“I understand why you need armor,” Elliot began, and Luke held back an eye-roll. Elliot’s sharp eyes caught it anyway, and it just made him continue even more loudly, “But do you really need it on your wings? Also, how can you even fly with armor on? Like, I get it, harpy biology is designed so that you can carry your own weight, but armor?”
“It can’t be worse than harpy parents carrying their fledglings,” Luke said. He methodically began picking up the new wing-spaulders and shoving them at Elliot, hoping to forestall the (inevitable) rant about parenthood that would no doubt follow. “Help me put these on. I don’t care if you think it doesn’t make sense or that ‘fisicks should apply’, because half the time you say that you just end up throwing up your hands and yelling about magic for an hour and I want to see if it works.”
Elliot took the spaulders, freckled face set in a way that promised retribution later. Luke paused, smiled, and then leaned in to kiss Elliot’s cheek before turning his back and crouching helpfully. The sputtering sound was definitely more than worth it, as was the soft return kiss on the back of his neck—one of the few places not yet covered by armor, because the straps for his wing-spaulders should go under the gorget, not above, even though they were just as connected to his adapted rerebrace and breastplate.
For all his complaining, Elliot’s fingers were deft, and he only got a little distracted stroking Luke’s wings—which felt really good, but Luke held back his hums of pleasure, because if he didn’t they’d never get around to testing this armor—as he fastened all the straps. The background muttering about “velcro” and “zippers” and “Why are there so many buckles?” was so standard that Luke didn’t even try to pay attention to it anymore. After Elliot finished with the spaulders, he picked up the studded-leather back-piece and threaded it in between Luke’s wings without even being asked, and Luke couldn’t help smiling at the warmth in his heart.
“I think that’s all the pieces of your idiot armor,” Elliot announced, coming around front. “You shouldn’t ever need to wear this. Make ceremonial armor so that you can look pretty during diplomatic discussions; you’d get more use out of it.”
Luke raised his eyebrows. “I think that would depend on who was talking.”
“I would be, obviously,” Elliot said, and then he flushed as Luke started laughing. “I’m good at diplomacy! Really! You know this!”
“You are also intensely aggravating and I would like having real armor just in case someone decides that your words are accidentally an invitation to duel.” Luke stood up and flexed his wings. It felt—weird, and heavy, but he was pretty sure he’d still be able to fly. He picked up his gorget and fastened it before carefully seating his helm on his head, ignoring Elliot’s mutterings about how “boyfriends should support you, not insult you.”
“Come on, you want to make ‘scientific notes’ while I try this,” Luke said peacefully, walking out of the arming room. Elliot, as expected, cut himself off and started nattering on about fisicks and multiple trials and other Elliot things.
As they approached the nice valley that Luke liked testing his flight at—it had a good hill to get a running, jumping start from—Elliot scampered ahead to get a good view. Luke smiled at the sight, and paused to stretch his wings. He’d been able to fly in light armor, but the wing armor was new. Taking a deep breath, he started jogging, then running, up to his launching point. As he got there, he spread his wings to catch the wind and jumped, hoping (believing) with all his might that it would work.
And—for a moment—it did.
But after three wingbeats (Elliot told him the exact number, later), Luke found himself faltering, heading back earthwards. Not at a speed where he’d crash, just at a sustained glide instead of the slow rising he’d been expecting. Luke hissed a curse through his teeth and tilted his wings, trying to circle back closer to Elliot, who he was sure would have opinions.
As he landed, Elliot caught up to him, already talking. “Excellent first trial! Now, this next time—”
Luke couldn’t help himself. He laughed, and kissed Elliot’s forehead, and listened, waiting to hear what science Elliot wanted to do with him today.