Her touch is so delicate, so kind and caring, that his brain momentarily doesn't know what to do about it - he has preened himself countless numbers of times, as one does when you have wings. But for her to touch him in this way, gentle, eager, wanting to map every feather's location, study the form and function...

"Won't complain about that, love."

(It is slightly overstimulating, but he manages not to wander off in his head, choosing to draw his attention to her collarbones with his mouth, kissing over each of them while letting a hand wander to her breast.)

"Never complain 'bout you touching me."

She won't hurt him. Won't hurt his wings. Won't hurt his heart.