Epilogue
Awall of smoke greets me as I step into my apartment. I cough, covering my mouth, eyes watering. Through the veil of smoke, I catch a glimpse of dark wings.
I pull my shirt over my mouth and rush forward, grabbing his shirt. It hangs in tatters after his wings broke free from within. “What happened? Are you hurt? Cain, talk to me.”
He turns to me, his eyes wide and red and watery, including the third one on his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I fucked it up. I fucked it all up.”
“Fucked what up?” I ask, frantically searching for injuries.
He hangs his head. “Dinner,” he mutters. “I burned it.”
I stare at him for a moment and then press my lips together, trying my very hardest not to laugh. “That’s all?”
“What do you mean, that’s all? I promised dinner would be ready when you got home, and now it’s not, and I’m useless, and—”
“Cain…” I throw my arms around him, pulling him in against me. He rests his head against my shoulder, wings drooping as he sighs. “Hey. It’s fine. We’ll just get some takeout.” I ruffle his hair. “And what’d I say about talking about yourself like that?”
“I’m catastrophizing,” he says glumly. “And it’s going to make me spiral more.”
“Mm-hm.” I pull back, waving some smoke away so I can see his face better. I push hair out of his eyes, studying him. “This kind of stuff happens to everyone. Don’t worry about it.”
After sending him to open the windows and air out the smoke, I place a quick order to the local pizza place.
Thank God for contactless delivery, so I don’t have to worry about them getting a glimpse of my winged, three-eyed boyfriend.
He’s curled up on the couch when I hang up the phone, his wings folded tightly and a hand over his face.
He hasn’t had a meltdown this bad since we left the MRF months ago. I feared the worst the first time it happened, but… I’ve gotten very good at calming him down again.
I shake my head, sighing to myself. Sometimes it’s hard not to laugh at his dramatics, but I try to remind myself that this is all very new for him.
I’m sure I had some legendary breakdowns when I first learned to cook too, and I didn’t have to worry about sprouting extra eyeballs if anxiety got the better of me.
I sink onto the cushions beside him, stroking a hand down over his chest. “The wings came out and everything. You were really upset, huh, baby?”
He nods, still lying in a limp and miserable pile on the couch. “I wanted to surprise you,” he says. “I’ve been doing so well lately. I wanted to show you how much better I’m doing.” He sighs, slumping further. “And instead, I did the opposite.”
“That’s not true. You would’ve been too scared to even try to cook by yourself a couple weeks ago. This is progress.”
He grumbles, doubtful, sinking further into the couch.
Tamping down a smile, I place a finger under his chin and force his head up. “Are you talking back?”
He pauses, processing for a moment, before his eyes flick to mine. “No…”
I tilt my head. “No what?”
“No, I’m not talking back.”
“Hmm.” I push harder against his chest, pressing him onto his back, and swing a leg over to straddle his hips. “Are you sure? Because I didn’t hear you agreeing that you did a good job today.”
Pink creeps up the back of his neck until it colors his face. “But I…”
“What’s that?” I roll my hips, once, and he groans. “Arguing again? Bad boys don’t get rewarded, Cain.”
“I did good today,” he mutters, barely audible.
I lean down, my hair brushing over his face. “Speak up. I want you to sound like you believe it.”
He takes a breath. “I did good today.”
“Say ‘I’m making good progress.’”
“I’m making good progress.” He’s blushing furiously, but he still gets the words out. I wish he could say these things without prompting—or at least think them—but I’ll settle for him repeating whatever I say, for now.
I grin. “Very good, Cain. How about ‘I deserve to be called a good boy?’”
“I deserve—” He cuts off in a gasp as I press down onto him.
“What was that?” I ask, continuing to grind on him. I can feel him growing hard through his pants, his stiff length pressing into my inner thigh with every roll of my hips.
“I-I deserve to be— Fuck.”
“Are you too distracted?” I grab a fistful of his hair, holding his head down against the couch. He whimpers, neck arching. “Maybe I should stop, if you can’t tell me what I want to hear?”
“No, no,” he gasps. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I— I, uh— I’m—” I can see him struggling, his hips rising off the couch to press into me every time I pull away. “I deserve to be called a good boy,” he manages finally, in between gasps for air.
I grin. “That’s right,” I coo. “You do. Good boy, Cain.” I reach down between our bodies, palming his erection through his pants before undoing his button and sliding the zipper down. I reach inside his boxers—
And there’s a knock at the door. We both freeze.
I smile and zip his pants back up, carefully redoing the button even as he whines in protest. I slide off both him and the couch, standing up. “That’s some fast delivery.”
“Willow…” He groans, reaching for me. I step back, wagging a finger, and his hand drops to dangle off the couch.
“First, let’s eat,” I say. “Then I have a present for you.”
I set the pizza on the counter, and Cain grabs plates while I change out of my work clothes into a tight little black dress.
We eat on the floor, kneeling on either side of the coffee table.
Cain keeps stealing glances at me, which I pretend not to notice as I mmm and ahh over my pizza with a bit more breathiness than necessary.
He keeps shifting, adjusting his pants, picking at his food like he’s just waiting for me to finish mine.
“You’re not getting anything from me if you don’t eat,” I tell him. “I know you get hungry after your episodes.” I crack a smile, breaking my stern facade. “And we’ve got all night. There’s no rush.”
He sighs, but he finishes a slice, and then a second one. I notice how sharp his teeth are as he tears bites off. He really is worked up, but thankfully, I have just the thing to get his head straight again.
