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Description
Feathered One and Draven in human form, and Death unmasked. Though Death isn't as muscle-y as I'd like him to be.
Accompanying story below.

Draven, Death (c) Darksiders

*************

She gasped as strong arms pulled her close, " Is that you Draven?" He was warm, for once.

The dead swordsman, also granted a temporary living form, chuckled and pressed his lips against her brow, "Who else, Feather Queen?" She giggled at the affectionate nickname and pulled him in for a kiss. Draven grinned, he could get used to this.

"It's definitely you," she laughed, "There's no mistaking your accent." The Feathered One relaxed into the embrace, running her hands through Draven's short hair and traced his scars where the blades used to be. She wished their human forms could last longer, she enjoyed the warmth of his skin without the barrier of her feathers.

Draven grunted in surprise when he was suddenly pressed against cold skin. Instinctively, he whipped back to deal with the intruder only to find his arm caught by a dark hand.

"Relax Draven." Death's gravelly voice vibrated against his back while his arms wrapped around his front. Draven twitched at the cool sensation, but nonetheless settled onto Death's larger frame and returned his attentions to the woman placing feather kisses up the hollow of his neck. "Is this what it feels like when we touch you?" He asked. The Feathered One wrapped her arms around his back and nuzzled him, "Something like it."

After another small peck on his lips, she looked around Draven's shoulders and smiled at the unmasked rider. "Master Death."

"Feathered One." he greeted quietly.

"Thank you."

"...you're welcome." They weren't sure how Death managed to change them, but they were grateful for the precious few moments granted to them. The three spent the hours entangled together, enjoying the intimate skin on skin contact, temporarily forgetting the world and what they truly were.

***********

Description
Feathered One and Draven in human form, and Death unmasked. Though Death isn't as muscle-y as I'd like him to be.
Accompanying story below.

Draven, Death (c) Darksiders

*************

She gasped as strong arms pulled her close, " Is that you Draven?" He was warm, for once.

The dead swordsman, also granted a temporary living form, chuckled and pressed his lips against her brow, "Who else, Feather Queen?" She giggled at the affectionate nickname and pulled him in for a kiss. Draven grinned, he could get used to this.

"It's definitely you," she laughed, "There's no mistaking your accent." The Feathered One relaxed into the embrace, running her hands through Draven's short hair and traced his scars where the blades used to be. She wished their human forms could last longer, she enjoyed the warmth of his skin without the barrier of her feathers.

Draven grunted in surprise when he was suddenly pressed against cold skin. Instinctively, he whipped back to deal with the intruder only to find his arm caught by a dark hand.

"Relax Draven." Death's gravelly voice vibrated against his back while his arms wrapped around his front. Draven twitched at the cool sensation, but nonetheless settled onto Death's larger frame and returned his attentions to the woman placing feather kisses up the hollow of his neck. "Is this what it feels like when we touch you?" He asked. The Feathered One wrapped her arms around his back and nuzzled him, "Something like it."

After another small peck on his lips, she looked around Draven's shoulders and smiled at the unmasked rider. "Master Death."

"Feathered One." he greeted quietly.

"Thank you."

"...you're welcome." They weren't sure how Death managed to change them, but they were grateful for the precious few moments granted to them. The three spent the hours entangled together, enjoying the intimate skin on skin contact, temporarily forgetting the world and what they truly were.

***********