" 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 , Ink and Steel (Promethean Age, #3)