in response to the pleasure, feathers bristling, and he can feel oil already starting to coat his back, leaking from his oil glands. It adds a new scent to the air, new pheromones meant to attract and allure, and he screams when Jaguar’s hot, wet mouth closes over the gash and he sucks.
The world goes white when Osprey comes, his body bucking and his costume scraping against the uneven roof. The heat centered over his injury is suddenly gone, air displaced, and then strong thighs are straddling his waist and Jaguar is rutting against his ass, his cock hard behind the thin layer of leather. Fingers smear through the oil on his back, spreading it up and into his wings and wrapping around the wing joints to hold him down and dominate him. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, because Osprey has never actually shown his wings to anyone-no even knows who he is when he’s hiding behind his mask. Any lovers he’s had have never known who they’ve fallen into bed with. Jaguar knows him, though, even if it’s just this side of him.
“Do you have any idea,” the creature whispers, his breath hot and tangy from the scent of blood, “how hot you would look, naked and writhing beneath me? Do you even know how hot you would look wrapped around my cock, pretty little fledgling?”
There is no response to that but to moan, his wings flaring out and tilting up to expose his oil glands to Jaguar’s probing fingers. The weight on his hips leaves, and then claws are ripping through his pants, tearing them apart until he’s bare to the fingers that circle his hole and press inside. A claw scrapes against his rim and he stiffens, keening, and then relaxes; his legs spreading open and his hips rocking up so he’s balanced on his knees with his clenched teeth pressing against his gauntlets. Jaguar takes him apart like he already knows him, like he knows what gets him off and makes him tick. The fingers inside him spread, sending burning heat up his spine, and his entire body arches back into the pressure, a shudder working through him.
“Just fuckin’ do it,” he pants, desperate. “C’mon, Jaguar!” He hears a chuckle behind him, and then heat presses between his wings, against the patch of sweat-and-oil-slicked skin between the two joints. Teeth scrape and he muffles his keens, trying to focus on the gravel and tar digging into his bare knees.
“I think I like it when you call me that,” the creature whispers against his over-stimulated skin. A hot mouth presses against the down and fluff that grow from the joints, teeth scraping and pressing into muscle, and Osprey tightens up with a howl and comes again. He hadn’t even realized he was hard, too lost in everything else. By the time he’s ridden out the waves of pleasure, Jaguar is already behind him and pressing inside of his body, quick and hot, too much pressure and not enough gentle rocking. Osprey doesn’t care, though, not when it’s sending ecstasy sparking across his nerves, and he rears back onto the man’s cock until it slams fully inside of him and they’re locked together.
“Move,” he grits out, bloody fingers digging furrows into the roof, and Jaguar moves. He moves in short, deep snaps of his hips, not even pulling out fully before he’s slamming back into Osprey and striking agonizing pleasure off of his prostate. There’s no way he’s getting hard again, not after coming twice in such a short amount of time. All he can do is shove his hips up into every thrust and moan like an uninhibited whore at the way his entire body lights up, his wings arching before slamming back down against the ground and spreading out wide. It’s submission, his oil glands exposed, and when Jaguar starts to press against them with careful, determined claws he can’t manage much more than a strangled, gasping whine. The press of something furry against the back of his calf startles him until it slips up over his ass, the tip curling against his trembling hole and the drag of Jaguar’s cock. He realizes that it’s the creature’s tail and claws at the rooftop, ripping up strips of tar and tearing his nails even worse as he twists his hips and bucks back.
“You like my tail, bird?” Jaguar chuckles and pulls away, his cock leaving Osprey open and clenching, needing to be filled. He whines and looks back over his shoulders, craning to see over his wing joints. The man’s blue eyes are dark and wild, a smear of blood on his lips from Osprey’s wings. “Like it enough to take it?” He’s not sure what that means, but he gets his answer soon enough when Jaguar shifts up his body to straddle his back, his knees tucked under the sweeping span of Osprey’s feathers, and his tail wiggles its way inside of his body, hot fur and a twitching, pressing tip that makes him slam his head down against the ground and scream because he doesn’t know what else to do-it’s too much, far too much, and his body tightens in a dry orgasm that rips through him and leaves him sobbing for breath, Jaguar’s tail still inside of him.
