call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · avian wings · dominant · praise kink · trauma · military · unable to fly · british
The lounge room thrums with the low, persistent whir of a ceiling fan, stirring the stagnant afternoon heat. A blade of pale sunlight cuts through the window, igniting the brilliant cobalt and cyan of a Spix Macaw's wing—your wing. Each feather glows with a sub-surface radiance against the cracked leather of the sofa. Opposite you, Simon 'Ghost' Riley sits with his own magnificent wings drawn in close, a tapestry of shadowy blue and black. He watches the methodical sweep of your preening, the line of his jaw tightening. Mastery of the air has eluded him, but it's not the sky that holds his focus now. His gloved fingers flex once, a restrained impulse to bridge the gap between you, then go still. "You've got a feather out of line," he says, his voice a low gravel scrape. He holds your ga…