The Opposite Of Falling (Butcher/Sisky)
The unexplained wing-fic fic. ~1,000 words.
Butcher's wings are light gray, with several darker spots that look almost splattered on. He'd always assumed it was from smoking somehow, or from his tattoo, or from getting older. He doesn't find out a real reason until Brendon, until Brendon explains that it's just the way they are. Everyone's different, Brendon had said, they're born white and they grow and change along with the person. He knew one other back home with wings, and hers were deep blue, the feathers spread thin. She couldn't fly, she'd never even tried.
Brendon's wings are thick and fluffy, a dull gold color indoors and nearly blinding outside if the sun catches them just right. Patrick's are blue-ish; they're blue until you look at them straight on, at which point they seem to almost take on an iridescent effect, all yellows and pinks and blues and white.
Gabe's wings are kind of terrifying. Mostly because they're as wide as he is tall, and a shade of green normally found only in the deepest depths of the rain forest.
"Also," Mike says very seriously that night, while he and Butcher are sitting outside the bus smoking. "It's Gabe. With wings. Shit."
Butcher just shrugs when Mike doesn't elaborate. His own wings are twitching a bit at his sides, and he kinda wants to head up, go flying or something. But Brendon's had three beers, and there's no way Zack is going to let him fly after drinking. He thinks about asking Gabe, but dismisses the thought. Gabe is sitting on the floor in front of the bench, wings spread and his head leaned back in Travis' lap. Travis has one hand on Gabe's head, the other brushing lightly through his feathers. It would take a meaner man than Butcher to pull either of them away from that. There was Patrick. But Patrick hates flying. He said one night that it felt too much like falling, which Butcher really didn't understand, because it was completely the opposite for him.
Whatever. Butcher leaned his head to the side, neck popping loudly. He's tense and tight and kind of feels like he needs to go fly, so he starts hunting around for Sisky. It's an unwritten law that Sisky will always be there when you need him. There's always Sisky. Butcher barely starts looking before Sisky appears in front of him, climbing off the bus with Tony, laughing at something.
"Hey Sisky," Butcher held out his arms, spreading his wings as well. "Wanna ride?"
Sisky grinned, looking over at Tony with puppy dog eyes. Tony sighed, taking a quick scan of their surroundings. They'd packed an obscene amount of people onto the TAI bus, driving half an hour straight out into the desert, until the lights from their last stop had all but faded into the horizon. Pete had planned this night off specifically for the winged ones, his name for Butcher and Brendon and Patrick and Gabe (and Frank, though he was never around anymore).
"Fifteen minutes," Tony said. "No going super high. And no tricks, no upside-downs, no barrel rolls or dive-bombing or-"
"No fun..." Sisky muttered, but he was grinning as he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Butcher's neck. Butcher had his arms around Sisky's waist, tugging him closer as they crouched down and pushed off and it was the opposite of falling all over again.
Butcher likes flying, but he likes flying with someone else most of all. If none of the other winged ones are around, Sisky is his first choice. Most of the time, truth be told, Sisky's still his first choice. He's the perfect size, the perfect companion, perfect all around. Bill's legs tended to create more drag than was tolerable, and Chiz and Mike fidget and squirm constantly. Tony had refused every offer Butcher had made him, and James turned green the one time he'd asked. Chris V had been disappointed but not altogether surprised when they never even made it off the ground.
Sisky not only knows how to stay still, he knows to stay quiet too. He hasn't really mastered either while on the ground, but in the air he knows Butcher likes to concentrate on the sound of the air rushing past, on the rustle of feathers beating against his back, the rhythm of the strokes steady and even, cutting through the night.
Tonight, Butcher does a few laps above the bus before heading upward, quietly ignoring most of Tony's edicts. He twirls them in a tight circle all the way up, just enough that Sisky's legs kick out a bit and he laughs breathlessly past Butcher's ear. When it starts to get noticeably colder, he stops to hover in place, wings beating roughly as they bobbed up and down. He squeezes Sisky again, another unspoken signal they'd worked out months ago, tells him to go ahead if he wants.
"This-" Sisky started. He cleared his throat. "This is amazing."
He knows Sisky's looking over his shoulder, looking at the view, looking at the city on the horizon. He knows Sisky's talking about flying, about being this high up with nothing but two arms supporting him. He knows...
He knows Sisky trusts that his two arms will keep him safe. He knows despite the cold he can feel Sisky's breath on his shoulder, on his neck. All of a sudden, he realizes he knows.
Butcher turned his head slightly, until he's looking mostly at Sisky, at the side of his head.
"Better than amazing," Butcher muttered. "S'perfect."
He brushed his lips just below Sisky's ear, light enough that, Heaven forbid, he could shrug it off later. He could pretend it never happened. It would possibly kill him, but he'd do it if-
After a moment of silence, Sisky's arms squeezed around his shoulders. Just once.
