- Info -
Title: Fight or Flight (1/2)
Fandom: Knight Rider
AU: Rising Phoenix
Pairing: Michael Knight / Lyan Sorel
Date: April 29, 2021
Words: 2,367
Rating: general audiences
Content: M/M, wingfic, romantic, dating, platonic (mentioned), angst and comfort
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Fight or Flight
It was nearly eleven pm, and the moon sat high in the California sky, casting its pale white light onto the world below. Overhead soared Michael Knight, large smoldering wings carrying him on warm updrafts, trailing small sparks and bits of flame behind him. The wings were sleek and built for speed, part of a high-tech neuroprosthetic that, for better and for worse, came with his job.
Just ahead of him stood the grandiose Spanish-style headquarters of the Foundation for Law and Government. Despite their innocuous and professional sounding name, Michael’s work with them was far from tame. It was a sort of anti-establishment direct action type deal with a detective twist, and he'd taken down far more than his fair share of gold-collar malefactors to protect the everyday people who needed it most. The organization’s internal workings, unfortunately, were often less than perfect. The wings he had now were a prime example: experimental technology implanted in the body of an unconscious man awoken under a new identity he'd been given no say in taking on.
Yet still he considered the place to be his home, and the people involved to be like family. It was a very strange sort of thing, he found, if he allowed himself to reflect on it for too long.
As he continued to approach the property, he noticed an unusual splash of color in the corner of his eye. Parked beside the fountain in the front driveway was a light blue and white convertible DeVille, a vehicle he instantly recognized as belonging to his partner. Michael hovered for a bit, glancing around for any sign of its driver. Nothing seemed noteworthy on the ground level, and there weren’t many lights on inside the Foundation itself, but upon flying closer he noticed a figure standing on the second-floor balcony.
“Lyan?!” Michael called. “What are you doing here?” He swooped in, landing just a few feet in front of the other man, a few sparks falling from his wings before dying on the hardwood floor.
“Oh, Michael!” he responded, pleased. “Bonnie called my place to ask if you were there. When I told her I hadn’t seen you, she said you’d vanished without saying anything. Nobody could reach you, so she told me to come here in case you showed up.”
“It's almost the middle of the night.” Michael sighed, annoyed. “And I can take care of myself, you know.”
“Yeah,” Lyan said, “but she seemed worried. Plus, how could I give up an excuse to spend the night at the Foundation? Still can't believe they let you live here full time.” He chuckled. Lyan knew that FLAG headquarters had been set up to accommodate overnight guests, but he hadn't realised it was truly more of a mansion than it was an office or laboratory.
“I was Wilton Knight’s final pet project. What’d you expect his team to do without him? Kick me out?” Michael waved his hand brazenly. “I'm a full-time liability now! Got the wings, got the car… they’ve gotta keep track of their tech somehow.” He laughed, seemingly flaunting his status, although exactly what that status was or why he felt it worth flaunting was a bit complex.
“So…” Lyan changed the subject, “what were you doing out?”
Michael took note of his wings, still too hot to retract and deactivate. Even though they weren't in their fully ignited state, the feathers were still glowing from within, and he could see the orangey light reflecting in Lyan's glasses. No use in lying, he supposed. “Blowing off some steam, I guess. I must've been thinking too much about a recent case, and — Well.” He motioned over his shoulder. “You can probably fill in the rest. I still don’t have the best control over ‘em yet.”
“So you were…?” Lyan was looking for a more concrete answer. Something he could later relay to Bonnie and the rest of the team.
“Just out flying.” Michael spread his wings, the plumage rustling slightly, then gave a very small flap. A few sparks scattered. “It can help to dull the flames when they get too unruly. You should see the scorch marks on the semi. Devon’s never gonna let me hear the end of it.”
He looked over at Lyan, the joke obviously not landing. “I’m kidding, Ly.”
