fly on my wind (my zephyr)
solo written for e/l verse during 2026 MCYT Battleship
Scar sprints up to the plane, just barely on time. He'd gotten caught up in a battle right before they were slated to leave, and had barely made it to the airport on time. His Hotguy uniform is hastily hidden under a jacket and some loose sweats. That's normal airplane clothing, right? Good thing he left his luggage at Cub's. What little of it wasn't already at Cub's anyway.
There! Cub's plane! Hard to miss with the giant ConCorp logo on it. Not that there arenât other ConCorp planes, but Cub's is the only private one. And the closest one to Scar.
"I'm here!" He yells, sprinting up the stairs two steps at a time.
"Finally!" Grian grabs him by the collar, manhandling him into a seat. "Cub's ready to go. He's flying this thing." His bird fusses, buckling Scar into the seat. The narrowed eyes and the extra harsh yank on the buckle tell Scar that Grian has not missed the fact that Scar's still in uniform, but he's letting it go for the sake of their schedule. Sinking back, Scar lets Grian strap him in. Odd, the amount of straps being used on him, but Scar isn't complaining. Cub's plane is better and fancier than the ones on TV, of course it has more straps.
Finished with Scar, Grian sinks into his own, wing friendly seat. Does Cub know that Grian can shape-shift, and could therefore very well sit in a normal seat? Yes he does. Did Cub go to the trouble of having wing friendly seats in his personal plane anyway? Of course he did. He's Cub.
"How did you know I was here?" Scar asks, as the plane starts moving. Grian was at the door suspiciously fast, and did not look surprised to see Scar.
"Cub fed you a tracker pill two days ago. With your supplements." Grian explains, holding up his phone. So that's what the new pill was. Cubby should feed him trackers more often.
"Of course you'd enjoy that. Disaster." Grian shakes his head fondly at Scar's deep, full-chested moan. "What took you so long?"
"Harpy was out being a pest again, and Miss Hiss is not exactly the best person to deter him, and I was in the area." Scar shrugs, ignoring the stab of pain in his side. So what if Harpy got his claws into Scar a few times? He's fine.
"Yeah, but your shift ended four hours ago. Scar." Grian throws him a disapproving look.
"Well, you see, I got caught up." Scar explains, regaling Grian with the tales of his epic fight as Cub gets them in the air.
"Hey Scar. Cutting it close there." Cub joins them in the back. "Cutting it a tad close there." He must have put on his wings at some point after getting on the plane, because Scar knows Cub didn't walk through the airport wearing his Vex wings.Â
"Of course! Gotta keep it exciting!" Scar beams up at Cubby.
"Of course. You guys can unbuckle, by the way. We're at cruising altitude. I've set her to autopilot."
"Autopilot?" Scar peers to the front of the plane. "Is no one else on here?"
"Nope! Just us." Cub confirms, dipping down to kiss Scar hello. Kisses given, he goes to unstrap Scar.
"So we can fuck? And I don't have to change in the bathroom?" Scar blinks prettily up at Cub.
"You are going to the lab, first of all." Cub declares, gathering Scar up in his arms. Scar says a silent thank you to the fact that Cub's Vex implants can cheat gravity and make him lighter, so being carried isn't putting more pressure on his aching side.
"Speaking of the lab. Grian. I finished the prototype of the throat sticker mic for you. It's also in the lab. If you want to come give it a try." Cub carries Scar to the back, and down a small flight of stairs. Through a door, and there's the lab. A very Cub lab, with rolly chairs and labeled boxes. And a treatment chair in the middle. With lots and lots of straps. Scar gives a happy wiggle as Cub sets him down. He loves being treated by Cub. Or experimented on. Or just cut open and toyed with for Cub's amusement.
"This?" Grian holds up what looks like a piece of paper as Cub begins to peel Scar out of his armor.
"Yeah. They'll connect to your phone once applied and should have a battery life of about four hours. If you're in the plane's Wi-Fi you can also broadcast over the internal speakers with them." Cub explains to Grian.
