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“S-Stelle…” Sunday squirmed, breath a bit ragged. His hands, resting on the mattress, each on one side of her body, were shaking a little. “C-could you please d-don't- Ah…”
In contrast to his pained expression, her eyes shone with interest and curiosity. And deep down, a little bit of malice too.
“But why?” She asked. The hand that was on the wings behind his ear rubbed the soft, sensitive surface beneath the feathers, and the hand on his back gently scratched the scar where his other wings once had been. Sunday gasped, gripping the sheets tightly between his fingers. Stelle observed all this, scoffing. “Is it that much sensitive for halovians?”
He grunted in frustration, the wings behind his ears flapping nervously, almost like trying to shoo her hand away.
“I don't know, okay? It is for me , I- Ngh! Don't grab it like this!”
“Sorry, sorry.” She chuckled, not really looking so for her actions, returning to caress those exquisite limbs carefully. “But I've been wondering…” His entire body shook, and he gasped again. She took note of where she had touched, humming silently before continuing: “If you could, maybe, climax just from this?”
He glared at her. Not that it had much effect, since she found his flushed and threatening gaze much more endearing than anything.
“Stelle, that’s not- Ack! What are you doing?!”
“Hm? Oh, I just wanted to confirm that you were arou-”
Sunday quickly covered her mouth with his hand, his expression flushed and furious.
“Don’t say it!” She blinked her eyes. With a muffled scoff, she moved her foot slightly, rubbing it against his crotch. Sunday trembled. “Stelle… Wouldn't it just be so much easier if we did... the usual… and all?"
Her lips seemed to curve beneath Sunday's hand. She shook her head slowly, her foot moving almost invasively over the bulge in his pants, her hands gently scratching the juncture between his wings and the back of his ears. His body arched once more, and he let out a sound… like a whine.
She bit the palm of her hand, making him take it off her mouth very quickly, seeming even a bit offended. She giggled, saying: “I like to explore new things, you know.”
With a grimace, but his voice already sounding more resigned, “But couldn’t it be something else?”
“It could… but do you prefer candles melting on your tied body or this?” She gave his wing a light tug.
Sunday seemed to think. And that seemed to irritate her.
“A-aromatic candles, you say?”
“No, seven-day candles.”
“What?! Why would you use a sacred candle for this sort of thing?!”
He looked horrified. She shrugged.
“Because I want to. So? Which one would you prefer?”
Looking at her and seeing how serious she looked, he pursed his lips. There's no way Sunday would let her melt a seven-day candle on him.
“F-fine, fine! Have your way, then!”
He gave up. Her smile widened abnormally. Before he could even process the information, she lifted her own body forward and kissed him.
He seemed surprised and a little lost at first, but his reaction was quick. He grabbed her waist and kissed her back. With her foot still, he leaned his body forward, pushing her back onto the mattress.
She didn't seem to mind, opening her legs invitingly, kissing him hungrily, her hands moving from his wings to his hair, fingers scratching his scalp.
Sunday seemed to melt under her kisses. Stelle's tongue felt so hot against his, her mouth so welcoming… He particularly loved it when she nibbled his lower lip between her teeth.
His mind was getting foggy. He positioned himself between her legs, his hips tentatively dry humping once or twice against her. Stelle sighed against his lips, breaking the kiss.
“Too eager.”
He was breathing quickly.. “Sorry…” He said, laying his head on her chest, still trying to catch his oxygen.
She stroked his soft hair. His wings were swaying, welcoming the caress. She chuckled, finding it cute because he probably hadn’t even noticed.
“It’s okay, it’s not all bad.”
Looking satisfied, he hummed something, slightly nuzzling his face against her chest.
They both remained silent for a while.
She continued to caress him, and he caught his breath, hugging her, listening to her heartbeat.
Then, he murmured: “Why are you still wearing your shirt?”
“Because you’re still wearing pants.”
He raised his head, looking at his own body.
“Oh, right. Hold on, I’ll take them off.”
He released her, sitting up completely, and she propped herself up on her elbows, watching him hurriedly get rid of his pants. After pulling them off his body, she called him when his fingers touched the hem of his underwear: “Leave those there.”
His brows furrowed. She shrugged, standing up. Pulling him to the middle of the bed with such an ease that Sunday still found a bit frightening, she straddled him, hands roaming over his torso.
“It’s kinda cute. Your underwear is dark blue, and my underwear is light blue. It matches.”
He placed his hands on her thighs.
“Hmn. That’s true. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that color before.”
“That used to be March’s.” He raised an eyebrow. She raised another. “What?”
“I thought girls didn’t share underwear.”
“We don’t.”
“Then what-”
“Asking a girl about her exes is really rude.” She pinched his ribs. “I don’t talk about Gallagher with you!”
“Hey! Me and Gallagher never- Mn!”
She moved her hips, rotating them, rubbing both their intimate parts together hardly. Her grip on his thighs tightened, and he bit his lip, holding back his sounds.
She huffed, a smile on her lips.
“We can talk about March, if you want. But then I’ll remember all our good times on the express and… oh, I think I mis-”
Sunday grimaced, shaking his head and cutting her off: “No, no. I understand, no further questions.”
Stelle beamed.
“Perfect! Good boy.” She leaned down, kissing his cheek.
But, she didn’t stand up again. Putting one hand kind of between them, over his chest, and reaching for the wings behind his ears with another, she caressed the feathers again, light and slow, feeling them tremble faintly beneath her fingertips.
