Untitled snippet of untitled AU
Some of you may have seen my post on cmficfinders asking for any CM Wing!fic that may have been written while I've been out of the loop.
This is just...a snippet of why. I'm working on it, I'm still working out the AU mythos, etc. But I thought you might get a kick out of it.
Also, it needs a title.
The door to the break room closed, a thin barrier of imagined safety, a bulwark against the attentions of his teammates and other agents in the building. Reid wasted a few seconds to lean back against it, shoulders flat against the wood, head tipped back to stare sightlessly at the ceiling as he gulped down air.
Then he was all motion, shaking fingers stripping off tie, vest, sweater, sharp needles of pain stabbing up and down his back as he shuffled aimlessly around the small room, discarded clothing landing in sad piles on the floor or limp over the back of a chair. “Don’t have time for this,” he whispered to himself, a half-unspoken mantra, but he knew it was futile; the pain had gotten too strong, too distracting, and he no longer had a choice. It was either take the time to fix it or-
Skin bare from the waist up, Reid hooked blunt nails over prominent collarbones and shrugged, the pin-stabs in his back ballooning outward as dove grey wings appeared and half-spread. Ragged tips dragged across the floor, edges hitting the counter, the wall before bent feathers and splintered shafts sparked too much pain for him to support and his wings drooped, rough carpet pressing against damaged pinions. He knew better than to fold them, knew the oil glands underneath would be swollen, sore, leaking, and he couldn’t afford the mess, streaks of slick wetness smelling of musk and old parchment.
Instead, Reid stretched carefully, first one, then the other, feathers ruffling and smoothing over and over, trying to align themselves properly and failing. Caught up in his own rising panic, he failed to answer the questioning knock on the door.
This is just...a snippet of why. I'm working on it, I'm still working out the AU mythos, etc. But I thought you might get a kick out of it.
Also, it needs a title.
The door to the break room closed, a thin barrier of imagined safety, a bulwark against the attentions of his teammates and other agents in the building. Reid wasted a few seconds to lean back against it, shoulders flat against the wood, head tipped back to stare sightlessly at the ceiling as he gulped down air.
Then he was all motion, shaking fingers stripping off tie, vest, sweater, sharp needles of pain stabbing up and down his back as he shuffled aimlessly around the small room, discarded clothing landing in sad piles on the floor or limp over the back of a chair. “Don’t have time for this,” he whispered to himself, a half-unspoken mantra, but he knew it was futile; the pain had gotten too strong, too distracting, and he no longer had a choice. It was either take the time to fix it or-
Skin bare from the waist up, Reid hooked blunt nails over prominent collarbones and shrugged, the pin-stabs in his back ballooning outward as dove grey wings appeared and half-spread. Ragged tips dragged across the floor, edges hitting the counter, the wall before bent feathers and splintered shafts sparked too much pain for him to support and his wings drooped, rough carpet pressing against damaged pinions. He knew better than to fold them, knew the oil glands underneath would be swollen, sore, leaking, and he couldn’t afford the mess, streaks of slick wetness smelling of musk and old parchment.
Instead, Reid stretched carefully, first one, then the other, feathers ruffling and smoothing over and over, trying to align themselves properly and failing. Caught up in his own rising panic, he failed to answer the questioning knock on the door.