"New mics?" Scar prompts them.
"Yeah. For Ariana performances. So I don't have to wear that pesky ear piece and the bulky ass tech." Grian inspects the paper looking thing.
"Ah." Scar hums in agreement, followed by a hiss as Cub tugs on the scratch while undressing him.
"Scar." Cub has that look on his face.
"He came straight from a fight." Grian tattles. "Probably injured, if I had to guess. Or else he would have changed."
"Scar. These will need stitches. Can you sit still for me or do you want to drop?" Cub carefully eases another piece of Scar's armor off, making good use of the powers he built into himself via tech implants. Phasing through Scar or the chair where necessary. Scar's beloved Vex. Hotguy's arch-nemesis. Scar's oathsworn partner.
"Drop me." Scar knows he won't be able to hold still. Besides, being doll is nice.
"Hands." Cub holds his own out. Scar hands his wrists over without hesitation, bare of armor.
"There we go. Now be a good doll for me, and drop." Saying the magic words that the two of them had brainwashed deep into his mind, Cub gives his wrists three little squeezes. More of the silly safeties they insisted he have. Their condition for actually brainwashing him. If it makes them happy.
Just like that, the words, spoken by a trusted-safe voice and the squeezes drop him, until only the calm and quiet of doll remains.
"Yes Owner." Doll replies, just like it's been programmed.
"Good doll." Owner praises it. Like he always does after getting doll off the shelf. "Now, doll, I want you to give me a rundown of what injuries you have right now, and sit still while I treat them."
"Yes Owner. Doll has scratches on its right side, leg, and shoulder. Possibly talon punctures too. Doll did not have time to check. Possibly more." Doll lists the injuries it knows it sustained. Earlier. As the Hero.
"Good doll." Owner praises, continuing to carefully remove the Hero's armor from doll's body. Baring it for Owner's viewing pleasure. And Ownermate's.
Speaking of Ownermate. He's behind Owner, making silly faces with a wide open mouth and humming. "Can I put makeup on these?" Ownermate asks.
"I think so? I'd have to look at the ingredients, but off hand I can't tell you why you shouldn't. They're fully waterproof too, and should not come off when you sweat." Owner does not bother trying to peel doll out of its under-layers the normal way, phasing them off instead. "Your Ariana makeup does go down to your neck, right? And the placement won't get in the way of your breast plate?"
"Yeah. That's why I ask. And I can just not sweat under them. Probably more comfortable that way." Ownermate comes over to peer at doll too. "He's looked better, but I've seen him in worse states."
"Yeah. I'll ask Doc about Lizzie or Skizz's schedules, see if either can be talked into a day trip out to take care of it. Fully paid, of course. It is a work trip after all. For now, I can stitch it up and apply ointments." Owner says.
"Oh no, a paid day to do five minutes of work and then hang out at the beach with us. You're gonna have a real hard time convincing either of them" Ownermate teases, pressing a kiss to Owner's cheek. "You want some help with the stitching?"
"Sure. Sink's over there, everything should be the same layout as at home. You wanna work on the shoulder?" Owner gestures at the sink.
"You should wash up too." Ownermate pulls Owner over to the sink so they can both wash up in preparation of treating doll. How wonderful. They so rarely team up on it in a med lab like this. Doll sighs dreamily.
Gloves are snapped on, and supplies gathered. Soon, both of doll's Owners sit beside it, ready to work it over.
"Disinfectant first." Owner offers Ownermate a number of prefilled syringes, and a metal bowl. "Do you want to rinse or should I?"
"Give me the bowl." Ownermate takes it from Owner, as well as holding the box of syringes.
"Right, I forgot to ask. Doll, how are you with pain?" Owner asks. "And when will you need maintenance?"
"Pain will be no problem for the treatment, but doll would do better if doll got something against it after. Maintenance will be necessary soon." For now, doll enjoys the hurt, especially with them poking around in it, but it can feel the exhaustion looming on the horizon. Better to let Owners take the edge off the pain, and sleep.
