[Denji makes such a big stink about him staying on the ground and Angel, in turn, gives up on the complaint - but maybe it's more to say he forgets. Because suddenly the pressure and rubbing of his muscles feels...]
[It's strange. It feels odd. He's not sure he likes it at first, his body tensing as if to ward off the touch and rougher presses. But over time, as he begins to realize it's not painful and not harmful, he eases into things, relaxes a little more naturally. Denji presses between his shoulderblades and he feels his hair stand on end, a knot he didn't know existed being forced apart. ...Is this just something he's dealt with for so long without realizing it can be fixed?]
[He speaks up and Angel blinks, realizing he's curled back like a cat, exposing more of his back to Denji, wings flat and bent to open up his shoulders. His jacket? That's right. Denji can touch him directly.]
[So he doesn't ask or answer. His hands move up to his collar first, undoing the tie and pulling it off from around his neck to drop into his lap, and then there's the shift of his hands as he undoes buttons. When he reaches up to pull the jacket off, the shirt comes with it. Both pieces of clothing slide down his arms, bunching at his shoulders with his wings pulled down awkwardly around the fabric. He turns his head to look up at Denji, the hair he'd parted so neatly now tumbling over his back again.]
You can touch, right?
[Of course he can. That's why they're doing this. But when has he ever shown anyone his back like this? Let anyone see this much skin? The space where his wings sink into his skin is visible, bony, awkward. Inhuman. Yet the color is nearly uniform, the white on his wings only a few shades ligter than his unblemished skin. Who else has really gotten to see those colors side by side before?]
[Yet it feels nice. To have his skin exposed. The air in the room is cool and compared to the humid heat outside, it's nice.]
no subject
[It's strange. It feels odd. He's not sure he likes it at first, his body tensing as if to ward off the touch and rougher presses. But over time, as he begins to realize it's not painful and not harmful, he eases into things, relaxes a little more naturally. Denji presses between his shoulderblades and he feels his hair stand on end, a knot he didn't know existed being forced apart. ...Is this just something he's dealt with for so long without realizing it can be fixed?]
[He speaks up and Angel blinks, realizing he's curled back like a cat, exposing more of his back to Denji, wings flat and bent to open up his shoulders. His jacket? That's right. Denji can touch him directly.]
[So he doesn't ask or answer. His hands move up to his collar first, undoing the tie and pulling it off from around his neck to drop into his lap, and then there's the shift of his hands as he undoes buttons. When he reaches up to pull the jacket off, the shirt comes with it. Both pieces of clothing slide down his arms, bunching at his shoulders with his wings pulled down awkwardly around the fabric. He turns his head to look up at Denji, the hair he'd parted so neatly now tumbling over his back again.]
You can touch, right?
[Of course he can. That's why they're doing this. But when has he ever shown anyone his back like this? Let anyone see this much skin? The space where his wings sink into his skin is visible, bony, awkward. Inhuman. Yet the color is nearly uniform, the white on his wings only a few shades ligter than his unblemished skin. Who else has really gotten to see those colors side by side before?]
[Yet it feels nice. To have his skin exposed. The air in the room is cool and compared to the humid heat outside, it's nice.]
Is it better bare?