The creature snarls, his hips jerking forward over the slick oil on his back, and suddenly he feels hot strands of cum spraying into his wings, marking him and making the feathers clump together. Fingers follow, carding through down and pinions as Jaguar smears his mark all over Osprey. It’s filthy, unsanitary, and the fact that Jaguar thinks he has the right infuriates him, but it’s sexy. It’s so unbelievably sexy that he just has to pant for a moment, silent and trying to regain his breath. He whines when the tail slides out of him and shifts his hips, his cock barely protected by the shreds of his clothes that have gathered beneath him.
“You flew high, didn’t you?” Jaguar chuckles as he pulls away. There’s a rasp of something over leather, and when Osprey manages to push himself into a sitting position, he turns and sees the creature’s claws scraping over his vest and pants, gathering up the cum and oil and licking it from his fingers. He’s lurching forward before he realizes it, nuzzling against the tawny material and licking broad, wet stripes through the mess smeared over it. Jaguar’s hands settle in his hair, just behind the mask again, and he feels it being unclipped; jerks away in surprise and blinks surprised golden eyes up at the creature when it falls away and his face is revealed.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demands.
“What?” the creature scoffs. “You think I’m going to let you go without showing that pretty face of yours, bird? Not after that, I’m not. Come on,” he slides a palm over Osprey’s cheek, the skin there rough and callused from his whip, “let me see those pretty eyes the way they’re supposed to be. I know gold isn’t your natural color.”
He has no excuse for why he lets his eyes change back to normal, gold bleeding away and leaving hazy, dark green behind. It shouldn’t make Jaguar smile the way he does, either, one thumb rubbing over the arch of his cheek, and Osprey stares at him curiously. The smile quickly turns into a smirk, fangs glinting, and then Jaguar is pulling away from him again.
“We’ll see each other real soon, pretty bird. Don’t let anyone else take you flying, though. I want to be the only one who sees you soar.” His purr rumbles in the air, disjointed, as he melts into the night and leaves Osprey to curl his wings around him, green eyes straining to see where the creature has gone as he surrounds himself with their mingled scents and lets the wind ruffle his hair.
Author: earth_heart
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Warnings: Superhero AU, abuse of leather
Spoilers: None~
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
AN: For sully86. Thank you highermagic for once again helping me figure out what the fuck I want to name people.
Summary: They’re not really sure what to call him-not Batman, because he’s not like that, but at the same time he does have the whole Bruce Wayne kind of vibe about him.
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The town of Lawrence, Kansas hasn’t had a crime in years. Not since the arrival of the man with the wings emblazoned on the back of his leather jacket. He literally swoops in on every crime scene, riding the thermals some might say, and punishes the wicked with his own particular brand of justice that leaves them unconscious and tied up in front of the police station, and civilians craning to catch a glimpse of his masked face. They’re not really sure what to call him-not Batman, because he’s not like that, but at the same time he does have the whole Bruce Wayne kind of vibe about him. He’s dark, and mysterious, but he doesn’t answer to a calling card of any kind. It’s just like he knows when he’s needed.
Osprey cannot believe the simplicity of people, sometimes. Then again, it’s not like they were ever expecting to be blessed with something like him. That’s all right, though, he doesn’t really care what they think. Newspapers bash him and praise him constantly, and civilians follow pretty much the same pattern. He’s exalted for his ability to keep them safe, but at the same time he’s scorned for doing something as childish and fantastical as donning a mask and a costume and prowling the streets at night. It doesn’t matter to him if they know his name or not. So long as they’re safe, that’s all he cares about.
Well, it used to be. Now it’s that and the creature that has invaded his turf, slinking through the dark alleyways and outright killing the more seedy criminals. Osprey is not okay with that, because masked hero or not, there are still rules to follow. The thing is breaking the law, and he won’t stand for that. He tails it for days, trying to get a sense of what it is, and then one night he turns around and it’s just there, staring at him with glowing cat-like blue eyes and dark, pointed ears that are flattened against the top of its-his-head.
