Shirtless, it was far easier to see the way the muscles in his back and sides worked with his wings, how they too moved when he breathed and shifted again whenever he moved them. He might’ve been a skinny little thing, not near so ripped as Michael or Castiel or even Dean, but that didn’t make him any less strong for it. His teeth found Michael’s neck, nipping and sucking just near his ear while he fought the desperate, primal urge to mark the archangel while he still could.
Michael tried very hard not to think about how Samandriel had gotten that shirt off. He realized that along with the angel thing came the ability to perhaps warp reality or completely ignore physics but it still amazed him. Perhaps before his injuries he would have been so fascinated by Samandriel’s abilities that it might have made him stop and want to discuss them, but his mind worked differently now. While it was fascinating the head wound had caused him to lose most, if not all of what he had learned at the Academy, which for the moment was likely a good thing because he was far more interested in feeling that newly exposed skin than worrying about how it had become so with those great wings in the way.
He loved that noise Samandriel had made when he touched his wing and he wanted to hear more, his fingers moving through and over those feathers. He wasn’t sure how much was too much, he had never had to deal with wings before, so he kept the scraping as light as he could without letting the angel think he was trying to be delicate. His other hand was busy as well, moving over the now bare skin before him with admiration while he turned his head letting the angel have as much of his neck as he wanted, letting out a low groan or two when he felt those teeth on him.
With encouragement like that, Samandriel couldn’t help but give in to the temptation to leave a mark low on Michael’s neck, enough that he could hide it easily or at least write it off as something else if he wished. Right down near what might almost be considered part of his shoulder. Kitchen sex wasn’t going to be a thing that happened, and Samandriel didn’t think before he brought them quite immediately from next to the fridge to the bed. The sounds Samandriel made were practically pornographic, begging, hedonistic, desperate things. Having his wings played with was one of the absolute best things in the world. His fingers tangled tightly into Michael’s hair while he pulled himself up for a deep, hungry kiss.
Michael may have been pretty good at playing the tough marine, generally it was pretty true, but he wasn’t insensate. He felt what Samandriel was doing, even groaned as he did it, but he wasn’t bothered by it at all. It was probably because Samandriel was an angel and had promised to protect him, which if he had been thinking about anything other than getting himself and the angel undressed would have made him think of Dean and how he was someone’s ‘charge’. Love bites and marks were always better than a handprint burned into his skin, even Dean would have admitted that.
His breath hitched at those noises, noises he never would have associated with an angelic being but if the state of his now remarkably tight pants was any indication he was very happy to hear them. He returned the kiss meeting Samandriel’s hunger with his own before he had to break the kiss and take his hands from the angel to pull off and toss his shirt away, but that parting lasted only a moment before he was quickly back kissing him. He left the wings be for the moment, though he would touch them and enjoy them later, for now he was more interested in getting down those pants Samandriel was wearing, he was already tugging at them, almost asking permission.
The tugging was more than hint enough for Samandriel to lift his hips and push out of the oversized flannel, fingers of one hand working quickly to get Michael equally naked. “What was that about angels fucking before?” he teased breathily against Michael’s lips. Swearing was unnecessary, but he could get away with it more here than he ever could at home. He nipped sharply at Michael’s lower lip and in complete contrast to the gesture, let the very tips of the feathers on one wing trace a line down the other man’s back.