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Chapter Text

Stolas loses a lot of feathers. 

It makes sense – he’s fucking covered in the things and it’s not rare for Blitzø to find ones all over the bed after a full moon night. Hell, he’s found a few stuck to his work jacket a few times, the blue-gray obvious against the dark leather fabric. Millie ribbed him for weeks when she plucked one off of him.

So yeah, the owl leaves a trail of feathers behind him. It’s simple enough to gather them up and get rid of them, right? Right. Except for some fucking reason, Blitzø keeps the first one he finds, tucking it in the case over his ratty pillow. He tells himself it’s because it smells nice, like how Stolas’ bed smells, and he always gets his best sleep when he stays over at the palace. 

A month later, he goes to put another feather in the folds of the pillowcase and realizes he has like ten of those fuckers in there now. Blitzø digs them all out, letting a few fall on the couch in front of him, three full moon meetups worth. He uses one to poke at his scarred palm – the quill is pointy and sharp but the pain is dull on the thicker skin. Still,  his pillow is going to feel like a goddamn porcupine if he doesn’t chill out. Gathering the whole pile, Blitzø marches himself to the bathroom and holds his hands over the trash can. 

He pulls them close to his face one more time, scenting the mellow lavender and pine preening oils that Stolas likes to use. Letting a heavy breath out, he scrunches his eyes closed.

“The fuck are you doing?” Loona’s voice rings out from the bathroom doorway, one eyebrow raised. Her gaze darts to the feathers and back up to Blitzø’s face.

“Looney!” He forces his tone into something cheerful, ignoring the way his neck feels way too warm and his smile twitches at the corners. “Just cleanin’ up, y’know, these things get all over the place.”

“...Right,” she says. “Well, get the fuck out, I need to piss.” 

“Of course,” Blitzø nods, looking back down at the trash. He lets go of the feathers and lets them float down to the bin. Then he rushes from the room, super casual-like. Not at all embarrassed. 

He lasts about two hours before he digs them out, checking for any dirt or damage and sighing when they look perfectly fine. He puts them back in his pillowcase, carefully laying them flat under the cotton. 

As his collection grows, Blitzø starts trimming the quills off to make his pillow more comfortable. He finds himself laying with his face tucked into the fabric, letting the familiar smell calm him into moderately restful sleep. Not as good as Stolas’ bed, obviously, this is a fucking lumpy ass couch, but the scent makes it better. 

When Loona complains that the apartment smells like fucking flowers, he ignores her. 

**

By the time he and Stolas have been meeting up for six months, Blitzø has graduated from hiding the feathers in his pillow to hiding them all over the place. In the inside pocket of his jacket, in the drawers of his desk at I.M.P., tucked in his boot like a good luck charm. It’s fucking stupid, he knows it is, he’s carrying Stolas’ scent around with him daily like they’re… like they’re something else, something they’re definitely, decidedly not.

But it’s Stolas’ fucking fault, okay? He’s the one who sent Blitzø a hoodie that smells like him, and he’s the one who uses fancy oils with nice scents, and he’s the one who loses his fucking feathers all the time. The worst part is that Stolas probably doesn’t even know what this shit does to Blitzø, what he’s doing to him by just existing, because he knows fuckall about imps and imp customs. And Blitzø knows he’s being an idiot, but it makes him feel a little bit less alone. 

Hissing to himself, he flicks his tongue out and gets a hint of the lavender, subtle in the air but perceptible. Like a goddamn pavlovian dog, he feels his body relaxing. 

It’s so fucking stupid. And he knows he’s going to go see Stolas next week, and he’s going to rawdog him into his mattress the way the prince likes best, and he’s going to stuff his face in that chest fluff until he almost suffocates, and then he’s going to steal more of the feathers that shake loose while they roll around in impossibly soft sheets. 

And then Blitzø will hide them around his office and his house, cursing himself and his stupid fucking feelings all the while. 

** 

When he climbs over the balcony, he finds Stolas waiting for him, that red robe slipping down his shoulders and not covering a damn thing, really. It doesn’t matter, because Blitzø’s eyes are glued to Stolas’ face, which lights up as soon as he sees Blitzø swing his legs over the banister. 

“Hey–” Blitzø’s greeting is cut short, Stolas rushing over and scooping him up easily – he forgets how strong this fucking owl is – and pressing their lips together in a hurried kiss. What Stolas lacks in finesse, he makes up with enthusiasm, moving his mouth with passion and intensity, like he never wants to stop. 

Blitzø can tell they’re moving because he feels the change from the cooler night air to the prince’s temperate bedroom. Stolas hums against his lips as their tongues intertwine, a warmth gathering low in Blitzø’s stomach. It’s funny, in a horribly unfunny way, that as he was climbing up the vines to reach the banister, he felt so fucking tired. But now he feels like an exposed wire, all sparks and raw energy. 

Stolas plops the imp's feet on the bed so he can stand, both of their hands working to remove his clothes. As he shoves Blitzøs jacket off his shoulders, a quill pokes at his chest and he flinches at the unexpected sting without meaning to. Stolas stops immediately, pulling back to stare at him.

“Are you alright?” Stolas asks, fretting in the way he always does. “Did I hurt you, darling?”

“No, you’re fine,” Blitzø says. Shrugging the leather off, he does his best to fold the jacket, hide the inside. Throwing it on the floor, he pulls Stolas back in and they kiss like they weren’t interrupted. He lifts one leg and the prince grabs his boot, pulling it down and off. Stolas stops the kiss once more, looking down to place the shoe down gently.  He never just fucking throws it, probably something about manners–

“What’s this?” Stolas asks, and that’s when Blitzø notices the feather floating towards the floor, ostensibly from his fucking boot. It’s fine, he can play this off. 

“Well, birdy, it looks like one of your feathers, doesn't it?” Blitzø teases. “Shedding already? We’ve barely gotten started.” 

“This one is old, though,” Stolas says, leaning down to scoop it off the floor. “The quill is dull and,” he sniffs at the tuft, frowning, “it smells like gunpowder?” His eyes dart down to the boot and back up. Both of them are quiet for a moment, and then Stolas is running to grab his jacket. 

“Stolas, what the fuck,” Blitzø says, jumping off the bed and rushing towards Stolas. “Put my shit down, what are you doing?”

“You are acting awfully suspicious, my dear Blitzy,” Stolas says, keeping the garment away with his long fucking arms. “I wonder what you could be hiding…” Slipping his hand inside, Stolas coos when he finds what he’s looking for – another fucking feather, tucked in the inside pocket. The one that poked him and started this whole mess.

“Stolas, look, it’s not…” Fuck, actually he has no idea how to play this off. For his part, Stolas has gone remarkably silent, twisting the feather in his hands. 

“You keep them?” he asks, looking up and pinning the imp with that bright, pointed gaze. A flash of white pupils, though Blitzø never fucking knows what that means. 

“Uh, well,” Blitzø stalls, backing up and inadvertently trapping himself against the side of the bed. “They… smell nice?”

“I didn’t realize you were so sentimental,” Stolas says, smiling softly at him. “You can have as many feathers as you’d like, darling.” 

He walks forward with slow, measured steps. The look in his eyes is overwhelming, and it makes Blitzø feel small, but not the same way he feels small every damn day, inconsequential in the grand scheme of life in Hell. No, Stolas makes him feel small like he’s something cute, precious. It chafes a little; he’s a fucking assassin, goddamnit. The room warms and darkens, flares of undeniable power. Blitzø swallows harshly and feels himself slicking up, despite everything. 

“Now, don’t get any ideas, okay?” Blitzø bites out. “It’s nothing.”

“Of course, dear,” Stolas says, nodding placatingly. It makes Blitzø’s temper flare brighter, matching his panic and embarrassment. He can’t shake the thought that he’s just revealed something to Stolas, something Stolas can use against him. “You know… this is rather inspiring.” 

“Inspiring?”

Stolas hums, nodding back at the bed. Against his better judgment, Blitzø climbs up, shedding his other boot while he’s at it. Because he’s here for the book. The one Stolas barely looks at when he comes over, the one that he forgets about as soon as Stolas touches his cheek, thumb brushing against scarred skin. 

“Would you be amenable to trying something new?” Stolas asks, leaning down to leave a pecking kiss on Blitzø’s circus mark.

“Depends on what you mean…” Blitzø says, relaxing as the scent of Stolas, the sheets, the fucking feathers reaches him. 

Stolas smiles again, this time with excitement, and waves a glowing hand. A box levitates to him and he opens it, tipping it forward to reveal the contents. A strap, a pretty basic one, and then a blue, girthy dildo. Blitzø looks up in confusion.

“I’ve done some research,” Stolas admits, pulling the silicone toy out. Fucking christ, the bottom of the shaft has spikes, the kinds that lock in, the kinds that are perfect for imps. “I was hoping I could treat you, and tonight seems like a good time.”

Blitzø’s mouth is dry. He should say no, absolutely not, as a rule he doesn’t let anyone near his cunt, especially not Stolas, his transactional fuckbuddy. No, the way this works is he uses his big dumb cock and Stolas cries and then he leaves. Letting Stolas top him would be… dangerous. 

“Is it not satisfactory?” Stolas asks, frowning at the strap.

“No, ah, it’s a really good one,” Blitzø says, getting wetter by the second. He was thinking that he was tired, just a bit ago, right? Maybe one night off isn’t a big deal and he can let Stolas do most of the work for once. He flicks his tongue out, the air thick with the smell of Stolas’ slick  mixed with his own arousal. At least he knows the prince is into it, though he can’t imagine why. “Bored of my dick already?”

“Oh, no, never!” Stolas says, laughing. “But it occurred to me that you tend to exert yourself quite a bit, and I’d like to try balancing things out.” 

“...Okay,” Blitzø finally says, his face warm. It’s fine, this doesn’t mean anything. Just another thing for them to experiment with, cross it off of Stolas’ long list of requests and kinks. 

“Wonderful,” Stolas sighs, smiling as if he’s won a prize. “Now, I want you to tell me if you’re uncomfortable, alright?”

“Yeah, same safe word applies,” Blitzø says, taking his shirt off. “You gonna be in charge?”

“Only if you’ll let me,” Stolas says, one thin eyebrow raised. He lets his robe slip off completely and moves closer to help Blitzø with the rest of his clothes. “Lay back, won’t you?” His voice is different again, the same cadence as before, the shadows shifting in the corners of the room. Blitzø has to remind himself, too often, just how powerful and impressive Stolas is. A Prince of Hell with magic in his voice and his fingers. 

Blitzø moves back, sliding against the satin sheets. He plays it cool, folding his arms under his neck, the picture of ease. He watches the owl slide the harness of the strap up and around his hips, tightening the buckles. The dildo at the front looks kind of funny, so alien on the bird’s body, but it’s also the perfect color match. Blitzø wonders for a moment if Stolas had it specially made and how much that shit cost him.

Stolas crawls up onto the bed, stopping only to reach in the nightstand for a bottle of lube. He pops the cap open and waves it in front of the imp’s face. More lavender, of fucking course. Shit, he hopes he doesn’t develop a goddamn kink for flowers.

“Close your eyes,” Stolas says. Blitzø thinks about refusing but he’s so fucking relaxed, his lids are heavy. “Good.” The praise is a surprise, the word sitting stiffly in his gut because he’s not, he’s not good. But he can be good at this, at least. 

He can hear Stolas shuffling on the bed, then nothing. Complete silence, complete stillness. 

“I’m going to run something along your hand, okay? It should feel soft and light, and it is not pointy or dangerous,” Stolas says. “Can I proceed?”

“Yeah, sure,” Blitzø says. He waits and then there’s the tickle of something against his palm. His eyes pop open in reaction to the sensation. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Stolas says, halting his movement. 

“You can keep going,” Blitzø says, voice small and shy in a way it hasn’t ever been, not in this room.

“Keep those eyes closed for me.” 

Blitzø swallows and nods, following the instructions. The tickle returns, a light pressure against his forearm, moving up and around to his shoulder. The trail continues up to his cheek, over his lips, the texture so familiar. Wisps of softness. 

It’s a fucking feather, isn’t it.

“Is it alright to add another?” Stolas asks. “Again, it is nothing sharp or dangerous. I will not hurt you.” 

Blitzø swallows, nods, and then his body tenses even with the warning as he feels two separate points of connection on his skin. Two parallel lines down his body, across his torso, dragging along sensitive nipples, down, down, stopping just above his cunt. The feather moves side to side, not traveling any further.

“Can I–”

“Yes,” Blitzø says, wet and aching for any contact against his hot skin. When a feather finally brushes along the seam of his cunt, he can’t help the way his hips buck.

Immediately, Stolas pulls away completely, taking away the sensation.

“Stay still, my darling,” Stolas says. “Or do I need to tie you up?”

Shit, he hasn’t been tied up in a long time. Doesn’t really let himself get into that situation, especially not with Stolas. He shifts and tightens the muscles of his stomach and thighs, determined to resist the urge to move.

“Good boy,” Stolas says and fuck if that doesn’t make something in Blitzø’s brain light up. He barely holds in his whine, pressing his lips together firmly. Stolas doesn’t seem to notice, starting up again with the feather torture against his skin. This time, he starts on Blitzø’s calves. He sweeps the plume back and forth, gradually moving higher and higher. When he gets to his thighs, the feather dips in between to the sensitive inner part, and Blitzø gasps out. His hips stay locked, though, thank Satan. 

Stolas continues his path, brushing up his thighs and over his hip bones and then his stomach, the sensation dulled where the skin is mottled with scars. Blitzø frowns at the reminder of his brokenness, his disfigurement. The pattern of splotchy white and red, which he has memorized despite actively avoiding looking at himself. 

“Blitzy?” Stolas says, calling him back to the present. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Almost falling asleep here, if anything.”

“Oh, am I boring you?” Stolas asks, voice teasing. “I see.” He pushes Blitzø’s legs apart and then the mattress shifts as he climbs over him. Blitzø has the insane urge to open his eyes and look at what he’s up to, but he holds himself back. 

Suddenly, two feathers run along his slit, dragging his wetness up and onto his pelvis, his legs. Painting him with his own slick. Stolas doesn’t give him a break, just keeps brushing over hot skin with minimal pressure, even stopping to circle around the head of his cock, hard and poking out of his cunt. Begging to be touched but ignored. 

“So wet, hmm?” Stolas says. “And so hard, too, Blitzy?” 

“Stolas,” Blitzø says, though he doesn’t exactly know what he’s asking for. For the pressure to increase or for the sensation to stop? 

“I’m rather flattered at how much you enjoy my feathers,” Stolas says. He pulls the ticklish pieces away. “I have an idea, darling, you can open your eyes.” 

Blitzø does, seeing Stolas kneeling between his legs. When he finally makes his way up to that heart-shaped face, Stolas smiles. Then, he moves to the side and lays on his back, pulling Blitzø up as if he weighs nothing. 