“Saw you weren’t bothering to come and say hello yourself, pretty thing,” the creature drawls; his deep, rumbling voice caressing the air like a purr. A long, sinuous tail twitches and curls behind him, swaying and cutting a path through the dark air. Osprey, with his hawk-like sight, zeros in on the movement with wide golden eyes. He only uses this sight when he’s fighting crime, because otherwise it would be unnaturally hard to explain, but tonight he’s glad he’s letting this side of him free.
“You’re breaking the law,” he growls in reply, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring at the other man. “There are codes, you know.” The fact that the creature has the audacity to snort at him makes him click angrily, a sharp sound that vibrates through the air. “You’re not above the law just because you put on a mask, kitty.”
“Oh, like I haven’t heard the kitty comment before.” The man steps into a pool of fractured light, and Osprey gets his first good look without the aid of his enhanced eyesight. It looks like the guy got the idea of his wardrobe from Catwoman, because he’s dressed from head to toe in leather; dark, tawny-dyed leather with artfully-placed rips in the fabric across his chest, abdomen, and where the tight leather wraps around his powerful thighs and calves. There’s a whip coiled and hanging from a clip at his side, but it’s not like any whip Osprey has ever seen before. The actual length of the whip itself is dyed black, and it’s got silver barbs woven into the braided material-thick thorns of steel that are hooked to catch and rip. There are even barbs on the handle, but he doubts that’s a problem for the creature standing before him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have the weapon. The man sees him eying the weapon and smirks. “Like my length?”
Osprey hisses in reply and feels his wings stirring. He keeps them under control though, and hidden away. He’s never actually liked flying, and he’s not about to put himself on display for such a carefree, stupid fool. “You really just don’t care at all about human life, do you? You don’t deserve to call yourself a hero,” he spits, turning and starting to walk away. The air changes; he hears the crack and turns, throwing up an arm and wincing when the barbs of the whip wrap around his forearm and dig into the gauntlet there with uncomfortable pressure.
“Aw, pretty bird, don’t walk away from me now. Not before I get your name, at least.” The creature pads forward on bare, silent feet, his lips curling into a grin that shows of a flash of upper and lower fangs. They’re relatively small, though longer than a normal human’s, and Osprey would bet that they’re sharper than they look-stronger, too. The distance between them closes until he’s breathing in leather and musky heat with each breath, his golden eyes narrowing angrily as he stares into amused blue. This close he can see the way the man’s slit-shaped pupils expand and contract as he breathes in and tastes Osprey’s own scent, his full lips parting so he can bring it into his mouth, too.
“Call me pretty bird again, and I’ll kill you,” he growls. “My name’s Osprey. Try to remember that, kitty.”
“Osprey, huh? I like it, bird. It’s fitting.” There’s another flash of teeth, a smirk, and then Osprey is keening in angry surprise as a hand fists in his hair, careful not to dislodge the mask, and his head is jerked back. He feels a rough tongue rasp against his pulse point, licking up the sweat there, and the creature purrs. “You can call me Jaguar, pretty Osprey. Try not to be a stranger next time, yeah? It’s no fun when my prey flies too high in the sky. They always forget that landing hurts.”
Before he can strike, Jaguar is gone, melting into the shadows as if he’d never been there. His scent disappears just as quickly, leaving Osprey with a fading memory of heat and spice that makes his nose wrinkle and his groin throb. He’s always liked a challenge, the fight to come out on top, but this is almost too much. He doesn’t know what the hell is wrong with Jaguar, but the man seems to have no reservations, no care, and no inhibitions. That’s a dangerous mixture.
His wings cramp, pained from being held away for too long; he groans out a sound of relief as he peels off his jacket and exposes his bare back to the humid night air. He has to wear the jacket over the rest of his costume because of this, but when he’s alone he lets his wings free. That doesn’t mean he flies, because Osprey doesn’t do flying, but he still shudders, his spine rippling, and then his skin swells and ruptures as two enormous wings unfold. The spread wide and flap, unfurling slowly to ease the strain of being held in for so long, and he falls to his knees in relief from it-unaware of the two glowing eyes watching him from the shadows, or the flashing glint of teeth that speaks of a smile.