But Lyan wasn’t exactly paying attention. He was busy trying to decide on his next move. Part of him wanted to get in touch with Bonnie right away to let her know Michael had turned up. He didn't want to leave her in the dark. Another part of him, though, was hung up on Michael’s wings. He didn’t usually get to see them, especially not like this. After all, Lyan preferred to avoid direct involvement with Foundation work, and Michael knew better than to reveal his whole story to the general public.
“Why’d you come here instead of back to the semi?” Lyan asked, genuinely. Michael was known for being impulsive, but heading to headquarters didn’t seem like something he’d do purely on a whim.
“I was planning to hang out on the roof for a while, but if Bonnie expects you to report back to her, she probably wants to chide me for ‘running off with precious cargo’ again.”
“I could join you!” Lyan interjected, not thinking. “If, uh. If you don’t mind, that is.”
Michael was taken aback. “You aren’t just here to check in and go?”
“What? No. Michael, I’m here for you.”
“I thought you said—”
“Sure I was told to show up, and of course I wanted to take advantage of the nice room,” Lyan's tone had shifted to something more gentle. “But I really wanted to make sure you were ok. I still do.” He reached out, taking Michael's hands in his own.
“In that case…” With one swift motion, Michael pulled Lyan in closer, then gave one strong flap of his wings and landed softly on the section of roof just above the balcony.
Lyan had been thrown off balance, and it took him a second to get his footing on the roof tiles. Even just this extra bit of height gave him a better vantage point, and he stared up at the night sky, still holding onto his partner. Michael was practically a head taller than him, and Lyan fit comfortably in his arms as they stood together.
“It’s nice up here, huh?” Michael said. “More secluded than the semi, at least. As much as I care about the team, it’s good to get away sometimes.”
Sitting atop headquarters isn’t much of a get-away, Lyan thought. “So, do you come up here often?” he asked.
“Using pick-up lines when we’re already dating?” Michael said haughtily. “How sweet.”
Lyan stumbled back, immediately flustered. “No, I— That’s not—”
“I’m just messin' with ya, Ly.” He grinned, then sat down, letting his wings drape over one of the peaks in the roof. Small sparks scattered before quickly fading in the cool night air.
Recognizing Michael’s dismissal of his question, Lyan decided not to press for a response. Instead, he took a seat himself, being sure to stay close to his partner without intruding too much. While it was nice to simply sit together in silence, it was still hard for him to pretend there wasn’t something more going on. Lyan had meant it when he said he wanted to make sure Michael was doing alright, and it was painfully clear to him that he wasn’t.
“Not only did you come to the Foundation, but you were quick to let me join you in your little cool-down,” Lyan said. “Seems like you might’ve been looking for some company without realising it.” He gave an almost inaudible chuckle, trying to keep things from getting too awkward.
“Maybe I was. Who’s to say for sure.” Michael flashed a suave grin at the other man, still resorting to flirtation as a way to avoid the issues Lyan seemed so desperate to address.
It seemed to work, at least in some capacity, as Lyan reached to bridge the small gap between them. He rested his hand on Michael’s wing. At his touch, Michael's heart jumped, and his feathers instantly flared up even more. They were warm against Lyan's skin, and he recoiled slightly before realizing they still weren’t nearly hot enough to burn him.
“Not used to that, are ya, hotshot?” Lyan teased.
“I told you they're still hard to control.” Now it was Michael’s turn to blush, and he was glad the glow still wasn’t enough to fully illuminate his face.
Lyan paused, his tone shifting. “Oh. You’re right. If I’m making things worse, I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”
“Now hold on, that’s not what I meant. Well, it kind of is, but…” He closed his eyes before he spoke, thinking about the most effective way to phrase it. “The only people who usually touch these stupid things are people doing research and maintenance, or people who want me dead. You don’t fall under either of those categories.”
“And you’re not sure how to react to it, huh?”
Michael nervously grabbed at his own sleeve. “Not really, no. But even if I was, the flames still react mostly to subconscious thoughts and emotions. It's not like I'm that in charge of ‘em.”
