Metallic blue flashed in the evening sun, He should go help but he can’t stop watching. Metallic blue-black feathers shimmering beside white primaries. The way He’s flapping and the way the feathers smoothly fold together, over 6 feet each and absolutely gorgeous. He could only guess they’re longer than 6 feet since they’re each longer than he is tall. He can’t stop watching the mesmerizing display as those wings dance through the sky, the white stipes of feathers on his shoulders, where the wings meet his back were most interesting. He may be in love with them.
Wade was fighting some baddie with canary wings, flapping wildly in the cold air as evening turned into night. Peter should have gotten up to help but Wade has it under control… And he wanted to watch those wings. Peter is only a sparrow, they’re the most common. Wade had pulled out a gun, ok… now it’s time for Peter to interfere.
He unfolded his plain brown wings and ruffled the feathers, jumping from his perch and taking to the air. The canary had two feathers missing on his right wing and was flying with a limp. Flapping hard to keep himself upright. Wade was missing three secondaries and a primary between the both of his wings, A primary covert looked like it had been torn out and re grew. He does that.
He frantically flapped up to them, his short wings not as capable of carrying him as the magpie or canary’s. He hovered behind Deadpool as he raised his gun, yelling at the Canary.
“Those have rubber bullets right Deadpool?” He asked, breaking through Wade’s yelling, The shimmering blue wings turned and smoothly bore their owner through the air, turning around to look at him. He felt insecure with his plain brown sparrow wings that could barely keep him up, flapping frantically to stay in place. And there, staring at him is a man who has shimmering blue wings with flashing glints of white, the undersides a slate grey-tone. Wingspan possibly over twenty feet, easily lifting him even while missing feathers.
The canary darted towards them, trying to take them off guard. Peter shot a web, gunking up the remaining feathers on the man’s right wing, he slipped and started falling, each attempted flap made the webs worse, tangling his feathers in it. Peter shot another web, attaching to the right wing and he tugged the stand like a yo-yo, rolling the guy up to him, sticking his wings to his sides.
Wade laughed, rising a couple feet in the air, wings twitching erratically with his laughter. Peter smiled sheepishly and started to descend, hanging the guy on the corner of a building. He tried to ignore the blather spouting from the guys mouth but it was about his stupid wings. He sighed and muffled him with another web. He rose and landed on the roof, feathers folding together and sliding across each other, He stretched his right wing and then his left. They looked so muddy and vacant of all color or intrigue. He needed to preen them but he didn’t like letting them out all that much. Air swept passed his face as Wade landed behind him, walking up to the ledge, He could feel the former mercenary’s eyes on his back and his wings. He tried to tell himself he didn’t care.
“Those need to be taken care of.” His tone was sad but Peter felt more disappointment. He shifted the secondary feathers that he knew looked a little rugged. “They’re fine… I only use them practically.” Because displaying those wouldn’t be a good idea. He’d look cocky.
“Even practically they need to be groomed, to keep in shape, you probably wouldn’t need to flap so hard to keep airborne.”
His Feathers ruffled and he slouched, spreading his wings to each side, stretching them out to their fullest length. “Why don’t you do it then?!” He spat, not meaning to be so harsh, but hey he had had a long day.
The air seemed to turn cold. Why did he say that? As usual Only family and mates groom each other. Or that’s how he’d been raised, nowadays some people have random strangers help them with grooming or just help adjust stray feathers for friends. Some dude made a social experiment video where he, (A crow) stood out in public with messy wings outstretched, he was blindfolded and had a sign asking people to help preen him. No one tried to tear out feathers without getting a great many fists to the face in return by other strangers.
A shiver ran down his spine, light fingers danced along one of his left secondaries. He didn’t expect Wade to actually do it. He felt an itch and strain on his left wing ease, feeling careful hands re-align and fix his wings. Birds in the wild actually “zip” up their feathers, the little fibers fitting together like a zipper, human’s wings are basically the same, but much, much larger proportionally. They don’t need to be so gentle or precise but it still takes a great bit of care.
He shifted two feathers to let Wade get a better grasp on one feather, slowly slipping the divided feather sides together, making it whole again. He shifted his feathers back into place, a shuddering sigh escaped him as he felt his feathers slowly being cleaned and turned and “zipped” back together. He’s enjoying this too much.
A hand slowly moved to his shoulder, fixing the small, softer feathers at the base of the wing. Light touches danced down his spine as small feathers were fixed.
“Your wings are really pretty…”
Peter scoffed, no they weren't… they were a mud brown in sunny warm lighting at a strategic 90 degree angle. Poop brown the rest of the time. His voice wavered when he tried to speak. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the hands currently making his back and wings tingle or the emotions he was trying to force down. “You’re funny…”
The hands stopped. Wade’s deep, gravely voice echoed next to his ear, making a shiver run down Peter’s spine.“No, I’m serious.”
Peter started laughing. There was nothing special about his wings, he’s gone over this.
“I swear, You’ve got pretty little white tis to the coverts and the brown is reddish and rich and the primaries have little goldy bits when you get close.”
Peter turned his head, Catching a glimpse of his, (in his opinion) still poo brown wings. “What are you looking at? ‘Cause those aren’t mine.”
A second of silence surrounded them, Peter was worried for a second that Wade would run away. He flinched so hard he almost hit wade in the face when he felt feathers brush over his own. Wade had unfolded his wings and was using them to cover his, a very intimate action.
He could feel Wade’s breath ghost by his neck through the suit. That gravelly voice was right beside him. “Well, I like them.”
He jumped forward and away from the giant wings that were covering his, he beat his own and took off into the air, The canary was still hanging underneath the building, wiggling wildly. He already noticed how much easier it was to stay in the air, despite only his left wing having been preened.
Wade was standing at the edge of the roof, His mask was emotionless, Peter couldn’t tell where he was looking, but he had an idea that it was right at him, despite his head pointing straight ahead at some point about 12 feet under him.
Those metallic Blue wings, still poised in the air like they had been when covering him. All the feathers ruffled like leaves blowing in the wind, and then the wings rose, to their full height.
Presenting for him.
They rose in two arcs behind Wade as he squared his shoulders. This wasn’t joking, as he had once done. This was serious, each feather cocked just so, daring Peter to react and respond.
And despite himself he felt his wings twitching and itching to respond back.
He hesitated, wings stalling in the air for a second, falling slightly, and then bolting, shooting towards the former Mercenary, Who was a little surprised and was caught off guard when Peter practically tackled him, as soon as his feet touched the roof his wings were flung into the air in response to the proposal. Masks were half off as Peter hugged and held on to the man, and as Wade frantically kissed every inch of skin he could reach.
Masks were completely off when they reached Peter’s apartment, once home to many pizza dinners and videogame-offs. Now christened with a flurry of feathers and sloppy wet kisses.
Morning found them wrapped around each other, feathers everywhere, Peter nestled in the embrace of metallic blue and white wings. Wade stroking the brown feathers that Peter had begun to see a bit of beauty in.
It’s hard to disagree with a man who’s babbling about how beautiful your wings are when you’re driving him crazy with your tongue somewhere it shouldn’t be… Last night taught him a great many things.
Wade mumbled something into his hair and pulled Peter closer to him, wing’s tightening in their embrace.
This is nice.