They meet again barely two nights later, while Osprey is carefully arranging his catch in front of the police station. The drug dealers are unconscious, one of them bleeding from the temple, and Osprey is letting his wings hang freely behind him. They’ve been temperamental, cramping and spasming if he keeps them tucked away for too long, and none of the criminals are ever expecting to see them when he arrives. He can ride the thermals down without them, relying on his light frame and his ability to warp the air pockets to his needs, but the wings do add a certain kind of dramatic effect.
“Well, well, fancy meeting you here,” he hears from behind him, and he whirls around immediately, wings bristling from anger, and glares at Jaguar. The creature is leaning against a lamp post, the light making his dark hair shine. He’s brazen, going without wearing any kind of mask, and Osprey realizes that he wasn’t wearing one last time, either. It’s like Jaguar doesn’t care who sees his face, which is incredibly unusual, and more than a little reckless.
“What the fuck do you want?” Osprey isn’t in the mood to deal with this. His wings hurt because he’s molting, and one of the drug dealers managed to clip the outside edge of the left one with his knife. It didn’t cut deeply, but his feathers are matted from blood and it’s making him more aggressive than usual. He watches Jaguar scent the air and know he smells the blood. The creature’s blue eyes go dark, almost navy, and he looks right at the injured wing.
“Those fuckers get you, pretty bird?” he asks seriously. It almost looks like the thought of it enrages him, and Osprey wonders if camaraderie actually does mean something to Jaguar. It’s a surprising realization, considering how their last interaction went. Still, he pulls his injured wing closer to his body even despite the lance of pain it sends through him.
“Not badly.” It’s a deflection and they both know it. He watches Jaguar’s lips curl up into a smirk as the man slinks forward, his leather costume shifting fluidly with his body and rippling with his muscles. It’s erotic and entrancing, something he almost doesn’t want to look away from; like this is part of the man’s power, ensnaring others with just the way he moves and looks. Before Osprey knows it, he’s breathing a little heavier and hot fingers are curling around the upper edge of his wing, nails scraping lightly through feathers and down.
“Looks bad,” Jaguar comments lightly, bending over to sniff at the wound. Osprey sees a flash and curl of pink tongue, and then it’s lapping at the gash in rough little kitten-like licks. It hurts, but at the same time there’s so much heat being created from the action, trickles of arousal winding their way through sensitive muscle and shivering down his spine to settle in his groin. He almost stumbles under the thrill of it, his hands flying out to catch the railing of the stairs so he can cling to it. A soft, startled keen slips from him and he lowers his head, wings spreading wider-putting himself on display until he realizes what he’s doing and jerks away. Jaguar lets him go, his eyes dark from lust and the air around him reeking of it. His ears are flattened against his skull, his tail lashing behind him.
“Don’t fuckin’ do that,” Osprey hisses, his throat producing an array of warning clicks; much like any bird of prey would. “You don’t get to do that.” It’s not helping, though; not making his blood cool or those looks on Jaguar’s face go away. The creature advances on him, like a big cat stalking a wounded robin, and the thought of it makes his feathers bristle and his wings rise in aggression. He’s displaying his size and power, even with the injury, but Jaguar’s not phased at all.
Unsure of what to do, Osprey does the only thing he can think of-he fights. His fists fly, punches tight and controlled but still more powerful than a human could hope to match. When Jaguar ducks and swerves to avoid the blows, he sweeps his foot around to knock the man’s feet out from under him. It earns him a furious hiss and the glint of claws, and he flinches at the fire that burns across his bicep when the creature’s claws catch and dig in. Osprey has always fought hand to hand, it’s what he’s good at, and he uses his wings now too. Jaguar isn’t expecting the sudden blow from the left and goes down hard, his head cracking off the concrete.