Lyan still had a hard time understanding how all this worked. Knight Industries was way ahead of their time. First there was the nearly indestructible gadget-filled Trans Am run by an AI so advanced it had developed its own personality. Then there were the fully retractable neuroprosthetic wings that could change from flame to feather and back again seemingly at their own accord. It was a lot to keep up with, and he could barely believe he was in a relationship with someone who was such an intrinsic part of it all.
“I thought maybe some human contact would help you relax. I really do want to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”
“I’ll admit,” Michael started, “you're a welcome change of pace.”
Lyan gave a gentle smile, and he lightly pet the ridge of the wing nearest to him, following the direction of the feathers. “Then you're alright with this? You sure?”
Michael pulled Lyan in closer and leaned against him. He then turned, pressing a small kiss against the shorter man's forehead. “Does that answer your question?”
It wasn’t long before Michael was resting his head in Lyan’s lap, one wing spread out against the roof tiles, the other draped across his own body. His feathers had returned fully to their deep golden-brown color, now completely relaxed and burnt out. Lyan was absentmindedly petting the feathers in the middle of Michael’s back. These were softer and shorter than the rest, and if he hadn’t already seen the way things looked when fully deactivated, he’d be unable to guess what they were covering.
Lyan tucked his fingers under the edge of these feathers and through the slit Michael had altered into his shirts to accommodate what was essentially a new set of limbs. Softly, he began tracing the strip of metal that marked the outline of the implant, taking note of the scar tissue around it. He’d done this same thing before, always as a way of comforting his partner, but never with the wings extended. He thought back to what had been said earlier. If the only people who regularly touched Michael’s wings were either intrusive or dangerous, why was he comfortable with Lyan doing it? On second thought, what if he wasn’t?
At this, Lyan pulled back his hand, wavering slightly. He began to run his fingers through Michael's hair instead, the large curls soft to the touch. This would be a safer bet, he thought. Almost as soon as that idea entered his mind, however, he recalled what Michael had told him about the night he’d been taken in by Wilton Knight, and the series of events that surrounded it. Lyan grazed over the overlapping scars, lifetimes (almost literally) of intense trauma — both physical and emotional — woven into them. Despite this, Michael always enjoyed when Lyan stroked his hair. Perhaps he was the same about his wings.
“Hey Lyan?” Michael asked, breaking the bout of silence. He paused, then turned to lock eyes with his partner, looking up at him. “Would you be up for going on a flight with me?”
Lyan cocked his head slightly. “Your feathers are all calm now, though. You could just retract your wings and go inside for some rest. You probably need it.”
“Oh come on,” Michael grinned, starting to sit up. “Let me fly ya home at least. You can leave the Cadillac parked here. I’ll drive it over in the morning.”
Lyan thought about it. He’d always been a bit afraid of heights, and especially of flying. What if he fell? Or what if someone saw them? Knight Industries had already had tech exploited against their wishes, and he’d hate to see Michael caught up in it any more than he had been in the past.
“I’ll carry you the whole time. You’ll be safe.” He took Lyan’s hand in his own. His expression was soft, and his gaze unwavering. “I promise.”
That’s what got to him. Oh, what the hell, Lyan thought. Then, he stood up, pulling Michael with him.
“Let’s go for it.”
The two were just shy of a mile from FLAG headquarters when the Foundation’s mobile unit passed beneath them. In the main section of the semi truck’s remodeled cargo space, Bonnie drummed her fingers on the computer desk. She hadn’t heard back from Lyan, and Michael was still nowhere to be seen, so she and the other few members of the team decided to check things out for themselves. They weren't, however, planning to show up to an empty building.
The semi’s sleek black shell blended into the night surroundings, and Michael and Lyan were too caught up in each other to notice it. Even if they had, it wouldn’t have convinced them to land again. They had already committed to this flight, and for the time being, that was their whole world.
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End notes: Reupload of an old fic, since I want to host stuff on neocities now instead of the way I was doing it before.
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