“Wha–” Blitzø’s words cut off as he’s crushed to the plumage on Stolas’ chest, his cunt laying against the softest fucking texture he’s ever felt. Stolas moves his hands to Blitzø's hips and encourages him to rock forward, grinding against the fluff. His hands fall to the prince’s shoulders, using them as leverage move. The feathers under him quickly become saturated and sticky with his wetness and Blitzø can’t help moaning, the sensation reminding him of nights when he’d rocked against pillows to chase this kind of orgasm. 

“There you go,” Stolas coos, eyes lidded. “Come like this and then I’ll let you use my cock, alright?”

Blitzø nods and rolls his hips down harder, searching for friction. The talons on his skin dig in, piercing his flesh with sharp points. He tightens his grasp on Stolas in response. He leans his head back, letting the feeling wash over him, the thrill of undulating his hips in this way. The heat of Stolas’ gaze on him. 

“Gorgeous,” Stolas says. He grabs at Blitzø’s shoulder and maneuvers him, pulling his chest forward and forcing his hips into a new angle, one that puts pressure on his leaking cockhead. Blitzø’s hands drop away from his body, landing next to that pretty fucking face, claws digging into the comforter on either side of Stolas’ head.

“Doing so well, so good, Blitzy.” Stolas moves his hand up to his scarred cheek, bringing him closer still so they can kiss, the point of his beak nipping at his mouth. 

With one more rough thrust down, Blitzø rubs just right against his sensitive cock, coming with a loud whine. Fuck, that’s kind of embarrassing. His release coats the downy feathers beneath him and trails down, mussing up the blue-gray of Stolas’ entire torso. 

But Stolas doesn’t waste any time. He doesn’t give him even a second before he’s rolling them over and pressing two fingers inside of Blitzø’s cunt, easing his cock out fully to make room for the dildo. Stolas works his fingers a few times, an almost feral look on his face, his movements mirroring the way Blitzø usuallynmoves in him. Then he’s removing them and pulling Blitzø down, looming over him, flipping him to his stomach and using Blitzø's fucking tail to pull his hips up, the top of his chest pushed into the mattress. 

And then Blitzø is finally, finally full, cool silicone stretching him and sliding in smoothly with just how fucking wet he’s gotten. “Fuck!” he cries out, the loudest he’s ever been in this room. He pushes his face into the comforter to stifle his sounds, but then Stolas just grips one of his horns and pulls him up, his back flat against the sticky, filthy feathers on Stolas’ stomach. He fucks in harder, the spikes on the shaft of the toy dragging against his walls, not quite a perfect fit for his internal ridges and pockets but good enough, so good. 

“Stolas,” he moans, unable to move his hips back with the way Stolas is holding him. One hand still on his hip, one on his horn, keeping him still better than any rope ever could. And surprisingly it’s okay, it’s fine, it doesn’t make Blitzø panic, the imp far too focused on the way Stolas is fucking him, hard and perfect and angling up and pushing and pulling until–

He comes even more quickly this time, cock bobbing and useless as it dribbles his cum all over the red comforter beneath them. 

“Oh, darling, look at you,” Stolas says, still not stopping his movements. “I think you can give me one more, can’t you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, pulling Blitzø off of the strap while he rolls over onto his back. He sits Blitzø right back onto his cock, the girth and points of the spikes more overwhelming as the imp slides down. He’s too tired to roll his hips, but it doesn’t matter because the owl seems keen to move him anyway, controlling the way he grinds down on the toy. 

He’s definitely getting into overstimulation territory, which doesn’t usually happen. No, during full moons like this, he spends the bulk of his night making Stolas come as many times as he can, Stolas’ appetite nearly insatiable. He can kind of understand the feeling right now. The toy inside him is so big and hits the end of his cunt perfectly, likely bruising his fucking cervix with how hard he’s getting fucked. Despite everything, his cock perks up and fills again, standing hard and leaking.

“Stolas, wait,” he says, realizing if he comes again, he probably won’t be able to give the prince his dick for at least an hour. “What about you?”

“I assure you, I am enjoying myself thoroughly, dear,” Stolas says, the edges of his voice going low, rough, different than the imp has ever heard. 

“But you haven’t–” 

Stolas stops him, placing a long talon over his lips. “Focus on your own pleasure, please, Blitzy.” His smile is large, sharp, intimidating. “Come again, my darling.” The words are punctuated with one more hard jerk of the owl’s hips and a sudden grip around Blitzø’s cock, touched for the first time that night. He’s helpless to refuse, coming with barely any release trickling out. 

Stolas moves to lift him up but Blitzø grabs at his wrists. “Let me stay, like being full,” he admits, not ready for the emptiness to set in. Something in the prince’s eyes sharpens, tiny pinpricks of white pupils. The imp’s body is exhausted, muscles sore, but he has enough energy to move his tail and press the spade between Stolas’ legs, finding a leather strap tucked against his hole, absolutely fucking drenched.

“Did you…” Blitzø asks, eyes wide. “Did you come?”

Stolas’ expression turns shy, sheepish. 

Later, once Blitzø has finally pulled off the toy and Stolas has removed the strap, they cuddle and feast on a fancy meal from the kitchen. Blitzø eats fast, stomach fucking empty and almost cramping after all the energy he lost getting his brains fucked out. Next to him, Stolas picks at his food, eating like… well, like a bird. 

Blitzø puts his food to the side and leans over to examine the owl’s expression. “What’s that face for? You did great,” Blitzø says, checking the nightstand on his side for a pack of cigarettes. Stolas always keeps his favorite stocked up here. The prince lights it with a flame from his finger, face still drawn. 

“I’ve not been taking care of you, the same way you do for me,” Stolas says, eyes sad. “You responded… so differently, tonight.” 

“Hey,” Blitzø says, stopping to take a drag of the cigarette. He blows out the smoke and hands it over to Stolas. “We tried something different with great results. Not your fault if I was kind of… cagey about bottoming, anyway.” 

“You felt okay, though?” Stolas asks, using his beak to form the smoke into shapes on his exhale. Fucking showoff. 

“Stolas, you fucked my brains out, okay? You did good,” Blitzø says, patting the prince’s fluffy thigh and accepting the cigarette back.

“And you’d be willing to do this again?” 

Blitzø pauses with the smoking stick halfway to his lips. He peers over at Stolas, who is looking decidedly more excited and flushed. 

“Yeah, I think I could be persuaded,” Blitzø says, grinning. It’s wild, how nervous he was before and now he’s here, looking forward to a potential next time. “What other toys ya got, feathers?”

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Blitzø has what he calls “bad brain days.” His focus is shot, his head doesn’t sync with his body, and he trips over topics as they swirl in his mind. Moxxie will call it ADHD or some shit, but he thinks it’s mostly not being able to shut his thoughts up. Instead, they speed up, round and round, getting faster if he gets agitated. Which he tends to do, especially on days like this.

The morning starts off decent. They don’t have eggs so he settles for toast and bacon as breakfast for him and Loona. He gives her the pieces he didn’t burn to a crisp when his mind drifted, swallowing down the taste of ash with a forced smile. 

They pick up M&M and get to the office ten minutes late because of a stupid fucking accident that he absolutely did not cause. It doesn’t matter, since their first client isn’t scheduled until noon.

Except when they get there, an extremely pissed off Sinner is waiting outside the locked door, tapping his foot angrily on the dirty carpet. He’s in some kind of suit but the fabric is covered in brightly colored triangles. The outfit is loud, especially since the print covers the jacket and the pants. His skin is light green and he has two sets of horns sitting high atop some kind of coiffed hairstyle. Blitzø wonders if he was a businessman or something when he was topside. 

Blitzø puts on his best customer service voice and apologizes even though the fucker is showing up without an appointment. He unlocks the main door and holds it open, watching the idiot step inside. He takes a breath and follows, leading him to his office and motioning for him to sit down. Luckily, the guy has a pretty easy job request – kill his assistant who had embezzled funds from his company and then framed him and had him sniped by the bigwigs that owned the whole thing. He makes him sign a contract and sends him on his way, promising to take that fucker down in the next three business days. 

Finally, blissfully alone, Blitzø can enjoy his iced mocha in peace. He slurps the sweet drink down, hitting the ice quicker than he’d like. He shakes the cup with a frown and lobs it into the trash. 

Half an hour later, he realizes that maybe the extra caffeine on a mostly empty stomach wasn’t a good idea, since his thoughts are racing now. He checks the clock behind him and sees that the time is moving even slower than normal. Turning back to his desk, he pulls out some paper and starts doodling, which quickly turns into making a list of all the tasks swimming in his head. 

He needs to re-schedule that fucking shot for Loona, especially after she fought all those agents in the human world. It had been amazing watching her take those fuckers down, but who knows what disgusting germs they were carrying? Ever since the rescue, he’d been watching her closely for any symptoms of Hellbies, and she’s definitely getting irritated with him. Just last night, she’d snapped at him to “get the fuck out of her space” when he peeked in her room for a moment too long, checking for any unusual fur shedding. 

Right, so, he needs to call St. An’s and see if he can move Loona’s appointment up. He’s not looking forward to it, since they generally only schedule him every five years, but maybe he can at least get her in sooner. She wants to go on more missions, he can tell, but he keeps telling her to stay back. 

He knows she hates being smothered. He knows, but he needs to think about her to avoid thinking about the rest of the fucking rescue, that moment when Stolas had pulled himself into the mortal realm via a human’s throat, twisting her head around like some kind of horror movie. The way the cloudy, dark, nightmarish form had filled the room, imposing and overwhelming, scent like burning flowers. His voice, the dark timbre, the low purr, the way he’d said my impish little plaything, which should have pissed Blitzø off more than it does. 

But the claiming word, my, stated so plainly and coupled with a terrifying show of power? How was he supposed to handle that, watch Stolas save him and his fucking family, and not feel something? And then, after, Stolas had let Blitzø tie him up, use those bear traps, as if he was the one in control. The lingering smokey scent in the air filling his lungs as Blitzø’s hips kicked through his first orgasm, Stolas slippery and warm around his dick, truth serum still making his head slow and sluggish– 

A knock on his office door startles him slightly, and Moxxie peeks around the edge. “Sir?”

“What?” Blitzø says, rubbing his temple with one hand.

“Are we going to start on the first mission?”

“Huh?” Blitzø pushes away his papers and checks the time on his phone. Oh, yeah, it sure is that time. “Right, go get the pistols ready.” Moxxie nods at him and slinks away. 

Blitzø slaps his cheeks to wake himself the fuck up. He stands and stretches his arms over his head, eyes finding the calendar on the wall across from him. 

Oh. Tonight’s a full moon. 

** 

The mission goes okay, all things considered. The job is to make it look like an accident, like the target just went a step too far from the hiking trail. They manage to lead her astray with Blitzø’s trademarked impression of a baby crying, since he knows these humans are fucking weak to that shit. Just as he thought, she runs off the path, only to trip right over a well-placed line of twine and onto an outcropping of rocks. Her head hits the ground with a wet thud, but the injury isn’t enough to kill her. Millie walks forward and finishes the job, deeping the head wound already there. Moxxie takes a few photos as documentation and nods to his wife. 

“Nice job, Mills,” Blitzø praises, texting Loona to open the portal. “Subtle and effective, just like the client wanted.” 

In front of them, a glowing portal opens, ripping into the air and revealing the office lobby on the other side. Blitzø nods M&M through first, keeping an eye on their surroundings as the couple jumps to the office. He slips in quietly behind them and the portal seals up as if it never existed. Loona flips the book closed and nearly throws it at her father before marching away, one middle finger raised as a goodbye.

“Great job today Looney!” Blitzø calls out, even though she doesn’t turn around. Her tail wags a little though so he knows his compliment landed. He slips off his jacket and hangs it up on the coat hook, leaving him in his usual red turtleneck. He doesn’t dress up for the full moon anymore, unless they’re doing a weird costume roleplay or something. Sometimes he leaves his jacket behind though, mostly to enjoy the way Stolas stares at his chest under the tight fabric. 

“Have a good night, boss,” Millie says, grinning far too widely. Blitzø just rolls his eyes and shoos her away. 

Once he’s alone in the office, he checks all the locks on the windows – not that they really do fuckall if someone is determined to bust in. It’s fine, because the last time someone broke their window, he tracked them down the next day and made them real fucking sorry. Still, shit like that is why he installed better latches and a double bolt on the door, plus he takes the book with him whenever he’s not at work. 

When he makes it down to his van, he puts the book down on the seat next to him. Hands on the wheel, he takes a second to breathe. The drive to the palace is quiet, Blitzø not in the mood for his usual soundtrack. Honestly, his thoughts are still running away from him, flitting from work-related stress to his worries about Loona and then, worse, to how he feels about Stolas. This will be the first full moon since all that shit with the agents. He’s looking forward to seeing Stolas again and that shit makes him fucking angry. A tangle of sour and sweet sits like lead in his stomach.

A plaything, he had said.

It’s fine, nothing Blitzø didn’t already know. 

He arrives before he’s ready, but this is the deal. This is his part, his portion. He sighs and takes the book in one hand, the weight of it familiar. Holding it between his teeth, he starts scaling up the trellis leading to the balcony and counting on his muscle memory to do the work. He slips halfway up, one boot scrabbling against a loose stone. He doesn’t cry out, doesn’t panic, just rights himself and keeps going. At the top, Stolas is waiting for him, the doors to his room wide open. He’s wearing that stupid robe, the red one, so soft and just drenched in his scent because Stolas practically lives in the thing.

“Blitzy!” Stolas greets happily, stepping over to take the book from his mouth and levitating it to his bookshelf. It slots into place between other titles smoothly. “How was work, darling?”

“Fine,” Blitzø says, voice more gruff than he means it to be. But he’s just so fucking antsy, his body is tired and full of nervous energy at the same time. He leaps down from the banister and walks into the prince’s quarters, the room lit with at least twenty candles. The fancy kind, too, the kind that smells nice without being overbearing. He takes a small breath and gets hints of sage, lemon, all sitting under the lavender that imbues the space. Stolas’ scent, covering every inch of this room. 

Stolas reads him easily, way too fucking easily. His beak pulls down into a frown and Blitzø can predict his next words like they’re reading a script.

“Are you alright, dear?” they say it at the same time, Stolas’ tone soft and genuine and Blitzø’s more pointed, mocking, slipping into the impression he does of the prince’s accent sometimes. Stolas scowls at him in response, one bitchy eyebrow lifting. 

“Fuck, okay,” Blitzø sighs. “Yeah, sorry, just feeling… kinda agitated, I guess?” 

“Hmm, your energetic vibrations are quite active this evening,” Stolas notes, guiding him to sit on the couch at the other side of the room. 

“The fuck does that mean?”

Stolas just hums and calls a book over with his magic, flipping through it. “Darling, if you don’t feel well enough, we can simply do something else.”

