Angel // Kis-My-Ft2
Wrote this ages ago, but finally edited it enough to post.
Angel
Fujigaya/Tamamori
PG-13, 368 words
Fujigaya has wings in the middle of his back. They begin at his shoulder blades and arch up and out, fluidity like eloquence in the way each downy feather lies against the next, down down down his back to the wing tips that almost touch the ground. They're majestic, graceful, sweeping, a pure and translucent white like pearls or flower petals or first snowfalls.
People stare, wherever he goes, whispering excitedly behind their hands or reaching out to reverently stroke a finger against the feathered edges. All his life, he's had people tell him how beautiful his wings are, how beautiful they make him, with his innate elegance and awesome wingspan. His past lovers - every last one of them - have called him Angel in the bedroom.
Fujigaya hates his wings. He hates that they're all people see of him, hates to be compared to an angel when he knows he's more like a demon. Common sense and his friends tell him he’s only human, with human failings, but he’s always been more awake to his faults than his virtues so he resents his wings for the lies they tell about him.
Fujigaya hates his wings because they're defective. He's never been able to fly, no matter how hard he's tried; they've never been able to bear his weight, too pretty and perfect for use.
He meets Tamamori by accident, at a dirty little oden cart, of all the unromantic places in the world. They exchange pleasantries about the weather and their numbers, and go out drinking until the wee hours of the morning, and stay in kissing until the sun burns up in the sky. Not once does Tamamori mention the mass of feathers that trail behind Fujigaya, dogging his steps like an inverted shadow.
In the end, it's Fujigaya who broaches the topic first. He doesn't want to, but they're an annoyance, a complex, a fucking obsession, and the words fall from his lips before he can check them. "Is it because you found them beautiful, my wings? Like those of an angel?"
"No." Tamamori speaks simply, as he always does, though his eyes widen a little in surprise. "No, but I think you’re beautiful."
Angel
Fujigaya/Tamamori
PG-13, 368 words
Fujigaya has wings in the middle of his back. They begin at his shoulder blades and arch up and out, fluidity like eloquence in the way each downy feather lies against the next, down down down his back to the wing tips that almost touch the ground. They're majestic, graceful, sweeping, a pure and translucent white like pearls or flower petals or first snowfalls.
People stare, wherever he goes, whispering excitedly behind their hands or reaching out to reverently stroke a finger against the feathered edges. All his life, he's had people tell him how beautiful his wings are, how beautiful they make him, with his innate elegance and awesome wingspan. His past lovers - every last one of them - have called him Angel in the bedroom.
Fujigaya hates his wings. He hates that they're all people see of him, hates to be compared to an angel when he knows he's more like a demon. Common sense and his friends tell him he’s only human, with human failings, but he’s always been more awake to his faults than his virtues so he resents his wings for the lies they tell about him.
Fujigaya hates his wings because they're defective. He's never been able to fly, no matter how hard he's tried; they've never been able to bear his weight, too pretty and perfect for use.
He meets Tamamori by accident, at a dirty little oden cart, of all the unromantic places in the world. They exchange pleasantries about the weather and their numbers, and go out drinking until the wee hours of the morning, and stay in kissing until the sun burns up in the sky. Not once does Tamamori mention the mass of feathers that trail behind Fujigaya, dogging his steps like an inverted shadow.
In the end, it's Fujigaya who broaches the topic first. He doesn't want to, but they're an annoyance, a complex, a fucking obsession, and the words fall from his lips before he can check them. "Is it because you found them beautiful, my wings? Like those of an angel?"
"No." Tamamori speaks simply, as he always does, though his eyes widen a little in surprise. "No, but I think you’re beautiful."