She chuckled, leaning a little to the side, pressing her chest to his and murmuring:
“Your wings are so talkative.”
Sunday groaned low in his throat. His grip on her thighs tightened. “Don’t— don’t describe them like that.”
“But they are.” She tilted her head, voice low and sweet, brushing a kiss just below his jaw. “Look at them, shivering like they’re embarrassed. Are they? Or is it you?”
He tried to glare at her again, but his eyes were already glazed, mouth slightly open. One of his wings gave a twitch that made her smile.
“You’re… cruel,” he muttered, almost too softly.
She laughed. “That’s rich, coming from someone dry humping me like a teenager.”
He let out something between a gasp and a grunt, burying his face in her neck. “Don’t say that. Don’t say things like that, it makes it worse—”
“Oh? Worse?” She rocked her hips lazily, enough to make him flinch. “But I like seeing you like this…”
Her nails scraped gently down his spine. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make him arch a little into her. Her other hand wandered from his wings, sliding slowly down the line of his neck, his chest—until her fingers reached his sternum.
She splayed her hand there, right over his heart.
“You’re burning up,” she murmured.
“Stop noticing everything,” he groaned, voice muffled against her skin.
She didn’t. Of course she didn’t. Her palm drifted down, tracing the shallow curve of his chest, brushing one nipple with deliberate lightness.
He gasped—sharp and sudden—and froze. She immediately did it again.
“Oh. Interesting.”
“Don’t— ngh— experiment with me—!”
“But you’re so sensitive everywhere.” She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, her voice going syrupy sweet. “It’s adorable.”
“I’m not—! I’m not adorable—!”
But his breath hitched again as she flicked her tongue against his nipple, lips curled in a wicked smile. His whole body tensed under her, hands trembling against her thighs. She could feel his hips jerk helplessly against her, dry humping again with pathetic little thrusts.
“You’re literally shaking,” she whispered. “Look at you, what a sweet thing. Haven’t even touched yourself, and you’re already like this.”
He let out a breathless moan, half protest, half surrender.
Her fingers traced further down his chest, slowly, until they reached the faint indentation of his navel. She circled it lazily, watching his expression twist—his lips parted in surprise, eyes fluttering closed.
“I didn’t know this was sensitive too,” she said.
“Neither did I,” he managed, voice breaking into a whisper.
Her other hand slid up again, feather-light on his wings, stroking the joint where skin met feather. His body shook.
“Stelle…”
She looked at him—flushed, sweating slightly, his hips grinding softly up into her with every shaky breath. The bulge in his underwear pressed against her core, and she could feel how hard he was through the fabric, straining, twitching.
She leaned down, whispering against his ear, “Do you want to come like this?”
He choked on his own breath. “Don’t ask that.”
“Why not?” She pressed her hips down harder, making him gasp. “You’re almost there already.”
He was. Aeons, he was. The pressure, the stimulation, the overwhelming heat building in his body—it all blurred into her hands, her breath, her voice.
His fingers clawed at her thighs. “Stelle, I— ngh— I can’t, I’m—!”
“You can.” She kissed the shell of his ear. “You will.”
Her hand slid back to his wings, rubbing slow, deliberate circles around his piercings. Her other hand danced just above his waistband, teasing his navel again, and then further down—
But never quite touching.
He gasped, body trembling, chest heaving.
“You’re doing so well.” she murmured, almost lovingly.
His hands fumbled up her back, clinging to her shirt like it was the only solid thing left in the universe. His hips bucked again—shaky, desperate—and his breath came faster, louder, broken into uneven whines that made her ache in places she didn’t dare admit.
She leaned down again, licking at the curve of his throat, kissing the sweat there. Her hand behind his ear pressed more firmly now, fingers teasing the very base of the wing, —precise, practiced.
Sunday cried out. A sound almost too loud, too vulnerable. His back arched, wings fluttering violently behind his ears like they were trying to fly away. But she held him in place, body heavy on his hips, legs tight around him like a vice.
“You’re so close,” she said. “You’re twitching.”
“I-I know I am, you don’t need to—ah—nngh—!”
“Poor thing,” she said, pressing a kiss right beneath his ear. “Sensitive little body, and nobody ever touched it properly before, huh? How cruel Xipe must be, to keep such a precious body this much pure.”
“Stelle—!”
She pressed harder against him with her hips, grinding down—slow, steady, cruel.
His whole body jolted. “I—I—!”
She watched him fall apart, eyes glazed and dazed, face red and wet with sweat. His body arched beneath her, trembling from the base of his spine to his throat. His hands scrambled over her back, then froze.
And then he came .
It hit him like a storm, a full-body spasm that had him gasping, moaning, crying. His hips bucked helplessly beneath her, rubbing against her through their clothes, every motion desperate, jerking and raw. The bulge in his underwear throbbed against her core, his entire body shaking under the force of it.
He buried his face into her shoulder, breath catching in his throat, clinging to her like a man drowning.
She stroked his hair, his wings, his back. “There we go,” she whispered. “That’s it. Good boy.”
He let out a noise that sounded like a sob—or maybe a laugh—but he couldn’t answer her. Couldn’t even lift his head. His body went soft beneath her, trembling in the aftershocks, breath ragged and uneven.
Her hand stayed on his wing, now twitching slightly with every brush. She kissed his temple gently.
“That was…” she whispered, voice thoughtful. “...really, really hot. I almost came, too.”
He groaned into her collarbone. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. I truly hate you so much.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“...No.”
She grinned.
“Thought so. I'm pretty much soaked for you.”