Blitzø stiffens, hearing a tiny bit of disappointment in Stolas’ tone, even if he’s trying to hide it. Plus, what else could they do? He comes here for one thing only, they both know that. Sure, maybe sometimes they take a break to eat or watch a movie, but that’s not what this is. He needs to keep reminding himself that, and spending a relaxing night in the palace isn’t going to help him, not one bit. 

“Nah, don’t worry, I can still give you what you want,” Blitzø says, fixing his face into a leer. “Put the book away, birdy.” 

Stolas does not do that. No, he keeps flipping until he finds what he wants, talons tracing over a page. “I have an idea,” he says. “If you’d still like to… partake, tonight, why don’t you let me take the reins? That way you can just relax.”

“I let you top me one time and now you can’t get enough, huh?” Blitzø teases. And despite crossing that first hurdle, it’s still new territory for him, being at someone else’s mercy willingly. He gets enough of that shit daily. He purses his lips, looking up at Stolas’ face, all four eyes trained on him. His mind flashes to the memory of those same eyes, multiplied, a lilting voice calling for him… “As good as that sounds, Stolas, my issue right now is that I don’t think I can relax. Physically or mentally.”

“I’m certain I could have you boneless, physically,” Stolas purrs, moving to curl around the imp’s body. He coaxes Blitzø into his lap, back to a fluffy chest, and curls around him. “As for the mental component, that’s where my idea comes in.”

“What idea?”

“This book has a few simple incantations for easing the mind,” Stolas explains, his words a soft caress against Blitzø’s cheek. “Vocal triggers, things like that.”

Blitzø shivers despite himself and looks down at the pages. “I don’t know, Stols…”

“You can trust me,” Stolas says, putting the book down. “You trusted me before, right? And it went so well. I simply want to help you relax, quiet those rushing thoughts, and give your mind a break. You deserve it, Blitzy.” His voice is earnest now, sweet, and it’s very convincing. Shit, Blitzø knows he needs a break, he’s been running his entire fucking life. Since he was born, basically. 

“You won’t… do anything weird, like pry into my head?” Blitzø asks, the ghost of the truth serum – and the fucking hallucination it caused – at his back. “Because I’m really not comfortable with that.”

“I swear it,” Stolas says, all regal formality. “We can start slow, just with my voice. We may not need the actual spells at all, depending on how receptive you are.” He runs his talons down Blitzø’s arms, the sharp edges catching on the fabric of his sleeves. “And if you’re uncomfortable at any time, you can call a red and we’ll stop.” 

“Okay, I guess we can try,” Blitzø says, capturing one of Stolas’ roaming hands and playing with his long fingers. “Nothing too cheesy though okay? No self-help love-yourself bullshit. Hard limit there.” 

“I understand,” Stolas says. “Would you be amenable to me touching you, or do you want me to keep my hands to myself?”

“I mean, I don’t think meditation gets me hot, but if it does, by all means.” 

“Wonderful,” Stolas coos, standing with Blitzø in his arms, ignoring the way the assassin sputters and immediately demands to be put down. Tittering, Stolas carries him to the plush mattress. “May I help you get undressed?”

“Just say you want to get me naked like a normal person, Stols,” Blitzø says, rolling his eyes. Stolas smiles at him and carefully removes his choker, levitating it safely to the bedside table. Then, he untucks Blitzø’s shirt and pushes it up and away, gentle touches brushing mottled skin. His pants are next, revealing his silly horse briefs, but it’s okay because Stolas thinks they’re cute. 

“You too?” Blitzø asks, moving to push the robe off, not that it really covers much. Stolas lets him, his arms falling and gravity pulling the fabric down to the floor. 

“Alright, find a comfortable position, darling,” Stolas says, voice dropping into a softer cadence. The tone is nice, comfy like a soft blanket and still colored with the high sweetness that makes it so pretty. 

Blitzø blows out a breath and drops his ass to the bed, bouncing slightly. He scoots back and lays down, forcing his spines to lay flat so they’re not poking into the sheets. Stolas follows him but doesn’t crowd him, gives him some space for once. Their bodies are close but not on top of each other, at least not yet. 

Stolas grins down at him, cupping his cheek with an elegant hand. “I’m very proud of you, you know,” he says, one thumb stroking slow down the slope of his face, his jaw. “Thank you for your trust.” 

“Mhmm,” Blitzø says, nerves keeping his mind alert. 

Stolas hums and nods to himself. “I’d like to start with some breathing, okay? Deep breaths, enough that your stomach inflates, and hold each for five seconds before you exhale.”

“I know how to breathe, birdbrain.” 

“Humor me, won’t you?”

Blitzø frowns but follows the directions, focusing on his breath and pulling the air down into his gut, watching his stomach rise. He holds the air there, feeling the stiff pressure as he withstands the temptation to let it out, and then he exhales. 

“Good,” Stolas says, “Again, but exhale slowly, not all at once.” The imp does so, measuring his breath out at an even pace. “Perfect, you’re doing so well. I’m very proud of you.”

“You said that already,” Blitzø says, but his tone is mild rather than heated. 

“Focus on your breathing,” Stolas instructs, ignoring him. “Feel the way your stomach rises and falls.” He pauses, eyes pinning Blitzø to the bed. His voice dips lower, softer, words matching the rhythm of his breathing. “Feel the way your mind is clearing. Empty, removing anything you don’t need right now.”

If someone told Blitzø that this would work on him, he would’ve laughed in their fucking face. But it does, it works. He’s not sure if it’s because Stolas’ voice has always been calming or if it’s the magic sitting under  Stolas' skin. 

“Your body is relaxing, shoulders dropping and laying flat against the mattress.” 

Huh, he hadn’t even realized he was hunching them, but they drop, just like Stolas says. His mind starts to feel a little heavy.

“I’m so proud, you’re doing so, so well,” Stolas says. “You work so hard and you deserve some rest. Repeat that, darling.”

“I work hard and I deserve rest,” he whispers, the words unfamiliar on his tongue. Foreign, because he’s doesn't believe them. His eyes are closed now, his mind finally slowing down. He feels a bit like he’s sinking. 

“You’re so good for me,” Stolas praises. Blitzø hums in response, mouth curling against his will. “Handsome and clever. I’m so happy when you’re here.” 

“Yeah?” The question is small, asked with barely any volume. 

“Yes, of course,” Stolas says. Blitzø breathes in deeply once more, flicking his tongue out and getting the hints of lavender in Stolas’ scent. Calming, just like his voice. “Doing so well, you’re relaxing so nicely. You’re such a good boy, Blitzy.” His mind drifts, thoughts getting hazy, slippery. As they do, he’s able to focus on his body, the energy between him and Stolas, the way his cunt is slicking up in response to Stolas’ tone and the praise in his words. 

“What do you want, darling?”

“Feathers,” he says, not even embarrassed because he’s just so floaty. “Wanna touch.”

Stolas caresses both sides of his face and he opens his eyes slowly, his vision blurry. Like it is after he takes a nap that runs too long. The owl moves closer and Blitzø grabs at his chest fluff, his movements slow and clumsy. Everything feels fucking muted, like he’d been trying to watch a million tv screens at once and now there’s just a single stream, static in his mind. 

“Doing so well,” Stolas says. “Your mind is at ease, your body is relaxed. Tell me, darling, what else do you want.” 

Blitzø squirms and shifts his legs apart, watching Stolas track his movements. “Touch me?”

“Happy to,” Stolas says. He moves one hand up the imp’s thigh, trailing slowly. He cups his soaking cunt and stills, the tips of talons dipping into his slit. “Here, Blitzy?”

“Mmph,” Blitzø says, nodding. He rocks his hips down, forcing Stolas to slip in deeper. 

“You’re so warm, so wet for me, doing so well,” Stolas says. His voice is still low, calm, but there’s a throatier edge. Like a bit of that darkness is creeping in. “More?”

“Yeah,” Blitzø says, using his grip on his chest feathers to pull Stolas down on top of him, catching that pointy beak in a sloppy, messy kiss. He just feels so nice, he doesn’t even care if the motions are uncoordinated. Doesn’t have to keep it together, doesn’t have to put on a show, not right now. It’s such a fucking relief. 

Stolas hums against his mouth and presses those long talons deeper. He pulls his hand back and adds a third. Blitzø feels the press against his walls and the side of his cock, hardening but still tucked inside. 

“You feel so good,” Stolas says, the words washing over his face. Blitzø honestly can’t tell if that’s another command thingy or if it’s just Stolas’ reactions to feeling his cunt tighten around his fingers. “You let the pleasure wash over you, taking any remaining thoughts with it.” 

Blitzø keens, rolling his hips down for more, always more. Stolas follows his rhythm and pushes his fingers in more firmly, caressing him from the inside. The angle of his wrist must change, since on his next push he’s prodding right at the imp’s most sensitive area, a rough patch of nerves tucked in his hole. Blitzø can’t help the way he cries out, the sound a little slurred. 

“There you are, darling,” Stolas sighs, leaning down to press another deep kiss against his lips, tongue reaching in and curling just like his fucking fingers. He kisses across Blitzø’s cheeks and towards his ear. “Let go for me.” His voice has dropped again, lower, the shadows at the edges more apparent. Like they’re always there, waiting to come out, just like… “You let yourself melt, focusing on how good you feel.”

Blitzø sighs out a harsh breath, drool slipping down his cheek, and comes, cock shooting strings of his release to mix with the slick and wetness under him. His mind is impossibly, blissfully fucking blank. 

“You did so well,” Stolas praises, keeping up light pressure and touches with his fingers. “You come back to full awareness slowly, the relaxation sitting deep over your thoughts and your body. The transition is easy, calm, and comfortable.” 

Blitzø hums and pulls Stolas down further so he can nuzzle against his feathers. It takes a while before he can speak, and even then the words are hard to put together. He feels like he just got the best fucking sleep of his life. 

“You… you swear that wasn’t some magic shit?” Blitzø asks, finally pulling away from the softness. “Shit, Stolas, you could make a fucking fortune doing recordings of that.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” Stolas says, grinning down at him. His upper eyes scrunch into tiny arcs in this silly, cute way. “But no, no magic. I was surprised it worked so well, actually, but I suppose you might be used to my voice by now.”

“It’s a nice voice,” Blitzø says, petting at the feathers on the back of Stolas’ head. “Gimme like ten and I’ll take care of you.” He lifts one arm up sluggishly, the limb heavy like lead. 

Stolas chuckles, the sound a mix of his laughter and some hooting. Fucking bird. “Darling, I am quite content to wait as long as you need.”

“That’s not the deal,” Blitzø says, looking away. He starts to feel guilty for just how much he’s been taking lately. Too much and none of it deserved. 

“Blitzy, the deal is for us to enjoy each other, and I had a lovely time attending to you,” Stolas says, frowning at him. 

“Still gonna fuck your brains out in like… half an hour,” Blitzø says, grabbing one of Stolas’ hands in his own. 

“I thought you only needed ten minutes?” Stolas teases.

“Blame yourself, birdy. You made me tired,” Blitzø says, a sigh turning into a yawn. 

“A nap, then,” Stolas says, cuddling in closer.

“Okay, sure,” Blitzø says. “Lemme set an alarm…” He uses his tail to grab his phone, bringing it closer to him so he can program one for an hour from now. 

“Not the horrible screaming ringtone, please,” Stolas says, laying his cheek on one of Blitzø’s horns and closing his eyes. Blitzø doesn’t know how that shit is comfortable, but he settles into the contact anyway. One of the prince’s arms comes up over the top of his chest, the other sneaking underneath him. A few moments later, he catches the soft hoots of Stolas’ breathing, already asleep. Guess he isn’t the only one who’s tired. 

He moves his tail, intending to put the phone down, but the black screen gives him a look at the two of them, laying there. Peaceful. 

It’s a stupid thing to do, he knows it is. But he carefully lifts his other hand and opens the camera. Settling back down, he uses the point of his tail to hit the shutter, capturing the moment permanently. He probably won’t even look at it much, might even forget it’s there. 

He moves it into the special folder he has, the one where he keeps pictures of all the significant people in his lives. It doesn’t mean anything.

Chapter Text

Blitzø knows where everything gets fucked up, where it all runs away like a car with faulty breaks. 

It’s not like he can blame anyone but himself. He’s the one who brings Stolas to Ozzie’s and then the prince gets publically called out by a fucking Sin, all because of him. He’s the one who says no when Stolas invites him inside afterwards. His face and chest burn with shame and humiliation knowing, knowing that if he goes into the palace, he’ll fuck Stolas, and then he'll feel worse. He tries to explain the feelings twisting in his stomach, acknowledging that he knows what Stolas wants from him. Stolas doesn’t say anything more than “goodnight, Blitzø” and that’s confirmation enough. 

And it’s fine, he knows the deal. Likes it that way, because it offers him a consistent partner with built-in stipulations that can keep him from being an idiot. Keep him in check, keep him from asking for too much. He slipped up, the last time they met up. This is a good reminder of where they stand. 

But after Ozzie’s, things aren’t the same. The spell that weaves a semblance of harmony over their bullshit fades, revealing the gnarled mess they both pretend to ignore. He gets a message that night that he can’t read properly until the next day, the beezeljuice making his head fuzzy for hours. In a long rambling paragraph, the prince explains that he had a nice time and found the jokes at Ozzie’s funny. It’s salt in the wound. 

After that, Stolas doesn’t call him as much at work and his texts are shorter. No impromptu visits, no suggestive photos. 

He doesn’t even see Stolas again until Via runs off to L.A. with the book. He’s fucking terrified to face him, but surprisingly their conversations are… okay. Good, even. Who knew getting thrown into a van by some sweaty fucking humans would be the key to making them talk normally? And it’s nice, seeing how much he cares about his daughter, though Blitzø always knew he had to be a good dad. 

They’ve been in the rumbling car for ten minutes when Stolas haltingly breaks the silence between them. “How have you been?” he asks, and it’s weird hearing his voice come out of a human mouth. His long, pale fingers play with the buttons on his vest and his shoes shuffle against the metallic floor of the van. He’s clearly anxious, and it makes Blitzø want to ease that feeling.

“Doing okay,” Blitzø says. He doesn’t know what pushes him to continue, but he does. “I do that breathing thing you taught me, sometimes.” The van hits a giant bump or something and the assassin sways, hand shooting out to steady himself before he falls over. “Fuck, can you drive any better, asshole?” he shouts, aiming his voice at the grate separating them from the front seat. Fucking dickhead. 

“I’m glad that the… session helped you,” Stolas says, ignoring his outburst. A blush steals across creamy, smooth skin. 

“Oh, it helped alright,” Blitzø says, leering without really meaning to. Stolas’ face, his eyes, are so much easier to read in this form. He can actually trace the movement of his pupils, the way they dilate when their gazes meet. 

