I wrote this a while ago after being prompted by an-earl to write a wingfic/something to do with Frankenstein noticing scars where Raizel's wings come out. There's nothing...smutty about this, but, well, here it is!


His fingers find the slightly upraised silver-coloured scars while he's stroking the smooth expanse of Raizel's back. His Noble is curled into his body comfortably, face tucked under Frankenstein's chin, and while he's not asleep, he has certainly found some repose in their current situation. The scars themselves are very faint, almost non-existent, thereby explaining why Frankenstein hasn't noticed them before. Have they always been there?

He traces them across Raizel's shoulder blades and presses them gently with his thumb. Raizel's eyes flutter open – red peeking from underneath a heavy curtain of dark lashes. Frankenstein smiles almost instinctively. Raizel blinks and nestles closer, placing his hand on Frankenstein's chest.

The realisation comes in a gentle wave, pulling him under in the dark warm waters and holding him down until he's breathless, then letting him go. He pulls his hand away, curls his fingers over the curve of Raizel's shoulder and holds it to anchor himself. It works, because Raizel is solid underneath his fingertips and the press of his lips against Frankenstein's throat is soft,pleased. Something flutters inside Frankenstein's chest, like the wings of a hummingbird, and he sucks in a breath.

The scars are of course a remnant of all the cruel and ugly things their lives are surrounded by, but they aren't horrible by themselves. Raizel's wings are beautiful, certainly, when they unfurl and dwarf everything around him, red as the blood that is under his absolute dominion, and precious as his life.

The life that trickles away every time they rip through his skin and cloth: one that can be mended and the other cannot.

Raizel lifts his hand and places it on Frankenstein's cheek, stroking it fondly, reminding him of the truly important things. Frankenstein closes his eyes, surrendering himself to the kindness bestowed upon him by the sweet creature trapped in his arms. And almost in answer, the skin of Raizel's back ripples and red peeks from underneath – he doesn't need his eyes to feel the surge of that power – and suddenly he's ensconced in the luminescent carmine wings, warm like the patch of winter sunlight and comforting like his Master's aura, as always.

He opens his mouth, queries filling his mind about whether it is all right to take the wings out, but Raizel silences him with a press of lips, the touch of his fingers across Frankenstein's shut eyelids, and Frankenstein melts against him. The wings rest gently against his body, and then they dissipate into the thin air, leaving behind only a memory of Raizel's love seared red-gold into his skin.

The next breath he takes tastes of iron, catching at the back of his throat