"Good doll." As a reward, Owner sticks a syringe into one of doll's ouches, and presses the plunger. Burning disinfectant shoots into the open, oozing cut, cleaning it. Doll relaxes into the pain, riding the high it gives as Owners work in tandem to clean all the cuts.
Doll is hard. Of course doll is hard. Owners are treating it, working it over. Why wouldn't doll be hard from that?
"You ready, doll? Here comes the fun part." Owner grins a wicked grin at doll, brandishing the ointment. Slathering his fingers, Owner slips them neatly into the nearest gash in doll's body. And proceeds to finger the gash, using the blood and ointment as lube.
"You really are such a marvelous doll for us." Ownermate agrees, gathering his own scoop and having his way with a hole in Doll's thigh. Really gives it to that new hole. Doll wishes it could keep the wounds forever. Owners' fingers feel so good in them.
But sadly, all good things must come to and end. As much as Owners and doll all like sticking fingers in new holes in doll, they must at some point close the wounds. Just so doll doesn't die. The stitches pinch and tug at doll, hurting different from the fingering and the cleaning.
By now, doll is hazy, the pain verging on too much. A soft whimper escapes its lips.
"Too much?" Owner asks. Doll can only nod.
"Do you want to be out fully, or just something for the pain?" Owner presents doll with its options. "Either way, I'd like to do your maintenance next."
"Out. Please knock doll out." Doll begs. It trusts Owner will do that. Will let it wake up safe and sound. Maybe even in their arms, if doll is lucky.
"Alright. One moment, sweet doll." Owner kisses doll's forehead, then leaves. Ownermate is still next to doll, cleaning up.
"Small pinch." Owner warns, then doll feels a needle jab it. "Relax doll. In about a minute, you'll be asleep." Is the last thing doll hears.
Scar's sleeping safely on the chair Cub put him in. After they got his injuries treated, Cub has taken over massage duties. Loosening Scar's leg and back muscles as much as he can without further aggravating the injuries.
"He's gonna need his cane. Where is it?" Grian asks.
"I put it in the medical bag. In the luggage area. The blue one. You gonna fetch it? He'll only be out for an hour." Cub doesn't look up from where he's massaging Scar's unhurt leg.
"Yeah. Better to have it here." Grian strips off his gloves, tossing them. Sliding past Cub, he makes his way to the luggage area. There, next to the medical bag, sits Scar's armor bag.
Grian slings it over his shoulder and brings it back along with the cane.
"Here." He leans the cane against the chair, Cub acknowledging with a nod. "I'll clean this up."
Piece by piece, Grian sets about packing up Scar's armor. Scar's protection. His second skin. As important and sacred to Scar as his feathers are to Grian. Something sensual, about being allowed this. Even after all these years, it still takes Grian's breath away. To be allowed the intimacy of handling Scar's armor not in its pristine, shiny state, but in this used one, dirty and damaged. Smeared in blood and the signs and traces of Scar's survival.
Grian wants to kill anyone else who's ever had this privilege. Except maybe Cub.
Grian also wants to fuck Scar silly about it. Preferably while Scar is still in said armor, in his full, dazzlingly Hotguy glory. He'd have to be blind not to find Scar searingly hot in that armor. That uniform that he wears to protect the city. After all, isn't that what had seduced Grian into the mask life as well? Scar, in his armor? There may have be a few masked and armored blowjobs, yeah. Still, Grian can't help but feel a certain stirring every time he sees the armor on Scar.
"Cub. When you're done, can we fuck?" Grian calls over to where Cub is finishing up the massage, and covering Scar in a blanket.
"Sure thing." Cub grins back."He got you worked up too?"
"Always." Grian launches himself at Cub the moment he's free to be jumped. "Where?"
"The main cabin? Or here on the floor." Cub gives him the choice.
"Main cabin. But we take him with us." Grian nods in Scar's direction.
"Sure. Meet you there?" Cub presses a kiss to Grian's nose.