Their conversation is interrupted when they get to wherever the fuck they are, and then they’re swept into a truly chaotic scene. They muddle their way through filming, everything ending up on fire despite their best efforts. Story of Blitzø’s fucking life, really. 

Once they find the girls, they spend some time marveling at the explosions marking the end of his acting career. Then Stolas conjures a portal for him and Via to return home. Before he steps away, he leans down and cups Blitzø’s chin, offering one more heartfelt thank you. 

A few hours later, he hears the ping of a text, phone vibrating in his pocket. He and Looney are sitting together, sharing a tray of nachos for dinner and watching her favorite movie, some human horror flick about a cult. Honestly, the scariest shit about it is how fucking bright everything is. Loona says it’s because it takes place somewhere topside that has days of full fucking sunlight. 

Blitzø pulls out his phone, clicking between cracks on the screen to check his messages. 

Thank you for helping me with Via today. You were great in that human show. 

The assassin smiles to himself and only just resists kicking his feet. He knew he was doing a good job when he heard all the laughs, and he’d totally clocked the way Stolas blushed the whole fucking time. 

NP

Are you coming over tonight with the book?

Lyke olways

After he types it, he frowns at the missed opportunity for a good fuckin’ play on words. He should’ve written “owlways,” satandammit. Is it lame to send a follow-up message with the correction, maybe with a winky face? His phone chirps again before he can type it out. 

If you don’t feel like coming, that’s ok! I’m sure I can do without it for one month. :)

Blitzø blinks down at the screen. Does Stolas even want him to come over? He thought for sure they’d meet up, with how they’d been flirting at the stupid sitcom set. Plus, seeing Stolas’ human form had given him all kinds of fucking ideas. Like whether he has a dick when he’s like that. 

He gnaws on his lower lip, thumb hovering over the screen. He’s no good at this shit. On one hand, it’s nice to have a break and a relief from some of the pressure of the full moon nights. But what if Stolas is playing around, trying to get him to be romantic and insist on coming over? Or surprise him? 

“You’re missing the best part,” Loona huffs. Onscreen, a pair of old geezers fall to their death off a cliff. “The fuck are you looking at?” 

“Just a message from Stols, sorry Looney,” he says. He sends back a K even though that doesn’t feel like a clear answer. 

“Oh, right, it’s a moon night,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Heading there after dinner?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Blitzø shrugs and picks up a handful of nachos, stuffing his mouth so he stops talking. It doesn’t work. “Maybe he wants some time with his kid after everything that happened.” 

“You should go and have him send Octavia back here so I can hang out with someone who actually can appreciate this masterpiece,” Loona says, poking at his side. 

“You two really hit it off, huh?” Blitzø asks, grinning. 

“Yeah, she’s cool,” Loona says, playing it off with a bored tone, but Blitzø knows that is high fucking praise coming from his surly daughter. 

He pulls his phone back out and types out another message.

Looney wnts 2 hng w/ Via 2nite, i cn cum thre & u snd er here? 

Oh, let me just check with Via! Those two did seem to get along well, didn’t they?

Yeh ther bth gth grlz so

Ah, yes, I remember my own goth phase…

HLD ON U HAD A GTH PHAZ

R THR PIKTURS

I believe so, I can dig them out when you get here! 

Blitzø stands quickly and grabs the book from under the couch. “Alright, Looney Tooney, be good with Via okay?”

“Go away,” Loona groans, sinking into the couch. 

Blitzø reaches over to ruffle the fur on her head and dodges the right hook she aims at him in response. He marches out and gets in his van, foot pressing down hard on the pedal. Because he’s excited to see the pictures, obviously. No other reason. 

** 

“I’m so thrilled that Loona wants to spend more time with Octavia,” Stolas says, guiding Blitzø to his study. 

“Yeah, me too, Looney doesn’t have the easiest time making friends,” Blitzø responds.

“Via is much the same,” Stolas sighs.

“And you don’t gotta worry or anything, because my Looney Tooney is real tough,” Blitzø adds. “She can take care of her, though I’m pretty sure they’re just gonna hole up in the apartment for the night.”

“Oh, I have no worries,” Stolas says, stopping in front of a pair of large wooden doors. “Any daughter of yours must be well-equipped to defend herself, I’m sure.”

He turns the knob and pushes the door open, revealing an absolutely massive study space. Blitzø trudges in after him, boots sinking into plush carpet, and marvels at the sheer size of the room. Larger than it seems from the outside, definitely, with a double staircase leading to another level. Below the staircase, there's a desk covered in papers and books. The whole place is decked out with purple and gold, and the walls are lined with bookcases. Each is stacked with even more titles, thick hardcovers that look like they’d be fucking boring to read. Shit, just how many books can a person own? 

“I believe those old photos should be somewhere in the archives,” Stolas says, walking forward to a large chest. Kneeling down gracefully, still dressed in the outfit he wore as a human, he flips the clasps open and lifts the lid. The wood and leather creak loudly, as if this thing doesn’t get opened much. 

Blitzø walks forward and looks inside, tongue flicking out to scent the air. He gets the distinct taste of old paper in return – musty, woody, and earthy. Stolas reaches his arms in carefully to shift some of the journals and portraits, a frown pulling his beak down. 

“I do hope we kept at least a few…” Stolas mutters to himself, lifting some of the trinkets and books out of the way and leaving them on the floor next to him. A ruby necklace catches Blitzø’s eyes, gleaming and bright. Just like a royal family to leave precious things to be forgotten in a chest somewhere. That necklace could probably pay for three months of his rent. His palms itch a little with the temptation. 

“Aha!” Stolas cries happily, a pile of photographs in his hand. He glances at the first one and frowns. “Oh dear, these are rather embarrassing, actually.” 

“That makes them even better,” Blitzø teases, grabbing the pictures from Stolas’ hand and leaping away. Stolas squawks at him, face alight in a blush, but Blitzø ignores him. He flips over the first photo and nearly fucking chokes, staring at a much younger but still regal version of Stolas. The feathers around his face look longer, a few tufts curling against his cheeks. His beak is set into a scowl and he’s wearing a black suit with red trim. In his hands, he holds a mirror that reveals the form of his father, the great Paimon himself. Blitzø shivers, remembering how scary that fucking bird was when he met him the one time. 

He moves towards the desk and hops onto it, papers crumpling under his ass. Stolas comes to join him and Blitzø tilts the picture so they can both look at it.

“Ah, yes, I believe I was just shy of 18 there, much like Via is now,” Stolas says. “A family portrait for my father and I, before the wedding.”

“He’s not even really in the picture,” Blitzø blurts, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Yes, well.” Stolas doesn’t offer anything else, but tBlitzø can recognize ‘daddy issues’ when he sees them. He should know, Cash nearly wrote the damn manual on being a shitty father. 

He moves that photo to the desk and looks at the next one. Stolas is wearing a similar suit, the trim yellow this time. He’s sitting at the desk in this very room, the only difference being that the busts are of Paimon and his sigil is painted everywhere. The prince’s expression is severe as he writes. Shit, does Stolas have any pictures where he doesn’t seem… fucking miserable? 

“You’re more of an academic goth,” Blitzø finally says. “All posh and fancy.”

“Mhmm, living in a palace will do that to you,” Stolas replies, taking the stack of photos from his hands. “What about you, did you have a goth phase?”

“Honey, it’s not a phase,” Blitzø says, jumping down from the desk. He lands easily on his feet and stretches his arms over his head. “I was more of a punk goth, y’know? Spiked collars, that kind of shit.”

“Well that is something I must see,” Stolas says. He sits down on the carpet next to the imp, which means they’re actually eye level. 

“Not a fuckin’ chance,” Blitzø says, dodging hands that try to grab him. 

“I showed you mine!” Stolas says, laughing. “Surely yours cannot be any worse?”

“Stolas, I was an ugly bracefaced kid and I thought lime green was my fucking color, okay?” Blitzø huffs. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

Stolas is frowning at him now, though. He loops one arm around the imp’s torso and pulls him closer, face to face, and cups one cheek. “I don’t think you could ever be ugly, darling.” 

“You don’t have to sweet talk me, you know I’m a sure thing.” Blitzø rolls his eyes, feigning casualness that’s abruptly betrayed by the way he leans into the owl’s touch. “Speaking of, we should get to the good stuff, huh?”

“There’s no rush,” Stolas says, voice still soft. “I won’t push you to show me the photos, dearest, but I would like to see them. To share those memories would be quite an honor.”

Fuck, Blitzø doesn't know what to do with all that, that's for sure.

“...I’ll think about it, okay?” Blitzø says. “Now come on, I have some questions for you about that human disguise.” He pulls Stolas up, knowing it works only because he lets it, Stolas rising up on long fucking legs. “Weird to see you in slacks, birdy.” 

“They are not very comfortable, honestly,” Stolas says. He claps lightly to shut all the lights off in the study, following Blitzø down the hallway. “I can’t wait to get out of these clothes.”

“Who’s rushing now?” Blitzø teases, winking up at him. They reach Stolas’ bedroom in no time, and Stolas lights the sets of lavender candles with a soft snap. Next to the bed, a bunch of empty bottles – absinthe, the label reads – catches Blitzø’s eye. One is turned over, dripping the last bits of green alcohol onto the floor.

Cool, okay, not gonna ask about those. 

“I am sorry I couldn’t create human disguises for you and your employees today,” Stolas says, taking a seat on the bed. 

“Nah, it’s okay, it all worked out,” Blitzø says. “I’m wondering about something, though.”

“Hmm?”

Blitzø smirks, letting his tail lash behind him. “Well, what do you have going on downstairs in that disguise?” He places his hands on the bed next to Stolas’ legs, leaning forward. “Is that something you can control?”

“Oh, uh, well…” Stolas scratches at the feathers on his neck, blushing. “The first time I used it, it was rather… strange. It simply adopted what is common, I believe, which meant–”

“You had a dick?!” Blitzø says, climbing up onto his lap fully now. “Holy shit, Stols.”

“Yes, I did. I later figured out how to… reconfigure it, so to speak, to something I’m more used to.” Stolas giggles, leaning forward to press the point of his beak on one of Blitzø’s horns. Like a fucking… horn-pecker or some shit. “I am surprised you find that form appealing at all, darling.”

It’s Blitzø’s turn to fucking blush now, because he had hoped he wasn’t being so transparent. But yeah, okay, Stolas is pretty no matter what, even as a weird fucking human fleshbag thing. All pale and long and tall and with pretty eyes and a soft-looking mouth–

“Is that something you’d like to explore?” Stolas asks, interrupting Blitzø’s mental catalog of all the sexy parts of his human disguise. His eyes are bright but half-closed with his desire. Oh yeah, birdy is into this. “We could… try it out, if you’d like. Even give you one, too.”

“I don’t need one, not tonight,” Blitzø says, waving off the suggestion quickly. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to know what a human version of him would look like with all his fucking scars. “But I am interested in you and that new dick you can conjure, feathers.”

“Oh, you’re only interested in my dick now?” Stolas says, wrapping long arms around the imp to tug him close. Except the stupid shirt is in the way of his chest fluff. 

“Yeah, yeah, how the tables turn,” Blitzø huffs, rolling his eyes. “But would you be comfortable fucking in your full human form?”

“So you really like the disguise, hmm?” Stolas laughs and then there’s a flare of magic under Blitzø’s hands, Stolas’ form blurring into purple light. Then, the human version of the prince is there, slightly shorter but still spindly. Familiar and uncanny at the same time. 

Blitzø doesn’t say anything, just moves to cup Stolas’ chin with his own. The points of his claws leave tiny scratches as he brushes them along Stolas’ skin. He would worry about the pain, but he knows Stolas likes that shit. He’s proven right when he uses one sharp edge to cut the fabric covering his neck, pushing his claw into his flesh just enough to leave a thin line of red, and Stolas gasps in pleasure. He places a hand on Blitzø's shoulder and pulls him forward, pressing their lips together. 

At first, it’s weird. It feels like kissing someone else and that makes something in Blitzø’s stomach twist. But then Stolas lets out a breath, parting those soft lips, and the sound keeps Blitzø grounded. He takes a breath of his own, letting the scent of lavender and pine coat his tongue. Yeah, this is his bird. Underneath it all, it’s still Stolas. 

Stolas cups both sides of his face, lapping at his mouth and pushing his tongue inside, the muscle far shorter and less agile than Blitzø is used to. He wraps his tongue around it instead, smiling at Stolas’ whine. He shifts in his lap, feeling a distinct hardness under his ass. 

“Out of these clothes,” Blitzø mumbles, voice muffled because they won’t stop kissing. Stolas snaps his fingers and it’s like the clothes fucking disintegrate or something, disappearing from his body. Blitzø chuckles and pulls back, taking in the pale, creamy, bare body in front of him. Humans are fucking weird, but Stolas makes it work somehow. 

Stolas pulls him back in for a kiss, helping him out of his shirt and pressing their bodies together, soft skin rubbing against the scaly texture of Blitzø’s torso. “You’re warm,” Stolas sighs, hands running down the imp’s back. 

“You’re so smooth,” Blitzø says, moving his mouth down Stolas’ neck, sucking lightly. The skin blooms an angry red almost immediately. “Oh, you’re so fucking easy to bruise like this, holy shit.” Putting a mark on Stolas’ body makes something in Blitzø’s brain light up, something stupid that feels a lot like ownership, mating, staking a claim. 

“Yes, my skin feels, ah,” Stolas stops when Blitzø sucks another hickey onto his skin, teeth scraping lightly against his throat. “More sensitive, fuck, Blitzø.” 

“Lay back,” Blitzø says, pushing his chest lightly with one hand. He stands on the mattress and hurriedly rips off his pants and shoes. “Wanna mark you the fuck up, while I can.” The words are low, dark, and Stolas’ blush runs all the way to his chest. Fuck. Blitzø almost leaps on the prince, mouth moving quickly to make a trail across his collarbones, taking his time, biting and sucking. He continues down, mouthing at Stolas’ nipples and thrilling at the way he groans. “Shit, Stols, you gotta tell me if I’m hurting you, if I’m too rough.”

“I will, I will, but fucking please keep going,” Stolas says, head leaning up so he can watch Blitzø move down his body. 

Blitzø smirks against his skin but doesn’t waste time. He leaves small bites as he goes, scaling down Stolas' lithe body. He feels a long, hard cock brush against his stomach as he moves. Precum sticks to Blitzø’s skin and his mouth waters and suddenly he can’t get that fucking thing in his mouth fast enough. He shifts and runs his tongue along the head, licking up the shaft. Of course Stolas would have a pretty cock – smooth, pleasantly thick without being overwhelming. It fits him a little too well. Blitzø swallows it down easily. 

“Fuck!” Stolas cries out, hands reaching for Blitzø’s horns. “Shit, darling, that’s–”

Blitzø takes him deeper until it hits the back of his throat, breathing through the urge to gag. He moves his mouth back up, sucking firmly as he gets to the head, and then he wraps his tongue around it on the way down. 