Osprey doesn’t wait for him to get up, though he knows he will. He just turns and darts down the closest dark alley, knowing that this kind of fight is not meant to take place outside of a police station at three in the morning. He hears the slap of bare feet, hears Jaguar’s snarl, and can almost image he feels the hot puff of breath on the back of his neck before he’s jumping and catching a low thermal, riding it up to the top of the apartment building. His wings flutter when he lands, and he barely turns around when Jaguar is suddenly there. He must have used his whip to help him get up the side of the building.
Muscle and power slams into him and sends him reeling back. Osprey keens in shock and pain, his injured wing throbbing, but he tucks it close because it’s a weakness and keeps fighting. He doesn’t have an actual weapon, never thought he needed one, and Jaguar drops his whip when they come together again in a clash of muscle and strength. He’s bigger than the man, but that doesn’t mean Jaguar’s not strong. The creature is incredibly strong, maybe even stronger than him, and now that he knows to be wary of Osprey’s wings he’s keeping an eye on them. He’s also unashamedly attacking in points that he knows are weaker, like Osprey’s arm and his injured wing.
A moment of stupidity and Osprey knows he’s lost before the battle is even over. He strikes with his injured wing, just trying to get Jaguar away from it, and the man hisses in victory when his claws dig into the gash and hold on. He has to stop moving in a split second to keep from destroying his wing, and the pain is so intense that his knees buckle. Jaguar growls at him, more beast than animal, and he sinks to the ground when the creature tugs on his wing. He has no choice, and he’s not even sure why they’re fighting anyway. Because Osprey doesn’t like feeling like someone is taking his job, maybe, or because Jaguar is just so uncaring about what consequences his actions might have. Whatever it is, it started two nights ago, and tonight rings with the finality that means they’re going to finish it, one way or another.
“Such a pretty fledgling,” Jaguar whispers, lowering his mouth to the wound again. “I told you to be careful, or the landing would hurt.” He licks up the blood and Osprey moans, collapsing fully against the scratchy roof tiles and clawing at them weakly until his nails rip because he doesn’t know what else to do. His free wing flaps wildly in response to the pleasure, feathers bristling, and he can feel oil already starting to coat his back, leaking from his oil glands. It adds a new scent to the air, new pheromones meant to attract and allure, and he screams when Jaguar’s hot, wet mouth closes over the gash and he sucks.
The world goes white when Osprey comes, his body bucking and his costume scraping against the uneven roof. The heat centered over his injury is suddenly gone, air displaced, and then strong thighs are straddling his waist and Jaguar is rutting against his ass, his cock hard behind the thin layer of leather. Fingers smear through the oil on his back, spreading it up and into his wings and wrapping around the wing joints to hold him down and dominate him. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, because Osprey has never actually shown his wings to anyone-no even knows who he is when he’s hiding behind his mask. Any lovers he’s had have never known who they’ve fallen into bed with. Jaguar knows him, though, even if it’s just this side of him.
“Do you have any idea,” the creature whispers, his breath hot and tangy from the scent of blood, “how hot you would look, naked and writhing beneath me? Do you even know how hot you would look wrapped around my cock, pretty little fledgling?”
There is no response to that but to moan, his wings flaring out and tilting up to expose his oil glands to Jaguar’s probing fingers. The weight on his hips leaves, and then claws are ripping through his pants, tearing them apart until he’s bare to the fingers that circle his hole and press inside. A claw scrapes against his rim and he stiffens, keening, and then relaxes; his legs spreading open and his hips rocking up so he’s balanced on his knees with his clenched teeth pressing against his gauntlets. Jaguar takes him apart like he already knows him, like he knows what gets him off and makes him tick. The fingers inside him spread, sending burning heat up his spine, and his entire body arches back into the pressure, a shudder working through him.
“Just fuckin’ do it,” he pants, desperate. “C’mon, Jaguar!” He hears a chuckle behind him, and then heat presses between his wings, against the patch of sweat-and-oil-slicked skin between the two joints. Teeth scrape and he muffles his keens, trying to focus on the gravel and tar digging into his bare knees.