"Hurry." In return, Grian kisses Cub, hard and fast, before collecting the freshly packed armor bag and Scar's cane. Behind him, Cub carries Scar, wrapped in his blanket like a burrito. Dipping into the luggage storage, Grian deposits the armor bag, returning to the main cabin to find that Cub has strapped Scar back into his now lain out flat seat. With less straps than the all of them Grian had used. Because of course Cub would modify his private plane to suit not just their needs, but their tastes. The cane goes in easy grabbing reach.
"Come here." Cub opens his arms for Grian, another seat flattening for them.
"I want to be full." Grian demands, hopping into Cub's lap. "And I want you to jerk off inside of me."
"Sure thing. Stretching or no?" Cub asks. Often, Grian is in the mood for proper foreplay and pampering. Not always, though. Like now.
"No. I need you in me yesterday." Grian throws his shirt off, fiddling with his pants and underwear. Cub lets him work, not offering to phase anything. Grian can handle Cub phasing thing in his general vicinity, and through Scar by now, but he still doesn't want that for himself. He's... working on it.
Shuffling around, Grian gets on his knees in front of Cub, facing away. Bending forward over the armrest of the seat.
"Get in me already!" He demands. Packing up Scar's uniform was unfairly hot, and he needs to be fucked now.
"Impatient birdy." Cub grabs the base of one of Grian's wing arms with one hand, the other pressing against whatever hole Cub can find down there. Grian isn't quite sure when his genital configuration went rogue. But there's a hole, it's wet, and Cub's hand is gliding into it with such a perfect stretch, Grian can feel his eyes roll back.
"See? There you go." Cub pets the feathers at the base of one of Grian's wings, causing them to flare out wide in presenting. Heat shoots through him, as Cub touches him in ways only mates do. Touches his wings.
Another stretch, smaller this time, then Cub's hand starts to move in Grian. A small twist has whatever sort of internal pleasure centers Grian currently has realigning to where they need to be for Cub to hit them, and then it's off to the races.
With a hand in his feathers, and custom placed pleasure spots, Grian comes fast, and hard, gasping his way into perfect-too-much overstimulation as Cub keeps going, not quite there yet.
Patching Scar up and playing with Scar's injuries must have really worked Cub up, because he doesn't last nearly as long as he usually does, spilling inside Grian surprisingly quickly.
"Whew." Grian pants, as Cub pulls out. "I needed that."
"Not gonna lie, me too." Cub agrees, fishing a pack of wet wipes out of the seats storage.
"Thanks." Grian accepts the wipes, cleaning himself up.
"I think I might go wash my hands. Your slick is extra resilient today." Cub drops a kiss on Grian's forehead, leaning down to kiss Grian's lips as well when he pouts at him.
"I really need to add a bedroom in here." Cub chuckles, when Grian lets him up again.
"You should." Grian agrees. Then they could all cuddle together comfortably. For now, Grian makes do with squishing himself in next to Scar on the seat. Snug, but cozy. Perfect.
"You two look cozy." Cub comments, settling on the arm of the seat a few minutes later. "How's the mic so far?" Bastard is dressed again, loose fuzzy lounge pants and a jacket. And also, interestingly enough, still in his Vex wings. The sight of those, raised in comfortable interest, have Grian perking up, fluffing his own wings.
"Mi- mic's good so far, yeah." Grian's voice cracks on him as his fingers dart up to touch the square of clear plastic-like film on his throat. Knowing Cub, that's not traditional plastic, but some arcane science thing Grian has no hope of ever understanding.
"Great. You wanna test the sound quality?" Cub offers Grian a familiar pair of headphones. Scar's headphones. Noisecancelling, comfortable, and resilient. "So you don't wake him up." Cub explains.
"Thanks." For some reason, headphones are less scary when Grian's the one putting them on Scar.
"Well then! Shall we?" Grian sits up, unwilling to let Scar go uncuddled. Like he can read Grian's mind, Cub slots himself into the free space now that Grian is up, pressed against Scar. An involuntary coo escapes Grian when he realizes Cub is warm. Nest-warm flock good. The seats must have chargers built in.