“Ah, ah, gonna come if you keep doing that,” Stolas says, face flushed, skin slick with sweat. Blitzø runs his palms up his thighs, eyes darting up to watch the way the prince throws his head back. Stolas leans up, warm hand brushing against his face. “Stop, stop, darling, need to be inside you.” 

Yeah, he’s not gonna argue with that. He pulls off of Stolas’ cock and scrabbles up, soft hands grasping at his arms. He reaches down to prepare himself and is promptly batted away, Stolas pushing two fingers inside. Blitzø keens and bucks forward, taking him deeper and grinding on Stolas’ fingers, chasing the pleasure. He watches Stolas playing with him and then flicks his gaze up, almost coming right then at the way Stolas’ pupils are so fucking big. His eyes are fierce, focused, watching the motions of his fingers in Blitzø’s cunt. His gray hair is mussed, damp with sweat, and one little curl hangs down on his forehead. 

“Can you take me with your cock tucked or should I coax it out?” Stolas asks suddenly, pressing a third finger in. They aren’t as long as his talons, but they still hit that spot inside so fucking good. 

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Blitzø says, pushing his head closer to Stolas’ neck, breathing harshly against pink, sweaty skin. “Let’s try and find out.” One of Stolas hands moves to his hip, the other reaching underneath to line himself up. And then Blitzø is letting himself fall, sliding down in his lap. He groans, feeling so fucking full with Stolas’ cock rubbing against his own, still sheathed inside.

“Oh, fuck,” Stolas moans, dull nails digging into his side. “Shit, you’re so tight.” Blitzø bites at his neck, lightly because he’s worried he could actually take a chunk out of him if he’s not fucking careful. He rocks his hips, gasping, almost fucking crying at how overwhelmed he is.  

“Stols,” Blitzø whines, rolling desperately, wanting him deeper, deeper still. 

“Darling, darling,” Stolas coos, rolling them over so he can be on top, using his forearms to hold him up. Stolas kisses Blitzø's forehead over and over, pushing his cock in further until his hipbones are hitting the slickened skin next to the imp's slit, legs spread to keep him as close as possible. Blitzø raises his arms up and Stolas moves in sync, their hands tangling against silk sheets. 

Sure, Stolas has fucked him with a strap before, but this? Feeling the warmth, the way they can’t get any closer… Blitzø clenches his muscles down, letting out a groan that turns into a chuckle when Stolas fucking squawks in response. It's a funny fucking sound for a human to make, but it's also so Stolas that it feels familiar, comforting. 

It’s not long before Stolas is shooting off, so unused to this kind of pleasure, hips jerking erratically. His cum is warm and fills Blitzø up just fucking right. Blitzø rocks down and chases his own peak, his back arching, pleasure zipping up his spine. His eyes scan Stolas’ neck and torso, tracing a pattern of bruises and teeth marks, his fucking teeth marks, his his his.

The image of those bites, the red patches on creamy skin, is enough to get him there and he comes with a cry, Stolas doing his best to keep moving to make it good for him. 

As he comes down, Stolas peppers his face with tiny kisses, pliable lips melting into red and white skin. Blitzø moves his face to catch his mouth and they kiss deeply for a while, their hips still connected. 

When they pull apart, cum slips out of Blitzø’s cunt along with a gush of his slick. Stolas starts apologizing immediately, but Blitzø just puts a palm over his mouth. And then Stolas is moving down his body to clean him up, giving that new tongue a test run. 

Hours later, once they’ve showered the mess off of themselves and Stolas has switched back into his feathery form, they share a cigarette.

“I missed you,” Stolas says, interrupting the quiet. His voice is small and shy. He hands the cigarette back over to Blitzø, who clutches it between two claws.  

Blitzø has no idea what to fucking say to that, not really. Things feel fucking confusing between them, some kind of mix of their deal and… more, if that’s even possible for someone like Blitzø. After a moment of silence, Stolas sighs and starts turning around, rolling on the bed so his back is facing the imp. 

“I don’t let just… anyone touch me there, y’know,” Blitzø finally says, face heating in a blush. It’s the best he can offer right now. Stolas turns back over and looks at him, a small smile on his beak. 

“I know,” Stolas says. He takes the cigarette and finishes the last drag, conjuring a tiny portal to flick the butt into. “I consider myself extremely lucky to touch you at all, but more still that you’ve opened up so much.”

“I will not make the obvious innuendo there, birdy.” 

“I thought it went without saying, personally.” 

Blitzø rolls his eyes and pokes Stolas’ shoulder. Stolas just laughs and grabs him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He doesn’t know what they are, what they could be, but he knows he doesn’t want it to stop. The thought is fucking terrifying, turns his stomach something fierce, but he can’t ignore it anymore. He wants his place here to be certain, he wants to be more than a plaything. And he feels like Stolas might… he might feel that way, too. 

“Stols?”

“Hmm?"

“You still wanna see those dumb pictures?”

Chapter Text

Blitzø hops over the banister lithely, the heels of his boots hitting the stone floor with a click. The glass doors leading to Stolas’ room are closed, which is weird. Usually Stolas is waiting impatiently for him on the balcony, hands clasped in front of his slutty red robe, mouth fixed in an excited grin. 

The assassin steps forward and pushes the doors open slowly, using just the tips of his claws against the shiny panes. Immediately, he’s hit with a wave of lavender and pine, but there’s something else sitting underneath the scent. Dark and ashy, thick like smoke. Blitzø’s tongue flicks out, letting the smell sit on his tongue. He notices that his head is starting to feel hazy, heavy almost, so he quickly moves back outside for some fresh air. 

After a few breaths, he peeks back into the room and can actually take in the state of it this time. Stolas is nowhere to be seen, for one, and none of the candles are lit. Worse, the place is an absolute fucking wreck – there’s a pile of clothes on the vanity and the bed has been stripped bare, blankets torn and crumpled on the floor. The nightstand next to Stolas’ side, uh, the left side of the bed is knocked over. He walks over to pick it back up and finds one of his shirts on the ground along with the stupid horse drawing he forgot one time. 

Blitzø hums worriedly, rushing out of the room and into the hallway. Pacing through the empty palace, the sound of his steps echo. The hallway is lined with big boxes, most of them sealed with tape. He eventually ends up in the kitchen and sees another imp there. He’s pretty sure Stolas has a large staff to take care of the estate and he's run into some of them when he needed to grab snacks for aftercare. Tonight, though, there's no one around, and this guy is the first person he's seen. 

“Uh, hey,” Blitzø greets, trying not to scare the smaller imp. The guy’s shoulders hike up anyway and he turns around, a tray in his hands. 

“Ah, Blitzø, right?” the imp says, tipping his head. “It is a full moon tonight, isn’t it?”

“It is…” Blitzø’s voice drifts off and he coughs uncomfortably. He didn’t realize Stolas told his staff anything about him, about the arrangement, about their scheduled fuck sessions. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. “Who are you?”

“Pringles, the head of staff and the master’s personal butler,” he says, puffing his chest out slightly. Must be something he learned in servant school. “I must warn you, his Highness is a bit… out of sorts, this evening.” 

“What do you mean?” Blitzø asks, crossing the room to open the massive fridge. He just wants a bottle of water, but he’s happy to see a plate of cheese in there, too, with some hot sauce tucked next to it. He leans around the door to fix the butler with a stare, since he hasn’t answered. “Hello? Is he okay?”

Pringles sighs and places the tray on a cart nearby. “Truthfully, I don’t know. He seems to have less control over his powers, for one, and now he's sequestered himself in the study. I thought it was a good sign, since he’s been spending most of his time in his room lately.”

“Why’s that?” Blitzø asks, grabbing a water and twisting the cap off. He takes a long drink as he waits for the butler to answer.

“Well, there has been a lot of chaos at the palace, with the divorce,” Pringles says, his voice meek. 

The what? Blitzø chokes on his next swallow, dribbling water onto the floor as he coughs. Pringles watches him, frowning at the mess he's going to have to mop up. Whatever, that’s not important. “He and Stella are splitting? Like for real?” Blitzø nearly shouts.

“Yes, and it has been long overdue,” the butler says. His words catch up with him and his eyes widen, “Please don’t tell his Highness I said that.”

“You’re good, buddy, I won’t tell him,” Blitzø says. “He’d probably agree, but I won’t say anything. Is that why there’s boxes all over the place?”

“Yes,” Pringles nods and fixes his bowtie. “Lady Stella has quite a long list of things to pack and take with her.” His face is weary, as if he’s been dealing with the bulk of that bullshit. He probably has – he’s probably been suffering with Stella for a long time. 

All of this is kind of a mindfuck. He knew Stolas didn’t want to be with his wife – the bird is as gay as the sky is fucking red – but he didn’t know Stolas had actually made that leap. Good for him, honestly.

“Okay, got it,” Blitzø says. He grabs a few pieces of cheese and pops them in his mouth, finally shutting the fridge. He drains what’s left of his water and lobs the bottle into a nearby trash can. “I’ll take care of it. You can head out for the night.”

“Are you certain?” Pringles asks, following him as he makes his way out of the kitchen. “He’s been a bit short tempered and wouldn’t let any of the staff in today. He hasn’t been allowing us into his private quarters, either.” That explains the mess, then. Pringles bites down on his lower lip, clearly concerned. “And it could be scary, you know, especially if he’s in his… other form.”

“I’ve seen him all Eldritchy, don’t you worry.” Blitzø brushes him off. “Go home or wherever you stay when you’re not working, okay? I got this.” He stops and waits for Pringles to nod. Then he watches the other imp spin on his heel and march the other way, fancy shoes clicking on the palace floor. Blitzø takes a deep breath and catches more of that burning lavender in the air. He lets the scent guide him forward. 

The smell gets thicker as he reaches the doors to Stolas’ study. They’re heavy and tall, and the panels are made of a dark wood with gold filigree on the corners. He’s too short to reach the fucking doorknob, of course, so he pushes at the doors with his hands. They don’t budge. He knocks twice, pressing his ear to the wooden surface to hear anything on the other side. 

“Please go away,” Stolas says, voice raspy. “I am alright, I just want to be alone.”

“You don’t seem alright,” Blitzø says, hoping Stolas can make out his voice. The doors in front of him swing open in a rush and he’s practically smacked in the face with that fucking scent, holy shit. He shakes his head a little, doing his best to focus.

Stolas is there in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically messy. His waistcoat-romper-thing is partially unbuttoned and his headfeathers are mussed up, the way they are after they’ve spent hours in bed together. Blitzø pulls himself back from that train of thought before it can really leave the station, forcing himself to stay present. It’s harder than usual, with Stolas clouding his mind. 

“Blitzø?” Stolas asks, white pinpricks appearing in his eyes for a second.

“Full moon, birdy,” Blitzø says, pushing past him into the study. The place has been torn apart, just like his bedroom. The only difference is that the chaos this time is made of papers and books, piled on the desk and spread along the floor. Several of the pages are crumpled into little balls and a mountain of torn scraps sits next to the trash can in the corner. “Jeez, Stols. Having some trouble with a spell or something?”

“I wish,” Stolas says, his shoulders hunched over. He wrings his hands in front of him and then starts fiddling with the buttons on his clothes. He undoes a few more of them, revealing that fluff of softness on his chest. Blitzø does his best to keep his eyes on Stolas’ face, seeing how upset he looks. Focus, he tells himself, tuning back into the prince’s words. “I don’t know that you should be here, darling, I feel rather strange as of late.” 

“Like sick?”

“No, it’s not that something is wrong, per se, I just feel odd. Restless,” Stolas sighs. He paces over to his desk and flips open a book, thumbing through the pages. “I finally managed to drag myself to my books to see if anything could help, but…” He takes a deep breath and his head snaps up, spinning in that kind of creepy way so he can look at Blitzø. “It’s like my hands, my insides, I feel itchy. I don’t know how to explain it.” 

“What other symptoms have you noticed?” Blitzø asks, walking forward. He jumps up onto the desk and starts swinging his legs. Stolas’ pupils skip down his body to watch the movements closely. 

“Well,” Stolas stops and his face pinks up. “I’ve been, ah, rather…”

“Horny?” Blitzø asks, grinning up at the prince. “Birdy, I’m pretty sure you’re just having mating urges. Sounds similar to the shit some imps go through during their season. Didn’t realize it happened to Goetia, but I guess it makes sense.” 

“Mating instincts?” Stolas asks. He walks to another set of bookcases and collects several volumes off the shelf. “Seasons? If it’s meant to be cyclical, it’s never happened to me before.” 

“Yeah, maybe that’s because of your bitch wife,” Blitzø says, rolling his eyes. “Heard you’re getting a divorce, by the way. Good for you, Stols.”

“Ah, thank you, Blitzø,” Stolas says, turning around and offering a genuine, if strained, smile. “You helped me, you know, with being brave enough to finally throw that harpy out.” 

“Oh yeah?” Blitzø asks, forcing his voice to be normal. His face flushes anyway, because holy shit how is he supposed to react to Stolas saying that. Stolas just coos at him, slinking slowly back over to the desk. He drops his books and cups one side of Blitzø’s jaw, tilting the imp’s face up. 

“Yes, you are quite the inspiration,” Stolas says lowly. He leans down and Blitzø expects a kiss, but instead Stolas rubs their cheeks together, chittering. The feathers are so, so soft against Blitzø’s skin and the smell of lavender and pine is wafting around him more with every movement. The owl chitters once more and switches to the other cheek, the nuzzling becoming more firm, more insistent. Then, he moves up and starts pecking at Blitzø’s horn, beak clacking against the keratin. 

“Uh, Stols?”

“Hmm?” Stolas hums back, but doesn’t stop his movements. His circuit continues, moving to the other horn and then back down to Blitzø’s face. Blitzø starts purring, Stolas’ scent lulling him easily into relaxation. Just like it always does. Stolas clicks his beak a few times, pulling him forward on the desk to hold him closer. “I see now. It must be you, dearest, it’s always you.” 

“Me?”

“You’re driving me crazy,” Stolas whispers, like it’s a secret. He tips his head down to finally catch Blitzø’s lips in a heated kiss. His movements are sloppy and feverish, desperate and rushed. Stolas’ grip on Blitzø’s jaw tightens and he uses it to guide the angle of the kiss, beak parting so he can wrap their tongues together. Blitzø melts into it, his brain feeling cloudy as he breathes and scents and tastes his bird, his owl, his person. Stolas keens at his obvious submission, his other hand reaching down for the imp’s, tangling their fingers together. He parts their mouths and Blitzø can barely make out his expression through blurry eyes, but he sees another flash of those pupils. 

“So good for me, aren’t you?” Stolas asks, voice deeper than usual. A hint of darkness thickens the sound. “Will you let me take you to bed, darling?”

