Muscle and Bone and Feathers

by Gunbunny

Shen's skin is soft.  Unsurprising, really.  She's young, she takes good care of it, and she's not inclined to go sunbathing a lot.  Skin that's a part of feeling for wind currents so she can divine the future in their gusts, telling her which way to go, which way the Huntress should fly to seek her prey. 

Jenny doesn't know who gifted the Authority with those poncey-sounding nicknames that ended up being so horribly bloody descriptive.  Christ, whoever thought up 'Night's Bringer of War' should be put up against a wall and shot.  Come the revolution.  People use that phrase a lot.  'Come the revolution, _insert name here_ will be first against the wall.'  Jenny's seen a lot've revolutions in her time.  The named people don't always go up against the wall, though.  Often as not, the people they say should be shot are the ones that end up on the local equivalent of the throne, or at least on the inner circle.  And the ones that end up against the wall, bewildered as to how they got there, are the ones that dreamt up the revolution in the first place.  Sad, really.  Jenny's always pitied those mad bastards who thought dreams could get you somewhere and be made real without hurting anyone.  Dreams that start rolling in the light of day normally turn out to be nightmares.  And they gather a fuckload of moss.

Jenny's had her own dreams, the mad, bad, crazy ones, but they mostly got taken off at the kneecaps by the reality she could see, the fact that most people are utter wankers.  They can't help themselves.  Seems to be wired into their DNA.  Lets her fingers trace down Shen's spine, the feel of the vertebrae underneath banishing the skittering depressive thoughts to the back of her mind for a few seconds, so they can seethe quietly on their own. Lightens the touch even more, so it's just the very fine hairs she's touching.  Dips into the hollow of her lower back, tracing circles and spirals and strange archaic symbols; comforting and arousing at the same time.  Shen just shivers and hums slightly.  It's a definite pleased sound, human equivalent of a purr.  Pretty.

Jenny pauses to shift the angle she's propped up at, so she can relieve the stiffness in her shoulder before it starts.  Staying in one position too long's never been a strong point of hers.  Moves her fingers from the hollow to skitter down Shen's bum, back and forth across the skin there.  From her bum to the top of her legs, across a tiny scar Shen has no idea how she got.  Jenny's asked, and the only thing Shen can think of is that she got it somehow as a kid, sitting on something sharp.  Jenny's buggered if she can think of any better reason.  She's got scars in a couple of odd places herself that she can't account for.  They're in the minority to the ones she can, though.  Pushes those thoughts back to where they came from, promising them decent whisky later.  Maybe Teacher's.  She hasn't had that in a while, be good to have something that doesn't start with Glen- or Mac- whatever the pissed Scotsmen came up with.

Back of the knees now, which is as far as Jenny can stretch from this position.  Tickles them, and there's the faintest *whuf* of breath from Shen.  Yeah, definitely ticklish, and Jenny knows all her hot spots.  Stops the torment, traces back up the inside of the legs to find another ticklish spot, but instead of tickling, she decides just to trace round the area for now.  Likes the laziness of this extended moment.

Moves her fingers back up to the one of the unbelievably sensitive spots that Shen's wings sprout out of.  If Jenny pinches the skin, or digs her fingers with their bitten nails into that spot at the right moment during sex, it sends Shen right over the edge.  You'd think there would be a scar there, something to denote that massive fucking wings that have no place on a human sprout from there.  But no, not even a bit of skin a slightly different shade.

Jenny still can't figure out where all that mass to create the wings comes from.  Muscle and bone and feathers, and it's a fucking lot, because those wings are bloody massive, bigger than Shen's petite frame.  The others on the team don't change, their power's something fucked up in their muscles and hind-brains.  Shen just grows these wings and then drops them when she no longer needs them.  Memory intrudes of a time Shen was trying to melt them down in the bathtub of some nameless hotel in a city full of coppers with superpowers, and just the image makes her smirk.  Beat 'em to death with the wet ends.

Traces from the mark up to Shen's hairline now, and around to her ears.  Shen turns her face towards the touch, revealing her nose.  Jenny's tempted for an instant by a childish impulse to tweak it, but dismisses it.  Nah.  Not worth it.  Last touch is one across Shen's lips.  Very soft, these.  Bloody talented, too.

They quirk into a half-smile. Without opening her eyes, Shen reaches out and pulls Jenny up the bed so they're level, then scoots over so her head's nestled on Jenny's shoulder. The message is quite clear; Shen wants to sleep and thinks Jenny should, too.  Sod it.  Might as well follow her advice.

END.  Now bugger off and buy Warren Ellis comics.  It's for your own good.

 

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