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January 2015
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Sam Cyber Cat [userpic]

Title: Back Scratch
Rating: PG-12 (Mild language)
Genre: General
Series: Professor Layton
Pairing(s): Optional Henry/Randall
Character(s): Randall Ascot, Henry Ledore
Summary: It's moulting season and Randall is finding this fact particularly annoying.
Notes: Written for a kinkmeme prompt that wanted Randall wingfic. Set sometime soon after the events of Miracle Mask, contains mild spoilers for that game, and in an AU where Randall has wings.

The lounge was filled with the sound of violent scratching and regular bursts of irritable grunts. It had been a noise that Henry had been listening to for most of the morning and he had almost reached a stage of blocking it out in favour of getting the housework done. Which on this occasion mostly consisted of sweeping stray feathers off the floor.

All the same, the intensity of the scratching bothered him, as he didn't want Randall to hurt himself. After silently debating with himself for a while about whether questioning Randall's actions was a good idea or not (and coming to the conclusion that, in light of recent events, it probably was a good idea), he finally spoke.

“Master Randall, I think you might cause yourself injury if you keep that up.”

“This isn't fun, you know? If it was up to me I'd just leave them alone,” snapped Randall, before realising how shocked his tone had left Henry and adding in a calmer voice, “I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm just annoyed at how itchy they get during moulting season.”

He glared at one of the offending white wings that sprouted from his back. Ever since he'd come to live at Monte d'Or, he'd been grateful that neither Henry nor Angela had questioned or even been alarmed by the fact that he had them. And more than anything he'd been glad that Layton hadn't attempted to 'solve' that mystery. The wings were something that he just had to live with, along with the damn moulting that came with them.

“Perhaps I could help?” Henry offered.

Randall shook his head; “Mum just says I'll have to deal with this until it's over. I don't think there's anything that anyone else can do.”

“Nonsense. What kind of a person would I be if I couldn't solve such a simple trouble that my master is having?” assured Henry, walking over to fetch something from one of the drawers.

“Simple trouble? I don't think many people would describe this in that way,” Randall laughed.

Henry didn't reply, instead returning from the drawer with a brush held in one hand. He kneeled down behind Randall, who bent forward so that Henry could reach his wings easier. Though his first thoughts had been to object, he owed Henry a lot for everything he'd done, so the most important thing he could do was grant the man was his trust.

The brush was gently brought down upon one of the wings, closest to where it connected to Randall's back, while with his free hand Henry held the wing in place. He didn't force the brush through and because of that the loose feathers slid out with ease. On top of that, the bristles seemed to soothe the itching, which was what concerned Randall the most.

“That's... that's actually pretty good,” he sighed, as Henry carried on, brushing further outwards as he went.

“I hope it helps,” Henry commented, smiling to himself.

“Yeah. If you could just scratch a little harder-”

“I'm not here to itch your wing, I'm here to remove the loose feathers. Once they're gone the itching will stop as well.”

There was an loud whine that suggested Randall would rather there was more scratching involved, but he was enjoying himself too much to actually object. Instead he just continued to lean forward, staring at some point on the wall and allowing Henry to continue. As time went on he felt his focus slipping and his mind was certainly managing to distract itself from the annoying prickles his wings felt as they itched.

He'd completely lost track of time when Henry put the brush down and, in all honesty, was so relaxed that he'd started to doze.

“Finished, Master Randall,” said Henry, as Randall forced himself to wake up.

“Is that all of them?” Randall asked, looking over his shoulder.

“For the moment, though I don't doubt that your moulting season lasts longer than that,” replied Henry, “By the time it's through we may well have enough feathers to stuff a few of the pillows with.”

“At least that'd be some use for them,” Randall snorted, staring at the offending pile of feathers that had been collected, “But I'm not itchy any more, so I shouldn't complain. Thanks, Henry.”

“Glad to have been of service,” answered Henry, scooping the feathers into him arms so that they could be disposed of.

“Um, Henry?”

“Yes, Master Randall?”

“Do you think you could do that again tomorrow, if it acts up again?”

“Yes, Master Randall.”