“Okay,” Blitzø answers, leaning forward to press his face into his favorite spot, huffing into a plush chest. Fuck, he could get high off this shit. Maybe he already is.

Stolas picks him up and the imp wraps his legs around the prince’s torso. His purr starts up again, rumbling through his body in gentle vibrations.

“You’re purring?” Stolas coos, petting his back. “Oh, I truly am lucky, aren’t I?”

Blitzø doesn’t respond, too busy rubbing as much of Stolas’ scent on his face as he can. His tongue flicks out and he licks at some of the feathers, settling them down neatly. 

Once they reach the bedroom, Stolas tuts at the mess and waves his hand, a purple glow surrounding his talons. When Blitzø lifts his head, he sees that the bed has been remade, though only with a sheet. Stolas places him down and helps him with his jacket, pushing it gently off of his body. Then Stolas kneels in front of him and takes his boots off, lidded red eyes watching the motions. Blitzø spies Stolas’ tail out of the corner of his eye, the long plumes shaking slightly.

“You okay?” Blitzø asks, though the words are slightly slurred. Stolas looks up and smiles at him gently, but there’s something else there, something heated in his gaze that makes Blitzø’s stomach tighten. 

“Perfectly fine, dearest, now that you're here,” Stolas affirms. He tugs off Blitzø’s shirt and then his pants, Blitzø shifting clumsily to help as much as he can. “Are you okay, Blitzø?”

“Mmm, your scent is nice,” Blitzø says. Once he’s naked, he lets himself fall back against the bed. He lifts his hips and pushes down his underwear, realizing how fucking drenched he is. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Stolas says, and his tone is low. A talon gently traces along Blitzø’s cunt, playing in the wetness there. “For me?”

“Yeah,” Blitzø says, suddenly shy. He takes another breath and flicks his tongue out, tasting the distinct notes of ash and smoke under the lavender. 

“I have you,” Stolas says, reassuring him even though he didn’t ask. “I won’t ever hurt you, I swear it.”

“I know.” The words are small because even through the fuzziness of his brain, Blitzø knows they are treading dangerous waters, much too close to a serious confession. He wiggles his hips, hoping his expression is somewhere close to teasing. “You gonna take care of me, Stols?”

“I am,” Stolas says, quickly stripping himself of that fucking romper. “You’ll tell me if I… go too hard, won’t you?”

“I’d like to see you try,” Blitzø says, grinning a dumb fucking grin. “But yeah, I’ll tell you.” 

“Good,” Stolas says, crawling onto the bed and leaning over him. He sits up, back straight, and those white pupils trace down Blitzø’s body. “I’d like to try something, if you don’t mind?” He gently pries Blitzø’s legs farther apart and swings one of his over, interlocking the two of them in a way they haven't tried before. Adjusting his hold, Stolas presses his cloaca down to Blitzø’s cunt and hisses. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Blitzø says, rocking his hips up for more contact. They slide together easily, both of them already slick with want, and the friction against the tip of his cock and his hole is different but so, so good.  

Stolas moans and rolls down harder, using one hand to keep Blitzø’s leg out of the way and the other to pin him down to the bed. “You feel incredible,” he says, head falling back. His body is so long, so soft, so pretty. Blitzø keens and matches his motions as much as he can. “It’s never been like this, not ever,” Stolas continues, adjusting so Blitzø can feel the bumps along his cloaca catching against him. 

“Fuck, Stols,” Blitzø says, lifting his head to watch the way their hips move together, the sticky webs of his wetness catching on the feathers of Stolas’ pelvis and making the fluff sparkle and glisten. “Please, please.” 

Stolas lets out a small screech, something distinctly birdish, but it doesn’t bother Blitzø. Stolas’ hips crush against him harder, faster. He pulls Blitzø up further from the bed and angles them so he can line their holes up. And then there’s a rush of fluid, Stolas’ cum running over his slit, some of it slipping inside him. Stolas pants out with his release and looks down at him with flushed cheeks. Despite his climax, the prince looks less refreshed, less aware. He looks how Blitzø’s brain fucking feels, all wrapped up in sensation.

art by @Holo-Glitter.bsky.social

“Again?” Blitzø asks, tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

“Again,” Stolas confirms. 

**

“Shit, Stols,” Blitzø moans, rocking over Stolas’ body with tired thighs and sore muscles. Stolas is holding him, keeping them pressed together, their legs intertwined so they can get as close as possible. He can’t even count how many orgasms they’ve had between them. He keeps moving, almost there, eyes scrunching–

“Stop,” Stolas says, his voice firm and commanding. Blitzø halts his movements immediately, despite how his cunt is pulsing. He falls into Stolas, hands gripping his shoulders. The black on the prince's arms has been climbing steadily, now creeping onto his torso. The edges of his feathers are warm against Blitzø’s palms. 

“Roll over,” Stolas says, and it’s not fucking fair how hot his voice is. How Stolas’ telling him what to do makes Blitzø squirm. 

“Fuck, I was so close,” Blitzø whines, but he lets Stolas maneuver him onto his back. Stolas picks up where they left off, rolling his hips against his slit. By now, Blitzø’s poor cock has been coaxed out and largely ignored, because that’s not what this is about. Blitzø has enough mind to know what Stolas is doing. “Tell me why you rolled me over, birdy,” he says, teasing. 

“Need to fill you up,” Stolas says, red eyes flaring with light. 

“Yeah? Gonna get me nice and pregnant?” Blitzø says, sucking in air through his teeth and nearly choking on the heady musk of Stolas’ scent. “Make me your little broodmare, pump me full of hybrids?”

“As if that doesn’t do it for you, too,” Stolas teases back, his smile a little intimidating, a little mean. “As if you don’t want to be my broodmare, my good boy, let me mark you as mine."

“Fuck,” Blitzø moans, hitting his peak with a deep groan. His cock barely dribbles any cum onto his stomach, but Stolas somehow has enough left to fucking flood him. 

“There you are,” Stolas says, feathers puffing out. Around them, dark smoke and crackling energy fill the bedroom. “So good for me.” He moves to the side and pulls Blitzø in for a cuddle, the embrace distinctly protective, one hand covering Blitzø’s stomach. Below them, Stolas’ cum slips out of Blitzø’s cunt and onto the sheets, adding to the mess already there.

Blitzø’s eyes close slowly, his body relaxed, his mind blank. Luckily, Stolas seems just as tired, and they both get a few precious hours of sleep.

The next time Blitzø wakes up, he’s alone. He stretches out on the massive bed, feeling the way his muscles are screaming at him. Shit, okay, he should ask Stolas for a fancy spell to help with that. 

He forces himself to sit up and winces when he feels more of Stolas’ cum leaking out of him. He won’t attempt a shower though, knowing what he knows about ruts and heat cycles. He just moves off of the bed and waddles awkwardly to the bathroom, cleaning himself up as best he can so he’s not literally dripping all over the place. Pringles doesn’t need that shit in his life. 

He sniffs around the room until he finds Stolas’ tatty old robe, wrapping the red fabric around his body. It smells so fucking good that his mouth waters, but he makes himself keep walking to find the prince in question.

He finds him in the kitchen, the cheese plate Blitzø found earlier floating in the air next to him along with the hot sauce, a few bottles of water, and a book. 

“Stols?” Blitzø asks, stepping onto the cool tile floor.

“Darling!” Stolas cries, turning around. “I was just gathering some food for you. Please, sit down.” He lifts Blitzø onto a stool at the kitchen island. Looking at it more closely, Blitzø realizes that the counter-top is pretty neat – it has all those cracks and sparkles, kind of like someone split open a rock to reveal the crystals inside. Blitzø traces one of the lines with his claw, waiting for Stolas to set the food up. 

“Alright, I believe I picked your favorites,” Stolas says, sitting next to him. He spears one of the cubes with a toothpick and holds it out for Blitzø to take. Blitzø does so, studying Stolas’ face carefully. Stolas’ top eyes scrunch into arcs as he watches him eat. 

“I can feed myself, y’know,” Blitzø says, blushing. It’s kind of weird, being regarded so closely. Like he’s the center of the universe or some shit. 

“I want to take care of you,” Stolas says. He opens the hot sauce – a brand new bottle, obviously purchased for Blitzø since birds can’t even taste spice – and pours it into a small dish in the middle of the tray. “Here, try this.” He dips another cheese cube in the sauce and brings it forward, this time foregoing the toothpick completely. Blitzø takes the morsel without any complaint, teasingly licking at the tips of Stolas’ talons just to watch his gaze heat up. The cheese is slightly sweet, tangy, and the hot sauce compliments it perfectly, cutting through the heaviness of the dairy. Yeah, Stolas picked the good shit. 

Stolas continues feeding him and Blitzø eventually realizes he’s not taking anything for himself. He picks up a piece of melon from the tray and holds it up to Stolas’ beak, Stolas taking it happily. They trade bites for a while until they’ve made it through half of the tray. Stolas stands up to clean up their mess and Blitzø finally gets a look at the book he was holding. 

The title is embossed in gold on the hardcover: Mating Behaviors and the Reproduction of Demons. Blitzø pulls it closer but Stolas stops him with one hand. He glances up at Stolas and sees the flushed expression on his face. 

“Stolas, there’s no reason to be embarrassed,” Blitzø says, but he removes his hand from the book. “You’ve already stuffed me with cum.” 

“Right, yes,” Stolas says. He covers his beak with a hand for a moment before he continues, “Yes, well, actually, I was doing some research on that.”

“On what?”

“Properly breeding you,” Stolas answers, waving his fingers. Blitzø nearly chokes on his water and Stolas pats him on the back lightly. The book opens on the table and flips to the page he’s looking for. “It occurred to me that while cloacal kisses work fine in most cases, there might be more… efficient ways to go about this.”

“You… are doing research on how to fill me with more cum?” Blitzø asks. He looks down at the book in front of him and notes that it’s a section on mixed-species couples.

Stolas’ beak digs into his bottom lip and he moves forward, twisting Blitzø’s chair around. “I enjoy the idea of… filling you, and I think it would help my, ah, instincts.”

“You have before, y’know, that one time with your human disguise,” Blitzø points out. “And you’re doing great with the uh, cloaca thing.” 

“Yes, I know,” Stolas says, face pinking up even more. “It’s just that my mind is rather focused on it, and it made me wonder if there was a better way. For both of us.”

“Stolas, if this thing awakened a breeding kink in you, that’s okay,” Blitzø says, shrugging. “You don’t have to worry about me, you’re the one having your bird rut or whatever.” He hops down from the stool and motions for Stolas to follow him back to the bedroom. 

“Funny you should mention ruts,” Stolas says, keeping up with him easily. Blitzø suddenly realizes that Stolas is stark fucking naked in the hallway, but he guesses it’s fine since the whole staff seems to have cleared out. “The book mentioned something very interesting, and it reminded me of the first time you, ah, bottomed, as it were?” Stolas coughs awkwardly but soldiers on, face still red. “The strap was made for imps and it had spikes, and you seemed to enjoy those?”

“I mean, yeah, they were nice, they didn’t hook perfectly but–” Blitzø stops himself and peers over at Stolas. “Are you… I mean, if you’re offering to fucking conjure a spiked cock I’m not going to say no to that, Stolas.” 

“It doesn’t… hurt?” Stolas asks, holding the door to his room open. Once they’re inside, he uses his magic to strip the bed of the dirty sheets and replace them with a new set. 

“Honestly, I don’t have that much experience with them,” Blitzø says. “Y’know, ‘cause I was the one shoving my spikes–” he stops himself as Stolas’ mouth drops into a severe frown, his stare distinctly angry now. With the bitchy eyebrows and everything. “Nevermind, uh, yeah, from what I’ve heard it’s the tits. A real good time.” 

“Hmm,” Stolas hums and then he’s waving his Grimoire over, the heavy tome floating in the air. “Get on the bed, dearest.” 

“Sure, yeah.” Blitzø hurries to follow the instruction, feeling a little like he might have fucked up. Like Stolas is mad at him for even hinting at his past hookups. But he didn’t mean it like that, he was trying to say how he never does this shit with anybody else, just Stolas. And only Stolas. He watches the prince use his magic to bring the other book to his hand, the one on reproduction that started this whole issue. 

For a moment, Stolas looks back and forth between the two books and then smiles to himself. He waves a hand a few times, mutters an incantation, and then there's a bright flare of purple at his hips. Blitzø averts his eyes, suddenly shy or some shit, and he hears Stolas giggle. He glances back and nearly swallows his goddamn tongue because wow okay that is a nice fucking cock. The shaft is a dark gray that lightens to a blushy pink at the head. It looks girthy, but not too thick. Long, but not too long. Yeah, if he had drawn his ideal cock, this would be it. Holy shit. He can’t see the spikes from here, but just knowing they exist has him slicking up. 

“I take it that this one is satisfactory?” Stolas says, grinning. He walks over, his new cock already fucking hard, shit, okay. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s a good one,” Blitzø blurts out, shifting back on the bed. His skin slides against the silk sheets and he’s fucking nervous all of a sudden. The look in Stolas’ eye is intimidating, predatory, and he suddenly realizes that he is the perfect fucking prey. They’re a matching set – Stolas looks like he wants to fucking eat him and Blitzø wants to be devoured. 

Stolas climbs over him on his hands and knees, cock hanging between his legs. He leans down to nuzzle his cheek against Blitzø’s just like he did before. “Now, dearest,” he says, pausing as he switches to the other side of his face. Blitzø breaths in that fucking scent, flowers and pine and ash and burning, burning–

“I don’t like hearing about anyone else who’s touched you,” Stolas admits, voice low and dark. The tone makes Blitzø shiver, and then there’s one long, sharp talon tracing down his chest. It diverts around his weeping cock and slips down until he reaches the imp’s soaking slit. “Do you understand?” 

“Yeah, I get it,” Blitzø says quietly, because he does. He doesn’t like to think about someone else touching his bird, doesn’t let his mind imagine it. It’s possessive and it’s stupid because Stolas isn’t even really his. He does his best to relax as Stolas presses his finger in deeper. His body slumps into the mattress, head tipping back. Stolas uses the opportunity to kiss his cheek and down his neck, pecking lightly with his beak. 

“I don’t know if you do,” Stolas sighs, his breath tickling Blitzø’s skin. The air around them is thick, heavy, darkness edging in closer. He adds another finger inside, rubbing insistently at the patch of nerves there. His form blurs, his magic sparking between them. “No, I don’t think you realize.” Removing his hand, Stolas leans up and flips Blitzø onto his stomach smoothly. He shifts to kneel behind him and pulls his hips up. “It’s okay, darling, I will show you.” 

Blitzø opens his mouth to say something, anything, feeling inexplicably bad and sorry, but also desperate and clingy. Stolas hushes him gently. Then he’s pressing his cock in slowly, and Blitzø’s cunt is barely stretched for it. It doesn’t matter, the slight pinch of Stolas making room for himself is good, is so overwhelming, it’s like he’s fitting Blitzø for him and him only, ruining him for anyone else. 

