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“Kit reached up and over, felt down the spring plane of his shoulder blade. His left arm with its old injury wouldn’t flex so far; he reached with the right. Blood-gorged flesh heated his fingertips. He could feel, almost, the outline of each tooth, the roughness of a seeking tongue. Right where someone might bite a lover take from behind- Right where a wing would take root, if he had wings.” — Elizabeth Bear
Kit reached up and over, felt down the spring plane of his shoulder blade. His left arm with its old injury wouldn’t flex so far; he reached with the right. Blood-gorged flesh heated his fingertips. He could feel, almost, the outline of each tooth, the roughness of a seeking tongue. Right where someone might bite a lover take from behind-
Right where a wing would take root, if he had wings.