As soon as we’re both finished and done cleaning up, I get to my feet and extend a hand to him.
He takes it without questioning, his eyes locked on me and full of trust as I lead him toward the bedroom.
I push him onto the bed, and he sits obediently, hands fisting in the sheets on either side as he struggles not to touch me.
“Look at you, behaving so nicely,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss him as a reward. “Lie down.”
When he complies, I climb onto the bed and crawl up over his body.
He waits with bated breath, hands clutching the blankets at his sides.
He doesn’t move, even as I shift to kneel over his face.
He lets out a shaky breath as he realizes I’m wearing nothing beneath this short dress, but he doesn’t touch me.
I smile, looking down at him, and lift the hem up around my waist. “Show me how good you are, Cain.”
His hands are on my ass in an instant, tugging me down so I’m fully seated on his face.
I gasp at the first slide of his tongue against my core.
He eagerly licks and sucks at my sensitive skin, groaning at the taste of my dampness.
I’m already wet and turned on from teasing him during dinner, and he is as goddamn eager as he always is, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my ass to hold me still as he devours me.
It only takes a minute before I’m gasping and grinding against his mouth, and he lets me take charge, using his tongue for my pleasure until I come hard on his face.
He holds me, lapping at me slowly, until my thighs stop shaking. Then he dives back in for more. I scold him gently, wiggle out of his grip, and flop onto my back on the bed beside him. I know he’ll happily give me several orgasms in a row if I ask for it, but tonight I have other plans.
“Are you ready for your present now?” I ask.
He looks over at me, a little dazed, lips glistening with the evidence of my pleasure. “That wasn’t my present?”
I grin. “Take your clothes off and flip onto your stomach, Cain.”
His eyes widen, but he obeys.
I admire the sight of him undressing for a few moments before rolling over to reach into the drawer of my nightstand. My mother’s box, once kept here, is now tucked away in the back of my closet. Instead, the drawer is full of toys.
The few weeks just after Cain came home from the MRF were…
revelatory, to say the least. We spent a lot of time in bed, exploring our bodies and finding new ways to pleasure each other.
But tonight I have something new for him.
I toss the bottle of lube onto the bed—that’s familiar—and push aside the vibrators and plugs and other fun devices until I find the new one.
I pull my tiny dress over my head and toss it aside before I grab the harness and strap-on dildo.
Once it’s secured on my body, I turn to admire myself in the mirror.
It looks good on me, all black leather straps and a silicone shaft that’s larger than what I’ve used on Cain before.
When I turn around, he’s waiting face-down on the bed like a very good boy, not even looking at me without permission. I slide onto the bed behind him, positioning myself on my knees while I squeeze lube into my hand.
“Relax for me, baby,” I murmur, warming the lube between my fingers before sliding a slicked-up finger between his cheeks.
He stiffens at the first press against his back entrance but obediently forces himself to relax again, breathing hard.
He lets out a groan as my finger slips inside his hole, his wings trembling as I work him slowly.
“Touch yourself, Cain,” I order, and he slips a hand beneath his body.
I can’t see his cock, but I know how hard it must be.
Probably already leaking precum. He’s always so eager for me.
I work him open with my fingers while he groans and ruts into his own hand.
The sounds he makes, low whines and soft whimpers, have me throbbing between the legs without any stimulation.
When I think he’s ready, I slather a generous amount of lube onto the strap-on. “On your hands and knees,” I say. He lifts himself up, arms shaking slightly. I grab on to his hips and line up the dildo.
“What—” he starts breathlessly, until the tip presses into him. “Oh,” he gasps, head bowing, back arching. “Fuck. Fuck, Willow.”
I grin. The sound of curses on his lips is still new, and always a good indication that he’s turned on beyond coherency. “Relax. You can take it.”
He gasps and groans as the toy slides into him, one hand grabbing onto the headboard to anchor himself. I slowly press forward until my hips are flush against his ass, the toy fully seated within him.
“Oh, God,” he says, the words strangled. “Yes, Willow. More.”
“Okay, baby. You asked for it.”
I turn on the vibrator. An instant gasp escapes me at the new stimulation against my clit. And Cain—there are no words for the sound Cain makes, a breathy, desperate whimper. He collapses onto his forearms, back arching so prettily for me, and I begin to fuck him.
It doesn’t take long until he is crying out, begging incoherently, whimpering into the pillow. I admire him with every thrust; from this angle, I can see his wings receding into his back and various extra eyes closing as I fuck him back into humanity.
“Tell me how it feels,” I order, my breath coming in hard pants as I slam into him from behind.
“So good. So fucking good. Oh, God, Willow—”
“Do you want to cum, Cain?”
“Yes,” he practically sobs into the pillow. “Please. Please.”
“Touch yourself,” I say. “Cum for me.”
He strokes himself twice and gasps my name, writhing as he cums all over the sheets. The way he presses back against me, pushing the vibrator within the toy hard against my clit, makes me follow him over the edge a few seconds later, shaking and crying out.
I half collapse on top of him, breathing hard. My fingers soothe down his spine as I pull out, and I collapse onto the bed beside him.
His wings have receded into his shoulder blades again, leaving not even a mark on his pale skin. I take his hand, gently pressing my lips to the scar on his palm. He looks at me with those big brown eyes and smiles, spent but satisfied, and thoroughly human once more.
“Love you, Willow,” he murmurs.
“I love you too, Cain.”
And I will always be here to remind him who he truly is.