“Fuck,” Blitzø huffs against the bed, drooling. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting the scent of the room swirl in his mouth, his body, embed itself in his fucking veins. He gasps when Stolas pulls back, the points of the spikes catching on his walls, the pockets in his cunt fighting to keep them locked together. 

“Oh, darling,” Stolas groans, pressing back in. He folds over Blitzø’s body, feathered chest against his back, one dark hand reaching for red and white, their fingers interlocking against the sheets. He kisses Blitzø’s neck as he grinds his hips, the head of his cock hitting a barrier. Fuck, Blitzø feels so fucking full. “Tell me, dearest, who touches you best?”

“You, you,” Blitzø answers, cheek squished against the bed. 

“And only me?”

“Only you,” Blitzø repeats, eyes rolling back in his head with the next thrust. “Fuck, Stols.” 

“I’m going to breed you so well, better than anyone else,” Stolas bites out, working his hips in harder. Blitzø can tell he’s getting close by the tone of his voice, the speed of his breathing, but more than anything, he knows because the spikes are lifting, making it harder for Stolas to pull out. 

“No one has,” Blitzø admits. “Not like this, not like you. No one.”

Stolas moans, the sound high pitched and close to a screech. “Mine,” he bites out, mouthing at the skin on Blitzø’s back. “I need to make you full, mark you from the inside so anyone who comes near you will know who you belong to.” 

Blitzø pushes his hips back at the same time, thrilling in the way Stolas fills him completely. The spikes on Stolas' cock hook into his pockets, a perfect fucking fit because of course it is. Stolas comes with a cry, jerking forward as much as he can with the two of them locked together. The spikes keep them connected, keep Blitzø plugged so that all of Stolas’ cum stays inside. Running a hand down his body, Blitzø feels the way his stomach is fucking bloating with it. He reaches his own climax with a low groan, feeling the darkness of Stolas’ magic wrap around him. Protecting him, protecting them. 

**

After Stolas’ mating instincts calm the fuck down, they sleep for a solid twelve hours. Blitzø wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in, muscles achy and tired, face smushed into the fluff on Stolas’ chest. Shifting his hips, Blitzø realizes that they’re still fucking locked together, the spikes keeping that magical cock tucked inside of him, keeping him full of Stolas’ cum. He looks down and sees the new roundness of his stomach and he knows that fucking image is going to be seared into his head for a while. 

At least Stolas isn’t Eldritchy anymore, he’s just his normal blue-gray self, and he’s wrapped around Blitzø completely. It feels like a cage for one suffocating moment, and then Blitzø breathes deep and reminds himself it’s not. 

His shifting seems to wake the prince and Stolas’ movements jostle where their hips are connected. They both whine a little, despite the fact that they can’t possibly go for another round. Stolas stretches one arm above his head and then tucks it around Blitzø’s back. His lower two eyes blink open, his headfeathers an absolute wreck.

“How are you feeling, birdy?” Blitzø asks, snuggling into Stolas’ embrace. He nuzzles his forehead against his chest fluff, pretending he’s not scent marking. “Your first rut and all.”

“I feel alright,” Stolas says, but his voice is slightly raspy. He clears his throat and tries again. “Thank you for… being here, through that. It was scary at first, not knowing what was happening with my body.” 

“Hey, not like I didn’t have a great fucking time,” Blitzø says, grinning. He brushes his stomach with his claws and Stolas’ gaze darts down, pupils flashing at how full Blitzø is. 

“This is, ah, probably something I should have asked before, but,” Stolas starts. He swallows hard and then continues, “Do we need to worry about… ah, that is, I certainly–”

“I’m not gonna get preggers, don’t worry,” Blitzø says, rolling his eyes. He backs away as much as he can and looks at the prince’s face. “Had Pringles go grab me some pills after the last time, so we should be all set.” 

“Okay, good, that’s good,” Stolas says, but he’s frowning. There’s a sad look in his eyes, like he’s disappointed. “Yes, of course, because why would you…” Stolas shakes his head. “Apologies, it appears my, ah, instincts are still active.” 

“You’re a good dad but that’s not a decision I’m making on the fly, Stols,” Blitzø says, poking a downy white cheek. “But I get it. Instincts are instincts. Your birdbrain probably doesn’t like hearing that you pumped me all full for nothing.” 

“Right,” he says. He looks away, takes a breath, and moves his eyes back to the imp’s face. Long, sharp talons start scratching at Blitzø’s back. “It means a lot to me that you stayed.” 

“Yeah, you’d do the same for me, I bet,” Blitzø says, plucking a loose feather from Stolas’ chest. “I liked it, I promise.” Inside him, Stolas’ cock pulses, still hard and locked in place. Which reminds Blitzø that he wanted to ask, “How’d you make such a good dick by the way? Like all the spikes are in the right spots.” A perfect fit, he doesn’t add. 

Stolas face blooms in a pink blush. “I just used a spell and some of the notes from the other book and it… conjured what would work.”

“Like the spell just knew?” Blitzø asks. “Fucking weird, but okay.” He moves closer, feeling tired once again. He stuffs his face into the soft feathers on Stolas’ chest, and Stolas keeps scratching his back, fingers tracing circles and shapes and weaving in between his spines. Blitzø nuzzles in, taking a deep breath, and realizes he can smell a trace of gunpowder on Stolas’ body. Gunpowder and a hint of cinnamon, mixed with lavender and pine. Flowers in the barrel of a gun. 

And an echo of power, ash, and fire, sitting underneath it all. 

It seems like an unlikely combination, maybe something you’d find in a fancy fucking perfume. But it works and Blitzø can’t deny the pleasure of smelling himself on Stolas. As he drifts away, he wonders how long the scent will stick. Maybe he can do something to make it last.

Chapter Text

Blitzø really, really hates the feeling of being drugged. That shit got old fast in his early twenties, even worse when those fucking agents got him with the truth bullshit, and now it just leaves him useless and sluggish for hours. 

Aside from feeling like shit, he’s also pissed at himself. From the moment they stepped into Crimson’s mansion in Greed, he knew something was up. Dinner was a fucking farce and that Chaz guy was absolutely putting up a front. He’d even come onto Moxxie, then Millie, then Blitzø trying to get his rocks off. As if Blitzø could stand to be near him, the reek of seaweed and sour cologne nearly choking him.

No, the smell is all wrong, stringent and harsh. He won't let that shit stick to him, no fucking way. So he turned that slimy fucker down and then snuck into sharkboy’s room later to steal his keys. He went outside to check out his junky car, and then the fucker got him with a syringe of who fucking knows what and locked him in the trunk. 

Millie had found him, thank Satan, and then he mostly stood back and let her do her thing. Honestly, he was too fucked up to help beyond getting used as a weapon at one point, his horns cutting through some fucker as Millie waved him around. Then, she’d fucked up so many mafia hitmen, using dildos in new and innovative ways – frankly, it had been beautiful to witness. After she grabbed Moxxie and they all made it back to the office, Blitzø gave everyone the next few days off so he could sleep through the side effects and Moxxie could book a double session with his therapist. 

Hours later, he’s sweating on his couch because whatever Chaz used on him is sticking around like a bad case of chlamydia. Fuck, he hopes he didn’t catch something from that goddamn needle, that would be just his luck. Loona brings him some ginger soda to help calm his stomach and then she sits on the floor in front of the couch, keeping an eye on him. Eventually, his nausea settles and he tells her she can go out with her friends like she planned, since he’s just gonna sleep for the next four hours at least. He’s so fucking tired, he could probably sleep through to the next morning. 

And that’s exactly what he does, dropping into a heavy nap that turns into a long, long rest. As if he’s making up for the years of hours lost to working overnight, nightmares, or the springs in the couch poking him awake at 3 am. When he does wake, it’s not by choice – no, there’s a distinct charge in the air that nearly shocks him to awareness. The sensation is familiar but it still sets him on edge, his eyes snapping open and body moving to a crouch. His hooves sink into the shitty cushions beneath him and he swings his head around, finding the source of the sparkling energy. A portal, ripping into his apartment, right where his door is.

Oh, shit. He has just a moment to realize what’s happening before Stolas steps into his tiny home, his headfeathers brushing the dirty, water-stained ceiling. 

“Stols?” he asks, swallowing hard. Fuck. He thought they had an understanding that Stolas wasn’t meant to come here. Especially without notice, especially before Blitzø has time to clean and hide.

“Darling,” Stolas says, eyes skipping around the kitchen and then the living room. “I’m terribly sorry, I am, but you hadn’t answered in quite some time. I was worried.”

“You couldn’t call? Or even knock from the hallway?” Blitzø says, his voice close to a hiss. He tries to breathe through his panic, knowing that Stolas doesn’t mean to set him off. That him coming here is a sign that he cares. But it’s fucking embarrassing, seeing a tall prince in full regalia crowding the limited space of his apartment, the best he can afford right now. 

“I did call,” Stolas says, pointing to Blitzø’s phone on the coffee table. He takes a few hesitant steps forward. “I did not knock, you’re correct on that. But… Loona had texted Octavia about someone… harming you–”

“Loona told Octavia that?” Blitzø asks, forcing his body to relax out of the attack position. He plops his ass on the couch and nods for Stolas to walk over. 

“Well, I had mentioned to Octavia that I was concerned about you, with the lack of answers. And I believe she asked Loona about it and then she informed me of the situation,” Stolas says. He finally sits down on the couch, pulling his long legs up and circling them with his arms. He looks small like this, like a kid. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just needed to sleep it off,” Blitzø says, waving his hand dismissively. “Wellness check complete, you can head back to the palace now, birdy.” 

Stolas doesn’t move, just keeps watching the imp’s face. His beak digs into his lower lip and then he sighs. Blitzø gets the sense that there’s more he wants to say. There’s probably a thousand words sitting on Stolas’ tongue, and Blitzø knows he’s not ready for half of them. Maybe even less.

Stolas smiles at him but it’s dim, seeming to realize the same thing. He stands up, nearly bumping his head on the ceiling, and turns to leave. 

But Stolas stops short when he’s faced with the wall of photos and posters. The ones featuring Blitzø’s family and friends, his past memories, even a picture from his childhood. The ones that he’s scratched his face out of, every single one.

“Blitzø?” Stolas asks, and his voice is thick in a way Blitzø has never heard. Blitzø’s entire body stiffens and he looks down at his claws. He doesn’t say anything, because there isn’t anything to fucking say. 

He looks up and Stolas has moved closer to the wall, talons tracing over the splotches covering where his face should be. There’s a sniffle and then Stolas’ shoulders are shaking lightly. 

“Aw, Stolas, it’s fine,” Blitzø says, but his eyes are stinging. “Really, it’s just–”

“When?” Stolas asks, finally turning back around. All four of his fucking eyes are crying. “When did you do this?”

“I…” Blitzø can’t get the rest of it out, traitorous tears choking him up. He swallows harshly and forces himself to keep going, but he hits a wall. “Stolas, I really, really can’t.” 

Stolas shakes his head, dislodging his stupid fucking hat with the motion. It falls to the ground and Stolas follows after it, shuffling forward on his knees. He reaches his hand out, talons shaking slightly. “I understand if you don’t wish to talk about it,” he says. “But I cannot… I cannot bear it, if this is how you see yourself. I can’t understand it.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Blitzø bites out, ignoring the outstretched palm. “A lot you can’t understand, even if I told you.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Stolas replies, tone more firm. He puts his hand down on the couch and uses it to push himself up so he can climb onto it. He shifts closer to Blitzø and then folds himself down awkwardly, ass sitting on his talons, so he’s not towering over the imp. “I may not know your past, whatever follows you and keeps you closed off, but I know you. I know you now.” 

“Stolas, there’s no way,” Blitzø says, almost laughing. 

“Oh yeah?” Stolas says, challenging him. Blitzø ignores how attractive that is, seeing Stolas be firm instead of fawnish. “I know you run a business that you built with your own hands and your own ideas. I know you thought of an angle no one else in Hell has and have cornered that particular market for yourself. I know you made opportunities for your two employees to work for you.” The words are fast, fervent, desperate. Stolas stops to breathe and looks around the apartment, focusing on the door covered in caution tape and dark posters. “I know you’ve given the only bedroom in this apartment to your daughter, because you love her dearly and you are a good dad.” 

“Come on, Stolas, you don’t need to–”

“I know that you take care of people,” Stolas says, cutting him off. “You take care of me. You purchase special toys and gifts for our nights together and you focus on me, my pleasure, almost entirely.”

“Not lately, I don’t,” Blitzø says, rolling his eyes. The motion dislodges the tears hanging onto his lash line and a few run down his face. He wipes them away roughly. 

“Those have been my favorite nights,” Stolas says, catching one of his hands with his own. “My very favorite, getting to take control more, getting to see you less stressed, more open, all because of my hands.”

“Open on your–”

“Blitzø.” 

“Fuck, you’re really not letting me get away from this, are you?” Blitzø asks, slouching his shoulders. “Stolas, it should be pretty fucking obvious that I’m a mess, okay? I know it, you know it.” 

“I don’t expect to rewrite your opinion of yourself tonight,” Stolas says. “But that’s not all you are, and I myself am not that put together. You saw the bottles on my nightstand. I know you did because you’re observant and you don’t bring wine back to the room anymore during our breaks.” Stolas reaches forward, gentle hands cupping his face. “We don’t need to talk about it all right now, we don’t. But you have to know how highly I think of you.”

“You… you do?” Blitzø asks, more tears gathering in his blurry eyes. 

“Yes, dearest,” Stolas says, voice more soft now. “How could I not? With how brave, attentive, and handsome you are?”

The sentiments are hard to swallow, even harder to believe. And yet, the praise makes his stomach feel warm. His face flushes and he ducks his head. Stolas coos at him and the hands still holding Blitzø’s face shift. Two long, graceful thumbs trace down the assassin’s cheeks, one red and one white. 

“You are very important and very inspiring to me. You always have been,” Stolas says, a flash of white pupils accompanying the words. 

“Stolas, I’m just some… lowlife fuckbuddy, really, not anything special.” 

“I wish you could see yourself from my eyes,” Stolas says, beak quivering with his words. “You are special, much more than a… fuckbuddy. I apologize for not making that apparent.”

“You don’t need to do anything, Stolas, really,” Blitzø says. The conversation is getting overwhelming, the subject veering towards dangerous waters, towards their arrangement, towards something Blitzø is not ready to talk about, especially not today. “This is my shit, anyway.” 

“You’re tired,” Stolas observes, taking the time to read Blitzø’s face. Closely, like how he reads all those fucking books. “We can stop this talk for now, but I would like to return to it when you feel better.” 

“Even if I was rested and feeling good, this would not be easy for me,” Blitzø says. “But I can try, yeah.”