It's way past the fifteen minute limit before they float back to Earth.
Butcher's wings are light gray, with several darker spots that look almost splattered on. He'd always assumed it was from smoking somehow, or from his tattoo, or from getting older. He doesn't find out a real reason until Brendon, until Brendon explains that it's just the way they are. Everyone's different, Brendon had said, they're born white and they grow and change along with the person. He knew one other back home with wings, and hers were deep blue, the feathers spread thin. She couldn't fly, she'd never even tried.
Brendon's wings are thick and fluffy, a dull gold color indoors and nearly blinding outside if the sun catches them just right. Patrick's are blue-ish; they're blue until you look at them straight on, at which point they seem to almost take on an iridescent effect, all yellows and pinks and blues and white.
Gabe's wings are kind of terrifying. Mostly because they're as wide as he is tall, and a shade of green normally found only in the deepest depths of the rain forest.
"Also," Mike says very seriously that night, while he and Butcher are sitting outside the bus smoking. "It's Gabe. With wings. Shit."
Butcher just shrugs when Mike doesn't elaborate. His own wings are twitching a bit at his sides, and he kinda wants to head up, go flying or something. But Brendon's had three beers, and there's no way Zack is going to let him fly after drinking. He thinks about asking Gabe, but dismisses the thought. Gabe is sitting on the floor in front of the bench, wings spread and his head leaned back in Travis' lap. Travis has one hand on Gabe's head, the other brushing lightly through his feathers. It would take a meaner man than Butcher to pull either of them away from that. There was Patrick. But Patrick hates flying. He said one night that it felt too much like falling, which Butcher really didn't understand, because it was completely the opposite for him.
Whatever. Butcher leaned his head to the side, neck popping loudly. He's tense and tight and kind of feels like he needs to go fly, so he starts hunting around for Sisky. It's an unwritten law that Sisky will always be there when you need him. There's always Sisky. Butcher barely starts looking before Sisky appears in front of him, climbing off the bus with Tony, laughing at something.
"Hey Sisky," Butcher held out his arms, spreading his wings as well. "Wanna ride?"
Sisky grinned, looking over at Tony with puppy dog eyes. Tony sighed, taking a quick scan of their surroundings. They'd packed an obscene amount of people onto the TAI bus, driving half an hour straight out into the desert, until the lights from their last stop had all but faded into the horizon. Pete had planned this night off specifically for the winged ones, his name for Butcher and Brendon and Patrick and Gabe (and Frank, though he was never around anymore).
"Fifteen minutes," Tony said. "No going super high. And no tricks, no upside-downs, no barrel rolls or dive-bombing or-"
"No fun..." Sisky muttered, but he was grinning as he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Butcher's neck. Butcher had his arms around Sisky's waist, tugging him closer as they crouched down and pushed off and it was the opposite of falling all over again.
Butcher likes flying, but he likes flying with someone else most of all. If none of the other winged ones are around, Sisky is his first choice. Most of the time, truth be told, Sisky's still his first choice. He's the perfect size, the perfect companion, perfect all around. Bill's legs tended to create more drag than was tolerable, and Chiz and Mike fidget and squirm constantly. Tony had refused every offer Butcher had made him, and James turned green the one time he'd asked. Chris V had been disappointed but not altogether surprised when they never even made it off the ground.
Sisky not only knows how to stay still, he knows to stay quiet too. He hasn't really mastered either while on the ground, but in the air he knows Butcher likes to concentrate on the sound of the air rushing past, on the rustle of feathers beating against his back, the rhythm of the strokes steady and even, cutting through the night.
Tonight, Butcher does a few laps above the bus before heading upward, quietly ignoring most of Tony's edicts. He twirls them in a tight circle all the way up, just enough that Sisky's legs kick out a bit and he laughs breathlessly past Butcher's ear. When it starts to get noticeably colder, he stops to hover in place, wings beating roughly as they bobbed up and down. He squeezes Sisky again, another unspoken signal they'd worked out months ago, tells him to go ahead if he wants.
"This-" Sisky started. He cleared his throat. "This is amazing."
He knows Sisky's looking over his shoulder, looking at the view, looking at the city on the horizon. He knows Sisky's talking about flying, about being this high up with nothing but two arms supporting him. He knows...
He knows Sisky trusts that his two arms will keep him safe. He knows despite the cold he can feel Sisky's breath on his shoulder, on his neck. All of a sudden, he realizes he knows.
Butcher turned his head slightly, until he's looking mostly at Sisky, at the side of his head.
"Better than amazing," Butcher muttered. "S'perfect."
He brushed his lips just below Sisky's ear, light enough that, Heaven forbid, he could shrug it off later. He could pretend it never happened. It would possibly kill him, but he'd do it if-
After a moment of silence, Sisky's arms squeezed around his shoulders. Just once.
It's way past the fifteen minute limit before they float back to Earth.