Ryan doesn't have to ask twice; Henry doesn't respond, apart from another kiss, harder than the last, either pulling him closer or holding him there. From a stray bit of shadow there's the flapping of wings, a brief rush of air as the bird squirms out and flies past, and for a minute or two there's a certain amount of rustling. Some distant clattering.

Henry's not inclined to notice, a low noise muffled into his mouth as the kiss gets more demanding, eager. His leg shifts, wanting to wrap around him, a few extra moments of friction, even if he'd have to detach soon enough to get at clothing.

But it's soon enough there's a return flapping. The bottle would've been too difficult for a regular crow to carry, and even the shadow bird hangs low in the air as it returns, dropping it off by the edge of the couch. Swooping past, it finds a corner to perch on, grooming itself with a bit of self-satisfaction. Sure, there'd be a mess to clean up later, but that wasn't its problem.