“Yes, that’s what you do,” Stolas says, smiling. “You try. All the time.”

“Christ on a stick Stolas, where are you getting this shit?”

“My beautiful heart and my intelligent mind, Blitzy,” Stolas says, rolling his eyes. “Now, am I going to have to hunt down the idiot that dared to touch you?”

“Oh, no, this Mafia fucker probably put that bitch in a lake already,” Blitzø says, grateful for the subject change. “He was Millie and Moxxie’s ex, can you believe that? Even tried to make a pass at me, but I sent him packing. Then, I checked out his car because I could smell bullshit all over his fuckin’ story, and the dickhead got me with a syringe.”

“He drugged you?” Stolas asks, eyes flaring brightly. The apartment’s temperature rises, darkness seeping out from the prince’s feathers. “Oh, he’s lucky he’s already dead.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’ve been sleeping so much, trying to get the fuzzy out.” Blitzø points to himself, crossing his eyes comically to calm Stolas’ energy. Except that shit kind of fucks with his head and he’s a little worried they’ll get stuck, so he hurriedly moves his pupils back to Stolas’ face. 

“And you’re certain he didn’t… I mean, while you were, ah, incapacitated, you would’ve been quite vulnerable,” Stolas says, hands slipping from Blitzø’s face and down to his shoulders. His mouth dips into a worried frown and his touch starts to feel less like comfort and more like taking inventory. Blitzø should know, he pulls that move all the time on M&M and Loona after tough missions. 

“Ah, no, he just stuffed me in the trunk,” Blitzø says. "Don't worry, Stols."

“I see,” Stolas says, and his beak is set in a hard line now. He shakes his head and Blitzø can see the effort it takes to force his expression into something more positive. The shadows recede, the room’s energy dropping back to normal. “I am glad he didn’t touch you.” 

“Yeah, I bet, after all that bird rut talk,” Blitzø says, teasing. He feels better, sitting here with Stolas, making stupid jokes. Even though Stolas has seen, he knows, Blitzø feels okay, somehow. 

“I suppose I can’t help it,” Stolas says, grinning. He keeps up with his teasing easily, continuing, “You’re mine, after all, aren’t you?” 

The question should make Blitzø scared, make him fucking panic, make him launch off the couch and look for the nearest exit. But it doesn’t, and that’s almost as fucking scary. 

“Yeah, I guess so, Stols,” Blitzø says. Fuck, the stupid drugs are making him sappy. His mouth is too loose, words breaking free from the cage of his mind.  “Just as long as you remember you’re mine too, got that?” 

“Oh, darling, there was never a question,” Stolas says. His voice wobbles a little, like he’s scared. Because even though he says the words lightly, they are a heavy, loaded thing hanging in the air between them.

Blitzø has no idea what he can say to match that, but the idea, the confirmation, that Stolas belongs to him? Yeah, that makes him a little wild. Makes him want to do something stupid. 

“Use your magic to bring my phone over here,” Blitzø says. Stolas hums and does so, a purple glow carrying the device to Blitzø’s hand. Swiping at the screen, Blitzø opens his photo app and clicks on the album he wants. Then he scrolls until he finds it – the photo of him and Stolas, the one he took that one time after the meditation shit.  He takes a breath and hands the thing over, letting Stolas see the picture. 

“Oh,” Stolas gasps, a few tears gathering in his lower eyes. “When… when did you take this?”

“Uh, after you did the relaxing thing?” Blitzø says, the end of the sentence pulling up like it was a question. “Yeah, uh, after that.” 

“May I… have a copy of this?” Stolas asks, looking back up. White pupils appear in his gaze and this time, they don’t fade as quickly. No, they linger as Stolas tilts his head to marvel at the picture, the phone cradled in his hands like it’s something precious. “We look very… happy, don’t we? Content, even.” 

“I mean, you’re smiling and you’re sleeping on a goddamn horn,” Blitzø says, pointing at Stolas’ tiny grin. 

“Oh, and look at your fucked out smile,” Stolas teases, zooming in on Blitzø’s dopey face, his eyes half lidded, his smile crooked. 

“Shut up,” Blitzø says, grabbing the phone. He taps a few times and sends the picture to Stolas, the prince’s phone chirping from his pocket. He throws his to the floor and he’s pretty sure it lands under the coffee table somewhere. 

“Thank you, dearest,” Stolas says, pulling his own device out. He plays with the buttons on the screen for a few minutes before he turns his gaze back up. The pupils are gone now, but Blitzø is getting better at deciphering his expressions. “It means a lot to me, truly. And it… says a lot, which must be difficult for you to share.” 

“Yeah, uh, your welcome,” Blitzø says. Stolas watches Blitzø’s face closely, probably studying the blush covering his cheeks. Blitzø glances away, avoiding that intense stare. “Wanted to give you something, since you said all that nice stuff.” He forces himself to look at Stolas’ face, and his eyes dart between bright red pools and a pointy beak. 

“Can I do something for you, darling?” Stolas asks, smirking slightly. 

For once, Blitzø doesn’t feel like putting up a front. He just wants to ask for what he needs. “Kiss?” he asks, feeling inexplicably shy. They’ve kissed so many fucking times, maybe hundreds of times by now, but he’s never asked for one. And they’ve never kissed in his stupid apartment, on the torn up couch that serves as his bed every night. 

Stolas guides Blitzø forward to kneel on the cushions and brings their faces closer. Blitzø follows, letting Stolas move him, letting him set the pace. Stolas leans his head down and the first kiss is so fucking gentle, barely any pressure. Tame, compared to all the other times they’ve been together. It makes Blitzø feel like there’s a live wire running from the light touch to his chest, his stomach, his slit. 

Blitzø surges up into it, pressing their mouths more firmly together. Stolas chuckles and parts his beak, their kisses quickly turning more heated. Blitzø’s brows furrow as he focuses in on the feeling, shivering when Stolas’ tongue slips into his mouth. The warmth in his stomach blooms hotter and he knows he’s getting wet now. 

“More, darling?” Stolas asks, pulling back just enough to meet Blitzø’s gaze. They look at each other with half-lidded eyes and blushy cheeks, as if this is the dirtiest fucking thing they’ve ever done. 

“Yeah,” Blitzø says, reaching one hand to play with the feathers on the back of Stolas’ head. He pulls lightly, delighting in the way Stolas moans. With his other hand, he motions awkwardly at the apartment surrounding them. He understands if Stolas would rather portal them back to his fancy digs, but he also kind of wants to stay here. Have Stolas on his couch and infect his space with the scent that drives him fucking crazy. Smell them together, in his home, where his smell is the strongest. “Is here okay?”

“Here is perfect, dearest,” Stolas says. “I didn’t say it before, but your home really is lovely.” Stolas starts working Blitzø’s t-shirt off, which leaves him in his red horse boxers. “These are my favorite, too,” he adds, snapping the waistband against Blitzø’s hips.

“Stolas, the flattery really isn’t necessary,” Blitzø says. He lets Stolas push him down so his back is against the cushions. “This is a shithole, I know.”

“What do you mean?” Stolas says, talons running down Blitzø’s torso. He traces around the blotchy scars and Blitzø fights to avoid covering himself. “You’ve made it so charming, decorated it so well. Much more comforting than an empty palace, I can assure you.”

“You trying to hire me for interior design?” Blitzø asks, if only to dodge the compliments. He helps Stolas unbutton his romper as he continues. “Because you could put so much horse stuff around that place, seriously. Maybe even some actual horses.”

Stolas giggles, one hand covering his beak. Suddenly serious, Blitzø grabs at it softly and watches Stolas’ face as it changes, mouth parting in surprise. 

“Don’t hide,” Blitzø says, and the words are heavy in the air between them. “You look cute when you laugh, Stols.” 

Stolas looks overwhelmed for a second and those pupils are back. He swallows and reaches down to run his talons across Blitzø’s lips. “You are so important to me,” Stolas says. “A wonder, truly. Like nothing else I’ve seen.”

“You literally play with stars and shit everyday,” Blitzø says, tilting his face to follow Stolas’ fingers. 

“And yet my statement stands,” Stolas says, grinning. Both of his hands trail across Blitzø’s chest and then skip down his sides. Sharp talons leave tiny marks, scratches, signs that Stolas was there. “Stop avoiding my admiration, you silly man.” 

“Stop being so cheesy,” Blitzø says, shifting when the touches become more like tickles. “Hey, hey, easy there, feathers.” 

“I suppose I will have mercy on you today,” Stolas trills, and his smile is so, so fucking pretty. He moves off the couch to slide his romper down, leaving him gorgeously bare.

“Get back here, handsome,” Blitzø says, full of weird giddiness. Stolas hoots and does so, laying on him so it’s just feathers to skin. Blitzø isn’t sure how he makes it work, with how fucking long he is, but he’ll think about that shit later. 

“Handsome is a word I would reserve solely for you,” Stolas says, but he’s blushing. “You really are stunning, you know.” He kisses Blitzø’s cheek and then traces a path down his neck and onto his chest. His hands run down both of Blitzø’s arms, the motions smooth and soothing. “So strong, with such beautiful, well-earned muscles.” 

“Stolas?” Blitzø asks, unsure what the prince is doing. Sure, yeah, his body is alright. He does enough running around to keep it fit, that’s for sure. 

Stolas just hums at him, mouth moving down to Blitzø’s stomach, running his tongue along the lines etched there. Blitzø forces his head up and watches, watches as Stolas moves back up and traces the edges of his scars, where white meets red and the sensation gets muted.

“You are gorgeous.” The words are a breath against his skin, warm and heady. 

“Even though I’m all… fucked up?” Blitzø asks. As soon as the words are out, he wants to chew them back up and swallow. Stolas’ head snaps up and he frowns. Shifting back up Blitzø’s torso, he leans down for one, two, three firm kisses. 

“You are not fucked up,” Stolas says. “These are… scars, yes? I don’t know what happened to cause such harm to your skin, but you are handsome. Gorgeous, no matter what.” 

No matter what Stolas says, Blitzø doesn’t think he’ll ever see his scars as more than a mark of his failures. But it’s nice to hear something good about them, for once. 

“I find them quite dashing, of course, but that’s not all,” Stolas says, continuing even when Blitzø stays silent. “They are a sign of your resilience. That you’re still here, and I am very, very grateful that you are.” 

“Shit, Stols,” Blitzø breathes out, and he’s a melty fucking mess of horny and overwhelmed and kind of sad now. Because he almost wasn’t here, there were plenty of times he thought about not being here, like the nights he spent scratching out his face in those pictures. Giving into one urge to soothe the other. Stolas seems to understand, running tender hands down his arms once more. 

“May I keep going?” Stolas asks, nuzzling at his cheek with that pointy bird mouth. “But only if you’re comfortable, darling.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Blitzø says, letting himself take a deep breath. Immediately, the lavender and pine in the air calms him and makes his shoulders relax. 

Stolas smiles against his cheek and continues his exploration, scooting down and taking the horse boxers with him. He avoids touching where Blitzø needs it the most, instead focusing on his thighs and his calves.

“I know I already said you’re incredibly gorgeous and strong,” Stolas sighs, squeezing his leg where his knee meets his quad. “But your legs are very sexy, my dear.”

Blitzø wants to quip back, something like ‘they’d be sexier wrapped around your head,’ but something stops him. The atmosphere of the room feels too serious for that, now. He just stays there, letting Stolas make a map of his body, his scars, letting the praise and the sound of his voice cloud his mind. 

Eventually, Stolas makes his way to Blitzø’s cunt, which by now is sopping wet and nearly pulsing. His cock peeks out, hard but still mostly sheathed, and Stolas hums as he works a few fingers inside to coax it out. 

“Feeling good?” Stolas asks, and Blitzø nods. The movements are lazy, slow, lethargic. His mind is calm, the way it only is when he’s with Stolas like this. Stolas smiles at him and puts his fingers back, pressing deep and using the wetness to ease the slide. 

“Want to be full,” Blitzø says, the words low. 

“Shall I use the spell and conjure you something nice?” Stolas asks, one eyebrow raised. He sits up and straightens his back, feathers flaring behind him. 

“Spikes?”

“Oh yes, of course.” 

Blitzø grins and holds his legs open, hoping that’s enough of an answer because he’s out of words. Stolas giggles and one of his hands rises to cover it up, but he stops it. Instead, he uses his hand to conjure a portal next to him. He brings out the Grimoire, muttering the spell to himself, not even looking at the page. It makes Blitzø wonder if he memorized that shit already.

Blitzø closes his eyes against the brightness of the magic when it covers Stolas’ pelvis, pink and purple dancing even behind his lids. 

Spell completed, Stolas picks the assassin up and switches their positions. It leaves Stolas with his lower back against the couch’s arm, his legs mostly stretched out – but not completely, because he is long – on the cushions. He holds Blitzø in his lap, that magical cock hard against his ass. 

“Is this what you want?” Stolas asks. Blitzø feels a bit floaty and tips forward, letting his head fall to Stolas’ shoulder as an answer. He tucks himself there neatly, feeling small but in a good way, like he’s safe. Stolas coos at him and places both of his hands on Blitzø’s hips, helping him ease down on his bird dick, a spiked one he figured out how to make for Blitzø. And only him. The thought makes Blitzø’s whole body heat up, but he keeps the slide of his hips gentle, matching Stolas’ energy. 

Once Stolas bottoms out, Blitzø just leaves it to him, the talons digging into his skin guiding the movements. Slow, easy, without any rush. The pace lets him really fucking feel how Stolas fits inside, the spikes dragging as he pulls Blitzø up and presses him back down. He shivers when the sensitive opening of his slit grinds against the short, soft feathers at Stolas’ groin. Blitzø wraps his arms around Stolas’ chest, pushing himself further into his neck, breathing out harshly. 

Their pleasure is a quiet thing, absent of the frenetic energy of their full moon meetings. Small gasps rather than loud moans. Blitzø doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good in his life. 

When they get close, the spikes on the conjured dick flit out to hook perfectly in matching pockets. Stolas moves his hands from Blitzø’s hips and uses one to clutch at his shoulder, the other cupping his scarred cheek. He moves him from the safe haven of his neck gently, ignoring Blitzø’s whine and catching his mouth with his own. He nearly folds his back in half just to kiss Blitzø as their hips rock with more urgency, each chasing their release.

Stolas angles his cock to press at the sensitive spot inside Blitzø’s cunt and the imp clenches down even tighter. They come together, gasping into each other’s mouths. It’s a slow crest, the orgasm lasting a while, Stolas filling him, marking him from the inside while Blitzø’s cock paints his cum on Stolas’ stomach. The feathers there stick together and shine, another claim.

Stolas keeps Blitzø close to his chest, pecking at his horns or kissing his circus insignia every few minutes. When Blitzø breathes in, face tucked in familiar softness, he gets gunpowder and lavender, pine and cinnamon.