“I think I like it when you call me that,” the creature whispers against his over-stimulated skin. A hot mouth presses against the down and fluff that grow from the joints, teeth scraping and pressing into muscle, and Osprey tightens up with a howl and comes again. He hadn’t even realized he was hard, too lost in everything else. By the time he’s ridden out the waves of pleasure, Jaguar is already behind him and pressing inside of his body, quick and hot, too much pressure and not enough gentle rocking. Osprey doesn’t care, though, not when it’s sending ecstasy sparking across his nerves, and he rears back onto the man’s cock until it slams fully inside of him and they’re locked together.
“Move,” he grits out, bloody fingers digging furrows into the roof, and Jaguar moves. He moves in short, deep snaps of his hips, not even pulling out fully before he’s slamming back into Osprey and striking agonizing pleasure off of his prostate. There’s no way he’s getting hard again, not after coming twice in such a short amount of time. All he can do is shove his hips up into every thrust and moan like an uninhibited whore at the way his entire body lights up, his wings arching before slamming back down against the ground and spreading out wide. It’s submission, his oil glands exposed, and when Jaguar starts to press against them with careful, determined claws he can’t manage much more than a strangled, gasping whine. The press of something furry against the back of his calf startles him until it slips up over his ass, the tip curling against his trembling hole and the drag of Jaguar’s cock. He realizes that it’s the creature’s tail and claws at the rooftop, ripping up strips of tar and tearing his nails even worse as he twists his hips and bucks back.
“You like my tail, bird?” Jaguar chuckles and pulls away, his cock leaving Osprey open and clenching, needing to be filled. He whines and looks back over his shoulders, craning to see over his wing joints. The man’s blue eyes are dark and wild, a smear of blood on his lips from Osprey’s wings. “Like it enough to take it?” He’s not sure what that means, but he gets his answer soon enough when Jaguar shifts up his body to straddle his back, his knees tucked under the sweeping span of Osprey’s feathers, and his tail wiggles its way inside of his body, hot fur and a twitching, pressing tip that makes him slam his head down against the ground and scream because he doesn’t know what else to do-it’s too much, far too much, and his body tightens in a dry orgasm that rips through him and leaves him sobbing for breath, Jaguar’s tail still inside of him.
The creature snarls, his hips jerking forward over the slick oil on his back, and suddenly he feels hot strands of cum spraying into his wings, marking him and making the feathers clump together. Fingers follow, carding through down and pinions as Jaguar smears his mark all over Osprey. It’s filthy, unsanitary, and the fact that Jaguar thinks he has the right infuriates him, but it’s sexy. It’s so unbelievably sexy that he just has to pant for a moment, silent and trying to regain his breath. He whines when the tail slides out of him and shifts his hips, his cock barely protected by the shreds of his clothes that have gathered beneath him.
“You flew high, didn’t you?” Jaguar chuckles as he pulls away. There’s a rasp of something over leather, and when Osprey manages to push himself into a sitting position, he turns and sees the creature’s claws scraping over his vest and pants, gathering up the cum and oil and licking it from his fingers. He’s lurching forward before he realizes it, nuzzling against the tawny material and licking broad, wet stripes through the mess smeared over it. Jaguar’s hands settle in his hair, just behind the mask again, and he feels it being unclipped; jerks away in surprise and blinks surprised golden eyes up at the creature when it falls away and his face is revealed.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demands.
“What?” the creature scoffs. “You think I’m going to let you go without showing that pretty face of yours, bird? Not after that, I’m not. Come on,” he slides a palm over Osprey’s cheek, the skin there rough and callused from his whip, “let me see those pretty eyes the way they’re supposed to be. I know gold isn’t your natural color.”
He has no excuse for why he lets his eyes change back to normal, gold bleeding away and leaving hazy, dark green behind. It shouldn’t make Jaguar smile the way he does, either, one thumb rubbing over the arch of his cheek, and Osprey stares at him curiously. The smile quickly turns into a smirk, fangs glinting, and then Jaguar is pulling away from him again.
“We’ll see each other real soon, pretty bird. Don’t let anyone else take you flying, though. I want to be the only one who sees you soar.” His purr rumbles in the air, disjointed, as he melts into the night and leaves Osprey to curl his wings around him, green eyes straining to see where the creature has gone as he surrounds himself with their mingled scents and lets the wind ruffle his hair.