Smiling, Cub coos nest-warm flock back at Grian, before humming the first few bars of a very familiar tune.
When Grian joins in, his voice is beautifully amplified, filling up the cabin in a soft, layered way he rarely ever accomplishes on stage. A stage. Hm.
Letting those thoughts brew in the background, Grian focuses on singing with his mate for now. Cub knowing the songs Grian wrote to perform as Ariana still sends something warm and wiggly through Grian. As they sing, his wings spread. He yearns to do something with them. To do a show with them, just for Cub. And maybe later Scar. Now, he meets Cub's wings when they too spread, pressing his own to them. Feathers over crystal.
The final notes ring out, and Grian launches himself into Cub's arms. He's caught, of course, and held tight. Soft, assuring murmurs in his hair, kisses to his forehead.
"Cub. What are the odds you have a stage in here?" Grian asks.
"Well. It's not a stage-stage, but it should be something. Here." Cub turns them over to the area of the cabin that's free floorspace. Or at least was. In the middle of the small round of wood flooring, maybe two meters across, there's now a pole. A very familiar kind of pole.
"You know, Scar is the one that does pole dance. Not me." Grian hides his face in Cub's neck. Out of the two of them, Scar may be the pole dancer, but that does not mean Grian doesn't know how to put on a show with one.
"I can put it away again." Cub offers, sincere as always.
"No, it's fine. But knowing you, you probably have a closet on this thing. You got any dresses in there?" Grian pokes.
"No dresses, unfortunately. I have a bathrobe? If you want to try and make that work?" Cub suggests.
"Sure, I'll do an improvized drag show in a bathrobe. Gimme." Grian tries to make grabby hands at Cub, which is thwarted by him being on Cub's lap and too close for effective grabby hands. Criminal. Grian simply must kiss Cub about this.
"It's in the bathroom. On the hook on the back of the door." Cub tells him, once Grian lets up from the kiss.
"Always me that has to fetch things." Grian gripes, smiling at Cub.
"Evil villain, remember?" Cub winks at Grian. Cub is in fact a villain, the villain Vex, alleged fae and nemesis of Scar's hero persona Hotguy. Very few know they are actually a couple by now.
"Fine. I'll fetch the robe myself. But only because I have to get up anyway." One last kiss for the road, or rather the stage later, Grian heaves himself up, wings flailing. He is so gonna make Cub preen them after this.
The bathrobe is easy to find, and like everything else Cub owns, of excellent quality. Grumbling about stupid richer than sin CEO mates, Grian shrugs the bathrobe on, pleased to find it has wing slits. Despite Cub never using them, even when he's wearing his wings.
Robe thusly prepared and straightened, Grian emerges from the bathroom with his best showy flair. Launching into another of his songs, Grian does a mix of some of the choreography he's been planning, mixing it with improvized wing moves and a few basic pole moves. He'll ask Cub later about a removable pole for his stage at home.
It's not really that much of a drag show. More a Grian show. He doesn't have his makeup on, or his padding or his breast plate or a dress. Sure, he could shape shift into a flawless female form, but that's not the point of it. The point of drag is to have fun, and do it fairly. The only shifting Grian allows himself for Ariana is to better fit in shoes. Everything else he keeps as baseline human as he can, with his body demanding to have three pairs of limbs at all times. He's found workarounds.
That he doesn't need right now. Because this isn't actually a show, just him doing a silly little thing to test his mic. Which is really good, he must admit. He can barely even feel it on his throat.
Finishing his song with a last swish of wing and whirl of bathrobe, Grian holds his pose just long enough for Cub to clap before he flings himself into Cub's lap again. Eagerly shoving his wings into Cub's hands.
"Mic is good." he reports, knowing Cub will want to hear his opinion. "Anything I want to talk about does not need to be now. Now is for preening."
"Okay, prettiest Ari." Grian feels Cub press a kiss to his nape, calling him by a shortend version of his stage name. "Now is for preening."
